Lancer stories by Whistle

We Gather Together

Scott Lancer unfolded the letter from Boston and read it again carefully. There hadn't been time to do more than skim its contents in town. He wanted to think about this before he talked to his father or to his brother.

He sighed. Johnny was all too likely to disappear when he heard the news. And that would infuriate his father and make his new foster sister sad. This would be their first Thanksgiving together as a family, and Scott was looking forward to it himself.

Why did his godmother have to decide to visit now, of all times? Scott smiled involuntarily, thinking of Miranda Macy Forbes. She was a force to be reckoned with, a very formidable force in Boston. Scott's mother had been her niece and favorite godchild and Miranda had imperiously claimed the same role in his life. Scott's grandfather had no choice in the matter, although his wife's sister had never been one of Harlan Garrett's favorite people - or vice versa. Scott's lip twitched as he remembered some of the more memorable encounters between his grandfather and godmother.

Miranda used both charm and an iron will to rule Boston. Her godson was usually favored with the beguiling charm of the woman who had once been the city's most celebrated debutante, but Scott knew Miranda could be just as ruthless as delightful.

He paused for a minute, wondering what Miranda and his equally strong-willed - and beguiling - brother would make of each other. Then he went back to the problem, which was to ensure they did in fact meet and Johnny spent Thanksgiving where he belonged, in his home with his family. His little brother had pulled vanishing acts before when they had visitors at Lancer and Scott knew exactly how he was likely to react to news of visitors from Boston.

He couldn't tell Miranda not to come. In characteristic fashion, she'd dropped a note to Scott without a thought for the fact it would arrive after she had already departed on the six-day train journey from New York to San Francisco. By now, she was probably approaching Chicago.

"Scott?" Teresa looked in the door. "I didn't know you were back from town already. Where's Johnny?"

"Where else, but in the barn spoiling a certain palomino," Scott said.

Teresa smiled. Johnny did love that horse and he took very good care of it. Of course, Barranca also took good care of Johnny. "Well, Barranca does deserve some special treatment," she said, straightening out Murdoch's desk. "Look at what he did yesterday."

Scott sobered immediately. They'd been rounding up the herd, moving it down to winter pastures, when a stampede started. Johnny had dismounted to disentangle a steer caught in a thicket, and he'd been in the direct path of the herd. He'd seen it bearing down on him, and whistled for Barranca. The horse ran to him and Johnny made a flying mount, kicking the palomino into a gallop as he landed in the saddle. They had shot away just in time. Scott and Murdoch had watched the whole thing helplessly from the distance, too far away to have a chance of turning the herd away from Johnny. He'd run Barranca with the herd, gradually moving out to the edges until he could get clear.

Scott had walked out to the barn himself that night to present the horse with an apple. His father was already standing outside the stall when he arrived in the barn, and gave him a sheepish look before patting the palomino and heading for the house. They would have lost Johnny, if not for the golden horse.

"It's ironic, isn't it?" Scott said to his foster sister. "All those years when he was a gunfighter, and he nearly got killed driving cattle just a few miles across the ranch."

Teresa shuddered. "I don't even want to think about that," she said. "We have a lot to be thankful for."

"Yes," Scott said, and looked again at his letter, sighing.

"Bad news?" Teresa asked, seeing his face change.

"No," Scott said slowly. "Not exactly. Teresa, can you keep a secret?"

"It depends," she said cautiously. Since they came home, both of her new brothers had roped her into a series of practical jokes. Only some had backfired, like the large bucket of mud Scott rigged over the bathhouse door just last week, the day Johnny tricked him into going the long way home and beat him to the bath. Unfortunately, Scott hadn't known that Murdoch rode in right after his brother, and Johnny let their father take the first bath.

"No, it's nothing like that," Scott said hastily, reading the dubious look on her face. "I promise. This is important, Teresa."

"All right, then," she said, sitting down.

"It's about Thanksgiving," Scott said slowly. "My godmother wrote from Boston."

Teresa's eyes flew to his, alarmed. "She wants you to go back there for the holidays? Oh, Scott. This was going to be our first Thanksgiving together."

"No," Scott said. "No, that's not it, Teresa. And I wouldn't go anyway."

"What is it, then?" Teresa asked.

"She's coming here. In fact, she's already on her way, along with her grandson, her companion, her butler, two terriers and probably close to a dozen trunks. They're taking the train to San Francisco."

Teresa's eyes widened and she looked around the room a little wildly. "When will they be here?"

"By the weekend, if the train is on time and the stage isn't delayed," Scott said. "I'm sorry, Teresa. I didn't know she was even thinking about this until I got the letter today."

Teresa was counting her fingers. "We need to air out the guest rooms. And wax and polish the floors. Can't I tell Maria?"

"Teresa, you don't understand." Scott looked at the petite, dark-haired girl with affection. He had acquired both a little brother and a little sister when he came west, and couldn't believe what a difference they made to his life. "I'm not worried about telling Maria. It's Johnny."

Teresa went still. "Oh, no," she said.

"Oh, yes," Scott said.

***

Murdoch carved the beef, and piled up generous slices on the plates, passing them down the table. Scott passed the bowl of broccoli to his brother, who promptly passed it along to Teresa without taking any. Murdoch didn't like broccoli much either, but he made a point of helping himself from the bowl, his eyes on his younger son. Johnny paid no attention. He was busy pouring gravy over his potatoes.

Murdoch sighed. It was far too late to tell his younger son to eat his vegetables. In a way, he suspected he should be grateful he hadn't ever faced that battle of wills when Johnny was seven. He wasn't sure he would have won then, any more than he would win now.

"Did you get the supplies this afternoon?" he asked aloud.

"Yes, sir," Scott answered.

"And you went to the bank?"

"Yes, sir," Scott said. "The money for the payroll is in the safe."

"You didn't have enough time to get a haircut, John?"

Johnny looked up. "Don't need one."

Murdoch disagreed, but he bit back his comment. He'd nearly lost this son a day ago, and the experience still scared him. He had never felt so helpless before. He'd watched his own herd thunder toward Johnny, powerless to do anything about it, and his heart had nearly stopped.

A day later, he still lingered on the sight of his younger son, miraculously intact without even a bruise on him. He just couldn't bring himself to start another argument over Johnny's mop of black hair.

Scott, at least, had stopped at the barber while they were in town. His blond hair was neatly trimmed. Murdoch looked from the unruly dark head to the smooth blond one, and a smile spread across his face.

Just a year ago, he'd despaired of the future. The land pirates had killed Teresa's father, his foreman and best friend, and left him with a bullet lodged in his spine. He faced the prospect of losing the ranch, and didn't even care. Teresa had kept everything going, setting aside her own grief. Murdoch looked from his sons to the girl, still smiling. He felt blessed. After all these years, both of his sons were home and he had acquired a daughter too.

Johnny looked surprised when Murdoch didn't say anything more about his hair. Murdoch noticed his son's tension, and the flash of uncertainty on his face. Then it was gone, and Johnny's face was expressionless. Murdoch wondered suddenly if he'd been too hard on Johnny lately. He was determined to tame his wild son, but he just wanted to keep him safe, and he hoped Johnny understood that.

Perhaps he should talk to Scott. Too often, something went wrong when he tried to talk directly to Johnny. They both ended up getting mad and Johnny usually stormed out.

He got his chance after supper, when Scott appeared in the door of the great room. Johnny had wandered outside and Teresa was in the kitchen.

"Sir, I need to talk to you about something," Scott said.

"I wanted to talk to you too," Murdoch said, settling into his favorite chair behind his desk.

"Of course," Scott said. "You go first."

"No, you go ahead, son," Murdoch said.

Scott hesitated. "I received a letter from Boston today, from my godmother."

Murdoch went still. He had been surprised when Scott agreed to give up his life in Boston to stay on the ranch. He still feared his older son would decide to return to the city and everything it had to offer him.

Scott glanced at his father. "My great aunt Miranda is a remarkable woman," he said. "And she's used to having her own way."

Murdoch still couldn't speak. His mind raced ahead. If Scott left, he didn't think Johnny would stay long either. Johnny probably wouldn't have stayed this long, if Scott hadn't been there to act as peacemaker. Murdoch wasn't a fool. He knew the bond between his sons, as different as they were, was far stronger than their bonds with him.

"I'm sorry, sir, but she's on the way here."

"What?" Murdoch looked at his older son. Relief flooded through him as the words registered. Scott wasn't leaving, at least, not yet anyway.

"She'll probably arrive this weekend. She says she always wanted to see California, and she's already left on the train for San Francisco. I'm sorry, sir."

"No reason to be sorry, Scott. Your aunt is welcome to visit," Murdoch said, although he couldn't help but wonder if this woman planned to persuade Scott to return to Boston, as his grandfather had tried to do. "Did you tell Teresa?"

"Yes, sir," Scott said. "I did tell Teresa. But I haven't told Johnny."

Murdoch considered it, his face thoughtful. "Your brother doesn't like surprises, Scott."

"He doesn't like visitors either. Sir, I don't want Johnny to take off and miss Thanksgiving with the family."

"No," Murdoch said slowly. "I don't want that either, Scott."

"I wondered if you had any ideas."

Murdoch smiled. "Short of tying him up and locking him in his room?"

"Yes," Scott said.

"No," Murdoch said, shaking his head.

***

Miranda Macy Forbes was a small woman, still as slim and as straight as she'd been at 17, when she dazzled Boston with her green eyes and auburn hair. The auburn had changed to a halo of silver curls, but the green eyes still sparkled with life.

She watched appreciatively from the carriage window as a golden horse raced across the range at breakneck speed. The rider looked like a natural extension of the horse, crouched over its back with an easy grace. They swept over a fence without any hesitation and cut effortlessly in front of the hired carriage.

"Magnificent animal," her grandson said, his eyes on the horse.

"Magnificent rider too," she said.

Peter's lip curled. "That rider is probably an ignorant lout with no appreciation of that horse," he said.

"You think so?" Miranda looked at her grandson. He looked like a Forbes, with his father and grandfather's strong bones, light brown hair and blue eyes. But there was also something of his mother's dissatisfied expression in his face. She had spoiled her only son, and Miranda didn't like the results. Peter, nearly 25, still expected the world to hand him whatever he wanted, instead of going out and getting it for himself. He was nothing like his grandfather, Miranda thought with a sigh.

"Perhaps I'll buy the horse," Peter said carelessly. "Just for a hack, while we're out here."

Miranda looked out the window at the palomino again. She had been a good rider in her day, and she recognized the special quality of the bond between horse and rider, the one that didn't come often or to many riders. She didn't think Peter would be buying this horse, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

The carriage pulled into the yard at Lancer, and Peter helped his grandmother out. They both looked around, a little surprised at the size of the hacienda.

