Fresh Heir
This story is a sequel to Tangled Heir and includes references to that story that won't make sense if you haven't read it yet.
***
The hired buggy approached the arch and pulled up in front of the adobe hacienda. Andrew Cameron looked around curiously. Two months earlier, when the lawyer visited Lancer with some paperwork, the place had bustled with activity. Now it looked curiously deserted, even forlorn.
A few horses grazed in the paddock by the barn, but there was no sign anyone was working there today. No one appeared to take his horse, or even looked to see who had driven into the yard.
It had been a lot different during his earlier visit. He'd passed crews of men working the herd and the fence line on his way. One of the cowboys broke away from the herd and rode over to his buggy. Andrew was shocked when he recognized Murdoch Lancer's older son, the one who grew up in Boston and graduated from Harvard. He'd last seen Scott in San Francisco, dressed in tailored evening clothes at a party. Now he was sweaty and coated with dust, like the other ranch hands, although Andrew doubted any of the other ranch hands would discuss Whitman's poetry as they jogged into the yard.
Scott's younger brother had been breaking a horse in one of the corrals, lined with whooping spectators. A slim girl picked vegetables from the garden, a woman hung laundry and an old man sat in the shade outside the barn, repairing some harness. An eager boy ran from the barn to take his horse.
This time, Andrew didn't see a soul. He knocked on the massive wooden door to the hacienda and waited.
No one came. Andrew frowned slightly and knocked again. Surely there had to be someone around the place. He tried the door, found it unlocked and pushed it open cautiously.
It was cooler inside the hall, out of the sun's glare. Cooler and even more quiet. Andrew looked around curiously and went to the door of the great room, half expecting to find Murdoch at his massive desk in front of the windows.
A stack of unopened mail sat on the dusty desk in the empty room, silent except for the tick of the clock. Andrew's brows rose.
"Murdoch?" He lifted his voice, and it echoed in the hall. "Scott? Johnny? Anybody home?"
No one answered.
Andrew was beginning to wonder if plague had struck the place when a door opened upstairs. Slow, heavy footsteps came down the hall and Murdoch appeared on the stairs.
"Murdoch!" Andrew said, shocked at the change in the man. Murdoch looked ten years older. He was moving slowly, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion, and his limp was noticeable. "What's wrong, man?"
Murdoch stared at him for a minute, as if he was trying to place him.
"Andrew? Were we expecting you?"
"You might have been, if you had opened any of the telegrams I've sent in the past week," Andrew said. "What's wrong? You look knackered. Where are the boys? Are they all right?"
Murdoch sighed and moved into the great room, where he headed for the liquor cabinet and poured drinks for both of them.
"No," he said finally. "They're not."
***
Murdoch settled into a chair and sipped his drink. Lord, he was tired. He tried to remember the last time he had slept for longer than a few snatched minutes, and couldn't. Sam Jenkins had urged him to rest, had even ordered him angrily to rest, but he couldn't. Worry drove him, a constant spur.
"Murdoch?" Andrew said. "What's wrong?"
He dragged his attention back to the lawyer. "Sorry," he said slowly. "Scott and Johnny had an accident a week ago."
It had been five days ago, no six days now. Murdoch tried to think, tried to find the words to explain to the lawyer.
"The wagon overturned," he said.
Murdoch would never forget the sight of that wagon, as long as he lived.
He'd been irritated when his sons failed to return to the ranch on time, but not particularly worried. He figured they had stopped in the saloon and dawdled over a poker game or a pretty girl. And it was probably just as well if they didn't try to bring the wagon back in the dark and the rain.
They were carrying a heavy load, possibly too heavy even for the big wagon and team of four horses. Murdoch had sent Johnny over to Cross Creek to meet Scott and pick up the parts for a new sawmill off the train.
Scott, always looking to diversify the ranch operation, had handled the negotiations to buy the mill works at a bargain price from the former owner, who planned to head back east. With the mill, Lancer could cut its own lumber and produce more for sale. Scott figured they could nearly pay for the mill with the money they would have spent on lumber for the new horse barn Johnny wanted to build.
It seemed like a good idea and Murdoch agreed. After closing the deal in a little town 100 miles away, Scott stayed on to watch while the mill was disassembled, packed and loaded onto the train for delivery to Cross Creek, the nearest railroad station.
He'd been gone for a few weeks and Johnny had been doing both of their chores. Murdoch knew his younger son was tired. The older man had suggested sending someone with him to Cross Creek, to take a turn driving the wagon, but Johnny rejected the idea. They were already short-handed, he pointed out. He'd be fine by himself on the way and Scott would be with him to help on the way home.
They should have arrived home in time for supper Thursday night. By late Friday morning, when there was still no sign of the wagon, Murdoch was beginning to wonder if it had broken down on the road. Jelly Hoskins grumbled through lunch and Teresa wore a look of concern. Murdoch decided to ride toward Cross Creek to meet his sons on the road and Jelly insisted on coming along.
They weren't far outside Lancer's boundary when they came around a curve in the road and saw the wagon, upside down at the foot of a steep ravine. Murdoch spotted a flash of pink at the side of the wreck. Nothing moved near it, other than vultures circling lazily overhead.
***
Both boys were still alive. That was more than Murdoch had dared to hope for when he and Jelly first scrambled down the slope.
Johnny, curled up next to the wreck, roused and moaned a little when Murdoch called his name. "Scott," Johnny said.
"Easy, son." Murdoch noticed that Johnny's right leg rested at an impossible angle. "Just stay still for a minute while we see about Scott."
Scott was under the wagon. Murdoch found a faint pulse but his older son didn't stir. Johnny had rolled up his jacket and pushed it under his brother's head, cushioning it from the rocky ground. The wagon rested across Scott's back, pinning him tight.
"We've got to get him out," Murdoch said to Jelly. "Find something we can use for a lever."
Jelly was already picking through the broken crates scattered across the ground. He pulled long iron bars out of one and brought them over.
"No," Johnny said faintly when Murdoch tried to move him away from the wagon. "Can't leave Scott."
"It's all right," Murdoch said, gently prying Johnny's hand free from his brother's. "I'll take care of Scott now."
The blue eyes cracked open. "Murdoch?"
"It's all right," Murdoch repeated, starting to lift his son. Johnny yelped involuntarily and Murdoch froze.
"Sorry," Johnny said, biting his lip. "I'm OK."
"And pigs can fly, boy," Jelly said scornfully, hurrying over.
Between the two of them, Murdoch and Jelly moved Johnny, propping him against a large rock. Murdoch noticed the boy was shivering in his cotton shirt, still damp from the rain, and grabbed his own coat from his saddle. He draped it carefully over his son's shoulders, suspecting that Johnny had broken his collarbone as well as his leg. "Don't try to move," he ordered. "We'll be back for you as soon as we can."
Johnny nodded, his eyes closed again, and Murdoch turned back to Scott. He didn't like what he could see. Scott's skin was cool and he was barely breathing.
"Get that lever under the wagon," Murdoch said tersely.
"It's already done, Boss," Jelly said. The two men heaved at the bars, straining to lift the heavy wagon. It didn't budge and Murdoch caught movement out of the corner of his eye.
"Johnny, stay where you are. Jelly, put your back into it, damn it." He threw himself against the bar and the wagon creaked and shifted, just a few inches. Murdoch felt something pop in his own back as he pushed against the lever. Johnny hopped a few feet and added his weight. That was enough to tip the balance and it went over. Johnny fell with it, collapsing face first onto the ground.
