Lancer stories by Whistle

Improper Bostonian (AR)

"What do you mean?" Harlan Garrett stared, appalled, at the burly detective standing in his office. "I asked you to locate him."

"That's what we did, Mr. Garrett. We finally located him and brought him here to you."

"You brought him to Boston?"

"Yessir." The detective scratched his head. "We sure never figured that you wanted us to leave him where he was. He's only eleven."

"Where was he?" Harlan asked, his mind racing.

"Jail in New Mexico, near the border," the detective said. "He got thirty days for vagrancy and petty theft. Sheriff remembered seeing a circular we put out, and finally made the kid tell his real name."

Harlan's lip curled. Jail. It came as no surprise. "And where is he now?"

"My partner is keeping an eye on him in the front office."

"My front office?" Harlan was outraged. "You actually brought that boy to my office?"

"We thought you wanted him," the detective protested. "You spent a lot of money to send us all the way to Mexico to look for him."

Harlan sighed. Idiots. He had hired idiots. They were competent enough in some respects, he supposed. They had completed the search, and far more effectively than the agents hired periodically by his former son-in-law to do the same thing. But why couldn't they stick to doing exactly what he asked, and no more? He didn't want the boy. He didn't have any idea what to do with the boy.

"Grandfather!" The door opened and a tall young man entered the room. "Oh, excuse me. I didn't realize you had someone with you, sir."

"It's all right, Scotty." Harlan smiled at his fair-haired grandson, although the seventeen-year-old was the very last person he wished to see just then. "Mr. Edwards and I have nearly finished our business. Sit down and wait for me here, while I show him out. I'll only be a few minutes."

Scott didn't move out of the doorway. "Grandfather, there's a boy in the front room, and I think he needs help."

Harlan cursed inwardly, but didn't allow his feelings to show. "It's all right, my boy. He's with Mr. Edwards, who was just leaving to see to him."

Scott frowned at Edwards. "Are you the one who hit him?" he demanded.

Edwards took a hasty step backwards, clearly alarmed by Scott's anger. "We didn't have no choice. He fought us like a wildcat. He's a young devil, as I was just about to tell your grandfather. I don't know what you want with him, Mr. Garrett, but you're going to have your hands full, no mistake about that."

Scott's face was puzzled. "Grandfather? I don't understand."

"It's a business matter, Scotty," Harlan lied. "And I'm afraid there's been some misunderstanding. If you'll wait here, I'll take care of it."

"I'll come with you," Scott said. "Perhaps I can help."

Harlan sighed. This wasn't turning out to be his day.

Another burly man was struggling with a skinny, dark-haired boy in the outer office. The child wrenched free from his grip, and directed a burst of furious words at him. He wore a new shirt, but it was torn and bruises marked his face. Scott had just enough time to wonder what language he was speaking before the boy bolted for the door that would take him to the street. Scott crossed the floor and caught him, swinging him off his feet, while he was tugging on the heavy handle.

"Lemme go!" The boy tried desperately to pull away. He punched and kicked, swearing in English now. His vocabulary amazed Scott. He'd never heard anything like it, not even on the wharves.

"Easy." Scott carried the boy across the room and set him on a chair. "Easy. No one is going to hurt you, I promise. Calm down and tell me your name. Mine is Scott, Scott Lancer."

The boy stopped struggling abruptly, his blue eyes widening. Harlan braced himself for the inevitable.

"Johnny," the boy said, just before his eyes rolled up and he passed out. "Lancer."

***

"I don't understand, sir." Scott paced across the carpet in the library. "You knew, all along that I had a brother? And you never told me?"

"A half-brother," Harlan corrected.

"A little brother." A smile curved Scott's mouth, despite his anger. "I can't believe it."

Harlan gave his grandson a sour look. He wasn't so sure he did believe it. Johnny's mother was a Mexican nobody, hardly a worthy successor to his beloved daughter Catherine. He had been outraged when he learned his son-in-law had married again, and even more outraged when he learned more about Murdoch Lancer's second wife. He thought it served the rancher right when that woman ran off with their child, if he really was Murdoch's child.

"Scott," he said. "Let's not get carried away here. You don't know anything about this boy."

"He's my brother." Scott lifted his chin stubbornly. "That's all I need to know. How could you not tell me about him?"

Harlan knew he was going to have to come up with an explanation, one that would satisfy his grandson. "Perhaps it was a mistake," he said aloud. "But there was nothing you could do, and I didn't want you to worry needlessly."

"I don't understand," Scott repeated, his clear eyes fastened on his grandfather.

He had his mother's blue-gray eyes, as well as her features and burnished blond hair. Harlan cast a look at the portrait over the fireplace. She used to give him that look too, when he did something that disappointed her. He spoke slowly, feeling his way past potential obstacles.

"Until today, I wasn't even sure he was alive, or where he was. John's mother took him and left your father's ranch when he was little more than a baby. When I learned of this, I hired detectives to try to locate them but they had no luck until recently, when they discovered she died more than a year ago in Mexico. They finally found John too." Harlan looked at Scott, trying to gauge his reaction. "I knew you'd worry if you knew about him and I didn't have any answers for you, my boy."

"Why did his mother leave? Was it something my father did?" Scott's face was troubled.

Harlan took a deep breath. "I don't really know the details, Scotty. I only know how unhappy your poor mother was."

Scott frowned as an idea occurred to him. "If Johnny's mother died more than a year ago, who's been taking care of him all this time?"

"From what the detectives told me, he's been on his own."

Scott contemplated that in silence for a few minutes, his mouth pressed in a straight line. "Well, at least we can take care of him now. Thank you, sir, for finding him and bringing him here."

Harlan didn't intend to bring that misbegotten brat here, and he certainly didn't intend to keep him. He had only wanted to know where John was, a potential weapon if his son-in-law ever became troublesome. But he couldn't tell his grandson that. He was relieved when the door opened.

"Harlan?"

They both turned as the doctor came into the room. "How is he, Dr. Cobb?" Scott asked eagerly.

"He's asleep, and I made sure he'll stay that way through the night." The doctor accepted a glass of cognac from Harlan and sat down wearily. "Harlan, who is that boy and where did you find him?"

"John just arrived from New Mexico," Harlan said cautiously, shooting a look at his grandson.

The doctor glanced at Scott curiously, but addressed his grandfather. "Do you know who's been beating him?"

"Beating him?" The words burst out of Scott. "What do you mean?"

"Just what I said. I'm not talking about the fresh bruises on his face. Within the last month or so, someone went a lot further than giving him a few cuffs. And from the looks of him, it's not the first time."

"I'm afraid we don't know a great deal about him, Nathaniel," Harlan said. "Is that why he passed out?"

"No, he still has some bruising but he's mostly over the physical effects of the beating." the doctor said. "Right now, the problem appears to be a combination of dehydration and undernourishment."

"Undernourishment?" Scott repeated blankly. "He hasn't had enough to eat?"

Nathaniel sighed. "I can see a lot of neglect and some outright abuse. Criminal abuse, although I suppose we can't do much about that if it happened in New Mexico."

"Will he be all right?"

"I don't know, son." Nathaniel's eyes were dark. "I've done what I can for him tonight. He needs rest, decent food, and some care. I gave him laudanum to make sure he gets a good, long sleep. I don't like to give it to a boy his age if I can avoid it, but he needed it. He did his best not to show it, but he was scared to death of me all the time I was in the room."

"Can I go see him?" Scott asked.

Nathaniel looked at Harlan uncertainly. He didn't understand. The boy was a street urchin, from the looks of him. He didn't mind treating the child, not at all, but doubted very much that Harlan Garrett was going to take in a boy from the streets or allow his beloved grandson anywhere near him. He was amazed, and puzzled, that Harlan had even allowed the boy inside the door of his Beacon Hill mansion, let alone put him to bed upstairs.

Scott had a good heart, and perhaps he had insisted, but the doctor was dubious. It was not a kindness, not really, to take the boy in and then cast him out again. It might be kinder to let him slip away quietly. It wouldn't be difficult. He might slip away from them no matter what the doctor did. Apart from everything else, he already had a cold, and it would be a miracle if he didn't end up with pneumonia.

"He won't wake tonight," Nathaniel said aloud. "I think you should wait, son."

"He's my brother," Scott said softly. "Please, sir."

"He's your what?" The doctor was shocked.

"Johnny is my younger brother."

***

Scott settled for looking into the room briefly, just to assure himself that Johnny was fast asleep. He pushed the door open again first thing in the morning. The housekeeper, knitting in a chair by the bed, smiled when she saw him.

"Good morning, Master Scott. Does your grandfather know you're here?"

"Yes, Mrs. Jefferson. How is he?" Scott's eyes were on the bed. From the doorway, nothing was visible under the covers but some tousled dark hair.

"He hasn't stirred in hours. He had a bad dream near dawn, but settled down again without waking. He's worn out, poor thing."

"Thank you for staying with him."

"He wasn't a bit of trouble." The housekeeper began to gather her things. "Would you stay for a few minutes, just until I can send someone else up?"

"Of course." When the housekeeper left, Scott sat in her chair. Johnny slept on, his breath wheezy. He had burrowed under the down comforter and Scott couldn't see much of his face.

He'd given them another battle when they brought him home from the office. He came around when they were getting him out of his clothes to put him into a bath, and fought them with all his strength. It took the combined efforts of the butler and two footmen, plus Scott himself, to wrestle him into the tub and keep him there. They were all soaked and weary by the time they'd scrubbed the layers of grime off his skin, washed his hair, toweled him dry, and pulled a clean nightshirt over his head. The only mercy, if you could call it that, was that Johnny was completely exhausted by then and passed out again. He was as limp as a rag doll when Scott picked him up and put him to bed while they waited for the doctor to arrive.

Scott had tried to reason with him at first, and assure him that no one meant him any harm, but Johnny wouldn't listen. He cursed them in English and what Scott knew now had to be Spanish, and bit the junior footman. Scott had tipped the two footmen generously and apologized to the butler, who was married to the housekeeper and had worked in the household all of Scott's life.

"It's all right, Master Scott," Jefferson said, picking up Johnny's clothes from the floor and looking at them dubiously. "We're all strangers to him and I know that child is scared. You go change out of those wet clothes. Your grandfather's waiting for you downstairs in the library. I'll stay here until the doctor comes."

Later, the doctor said Johnny was frightened of him too. Scott frowned. From the fading bruises he had seen himself during the bath, and what the doctor said about their cause, Johnny had every reason to fear them.

He looked up, and found a wary pair of incredibly blue eyes watching him through long, soot black lashes. Scott felt a smile spread across his own face.

"Good morning, Johnny," he said. "How are you feeling?"

The boy pushed away the covers and sat up shakily. He seemed to be looking for something in the room. "Where are my pants?"

Scott thought they were most likely in the rubbish, but didn't say so. "You don't need them. The doctor wants you to stay in bed today."

Johnny scowled. "Who are you?"

"I'm your older brother. We met yesterday in my grandfather's office, remember? My name is Scott."

The blue eyes were stormy. "My mama didn't have no other kids."

"No, but our father did. He married your mother after mine died. Are you hungry?"

Johnny's scowl got deeper, and he thrust out his bottom lip. Scott looked at his flushed face, and guessed at one source of his discomfort. "Come on," he said briskly. "The water closet is just across the hall. I'll help you."

"I don't need help," Johnny hissed. "I just want my pants."

Johnny was pale by the time he used the room across the hall, and Scott didn't have any trouble steering him back to the bed. He wasn't sure he should leave the boy alone and he was relieved when a maid appeared in the door.

"Would you tell Mrs. Jefferson that Johnny is awake, please?" he said. "And could you ask her to send up some breakfast for him?"

Mrs. Jefferson brought up a tray with scrambled eggs, toast and a glass of milk. Johnny took a long, thirsty gulp of the milk, his eyes still full of suspicion. He attacked the eggs with unmistakable hunger, but put the fork down abruptly after a few bites.

"Johnny? Are you all right?"

The boy backed up even further against the headboard, his head bowed. His dark hair swung down, covering his eyes.

Mrs. Jefferson had been watching and stepped in. She sat on the edge of the bed and put a hand on Johnny's forehead. "You have a touch of fever, child," she said gently. "You get under the covers, where it's nice and warm, and rest awhile. I'll bring you some custard later on."

Johnny stiffened when she touched him, but she kept talking to him and stroking his hair, her voice slow and pitched low. He finally slid down on the pillows and let her tuck him in. His eyes slid shut almost immediately.

"Perhaps we should send for the doctor again," Scott said. "Why did he stop eating? He was obviously hungry."

She sighed. "He isn't used to so much food. We'll have to be careful to give him just a little at a time, or he'll be sick."

Scott looked at the discarded breakfast tray. There wasn't much there, just an ordinary helping of eggs. The look he'd seen on Johnny's face, before the boy dove into the food, made Scott feel sick himself.

***

"Are you really my brother?"

Scott was reading, and hadn't realized Johnny was awake. He looked up, startled, and smiled. "Yes, I am."

Johnny didn't smile back. "What is this place?"

"It's my grandfather's house in Boston." Scott poured some broth from a pot they'd kept warm on a spirit lamp, and offered it to the boy.

"Is our father here?" Johnny wrapped both of his hands around the cup and took a small sip. His eyes were enormous above the rim.

Scott shook his head. "I've never met him. I live with my grandfather, my mother's father. I always have."

Johnny's eyes got even bigger, as if something surprised him, but he didn't say anything. He took another small sip.

"What's wrong?" Scott asked.

Johnny let his lashes drop. A dark purple bruise smudged his cheekbone under one eye. He was small for his age, and didn't even look eleven years old. "Nothing."

"Johnny," Scott coaxed. "I'm your brother. You can tell me."

Johnny stared into the broth. "Don't know you," he finally mumbled.

Scott steadied the cup as it started to tilt. "Take another sip," he urged.

Johnny shook his head slightly, his fingers loosening. Scott took the cup and set it on the bedside table. Johnny rolled over on his side, hiding his face in the pillow.

"Our father doesn't matter," Scott said quietly. "We'll take care of you now that we've found you, and I won't let anyone hurt you again, I promise."

"Don't need you." The pillow muffled Johnny's voice. "I can take care of myself."

"Not too well, from what I can see," Scott teased. He hesitated, and put a hand on Johnny's hunched up shoulder. He could feel a faint tremor run through the boy, but didn't let go. "I've always wanted a little brother."

"Really?" Johnny said after a pause.

"Really," Scott said. "When you're better, I'll show you the city, and take you sailing on the river."

"In a boat? Nuh-uh," Johnny said definitely. "No more boats."

Scott took a guess. "Were you sick on the steamer, coming here?" Johnny still didn't look at him, but nodded once. Scott moved his hand to the back of his brother's head and mussed his thick hair. "It's all right, a sailboat on the river is nothing like the steamer, but you don't have to go sailing if you'd rather not. There are other things we can do. We can go riding in the park, if you like horses."

That drew Johnny's face out of the pillow, briefly, to see if Scott was serious.

The older boy was encouraged. "My godmother keeps a stable at her house, outside the city," he said. "We'll go and see her once you're well enough. You'll like Aunt Miranda, just wait and see."

"She might not like me."

"Why not?"

Johnny didn't answer right away. Scott thought, for a moment, he might have fallen asleep again, until a small voice emerged from the pillow, so soft he could barely hear it. "Mama said he didn't want me, and kicked us out. Gringos don't like mestizo kids. And you're a gringo too."

Scott didn't understand. "What does that mean, Johnny? I don't know any Spanish."

"I'm half-Mexican."

"So what? What difference does that make?"

Johnny rolled over and stared at his brother. "That's why my father don't want me. Mama said so."

Scott felt a burst of anger as he realized what Johnny was saying. "That can't be true."

Johnny's eyes sparked dangerously. "Are you saying my mama was a liar?"

"No, of course not. I'm just saying that can't be the reason, not the real reason, even if that's what your mother thought." Scott looked down at his shoes. "He didn't want me either."

Johnny considered that. "It might not be my fault?"

"Of course it's not your fault!" Scott was angry. "It was his responsibility to take care of you, and me too. He sent away my mother before I was even born."

"He did? But you're not a mestizo."

"No, I'm not, so you see, that can't be it. It's all right, Johnny. We don't need him. I'm nearly eighteen, and I'll look out for you now."

***

Mrs. Jefferson, true to her word, brought up a cup of custard later in the morning. Johnny was dozing while Scott read aloud. He'd rummaged through the bookshelves in his own room down the hall and found a battered copy of Malory's King Arthur story. At first, Johnny interrupted nearly every sentence, but the questions had slowed down and Scott thought he was more asleep than awake.

The boy roused when the door opened and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"Mr. Garrett would like to see you, Master Scott," the housekeeper said. "I'll stay with Master Johnny."

Scott looked at his brother. "Johnny, you remember Mrs. Jefferson, don't you?"

Johnny nodded cautiously.

"You go on, Master Scott," she urged. "We'll be just fine, won't we, child?"

"I'll be back," Scott told his brother. "Stay in that bed and do what Mrs. Jefferson tells you."

Harlan was sitting at his desk in the library when Scott ran down the front stairs. "Scotty," he said, putting down his pen and waving his grandson to his usual chair. "I'm surprised you're still here. I thought you were taking the early train to the Cape this morning to visit young Prentice and his family."

"I sent a wire to explain that I couldn't leave Boston right now."

"And why is that?"

Scott's brows rose. "I can't leave Johnny, sir."

"You don't believe the staff is competent to look after him?"

"That's not it. Of course, I know Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson will take good care of him. But I think I ought to stay. He just got here, and he doesn't know them."

"He doesn't know you either, Scotty. And you had a longstanding engagement. The Prentices were looking forward to your visit."

"They'll understand, sir. Johnny is my brother and I want to make sure he's all right."

"Half-brother," Harlan corrected. "Scott, you are a young man with your entire life in front of you. You have obligations, to yourself, to me, and to your position. You can't ignore those obligations."

"I have an obligation to Johnny too, sir. I really don't see a problem with canceling my plans to spend the week on the Cape, and I'm sure the Prentices will understand as well. I wrote to Sandy, of course, to explain what's happened and why I'm not coming. He should get my letter tomorrow."

"You told him about John?" Harlan was dismayed.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"Scott, I wish you had waited until we discussed this further."

"What is there to discuss?" Scott was puzzled.

"I fully intend to make suitable arrangements for your half-brother, as soon as possible." Harlan's tone was brisk. "Perhaps a home on a farm somewhere..."

"No," Scott said quickly. "I don't want to send him away."

"Scotty, you can't honestly think that boy is going to be comfortable on Beacon Hill? He's grown up in the gutter."

"Until now, perhaps," Scott said. "I don't intend to abandon him, sir, as our father did."

Harlan gave his grandson a sharp look. "Is that what he told you? That your father abandoned him?"

"Close enough." Scott's anger was obvious. "Johnny's mother told him our father kicked them out because he was ashamed that Johnny is half-Mexican. What kind of man would do that? I know he didn't want me either, but what he did to Johnny was even worse. I was just lucky I had you to take care of me. Who knows where I might have ended up?"

Harlan pursed his lips thoughtfully. He didn't want Johnny, but he certainly didn't mind if the younger boy's story convinced Scott there was no point in ever seeking out his father, or responding if Murdoch tried to contact him. That had always been one of Harlan's fears. He had kept an eye out for any letters when his grandson was younger, but it was impossible to exercise the same level of control now. He'd worried that Murdoch might write to Scott at Harvard when the boy began his studies there and moved into rooms at the college during the term. That hadn't happened, apparently, but Harlan knew it was still a possibility in the future. Scott would be eighteen by the end of the year, and the rancher might think that was an appropriate time to contact his elder son.

"I was happy to take care of you, Scotty," Harlan said, changing tactics. "But I'm getting older, and an eleven-year-old boy is quite a responsibility, you know."

"I realize that, sir, and I don't expect you to take it on. Johnny is my responsibility, not yours. I hoped, though, that you might be willing to help me, at least, at first. If you don't want him in the house, I suppose I could try to make other arrangements. Perhaps I could ask Aunt Miranda..."

"That won't be necessary." Harlan thought his formidable sister-in-law already exercised too much influence on his grandson. If she took in Scott's half-brother, Scott would spend even more time there. "I didn't say I didn't want him in the house. I just think we should discuss this at greater length, and consider carefully whether this is what's best for John. For now, of course, he'll stay with us."

"Thank you, sir. I thought I could count on you."

"In the meantime, there's no need for the rest of Boston to know our business," Harlan suggested. "I suppose there's nothing you can do about your letter to young Prentice, but there's no need to spread the news any further."

"I'm not ashamed of Johnny, sir."

"Nor am I," Harlan lied. "But there are other considerations, my boy. Among other things, your father might learn that he's here. It's possible he still has some connections in Boston."

"It doesn't sound like he'd care." Scott's voice was bitter.

"Nevertheless, he is Johnny's father and we don't have legal custody. He could do as he pleases with the boy, whatever that might be. Do you want that to happen?"

"No, sir," Scott said slowly. "But I'm not old enough to go to court and ask for custody, am I?"

"No, you're not."

Scott took a deep breath. He hadn't thought about this, but he didn't want to risk the possibility their negligent father might claim his little brother and take him away. "Would you consider it, sir?"

Harlan put a thoughtful look on his face and crossed his hands. "If that is what you truly wish, my boy, I suppose so," he said slowly. "However, I want you to understand that if I take this on, I will have to do my duty. If I feel this isn't the right place for your brother, or that he's causing you to neglect your other responsibilities, I will have no choice but to do what I think is right for both of you. You'll have to trust that I have his best interests at heart, just as I always had your interests at heart. Can you do that?"

Scott nodded, smiling with relief. "Of course, Grandfather. Thank you."

***

"Stand still, Johnny," Scott ordered. "I can't tie your necktie while you're moving."

"I don't need no tie," Johnny objected, but he subsided for about thirty seconds, just barely long enough for Scott to knot the tie.

"It's too tight," he complained, putting his hand up.

Scott batted it away lightly. "Don't you dare touch it. It's perfect. Put on your jacket and come on. And don't forget your cap."

Johnny gave the cap a disgusted look. "I don't really have to wear that, do I?"

"You do," Scott said, suppressing a smile. "But not inside the house. Come on."

Johnny said something in Spanish and clattered down the stairs in front of Scott. At the foot, he turned and gave the curved, sweeping banister a speculative look. "Did you ever slide down?"

"No, never," Scott said sternly. "And if you even think about it, I promise you'll be sorry."

