Lost and Found (AR)
Murdoch watched proudly as his two sons rode through the arch. Scott's back and shoulders were straight. His hat, also perfectly straight, hid his blond hair. Next to him, Johnny sat more casually in the saddle. His hat had slid down his back on its stampede strings and his dark hair was tousled.
They were later than usual and Murdoch crossed the yard to investigate. He waited while they dismounted, his eyes narrowing as he noticed his younger son's shirt was torn and there was a fresh bruise under his eye.
"John," he said. "Have you been fighting?"
A pair of vivid blue eyes peeked up at him through dark lashes before Johnny ducked his head.
"It wasn't his fault, sir," Scott said quickly. "He didn't start it."
Murdoch put one large hand on Johnny's shoulder and used the other to tilt his chin upward. "What did I tell you, son?"
The blue eyes looked a little apprehensive but met Murdoch's. "Sorry."
Murdoch looked him over gravely, taking in other signs of damage. "Go to the kitchen and get those cuts and bruises cleaned up. I'll see you in your room in twenty minutes."
Johnny's eyes slid to his horse. He opened his mouth but Murdoch shook his head. "We'll take care of your horse this time. Go, young man."
Scott reached for Johnny's reins and gave him a small, sympathetic smile. Johnny looked rebellious but he turned and went without another word.
"Well?" Murdoch said to Scott when Johnny had disappeared into the house.
Scott's face was troubled. "It really wasn't his fault, sir. Simon and the twins started it."
"The McClintocks? All three of them?"
Scott nodded. Murdoch took Johnny's reins from him and led the pony into the barn. Scott followed with his own horse. They unsaddled the horses silently, groomed them, and gave them fresh hay and water.
"What are you going to do, sir?" Scott asked at last.
Murdoch sighed. "I won't stand for any fighting at school. I told him that the last time."
Scott looked unhappy. "It was my fault too. I was inside, talking to Miss Conway about my essay. I should have been keeping an eye on Johnny."
"You can't keep an eye on your little brother all the time, son. What did Miss Conway do?"
"She kept all of them after school and had them write out some lines. That's why we're late, sir. I believe she also gave Johnny a note to give to you."
Murdoch nodded. "Go and get started on your homework. I'll deal with your brother."
Scott still looked unhappy, but obeyed his father.
Murdoch waited the full twenty minutes before he went up the stairs to Johnny's room. The seven-year-old was looking out the window at the corrals, his head resting on his arms. He turned as the door opened and got to his feet reluctantly.
"Did you have something for me from your teacher, John?" Murdoch asked.
Johnny's eyes widened, dismayed. He dug into his pocket and produced a much-folded piece of paper. "I forgot."
Murdoch sat down to read the note. Johnny shoved his hands into his pockets and waited, rocking a little on his boots. Murdoch read the note twice, taking his time. Then he looked up and pinned his son with his eyes.
"Tell me what happened."
Johnny lifted his chin. "Me and Drew were playing by the creek after lunch."
"Drew and I," Murdoch corrected.
"Yeah," Johnny said. "One of the twins swiped Maisy Carter's doll, and she was crying. Drew and me - I - told him to give it back."
Murdoch nodded approvingly. "Then what happened?"
"Simon got mad," Johnny said, suddenly in a hurry. "And we got into a fight."
Murdoch pointed a finger at the other chair. "Sit, young man." He waited until Johnny had dropped reluctantly into the chair before he spoke again. "You and Drew fought Simon?"
"And the twins," Johnny admitted.
Simon McClintock was a little older than Scott, and a lot taller and heavier. His brothers, a year older than Johnny and Drew, were also husky, big-boned boys. Murdoch looked at his younger son and marveled there wasn't more visible damage. Johnny had always been a bit small for his age, ever since he was born. Despite his lack of size, he had received an extra helping of spunk. Maybe even too much, Murdoch thought. It wasn't very smart for Johnny and his friend Drew to take on the McClintock boys.
He gave Johnny a stern look. "Did I not tell you, just last week, that you were not to fight at school?"
"Y-e-es." Johnny's restless feet kicked the chair legs. He looked at his father and amended his words hastily. "I mean, yes, sir. Only, what were we supposed to do?"
"There were any number of things you could have done," Murdoch said. "It was good of you boys to stand up for Maisy, but you could have walked away after that. You didn't have to fight."
Johnny looked dubious. "Simon and the twins would have beat the stuffing out of us," he objected. "Besides, I'm not afraid of them."
Murdoch didn't let his smile show. He reveled in his boy's courage but it also scared him. Johnny threw himself into the middle of every scrap, never backing down. "Apparently, you're not afraid of me either," he said aloud. "I've told you before that you need to mind what I tell you or face the consequences."
Johnny paused at that. He knew what was coming.
Ten minutes later, Murdoch closed the door of his son's room and headed downstairs. Johnny had flung himself face down on his bed. His shoulders shook a little, but he hadn't made a sound. He never did when his father spanked him.
Scott was working at the table in the great room. He looked up briefly and then bent his head over his book again. Murdoch crossed the room and sat in the chair behind his desk, reaching for his ledger, but found himself unable to concentrate on the figures. Instead, he surreptitiously watched his older son. Scott's blond head gleamed in the light from the windows and his face was intent. He'd always been a good student, ever since he arrived at the ranch. Harlan Garrett might have done a lot of other things, but he'd obviously taken care that his grandson had excellent teachers. It was the one thing Murdoch felt grateful about.
He sighed, his eyes still on his son. Scott was no longer the young child who arrived at the ranch five years earlier. He'd always been tall, unlike his more compact little brother, but he'd really started to shoot up in the past few months. And he was mature beyond his years, as serious-minded as his mother.
He was thirteen now, would be fourteen in November, and Murdoch knew Scott had outgrown Green River's one-room school. It wasn't enough, not even with extra lessons in Latin and Greek from the priest in Morro Coyo. Catherine would have wanted her son to get a good education. The priest had told Murdoch months ago that a Jesuit school had opened in San Francisco, and urged him to enroll the boy.
Murdoch dragged his feet all winter, late into the spring. He hated the idea of sending his son away from the ranch, but supposed it was better than sending him all the way back to Massachusetts. Scott's godmother had written several times to urge him to consider sending the boy east to attend school. She had offered to keep an eye on him and to take him into her own home for vacations and holidays. His mother's family had set aside money for his education and eventually Scott would travel east to attend Harvard. But Murdoch wasn't prepared to send him all the way across the country at thirteen, no matter how good the schools were.
It seemed like only yesterday that he finally got Scott back. It was too soon to give him up again. Later, he told himself, when he's a bit older, but not yet.
It's for the boy's own good, another voice answered sternly in his head. It's your duty.
Murdoch sighed again, and Scott looked up.
"Is something wrong, sir? Is Johnny all right?"
"Nothing's wrong," Murdoch said. "Your brother is going to stay in his room until suppertime, but you know Johnny. He'll probably have forgotten all about it and be getting into more mischief by bedtime."
Scott smiled. "He doesn't mean any harm."
"I know that too." Murdoch let his smile out.
Scott turned back to his book. The two brothers were close, despite the difference in their ages and temperaments. Johnny had been nearly three when his brother arrived at the ranch, and he'd latched onto the older boy at once, following him around like a shadow. Scott was more reserved about the idea of acquiring a brother, or so Murdoch thought until his far too adventurous toddler tumbled out of the hayloft one afternoon a few weeks after Scott arrived. No one even realized that Johnny had climbed out of the bed where he was supposed to be taking a nap and wandered to the barn, not until he peeked over the edge of the loft as Murdoch and Scott brought their horses in.
Murdoch had been terrified when Johnny fell, but Scott had beaten him in the rush to the small, frighteningly still body. Fortunately, some bales of hay broke the fall and Johnny was only stunned. Murdoch was stunned himself when the little boy turned to his brother for comfort and Scott immediately wrapped his arms around him.
Scott had looked out for Johnny ever since, fiercely protective. If he'd been there this afternoon when Johnny scrapped with the McClintock boys, Murdoch had no doubt his normally well-behaved older son would have waded into the fight too. Up until Johnny started school last fall, Scott rarely got into any trouble at school. That had changed, another good reason to consider sending Scott to San Francisco. He was sometimes too inclined to fight Johnny's battles and it wasn't good for either of them.
"Patron?" The Mexican housekeeper appeared in the doorway, interrupting Murdoch's thoughts. "Pardon, but the senora would like to see you. She is wondering why Juanito has not stopped in to see her."
Murdoch knew this was coming. "Gracias, Maria," he said to the housekeeper. "Tell her I'll be along in just a few minutes."
