The Wedding
Part 2
By Kathleen T. Berney

Myrna O’Hanlan, reigning matriarch of the O’Hanlan Clan, relentlessly paced, back and forth to and fro, before the parlor fireplace. For the past nine years, she had suffered humiliation piled upon humiliation each time Colleen and Matt got themselves engaged, called it off, got themselves engaged again, only to repeat the vicious cycle over and over and over, ad nauseum.

“Francis, you’ve GOT to speak to YOUR DAUGHTER,” she had lamented the last time Colleen had broken off her engagement to Matt. “You’ve simply got to! Lord Above knows she WON’T listen to ME!”

“What is it THIS time?” her husband queried with that long suffering sigh, and accompanying roll of his eyes, guaranteed to set even the most patient of saints and martyrs’ teeth on edge.

“HELLFIRE AND DAMNATION!” she screeched, “MAYBE YOU DON’T GIVE A BLOODY TINKER’S DAMN ABOUT YOUR FAMILY’S REPUTATION, ALL THE WORSE FOR YOU; BUT I DO!”

Francis muttered something under his breath, something she didn’t quite hear, then raised the newspaper in hand up to cover his face, with a very pointed rustle.

She had crossed the entire length of the parlor in three giant strides, borne along by her rising fury. With a swift, powerful swipe of her arm, she snatched the newspaper from her startled husband’s hands and threw it down on the floor.

Francis leapt to his feet, his eyes blazing with fury. “DAMMIT, WOMAN . . . WHAT’S THIS WORLD COMIN’ TO WHEN A MAN CAN’T HAVE ENOUGH OF A MOMENT’S PEACE IN THE EVENING T’ SIT DOWN AND READ THE PAPER!?” he demanded. “HALF AN HOUR! HALF AN HOUR, MYRNA . . . IS THAT REALLY SO MUCH TO ASK?!”

“ONCE!” she snapped. “JUST ONCE I’D LIKE TO BA ABLE TO WALK DOWN THE STREET WITHOUT HAVING TO BEAR WITH ALL THE SMILES, THE SIMPERING, THE PITYING LOOKS I’VE HAD TO ENDURE FROM EVERYONE I CHANCE TO PASS!”

“I just know I’m gonna hate myself for askin’ but WHY are you havin’ to bear with all the smiles, the simpering, the pitying looks from everyone you chance to pass by on the street?” Francis wearily demanded.

“Because our family has become the absolute laughing stock of everyone in Virginia City,” she replied. “For eight years, Francis . . . for eight . . . very long . . . very humiliating . . . YEARS!”

“Who says so?! Mrs. Adams and Mrs. Danvers??” Francis growled as he circled the room, snatching the pages of his newspaper up off the floor, one by one. “Uhhh . . . I should’ve KNOWN!” he exclaimed when she didn’t immediately reply. “ONCE! JUST ONCE . . . I WISH THOSE TWO HARPIES WOULD MIND THEIR OWN BLOODY DAMNED BUSINESS AND LET THE REST OF US GO ABOUT OUR OWN . . . . ”

“Myrna!” Francis O’Hanlan snapped, drawing his wife from her angry musings. He snapped the book in hand shut with a curt, audible sigh of exasperation. “Would you PLEASE stop that infernal pacing?! You’re gonna wear a trench in that Persian rug you sent all the way to London for!”

“Francis Sean O’Hanlan, if you were the kind o’ father you ought to be, I’d have no need to be pacing a trench in my Persian rug,” Myrna cried in outrage. “Colleen would’ve been happily married a long time ago, if not to Matt Wilson, then to some other fine gentlemen, instead o’ goin’ through this . . . this . . . this nonsensical folderol with Matt for the last eight goin’ on NINE years . . . Frankie wouldn’t be castin’ calf eyes at that . . . that SALOON girl . . . . ” she grimaced, “and Molly, bless her heart, would have friends among some of the decent, respectable young people, who live right here in town.”

“By decent, respectable young people, who live right here in town, I take it y’ really mean the likes of Millicent Adams and Pruella Danvers.”

“That would be a very fine start, certainly . . . . ”

“With friends like the two o’ THEM, a body has no need of enemies,” Francis acerbically observed.

“They’d be a sight lot better than that Cartwright girl!” Myrna cried, indignant and outraged.

“You listen to me, Woman, and you listen good!” Francis said sternly. “Molly couldn’t ask for a better or more loyal friend than Stacy Cartwright. Her friendship with Stacy and the rest of the Cartwrights, too, for that matter have been the making of that girl.”

“Oh, they’ve been the makin’ of our daughter alright . . . from a sweet, demure young lady to a complete hoyden!”

“I was more thinkin’ from a girl scared t’ death of her own shadow to a young woman who can stand up on her own two feet,” Francis argued.

“You mark my words those Cartwrights’ll get our daughter and our son, too as much as HE’S always hangin’ around ‘em, into big trouble one o’ these days. They will! You just mark my words, Francis O’Hanlan.”

“The Cartwrights are a fine, upstandin’ family, Myrna. Most folks in these parts hold ‘em in very high regard. I’ll not hear another word against ‘em,” Francis said sternly. “As for Frankie, he’ll get over his puppy love for Miss Clarissa Starling, ‘specially since SHE won’t give ‘im the time o’ day.”

“WHAT?!”

You heard me, Myrna!”

“So! My son’s not good enough for t’ likes o’ her?”

Francis rolled his eyes heavenward, begging the powers that be for patience and strength.

“ . . . and what of Colleen?”

“Colleen’s got to make up her own mind,” Francis said. “Which it would seem she has! The wedding’s t’ take place the day after tomorrow.”

“Assuming that blackguard Apollo Nikolas doesn’t put a wrench in things,” Myrna said darkly.

Francis frowned. “I thought we made things clear to him last night.”

“Ooohhh . . . we made things clear to him last night alright,” Myrna said, in a blatantly sarcastic tone of voice. “So clear, he’s been back around twice more today, demanding to see Colleen.”

“Where IS Colleen?”

“Upstairs in her room,” Myrna sighed. “She STILL won’t come out. She refuses to see Apollo, of course, and she won’t see Matt either.”

Francis rose, folded the newspaper in his hands, and placed it down on the sofa. “I’ll get to the bottom of this,” he said.

Francis, his jaw set in grim determination, resolutely climbed the stairs to the second floor. He walked down the hall to the fast closed door to Colleen’s room, and knocked.

“Go away!” Colleen half yelled-half sobbed from within.

“Colleen, it’s your pa,” Francis said firmly.

“Pa?! Ma’s not with you?”

“No, she’s not.”

“Ok, YOU can come in,” Colleen acquiesced.

Francis O’Hanlan opened the door and stepped into his eldest daughter’s room. Still clad in nightgown and robe at this late hour, she sat on the bed, staring down at her hands clasped in her lap. He could see by her face that she had recently been crying. “Now, now, what’s this?” he queried gently, seating himself on the edge of her bed.

“Oh, Pa, I’m not so sure I wanna g-go through with this,” Colleen sobbed.

“Go through with what?” Francis asked.

“The wedding,” Colleen wailed. “Pa, seeing Apollo again last night, I . . . well I’m not so sure I really want to go through with it.”

“What? Colleen, it’s been nine . . . goin’ on ten years now, since Apollo left Virginia City. In all that time, how many times did you write him?”

“I . . . I wrote him every day,” Colleen sobbed. “Every s-s-single d-day for . . . f-for . . . for three whole months!”

“ . . . and how often did HE write YOU?”

“H-He . . . he n-never did. That’s why I . . . I st-stopped writing him.”

“All right, then,” Francis said. “Lass, for the life o’ me . . . I don’t know what Apollo’s problem is. As for you, well, you’ve got a decent man who loves ya and wants to marry ya. He’s stuck by you with all the patience of a saint for the last nine years. Nine YEARS, Colleen . . . nine LONG years. But, a man’ll only wait so long, even a patient soul like Matt. One MORE cancellation could very well be the proverbial straw that breaks the camel’s back.”

“I know that, Pa . . . . ”

“Colleen, you’re probably just sufferin’ the worst case of the jitters that ever hit a bride-t’-be, about to be hitched,” Francis explained.

“I s’pose . . . . ” Colleen murmured softly, “but Pa . . . what if it isn’t a case of the jitters?”

“Take it from me, Pumpkin, it is,” Francis hastened to assure her. “The next time Uncle Tim comes to visit, ask him how your ma was t’ night before OUR weddin’. I know HE could tell ya stories that’ll make your blood curdle.”

Colleen sighed.

“You know what you need to do, Colleen? Get yourself out of here. Do some shopping . . . or, better yet, why don’t you rent one o’ the nags from the Livery Stable and go for a ride?”

“A ride would be nice,” Colleen said in a small voice.

“Molly’s gone with Ben Cartwright out to the Ponderosa t’ see Stacy, but you might ask one o’ your girl friends to go with you.”

“I think it might do me more good to be alone for a little while, Pa. I could think things through, maybe work out all the jitters I’m feelin’ . . . . ”

“That’s m’ girl,” Francis said approvingly.

“Can you do me a tremendously big favor, Pa?”

“Sure . . . . ”

“Can you sneak me out past Ma?” Colleen begged. “I . . . I just can’t cope with her right now.”

Francis chuckled. “I understand, Pumpkin, and I’ll be more ‘n happy t’ run interference.”

Colleen threw her arms around her father and hugged him tight for a moment. “Thanks, Pa,” she whispered impulsively kissing his cheek.

“Anytime, Lass, any time,” Francis said, giving her an affectionate squeeze in return.

Colleen O’Hanlan, heading on the road south out of Virginia City, impulsively untied the scarf from around her head to allow the wind, generated by the forward movement of her horse, to blow through her hair. She angrily banished all thoughts of Matt Wilson, Apollo Nikolas, her impending nuptials, and her over bearing mother from her mind that she might better savor the magnificent scenery surrounding her on all sides, and the solitude.

Her destination was the large meadow along the south road, roughly half way between Virginia City and the Ponderosa. A brook ran through the meadow. Near the edge of the brook, amid a copse of trees was a large rock. Colleen O’Hanlan had been coming to this spot since she was in grade school, whenever she needed to get away by herself.

She reached her spot in record time, thanks to Mortimer, the large, sprightly gelding she had leased from the Livery Stable. As she approached her special place, she frowned. There was another horse, tethered outside the copse of trees.

“Hello!” Colleen called out, her rising anger and frustration apparent in her tone of voice. The last thing she needed or wanted was to share this special place with another, especially today.

“Colleen, I’ve been waiting for you.” It was Apollo Nikolas, stepping out from the copse of trees.

Colleen stared down at him, her eyes round with horrified astonishment. Her mouth moved, but no words or sound issued forth.

“Your ma wouldn’t let me see you,” Apollo said, by way of explanation. “She wouldn’t even tell you that I had stopped by. I knew you’d come here, sooner or later . . . . ”

“A-Apollo . . . ” she slowly recovered her voice, “d-didn’t Ma tell you . . . that I . . . that I’m getting married to Matt Wilson . . . th-the day after tomorrow?”

Apollo looked up at her, his face a mask of shock and horror. “No,” he shook his head. “Colleen, no . . . that . . . that can’t be!”

“Apollo, what the bloody hell did you expect?!” Colleen demanded angrily, with tears streaming down her face. “I haven’t heard a thing from you in nearly ten years! TEN YEARS, Apollo! No hello, goodbye, I love you, wish you were here, kiss m’ arse . . . NOTHING! What the hell did you expect me to do . . . take an oath of celibacy like a nun!? For all I knew, you might’ve been dead!”

“Colleen, I wrote you long letters almost everyday,” Apollo protested, taken aback by her angry outburst.

“Did you bother to MAIL any of them?” she asked scathingly.

“Of COURSE I did!”

Colleen looked down at him, openly skeptical. Yes something in his face, his eyes, told her he was telling the truth. She moved to dismount. “Apollo, I . . . I wrote YOU every day, too . . . leastwise the first couple of months after you’d left. But after not hearing one word back from YOU, I . . . I stopped writing,” she said, as he gallantly helped her down from her mount’s back.

“I DID write you, Colleen, I swear . . . on t’ graves of BOTH my parents, I SWEAR. The very last letter I wrote you was three months ago, when my ship put in to San Francisco to let you know that I was coming home for good,” Apollo said.

“I believe you, Apollo,” Colleen said quietly, wiping away her tears with the heel of her hand. “I just don’t understand . . . what could have happened to all those letters . . . yours AND mine?”

Apollo’s mouth hardened onto a thin angry line. “Your pa must have intercepted and destroyed them,” he said tersely.

“No,” Colleen vigorously shook her head. “Pa would NEVER do a thing like that, never. My ma on the other hand . . . . ”

She gasped as the truth suddenly dawned on her with an almost blinding intensity. Memories of her mother inviting the Wilsons to dinner less than a month after she had received Apollo’s last letter . . . practically shoving her and Matt out on the porch, so they might talk together “without the young ones or the old fuddy-duddies butting in” . . . making sure she and Matt sat together at picnics and church socials . . . danced almost all of the dances together at the community balls, and parties given by friends and neighbors . . . .