Johnny laughed, a sparkle in his eyes. Scott couldn't believe how quickly the boy had bounced back onto his feet and neither could the doctor.

He'd slept for most of two days, feverish and congested. Mrs. Jefferson coaxed him to eat, a few spoonfuls at a time, whenever he woke. The third morning, his fever broke, he polished off a plate of eggs effortlessly, and he wanted to get up and go outside. They managed to keep him in bed for one more day, and confined to the house for another, but it wasn't easy. The doctor said Scott could take him out today, if the weather was fine.

The weather was gorgeous, and Johnny quickly outpaced his older brother, who was strolling more sedately down Mount Vernon Street. He picked up a stick and ran it along the tall, wrought iron fence encircling the manicured green of Louisburg Square.

"Johnny!" Scott hissed. "Don't do that."

"Why not?" Johnny asked. "It's only a little stick. It won't hurt it."

Scott was aware of the polished windows in the tall, bow-fronted townhouses lining the street, and the stern eyes that were likely watching them. He had intended to unlock the gate to the square, but decided against it. "Come on," he said. "Let's go down to the Common and you can stretch your legs."

"What's the Common?" Johnny asked.

"You'll see," Scott said. "Don't wander too far ahead, and stay on the sidewalk. Just in case we get separated, you remember Grandfather's address, don't you?"

Johnny rolled his eyes. "Dios, I'm not a baby."

"You also don't know the city. Settle down and walk with me. You can run when we get to the Common."

"You still didn't tell me what that is," Johnny pointed out.

"It's a park, like Louisburg Square, only much bigger and there's no fence around it. And it's a public park, so anyone may use it."

"What's a park?" Johnny asked.

Scott paused. "You don't have parks out west? Open land, with no buildings?"

"Most of the land is open," Johnny said, puzzled. "Miles of it." He glanced up at the buildings, his face suddenly forlorn. "It's not anything like this."

"You'll like Boston once you get to know it." Scott couldn't imagine how his brother could possibly miss the Mexican border, not from what he'd heard while Johnny was running a fever. "Come on."

Johnny darted off as soon as they reached the Common, and ran around the Frog Pond. Scott watched, amazed at the boy's energy.

Dr. Cobb said he healed fast. Johnny was still too thin, but Scott couldn't imagine his brother would ever gain much weight, no matter how much he ate now that he was feeling better. He seemed to be in perpetual motion.

Scott stepped in his path as Johnny made a second exuberant circuit of the pond. "Whoa, cowboy. You and I need to visit the barber."

Johnny looked up warily. "What for?"

"The usual reason," Scott said. "You need a haircut."

"Do not."

Scott snorted. "You most certainly do."

The barber made a joke about Johnny's hair being nearly as long as a girl's, and Johnny told him to do something anatomically impossible to himself. An older man lowered his newspaper to look sternly down his nose at them, and Scott apologized. "He's only just arrived in Boston, sir, from the west."

"Johnny, you can't use that kind of language here," Scott said sternly, after he appeased the barber with an extra large tip.

"How come?"

"Well, because you can't. It's not proper."

Johnny rolled his eyes. "You want me to talk like a damn slicker, Scott?"

"Yes, I do." Laughter crinkled Scott's eyes. "As far as possible."

They stopped next to visit a tailor in a building near Park Square. "This is my brother, who's just arrived from out west. He needs a more suitable wardrobe for the city," Scott said to the small, dapper man who came forward to greet them.

"I can see that," the tailor said, sniffing at Johnny's ready-made suit, which Jefferson had borrowed somewhere. He whisked the boy up onto a platform and took out his tape measure. Johnny took a step backward and crossed his arms. Scott laughed at the murderous look on his face.

"It's all right," he said. "Mr. Quincy is just going to measure you for some new suits."

"Can't wear more than one at a time," Johnny grumbled. The barber had cut his unruly mop of hair short, exposing his ears and neck. It made him look even younger.

"It's OK," Scott said. "I've known Mr. Quincy since I was five. And I'll be right here."

Johnny scowled, but stood still while the tailor measured him.

Mr. Quincy produced some bolts of cloth for Scott to make his choices from. Johnny wasn't interested. He was making friends with the large, hostile cat who presided over the room from the window ledge.

"Deliver everything to my grandfather's house," Scott finally said. The cat was curled up on Johnny's lap, purring.

They made another stop to order shoes before Scott took Johnny to lunch at the Union Oyster House. The younger boy flatly refused to touch raw oysters or clams, but finished a large bowl of chowder. His eyes were heavy by the time they finished their pie, and Scott hailed a cab for the trip home.

Johnny fell asleep in the cab, leaning against Scott. He stirred when it pulled up and knuckled his eyes when Scott spoke to him.

"Scotty?" Harlan stood in the double doors to the library. "I'd like to speak to you."

Scott hesitated, but Johnny shook off his hand grouchily. "Dios, I can go upstairs by myself."

"Go on then." Scott watched the boy ascend the stairs before he turned to his grandfather, who was also watching. He couldn't quite decipher the expression on the older man's face. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes," Harlan said, waving him into the library. "I've asked my lawyer to visit me tomorrow to discuss a petition to the court for custody, and I want you to sit down and write out a statement about what John told you."

***

"I don't foresee any great difficulties," the lawyer said, a day later in Harlan's office. "Under the circumstances, even if the father did contest the petition, you'd have a strong argument. Nat Cobb's report is damning. And there's also the fact that Scott is the boy's nearest relative, and the court has already awarded you custody of him."

"Is it necessary for the entire family history to come out in court, Everett?"

"I don't think so." Everett glanced at the other man curiously. "Is there something you're concerned about, Harlan?"

"I'm concerned about the entire situation. I don't particularly want to do this, but Scotty insists."

"Do you want me to lose the case?" the lawyer asked bluntly.

"No," Harlan said. "No, I don't think so. What's required, as far as notifying the father?"

"That will be the court's responsibility," Everett said. "You said he's in California?"

"As far as I know."

"They'll mail a notice to his last known address. And they'll publish a legal notice in a newspaper."

"A newspaper here? In Boston?"

Everett smiled. "It doesn't necessarily have to be one of the city papers. It can be any newspaper published in the county. There are some rather obscure weeklies that often come in handy."

Harlan nodded. "Good. Still, if Murdoch gets a notice in the mail, he may interfere."

"I thought he wasn't interested in his sons."

Harlan hesitated.

"I can't represent you properly if I don't know the issues. And our conversation is confidential. You know that, Harlan."

"Well, he did want to take Scotty back to California when the boy was five," Harlan admitted. "I told him it was nonsense, of course, and I wouldn't permit it. It was for Scott's own good."

"He must have seen that," the lawyer observed. "He didn't go to court for custody."

"Actually, he did file a petition, I believe, but I persuaded him not to pursue it." Harlan's eyes didn't meet the lawyer's.

Everett could guess what type of persuasion was involved, but that wasn't his concern. "According to Scott's statement, Lancer kicked his second wife and son out of their home. Is that true?"

"That's what the boy's mother told him, and he told Scott," Harlan said. "I have no firsthand knowledge of what transpired, of course."

"Of course. But that's what the two boys will truthfully testify, isn't it?"

"Yes," Harlan said. "Will they have to testify?"

"They might, if the judge has any questions. I wouldn't expect so unless someone disputes the petition."

Harlan frowned. "I don't want that man anywhere near Scott."

"His father, you mean?" Harlan nodded and the lawyer sighed, but kept his conclusions to himself. "The mail to California is not entirely reliable from what I've heard, especially with the war. Perhaps you don't have anything to worry about."

"I want to make sure," Harlan insisted.

"Well, I can't help you with that," Everett said carefully. "I'm an officer of the court, you understand. But those agents you hired to find John may have a few ideas."

Harlan hadn't thought of that. He considered it and finally smiled, a cold smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'll have to think this over carefully, Everett. How long will it take for you to prepare the petition?"

"Not more than a day or two."

"Go ahead, please, and get it ready, but don't file it until you hear from me."

***

"Boarding school?" Scott said doubtfully at dinner one night. Johnny had been on his feet for a week, but Scott and his grandfather were dining alone. Except on rare occasions, his grandfather didn't believe in seeing or hearing children in the formal dining room. Johnny had his meals in the nursery upstairs, and it was nearly his bedtime by the time the adults sat down to dinner downstairs. Scott had only graduated to regular appearances in the dining room when he turned sixteen. "I don't think that's a good idea, sir."

"It's an excellent school, Scotty. One of the best."

"It's very generous of you." Scott spoke carefully. "But I don't think Johnny's ever been to school. Boarding school might be a bit overwhelming for him."

"I told the headmaster that John is quite backwards and will need remedial work. Can he even read or write?"

"Not very well," Scott admitted. "But he's far from stupid, sir. I started to teach him how to play chess this afternoon, since it was raining and we couldn't go out. You wouldn't believe how quickly he picked it up."

"All the more reason to enroll him in a good school, and get him started right away on catching up," Harlan said breezily. "There's no summer term, but they're willing to take him now and a tutor will work with him until the fall term begins. This will also give him a chance to settle into the dormitory. A few of the other boys are spending the summer there as well. It will be good for him to be with boys his own age."

"Perhaps." Scott was reluctant. "But New Hampshire is quite a distance, and I hoped to be able to spend some time with him this summer, before I go back to college, and even afterward. I thought he would go to day school, as I did. I'm sure my old school will be willing to take him. And I could start tutoring him this summer."

"You have better things to do with your time, Scott."

"I enjoy having a little brother, sir." Scott's eyes were wistful.

Harlan had been careful not to spoil his only grandson, but he also had a hard time saying no when Scott set his heart on something. He could tell his grandson was serious about this. Harlan had a younger brother and he had to admit, at least to himself, that he had also enjoyed guiding Henry when they were young, in the days when Henry looked up to him.

"Well," he said aloud.

"Please, sir." Scott was quick to sense his grandfather was wavering. "I promise, he won't be any trouble to you. You'll hardly even know that he's in the house."

Harlan sniffed. He certainly knew Johnny was in the house now. Just that morning, he had found his kitchen staff attending to a stray dog the boy had brought back from the Common, instead of to its rightful business. Harlan could not abide animals in the house. He banished the dog sternly and sent Johnny up to his room, but intercepted a wink that passed between the senior footman and the child. He suspected the stray had probably found a home in the stable, but decided to overlook that for the moment, as long as he didn't find it in the house again.

There was also the incident with the Chinese vase and the front staircase. Johnny hadn't been able to resist the temptation to slide down the banister, something his own grandson had never dared, as far as Harlan knew.

Luckily, Scott had been in the foyer, waiting for his brother to come downstairs, and made a flying leap to rescue the priceless vase on the Sheraton table. Both the vase and the table had survived, fortunately for Johnny. He hadn't succeeded in breaking his neck either. Harlan had never spanked Scott on the rare occasions when he misbehaved, but the Bostonian was sorely tempted to warm his younger brother's backside. Scott had a long, serious talk with the boy, and Johnny had apologized and promised not to do it again, but Harlan didn't trust he wouldn't think of something even worse.

"I'll think it over," Harlan said. "What are your plans for tomorrow, Scotty? I'm taking the early train to New York on business, and I won't see you again until Saturday."

"Well, if the weather clears, I thought I'd take Johnny to Chestnut Hill to see Aunt Miranda," Scott said. "He seems to be interested in horses, but I thought it would be safer to take him riding first on her estate, not in the city. We'll be back in plenty of time for me to meet Sterling Crocker and Sandy Prentice for dinner. Sandy's coming into town from the Cape and the three of us planned on going to the theater."

"Good," Harlan said approvingly. The two young men were Scott's classmates at Harvard. Both belonged to good Boston families and both had sisters of the right age and background to make a very suitable match. Harlan thought it was far too soon for Scott to settle down, but it was never too soon to start thinking ahead. "See that you behave yourself, my boy. I'm not foolish enough to tell three full-blooded young men to stay away from the waterfront, but I trust you'll take care."

"Yes, sir." Scott changed the subject. "Are you spending the evening at home tonight? Would you care for a game of chess after dinner?"

"Yes, I would." Harlan daubed at his mouth with his napkin and dropped it on the table.

***

Scott looked his brother over carefully before they left the house in the morning. Johnny seemed to be lacking some of his usual bounce. He'd been subdued the day before as well, but Scott figured that was due to the rain, and the unwelcome news that he had to spend the afternoon indoors.

Dr. Cobb had been clear about the need to keep the boy healthy and avoid chills. "I don't know how he managed to shake off pneumonia the last time, but I don't want him to get it now either, not until we get a little more meat on his bones," the doctor told Scott.

Scott didn't think his lecture about sliding down the banister or his grandfather's reaction to the stray dog had bothered Johnny much. In comparison, Scott supposed that sending him to his room - at least, while it was raining and he couldn't go out anyway - was a mild form of punishment.

He stole another look at his brother when they drove out of the city. So far, whenever they went out, Johnny had watched the streets avidly, but the boy wasn't paying any attention this morning. He slouched on the seat of the carriage, apparently lost in thought. He wore a dark suit Mr. Quincy had tailored for him, and his hands were jammed in his trouser pockets. He'd managed to tie his own necktie, and it was only slightly crooked.

Johnny didn't know it, but Scott had tucked a new pair of boots and riding clothes into a satchel that was resting in the carriage's luggage compartment. He kept riding clothes at his godmother's house, but Johnny would need some. Scott hadn't said anything about going riding because he first wanted to see how comfortable his brother was with the horses in Aunt Miranda's stable. Johnny had gravitated toward the carriage horses when the coachman brought them up to the door, but Scott pulled him back. They were a spirited pair, and didn't have the best dispositions.

Scott tried a few times, but couldn't get more than one or two-word answers out of the boy. Johnny didn't show any interest in his surroundings until they entered the long gravel drive that swept up to Aunt Miranda's brick house, and he saw the paddocks. A handsome roan colt was flying across a green field, his mane streaming. Johnny's eyes lit up for the first time that morning, and he leaned precariously over the side of the carriage to watch it.

Aunt Miranda was waiting for them in her sunroom. She was tiny, but people rarely noticed that, not right away. Instead, they noticed the lively green eyes, the halo of silver curls, and the imperious, incisive voice. A few, including Scott, also earned her smile and legendary dimple, the one that had taken Boston by storm when she was an auburn-haired debutante. Nearly forty years later, Boston society still reacted if she smiled or when she frowned. Scott nudged Johnny forward.

"Aunt Miranda, this is my brother, John. Johnny, this is my great-aunt, Mrs. Forbes."

She offered him a hand. "How do you do, Johnny? I've already heard a lot about you and I've looked forward to meeting you."

Johnny took her hand briefly, as Scott had told him to do, but gave her a slightly guilty look. "You've heard about me?"

"Scott wrote to tell me that he had a little brother, and how happy he was about it. I'm glad you've come to stay with him." Miranda studied him carefully. "Let's take a walk down to the stable and I'll show you my horses."

Johnny perked up. "Sure."

***

One of the stable boys was schooling a skittish chestnut in the ring. Johnny climbed up on the rail to watch, heedless of his new trousers.

"He's trying to teach him to change his lead leg on command, without breaking his pace," Miranda said. "Do you know what that means, Johnny?"

The dark head nodded, focused on the horse.

Miranda glanced at Scott. "So you must have done some riding?"

Johnny nodded again. "He's doing it wrong," he observed softly.

The chestnut was making the changes, but its motion was off balance and it wasn't staying straight. Miranda watched for a moment and lifted a brow at Scott. "Why do you say that, Johnny?"

"He shifts his weight after the change. It confuses the horse."

Miranda watched again, frowning. "I believe you're right," she said. She lifted a hand and summoned the rider, who wasn't much older than Scott.

"Yes'm." He rode up to the rail.

"I think that's enough for the chestnut today, Jesse. Would you ask Regan to saddle three horses for us? The General for Mr. Lancer, I'll take Gawain, and Johnny will ride Gwenny. We'll be back as soon as the boys change into riding clothes."

"Yes, ma'am."

Johnny tugged on Scott's sleeve and pulled him aside. "I don't have riding clothes. And these shoes are no good, but I can ride barefoot."

"You will not, even if you can." Scott's eyes crinkled as he looked down at his small brother's suddenly eager face. "I brought a pair of boots and another shirt and trousers for you. We'll go up to the house to change."

Johnny gave the new boots a dubious look, but didn't complain about them. Scott bit back a smile, remembering what the boy had to say the first time he put on his shoes. Scott had threatened him with dire, unspecified consequences if he ever said those words in anyone else's hearing, especially Grandfather's.

Scott knew the boots were stiff and he wasn't surprised Johnny trailed behind them on the way back to the stable. Scott nodded to the veteran trainer who ran the stable, a longtime acquaintance, and took the reins of the well-trained mare Miranda had chosen for his brother to ride. "Johnny, this is Gwenny."

Johnny reached up without hesitation to touch the mare's velvety nose, saying something to her in Spanish. She cocked her ears, and nuzzled him, to Scott's surprise. Gwenny was well behaved, but she wasn't usually an affectionate animal. Johnny stroked her and crooned more Spanish to her.

"Regan, who is in charge of the stable, will give you a boost up," Scott said. "I want to see you go around the ring a few times before we take the horses out. Take it slow."

One corner of Johnny's mouth turned up, but he didn't protest. Regan lifted him up, and adjusted the stirrups for him. He sat casually in the saddle. Scott led the horse forward, still holding the reins, and Regan opened the gate to the ring. The trainer was wearing a half-smile too as he watched the boy.

"Do you want me to lead her?" Scott asked. Johnny shook his head and reached for the reins. Scott gave them up reluctantly. "All right, but walk her around first. I mean it, Johnny."

Johnny held the reins loosely, and nudged the mare into a walk. He balanced easily, without holding on.

"I'd say he's definitely used to riding," Miranda said, her eyes on him too. Johnny went around the ring once at an obedient walk, and gave his brother an imploring look.

"Now can I go?"

Scott nodded, and Johnny moved the mare smoothly into a trot, barely using the reins. Regan watched him circle the ring with approval. "He's got a good seat, Mr. Scott. Nice and easy."

***

They took the horses down a narrow lane through the woods. Scott was still keeping a close eye on his brother, and Johnny was still on his best behavior.

"He's fine on that horse, Scott," Miranda said, riding next to her godson while Johnny ranged ahead. "How are things going otherwise?"

"I'm not quite sure," Scott admitted. "He's gotten into trouble two days in a row, and he was awfully quiet this morning."

"How did he get into trouble?"

"Well, the day before yesterday, he slid down the banister in the front hall and nearly shattered Grandfather's Chinese vase. Fortunately, I caught it, but Grandfather wasn't very happy."

"I can imagine," Miranda said. "And yesterday?"

"A stray dog followed him home from the Common in the morning and he persuaded the kitchen staff to let him bring it inside and feed it. Unfortunately, Grandfather chose to visit the kitchen."

She laughed. "That sounds like perfectly normal behavior for an eleven-year-old boy. I can't blame him at all for being tempted by that banister. I slid down it one evening myself, not long after my sister married your grandfather."

"I've always wanted to try it," Scott confessed.

"How did your grandfather react?"

"He wants to send Johnny to boarding school in New Hampshire."

"You don't think that's a good idea?"

"He just got here," Scott said. "He's never had a home before, as far as I can tell, not really. He won't say much about when he lived with his mother, but I gather they moved around a lot. And he's been entirely on his own for more than a year, since she died."

"Did you talk to your grandfather about this?"

Scott nodded. "He said he would think about it. I did promise him, when he agreed to try to get legal custody of Johnny, that I wouldn't argue with his decisions."

"You're planning on returning to Harvard in the fall, aren't you?"

"Yes, of course," Scott said.

"It might be rather lonely for an eleven-year-old in your grandfather's house once you've gone back to college. Perhaps he would be happier with other boys at school."

"I won't be far away. I'd still be able to see him, and make sure he's all right. If Grandfather sends him to school in New Hampshire, I probably wouldn't see him for months. Besides, Johnny's never been to school, let alone lived at school."

"Never been to school?" She was startled. "Whatever do you mean?"

"His mother never sent him. He can read and write a little, but he has a lot of catching up to do. I'm not sure boarding school is the right place for him."

Miranda shook her head. "What can his mother have been thinking?"

"Johnny won't say a word against her. But, well, she doesn't seem to have taken very good care of him."

Miranda was seething. "It's outrageous. I don't understand how any mother could allow her child to grow up like that."

"It was really my father's fault. Johnny said they never dared stay in one place long enough for him to go to school. His mother was always afraid our father would find them and take Johnny away from her."

Miranda looked at him strangely. "That doesn't make sense, Scott."

"Why not?" Scott pulled up to watch his brother gallop across an open field. Johnny seemed to have lost his cap and his head was bare. He crouched on the mare's back as he brought her up to full speed. The two of them looked like they were flying. Johnny wheeled her in a wide circle and started back without slowing.

"In your letter, you said Johnny's mother told him your father kicked them off the ranch. If that were true, why would she be afraid he was looking for them?"

Scott considered it. "I don't know. You're right, it doesn't make much sense."

He came to attention suddenly as his brother streaked across the field. As Scott watched, unbelievingly, Johnny slipped down the mare's side, hanging upside down just inches from the ground, and snatched his missing cap from the grass. He hung there for a few more strides and swung back up into the saddle. The sound of a happy whoop floated through the air.

Scott finally breathed again. "I'm going to kill him."

Miranda put a hand on his arm before he could spur his horse. "Scott, don't. He's all right."

"He could have broken his neck. Did you see what he just did?"

"I did indeed," Miranda said dryly. "If I had to guess, I'd say he's spent a good many hours of his life on horseback, perhaps the happiest hours of his life. He knows what he's doing."

Scott was still fuming. "Aunt Miranda, it's too dangerous. He could have been killed. And he doesn't even like that cap."

"Let it go." Her voice was firm. "Scott, you can't wrap that little boy in cotton wool and keep him perfectly safe. It never works. Trust me, dear."

Scott hesitated. "I don't want him to get hurt again."

"I know," she said.

***

Johnny's face was carefully expressionless when they called him to return to the stable, but he relaxed when they dismounted and Miranda asked mildly where he'd learned to ride like a wild Indian. A lopsided grin appeared on his face.

"From the Indians," he admitted softly. "I stayed awhile in a Comanche camp when I was little."

Scott was still angry and Johnny was still little, as far as he was concerned. His aunt patted his shoulder before he could speak. "Scott, love, would you run up to the house and tell Denton we'll be ready for lunch in twenty minutes? Ask him to serve it in the orchard, if it's not too much trouble."