Scott glanced up and dropped his eyes again. Murdoch suddenly wondered just how much his son realized. He stood up and headed down the hall to the ground floor rooms where his wife spent nearly all of her time.
***
Maria Lancer was sitting up in her chair by the windows, which overlooked the courtyard and garden. Her face was still as lovely as ever, but her expression was forbidding when Murdoch came into the room.
"Maria tells me that Johnny is locked in his room and cannot come down to see me, his mother. Why is this, husband?"
Murdoch sat down. "He's not locked in his room. I told him to stay in his room until suppertime."
"After you beat him?" Her voice was sharp.
"After I spanked him, yes," Murdoch said. "He's been fighting at school again, Maria. When he misbehaves, he's going to be punished."
"And am I also to be punished?" she countered. "I wish to see my son, Murdoch."
"I'll send him to you right after supper."
"I want to see him now."
Murdoch shook his head. "Johnny is going to learn how to mind me." His voice was determined. "It's for his own good."
Maria spat something in Spanish. Murdoch ignored it. She glared at him for a minute, and then changed tactics.
"And what about my good? I may be too fatigued to see him after supper. Will you deprive me of the only pleasure I have left to me? You know I look forward all day to his visit. Are you punishing Johnny or are you punishing me, Murdoch?"
He rubbed his face. "Maria, I'm not angry with you."
"No? You are not angry that I cannot be a wife to you, or look after my son myself? That you are tied to a helpless cripple?"
"Maria. We've been over all this before." Murdoch's voice was weary. "I know this is hard for you."
"Do you?" Her dark eyes were cold. "Do you have any idea?"
"You don't have to stay in this room, you know. We could wheel your chair into the great room, or even out on the terrace. The sun would do you good."
"No! I don't want anyone to see me like this."
Murdoch's eyes rested on his wife's face, so like Johnny's. "You are still very beautiful, Maria. You shouldn't lock yourself away like this. It would do you good if you'd just try to do more, and it would be a lot better for Johnny. He's young and he needs his mother."
Her mouth twisted angrily. "I know what you think of me as a mother," she hissed. "Leave me now. And send Constanza in. I don't feel well."
Murdoch rose, thinking he should know better by now than to argue with his wife. "I'll send Johnny to you as soon as he finishes his supper."
"That may not be possible," she said. "Ask Constanza first."
Murdoch stopped in the kitchen to send his wife's maid to her room. The housekeeper continued chopping. "I'm sorry, Patron," she said. "The senora asked me where Juanito was when I brought her tea to her room. I did not mean to upset her, or to cause any difficulties."
"It's not your fault," Murdoch knew his wife had probably twisted the housekeeper's actual words. The older Maria spoiled Johnny a little, like nearly every woman he encountered, but could also be stern with him, especially if he put himself in any danger with his recklessness. He was quite sure that Maria hadn't told Johnny's mother that Murdoch had beaten his son or locked him up. Maria never had much use for the second Mrs. Lancer, not even before the accident, and she had always adored Johnny.
She had paddled him more than once with her wooden spoon. But she was also the one Johnny turned to first if he was sick or hurt, and she did most of the work of taking care of him. In many respects, the housekeeper behaved more like Johnny's mother than his own mother.
"The nino, he should not be fighting with bigger boys," Maria said to Murdoch. "He is very badly bruised."
Murdoch lifted a brow. "It didn't look so bad. That's an ugly bruise on his cheekbone but I don't think he'll even have a black eye."
"Under his shirt," Maria said darkly. "His ribs and back are hurt. I saw when I made him change into a clean one."
"What?" Murdoch felt cold. Johnny hadn't said anything about this to him. "He didn't tell me and I spanked him. Is he all right? Do you think I should get Sam Jenkins to look at him?"
"Perhaps, when El Medico comes to see the senora, it would be a good idea," the housekeeper said. "I am sorry, Senor, I thought you knew when you sent him to me."
"I'm going to check on him," Murdoch said abruptly. He went up the back stairs in a hurry and opened his son's door.
Johnny was fast asleep, curled up on his side. Murdoch sat down on the edge of the bed and watched him sleep for a few minutes. He could see Johnny's eyes move under his long lashes. Asleep, he looked perfectly angelic and Murdoch felt his heart turn over. The rancher hated to wake the boy, but reached out and put a gentle hand on the back of his neck. "Johnny?"
Those dark lashes fluttered a few times and Johnny's sapphire eyes finally opened, puzzled. He gave Murdoch a sleepy smile and rubbed at his eyes. "Lo siento, Papa," he mumbled.
"Why are you sorry?" Murdoch asked.
"Bad again," Johnny said, yawning. "Don't mean... disappoint you."
"You don't disappoint me, son," Murdoch said. "I love you and Scott more than anything else in the world, and don't you ever forget it."
"Te amo también," Johnny breathed. He seemed to be having trouble waking up all the way and Murdoch frowned. He sat him up gently and unbuttoned his shirt.
"What are you doing?" the boy asked.
"Maria told me that you have some bad bruises - something you should have told me yourself, young man," Murdoch said. "I want to take a look."
Johnny wiggled a little. "I'm fine," he said.
Murdoch pushed Johnny's shirt off his shoulders and stared, appalled, at the darkening mass of bruises on his ribcage and back. He reached out to check for broken bones, and the child caught his breath. Murdoch went over to the dresser and got a nightshirt from one of the drawers.
"What's that for?" Johnny was a little more awake now. He looked at the nightshirt suspiciously.
"I want you to get into bed properly," Murdoch said. "And I don't want you to get out of it either, not until your Uncle Sam takes a look at you and says it's all right."
"I'm not sick," Johnny protested. "And you said I only had to stay in my room until supper."
"John." Murdoch's voice was quiet. "Didn't you and I have already have a discussion today about doing as I tell you?"
Johnny flushed. "Si."
Murdoch had to help him take off his boots and get the nightshirt over his head, but Johnny still climbed into bed reluctantly. He moved stiffly, Murdoch noticed, kicking himself for not noticing earlier. He pulled the covers up and tucked his son in. "Why didn't you tell me that you were hurt?"
"It's not that bad," Johnny said, shifting to try to find a comfortable position. "Cowboys don't complain."
Like hell they don't, Murdoch thought savagely, but he smiled and brushed his son's black hair back. "So you think you're going to be a cowboy? I thought you wanted to be a doctor, like Uncle Sam."
"Maybe I can do both," Johnny said, blinking. His eyes were heavy and his forehead felt a little warm to Murdoch. "Can I, Papa?"
"You can do anything," Murdoch said. The blue eyes opened wider and he swiftly amended his statement. "When you're older, of course. Much older."
Johnny tried valiantly but soon lost the battle to keep his eyes open. Murdoch waited until he was sure the boy was asleep again and then went downstairs to the kitchen. "Maria, just as soon as the doctor gets here today, I want him to go and check on Johnny. And don't mention it to Senora Lancer, please. There's no point in worrying her until we know more."
The housekeeper nodded. "I understand."
***
Scott was gone from the great room, his books put away neatly. Murdoch figured his elder son had decided to get an early start on his chores.
He sat down at his desk again but didn't even pretend to look at the waiting ledger. He swiveled his chair around to look out the windows at the ranch. He couldn't believe that Johnny hadn't said anything about his bruises. He certainly wasn't like his mother in some respects, no matter how much he resembled her physically.
Murdoch propped his head in his hands, still staring out the windows but seeing something quite different in his mind's eye. It had been more than five years now since Maria's accident. Johnny hadn't been quite two years old when it happened.
It was as much a mystery to him now as it had been at the time. She refused to discuss it and Murdoch had never known why Maria was out on a horse by herself, miles from the house, that afternoon. It was something she hadn't ever done before, as far as he knew. She had left Johnny in the housekeeper's care, something she did far too often in those days, but Murdoch supposed he should be grateful she hadn't taken him along.
They hadn't found her until late that night. The horse had rolled on her when it went down and she had a back injury. For weeks afterward, Sam Jenkins didn't think she'd survive, but he pulled her through, to her fury when she discovered the doctor couldn't cure quite everything.
She spent her good days in a wheelchair, rarely leaving the ground floor room where they moved her things after the accident. Constanza, one of the women who helped in the house, became her personal attendant and took care of her needs with a little help from the housekeeper. Murdoch and Johnny visited her in her room, and Sam came regularly too. She flatly refused to see anyone else.
Murdoch had insisted that she meet Scott when his older son arrived at the ranch, and that she behave civilly, but the boy didn't see his stepmother often. Maria deeply resented the presence of Murdoch's older son at the ranch, although she soon learned not to reveal her feelings on that subject to her own son.
She was charming with Johnny most of the time, summoning the laughing free spirit who first dazzled Murdoch, and the little boy loved his beautiful mother. But he was usually the only one who saw that side of her.