"Aunt Miranda!" Scott said, appearing in a doorway. "I didn't think you'd arrive until tomorrow at the earliest. Welcome to Lancer."

She looked at him, smiling as she took in his range clothes. Scott looked like a cowboy. The sun had burnished his blond hair, and his smoky eyes glowed in a tanned face. He had filled out a little, she noted with approval, and his rolled-up cotton shirtsleeves revealed lean, hard muscle. He looked healthy and he looked happier too. Scott had always been such a serious little boy, with a hint of sadness in his eyes that tugged at her heart. But the sadness seemed to be gone now, and there was a new confidence there and a sense of purpose she liked.

"Good lord, Scott," Peter said, looking at his cousin's clothes with something like horror on his face. "Are you going native? What would your tailor say if he could see you now?"

"Hello, Peter," Scott said coolly. "I am a native Californian, remember? I was born here."

"And I think it suits you," Miranda put in. "You're looking very well, Scott."

"It does suit me." Scott looked at his godmother. "Come inside, Aunt Miranda. I want you to meet my father and sister. My brother's not home yet, but he should be here any minute."

"Your half-brother, you mean," Peter said.

"My brother," Scott said firmly.

Miranda's two Scotch terriers were busy exploring the yard. Her companion held their leashes tightly. Scott smiled at her. "Hello, Miss Greenway," he said politely. "I hope you're well."

"Very well, thank you," she said. She was a tall, angular woman who had served Miranda faithfully for more than 25 years. Few people ever remembered to acknowledge her existence, Miranda thought, including Peter. It was like Scott to remember her and greet her by name.

"And Denton!" Scott extended his smile to the dapper, silver-haired man who ran Miranda's household like a fine clock. He was already busy, along with the carriage driver, unloading the baggage. "It's good to see you. Let me give you a hand."

"That won't be necessary, Mister Scott," the butler said.

"No trouble." Scott took one end of a heavy trunk and swung it down to the ground. "Peter, come and help."

"You must be joking," Peter said.

"You're not in Boston any more, cousin," Scott said lightly. "We do things a little differently out here."

"Obviously." Peter flicked some dust off his polished shoes. He made no move to help.

Hoof beats sounded, and the palomino loped into the yard. The terriers barked and one of them pulled his leash away from Miss Greenway. The dog darted into the horse's path, and the palomino reared up.

Miranda watched, horrified, as the dark-haired rider on the golden horse fought for control. Her terrier ran fearlessly between the horse's legs, still barking. She started out into the yard, but Scott grabbed her.

The rider yanked the palomino sideways, spinning it in a tight circle and Scott let go of his aunt and ran after the dog. He grabbed the furious terrier and backed up.

"Boston, what in hell is that thing?" the dark-haired rider said when he'd calmed down the palomino.

"It's a dog." Scott handed it over to Miss Greenway.

"That's a dog? Looks more like Teresa's dust mop crossed with a rat," the rider said, swinging down to check his horse's legs.

"Is he all right?" Scott asked.

"Think he might have strained his foreleg." The rider glanced at the visitors for the first time. Miranda took in a handsome young face and a pair of incredibly blue eyes. His hat had fallen back on its strings, and a stray piece of dark hair fell across his forehead, exactly where most women would itch to push it back. She was almost 70 years old, and she admitted frankly to feeling the itch herself.

Scott took a deep breath. "Aunt Miranda, I'd like to present my brother, John Lancer," he said. "Johnny, this is my great aunt, Miranda Macy Forbes, my cousin, Peter Forbes, Miss Greenway, and Mr. Denton."

The blue eyes were wary, Miranda noticed, as she smiled at the boy. So, this was the gunfighter Harlan complained about so bitterly. From her brother-in-law's description, she had expected a swarthy, scar-faced desperado. She certainly hadn't expected this attractive young man. Put this one in a suit, and Boston's debutantes would go wild, she thought, her lips quivering.

"I'm happy to finally meet you," she said aloud. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Ma'am," Johnny said. He looked poised for escape.

"I thought you went by the name Madrid," Peter said.

"Lancer," Johnny said briefly. Barranca nosed his shoulder and he immediately turned his attention back to his horse.

"That's not such a bad looking horse, for a western cow pony," Peter said. "I'll buy him off you, provided, of course, that he's not lame."

Johnny straightened up, staring at the other man. His blue eyes had turned to ice. "He's not for sale."

Peter stepped backward involuntarily, and Miranda looked at the boy with even more interest.

"Johnny, maybe you should take Barranca to the barn and make sure he's all right," Scott suggested smoothly.

***

Scott offered his cousin the wine, and looked at his brother, who was sitting next to him. Johnny was wearing a freshly ironed white shirt and a much-hated string tie, which Scott had tied himself upstairs. He had intended to break the news about the visitors to Johnny tonight, and trust he would find some way to convince the younger man to stay, but their early arrival ruined that plan. His brother's face was rebellious and Scott figured he would be gone if not for the fact that Barranca had strained that leg. Jelly had applied one of his poultices and assured him Barranca would be just fine in a few days, maybe a week.

There was no way Johnny would take off while his beloved horse was ailing, and Scott figured he was safe, at least as far as his fear that his brother would disappear until the visitors left. He wasn't so sure about the safety of his obnoxious cousin, or the terriers.

At the far end of the table, Aunt Miranda was talking to Murdoch as if they'd known each other forever. Miranda had been traveling in Europe when her goddaughter met and married the Scotsman, and they had never actually met, but they seemed to have hit it off immediately.

Across the table, Peter had set out to charm Teresa, but that didn't seem to be working so well. Scott's lip twitched. His foster sister was polite, but disinterested.

They had persuaded Miss Greenway to join the family at dinner, but Denton had flatly refused. He helped Maria serve the meal and then disappeared into the Lancer kitchen. Scott wondered for a minute what the proper butler was going to say in the morning, when the family gathered in the kitchen for breakfast.

Jelly had joined them at the table, to Peter's open dismay, and was talking to Miss Greenway about the terriers. They were exchanging recipes for worming dogs.

"I hear that nag of yours did go lame," Peter said suddenly to Johnny, from the opposite side of the table. "I might still be willing to take it off your hands."

Scott sighed, his eyes going to his brother, and opened his mouth but Jelly jumped in first.

"You out of your mind?" he asked Peter. "Johnny ain't going to sell Barranca, no way. And you couldn't ride him anyhow. Nobody else never managed to ride that horse, 'cept for Scott here."

Peter flushed. "Really," he said coldly, staring down his nose at Jelly. "I can't imagine I'd have difficulty riding any horse on this ranch."

"Any horse?" Johnny looked up lazily through his long lashes.

"Any horse," Peter insisted.

"Nobody's riding Barranca for another week," Johnny drawled. "But I do have a few horses to break tomorrow. You're welcome to try one if you want."

Scott opened his mouth again, and closed it. Johnny had a dozen wild horses in one of the corrals, which he intended to break and sell to the cavalry. Murdoch wasn't fully convinced the ranch should go into the horse business, but he'd come around far enough to allow Johnny time to start an increasingly profitable sideline. Johnny now spent one full day a week off the range, training horses. The cavalry took every horse it could get from him.

Scott looked from his brother to his cousin and a smile hovered on his lips. Peter was asking for trouble, and Johnny was capable of delivering more than his cousin dreamed was possible. Scott didn't think it would hurt Peter to learn a few lessons he'd missed at Harvard.

Peter flushed. "If you can ride them, I certainly can," he sneered.

Johnny picked up his glass of milk and took a sip, his eyes on Peter. "Might not be such a good idea after all. Sure wouldn't want you to get hurt and spend any extra time out here recovering."

"John!" Murdoch growled. "Peter is our guest."

"Murdoch, it's fine," Miranda interceded, putting her hand lightly on Murdoch's arm. "Peter started this, not Johnny."

She looked at her grandson, a challenge sparkling in her green eyes. "Peter, do you think this is wise?" she said.

Peter's chin went up. "I'm sure I can do anything he can," he said.

Jelly choked, and started to sputter. Scott glared at him, and Jelly subsided, but he clapped a hand over his mouth to hide his grin.

"Peter, don't be an idiot," Scott said to his cousin. "These are wild horses and you don't know what you're getting into."

"I am perfectly capable of riding a horse," Peter said. "I did serve in the cavalry too, cousin."

"You served on a general's staff in Washington," Scott said, exasperated. "You didn't go anywhere near a horse unless you took a pretty girl for a Sunday drive."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "Not like you, right, cousin?" he said. "All of us can't be heroes and ride into an enemy prison."

"Peter!" Miranda said sharply.

Peter tossed his napkin on the table. "If you'll all excuse me, I think I'll retire for the night," he said, rising.

Scott had also started to rise to his feet. He felt a hand on his wrist, and started to yank it away. The grip tightened.

"Hey, Boston," Johnny said, so softly that only Scott could hear him. "Sit down. You're supposed to be teaching me how to behave at a company dinner, remember?"

Scott dropped back into his chair. Murdoch and Miranda were both looking at him.

"I'm sorry," he said stiffly.

Miranda smiled at him, and turned her attention to his brother. "Johnny, please tell me something about Mexico. I wish we had enough time to visit there too, but I have to be back in Boston before Christmas. Is it as warm there in November as it is here?"

Johnny gave Miranda one of his crooked smiles. "It's a lot warmer there," he said softly, his voice wistful. "And sunny all the time."

Murdoch looked up sharply, his face surprised.

***

"Scott, does Johnny miss Mexico?" Murdoch asked the next morning in the kitchen, before any of the others made their way downstairs.

"Sometimes," Scott said carefully, pouring coffee into his cup.

"I didn't think he'd ever want to go back there," Murdoch said. "Not after the firing squad."

"It was his home for a long time."

"Like Boston is for you?" Murdoch asked, meeting his older son's eyes.

"Yes," Scott admitted. "Something like that."

Murdoch sipped his coffee. He'd been a fool, he supposed. He'd been shocked to hear the longing in his younger son's voice when he described Mexico to Miranda last night. Johnny sounded homesick, he'd realized, even though he'd never really had a home before. He'd always figured that Scott would miss Boston, but it hadn't occurred to him his footloose younger son missed Mexico. From what he knew of Johnny's life there, he hadn't thought there was anything for Johnny to miss. He'd been stunned when Johnny described the marketplaces to Miranda, bringing alive the glaring sunlight, the bright serapes and flowers, the noisy, busy stalls, and the cool shadows of the adobe buildings.

"Good morning," a cheerful voice said, and Murdoch smiled at Teresa as she came in the door with a basket of fresh eggs.

"Morning, sweetheart," he said. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you." She moved over to the stove and got busy with breakfast.

There was a thump on the stairs. Johnny appeared and headed straight for the coffee pot.

"Good morning," Murdoch said. Johnny just nodded, and sat down at the table. He had learned to get up at daybreak, but he rarely had much to say until he had swallowed at least one cup of coffee.