Colleen shook her head, feeling more confused than ever.

“Colleen, do you love Matt Wilson?” Apollo asked, gently placing his hands on her shoulders.

Colleen dolefully shook her head. “I thought I did, right up until you showed up on our door step last night,” she said. “Now . . . I don’t know! I honestly . . . don’t . . . know.”

“I think I can clear things up quickly and easily,” Apollo said. He took her in his arms and kissed her with tenderness and passion.

Shocked by his bold move, Colleen initially stood stiff and rigid in his arms. The less than a second, however, she relaxed and pressed closer, returning his kiss with an almost greedy passion. “No,” Colleen murmured, when their lips at long last parted. “God help me, I DON’T love Matt. NOW, I’m not sure I ever did.” She shook her head again. “Maybe that’s why we’ve carried on as we have for all these years. Oh, Apollo . . . WHAT am I going to do?”

“What you’re NOT going to do is marry Matt Wilson,” Apollo said in a gentle, yet firm tone.

“It’s . . . it’s too late for me to back out now, Apollo,” Colleen said dismally. “All the food, and dresses are bought and paid for . . . the whole of Virginia City’s on pins and needles waiting for the Wedding of the Century . . . all the embarrassment I’ve heaped on m’ ma after all the times I kept breakin’ it off with Matt . . . ” Her words gave way to a torrent of tears, born out of the hopeless despair that had risen up from within, and threatened to engulf her.

“Don’t cry, Love, please don’t cry,” Apollo put his arms around Colleen and held her close. “We’ve got ‘til Saturday to figure out SOMETHING!”

“It is most unusual for all of the MEN in the family to come for a fitting, Mam’selle Stacy,” Madame Camille Darnier, the premier dress maker in Virginia City, remarked as she helped Stacy into a dress still half held together with pins and basting.

“I’m sorry, Madame Darnier,” Stacy said. “I had no idea it was all gonna come to this when Pa made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

“Oh?” Camille queried, as an amused smile began to tug hard at the corner of her mouth. “And just what, exactly, was the nature of this offer?”

“Pa said he would forget the last three advances he’d made on my allowance,” Stacy replied. “It meant the difference between me getting my allowance next week instead of next YEAR.”

“I see,” Camille chuckled softly and shook her head, “and no apologies are necessary. I think it’s a fine thing . . . a very fine thing indeed to see the men of a family taking so keen an interest in what their women folk wear.”

“It’s not so much them taking an interest as it is they don’t trust me,” Stacy sighed. “My brother, Joe, actually convinced Pa that I’m having a dress made like . . . well, like the dresses the girls at the Silver Dollar wear.”

“I am sure you went to your papa and with silver tongue and honeyed tone, convinced him otherwise,” Camille said with smug satisfaction.

“I tried, but I’m afraid my tongue and tone weren’t silvered and honeyed enough,” Stacy said. “Pa just plain wouldn’t listen to ME. He CAN be pretty stubborn sometimes.”

“Like someone else we know?” Camille said with a knowing smile.

“I’m afraid so, Madame Darnier,” Stacy readily admitted, then sighed. “Seeing as how I couldn’t convince PA of anything, I did the only thing I COULD do.”

“What was that?”

“I got even with my brother,” Stacy said, relishing the memory. “My vengeance was pretty horrible to behold, too.”

“Not . . . the Lo Mein Affair?”

Stacy looked thoroughly scandalized. “Madame Darnier, first of all I’m perfectly capable of wreaking horrible vengeance on my brother WITHOUT the help of all those people, thank you very much,” she declared, indignant and outraged that anyone could even think such a thing. “And certain pieces of, ummmm circumstantial evidence not withstanding, not a single, solitary soul one who actually witnessed the incident can place me, or any OTHER member of my family . . . any where NEAR the place at the exact moment everything blew up. Furthermore, we CAN produce witnesses . . . LOTS of witnesses . . . who can truthfully verify that my pa, my brothers, Hop Sing, and I were someplace else entirely.”

“One of those things we’ll never know for sure, I suppose,” Camille murmured softly, as she slipped the last pin into the hem of Stacy dress.

“Nope,” Stacy agreed, inwardly hoping and praying that such would remain the case until she and Joe were old and gray, and Pa too old and feeble to march them out to the barn at the very least.

Camille stood away to admire her handiwork. The dress was made from pale blue silk that enhanced Stacy’s deep sky blue eyes. It’s clean tailored lines, full skirt, scooped neckline, and waist gathered with a sash tastefully accentuated her trim, yet blossoming female figure. The tiny, French cut puffed sleeves and the neckline were trimmed with a thin edge of lace and faux pearls.

“Mam’selle Stacy, you look lovely!” Camille exclaimed with delight.

“Y-you really think so?” Stacy was genuinely surprised.

“Oui,” Camille said firmly, then smiled. “Now, Mam’selle Stacy, it’s . . . what’s that expression? Oh yes! It’s show time!” The dressmaker pulled back the curtain, separating the dressing room from the fitting room, where the entire Cartwright Clan and Molly O’Hanlan waited.

Stacy straightened her posture, pulled her shoulders back, chin up, and stomach in before marching resolutely into the fitting room. “Well? What do you think?” she asked, holding her breath.

Hoss broke into a big smile. “Well don’t you beat all,” he said softly.

“Yeah,” Joe quipped with a broad grin. “Who’da ever thought YOU’D clean up so pretty?”

“Dadburn it, Baby Brother, that ain’t a very nice thing t’ say to a pretty young la--- I mean a pretty young WOMAN,” Hoss said, glaring at Joe.

“WHAT pretty young woman?” Joe demanded, his eyes sparkling with impish delight. “Hoss, she’s our SISTER, for heaven’s sake.”

“That don’t matter none, Li’l Joe,” Hoss said. “She’s STILL a pretty gal, ‘n YOU got ‘til the count o’ five to apologize.”

“Thank you for taking up for me, Big Brother,” Stacy said. She gave her biggest brother an affectionate bear hug. “But, please . . . PLEASE . . . don’t make him apologize.”

Hoss looked at Stacy askance. “Why not?”

“If he apologizes to me now, I’m gonna feel real guilty when I make fun of him wearing his monkey suit,” Stacy said.

“ . . . with tie,” Hop Sing added.

“Awww NO!” Joe immediately protested, his voice filled with passionate, righteous indignation. “I am not . . . I repeat . . . I am NOT gonna wear a dadblamed tie!”

“If Miss Stacy can look pretty, Little Joe can wear tie!” Hop Sing insisted, with a curt nod of his head for emphasis. “Least he can do.”

“Now just a doggone minute! PA said I didn’t HAVE to wear a tie,” Joe argued.

“That’s funny . . . PA doesn’t remember saying any such thing,” Ben archly observed, with a wry, jaundiced glare aimed in the general direction of his youngest son. “In fact . . . PA doesn’t even remember you asking the question.”

“That’s probably because he asked you in the wee hours of the morning while you were blissfully sawing wood,” Adam said with a smug grin.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t ya?” Joe retorted, with a baleful glare.

“I don’t THINK I’m smart, Little Brother . . . I KNOW I’m smart,” Adam quipped.

“Hop Sing not care what Papa say or what Papa NOT say or if Papa remember what Little Joe say. Hop Sing STILL say Little Joe wear tie,” the number one cook of the Ponderosa declared with an emphatic nod of his head.

“Yeah! What Hop Sing said!” Candy declared. “And Stacy . . . . ”

“Yes, Candy?”

“I hope you’re not going to let a little thing like an apology stop you from making fun of him wearing his monkey suit.”

“Who said anything about letting it stop me?” Stacy quipped with an impish grin. “All I said was that I’d feel guilty.”

“Stacy, as your consultant, I think your dress is perfect,” Teresa declared smiling. “Absolutely perfect!”

“I am in complete agreement with my wife,” Adam said with a smile.

Ben smiled with genuine delight mixed with a healthy dose of deep, profound heartfelt relief. “Stacy, didn’t anyone ever tell you the BRIDE is supposed to the most beautiful woman at her wedding,” he said, teasing, yet in earnest, “not her younger sister’s best friend?”

“Pa, I think you’re ever so slightly prejudiced,” Stacy said, as she impulsively gave him a quick hug, “and I love you all the more for it.”

“Maybe I AM slightly prejudiced,” Ben admitted, hugging her in return, “but I do know a beautiful young woman when I see one.”

“Oui, Monsieur Cartwright,” Camille exclaimed with delight, “your Mam’selle Stacy . . . she IS beautiful, and all by ‘erself. She has no need of all the fancy fol-de-rol and doo-dads most of the other ladies like to wear. All Mam’selle Stacy needs is a simple, yet lovely frame to show her off.”

“Thank you, Madame Darnier,” Stacy said, inwardly chagrinned by the sudden rush of blood to her face.

“Better cut back on the compliments, y’all, before her head ends up swelling to three times its normal size,” Joe teased.

“Your head’s gonna swell TEN times it’s normal size right after I finish mopping up the corral with you,” Stacy threatened.

“Hah!” Joe snorted with mock derision. “You and what army?”

“How about a couple of older Cartwright brothers?” Adam countered, as he and Hoss moved in on their younger brother and glared down at him in unison.

Joe immediately backed away throwing up his hands as if to ward off physical blows. “Uh oh . . . looks like The Kid’s turned so chicken, she’s gonna let our big brothers fight her battles for her,” he taunted.

“I am NOT,” Stacy retorted. “I’m sharing!”

“Sharing WHAT?” Joe demanded.

“Well, speaking for myself, I enjoy pounding you . . . a lot. It would be wrong of me to deny Hoss and Adam the same pleasure . . . after all, Pa DID teach us to share.”

“Ben?” Teresa walked over and stood next to her father-in-law, who stood a little apart from his high-spirited offspring. “You alright?”

“No,” Ben confessed with a pensive smile. “I’m worried.”

“Surely, you’re not worried about the dress,” Teresa said, linking her arm through his.

“No. I’m NOT worried about the dress . . . not anymore,” he replied. “I think, maybe, I’m a little worried about STACY.”

“Oh?” Teresa queried, favoring him with a puzzled frown.

“Joe said it himself . . . who’d have thought she’d clean up so pretty?”

Teresa gave Ben’s arm a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Ben,” she began in a gentle, yet firm tone, “any young man with romantic ideas in his head about Stacy, is going to have to pass muster with you, Hoss, Joe, AND Hop Sing . . . before he so much as LOOKS at that young woman, Joe never dreamed would clean up so pretty. The young man with the courage, guts, stupidity, and foolhardiness, to face the lot of you is going to be someone who genuinely cares about that daughter of yours . . . a lot.”

“You make your brothers-in-law, Hop Sing, and me sound like a bunch of ogres,” Ben said. Though his tone of voice was stern, the gleam in those dark brown eyes and the bare hint of a smile now tugging hard against the corner of his mouth told Teresa that her father-in-law liked the idea very much. “You, ummm . . . really think the lot of us are really that . . . formidable?”

“Absolutely!” she declared stoutly.

“Thank you, Teresa,” Ben said.

“ . . . and when Dio reaches the same age Stacy is now?”

“Yes?”

Teresa smiled. “I hope you’ll be quick to remind ME that Adam and Benjy are every bit as formidable as you, Hoss, Joe, and Hop Sing.

Ben smiled. “Young Lady . . . you can count on it.”

“Now that my dress has the approval of ALMOST everyone,” Stacy said directing a meaningful look at Joe, “I have two problems.”

“Oh?” Ben queried.

“First . . . can we take the buggy to the wedding, Pa?” Stacy asked. “I’m no good at riding side saddle.”

“THAT can easily be arranged,” Ben promised. “What’s the second problem?”

“Shoes,” she replied. “I think I’ve tried on everything at the shoe store and they’ve all turned out to be torture boots. I couldn’t even walk in most of them without inflicting the worst agony of agonies on my feet.”

“Mam’selle Stacy, I ‘ave just the thing,” Camille said. She reached under the counter and pulled out a box. “They’re also perfect for the waltz, non?” She carefully placed the box in Stacy’s hands.

Stacy removed the lid and lifted out a pair of pale blue silk slippers, bearing close resemblance to ballet shoes, complete with the lacings. They matched the blue silk material of her dress perfectly.

“They’re perfect, Madame Darnier . . . thank you,” she declared smiling.

“Perfect for dancing, too, as you can see,” Camille said with an indulgent smile, “especially for dancing the waltz.”

“I s’pose,” Stacy said softly, “ . . . IF someone can teach me how between now and The Wedding.”

“I would be more than happy to teach you, Little Sister,” Adam offered gallantly.

“Adam, teaching Stacy to dance is MY job,” Ben said firmly. “YOU can teach Dio in a few years.”