Maria and Murdoch's marriage had been in trouble before the accident. He wondered afterward, uneasily, if she might have been seeing another man that afternoon. He even wondered, from a few things she let slip while she was groggy from medication, if she had been making plans to leave him and take Johnny with her. The idea shocked him. His love for Maria had faded in the face of long, bitter arguments, but he couldn't bear to even think about losing the blue-eyed son she'd given him. It would be like losing his soul. It had been hard enough to lose his first son but he'd never held Scott and had only seen him once, when he was already five years old. He'd given his heart to Johnny the first time he held his newborn, and the child still held it in those perfect little fingers and innocent eyes. Murdoch kept his suspicions to himself, but for a long time his anger simmered close to the surface whenever he saw Maria.
She was just as angry, choosing to blame him for the accident. If he had not swept her off her feet and brought her to this godforsaken place, this never would have happened to her.
Scott arrived in a deeply shaken household just nine months after the accident, while they were all still adjusting to the new circumstances of their lives. Years earlier, Murdoch had reluctantly given up any hope of winning custody of his firstborn son, and he was flabbergasted by the turn of events that made it possible. Scott's grandfather had finally been too greedy and too arrogant - or perhaps he had just picked the wrong victims this time, people who were just as rich and powerful, and just as used to getting their own ways. A few weeks after Maria's accident, Murdoch read a long telegram from an old friend in Boston, his hands shaking. His former father-in-law was in jail, awaiting trial on charges of fraud. Murdoch rode to Green River that night to send a wire back to Boston and begin the proceedings to claim his son. Within months, Harlan Garrett was on his way to prison and eight-year-old Scott was on his way to California.
Murdoch couldn't leave his wife or Johnny at the time, so soon after the accident. He sent Paul O'Brien and Cipriano, his two most trusted employees, to make the difficult journey across Panama to meet the mail steamer and bring Scott home. The railroad across the isthmus wasn't finished, unfortunately, and it was a hard trip for anyone, let alone a small boy who had grown up in a Beacon Hill mansion. But the trip around Cape Horn by ship would take months longer, and wouldn't necessarily be any less dangerous. And the overland route was out of the question, plagued by Indian raids and outlaws.
Paul and Cipriano finally arrived at Lancer with the solemn blond boy. They were a few days earlier than expected. Murdoch was working at his desk in the great room and Johnny, fresh from his bath, was playing with a carved wooden horse on the rug when Paul opened the door and nudged a boy into the room. Murdoch looked up and stared into Catherine's blue gray eyes, eyes he never expected to see again in this lifetime.
"Scott," he said instantly, a smile breaking out on his face as he rose to his feet. "I'd know you anywhere. You look a lot like your mother."
"How do you do, sir," Scott said politely, offering his hand to shake. Then he stepped back and looked at the dark-haired child who was peeking around the desk. Johnny's eyes sparkled.
"Scott," he said, echoing his father, and gave the older boy a dazzling smile.
Scott looked up at Murdoch, confused.
"Son, this is your little brother, Johnny," Murdoch said.
"Brother?" Scott repeated the word, his voice nearly inaudible. His grandfather had never told him he had a brother. Paul and Cipriano hadn't mentioned it either. They hadn't talked much during the journey. Scott didn't want to talk to these strangers. He was still smarting at the loss of his grandfather and the only home he'd ever known. He wanted nothing to do with his father or his father's ranch.
"Half-brother," Murdoch amended. "I married again after your mother - Johnny is my second wife's son. He'll be three in a few months, just before Christmas."
Scott looked at the little boy more closely.
"Play with me?" Johnny suggested, still giving Scott that heart-stopping smile.
Murdoch answered for him. "No, Johnny, not now. Your brother has had a long trip and it's your bedtime anyway."
He scooped the little boy up and tickled him. "Come on," he said. "Maria will put you to bed tonight."
"No, Papa!" Johnny protested through his giggles.
"Yes," Murdoch said firmly, slinging Johnny over his shoulder.
"Scott can tell me a story." Johnny twisted around to look at his new brother.
"Not tonight," Murdoch said.
"Sir?" Scott surprised himself, as well as Murdoch, when he spoke. The rancher paused on his way out the door with Johnny.
"I'll be right back, son," Murdoch promised. "I'm just going to take Johnny to the housekeeper, so she can look after him. Then you and I will have dinner and talk, just the two of us. I've waited a long time for you to come home and I want to spend some time with you."
Scott nodded uncertainly.
***
Sam Jenkins came down the back stairs from Johnny's room and stopped to see Maria Lancer. He rarely stayed with her for long. Maria was suspicious of him, knowing he and Murdoch were good friends, and she wasn't inclined to chat with the doctor.
Sam had never particularly liked Maria either, but he was the only doctor in fifty miles or more and they were both stuck with each other. He checked her over carefully, asking a few questions and getting nothing more than one or two-word answers.
"Have you thought about what I told you the last time?" he asked when he had finished.
"The doctor in San Francisco? No," she said, her face sulky. "I will not go."
"Maria," he said. "You understand what I told you? They might be able to help you at the hospital in San Francisco, more than I can here. You could walk again."
"No," she said. "I will not."
"Have you discussed this with Murdoch?"
"It is none of his business."
"He is your husband. And your son's father."
"I will not tell him and I forbid you to say anything." Her voice was imperious. "You are my doctor, yes? And you promised that you would not discuss my condition with anyone else."
"Yes," he said. "But I think you're making a mistake."
"That is my business. And you cannot say anything."
"No," he agreed wearily, picking up his bag. "I can't say anything. I'll see you in a few days, Maria."
"I will still be here," she said, her eyes flashing.
He closed the door with more force than he intended when he went out. Murdoch was just coming in the front door, his face anxious. "Did you see Johnny yet, Sam? Is he all right?"
"I think he'll be fine." Sam followed his friend into the great room and sat down. "But I want you to keep him in bed for at least two days, and I mean in bed. No wandering out to the barn to see his pony, or even across the hall to visit with Scott."
"What's wrong?" Murdoch asked, pouring whiskey and handing a glass to the doctor.
"He's bruised a kidney," Sam said. "He's a little feverish and he's passing blood, but I don't think it's anything worse than a bruise. It should clear up as long as it's treated properly. That means complete bed rest until I tell you it's all right for him to get up, and another week or so of taking it easy. This is important, Murdoch. The consequences could be serious if Johnny doesn't behave this time."
"He'll behave." Murdoch hesitated and decided to ask. "Sam, he didn't tell me he was hurt and I spanked him this afternoon. Did that make it worse?"
"Only if you punched him again in the kidney, which I know you didn't," Sam responded. "Murdoch, don't beat yourself up over this. You didn't do him any harm."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure." Sam took another sip of his drink. He wished he could tell his friend about Maria's condition, but he really couldn't, not without breaking his oath. It was much easier to treat their son. Johnny wouldn't pay attention to the doctor's orders any more than his mother - or his father - if he had any choice, but at least Sam could tell Murdoch the facts and make sure the seven-year-old had no choice.
"You'll stay for supper, won't you?" Murdoch said. "Stay the night, if you can."
"Thank you," Sam said. "I think I will, if it's not too much trouble."
"You're always welcome here," Murdoch said. "I don't know how we would have managed without you."
Sam sighed. He wasn't so sure he had done any of the Lancers any favors when he saved Maria's life five years ago. Murdoch might wonder now and then, but he didn't really know. Sam knew what Maria had been planning. He'd kept her secrets, bound by his oath, but they hadn't done anything to improve his opinion of the woman. He wouldn't wish a crippling injury on anyone, not even Maria Lancer, but Sam knew that accident had saved Murdoch a lot of heartbreak, and Johnny too. He still shivered at the knowledge that Maria had been making plans to take Johnny away from Lancer. He'd doctored Johnny since the boy was a baby, and the little scamp was nearly as dear to him as a son. Drifting from town to town with Maria and that gambler she'd ridden out to meet would have been no life for a child.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Murdoch said, interrupting Sam's reverie.
The doctor's mouth twisted. "They aren't worth it," he said. "Where's Scott?"
"He's just finishing up his chores in the barn, and probably Johnny's too."
Sam smiled. "He's a good boy. Both of them are. You're a lucky man, Murdoch."
"I know."
"Scott has really taken to the ranch and settled in," Sam said. "I wasn't so sure, the first time I saw him, if that would ever happen."
"Neither was I." Murdoch stretched out his long legs, remembering the reserved, fastidious eight-year-old in the suit and tie. "He's turned into quite a rider. He's nearly as crazy about the horses as his little brother."