Murdoch knew enough to wait until Johnny had finished his first cup and started on his second, along with a plate of eggs, sausage and biscuits.

"Johnny, you're not really going to let Peter Forbes try to break a horse, are you?" Murdoch asked.

Johnny didn't look up from his eggs. "It's up to him. If he wants to try, why not?"

"He could break his neck," Murdoch said.

Johnny shrugged. "I could too. My risk, my choice."

Murdoch paused at that. One of his objections to the horse business, never voiced aloud, was the likelihood his son would get hurt. Of course, that had been Murdoch's fear before his cows nearly killed his son.

"You have a lot more experience than he does, John."

Johnny grinned. "We all have to learn sometime."

"That's true," a clear voice said, and they turned to find Miranda Forbes standing in the doorway.

"Good morning, Aunt Miranda," Scott said, rising and pulling out a chair. Murdoch and Johnny also stood up as the older woman moved into the room.

She waved them down, and looked around the large kitchen, taking in the iron cooking range, the shining copper pots and pans hanging from the beams, the flowers and herbs on the window ledges and the big wooden table. "How nice," she said. "We always ate in the kitchen on Nantucket when I was a child."

"What's Nantucket?" Johnny asked.

"It's an island, off the Massachusetts coast," she said. "I grew up there."

"Not in Boston?"

"Heavens, no," Miranda said, accepting a cup of coffee from Murdoch. "Thank you."

"Do you miss the island?" Johnny asked. "Nantucket?"

Murdoch was surprised at the personal question from the son who usually headed for the door if anyone asked him any questions. Miranda didn't seem to mind. She smiled at Johnny.

"Yes," she said, green eyes meeting the vivid blue ones. "Nantucket will always be home. It's a special place. But Boston is my home now as well."

Johnny nodded, and went back to his breakfast. Murdoch looked at him thoughtfully.

"Aunt Miranda, Murdoch was just wondering if Peter should try to break a horse," Scott said.

"Probably not," she said serenely. "But he is a grown man, Scott. I believe the decision is up to Peter. As your brother so aptly said as I came down the stairs, we all have to learn sometime."

"Peter doesn't understand the risk," Scott said.

"Peter, like you, is a Harvard graduate," she pointed out. "He received the best education money could buy, along with every other advantage. There is no good reason why he cannot evaluate the situation and make a decision."

Murdoch was puzzled. Miranda didn't sound concerned about her grandson. He wondered uneasily if she knew anything about horses, and just how dangerous this could be.

"Aunt Miranda, I know you're an expert rider," Scott said, apparently reading his father's mind. "But you've never seen a wild horse broken, have you?"

"No, I have not. I shall look forward to it."

Murdoch was in the great room, going over the books, when Peter finally made an appearance downstairs. Johnny, Scott and Miranda had departed for the corral hours ago.

"Good morning," Peter said to Murdoch. "Where is everyone?"

"It's going on eleven," Murdoch pointed out. "They're down by the barn."

Peter had put on English jodhpurs and a pair of tall, highly polished leather boots. He was wearing a jacket and necktie and carried a short crop in his hand, tapping it on his knee. Murdoch looked at him, trying not to smile. "Son, I'm sure Scott has some work clothes that would fit you. Perhaps you should borrow a shirt and trousers from him."

Peter looked offended. "I am properly dressed for riding," he said.

"Not out here, you're not," Murdoch said frankly. He remembered his older son's first day on the ranch. Scott, at least, had the good sense to realize that what was appropriate in Boston made him stick out like a sore thumb on the ranch. He had adapted quickly.

His cousin didn't learn so fast, Murdoch thought, turning his attention back to the ledgers.

***

Peter could hear men whooping as he walked down the path toward the barn. They had gathered around a corral, leaning on the fence and watching while a horse bucked wildly inside.

Johnny was on its back, one hand outstretched for balance as the horse kicked and rolled, doing its best to rid himself of the unfamiliar burden. Peter watched, his eyes widening a little, as the horse succeeded and Johnny went sailing across the corral. He rolled as he landed, and then was still for a minute while the other men ran after the horse. Scott went over to his brother, who stood up and walked to the fence, limping a little bit. Scott handed him a canteen, and he took a sip.

His brother. Peter's face tightened. He couldn't believe his cousin Scott would claim that worthless vagabond as his brother. He'd heard all about the gunfighter from his Uncle Harlan, and about his inexplicable hold on Scott.

Scott had always been different, Peter thought. He had even insisted on enlisting in the Army when he was 18, even though his grandfather was more than willing and able to pay the conscription fee for another, poorer man to go to war instead.

Peter turned 18 a few months later but he had no inclination to go to war, not then. He had, of course, accepted a commission later, after he graduated from Harvard. His father's connections ensured an assignment to a staff job, far from the lines. Scott could have had the same kind of job if he hadn't been so foolishly idealistic.

At least Scott did have the sense to go back to Harvard and finish his degree later, but the war hadn't cured him of his quixotic streak, Peter thought. How could anyone explain his decision to throw away his status as Harlan Garrett's grandson, and everything that meant? And he'd thrown it away for virtually nothing. Surely, Scott couldn't think there was any comparison between what he had in Boston and a California cattle ranch. He couldn't have done this just for a chance to meet the father who had never wanted him or his half-brother, a half-Mexican killer. Scott had plenty of family in Boston, well-connected people from the top of society.

His grandmother apparently did think she understood. Peter looked at Miranda, standing near the fence and talking to Scott and Johnny. She was nearly as quixotic as her favorite godson.

Peter had no illusions about his grandmother's preference. He was her own grandchild, but Scott had always occupied a favored place with her. Peter's face twisted with an old jealousy.

His mother had fueled that flame for a long time, starting when Scott and Peter were just toddlers. It had grown over the years. They were only a few months apart and comparisons were inevitable. Peter wasn't used to second place or second best, not in anything. He'd measured himself against Scott for years. If Scott got a pony for his birthday, then Peter had to have one too. When Scott learned to jump his pony, Peter fought his fear and learned to jump too.

There had always been one contest Peter could be sure of winning. Peter had a mother and father who loved him, while Scott had none. Now Scott suddenly had a father and a brother too.

"I wondered if you were ever going to get up," Scott teased when Peter walked up to the corral. "The day starts earlier out here, cousin."

"Not for me," Peter said. He looked at Johnny. Dust coated his clothing and hair. "Looks like you've spent your morning falling off horses, not breaking them, Madrid."

"It's Lancer," Scott said sharply. "Not Madrid."

"Whatever," Peter said.

Scott looked furious, but Johnny shook his head at him. "You want to try it?" he asked Peter.

"Why don't you show me first how it's done," Peter said. "That is, if you dare get on that horse again?"

"Sure," Johnny said. Scott reached out and caught his brother's arm.

"Johnny," he said quietly. "Don't you think you've had enough for now? You've been at this for hours. Take a break."

Johnny pulled loose. "I'm fine, Boston."

The men looked uncertain, but they released the horse and scattered to the rails when Johnny said something to them in Spanish. He walked out into the center of the corral. The horse stamped its feet and reared. Johnny stood his ground, talking softly to the horse. Eventually, it moved closer to him.

"What is he doing?" Peter said, puzzled. "Isn't he going to try to ride it?"

"Shhh," Scott said. "He'll get to that."

The horse finally walked right up to Johnny, allowing him to touch it. He stroked it gently, still talking softly, and gathered the reins. He put one foot in the stirrup, giving the horse a minute to get used to the weight. Then he leaned across the saddle. The horse skittered across the corral sideways. Johnny swung his leg over and slipped his foot into the other stirrup just as the horse exploded into motion, bucking and twisting. Johnny rode it out this time, until the horse gave a final leap and settled down. Johnny kept it moving, taking it around the corral a few times, and then nodded to the men near the gate.

"Open it up," he called.

They swung open the gate, and Johnny pointed the horse at the open range. They shot off at full speed.

"Still think you can do that?" Scott asked Peter, following the horse with his eyes. Johnny swung it around in a wide circle and then headed back toward the corral, more slowly now.

"Well, I certainly can't speak Spanish to the horses," Peter said.

Scott rolled his eyes at his cousin. "Peter, the horses don't know Spanish or English. They're wild horses, from one of the canyons. Up until a few days ago, they probably never heard a human voice."

"That horse seemed to understand what Madrid - what he was saying."

"Johnny speaks horse," Miranda said, her eyes shining. "I've heard of this, but I've never seen it before, Scott. It's a special gift."

"Yes," Scott said, his eyes still fastened on his brother.

***

Scott watched dubiously as Peter settled into the saddle of a chestnut mare. He hadn't even tried to talk to the animal or soothe its fears. Johnny had picked out the smallest, least powerful wild horse for his cousin, but the mare still looked like a handful. The men held her, waiting for the signal to release her. Peter hesitated and finally nodded.

He went flying within a minute, landing awkwardly in the dust, flat on his back. Johnny jumped off the rail and offered him a hand but Peter refused it curtly. He stood up, trying to brush the dust off.

"You don't have to do this," Johnny said to him.

"Tell those men to catch that horse again," Peter ordered.

"Getting mad don't work," Johnny said. "The horse can tell."

"I don't care about the stupid horse," Peter said.

"Well, I do. This isn't a contest. The whole idea is to tame the horse for riding. You can't do that right if you don't think about what it's feeling."

Peter stared at him. "I told you to get those men to catch that damned horse."

Johnny shook his head. "Nope," he said. "You're done."

"You aren't in charge." Peter's voice rose.

"Yes, Peter, he is in charge," Scott said, stepping in.

Peter glared at his cousin. Scott knew the furious look in his eyes, and he met them calmly. Peter had always had a mean temper, even when they were just children.

"Scott, I'm not taking orders from a half-breed gunslinger."

Scott's fist connected with his cousin's jaw and Peter went sailing backwards again.

Johnny cocked his head at his brother. "This some new version of company manners, Boston?" he asked.

Scott's hands were still balled into fists. He was seething. He took a step toward Peter, and Johnny headed him off.

"Boys!" Murdoch called. He had walked down from the house and was standing with Miranda.

Scott's eyes widened as he realized his godmother had seen and heard the whole thing. He turned to her, dismayed, but she just shook her head at him.

"It would be perfectly all right with me if you punched my grandson again, Scott," Miranda said, her incisive voice easily carrying to all the hands. They snickered.

"It's nearly time for lunch," Murdoch said firmly. "Let's go back to the house."

Lunch was a largely silent meal. Johnny didn't show up at the table and Scott suspected he had gone back to the corral. Peter had taken a bath and changed his clothes. He had nothing to say during the meal. Murdoch and Miranda talked about ranching and the early history of California.

