Lancer stories by Whistle

Sin Nombre

Chapter 1

The priest climbed down from the stage, his bones stiff from long confinement. He was old, but his faded blue eyes were still clear and bright. A wisp of white hair clung to the top of his shiny head.

"Anybody meeting you, Padre?" the stage driver asked, pulling a battered carpetbag down from the roof and plunking it at the priest's feet.

"No," he said. "No one." He looked up and down the street. The sun was at its highest and few people were outside. A large wagon and team stood outside the store, a few doors down from the livery where the stage had stopped. Farther down the street, a few swaybacked horses waited outside a whitewashed building that he guessed was the cantina. The priest mopped at his head with a brightly colored bandanna and stuffed it back inside his brown cassock, out of sight.

"The mission is just outside town, at the end of the street." The driver jerked his thumb to the east. The priest could see an adobe bell tower rising above the roofs, beyond a clump of live oaks.

"Yes, I see it." Perhaps it would be wise to stop first at the church. They might know something about the man he was looking for.

The driver disappeared into the cantina. While the priest hesitated, a blond young man came out of the store and pulled on his gloves.

"Thank you, Mr. Baldomero," he said to the storekeeper who had followed him as far as the doorway. "I'll be sure to tell my father."

The priest's eyes fastened curiously on the young man, who didn't sound like a westerner. He seemed to sense the scrutiny, and turned toward the stage. "Can I help you, sir?" he asked politely, after a moment's pause. "Would you like a lift to the mission?"

"That would be kind, lad," the priest agreed. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I'd be grateful."

"It's no trouble at all. I have to pass by it on my way home." The young man reached for the carpetbag and swung it easily into the back of the wagon. The priest scrambled up onto the seat with the storekeeper's assistance.

"My name is Father Barnabas," the priest ventured as the horses lurched forward.

"Scott Lancer." He drove carefully, his eyes on the road.

"Lancer?" The priest was surprised, but chose to take it as a blessing after a long, difficult journey. "Would you be any relation to a man called Murdoch Lancer?"

"He's my father." Scott glanced at him. "Do you know him, sir?"

"No, no, I've never met him," Father Barnabas said. "That's why I'm here."

Scott gave him another glance, his brows furrowed. "I don't understand."

"I have a message for him," the priest said. "I've traveled all the way from Mexico to deliver it to him."

Scott pulled up the horses abruptly. His eyes were worried now, and a little angry. "Does this have something to do with my brother?"

"Your brother?" Father Barnabas was baffled. "I don't believe so. I'm sorry, but it's a private matter."

Scott stared at him. "Tell me, are they expecting you at the mission?"

"Well, no," the priest said. "But I'm sure they'll put me up until I can arrange to see your father."

"He's in Sacramento on business. He won't be back until the end of the week."

"I see." Barnabas pursed his lips. "I'll just have to wait, then. Perhaps you'd be good enough to let him know I'd like to speak to him as soon as he returns?"

"Where in Mexico did you come from?"

"Matamoros," the priest said. "It's a small town..."

"I know where it is." Scott's voice was curt. He picked up the reins and drove to the mission, pulling up in the yard. "Here you are."

"Thank you." Barnabas climbed down and picked up his bag. "Will you tell your father I'm here, when he returns?"

Scott paused. "Yes," he finally said. "I'll tell him."

***

Barnabas watched, three days later, as the Lancer buggy stopped in front of the church and a dark-haired boy got out to help a pretty girl down. He caught a flash of a smile as the boy said something and saw the girl swat him, laughing. He handed her a basket and drove on toward town.

The old priest sighed. He had no idea, when he agreed to travel to California to speak to the rancher, that anyone else was involved. By now, of course, he'd heard the curious story of Murdoch Lancer and his sons. It was the talk of the valley, and no wonder.

He understood why Scott Lancer had been worried. Barnabas was worried too, although not for the same reason. What he had come to ask Murdoch Lancer was impossible, and that meant trouble for all of them. He wished he had known about the rancher's second son earlier, but it was too late now. And perhaps it was better they had not known. Otherwise, he suspected, the don would have sent someone else on a different mission.

He had examined his conscience carefully, and prayed for guidance. He still had deep misgivings, but saw no other way but to deliver his message. At least the Lancers would have some warning if it proved necessary.

Barnabas shook his head and stepped away from the window as the mission priest went to greet the girl.

Saturday afternoon, both of the Lancer sons rode by the mission on their way to town, leading a third saddle horse. Barnabas still hadn't met the younger son, although he'd seen him pass by several times, usually in the company of his brother.

A tall man was with them when they returned. Barnabas studied him thoughtfully from the window, wondering what he was like and how he would take the news. They stopped in front of the mission and the older man dismounted. The blond son obviously hadn't lost any time in delivering the message. Barnabas fingered his rosary as he waited for a summons.

Murdoch Lancer was a giant of a man, more than a head taller than his elder son. He was waiting in the mission priest's office, striding back and forth across the floor. The other priest introduced Father Barnabas and left them alone.

"My son tells me you have a message for me from Matamoros."

"Yes," Barnabas said, sitting down. He waved at a chair. "I'm afraid this will take some time, Mr. Lancer. It's a long story."

"You're not from Mexico."

"Not originally, no," the priest agreed.

"Ireland?"

"A long time ago. I've lived in Mexico for twenty years, most recently in a mission called San Cristobal."

Murdoch stiffened. "I was married there."

"Yes, I know." Barnabas laced his fingers together on top of the desk. He had considered what to say, had thought of little else, but was still unsure of how to proceed. Better to get it out in the open, he thought, assessing the other man. "I've seen the record of the marriage. And I have spoken to Senora Lancer."

The rancher stared at him. "She's dead."

The priest let out a sigh. "No, she's not. She is very much alive."

"She can't be. What kind of game are you trying to play? Maria has been dead for more than ten years."

"Believe me, it is no game. She is alive, Mr. Lancer, and living with her husband on his estancia, not far from San Cristobal."

"Her husband?"

"Don Luis de Cordova," the priest said.

"But that's not possible," Murdoch said blankly.

"Yes, well, that is the reason I am here. Until very recently, Don Luis did not know of the senora's previous marriage. He asked me to come here to see if you would agree to have your marriage annulled."

"Annulled?" Murdoch's face and neck were red. "It can't be annulled. I - we - have a son."

"Yes, so I understand now," Barnabas said. "The senora did not mention that fact to Don Luis, or to me. I should tell you that Don Luis's concern is not for Maria, Mr. Lancer. He is angry with her, very angry. But she is the mother of his only son, Alejandro, who is nine years old."

"She had another child?" Murdoch rubbed at his jaw.

"Don Luis would do anything for his son, Mr. Lancer, anything at all. He is most anxious to make sure that Alejandro does not suffer for his mother's sin. I share his concern for the boy, or I would not be here."

Murdoch scowled. "How could she be so irresponsible?"

"That, I can't tell you."

The priest watched as he paced back and forth angrily for a few moments before dropping into a chair. His face was still red, and his strong jaw jutted out dangerously. "An annulment is out of the question. But I will divorce her. I certainly have grounds for it."

Barnabas shook his head. "That won't solve the problem. Don Luis wants to marry her in the church. He feels it is necessary to make this right for Alejandro."

"It's not possible," Murdoch said flatly. "You must understand that."

The priest sighed again. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I do understand. In fact, in the circumstances, I would say the church would not agree to it even if you were inclined to do so. But Don Luis is a powerful man, Mr. Lancer. And he loves his son, more than anything else in this world."

"Are you telling me he'd hurt Johnny? My son?" Blue eyes glared at the priest.

Barnabas shook his head. "I don't think so. At least, it would not solve the problem."

"What are you saying then?"

"I'm afraid there's only one way that Don Luis will be able to marry Maria, Mr. Lancer, and secure his son's future. She would have to be a widow."

Chapter 2

Scott and Johnny were still waiting for him outside the mission. Murdoch paused in the doorway, his mind churning. By the time he swung onto his horse, he had worked himself into a rage. He caught the look that passed between his sons, and it only fueled his anger. His eyes rested resentfully on his younger son as they rode toward Lancer.

Johnny looked so much like Maria. And why in the world hadn't he ever said that bitch was still alive? He hadn't ever said much about his mother, not in Murdoch's hearing, but he certainly knew that his father thought she was dead.

Murdoch had suspected, from a few things the boy let slip while delirious with fever, that Johnny had actually seen her die. He had even felt a fresh wave of guilt about his failure to protect his son. Now he didn't know what to think. Maybe Johnny's loyalty was still with Maria, despite everything she'd done to ruin her son's life.

"Is something wrong, sir?" Scott asked, falling back to ride next to him.

"It can wait," Murdoch said, his jaw clenched. "Let's just get home."

Teresa and Maria had a special dinner waiting, and he didn't intend to discuss his wife's behavior in front of his young ward. Johnny was subdued during the meal, and managed to slip outside afterward before Murdoch could demand to speak to him.

When Teresa went to help in the kitchen, Scott poured drinks and handed one to his father. "Is Johnny in trouble, sir?"

"Isn't he always?" Murdoch grumbled, taking a gulp of his drink.

Scott gave his father a long, appraising look. "That priest told me he was from Matamoros. That's where you met Johnny's mother, isn't it?"

"Yes," Murdoch said unwillingly. "Does Johnny know about Father Barnabas?"

"I didn't tell him. That doesn't mean he doesn't know."

Murdoch sagged in his chair. "No, I suppose it doesn't." He was silent for a long time. "Scott, did Johnny ever tell you how his mother died?"

The young man hesitated, and Murdoch held up his hand. "I'm not asking you to tell me any of your brother's damn secrets. I just need to know if, well, if Johnny definitely believes his mother is dead."

Scott's eyes widened. "Are you saying that she's not?"

"I don't know," Murdoch said gloomily.

"Thought you knew everything." Murdoch looked up, startled, at the hostile voice. His younger son stood in the doorway.

"John, come in and sit down," Murdoch ordered. "We need to talk."

"Not about my mother, we don't."

"Yes, we do." Murdoch met his son's angry eyes. "There's a priest at the mission who came from Mexico. He says - he told me your mother is living there."

"Then either he's a liar, or I am." Johnny's voice was flat. "Take your pick."

"Are you absolutely sure, son? That's all I need to know. You were pretty young."

The anger warred with something else on that handsome face. Johnny looked at his brother and back to his father. "Isn't it in your Pinkerton reports?"

"Yes, it is. But the detectives weren't there. You were, weren't you? Whatever happened, you saw it."

Johnny nodded after another long moment, just a fraction. He walked over to the sideboard and poured tequila into a glass. He downed it without turning to face them.

Scott got to his feet and went over to his brother, touching his shoulder. "Johnny?" he said softly.

Johnny poured another shot of tequila. His hand shook a little. "Leave it alone, Scott."

Johnny's voice sounded younger and uncharacteristically uncertain. Scott tightened his grip, feeling the tension in his brother's back. "Come and sit down."

Johnny shook his head, moving away from Scott. He strolled over to the fireplace, taking the bottle of tequila with him. Murdoch's lips tightened, but he didn't say anything. Johnny gave him a defiant look.

"There was so much blood. I thought she was dead..." Johnny's voice trailed off. When he spoke again, it was nearly inaudible. "I didn't stick around to see them put her in the ground. I ran, like a scared kid."

Murdoch's throat was dry. He cleared it. "You were a child. You were barely ten years old."

"I should have taken care of her." Johnny had regained control of his voice and his face. Both were hard.

"She should have taken care of you." Murdoch's voice was just as harsh. "She was your mother and it was her job to take care of you, not the other way around. Did she ever do that, John? After she took you away from me, did she ever take care of you?"

Johnny's eyes flew up. He stared at his father but didn't answer. He uncorked the tequila bottle and poured another drink into his glass before he dropped into the big leather chair. Scott noticed that Johnny held the glass in his left hand. He always drank left-handed in the saloon, leaving his other hand free for his Colt, but not at home.

"You said the priest told you she's alive?" Scott asked Murdoch, when he was sure his brother wasn't going to speak. "Are the two of you - you're not still married?"

"Yes. Legally, we are." Murdoch couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice. "However, apparently that didn't stop her from marrying again, or from having another child."

"What?" Scott stared at his father, flabbergasted.

"He's nine years old," Murdoch said.

Johnny's hand tightened around the glass. "Where is he?"

"He's in Mexico. That's not our concern."

"It may not be your concern, Old Man. Where is he?"

"He's safe, Johnny. Father Barnabas told me they live on a large ranch, near Matamoros."

"They?"

"Maria, her husband and their son."

The glass shattered.

***

Murdoch's anger dissolved in his son's blood, a lot of blood. They had a hard time stopping it. Murdoch leaped into action, barking at Scott to get water and the medical kit from the kitchen.

Johnny was quiet, even while Murdoch cleaned and stitched the deep cuts. He flatly refused a dose of laudanum, but did swallow a few more swigs of tequila straight from the bottle.

Murdoch had no idea what he was thinking. Johnny was wearing his gunfighter's face, his eyes remote. He didn't even allow his mouth to twitch. It was worse, somehow, than that first day, months ago, when Johnny's anger radiated out of him.

Murdoch, taken aback by the anger, had missed the hurt. The rancher only recognized it later, almost too late, after Johnny nearly died in the battle for the ranch. Just now, he couldn't see either anger or hurt. Johnny was detached, almost as if he were in another place.