“You’d better try them on, Stacy,” Teresa suggested, leading her young sister-in-law to the nearest chair.

Stacy slipped the shoes on and deftly tied the laces. “Perfect fit,” she said, after walking a few steps.

“Oh, Mon Dieu! Look at the time!” Camille Darnier cried out in horror, as her eyes strayed to the wall clock in the fitting room. “Mam’selle Stacy, come, come! We must get you out of your dress, vit! Vit! The Bride is due for HER fitting in fifteen minutes, and I’ve not yet started to fit Mam’selle MOLLY.”

“Adam . . . Hoss, we’d better get a move on,” Ben said. “We have a lot shopping to do yet for tomorrow night.”

Adam gave his wife a chaste kiss on the lips. “See you later, Sweetheart!”

The Cartwright men, including Candy and Hop Sing all quickly went their separate ways, leaving Stacy and Teresa behind in the dress shop. The pair retired to the dressing room, where Teresa graciously offered to help Stacy with her dress, freeing Camille to begin working with Molly.

“Merci, merci, a thousand times, merci,” Camille said with sincere, heartfelt appreciation. “M’sieu Adam, he is so lucky to have such a lovely lady as his wife.”

“Thank you, Madame Darnier,” Teresa said with a smile.

Teresa carefully helped Stacy remove the dress, and hung it on its waiting hanger as the latter began to put on her street clothing.

“Stacy . . . and Teresa . . . guess what?” Molly said, her eyes shining. “I meant to tell you this when your pa brought me out to the Ponderosa, but I forgot with all the upset about Apollo and the shock of you actually having a dress made for this wedding.” She paused melodramatically for effect. “The music box came.”

“It did?! Really??” Stacy queried, surprised and delighted. The music box Molly had just mentioned was to be a wedding gift for Colleen and Matt from her and her brother, Frankie. It had taken them the better part of a year to save the money, and they had been anxiously awaiting delivery since the order was been placed somewhere around the beginning of March. “Oh, Molly, that’s great!”

“Wait ‘til you see! My brother Frankie’s picking it up on his way here with Colleen,” Molly babbled on with excitement. “You’ve got to see it! Can you wait for me to finish, and for Frankie and Colleen to come?”

“Sure,” Teresa agreed with a smile. “We’re in no hurry.”

Stacy and Teresa adjourned to the front of the dress shop, where the former paid for her shoes and the remainder owed on the dress. She arranged to have both delivered to the house the following morning.

“How long have you and Molly known each other?” Teresa asked, as she and Stacy took seats in the retail area of the shop.

“Since the first day I started school in Virginia City,” Stacy replied. “Subjects like arithmetic and English grammar are definitely NOT my strong points. Molly gets straight A’s in those and just about everything else. Over the years, she’s tutored me in arithmetic and grammar and I’ve tutored her in things like horseback riding, fishing, tracking, and climbing trees.”

“Oh, Stacy,” it was Molly. She stepped from the fitting room into the front of the shop, wearing a brilliantly hued royal blue satin dress that overwhelmed and bleached all the subtle color right out of Molly’s light strawberry blonde hair and fair complexion. “I look awful. How could Colleen do this to me?”

“Molly, remember what I told you about attitude?”

“A-attitude?”

“Attitude,” Stacy said in a gentle, yet firm tone. “Come on, Molly, straighten up.”

Molly swallowed and drew herself up to her full height of five feet two inches.

“That’s right! Now . . . shoulders back, chin up,” Stacy continued.

As Molly obeyed Stacy’s prompting, a fierce, determined look came into her pale blue eyes.

“I want you to keep telling yourself that YOU . . . Molly O’Hanlan . . . are the most beautiful woman to ever live and draw breath in Virginia Ci—NO! You . . . Molly O’Hanlan . . . are the most beautiful woman to ever grace the whole of the State of Nevada! Just keep telling yourself that.”

“I, Molly O’Hanlan, am the most beautiful woman to ever grace the whole of the State of Nevada . . . ” Molly began to recite the mantra under her breath. “I, Molly O’Hanlan . . . . ”

“Mam’selle Molly, come, come,” Camille Darnier cried frantically, as she burst through the curtain separating the fitting room from the store front.

“I see you’ve taught her something more valuable than arithmetic, English grammar, horseback riding, fishing, tracking, and climbing trees combined,” Teresa said smiling.

“You mean attitude?” Stacy asked.

Teresa nodded.

“One of the barn cats taught me that lesson a long time ago, not long after I first came to the Ponderosa,” Stacy said.

“One of the barn cats?” Teresa asked, intrigued.

“The one we call Mama Cat. She had just given birth to a litter of kittens,” Stacy explained. “One night, Hoss went in to change her bedding and leave her fresh food. Mama Cat didn’t know Hoss was there to help her, because she and most of the barn cats are half wild. I was in one of the other stalls giving Blaze Face a rub down, when I heard this horrible screech. I ran to see what it was, and saw my big brother Hoss practically cornered by a small eight pound cat hissing and spitting for all she was worth to protect her kittens. I learned it’s not so much how big you are or how strong ‘n powerful you are, or even how big a gun you carry. All that really matters is attitude!”

“Hi, Stacy.” It was Frankie O’Hanlan, with his sister, the bride, in tow. Colleen stood demurely, a little behind her brother, looking very uncharacteristically subdued.

“Hi, yourself, Frankie, Colleen,” Stacy greeted the older O’Hanlan offspring with a smile. “I don’t believe you’ve met my sister-in-law, Teresa. She’s Adam’s wife.” She paused. “Teresa, this is Colleen and Frankie O’Hanlan, Molly’s older sister and brother.”

Standing all of five feet, five and a half inches on the rare occasions he chose to stand up straight, Frankie O’Hanlan had startlingly bright red hair, already thinning despite the fact he was only three years older than his sister and Stacy. Today, he wore a pair of light olive green pants, white shirt with bolo tie, and a plaid jacket hued in brilliant shades of red, yellow, black, and lime green. Though unable to quite bring himself to make eye contact with Teresa when introduced, Frankie was able manage a shy smile and politely offer his hand. “G-Glad to meet you, umm, Mrs. Cartwright, Ma’am.”

Teresa rolled her eyes, then grinned. “Frankie, my name’s TERESA,” she said shaking his hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, too.” She, then turned to Colleen, a slim, willowy woman with the same bright red hair as her brother and intense green eyes. “I’m also pleased to meet you, Colleen,” she said warmly. “May I offer you best wishes on your impending marriage?”

Colleen gave Teresa a look of complete and utter despair, then burst inexplicably into tears.

“Gotta excuse my sister, Ma’am,” Frankie said quickly. “Pa says it’s a real bad case of wedding day jitters.”

“I thought I heard the door open,” Madame Darnier gushed, as she waltzed into the room, smiling broadly. “The beautiful bride-to-be is right on time. Come, come, Mam’selle Colleen,” she nimbly took the oldest O’Hanlan sister by the shoulders and steered her back toward the fitting room.

“You sure it’s only the jitters, Frankie?” Stacy asked, as she stared at Colleen’s retreating form.

“That’s what PA says,” Frankie reiterated.

“Why do I keep seeing her as some kind of sacrificial lamb being led off to the slaughter?” Stacy mused aloud to no one in particular.

“Oh, Frankie, there you are!” Molly greeted her brother enthusiastically as she emerged from the fitting area, now attired in her street clothes. “Did you get the music box?”

“Music box?” A bewildered frown knotted his brow.

“Yes, the music box,” Molly said. “Our gift to Colleen and Matt! You were supposed to pick it up while I was being fitted for my dress here, remember?”

“Oh yeah . . . . ”

“Well? Did you pick it up?”

“Of course I did,” Frankie said in a highly offended tone of voice.

“Then, where is it?”

“I . . . . ” Frankie looked at one empty hand, then the other. “I . . . . ”

“Oh, Frankie, you lost it!” Molly wailed. “How could you?”

“Frankie,” Teresa immediately took charge of the situation, “where did you go after you picked up the music box?”

“Colleen and I just stopped at the saloon,” Frankie said. “I had a beer, she had three glasses of whiskey . . . drank ‘em straight down, too, like they was water.” He looked thoroughly scandalized.

“WHICH saloon, Frankie?” Stacy pressed. “Virginia City has six.”

“Silver Dollar.”

“Oh, Frankie, are you sure?” Molly demanded.

“Yeah,” Frankie said, “ ‘cause I showed the music box to Clarissa Starling, when Colleen wasn’t lookin’.” A lopsided smile spread the entire length of the lower portion of his face. He sighed contentedly, then turned to Teresa and added, “Clarissa’s one of the girls that works at the Silver Dollar.”

“Problem solved,” Stacy said. “Clarissa knows it’s yours. When she found out you’d gone off and left it, she probably gave it to Sam to hold for you.”

“Let’s go,” Teresa said.

“Well, Boys, everything’s set,” Ben declared with a satisfied smile.

The back room was festooned in bright red, white, and blue ribbons. A bar had been hastily assembled using two empty barrels and wood planks, and covered over with a large, white linen tablecloth. Ribbons were stretched out across the front of the bar, and the crates containing new, unopened bottles of whiskey had been carefully stacked underneath. Tables and chairs had been placed along the back wall, and the wall facing the bar. They, too, were covered with white table clothes and decked with ribbons.

“All we need to do NOW is move those crates of whiskey into Sam’s storeroom.” Ben pointed to fifteen crates still stacked next to the door, leading out into the barroom beyond.

“Pa, you sure we got enough whiskey?” Hoss queried doubtfully.

Ben walked over to the bar, and pulled lifted the tablecloth, taking care not to unloose the ribbons they had so carefully attached. The entire space was taken up by crates of whiskey. “And if all this isn’t enough, I’ve arranged for Sam to keep aside extra from HIS stock.”

“What about the can-can dancers, Pa?” Hoss asked, grinning.

“They’ll come in through the rear door and dance ‘til . . . whenever!” Ben said. “We’re also going to have a large cake.”

“How large, Pa?” Adam asked.

“Large enough to hold three very pretty gals,” Ben said with a smile.

“Can-can gals, plus three MORE pretty gals comin’ out of a cake . . . . ” Hoss shook his head, clearly awe-struck. “Chimminey Christmas, Pa! You sure know how to put a party together!”

“Hey, Adam! How much is it worth to you for me NOT to spill the beans to Teresa about the can-can gals and the three coming out of the cake?” It was Joe. His father and older brothers turned and found him lounging in the open door between the back room and the public room out front, grinning from ear to ear.

“Dadburn it, Li’l Joe, what are you doing here?” Hoss demanded with a scowl.

“I came in looking for the lot of YOU, of course,” Joe cheerfully explained. “Sam told me where to find you.”

“I see,” Adam said, as he turned and favored his youngest brother with a smug grin. “Well, for YOUR information, Baby Brother, Teresa already knows about the can-can girls, thanks to YOUR unbridled tongue at the dinner table yesterday afternoon.”

“Oh yeah . . . I kinda forgot about that,” Joe murmured softly. “How about the three nekkid gals who are gonna burst out of the cake? Does she know about THEM?”

“WHAT three nek--- I mean NAKED girls who are going to burst out of the cake?!” Adam demanded, favoring his youngest brother the with a withering glare.

Ben turned and favored his youngest son with the meanest glare he could possibly summon. “Now you hold on just one minute, Young Man!” he growled. “I don’t recall saying a dadblamed thing about those gals being naked . . . any more than I remember telling you that you didn’t hafta wear a tie to the wedding . . . and while we’re on the subject, Joseph Francis Cartwright, there’s also the matter of that conversation you and I had about your sister’s dress.”

“Pa . . . you mean HE’S the one who planted that idea in your head ‘bout Li’l Sister having a dress made up like the ones the gals . . . here . . . wear?!” Hoss queried, with a bemused frown.

“Yep,” Ben replied.

“That wasn’t very nice, Li’l Brother,” Hoss sternly admonished his youngest brother. “Poor Pa’s been worried sick ever since.”

“”I’ve got a good mind to march ya out into the alley behind this saloon and whale the livin’ daylights outta, Son,” Ben declared, “but, on thinking about it, I think justice might be better served if I turned you over to your sister’s tender mercies.”

“Pa! Y-You . . . you wouldn’t!” Joe squeaked, as the blood drained right out of his face.

“Tell ya what, Son,” Ben said, as he sidled up along side his youngest son and placed his arm around the young man’s shoulders. “I won’t say a word to your sister if YOU don’t say anything to Teresa. I . . . trust we understand each other?”

“Yessir!” Joe said very quickly.

“Good boy.” Ben flashed Joe a feral grin and patted his cheek. “Now that we have all that straight, why don’t we g’won out and have a beer? Putting away groceries and decorating is very thirsty work.”

“Good idea, Pa,” Adam agreed. “Come on, Baby Brother, you, too. I’ll buy.”