After lunch, Miranda asked Scott if he would take her on a tour of the ranch. He hitched up the buggy and brought it up to the front door. Peter refused to come along, saying that he thought he'd lie down in his room.

"It's beautiful," Miranda said, after Scott pulled the buggy up onto the rise above the hacienda. "I can see why you've decided to stay here, Scott."

"You can?" Scott was surprised.

"If I were younger, I might be tempted too," she said. "And I like your family very much. Murdoch is exactly the sort of man I would have expected your mother to choose, Teresa is a sweet girl and your brother, well, he seems to be a remarkable young man."

"Yes, he is," Scott said. "I wasn't sure you would approve of him, Aunt Miranda. Grandfather doesn't."

Her eyes twinkled. "I have no doubt at all John is a handful. But your grandfather is not always a good judge of character, Scott."

Scott looked down at his boots. Miranda sighed, her eyes on the hacienda.

"Scott, I'm worried about your cousin Peter. Unlike you, my dear, he has not found his place in the world."

"I was surprised he came with you," Scott said. "I thought he was reading law with Cousin Denny and was going to join the firm as soon as he passed the bar examination."

"That was the family's plan," Miranda said. "Unfortunately, Peter spent very little time at work, far too much time at play and he did not pass the bar examination. Nor will he ever pass the bar, not after the trouble with the accounts."

"The trouble with the accounts?"

"Peter has been running with a rather fast group of young people. He fell into debt and he drew a series of checks on the firm to cover his debts. Cousin Denny did not prosecute him, of course, but he was not pleased. Nor was Peter's father."

"I can imagine," Scott said.

"Officially, of course, this did not happen," Miranda said. "Unofficially, Peter will never be admitted to the bar to practice law in Massachusetts."

Peter's father was the chief justice of the state's highest court and his grandfather had been both a judge and governor. Scott knew this had to be a bitter disappointment to the Forbes family.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Miranda."

"It's our own fault," Miranda said. "I told Richard long ago his wife was spoiling their son. I should never have allowed it to go on so long."

"Peter is not your responsibility," Scott protested.

"No, but I might have been able to prevent some of this."

"I don't think so," Scott said, sighing, as he thought back.

She glanced at him. "You always had a good soul, Scott, even as a child. And Peter didn't, did he?"

Scott looked at her uneasily.

***

Johnny strolled over from the corral when Scott drove the buggy to the barn.

"You went back and finished up with those horses, didn't you?" Scott asked his brother.

"Yep," Johnny said. There was an ugly bruise on his temple, half-hidden by his hair, and Scott reached out, turning his brother's head to examine it.

"Little brother, you don't have any sense."

"I'm fine," Johnny said impatiently, pulling away and starting to unhitch the horse from the buggy.

"He was knocked out cold," Jelly observed from the barn door. "Near ten minutes before he opened them eyes again."

"Johnny!" Scott said.

Miranda looked at the two brothers. They faced each other, looking nothing alike, except perhaps for the stubbornness that was radiating from both of them.

"Scott, it's nothing," Johnny said. "Take your aunt back to the house. I'll look after the horses."

"I will look after the horses, brother. You will go back to the house, get cleaned up and consider yourself lucky if I don't tell Murdoch to get Dr. Jenkins out here. You know what they both told you the last time about taking it easy after a fall like that."

Miranda decided to speak up. "Perhaps Mr. Hoskins will take the horses," she said. "And both of you will be so kind as to walk me to the house."

"I'm happy to take the horses, ma'am," Jelly said, moving to take the lead out of Johnny's hand. "Go on, boy. Listen to the lady. She's smarter than you are, that's for sure."

Miranda smiled at Johnny and took his arm, walking firmly toward the house. Scott fell in on the other side. "I am most impressed with those wild horses," she said briskly. "They look like Andalusians. Is that possible?"

"Yes," Johnny said. "They're part Andalusian. The Spaniards brought them here, and some of them ran for the hills. They mixed with the Indian ponies, and a little Arabian stock too."

Miranda kept Johnny talking about horses all the way to the house. She sent him to the bathhouse, and dispatched Scott to get his brother some clean clothes. She then stepped into the great room. Murdoch was alone at his desk. He rose to his feet.

"Please, don't get up," Miranda said.

"I saw you walking up to the house with the boys. Is something wrong? It's a little early for Johnny to quit work."

"He took a fall and Mr. Hoskins says he was knocked unconscious. He probably shouldn't ride tomorrow," she said.

"He won't," Murdoch said immediately.

"Scott told him that too, but John didn't seem to be taking it very seriously."

"I'll make sure of it."

Miranda measured him coolly. "Can you?" she asked frankly. "Scott didn't have much luck with him."

"I can handle Johnny," Murdoch said. He smiled. "At least, I can try."

"You're a fortunate man, Murdoch Lancer," Miranda said, her eyes on him. "You have two fine sons."

"I know," Murdoch said. "I wish I deserved some of the credit for that."

Miranda looked at him. "I think perhaps you do," she said.

Murdoch shook his head. "Harlan raised Scott, not me," he said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. "And Johnny, well, Johnny raised himself."

"I'm afraid I don't know much about Johnny, other than what Harlan has said," Miranda said. "And I know better than to take him too seriously. Scott hasn't said much about his brother's background in his letters, other than to say he grew up in Mexico with his mother."

Murdoch looked down. "His mother died when he was 10. He's been on his own ever since."

"Ten?" Miranda said blankly. "He was on his own when he was 10 years old?"

Murdoch nodded, and Miranda shook her head.

"No wonder he's so independent," she said.

That drew a rueful smile from Murdoch. "I suppose," he said.

"He must have had a difficult time," she said.

"He's been through hell," Murdoch said simply. "Harlan probably told you he was a gunfighter."

"Yes, he did."

"It's true," Murdoch said.

"It may be part of the truth," she said. "I've only just met your son, Murdoch, but I don't believe that's all of the truth."

It had taken Murdoch a long time to reach the same conclusion. "Scott said you were a remarkable woman," he said.

Her lips curved in a smile. "Did he? Scott has always been very dear to me."

"What was he like when he was a little boy?" Murdoch asked curiously.

"He was very serious," she said. "He was a sweet child, always considerate of other people. He's a lot like his mother, but he also has a stubborn streak Catherine didn't have. I can see it in Johnny too. I imagine your sons both got that from you."

"I've been told I can be a little stubborn," Murdoch said.

She smiled. "One of the reasons Harlan was so shocked when Catherine married you was that she had never defied his wishes before. Scott is just as sensitive to other people, but once he makes up his mind, there's no talking him out of doing what he thinks is right. Harlan was furious when he insisted on leaving Harvard to join the army."

"But Scott wouldn't back down?"

"No," she said. "I certainly can't say I wanted him to go either, but I was proud of him for sticking to his principles."

"He hasn't told us very much about the war," Murdoch said.

"He didn't tell us much either, but we know he saw a lot of fighting before he was captured," she said. "He could have had a staff job as Peter did, but Scott wouldn't take it. He was seriously ill for a long time when he finally came home. Even later, when he finally started to get over it, he wasn't the same. He seemed to have locked himself up in a place where he didn't let himself care about anything. Coming out here has been good for him. I see more of the old Scott than I've seen in years."

"You really think so?" Murdoch said.

"Without a doubt," she said.

"He's close to his brother," Murdoch said. "It surprised me. They don't have much in common."

"They're brothers," she said. "My two sons weren't at all alike either."

"You have two sons?"

"I did." Miranda's face turned sad. "We lost our younger boy in an accident when he was only 16."

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you. It was a long time ago, but it never really goes away." Miranda looked straight at Murdoch. "You should treasure this time with your sons, Murdoch."

"I will," he said.

***

Scott tapped on Johnny's door and went in. Johnny was slumped in the chair by the window, watching as the crews came in from their jobs. He had pulled on clean clothes after soaking in the bath, but he was still barefoot and his shirt was untucked.

"You have a headache, don't you?" Scott asked.

Johnny sighed. "Don't fuss," he said. "I'm all right, Scott."

Scott sat down on the bed. "You're not invincible, Johnny," he said. "And you don't have to be."

Johnny sank a little lower in the chair, and didn't say anything.

"It means you don't need to pretend you're fine," Scott said.

Johnny scowled at his older brother. "I can figure out what it means. And I am fine, Scott."

"Johnny, you always say you're fine," Scott objected. "Even when you're bleeding."

"I'm not bleeding," Johnny pointed out. "Scott, I only got knocked out for a few minutes. It's no big deal."

No, Scott thought sadly, it probably wasn't, not compared to some of the other injuries inflicted on his younger brother in his short lifetime. Johnny had too many scars.

"Johnny, we worry. You're not on your own any more."

"I know," Johnny said impatiently.

"Are you trying to tell me you have a hard head, little brother?" Scott said. "Because I already know that too."

Johnny's smile flashed across his face, and then disappeared. "Scott, I know you try to look out for me," he said slowly. "And if I need you, I'll holler. But I don't need you to fuss just 'cause I fell off a horse. I've had a lot worse, and I can handle this myself."

Scott frowned. "Johnny, a concussion is nothing to fool around with."

"I'm not fooling around with it." Johnny's voice sounded tired. "If I wasn't arguing with you, I'd just be sitting here quietly, trying not to throw up. And it would probably work a whole lot better."

Scott stared at his brother. Then he lunged for the basin on the washstand.

Ten minutes later, Johnny curled up on top of the bed. He was a little pale. Scott spread a blanket over him and sat down in the chair.

"It's almost supper time," Johnny said, not opening his eyes. "Go ahead, Scott. I'm OK."

"I've lost my appetite," Scott said dryly.

Johnny grinned faintly. "Sorry, Boston. Your own fault."

"Shut up and go to sleep," Scott said.

"Mmm," Johnny said. He was quiet for a few minutes. "Hey, Boston?"

"Sleep, Johnny," Scott said.

"I'm getting there," Johnny said, his voice drowsy. "I like your aunt, Scott."

"I do too," Scott said, smiling.

"You and your cousin Peter, did you grow up together?"

"Yes," Scott said. "Aunt Miranda lived just down the street from my grandfather's house. I spent a lot of time there, and Peter did too, when we were children. He's only a few months younger than I am."

"Must have been sort of like having a brother," Johnny said.

"No. It was nothing like having a brother, Johnny." Scott's voice held a deep affection and Johnny glanced at him before he dropped his lashes down again.

"Did you and Peter fight when you were little?"

"Constantly," Scott said.

"Didn't your aunt get mad?"

"Sometimes she'd get exasperated," Scott said. "If we misbehaved, we were sent to our rooms."

The blue eyes opened all the way. "That's all?" Johnny asked, surprised. "When you got into trouble, you were just sent to your room?"

"Yes," Scott said.