Maria had left Johnny too, Murdoch remembered now, belatedly. Whatever had happened, Maria had left a child alone to make his own way, however he could. From what Johnny had said, she was injured, but why hadn't she taken any steps later to find him? She must have married Don Luis soon after, if their child was nine years old. And she'd stayed with her new husband and son all these years. She hadn't stayed with Murdoch or even Johnny. She hadn't lifted a finger to make sure Johnny was safe. If she didn't want him any more, she could have sent him home, or at least sent word to Murdoch about where to look for him.

Murdoch stole another look at Johnny's face, trying to picture what he must have been like at ten. The image of a happy toddler blurred his vision and he bent his head, trying to focus on what he was doing. He took another careful stitch. "I'm almost done."

Johnny still didn't say anything. Murdoch glanced at Scott, who looked worried. Johnny was pale by the time Murdoch bandaged the hand, but his mouth was still firmly set.

"I'll help you upstairs," Scott suggested. Johnny stepped back.

"I can do it," he said, not looking at either of them. They watched him go up the stairs; heard a door slam.

Scott transferred his gaze to his father. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Murdoch's face was dour.

"It has to be a shock, after thinking all these years that she was dead," Scott said quietly. He looked upstairs again, and over at his father. "For both of you."

Murdoch poured another drink and carried it over to his desk. He didn't want to talk about this any more.

Scott wasn't finished. "Johnny still cares about her, you know. He knows she lied to him, but she was - she is - his mother."

"She didn't care about him." Murdoch's anger flared. "For God's sake, Scott, she left him on his own when he was ten. What kind of mother does that?"

"Maybe she tried to find him, and couldn't."

"I doubt it."

Scott hesitated. "I don't think that's what Johnny needs to hear right now, sir."

"It's the truth." Murdoch swallowed another mouthful of whiskey. "And that's a lot more than she ever gave either of us."

Chapter 3

Father Barnabas was meditating in the mission garden after early Mass when he felt a presence. He opened his eyes and found a dark-haired young man glaring at him.

"Buenos dias, my son," he said calmly.

"I ain't your son," the young man said. He wore leather vaquero pants, with silver conchos down the sides, and a red shirt that had faded to pink in the sun. His gun hung low on his hip. There was a bandage wrapped around his left hand and a murderous expression on his face.

The priest studied that face thoughtfully. "You are very like your mother," he remarked. "But I can see something of your father, as well."

"Yeah, blue eyes."

"Actually, I was thinking more in terms of that stubborn jaw than your blue eyes," the priest said. He patted the bench. "Sit down, and we'll talk."

"I'll stand. What kind of game is she playing now?" Johnny said in Spanish. "And since when does a priest run errands for a whore?"

Barnabas looked at him. There was anger in this boy, perhaps too much, but there was something else as well. "Your mother did not send me here, nino. Don Luis did, on your brother's behalf."

"Ain't a nino either."

"You are to me," the priest said firmly. "You are - what, twenty? Twenty-one, perhaps? I am sixty-four."

"What does she want?" Johnny asked.

"Your mother?"

Johnny gave the priest a quick look. "Yeah," he said, his voice bitter. "My mama. Does she look out for the kid?"

"Everyone on the estancia looks out for Alejandro," the priest said, smiling. "He is a good boy. Mischievous, and perhaps a little spoiled, but a good boy."

"What about his father?" Johnny asked.

"Don Luis would do anything for his son.

"That right?" Johnny rubbed the toe of his boot across the grass. "I bet he was mad when he found out she was already married. Or did he know all along?"

"He was not happy," Barnabas admitted.

"So what's he going to do about it?"

The priest hesitated. "Juan, your half brother is his only son, his heir."

"The name's Johnny. Not Juan."

Barnabas waggled his hand to acknowledge the correction. "Don Luis is a proud man. He is angry, and he is worried about Alejandro. He wants to marry your mother properly, for the boy's sake, and sent me to talk to your father about an annulment of their marriage. I'm afraid she didn't tell us about you."

He couldn't see any surprise on the boy's face. Johnny looked thoughtful.

"Can they do that? Like it never happened?"

"No," Barnabas said. "They cannot."

"Cause of me?"

"In part, because of you," the priest admitted. "Not entirely, though. Your mother didn't tell us the truth about her marriage."

"Nothing new about that." Johnny didn't pace, like his father. Instead, he was still, almost frighteningly so, like a cat poised to pounce. "If they ain't really married, that makes Alejandro a bastard, right?"

Barnabas frowned. "I suppose you could put it that way."

"That's what they'll say in Mexico," Johnny said. "It's what your church will say."

Barnabas found it difficult to meet Johnny's eyes. They knew too much, for so young a man. This boy, unlike his two half brothers, had not had an easy life. The priest had heard plenty of stories about the youngest Lancer in the past few days, and an impossibly wide range of opinions. He was no angel, certainly, but the priest wasn't convinced he was the devil incarnate either. He looked at his hands. "Yes, the church will say that," he admitted. "In fact, I shouldn't be here."

"Why are you, then? Is Don Luis that powerful? Or that rich?"

"Both, but that's not why I'm here," Barnabas finally said after a pause. "I baptized the boy, and I've watched him grow up. He comes to me for lessons. He's done nothing wrong and doesn't deserve this."

Johnny stared at him. The priest thought again of a cat, and not a tame one. This time, though, Johnny was the one who turned away.

"Wait," Barnabas said. "You're not going?"

"Found out what I wanted to know."

***

Scott found his brother stretched out on the hill over Lancer, chewing on a piece of grass. He dropped onto the ground next to him.

"We missed you at dinner."

"Wasn't hungry."

Johnny was always hungry in Scott's experience, but he let it pass. "Did you go and talk to that priest?"

"Somebody report back to the Old Man already?"

Scott let a small smile play on his lips. "No, not as far as I know. It just makes sense."

"Glad something makes sense." Johnny picked up his discarded hat and tilted it expertly over his eyes.

"Johnny," Scott began and stopped. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Nope."

"Do you want to ride into town and get a drink?"

He could see Johnny's mouth quiver under the hat, if he looked closely. "Depends. You figure you're buying anything besides the beer, Boston?"

"I didn't say I was buying the beer," Scott protested.

A fully-fledged grin appeared, and Johnny suddenly was on his feet in one graceful motion. "Yeah, you're buying," he said, stepping toward his horse. "Race you!"

He streaked down the hill on his palomino, flat out. Scott thundered behind them breathlessly. Johnny didn't take the road to Morro Coyo, the closest town. Instead, he headed north toward Green River. Maybe that wasn't a bad thing, although it almost certainly meant that both of them would miss Sunday night supper at the ranch. But Johnny seemed to be friends with the new sheriff in Green River, and maybe Crawford could talk some sense into him if he had decided to do something stupid.

Scott caught up, and the two horses galloped neck and neck across the range until Johnny laughed and eased Barranca down to an easy lope.

Johnny gulped half of his beer in a few swallows. Scott let the cool liquid slide down his throat, and eyed his brother. "You're thinking about going to Mexico, aren't you?"

Johnny took another mouthful of beer. "Maybe."

"Is that wise?"

"Probably not."

"But you're going anyway?"

Johnny let his lashes drop, hooding his eyes. "Yeah."

"Not alone." Scott's voice was definite.

Johnny smiled. "You sure as hell aren't going to make me any less noticeable in Mexico."

"I mean it, Johnny. You are not going alone."

"Murdoch can't spare both of us," Johnny pointed out. "He's going to be mad as it is."

"Murdoch will just have to manage. You know, he might want to go himself."

"That wouldn't be too smart."

"It must run in the family," Scott said dryly.

***

"Absolutely not," Murdoch said.

"I wasn't asking you," Johnny said. "I was telling you."

"I call the tune here, young man."

"About the ranch," Johnny agreed. "Not about this."

"You have responsibilities on this ranch, John. Both of you do."

"Got other responsibilities too," Johnny said quietly. "That kid's going to be in trouble when the don finds out he can't make this right. Mama, too."

"You don't owe her anything." Murdoch glared at his son. "Johnny, it's crazy for you to even think about crossing the border. You must realize that. If the rurales get their hands on you again..."

"They won't."

"It's not worth the risk," Murdoch said. "I'll send a wire to my lawyer in the morning. It's better to let him straighten this out."

"Straighten it out, how?"

"Well, I need to divorce your mother, of course. And there may be other ramifications to the situation."

"That what Alejandro is? A rami - ramification?"

"I'm not responsible for Alejandro. It's his father and mother's responsibility to look after him, not mine and certainly not yours. Father Barnabas told me Don Luis loves the boy."

"Maybe," Johnny said. "But if you divorce Mama, and it gets out they're not really married, Don Luis is gonna lose face and there ain't nothing worse down there. It won't matter how he felt about the kid before. Alejandro ain't nothing in Mexico if he's a bastard, just a whore's kid. I know."

Murdoch winced inwardly at that soft admission. "I still don't think it's a good idea for you to go there. Let's at least talk to Jarrod Barkley about this first. I'll ask Father Barnabas to wait a little longer before he returns to Mexico or sends a message to Don Luis. Give me a week before you do anything. Please."

Johnny looked at Scott, who nodded. "That's reasonable, Johnny."

"One week," Johnny finally conceded. "No more."

Chapter 4

Don Luis de Cordova was not a man to leave important matters to chance, or to rely on a single messenger, particularly a messenger he couldn't entirely control. He knew the padre's interests in this matter ran with his own, but only to a point.

And so, he had dispatched a second emissary, a very different one, to California to check on the situation. He hadn't heard anything yet from Father Barnabas, but Lobo had finally reported by coded telegram.

He deciphered it in his study. When he had finished, he frowned at it for a long time before he rang the bell.

"Tell Dona Maria I wish to see her," he ordered when a servant appeared.

"I believe she has already retired, Patron."

"I said I wish to see her. Andale!"

"Si, Patron."

Maria appeared twenty minutes later, wearing a silk dressing gown and a sulky expression. Don Luis closed the massive door and locked it. She scowled.

"What is the meaning of this, husband?"

"Husband," he spat. "Puta!"

She took a step backward. "What do you mean?"

"What do I mean?" He crossed to his desk and waved the telegram at her. "I have here a report from a place called Morro Coyo, California. You know that place, don't you, Maria? You lived there for more than two years, after all, with the gringo you told me was never your husband in anything but name. Oh, and you gave birth there to his son, something else you did not see fit to mention. Puta!"

She shrank a little. "Luis, you don't understand," she began.

"I understand very well," he thundered, slapping her beautiful face. "You have made a fool of me, and you will pay for that, bitch, you and your damn brat."

"Alejandro?" Fear appeared in her eyes, for the first time. "Luis, this has nothing to do with Alejandro. He is your son. I swear it, on the Holy Mother."

"Don't you dare speak of the Holy Mother."

"You have only to look at him," she argued. "He is your son."

"He is my bastard, thanks to you!" he roared.

She wiped blood off her mouth, her hand shaking. "Luis, I swear to you, it was not my fault. The gringo, he forced me. I had no choice. You must believe me. I escaped as soon as I could."

"You ran away with a gambler and stole the gringo's son from him. Is that what I would have to look forward to, Maria, if I had not discovered what you are? Would you have betrayed me as well, and stolen my son?"

"Of course not," she protested. "It's not the same, Luis. Have I not always been a good wife to you, and a good mother to our son?" Tears sparkled in her big eyes. "I would never betray you, or do anything to harm Alejandro. I swear it."

"What good is the word of a liar? Does Don Andreas know anything of this?"

"My father?" Her eyes got even bigger. "No. No, he does not. You're not going to tell him?"

"You don't think he'd be interested to know he has another grandson?"

"No," she said. "Besides, Johnny is lost. He's probably dead."

"He is neither lost nor dead. He is with his father."

"That can't be true."

"Do you dare to question my word? I tell you, he is with his father. He returned to California in the spring, after escaping the firing squad he deserved to face for helping to incite a revolution against Don Julio Vasquez near Sonora. I believe your father is a friend of Don Julio. I'm sure he would be most interested to hear that Johnny Madrid, hero of the revolution, is your son and his grandson."

"No," she whispered. "It's impossible. Madrid?"

"Are you surprised that he survived at all? He was only a year older than Alejandro when you abandoned him."

"It was for the best, Luis. I couldn't take care of Juanito, not by myself. And my father would never accept a half-gringo child. He was better off at the mission orphanage."

"He obviously didn't think so. He ran away from the mission just a few months after you went home to your father's estancia. Tell me, why didn't you send him to his own father?"

Her eyes flashed. "Why should I? Murdoch didn't deserve him."

He shook his head, sadly. "You are an evil woman," he said. "And you will pay, I assure you. After we are married, you will withdraw to a convent, where I will arrange an appropriate penance."

"After we're married? But I don't understand. You said Murdoch is still alive."

His lip curled. "Not for long," he said. "He and his son are both dead men. Once Lobo has taken care of that, you will marry me to assure Alejandro's place, and then I never wish to see you again."

"Luis, no," she protested.

"Be ready to leave in the morning," he ordered, turning away from her. "We will travel to your father's house to discuss this situation with him and await word from Lobo."

She stared at his back. "Luis." She made her voice soft and took a step toward him, sliding her hand seductively down his back.