“Now that’s what I call a good oldest brother,” Joe declared with a broad grin. The instant he stepped out into the public room in the front of the saloon, the grin quickly evaporated. “Well, well, well . . . . ” he murmured softly. “Speak of the she-devils and guess who appears!”

“What was that, Son?” Ben asked.

“Pa . . . I kinda have the feeling that Joe’s trying to tell us our women-folk have decided to join us,” Adam observed, mildly surprised. He pointed to the far end of the bar, where Stacy, Teresa, and the O’Hanlans appeared to be in earnest conversation with Sam, the bar tender.

“Joseph, remember our agreement!” Ben warned, sotto voce, as he and his three sons started across the room to join the female contingent of the family.

“Sheesh!” Joe groaned, rolling his eyes heavenward. “Can’t you guys take a joke?!”

“You just remember what I said, Young Man,” Ben admonished his youngest son with a dark, angry scowl.

“Alright!” Joe snapped.

“I didn’t expect to see you again quite so soon,” Adam greeted his wife with a smile and quick kiss on the lips.

“It seems Frankie left his and Molly’s wedding gift to their sister, Colleen, and Matt here when he stopped by for a beer earlier,” Teresa explained. “He’s here to retrieve it.”

“ . . . and WE’RE here to offer Frankie moral support,” Stacy added with a smile.

“You Cartwrights sure have some funny notions about moral support,” Frankie groused, glaring over at Stacy then at Teresa.

“What do you mean, Frankie?” Ben asked.

“Frankie was a little reluctant about coming back to get the wedding gift he left here earlier, Mister Cartwright,” Molly explained. “So Stacy and Teresa had to twist his arm a little.”

“Literally!” Frankie groaned, as he made a point of massaging his right forearm.

Stacy and Teresa exchanged glances and rolled their eyes. “Frankie left the gift here,” the latter explained in a reasonable tone of voice. “It’s only fair that Frankie come back and get it.”

“I agree completely,” Adam said.

“Thanks a lot,” Frankie grumbled.

“I’ll have you know that I speak as a man who’s had his own arm twisted enough times . . . LITERALLY,” Adam quipped, with a glance over in the general direction of his wife.

Teresa responded with a smug, secretive, Mona Lisa smile.

“Howdy, Folks,” Sam affably greeted the new comers. “Can I get you anything?”

“Why not?” Adam murmured softly, then turned to the bartender. “Sam, you go ahead and bring ‘em whatever they want. I’m buying.”

“Whiskey!” Frankie snapped. “In a big glass. A VERY big glass!”

“Francis Sean O’Hanlan, Junior!” Molly exclaimed, dismayed and righteously indignant. “Isn’t it a little early in the day for that?!”

“It’s for medicinal purposes,” Frankie growled.

“WHAT medicinal purposes?” Molly demanded, regarding her brother with a very jaundiced eye.

“Nerve disorder,” Frankie replied without missing a beat, eliciting a big grin from Joe and soft chuckles from Adam and Teresa, “and I’ll thank YOU not to sound so durn much like MA!”

Molly’s cheeks flamed bright scarlet. She glared murderously over at her brother, and though her mouth moved up and down, no words, not even the slightest sound issued forth.

She looked so much like Mrs. O’Hanlan at HER very worst, Stacy had to turn away and quickly stuff her balled fist into her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

“Will you be having your usual, Stacy?” Sam asked, trying very hard not to smile himself. “Or would you prefer sarsaparilla?”

“Usual!” Stacy squeaked.

“Ok, that’s one whiskey in a very big glass and one root beer,” Sam said. “Mrs. Cartwright . . . Miss O’Hanlan . . . what’ll YOU have?”

“I’ll have a beer,” Teresa replied.

“Nothing for me, thank you!” Molly said stiffly, having once again found her voice.

“ . . . uhhh, Frankie?”

“Yes, Mrs. Cartwright, Ma’am?”

Teresa sighed, rolled her eyes, and slowly shook her head.

“I think it’s the school teacher’s tone of voice,” Adam suggested with an amused smile. “Teresa was a teacher before we were married . . . and from what I saw, a very good one.”

“Thank you, My Love,” she responded with a quick smile and a gentle, affectionate squeeze of his hand, before again turning her attention to Frankie. “As for YOU, Young Man . . . don’t you have something to ask Sam?”

“I already asked him for whiskey,” Frankie replied, with a bewildered frown.

“The music box!” Molly wailed. “You were going to ask Sam about the music box . . . remember?!”

“Music box?” Frankie queried, looking bewildered.

“Yes, the music box!” Stacy said glaring at the hapless young man. “Yours and Molly’s wedding gift for Colleen and Matt!”

“Oh yeah,” Frankie suddenly remembered. “Sam . . . . ”

“Yeah, Frankie?”

“When Colleen . . . . ” His face flushed a deep crimson upon remembering how much whiskey his older sister had consumed in so short a time. He swallowed nervously, then forced himself to continue. “When Colleen and I stopped by earlier, I had a package with me that I think I . . . well, I kinda maybe have left here? Did you uhhh, happen to by some kinda odd chance . . . find it?”

“Sorry, Frankie,” Sam replied, shaking his head. “I ain’t seen it. You might ask Clarissa, though . . . she was waiting tables.”

“Ask C-Clarissa?” Frankie gulped.

“It’s ok, Frankie. She won’t bite ya,” Sam offered in a kindly tone, knowing full well that the nervous, tongue-tied young man had a king sized crush on the girl, every bit as big as the whole State of Texas.

“Where’s Clarissa now?” Stacy asked.

“Over there,” Sam pointed to the slim, willowy red haired woman standing next to one of the tables in the back chatting with three men.

“OK, Frankie, go ahead,” Stacy said.

“G-go ahead and . . . what?”

“Go ahead and ask Clarissa about the music box,” Teresa prompted.

Frankie peered over at Clarissa, through fear-filled eyes, round as saucers. “Do I hafta?” he whimpered, wringing his hands.

“Yes, you have to,” Stacy said with growing impatience.

“Geeze Loo-Wheeze! What’ll I s-say to her?”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Frankie!” Stacy exclaimed, her impatience getting the better of her. “Just ask her about the music box.”

“What if she gets insulted?” Frankie groaned softly. “She’ll hate me forever.”

“Why should she get insulted?” Stacy asked with a puzzled frown. “You’re NOT going to accuse her of stealing it.”

“I am surprised!” Joe declared in tones of mock outrage. “No, I am APPALLED! While I expect my sister to be a hard case . . . . ”

“I learn by example, Grandpa,” Stacy loftily retorted.

“Oh yeah?” Adam queried. “You mind my asking who?”

“You mean who serves as my example?”

Adam nodded.

“In THIS instance . . . HE does,” Stacy replied, patting Joe in the left forearm.

Joe glared at his sister for a moment, then continued. “But, Teresa . . . YOU surprise me!”

“Oh?” Teresa queried, as she demurely sipped her beer.

“I never . . . not in a million years . . . EVER expected it of YOU.” Joe exhaled a very long, very melodramatic sigh, and shook his head. “All this time, I thought you were so kind, gracious . . . . ”

“Looks like he’s finally seen the true you, My Dear,” Adam teased, his warm, golden brown eyes dancing with impish delight.

Teresa promptly turned to her husband and thumbed up her nose.

Adam smiled and stuck out his tongue.

“Settle down, Children,” Ben admonished his eldest son and daughter-in-law in a tone of voice a bit too solemn. “Think of the atrocious example you’re setting for your younger bothers and sister.”

“Yes, Pa,” Adam groaned, grinning from ear-to-ear.

“This conversation’s NOT over, My Love,” Teresa whispered, the minute Ben turned his attention elsewhere, “not by a long shot.”

“No! It certainly isn’t!” Adam readily agreed, lowing his own voice to a whisper.

“After supper,” Teresa said. “Upstairs, in our room. That way we’ll have a modicum of privacy.”

“I can’t wait!”

“Frankie, there’s no trick at all to talking with girls,” Joe, meanwhile, worked valiantly to bolster the young man’s sagging, demoralized spirits. “It’s as easy . . . and as natural as falling right off a log.”

“She’s gonna hate me,” Frankie moaned. “I’m gonna say the wrong things . . . maybe DO the wrong thing . . . oh, who knows? I might’ve even put on the wrong cologne after I shaved this morning . . . but she’s gonna end up despising me, I just know it.”

“Tell ya what, Frankie . . . for the price of a couple o’ beers, I’ll be more ‘n happy to SHOW you just how easy it is,” Joe offered, with a confident smile.

“Y-You mean . . . YOU’LL ask her?” The profound relief on Frankie’s face was almost comical to behold. Stacy turned away and covered her mouth with both hands to keep from laughing out loud. “Thank you, Joe, thank you, thank you, thank you. If you were a gal, I’d kiss ya!”

“The cost of a couple o’ beers’ll more than suffice, Frankie!” Joe said stiffly, while silently giving thanks for small mercies.

“Joseph . . . . ” Ben warned, his voice low and menacing. “I don’t know what you’re up to--- ”

“Nothing, Pa!” Joe squeaked, noting with fear and trepidation that his too-quick response had caused the scowl already on his father’s face to deepen. “Pa, honest! All I’m gonna do is by Clarissa a drink and talk to her!”

“That’s ALL?!” Ben queried dubiously.

“That’s ALL!”

Under the watchful eyes of family and friends, Joe approached Clarissa, smiled, and tipped his hat. She smiled back, and nodded. After a few words to the three men seated at the table, and she focused her complete, undivided attention on the youngest Cartwright son. Joe, still smiling that devastating smile, capable of melting butter in the cold of winter, gallantly offered Clarissa his arm. She demurely slipped her arm through his, and led him over to a table in a more secluded corner.

“Gosh-a-roonies, I sure wish I could talk to women like Joe,” Frankie sighed enviously.

“No, you don’t, Frankie,” Hoss said with a complacent smile. “Trust me on this one.”

“You seem to have no trouble talking to Molly, Stacy, and Teresa,” Ben hastened to point out.

“They’re not really women, Mister Cartwright,” Frankie said.

“Frankie, I can assure you that my wife Teresa IS really a woman,” Adam said. The gleam in his eyes added, “ALL woman.”

Frankie blushed, the color of his sudden healthy looking complexion clashing against his brilliant red hair. “G-gosh, Teresa, I-I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I-I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that, well . . . y-you’re married to Adam and . . . Stacy and Molly . . . well, THEY’RE just a couple of kids.”

“No apology necessary, Frankie,” Teresa said gently, with a kind reassuring smile.

“Speak for yourself, Teresa,” Stacy growled, as she and Molly glared daggers at the latter’s hapless older brother.

“Frankie, take it from me, when the gal is the RIGHT gal, you ain’t gonna have one lick of problem talkin’ with her,” Hoss said.

“Hoss is absolutely right,” Ben agreed.

“HEY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE--- ” The sound of Joe’s outraged voice drew the attention of his family and the O’Hanlans back to the secluded corner occupied by himself and Clarissa.

“NO! NO! NO! NO!” Clarissa Starling yelled at the top of her voice. She seized the nearest mug of beer and emptied it in Joe’s face.

“See, Frankie?” Hoss said with a smug grin. “I told ya.”

“Well, Adam, seein’ as how you’re buyin’, that’ll be four dollars,” Sam said.

Adam reached in his back pocket for his wallet. The pocket was empty. “Hey!” he growled. “My wallet’s gone!”

“Aww, come on, Adam,” Hoss teased. “That’s the oldest trick in the book!”

“Look!” Stacy cried. “Heading for the door!” She pointed out a stooped person, dressed in a nondescript gray overcoat, making his way toward the swinging saloon doors.

“Excuse me,” Adam growled. “I have some property to recover.” He took off after the individual his sister had pointed out at a dead run. Stacy set her half empty root beer mug on the bar and followed.

The individual in the gray overcoat, upon catching sight of Adam and Stacy bearing down on him, immediately straightened and bolted straight for the door. Two of the patrons had to scramble to avoid collision. The minute he hit the street he feinted right, then cut a sharp left.

“This way, Older Brother,” Stacy reached out and barely stopped Adam from turning to the right. The pair chased their quarry down the sidewalk. Up ahead, two men suddenly stepped from one of the offices carrying a heavy sofa between them. The thief nimbly leapt, easily clearing the sofa. Stacy dived under it, and forward rolled back to her feet.

“Excuse me, Sir, may I have this dance?” Adam quipped, with a wry smile, while neatly sidestepping around the leading man carrying the sofa. Once safely on the other side, he resumed the chase, leaving the man with sofa staring after him with a bewildered frown on his face.

Adam gritted his teeth and poured on speed passing his sister and gaining on the fleeing thief by leaps and bounds. The instant he came within arm’s reach of his quarry, Adam leapt with an ease and strength that surprised both himself and his sister, following behind. His arms circled the fleeting thief’s waist in an iron, vise like grip, worthy of his biggest brother, Hoss. The thief howled in pain and outrage as he and Adam crashed hard onto the sidewalk, the latter breaking his fall on top of the former.