Scott looked into her green eyes and swallowed his words. He turned and headed for the house, leaving them standing with the horses in the stable yard.

Miranda reached for Johnny's wrist, and tapped the beaded bracelet looped around his wrist, hidden under the cuff of his shirt. "Is this from the Comanche?" she asked.

Johnny nodded, and watched Scott march up the path. Miranda tilted his chin up with one finger and turned his head, looking straight into his eyes.

"He's not mad at you, love."

"Sure feels like it," Johnny sighed.

"You're his little brother and he feels responsible for you. If you get hurt, he'll never forgive himself."

"I can take care of myself."

She smiled. "I know you think so. But don't you push Scott away. He's your brother, and that's special, Johnny Lancer. You really can trust him."

Johnny looked up at her, and her heart turned over at the confusion she could see on that small face. He dropped his lashes quickly to cover it. She wanted to take him in her arms and hug him, but didn't think he would allow it. Someone had hurt this child badly. He didn't have the slightest idea of what to make of Scott's concern.

"Go and find Regan, please, and ask him to see to the horses," she said. "And tell him that Gwenny deserves some extra oats, since she's been ridden by a wild Comanche."

Johnny rewarded her with a sudden, dazzling smile, and ran off.

"Scott, can you and Johnny stay tonight?" Miranda asked after they finished their lunch at a rustic table under the apple trees. Johnny had wandered away, and was sailing sticks down the brook at the edge of the orchard.

"I'm afraid not. We should start back to Boston soon. I promised to meet some friends for dinner. Grandfather doesn't think I'm spending enough time with them lately."

"Is your grandfather going to spend the evening with your brother?" Miranda couldn't imagine it.

"He isn't there." Scott finished his coffee and set the cup down on the table. "Grandfather is in New York on business and won't be home until Saturday."

"So Johnny will be alone?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson look after him." A slow smile spread across Scott's face. "He sneaks down to their sitting room, just as I used to do. Last week, I found him there an hour after his bedtime, drinking cocoa and listening to Mr. Jefferson read from the newspaper."

"I'm glad to hear it," Miranda said. "The Jeffersons always took good care of you. But why don't you leave Johnny here with me tonight?"

"I don't know. I don't want to impose on you."

"Nonsense. I'd be happy to have the company. I always loved it when your grandfather let you come to stay."

"So did I. Are you sure, Aunt Miranda?"

"Of course," she said. "That's all settled then. I have to go to a tea in Boston tomorrow afternoon, so I'll bring him home."

***

He lay on the rug with the dogs, watching the flames dance on the hearth. Even though it was summer here, it was cool at night and never really got as hot as it did back home. Scott's aunt lit the fire after supper, when they left the dining room and moved to this room. He was still amazed at how many rooms they had in their houses, and how much stuff they kept in them, books and paintings and all kinds of furniture, and, well, stuff. He and his mama usually lived in one tiny room, and it was enough. It was a lot better than sleeping in the alleys or out in the desert. Sometimes, in these big houses, shut up in a room all by himself, he felt as lonesome as he had some nights in the desert. At least he could hear the coyotes howl there, and knew he wasn't the only one awake in the dark.

Scott's aunt ate supper with him and told him stories about his brother when Scott was little and came to visit her. Listening to her talk, he forgot he was supposed to pay attention to which fork he used - as if anyone needed more than one - and be careful not to spill anything, not even a crumb, but she didn't seem to be concerned about it.

The one time he joined Scott and his grandfather in the dining room, he'd been too distracted by the effort of remembering all the rules to eat much of anything. Sunday was coming again, soon, and he knew he would have to sit through another meal in the dining room while that old man watched him like a hawk, just waiting to pounce.

Scott's grandfather didn't want him in the house. Johnny knew it, and also knew his brother didn't. Scott seemed to really like the old man, and the old man liked Scott too, so Johnny supposed he couldn't really be all that bad.

It must be his fault. Harlan Garrett just didn't want Johnny, like his father and most of his mother's men. He wondered sometimes what he'd done to make them hate him, but couldn't figure it out. The old man hadn't hit him yet, but he thought that was probably because Scott wouldn't let him.

Scott's aunt didn't seem to hate him. He was glad because he liked her. She had good eyes and a real smile, like Scott's. He hoped she didn't change her mind.

After supper, they played cards and she didn't even mind when Johnny beat her. They played poker for matchsticks until he cleaned her out. He had looked up uncertainly when he took the last hand, but she just laughed, and asked if he'd like some hot chocolate before he went to bed.

He was dragging out the cup of hot chocolate for just as long as he could. He didn't want to go to bed, didn't want the dream to come. It had gone away for a while, but now it was back, worse than ever, since those two men came and took him from the jail in New Mexico.

They gave the gringo sheriff some money, a lot of money, and he released Johnny early. Johnny had been scared, knowing all too well what some men wanted to do with little boys. He didn't think he could fight off the two of them at once, especially since the sheriff had taken his gun and his knife, and hadn't given them back. He didn't have any bullets for the gun, and hadn't for a while, but he refused to sell it, no matter how hungry he was. Even unloaded, it offered some protection. And now he had none.

That wasn't what the men wanted from him, although his relief was short-lived. They took him on a big boat, and he was so sick he couldn't have fought anybody, not even someone his own size. The days and nights blurred together in the dark, evil-smelling cabin where they locked him up, and he wasn't sure how long he was there. When they took him off the boat, they all got on a train. It was hot, even hotter than Mexico, but being out in the air helped. He was just beginning to think about how he could escape when they came to the end of the railroad tracks and the men marched him onto another boat. He was sick again, even sicker than he'd been on the first boat. He no longer cared where they were taking him, as long as he could get off the boat.

Finally, they landed in a strange city, filled with more buildings and people than Johnny had ever seen. They had to carry him off the boat because he couldn't walk, and they locked him in a room, but at least it was on land. He still didn't feel so good but he was determined to get away from them before they could put him on another boat. He took his first opportunity the next day when they took him to Harlan Garrett's office. One of them went into another room with the old man, leaving the other alone to guard him. He might have made it out the door, but Scott stopped him.

He didn't know exactly what to think about Scott. He sure was bossy, a lot bossier than Johnny's mama, who never bothered much about where he was or what he did, once he was big enough to be out on his own. Scott didn't seem to think he was big enough to look out for himself, even though he had for a long time. Sometimes that made him mad.

But he couldn't seem to stay mad at Scott, maybe because his brother smiled at him the same way Mama once did. Scott seemed to like him, no matter what. He couldn't figure that out either. His eyes drooped as he stared into the flames.

"Johnny," a voice said and he jumped. Scott's aunt picked up the cup from the floor, where the last of its contents had dribbled onto the rug. The dogs were lapping at it. "It's past time you were in bed."

He cast a guilty look at the stain on the rug, but she smiled. "Don't worry about it. Go on upstairs. Do you remember where your room is?"

He nodded. He always kept track of where he was, and how to get out.

"Denton found a nightshirt that should fit you and left it on the bed. Scoot now, and sleep well. I'll look in later on to check on you, but I'll try not to wake you."

Johnny wouldn't be asleep, not if he could possibly help it, but she wouldn't know that. He moved toward the stairs. "Night."

"Good night, love."

***

Miranda didn't quite understand the look of misery on Johnny's face when she sent him off to bed. She had raised two sons of her own, and they had resisted bedtime with all the wiles known to mankind, as had Scott and her grandson when they visited, but something else seemed to be going on here.

She had enjoyed Johnny's company, and could see why Scott felt so protective of his little brother. Whatever the child been through, it hadn't extinguished his spirit. He had an innocent zest for life that made her feel younger, and more than enough energy to share. Something about him touched her, and it wasn't simply that he reminded her of her own irrepressible younger son.

Of course, while Rob's green eyes had sparkled with just as much mischief as Johnny's, they'd never held so much sadness as those blue eyes. Johnny tried valiantly to hide it, but he wasn't entirely successful. Something or someone was troubling this child, and Miranda was determined to find out what it was and banish it.

If Harlan was responsible, she wasn't going to put up with it for a moment. She had worried about Scott, growing up in her brother-in-law's rigid household. He was always such a quiet, well-behaved child, and she thought he could use more fun and fewer rules. She had told Harlan that, more than once, and he had even listened on occasion and bent a little. Harlan was well aware, for example, of the evenings Scott spent in the Jeffersons' sitting room, and hadn't discouraged the relationship even though he usually insisted on maintaining a suitable distance from the servants.

For all his faults, she had no doubt Harlan did love his grandson and Scott loved his grandfather. Beyond insisting that Harlan allow Scott to visit regularly, she hadn't been tempted to interfere.

She wasn't so confident about how Johnny would fare in that household. She was surprised when she heard that Harlan had taken in Scott's half-brother, knowing how he felt about their father's second marriage. He must have given in to Scott's wishes, but it worried her.

She also worried about the discrepancy in Johnny's story. Years ago, she had been surprised when Harlan first told her Catherine's husband had no interest in their son, and was perfectly happy to let his grandfather raise him. Miranda had been in Europe and hadn't met her favorite goddaughter's husband, but she couldn't imagine Catherine falling in love with a man like that. Catherine was no fool and her letters painted a far different picture of Murdoch Lancer.

Still, the years went by and the rancher didn't make any move to claim his elder son. Miranda accepted it, especially when she heard from Harlan that the man had driven away his second wife and child.

She began to wonder again when she heard that Johnny's mother had apparently lived her life on the run, afraid that Murdoch Lancer would find them and take the boy from her. Why would he hunt them down if he didn't want them? And how could Maria neglect her child so badly, or ever allow anyone to beat him? Scott had repeated what the doctor said. Something didn't add up here. Miranda didn't think Johnny had lied, but part of the puzzle was missing.

She pushed open Johnny's door cautiously when she went upstairs, not wanting to disturb him, and froze. He was struggling under the covers, and she could hear a frantic voice begging in Spanish and English. She crossed the room quickly and turned up the lamp before she shook him.

"Johnny, wake up. Wake up, it's only a dream." He stared at her blindly, terrified, and tried to pull away.

"No," he begged. "Don't hurt her. Please don't. It's my fault." He broke into rapid Spanish and she couldn't understand more than a few words.

"Johnny! Listen to me." She gripped his shoulders urgently. "You need to wake up. You're having a bad dream. Wake up. It's only a dream."

She finally saw some recognition dawn in his dilated eyes. He was gasping for breath and she could feel his heart thud under his borrowed nightshirt. She pushed the damp hair off his forehead and poured him a glass of water.

"Take a sip," she said. "That's it. It's all right. You're safe here. Take another sip."

"S-sorry," he said, dropping his head after he had gulped the water.

She sat on the edge of the bed. "You have nothing to be sorry about. Everyone has bad dreams sometimes."

"They do?"

"Both of my sons did when they were small. They grew out of them eventually. When my younger boy, Rob, was your age, we took him to the circus one summer. For weeks afterward, he used to dream that he had released the bears from their cages and they had eaten up his brother and were chasing him. He always woke just before they caught him, but he was terrified to go to sleep and too proud to tell me about it. He didn't want anyone to know he was afraid."

"What did he do?"

"Well, he tried to stay awake, so he wouldn't dream. But eleven-year-old boys need lots of sleep and he couldn't do it. The nightmare was worse than ever because he was so exhausted from trying to stay awake all night, and I heard him. He finally told me all about it."

"Didja tell him it wasn't anything to be afraid about because it was only a stupid dream?"

"No, of course not." Miranda looked at the shadows under those blue eyes. "Dreams can be very frightening, even if they're not real. Rob's dream wasn't real, of course, and he knew it, but that didn't make it any less frightening."

"What did?" Johnny didn't look at her, but his voice betrayed his interest.

"Talking about it seemed to help. Do you want to tell me about your dream?"

Johnny shook his head at once. "I can't."

"Why not, Johnny?"

His head bowed, so she couldn't see his eyes at all. She waited, and didn't say anything. "It was real," he finally whispered.

Her heart sank. "It still might help. If you can tell me, love, and we talk it over, it might not come back to hurt you while you're sleeping."

"You think so?" The blue eyes lifted.

"It's worth a try, isn't it?" She longed again to hug him, and didn't dare.

"Will you promise not to tell anyone?"

"Of course, if that's what you want."

***

A boy was shouting out a headline when they left the Parker House after a sumptuous meal and strolled down School Street toward Washington Street. Scott bought a newspaper and whistled as he looked at it, his top hat tilted backwards on his fair head. "McClellan's out, and Henry Halleck has taken command of the army."

"McClellan should have taken Richmond," Sterling said. "It might all be over if he had only acted sooner."

Sandy shook his head. "My older brother says McClellan is a good man. He's in the army, you know."

There was a short silence. They did know, knew it very well. Chad Prentice was only three years older, but he'd seemed like a stranger in the blue uniform, suddenly far more grown up. He hadn't even waited for commencement, although he only had a few months to go before he earned his degree.

"They should have listened to Winfield Scott and stuck to his plan," Scott said. "He had the right idea about cutting off supplies. If we don't get control over the Mississippi, this could drag on for years."

"Well, I hope it does last long enough for me to get in a few licks." Sterling feinted at Scott, who laughed and dodged him. They started to walk up Washington Street.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about that." Sandy turned a dull red. "Both of you. We're all of us going to be eighteen soon."

Sterling looked up enquiringly. "So? We still have three more years of school ahead of us, Sandy. More if I decide to read law."

"We don't have to finish school right now. We could all get commissions in the cavalry. My brother says they need good men, and I'll be sorry later if I don't take the opportunity. The war will be over by the time we finish school and we'll have lost our chance."

Scott gave him a thoughtful look. "Does he really think so? Grandfather says it could go on for years."

"My father says it will be over by spring, maybe even sooner," Sandy insisted. "If we don't join up, we could miss the whole thing."

Scott shook his head. "I've thought about it," he admitted. "But I can't now. I can't leave Johnny by himself in Boston."

"Your younger brother? You'd hardly be leaving him by himself, Scott. Your grandfather will take care of him, won't he?"

"Yes," Scott said slowly. "I suppose so."

"I'm going to join up next month, when I turn eighteen," Sandy said. "I've talked it over with Father, and he agrees. I was hoping the two of you would consider it too. We've always done everything together."

"Not everything," Sterling objected. He gave them a brilliant smile. "I kissed Alicia Gardner all by myself at her dance last week, and I must admit I didn't miss your company one bit."

"Sterling, never mind that, for once in your life." Sandy stopped on the sidewalk, disregarding the other people who were hurrying through the mist. "This is important."

"Trust me, Sandy, dear boy, girls are important too."

Scott looked at his two friends. Sterling was laughing, as he usually did, and Sandy was serious, as he usually was. And Scott was in the middle. That was usual too.

"Both of you, stop it," he said. "Sandy, I won't be eighteen until November and Grandfather will never agree."

"He might surprise you."

"I don't think so. Not about this."

"You won't need his permission once you're eighteen. Sterling will be eighteen this month, and I will be too in another month. We could go ahead, and you could join us in November if your grandfather won't give his consent any earlier."

Scott frowned. "I'll think about it."

"Don't think too long, or you'll miss the chance," Sandy said. "And you'll be sorry, Scott. My father says it's going to be important after the war is over. It could make all the difference in your career, whether you served in the army or not."

"That's not why you're joining up, is it?" The idea repelled Scott. Sandy's father was a senator, and always had an eye cocked on his next campaign, but this was a cold-blooded calculation. Scott was sorely tempted to join the army and fight for the Union, but not because it would be good for his future.

"No, of course not," Sandy said quickly. "Not the only reason. But it is something to consider."

"Come on, you two," Sterling urged them. "The only thing I want to consider just now is the first act at the Old Howard."

***

Miranda Macy Forbes didn't let Johnny see it, but she was angry by the time they finished talking and he finally dropped into an exhausted sleep. She was still in a fury when she woke the next morning.

The child's story confirmed Scott's impression that Johnny did indeed love his mother. It also confirmed Miranda's suspicion that Maria Lancer was no fit mother.

Granted, the woman hadn't deserved to die the way she had, but she never should have placed herself or her young son in those circumstances.

Miranda checked to make sure Johnny was still asleep and went downstairs to the sunroom, where her breakfast was waiting.

She would have liked to talk to Nat Cobb about this, but couldn't break her promise to Johnny. She also thought it would be a good idea if Scott knew exactly what demons haunted his little brother, but she couldn't tell him either.

She would just have to handle this herself. And perhaps that was the best way.

It was a clear case of self-defense, but it would do Johnny no good at all if the story ever got around Boston that he had shot his mother's murderer dead when he was barely ten.

She shook her head. No wonder the child had nightmares. And who knew what other horrors those blue eyes had seen?

No, Maria wasn't a fit mother, and that raised other questions. Miranda wondered, from what Johnny had told her, if his mother had run away with the child. That would certainly explain why the rancher had men looking for them, and why Maria never stayed long in one place.

Nothing could explain what Maria Lancer had done to her son. She had actually told that little boy his father was ashamed of him. Even if it were true, there was no need for that. Johnny was probably the only completely innocent party involved, and he clearly believed it was all his fault.

She was finishing her second cup of coffee when she heard light footsteps on the stairs. Johnny peeked around the doorway. "Morning, ma'am."

He looked uncertain of his welcome, and she gave him a smile. "Good morning, love. I think you and I need to dispense with all those ma'ams," she said. "Why don't you call me Aunt Miranda, as Scott does."

"You're not my aunt," he pointed out.

"Well, no, but I'm your brother's aunt. I think we can claim a relationship if we choose. Unless you prefer to be on formal terms, and want me to call you Mr. Lancer?"

That brought a small smile to his face, and he shook his head. "No, ma'am, um, Aunt Miranda."

"Good. Sit down, and have some breakfast. We need to discuss what you're going to do this morning. I'm afraid I have a committee of ladies coming here for a meeting, and you'd find them very dull."

Johnny slipped into a chair as Denton came through the door with a glass of milk. Miranda wondered, not for the first time, how her butler always seemed to know just when to arrive and exactly what to bring.

By his own choice, Johnny spent the rest of the morning at the stable, helping to groom the horses and clean out the stalls. He seemed to be used to the chores, and perfectly content to pitch in, Regan told Miranda later. And he quickly made friends with the older stable boys once they realized he was willing to work and that his vocabulary was at least as colorful as theirs. He had lunch with Regan, since he was in no fit state by then to eat in the house.

After lunch, Regan allowed him to pick the horse he wanted to ride, and he chose the skittish chestnut. It wasn't nearly as skittish by the time Johnny took it around the ring a few times, and it was executing flying changes nearly flawlessly when Miranda came down from the house to watch.

"I don't suppose you could adopt that boy, ma'am," Regan asked, appearing at her side at the railing.

"Don't tempt me," she smiled. "Has he behaved himself?"

"He's a good boy," the trainer said. "Mr. Scott's half-brother, I hear, from out west?"

"That's right."

"That boy is a born horseman. Pity to keep him cooped up in the city."

"Yes, it is," she agreed. "Regan, do you think it's all right for Johnny to take the chestnut out for a ride?"

"He can handle him." Regan was confident. "Do you want me to saddle Gawain for you?"

"Yes, please."

They took a long ride across the estate before it was time for Johnny to take a bath and change his clothes for the return to the city. Miranda changed too, and his eyes widened when she swept downstairs, dressed for a society tea.

"Denton will get your riding clothes and boots cleaned, and they'll be waiting in your room for you the next time you visit," she said.

Johnny's eyes flickered up to her face. "I might not be back."

"You better be, young man, or I'll come into the city to get you. You're welcome here, Johnny, with or without your brother. I'm going to tell Scott and his grandfather to send you in the carriage regularly to go riding. Boys need exercise just as much as horses, or they get fractious."

He smiled at that, as she hoped he would, but was quiet on the drive to the city.

"I can't come in today," she told him when the carriage stopped in the street in front of Harlan's house. "You take care, and don't forget that I expect to see you again very soon."

"Thanks," he said. She pushed his hair back and kissed his cheek, unable to resist. To her pleasure, he gave her a small, quick hug before he jumped down and ran up the stairs to the front door.

After tea, she stopped at her elder son's house in Pemberton Square. Richard was at home, fortunately, and her daughter-in-law was not. He listened quietly to what his mother had to say.

"Has Uncle Harlan already filed the petition for custody?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. Scott told me he had agreed to ask for custody. And, as I said, I don't really know if anything's wrong with that. It may be the best thing. I just want to be sure there hasn't been a mistake about his father."

"Lancer didn't want Scott," Richard said.

"So we were told, Richard."

They exchanged a long look, and he sighed. "I'll check the petition, if it's been filed, and see what it says, Mother."

***

Scott went looking for his brother and finally found him in the stable on Acorn Street where his grandfather kept his carriage horses. Johnny was on his back in a pile of hay, giggling, and a brown dog was licking his face and pawing at him. He rolled over when Scott came in, and stood up.

Scott picked some hay out of his brother's hair and brushed more off his clothes, but he was happy to see Johnny laughing. "Did you have a good time at Aunt Miranda's house?"

Johnny nodded. "I like her," he volunteered.

"I do too, very much."

"Can I go there again?"

"Of course." Scott patted the dog absently. "Is this the dog you found on the Common?"

Johnny nodded, his eyes flying up to Scott's. "Are you mad at me?"

"Don't be an idiot," Scott said. "Of course not."

"Really?"

"Really." Scott shoved his brother toward the door. "It's nearly time for supper. Grandfather won't be home until tomorrow, and I'm going to eat with you tonight."

Johnny's face brightened. Scott wondered at it, but didn't say anything. He supervised while Johnny washed his face and hands, and listened while he discussed Aunt Miranda's horses enthusiastically and demolished two helpings of chicken and dumplings, followed by a large slice of cake and a third glass of milk. Johnny still hadn't gained much weight, but at least he was eating. Dr. Cobb was due to visit tomorrow, and Scott thought he'd be happy with Johnny's progress.

He was wrong. Nathaniel frowned thoughtfully at Johnny after he'd peered down his throat, looked into his eyes, and listened to his chest.

"Young man, are you sleeping all right?"

Johnny glanced quickly at his older brother, and then studied his shoes. He was sitting on the table in the nursery, where they'd moved him a few days after he arrived. It was a big, sunlit room with an adjoining bedroom. Scott's toy soldiers still stood on the shelves, along with some of his books and other toys. Johnny had picked up the soldiers with his restless hands and set them down again, but hadn't shown any interest at all in playing with them.

"Well?" the doctor prodded.

"I slept last night." Johnny looked up at the doctor and crossed his arms, shivering ostentatiously. "I'm fine. Except I'm cold."