He whirled and grabbed her wrists. She stared up at him, frightened and a little excited by what she could see in his eyes.

"Luis," she said again.

He released her wrists, shoving her backwards. She stumbled and nearly fell. "The coach will be ready to leave at five," he said, making no move to help her. "Until then, puta, get out of my sight."

***

The rifle whined. Scott didn't know exactly what Johnny saw, but something alerted him and he shoved Scott behind the wagon just as the bullet whizzed by. Johnny had his gun out and was scanning the pasture before the sound of the shot faded away.

"My rifle is in the back," Scott said. "You can't do anything with a pistol at this range."

Johnny nodded. His rifle was in its scabbard on Barranca's saddle, and he'd have to leave the shelter of the big wagon to get it. "I'll draw fire. Keep your head down."

Scott moved cautiously while Johnny peppered the woods with shots. The sniper didn't respond. Within seconds, Scott had ducked down again, holding his Winchester. Johnny reloaded his Colt.

"Do you know where he is?"

"He was in the rocks over there," Johnny said.

Scott studied them. "Do you think he's still there?"

Johnny shrugged. "Who knows?"

"What do you suggest we do?"

"It'll be sundown in a few hours. We wait, and then circle around to try to get the drop on him."

"If he's still there."

"If he's still there, he can pick us off easy if we make a move now," Johnny pointed out. "He's in a good spot, the one I'd pick. He should've waited until we moved away from the wagon, but it's lucky he didn't."

Scott sighed. "I suppose you're right."

They talked awhile, of nothing in particular. Scott had grabbed his canteen when he got the rifle, and they shared its contents. Barranca cropped the grass contentedly throughout the afternoon, never straying far, but began to get restive as the sun set.

Johnny finally whistled to the palomino and it trotted over curiously. Scott held his breath, but the sniper didn't respond.

"Maybe he's gone."

"Maybe." Johnny grabbed his rifle and smacked the horse on the rump, sending it across the pasture in a blur of gold. "It never hurts to be sure, Boston. You stay here and I'll circle around."

He was gone before Scott could object. Scott waited, sighting down the rifle barrel at the rocks. He could hear the grass rustle and birds chitter in the deepening shadows. Barranca snuffled, startling him. The light was nearly gone, and the color drained out of the place. Scott hardly dared breath as he waited. A cricket kept pace with his thumping heart.

"Boston! All clear."

Scott let out his breath. "Sure?" he called across the pasture.

"Yeah." Johnny stood up in the rocks. He put his fingers in his mouth and whistled again for Barranca.

"Murdoch is going to ask why we didn't finish the fence," Scott said ten minutes later, as they headed for home. "And why we're late again for supper."

Johnny appeared to be listening to something Scott couldn't hear, his face intent. He spurred his palomino ahead and suddenly slipped sideways as another shot sounded.

"Johnny!" Scott hauled on the reins and reached for his rifle. He peered through the gloom, looking for his brother. Barranca had shot forward. Scott couldn't see Johnny's body anywhere on the ground. "Johnny!"

The rifle fired again, and a pistol responded, three times.

Chapter 5

Murdoch stared sourly at the body in the back of the wagon while Johnny led Barranca toward the barn. The rancher looked away from the dead man to follow his younger son's progress.

"His arm?"

"It's not bad," Scott said. "Just a graze. Don't fuss at him, Murdoch. Cipriano will make sure he's all right."

"I'm his father, not Cipriano," Murdoch grumbled, but he turned back to the dead sniper. "We better get the sheriff out here. What happened?"

"Someone took a shot at us in the pasture this afternoon, and we took cover until sunset. He was gone by then, and we started for home. But he was waiting. When he took another shot at us, Johnny killed him."

"Did Johnny know him?"

Scott shook his head. "Nor did I," he said dryly.

They put the body in the icehouse while Cipriano doctored Johnny's arm in the tack room. Murdoch followed Johnny into the house, but Scott lingered outside for a few minutes, lighting a cigarillo to banish the stink of blood that lingered in his nostrils.

He only remembered that Murdoch wanted to send a man for the sheriff when Val Crawford led a limping horse under the arch.

"What happened?" Scott asked.

"Stepped in a gopher hole, or something, and went dead lame on me. Your place was closest." The sheriff took off his hat and beat some of the dust off. "Johnny around?"

"He's in the house. I'm sorry about your horse, but I'm glad you're here," Scott said. "I was about to send someone to town for you."

"That right?" Val glanced at him sideways. "What's the problem?"

Val listened to Scott's story without comment and followed him to the shed where they'd stored the body. He went through the dead man's belongings, but found nothing to indicate who he was or why he had taken a shot at the Lancer brothers. The sheriff went up to the house reluctantly. The spacious, well-appointed hacienda made him feel clumsy, as if he were wearing two left boots. He knew Johnny frequently felt the same way.

Johnny was sitting in a chair by the fire, his arm in a sling. He gave Val a quick smile, but his eyes looked heavy.

Murdoch was in the chair behind his big desk. "Well?" he said impatiently.

"He don't have no papers on him." Val tasted the drink Scott had handed him, rolling the whiskey on his tongue. "And I haven't seen him in Green River. I'll ask around Morro Coyo and Spanish Wells. He had to be staying somewhere; he didn't have no bedroll or supplies on his horse."

"He might have a camp somewhere," Scott said.

"Could be," Val said. "I'll look, but mebbe you can ask your men to keep an eye out too."

Murdoch nodded. "So you don't know anything?"

"Didn't say that," Val said. He shot another look at Johnny. "Looks like he came from Mexico, from his rig and all. And he had a wad of dinero, as well as dollars. He had close to 500 bucks on him all together."

"So he wasn't a drifter," Murdoch said thoughtfully. "John, you're sure you don't recognize him?"

Johnny shook his head. "I already said I didn't."

"Mexico," Scott said aloud, and stopped. The three of them looked at him, and he flushed.

"You think of something?" Val asked.

"Well," Scott said reluctantly. "There's a priest at the mission who came from Mexico to see Murdoch. I wonder if the priest might recognize him."

Murdoch's face darkened. "Scott, he's a priest. Father Barnabas wouldn't do something like this."

"I didn't suggest that he would. But he still might know who the sniper is. I think we should ask him." Scott stood up. "We could stop at the mission when we take the body into town."

"It can wait until morning," Murdoch said.

"I don't believe it can wait, sir. We need to know who this man was and why he was shooting at us. If it wasn't for Johnny, he could have killed both of us."

"Why'd the priest come to see you?" Val asked.

Murdoch went still. "It's a private matter, Sheriff. I'm sure it has nothing to do with this."

Johnny was picking at the beaded bracelet on his immobilized wrist, his head down. He didn't look up, but his soft voice carried across the room. "Better just tell Val about it."

"It's not necessary," Murdoch insisted. "It's family business and we'll take care of it ourselves. This man was probably a rustler."

"You reckon he was going to drive stolen cattle all the way to Mexico, Murdoch?" Johnny still didn't look up. "Or that he'd risk his neck for a few steers when he had $500 in his pocket already."

"Johnny is right, sir," Scott said.

Murdoch scowled at both of them. "By the time you drive a wagon into Morro Coyo, it will be too late to disturb the mission. Wait until morning."

Scott rose to his feet. "You're right about the wagon. I'll take the buggy and bring Father Barnabas here. We'll be back by eleven."

Val put his glass down and followed Scott out the door.

***

The priest peered at the dead man's face in the lantern light. "El Lobo," he said immediately.

"You do know him?" Murdoch's voice grated. He'd come out of the hacienda alone when they drove into the yard with the priest. He told them Johnny had refused to go to bed, but was fast asleep in his chair.

"Yes," Father Barnabas said. "He works for Don Luis."

Murdoch thrust his jaw out. "You told me the don wouldn't hurt Johnny."

"I told you it would not solve Don Luis's problem to harm your son," the priest said. "And it will not, but it could be that they felt it would not be safe to kill you while he still lives."

"I think you better tell me what this is about," Val said.

"And me too," Scott said grimly. "Why would Don Luis try to kill any of us?"

The priest's eyes widened. "Your father did not tell you?"

"He did not."

"Let's go up to the house," Murdoch mumbled.

"Tell me," Scott snapped. "Right now."

Murdoch sighed. "Don Luis wants to marry Maria. He can't do that while I'm still married to her."

"But he can marry her after you divorce her."

"Not in the church, he can't. The church won't recognize a divorced woman's marriage - or their son."

"So he's going after you, and Johnny too? And you knew it was a possibility and didn't tell us?" Scott was furious. "Is there any other little detail you haven't seen fit to tell us?"

"You know the rest of it," Murdoch said. "That's the only part I didn't tell you."

"Did you tell Johnny that part?"

"No. No, I didn't tell him. But, well, he may have guessed it."

Scott could have killed his father himself. He didn't trust himself to speak to him, not immediately. They went up to the hacienda. Johnny was still sleeping, but he roused when they came in. He looked exhausted and feverish. Scott knew the bullet groove in his brother's arm wasn't deep, and Cipriano had cleaned it thoroughly, but the flush on Johnny's face didn't surprise him.

"You should be upstairs in bed, brother."

"I'm OK." Johnny dragged his good hand through his hair and looked at the priest. "Did you know him, Padre?"

Father Barnabas nodded. "He has worked for Don Luis for many years. He was in charge of the guards on the estancia. He's called El Lobo and he is - was - fiercely loyal to the patron. I'm sorry, I did not realize the don had already sent him here."

"Does he travel alone or in a pack?"

The priest hesitated. "For something like this, alone, I think."

Johnny nodded. His eyes moved to the sheriff. "Anybody fill you in yet, Val?"

"Scott did, some," Val said. "And he's right, amigo. Better get upstairs if you reckon on riding out tomorrow."

"He's not riding anywhere tomorrow," Murdoch protested.

Johnny and Val exchanged a look and Johnny got to his feet. "Guess I will turn in."

"He's not going anywhere," Murdoch repeated after Johnny went upstairs. "Especially not Mexico. Val, you know that's not a good idea."

"Yeah, I know it," the sheriff said. "But I know him too. You don't want him to take off on his own, do you?"

Murdoch shook his head helplessly. "He promised me he'd wait a week."

"That was when we were under the impression that you'd told us everything you knew," Scott said. "Father Barnabas, can I offer you a drink before I show you to your room? You too, Val?"

Both of them nodded. Scott poured generous measures of whiskey into four glasses, and served the priest and the sheriff before he carried one over to his father. He settled into the chair Johnny had vacated. "Val, as much as it pains me to admit it just now, Murdoch is right. We really shouldn't leave tomorrow."

Val cocked his head. "You coming along?"

"Absolutely. And if Johnny tries to sneak out of here without me, I'll go on my own. But it would be better if he gave that arm at least a day."

"You reckon you can persuade your pigheaded brother of that?"

"Maybe, if you back me up."

Val hesitated, and nodded.

***

Johnny didn't have much choice, as it turned out. The housekeeper and Teresa took one look at him in the morning, and chased him back to his room. Val listened, grinning, as the housekeeper scolded him in loud Spanish.

"Sure never expected to hear nobody tick off Johnny Madrid like that," he said.

"How long have you known him?" Scott asked curiously, pouring coffee.

Val shrugged. "It's maybe five years since the first time I run into him."

"Five years? He was only fifteen or sixteen."

"Yeah," Val said. "Course, he told me that he was eighteen, but I didn't believe him. He was just a kid."

"But he was already a gunfighter?"

Val nodded and applied himself to a plate of eggs and bacon. "Had himself quite a reputation already, down on the border. Where's your father and the padre?"

"Murdoch already had breakfast and I haven't seen Father Barnabas yet this morning. How did you meet Johnny?" Scott figured he had nothing to lose by asking a direct question.

He didn't gain anything either. Val shoveled the last of his eggs into his mouth, finished his coffee in a gulp and wiped his hand across his face. "Thanks for breakfast. I should go pick up my gear and leave someone in charge of the office. You sure you can keep Johnny here long enough for me to get back?"

Scott nodded. "I think Senora Maria and Teresa have that covered."

"I'll be back this afternoon," Val said. He grinned suddenly. "Want me to send a telegram to Don Luis, asking if he wants to pay for the funeral?"

It was tempting, but Scott hesitated. "No. I think it would be better if Don Luis wasn't expecting us, don't you?"

Val's smile disappeared. "He ain't going to be expecting us, Scott, not even if he knows his man is dead. It's loco for Johnny to even think about crossing the border into Mexico."

"I know the rurales have a price on his head," Scott said. "Is it that serious?"

Val nodded. "That little revolution of his, it pissed off some pretty important people. And it pissed them off even more when the rurales let him get away. It might be better if you stayed here."

"Not a chance."

Chapter 6

Val returned in the afternoon with a dark-haired man in a well-cut suit. The contrast made the sheriff look even scruffier. Murdoch's face lit up when he saw the second man.

"Jarrod! I didn't expect to see you until tomorrow at the earliest, but I'm glad you're here. How's your mother?"

"Fine," the lawyer said, shaking hands with Murdoch and Scott. Val gave Scott a mock salute, and headed for the barn with their horses. "She told me to remind you that you owe us a visit."

"Maybe this winter, when work slows down," Murdoch said. "Come in, come in. Can I get you a drink? Scotch, right?"