Adam immediately scrambled to his feet, and seized the thief by the coat lapels. “You have something that belongs to me,” he said grimly.

The thief lashed out punching Adam in the nose, and drawing blood. Adam’s hands immediately went to his bleeding nose, automatically releasing his quarry. The pickpocket thudded onto the board sidewalk, howling in agony and protest. He rose, and with a very pronounced limp continued his flight down the sidewalk, moaning with each step.

“Adam!?”

“Nebber bind be, Stacy, get HIB!” Adam ordered, wincing in agony at each word.

Stacy nodded and doubled her speed. Rising anger gave her second wind. In her mind, the only people allowed to pound Adam were his wife, and his brothers. No one else, especially some low-life sneak-thieving pickpocket. Up ahead was the end of the walk. A wooden barricade stretched across the open area, as a protective measure to keep the unwary patron from taking an injurious tumble into the street three feet below. The thief started to climb the barricade.

“Oh no you don’t!” Stacy reached out blindly, seizing his coat firmly in both hands. The thief wriggled and flopped like a fish out of water, freeing himself from the confines of the coat. He leapt the barrier and continued down the street, clad now only in his cowboy boots. His lack of attire drew outraged screams from some of Virginia City’s matrons.

“Did you get hibb?” Adam appeared at her elbow, with a borrowed red and white handkerchief held firmly in place up against his nose.

“I THOUGHT I had him, but he slipped right through my fingers,” Stacy said ruefully, pointing in the direction in with the man fled.

Adam glanced up just in time to see the thief pause at one of the hitching posts outside the general store, just long enough to untie one of the horses. “Oh no!” The blood drained right out of his face, leaving it a sickly ashen gray. “Surely he’s not going to . . . . ”

“ . . . steal that horse? I’m afraid he IS,” Stacy said softly, the angry scowl on her face deepening.

Adam watched in horrified fascination, as the thief awkwardly mounted his chosen steed. The thief pulled on the reins, urging his horse to move. The horse settled into a brisk, bouncing trot, revealing with a horrifying clarity, the rider’s woeful lack of experience.

“Geeze-loo-wheeze!” Stacy exclaimed, as she watched the rider bump up and down on the saddle, in rhythm to the horse’s movements. “I’ll betcha anything a sharpshooter could shoot that horse right out from under him and not come anywhere near touching him when he comes up like that.”

“Thank you, Little Sister . . . thank you so buch for that agondizing ibage,” Adam groaned, as the blood drained right out of his face.

“Agonizing image is right,” Stacy murmured softly. “That guy’s gonna be one saddle sore cowboy . . . that’s for sure!”

“You have no-ooo-oo idea!” Adam quickly turned away, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’ think I can watch this . . . . ”

“A-Adam?” Stacy queried anxiously, fearing he was going to faint right there on the spot. “I, uhhh . . . think, maybe we should have Doctor Martin look at your nose.”

“It’s not by nose, Little Sister,” Adam said stiffly. “It’s just a very, very strogg ebbpathetic reaction.”

“A strong empathetic reaction to, uhhh . . . what, exactly?” Stacy queried, her eyes round with horror, as she began fearing the absolute worst.

Adam managed a wan smile for her benefit. “I’ll answer your question when you’re older. MUCH older.”

Stacy sighed, and rolled her eyes. “How MUCH older?” she demanded, highly indignant.

“Try asking me again . . . ohhh, why don’t we make it sometime after your thirtieth birthday,” Adam replied.

“Don’t think I WON’T ask,” Stacy growled.

“We’ll see,” Adam responded in a bland tone of voice. “Is my wallet in amongst that pickpocket’s ill-gotten gain?”

“Right here!” Stacy drew her brother’s wallet out of the inside pocket and held it out to him.

“Thank you.” Adam accepted the proffered wallet from Stacy and stuffed it into slipped it into his right side pocket of his pants. He, then, began to gingerly rummage through the deep pockets of the overcoat. “Good heavens! Wallets . . . cash . . . a couple of watches . . . jewelry . . . looks like he’s made quite a haul today,” Adam wryly observed.

“He certainly has,” Stacy agreed. “Now what’ll we do?”

“Two things,” Adam immediately replied. “First of all, we go back to the Silver Dollar, so I can pay my tab. After that, we turn that coat over to Sheriff Coffee.”

At the Silver Dollar Saloon, meanwhile, Joe stiffly returned to the bar, with a murderous scowl on his face, dripping wet with beer and foam.

“Joe?”

“Pa, I DON’T want to talk about it,” Joe said in terse, clipped tones. “Sam?”

“Yes, Joe?” Sam queried.

“Bar towel.”

Sam handed Joe a bar towel, laboring valiantly to keep a straight face.

“Joe?”

Joe turned and found himself looking into the face of Lotus O’Toole. She was one of the girls who worked at the Silver Dollar, and an old friend since the day both started first grade at the Virginia City School.

“Hi, Lotus,” Joe said contritely.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m afraid you haven’t exactly caught me at my best.”

“I hope you can find it in yourself to excuse Clarissa,” Lotus said gently. “She’s taking this so called Wedding of the Century very hard this time around.”

“Aww, dang it! That’s right! She and Matt Wilson . . . . ” Joe shook his head ruefully. “I’d completely forgotten.”

“No harm done, Little Joe,” Lotus said, linking her arm through his. “You can apologize to her later, after BOTH of you have had a chance to cool off. In the meantime, can I buy you a drink?”

“How ‘bout I buy YOU one, Lotus?” Joe counter offered.

“Sure,” she smiled.

Joe turned to his family and excused himself. “Lotus, I was wondering . . . . ”

Adam and Stacy returned, the former still pressing the handkerchief firmly to his nose. His hair was mussed, shirt half out, and there was a gaping hole in his pants, exposing a skinned and bleeding right knee. Stacy had the overcoat slung over her arm. Her hair and clothing were in a state similar to those of her oldest brother.

“Adam!” Teresa cried in dismay, seeing the cuts, scrapes, and bloody nose. “Are you alright?”

Adam nodded. “Just superficial flesh wounds,” he said.

“Let me see that nose, Son,” Ben said, as he and Teresa peered anxiously into Adam’s face.

Adam carefully removed the handkerchief. Thankfully, the worst of the bleeding had stopped.

“Doesn’t APPEAR to be broken . . . . ” Teresa murmured thoughtfully.

“I agree, but maybe we should stop by the doctor’s office and have Paul take a look at you,” Ben said.

“Can’t hurt, Adam,” Teresa pressed gently.

“Alright,” Adam reluctantly acquiesced, ““but, first, we need to stop by the sheriff’s office.”

“Oh?” Ben queried. “What for?”

“We didn’t catch the thief, Pa,” Stacy explained, “but we DID get his coat . . . and it’s chock full of stolen goods.”

“Stacy can also provide Roy with a complete description,” Adam added.

“Really?! That’s wonderful!” Ben exclaimed not without a fair amount of fatherly pride.

“Pa, I can only describe him from the back,” Stacy said guardedly.

“That’s more than what Roy’s been able to get from the thief’s victims so far,” Ben said. “Come on, we’d better get moving.” He looked over at his youngest son, standing at the end of the bar a few yards away. He and Lotus were still huddled together in animated conversation.

“Pa, I’ll wait for Joe,” Hoss said. “If we don’t find ya at the sheriff’s office, we’ll look for ya at Doc Martin’s.”

“Alright,” Ben agreed.

Stacy felt a great measure of relief in finally turning over the gray overcoat and its purloined contents to Sheriff Roy Coffee. She and Adam then told the sheriff about Adam’s wallet suddenly going missing, the subsequent chase, and capture of the coat.

“Did you get a look at him, Stacy?” Roy asked, as he fished out the contents in the coat’s many pockets and stacked it on his desk.

“I sure did,” she replied, with a naughty grin that made Adam blanch.

“Sit down.” Roy gestured for Stacy to take a seat in one of the chairs placed in front of his desk.

Stacy nodded, then sat down. Adam took the other chair at the insistence of his concerned wife and father.

Roy opened the desk drawer, positioned above his lap and removed a well-sharpened pencil. “Alright, Stacy . . . what’d the thief look like?”

“He was tall and kinda on the skinny side . . . . ”

“You’re sure it was a he?” Roy asked.

“Absolutely,” Stacy declared with an emphatic nod of her head. “Couldn’t possibly be anything ELSE.”

Adam sarcastically rolled his eyes heavenward, drawing a sharp, puzzled glares from his father and his wife.

“G’won,” Roy urged.

“Tall . . . kinda on the skinny side . . . with light brown curly hair, long . . . about to here.” Stacy indicated a place against her own neck, roughly situated an inch above the spot where neck and shoulders joined together. “He also had a heart shaped tattoo on his left cheek . . . red heart with the words, ‘Bubba ‘n Ella forever’ that last word spelled with a number four.”

“Didja say that tattoo was on his CHEEK?” Roy queried with a puzzled frown.

“His cheek?!” Ben echoed. “Stacy, I thought you told me over at the Silver Dollar that you could only describe him from the back.”

“That’s right, Pa.”

“Mighty odd thing, for a man to have a tattoo like that on his fa---!” All of a sudden, the sheriff’s face went white. “Wait a minute! You mean t’ tell me the thief was wearin’ that tattoo--- ”

“Roy, the only thing the thief was wearing, after Stacy grabbed his coat was . . . a pair of boots,” Adam explained.

“WHAT?!” Ben roared.

“Great Jumpin’ Jehosaphat!” Roy groaned.

Teresa turned her back on the assembly and stuffed her balled fist in her mouth, trying desperately to stifle the sudden onset of boisterous laughter.

“He made his get away on a stolen horse,” Stacy continued.

“Didja see which way he went?” Roy asked, grateful for the change of subject.

“No,” Stacy sighed. “I . . . I was really worried about Adam.”

“Why were you worried about Adam?” Ben asked.

“He was looking awfully sick, Pa,” Stacy replied.

“Pa, it’s alright!” Adam very quickly interjected upon seeing the apprehension creeping into his father’s eyes. “I just suffered a very bad case of empathetic reaction. It’s over now . . . over and done.”

“A bad case of empathetic reaction?!” Roy queried with fast sinking heart. “Does that me YOU didn’t see which way the thief went either?”

“Sorry, Roy,” Adam shook his head, wincing again at the memory, “but I just plain and simply couldn’t bear to watch.” He paused briefly. “I’m afraid the thief wasn’t a very experienced rider.”

“How do ya figure, Adam?” Roy asked.

“I could tell by the way he kept bouncing up and down in the saddle.”

“G-Great balls o’ f-fire!” Roy Coffee moaned suddenly looked very ill himself. He took a moment to compose himself, then rose none too steadily on his feet. “Well, I’d better get this overcoat ‘n the stuff in its pockets under lock and key,” he sighed. “Adam . . . .”

“Yes, Roy?”

“That includes your wallet, too.” Roy turned and held out his hand expectantly.

“You’re joking!”

“Nope. I’m afraid it’s evidence, too, Son . . . just like all the other stuff in the pockets.”

“Can I keep the money?” Adam asked. “Please?”

Roy shook his head. “Sorry, Adam, but the money’s evidence, too,” he said. “Now don’t you worry none about it. It’ll be locked up safe ‘n sound right here in my wall safe.”

Adam dug his wallet out of his back pocket and surrendered it reluctantly to the sheriff’s outstretched hand.

Roy removed the purloined valuables from the pockets of the overcoat and placed them inside the safe, set behind his desk, up against the wall. The overcoat was carefully folded and placed in the bottom drawer on the left side of his desk. That done, he reached for his hat and gun belt. “I’d better mosey on down t’ where the thief made his escape,” the sheriff said, as he placed the gun belt around his waist. “Someone there might’ve seen him.”

“There’s no possible way anyone could have MISSED seeing him,” Adam said in a wry tone.

“Missed seeing what?” It was Joe, with his bother, Hoss, and the O’Hanlans in tow.

“I’m only gonna say it was a real sorry sight, Joseph . . . and let it go at that,” Ben said firmly.

“Sorry sight is right, Pa,” Stacy said. “I’ve seen meatier back sides on our beef cattle.”

With that, Teresa burst out laughing uproariously, unable to contain herself.

“That’s it! OUT!!!” Ben roared, ushering his own family and the O’Hanlans unceremoniously out onto the street.

After leaving the sheriff’s office, Hoss drove Adam and Teresa to Doctor Martin’s office in the buggy, leaving Ben, Joe, and Stacy to console the downcast O’Hanlans.

“I-I guess that music box is gone forever,” Molly sighed. Her blue eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry, Molly,” Stacy said, placing a sympathetic hand on her friend’s shoulder. She more than anyone else in her family knew how hard Molly and Frankie had both worked and scrimped to get that money together.

“It’s all my fault,” Frankie said dejectedly. “I’m sorry I was so careless, Molly. I’ll save up the money and get us a new one, I promise.”