Johnny shivered. Scott shot a look at his brother, but refrained from asking if he was all right. Johnny didn't say anything more. He let out his breath and his body gradually relaxed. His mouth was slightly open and his long lashes rested above his cheekbones. Fast asleep, Johnny looked years younger and far more vulnerable than he ever allowed himself to be when he was awake.

Scott tiptoed out and shut the door behind him. Another door opened, down the hall, and he found himself facing his cousin.

"Peter," Scott said.

Peter's face was tight. "Scott," he said. The cousins stared at each other for a minute.

"She told you, didn't she?" Peter said. "Bet she couldn't wait to tell you all about the family disgrace."

Scott didn't think this conversation should take place in the hall. He opened the door to his own room and waved his cousin in.

Peter strode in angrily. "Did she tell you?"

"If you're referring to Aunt Miranda and to the reason you left the firm, yes," Scott said, closing the door. "Keep your voice down, Peter. Johnny's asleep across the hall."

"You think he hasn't done worse?" Peter demanded. "Uncle Harlan told me all about your so-called brother."

"He is my brother, Peter," Scott said, his eyes kindling. "Get that straight, right now, and don't make any more mistakes about it. And Johnny's choices were a lot different from yours. He did what he had to do just to survive."

"Me too," Peter said. "I couldn't tell Father I lost all that money playing cards."

"Peter, there is no comparison," Scott said firmly.

Peter dropped into the chair, his head down. "Everyone in Boston is talking about this. Oh, it's all in whispers, behind my back. But they're talking."

"You don't have to stay in Boston."

Peter looked up, shocked at the idea. "Where else would I go?"

"Anywhere," Scott said. "You could start over, Peter."

"Like you have? Out in the middle of nowhere?" Peter shook his head. "No thanks, cousin."

"Go back then, listen to the whispers and live on the family money," Scott said. "But don't complain about it. You don't have it so bad, not compared to most people."

Peter dropped his head onto his hands. "You don't know the whole story. Scott, I still owe some people money. Some very dangerous people."

Scott was standing by the window. He turned at that, and sat down on the window ledge. "What do you mean?"

"You know how Father is," Peter said. "I couldn't tell him. He was already so angry about the checks. I couldn't tell him there was more."

"How much more?"

Peter told him and Scott whistled. "That is a lot of money," he said.

"I have until Christmas Eve to come up with it," Peter said. "They won't wait any longer. Scott, they'll kill me."

"Who are these people?" Scott said.

"A man named Cochran and his partners. They own a bar in Charlestown where some of us started to go. It's a dive, really, but there are rooms upstairs where you can play roulette and cards."

"How did you lose so much?" Scott asked.

Peter shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose the game was rigged, and I was a fool to play, but it's too late now."

"You're going to have to tell your father," Scott said. "There's no way you can come up with that kind of money."

"No, I can't, " Peter said. " But you could, cousin."

***

Murdoch looked down the table at his older son. Scott was moving his food around on his plate but he wasn't eating. He wasn't talking either.

His cousin was also quiet. Murdoch looked from his older son to Peter, marveling at the differences between them. On the surface, the cousins seemed to have a lot in common. They had grown up together, gone to the best schools together, danced with the same girls, served in the same army. They spoke with the same accent and they shared a lifetime of common experiences, as well as ties of blood.

And they were nothing alike. Murdoch liked Miranda Forbes very much, but he had no use for her grandson. He'd taken an instant dislike to him, only reinforced by his behavior today.

This young man enjoyed every advantage, growing up, Murdoch thought. Not like his absent younger son. Johnny's life couldn't have been more different. He had run wild on the streets, learned to steal food or go hungry and he'd rarely seen the inside of a school. He'd killed a man when he was only 10 years old, and he'd killed many more since. But Murdoch knew which of the two he could trust, and it wasn't the well-educated Bostonian with the impeccable background. It was his reckless, disrespectful son.

"Scott, is Johnny all right?" he asked quietly after dinner, wondering if concern for his brother could be what was troubling Scott. "Should I get Sam out here to look at him?"

"I don't think it's that bad, sir. He has quite a headache from the look of him, and he was sick, but I think he'll be all right if he just stays quiet for a bit."

"You're sure?" Murdoch said.

Scott nodded. "Why don't you go up and check on him?" he suggested.

"We have guests," Murdoch reminded him.

"Aunt Miranda will understand, sir," Scott said.

Miranda came out of the great room with Teresa and Miss Greenway. "If you gentlemen will excuse us tonight, we're going to join Maria in the kitchen," she said briskly. "I'd like to know more about Mexican cookery. And then I believe I'll retire early."

"Of course," Scott said instantly. "Good night, Aunt Miranda."

"Good night, my dear," she said. "Good night, Murdoch."

"Are you going upstairs to check on Johnny?" Teresa asked Murdoch. "Maria has some broth on the stove for him. Let me get some, and you can take it up."

Murdoch went up the stairs, carrying a mug of hot broth, and knocked on his younger son's door before he pushed it open.

Johnny sat up on the bed as his father came in. His hair stuck up and his face was still sleepy. Murdoch put the broth down on the table next to the bed and sat down in the chair while Johnny tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

"How's your head?" Murdoch asked. "And don't you dare tell me you're fine, Johnny. Or that you've been worse."

The corner of Johnny's mouth turned up. He picked up the mug, holding it with both hands and blowing on it cautiously.

"I still have a headache, but it's better than it was," he admitted. "And I already heard this lecture once tonight from Scott."

"Any dizziness?" Murdoch did not intend to let Johnny divert him.

"Not much."

Murdoch measured him carefully, and nodded. "No riding tomorrow, son," he said.

Johnny opened his mouth to protest and apparently thought better of it. He glanced at his father out of the corners of his eyes, and sipped at the broth.

Murdoch shifted in the chair, trying to find a more comfortable position. "I won't even try to make you stay in bed tomorrow. Just don't overdo it, all right?"

"All right," Johnny said.

"Did you finish up with those horses?"

"Yeah," Johnny said. "They're only green broke, but that's all the cavalry cares about. There's one who's really good and I think we should keep him."

"That young bay stallion?" Murdoch asked.

Johnny looked surprised. He nodded. "I didn't know you'd seen them."

"I do visit the corral occasionally, John," Murdoch said. In fact, he always looked over Johnny's wild horses carefully before his son risked his neck on them. He had noticed the bay immediately, and figured the ranch would be acquiring another horse if his son had anything to say about it. "Do you think we should geld him?"

"No," Johnny said quickly. "We could start a nice line with him. He's nearly all Andalusian."

"Johnny, I'm not so sure that we should start breeding horses again for sale," Murdoch said. "It's a lot of work, and we're already busy."

"Lots of profit, too. Enough to pay for extra hands when we need them."

"It's not that simple, son," Murdoch said. "We'd need to think about building another barn, and more corrals. And it would be a long time before we'd get our money back. We can get all the horses we need ourselves from the wild herds."

"There's enough space in the barn to get started," Johnny argued, finishing his broth.

Murdoch reached out and took the mug from his hand. "You should be resting, son. We can talk about this another time."

"What about the bay?" Johnny asked. "The buyer's coming any day now."

Murdoch turned the lamp down. "I already told Jelly to keep him aside."

Johnny smiled. "Thanks, Murdoch."

"Good night, son."

***

"You turned 25 earlier this month," Peter said to Scott after dinner, continuing the conversation interrupted by the meal. "So you must have control of your trust fund. It's probably set up just like mine. I don't get any control over my money until February, when I turn 25."

"Just what are you proposing?" Scott asked.

"Lend me the money. I'll pay you back on my birthday. With interest, cousin."

Scott didn't like the idea. Since he'd come to Lancer, he hadn't touched the money his mother's family had placed in trust for him, and didn't intend to use it. He preferred to live on what he earned himself, working with his father and brother. But he still didn't like the idea of using his mother and grandmother's money to pay Peter's foolish gambling debts.

"I'll sign a note," Peter said, watching Scott's face eagerly. "Please, Scott. Grandmother and Father are already disappointed enough in me. I don't want to have to tell them the rest of it. They've already had enough grief over this."

"Your father is one of my trustees," Scott pointed out. "You don't think he's going to notice if I suddenly withdraw $10,000 and then you withdraw the same amount three months later and it goes back into my account. I don't want to lie to him when he starts asking questions."

"Just don't put it back. Will you do it?"

Scott hesitated. He would do a lot to spare his godmother any grief, and her son too, but he wasn't sure it was such a good idea to help Peter hide the extent of his difficulties from them.

"Have you thought about going to the authorities about the gaming house?" he asked. "If it was a crooked game, you shouldn't have to pay."

"Are you crazy?" Peter stood up and paced nervously across the rug in the great room. One of the terriers, asleep on the hearth, opened its eyes and gave a low growl. "Cochran would cut my throat in a heartbeat. These are not nice people, Scott."

"All the more reason to bring them to justice," Scott said. "You're probably not the only lamb they've fleeced, Peter."

Peter shook his head. "No. Let someone else play hero. I'm not going to take the risk."

"Peter, you were going to be a lawyer," Scott said. "An officer of the court. And your father is a judge."

"I'm not going to be a lawyer now," Peter said. "Are you going to help me out or not?"

"I don't know." Scott stood up and went over to the fireplace to bank the fire for the night. "It's a lot of money and I'll have to think about it."

"It's only for a few months," Peter said.

"I need to think about it. I'm going to bed now. Breakfast, cousin, is at 5:30."

Peter shuddered. "I don't know how you can even think of living here," he said.

"I like it here," Scott said. "Are you coming up?"

"In a few minutes," Peter said.

"Good night, then."

He stopped in his brother's room. Johnny had apparently roused enough, earlier in the night, to get his clothes off and to climb under the covers. He didn't even stir when Scott came in. Scott picked up his brother's discarded shirt and trousers from the floor without even thinking about it, and folded them neatly. Johnny's room always looked like a whirlwind had passed through it. That wasn't so far from the truth, Scott thought, smiling at the idea.

For now, at least, the whirlwind seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Scott went out, and knocked cautiously on his father's door.

Murdoch was still up, reading in one of the chairs by the windows. His eyebrows went up when Scott came in.

"Is something wrong with Johnny?"

"No, he's fine, sir. He's asleep," Scott said.

"Then what's troubling you, son?" Murdoch closed his book and looked at his older son.

Scott would have liked to talk Peter's request over with his brother, but he wasn't so sure he wanted to talk to his father.

"It's nothing much," he said slowly.

"Sit down," Murdoch said. "Tell me."

Scott sat down in the chair opposite his father's. He had never really thought about it before, but Murdoch and his mother must have sat here too. Murdoch and Johnny's mother too, later on.

"What if you knew someone had done something wrong, and was in a lot of trouble, but was trying to keep it from his family?" he asked. "And he asked you to help him out?"

Murdoch immediately wondered what Johnny could have done now, but he kept his worry off his face.