Murdoch was already bending over Scott. "Jelly, I need you," he said. "Right now."
Jelly looked at Johnny.
"Jelly." Murdoch's voice was urgent. "Scott's in real trouble."
"They're both in trouble, Boss," Jelly complained but he came over. His frown deepened as he saw the blood matted in Scott's blond hair.
***
Dr. Sam Jenkins looked grim when he finally emerged from Scott's room. He'd stitched the young man's scalp, strapped his ribs and set his broken arm. His real concern at this point was the head injury and the possibility of internal bleeding. Scott hadn't regained consciousness since they'd found him under the wagon.
"The wagon passed over Scott, from the looks of it," Sam said later to Murdoch, after he'd finished with Johnny too. "He has three badly broken ribs and it's a miracle they didn't puncture a lung. He's also deeply concussed. I can't tell if there's a spinal injury or much about internal injuries. There's a lot of swelling and bruising."
"Will he be all right?"
"I don't know," Sam said bluntly. "I'm sorry, Murdoch, but I just don't know. There's nothing we can do but wait and try to keep him comfortable."
They hadn't worried so much about Johnny, not at first. He'd broken his leg in three places and Sam encased it in a heavy plaster cast, from his toes to his thigh, after he set it. The doctor also bound his broken collarbone and put his arm in a sling. The boy faced a long, tedious recovery but no one had any doubt he would eventually recover, not until his temperature spiked and he developed pneumonia.
Scott opened his eyes at last, on the fourth day after the crash, but Johnny's fever was still soaring and his breathing was ragged. They tried desperately to bring his temperature down but nothing seemed to work.
"Johnny's fever finally broke early this morning," Murdoch told Andrew wearily. "And Scott is doing better too, although neither of them is out of the woods yet."
"I'm sorry," Andrew said. He meant it. He'd liked both of the Lancer brothers, the quiet, intelligent Bostonian and the fiery former gunfighter, when he met them in San Francisco. "What caused the crash?"
"I don't know," Murdoch said. "Scott doesn't remember what happened and Johnny hasn't been awake for more than a few minutes since his fever broke. Doc doesn't want us to talk about it yet with either of them."
He sighed, thinking about it. Something occurred to him suddenly and he turned to the lawyer.
"Andrew, why are you here?" he asked. "Did you say you'd sent a telegram?"
"I've sent a half-dozen," Andrew said. He hesitated. "I'm afraid there's some trouble over the Garth estate, but I can tell you about that later. You look like you need some rest."
"Tell me now. What kind of trouble? It must be serious for you to come all this way."
"It can wait," Andrew said.
"It certainly can." A stocky man, dressed in a rumpled dark suit, appeared in the door. He looked nearly as tired as Murdoch but still wore an air of authority. "Murdoch, didn't I tell you to get some sleep? Two seriously ill patients are more than enough and I don't want you on my hands too."
"I'm fine, Sam."
"I've heard that before, usually from your younger son," the doctor said. "But you're old enough to know better. Go on upstairs. I mean it, Murdoch."
"He's right," Andrew said. "Go on, man. We'll talk later."
***
"A lawyer has filed a challenge to the will," Andrew said after dinner, when he, Murdoch and the doctor had moved into the great room and Murdoch had poured brandy. "He's representing a client named Roger Allenby who claims to be old Duncan Garth's great-nephew."
"What if he is?" Murdoch had slept all day and looked much better. "Pepper is Duncan's granddaughter. Surely she has a better claim to the estate than a great-nephew."
"She does," Andrew said dryly. "That's not the issue. Allenby is looking for control over the estate and custody of the child."
Murdoch's face was thoughtful. "She's happy with the Fitches," he said slowly. "And I know George and Nell love her as dearly as if she was their own. But if this man is a blood relative, well, perhaps it's right that he should have custody. What's he like? Would he take good care of her?"
"He'll take care of her money," Andrew said. "I'm afraid that's his main interest, Murdoch. The man's a scoundrel. His father left him fairly well off, back in Scotland, but he ran through the estate in just a few years. He's a gambler. If it weren't for the money, believe me, he'd have no interest in Pepper."
"But Duncan tied up the money in the trust," Murdoch said. "He'd need to go through you and George and Johnny to get his hands on any of it."
"He's disputing the trust," Andrew said.
"Is he saying that Duncan didn't know what he was doing? That's not likely to work, is it? The doctor and the police chief can testify that the old man knew exactly what he was doing when he made his will, and so can you."
Andrew sighed. "No, that's not what he's saying. He's arguing that Duncan was coerced into the trust."
"Coerced?" Murdoch was baffled. "Who is supposed to have coerced him?"
"Johnny Madrid."
Murdoch stared at the lawyer. "That's a lie," he said, his face turning red.
Andrew held up a hand. "I know it is," he said. "Believe me, I know, Murdoch. But it could sound plausible to the court, if they simply present some of Johnny's past history and argue the old man was afraid of him. That's why I've been sending you telegrams. We need Johnny in court to testify."
"When?" Murdoch asked.
"There's a preliminary hearing next week."
Murdoch looked at the doctor, who shook his head. "There's no way," Sam said flatly. "That boy isn't going to get out of his bed for at least a week, let alone travel to San Francisco. His fever broke, but he's still a very sick young man."
"Can you postpone the hearing?" Murdoch asked Andrew.
"I can try," Andrew said. "But I doubt I can postpone it long, if at all. They're arguing that Johnny poses a danger to Pepper and the estate. The judge is going to want to hear the evidence on that."
"Johnny doesn't have the strength to lift his head off his pillow right now," Sam said. "Even if it wasn't all nonsense, he's no danger to anyone."
"I could use an affidavit to that effect from you, Doctor," Andrew said.
"You'll get it," Sam promised. "But I don't want you to say anything to Johnny about this, either of you."
Andrew's face was troubled. "He needs to know," he said. "He is one of the trustees of the estate."
"Not until he's a lot better than he is right now," Sam said. "It's hard enough to keep him in bed. I'm warning you, as his doctor, don't tell him about this."
***
Three days later, Johnny's blue eyes scorched his father. "Just when did you plan on telling me?" he demanded.
Murdoch sighed. He'd been so busy, between running the ranch and looking after his sons, that he hadn't paid any attention to the newspapers. He didn't even realize the story had made it into the newspapers. It had never occurred to him, when the Green River sheriff dropped in at the ranch and he let him visit with Johnny, that Val might mention the headlines about the Garth estate and the gunfighter.
Val had been horrified when he realized what he'd let slip and the effect it had on his friend. He tried unsuccessfully to talk Johnny into staying in bed. When that failed, he hurried downstairs to find Murdoch, apologizing profusely.
Hobbled by the heavy cast on his leg, Johnny had only made it as far as his dresser when Murdoch charged up the stairs. He was pale and Murdoch reached out to steady him. Johnny tried to swat his father's hand away and lost his precarious balance. Murdoch caught him as he fell and pushed him back onto the bed.
"What is going on here?" Sam Jenkins, who had been in Scott's room across the hall, appeared in the doorway. "Damn it, Johnny, I told you to stay in bed."
"I'm not staying in bed," Johnny said furiously. "I'm going to San Francisco."
"You are not," Murdoch and Sam said together.
"Johnny?" Another pale young man, one who was supposed to be resting in his own bed, appeared in the doorway. "Are you all right?"