"Thanks," Jarrod said. He looked around the great room while Murdoch fussed with bottles and glasses. "Isn't Johnny here?"

"He's upstairs," Scott said. "A sniper winged him yesterday."

"A sniper?" One of Jarrod's brows rose. "Does this have something to do with the situation you consulted me about?"

"It appears so," Scott said. "There's a priest here from Mexico, the one who told us about Johnny's mother, and he identified the sniper as one of her husband's employees."

"I see," Jarrod said slowly. "How badly was Johnny hurt? I have some information for you, but he should hear it too."

"I'm here," Johnny said from the stairs. He was fully dressed, and had already discarded the sling. Scott shot a look at him, but he looked much better than he had in the morning. Johnny crossed the room and leaned against the fireplace casually. "What did you find out?"

The lawyer put his glass down. "I asked some contacts in Mexico what they could tell me about Don Luis and his wife. He married Maria Mariano ten years ago and they have one son, Alejandro Luis de Cordova Mariano, who was born the following year."

"Mariano?" Murdoch lifted his head. "That's not Maria's name."

"Hear me out, Murdoch. Don Luis's wife is the daughter of Don Andreas Mariano, who owns, among many other things, a large ranch near San Diego. In fact, my mother knows him."

"Don Andreas had two children, a daughter and a son. The daughter dropped completely out of sight a few months before her seventeenth birthday, instead of returning from the convent school she attended in Mexico City. People assumed she had entered the order. More than ten years later, a few years after her brother Alejo's death, she suddenly turned up again on her father's estate and married Don Luis."

"My wife's name was Rodriques," Murdoch protested. "And she had no family. There has to be some mistake."

"I don't know, not for sure," Jarrod said. "But the timing of her disappearance matches up with your marriage. And she reappeared at her father's home just after the Pinkertons reported that your Maria was dead."

Murdoch glared at Johnny. "Do you know anything about this?"

Johnny shook his head, his face impassive.

Murdoch set his teeth. "What else did you find out?"

Jarrod shrugged. "Other than the gap, there's nothing remarkable. Dona Maria is described as very beautiful, but somewhat shy. Alejandro is his grandfather's heir, as well as his father's. They live fairly quietly and spend most of their time on Don Luis's ranch, but they do visit Don Andreas regularly."

"There isn't a shy bone in Maria's body," Murdoch snapped. He glared at Johnny again. "Are you sure your mother never said anything about her family?"

"Murdoch," Scott said.

"It's OK, Scott." Johnny wandered over to the windows. Scott wished he could see his brother's face.

"Johnny, did you have any lunch? Jarrod, we should have offered you something as well." Scott knew he was babbling.

"I'm fine," Jarrod said. "I had something in town." He cast a look at Johnny, who had leaned his head against the glass. "But we can finish this later."

"Not on my account," Johnny said without turning. "You said she had a brother, and his name was Alejo?"

"It was Alejandro too, actually, but everyone called him Alejo."

Scott could tell, even from the back of his brother's head, that Johnny knew something. He could also tell that it hurt, whatever it was.

"I think Johnny should eat," he said. Murdoch opened his mouth and Scott scowled at him. He reached for his brother, but Johnny slipped away.

"I had lots of uncles," Johnny said, leaning against the window again. "Most of them didn't have much use for me. But I remember a Tio Alejo. He wasn't like the others."

***

The cool glass pressed against his forehead. He closed his eyes, summoning memories he usually kept at bay. He could see bright sunlight and feel the dust between his bare toes, see the little house.

It wasn't very big, just the one room, not nearly the size of the rooms in the Lancer hacienda. But it was enough for Mama and him, just the two of them. There were flowers outside the windows, and a few chickens he chased all over the yard, and a goat too. It was home, the only home he could remember staying in for long. And his mama was happy. She sang while she tended to the garden and cooked. Instead of going to work in a cantina, she tucked him into his bed at night, smoothed his hair, and told him stories.

There weren't a lot of uncles there, just Tio Alejo, and he only visited occasionally. Tio knew good stories too, even better than Mama's. His eyes were full of laughter and he never hit either of them, Johnny or Mama. He had jingling spurs and a beautiful palomino, the best horse Johnny had ever seen. He would take Johnny up on his saddle for breathless rides across the desert, holding him securely with one strong arm as the ground flashed by underneath them. Mama scolded both of them, but Johnny loved those rides and begged for more.

Alejo and Mama argued sometimes, late at night, when Johnny was supposed to be asleep, but he never hit her. He didn't even sleep in Mama's bed like the others, before they came to this house.

Johnny had wondered about that, but Alejo had been mad when he finally voiced the question.

He shivered a little. Most of the uncles didn't waste any time shoving their dicks into his mama, and they sure as hell didn't like it if their noise woke a little boy.

Alejo was madder than Johnny ever remembered seeing him. He had taken Johnny for a ride, but they headed back for the little house abruptly after Johnny asked why he didn't sleep with Mama. There was lots of yelling, and Mama started to throw plates. Johnny listened, wide-eyed, until Alejo noticed him peeking around the door and scooped him up. They went down the street to see an old abuela, who fed Johnny and put him to bed in her house. Alejo stayed until he fell asleep and didn't seem to be mad any more. In the morning, though, he was gone and Johnny never saw him again.

"Johnny?" Scott's voice pulled him out of the memories.

"He used to visit when I was little," Johnny said. "But he stopped coming, and we moved."

They moved a lot after that, sometimes after just a few days, and none of the places were as nice as the little house. Johnny didn't understand why they left it, and worried that Tio Alejo wouldn't be able to find them. Then he worried that maybe Tio didn't want to find them any more, and it was his fault. Mama stopped singing and didn't smile much either. She went back to working in the cantinas. It was late when she came home, and she usually had company.

"How old were you?" Jarrod asked.

"I don't know. Five, maybe, the last time I saw him. Almost six."

"Alejo Mariano was killed in a stampede on his father's ranch when you were six," Jarrod said.

***

Johnny was still for a few minutes, turning the idea over in his mind. He wondered if Mama knew Tio was dead, and why she hadn't told him. But there were lots of things she never told him. And some of what she did tell him wasn't true.

He shoved the memories away again. It didn't matter now.

Murdoch was fuming. "I've heard of Don Andreas," he said. "If he really is Maria's father, why did she live the way she did? Why didn't she just take Johnny to his ranch? Or why didn't her brother step in, if he knew where she was, and at least make sure they had a roof over their heads and food on the table?"

"It rather sounds like he tried." Scott looked at Johnny.

Johnny shrugged. "I guess he did. Mama didn't work then, not until after he stopped coming to visit, but we lived in a house and we had everything we needed."

He didn't want to talk about this. He didn't even want to think about it. He moved across the room restlessly and traced the smooth hull of Murdoch's model ship with one finger. "That's all done anyway. What about now? Are Murdoch and my mother still married?"

Murdoch's eyes swung to Jarrod. "Legally, yes, they are," the lawyer said. "She could be charged with adultery and bigamy. She was underage, and didn't use her real name, but I don't think that invalidates the marriage. Your father is the one who would have cause for complaint."

"So what about her kid?" Johnny asked.

"Technically, since your parents were still married when he was born, the law presumes that he's Murdoch's son."

Murdoch looked even angrier. "I want you to straighten that out too. File whatever's necessary for that and for a divorce."

"Well," Jarrod said slowly. "I could. The question is how you want to do this, Murdoch."

"As quickly as possible."

"It might be better to talk this over with the other parties first," Jarrod said. "Once we file the paperwork, this enters the public record."

"There's nothing to talk about, as far as I'm concerned."

"You don't mean that, sir." Scott spoke up when Johnny didn't. "There's a nine-year-old boy involved, and this is not his fault, any of it. I think Jarrod's right."

Murdoch ground his teeth. "Are you forgetting what happened here yesterday, Scott?"

"No, I'm not forgetting that at all. I would like to avoid any repetition, if we can."

"I'll go talk to Mama," Johnny said. "And Don Luis."

"No!" Murdoch's answer exploded. "I don't want you anywhere near them."

"Told you before, it's not your call."

Jarrod interrupted before they started shouting. "If I could make a suggestion, I don't think either of you should contact the de Cordovas directly. I'd suggest that I go and talk to Maria's father, Don Andreas, about this and see if we can come to some agreement on the best way to handle the situation."

"Best for who?" Johnny's eyes sparked. "Murdoch?"

"The best we can do for everyone concerned, including the child," Jarrod said. "Murdoch, I'm not saying that you don't have every right to divorce Johnny's mother and wash your hands of the situation. Clearly, you do. But I'm not sure it's the wisest course of action."

A muscle jumped in Murdoch's jaw as he thought it over. "Will you agree to stay out of it, Johnny? At least until Jarrod has a chance to talk to Don Andreas, if I agree to that?"

"I want to make sure the kid's safe," Johnny said stubbornly. "He ain't nothing to you, but he's my brother."

Chapter 7

Father Barnabas heard the angry words coming out of the house, through the open windows, as he sat in the courtyard. He sighed inwardly, and prayed the lawyer would be successful.

It wasn't long before one of the doors opened and Johnny strode out, heading for the barn. His older brother trailed after him, but stopped when he noticed the priest.

"I'm sorry, sir," Scott said. "I imagine you couldn't help but hear most of that."

"I'm sorry, lad, for my part in causing the strife between your father and brother."

"Believe me, you didn't cause it," Scott said. "Murdoch and Johnny always argue a lot."

"They're very alike," Barnabas observed.

"Yes, I suppose they are."

"Should you go with your brother?"

"He won't want company just now," Scott said. "Other than his horse or, maybe, the sheriff. They're old friends."

"That bothers you?"

"No, not really. At least, it shouldn't bother me. Val's known Johnny a lot longer than I have. We only met a few months ago."

"I understand you're from Boston. Do you miss it?"

"No." Scott's answer came quickly, without any hesitation. "This is where I belong, and Johnny too. I think it's actually been harder for him to settle down here. He's so used to being on his own. Sometimes, Murdoch doesn't realize how hard it is."

"And it falls to you, does it, to smooth things out between them?"

Scott's mouth twisted. "I don't seem to be very good at that."

"The Lord expects us to do our best, lad, not to perform miracles."

"Sometimes, our best just isn't good enough." Scott dipped his head. "There's a price on Johnny's head in Mexico. That's part of why Murdoch doesn't want him to go there. He's afraid of losing him again."

"I can understand that," Barnabas said. "I heard some talk at the mission in Morro Coyo about your brother. He used to go by another name."

"You've heard of him?"

Barnabas nodded. "It would be difficult not to hear of Johnny Madrid along the border."

"Don Luis didn't tell you before he sent you here?"

"Don Luis didn't know your brother existed," Barnabas pointed out. "Dona Maria admitted that she had been married to a gringo, many years ago, but we understood that it was very brief, not really a marriage at all. She did not tell us they had a child."

"Why did she tell you anything?"

"She doesn't go out in public very often, and she wears a veil, of course, when she attends Mass," Barnabas said. "But she and Alejandro visited the mission one morning, and one of the older nuns recognized her. Sister Francesca knew her as Senorita Rodriques, and asked about her husband. Maria insisted, at first, that Sister Francesca was mistaken, but it came to Don Luis's ears and he asked me to check the records of marriages. I found it, just as Sister Francesca said."

"I wish you hadn't."

Barnabas wasn't surprised. "I can't say that thought hasn't crossed my mind as well," he confessed.

***

The steamer rolled, and surged forward. Johnny's face was nearly as green as the glassy water below the hull. He hung over the railing, head down. Surely, he couldn't have been sick again, Scott thought. He didn't think Johnny had anything left in his stomach to throw up, not after nearly three days on the steamer from San Francisco.

He hauled Johnny back, away from the rail. "We should be landing this afternoon," he said brightly. "You really should try to eat something. You'll feel much better."

Johnny gave him an incredulous look. "If you mention food to me again, I swear I'll shoot you."

"You don't have a gun," Scott pointed out. "Not until we land and the purser gives them back."

"Don't count on that, Boston." Johnny grabbed at a handhold as Scott nudged him toward one of the companionways. "I ain't going down there again."

Scott evaluated the mulish expression on his brother's face and gave in without an argument. Instead, he found two chairs on the lee deck. "Stay in that chair," he told Johnny sternly. "And don't go near the rail. I'll be back in ten minutes."

Johnny had dozed off by the time Scott returned, carrying a steamer blanket and a heavy china mug of hot broth. He sighed, frustrated, and contented himself with covering his brother with the blanket. He figured it would be better to just let Johnny sleep, preferably until they reached their destination. Scott stretched out his long legs and took an absent-minded sip of the broth. The sun was beginning to burn off the morning fog, but the air was still raw.

They had reached a compromise, in the end. Murdoch and Johnny agreed to allow Jarrod Barkley to approach Don Andreas first. However, Johnny wasn't content to wait quietly at Lancer for word from the lawyer. He insisted on going to San Diego with Jarrod, although he did promise he wouldn't cross the border until Jarrod had talked to his grandfather.

Scott didn't intend to let his brother go to San Diego by himself. Murdoch, somewhat to their surprise, decided to go along as well. He left Cipriano in charge of the ranch and they all caught the stage to Stockton. From Stockton, they took the train to San Francisco and boarded a steamer to San Diego.

Johnny hadn't been enthusiastic when he realized they were going by boat, but it was the fastest way to travel and he hadn't argued much.