"Is he asking you to do something wrong too?"

"No," Scott said. "Not really. Just to lend him some money, and to keep it a secret."

Murdoch hoped Johnny hadn't gotten a girl in trouble. He wanted grandchildren, but not that way. He had wondered uneasily a few times if he should talk to his sons about the amount of time they both spent chasing girls, and the need to be careful, but he had figured Scott was far too old for that lecture and Johnny probably knew just as much as his brother, if not even more.

"I see," he said carefully. "Is this something his family should know about, Scott?"

"It will cause them a lot of pain," Scott said. "I don't know if there's any benefit to them knowing about it."

"What if you don't lend him the money?"

"Then he'll either have to go to his family, or he risks getting badly hurt."

"Physically hurt?" Murdoch said sharply.

Scott nodded. Now Murdoch didn't succeed in hiding his concern, and Scott's mouth dropped open.

"No, Murdoch, it's not Johnny," he said hastily.

Murdoch relaxed. "It must be Peter then."

"Yes, sir," Scott said.

"Scott, there's an old saying that I've always found has a lot of sense to it, if a man wants to stay out of trouble."

"What's that?"

"Neither a borrower nor a lender be."

Scott kept his face straight. He knew Murdoch was serious. He'd seen the old-fashioned methods his father used to keep the ranch books.

***

Murdoch stared at his younger son. Johnny's idea of taking it easy did not even begin to coincide with his own. The boy was on the hacienda roof, hammering.

"Johnny!" he shouted. His son's head turned and Murdoch waved at him, signaling him to come down.

"Oh, dear," Miranda Forbes said, coming out to the terrace and following Murdoch's eyes.

"Didn't anyone know he was up there?" Murdoch watched his son cross the roof, two-and-a-half stories above the ground.

Miranda shook her head. "I assure you, no. I thought Johnny had walked down to the barn to check on that palomino. I certainly would have put a stop to this had I only realized what he was doing."

"You shouldn't have to keep an eye on Johnny," Murdoch said. "He's old enough to know better."

Johnny swung down the tall oak tree by the corner of the house, instead of bothering with the ladder, and jumped to the ground from the last branch.

"Something wrong, Murdoch?" he asked.

Murdoch glared at him. "John, you are supposed to be taking it easy today. What were you doing on the roof?"

"Fixing that broken gutter," Johnny said. "I promised Teresa I'd do it before the winter rains start, and then I forgot all about it."

Murdoch was speechless for a few seconds. "And if you had felt dizzy up there, what do you think would have happened?"

The blue eyes were innocent. "I'm fine. Don't even have much of a headache any more, Murdoch."

"Go and wash up before lunch," Murdoch said, itching to shake some sense into his son.

"He does seem to be all right," Miranda ventured, as Johnny disappeared into the house.

Murdoch sighed. "That boy is going to be the death of me."

She smiled. The French doors opened and the terriers charged outside, Peter behind them. Miranda knelt down to pat them.

"Peter, why do you have the dogs?" she asked. "Where is Miss Greenway?"

"I told her I'd exercise them," he said. "She didn't feel well and went upstairs."

"Thank you, but I think you should put them on their leashes," she said. "You saw how Nero behaved the other day when Johnny rode into the yard."

Upstairs, a woman screamed.

Murdoch charged up the stairs. The noise was coming from the guest room Miranda was using. He stopped in the doorway and saw his younger son trying to calm down Miss Greenway, who was in hysterics. She was still screaming, and Johnny's eyes begged for help.

"Leticia!" Miranda crossed the room and slapped her companion. Miss Greenway stopped crying immediately.

"Sit down," Miranda ordered, pushing her into a chair. She poured a glass of water and handed it to the other woman. "Now, take a moment to calm yourself, Leticia, and then tell me what is wrong."

Miss Greenway gasped. "Oh, ma'am," she said. "They're gone."

"Who is gone?" Miranda said.

"The Forbes diamonds," she said, wringing her hands. "I remembered you hadn't asked Mr. Lancer to put them in the safe last night or this morning. So I thought I'd bring them downstairs now that he's home again. Only they were gone. They were there this morning and now they're gone."

Miranda looked thoughtful. "Where were they, Leticia?"

"In, in the dresser," Miss Greenway sobbed. "I'm sorry. I should have kept them with me."

"The Forbes diamonds?" Murdoch said, remembering vaguely that Miranda had worn some kind of sparkly necklace at dinner last night. "What are the Forbes diamonds?"

"It's a family heirloom," Peter said, from the doorway. "A diamond necklace that's been passed down in the family. It was a gift to my great-great grandfather from a Russian tsar."

"Is it valuable?" Murdoch asked.

"Enormously," Peter said. His eyes narrowed and he looked at Johnny. "What did you do with it, Madrid?"

"Peter!" Miranda said. She put a hand on Johnny's arm as the younger man's eyes sparked dangerously. "Johnny, please don't pay any attention to him. I don't believe for a minute you had anything to do with this."

"Are you sure it was in the dresser?" Murdoch asked Miss Greenway. "Maybe you put it somewhere else for safekeeping?"

She shook her head. "The case is still there, but it's empty."

"We need to contact the authorities," Peter said. "Unless you want to come clean now, Madrid."

"Peter, "Miranda said angrily. " Don't make that suggestion again."

"I'll send someone for the sheriff," Murdoch said. "In the meantime, I think we should search this room."

"I think we should search his room," Peter said, looking at Johnny. "Grandmother, I know what you said, but let's be realistic."

"We'll search everyone's room," Murdoch growled.

"No," Miranda said. "We will go downstairs and eat the lunch Maria prepared for us, while we wait for the sheriff to arrive. He can handle this."

"I think we should call in the Pinkertons," Peter said. "A sheriff in a piddling little western town isn't going to be prepared to deal with the theft of the Forbes diamonds."

"If the sheriff feels it necessary, then I shall consider calling in the Pinkertons," Miranda said. "Miss Greenway, please lock the door to this room until he arrives and then give the key to Mr. Lancer to hold."

She folded Johnny's arm in her own and patted his hand. "Johnny, would you escort me down to lunch, please? I believe Maria has prepared some Mexican dishes for us today. They smell absolutely delicious and I hope you can tell me something about them."

***

Val Crawford looked the room over and blushed at the silk contents of the drawer where the missing necklace had been. His eyes bulged out when he asked what it was worth, and Peter told him.

"You're joshing, right?" he said weakly.

"No," Miranda said. "My grandson is correct about the value of the necklace, Sheriff."

"We're wasting time," Peter said impatiently. "Sheriff, I know who took the necklace."

"You do?" Val said. "Well, why didn't you say so in the first place? Who was it?"

"Peter!" Miranda said.

"Grandmother, I won't be quiet," Peter said. "It was Johnny Madrid, Sheriff."

Val looked at him. Then he laughed. "Now I know you're joshing me," he said.

"I'm perfectly serious." Peter's face was red. "I insist that you take him into custody right now."

Val grinned at Johnny, but his friend didn't smile back. "Johnny, you know anything about these diamonds?"

"Nope," Johnny said.

Val nodded. "That's good enough for me."

"Sheriff!" Peter said. "He has a criminal record. And he was in the house all morning. He probably faked his injury so he could stay here and pull off the theft."

"Peter!" Miranda was furious now. "I wouldn't talk about criminal records, if I were you, young man."

"Grandmother, you wouldn't," Peter said uneasily.

"Would you care to find out, Peter?" she said. "Apologize to Johnny, at once, and then go to your room. I don't wish to see you at the moment."

Peter looked at Johnny. "Sorry," he said begrudgingly. He spun on his heel and rushed out of the room.

"Murdoch, Johnny, I must apologize," Miranda said. "I am deeply ashamed of my grandson, not, unfortunately, for the first time."

"Not your fault," Johnny drawled.

Murdoch nodded. "Johnny's right."

Scott looked from his father and brother to his godmother. He had been silent because he was so angry he didn't trust himself to speak.

Murdoch met his older son's eyes squarely, a challenge in his. "Scott, I'd like to talk to you," he said. "Val, do you need us right now?"

The sheriff shook his head. "Miz Forbes, can you tell me something about what this necklace looks like? Diamonds are the ones that are kinda like pretty glass, right?"

She smiled. "Yes, Sheriff, they look very like polished glass."

"Scott, in my room, please," Murdoch said.

Scott hesitated, and then reached out and pulled Johnny along. "I think Johnny should hear this too," he told his father when they'd stepped into Murdoch's room.

Murdoch nodded and closed the door. "I think he should too. I just wasn't sure I had the right to tell him what you told me last night."

"What's going on?" Johnny asked, his eyes wary.

"Sit down, both of you," Murdoch said. Johnny sat down on the edge of the bed and Scott took one of the chairs.

"Scott, did you decide you wouldn't lend Peter any money?" Murdoch asked.

"Yes." Scott hadn't based the decision on his father's advice, but it wasn't necessary to go into that. "I told him this morning, after breakfast. He was angry with me. He said I care more about Johnny than him - which is true - and that he'd make me sorry."

Johnny's face was puzzled. "What did he need money for?"

"He owes someone in Boston thousands of dollars in gambling debts," Scott said. "He says the man will kill him if he doesn't pay him by Christmas Eve, and he doesn't want to tell his family."

Murdoch kept his eyes on his older son. "Do you think he took that necklace instead?"

Scott's head drooped. "I don't know what to think. I don't want to believe it. Peter and I aren't that close, haven't been for years, but we are cousins and we did grow up together."

"What about Miss Greenway and Denton? Are they trustworthy?"

"They've been with Aunt Miranda for years, since before I was born, and they're like family too." Scott felt depressed. "I don't think either of them would ever dream of stealing from her, sir."

"Can you think of anything else, either of you? That necklace didn't disappear all by itself. Johnny, you were here all morning. Is there any way a stranger got into the house?"

Johnny shook his head. "Don't see how. Miranda was in between the kitchen and the great room, mostly. Maria was in the kitchen too. Those damn dogs were running around and they bark if anything moves. Teresa and Denton were out in the garden, messing around with the flowers, and I was up on the roof."

"No peddlers came by?"

"No, nobody," Johnny said.

"Where was Peter?" Scott asked.

"He went down to the barn in the morning, after you left," Johnny said. "I thought he was going to go for a ride, but he came back real quick. I think maybe he ran into Jelly and got an earful."

Murdoch hoped so. "Then what did he do?"

"He moved around some," Johnny said. "I was in the great room awhile, planing that door that kept sticking."

Murdoch pictured the heavy French doors along the terrace wall. "Did you take the door down off the hinges? By yourself?"

"Yeah," Johnny said casually. "Had to close off the room, of course, and keep the dogs out while I was working on it or they might have gotten loose."