“It . . . it took BOTH of us almost a whole y-year to save up f-for that music box,” Molly said dejectedly. “We’ll never get it t-together by . . . by the Wedding . . . d-day after t-tomorrow . . . . ”

“You can give it to your sister and her husband belatedly, after Frankie gets the money together,” Ben said gently.

Molly nodded, unable to speak. One minute, she was absolutely furious, wanting more than anything to throttle the living horse hockey out of her brother, the next, she felt overwhelmed with despair.

Joe, meanwhile, walked over the equally disconsolate Frankie, and placed a comforting hand the younger man’s shoulders. “Frankie, I’ve done the same thing myself a time or two,” he said kindly. “Everyone has.”

“Maybe so,” Frankie said dejectedly, “but, I seem do it all the time.”

“Molly, is there ANYTHING I can do?” Stacy asked, feeling on the edge of tears herself.

Molly dolefully shook her head.

“Molly, if it’s a matter of money, I can loan you whatever you need to purchase a new music box,” Ben offered. “Frankie can pay me back over time.”

“Th-thank you for your offer, M-Mister Cartwright,” Molly sobbed. Stacy immediately placed a comforting arm around her distraught friend’s shoulders. “But, the g-g-general store would have to order another a-anyway . . . . ”

“The one I lost took almost four months to get here,” Frankie added despondently, “and that was with fairly good weather between here and New York City.”

“Four months?” Ben echoed, looking over at Frankie. “I thought Colleen and Matt had only . . . well, had only been engaged for ONE month.”

“Molly and I figured sooner or later ONE of those engagements was gonna finally stick,” Frankie said, “we had no idea when or where, of course . . . . ”

“We planned to hold it in escrow until Colleen and Matt had an engagement that actually went all the way to a wedding,” Molly said in a small voice. “I know . . . it’s sure taken long enough, hasn’t it?”

“The path of true love never runs smooth,” Ben said kindly. “It’s an old saying, Molly, with a lot of truth in it. It especially applies to putting the wedding together.”

“Thank you, Mister Cartwright, that was very diplomatic of you,” Molly said, smiling in spite of her misery.

“I think you and I’d better get on home,” Frankie sighed.

“If I don’t see you before, I . . . I guess I’ll see you at the w-wedding,” Molly said.

“Molly, and you, too, Frankie . . . . if things get too tense at home, with the wedding preparations ‘n all . . . you’re more than welcome to come out to the Ponderosa for sanctuary,” Stacy said.

“Absolutely,” Ben said immediately, knowing full well that Myrna O’Hanlan tended to be high strung and vaporous even at the best of times. The stress of all the final preparations as the hours and minutes ticked down to the day of her eldest daughter’s Wedding of the Century would be a far cry from the best of times.

“Thank you, Stacy . . . you, too, Mister Cartwright,” Molly said gratefully. “Frankie and I may just take you up on that.”

“Can we come NOW?” Frankie asked hopefully, “and stay until the wedding’s OVER?”

“Frankie, they have company,” Molly said, “and besides, Pa AND Colleen would skin the two of us ALIVE if we left them alone to face Ma.”

“Your pa and older sister are welcome, too,” Ben said with a smile.

“Thanks, Mister Cartwright,” Molly said. “I . . . guess Frankie and I better get home before Ma badgers Sheriff Coffee into getting a posse together to look for us. We’ll see you later.”

“Pa, I wish there was SOMETHING we could do,” Stacy said dejectedly, after the O’Hanlans had left. “Molly and Frankie worked so hard getting that money together . . . . ”

“I wish there was something we could do, too,” Ben said sympathetically. He placed a comforting arm around Stacy’s shoulders as they turned and walked toward the buckboard. “I’m sure things will work themselves out . . . somehow.”

“You know that music box has to be in this town SOMEWHERE,” Joe remarked casually, drawing a sharp glances from his father and sister.

“Joseph . . . . ” Ben shot his youngest son a warning glare.

“Hey! All I said was . . . that music box has to be in this town somewhere,” Joe said, all innocence.

“And?” Ben prompted.

“What and?” Joe demanded, shrugging his shoulders. “Geeze loo-weeze, Pa, can’t a guy remark on the obvious without falling under heavy suspicion?”

“You SURE that’s all you were doing?” Ben demanded.

Joe stared back at his father, the too perfect picture of wide-eyed innocence.

Ben had his doubts, but decided to let the matter drop for the time being. “All right, let’s go home,” he sighed, “and Joseph, YOU are going to get right into the tub. You’re beginning to smell like a brewery.”

“Well, Adam, the good news is your nose is NOT broken,” Doctor Paul Martin reported after a thorough and exhaustive exam.

“ . . . and the BAD news?” Adam ventured, mentally bracing himself.

“It’s going to remain twice its normal size for the next day or so, I’m afraid,” the doctor replied.

“ONLY twice its normal size?” Adam queried sardonically, with eyebrow slightly upraised. “After all that poking and prodding, I’m frankly surprised it’s not three or four times its normal size.”

“Very funny, Adam,” Paul chuckled. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re as bad as your YOUNGEST brother?”

Adam favored the sawbones with a withering, jaundiced glare while his wife and younger, bigger brother chortled and guffawed behind him. “Doctor, if you make it a regular practice to insult your patients, then your bedside manner leaves a heckuva lot to be desired,” he retorted.

Teresa exhaled a long, slow sigh of relief. “Thank goodness,” she murmured softly.

Adam turned and favored his wife with a look that questioned her very sanity. “Thank goodness?!” he echoed, perplexed and bewildered. “For what?”

“Seeing you engage the doctor in a bit of verbal jousting just now tells me that you didn’t suffer any kind of serious brain damage,” she replied.

“It’s that Cartwright hard head,” Paul retorted with a smile. “They’ve ALL got it! Ben, of course, is the absolute WORST . . . but I digress. Adam, the swelling in your nose WILL go down significantly in about a day or two . . . three at the very outside, as I just said. However, the bruising won’t fade at least a good two, two and a half weeks . . . . ”

Adam looked up at the doctor, his eyes round with horror. “Bruising?! Oh no!” he groaned. “Doctor Martin . . . please . . . tell me you’re joking?! Pretty please?”

“Sorry, Adam . . . I wish I WAS joking, but I’m not. YOU are going to be sporting a pair of real shiners, come tomorrow morning, if not sooner,” the doctor said, trying his best not to smile. “In fact, I can see the first swatches of color now.”

“Great! There I’ll be, the best man at The Wedding of the Century sporting a pair of big, bright, black and blue shiners!” Adam groaned.

“An ice pack will help some with the swelling, and I have medication for the pain,” Paul said, not with out some feeling of sympathy. “The rest . . . . ” He shrugged helplessly. “I’m afraid nature’s going to have to take her course . . . in her own good time.”

“A judicious application of cosmetics should cover up most of the problem,” Teresa said. “Won’t stand under very close scrutiny, of course, but from a distance, no one’ll know the difference.”

The doctor counted out three yellow pills and placed them into a glass container. “Take one tonight, at bed time,” he ordered. “If needed you can take one tomorrow after breakfast and the other again at bed time tomorrow night. Apply ice packs as needed for the swelling, and you might want to see what Hop Sing might have in the way of . . . . ”

“ . . . ONLY if it’s absolutely necessary!” Adam said very quickly.

Hoss, meanwhile, sat in the doctor’s parlor, waiting for his older brother and sister-in-law. As he sat, lightly napping, he had vague awareness of the front door in the vestibule beyond opening and closing.

“Yes, he’s here,” Lily Martin said politely. A few moments later, she hesitantly tapped him on the shoulder.

“Oh . . . sorry, Mrs. Martin,” Hoss said, feeling slightly groggy. “I must’ve dozed off . . . . ”

“Hoss, Apollo Nikolas is waiting out in the vestibule,” Lilly said quietly. “He wants to see YOU.”

A puzzled frown knotted Hoss’ brow. “Any idea what it’s about?”

Lily shook her head.

“Thanks, Mrs. Martin,” Hoss rose and stretched. “I’ll go see what he wants.”

“I’ll let you know when the doctor is finished with your brother and sister-in-law,” she promised.

Hoss found Apollo Nikolas waiting next to the front door, with sailor’s hat in both hands, looking for all the world like a frightened schoolboy, hopelessly lost.

“Hoss, please,” Apollo begged. “You have to help me.”

“Apollo, what’s this all about?” Hoss asked.

“Hoss, you’re the only person I can turn to!” The words poured out of him like a rushing torrent. “You’ve to GOT to help us! I’ve tried and tried and tried to think of something, but . . . . ” Apollo shrugged helplessly, and shook his head.

“Apollo, you ain’t makin’ a lick o’ sense,” Hoss said, a puzzled frown knotting his brow. “What do you mean I gotta help ya? Help ya with what?”

“I LOVE her, Hoss!” Apollo said earnestly. “She loves me! She can’t go through with this.”

“She WHO?”

“Colleen!”

“Colleen?!”

“She doesn’t love Matt, she loves ME,” Apollo said. “I love HER. We have to stop this wedding somehow.”

“Now just a dadburn minute, Apollo,” Hoss said sternly. “If you think you c’n just show up outta the clear blue one day after bein’ away f’r nigh on ten years an’ expect t’ pick up right where y’ left off . . . . ”

“Colleen DOES love me, Hoss! She does,” Apollo passionately maintained his position, “and I love her. I . . . I’ll swear on a stack of Bibles if y’ want me to . . . . ”

“Did Colleen tell you she loves you?” Hoss asked.

“Yes! With her own beautiful, honey sweet, wonderful lips, I long to kiss just thinking . . . . ”

“A simple yes would’ve done,” Hoss said stiffly, as two bright splotches of color appeared on his cheeks.

“Sorry,” Apollo murmured contritely, his own face reddening.

“Look, Apollo . . . I know you ‘n Colleen were close ‘n all ‘fore you put out to sea, but it’s been nearly TEN YEARS,” Hoss pointed out, feeling suddenly like a drowning man helplessly caught in the swift currents of a flash flood.

“Hoss, would you please . . . just listen to me?” Apollo begged.

Hoss sighed. “Alright, Apollo, on one condition,” he said firmly. “You slow down ‘n tell me from the beginning.”

Apollo nodded and took a deep breath. He told Hoss of meeting Colleen at her special place, and of all that had transpired. “Now, with everything arranged, bought and paid for . . . she feels obligated to go through with it, unless I can come up with . . . something,” he finished mournfully.

Hoss was forced to admit, albeit very reluctantly, that everything Apollo had just told him made perfect sense.

“Please, Hoss, you’ve got to help me,” Apollo begged. “Help US . . . Colleen and me! Maybe between you ‘n me, we can figure out something.”

Memories of George rose to the forefront of Hoss’ thoughts. George was an abandoned pup he had found alone and shivering in the rain back when he was six, maybe seven years old. The big brown eyes, round with fear, and the loneliness in the pup’s near frantic whimpering wrenched his heart then, as the look of pure misery on Apollo’s face did now. Furthermore, the romantic within him somehow couldn’t bear the thought of poor Colleen entering into a loveless marriage to satisfy the dictates of propriety, pocketbook, and her domineering mother.

Hoss took a moment to bid a fond adieu to the two hundred dollars he had hoped to win from the twenty-dollar bet he had placed on the wedding between Matt and Colleen happening as scheduled. “OK, Apollo,” he said, “how ‘bout I meet you at the Silver Dollar tonight at around nine. Between now ‘n then, we can give the matter some thought ‘n see what we come up with.”

“Thank you, Hoss,” Apollo said gratefully. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! Colleen and I’ll name our first born after you.”

“Better make sure it’s a BOY first, Apollo,” Hoss said with an amused grin. “Eric Hoss’d be a mighty peculiar name for a li’l gal.”

Roy Coffee stepped up to the bar at the Silver Dollar all but consumed with frustration, anger, and despair. Earlier that afternoon, he thought sure he had at long last, FINALLY, gotten a break in the ongoing investigation of the man dubbed by the Territorial Enterprise as the Robber Baron of Virginia City. Stacy and Adam Cartwright tangled with him, even recovered loot he had stolen from folks earlier on. Best of all, Stacy was able to given him a description. Granted, it wasn’t very much, just the description of the thief from the back as he made his escape, but still, it was SOMETHING.

Roy had left his office, and gone immediately to the place where Adam and Stacy had their encounter with the thief, full of optimism and high hopes. After all, as Adam had so dutifully pointed out, no one could have possibly missed seeing a man fleeing through the streets of Virginia City butt naked.

Roy’s hopes were cruelly dashed within the first few minutes. It seemed that the only thing every one agreed on was seeing a naked man run down the street, steal a horse tethered to the hitching post just outside the door of the International Hotel, and ride out of town. Roy winced. The thought of a naked man vigorously bumping up and down on a saddled horse trotting out of town was still enough to bring tears to his eyes.