The doctor's lip twitched. "You can put your shirt back on. We are not, however, finished talking. You didn't answer my question."

Johnny slipped into his shirt and began to button it. "I don't know what you mean."

"I'm sure the Jeffersons send you to bed every night at a reasonable hour, even if it might be a little bit later than your official bedtime." The doctor's eyes twinkled and Johnny gave him a cautious smile back. Nathaniel moved on smoothly. "The question is whether you sleep through the night, once you're in bed."

"Oh." Johnny swung one foot. "I did last night."

"I'm glad to hear it," Nathaniel said. "What about all the other nights?"

A pair of blue eyes met the doctor's, but Johnny didn't answer.

"Johnny," Scott said. "Answer the doctor."

"It's all right." Nathaniel lifted Johnny's chin. "I think I know. John, do you need to talk to your brother or to me about something?"

Johnny shook his head. "I'm fine," he said stubbornly.

"See that you stay that way," Nathaniel said. "If something's bothering you, you can tell Scott, or you can tell me. You know that, don't you?"

Johnny nodded.

Nathaniel ruffled his hair. "I hear you went riding the other day."

Johnny looked alarmed. "Isn't that OK?"

"It's fine," Nathaniel said. "Although Scott says you nearly gave him a heart attack. What would you say if I told you I want you to go riding at least two or three times a week?"

A huge smile answered him. "Really?"

"As long as you follow my other instructions," Nathaniel said. "I want you to eat and get a good night's sleep, every night, Johnny. And I'm going to give Mrs. Jefferson a tonic for you. One spoonful every morning, and no arguments, you hear me?"

Johnny made a face but he nodded.

"Good boy. I'll see you again next week, but if you want me sooner, you just tell Scott or the Jeffersons. All right?" Johnny nodded again, and the doctor turned to Scott. "Walk me downstairs."

Scott barely waited until they had left the room. "What's wrong, Dr. Cobb?"

"I'm not sure," Nathaniel said. "Do you check on him at night?"

"I usually look in when I go to bed."

"And is he usually asleep?"

"He seems to be." Scott frowned. "I haven't really checked closely."

"Look closely," the doctor suggested. "Does he sleep during the day?"

"He seems to run out of energy early in the afternoon. But he's fine after he sleeps for an hour or two." Scott smiled. "He calls it a siesta, and assures me everyone in Mexico takes a rest during the hottest part of the day."

"Maybe they do, but this isn't Mexico and it's not normal for an eleven-year-old boy to need a nap in the afternoon. I'd guess he's not sleeping at night, and I want him to sleep through the night. He can't get the kind of rest he needs in a few hours."

"Should we try to keep him awake during the day?"

Nathaniel considered it. "No. Not yet. But don't let him nap for more than an hour."

"Is he all right, sir?"

"He's far better than he has any right to be," Nathaniel said. "I wish some of my other patients were doing so well. But he doesn't have any reserves, son. If that boy were a cat, I'd tell you he's already used up nine lives."

"Should he be riding then?"

"Maybe not," the doctor confessed. "But you said he loves it and he's good at it. And the exercise and fresh air should help. I think it's worth the risk. He needs something, Scott, and I don't know exactly what it is. I only wish I did."

"I wish I did too."

***

Harlan stared unbelievingly at his grandson. "Absolutely not," he said sharply. "You need to finish your education."

"I can return to school later on," Scott said. "Sandy's father doesn't think the war will last long."

"He's a fool." Harlan's voice was fierce. "Scotty, it's ridiculous. You're only seventeen."

"I'll be eighteen in November," Scott reminded him. "And then it will be my decision. Many of the soldiers on the lines are my age and even younger."

"No," Harlan said. "I forbid it. I didn't bring you up to throw away your life, and I won't allow it."

"Sir, it's not right for me to sit safely in Boston while others are risking their lives. It's my duty."

"Duty." Harlan made an impatient gesture. "Nonsense. Are you forgetting your duty to me, Scotty? I've given you the best of everything, all your life."

"I appreciate everything you've done for me." Scott usually wasn't at a loss for words, but he felt awkward. "In a way, that's one of the reasons why I feel so strongly I should go. I know I've lived a privileged life and I should be contributing something back."

"You will, my boy, you will. After you finish your education and not in the army. That's final."

Scott stared unhappily into his coffee cup. He couldn't really say his grandfather's reaction was any surprise. He had deliberately waited until they finished dinner and Harlan was in his most mellow mood to bring up the subject. It hadn't helped. "I'm sorry, sir," he said slowly. "I can't accept that."

Harlan stole a look at his grandson's set face. In his desperation, an idea occurred to him. "What about your half-brother, Scott? You promised to take care of him. You can't do that while you're off playing soldier."

Scott flushed, but ignored the gibe. "I was hoping I could count on you, sir."

Harlan shook his head. "Absolutely not. I wouldn't have that mongrel in the house if not for you."

Scott stared at his grandfather, stunned. "What did you call him?"

Harlan pressed his mouth into a thin, straight line, a flush rising up his neck, above his starched collar. "You heard me. You can't seriously think I'd choose to take that boy into this house. The most sensible thing your father ever did was to get rid of him and his slut of a mother."

"That boy is my brother. If you really feel that way, I'll make other arrangements for both of us." Scott couldn't believe the venom in his grandfather's voice. His own voice shook a little.

"You will not. I've already filed for custody and I'll get it, don't you doubt it. If anyone tries to interfere, I'll drag this through the courts. Do you really want that, Scott? Do you want Johnny to testify about his life with his mother, and all the men she brought home to the series of hovels where they lived?"

"I don't believe you'd do that, sir." Scott looked at his grandfather blankly. "He's a child."

"I will do whatever it takes to bring you to your senses. I agreed to take John at your request. If you're not here, neither will he be. I'll have custody and will do as I see fit with him."

"That's not fair, sir."

"It's not fair for you to squander your life, and I won't allow it. If you want to keep that boy safe, you'd better do as I say."

Scott didn't know what to do. He was still in shock when he left the dining room. The Jeffersons weren't in their sitting room and neither was Johnny. He went upstairs and found his brother curled up in a ball, the bedclothes tangled around his feet. At least Johnny was truly asleep, his breathing slow and deep. Scott covered him gingerly and sank into the chair by the bed.

He couldn't let his grandfather drag Johnny into court. Scott didn't know the details but he knew his brother would be humiliated if he had to tell any of them to strangers. He might even refuse, and get in trouble.

Dr. Cobb might be able to reason with Harlan. The two of them had been classmates at Harvard. But the doctor might feel the same way as his grandfather about Scott's plan to join the army. And that was true of Aunt Miranda too, although Scott didn't think either the doctor or his godmother would ever use an eleven-year-old boy as a pawn in the battle.

It might be a ruse. Grandfather might not actually carry out his threat, but Scott wasn't sure enough to take a chance on it. Harlan Garrett had a reputation as a ruthless businessman. Scott had never seen this side of him before, except over a chessboard, and he just wasn't sure.

Before Scott left the dining room, Harlan had actually threatened to send Johnny to sea on one of the ships he owned. "He can learn a useful trade. Plenty of boys his age begin as cabin boys, and earn their own way."

"He was deathly sick on the steamer all the way here, and you know it," Scott protested.

"He'll have to get over it, won't he?"

Scott scowled and stretched out his legs, careful not to make any noise that might wake his brother. Clearly, he had made a mistake in asking his grandfather to take custody of Johnny, and he didn't know how to fix it. He wasn't old enough and there really wasn't anyone else. He damned his unknown father, not for the first time. If the man had fulfilled his obligations, this wouldn't even be an issue.

He thought again about asking his godmother for advice, and suddenly had an idea. Her son was a judge and would know the law. Scott thought he could trust Cousin Richard. Of course, he had also thought he could trust his grandfather. He slumped deeper into the chair.

***

Richard Forbes wasn't at home Sunday. Scott hesitated, and left a message that he would call on his cousin at his chambers in the courthouse Monday morning. When he arrived, Richard's clerk beamed at him, told him the judge was expecting him and asked about his grandfather as he led the way to a heavy, paneled door.

Richard didn't resemble his mother at all, but he had her gift for listening and her quick understanding. He let Scott tell the story without any interruptions.

"I must say, I agree with your grandfather that you're too young to be thinking of joining the army," he said when Scott finished.

"So you won't help me?"

"Not with that," Richard said definitely. "Your brother, however, is another matter." His eyes drifted to a stack of papers on his desk. "I'd like to meet this young man, Scott. I've heard a lot about him."

"Did Grandfather speak to you about him?" Scott wondered if he'd made another mistake.

"No, my mother did." Richard paused for a moment. "Johnny seems to have made quite an impression there."

Scott relaxed and smiled. "She made an impression on him too, and not just because she has horses, although that certainly didn't hurt."

Richard laughed. "Can you bring him to see me? Or should I visit the house?"

"He's actually at your mother's house right now," Scott said slowly. "The doctor said it would be good for him to ride regularly. Grandfather's coachman is going to take him out there every other morning if the weather's fine."

"Perhaps I should drop in while he's there," Richard said thoughtfully. "How long is he likely to stay today?"

"He's supposed to be home in time for lunch. Sandy Prentice is bringing his little brother over this afternoon and we're going to take them to the aquarium."

Richard's eyes went to the clock on the mantel. "That doesn't give me much time. You say he'll be at Mother's every other morning? Tell you what, I'll meet him there Wednesday."

"What if the court grants Grandfather's petition in the meantime?" Scott didn't want to lose any time.

"It's not likely, Scott," Richard looked again at the papers on his desk. "Trust me, the courts don't move that quickly."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite sure," Richard said. "Now, I want to hear more about your plans, young man. Why are you thinking about joining the army now, instead of finishing your education?"

Scott flushed. "I can go back to school later, sir. The war could be over by the time I graduate from Harvard."

"I hope so, and not just for your sake," Richard said. "But I'm afraid there's no hurry, Scott. I would have thought that you'd want to stay in Boston just now and get to know your brother."

"I do." Scott looked miserable. "Only, don't you think it's my duty? It doesn't seem right for me to sit in lecture halls, while other men my age are fighting."

"Perhaps your first duty is to an eleven-year-old boy who is otherwise alone in a strange place," Richard suggested.

"I've thought about that," Scott said. A smile hovered on his lips. "But you haven't met Johnny yet. He'd be the first to tell you he can take care of himself."

"That doesn't make it true," Richard pointed out.

"I know." Scott sighed. "I honestly don't know what I should do."

"You might be more use to the army later on."

Scott shook his head. "The army doesn't need Latin and Greek, or anything else I'm learning at Harvard."

"Perhaps not," Richard conceded. "But it does need officers with the judgment to make life and death decisions for their men, and that comes with time. You should get at least another year or two of college under your belt. Unfortunately, I'm afraid you'll still have time to join the fight."

"Sandy says his father thinks it might be over by the spring."

"Just this once, cousin, I truly wish I thought that old blowhard was right."

***

Harry Prentice was a year older than Johnny, and about a head higher. He was immaculately dressed, from the tips of his polished shoes to the top of the straw hat set on his slicked-back hair. His freckled face wore its usual smug expression. Scott couldn't stand the brat, and he had his doubts about this excursion, but thought it would be good for Johnny to be with someone closer to his own age.

"Scott, have you read 'Origin of the Species' yet?" Harry asked as they walked downtown, ignoring Johnny. "Sandy started it, but didn't finish."

"Did you?"

"Of course," Harry said. "It's all nonsense, but one should at least be familiar with the man's specious arguments, don't you think?"

"You don't subscribe to Mr. Darwin's theory on evolution, I take it?"

Harry's face was scornful. "Why, of course not. The idea, that we're descended from monkeys!"

Johnny's head came up, his eyes gleaming. Scott looked from his brother to Harry, and read Johnny's thoughts without any difficulty at all. The other boy did look somewhat like an organ grinder's monkey, all dressed up and ready to flaunt himself.

"Father says it's all nonsense too. And Professor Agassiz agrees," Harry said, as if that settled any possible question.

"Professor Gray doesn't," Scott pointed out. "Johnny, stay with us."

Johnny had fallen back to watch a loud argument between two cart drivers, trying to pass on the narrow street.

"How common," Harry pronounced. "That sort of language really shouldn't be allowed in public."

Johnny gave him an unbelieving look.

The aquarium and zoological garden was on Central Court, off Washington Street opposite the Academy of Music. Scott paid 10 cents admission for Johnny and a quarter for himself. A huge, central aquarium, twenty-five feet across, dominated the main room inside the front door, circled by dozens of smaller tanks. Dim shapes moved inside the murky water. Johnny stepped backward as a large shape came up to the glass.

"That's the whale," Scott said.

Johnny looked at it dubiously and put his hands in his pockets. "That's an awful big fish."

"Whales aren't fish," Harry corrected. "They're mammals. This one is a beluga whale, Delphinapterus leucas. I looked them up yesterday in Father's library. I wanted to be sure to get the full benefit of Sandy and Scott's kind invitation to visit the aquaria. You really should have done some reading too, Johnny, so you would understand what you're seeing."

Scott wanted to smack the boy himself, but hoped his younger brother refrained. Even Sandy looked bored.

"This was really intended to be fun, not a lesson," Scott said. "I wonder when they start the show with the trained seals."

Sandy was reading a gaudy poster. "They have a new sea lion somewhere."

"Otaria flavescens, most likely," Harry said. "The newspaper account wasn't very specific. They're found along the South American coast."

Scott decided to just ignore him. He peered into another, smaller tank that held a gray shark.

Harry was still talking and Johnny had disappeared when Scott turned to look for him. He scanned the room, alarmed, and interrupted Harry mid-sentence.

"Sandy, where did Johnny go?"

"I don't know." Sandy looked around vaguely. "He was here, just a minute ago."

"Harry, do you know where Johnny is?"

Harry shook his head. "He really should know better than to wander off by himself. I would never do that. It's not allowed."

Scott looked around again. "Wait here, will you, Sandy, while I see if he's around the other side of the tank. If you see him, grab him, please, and make him stay with you."

Scott searched the room twice without finding any sign of his brother. "I'm going to check the lower level," he said when he returned to Sandy and Harry. "Would you two mind waiting by the door, in case I miss him? I hope he didn't slip outside."

"I'll help you look downstairs," Harry offered. "I might as well see some of the zoological exhibits, even if Johnny has ruined our visit."

Scott didn't take the time to argue. He hurried down the stairs, Harry on his heels.

A crowd had gathered around the bear cages, but Scott didn't see Johnny anywhere. Harry was talking again. "They have a grizzly bear and some black bears."

"Shut up," Scott ordered.

"What did you say?"

"I said, shut up. I don't care what kind of bears they have. Either help me look for Johnny, or go back upstairs and stay with your own brother."

Harry looked offended. "I can't go back upstairs by myself. I'm not allowed to wander around on my own in the city."

"You're twelve years old," Scott snapped. "You can manage to go up the stairs. Sandy is standing right at the top."

"Hey, Scott." Johnny wiggled through the crowd and came up next to his brother. "You done looking at the fish?"

"Where have you been?"

"Just looking around," Johnny said, unconcerned.

"Johnny, you shouldn't have gone off by yourself."

"Why not?"

Harry was sulky, but couldn't resist the opportunity to offer instruction. "You should listen to your older brother," he chimed in. "The city can be dangerous for little boys. You could get lost."

Johnny gave him an incredulous look. "I ain't a little boy, asshole, and I don't get lost. I'm eleven!"

Harry's mouth dropped open and he turned scarlet. "What did you call me? That's a bad word."

Johnny rolled his eyes and said a worse one.

"Let's go see if the seal show has started," Scott said hastily, shoving his brother toward the stairs. "Come on, Harry."

Scott never knew exactly how Harry managed to fall into the pool while the seals were doing their tricks. Johnny seemed to be completely absorbed in the show, and Scott didn't think he had moved, but he also didn't understand how Harry managed to pitch forward and flop face-first into the water. The seals immediately surrounded him, and the boy screeched as if he was being murdered.

"Ow, get them away from me! Ow, get me out."

Sandy and Scott hauled the boy out and dragged him over the barrier, dripping wet. He'd lost his straw hat, and muck clung to his trousers.

"He did it!" Harry pointed a trembling finger at Johnny.

The dark-haired boy gave them an innocent look. "Who, me? What'd I do?"

"You p-pushed me!"

Scott was afraid he was right, but Sandy came to Johnny's defense. "Stop making a spectacle of yourself," he ordered his brother. "I didn't see Johnny do anything. Come on, we'd better go home so you can change."

Johnny still looked innocent when Sandy hurried Harry into a cab outside the building. Scott gave him a suspicious look. "Did you push him?"

Johnny just grinned. "Can we go see the rest of the monkeys now?"

***

Richard Forbes drove out to Chestnut Hill the next evening, and found his mother arranging flowers.

"Richard!" She beamed at him. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"It's more business than pleasure, I'm afraid," he said, kissing her cheek. "You're looking well, Mother."

"What's wrong?" Her eyes searched his face anxiously. "Is it Peter?"

"No, your grandson is fine." Richard strolled over to the sideboard and helped himself to a drink, pouring a sherry for his mother. He gave her a wry smile. "At least, he's not in any trouble that I've heard about yet. He and his mother left for Salem this morning to pay a visit to her parents. Actually, this time it's Scott, Scott and his brother."

"You found Harlan's petition."

Richard nodded. "I did. In fact, I received the file yesterday morning just before Scott paid a visit to my chambers."

"Scott came to see you?"

"He's worried about the petition too, Mother."

"But he asked his grandfather to file for custody."

"Yes, well, that was before Scott told Harlan he's thinking of joining the army."

Her green eyes showed her dismay. "Joining the army? He can't. He's only seventeen, the same age as Peter."

"Scott will be eighteen in four months and no one will be able to stop him then. For now, at least, he still needs his grandfather's consent."

"Surely he didn't give it?"

"No, of course not. Uncle Harlan made it clear that he'll never agree to it, even after Scott turns eighteen. He also made it clear that he's prepared to stop him any way he can."

"Johnny," she guessed instantly. "Did he threaten Johnny?"

Richard nodded. "I'm not so sure I disagree with my uncle, Mother," he said quietly. "At least, I don't want to see Scott in the army. But this isn't the way to prevent it."

"It certainly isn't." Miranda was fuming. She rose and paced quickly across the floor. "It's far more likely to have the opposite effect. Tell me what that old fool said."

"He said he wouldn't have Johnny in the house if Scott wasn't there, and threatened to send him to sea. He also said he'd drag the boy through the courts if anyone tried to interfere with his petition for custody." Richard hesitated for a minute. "I don't know, not for sure, but I imagine he used a similar threat years ago on Scott's father."

Miranda wheeled and the green eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"While I was going through the file on Johnny, I thought I should also take a look at the old file on Scott." Richard took a mouthful of whisky and swallowed it. "It took some digging, but I finally got my hands on it today. Mother, did you know Murdoch Lancer came to Boston when Scott was five and filed a petition to take custody of his son?"

"He came here from California? But Harlan always said he had no interest in Scott."

"It is true that Lancer didn't pursue the case. There's no explanation in the file, but it's a long way for a man to travel if he had no interest."

She frowned. "There's something wrong here, Richard."

"I'm afraid you're right."

"What can we do about Harlan's petition? I wasn't sure it was a good idea before, and now I'm even more convinced of it."

"Murdoch Lancer is really the only one with any standing to contest it," Richard said slowly. "As far as I can tell, Scott is the boy's only other relative and he's not old enough."

"What if I asked for custody?"

"That's a big step," he warned.

"Would I have any chance?"

He sighed. "I don't know. You're no relation at all to the boy."

"Nor is Harlan."

"No, but he is Scott's grandfather and legal guardian. This could get ugly, Mother, and I'm not sure it's in the boy's best interests. Uncle Harlan filed statements from the agents he hired to find Johnny, and it's not easy reading. I would rather not see a child on the stand testifying about what I read."

"That's exactly what Harlan is counting on, isn't it?" Miranda thought for a few minutes, frowning. "I think we should get in touch with Murdoch Lancer."

"The court will mail him a notice of the petition," Richard said. "But it will take a month or so to get there. I suppose I could send a telegram. His address is in the file."

"Please do," she said. "Right away."

"Do you think we should tell Scott?"

Miranda considered it. "No. Not yet. He may be angry we didn't include him in the decision, but I'd rather wait to see if we hear from his father and what the man has to say. If his father isn't interested, there's no point in telling Scott."

"If Lancer is interested, it could be quite a shock for Scott," Richard warned. "And it may not be a pleasant one."

"I know. It won't make Johnny happy either, Richard. He hates his father, based on what his mother told him. If she lied to him, as I suspect, he's going to have a difficult time with it. But I really don't see what else we can do."

***

Two days later, a stranger was waiting when Richard left the courtroom in the afternoon and headed for his chambers.

"Judge Forbes? My name is Harper, Jim Harper. I need to talk to you. I called at your house and they told me I'd find you here."

"I told you, Mr. Harper, you'll need to make an appointment," Richard's clerk interrupted. "The judge is a busy man."

"I'm a friend of Murdoch Lancer," Harper said to Richard.

Richard lifted one brow. This must be the answer to his telegram. "Come in, Mr. Harper. I'd like to talk to you as well."

Inside, he waved Harper to a chair. "Are you a lawyer, Mr. Harper?" he asked, although he doubted it. Harper had a broad Boston accent with just a hint of a brogue behind it. Richard guessed he was a self-made businessman of some type, probably a prosperous one from the cut of his suit and the gold watch chain that hung out of his vest, but not an educated man.

"No," Harper studied him back frankly. "Just a friend. Forgive me, Judge, but I have to ask. You're related to Harlan Garrett?"

Richard nodded. "He's my uncle."

"So why did you send that wire to Murdoch?"

"My mother and Scott asked for my help. They're both concerned about Johnny."

"Scott?" Harper gave the judge a sharp look. "Does he know you contacted his father?"

"No, he does not. Scott has no reason to believe Mr. Lancer has any interest in either of his sons. In fact, he has every reason to think his father doesn't care. Both of them do."

"That's not true, and never has been. Murdoch's tried for years to find Johnny."

"He knew exactly where Scott was all that time," Richard pointed out.

"Yes, in Garrett's house. He didn't get far the last time he knocked on that door." Harper snorted. "Murdoch's no fool. He didn't have a chance against Garrett twelve years ago, and he didn't want to hurt his boy. That doesn't mean he doesn't care. It also doesn't mean he's not ready for a fight now. Murdoch isn't about to let Harlan Garrett take another son away from him."