Sam hurried over to Scott. "Neither of you has any sense," he said, exasperated. "Back to bed, Scott, right now."
Scott's eyes fixed on his brother. "Johnny, what's wrong?" he asked.
"Ask them." Johnny tried to pull away from Murdoch, who tightened his grip.
The blue gray eyes swung over. "Sir?" Scott said. "What's going on?"
Murdoch looked at Sam, who shook his head and guided Scott over to Johnny's bed, sitting him down against the headboard and pushing one of the pillows behind his back.
"You too," he said to Johnny. "This is a long story and you'll be a lot more comfortable while you listen to it if you get some support under that cast."
Johnny's face was rebellious but Sam suspected his leg already ached unbearably. He swung Johnny's legs up onto the bed. Johnny scowled but scooted himself backwards, next to his older brother.
"I'm going downstairs for a cup of coffee," Sam said. "The two of you are to stay right where you are, do you hear me? The next one of you who disobeys my orders is going to find himself heavily sedated, for his own good, so he can't possibly get out of bed. Is that perfectly clear?"
"Yes, sir," Scott said.
"John?" the doctor said. "Did you hear me?"
"I heard."
"Well, see to it that you listen for once," Sam said. "I mean it. I won't hesitate to give you enough laudanum to knock you out. I'm not keeping you in bed because any of us enjoys fighting with you."
"I said I heard you," Johnny snapped. He glared at the doctor, who glared right back until the younger man dropped his head. "Sorry, Doc."
Sam gave him a small, understanding smile. "I know, John," he said softly, pulling up the covers. He looked at Murdoch. "Go ahead and tell them. I'll be back later to check on them."
Two pairs of blue eyes fastened on Murdoch, who sat down in the chair next to the bed.
***
"He can't go to San Francisco," Sam said irritably. "It's out of the question and you know it. He's just getting over pneumonia - and not as quickly as he should be - and he still has a badly broken leg and a broken collarbone too."
"I know it's not a good idea," Murdoch settled into the chair behind his desk and rubbed his face wearily. "But he needs to go, Sam. Val brought a wire from Andrew. The judge won't postpone the hearing for more than a few days. Andrew will do his best if he has to defend the case without Johnny, but he's worried about it. And you know Johnny will never forgive himself if the judge takes Pepper away from the Fitches because of him."
"Could Andrew talk the judge into moving the hearing here?" Sam asked.
"Here?" Murdoch looked blank. "I don't know."
"Why don't you suggest it?"
"I will," Murdoch said slowly. "That's a good idea, Sam."
"It's the only way, Murdoch," Sam said. "Johnny really can't travel. He's better, both of them are, but he's going to be susceptible to another bout with pneumonia for a while and he's not strong enough for that. We nearly lost him this time."
"I almost lost both of them," Murdoch said gruffly. "I'm grateful for everything you've done."
"It's my job," Sam said.
"You've done more than your job," Murdoch said. "And my sons haven't made it easy, either of them."
Sam grinned. "They take after their father. You're not the easiest patient I've ever treated either, Murdoch."
Murdoch changed the subject. "Has Johnny said anything to you about the accident?"
"No," Sam said. "He hasn't."
"I don't even know which one of them was driving when the wagon went over," Murdoch said.
"Does it matter?"
"I don't know," Murdoch said. "Not really, I suppose. I just think it's odd that Johnny hasn't said anything about it."
Sam gave his friend a sharp look. He hoped Murdoch hadn't jumped to the conclusion that Johnny was responsible for the crash.
"I'm not sure he remembers any more of it than Scott does," the doctor said. "He wasn't nearly as badly concussed as Scott, but he did have a mild concussion, plus the shock from his injuries. And the high fever may have confused his memory too."
"Is it all right to ask him about it?"
"Yes," Sam said reluctantly. "Just don't push him if it seems to upset him and make sure you tell him it's nothing to worry about if he can't remember. He needs quiet and rest more than anything else right now. They both do."
Murdoch nodded. "I guess it can wait awhile longer. They could barely keep their eyes open by the time I finished telling them what's going on with the Garth estate. Johnny lasted a little longer than Scott, but he's fast asleep now too."
"Good," Sam said. "For now, you can leave Scott where he is in Johnny's room if he wants to stay there. It might not be a bad idea to let them keep each other company, at least part of the time. Just don't let them wander back and forth on their own."
"That's easier said than done," Murdoch pointed out.
Sam was wondering about something. "Murdoch, there's a lot of money at stake in the Garth estate and the timing of this accident sure is convenient. Have you thought there might be more to it than an accident?"
There was a short silence. "No," Murdoch said at last. "I hadn't."
***
Scott woke in his brother's room, puzzled at first until he remembered crossing the hallway earlier when he heard Johnny making a commotion.
He still had a lingering headache and his memory played tricks on him. Sam had told him not to be concerned but Scott didn't like the muzzy feeling he'd had since the accident. The last thing he remembered, before waking up in his own room at Lancer with a splitting headache, was stepping off the train in Cross Creek.
Johnny was still asleep. Scott turned his head to study his brother. Sleep left his face totally unguarded. With mussed hair and those long lashes resting on slightly flushed cheeks, he'd look about 11 years old if he didn't need a shave. Johnny looked innocent and oddly vulnerable when he slept, and it never failed to catch Scott by surprise. His self-sufficient little brother didn't often let himself look vulnerable when he was awake.
The youngest Lancer was on his back, effectively pinned there by the cast on his leg. Johnny never slept on his back if he had any choice. He usually slept with his back to a wall, or a rock when they camped out on the trail, his hand close to his pistol.
Scott wondered if the Colt was under his brother's pillow now. He decided it would never occur to Murdoch or Sam to put it there and Johnny probably wouldn't ask either of them for it. Scott didn't know if Murdoch realized Johnny still slept with the gun, poised to defend himself. It probably fell in the category of things Murdoch didn't really want to know about his younger son.
So many things fell in that category, Scott thought with a sigh. Murdoch and Johnny had a complicated relationship.
Johnny coughed and mumbled something in his sleep but didn't open his eyes. He settled down again with a sigh when he finally stopped coughing. There were dark smudges under his eyes and he looked exhausted. Something tugged at Scott's memory, something about Johnny looking worn out.
He'd fallen asleep in the back of the wagon. Scott remembered covering his brother with a blanket and thinking they were nearly home.
And that meant he had been driving when the wagon rolled over. He had driven light buggies and sleighs, of course, but he'd never driven a heavy wagon or a team until he came to Lancer. Scott wondered bleakly what he'd done wrong, but still couldn't remember the accident. It dangled just beyond his reach.
"Hey," a soft voice drawled and Scott found himself looking into a pair of incredibly blue eyes.
"Hello, yourself," he said. "You all right?"
Johnny shifted a little and winced. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said.
"Liar," Scott said softly and Johnny grinned at him.
"You're not looking all that great yourself, Boston."
"Johnny, I'm sorry," Scott said.
"Sorry? How come?"
"I was driving. It was my fault."
Johnny glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah? What makes you think so?"
"I remember now," Scott said. "Some of it, anyway. You were asleep when it happened."
"Maybe I'm sorry about that," Johnny said.
"That's ridiculous," Scott protested.
Johnny smiled again, a crooked, drowsy smile. "Yeah, Boston? Is that what it is when somebody tries to take all the blame for something that wasn't his fault? Ridiculous?"