"Are you still thinking about sending him to that new school in San Francisco?"
"I made up my mind this afternoon," Murdoch said. "I haven't told him yet but I'm going to send him in September. It's too late now to send him for the rest of the term. And this will give us all a little more time together on the ranch."
"San Francisco isn't that far," Sam said. "At least he'll be able to come home for vacations."
"It's not as far as Boston," Murdoch agreed. "But I don't think either of my sons will be happy about it. Johnny may be more upset than Scott."
Sam had to agree. "Probably, but you're doing the right thing. Scott's a smart boy and he needs more than the Green River school. Johnny will too, eventually."
Murdoch smiled. "Johnny needs to learn to sit still for five minutes first. And to stay out of trouble."
Sam laughed. "I'm not sure that boy is ever going to learn that lesson."
***
Sam pushed open Johnny's door after breakfast and sat down on the bed. The boy stirred and Sam put a hand on his forehead. He was still too warm and the doctor frowned a little, even as Johnny's eyes opened.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," Sam said, wiping his frown off his face.
"Uncle Sam? I didn't know you were still here." Johnny grinned at him and started to bounce up. The doctor quickly put a hand out to stop him.
"Whoa, cowboy," he said. "You're not going anywhere today. What did I tell you yesterday?"
Johnny's face fell. "That I have to stay in bed today."
"Today and tomorrow too, John," Sam said.
The blue eyes looked at him plaintively and Sam steeled himself. He'd fallen victim a few too many times to those eyes. "Tomorrow too? But tomorrow's Saturday and there's no school."
"Today and tomorrow," Sam said firmly. "And don't worry, you're going to get plenty of time off from school. You're not going back for at least a week."
"A week?" Johnny looked stricken. "I don't have to stay in bed for a whole week, do I?"
"No, I don't think so," Sam said. "No riding, though."
"No riding? For a whole week?" Johnny sat up straighter, outraged. "Uncle Sam, that's not fair!"
"I'm sorry, but it's necessary," Sam said. "Tell you what, if you're good and your father agrees, I'll pick you up Tuesday morning and take you out on rounds with me."
Johnny's face brightened. He loved going with Sam on his rounds. The doctor's patients usually enjoyed it too, especially some of the older ones. Johnny was like sunshine in a room. "Can I drive the buggy?"
"Maybe," Sam said, his eyes twinkling. "Now, let me take a look at you, young man."
Johnny fidgeted uncomfortably, his face flushed. "First I have to get up, just for a few minutes," he wheedled. "I'll come straight back, promise."
Sam shook his head and reached for the chamber pot. "Nothing doing, John," he said. "Use this."
Murdoch was waiting when Sam came down the stairs. Scott had already left for school, carrying a note from his father to the teacher to let her know Johnny wouldn't be back for at least a week and why. Murdoch didn't blame the young teacher for the fight, or for failing to detect that Johnny was hurt, but he did plan to pay Sarah McClintock a visit later in the day. She was raising her three boys and two girls on her own, a difficult job, but he didn't intend to let those boys beat up his son or any of the other smaller boys again. Johnny had finally told them, the night before, that the twins had held his arms while their older brother punched him.
He'd also announced airily, with innocent satisfaction, that he'd kicked Simon real good right in the balls just before the teacher and Scott came outside. The twins had released him when their brother doubled up in agony, and that was why no one had seen the way the brothers had been pounding on him. Murdoch managed to keep his face straight, but resolved that Johnny was going to spend less time with the Lancer cowboys if this was any sample of what his seven-year-old was learning from them.
"How's he doing, Sam?" Murdoch asked.
"Better, I think, but don't let him persuade you to let him get up. He's still running a fever and passing some blood. You can go up and see him. He's awake."
"His mother wants to see you," Murdoch said. "I told her this morning about Johnny."
Sam nodded. "I'll stop in after I leave some instructions about Johnny's breakfast. Then I've got to get going. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon just to make sure he's all right, but send for me if you need me before then."
"Thanks, Sam." Murdoch loped up the stairs and Sam went down the hall.
Later in the afternoon, Murdoch rode away from the McClintock place fuming. Sarah had actually had the nerve to complain that Johnny had hurt Simon. Murdoch pointed out furiously that Simon was nearly fourteen and Johnny was seven.
"I don't believe in coddling boys," Sarah said. "My twins know better than to come crying to me when Simon whups them."
"Your twins, who are a year older and almost twice Johnny's size, held my son while Simon punched him," Murdoch said.
"Maybe next time he'll know better than to tangle with them," she said.
"There better not ever be a next time." Murdoch's voice was cold. "If Simon ever touches Johnny again, I'll deal with him myself, Sarah. Is that clear?"
She bristled. "You better not, Murdoch Lancer. I'll have the law on you."
"I mean it, Sarah," Murdoch said. "Make sure that Simon and the twins stay away from Johnny, or you'll all be sorry."
Her face turned red. "I don't want them near that half-breed brat of yours anyway."
"What did you say?" he roared. "How dare you!"
"I believe in calling a spade a spade," she said. "That boy of yours has bad blood in him from his mama - if he's yours at all!"
"He is mine." Murdoch ground the words out through clenched teeth, forcing himself to speak calmly. She quailed under the fury in his blue eyes. "There's no doubt at all that he's mine. You and your sons better remember it, Sarah. Lancer takes care of its own, and Johnny is all Lancer."
He spun on his heel, not trusting himself to say any more. He was still furious when he rode back to the ranch. He was also wondering if Johnny had ever heard any of Sarah's filth, from her sons or anyone else.
Murdoch didn't think so on careful reflection. Surrounded all his life by people who loved him, Johnny hadn't learned yet to guard himself. He wore his feelings on his face and in his eyes. He would be hurt and upset if the McClintocks had said anything ugly to him about his mother, and even more so if they'd cast any doubt that Murdoch was his father. And it would show in those blue eyes.
Scott, now, was another matter. Scott was like his mother in more than looks, and far more reserved than his brother. Murdoch often didn't know what his older son was thinking, not unless Scott chose to tell him. He didn't think Scott would choose to tell him about this.
Murdoch decided he'd better have a talk with his older son at the first opportunity. And he also better try to figure out some way to protect his younger son from this kind of garbage. He knew he couldn't shield Johnny forever from the prejudice Sarah had expressed, but thought the boy was still too young.
He'd been lucky, he thought, that Johnny hadn't already heard this at school, lucky and incredibly foolish.
***
Murdoch discovered that all of his luck had run out when he rode through the arch. There was a hired buggy in front of the house and an older man was just climbing out. Murdoch's mouth dropped open.
"Harlan?" he said unbelievingly. "Harlan, what are you doing here?"
The older man gave him a withering look. "I've come to pick up my grandson, of course."
"Pick up your grandson?"
"Where is Scotty? It's been a long time and I'm anxious to see him."
Murdoch couldn't believe the nerve of the man. "Why aren't you in prison?" he said. "I was told you were sentenced to ten years."
"Oh, that," Harlan said dismissively. "My new lawyers finally succeeded in winning my release. I should have fired the old ones a long time ago for gross incompetence. Where is Scott, Murdoch?"
"He's at school, where he belongs," Murdoch said.
"School?" Harlan's lip curled. "I've enrolled him at Andover and engaged a tutor to travel with us and help him catch up with his class. Give the driver instructions on how to get there and we'll pick him up."
"You'll do nothing of the kind." Murdoch was rapidly losing his temper. "Scott is my son, Harlan, and you're not taking him anywhere."
"I have a court order, restoring custody to me," Harlan said.
"Let's see," Murdoch demanded. Harlan handed over a piece of paper. Murdoch scanned it quickly before crumpling it into a ball in his fist.
"That doesn't change anything," Harlan said. "It's a valid court order."
"Perhaps, if you were in Massachusetts," Murdoch said. "But you're in California now, Harlan, and so is Scott. He's not going anywhere with you. Now get off my land."
Harlan glanced at the man with him and back at Murdoch. He changed tactics abruptly. "That's not very hospitable, Murdoch," he said mildly. "I raised Scotty for the first eight years of his life and I've missed him. I imagine he's missed me too, hasn't he?"
Murdoch couldn't prevent his face from giving away the answer. Harlan saw it, and quickly pressed his advantage.
"I've traveled a long way and naturally I want to see him," he said. "You'll have to forgive me if I was perhaps a little overbearing at first."
"I don't have to forgive you for anything," Murdoch growled. "You stole my son for eight years."
The stranger spoke up. "Harsh words, Mr. Lancer, harsh words, and also possibly actionable, even in the courts of er-California. Mr. Garrett had legal custody of the minor child."
Murdoch stared at him. "Who are you?" he asked bluntly.