"He's prepared to contest the case?"

"He's leaving San Francisco on the next steamer. In the meantime, he asked me to hire a lawyer and get things started. That is, if I can find a lawyer in this town with the guts to go up against Garrett."

"I may have a few suggestions for you," Richard said.

"I might be interested," Harper admitted. "I know some lawyers, but I also know what we're up against. First, though, Murdoch wants to know what kind of shape Johnny is in."

"I only met him yesterday." Richard took another look at Harper, measuring him. "Johnny was ill when he arrived, but he's under a good doctor's care and Scott is keeping a close eye on him. Physically, he seems to be all right now."

Harper nodded. "How is he otherwise?"

Richard thought of the dark-haired boy he'd met at his mother's house Wednesday morning. Johnny was suspicious when he heard Scott's cousin was a judge, and kept up his guard, but Richard couldn't really blame him. From the report in the case file, he knew Johnny had appeared in court recently. He was astounded to read that the New Mexico judge sentenced a homeless eleven-year-old to jail. An orphanage would have been a more appropriate choice in the circumstances.

Despite Johnny's wariness in his company, Richard did catch a few glimpses of the mischievous scamp his mother and Scott described. His own younger brother, dead for years, once had the same sparkle he could see in this boy. Richard began to understand why his mother was so concerned. He knew Scott was her favorite godchild, but he had wondered a little about why she seemed equally worried about Johnny.

"Judge?" Harper said.

Richard gathered his thoughts. "Well, he hasn't had an easy time, but he's not what you might expect. He and Scott have hit it off remarkably well. And he's completely charmed my mother."

"I'd like to see for myself. His father is worried."

"I don't know about that," Richard said slowly. "He goes riding at my mother's house and possibly you could meet him there, but I'll have to consult her first. If you'll let me have your address, I'll talk to her about it tomorrow and get back to you."

Harper gave him two addresses, for his business and home. Richard was faintly surprised. The man didn't live far from his own house.

"I've done well for myself since the days when I first met Murdoch, working on the wharves." Harper said abruptly, apparently reading Richard's thoughts. "So has he. He has a lot more now than he did the last time he crossed Garrett. And he's willing to spend whatever it takes to get his boy. He's ready for a fight this time."

Richard nodded. "Good, Mr. Harper. I'm afraid he's going to have one on his hands, and what happens in court may be the least of it."

***

Harlan Garrett knocked on his front door impatiently. The Jeffersons had the night off, and the other servants were apparently taking full advantage of their absence. He raised the knocker again and rapped sharply.

He heard someone fumble with the latch, and the door swung open just a crack. A pair of blue eyes looked up at him.

"Why are you opening the door?" Harlan demanded.

"I thought maybe you were Scott," Johnny said.

Harlan pushed past him into the foyer. "Where is the footman?"

"William cut himself real bad on some broken glass in the kitchen. Frank took him to the 'pothecary to get it looked after."

"Apothecary," Harlan corrected. "You mean Francis took William to the apothecary? They left the house totally unprotected?"

"No. I'm here," Johnny pointed out.

Harlan looked him over. Johnny was wearing a nightshirt, robe and slippers, and his wayward hair stuck straight up. "You're a little short for a footman," he observed, mentally thanking God none of his acquaintances had knocked on his front door that evening. "Why aren't you in bed, young man?"

Johnny dropped his eyes, and thrust his hands deeper in the pockets of his robe. "I woke up, and thought I'd wait for Scott."

"Wait for Scott? He won't be home until midnight, or later."

"That's OK," Johnny said softly. "I ain't sleepy anyhow."

"I am not sleepy."

"You either?" The blue eyes got bigger.

"That's not what I meant at all."

"It's what you said."

"Don't say ain't," Harlan said crossly. "It's not proper."

"Scott told me that too," Johnny confessed. "Only, he's told me so many things I can't remember them all at once."

"You'll have to try harder. Go to bed." Harlan headed for refuge in his library. He poured himself a snifter of brandy, and sat by the fire. Johnny made no move to follow him, to his relief.

He sipped his drink and relaxed. After a few minutes, his eyes popped open again. Johnny hadn't followed him, but Harlan had no faith the boy had followed his order to go to bed. He was most likely still in the foyer, and so was Harlan's Ming vase. He sighed, and got to his feet again.

Johnny was nowhere near the vase, to Harlan's relief. He was sitting on the stairs, his chin propped up in his hands and his eyes on the door, as if watching it might make someone knock on it any sooner.

"I told you to go upstairs, young man," Harlan said in the tone he usually used on junior clerks and people who wanted a loan.

Johnny was unabashed. "I've been up later than this lots of times. I'm just waiting for Scott."

Harlan didn't know why this boy wasn't afraid of him. He should be. Perhaps Johnny was too stupid to be afraid. But he certainly didn't intend to leave him in the foyer to wreak havoc on a priceless possession, and he wasn't at all sure Johnny would stay in bed if he forced him to go upstairs. It might be safer to keep an eye on him until Scott returned.

"Come into the library then," he said, his voice resigned.

Johnny settled on the rug by the fire. The chessboard was still set up with a problem Scott had been puzzling over earlier, and he picked up one of the carved ivory chessmen.

"John, those are not toys," Harlan said. "Put it down."

The blue eyes looked up, fringed by long lashes. "Do you want to play?"

An hour later, Harlan was staring at the board. He had intended to teach Johnny a short, sharp lesson, but it hadn't quite worked out that way. He was intrigued, despite himself. There was, of course, no danger that Johnny would actually beat him at the game, but he had managed to hang on far longer than Harlan anticipated. Some of his moves were positively ingenious.

"Check," Harlan said triumphantly, moving his bishop.

Johnny studied the board, chewing on his lower lip just as Scott did. He reached for his remaining knight and suddenly paused, his head going up.

"Scott's here!" He scrambled to his feet. The board teetered, and Harlan's treasured chess pieces went flying as the table overturned.

Harlan hadn't heard anything, but followed Johnny into the foyer. He was trying to remember the position of the pieces and figure out just what Johnny had intended to do with that knight.

Scott's brows rose when his brother opened the front door, and nearly disappeared when he saw his grandfather behind Johnny. He gave Harlan an enquiring look. The two of them had maintained a cool courtesy since their argument. "Is something wrong, sir?"

"Not at all," Harlan said, equally reserved. "Your brother and I were playing chess while we waited for you."

Scott looked even more surprised, but he turned his attention to Johnny. "Why aren't you in bed? You're supposed to be in bed by nine-thirty at the latest, and it's past midnight."

"I did go to bed on time, honest. Only I woke up."

Scott looked into his brother's eyes and turned him gently toward the stairs. "Go back to your room now. I'll be up in a little while and I'll stop in to see you."

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise." Scott laughed. "I also promise I'm going to make you sorry if you're not under the covers when I get there, little brother. Go."

Johnny disappeared up the stairs and Scott followed Harlan into the library. He began to pick up the chess pieces without comment.

Harlan watched him. "John plays an interesting game."

"Yes," Scott agreed. "Where is the footman, sir? Why did Johnny open the door?"

"Apparently, William is injured and Francis took him to an apothecary. I'll be speaking to both of them, of course, about leaving the house unattended."

"Isn't Cook here? Or any of the maids?"

"That's hardly adequate." Harlan's face tightened.

"Is William badly injured?"

"I don't know. John said he cut himself on some broken glass."

Scott put the last chess piece into place on the board and stood. "Good night, sir."

"Scotty, you and I need to talk."

"We did talk." Scott's face was remote. "You made yourself quite clear."

"I was angry." Harlan hesitated. "I'm afraid I said more than I intended. I just want to keep you safe, Scotty. I'll do anything to keep you safe."

"So you said." Scott moved toward the door. "I need to check on Johnny, sir. Good night."

***

Johnny was sitting up in bed, his arms wrapped around his knees, when Scott looked into his room.

"Are you all right?" Scott asked, pulling up a chair. "Why were you downstairs, Johnny? You should have been asleep hours ago."

The boy shrugged. "I was awake, and I heard the commotion when William cut himself so I went to see what happened."

Johnny couldn't have heard a commotion in the kitchen, however loud, unless he was already out of his room. But Scott decided to let it pass for now. "Is he badly hurt?"

Johnny glanced up briefly. "I've seen worse."

Unfortunately, Scott was sure he had.

Johnny continued after a pause. "Reckon he'll be OK but he needed to get it fixed up. They couldn't stop the bleeding, not all of it. And they wouldn't let me help 'cause there was still glass all over the floor."

"Good," Scott said, glad to hear it.

"After William and Frank left, I figured I'd wait for you and let you in. Only your grandfather came home first." Johnny gave his brother a slightly reproachful look.

Scott cast about for the right way to phrase his question. Harlan and Johnny had actually been playing chess, something he still couldn't quite believe, but he was worried about what his grandfather might have said to the boy. "Was Grandfather angry when you opened the door for him?"

A faint, impish smile appeared on Johnny's face. "A little. Not too bad."

Scott searched his brother's eyes again and didn't find anything to alarm him. "Lie down properly, and I'll read to you for a while," he suggested, reaching up to loosen his tie and unfasten his starched collar.

Johnny sighed, but scooted down in the bed. His eyes closed before Scott reached the end of the chapter.

When he left Johnny's room, Scott noticed the lights were still burning downstairs. Grandfather must still be up. He paused at the top of the stairs, and went down the hall to his own rooms. He didn't know what to say to his grandfather.

Sandy Prentice had been full of news tonight when they met at a dance. He had received a letter from his brother, who had been in the battle at Seven Pines.

"I've written to tell Chad we're joining up," Sandy said. "Of course, we may see him before he receives the letter. He's on his way to Washington. Father thinks he can manage staff assignments there for us as well."

"Staff assignments?" Scott was puzzled.

"Not for me," Sterling said definitely. "If I join the cavalry, I want to be where the action is, not in Washington running errands for some general."

Scott couldn't agree more, although it didn't look as if he would have an opportunity to make that choice, not unless Cousin Richard could think of some way to get Johnny away from his grandfather. He had thought it over - had thought of little else - and couldn't take the risk that Grandfather might carry through on his threats.

Richard had met Johnny at Aunt Miranda's on Wednesday, but Scott hadn't really had an opportunity to talk to his cousin. His brother's reaction to Richard puzzled Scott. Johnny barely said a word, and he watched Richard as warily as he watched Grandfather. Richard hadn't done or said anything to alarm him, as far as Scott knew.

Aunt Miranda could be far more intimidating than her son, but she and Johnny got along just fine. In fact, Scott wished desperately that Johnny could go and live with her. It would be the perfect place for him, if only his grandfather would agree to it.

He let his breath out slowly. Maybe he and Grandfather really did need to talk again.

***

Richard drove out to his mother's house again the morning after Harper's visit. She listened thoughtfully to what he had to say.

"Harper wants to meet Johnny." Richard hesitated. "He doesn't fully trust me, but he did say Lancer told him to hire a lawyer to contest the petition. I wouldn't be surprised if he also told him to get Johnny out of Harlan's house immediately."

"Can he do that?"

"Murdoch Lancer is the boy's father. If we let Harper meet Johnny here and he announces he's taking the boy on Lancer's instructions, we don't really have any right to refuse. In fact, Harper could take him and put him on the next steamer to California. If I were advising Lancer, and the main concern was to get his son back as quickly as possible, I'd be tempted to tell him to do just that before the court takes any action. Harlan's lawyer should have gone before a judge and asked for temporary custody until the case is heard. For some reason, he hasn't done that yet. He probably figured there was no need, but it was careless."

A worried look crossed Miranda's face. "Richard, Scott said Johnny was seasick all the way here. That's why he was ill when he arrived. If they put him on the steamer and he gets sick again so soon, it could be dangerous."

"Lancer doesn't know that, Mother."

"Well, I think you'd better inform Mr. Harper of it as soon as possible," she responded tartly.

"I think he'll wait until he hears from me," Richard said. "He seemed like a decent man. Will Johnny be here today?"

Miranda nodded. "He already is. He's at the stable."

"Is Scott with him?"

"No, not today. Johnny is going to spend the night and Scott plans to come tomorrow. Do you think we should allow Mr. Harper to meet Johnny here?"

"I think we have to risk it," Richard said. "If you agree, I'll send a message to Harper and ask him to come this afternoon. And I'll stay to talk to him when he arrives."

"What are we going to tell Johnny?"

"Nothing at all, not yet, if we can get Harper to agree to that."

She nodded.

Johnny came up to the house for lunch. Richard heard the front door slam, and an excited young voice. "Aunt Miranda, that roan colt is a good 'un. We've been working with him and Regan says he'll let me try riding him if you say it's all right." The voice came to an abrupt halt and Johnny skidded to a stop in the doorway when he saw Richard.

"Sorry," he said, starting to back up.

"It's all right, Johnny," Richard said. "Come in. Mother stepped into the kitchen for a few minutes to speak to the cook. Is Regan training that two-year-old?"

Johnny nodded. He had wiped all expression off his face and his smile had disappeared, snuffed out like a candle.

Richard sighed inwardly. "I'm actually glad to get a chance to talk to you," he said aloud. The boy tensed up even more. Johnny was poised to run. It certainly wouldn't be the first time, from what Richard had read about his short life. "Mother told me that you spent some time with the Comanche."

"Yeah." Johnny's eyes were the bluest Richard had ever seen.

"I'd like to hear about it," Richard said mildly.

Johnny looked at him as if he had two heads. "How come?"

"When we were young, my brother and I used to read everything we could find about the Indians," Richard said. "I still do. The Comanche are really good with horses, aren't they?"

Johnny still hadn't moved out of the door. "Yeah," he said softly. "The best."

"How did you end up with them?"

"It's not against the law." Johnny's tone was hostile.

"I didn't mean to suggest that you did anything wrong, Johnny. I'm just curious." Richard knew, from the suspicious look on the boy's face, he wasn't going to get an answer.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting." Johnny spun around, startled, as Miranda came up behind him. She put a hand on his arm, giving him a smile. "Lunch is about to be served, gentlemen."

She kept the conversation going at the table. Johnny played with his food and answered her questions briefly. Richard, lost in thought, didn't have much to say either.

Johnny perked up when the conversation turned to the roan colt.

"Regan told me he was going to put a saddle on him this morning," Miranda said. "How did he react?"

"Fine." Johnny's eyes fastened on her face. "Regan said I could try riding him this afternoon if it's OK with you."

She hesitated. "I don't know, Johnny."

"I won't hurt him."

"That is not at all what concerns me, young man." Her face was stern, but the corners of her mouth quivered. Johnny looked like any small boy, pleading with his eyes for something he'd set his heart on. Only, in this particular case, he wanted something far more dangerous than a stick of candy or a late bedtime. Miranda knew he could ride, as well as the older boys employed in the stable. And she didn't think the trainer would let Johnny near the horse if he thought either of them likely to be hurt. He wouldn't leave it to her; he would just say no and that would be the end of it. "Regan truly said it was all right?"

Johnny nodded and gave her a sudden grin. "He says I don't weigh hardly enough for the colt to notice me. Can I? Please."

She nodded, even as Richard opened his mouth to object. Johnny's grin turned into a smile that lit up his entire face. Richard closed his mouth abruptly.

"After you finish your lunch," Miranda added, emphasizing the first word.

***

Johnny had already returned to the stable when Harper arrived. Denton showed the visitor to the library, where Miranda and Richard were waiting.

"I realize, of course, that there's nothing to prevent you from taking Johnny, as I'm sure you know by now if your lawyer has checked on the court papers," Richard said after he explained their concern. Harper didn't say anything, but his mouth turned up a fraction. "All I can do is tell you it wouldn't be wise, particularly if you have any idea of putting him on a steamer. If you doubt what I've said, I can give you the name of the doctor who's looking after him. Since you represent the boy's father, I think he'll be able to talk to you directly."

"I do appreciate you telling me that," Harper said slowly. "And I'll take your word for it. But Murdoch wants me to get Johnny away from Garrett as quick as I can. I won't put the boy on a steamer, not after what you said, but if I can get him out of the state, we probably won't have to go to court at all."

"And what about Scott?"

"Murdoch would like nothing better than to bring Scott home too. But he doesn't figure he has a chance there. Garrett has custody and the court's not likely to take it away, is it?"

"No, it's not," Richard admitted. "But the two boys are already close, Mr. Harper. They're both going to be upset and angry if you separate them, especially when they find out their father is responsible."

"What did Johnny's mother tell him about Murdoch?"

"She lied." Miranda had listened silently, forming her own impressions, until she decided it was time for her to take a hand. "She told him that his father was ashamed of him and kicked them out. That little boy loved his mother and still does, Mr. Harper. He believes what she told him. She did a lot of damage, and you could make it worse if you're not careful. Johnny will not be glad to see his father, not at first."

"What would you suggest, ma'am?"

Miranda and Richard exchanged glances, and she nodded. Richard spoke. "We talked this over this morning. We'd like to suggest that you ask the court to give temporary custody to my mother. Johnny already knows her and he's comfortable here. He'll also still be able to see Scott while we wait for his father to get here. My uncle isn't likely to allow Scott to visit Johnny if you take custody, Mr. Harper, but he won't dare try to stop Scott from visiting my mother. She is Scott's great-aunt and godmother. Uncle Harlan won't be able to say no."

Harper looked at Miranda. "That's kind of you, ma'am, but I don't know how Murdoch will feel about it. He doesn't know you, does he?"

"No, we've never met."

"We'd be taking a chance that the court might rule in Garrett's favor. Murdoch left it to me to make the calls until he gets here, but I don't think he'd go along with that."

"It's a small risk, I think," Richard said. "I've thought about this since we spoke. If the boy's father comes here with proof his son was taken away from him and he's been trying to find Johnny ever since, that changes the entire case. The court isn't likely to award custody to anyone else. Under the circumstances, you could make a strong argument the Massachusetts courts don't even have jurisdiction and this should be decided in California. Harlan really had no business bringing Johnny here."

"Will the boys have to testify?"

"It's a possibility and it's been a concern for us, especially if they put Johnny on the stand. In fact, my uncle has threatened to do just that. But the circumstances have changed there too. At the least, we should be able to make sure that Scott is called first and Scott is no longer in favor of awarding custody to his grandfather. Uncle Harlan won't want to hear Scott tell the court why."

Harper was silent for a few minutes. "It's a lot to think about," he said. "And I don't think I can give you an answer right now. I would like to meet the boy first."

Richard nodded. "Can we ask you not to say anything to him about his father?"

"Yes," Harper agreed. "I'll go along with that for now."

Johnny was up on the roan in the training ring, while Regan watched. The colt was nervous, and Johnny kept up a soothing stream of words, mostly in Spanish, as they went around the enclosure.

"Is that safe?" Harper asked, as the colt shied at something, lifting his forelegs off the ground. Johnny brought him down, still whispering to him.

"Mother?" Richard said, his voice uncertain.

"It's all right." Miranda kept her own misgivings out of her voice. She looked at Regan.

"The boy's doing fine," the trainer said.

Johnny was smiling when he finally dismounted after taking the colt around the ring a few more times. He stood patting the colt, leaning against it casually, and fed it a carrot from his pocket. Regan came forward to take it, and Johnny slipped under the rail.

"You both did very well," Miranda told him. "It didn't look like he minded much."

"He didn't," Johnny said. "Wish I could take him out for a run."

"Not unless Regan and I both say it's all right," she said quickly. "Promise me." He peeked up at her, and nodded.

Harper was standing with Richard, his eyes on the boy. Miranda turned Johnny slightly to face him. "Johnny, this is Mr. Harper. Mr. Harper, Johnny Lancer."

"Hello, son," Harper said, offering him a hand. "It's nice to meet you."

Johnny gave him a puzzled look, but shook hands politely.

***

"What?" Scott stared at his cousin. All of the color had drained out of his face. "No!"

"Scott, he is Johnny's father."

"He doesn't want Johnny," Scott stormed. "He doesn't deserve him, not after what he did."

"There may be more to the story than you know."

"I know what Johnny's mother told him."

"Exactly," Richard said. "Scott, Harper has a different version of what happened. He says Johnny's mother ran away from the ranch, and your father has been looking for them ever since."

"I don't believe it."

"I didn't just take his word for it." Richard's voice was dry. "The Pinkerton Agency confirmed it."

Scott scowled. "Well, she must have had a reason to leave. Just like my mother."

"No, nothing like your mother. Maria Lancer left your father's ranch with another man, a gambler who drifted from town to town until someone shot him in a dispute over a card game. Do you think that was any life for a two-year-old? Do you really think it's a choice a good mother would make?"

Scott was silent, biting his lip. "Johnny hates him."

"Johnny doesn't know your father, Scott, any more than you do. He was very young and probably doesn't even remember the ranch."

"He really wants Johnny?" Scott was pacing back and forth in Miranda's library, but he turned and looked at the older man.

Richard nodded. "It appears so. He's on his way here from California. Monday morning, the attorney Harper hired for him is going to file a challenge to your grandfather's petition for custody. He's also going to ask a judge to award temporary custody..."

"He can't take Johnny!" Scott looked panicked and Richard held up a hand.

"It's all right, Scott. Mother and I talked to Harper. He's going to ask the judge to place Johnny in her custody until your father arrives and this is settled. That will get the boy out of your grandfather's house, but he won't be with a stranger and you'll be able to see him whenever you want. She'll take good care of him."

"What are we going to tell Johnny? Have you already told him about this?"

"No. Harper was here yesterday, and they met, but Johnny doesn't know he's a friend of your father. I'm not sure we should tell him anything, Scott, not until your father gets here and we have a better idea of what he's like."

"I won't lie to my brother."

"I'm not suggesting that. But Johnny doesn't have to know anything about the court case, not yet."

"You don't think he'll ask why he's going to stay with Aunt Miranda? You don't know Johnny very well."

"He's spending a lot of time here already," Richard pointed out. "It makes more sense than going back and forth. Is he happy in the city?"

"No," Scott admitted. "I don't think so. Not really."

"Let my mother explain it to him Monday, Scott, once we get a ruling from the court. She won't lie to him either, but we don't have to tell him the entire story now."

"What about Grandfather? He said he'd drag Johnny through the courts if anyone challenged his petition."

"I'll talk to your grandfather. If your father really had neglected Johnny, it would be one thing, but this is another. I think Uncle Harlan's lawyer will tell him to drop it. Even if he doesn't, the most likely outcome is that the judge will decide this doesn't belong in a Massachusetts court at all."

"Did Grandfather know the truth?" Scott's face was pinched.