Scott stared at his brother for a few minutes. Then he smiled too. "Guess it is, brother," he said, but Johnny had already drifted off again.
***
Pepper Garth wore a pink dress and hair ribbons. She was bouncing on the seat by the time the surrey pulled up and her brimmed hat was hanging down her back. Murdoch helped Nell Fitch out and then swung the child down and set her on the ground.
"Uncle Murdoch, I've learned to ride a pony," she announced. "And it's lots more fun than sewing or sums. Aunt Nell says you have lots of ponies here and you'll let me go riding. Will you?"
"I think that can be arranged," he said, smiling.
"Pepper," Nell said gently. "You've also been learning how to greet a gentleman."
Pepper looked guilty. "I forgot," she said to her foster mother. "Besides, Uncle Murdoch's not a gentleman."
Johnny choked. He was on a chaise on the porch, with strict orders to stay there. Scott sat next to him in a high-backed mission chair that provided support for his sore ribs and back, although not nearly enough for an encounter with Pepper. He clapped his hand to his side and struggled to keep his face straight.
"He's Uncle Murdoch," Pepper explained artlessly to Nell. She turned her attention to Scott and Johnny. Her eyes widened as she took in the cast on Johnny's leg, propped on extra cushions. The brothers each had one arm in a sling and Scott still had a bandage wound around his head.
"You two look like something the cat dragged in, chewed up and spit out," she said.
Johnny grinned. "We're glad to see you too, brat," he said.
Pepper stuck her tongue out at him when she thought Nell wasn't looking.
"Pepper," Nell said serenely. "Young ladies never stick their tongues out at their trustees, dear."
"Never?" Pepper asked.
"Hardly ever," Nell said. She kissed Scott and Johnny, looking at both of them with concern. Her hand smoothed Johnny's hair. "You two gave us quite a scare."
"Sorry, ma'am," Scott said.
"Aunt Nell," she reminded him. "Not ma'am. You're too thin, dear. Both of you are."
"Tell Doc he should let us have a steak instead of broth," Johnny suggested, giving her one of his lost boy looks, the one patented to make most women yearn to feed him.
"I'll make you a nice, nourishing custard," she promised.
Custard was not what Johnny had in mind, especially since Teresa and Maria had been plying them with it for days, but he didn't show his dismay.
"Aunt Nell, would you like to freshen up before lunch?" Teresa asked. "I'll show you your rooms."
"Thank you, dear," Nell said. Teresa ushered Nell and Pepper inside while Murdoch took George into the great room for a drink.
"Are the boys really all right?" George asked.
"They will be," Murdoch said. "I'm not so sure the rest of us will survive. Doc says Johnny won't be able to put any weight on that leg for weeks and he's already driving us crazy. Neither of them is a model patient, but Johnny is impossible."
"A lot depends on his testimony. You're sure the hearing isn't going to be too much for him?"
"He'll do his best, George," Murdoch said. "When is the judge arriving?"
"This afternoon," George said gloomily. "He wants to look the place over before he begins the hearing tomorrow morning."
"It will be all right," Murdoch said, refilling his friend's glass.
"I hope so," the banker said. "Murdoch, I don't know what we'll do, Nell and I, if we lose Pepper. I don't give a damn about the trust but we can't lose Pepper."
"You won't," Murdoch said, praying that he was right.
***
Murdoch clenched his fists as a detective testified about Johnny's career as a gunfighter. He already knew most of what the man had to say, but hadn't heard it recited baldly in his own house, in front of a stern-faced judge.
"Easy," Scott said softly, under his breath. He shot a warning look at his father. It wouldn't help matters any if Murdoch lost his temper.
They were in the great room, where chairs had been set up in front of Murdoch's desk. The judge sat behind the desk, in Murdoch's own favorite chair.
Johnny wasn't in the room. He was dozing on the chaise in the sun. Jelly was keeping him company and a watchful eye on him. Scott regretted that he hadn't stayed outside on the porch too. He didn't need to sit inside listening to a stranger describe his brother's life.
It sounded so brutal, Scott thought. To hear the detective tell it, Johnny Madrid had left a trail of blood across the border. Scott wondered, not for the first time, how his brother had survived those years.
Andrew called Murdoch to the stand late in the morning. "Mr. Lancer, how old was your son when his mother left you, taking him with her?"
"Not quite two," Murdoch answered.
"And how old was he when she died?"
"Ten," Murdoch said.
"You had no idea where he was?"
Murdoch shook his head. "No. Not until last year." He glared at the detective. "I hired the Pinkertons to look for him but they didn't locate him until last year."
"Who took care of him after his mother died?"
Murdoch looked at him blankly. "No one. He was on his own."
Allenby's lawyer rose when his turn came. "Mr. Lancer, is it fair to say you were surprised when the Pinkertons told you that your son was Johnny Madrid?"
"Yes," Murdoch said shortly.
"Were you ashamed?"
"Objection," Andrew said.
The judge shook his head. "I'm going to allow it," he said. "Answer the question, Mr. Lancer."
Murdoch was red. "Yes," he finally growled.
"Based on what you knew about your son's reputation, were you concerned that he posed a danger to you, the rest of your family or to your neighbors?"
"Objection!" Andrew said.
"Overruled," the judge said. "That's a fair question, Mr. Cameron. The witness will answer it."
Murdoch looked furious but he answered honestly. "Yes."
Andrew called Johnny after lunch. Murdoch helped him into the room and settled him into a chair, carefully lifting his cast onto a footstool.
The judge gave Johnny a puzzled look. He wore a white shirt and tie, at Andrew's request, and dark trousers slit down one side to slide over his cast. His arm still rested in a sling. He'd lost weight since the crash and his clothes were too big.
"You're John Madrid?" the judge said.
"I go by Lancer now," Johnny said softly. "Sir." Andrew had instructed him to say sir.
"How old are you, Mr. Lancer?" the judge asked.
"Twenty."
He didn't look it, Scott realized. Right now, he looked like a kid, a fragile kid who should be in bed, not sitting in a witness chair. Johnny still hadn't completely shaken off his pneumonia or a persistent low fever. Nell was right, Scott thought, taking a good look at his brother. He was much too thin.
"Are you under a doctor's care, young man?" the judge asked.
"Yes, sir," Johnny said. "But I'm fine."
The judge looked around the room. "Is the doctor here?"
Sam stood up. "Samuel Jenkins, sir," he said.
"Dr. Jenkins. You submitted an affidavit, I believe, saying that your patient was unable to travel."
"That's correct," Sam said.
"Are you satisfied that he's well enough to be testifying here today?"
Sam hesitated. "I know it's important that he testify," he said.
"You didn't answer my question, Doctor."
"I'm satisfied it would do him more harm if I stopped him than it will to let him testify," Sam said. "I would prefer it wasn't necessary."
The judge nodded. "Let's try to keep this brief, gentlemen," he said. "Mr. Cameron, proceed."
***
It wasn't brief. Andrew took Johnny through the day he met Pepper on the street, the girls' disappearance after the hotel fire and the meeting with Duncan Garth in his hospital room. Johnny was drooping by the time they got to the shoot-out with Slade, and the judge called a recess before Allenby's lawyer cross-examined him.
"Maybe this should wait until tomorrow," Sam suggested.
"No!" Johnny opened his eyes. "Sam, I want to get this over with. I'm all right."
"Scott, you've had enough too," Sam said. "More than enough."
Scott shook his head stubbornly. "If Johnny's staying, so am I."