"This is Mr. Pettigrew," Harlan said. "He works for me."
"In what capacity?"
"I am an attorney, Mr. Lancer," Pettigrew said.
"Then you should know that a Massachusetts court order isn't anything but a piece of used paper here."
Pettigrew smiled faintly, but didn't answer. Harlan shrugged slightly. "You can't blame me for trying. Now, are you going to invite us in to discuss this like civilized men?"
Murdoch supposed he didn't really have much choice. Scott was Harlan's grandson, and he knew Harlan had been good to the boy. Scott certainly wouldn't understand if he heard that Murdoch had turned his grandfather away from Lancer. "Come in, then," he said gruffly.
"Thank you," Harlan said. "Is it necessary for the driver to wait while we talk or can I assume that you will provide transportation back to town for us when we leave? Preferably somewhat better-sprung transportation."
"Someone will drive you back," Murdoch said.
"Good," Harlan said. "Pay the driver, Pettigrew."
They paused inside the front door. Harlan blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light after the dazzle of the sunshine. "Not so bad, Murdoch," he murmured, looking into the great room. "Better than I expected."
"Sit down," Murdoch said abruptly. The housekeeper came down the hall to the door.
"Patron," she began and stopped. "Pardon. I did not realize you had guests."
"That's all right, Maria," Murdoch said. "Is Johnny all right?"
"Si, he fell asleep after his lunch and still sleeps. His temperature is nearly back to normal again, I think, and the pain is not so much."
"Good," Murdoch said. "Would you bring us some lemonade?"
She disappeared. Harlan gave Murdoch a speculative look from one of the chairs by the fireplace. "Maria?" he said. "For some reason, I had imagined that your second wife was a much younger woman."
"She is," Murdoch said curtly. "Maria is the housekeeper. It's a common name."
"Ah," Harlan said. "Now that I recall, your wife had an accident, didn't she? Dear me, it was more than five years ago now. Tell me, did she ever recover the use of her limbs?"
"No," Murdoch said.
"A pity," Harlan said. "And your younger son, from what the housekeeper said - has he also had an accident recently?"
"Johnny will be fine in a few days," Murdoch said.
"Good." Harlan sounded anything but glad. "How old is John now, Murdoch?"
"He's seven. Six years younger than Scott."
"Of course," Harlan said. "You met your new wife on your way back to California from Boston, didn't you? That time you visited?"
"What do you want, Harlan?"
"Seven is an appealing age, isn't it?" Harlan mused. "Still so young and so trusting. Scotty was only eight the last time I saw him. I suppose he's grown a lot now."
"He's started to shoot up." Murdoch smiled involuntarily. Sometimes, lately, it seemed that Scott had grown an inch or two overnight. They'd taken to measuring his height on the doorway in the kitchen every week, marking it off with a notch. Johnny always insisted on measuring his height too, and was dismayed his brother was getting so far ahead of him. The housekeeper assured him that his turn would come, and hinted it might come faster if he finished the vegetables on his plate without any arguments, like his brother. For a week, there were no battles over broccoli. Unfortunately, the youngest Lancer ran out of his limited supply of patience when Scott's mark rose another inch that Saturday night, his own mark didn't budge, and Maria served spinach at supper.
"Does Scotty still look like his dear mother?" Harlan's voice banished Murdoch's vision.
"Yes, very much so," Murdoch said as Maria came in with a pitcher of iced lemonade and glasses on a tray.
Harlan took a sip when she left and relaxed into his chair. "Seven is also a vulnerable age." He looked at Murdoch, his thin lips curling. "So much can happen to a defenseless little boy. I found it quite worrying."
Murdoch set his own glass down with a bang. "Are you threatening Johnny, Harlan?"
The Bostonian raised his hand. "Of course not," he protested. "I didn't say anything threatening, did I, Pettigrew?"
"No, sir," Pettigrew said. "I didn't hear you say anything that would constitute a threat."
Murdoch glared at Harlan. He was playing some game. Murdoch didn't trust him an inch, based on long experience, but didn't know yet what he was up to.
"What do you want?" he asked again.
Harlan's eyes widened. "I told you, Murdoch. I want to see my grandson, of course. I've been quite concerned about him."
"There's no reason to be concerned," Murdoch said. "He's settled here and he's happy."
"Indeed," Harlan said. "This school that he's attending - is it nearby?"
"It's in Green River," Murdoch said.
"And the members of the teaching staff, they are well qualified?"
"There's only the one teacher."
Harlan's brows rose. "One teacher?"
"That's customary out here," Murdoch said. "This isn't Boston."
"It certainly isn't," Harlan agreed. "Tell me, Murdoch, do you really believe that Scotty is getting an adequate education here? The kind of education that his mother would have wanted him to have?"
"He's doing very well with his lessons," Murdoch said. "And he'll be going to school in San Francisco in the fall."
"Oh? What kind of school?"
"It's a Jesuit school," Murdoch said. "St. Ignatius."
Harlan's face tightened for a minute before he smoothed it out. "San Francisco is some distance from here. Is this a boarding school?"
"I'll make arrangements for Scott to board with some friends during the term," Murdoch said.
"I see," Harlan murmured.
The front door opened and the three men turned. Scott stood on the threshold, holding the saddlebags he used to carry his books. His mouth dropped open when he saw Harlan. "Grandfather?"
Harlan beamed at him. "Scotty, my boy," he said, strolling forward.
"Grandfather!" Scott dropped the saddlebags on the floor and ran straight to him.
***
Harlan and Pettigrew stayed for dinner, of course. That was inevitable. It was also inevitable to offer them guest rooms for the night. Scott was excited to see his grandfather again. He wanted to show Harlan everything, and he wanted to introduce his little brother first of all.
Murdoch postponed that meeting with an excuse about keeping Johnny quiet, but then he had to try to explain to Johnny why Scott hadn't been upstairs to see him. The active little boy was restless when Murdoch went to visit him before dinner.
Murdoch stayed upstairs with Johnny as long as he could, reluctant to face the sight of his older son with his grandfather. He read Longfellow's "Song of Hiawatha" aloud and answered Johnny's questions patiently. They were playing yet another game of checkers when Maria brought up Johnny's supper on a tray.
He gave it a dark look when she set the tray across his knees. "Don't want soup," he said. "I'm starved, Maria."
"I know, mijo, but this is what the doctor said you should have." She unfolded the napkin and handed it to him.
Johnny's lower lip stuck out. "Can't I come downstairs for supper?" he asked Murdoch, his eyes pleading. "I'm fine now."
Murdoch mussed his hair. "Not tonight, Johnny. And you know better than to ask. Uncle Sam said you had to spend two days in bed."
"I spent all day in bed," Johnny argued. "It's night time now. He didn't say I had to stay in bed all night too."
His father laughed. "Nice try, son. Now eat your supper while it's still hot."
Johnny scowled. "Don't want it."
"John," Murdoch warned. Johnny looked at him out of the corners of his eyes and his shoulders slumped. He picked up his spoon reluctantly.
"I'll come up again to see you after supper," Murdoch said, standing up. "Be good for Maria."
Johnny gave him a forlorn look. Johnny didn't usually have enough patience for fishing but he was a master at hooking the members of his family and reeling them in. "I'll try," he said mournfully.
"You better do more than try, young man," Murdoch said, suppressing a smile.
Johnny let him get almost all the way to the door. "Papa?"
Murdoch turned back. "What is it, John?"
"Is Scott mad at me?"
"No," Murdoch said quickly. "No, he's not mad at you. He's just been busy this afternoon."
"Busy doing what?"
"Eat your supper," Murdoch ordered. "I have to go downstairs now, but we'll talk about this later."
"Promise?"
"Promise," Murdoch said, and escaped before Johnny could ask another question.
Scott had given his grandfather a tour of the barns and corrals and they were just returning to the great room, where Pettigrew had settled down with a book.
"Have you been upstairs with Johnny, sir?" Scott asked Murdoch. "How is he?"
"Bored," Murdoch said. "I don't know how we're going to keep him in bed all day tomorrow unless we tie him down."
Scott's smile appeared. "He must be feeling better then."
"I think so," Murdoch said.
"Can Grandfather and I visit him after supper?"
Murdoch's eyes went to Harlan. "We'll see," he said. "Your grandfather is probably tired, Scott, after his trip."
"Johnny won't wear him out," Scott said, and his smile grew. "Not unless he reads to him, that is. Johnny asks more questions than you'd ever believe possible, Grandfather."
Murdoch tried to imagine Harlan Garrett sitting down to read to his younger son and failed utterly. He moved to the sideboard. "Can I offer you a drink before dinner, Harlan? Mr. Pettigrew?"
"That would be most welcome," Harlan said.