Within hours, as the wind rose and the steamer pitched, he lost the dinner that Murdoch had treated them to in one of San Francisco's best restaurants.

The wind dropped by morning and the chop smoothed into long, lazy ocean swells, but Johnny hadn't emerged from his bunk. "Next time he gets hurt and the doctor tells him to stay in bed, perhaps we should take him to sea," Scott suggested.

Murdoch frowned at the levity. "We need to get some water into him, at least."

They tried, but Johnny couldn't keep it down. He snarled at them to go away and just burrowed miserably in the bunk.

Scott had been surprised to find Johnny missing from the cabin that morning, and alarmed to find him draped precariously over the rail.

Murdoch joined them on the deck. "Is he all right?"

"I think he's better than he was below decks." Scott's voice was dubious. "He's been asleep for about an hour. You know, we're never going to get him back on a steamer to go home."

A grim smile flashed across Murdoch's features and he dragged another chair up. "I can't say I blame him," he said unexpectedly. "I've never liked ships either. I was as sick as a dog when I left Scotland."

"Were you?" Scott eyed his father curiously. "But you got over it?"

"I didn't have much choice. I'd signed on to work my way across. I couldn't have lifted a finger to save my life the first week, but one of the mates finally insisted on pouring some gawdawful mess of molasses and rum down my throat."

"That helped?"

"I puked the rest of my guts out," Murdoch said. "But, well, it got better after that."

Scott looked at Johnny dubiously. "I don't think that would be a good idea, sir."

"I'm not suggesting it." Murdoch's mouth curved. "Why don't you go and get some breakfast, son? I'll keep an eye on Johnny and make sure he doesn't jump overboard before we reach San Diego."

Chapter 8

Jarrod Barkley was up early the next day. He found Scott eating his breakfast in the hotel dining room.

"Good morning," he said. "How's your brother?"

"Good morning." Scott smiled, his eyes crinkling. "He seems to have made a full recovery. He demolished two helpings of ham and eggs, and dragged Murdoch off to see some horses."

The waitress arrived to pour coffee, and Jarrod thanked her. "I'm glad to hear it," he said to Scott. "Did they go out to one of the ranches?"

"No. They're just on the other side of town. Someone told Johnny that one of the dealers has a corral full of nearly pure Andalusians, and so he had to see for himself."

"One of my younger brothers is mad about horses too," Jarrod said easily.

"Murdoch told us you have three brothers."

"That's right," Jarrod said. "So, if you need any tips on how to handle younger brothers, I'm your man. Although it looks as if you're doing fine."

Scott jabbed his pancakes. "Sometimes I wonder."

Jarrod smiled. "That's practically a permanent condition for older brothers, I assure you. Just don't let on to the small fry, whatever you do."

They both laughed. Jarrod ate his meal, and the conversation turned to California politics. Scott asked some astute questions. Jarrod thought he'd make a good candidate for the state assembly, if Murdoch would spare him for the legislative sessions in Sacramento. The ranchers could use more representatives like Scott, with good heads on their shoulders.

Scott stirred cream into a fresh cup of coffee. "Do you expect to see Don Andreas today?"

Jarrod nodded. "He owns a house just outside Old Town. He left a message at the hotel desk that he'll see me there at ten."

"You said your mother knew him. Have you ever met him?"

"No, not personally. I've heard a lot about him."

"What's he like?"

Jarrod hesitated, putting his knife and fork across his empty plate. "I'll tell you in a few hours after I can form my own impressions."

"Fair enough."

Jarrod hired a buggy at the livery stable to take him to Don Andreas's house. It was in the old Spanish style, an adobe structure centered on a formal courtyard. He could hear water splash from a fountain somewhere. A servant admitted him to a spacious foyer with a tiled floor.

"Don Andreas will be with you shortly, Senor," the servant said, returning to usher him into a paneled library.

"Gracias." Jarrod looked up at a portrait over the mantel, his brows lifting.

"Senor Barkley." A silver-haired man opened the door. He wasn't tall, not as tall as Jarrod, but he dominated the room. "I am Don Andreas Mariano."

"How do you do, sir." Jarrod offered a hand. "My mother has often spoken of you."

"Your mother is a remarkable woman," Don Andreas said. "I hope she is well."

"Very well, Senor. She knows I'm meeting with you and sends her regards."

"As do I to her. Can I offer you some refreshment?"

"Thank you. Whatever you're having would be fine." Jarrod accepted a glass of pale, dry sherry. His eyes returned to the painting.

Don Andreas noticed. "You seem to be taken with the portrait of my son, Senor Barkley."

"Your son?" Jarrod stared at him. "That's your son? Alejandro?"

"That's right," Don Andreas said. "It was done when Alejo was twenty."

Jarrod shook his head slightly. "I'm sorry for staring," he said. "It's just that I thought for a moment it was your grandson."

"My grandson?" The don's voice sharpened.

Jarrod met the older man's bleak eyes. "Yes," he said. "Your grandson, Johnny Lancer."

***

Don Andreas settled into a chair behind a massive, gleaming desk. "I have just one grandson, Senor, and he is a child of only nine years."

"Johnny doesn't want anything from you," Jarrod said.

"Then he will not be disappointed." Don Andreas's voice was as dry as his excellent sherry. "I have no interest in this gringo bastardo, if you will forgive the term."

"Your daughter married his father."

Don Andreas waved his hand. "She was underage and I did not give my consent. Besides, the gringo coerced her. It was not a real marriage. He is fortunate it is too late for me to file charges against him."

"She was seventeen at the time, hardly a child," Jarrod countered. "And there was no coercion, at least, not on his part. They were married legally, in the church. Murdoch Lancer could file charges of his own."

The don's eyes narrowed. For a moment, Jarrod thought he was going to lose his temper, but the urbane look returned to his face and he chuckled. "You are your father and mother's son, Senor Barkley. You have a younger sister, do you not?"

"I do."

"Tell me, what do you think your father would have said if she ran away from her school and an older man, a complete stranger, took advantage of her innocence? You do realize that my daughter, barely seventeen at the time, was already carrying Murdoch Lancer's child when they went through this marriage ceremony? Is that something Thomas Barkley would countenance?"

"I believe my father would say that Audra had made a choice, even if it was not what he hoped, and would have to live with the consequences."

"Bah!" Don Andreas made a gesture. "He would horsewhip the scoundrel, at the least."

"He might be tempted, depending on the circumstances," Jarrod agreed. "But he certainly wouldn't take it out on the child. Nor would he be pleased if his daughter broke her vows, or abandoned his grandson to grow up on the streets."

Don Andreas's face darkened. "Had I known of the child, I assure you, I would have made suitable arrangements for his care."

"I don't doubt it, sir." Jarrod took another sip of his sherry. "Your daughter didn't tell Murdoch the truth, any more than she told you the truth when she returned to your house ten years ago. He married her in good faith, brought her home to his ranch, and cared for her and their son until she left him, two years later, taking the boy with her. Murdoch did nothing wrong."

"She could not marry without my consent. He knew she was not of age."

"She told Murdoch she was an orphan with no family. She also swore this to the priest at San Cristobal who married them."

Don Andreas was silent for a few minutes. "My daughter's lack of good judgment does not change anything," he finally said. "She was too young, and the gringo took advantage of her. It is not a valid marriage."

"It is valid in the eyes of the church and the law. And she took no steps to annul it before she married again, ten years later," Jarrod said. "She certainly was not a child then."

"That is a matter for Don Luis and for me to deal with," Don Andreas said. "It is none of Murdoch Lancer's business."

"No? Murdoch is still legally married to her. In fact, in the eyes of the law, Don Luis's son is his son unless he takes steps to establish her adultery."

"Does he intend to take such steps, Senor?"

"That's why I asked to speak to you." Jarrod leaned back in his chair. "Murdoch wishes to divorce your daughter, but he doesn't want to cause problems for her younger son if he can avoid it."

"Why should he care?"

"He's a decent man, and the child is his son's brother."

"Half brother," Don Andreas corrected. He gave Jarrod a thoughtful look. "Tell me, what do you propose to correct this situation?"

"I'm not sure we can correct it, entirely," Jarrod said. "Murdoch won't agree to annul his marriage, and I don't believe the church will either. I can also assure you that if Don Luis makes any further attempts to harm either Murdoch or his sons, the entire story will come out." He watched the don, carefully, but the older man's face didn't give anything away.

"What, then?"

"Murdoch is willing to file for divorce from Maria Rodriques, the name on his marriage certificate, solely on the grounds of desertion. He could have done so many years ago, except he thought it unnecessary because he believed she was dead."

"That solves nothing, Senor. Don Luis cannot marry a divorced woman. And his son will be left a bastard."

"He could adopt the boy," Jarrod suggested. "It's not ideal, but it seems the only solution. And it will avoid a larger scandal."

"No," Don Andreas said flatly. "It will not be acceptable to him, or to me."

Chapter 9

The door closed behind Jarrod Barkley. Don Andreas returned to his chair. His eyes moved to the portrait of his son. Alejo laughed out of the canvas, young and seemingly indestructible. The artist had managed to capture that flashing, confident smile and daredevil spirit. Alejo was always reckless, far too reckless.

He wondered if the lawyer had been speaking the truth and if the gringo's son really resembled Alejo. He sighed, and rang the bell.

"Tell Don Luis I have finished with the lawyer, and would like to speak to him," he told the servant.

Don Luis listened, drawing his heavy brows together. "No," he said. "It is out of the question. I will not adopt my own son. It must be done properly, or not at all."

"I told Senor Barkley that." Don Andreas glanced at his son-in-law. "I have also made some other arrangements, as you know. There is a risk, however. Senor Barkley says the entire story will come out if anything happens to Senor Lancer or his son."

"Perhaps Senor Barkley will also have an accident," Don Luis said.

"He is the son of old friends," Don Andreas objected.

Don Luis shrugged. "Is that gringo more important than your grandson's future?"

"No," Don Andreas said slowly. He looked up at the portrait again. "No, he is not. There is nothing more important."

"The bait is set," Don Luis said. "Your segundo brought the horses into town last night, and I saw to it that someone at the hotel told Madrid about them this morning. They say he is nearly as good with horses as he is with a gun, or thinks so, at any rate. He may break his neck if he tries that stallion and save us the trouble of taking him to Mexico."

"And what about his father and brother?"

"Senor Lancer went with Madrid, as we hoped. The elder son stayed behind at the hotel, but he shouldn't pose any problem. He is from the east and doesn't know our ways."

"Jarrod Barkley knows," Don Andreas said. "Do you still have a man at the hotel? Someone you can trust?"

"Of course."

"Make sure he keeps a close eye on the two of them. What about that priest? Can you trust him?"

"I thought I could," Don Luis said. "Now, I'm not so sure. I don't know why he came here with the Lancers, instead of returning to Matamoros."

"We can't take any chance," Don Andreas said. "Send someone to pick him up and bring him to the estancia. We'll talk to him there."

***

Murdoch struggled to open his eyes, conscious that someone was groaning nearby. He realized, belatedly, that he was the one doing the groaning. For some reason, he couldn't move his hands or feet. His back throbbed nearly as much as his head. He shifted his weight, and came up against something warm. He tried again to open his eyes.

"Easy, old man," a soft voice said.

"Johnny?" Murdoch succeeded in cracking his eyes open, and Johnny's bruised face swam in front of him.

"What happened to you?" he croaked when his vision cleared a little.

"Same thing that happened to you." Johnny wriggled into a sitting position. Murdoch realized his son's wrists were tied, like his own, and they were in the back of a moving wagon. Bright light filtered through its canvas cover.

He squinted, fighting a wave of nausea. "We were looking at some horses, weren't we? In San Diego?"

"Yeah." Johnny's voice was bitter. "We were. Only, we sure ain't in San Diego now."

Murdoch's heart lurched. "Where are we?"

"I'd say we crossed the border about an hour ago. And we're still heading south."

"Mexico?"

"Si," Johnny said.

A hand opened the cover and a swarthy face looked inside. "No talking," he ordered in English, waving a large pistol.

Johnny promptly opened his mouth, but Murdoch succeeded in elbowing him. Johnny shrugged and subsided against the side of the wagon. The face watched them suspiciously for a few minutes before disappearing, apparently satisfied.

Murdoch closed his eyes again, trying to pull together his disjointed thoughts. He remembered the horses now. It was an unlikely string for a small dealer on the outskirts of San Diego. The three mares were beauties, and the stallion was magnificent. Johnny's eyes lit up as soon as he saw them.

Johnny had questioned the dealer about how he came to have a string of Andalusians and hadn't been satisfied, not entirely, with the answers. Still, the papers seemed to be in order and Murdoch knew his son wasn't going to pass up the chance to acquire them.

Hell, Murdoch didn't disagree, even if he did grumble a bit about the cost of shipping them home. It was mostly for show, and Johnny knew it.

Johnny had wanted to try the stallion, naturally. Murdoch was vaguely aware of the tall Mexican who came to watch as his son worked the horse. The man folded his arms across his chest, his back ramrod straight. Hostility emanated from him, and Murdoch gave him a curious look before he turned his attention back to Johnny and forgot everything else.

It was magic, as usual. The horse was even more hostile than the Mexican, at first, but Johnny murmured to it in Spanish as it circled the corral in bursts of angry speed. Johnny stood loose-limbed in the center of the ring, all too relaxed in Murdoch's opinion.