Sam sighed but he didn't push it.
Something was bothering Scott, just at the edge of his unreliable memory, as Johnny started to answer the other lawyer's questions. Allenby was sitting in the front row, a half-smile on his face. Scott had seen that smirk before but he couldn't remember where or when. He just couldn't remember. His head started to ache again with the effort of trying.
Allenby's lawyer had a headache too. He had thought this was going to be easy when he first heard about Johnny Madrid, so easy that he had concentrated all his efforts on that aspect of the case.
When Johnny sat down in the witness chair, the lawyer saw his work falling to ashes. From everything he'd heard, he had formed a picture in his mind, a dark, dangerous picture, and he'd spent the entire morning painting it. He was as surprised as the judge when he saw the boy for the first time.
He cursed to himself and set about trying to restore his original picture.
"I understand that you're just recovering from a serious accident," he said to Johnny. "But your leg wasn't in a cast when you met Duncan Garth, was it?"
"No, sir."
"And your arm wasn't in a sling?"
Johnny's eyes widened. "Yes," he said.
"You mean no, don't you? Your arm was not in a sling, is that correct?"
"No," Johnny said.
Andrew rose, trying to keep the smile off his face. "Your Honor, Mr. Booth is leading the witness, who has tried to give him a truthful answer to his question."
The judge frowned and looked directly at Johnny. "Mr. Lancer, are you trying to tell us that your arm was in a sling when you met Mr. Garth?"
"Only because he asked," Johnny said. "Um, sir."
Booth groaned inwardly. He scowled at Johnny and decided to cut his losses before he ran into any more surprises. "No further questions."
Andrew stepped up again. "Your arm was in a sling, wasn't it, when you met Mr. Garth?"
"Yes," Johnny said.
"Did you have any other injuries from the beating you took from four of Slade's men?"
Johnny scowled. "Yes," he finally said, reluctantly.
"In fact, a doctor had ordered you to rest quietly at the time, hadn't he?"
"That was before Slade took Teresa and Pepper," Johnny said.
"So you disregarded your doctor's orders to go looking for your foster sister and for Mary Elizabeth Garth?"
Johnny glanced uneasily at Murdoch and Sam. "Yes."
Andrew strolled across the room and turned, facing Johnny. "The court heard a great deal this morning about Johnny Madrid. You used to go by that name, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Did Mr. Garth know you were Johnny Madrid?"
"I don't know," Johnny said.
"You didn't tell him?"
"No. Why would I?"
"Did you tell him you were a gunfighter?"
"No."
"Did anyone else tell him?"
"I don't know."
"When you were a gunfighter, a lot of people you met were afraid of you, weren't they?" Andrew asked.
Johnny gave him a puzzled look. "Yes."
"Some people are still afraid of you if they know you were Johnny Madrid, aren't they?"
"Yes."
"Was Mr. Garth afraid of you?"
The question made Johnny smile, just as Andrew had hoped it would. The smile lit the boy's face. "That old man wasn't afraid of anybody," he said.
"No further questions."
***
"I'm sorry, but Johnny needs to be in the room for closing arguments," Andrew said during another recess. "I can ask the judge to put them off until tomorrow but he needs to be here if the judge decides to proceed. I want the judge to see Johnny right in front of him while Booth talks about Madrid intimidating Duncan."
"That is not a good idea," Sam said.
"I'm fine, Doc," Johnny protested. "And I want to hear the rest of it anyway. But Scott don't need to hear any more."
The doctor turned his attention to the older Lancer brother and swore under his breath. "Scott?" he said. "What's wrong? Are you feeling dizzy?"
Scott held his head in his hands. "I can't remember. I know I should, but I can't."
"What are you trying to remember, son?" Sam's voice was gentle.
"Allenby," Scott said, to their surprise. "I've seen him somewhere."
Johnny tried to get up but Murdoch stopped him. "He was in Cross Creek, Boston," Johnny said, his eyes fastened on his brother. "That's where you saw him. Stop worrying about it."
"What?" Andrew stared at Johnny. "What do you mean, he was in Cross Creek? When was this? Not when you met Scott there, before the accident?"
"Yeah," Johnny said. "He was on the platform, him and another man. I saw them while I was waiting for Scott."
"Are you sure?" Andrew asked sharply. "Why didn't you say anything earlier?"
"I didn't know who he was until I saw him this afternoon," Johnny pointed out.
Murdoch frowned at his younger son. "Johnny, what happened that day? How did the wagon overturn?"
Johnny looked up at his father, an odd expression on his face. "I don't know."
"You don't remember the accident either?"
"No," Johnny said flatly. He lifted his chin, almost as if he was daring Murdoch to question him.
"Johnny," Scott said. His eyes moved from his brother to their father. "Sir, he doesn't remember because he was completely exhausted and fell asleep in the back of the wagon."
"You were driving?" Murdoch's surprise showed, all too plainly. He knew his older son, unused to handling a team, tended to drive a lot more slowly than his reckless younger son. Johnny was good with a team but Murdoch had spoken to him more than once about going too fast. He had assumed that Johnny was driving when the wagon went over.
"Yes, sir."
"But you can't remember why the wagon tipped over?"
"No," Scott said wearily. "I've tried and tried, and I just can't."
"Maybe it had some help," Andrew said grimly. "Johnny, did you see anything? Or hear anything?"
Johnny shook his head. "I only woke when I was thrown out. I don't know why we went over."
"You didn't see Allenby again after you left Cross Creek?"
"Nope," Johnny said.
"Did you see anyone else that day, on the road?"
"We saw a couple of the Circle W hands in the morning," Johnny said.
Scott's memory gave up another fragment. "Slightly Hanson passed us later, on his way toward Cross Creek," he said. "Johnny was asleep then."
"Murdoch, can you get the sheriff to talk to these people?" Andrew asked. "See if they saw anything?"
Murdoch left the room.
Andrew looked at Johnny. "I'm going to ask the judge to recess until tomorrow morning."
Johnny nodded.
***
Johnny was sitting up in bed, picking morosely at a cup of custard, when Pepper stuck her head in his door.
"How come you and Scott have to go to bed so early?" she asked. "It's not even supper time yet and he's already asleep."
"You didn't wake him, did you?" Johnny put down his spoon.
"Course not," she said. "Aunt Nell said she'd skin me if I pestered him."
"And she didn't tell you not to pester me?"
"I'm not pestering you," Pepper said, coming farther into the room. "I'm just visiting."
"Oh, yeah?"
"I would think you'd be glad to have some company," she said. "Instead of being stuck in this room all by yourself."
"That depends on the company," Johnny said.
She grinned, unabashed, and skipped over to the window. "The ranch is sure pretty," she said. "Uncle Murdoch took me for a ride this morning after breakfast."
"Did he?" Johnny's voice was absent.
"I saw your horse in the barn," she said. "Uncle Murdoch brought him an apple and some carrots. And so did Uncle Jelly, later on."
Johnny looked amused. "Both of them? Barranca is gonna be spoiled."
"Uncle Jelly says you already spoiled Barranca," Pepper said. "He says that horse is pining away for you. Uncle Jelly says you're pining for Barranca too. Are you, Johnny?"
Johnny sighed and changed the subject. "Since when is he Uncle Jelly?" he asked.
"Since this morning," Pepper said. "He said I should call him Uncle Jelly, so there. I like him. Do you like him?"
Johnny had heard a familiar footstep in the hallway. His eyes started to dance with mischief. "Do I like old Jelly? He can be kinda ornery, you know."