Scott sat on the rug in front of the fire, in Johnny's usual spot, while the older men sipped their drinks. Murdoch watched him. Scott's face was flushed slightly through his tan and his eyes showed more blue than gray, nearly luminous. The spring sun had already lightened his dark blond hair, giving it an extra burnish. He was a handsome boy, with his mother's straight nose, long, strong-boned face and warm, slow smile. He'd been pale when he first arrived on the ranch, but now he glowed with health.
He also glowed with happiness tonight, Murdoch noticed sourly. Had Scott been missing his grandfather all this time? He hadn't said anything. The year he arrived, he sometimes went very quiet and withdrew into himself, but that had stopped. Murdoch thought his elder son was happy on the ranch, but he wondered after seeing the way Scott lit up when he saw his grandfather.
If Scott really wanted to return to Boston with his grandfather and go to school there, Murdoch didn't think he could deny him that, but the idea gave him an empty feeling. He took a large gulp of his whiskey as a girl came into the room from the kitchen to set the table.
"Patron, Senora Maria asked me to say to you that dinner will be ready to serve in diez minutos," she said to Murdoch.
"Gracias," Murdoch said. "Is anyone upstairs with Johnny?"
"Si, Senor," she said. "Senora Cipriano came to see el nino and will stay with him."
Murdoch nodded, relieved. If Johnny got fractious about staying in bed, he wasn't sure the young girls who helped Maria in the kitchen could deal with him. But Cipriano's wife was more than capable of settling him down. Like Maria, she'd known him all his life, loved him dearly, and would take absolutely no nonsense from him when it came to guarding his health.
There was one more surprise on Murdoch's menu that night. Just as the girls were bringing in the serving dishes from the kitchen, the door from the hall opened. Maria Lancer sat in her wheelchair, coolly regarding the men in the room. Murdoch's mouth dropped open.
Maria had dressed for the occasion in a dark skirt and silk blouse, a shimmering golden mantilla draped over her shoulders. Her pale face was as perfect as ever and her eyes were enormous. Constanza had swept Maria's hair up over her long neck in an elegant knot and a rose rested just above her ear.
"Well, husband," she said to Murdoch, a small smile playing on her lips. "Are you not going to introduce me to our guests?"
Murdoch rose to his feet, numb with shock. "Maria, this is Harlan Garrett, Scott's grandfather, and Mr. Pettigrew. Gentlemen, this is my wife, Senora Maria Lancer."
Maria gave Harlan her hand and a dazzling smile. "I am pleased to meet you, Senor Garrett," she said. "I am sorry I did not welcome you earlier, but my maid has only just informed me of your arrival."
"It is my pleasure," Harlan said, his eyes glued to her. "I heard that you were very beautiful, but the reports did not do you any justice, Madam."
Her smile deepened. "You are too kind."
***
Murdoch rubbed his eyes wearily. He hadn't slept much the night before. He couldn't get the image of his wife and Harlan Garrett, talking cozily by the fire after dinner, out of his head.
Maria had been her old self at the table, full of charm. Harlan and Pettigrew couldn't drag their eyes off her. Scott, who hadn't seen his stepmother in months, was equally fascinated. Murdoch chewed his steak morosely, his mind spinning. He didn't trust Maria any more than he trusted Harlan, possibly even less.
Scott and Harlan postponed their proposed visit to Johnny again. The meal stretched long past its usual hour and the housekeeper reported the child was fast asleep when she finally brought coffee.
Murdoch sent Scott off to bed shortly afterward. Harlan seconded him, to his surprise, when Scott protested.
"It's late, Scotty," Harlan said. "Didn't you say you wanted to show me the ranch in the morning?"
"Yes," Scott said. "But-"
Harlan raised one eyebrow, surprised. "Are you arguing, Scotty? I thought I had taught you better manners."
"Yes, sir," Scott said. "Good night, sir."
"Good night, my boy," Harlan said.
Scott glanced at Murdoch, almost as an afterthought. "Good night, Papa."
"Good night, son."
Murdoch sat on his horse now, on the hill that looked down on Lancer. Scott and Harlan had taken a buggy out to see the ranch, taking their lunch with them. Pettigrew was still at the hacienda, wearing another impeccable suit and the same bland expression that made Murdoch itch to hit him, just to see if there was any reaction. Maria Lancer hadn't made another appearance at breakfast or lunch. Constanza told Murdoch she was resting and didn't want to be disturbed when he knocked on her door.
Scott had stopped to see Johnny before breakfast, and told his brother about his grandfather's visit. Johnny's energy had returned and he was ready to climb the walls when his father visited later. He was also full of questions about Scott's grandfather. Murdoch, his patience stretched past its limits, spoke far more sharply than he intended and then felt guilty when he saw tears brim up in the boy's eyes. Never willing to let anyone see him cry, Johnny promptly hid his face in his pillow. Murdoch couldn't coax him back into his usual sunny mood and finally gave up, leaving his son to the housekeeper's ministrations. She glared at him accusingly as he left the room.
Murdoch tried to settle down to his accounts after lunch, but he was nearly as restless as his younger son, and soon gave up. He rode out to see how the fence crews were doing, checked the level of the water in a few ponds, and finally headed back toward the hacienda.
There was a buggy approaching on the road from Morro Coyo. Murdoch was initially disappointed when he realized that it wasn't the buggy Scott was driving but as it got closer, he recognized Sam's buggy with relief. If anyone could defuse the tension that simmered in his house, it was the doctor. He walked his horse down the hill and spurred it into a canter, arriving at the hacienda just as the doctor's buggy pulled up.
"Sam, I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life."
The doctor's shaggy brows rose immediately. "Is Johnny worse?"
"Johnny is fine," Murdoch said. "If you don't let that boy out of bed soon, he's going to drive the rest of us crazy."
Sam relaxed. "Good."
"Scott's grandfather arrived yesterday," Murdoch said.
"Scott's grandfather?" Sam's expressive brows shot up higher than before. "I thought he was in jail."
"Me too."
Sam glanced at him. "We'll talk after I see Johnny."
"Come to the kitchen," Murdoch said. "Harlan's lawyer has been sitting around in the great room all day."
"He brought a lawyer with him? He's not trying to get Scott back, is he?"
Murdoch's face twisted. "Looks like it."
Murdoch was drinking coffee at the table when Sam came down the back stairs. The doctor was chuckling.
"Well?" Murdoch asked, pouring another cup.
"He's doing well," Sam said. "You can let him get up tomorrow, but I meant what I said before about no riding and no school. You need to keep him quiet for a week."
"That's a lot easier said than done."
"I know." Sam stirred half a teaspoon of sugar into his coffee. "Tell me about Scott's grandfather."
"He had a court order from Massachusetts, giving him custody," Murdoch said.
"That's no good here."
"I know that," Murdoch said. "He did too, but I guess he thought he'd try it anyway, just to see if I'd fall for it."
"So he wants to take Scott back to Boston?"
"Looks like it." Murdoch traced a pattern on the table with his finger, not meeting the doctor's eyes. "Scott could get a better education there. Harlan will send him to the best schools. He said he's already arranged to hire a tutor so Scott can catch up with his class."
"I doubt if there's much catching up to do, if any," Sam said. "That boy is smart as a whip. Ellen Conway and Padre Felipe both rave about the way he works at his lessons."
"Ye-e-s," Murdoch said slowly. "But a one-room school, taught by a 19-year-old girl, and a few lessons with a priest can't exactly compare to the schools back east."
"You're not seriously thinking of letting his grandfather take him, are you?" Sam sounded horrified.
Murdoch's head was still down. "It might be better for him, Sam. If Scott wants to go, I don't see how I can stand in his way."
The doctor shot him a sharp look. "Is that the trouble? Do you think Scott wants to go?"
"I don't know. He was happy to see Harlan, just about as happy as I've ever seen him."
"Murdoch, the man is his grandfather," Sam pointed out. "And you've always said he took good care of Scott. Just because Scott is happy to see his grandfather again doesn't mean he wants to leave Lancer."
"I don't know." Murdoch looked up, his eyes sad. "I just don't know."
***
Murdoch was up before sunrise, as usual, the next morning. The housekeeper already had a fresh pot of coffee waiting on the big kitchen range. He took his cup to his desk, enjoying the quiet of the house. He watched as the early light filled the air, chasing away the shadows and revealing the contours of the land outside his windows.
This was his thinking time, early in the morning, and he usually savored it as much as the strong coffee. It was the time when he made his plans for the ranch, and dreamed about the future.
This morning, though, his thoughts were bleak and far from the sun-kissed land. Maria hadn't appeared again at dinner the previous night, but she'd invited Harlan to visit her sitting room afterward. Murdoch didn't know what they found to talk about, but it made him uneasy.