The horse stopped and stamped its feet, and Johnny didn't move, just kept talking in that soft voice.

Eventually, like all horses, this one gave in too. The two of them might have been alone for all the attention they paid to the men who watched outside the ring.

Murdoch's eyes were still on his son and the stallion when he sensed the footfall behind him and began to turn. The club slammed into the side of his head and he went down to his knees. The second blow dropped him like a stone.

***

"Carillo." Don Andreas looked up as the segundo appeared. "It's done?"

"Si, senor. They are locked in one of the cells in the gatehouse."

"Did they give you any trouble?"

"The young one tried. He only stopped fighting when Jose threatened to shoot his papa."

"Be careful with that one," Don Andreas warned. "He is a dangerous man, a pistolero."

Carillo nodded. Don Andreas looked at him more closely. He and the segundo had grown up together and knew each other very well. "What is it?"

"Have you seen him, Patron?"

"No. There is no need."

"I think you should," Carillo said.

It was highly unusual for Carillo to make so direct a suggestion to his employer. Don Andreas hesitated. Jarrod Barkley had claimed that Madrid resembled his son. Perhaps it was true, but that was no reason to see him. The boy would soon be dead anyway, or wish he was. The landowners near Sonora were eager to make an example of Madrid after all the trouble he'd caused them.

"There is no need," he repeated. He had a grandson, a fine boy who carried the blood of two noble Spanish families, not this upstart. No one was going to endanger young Alejandro's future, not while Don Andreas still had breath in his body.

Carillo didn't press his employer. It was not his place.

"What about the horses?" Don Andreas asked. "They came to no harm?"

"None at all, Patron. We returned them to the herd."

"Good," Don Andreas said. "Did that gringo try to ride the stallion?"

"No, Patron."

"No?" Don Andreas allowed himself a small smile. "So, he is not as good with horses as they say. You may go now."

The segundo had something more to say before he departed. "He did not try to ride the stallion, Patron. He did ride the stallion."

Chapter 10

Don Andreas stared, for a long time, at the empty door. He roused when he heard light feet clatter down the stairs.

His daughter followed her son, more sedately.

"Maria." She stopped in her tracks at the sound of her father's voice. "I wish to speak to you."

The boy looked up at his grandfather, his face uncertain. Don Andreas moderated his voice.

"It's all right, mijo, I just want to speak to your mother. You may go into the courtyard. She will join you shortly."

Don Andreas made his way unhurriedly to his desk. "What is it now?" Maria spat impatiently. He looked at her, and she dropped her eyes. "I'm sorry, Papa."

"Not sorry enough," he said. "Tell me about your first son."

She flounced angrily in her chair. "Luis already told you, didn't he?"

"I want to hear it from you. Tell me, Maria, why did you take the child when you left Lancer?"

"He was mine." Her eyes were defiant. "It was my right."

"Why did you not bring him here?"

"To you?" She laughed. "And would you have welcomed my blue-eyed son, Papa?"

"I would have seen to it that someone looked after him."

"No!" Her voice was unexpectedly fierce. "I know you. You would have sent him away."

"You think it was better, what you did?" Don Andreas glared at his daughter.

She tossed her hair, but didn't answer. Don Andreas sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Your mother said I spoiled you," he mused aloud. "And Alejo too."

"Alejo loved Johnny," she said defiantly.

"What?" He stared at her, shocked. "Your brother knew of this?"

"He helped me," she said. "But he died, and I had no money. I couldn't take care of Johnny by myself. It wasn't so bad when he was little, and Alejo helped."

"I don't believe you. Alejo would have told me."

She just smiled, a knowing smile he itched to wipe off her face. He stayed in his chair but his voice, when he spoke, sounded hollow even in his own ears. "We have other matters to discuss. I will arrange for a priest to marry you and Don Luis in the chapel, later this week. Then you will go to the convent and you will tell Alejandro that you have chosen to do this. You will not tell him anything else, or I promise you will regret it."

Her eyes widened. "Have you killed Murdoch?"

"I was not under the impression that you cared."

"I don't! He means nothing to me." She licked her lips. "I was just - curious."

"He will be dead when the marriage ceremony takes place. That's all you need to know."

"What about Johnny?"

"I was not under the impression that you cared about him either." He watched her closely, curious.

Something flickered in her eyes, but she stayed stubbornly silent.

"He is a wanted man," Don Andreas said. "For what he did, the sentence is death. And his father won't be able to cheat the firing squad this time."

"What did his father have to do with it?"

"That's how Madrid escaped the last time, six months ago. Lancer's agent bribed the rurales."

She didn't respond, but he could see that piece of news surprised her. He frowned.

What kind of monster could this Murdoch Lancer be, if it surprised Maria that he had saved his son from death? Jarrod Barkley claimed the American rancher had married her in good faith and loved his son, but that could not be true. The idea eased his conscience somewhat.

"You may go," he told Maria. "Remember what I said. Do not speak of this to Alejandro."

***

Outside the door, Maria hesitated, her mind racing. Her father meant it. He and Luis both meant it. They would send her to the convent without a second thought, and the nuns would act as jailers, sterner and far less corruptible than the real thing.

She had been in jail, many times. It was never so bad as that convent school where her father had sent her, at thirteen, when he caught her with one of the stable boys. Her mind wandered. Pepe, she thought, or maybe Pedro or Paolo. A sweet boy, hesitant at first to take any liberties with the senorita, but he was just as eager as she by the time they discarded their clothes and tumbled into the sweet hay. It was her first time, and she had enjoyed herself thoroughly once Pepe lost his inhibitions. He was built like a bull, and just as single-minded.

She wondered idly what had happened to him, and if he still worked on the estancia. Don Andreas had locked her in her room and bundled her off to the convent the next morning. She had never seen the boy again, or given him another thought. If he were still here, though, perhaps he would help her.

She discarded the idea as another occurred to her. Could Murdoch be here on the estancia? Or, better yet, Johnny? She didn't think they were already dead; her father would have said so.

Murdoch was probably too angry with her to be of much use - Murdoch and Don Andreas had far too much in common - but Johnny had always loved her, no matter what she did. It had been disconcerting, sometimes, to see the trust in those gringo blue eyes, even when one of her men had beaten him.

Of course, Johnny wasn't a little boy any more and he might wonder why she had left him, but she was sure she could think of some explanation that would satisfy him. She was his mother, after all.

If they were here, they were probably locked in the gatehouse. She had seen a wagon arrive and make a stop there. And she had thought it odd that Carillo, her father's segundo, had been escorting the wagon.

She couldn't visit the gatehouse without causing suspicion. But Alejandro could, and he would tell her what he saw there. Alejandro told her everything, the words tumbling out of him as he shared all the wonderful things he had seen and done and peppered her with questions until her head ached.

Johnny had once been like that, but he hadn't been nearly so talkative by the time he was nine, not unless he was spitting sass at one of her men. That last year they were together, he hadn't told her much. He was working during the day, of course, at whatever he could do to earn a few pesos, and she was usually busy during the night. The men, most of them, didn't want a boy that age in the room while they took their pleasure. A few of them did want Johnny, and even offered to pay extra, but he had never been cooperative and Maria preferred to be the center of attention.

She wondered if Alejandro would become as argumentative as he grew older. Johnny could be so sweet, bringing her flowers and every penny he earned, his big eyes shining. But he was also so stubborn, just like his papa.

It was a relief, really, when she woke up in a mission, the day after arriving in a strange town, and no one seemed to realize that she had a child. She had a scalp injury, which had bled a lot but wasn't too serious. The priests told her they found her unconscious in a shack in the village. The man who had been beating her was dead, shot through the heart. No one realized she hadn't been the one to shoot her attacker, and she didn't ask after her son. Johnny had run away, and she was free. She could go home to her father's estancia and claim she didn't remember anything. Within months, she married Don Luis and settled into a pampered life. She hadn't intended to have another child, but he insisted and Alejandro wasn't nearly as much trouble as Johnny. Murdoch had expected her to look after Johnny herself, but Luis didn't think anything of it when she left the baby's care to the servants. It wasn't a bad life until that stupid nun recognized her and blurted out something about her first marriage.

Maria sighed deeply, and pulled her thoughts back to the immediate problem. Yes, first thing in the morning, she would send Alejandro to see if there were any strangers in the gatehouse.

Chapter 11

"Where are they?" Scott fumed to himself, pacing up and down the front porch of the hotel. He hadn't been surprised when his father and brother didn't return to the hotel in time for lunch, but the entire afternoon had passed without any sign of them.

During lunch, Jarrod had filled Scott in on his visit to Don Andreas. "He may decide to be more reasonable once he thinks this over," the lawyer said.

"Do you think so?"

Jarrod sighed. "I hope so. It won't do his family, especially the boy, any good at all if the story gets out. But the hacienderos - the big Mexican landowners - are used to being a law unto themselves. They're very proud and they can be very stubborn."

"Johnny gets it from both sides then," Scott said, but his heart wasn't in the weak joke.

Jarrod went off after lunch to pay a call on a local rancher, a friend of his family. He invited Scott to join him, but Scott decided to wait for Murdoch and Johnny to return.

He was still waiting, hours later. And he couldn't find the priest either. Father Barnabas had come with them to San Diego, and planned to take the stage from there to Matamoros. But the stage wouldn't leave for another two days and the priest seemed to have vanished.

Scott had just decided to visit the horse dealer himself and drag Murdoch and Johnny back to the hotel, when Jarrod returned from his visit, driving a hired buggy up in front of the hotel.

"They're still not back?" Jarrod's brows went up. "Those must be some horses. Hop in, and we'll go and look."

They eventually located the horse dealer, on the edge of town. The place didn't look busy, and the only horse visible in the corral was no Andalusian. Scott eyed the swaybacked nag, dismayed.

A man slouched out when Jarrod shouted. He smelled of manure and cheap whiskey, and his eyes shifted as he talked to Jarrod in Spanish. He claimed, at first, to understand no English. He didn't look happy when Jarrod shifted easily to fluent Spanish.

"What did he say?" Scott asked, when the man had shuffled back inside.

Jarrod picked up the reins and started the horses back toward the hotel, frowning. "He says he's never had any Andalusians for sale. And he hasn't seen your father or brother. He says he hasn't had a customer all day. Are you sure that's the right place, Scott?"

"It's where Johnny told me they were going."

"How did Johnny hear about these horses?"

"He said one of the bellboys at the hotel told him."

"You don't know which one, do you?"

Scott shook his head. "Do you think something's wrong?" In his heart, he already knew the answer to that question.

"Let's see if we can locate the bellboy."

They didn't locate the bellboy and they didn't locate Father Barnabas either. Scott looked over at Jarrod.

"Don Andreas?"

"It could be. Perhaps we should call on him."

An elderly servant eventually answered the door at the don's house. No one was home, he insisted. Don Andreas had returned to his estancia. No, he hadn't seen a big gringo or a young man with blue eyes and black hair. The patron and his son-in-law, Don Luis, had departed before noon. No, he could not say when the patron would return to San Diego.

"Don Luis? He was here too?" Scott gave Jarrod a questioning look, but the lawyer shook his head.

"I didn't see him." He suddenly turned to the servant. "As you know, I was here this morning. I'm afraid I lost my watch while I was talking to Don Andreas in his library. You haven't found it, have you? It's not worth much, but my father gave it to me and it has great sentimental value." Jarrod took a crisp bill from his pocket.

"Well." The servant wavered, his eyes on the money. "Your father's watch?"

"Yes," Jarrod said. "His last gift to me, before his death. I'd appreciate it if we could take a quick look."

The man accepted the bill, and showed them to the library.

Jarrod went to the chair in front of the desk. "Perhaps it slipped down in the cushions. Or fell on the floor."

Scott's eyes were glued to the portrait. "Who is that?"

"That was Senor Alejo, Don Andreas's son," the servant informed him.

Tio Alejo. The physical resemblance to his brother stunned Scott. "Jarrod. Did you notice this?"

"Yes. I thought you should see it too." Jarrod fished in the cushions and produced the watch he'd palmed while the servant's attention was on Scott. "Here it is!" He beamed at the servant. "Gracias."

***

"Father Barnabas went to early Mass at the church," Jarrod said a little later. They'd split up to ask more questions, and met in the dining room. "The local priest invited him to breakfast and he spent a few hours visiting their orphanage. As far as Father Miguel knows, he intended to return to the hotel when he left there."

"I haven't seen him at all today," Scott said.

"The manager checked his room, and his things are still there. Did you have any luck locating that bellboy?"

Scott shook his head and moved his food around his plate. It was delicious, but he couldn't swallow it. "That servant said Don Andreas and his son-in-law returned to Mexico."

"Yes." Jarrod met his eyes.

"Johnny's wanted in Mexico. If they took him there ... "

Jarrod looked down at his plate. "It's at least a six hour ride to the estancia," he said. "I think we should get some horses and leave tonight. We'll have to camp when it gets dark, since there won't be any moon tonight, but we can make a good start and be there early in the morning."

"Jarrod, Don Andreas is Johnny's grandfather. Surely he wouldn't hurt him, especially when he sees how much Johnny looks like his son."

"He doesn't see it that way," Jarrod said. "I'm sorry, Scott, but it's the truth. He has another grandson, and he's desperate to protect the boy. As far as he's concerned, Johnny is in the way and so is your father."