“ ‘Evenin’, Roy,” Sam, the bartender greeted the sheriff affably. “What can I getcha?”

“Beer, Sam, no! Make that whiskey,” Roy said, “and make that whiskey a double!”

“Here y’ are, Roy,” Sam placed a bottle and a glass on the bar in front of the sheriff. “It’s the best I got an’ it’s on the house.”

“Now, Sam, I can’t . . . . ”

“Yes, you can, Roy,” Sam said firmly. “Just consider it my way of sayin’ thanks fer the job yer doin’ ‘round here.”

Roy managed a wan smile. “Thank YOU, Sam,” he said, pouring himself a generous glass.

“Any time, Roy,” Sam moved off to serve other customers.

Sam’s simple, thoughtful gesture raised his morale significantly, seeing as how it followed on the heels of a brutal hour and a half spent in his office with Reverend Daniel Hildebrandt, and a couple of councilmen, who also happened to be deacons at the good reverend’s church, scathingly castigating him non-stop for what in the clergyman’s opinion amounted to blundering incompetence and sheer ineptitude in failing to apprehend the thief.

Roy picked up the glass and swallowed its contents in a single gulp. As the ochre hued liquid burned its way down his throat, he all of a sudden realized that the thief’s lack of clothing was a stroke of pure genius. Every last one of the people he questioned remembered the naked man. Apart from that, no two descriptions matched, whether it be of the man’s face, footwear, what kind of horse he stole, or the direction he took when he presumably rode out of town.

Clara Mudgely, the church organist, insisted that the man in question was older than Methuselah, with a beard that reached all the way to his navel, bushy eyebrows, and a full head of white hair that came clear to his shoulders. Eloise Kirk, on the other hand, stoutly maintained that he was a handsome young man, clean shaven, with the innocent face of a Botticelli angel. The two ladies had almost come to blows over the disparities in their descriptions of the pickpocket right there in the middle of his office. Clay Hansen, owner of a spread called Five Card Draw, said the man had a long thin face with a pug nose that had been broken at least once. His wife insisted the man's face was “ ‘rounder than the moon when it’s full,” and that he had a very long, aristocratic nose.

Those who alleged that the man had worn foot ware described everything from a pair of mismatched socks to the fanciest of cowboy boots with spurs. One outraged matron stolidly maintained the Robber Baron of Virginia City wore a pair of woman’s pink high heeled, high top button shoes.

No two people gave the same description of the stolen horse, either. People described everything from Joe Cartwright’s paint to a non-descript black, roan or chestnut. One person swore up and down the horse in question was an appaloosa. Roy knew for absolute fact that NO one, either in Virginia City or on any of the surrounding ranches, owned an appaloosa. None of the people he spoke to could recall which direction the man rode when he left town.

“SAM? SAM! WHAT’S A FELLA TO DO ABOUT GETTING SOME SERVICE AROUND HERE?”

The sound of Matt Wilson’s voice, bewildered at first then almost strident with angry frustration, roused Roy Coffee from his gloomy musings. He accurately discerned that the young man had attained the status of persona non-gratis at the Silver Dollar Saloon for breaking Clarissa Starling’s heart one more time too many. The infamous rivalry between Sally Tyler and Laurie Lee Bonner not withstanding, the folks who worked at the Silver Dollar saw themselves as family, and stood by each other accordingly.

“SAM!” Matt yelled at the top of his voice. “SAM? LAURIE LEE? LOTUS? SALLY? ANYBODY! IF I DON’T GET SOME SERVICE RIGHT NOW, I’LL . . . . ”

Roy reached out and placed a firm restraining hand on the younger man’s shoulder, to keep the latter from vaulting over the bar. “Matt, to be perfectly frank, I think you’d have better luck gettin’ yourself served elsewhere,” he said, not bothering to mince words.

“Why?” Matt queried, giving the sheriff a bewildered stare.

Roy rolled his eyes, and sighed. “Here y’ are, Matt,” he shoved the remaining bottle of whiskey and glass in front of the young man. “Cheers!”

“Thanks, Sheriff Coffee,” Matt accepted the proffered bottle and glass. As he lifted the bottle to fill the glass, his eyes darted around the room, resolutely moving from face to face.

Roy shook his head again. If he didn’t know for fact that Matt Wilson was getting himself hitched to Colleen O’Hanlan day after tomorrow, he’d almost swear the young man was looking for Clarissa Starling.

“You leavin’, Roy?” It was Sam once again.

“Yeah,” Roy replied. “It’s been a long day, Sam. A real long day! All I wanna do now is go right home and turn in early. Unfortunately, I promised the Widow Danvers I’d have supper with HER tonight.”

Sam blanched. “I hope you’re meeting her some place very public, an’ very crowded,” he said quietly.

Roy chucked. “Sam, you make her sound like some kinda murderess, or something.”

“Ain’t sure I’d put it past her, Roy. She had her matrimonial sights set on ME for a short time, before she found out I’m a bartender.” He shuddered. “Every time she’d see me, she’d look at me as if . . . as if I were something tasty to eat.”

“Tell you what, Sam,” Roy said, with a smile. “I’ll leave word with Clem that if I ain’t in my office at my usual time, he’s t’ send a search party after me.”

“Why don’t you take Matt Wilson with ya?” Sam suggested, directing a withering glare in the groom-to-be’s general direction. “He’s more than worn out his welcome HERE, and besides . . . if the Widow Danvers makes a move to bite you, or something, you can let her eat MATT. I admit he’s kinda scrawny, but he’d still make a decent enough appetizer long enough for YOU to make your escape.”

Roy Coffee heard the veiled hint loud and clear. “Sam, I can well understand why you an’ everyone else that works for ya here are mad at the guy,” he said, not without a measure of sympathy, “but, it’s a free country, and besides, his bachelor party’s bein’ held here tomorrow night.”

“I’m doin’ that for Ben and Adam Cartwright,” Sam stated with an emphatic nod of his head. “NOT for Matt Wilson.”

“Alright, but I expect you to behave yourself, Sam,” Roy said sternly.

“ . . . and if Matt gives ME trouble?”

“You know where the Widow Danvers lives, AND y’ know where I live,” Roy said. “If Matt starts makin’ trouble, you send someone to fetch me, alright?”

Sam nodded, satisfied. “G’ night, Roy.”

“Good night, Sam.”

“That’ll cost ya four bucks, Mister Wilson,” Sam turned on Matt, after the sheriff had left.

“What?”

“I SAID that’ll be four bucks!”

“B-but, you told Sheriff C-Coffee . . . . ”

“For SHERIFF COFFEE, it was the house,” Sam said. “For YOU, it’s four bucks.” He extended a beefy hand, palm up for emphasis.

Matt dug into his pocket, with a curt sigh of exasperation, and pulled out four silver dollars. He slapped them down on the counter, then lifted the bottle to his lips and took a big swallow of the remaining liquid contents. Sam picked up the money and pocketed it before moving to the far end of the bar to serve a couple of customers gathered there, much to Matt’s great relief. The bartender seemed to be mad at him about something, but for the life of him, he simply could not figure out what that something was.

“ ‘Evenin’, Jack,” Sam greeted Jack Hurley with a grin. He turned to the tall, muscular man standing beside the thin, wiry farmer. “Well bless my soul! I’d heard you’d come home from the sea, Apollo.” The bartender smiled broadly. “Welcome home!”

“Thanks,” Apollo said listlessly. “I may not be stayin’ long . . . . ”

“Oh?” A puzzled frown knotted Sam’s brow.

“Two beers, if you please, Sam,” Jack said quickly. “Tonight, the man’s drownin’ his sorrows.”

Sam well remembered the days when Colleen O’Hanlan and Apollo Nikolas were a lot younger and very much in love. Word had it that Apollo still carried the torch for the fair Colleen. “I understand. Two beers comin’ right up.”

“Good evening, Boys. What’ll ya have?” It was Clarissa Starling, addressing four middle aged, men seated at a round table about ten feet from the bar. All four of them smoked hand rolled Havana cigars, special ordered, and were nattily attired in three piece suits, custom tailored by the exacting fit.

Matt Wilson glanced up sharply. The sudden movement of his head combined with the effects of almost an entire bottle of whiskey caused him to loose balance. He toppled to the floor with a hard thud. “Cuh-Cuh-Clarissa?!?”

Clarissa froze, her face an odd mixture of stupefying astonishment, outrage, and a terrible sadness.

“We gotta talk, Clarissa,” Matt said, scrambling ungracefully to his feet.

Clarissa was too shocked even to reply.

Mistaking her silence for acquiescence, Matt took her by the forearm and started for a secluded table on the other side of the room.

“Matthew Wilson, you unhand me right now this instant!” Clarissa demanded, as outrage gained the upper hand over shock.

“Please, Clarissa . . . gotta s’plain something! ”

“You’re getting hitched to Colleen O’Hanlan the day after tomorrow,” she rounded on him furiously, on the edge of tears. “What’s left to explain?”

“Please, Clarissa . . . . ”

“Matt, if you don’t let go of me, I’m gonna scream.”

“Clarissa Starling, I’ve got somethin’ t’ say to you,” Matt said in a commanding, authoritative tone of voice, “and by golly, y’r gonna listen, if I have ta--- ”

Clarissa opened her mouth and screamed at the top of her lungs, drawing the attention of the vast majority of patrons.

“I believe the lady’s made it perfectly clear that your attentions are not welcome,” a terse masculine voice came from behind.

Matt glanced up and saw Apollo Nikolas standing behind Clarissa, with a black, angry scowl on his face. “This is none o’ yur business, Apollo,” he declared.

“Now that’s where you’re wrong, Matt,” Apollo’s quiet, calm tone was at complete odds with the murderous scowl on his face. “This is every bit my business.”

Matt let go of Clarissa and followed through with a hard right cross in the same swift movement.

Apollo moved, impelled by instinct honed through years of bar room brawling in distant ports of call, barely dodging the intended blow. He immediately followed up with a powerful left hook, slamming his fist hard into Matt’s jaw. Matt fell backwards, crashing into the bar before collapsing back down onto the floor.

“Are you alright, uh . . . Miss?”

“Starling,” she said in a very small, very sad voice. “Clarissa Starling. YOU must be Sir Galahad.”

Apollo shook his head. “Hardly that, Miss Starling . . . . ”

“Please call me Clarissa.”

“Clarissa,” he said. “My name’s Apollo Nikolas.”

“Thank you for coming to my rescue, Apollo,” Clarissa said with a sad smile. “Can I show my appreciation by buying you a drink?”

“If things were different, I . . . I know I’d take you up on your kind offer, Dear Lady,” Apollo said dolefully. “As things stand now, I’d be comin’ after you on the rebound. That’s not fair to a . . . to a real nice lady like you . . . . ”

Clarissa felt the sting of tears in her eyes, as she watched Apollo shamble back across the room to where his brother-in-law stood at the bar. “Why?” she asked in agonized silence. “Why are all the decent ones always in love with someone else?”

Matt Wilson, meanwhile, opened his eyes and found himself staring up into the enraged face of the Silver Dollar’s bartender.

“Mister Wilson, seein’ as how you’re so hell bent on stirrin’ up trouble, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave,” Sam declared in a tone that brooked no argument.

“What?!”

“I SAID I’m gonna have to ask you to leave,” Sam said once again.

“But, I didn’t . . . . ”

“I saw what went on betwixt you ‘n Apollo Nikolas,” Sam said. “If you don’t haul that sorry patoot o’ yours off the floor ‘n outta here, I’m gonna send for Sheriff Coffee.”

“On what charge?” Matt demanded, his own anger rising.

“Stirrin’ up trouble,” Sam maintained stubbornly, with arms folded across his broad chest.

“Ok, ok, I’m goin’,” Matt acquiesced sullenly, all the while wondering what burr had suddenly crawled up under Sam’s saddle.

“Don’t let the doors bang your butt on your way out,” Sam called after him.

Hoss and Joe Cartwright entered the Silver Dollar Saloon together. The youngest of the Cartwright brothers scanned the faces among the gathered crowd, obviously in search of someone. Hoss simply stared straight ahead, his eyes seeing nothing, his thoughts many miles away. A sudden collision with a patron leaving the Silver Dollar rudely jolted his thoughts and attention back to the here and now.

“Ya Big Lummox, why don’tcha watch were you’re walking?” It was Matt Wilson. His eyes were glassy, and his speech slurred.

Joe stared at the groom-to-be in a state of shock. As his initial surprise gave way to righteous indignation, he opened his mouth to speak.

“Sorry, Matt,” Hoss apologized quickly, before Joe could utter a word. His younger brother stared over at him in open, incredulous amazement.

“Aww, forget it,” Matt muttered, weaving his way down the sidewalk.

“I don’t believe this!” Joe sputtered. “I’ve heard of rude, but he’s just gone above and beyond!”

“Forget it, Baby Brother,” Hoss said. “He’s probably suffering a real bad case o’ the weddin’ day jitters right about now . . . . ”

Joe glared at Matt Wilson’s retreating form for a long moment, then shrugged.