"Can he?"
"And he's just plain foolish about that damn pet goose. Did you meet Dewdrop?"
She shook her head. "I'd sure like to though. Uncle Jelly really has a pet goose?"
"Really," Johnny said.
"So do you like him?"
"Dewdrop?"
"Uncle Jelly," Pepper said impatiently.
"Oh, him." A floorboard creaked out in the hall and Johnny grinned devilishly. "I don't know if I should tell you what I think about old Jelly, Pepper."
"Why not?"
"That's what I'd like to know too," Jelly said, appearing in the doorway.
"Cause it might go to your head," Johnny said promptly.
Jelly aimed a swat at Johnny's head. "Boy, you're fresher than skunk cabbage in the spring. You stop filling this little girl's head with your nonsense and eat your supper."
Johnny looked down at the tray unenthusiastically. "I've had enough, Jelly."
"You ain't eating enough to keep a sparrow alive," Jelly scolded. "At least finish that custard. Mrs. Nell made it herself and she's going to be mighty unhappy to see it coming back down to the kitchen, I can tell you that."
"I'm not hungry." Johnny's voice sounded strained.
"Pepper, you go on downstairs," Jelly ordered. "Teresa needs you to help set the table." He waited until she was gone and turned on Johnny. "What's the matter with you? You're way off your feed."
"I'm not doing anything but sitting around all day," Johnny pointed out.
Jelly scowled. "You gotta eat anyway. Or you're going to find yourself sitting on your backside a whole lot longer."
Johnny leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. "Don't fuss, Jelly. Please."
Jelly gave him a sharp look. "Something said in court today that's bothering you?"
"I didn't hear it all," Johnny said.
"That what's bothering you?"
"I didn't say anything was bothering me," Johnny said with a flash of anger. "Other than some old coot who don't have the sense to clear out and let me sleep."
Jelly huffed and picked up the tray. "I can take a hint," he said. "Only I'm going to be back with your breakfast in the morning and you better clean the plate, you hear me?"
"Yeah." There was a brief pause. "Night, Jelly."
"Night, boy."
***
Murdoch stopped to check on his sons when he went to bed. Johnny was sleeping but Scott was awake and out of bed, to his surprise. The light was on, turned down low, and he was sitting in the chair, just staring into space.
"Are you all right, son?"
"Yes, sir," Scott said.
"You should be in bed. You need your sleep."
Scott glanced at his father and then looked away. "I'm not tired."
Murdoch sat down on the edge of the bed. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Scott paused. "Johnny asked me what you said this morning when you testified," he finally said.
Murdoch felt his gut tighten but he kept his voice calm. "Did you tell him?"
"No, sir." Scott's eyes were troubled.
"He may hear about it when Booth does his closing argument," Murdoch said thoughtfully. "I didn't even think of that this afternoon."
"He doesn't deserve to get kicked in the teeth like that in front of other people."
Murdoch sighed. "I'll talk to him in the morning."
"It's still going to be a kick in the teeth," Scott warned him.
"I couldn't lie. I was under oath, Scott."
"No, sir." Scott's voice was sad. "You couldn't lie."
Murdoch was growing frustrated. He thought his older son would understand, even if his younger son might not. "Scott, Booth asked me how I felt before I even met Johnny. All I knew then was what was in the Pinkerton report on Johnny Madrid."
Scott didn't say anything. His head was down.
"Scott?" Murdoch said.
"You also knew he was your son," Scott said finally.
"Booth didn't ask me if I cared about Johnny."
"What would you have said?" The smoky eyes looked up at Murdoch curiously.
Murdoch was stunned. "How can you even ask me that? Don't you know?"
Scott did think Murdoch cared. Privately, he thought their father was so hard on Johnny because he loved him and worried about him. But it wasn't so simple as that. Murdoch might love his younger son, but seemed wary of showing it. Scott supposed it had something to do with how badly Johnny's mother had hurt him when she left, and how much Johnny resembled her. Murdoch wasn't going to let Johnny hurt him too.
The two of them were so alike, quick to anger, slow to trust, and too damn proud and stubborn to back down or show their pain.
Scott had been alarmed, many times, at the angry arguments between his father and brother. Caught in the middle, he'd calmed down both of them. But he wasn't sure he could help this time.
"It doesn't matter if I know," Scott said aloud. "What matters is whether Johnny knows."
"He knows," Murdoch insisted.
"Does he? Do you think he knew this afternoon, when it was obvious that you've thought all along that Johnny turned the wagon over? Even though he's a much better driver than I am, you just assumed it was his fault, not mine."
Murdoch sighed. "I was wrong."
Scott looked at his father. Murdoch didn't say those words often. "You really need to tell Johnny that, sir, not me."
***
Jelly was fussing with a tray when Murdoch came downstairs the next morning. "Is that for Johnny?" he asked. "I'll take it up. I want to talk to him anyway."
The handyman looked dismayed. "Boss, neither of you is exactly full of sunshine first thing in the morning. Let me get some food into that boy first, while you set down and have your own breakfast."
"No, I need to talk to him," Murdoch said. He studied the tray. "Did Doc change his orders about their food?"
"Not exactly," Jelly admitted. "Only that boy ain't eating what Doc ordered. I figure we need to get something into him."
Murdoch's lip twitched. Jelly had filled a plate with scrambled eggs, a generous spoonful of Maria's spicy salsa and tortillas instead of soft-boiled eggs and plain toast. Maria said something to him in Spanish and added a tall glass of milk to the tray. He picked it up without further comment and headed upstairs.
Johnny was awake. He'd hopped over to the window and was looking out at the barn and paddock. Murdoch put the tray down on the table and picked up his own mug of coffee.
"Better eat while it's still hot," he said mildly, biting back his impulse to snap at his son for getting out of bed instead of waiting for help.
Johnny got himself over to the chair and sat down. He tasted the salsa first, a small smile on his face, but didn't say anything to his father.
Murdoch sipped his coffee, waiting until Johnny finished most of the eggs and took a gulp of milk.
"Johnny, we need to talk," he said.
Johnny took another swallow of milk and set the glass down. "Do we?"
"I testified yesterday."
The blue eyes glanced at Murdoch, unreadable. Murdoch felt his anger rise. Too often, when they talked, Johnny hid behind that damn gunfighter's mask.
"John," Murdoch said, keeping his voice even. "Booth asked me if I was ashamed when I first heard that you were Johnny Madrid."
Johnny picked up the fork and played with the last of his eggs, pushing them across the plate. The room was still. Outside, through the open windows, Murdoch could hear birdsong and the sounds of the men saddling up and getting ready to ride out to their work.
"I told the truth. I was ashamed," Murdoch said. "Only I wasn't ashamed of you, son. I was ashamed of myself."
Johnny seemed to be intent on his plate. His thick hair fell across his forehead, hiding his eyes. "It's nothing to do with you," he said.
"It has everything to do with me," Murdoch said. "You're my son, my responsibility. For a long time, I told myself this was your mother's fault, all of it. But the truth is that neither of us lived up to our responsibilities to you."
Johnny did look up at that. His eyes turned dark. "Murdoch, that's bullshit," he exploded.
"What did you say?"
"You heard me, Old Man," Johnny raged. "I made my own choice to pick up the gun. Not you, not her. Me. Just me."
"John, you were too young to be making that choice."