Richard hesitated. "I don't have any evidence that he knew."

Scott nodded. "It probably never occurred to Grandfather that my father wanted Johnny," he said, his voice low. "He didn't want me."

Richard knew he couldn't postpone this discussion. Scott was older than Johnny, nearly an adult. "I also looked at your file, Scott. The court made Uncle Harlan your legal guardian when you were a year old. But later on, your father came to Boston and filed a petition to overturn the decision."

"He came here? When?"

"It was the year you turned five."

"I guess he couldn't prove he ever wanted me or had looked for me." Scott's voice was bitter. "He knew exactly where I was all the time."

"It didn't go ever go before a judge, Scott. Your father didn't pursue the case."

Scott flinched as if he'd been struck, but quickly recovered control over his face. "That shouldn't surprise me."

"He came a long way."

"And went home again." Scott's fair skin flushed. "It's all right, Richard. Grandfather took care of me, and I certainly don't need a father now."

Richard wasn't so sure about that, but didn't say so.

***

Scott looked across the table at his brother. He and Johnny were having Sunday dinner with his grandfather. It was the only meal Johnny ate in the dining room, and had turned into an ordeal for all of them.

Johnny took a sip from his glass of milk, the sole concession to the presence of a child in the room. He tugged on his collar as Jefferson put a plate in front of him and Scott caught his eye. The boy sighed and looked at the forks.

"From the outside, Johnny," Scott murmured. "You work your way in."

Johnny picked up a fork and gave his plate a dubious look. Scott's smile grew. Johnny wasn't supposed to speak unless spoken to, but his question was perfectly clear.

"It's salmon," he said. "Have you ever been fishing?"

Johnny poked at the salmon with the fork, and stabbed a miniscule bit of it. "Yeah - yes." His eyes went to Harlan, who was eating his salmon. For once, the older man didn't correct him.

"I love fishing," Scott said. "I'll take you sometime."

"Did you catch this?" Johnny asked.

"No," Scott said. "I usually release my catch. This is from the market."

Johnny's eyes widened. "Why bother to fish if you aren't hungry?"

"For the challenge of it," Scott answered. He watched while Johnny took another small bite. Fishing was a sport for him, and always had been. Obviously, that wasn't the case for his brother. Scott pushed away the image of a ragged boy fishing because he had nothing else to eat and nobody to feed him if he didn't manage to fend for himself.

Harlan's voice rumbled across the table. "Sit up straight, John, and keep your elbows off the table."

Johnny rolled his eyes but he sat up in the chair. Harlan and Scott had nearly finished their salmon. Johnny took another unenthusiastic bite.

"Scotty, I saw Professor Randolph today, at the club." Harlan said. "He spoke quite highly of your work last term."

"That's good to hear," Scott said cautiously. Randolph, like Nat Cobb, was another of his grandfather's former classmates. He taught the classics at Harvard, content to let the Randolph family fortune provide a comfortable cushion for a scholarly life. Scott didn't think it was a bad choice. He rather liked the absent-minded, cranky old professor.

"You'll be in another one of his classes in the fall, of course," Harlan said.

Scott placed his fork on the plate. "Perhaps," he said politely. He cast a look at Johnny. He didn't want to discuss this in front of his brother.

Harlan either didn't see or chose to ignore Scott's warning look. "Of course, you will," he said sharply. "I hope you've put that nonsensical idea about joining the cavalry right out of your head."

Johnny's head came up abruptly. He looked from Harlan to Scott, his eyes narrowing.

"Grandfather, I think we can discuss this another time," Scott said.

"No time like the present," Harlan said. He addressed Johnny directly. "What do you think of your half-brother's plan to leave Boston and go off to fight in the war?"

Johnny stopped pretending to eat. His face turned remote, all except for those blue eyes. Scott could see they were stricken before Johnny dropped his lashes.

"Well?" Harlan said. "I asked you a question, boy."

Johnny didn't look at him. "Reckon it's Scott's business," he muttered.

"Oh? You don't care what he does?"

The lashes lifted briefly, and dropped again.

"I don't know about the rules for civilized behavior in Mexico, if there are any at all, but it's customary here to look a man in the eye when he speaks to you," Harlan said testily.

Scott had had enough. "Leave him alone, Grandfather."

"I'm not the one who intends to leave him alone," Harlan pointed out.

"Sir, that's enough!" Scott had never spoken to his grandfather in that tone before. Harlan stared at him, shocked. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't think this is the appropriate time or place for this discussion."

The rest of the meal passed with little conversation. Johnny tipped over his glass, but Harlan didn't banish him from the room, as he had the week before. Jefferson moved in quickly to mop up the mess and fill the glass again.

Johnny poked at his Beef Wellington doubtfully, but he ate it. He didn't smile back when Scott smiled at him across the table. His face was stony.

It was still stony when they finally finished, and Harlan excused Johnny. Scott put his napkin down hastily and started to follow his brother.

His grandfather's voice stopped him. "Scotty, please stay for a moment."

"Sir, I really need to talk to Johnny."

"I know you do. I won't keep you long. I wanted to say I'm sorry. I should not have said what I did in front of John."

"Why did you?"

Harlan looked at the tablecloth. "You're my grandson, my only grandson," he finally said. "I don't want to lose you. I couldn't bear it."

Scott had no idea of how to respond.

His grandfather looked up at him. "I can understand why you're angry, Scotty. I just want you to understand too."

***

Johnny slipped out the front door, while Jefferson was still busy in the dining room, and ran down to Boston Common. He pulled up to catch his breath and get his bearings. He wanted to go home, wanted desperately to see sun-drenched adobe instead of red brick and stone, but wasn't sure how to get there. He wasn't even exactly sure how to get to the waterfront. Scott hadn't taken him there, although they had gone one day to a huge market, where he could see a glimpse of the water and ships' masts. He just needed to remember which way it was. Dios, the streets were confusing here.

It took him more than an hour to find the market again. The streets were crowded, and he dodged around slow-moving pedestrians on the sidewalks, and the horses and wagons that clogged the narrow streets.

The sun was dropping by the time he finally came to the wharf. A steamer rested alongside it, black smoke puffing out of its stacks. Johnny stared at it miserably and jammed his hands in his pockets. Now that he was here, he didn't want to get back on a boat. He would rather ride home, even if it were clear across the whole country. But he didn't have a horse or any idea which way to go if he did.

The passengers trailed down the wharf in a line, moving toward the gangplank. Johnny hesitated. Scott had given him some pocket money, and he still had nearly all of it, but he didn't think it was enough to buy a ticket.

He could join the line, and try to look as if he belonged to one of the families, something he'd done before, many times, in a crowd. It was a big boat. Once he was aboard, he could probably manage to find someplace to hide.

His stomach lurched at the idea, but he ignored it. A boat was the only way he knew to go home.

Someone barreled into him and snatched his cap. Johnny launched himself at the attacker without thinking. He hated that stupid cap but no one was going to take it away from him.

"Give it back!"

"Who's going to make me?" A larger boy shoved him backwards. "Not you. Hell, from the looks of you, you probably don't even know how to dress yourself in them fancy clothes."

Johnny took him down with a flying tackle.

The steamer was blowing its whistle by the time a man pulled them apart, holding them both by their collars and giving them a shake. The line of passengers had melted away and the crew was taking up the gangplank. Johnny stared at the steamer, dismayed, even while the man yelled.

The other boy disappeared down an alley when the man let go of his collar with a final shake. He kept a firm grip on Johnny. "Where do you live, boy?" he asked. "You don't look like you belong down on the wharves by yourself. And you sure aren't big enough to be tangling with that kid."

Johnny studied his shoes, cursing them and his suit. He thought bitterly that it probably didn't matter that the steamer had left. He probably couldn't get away with just joining a family in the line, not in these clothes. He swiped at his mouth, which was bleeding.

"I asked you a question," the man insisted.

"Johnny!" A cab pulled up, and Scott jumped out. He looked relieved when he saw Johnny. Johnny wasn't relieved. He was mad at Scott, and even madder at himself. It was stupid to think he could depend on anybody. He knew better.

"You know this boy, Mister?" the man asked.

"He's my brother. Is there a problem, sir?"

"He was fighting with another boy, one of the kids who hangs out on the wharf. Wasn't doing so bad, either, considering his size. I just broke them up."

"Thank you." Scott reached in his pocket and handed the man something. "I appreciate your help."

The man stared at the bill in his hand. "Any time."

Scott propelled Johnny toward the waiting cab. "We better get you home and see if the Jeffersons have a beefsteak for your eye."

"I'm fine," Johnny protested, trying to yank his arm away. "Lemme go."

"You're going to have a black eye." Scott gazed at him when they were both in the cab and it started to move. Johnny dropped his head, unwilling to meet his brother's eyes. "Johnny, what were you doing on the wharf?"

"Nothing," Johnny muttered.

"The steamer just left," Scott said. "I was afraid I might be too late."

Johnny didn't say anything. He hunched up his shoulders and turned his head to look out the window.

"Johnny." Scott's voice sounded funny. "What Grandfather said at dinner - I am thinking about joining the cavalry but nothing's settled. That's why I didn't say anything to you. I wouldn't just leave you without telling you. And I definitely wouldn't leave you on your own."

"It don't matter," Johnny said. "I don't care."

"Well, I care," Scott said. "What were you doing on the wharf?"

Johnny didn't answer.

They fussed too much, all of them. Scott fussed, the Jeffersons fussed and even Scott's grandfather fussed some, to Johnny's surprise. When they reached the house, Scott actually tried to carry him inside like he was a baby, but Johnny pulled away and ran up the steps on his own feet. He didn't get far. Jefferson opened the door and started to take him down the hall to the kitchen, but Scott's grandfather came out of the library and said to bring him in there.

He was on the sofa now, with a raw steak on his eye, and they were still fussing. They kept asking if he was hurt anywhere else and he kept telling them he was fine and, no, he didn't need no doctor.

He wasn't hurt, not really, but he did have a few sore spots. And the sofa was comfortable, and the fire was warm. He yawned, wincing, and let his eyes slide shut even as the voices continued to fuss over his head.

***

"I found him at Long Wharf," Scott said, removing the beefsteak from Johnny's eye.

Harlan was surprised. From what the detectives had told him about their trip, and what Nathaniel said, he didn't think Johnny would go near a boat.

"If he hadn't gotten into a fight with another boy on the wharf, I think he would have tried to sneak aboard the steamer," Scott added. "I would have been too late."

Harlan was watching Johnny surreptitiously. Asleep, he almost looked angelic, even with the black eye. It had been a long time since Harlan had watched a child sleep. When Scott was very young, even younger than Johnny, he used to check on his grandson at night, although Scott never knew it. He'd checked nearly every single night the year Scott was five, the year after Murdoch came to Boston.

"Well, he's safe now," Harlan said. His voice sounded weak, even to his own ears. "But I do think it would be wise to ask Nathaniel to come and take a look at him."

Scott nodded. "The other boy was older and larger, according to the man who broke up the fight."

"Scotty," Harlan began and stopped. "Jefferson, send someone to ask Dr. Cobb to stop by."

"Yes, sir," Jefferson agreed. He was watching Johnny too, Harlan noticed. "If I could make a suggestion, sir, it might be better to get him upstairs to his bed. I'll take him, if you wish."

"No, I'll do it," Scott said.

Harlan poured himself a drink when they left the room. He was staring into the fire when the doctor arrived.

"Nothing to be alarmed about," Nathaniel said when he came downstairs again, and looked into the library. "A hot bath, some of Mrs. Jefferson's liniment and a good night's sleep should put him right again."

Harlan handed the doctor a glass. "Is Scotty still upstairs?"

Nathaniel nodded, smiling. "The two of them sound like they grew up together when they start to argue."

"It's ridiculous." The words escaped before Harlan thought. "They barely know each other."

"Scott always wished for a brother. I think it's good for him to have someone younger to look after, Harlan."

Harlan scowled. "If his mother had stayed in Boston, where she belonged, he might have had some real brothers."

"If I were you, I wouldn't suggest to Scott that Johnny isn't his real brother." The doctor gave Harlan a piercing look. "Tell me, what do you intend to do with that boy?"

"What do you mean?"

"Scott told me something about your disagreement."

"It's ridiculous for Scott to even think of the army. I thought you'd understand, Nathaniel, better than anyone else."

Dr. Cobb winced. His youngest son, freshly graduated from West Point, had fallen at Bull Run in the early days of the war, just a year ago. He kept his tone even. "Many young men are thinking of joining up, Harlan. He wouldn't be worth much if he didn't at least think of it."

"I won't allow it. Scott's place is here, in Boston."

"And where is Johnny's place? Were you serious about sending him away if Scott doesn't obey you?"

Harlan hesitated. "John is not my concern."

"Perhaps not, but he is your responsibility, for the moment. If you don't want him, Harlan, I'll take him."

Harlan was shocked. What was it about the brat? He had bewitched Scott, the household staff, his sister-in-law, and now the doctor too. "You can't be serious."

"I'm very serious." The doctor set his glass down. "I like that boy, Harlan. I know your concern is for your grandson, and I can understand that, but I don't want to see Johnny hurt."

"I won't hurt him," Harlan muttered. "I only said what I did to stop Scotty from doing something stupid."

"That's what I thought," Nathaniel said. "But you don't care anything about Johnny, do you? Did you even mean to bring him here?"

Harlan shook his head. "I told the agents to try to locate him, not to bring him to Boston." he admitted. "I thought, if Scott's father ever tried to interfere, it might be useful to know where the other boy was."

"If Scott's father tried to interfere? Why would he do that, after all these years?"

Harlan waved a hand airily. "Oh, no particular reason. Just in case."

Nathaniel frowned at his old friend.

***

Miranda was puzzled. Johnny was up on the roan colt in the training ring. He'd barely acknowledged his brother when Scott arrived from Boston.

Johnny also hadn't reacted much earlier, when she told him that he was going to stay. Richard had sent a message as soon as another judge approved the arrangement, but Miranda waited until after lunch to tell Johnny. He hadn't asked any questions. He was distant, too distant, but she had decided not to push him, at least, not yet. She would wait and speak to Scott when he brought Johnny's things.

Scott was quiet too when he finally arrived. Miranda was watching Johnny ride the colt, and Scott joined her.

"Have you seen your grandfather since Richard spoke to him this morning?" Miranda asked.

"No, not yet."

"Richard said he didn't contest the motion to put Johnny in my care."

"I know." Scott's voice was absent.

Miranda lost patience. "Scott, what's wrong? Are you upset because Johnny is going to stay here?"

"No, of course not." Scott pulled at the fingers of his gloves. "Grandfather told Johnny yesterday that I was thinking of joining the army."

"You hadn't told him?" Miranda began to understand.

Scott shook his head. "I didn't think I should say anything until I decided. He's angry with me."

"Angry that you're thinking of joining the army or angry that you didn't tell him?"

"Both, I think, but I'm not sure. He hasn't said. He ran off and I finally found him down on the waterfront."

"Is that where he acquired the black eye?"

"He got into a fight with another boy on the wharf. If he hadn't, he might have managed to get onto the steamer." Scott watched as his brother circled the ring again. "He won't talk to me about it. It's like he's shut me out."

Miranda frowned. "I suppose that's exactly what he's doing."

"I wouldn't just leave him. He should know that."

"Oh, Scott. Everyone else has left him on his own, all his life," Miranda pointed out. "He's learned not to depend on anyone, not even his father or his mother."

"Richard told me - he said our father wanted him all along." Scott was busy with the gloves again. He didn't look at his godmother.

"Johnny doesn't know that." Miranda's eyes went again to the boy on the colt. "Don't you see, Scott? That boy is shutting you out now to protect himself from being hurt again."

"What should I do?"

"Give it some time," Miranda said. "I think Johnny had started to trust you. He's not sure about you now, just like a colt that's been spooked, but he may come back if you're patient with him."

"I hope so." Scott sighed. "Aunt Miranda, I'm worried he might try to run away again. He missed the steamer this time, but we might not be so lucky the next time."

"I'll keep an eye on him," she promised.

Scott went back to Boston after dinner. Johnny was looking at the pictures in a book and barely looked up. He still wasn't talking. Scott had offered to read to him, but he'd shaken his head.

Miranda returned to the library and picked up a book herself. "Ten more minutes, and then bedtime, Johnny."

He gave her a speculative look. "I'm not tired."

Miranda smiled. "It will still be bedtime," she said briskly. "The colt doesn't get a choice either when it's time to settle him in his stall for the night."

She could see him thinking about that. He didn't argue. When the clock struck the hour, he closed his book and put it back on the shelf.

"You can take it upstairs with you if you'd like," she offered. "It's all right if you want to read in bed for a little while. Just be careful with the lamp, love."

He was already asleep when she looked in later. She picked up the book from the floor, where it had fallen, and her brows rose. It was a book about the west, open to a page with a map. She put it on the table next to the bed, resolving to have a talk with him first thing in the morning. She tucked him in and dropped a kiss on his forehead before she left the room.

***

Harlan listened to his lawyer, fuming. "You're saying I should just drop the whole thing? That's not what you told me before."

"This isn't what you told me before either." Everett said. "You told me Lancer drove the boy's mother away, and didn't provide for them. This is different, Harlan. You did the right thing today when you decided it wasn't worth it to fight for temporary custody. There's no point in pursuing this any further."

Harlan scowled. "Damn Richard to hell," he said angrily. "If he hadn't interfered, Murdoch would never know anything about it."

"He would have received a notice from the court eventually," Everett pointed out. "It would just take a little longer."

Harlan had made his own arrangements to take care of the notice from the court, but Everett didn't need to know that. "What about Scott?" he asked. "Can Murdoch try to get Scott too?"

"He could," Everett said. "But I don't think you have much to be concerned about there. Scott is nearly eighteen now, old enough to tell the court what he wants if it becomes an issue."

Harlan wasn't so sure what Scott would want. He just might want to go with his precious half-brother to California.

He would almost rather see his grandson go into the army. If he pulled a few strings, he should be able to make sure the boy never got anywhere near the front lines.

Harlan cursed the day he had ever thought it was a good idea to find Johnny.

"I really think you should just drop the case," Everett said. "Richard is right and the court is likely to throw it out anyway."

If Murdoch came to Boston for Johnny, he was going to want to see Scott, and Scott was most likely going to want to meet him too. Harlan thought wildly of taking his grandson to Europe and rejected the idea. Scott wouldn't agree to the trip now.

The cavalry might actually be the only way to get Scott away from his brother and, more importantly, keep him away from his father. Harlan wasn't going to lose another child to California.

"I'll let you know what I decide," Harlan said. He needed to get rid of the lawyer and think this over carefully.

Everett nodded and got to his feet. "I'm sorry, Harlan. But you did tell me you didn't really want the younger boy. Maybe this is all for the best."

"Perhaps," Harlan agreed.

Scott arrived just after Everett departed. "Scotty," Harlan said. "I hope John is comfortable. I thought you might stay in Chestnut Hill tonight to help him settle in."

"He's fine with Aunt Miranda," Scott said cautiously.

"I'm sorry your father seems to feel it necessary to separate you."

Scott's face showed his surprise. Harlan waved him into the library and poured both of them a glass of cognac. Scott looked surprised about that too. "You're nearly grown," Harlan said. "I think you're old enough to enjoy a glass of cognac after what must have been a long, difficult day."

"It was," Scott admitted, taking a sip.

"Everett Phelps just left," Harlan said. "I'm afraid he feels the court will allow your father to take John back to California."

"Cousin Richard told me that too. He also told me that my father wants Johnny and always has." The blue-gray eyes, so like his mother's, met Harlan's. There was a question in them.

"I don't know," Harlan said. "I can't pretend that I ever began to understand the man, Scotty. I just wish he hadn't insisted on dragging your poor mother to California."

"She didn't want to go?"

"She would have done whatever he said."

"She must have loved him," Scott suggested.

Harlan's eyes went to the portrait. He took a sip from his glass. "She was so beautiful," he said. "She could have had her pick of young men from the best families in Boston. She would have been safe here."

"You don't know that, sir."

"Safer than she was in that wilderness." Harlan shuddered. "No decent man would ask a woman to give up her home and family and live in those conditions. He had nothing to offer her, Scotty. He had nothing to offer you."

"Do you think Johnny will be all right with him?"

"Johnny?" Harlan dragged his mind off old grievances. "It's different for him. He's not used to anything better. He'll be fine."

"I hope so."

***

Johnny didn't appear at breakfast the next morning. "I believe he's already gone down to the stable, ma'am," Denton said when Miranda enquired. "I offered him something to eat earlier, but he declined."

"I see." Miranda poured herself some coffee. "Denton, would you send someone to get him, please? I would like to see him cleaned up and sitting at this table within the next ten minutes."

"Certainly, ma'am," he said.

Johnny was still damp around the edges when Denton opened the door for him. His face was rebellious. Miranda paid no attention.

"Thank you, Denton," she said serenely. "You may serve now."

Johnny kept silent while the butler put a plate in front of him.

"You might as well eat," Miranda observed, picking up her fork.

He glowered. "Don't want it."

"Really? Perhaps I should ask Dr. Cobb to stop by and see what's causing this lack of appetite. In my experience, eleven-year-old boys never stop eating unless they're sick."

"I ain't sick."

"Then eat your breakfast." Miranda took a bite of her own breakfast. He folded his arms stubbornly and didn't move.

She eyed him. "Johnny, I want you to understand your choices here. You can eat your breakfast and return to the stable once you have finished, until it's time for lunch. You can also not eat your breakfast, and spend the rest of the morning in your room since there must be something wrong if you're not hungry. It is entirely up to you which you choose, but those are the choices."

He glared at her. She looked back calmly. If they were going to have a battle of wills, she had no intention of losing. And she held all the cards. She suspected he didn't even really want to win. He usually ate like any other active eleven-year-old. After an hour or so at the stable, he must be famished.

"I could eat with the stable hands after they're done with morning exercise," he finally countered.

Her lip twitched. "That is not one of your choices. I prefer to have your company at mealtimes."

"How come? I didn't eat with Scott and his grandfather in Boston."

"You're not in Boston now, love. You don't want to go back there, do you? Are you missing Scott?"

He looked down. "No," he muttered.

She didn't believe him. "I'm sure he'll be out to see you later on," she said.

"I don't need him."

"No?" She spread marmalade on a piece of buttered toast. "Scott is missing you, I'm sure."

"Then why did he make you take me?"

She lifted one brow. "Johnny, no one made me take you. I invited you and I'm glad Scott agreed it was a good idea. But the only reason he did agree is because he thought it would be better for you. It's certainly not that he doesn't want you with him."