Hoss ambled over to the bar, his thoughts once more focusing on the dilemma facing Apollo Nikolas and Colleen O’Hanlan. From the time he had finally left Doc Martin’s office with Adam and Teresa until the end of the supper meal, he had wracked his brain desperately seeking a solution, to the exclusion of everyONE and everyTHING around him . . . .

“Hoss?” his father had queried anxiously, after every one left the supper table. They were in the midst of moving the living room furniture from the middle of the room, over to the side. Stacy and Teresa cleared the table, while Hop Sing washed the dishes in the kitchen.

“Yeah, Pa?”

“You feeling alright?” Ben asked.

“I’m fine.”

“You hardly touched your supper . . . . ”

“I wasn’t hungry tonight, Pa.”

For one brief terrifying moment, Hoss had half feared his father was going to faint. “W-we had pork chops tonight . . . your favorite,” Ben finally stammered the minute he found his voice.

“I ain’t sick, Pa,” Hoss hastened to reassure. “I’m a little worried ‘bout Apollo ’s all.”

He was greatly relieved to see the muscles in his father’s face relax. “I’d heard that Apollo’s still carrying the torch for Colleen,” Ben said quietly.

“I told Apollo I’d meet ‘im at the Silver Dollar tonight.”

“Sure, by all means,” Ben had readily agreed. “It’d do Apollo a world of good to spend an evening with an old friend . . . maybe talk, have a few beers . . . . ”

“Pa,” Joe interjected quickly, without missing a beat, “Hoss and I BOTH promised we’d meet Apollo this evening.”

“We did?!” Hoss said, favoring his younger brother with a look of complete and utter bewilderment.

“We sure did, Big Brother,” Joe said smoothly.

Ben looked over at his youngest son, openly skeptical.

“Right, Hoss?” Joe prompted.

“ . . . . uuhhh, right! Yeah, Pa . . . that’s right . . . . ” Hoss stammered after Joe had cued him with a sharp elbow jab to the rib cage.

Ben focused that all-knowing-all-seeing glare on Hoss for what seemed an eternity. In the end, their father had elected not to pursue the matter. “Have a good time, Boys, and stay out of trouble . . . . ” Something, either in the words or tone of voice, told Hoss the subject was far from closed, however . . . .

“Hey, Hoss, what can I get for ya?”

“Beer, Sam,” Hoss replied dolefully, his thoughts returning to the present. He glanced around the room for his younger brother, but saw neither hide nor hair of him. “Whatever scheme HE’S got cookin’, I’m stayin’ well out of it!” he vowed silently.

Joe Cartwright, meanwhile, made his way unobtrusively toward the back door of the saloon, with head down and hat pulled low over his eyes. Upon reaching the back door, he paused with hand firmly on the doorknob, and glanced over the sea of faces gathered in the saloon tonight. He noted with satisfaction that Hoss stood at the far end of the bar, closest to the front door, talking with Sam. Joe averted his gaze to the floor again, before noiselessly opening the door and stepping into the alley beyond.

Closing the back door behind him, Joe slowly exhaled the breath he had been holding. He half feared that Hoss would see him leave and begin asking questions. Although he knew his big brother was trustworthy, he also knew Hoss was transparently honest. The big guy, quite frankly, couldn’t even tell the pure truth sometimes without looking incredibly guilty, especially when their father asked the questions. Joe knew beyond any shadow of doubt there would be questions when he and Hoss returned home. The less Hoss knew about his plans right now, the better.

Sam, meanwhile, came and placed a mug of cold beer in front of Hoss.

“Sam,” Hoss asked, “is Apollo Nikolas here by any chance?”

“Over there, with his brother-in-law,” Sam nodded his head toward the opposite end of the bar, where Jack Hurley and Apollo Nikolas stood together, side-by-side.

“Thanks.” Hoss picked up his mug of beer and walked over toward Apollo and his brother-in-law. “ ‘Evenin’, Apollo . . . ‘evenin’, Jack.”

“Hey, Hoss, I haven’t seen ya in a dog’s age,” Jack smiled and greeted him warmly. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine, Jack, just fine,” Hoss replied. “How ‘bout you, Athena, an’ the young ‘ns?”

“We’re all fine,” Jack replied. The warmth and smile faded. “Harlan’s got himself a gal.”

Hoss grinned. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah . . . . ” Jack sighed.

“What’s the matter, Jack? You sure don’t sound too happy ‘bout it.”

“I’d be dancing through the streets of Virginia City with joy,” Jack said dolefully, “if the gal in question were anybody BUT Pruella Danvers.”

“Pruella Danvers?” Hoss echoed incredulously. He grimaced, as if he had just eaten something incredibly sour. “Pruella Danvers?!”

“Yeah,” Jack shook his head.

“What could Harlan, or any other fella f’r that matter, possibly see in Pruella Danvers?”

“I can tell you what I see in that gal, Hoss,” Jack said grimly. “I see a greedy li’l gussie, always after Harlan to buy her expensive doo-dads with money he don’t have. That gal ‘n her ma both are a couple o’ phonies, struttin’ around, puttin’ on fancy-schmancy airs, playin’ rich.” He sighed and shook his head. “T’ give credit where it’s due, though, Athena saw all that in ‘em long b’fore I did.”

“My sister’s ALWAYS been a shrewd judge of character,” Apollo said quietly.

“That she has,” Jack agreed with a proud smile, “that she has. Well, speaking of Athena, I DID promise her I’d be home early . . . . ”

“You mind if I stay and spend some time with Hoss?” Apollo asked.

“I’M the one who promised to be home early tonight, Apollo, not you,” Jack said with a grin. “You ‘n Hoss enjoy yourselves. I’ll let Athena know.”

“Thanks, Jack,” Apollo said with a grateful smile. “See you at home later.”

“G’night, Jack,” Hoss called after Apollo’s brother-in-law. “Good talkin’ with ya.”

“ ‘Night, Hoss . . . . ”

“Well, Hoss?” Apollo pounced the minute his brother-in-law had moved out of earshot. “Were you able to come up with any ideas?”

“Not a dadburn thing!” Hoss shook his head dolefully. “How ‘bout YOU, Apollo?”

Apollo shook his head.

“Refills, Gentlemen?”

“Gimme another beer, Sam,” Hoss said.

“Make mine whiskey this time,” Apollo sighed gloomily. “A bottle with glass.”

“Sam, make that a just GLASS o’ whiskey,” Hoss said.

“Hoss, what’re you doing?” Apollo demanded. “I think NOW’S the time to start drowning my sorrows, if it’s all the same t’ you.”

“Ain’t you jumpin’ the gun by a wee bit?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we got ‘til Saturday t’ come up with somethin’,” Hoss said firmly. “I know it ain’t much, but it’s still a whole day ‘n a half yet.”

“We’ll never come up with anything in that short a time,” Apollo protested.

“That’s gonna be for dadburn sure if ‘n y’ start drinkin’ whole bottles o’ whiskey like it was water,” Hoss hastened to point out. “On the other hand, if ‘n the two o’ us can keep ourselves half way sober . . . . ”

“Hoss, it’s no use!” Apollo said exasperation mixing with grief.

“There’s always the obvious solution.”

“What obvious solution is that?”

“You ‘n Colleen can always run off ‘n elope. You sure wouldn’t be the first, ‘n I doubt you’d be t’ last.”

Apollo shook his head. “Colleen won’t even consider it.”

“Have y’ ASKED her?”

“Of course I have,” Apollo said bitterly. “Colleen told me that if we can’t figure something out, she’s gonna feel obligated to go through with this . . . this damned Wedding of the Century.”

Hoss lapsed into melancholy silence.

Outside, Cochise nickered affectionately as Joe approached the hitching post on the street right in front of the Silver Dollar Saloon. His eyes, round with alarm, darted up beyond the swinging doors to the bar just beyond. Thankfully, Hoss had joined Apollo and his brother-in-law, Jack, at the other end of the bar.

“Thank goodness,” Joe whispered aloud, as he exhaled a long sigh of relief. “Easy, Cooch, we gotta keep it quiet . . . . ”

Joe quickly untethered Cochise, and slowly led him away from the post and the other horses tethered there. Once he was satisfied that he and his horse were far enough away from the potential hearing ears of the saloon patrons, Joe climbed on Cochise’s back and rode off in the direction of Blood Alley, and the home of Lotus O’Toole.

“Good evening, Joe,” Lotus greeted him with a wan smile. “Please come in.”

The room within was bare, save for a wood table with four chairs, a small oval rug that Lotus had spent the better part of a year crafting in what little spare time she had, and the framed photograph of her parents sitting on the mantle. Joe silently followed Lotus over to the table.

“Coffee?” Lotus offered. “I have some ready.”

“Yes, thank you,” Joe nodded, taking a seat at the table. “I see you and Timmy have gotten yourselves settled in.” He glanced up, his hazel eyes meeting her dark ones. “You work fast!”

“I didn’t have much to unpack,” Lotus said quietly. She grabbed a towel and removed the coffee pot from its spot over the low fire burning in the fireplace.

“I . . . thought you were going to move . . . well, somewhere closer to the school,” Joe said, glancing about the room in dismay, “seein’ as how Timmy’ll be starting first grade in the fall.”

“This is all I can afford,” she said, returning to the table with coffee pot in hand. She picked up one of three clean mugs on the table and filled it.

“That can’t be, Lotus,” Joe protested. He accepted the mug, taking hold of it in both hands. He blew on the hot liquid, then took a ginger sip from the mug. “As I recall, there were two fine houses near the school. One was almost next-door. When we looked at ‘em, the real estate man said it would only be twenty a month for the first, twenty-FIVE for the second. I thought you COULD afford that.”

“The real estate man came to see me at the Silver Dollar later that night, Joe,” Lotus said with a touch of rancor. “He told me that some emergency expenses had come up, of which he wasn’t aware when he showed US those houses. Instead of twenty dollars on the one and twenty-five on the other, the rent suddenly rose to one hundred dollars a month . . . on both.”

“That’s outrageous!” Joe declared, his face darkening with anger. “Did he say what the exact nature of those expenses are?”

“Joe, you know as well as I do what the exact nature of those expenses are,” Lotus said. “My mother was Chinese, I have a fine strapping son but no husband, and I work in a saloon.”

“That’s not right!” Joe muttered through clenched teeth.

“It’s the way things are.”

“I’ve got half a mind to--- ”

“Joe, don’t!” Lotus said sternly. “You raising a fuss could get Timmy and me thrown out of HERE.”

“That overseer’s cottage on the Ponderosa’s available,” Joe said, “rent FREE.”

Lotus shook her head. “Joe, we’ve been over that ground time and time again,” she said in a firm tone. “I’ve paid my way in this world since I was fifteen years old. I expect to continue paying my way until I draw my last breath.”

“Lotus, you and I’ve been friends ‘way too long for you to be spouting that kind of nonsense,” Joe protested.

“Joe, I will not accept charity, in any way, shape, or form, no matter how well intentioned . . . especially from a friend,” Lotus said. “You may consider the subject closed.”

“For now,” Joe insisted.

“Period!” Lotus countered with an emphatic nod of her head. She and Joe glared at each other for a long moment. “So, do you want to know about that music box, or not?” she queried finally.

“I’d forgotten about that,” Joe said contritely, managing a wan half smile.

“Clarissa Starling has it in her room at the Silver Dollar.”

“You sure?”

Lotus nodded with a smug grin.

“How’d you find out?”

“Easy! I asked her,” Lotus said. “She was bragging about it to anyone who would listen. I figured she’d tell me too, if I posed as a willing listener.”

“That’s pretty brazen!” Joe said gazing over at her with a look of profound respect.

“When are you planning to get the music box back?”

“I was thinking of stopping in to get it while the bachelor party’s going on,” Joe replied. “Pa and my older brothers won’t be at home to ask me a lot of questions I’d rather not answer.”

“That’ll have to do,” Lotus said quietly. “Just promise me that you won’t come before then.”

“Sure,” Joe agreed with a shrug. “Any particular reason why?”

“Sally Tyler’s been working on Clarissa, trying to convince her to do the right thing on her own,” Lotus explained. “So far, Sally’s pleas have fallen on deaf ears, but I’d like to give Sally time to make her case.” She fell silent for a moment. “Joe, Clarissa was really devastated when Matt went back with Colleen this time. The two of them were talking about a wedding of their own. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not making excuses for her. I just want you to understand.”

“I’ll try, Lotus,” Joe promised. “I just hope YOU can understand where Molly and Frankie O’Hanlan are coming from on this, too. It took the two of ‘em a whole year to save for that music box, and another four months for it to arrive overland from New York. They’re pretty devastated, too.”

“Special gift for a sister they must love very much,” Lotus said quietly. “That I can understand very well.”

“Here’s hoping Clarissa listens to Sally,” Joe said.

“Amen to that!”

End of Part 2

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