"So you think he took them?"

Jarrod nodded. "It's the only thing that makes sense. I'd guess he took the priest too. I wish we had known that Don Luis was here."

"Johnny wouldn't go without a fight."

"He may not have had a chance to put up much of a fight."

Scott put his fork down. "Let's get started."

***

Father Barnabas was too old and too experienced to be surprised, even when he was hustled unceremoniously into a coach outside the hotel, but he was sorry when he caught a glimpse of Don Luis riding alongside with an older man. He was sorrier still, hours later, when he found himself in a cell next to one that contained Murdoch and Johnny Lancer.

Murdoch had blood in his hair, and seemed to be unconscious. Johnny had a black eye and swollen lip, but he gave the priest a crooked smile. "Hey, Padre," he said easily.

"Are you all right, my son?"

"Ain't your son," Johnny said, but there was no heat in the words this time.

"Is your father badly injured?"

Johnny glanced at Murdoch. "They banged his head pretty hard, but I don't reckon that will kill him. You OK, Padre?"

"They did not harm me. Johnny, Don Luis is here. I saw him."

"Is this his place?"

"No." Barnabas hesitated. "I have never been here before, but I believe it is your grandfather's estancia."

Chapter 12

Carillo watched one of the vaqueros work a horse in the training corral as the sun climbed above the horizon. The man was a good rider, but he didn't have anything like the skill of the pistolero locked in the gatehouse. That one had a gift, like his uncle.

He frowned. Don Andreas had told him this was a family matter and no more. Still, the segundo knew as soon as he set eyes on Madrid that he was either Alejo's son or Maria's. He had blue eyes, the color of the sea, but otherwise resembled the Marianos too closely to be anything but a blood relative.

The big gringo apparently believed he was Madrid's father, which indicated that Maria was involved. Carillo shook his head. She was always wild, even wilder than her brother. He had his own ideas about what she was doing during the years she was missing, but it was not his place to offer an opinion. He had already said more than he should to Don Andreas.

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned as a child emerged from the gatehouse. Carillo cursed. He hadn't thought to warn the guards not to let Alejandro see the prisoners. His mother let him do as he pleased, and they'd think nothing of a visit.

The boy wandered over to the corral to watch the vaquero. Perhaps he hadn't seen anything. His attention seemed to be focused on the horse. He looked up and gave Carillo a smile, the one that marked him as his mother's son. Except for that dazzling smile, he looked like his father.

"Hola, Senor Carillo!"

"Hola, nino," Carillo said gravely. "Were you in the gatehouse just now?"

"I wanted to say hello to Pancho," Alejandro said. "But he wasn't there."

Carillo relaxed. Pancho was the son of one of the men who took turns watching the road and the range from the roof of the gatehouse. "Pancho is twelve years old now, and he works in the barn, helping with the horses."

"That's what Jose told me," Alejandro said. "Perhaps I'll see him when I go riding with Grandfather and Papa."

"Perhaps you will," Carillo agreed. "I have just the horse for you, nino."

Alejandro's face lit up, and Carillo's worry eased some more. "Really? Which one?"

"You will see, after breakfast," Carillo said. "If you don't hurry, nino, you will be late and your grandfather will not be pleased, or your papa either."

Alejandro's face turned sulky. "I suppose not."

"Go on," the segundo urged him.

Alejandro thrust his hands in the pockets of his short jacket, but he went.

***

"Mama, Padre Barnabas is in the gatehouse," he said.

"Padre Barnabas?" She was baffled.

"Si, Padre Barnabas from the mission at home." Alejandro looked up at her, his eyes troubled. "Mama, why would Grandfather keep the padre locked up in his gatehouse?"

Maria had no idea, and little interest. "Was anyone else in the gatehouse?"

"Two men. One is as big as a giant." He stretched his arms out and stood on his toes.

"And the other?"

He wrinkled his nose. "Just the ordinary size. He looks - he looks like Grandfather's pictures of Tio Alejo. But you told me he is dead."

"Your tio is dead. He died before you were born."

"Did he have a son?" His face brightened. "I would like a cousin."

"No," she said. "He did not."

"Then who is that man, Mama?"

She considered whether to tell him the truth, and rejected the idea, at least for now. She saw no advantage in it. "I don't know. I haven't seen him."

"I could ask Grandfather."

"No!" Her voice was sharp. "You will not speak of this to your grandfather, or your father. Do you understand?"

"No."

"It does not matter. You will not speak of this."

A pout appeared on his face. Johnny had argued furiously with her when she told him to do something he didn't want to do. Alejandro had a tendency to turn sullen, like his father.

"Alejandro," she coaxed. "This is our secret, yours and mine."

He looked dubious. "Grandfather must already know about it. And Papa."

"Alejandro, you will do as I say. Do you understand?"

He rolled his eyes, but gave in. "Si, I understand."

"That's my boy," she crooned, and gave him a hug.

Alejandro backed up and wiped his face, disgusted. "Mama, I'm nine!"

***

Carillo watched the riders gallop away. Don Andreas didn't sit in a saddle nearly as easily as he had when they were boys. The old man's back was stiff.

Alejandro was riding a flashy pinto pony. He sat up straight in the saddle, anxious to prove he was old enough now to ride with the men.

They had spoiled him, but not too badly, not yet. The patron doted on the boy, just as he'd once doted on Alejo. His son's death, which left him with no heir, had devastated him. Don Andreas hadn't asked many questions when his lost daughter suddenly returned, choosing to take it as a miracle. He was thrilled when she married Don Luis and produced a son.

Carillo's thoughts returned to the men in the gatehouse. Don Andreas still hadn't seen them, or given any further orders about them.

The whispers had already started about the young one. Carillo wasn't the only one on the ranch who remembered Senor Alejo. He also wasn't the only one who had heard of Johnny Madrid.

Don Andreas didn't treat his peons badly, not in comparison to some landowners, but Madrid was still a hero in their eyes. They had all heard about the attempted revolution, and about the young pistolero who sided with the peons, not the rich hacienderos. The peons had lost, of course, but they had lost bravely, thanks to Madrid. When they heard the rurales had executed him, and the whispers began that he had somehow escaped, the legend just grew.

Carillo didn't think anyone would be so foolish as to defy the patron to help Madrid, but he wasn't sure, not entirely. It certainly didn't help that he looked so much like Alejo, who had been far more popular than his father or sister.

He sighed and told the guards to be alert for any trouble.

***

Scott pulled his boots off and rubbed his feet. Cowboy boots were better for riding, not walking. He could feel blisters forming after just a few miles. He emptied some grit that had worked its way inside the boots.

Jarrod was doing the same thing.

"How much farther do you think we have to go?" Scott took a sip of tepid water from his canteen. Fortunately, they each had two full canteens. Jarrod had insisted on carrying extra water in case they didn't find any on their way.

"Too far." Jarrod squinted at the sun, still climbing in a cloudless sky. "We don't have a chance of reaching the estancia until tonight at the earliest, not on foot."

"Maybe we'll run into someone on the road."

"Maybe." Jarrod didn't sound hopeful.

"I don't understand how the horses got away," Scott said. "I'm sure I fastened them securely last night."

Jarrod pulled his boots on and stood up. "They may have had a little help."

Chapter 13

Maria waited until she saw Carillo ride away with a crew of vaqueros. Her father and husband were out riding too, and had taken Alejandro with them. She wasn't likely to get a better opportunity to visit the gatehouse.

The guard looked vaguely familiar. She fished in her memory for a name, and came up blank. Instead, she simply directed a smile at him.

"Buenos dias," she said.

"Buenos dias, Dona Maria." He stood squarely in front of the door. "I'm sorry, but Senor Carillo said no one was to go inside, on the patron's orders."

Her smile grew. "Really? Is the old priest so dangerous?"

"Pardon, Senora. I am not supposed to speak about the prisoners."

"You don't need to. I know all about them, the priest, Senor Madrid and the gringo. My father told me to be sure to bring the priest a rosary this morning, so he may say his prayers."

The guard hesitated and she pounced.

"Surely you would not deny a rosary to a priest?" She allowed a note of outrage to creep into her voice.

"Of course not," he said. "I will give it to him, Senora, I promise."

"I told my father that I would see to it personally. You don't wish to defy his wishes, do you?"

"No, no." He was aghast at the idea.

"Good." She pushed past him into the gatehouse.

It was dark, in comparison to the strong sunlight outside, and she paused while her eyes adjusted. The cells were below the ground floor, at the end of a narrow flight of stairs that turned around a small landing. The priest was alone in the first cell. The second held Murdoch Lancer and a dark-haired young man who watched her approach without getting to his feet. He was sitting on one of the bunks, his back against the wall.

"Juanito," she whispered. "My son." She clutched her bosom. "It is true! Es un miracle! I thought you were dead."

"That right?" he drawled. "Funny, I thought the same thing about you."

"Praise be to the saints and the Holy Mother." She daubed a lace handkerchief to her eyes. "My little boy, all grown up. Never did I think I would see this day!"

Johnny appeared to be unmoved. She could see the skepticism in his eyes. His father must have poisoned his mind. She spared a glance for the big rancher, who was sprawled on the other bunk in the cell. He was either sleeping or unconscious. She didn't know or care which.

"Juanito, how is it that you are with your papa?"

"Something else I reckon you never expected to see, huh, Mama?" Johnny looked at Murdoch. "He sent for me last spring. It turns out he was looking for me all along, even if you said he didn't want me."

Maria forced herself to smile. "He must have changed his mind," she said. "I'm glad, Juanito. I prayed for this, so many times, when you were small."

"Don't remember you ever doing a lot of praying."

What in the world had happened to her sweet boy? He was hostile to her, his own mother. This would not do. Maria daubed at her dry eyes again. "You were too small to remember," she declared. "Always, always, I prayed that your papa would come to his senses and realize what he had thrown away so carelessly."

Father Barnabas cleared his throat, and Johnny looked over at the priest. A hint of mischief appeared in the younger man's blue eyes. Maria didn't like that either.

"You come to let us out, Mama?" Johnny asked.

She hesitated, unsure of what to do. "I will get in trouble, terrible trouble. If I let you out, you must promise to take me with you."

"Planning on leaving another husband and son, huh?"

This wasn't going at all the way Maria had pictured it. "You know about them?"

Johnny nodded.

"It is not what you think," she said. "When I thought you were dead, mijo, I went back to my papa's estancia, even though he threw me out of my home when I was very young and told me never to return. He forced me to marry Don Luis. I knew it was wrong, since I was still married to your papa, but I had no choice."

"You told them all about Murdoch and me, did you, before you married again?"

"No," she said. "I was frightened. You cannot understand, mijo, what it is like to be all alone."

That was a mistake. She realized it at once, and wished she could take the words back, but it was too late. For a moment, she could see the child she remembered. He looked stricken before his face turned cold again.

An angry voice rumbled, up in the guardroom, and Maria whirled toward the stairs. "It is the segundo," she said. "I did not expect him to return so quickly. He is your grandfather's man. If you wish to get out of here, you will have to kill him." She took the keys from a peg and unlocked the cell, pushing a derringer into Johnny's hand.

He took it and moved to the stairs, as light on his feet as a cat. Maria backed up to the end of the passage that ran outside the row of cells. Slow footsteps came down the stairs and paused on the landing.

"Dona Maria? Please come upstairs," Carillo said. "You should not be here."

Johnny held one finger to his lips and shook his head at her. She remained silent.

"Dona Maria?" The segundo took another step, peering cautiously around the landing.

Maria couldn't believe how quickly her son moved. One moment Johnny was pressed against the wall; the next he had his arm locked around the segundo's neck and was pressing the derringer against Carillo's temple.

"Don't even think about calling for help, or I'll blow your brains out," Johnny said. "If you don't do anything stupid, no one will get hurt. Comprende?"

Carillo nodded as best he could. "Si."

"We're going down the rest of the stairs now," Johnny said. "No sudden moves. Put your hands up behind your head when I let go of you. Mama, let the padre out and leave the door of his cell open."

Minutes later, Carillo was locked in Father Barnabas's cell. The priest had succeeded in getting Murdoch to his feet, although the rancher was still groggy and didn't seem to fully understand where he was. Johnny had stuffed the derringer in his pocket and appropriated the segundo's six-shooter. He checked it, making sure it was loaded, and tested its balance in his hand.

"How many men upstairs?" he asked the segundo.

"Three," Carillo said, watching him closely. "One in the guardroom, two on the roof. You can't get away, nino."

Johnny looked at him. "I ain't no nino."

"I'm sorry." Carillo kept his eyes on him. "I meant no disrespect. I knew your uncle when he was a boy, younger than you. It just slipped out. You are very like him."

Johnny nodded. "Mama, you sure you want to come with us?"

That roused Murdoch. "No!"

"Yes," she insisted.

"Help the padre with Murdoch then," Johnny said.

Murdoch managed to stand straighter. "I don't need her help. She's not coming with us and that's final."

Johnny ignored his father, to Maria's relief. "I'm going to take out the guard upstairs first and then the ones on the roof. All of you stay put until I call you."

"Juanito, you cannot leave me here with your father," Maria complained.

His eyes flickered over her. "Wish you'd left me with my father, Mama." And then he was gone.