Pettigrew had returned to town with the doctor, claiming he needed to send some telegrams. Murdoch and Scott spent the evening upstairs with Johnny. The younger boy was doing his best to be good so he could get up in the morning, but wasn't finding it easy.
A thump upstairs alerted Murdoch to the fact that Johnny wasn't losing any time now in escaping from his bed. He picked up his empty coffee cup and headed for the kitchen, surprised to find Harlan already at the table. Before he could say anything, he heard voices, and footsteps pounded down the stairs. He reached out and caught Johnny mid-air before he looked up at Scott, who was coming down the stairs more sedately.
"Good morning, sir," Scott said politely. He grinned, watching as his brother squirmed in Murdoch's arms.
"Morning, son." Murdoch set Johnny on his feet, resting his hands on his shoulders. "Johnny, Uncle Sam said you could get up but no running around today, remember?"
Johnny fidgeted. "I'm fine, Papa!"
"Uncle Sam will be the judge of that, young man. And you will do what he says, or you'll find yourself right back in bed." Johnny's face fell and Murdoch squeezed his shoulders gently before turning him around to face Harlan. "Harlan, I'd like you to meet Scott's brother, John. Johnny, this is Scott's grandfather, Mr. Garrett."
Johnny offered his hand politely. Harlan hesitated before he shook it, his eyes on the boy's face.
Murdoch nudged Johnny toward his chair and he sat down. Scott slipped into the chair next to him as Maria began to bring platters of food to the table. She poured more coffee for the two men and milk for the boys.
Johnny dove into his breakfast. Scott watched him with a smile and kicked him gently after he inhaled most of his bacon and eggs.
"What?" Johnny protested, swallowing an enormous bite of jammy biscuit. He reached for his glass and took a gulp of milk, swiping his hand across his mouth. "I'm hungry, Scott."
"Scott's right, son." Murdoch intervened smoothly. "Slow down, OK?"
Harlan watched silently. Johnny was already sticky, his dark hair needed to be combed, and his shirt wasn't quite tucked in. In Boston, a child his age would take his meals apart from the adults, rarely seen or heard.
Johnny shoved his last forkful of eggs into his mouth and reached across the table for another biscuit.
"John," Murdoch growled as he stretched for the jam. Johnny gave him a quick grin and tried to change the subject.
"Are we going to church?"
"Your brother and his grandfather may be going to church," Murdoch said. "You are not going any farther than the bath house today."
Johnny's eyes widened and he forgot about the jam. "But yesterday was bath day. I can wait until next Saturday."
A smile tugged on Murdoch's mouth. "That won't be necessary."
Johnny sighed and finished his milk. He started to wipe his mouth with his hand and Murdoch caught his eye sternly.
"May I be excused?" Johnny said quickly. "I want to go see Mama."
"I think it might be a good idea if you have your bath first," Murdoch said. "You just sit there quietly until Maria is ready to help you."
"No one has to help me take a bath," Johnny protested, horrified. "I can do it myself."
"Johnny, do you want to spend another day in your room?"
Johnny subsided, heaving out another dramatic sigh. The housekeeper came to the table and poured him another glass of milk, murmuring something to him in Spanish. He picked up his glass and didn't say another word until they finished breakfast.
A well-scrubbed little boy was sitting on the rug in the great room, playing idly with the ivory chess pieces, when Harlan and Scott returned from church. He looked up and gave his brother a smile. "Play with me, Scott?"
"Sure," Scott agreed. Harlan's brows rose, but he sat down in a chair by the fire and opened a newspaper while the two boys set up the board.
More than an hour later, they were still playing, to Harlan's surprise. He had put the newspaper aside to watch. Scott still played the conservative game that Harlan had started to teach him when he was even younger than Johnny. The older man watched him, pleasantly surprised by the way his grandson's strategy had matured. Scott played well, very well. Despite these lost years in California, he'd made all the right moves so far, analyzing the board carefully and responding appropriately.
Johnny's game was far more reckless, but he had somehow managed to give Scott a battle. The game actually looked like it would be a draw, thanks to some unexpected moves by the younger boy. Harlan put it down to pure chance. There was no way in the world that any seven-year-old, let alone Murdoch Lancer's half-Mexican whelp, should be able to hold his grandson to a draw.
He scowled at the little boy, taken aback when those startling blue eyes looked up at him as Scott contemplated his next move. Harlan suddenly felt uncomfortable. He couldn't see any fear at all in Johnny's eyes, just curiosity about something they had never seen before.
Well, that was likely to change and soon - very soon. Harlan rubbed his hands together and let a smile creep across his face.
***
Murdoch Lancer cut himself shaving and swore. He'd overslept and his head throbbed. The last week had been a strain, but Murdoch didn't understand why he'd slept so heavily or why he felt so sluggish despite the extra sleep.
Things were finally back to normal. Sam had cleared Johnny to return to school this morning and Harlan had departed Saturday for San Francisco, en route to Boston. He had asked Scott if he'd like to return to Massachusetts to attend school and apparently accepted it when the boy said no, he wanted to stay with his father and brother. Scott's decision, made without any hesitation, thrilled Murdoch. And he was pleasantly surprised when Harlan took it quietly. He expected more of an argument.
He daubed at his bleeding chin. He wanted to have breakfast with his sons before they rode to school. He might even ride part of the way with them.
He was surprised the boys weren't already at the table when he came downstairs. He gulped down half of his first cup of coffee before he began to wonder where they were. He got up and called up the back stairs.
"Scott! Johnny! Get a move on. You're going to be late for school."
There was no answer. Murdoch went halfway up the stairs. "Scott! Johnny!"
"Isn't Johnny downstairs?" Scott stuck his head out the door of his brother's room, still looking sleepy. "He's not up here, sir."
Murdoch rolled his eyes, exasperated. "He's probably out in the barn with his pony. Go and get him, Scott, and tell him to hurry up."
Scott hurried toward the barn, but he was back within minutes. "Sir, Johnny isn't there. Cookie says he hasn't seen him at all this morning, and his pony is still in its stall."
Something crashed down the hall, and an excited voice rose. Murdoch looked at Scott and headed down the hall toward his wife's room. The housekeeper was standing in the doorway, her face shocked and her hands waving in the air as she carried on in Spanish. She'd dropped his wife's breakfast tray on the floor.
"She is gone, Senor," Maria said. "Madre del dios, she is gone." She reverted to rapid Spanish.
Murdoch pushed his way past the agitated housekeeper, heedless of the broken china that crunched under his boots. His wife's room was empty, the top of her dresser bare of its usual jumble of perfume bottles and toiletries. In a sudden panic, Murdoch wheeled and ran outside, shouting for the sentry posted every night on the roof to keep watch over the ranch. He pounded up the stairs to the roof when no one answered and found the guard snoring, an empty flask of coffee next to him. Murdoch's fists clenched.
"No, Senor!" Maria hissed, coming up behind him. Tears streamed down her face. "It is not Pedro's fault. He has been drugged. I am afraid we were all drugged."
Murdoch and Cipriano had saddled their horses and were ready to ride when Paul O'Brien rode into the yard, just back from a cattle-buying trip.
"What's going on?" he asked, startled by the look on his employer's face.
"Paul!" Murdoch said, relieved to see him. "Maria left last night and she's taken Johnny with her. Look after things here?"
"You can count on it," Paul said. "You sure you don't want me to go with you?"
"No," Murdoch said. "I'll feel better if I know you're here."
Paul nodded, and watched as the riders galloped away. Scott was watching too from the barn door, his arms around Paul's four-year-old daughter, Teresa. Paul looked at the boy's strained face.
"It'll be OK, son," he said. "Your father will find Johnny and bring him home."
Scott shook his head. "It's my fault," he whispered. "If anything happens to Johnny, it's my fault."
"How do you figure that?" The foreman gave him a sharper look.
Scott's face turned stony. "I have to go to school," he said. "I'm late."
"I think you can miss school today," Paul objected.
"No," Scott said. "No, I can't miss school." He shoved Teresa gently toward her father. Paul dropped down to one knee as the little girl ran to him, confused and tearful. Scott got his horse out of the barn and headed toward Green River.
Once he reached the town, he didn't go to the schoolhouse. Instead, he went to the telegraph office.
He was surprised to find his grandfather's lawyer, Mr. Pettigrew, inside. He thought Pettigrew had left for San Francisco too.
"Good morning, Scott," Pettigrew said. "No school this morning?"
"Good morning, sir." Scott hesitated. "I was just going to send a telegram to Grandfather in San Francisco."
"Oh? Is there something wrong? Can I be of any assistance?"