Johnny shook his head. "Maybe but I still made it," he said. "If you have a problem with Madrid, it's with me, not anyone else."
Murdoch didn't agree. His own eyes were dark too. "There were other people involved, son."
"Not then," Johnny said. "There was no one else, just me, and I decided what to do. If you're ashamed of Madrid, I understand, but don't try to say it's not me. It is me and it's always gonna be."
"You're Johnny Lancer," Murdoch said. "Not Madrid."
A sad smile turned up one corner of Johnny's mouth. "Same person, Murdoch. The name doesn't change who I am or what I've done."
***
Murdoch crossed the hall to his own room and sat down in the chair by the windows. He should be downstairs, for the hearing, but he needed some time to himself to think.
He hadn't settled anything with Johnny. If anything, he'd made things worse. They'd ended up shouting at each other again until Murdoch stormed out, slamming the door. That boy was too damn stubborn. Murdoch smiled wryly. Johnny was his son, no question about that.
And he'd hurt his son again. Murdoch dropped his head into his hands.
"Murdoch?" Someone tapped on the door and pushed it open. Nell looked in.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
"I'm fine," Murdoch said, realizing that the entire household must have heard the shouting. "Someone should check on Johnny."
"Jelly is with him," she said.
"Good." Murdoch knew the old handyman had a soft spot for his younger son and knew how to handle him too, better than he did.
"Murdoch, forgive me," Nell said. "But Jelly isn't the one Johnny needs."
"He doesn't want me, Nell," Murdoch said. "He told me to get out."
"I'd guess he wants and needs his father very much," Nell said gently. "He just doesn't know how to admit it, any more than his equally pigheaded father knows how to admit how much he loves his son."
Murdoch turned to the windows. "It's not that easy, Nell."
"No?" she said. "I think you'd be surprised at how easy it is. You do love Johnny, don't you?"
"Of course I do. I always have."
She shook her head. "No, Murdoch. Not the little boy you lost. Johnny knows you loved him when he was a little boy, before his mother took him away. He needs to know how you feel about him now."
Murdoch was silent for a few minutes. "Afraid."
"Not of Johnny," Nell said at once, her eyes full of concern.
"No, of course not," Murdoch said. "I'm afraid I'm going to lose him again, Nell."
"Have you told him that?"
Murdoch shook his head. "We don't talk very well, the two of us. You heard, just now, what happened when I tried to talk to him about yesterday. I wanted to tell him I wasn't ashamed of him and it all went wrong."
She hesitated. "You do have to tell him the truth. You are ashamed of Johnny Madrid, aren't you?"
"That's not Johnny. He's not doing that any more."
"Murdoch, you're proud of the fact that Scott graduated from Harvard, aren't you?"
"Of course." The sudden change of subject puzzled Murdoch.
"And his military service, you're proud of that too, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Even though Scott's not attending Harvard or serving in the military any more, you still take pride in what he did before he came home to Lancer. It's all part of who he is, isn't it? And both boys know how you feel about it."
Murdoch opened his mouth and closed it again.
"Johnny Madrid is part of Johnny," Nell said. "You have to face up to that, Murdoch. Johnny isn't going to know where he stands until you can."
"But he's not like anything like Madrid," Murdoch said. "Not really."
"He's not like what?"
"He's not a cold-blooded killer," Murdoch said.
"Are you really so sure that Madrid was a cold-blooded killer?" she asked.
"You've heard the stories, Nell," Murdoch said. "You heard that detective yesterday."
"I don't think I heard the whole story yesterday," she said. "I know Johnny Lancer killed Quentin Slade a few months ago, but I know why and I know it wasn't in cold blood. I'm grateful for what he did."
"He hired out his gun for money, Nell."
"To just anyone, for anything? Do you truly believe that, Murdoch?"
Murdoch hunched his shoulders. "I don't know," he said slowly.
"Perhaps you should ask him," she suggested.
***
Murdoch didn't have time to talk to Johnny before the judge arrived and the hearing started. He crossed the hall to help him downstairs, but Jelly had already taken care of that. Johnny's room was empty, as was Scott's.
Johnny was sitting between Val and Scott. He didn't look at Murdoch but Scott glared at him. Murdoch slipped into a chair behind them.
Andrew rose when the hearing opened. "Your Honor, some new evidence has come to light since yesterday. I'd like to call three additional witnesses, Scott Lancer, Jellifer Hoskins and Theosophilus Hanson, and I may want to recall John Lancer as well."
"Objection," Booth said.
"What's the reason for these additional witnesses, Counselor?" the judge asked.
"They can shed some light on the plaintiff's attempt to try to prevent an important witness from attending this hearing," Andrew said.
"Oh?" The judge looked over his spectacles, his eyes suddenly alert. "While that would be a matter for the local sheriff to deal with, if true, it's not necessarily relevant to the issue before me, Mr. Cameron."
"I believe it's directly relevant to establishing the plaintiff's character and credibility, Your Honor," Andrew said. "And that would also be relevant to his request to be granted custody of a minor child."
Scott's testimony was brief. He still didn't remember the wagon accident. He testified that Johnny had met his train in Cross Creek and that he remembered his brother falling asleep on the way home, not far from Lancer. The next thing Scott remembered was waking up at Lancer. Jelly testified about finding the overturned wagon. Booth didn't ask either of them any questions.
Slightly Hanson was next. He was an enormous man who had a small homestead outside Morro Coyo and hired out as a teamster and blacksmith. He was dressed in overalls and a work shirt and held a straw hat in his big hands.
"Did you see the Lancer boys on the day of the accident, Mr. Hanson?" Andrew asked.
"Sure did," Slightly boomed. "It must have been just before they went over, about a mile before they reached the ravine."
"Tell us about it, please," Andrew asked.
"Well, Scott there was driving," Slightly said. "Team of four, on the big wagon. He ain't a bad driver for a tenderfoot, but he takes it real slow. He pulled off the road to let me pass by, going in the other direction. There wasn't room for both of us."
"Did you speak to him or his brother?"
Slightly chuckled. "Scott said how-de-do, polite as you please," he said. "Johnny was sleeping like a baby in the back of the wagon. That boy must have been plumb tuckered out because he didn't move and he's usually a restless sort of fellow. Scott told me Johnny had been doing both their chores while he was away for a few weeks."
"Did Scott appear to have the wagon under control?"
"Sure did," Slightly said. "Like I said, he was going slow, but he's not a bad driver."
"Did you see anyone else on the road that day?"
"Couple of strangers, earlier," Slightly said. "They were on horseback up by the ravine."
"The ravine where the Lancer wagon went over?"
"Yessir," Slightly said.
"Objection," Booth said. "From what this witness says, he was going in the opposite direction. I don't know what the point of this is, but clearly he's not in a position to testify as to where the wagon went over."
"I helped the Lancer hands raise it, few days later," Slightly said before the judge could open his mouth. "Guess I know where it was, Mister."
"Objection overruled," the judge said dryly.
"You saw a couple of strangers on horseback near the ravine, prior to the accident," Andrew repeated. "Is that correct, Mr. Hanson?"
"That's what I said," Slightly agreed.
"Do you see either of them in this room?"
"Yessir." Slightly pointed at Allenby. "There's one of them right there. Bet he can tell you just what happened to that wagon."
***
The room was quiet for a few seconds, as heads swung to look at Allenby. He sat still, a half-smile frozen on his face. Booth leaned over to whisper to him and he shook his head.