Murdoch fought a smile, although he also resolved to be far more specific the next time he told his son to take a day off and rest. "But Peter and Miranda both came in and out."

"Yeah, a few times," Johnny said. "She fussed some about whether I should work on the door, but it was already down and she could see it didn't make any sense to put it up again without fixing it. She made Peter help me put it back when I was done, although he was more trouble than he was worth."

"Is that when you decided to fix the roof gutters?"

Johnny gave his father a lopsided smile. "It was nice and peaceful up there. Restful."

"You could have just gone to your room, John," Murdoch said.

***

No one in the Lancer hacienda was feeling thankful the day before Thanksgiving.

Val told the Lancers privately he figured Peter had taken the necklace, but he hadn't found it and didn't have enough evidence to charge him.

They spent a few days tearing apart the hacienda, searching, but there was no sign of the diamonds.

Miranda refused to call in the Pinkertons. She blithely took over planning for the holiday and never mentioned her missing heirloom. Pies and cakes waited in the pantry, and Miranda had tied a cotton apron over her dress one afternoon to show Teresa and Maria how to concoct a genuine New England Indian pudding.

Miss Greenway took to her bed, inconsolable, and didn't come downstairs. Denton smoothly took over the care of the terriers, and polished all of the Lancer silver.

Johnny had returned to work the day after the theft. He had clearly had enough of company. He showed up at the house just barely long enough to eat and sleep. Murdoch and Scott watched him carefully, but didn't object aloud when he disappeared immediately after dinner every night. He didn't bother to come home for lunch.

Peter was nearly as quiet as Johnny. He tried again, the next day, to persuade Scott to lend him the money. Scott refused curtly, figuring Peter had taken the necklace and was just trying to divert suspicion. Peter barely spoke to him afterwards.

The Lancers decided not to say anything about Peter's gambling debts to his grandmother or the sheriff. Murdoch thought Miranda and Val should know. Johnny thought they should stay out of other people's business. Scott was torn, but cast the deciding vote against it.

He was surprised when Peter turned up on time for breakfast Wednesday morning and asked if he could ride out with him.

"I'm going to be checking fences," Scott said, trying to discourage him. The last thing he wanted was to spend the whole day with his cousin. "It's a long day in the saddle, Peter."

"That's fine," Peter said. "I'd like to see more of the ranch."

Scott didn't believe him for a minute but he shrugged. "All right," he said.

Johnny was in the paddock, talking to Barranca, when Scott and Peter walked down the path to the barn.

"How is he doing?" Scott asked.

"Fine," Johnny said, giving the horse a last caress and climbing over the fence. Barranca watched him go, then wheeled and loped around.

"That leg looks good," Scott said. "He's not limping at all."

Johnny nodded, and headed for the barn. The bay stallion, already saddled, pulled on the reins that tethered him to a railing out front.

"You're riding him?" Scott said, surprised. "He's still awfully green, Johnny."

"He's learning," Johnny said, swinging up. The stallion danced around and reared up, but Johnny kept his seat. He settled the horse down with a few words.

"Johnny," Scott said. His brother grinned at him.

"He's fine, Scott. He's going to make a real good cow pony."

"Just remember he's not one yet," Scott recommended. Johnny's smile flashed again, and then he shot off.

"I must admit he is a good rider," Peter said, watching. Scott shot him a curious look. He didn't know what Peter was up to now, but he didn't trust him.

"Let's go," he said. "We have a lot of ground to cover."

It was mid-afternoon when they finished and headed back to the hacienda. Scott looked up and saw his brother crossing the range on the bay, at full speed as usual. An idea occurred to him, and he spurred his own horse. Peter trailed behind him as he cut across to meet his brother.

"What's the matter?" Johnny asked, pulling up the bay.

"Nothing," Scott said. "I figure we have just about enough time to stop in Morro Coyo and get a beer, little brother."

Johnny considered it doubtfully, watching Peter come up behind his brother. "You really want to take him into Morro Coyo?"

"Not particularly, but he's here and I'm not going to let him stop me," Scott said. "Come on, Johnny. We haven't been to town for more than a week. And I don't know about you, but it's been a very long day and I'm parched."

Johnny thought about it some more and finally nodded. "OK," he said.

Scott smiled. "Good."

Peter looked around the sleepy cantina doubtfully. Johnny went in first, as usual, and quickly scanned the room before moving to his favorite chair in the back, up against the wall. Scott went to the bar for three beers. Peter followed him closely, looking a little lost.

Scott carried the beers over to the table, and sat down. He raised his own glass and tapped it against his brother's. "Happy Thanksgiving," he said.

"Yeah," Johnny said.

Peter took a sip, still looking around the room. There weren't many people in the cantina at that hour. Three men hunkered down at a table, playing poker, a girl in a low-cut dress watched them, and an older man sat at the bar.

The batwing doors swung open, and a noisy group of cowboys swept in. Johnny's eyes went to them immediately.

"Hey, Lancer!" one of them said, splitting away from the group. He was a young man, just about the same age as Johnny, with an open face and smile. "You riding that slow, ugly old bay I seen out front?"

Johnny's face was expressionless. "You still having trouble with your eyes, Travis? Or is it just your brain?"

Peter's eyes widened and he shot an alarmed look at Scott, but the other man laughed and sat down at the table.

"When did you catch him, Johnny?" he asked.

"Just about a week ago, Will," Johnny said. "The old stallion took them into the canyon during that storm, and I penned him in with some others."

"He sure is a good one," Will said. "But what does Barranca have to say about you riding another horse?"

Something flickered in Johnny's eyes. "Barranca strained a leg," he said. "It's going to be a few more days before I can ride him."

Will whistled. "Too bad," he said. "Hey, what's been going on at Lancer? I hear Val was out there Saturday, and something about a theft."

Johnny looked at Scott, who decided to speak up. "I have some family visiting from Boston," Scott said. "Will, this is my cousin, Peter Forbes. Peter, this is Will Travis. His family has a ranch in the valley."

Will nodded carelessly at Peter. "So what is this about a theft?" he asked.

"My great-aunt brought a necklace with her that's disappeared," Scott said reluctantly.

"Too bad," Will said. "My mama lost her locket last year and we tore the house apart, looking for it. Turned out the chain broke and it fell down the well. It came up in a bucket of water this spring. She carried on something awful about that locket. My daddy gave it to her before they were married. Course, we knew nobody at the ranch would steal it."

"It's probably not worth stealing," Peter said scornfully.

Scott froze. "I'm glad your mother found her locket," he said to Will. "It's time we headed back. Come on, Peter."

"I haven't finished my beer," Peter objected.

"Come on, Peter," Scott repeated, pulling his cousin up by his collar and propelling him toward the door. "Johnny, you coming?"

"I'll catch up later," Johnny said, not moving.

***

"Where is he?" Murdoch fumed, pacing across the great room. Lightning flickered outside, illuminating the dark landscape for a few seconds, and thunder rumbled. The rain swept against the roof and walls and rushed down the gutters.

Scott shook his head. "I don't know, Murdoch. He said he'd catch up, but you know Johnny. That could mean he was coming in a few minutes or a few hours."

"He was riding that bay stallion, wasn't he?" Murdoch said.

"Yes," Scott said.

"That horse is still half-wild. He's likely to spook in a storm."

"Johnny knows that," Scott said. "Maybe he decided to stay in town, Murdoch."

"I hope so," Murdoch said, although he wasn't confident about it. He could tell from the look on his older son's face that Scott felt the same way.

Dinner was over, and the women were all in the kitchen, busy with last-minute preparations for the Thanksgiving feast they planned to serve tomorrow. Peter had gone to his room, and Murdoch and Scott were alone in the great room.

Jelly hadn't come up to the house for dinner. Murdoch decided he'd go and talk to the old handyman. He was surprised to find Denton in Jelly's room, sipping at a whiskey and playing checkers.

"I didn't mean to interrupt you," he said. "Please go ahead with your game."

"No, I should get back to the kitchen and see if there's anything Mrs. Forbes needs me to do." Denton rose and pulled on his raincoat. "Good night, Hoskins, and thank you for the drink and the game."

"Night, Denton," Jelly said casually. "Any time."

The butler went out and Murdoch looked at Jelly. "I hoped maybe Johnny was out here."

Jelly shook his head miserably. "Wish he was. No sign of him, Boss."

Murdoch looked out the window at the rain. "Just how green is that horse, Jelly?"

"He's coming along real good, but he still startles awful easy," Jelly said. "Want a drink?"

Murdoch nodded and sat down. Jelly poured two slugs of whiskey.

"He's a good rider, Boss," Jelly said. "None better."

"He is good with horses," Murdoch agreed. "He's still after me to start breeding and training horses, you know."

"Yep," Jelly said.

"What do you think of the idea?"

"It ain't my business," Jelly said. "Only the boy does seem to have his heart set on it."

"Yes, he does," Murdoch said. "Do you really think he'll stick to it? It's a lot of work."

"Course he will," Jelly said. "He don't do things halfway and he's not scared of work. Neither one of your boys is. Don't you know how lucky you are?"

"I have an idea," Murdoch said. "Miranda Forbes said something like that the other night."

"She's a smart woman," Jelly said. "Shame her grandson is a worthless jackass, but that's not her doing."

"No, it's not," Murdoch said. "Any more than it's mine that my sons are fine young men."

"Now, I didn't say that, Boss," Jelly objected.

Murdoch went to the window again. There was a flash of lightning and he clutched his glass as it lit up the yard.

"What's the matter?" Jelly demanded.

Murdoch dropped the broken glass and ran outside. A horse reared up, its hooves flailing and its reins dangling. He caught at them as Jelly ran to help. They finally got the bay under control and brought him into the barn. His saddle was missing, and foam flecked his dripping coat.

"Jelly, get Scott and then go down to the bunkhouse," Murdoch said. "Tell Cipriano to get some men together with lanterns and hitch up the wagon. We're going to find Johnny."

They found the saddle in the road, its cinch broken. The rain had slowed to a miserable drizzle, but it had turned cold.

Johnny was sitting off to the side of the road, his head down and his arms wrapped around his knees. He was so still Scott nearly rode right by him.

"Johnny!" He dismounted and ran to his brother. "Where are you hurt?"

Murdoch was right behind him. "Careful with him, Scott," he said. "Johnny?"

"I'm fine," Johnny said. "I just stopped to rest a minute."

Murdoch stared at his son. Mud streaked Johnny's face, but the blue eyes met his.

"You're not hurt?"

Johnny shook his head wearily and stood up. He swayed a little, and Murdoch steadied him. "Easy, son."

Jelly came up in the wagon and set the brake. He looked Johnny over and then turned on Murdoch and Scott. "What in tarnation are you two waiting for? Get that boy into the wagon and get some of those blankets around him quick. Anyone with eyes in their faces can see he's soaked through and half frozen."