Scott scuffed the toe of his boot on the floor, thinking. "Perhaps you could, if you don't mind," he finally said slowly. "I've changed my mind and would like to go back to Boston with Grandfather."
"Well, that can certainly be arranged," Pettigrew said smoothly. "Er, does your father know?"
"He said it was my decision." Scott's eyes were desolate, but determined. "And I've made up my mind. Only I'm afraid I don't have quite enough money to buy a ticket on the stage."
Pettigrew nodded. "I was just about to catch the morning stage myself. I'm supposed to meet your grandfather in the city. I'll get you a ticket and we can travel together."
When the stage arrived, Scott climbed aboard and settled into a seat. He didn't say a word to the lawyer or the other passengers. The schoolhouse was one of the last buildings the stage passed as it rattled out of town. Scott looked back at it until it was out of sight and turned away from the window, pulling his hat down over his eyes.
It was late in the afternoon when Murdoch and Cipriano rode into the yard. O'Brien strode out to meet them.
"Any luck?"
"None." Murdoch's shoulders slumped. "A private coach came through Morro Coyo late last night, just before midnight, and we think it may have picked them up here, but we couldn't track it. It's like it vanished into thin air. The sheriff in Green River is sending wires out to try to locate it. Until we hear something, we just don't know where to begin looking."
Paul shook his head. "A private coach. How could Maria arrange for that?"
"I don't know." Murdoch rubbed his face wearily and stretched his back. They'd been in the saddle all day, unwilling to stop to rest. "Where's Scott?"
"I was just wondering that myself," Paul said. "He's not home from school yet."
"Scott went to school this morning?"
"He insisted," Paul said. "I told him he didn't have to go."
"It's probably just as well," Murdoch said. "At least he had something to do, instead of just worrying about his brother."
"That's what I figured too. But he should be home by now."
An uneasy feeling niggled at Murdoch, but he pushed it away for now. Scott often stayed late to talk to the teacher. They headed into the house. The housekeeper promptly appeared in the hall, directing an anxious burst of Spanish at him.
He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Maria, but no, we didn't find them. We don't even know which way they went."
"They went south, toward Mexico," she said darkly.
"How do you know?"
"I do not know it with my head," she said. "It is what I think in my heart that she did. But it is not safe there for the nino, and she also knows that. This is an evil thing she has done, Senor."
Murdoch ducked his head. He was desperately afraid that the housekeeper was right, on all counts.
***
Scott leaned on the ship's rail, watching as it approached Boston. He hadn't heard anything from his father in more than four months, since he left Lancer. He'd sent a letter to the ranch before they boarded the ship in San Francisco, but there had been no reply waiting for him at any of the ports where they stopped. He told himself he hadn't expected to hear anything. Murdoch must be angry about what Scott had cost him. His stepmother wouldn't have left the ranch and taken Johnny with her if Scott wasn't there. Maybe, when she heard he was gone, she would bring Johnny home. His grandfather had promised to try to get word to her.
Grandfather had explained it all to him, something his father had never done. Maria Lancer was Mexican, and their rule was that the eldest son inherited all of his father's property. No matter what Murdoch might say about both boys running the ranch together when they grew up, she would never believe it. That's why she was so unfriendly when Scott came to Lancer. In her eyes, he was a threat to her own son's future and it was his fault she had left.
If only he had decided to do the right thing and go back to Boston with his grandfather in the first place, Johnny would still be safe at Lancer. Scott hadn't really believed his grandfather when Harlan first told him Maria might take Johnny away if he didn't go. He didn't see how it was possible for her to leave. But he had been wrong. He had been unforgivably wrong. And he'd realized that right away on the awful morning when he couldn't find his brother and he saw the look on his father's face.
Scott's eyes stung. He'd never do anything to hurt his little brother. Johnny belonged at Lancer. He'd been born there and spent his entire life there. It wasn't right for his mother to take him away from the ranch. Johnny loved it and he must be desperately homesick wherever his mother had taken him. Grandfather said he thought she would go to Mexico. Scott was old enough to read the newspapers and didn't think that was a very good idea. The church and the army were fighting with reformers, and banditos were taking full advantage of the unrest. It sounded like a dangerous place, far too dangerous for a little boy who had a tendency to run fearlessly toward trouble and didn't have anyone to look out for him now.
Scott didn't really need Lancer anyway. He was Harlan Garrett's grandson. He had another future waiting for him in Boston, even if he'd rather stay on the ranch. He shouldn't have taken any chance with his brother's future.
He didn't think Murdoch would mind if he left, especially not if it meant getting Johnny back. Hadn't Murdoch had told him, even before his stepmother took Johnny away, that he could go back to Boston with his grandfather if he wanted? Scott didn't think his father would have been so willing to let him go if he really cared. He sighed and blinked as tears blurred his view of the cold, gray bay. He would be fourteen years old in another month. He was too old to cry. It just wasn't right for a fourteen-year-old boy to cry. He straightened his shoulders and composed his face.
More than two thousand miles away, it was raining in Mexico City. A small boy ducked down a filthy alley, soaked to the skin, and waited cautiously for his pursuers to pass by, their feet pounding. Then he ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction.
"You've been fighting again, Juanito," his mother said disapprovingly when he reached the safety of their apartment. "And you are dripping all over the floor."
"Don't call me that!" he answered in English. He stuck his lip out stubbornly, just like his father. "My name is Johnny."
She slapped him, heedless of the bruises that already marked his face. "Enough! I will not tolerate any more disrespect from you, do you understand me?"
He looked up, his eyes burning with resentment. Maria wished, not for the first time, that her son hadn't inherited those vivid blue eyes from his father's side of the family, but it was just like Johnny to cause trouble. She was already tired of taking care of a small boy, let alone a half-gringo boy in a city that didn't take kindly to mestizos or their mothers. Her hand tightened on his arm and she shook him roughly.
"I asked if you understand me."
"Si," he said finally, pulling away and rubbing his arm.
"Good. Now go to your room. I'm expecting company and I don't want to see or hear you again today. Constanza will bring you some supper later."
Johnny doubted that, but he went down the hall. He couldn't resist slamming the door before he flung himself face down on the bed.
He hated Mexico City. He wished more than anything that he was back at home on the ranch with his father and brother. He missed his pony, and Uncle Sam, and Maria, and just about everything about Lancer.
If he were home, his father might spank him for fighting but he wouldn't ever slap him on the face, or twist his arm and shake him. Murdoch Lancer's voice was angry sometimes when he was naughty, but it was never full of the dislike Johnny could hear in his mother's voice.
Only, maybe it was now. Johnny paused, his swollen lip trembling. His father didn't love him any more and didn't want him at Lancer. He'd thrown them out in the middle of the night, and hadn't even bothered to say goodbye.
Constanza shook him awake that night and a stranger stuffed him into the coach waiting in the yard. No one, not Murdoch, not even Scott or Maria, got up. Johnny had called for all of them and no one came. Johnny knew there was a guard on the roof, and he let the coach come and go without challenge. So his father must have known all about it, and didn't care.
Johnny couldn't understand it, but his mama told him Papa didn't want him any more. He was embarrassed, she said, to have a half-Mexican son. He didn't need Johnny any more, not when he had Scott. So she was taking him to Mexico and they would live there now. First they would travel all the way to Mexico City, where she said there were doctors who were better than Uncle Sam.
Johnny's head drooped miserably. He hadn't believed her, not at first. He'd been sure it was all some kind of mistake and his father would come for him soon. Papa did love him. He was sure of it, as sure of it as anything in the world.
But months went by, and the rancher didn't come. They arrived in Mexico City and his mother went to a hospital, leaving him in a hotel room with Constanza for a long time. Then Mama came back and they moved into an apartment, nicer than the hotel but still nothing like Lancer.
Mama didn't seem to mind. She could walk again, not very good at first, but better all the time, so maybe the doctors here really were better than Uncle Sam. They sure weren't as nice as Uncle Sam. There was a stern, black-haired doctor who came to visit, and even spent the night sometimes in Mama's room. He didn't seem to like Johnny very much and had hit him once, hard enough to knock him against the wall. Lots of people here didn't seem to like him much. Mama told him to stay out of the way when the doctor visited and not to pester her with questions.
No one paid much attention to Johnny, not unless he spilled something or made too much noise. He was free to do as he pleased and he used the time to explore the city, dodging gangs of older boys. He didn't even have to go to school.
He thought again of the ranch and wondered if his pony missed him, even if Murdoch and Scott didn't. One tear escaped and he wiped it away furiously. He wasn't going to cry like some little baby. If they didn't want him, he didn't want them either. He didn't need them. He didn't need anybody.
Whistle, September 2005