"His grandfather don't." Johnny didn't sound as if he resented it in the least. He sounded matter of fact.

"Perhaps not," Miranda said. "But this wasn't Harlan's decision, Johnny."

"How long am I going to stay here?"

"I don't know, not exactly." They had agreed she would tell Johnny his father was coming for him if it became necessary, rather than lie to him. She had known it was likely to be only a temporary reprieve when he didn't ask any questions the day before. "For a few weeks, at least. Then we'll see, but you most certainly are not going to be on your own again if that's what you're thinking. Neither Scott nor I will allow that."

Johnny looked down at his plate and picked up his fork absently. "I did OK."

"No, Johnny," she said firmly. "It never should have happened in the first place and it is not going to happen again."

He was silent for a few minutes, while he worked on his breakfast. He was famished, she noted, if the speed at which it disappeared was any indication. The plate was empty when he glanced up again, very briefly. His voice was soft, barely audible. "I miss home."

"Out West, you mean?" she asked.

He nodded, picking up a spoon and playing with it. "I guess that's stupid."

"No, love, it's not stupid. But I do want you to promise me you won't run away and try to go back on your own. I know you're used to taking care of yourself, but it's much too far and much too dangerous."

He wouldn't meet her eyes. "I don't know if I can."

"Can you promise me three weeks?"

"Three weeks?"

She nodded. "You stick it out here for three weeks. And then we'll talk about it. Is it a deal?"

"Guess so," he said slowly. "Three weeks isn't so long."

It wasn't long enough, Miranda thought. She had a feeling the big house was going to seem very empty when Johnny left.

***

Scott stuck his head in the door of the library, and smiled. His brother was sitting at the table, scowling at an open book. Aunt Miranda had hired a tutor, and Johnny spent three hours with him every morning after breakfast. His reading had already improved, in just a few weeks, but he found it difficult to stay still for so long.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr. Richards," Scott said politely. "I know it's not noon, but I wondered if we could take Johnny a little early today. We're going into the city to see the balloon ascension."

"Certainly, if your aunt has no objection," the tutor agreed. "In fact, it could be considered educational. John, for tonight's assignment, why don't you write an essay on the balloon flight?"

Johnny's eyes had lit up at the prospect of an early escape. Some of the light dimmed at the assignment.

"Copy it over carefully in your best handwriting and don't forget to check your spelling," Richards added. "Oh, and do the next ten arithmetic problems as well. I'll see you tomorrow morning at nine."

"Thank you, Mr. Richards," Scott said hastily, grabbing Johnny before he could say anything. "Come on, Johnny, Aunt Miranda's waiting for us."

Scott propelled Johnny toward the surrey. Johnny burst into Spanish as soon as it started to roll away.

"Someday, you're going to run into someone who speaks Spanish," Scott warned him.

Johnny grinned at him, unabashed. The two of them were back to being friends, to Scott's relief. He didn't know what Aunt Miranda had said to his brother that first day, but it had apparently worked. Johnny had settled into her house and seemed happy there, at least, about everything but the tutor and his lessons.

"Do you want me to cuss him out in English instead?"

"You better not," Scott warned him.

Miranda laughed. "Boys," she said mildly.

Johnny stuck his tongue out at Scott, who promptly put him in a headlock.

"Boys," Miranda repeated, a little less mildly.

"Sorry, Aunt Miranda." Scott released his brother and sat up straight on the upholstered seat, straightening his tie. "Johnny is just upset because he has a little homework to do tonight. Mr. Richards wants him to write an essay on the balloon ascension."

"Really?" Miranda said. "Well, that doesn't sound so bad compared to some of the subjects I had to write about when I was your age, Johnny."

"Like what?"

"Well, sometimes the teacher gave us a verse from the Bible, or a line of poetry," Miranda said. "Or sometimes just a word."

"My teachers did that too," Scott said. "I remember once when I was twelve, my teacher told us to write an essay on the topic of reverence."

"Reverence?" Johnny was baffled. "You mean, like priests?"

"No those are reverends," Scott said. "Reverence. It's a word for a kind of respect."

Johnny was puzzled. In his world, people respected gun hawks, banditos and bullfighters. He didn't think Mr. Richards would be interested in any of those subjects. He fell silent, thinking about it.

The streets were crowded when they reached the city, even more crowded than usual, but Miranda's driver threaded expertly past the other carriages and wagons. They pulled up in front of Richard's house in Pemberton Square in time for lunch.

"We'll walk down to the Common to see the balloon," Richard said when they finished. "Johnny, you stay close to Scott in the crowd, but if you should become separated, you know the address here, don't you?"

Johnny nodded. He was still wary in the judge's company.

"I'll keep an eye on him," Scott said. "Cousin Richard, did you see in the papers that Professor Lowe used a balloon to check on the enemy positions during the Peninsular Campaign?"

Richard nodded. "It's an interesting idea. I don't know how practical it is, though, to haul a balloon around with the army."

"It's no more difficult than it is to transport the artillery," Scott argued.

Richard and Scott were still discussing the army's new balloon corps when they left the house and headed toward the Common. Johnny watched the crowd, wide-eyed. He'd never seen so many people in one place, not even during a fiesta.

Aunt Miranda, who was walking with Richard, turned to look at him when he dropped back a few steps. "Johnny, don't wander off, love."

Scott put his hands on Johnny's shoulders. "Maybe you'd better hold my hand, or Aunt Miranda's," he suggested.

Johnny was horrified. "No!" he said.

"Then stick close, brother," Scott said. "I don't want to lose you."

***

They had seats on the grandstand, set up in a corner of the Common. Richard helped his mother to a chair in the second row, and sat next to her. Johnny's chair was between Miranda and Scott's. He began to fidget as soon as they sat down.

"Sit still," Scott whispered, raising his hat as an acquaintance passed by.

The balloon was already nearly full. It floated gently in the air as men and boys swarmed around the hissing gas nozzle. Johnny watched, his eyes alert. "Can't we go down there?"

"No," Scott said. "You can see everything from here. Good afternoon, Mrs. Prentice, Senator Prentice. Hello, Grandfather."

"Good afternoon, Scott." A large, elaborately dressed woman settled into a chair in front of them. "Is this your little brother?"

"Yes, ma'am. Johnny, this is Sandy and Harry's mother, Mrs. Prentice, and his father, Senator Prentice."

Johnny looked up. "Nice to meet you," he said politely.

"What extraordinary eyes," she gushed. "Why, I'd never guess he's part Mexican, not with those beautiful blue eyes. He's simply adorable, Scott."

Johnny stiffened. Scott put a hand on his arm before he could say whatever was on his mind. If he did say it, Scott prayed he said it in Spanish and not English.

"Are you looking forward to returning to California with your father, Johnny?" she asked, still smiling. "From what Harlan tells us, he should be here sometime next week, shouldn't he?"

Johnny's eyes got bigger. He glanced up at Scott uncertainly.

"Johnny," Scott began, reaching for his brother. "It's not what you think."

Johnny gave him an unbelieving look, his eyes dark, and wrenched out of Scott's grip. He dove for the edge of the platform. Richard tried to grab him and missed too. Johnny squirmed through the crowd as Scott and Richard plunged after him. He was much smaller and quickly disappeared. The two of them pulled up, dismayed.

"Over there!" Richard said, pointing.

Scott craned his neck and caught just a glimpse of his brother's dark head. He hurried after him. If Johnny reached Beacon Street, he could easily disappear into the maze of narrow streets and alleys off the Common. They'd never find him.

"Johnny!" he shouted desperately. "Johnny, wait!"

Johnny shot out onto the sidewalk. He looked around at the sound of Scott's voice, and darted across the street, dodging a carriage and running straight into the path of a team and wagon. Scott heard a woman scream from the open carriage, and the teamster's shout.

Johnny was lying in a heap on the street when Scott reached him, and a police officer was trying to sort out the traffic. Scott dropped to his knees next to his brother, terrified. Johnny was frighteningly still.

"I didn't see him," the driver of the wagon kept repeating to anyone who would listen. "He ran out right in front of me and I didn't see him. I couldn't stop."

"Move over, Scott," a brisk voice said. Scott looked up, dazed. Dr. Cobb was leaning over him.

"Scott, let Nathaniel do his job." Richard pulled Scott to his feet and the doctor took his place.

"Is he?" Scott couldn't finish the sentence. His voice shook.

"He's alive," the doctor said grimly, after a quick examination. "I can't tell you much more than that. We need to get him inside, but I don't want to move him far."

"We can take him to my house," Richard offered.

"My house is closer." Scott looked up, shocked, at that dry, familiar voice. His grandfather and Miranda had caught up to them. Harlan's pale blue eyes met Scott's.

"I'm sorry, Scotty," he said.

***

Scott woke with a start. Johnny hadn't moved. They'd put him to bed in his old room upstairs in Grandfather's house. A bandage wound around his head, snowy white against his ruffled dark hair. His face was nearly as pale as the bandage, and his long lashes seemed even darker. He'd also broken his arm, and it rested in a heavy cast outside the covers.

"You need to go eat your supper, child," Mrs. Jefferson said. "Go on. Your grandfather and your aunt are waiting for you downstairs. I'll stay with Master Johnny."

Scott looked at his brother. "I'm not hungry. I'd rather stay."

"I'll call you if there's any change, I promise," she said.

Scott nodded at last and left the room. He went down the stairs slowly. It had been four days since the accident and Johnny showed no signs of waking.

Nathaniel Cobb said he might not wake. The doctor didn't think the wagon wheels had passed over him, but Johnny had hit his head hard. The doctor couldn't be sure if one of the horses had kicked him or if he'd hit his head on the street, but he had a fractured skull.

The longer he went without regaining consciousness, the less likely it was that he ever would. Even if he did wake, he might have injured his brain.

"There must be something you can do," Scott argued. "Please."

"Believe me, I wish there were, Scott." The doctor's eyes were sad.

"Is he in pain?"

Nathaniel shook his head. "He's deeply unconscious. It might help, though, if you talk to him when you're in the room."

"He can hear us?"

"No one really knows," the doctor said. "It can't hurt."

"It might," Scott said gloomily. He hadn't been able to get the betrayed look on Johnny's face out of his head. "I'm probably the last person he wants to hear."

Harlan spoke up. "Scotty, you can't blame yourself. This was not your fault."

"Who should I blame, Grandfather?" Scott gave him a bitter look.

Harlan sighed. "I've told you, Scott, I deeply regret that I ever said anything to Mrs. Prentice about your father coming to Boston for John. It never occurred to me that she might meet him and blurt it out like that."

"That's enough, both of you." Aunt Miranda frowned at them. "This won't do Johnny any good. It's my fault too for letting him leave his lessons early and come to Boston to see the balloon, but I hardly think there's any point in regretting that now. Scott, I think the doctor's right and you should talk to Johnny. All of us will."

They had done as she said, as most people usually did, but there was no change. Johnny hadn't so much as twitched in four long days, as far as Scott could see.

Aunt Miranda was still there, and so was Denton. He came out from Chestnut Hill the first night with her things and stayed to help. He and the Jeffersons took turns sitting with Johnny, as did Scott and Aunt Miranda. Richard and Harlan took a few turns too. Scott had come into the room one evening to find his grandfather reminiscing aloud about when Scott was a little boy.

Mr. Harper had come to visit too and had a long talk with Dr. Cobb.

He was back again, Scott saw, coming slowly down the stairs as Jefferson opened the front door. And so was a tall man, a very tall man, with blue eyes, sunburned skin, and a shock of gray hair.

"Scott," the stranger said, staring at him too. "My God, you look just like your mother. I'd know you anywhere, son."

Scott froze on the stairs, not knowing what to say.

"You must be Murdoch Lancer." Aunt Miranda came out of the library and offered the stranger a hand. "I'm Miranda Forbes, Catherine's aunt."

"I remember that Catherine often spoke of you," he said. "And Jim tells me you were taking care of Johnny. Thank you."

"I only wish I'd taken better care of him," she sighed.

"Is there any change?"

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Lancer. He's still unconscious."

"I'd like to see him." He gestured to a third man, one Scott hadn't even noticed. "This is Dr. Sam Jenkins. He came along on the trip as a friend, but I want him to take a look at Johnny."

"Of course. How do you do, Dr. Jenkins."

"Ma'am," the doctor said politely.

Miranda led the way up the stairs. Scott trailed after them silently. He wasn't about to leave his brother alone with their father or any strange doctor.

The rancher gazed down at Johnny for a long time before he moved to the side of the bed and sat carefully on the edge.

"He looks like his mother too," he said softly, reaching out to touch Johnny's face with an enormous hand.

"She must have been a beautiful woman," Miranda observed.

"She was."

"I'll leave you with your sons," she said. "If you need anything at all, just call."

The door clicked shut.

***

The room was silent for a few minutes. The doctor finally spoke up.

"Murdoch, let me take a look at the boy."

"He already has a doctor, a good one." The words burst out of Scott. Dr. Jenkins looked at him, his eyes twinkling.

"I'm sure he does, son, and I don't want to step on anyone's toes. I just want to see what we're up against."

Scott's face burned. "I'm sorry I was rude, sir."

"It's all right," Dr. Jenkins said. "I understand."

Murdoch Lancer rose to his feet. He towered at least a foot over the doctor.

"Sam took care of Johnny when he was a baby, Scott. He wants the best for him too."

"I would have delivered him except he was in too much of a hurry and didn't give me enough time to get out to the ranch," the doctor said, taking Murdoch's place and picking up Johnny's wrist. He took a stethoscope out of his sagging coat pocket and listened to Johnny's chest. When he finished, he flicked the boy's eyelids up briefly and peered at his eyes. Johnny didn't move.

"How many days has it been since the injury?"

"Four," Scott said.

"And he hasn't regained consciousness at all?"

"No, sir. Dr. Cobb told us to talk to him while we're in the room. He said it might help."

"It just might," Dr. Jenkins said thoughtfully, pushing a stray piece of hair off Johnny's forehead. "He's out pretty deeply, but I've seen some strange things happen with head injuries."

"Do you think there's a chance, sir?" Scott's voice was eager.

"I don't want to give you any false hope, son," the doctor said. "Jim Harper told us the doctor thinks he fractured his skull and that's always serious. I'm sure your doctor told you that too. But his age is in his favor. Children can bounce back sometimes from an injury, where an adult wouldn't. He has a good pulse and I'm wondering if maybe he's just taking his time."

"He was mad at me. That's why he ran into the street without even looking. He was mad when he heard..." Scott's voice trailed off suddenly.

"He was mad when he heard I was coming to get him," his father finished. "Jim Harper told me what happened, Scott. I also know what Johnny's mother told him. It's not true."

"Johnny doesn't know that."

"Well, hopefully, I'll get a chance to convince him." The rancher's voice was gruff. "I need to talk to both of you."

The door opened and Harlan looked into the room. "Murdoch," he said icily. "Miranda told me you had arrived.

"Harlan." The tall man practically spat the name.

"I suppose, under the circumstances, you'd better stay here," Harlan said. "I've asked Jefferson to prepare rooms for you and your friend."

"This is Dr. Jenkins," Murdoch said. "Sam, Scott's grandfather, Harlan Garrett. We have rooms at the Parker House, but we will want access to Johnny until he can be moved."

"Of course," Harlan said. "You won't stay?"

"No," the rancher said curtly.

The older man nodded. He didn't argue. "Scotty, your supper is waiting downstairs," he said. "You haven't eaten at all today, have you?"

"I'm not hungry, sir," Scott said.

"Nonsense," Harlan said. "You won't do your half-brother any good if you make yourself ill, my boy. Go downstairs and eat. I'll stay with John."

Scott hesitated, looking from his grandfather to his father. The animosity between the two men was obvious.

"We'll stay with him too," Sam Jenkins said. "Your grandfather is right, son. You should eat."

Scott was torn, but he could see the sense of it. And he suspected, looking at the doctor, that the man was capable of keeping both his grandfather and father in line. There was humor in his face, but Scott didn't think the doctor would stand for any nonsense, any more than Dr. Cobb would.

"All right," he said slowly. "While I'm gone, if you talk to Johnny, perhaps it would help if you talked about the west."

"Why do you say that?" Dr. Jenkins asked.

"Aunt Miranda said he was homesick," Scott said. "He wanted to go back."

"To the border?" Murdoch Lancer looked shocked. "He actually wanted to go back to the border?"

Scott nodded.

***

Harlan closed the door after his grandson and looked at his former son-in-law. Murdoch stood squarely in the center of the room, glowering at him. Johnny didn't resemble him in the least, but Harlan could suddenly see a family likeness.

"How dare you?" the rancher growled.

"I don't know what you mean. Surely, you can't be upset that my agents found your son and removed him from jail? It's more than you ever did for him."

"You didn't have to remove him to Boston," Murdoch said furiously. He stopped. "Jail? Why was he in jail?"

"Theft. He stole some food from the market. Oh, and vagrancy too." Harlan enjoyed seeing the look on the rancher's face when he heard that.

"He's only eleven," Murdoch protested. "Who would put a child in jail because he was hungry?"

"A judge in New Mexico," Harlan said. "You would know more about that than I, of course. But John was most definitely in jail, and his, er, cellmates were not children."

"Did they hurt him?"

"I have no idea," Harlan said coolly. "The doctor did think that someone had given him a beating recently, but he also said it wasn't the first time."

Murdoch's big hands closed into fists. Harlan took an involuntary step backwards.

"Murdoch," Sam Jenkins warned.

The rancher sighed. "You could have sent me a wire," he said. "Why did you bring him to Boston, Harlan? He's not your grandson. He's not any relation to you."

"He most certainly is not." Harlan sniffed.

"So why did you bring him here? You had no right."

"Murdoch," Jenkins said again. "This isn't the time or place for this."

The rancher was breathing heavily. For a moment, Harlan was sure Murdoch was actually going to hit him, but the other man finally turned away to his son's bedside. Harlan breathed a small sigh of relief.

"I sent someone for the doctor who has been treating John," he said. "I thought you might want to hear from him directly about the boy's condition."

"Thank you," Jenkins said. "I would like to talk to him. In the meantime, we'll look after Johnny. Perhaps you should check on Scott, Mr. Garrett. That boy looks like he hasn't been eating or sleeping very well. If you're not careful, he'll be in trouble too."

"You think so?" Harlan wasn't inclined to take advice from any Wild West doctor but had to admit the man had a quiet authority.

"Go and look after your grandson," Jenkins said briskly.

Harlan didn't know quite how he found himself on the other side of the door, but he did.

He went downstairs and found his sister-in-law presiding over his table while Scott ate. The boy gave him an alarmed look. "Is Johnny all right?"

"There's no change," Harlan said. "Your father and his friend are sitting with him."

"You said you'd stay too, sir." The blue-gray eyes were as uncompromising as the ones in the portrait over the library mantel.

"They won't do him any harm," Harlan said. He poured himself a drink from the sideboard. "Miranda, may I offer you a glass of something?"

"No, thank you," she said coldly. "Scott, dear, please finish your supper."

"I've had enough," he said, pushing his plate away. "Aunt Miranda, I don't want to leave Johnny alone with strangers. What if he wakes?"

"I'm sure they'll call us if they should need us, Scott."

"He doesn't know them," Scott said. "If he wakes, he might be frightened."

"Knowing your brother, I doubt that very much," she said. "Finish your food. I'll go up to make sure Johnny's all right, but I want you to get some sleep, love."

"Don't worry, your father won't leave him," Harlan said. Two pairs of eyes stared at him, shocked. "What did I say?"

Miranda stood up. "If you don't know, Harlan, you never will."

***

Later that night, Scott looked into his brother's room. A lamp burned low on the table next to the bed, and he could hear a soft voice talking in Spanish. He realized it was his father's voice, not gruff at all. It had never occurred to him that his father spoke Spanish.

Dr. Jenkins and Aunt Miranda were dozing in chairs. The doctor opened his eyes and pointed to the door.

"Let your father have some time with him," he said, following Scott into the other room. "Did you get some rest?"

"What's he saying to Johnny?" Scott asked curiously.

"He's telling him about Lancer."

"Lancer?"

"That's what the ranch is called. You don't know?"

"How would I?" Scott picked up one of his toy soldiers from the shelf.

"I thought perhaps your grandfather would have told you something about it."

"He didn't."

"It's a big place." The doctor's voice was easy. "More than 100,000 acres now. Most of it is in the valley, but it stretches all the way to the mountains to the east. It's rugged terrain up there. Down by the hacienda, the land is gentler."

"What is a hacienda?" Scott was curious, in spite of himself.

"That's the main house. It's adobe, Spanish-style. There's a hill that looks down on it and you'll never see a prettier place."

"I'm hardly likely to see it, Doctor," Scott said coldly. "My home is here, with my grandfather."

The doctor didn't say anything to that. Scott put the soldier down and picked up another.

"Does everyone speak Spanish there?" he asked.

"I don't speak much of it," Dr. Jenkins admitted. "I've picked up enough so I mostly understand what people are saying, but can't wrap my tongue around it.

"I suppose my father learned it from Johnny's mother."

"He already knew it by then. Most of the vaqueros - the cowboys - are Mexican. And the housekeeper is too."

"The housekeeper?" Scott had never pictured a housekeeper at the ranch, not from what his grandfather had said. He'd also never imagined it was so large. From what Grandfather had said, he had always imagined they lived in a rude cabin in a wilderness.

"Her name is Maria, the same as Johnny's mother. She knew your mother too. They were good friends from what I've heard."

"Did you know my mother?" Scott turned to look at the doctor.

"No. I only came to the valley the year your brother was born. There wasn't any doctor when Murdoch and your mother first settled there. That's one of the reasons why he sent her to San Francisco. He thought it would be safer for both of you."

"And Boston was even safer, I suppose," Scott said. "Perhaps he should have left her there in the first place."

"Is that what your grandfather told you, son?"

"I am not your son," Scott said sharply.

"No, you're not," the doctor agreed. "You're Murdoch's son, just like Johnny."

"Hardly like Johnny." Scott turned away again. "He wanted Johnny."

***

He could hear a voice. It whispered at the edge of the darkness. It must still be night, and Mama must have brought a man home from the cantina. He should get up. He didn't want to hear Mama and the man, whoever he was. It might not be too late to slip into the livery stable for the rest of the night. That would be better than crawling into one of the empty barrels in the alley at the back of the cantina, or running off into the desert. Predators, four-legged and two-legged, roamed the alleys and the desert. It was safer in the livery, burrowed under the hay in the loft. The liveryman would yell in the morning, if he spotted him, but never did much more than yell.