Murdoch pushed Johnny toward the wagon. "He's right, son," he said.

"I can ride," Johnny said.

"You cannot ride," Murdoch said, grabbing a blanket and draping it around his son. Johnny was wearing a cotton shirt and a light jacket. Murdoch pulled off the jacket carefully, still not sure Johnny was telling the truth about whether he was hurt, and unbuttoned his shirt.

"I can do it," Johnny protested.

"We can do it faster," Scott said, waiting with more blankets. "Shut up, Johnny."

Johnny had started to shiver by the time they got his wet clothes off and wrapped him in blankets. In the lantern light, Murdoch could see that his lips were blue. Scott sat down in the wagon and wrapped his arms around his brother while Murdoch got their horses and looped the reins to the wagon.

"We've got to get you warmed up," Scott said, when Johnny tried to pull away from him. "Just relax, little brother. What happened, anyway?"

Murdoch joined them in the wagon and it lurched forward.

"The lightning spooked the bay," Johnny said. "He was fighting me all the way home. Then the cinch broke, I fell and he took off. He's probably run all the way back to the canyons by now."

"No, he came back to the barn," Murdoch said.

The blue eyes brightened. "He did?"

***

The turkey was already in the oven by the time Scott made it downstairs to breakfast, and it smelled glorious. Maria poured him coffee and broke eggs into a skillet.

"Good morning, Scott," his godmother said. She was wearing an apron over a shimmering brocade dress that matched her eyes.

"Good morning, Aunt Miranda," Scott said. "You're looking very well this morning."

"Thank you, my dear," she said. "Happy Thanksgiving."

"And to you too," Scott said. "Has Murdoch been downstairs yet?"

"Yes, he had his breakfast earlier and went up to see Johnny," Miranda said.

"Is Johnny all right?"

"He's starting a cold and he has just a touch of fever," Miranda said. "He'll be all right in a few days, Scott, if he behaves himself."

"That's the catch, Aunt Miranda," Scott said glumly.

Her eyes twinkled. "Scott, we can certainly manage between all of us to keep a sick 19-year-old boy in line."

"You don't know him," Scott said.

Maria put a plate of pancakes and bacon in front of him, and went outside with the laundry basket. Scott picked up his fork. "Did Murdoch send for Dr. Jenkins?"

"He said he expected the doctor to come to dinner today, and he thought it could wait until then," Miranda said, sitting down opposite him with a cup of coffee. "He's not really that sick, Scott. From the sounds of it, it certainly could have been much worse."

Teresa came down the back stairs, carrying a tray. "Good morning, Scott," she said.

"Morning, Teresa." He smiled at the girl, who also wore a long apron over her best dress. "Have you seen Johnny?"

She giggled. "Yes. Murdoch and Jelly are guarding him like dragons, to make sure he doesn't get out of bed."

"Well, I'm certainly not going to rescue him."

"You better not," Teresa said. "If he behaves, and if his fever doesn't get any worse, Murdoch said he could come downstairs for Thanksgiving dinner."

Scott could think of nothing more unlikely than his younger brother behaving in order to attend a company dinner, but he didn't say that to his sister.

"Teresa, would you check to see how Denton and Peter are doing with the table?" Miranda said. "Perhaps you could give them a hand with the place settings."

"Of course," Teresa said.

"Denton and Peter?" Scott said.

"They're setting up the table for dinner," Miranda said. "More coffee?"

"Thanks. Peter is really helping Denton?"

"I see no reason why Peter shouldn't pull at least some of his weight out here, just like everyone else," Miranda said. "It certainly won't hurt him."

"No," Scott agreed. "Aunt Miranda, I've been thinking about the necklace."

Her face changed. "Not today, Scott," she said. "Your brother is safe, we're together, and I'd prefer to enjoy the holiday. This is your first Thanksgiving at home with your family and I don't want my necklace or my grandson to ruin it any more than we already have."

"Aunt Miranda, I'm sorry, but I don't think this can wait," Scott said. "I believe I know where the necklace is, but it's not going to be there long."

"Let it go then," she said.

Scott smiled at her sadly. "No, Aunt Miranda, you don't really mean that. That necklace has been in the Forbes family for generations. That means something to you, and to Cousin Richard as well."

"But not to Richard's son," she said. "It would pass to Peter eventually, Scott. If he stole it, he really stole it from himself."

"I'm afraid he did steal it, Aunt Miranda. But you've known that, haven't you?"

She nodded. "There wasn't anyone else."

"You're not going to press charges against him, of course."

"No," she sighed. "I should, but I cannot, Scott. As much as I may regret it, he is Richard's only son and my only grandson."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I'm sorry too," she said. "I told your father last week he's a fortunate man."

"Aunt Miranda, I understand why you wouldn't press charges against Peter. But do you really want to let him get away with the necklace?"

"I don't want to create any more turmoil here, Scott. I shall deal with Peter appropriately when we return to Boston."

"What if you could recover the necklace and it looked like it had simply been lost by accident?" Scott said. "You and Peter and I will know the truth, and I'd like to tell Murdoch and Johnny, but no one else needs to know."

"Is that possible?"

"I think so," Scott said. "I was thinking last night, after we found Johnny. I nearly rode past him, Aunt Miranda. He was by the side of the road, in plain sight, and I almost missed him."

"We tore your father's house apart, looking for the necklace," she said.

"Yes," Scott said. "But we didn't look for it right in front of our noses."

Her eyes narrowed. "Where is it, Scott?"

"The morning it disappeared, Peter visited the barn briefly but Johnny said he came right back. Then you made him help Johnny put the French door back on its hinges."

She smiled. "Yes. I couldn't believe your brother had taken it down. I thought he was resting quietly on the sofa."

"Johnny rarely rests quietly," Scott said. "Remember that in the next few days."

"I shall," she said. "Go on, Scott."

"Miss Greenway said the necklace was in the case after breakfast, and it was gone before lunch, so we know it was taken that morning. And we know Peter visited the barn and was in the great room, and you and I saw him come out on the terrace with the terriers."

"I'm afraid I don't see how this gets us any further, Scott," Miranda said.

"What's the most unlikely thing Peter did that morning?"

"He helped Johnny with the door," she said instantly.

"Yes, but you told him to do that," he said. "I don't think that's it."

"He helped Miss Greenway with the terriers. Peter is not fond of the terriers. Nor are they fond of him. Nero bit him just yesterday."

Scott's mouth curved in a smile. She stared at him, her eyes widening.

"He wouldn't," she said.

"I think he did. I think one of terriers is wearing the Forbes diamonds around his neck, hidden in a special collar made just for that purpose. He tried to get it yesterday, only Nero bit him, and I'm afraid he'll try again soon if we don't get it first."

Her green eyes suddenly filled with tears. "A special collar - he planned this ahead of time?"

"I'm sorry, Aunt Miranda," Scott said gently.

Later that afternoon, Denton opened the kitchen door and carried the golden brown turkey out on a huge platter. He put it down in front of Murdoch, and took his own place at the long table set up in the great room. Miranda had told him imperiously he was to sit with the rest of her family and enjoy the meal they had all prepared.

Miranda sat to Murdoch's right, her back straight, her eyes sparkling and her diamonds around her neck.

She had been furious when she called the terriers into the kitchen and they removed Nero's rolled leather collar.

It was not Nero's own collar. It had been carefully crafted so the diamonds slipped perfectly inside.

"Yes, he planned this well in advance," Miranda said, holding it in her hands.

Scott looked at his godmother, but she shed no more tears. For a moment, her green eyes looked just as dangerous as Johnny's when he lost his temper.

She took the diamonds out of the collar and replaced it around Nero's neck, then patted the dog. "Scott, would you help me with the clasp?" she asked, standing up and holding the necklace around her own neck.

"You're going to wear the diamonds to dinner?"

"Of course I am," she said, lifting her brows. She looked every inch an indomitable Boston dowager, firmly in control. "Why shouldn't I, now that we've discovered they must have fallen on the floor and my naughty dogs picked them up."

Scott suspected his cousin would get what was coming to him, even if it wasn't in the form of a criminal charge.

When they gathered around the table, Peter blanched when he saw the diamonds around Miranda's neck. "Grandmother!" he stammered. "Where did you find them?"

"The terriers were playing with them," she said. "They must have fallen off the dresser and the dogs picked them up. It's fortunate that we noticed the dogs playing with them."

"We might have lost them," Peter agreed.

She looked surprised. "Peter, the dogs might have hurt themselves."

Johnny was sitting on the opposite side of the table from Scott, between Cipriano and Sam Jenkins. He looked from Miranda to Peter and the corner of his mouth turned up. Then he looked at his brother. Scott realized Johnny knew something was up, and prayed he would wait until later to ask any questions.

Johnny was a little flushed, and his voice was hoarse, but Sam had agreed he could come downstairs for dinner and then go straight back to bed.

Murdoch carved the turkey expertly and they passed the plates down the table. The women had prepared a traditional meal of roast turkey and all the fixings, but they'd also added some spicy Mexican dishes.

Finally, everyone's plate was full and Murdoch said grace. He looked around the table, smiling, before he finished.

"I've been especially blessed this year and I don't have the words to say just how thankful I am," he said, his eyes lingering on his two sons. "There is nothing in the world so important as family and friends, and I give thanks every day, not just on this day, for that incredible gift. Amen."

"Amen," they chorused.

Murdoch lifted his glass. "Happy Thanksgiving."

***

Epilogue

"Bad news, Scott?" Teresa asked her foster brother.

Scott stared at the letter from Boston. "Peter's gone."

"I'm sorry," Teresa said.

Johnny, stretched out on the rug, sat up and ran his hands through his hair. "Gone where?"

Scott looked thoughtfully at his perceptive younger brother. "The family doesn't know," he said. "He disappeared last month."

"Hope he's not coming for another visit," Johnny said.

"Johnny!" Teresa scolded. "He is Scott's cousin."

"I also hope he doesn't visit again, Teresa," Scott said.

She shook her head at both of them. "It's late and I'm going to bed," she announced. "Good night."

"Night, Teresa," Scott said.

"Buenos noches," Johnny said.

"Good night," Murdoch said from his desk, where he was dozing over a book. He frowned at his two sons as soon as the door closed behind the girl.

"Scott, what happened?"

"Peter finally did tell his father about the money he owed Cochran," Scott said. "Cousin Richard insisted that he go to the authorities and testify. The trial was supposed to begin a few weeks ago, but Peter vanished before it started."

"He said Cochran would kill him, didn't he?" Murdoch said slowly.

"He did say that," Scott said. "But Aunt Miranda doesn't believe that's what happened. The Revere silver is missing from Cousin Richard's house, along with Peter."

THE END

Whistle, November 2004

The stories on this site are works of fiction, based on the 1968-1970 television series "Lancer" and were written purely for fun, not profit.