Scott felt light-headed, his ears buzzing. He dropped his head, hoping he wasn't going to make a spectacle of himself by passing out. Johnny put a hand on his arm and Scott squeezed his eyes shut.
An image popped into his head. He was sitting on the wagon seat, guiding the horses carefully. He had never liked driving this stretch of road. It dropped off into a steep ravine on the right, uncomfortably close to the big wagon's wheels. He heard a noise and looked up. Two men stood on the rocky outcropping to the left, above the road. Scott watched, his eyes widening, as they rolled a loose boulder down onto the road. He pulled on the reins, rising to his feet with the effort. Another boulder rolled toward the horses and they shied. Scott fought desperately to keep the team on the road. He looked up at one of the men, their eyes meeting, as one wheel slipped over the edge.
Inside the great room, Allenby turned his head and their eyes met again.
Allenby looked away first. He glanced at the judge, apparently calculating something. Then he rose to his feet.
"Sit down, Mr. Allenby," the judge snapped. "We're not finished."
"Oh, I think we are," Allenby said, backing toward the door. Val started to get up and Allenby slid a gun from his coat. He grabbed Nell, pulling her to her feet and holding her in front of him.
"Sit down, Sheriff," he ordered. "Everybody, just stay where you are."
"Mr. Allenby, this is outrageous," the judge said.
"Overruled," Allenby sneered. "Shut up, all of you."
Johnny reached out and pulled Val's gun from its holster in one smooth motion.
"Hold it, Madrid!" Allenby said. "You drop that gun or I'll shoot her."
Johnny stood up. He had the gun trained on Allenby, his hand steady. "Maybe," he said, his voice like ice. "But it's not going to help you any because you'll be dead."
Allenby stared at him. So did everyone else in the room. Johnny's face was calm, his eyes cold.
"You drop it, Allenby," Johnny drawled. "Nice and slow."
Allenby swallowed hard. "You're bluffing. You wouldn't dare."
"Think so?" The corner of Johnny's mouth lifted, just a fraction. "It's your neck. You want to bet on it?"
Murdoch knew, just as certainly as he knew his own name, that Johnny wouldn't risk Nell's life. But he'd never have guessed it from looking at him. The man holding the gun was Johnny Madrid, deadly, absolutely sure of himself and prepared to pull the trigger without a second thought.
Allenby clearly thought so too. He swallowed again, his hand trembling, and then lowered the gun, pushing Nell away from him.
Val moved then too, grabbing Allenby. Nell walked past George to Johnny and gave him a shaky hug.
"I'm sorry," Johnny murmured.
Nell cupped his face in her hands, her eyes bright with tears. "No," she said. "I knew it was a bluff, John. Thank you."
Murdoch moved over to his son, who immediately looked wary. Murdoch slipped an arm around him. "You need to sit down."
The judge was banging on the desk with his gavel, calling for order. Murdoch eased Johnny down into a chair, next to his brother, and sat down beside him in Val's chair. Scott gave both of them a worried look.
"Order!" the judge said. "Mr. Booth, do you have anything further to say on behalf of your client?"
"No, sir," Booth said emphatically. "I do not."
"Mr. Cameron?"
Andrew shook his head. "I believe the court has heard and seen enough," he said.
The judge smiled for the first time. "You're right, Mr. Cameron. I'm dismissing the plaintiff's complaint, with extreme prejudice. Young Mr. Lancer can be quite intimidating, as we've seen here today, but I've seen no evidence whatsoever that he ever intimidated Mr. Garth."
His gaze moved to Allenby. "Sheriff, I trust that you intend to hold the plaintiff for the local circuit judge."
"Damn right I do," Val growled. "Uh, Your Honor, sir."
"Good," the judge said. "I will be happy to testify about today's events, should it be necessary, but I don't anticipate that you will have any difficulty in securing a conviction."
The judge's eyes moved on, to Johnny. "Mr. Lancer, I'm not going to ask you to stand again because I doubt very much that you should. I am going to hold you in contempt of this court for that stunt you just pulled with the sheriff's gun."
"What?" Murdoch and Scott both started to get up.
"Sit down," the judge ordered.
"Sir, you can't hold Johnny in contempt," Scott protested.
"I said, sit down," the judge repeated. "I am going to hold your brother in contempt and order him to do exactly what Dr. Jenkins tells him for the next month. If I think it's necessary, I'll do the same for you, young man."
Sam rose. "Your Honor?"
"Yes, Doctor," the judge said.
"Could you make that six weeks?"
***
Pepper skipped across the yard. "Dewdrop is an awful good goose," she told Johnny, who was sitting on the chaise.
"Dewdrop?" Scott lowered his book. "You must be joking."
"Nope," Pepper said. "He made a fuss this morning when someone tried to get into the barn and take Barranca. Jelly heard him squawking and run out, but the varmint was already gone by the time he pulled on his britches and got there."
Scott's eyes swung to his younger brother. "Indeed?"
Johnny scowled. His collarbone had knitted and he no longer had his arm in a sling but plaster still encased his leg. He'd been complaining for days that the cast itched.
Despite his complaints, he'd behaved remarkably well since the hearing. Scott wondered if the judge would be available the next time Johnny hurt himself.
"Maybe Jelly should make sure Dewdrop stays close to the barn," Scott suggested. "Whoever it was might try again."
"Ya think so?" Pepper's freckled face turned suspicious. "Gosh, I better tell Jelly."
"Yes, maybe you'd better," Scott said gravely. He watched as she ran across the yard.
Johnny sighed and shifted on the chaise. Scott's mouth twitched.
"The cast bothering you again, brother?" he asked innocently.
"Not much."
"Good," Scott said. "The judge will be awfully disappointed if anything happens to that cast before Sam says it's time for it to come off."
"Think so?" Johnny said.
"I thought he made it quite clear," Scott said. "Didn't you think so?"
"I guess."
"Do you want me to read another chapter?" Scott asked.
"No."
"Johnny," Scott said. "It's only a few more weeks."
"It's three weeks until Sam takes off the damn cast and four weeks until he'll let me ride," Johnny said rebelliously. "I can't do it, Boston."
"You better," Scott warned him. "Otherwise, you're going to have Murdoch, Doc and the judge out for your hide. Not to mention your older and much wiser brother."
Johnny leaned back and studied the cast bitterly. Scott reached out with a smile and plucked a piece of straw from it.
"You don't really think you'd be able to ride now, do you?" he asked. "Even if you do manage to get past Dewdrop? Give it up, Johnny. You might as well behave because you definitely don't have any choice."
"I could shoot the damn goose," Johnny muttered.
"Only if you want Jelly after you too," Scott said, his smile growing.
Johnny said something in Spanish, far too rapidly for his brother to catch more than a few words.
Scott grinned. "Can you translate that into English for me?"
"Not anywhere near the house," Johnny admitted. He rested his head against the back of his chair.
"Johnny?" Scott said after a few minutes.
"Yeah," Johnny said.
"You and Murdoch talked again, didn't you?"
"Some," Johnny said cautiously.
"Did it help?"
"I don't know," Johnny said. "Some, I guess. He wants to know about things I don't want to talk about. Not even to you."
"Maybe you need to talk about them." Scott looked straight at his brother. "Sooner or later, the bullet always has to come out."
Johnny flushed slightly. "Scott, I can't."
Scott nodded and backed off. "When you're ready, we're both here. Just don't let it fester, little brother."
Johnny gave him a crooked smile.
THE END
Whistle, March 2005