He knew he should hurry, before the man noticed him and got mad, but he couldn't seem to move. His head was so heavy and his eyes didn't want to open. He tried again.

"Sam!" The voice spoke in English now, not Spanish. Mama must have brought home a gringo.

"I see," another voice said, and Johnny sighed inwardly. Two gringos. He needed to get out, and quickly. He struggled to move, but it still didn't seem to be happening.

"What's wrong?" That was a third voice, not as deep as the other two. This voice sounded vaguely familiar.

"Try calling him, son," the second voice said.

"Johnny? Johnny, wake up. Just open your eyes. I know you can do it."

At least, whoever it was, he didn't sound mad. Johnny rested for a moment. He didn't know why he couldn't get his eyes unstuck.

"Johnny." That was the first voice. "You need to open your eyes." The voice switched over to Spanish, telling him the same thing. Johnny didn't understand. He made another effort and his eyes cracked open a little further. His stomach immediately turned over.

"Take it easy." A stranger bent over him. Johnny's eyes fluttered and he found Scott. That reassured him. He didn't understand, but he didn't think Scott would hit him. Just now, his brother was wearing a big smile.

The stranger leaned in closer to peer into his eyes. "It's all right, I'm a doctor. Can you tell me your name?"

"J-Johnny." His mouth was dry and his voice came out as a whisper. Even the whisper made his head throb.

"I'm going to lift you up a little and give you a drink of water, Johnny," the man said. "Don't try to help me. You just stay still."

Johnny took a sip. The water tasted good, but he felt tired even before it was gone. He was so tired he couldn't keep his eyes open any more, not even to watch the two strangers in the room. Scott was there, at least. The darkness rolled up again.

Scott was still there when he woke again and so was the big stranger, not the one who said he was a doctor, but the other one. Johnny's head ached, and he tried to lift his arm to shield his eyes from the light. It didn't work, which alarmed him.

"Easy, Johnny," Scott said. "You're hurt, but you're going to be all right."

"What happened?" He couldn't seem to think.

"You don't remember?"

"Did I, did I fall off the colt? Is he all right?"

"Shhh," Scott said. "You didn't fall off, and he's fine. Go back to sleep."

Johnny peeked at the stranger, who was standing behind Scott. Dios, the man was like a giant. Johnny wondered vaguely who he was and why he looked so worried, but couldn't seem to hold onto the thought.

***

"No!" Johnny glared at Miranda, the two doctors and his brother. "I ain't going anywhere with him."

Miranda sat on the bed and put a hand on his arm. "Johnny, it's not the way your mother told you."

"Don't touch me," he hissed.

She gave Scott a worried look. Johnny had flatly refused to listen to anything any of them had to say since the doctors finally agreed he was well enough to introduce his father.

Murdoch Lancer had listened calmly to the burst of angry Spanish the announcement provoked, but his jaw had tightened. Dr. Jenkins' mouth had dropped open. The rest of them had no idea what Johnny had just said, but Scott could guess it was extremely rude. When Johnny switched over to English, the rancher did object.

"That's enough, young man," he said sternly. "There's a lady in the room."

"I don't care," Johnny raged. "Get out, you fucking bastard, or I'll kill you!"

"Johnny," Dr. Cobb said. "Take it easy."

"Don't tell me what to do! I'm getting the hell out of here." Johnny started to push away the covers and climb out of bed. The doctors both moved swiftly to stop him.

Dr. Jenkins looked up at Murdoch and indicated the door. "Better go for now," he advised. "In fact, all of you go. Let us try to calm him down."

They hadn't succeeded. They'd finally forced a dose of laudanum down his throat, but that just made him angrier when he woke. Murdoch had stayed away from the room on the doctors' orders, but it hadn't helped much. Johnny was mad at all of them.

Miranda tried again. "Johnny, listen to me. No, don't turn your head away, young man. You are going to listen. I know what your mother told you, and I know what happened to her. I know why you're angry at your father."

Johnny went still. "Did you tell?"

"No, I did not tell anyone. I made you a promise, and I don't take my promises lightly."

"I don't either. And I promised I'd kill him too, if I ever met him, for what he did to my mama," Johnny snarled.

She met his eyes. "Now you are being childish."

He glared at her again. He still had a bandage wrapped around his head. The doctors had allowed him to sit up but not to get out of bed, not yet.

"I hate him," he spat.

She sighed. "If he had truly done what you think he did, he would deserve it, Johnny. Sometimes, though, things aren't as they seem."

"You think my mama lied? Cause I don't. She wouldn't." Johnny came to a full stop. His shoulders slumped and he ducked his head suddenly, hiding his face.

"I didn't know your mother," Miranda said carefully, shaking her head at Scott when he opened his mouth. "I can't tell you why she told you what she did. But I don't believe it was the whole truth, Johnny. Your father has been looking for you for a long time."

"I know that," Johnny said angrily. "He just wanted to take me away from Mama, to hurt her some more. She told me."

"Johnny, love, your mother is dead and he can't hurt her now. If that was the only reason he wanted you, he wouldn't have come all the way here from California to get you."

"Maybe he didn't know," he muttered.

"But he did know," she said. "He's known for a few months, and he's been trying even harder to find you since he heard that you were on your own."

Johnny didn't answer her. He looked confused.

"You think it over," Miranda suggested. "I think it's time for you to rest."

"I'm not tired," Johnny said, but his eyes were heavy.

Sam Jenkins stepped in. "I think that's a good idea. We said you could sit up for twenty minutes and time's up. You need to get some sleep."

"Don't have to do what you say." Johnny gave him a dark look.

"That's another thing you're wrong about, son," Sam said pleasantly.

***

"When can he be moved?" Harlan asked.

"Not yet," Nathaniel Cobb said definitely. "His father is just as anxious to move him as you are, but I'd say it's going to be a few more days, at least. Sam agrees with me."

"Sam? You've become awfully friendly with that backwoods doctor, Nathaniel."

"He's a good man, Harlan, and quite knowledgeable. I don't think California is quite the backwoods you imagine it to be. Besides, Sam is from New Hampshire originally and went to Dartmouth."

"Then what in the world is he doing in California?" Harlan said.

"Among other things, enjoying what sounds like a far more salubrious climate," Nathaniel said. "And a busy practice. He and Murdoch are both anxious to get back home, but Johnny won't be able to travel for quite a while."

"What are they going to do? They're not going to leave him here, are they?"

"No, they aren't, although Miranda did offer to keep him until he's well enough for the trip. Murdoch won't even consider it."

"So they're both going to stay here until John can travel?" Harlan's voice was glum.

"It looks that way. Once we can move him, they're going to Miranda's house. She did manage to convince Murdoch that it would be better for Johnny than a hotel room, or anything he could rent."

"Hmmph," Harlan said. "Nathaniel, how does Scotty seem to you?"

"Scott? He's all right, Harlan." The doctor was puzzled. "He's lost some sleep, sitting up with his brother and worrying about him, but he's a healthy young man and that's no reason for concern."

"How is he getting along with his father?" Harlan kept his voice casual.

Nathaniel sighed. "Politely, as far as I can see, and that's about it. I don't think they've had any real chance to talk yet. Scott has been spending as much time as he can with Johnny, and Murdoch is staying away until the boy is stronger. It's not good for him to be upset just now."

"No, of course not." Harlan breathed a small sigh of relief.

It wasn't small enough. The doctor gave him a sharp look. "Harlan, you know, it has to be hard on Scott to think that his father has always wanted Johnny and apparently didn't feel the same way about him. Apparently."

The emphasis wasn't lost on Harlan, but he tried to bluster past it. "It just goes to show that the man has no judgment, doesn't it?"

"Perhaps," Nathaniel said dryly. "If it were true. It's not, is it?"

"I suppose he or the doctor gave you their own version of what happened."

"No. We haven't talked about it, but it's obvious the man cares about both of his sons."

"Nathaniel, I've raised that boy since the day he was born. He belongs here, in Boston, not on some primitive ranch at the end of the world. Surely you can see that?"

"If his father made that choice, I suppose I could understand it," Nathaniel said carefully. "You've done a lot for Scott and you've always taken good care of him. But if you made the choice for them, Harlan, then I'm sorry, but I think it was wrong."

Harlan paced across the rug. "Scotty grew up here with every advantage, Nat, the best schools, the best care, the best of everything. He's attending Harvard, not chasing cows or digging ditches. Unlike Murdoch's other son, he's never been hungry for a day in his life and no one has ever raised a hand to him. Do you expect me to apologize for that?"

Nathaniel looked at him steadily. "Harlan, he's Murdoch Lancer's son, not yours."

"He's my grandson." Harlan lifted his chin. "He's my grandson and I've always done what was best for him. And I shall continue to do so."

***

He heard the door open, and voices murmuring. Scott was leaving the room and someone else was coming to take his place. Dios, they never left him alone. He listened carefully, but didn't open his eyes to peek. If they thought he was asleep, they wouldn't try to talk to him.

The new voice belonged to Sam Jenkins, his father's friend. Johnny sighed a little. Until they told him who the giant was, he had liked the doctor, who usually had a smile in his eyes even when his voice was stern. He had even kind of liked the giant, who spoke Spanish well for a gringo and told stories about horses and a big ranchero. But it was all a trick. They had lied to him, all of them. Even Scott and Aunt Miranda had lied. At least, they hadn't told him the whole truth, and that was nearly as bad.

He shifted slightly in the bed, still careful to keep his eyes closed. They said his mama had lied too. He had rejected the idea but had to admit, at least to himself, that Mama hadn't always told him all of the truth, not exactly, not about everything. Sometimes she hadn't even come close to it. Still, he didn't want to believe that she had lied about this. If it was all a lie about his father, then anything could be a lie. It could even be a lie that she loved him. He knew that was true. It had to be true.

He wrenched his thoughts away from his mama. He needed to decide what to do.

He didn't want to go to Lancer, not with him. He wouldn't even think of the giant as his father. But he didn't want to stay in Boston either.

A heavy plaster cast encased his arm, and his head still ached. It wasn't so bad any more, just a lingering throb at the back of his skull, but he also got dizzy whenever he moved too quickly and couldn't seem to stay awake for very long. If he tried to sneak aboard a steamer, they were likely to catch him. He wasn't in any shape to fend for himself as he usually did. He sure couldn't earn any money, not with this useless arm. He couldn't even steal enough to keep himself alive.

The rancher and the doctor were going back to California and wanted to take him. Maybe he should just go along with them, for long enough to get there anyway. Once his arm healed and his head stopped hurting, he could get away from them easily enough. He might even be better by the time the steamer reached Mexico. Maybe he could give them the slip there. At least he would be on familiar ground again. If he tried to run away here, even if he could manage to get away, he'd still be stuck in Boston with no way to get home. Scott said it was thousands of miles to Mexico. Johnny wasn't quite sure exactly how far that was, but he'd seen the map in Aunt Miranda's book and knew he'd been on the boats for a long time coming here.

No, this might be the best way. He didn't mind the idea of tricking the giant. It would serve him right.

He heard footsteps cross the room, and someone poured liquid into a glass. A spoon clinked against the side, stirring something. Johnny braced himself. He didn't want any more medicine. Dios, he was so tired of this bed.

He kept his eyes shut, but it didn't do any good. The doctor lifted him up and held the glass to his mouth. "I know perfectly well that you're awake, and have been all along," Sam said briskly. "Drink this."

Johnny cracked his eyes open. "Don't want it."

"I don't recall asking you if you wanted it, son. Go on, drink. It will help you sleep."

Johnny frowned at the glass. "I don't like it."

"I know you don't." The doctor's voice was slightly more sympathetic. "But you do need it. Drink."

Johnny heaved out a sigh, but swallowed the bitter liquid. The doctor lowered him onto the pillows, and he closed his eyes again. He still didn't want to talk to the doctor, not any more than necessary. And the medicine did make him feel sleepier. He sighed again, as it wrapped itself around his brain.

"That's better," Sam said. His voice was a long way off, like California.

***

"I've been thinking, Scotty," Harlan said at lunch. The two of them were alone. Miranda was upstairs with Johnny, and Murdoch and Dr. Jenkins had gone to their hotel. "And I've talked it over with Ned Prentice. Perhaps I reacted too hastily to your idea of joining the army."

"It doesn't matter."

"You've changed your mind?"

"Sandy and Sterling are leaving in two weeks," Scott said. "I can't leave now."

"Because of your half-brother? Or your father?"

"My father has nothing to do with it," Scott said quickly. "It's Johnny."

"Within a few weeks time, Scott, Johnny may very well be on his way to California himself."

Scott stared at his plate. "He doesn't want to go."

"He won't have any choice, I'm sure. Just as soon as it's safe for him to travel, your father will take him. Nathaniel tells me Murdoch and Dr. Jenkins are both anxious to return to California as quickly as possible."

Scott was silent for a moment. "That first night, he talked to Johnny most of the night," he finally said. "In Spanish, mostly. Dr. Jenkins said he was telling him about the ranch and the horses. Even when Johnny was little, he loved horses, the doctor said."

"Has Murdoch talked to you, my boy?"

"No," Scott said. "He's been so worried about Johnny. And I have been too. He did tell me he'd like to sit down and talk, just the two of us, but it hardly seemed the time."

"I see." Harlan's voice was dry.

"Johnny needs me right now, sir. That's my main concern."

"Mmmn," Harlan agreed, eying his grandson. "So, you're no longer interested in joining the army, Scott?"

"I don't know." Scott played with his food, something that would normally draw a sharp correction from his grandfather. "I haven't really thought about it, not since the accident."

Harlan was torn. If Johnny continued to balk, and even if he didn't, he was afraid Scott would be tempted to go to California to look after the younger boy. He would greatly prefer to see his grandson remain in Boston, but the army was the only way to make sure that Scott wouldn't leave with his father and half-brother.

Besides, while Johnny's injuries might have distracted Murdoch temporarily, the boy appeared to be recovering now. It was safer to settle Scott's future and take any choice out of his hands, before the rancher talked to him. Harlan needed to act quickly, for his grandson's own good. Scotty might be angry once he heard his father's version of the story, but Harlan was sure he would eventually come to his senses once Murdoch and Johnny were gone.

"Scott, I understand your concern about your half-brother," he said. "Nevertheless, I do think you need to consider your own future as well. I would certainly feel better about the army if, at least, I knew you were with Sandy and Sterling."

"There's no guarantee that we'd end up together, sir."

Harlan was prepared to pay handsomely for a guarantee they'd end up together, a safe distance from the fighting, but he was hardly going to tell Scott about those arrangements. The boy was foolishly idealistic and would probably object.

"Of course, if you would prefer to stay here and continue your studies at Harvard while your friends go to war, that would be fine too," the older man said aloud.

Scott raised his head at that. "No, sir, it would not."

"Then I think you should join Sandy and Sterling this afternoon. A colonel is coming to the Prentice house to issue their commissions. If you want to join them, I'll give my consent. You'll still have two weeks to spend with your brother before the three of you report for duty."

***

He was sitting up in a chair, at last, and not trapped in his room. They weren't leaving for California, but they were leaving this house. They told him they were going to stay at Aunt Miranda's house for a few weeks. At least he'd get to see the roan colt again and Regan, and smell some grass and trees outside the windows.

Scott was waiting with him in a small, sunny alcove, set into a bow-fronted window, off the main foyer. Aunt Miranda was coming to get them in her carriage. Sam Jenkins was going to drive with them too, but not the giant. He had stayed away for the past few days, and Johnny was glad. His mama was right and the man didn't want him. Johnny didn't know why he was pretending he did, but Johnny could pretend too. It was all a game, and you couldn't trust what people said, not anybody. The only person you could trust was yourself.

They had finally let him out of that room but insisted on carrying him down the stairs. They'd tucked him up in a wingchair, with a blanket over his legs, to wait for Aunt Miranda and Dr. Sam. He knew he couldn't make it all the way down the stairs without some help, since his head still spun when he tried to stand, but he didn't need anyone to carry him.

He wasn't supposed to stand yet, but that hadn't stopped him from experimenting on the rare occasions when they actually left him alone for a few minutes.

He was glad to finally be out of bed, but was bored now with just sitting. He looked over at his older brother speculatively. Scott had been awful quiet for the last few days too. He still fussed, and he'd probably have a fit if Johnny tried to get up, even for just a minute, but he didn't talk nearly as much as usual.

"Are you coming to Aunt Miranda's too?" Johnny asked.

"What?" Scott looked up. "Oh, no, not today. But I'll be out to see you tomorrow. I have something to tell you."

Johnny had a question, one he'd chewed over for days, and he didn't know how to get an answer if he didn't ask. Nobody had mentioned it and he thought it was strange. "Scott? Are you going to come to California too?"

"No, Johnny," Scott said.

"How come?"

"That's just the way it is. We'll talk about it tomorrow, all right?"

That proved that the rancher was lying, Johnny thought. If he really wanted Johnny, then he would want Scott too, wouldn't he? They were both his sons. Still, maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that Scott wasn't going to come with them. Johnny had a feeling he might have a harder time shaking his brother than the two older men.

The doorknocker sounded and Jefferson came out into the foyer to open the door. Johnny looked out the window, but he didn't see a carriage drawn up in the street.

"Mrs. Prentice." Jefferson sounded surprised when he opened the door. Scott looked around and got up from his chair.

"Stay put," he said quietly to Johnny.

"I thought I'd call to see how poor little Johnny is doing," she said. "And I brought Harry along to cheer him up."

"That's kind of you, ma'am, but I don't think Master Johnny is up to visitors yet." Jefferson's voice was nonplussed.

"Ah, Scott!" She looked past the butler. "How is your brother, dear?"

"He's better, ma'am, thank you," Scott said. "We're just waiting for Aunt Miranda's carriage to arrive. The doctors thought it would be better if he finishes his convalescence in Chestnut Hill, out of the city. Hello, Harry."

"Hello." Harry edged farther into the foyer, wiggling past his mother and the butler. He was a whole lot cleaner than he had been the last time Johnny saw him at the aquarium. He had a new straw hat under his arm and still looked like an overdressed monkey. Or maybe like a weasel, Johnny thought, with his slicked-back hair and chinless face.

Harry noticed Johnny watching them from the chair. So did Mrs. Prentice.

"Why, he's up," she said, swooping toward him. Johnny recoiled as she kissed him, a wave of perfume assaulting his nose. He sneezed as she finally released him and reached up with his good hand to wipe away her kiss. Scott caught his eye and shook his head firmly.

"You poor boy," she gabbled. "Are you feeling better now?

Johnny nodded cautiously. Scott would have a fit if he said what he was thinking. He didn't care much, but his headache would spring to life if anyone started yelling. He'd bet Mrs. Prentice had an ear-splitting holler.

"Now, I want to hear all about it," she said to Scott. "Harry, dear, you stay here with Johnny and talk to him very quietly. Is your grandfather at home, Scotty?"

"He's in the library," Scott said helplessly. "Johnny, don't you dare try to get out of that chair. Don't even think about it. Do you understand?"

Johnny nodded again, and Scott ushered Mrs. Prentice into the library. He left the doors open.

Harry looked at Johnny curiously. "My brother Sandy said you fractured your skull, and you might be a driveling idiot if you woke at all."

"Your brother don't know everything," Johnny said calmly.

"That's certainly true." Harry laughed. "I know a lot more than he does. And I know you pushed me that day, at the aquaria."

"I did?" Johnny looked up innocently. "I don't remember," he lied.

"You don't?" Harry's face was as greedy as a vulture picking a carcass. "Do you remember your accident?"

"Nope." That, at least, was true. Johnny had no memory at all of the accident, the balloon, or anything else about that day. Sam and Nathaniel had told him not to worry about it. It might come back and it might not.

"Perhaps you do have brain damage," Harry said. "It wouldn't surprise me. Head injuries can be quite dangerous, you know."

"I'm fine," Johnny said.

"I suppose it's hard to tell." Harry smiled, a sweet smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Sandy says you didn't know too much to begin with. You haven't even been to school. Scott told him you could barely read and write when you got here."

Johnny's eyes narrowed, and he started to get mad. His eyes fell on the staircase, and an idea occurred to him. He looked up at the other boy.

"Reckon I know enough to get by," he drawled. "At least I'm not a sniveling little wuss who's scared of his own shadow and might as well be a girl."

Harry's mouth dropped. "What did you say? I am not scared of my own shadow."

"Ow, get them away from me! Ow, get me out." Johnny mimicked Harry's accent perfectly.

Harry blushed. "I was startled," he said defensively.

"You sure were. You ain't as much use as an empty rain barrel in the desert."

Harry lost his head. "I can do anything you can! And more."

"Yeah?" Johnny looked him over, taking his time. "Bet you wouldn't dare slide down the banister."

Harry glanced up at the long, curving rail. "I'm sure that's not allowed."

"I already did," Johnny observed. "Course if you're scared, or don't think you can do it, maybe you better not."

"I am not scared!" Harry scowled at him, and straightened his back. "You just watch me!" He marched resolutely up the stairs.

A resounding crash brought Harlan, Scott and Mrs. Prentice to the library doors, and Jefferson hurrying down the hall. Harry was sprawled on the polished floor, surrounded by the shattered remains of Harlan's Ming vase. Harlan stared, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. His eyes moved suspiciously to Johnny, who was still sitting quietly in the wingchair in the alcove. Johnny looked back at him, trying to keep his face straight. Faced with temptation, he hadn't thought twice about that big, ugly old vase. It wasn't like it was new. It already had some cracks in it, even before Harry busted it into smithereens.

"Harry!" Mrs. Prentice shrieked. She did have a voice like a train whistle. "What is the meaning of this?"

Harry burst into tears, rubbing his backside gingerly where he'd landed hard. He pointed dramatically at Johnny. "It was all his idea, Mother! He made me do it!"

Johnny ducked his head before his smile broke loose. Scott stepped hastily in front of his brother. His mouth twitched too.

"Why, he hasn't moved from his chair." Mrs. Prentice grabbed her son by the ear and bore him inexorably toward the door. "I don't want to hear another word from you, Harriman Ellsworth Prentice. Not one word. You are in big trouble, young man." Jefferson opened the door as she sailed through.

Harlan Garrett contemplated the ruins of his 300-year-old vase mournfully for a few moments before he turned his attention to the two boys. Scott stood protectively over Johnny. Johnny glanced up at his brother and their eyes met. That set both of them off. Harlan opened his mouth again, closed it and went back into the library as their laughter spilled out. He slammed the double doors behind him.

Idiots. He had hired idiots.

THE END

Whistle, March 2006

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.