Chapter 14

They heard a thud upstairs, and then silence for a long time. Father Barnabas crossed himself and said a prayer. Murdoch was leaning against the cell, his enormous hands gripped tightly around the bars. Maria looked as if she might faint.

Carillo watched all of them from his cell, but especially the big gringo. He had shaken off the priest's hand and was glaring at Dona Maria.

"Damn you," he said. "How could you?"

She lifted her chin. "How could I what? Leave the great Murdoch Lancer?"

"How could you drag a two-year-old boy away from his home and just abandon him when he was only ten? Do you realize what kind of hell you put my son through?"

"He is my son too!"

"You sure don't act like it. No decent woman would do what you did."

"You don't understand. You never did!" She directed a burst of furious Spanish at him. To Carillo's surprise, the gringo answered in the same language, just as vehemently.

Father Barnabas tugged on Murdoch's sleeve. "Senor Lancer, please," he begged. "This is not the time or the place. You must rest, while we wait for your son to return. Please, sit down."

The priest finally succeeded in getting the gringo to sit on one of the bunks in the other cell.

Maria took a seat on the opposite bunk, her eyes flashing and her bosom heaving. "You wouldn't dare speak to me like that if my husband was here!"

The gringo's face got redder. "Your husband! I'm your husband, God help me!"

Carillo's jaw dropped. It was not possible.

"Senor Lancer," the priest said again.

Tears welled up in Maria's eyes and she sniffed loudly.

Carillo was staring at the two of them, dumbfounded. They could not be married. Could they?

There would be scandal, of course, if people learned that Dona Maria had a bastard son, but nothing like this. One of Maria's sons had to be a bastard, but if it were Alejandro, not Madrid, the scandal would rock two of Mexico's most powerful families. The little boy would lose everything, not just his name.

Could Maria really have been so shameless as to marry another man when she was already married?

Carillo made a noise in his throat. He'd known her all her life, and wouldn't put much past her.

He looked at the gringo thoughtfully. Lancer, the priest called him. It sounded vaguely familiar. He had heard of a ranch named Lancer in California. And the gringo had the weathered skin of a rancher, and the manner of a man who was used to being in charge, like Don Andreas.

They heard a gunshot above their heads. After another pause, someone came down the stairs as far as the landing. "Murdoch?"

"John, are you all right?" The gringo sat up straighter and winced.

"Yeah, sure. Come on up."

After they had climbed the stairs, Johnny herded three shamefaced guards down and locked them into the other cell. One clutched a bloody arm, but none of them appeared to be seriously injured.

"All of you?" Carillo eyed them, disgusted. "How is it that he captured all three of you?"

They hung their heads, not meeting his eyes. "Es el diablo," one finally muttered.

Carillo shook his head and settled back on the bunk to wait. Madrid had no chance, not even if he were the devil himself. Don Andreas could not afford to let them get away.

***

Scott mopped his face with a filthy bandanna. Wetting it didn't help, not much. He'd never been so hot or so tired. His feet burned as if he'd been walking in fire, not sand.

He liked to walk the beach at home, but deliciously cold, refreshing surf constantly washed the sand on New England shores. It was a pleasure to roll up his trousers and shirtsleeves and walk barefoot along a sandy beach on Cape Cod. Even in July or August, a tangy breeze usually came up to cool his face.

It was nothing like the hell of walking across Mexico in tight boots.

He took a mouthful of water. He would have loved to spit it out but they didn't have enough left to waste any. They'd both emptied their first canteens, and were halfway through the spares. Jarrod insisted on carrying the empty canteens, even if there was no water anywhere to fill them, and Scott's banged irritatingly against his side.

It was mid-afternoon and the sun had finally started to drop, but still burned through the fabric of Scott's shirt. He could feel sweat trickle between his shoulder blades. He needed a bath, a long bath, a shave and a bed with cool, clean linen. And he wasn't going to wear shoes for a week, at least. He wasn't sure he could.

"We better get going," Jarrod said.

Scott scowled at him and staggered onto his feet. Jarrod wasn't any steadier. The lawyer's face was red under the dirt and stubble.

"Do you think it's much farther?"

"A few more hours," Jarrod said. "It will be easier once the sun sets."

"Andalusians," Scott said bitterly. "In case I forget, remind me to throttle my little brother when I see him."

Jarrod tried to laugh but could only muster a croak.

***

Scott thought, at first, it was an apparition. They looked like the lead soldiers he'd played with as a boy, complete with bright uniforms and jaunty cockades. They trotted in perfect formation across the sand, seemingly unaffected by the heat.

He heard a bugle and shook his head, trying to clear his ears. He had heard tales of desert mirages, mostly from his brother, although it could be hard to tell when Johnny was serious and when he was pulling Scott's leg.

The officer was waving his hand, his mouth moving. The horses drew to a stop. Scott watched, detached, as one of the horses approached them. A plume hovered above the officer's dark blue hat.

Jarrod was talking to the officer in Spanish. The lawyer must see the mirage too. That was odd. Scott wondered if Jarrod had also played with armies of lead soldiers when he was a boy.

Someone put a full canteen into Scott's hands. He took a thirsty gulp. The water revived him a little. He found himself sitting in the back of a wagon, rattling behind the company of soldiers. Jarrod was sitting next to him.

Jarrod didn't look happy. Scott wondered why. He took another drink from the canteen and poured some of the water over his hair.

"Who are they?" he asked, at last.

"Federales," Jarrod said. "They're on their way to Don Andreas's estancia."

"Lucky for us," Scott said. He wondered if he'd be able to get his boots back on if he took them off.

"Mmmn," Jarrod said, rolling his eyes toward the driver of the wagon. Scott caught the warning and nodded. "They're on their way to take custody of a dangerous fugitive and carry out an order to execute him."

"Really?" Scott said blankly. "What's he wanted for?"

"You probably never heard of him, but he's notorious along the border," Jarrod said. "His name is Madrid, Johnny Madrid."

Chapter 15

Johnny lit a stick of dynamite and threw it off the roof in a wide, graceful arc. The explosion blew another crater in the road outside the tall wall that encircled the hacienda and its outbuildings.

The gatehouse was set into the outer wall, and its roof commanded a sweeping view of the countryside. The place was a small fortress.

They'd been holding off a siege for hours. Don Andreas and Don Luis had returned too soon, before Johnny could get horses from the stables to make their escape.

He had left Murdoch and the priest to watch from the roof, taking his mother with him. When Murdoch saw the cloud of dust rising on the road, he fired two shots into the air with one of the rifles they found downstairs.

Johnny and Maria appeared on the roof soon after, carrying more rifles and ammunition. Johnny ran down the stairs again and returned with a box of dynamite from the storeroom.

Murdoch looked alarmed when he saw it and began to protest, but Johnny just grinned at him and told him not to throw around any lit matches.

He quickly taught the priest how to load a rifle. He also pressed Maria into service. She handled the guns more confidently than Barnabas, but complained bitterly all the time that it would ruin her hands.

Don Andreas's vaqueros soon learned to be wary of the rifles on the roof and moved out of range. Johnny hadn't shot any of them, not yet, but he had made it clear that he could. Barnabas had raised his eyebrows at the impudent display of marksmanship. Bullets stitched the dust every time Don Andreas's gray took a step forward, just in front of its hooves. The gelding danced and spun while the haciendero fought to keep his seat.

Don Luis had pulled Alejandro's pony back right away. Eventually, his father-in-law retreated down the road as well. More vaqueros joined them outside the wall as the hours went by and they returned from their duties on the ranch. It was a standoff. No one could get in, but no one could get out either.

Murdoch was on the other side of the roof, keeping an eye on the yard. He wasn't as confident as Johnny with the rifle, but had managed to make his point whenever someone ventured out of one of the buildings.

"Look!" Maria said bitterly. "I broke a nail." She shook an accusing finger at her son.

He lit another stick of dynamite from the cigar between his teeth and lobbed it into the yard this time.

"Juanito!" she said, shocked. "Your grandfather brought that fountain all the way from Spain as a gift for your grandmother, my mother."

"That right, Mama?" Johnny took a puff on his cigar. "You holding up OK, old man?"

"I'm fine," Murdoch said, his voice short. "What about you, son?"

"I'm good."

Barnabas looked at the two of them uncertainly. They had plenty of ammunition and supplies from the storeroom, but eventually the Lancers would have to sleep. He was willing to try, but he had never fired a rifle in his life and feared he would not be able to hold off Don Andreas and his men.

"Perhaps we should attempt to negotiate," he suggested. "We could talk to Don Andreas, try to make him see reason."

Johnny grinned at him. "That's what I'm doing with the dynamite."

***

Scott heard gunfire in the distance, and sat up in the wagon. He must have dozed off.

"What's going on?"

"I'm not sure," Jarrod said. "We should be close to the estancia."

Scott peered ahead. The soldiers had spurred their horses, leaving the wagon behind. He could see buildings ahead, burnished with light from the setting sun. A puff of smoke rose and he heard an explosion.

"What the devil?" Jarrod was peering ahead too, shading his eyes with one hand.

The captain of the federales had dismounted and was talking to two men when the wagon pulled up. A boy stood next to the men. Vaqueros and soldiers milled around.

Scott's eyes went to the silver-haired man talking to the captain. "Jarrod? Is that Don Andreas?"

"I'm afraid so," Jarrod said. "And that must be Don Luis and Alejandro with him. Scott, it's a long shot, but just in case they don't know, don't tell them who you are."

"Why not?"

"I'll explain later." Jarrod climbed out of the wagon stiffly, and Scott followed, wincing when his feet touched the ground.

The older man broke off and gestured at them imperiously. Jarrod sighed and walked toward him. Scott limped after him.

"Senor Barkley. I did not expect to see you again so soon."

"Don Andreas," Jarrod said politely.

"I don't believe you've met my son-in-law, Don Luis, or my grandson, Alejandro de Cordova Mariano."

Scott looked at the boy curiously. His dark eyes sparkled with excitement in a way that reminded Scott of Johnny, but his straight black brows and square jaw came from his father.

"You have not introduced your friend," Don Andreas said to Jarrod. A small smile played on his lips. "Not that it is necessary. This must be Senor Scott Lancer, no? How do you do, Senor Lancer? I am sorry I am unable to welcome you properly. Unfortunately, a dangerous outlaw has seized control of my gatehouse."

Scott looked at Jarrod, who shrugged his shoulders. "An outlaw?"

"Si. His name is Madrid." Don Andreas's eyes dared Scott to contradict him. "Up until now, we have been at an impasse, but I believe that has just changed."

***

Scott watched unhappily as the door of the gatehouse opened and Johnny emerged, holding his hands in the air.

Murdoch stood behind him. It looked like he was arguing, but Johnny shook him off and stepped forward. Murdoch followed him reluctantly. The priest and a dark-haired woman trailed behind them.

The soldiers closed in around Johnny quickly, binding his hands behind his back. They were none too gentle about it, and Scott opened his mouth to protest.

"Save it," Jarrod advised. "It won't do any good."

"He shouldn't have surrendered," Scott fumed.

"I don't like it any better than you do." Jarrod's face was grim.

Murdoch had marched up to Don Andreas. "Let him go!" he demanded.

"That is not possible." The don's eyes flicked scornfully over the tall rancher. "As I think you know, Senor, Madrid has been tried and sentenced to death in Mexico. Captain Garcia has orders to carry out the sentence."

"He wouldn't be in Mexico if you hadn't brought him here, damn you."

"I have done nothing more than my duty," Don Andreas responded. "I would suggest that you keep quiet, unless you wish to join him. I promised him safe passage to the border for you and your elder son, and I will keep my word - so long as you also keep to your part of the bargain and hold your tongue."

"I didn't have any say in this damn bargain," Murdoch grumbled.

"Nevertheless, Madrid gave his word," Don Andreas said. "Will you dishonor it? I must say, it is no more than I would expect from you."

Murdoch opened his mouth and closed it. He turned, looking for Johnny.

Don Andreas followed his eyes, and Scott saw him stiffen.

Johnny's face was defiant. He gave his father a crooked smile, and said something to the captain of the federales, who responded by knocking him down.

Murdoch took a step forward, and Scott and Jarrod both grabbed him, holding him back.

"Murdoch, no," Jarrod said. "It won't do Johnny any good."

Garcia snapped out an order, and two soldiers dragged Johnny back inside the gatehouse. The captain brushed a speck of dust off his uniform and strolled forward.

"A firing squad will carry out the sentence at sunrise," he announced.

Chapter 16

The dark-haired woman had pulled the little boy into her arms, to his obvious disgust. He wriggled free.

Scott stared at her. "Is that Johnny's mother?" he asked Murdoch, although he already knew the answer. He could see the resemblance.

Murdoch was still glaring at Don Andreas, and Scott had to ask the question again. Murdoch transferred his glare to the woman. "Yes," he said. "If you can call her that."

"Maria!" The don's voice was sharp. "Leave the boy alone. I wish to speak to you."

"Papa, I was so worried that they would shoot him," she said. "And you, of course, and Luis."

"Were you? Maria, how is it that Madrid got out of his cell?"

Her enormous eyes widened. "How should I know, Papa?"

"Maria, I warn you, I am not in the mood for any lies from you."

"It is the truth," she protested. "I was walking in the courtyard, near Mama's fountain, when he took me hostage. The guards must have been careless, or perhaps it was Carillo."

"Carillo?"

"He was in the gatehouse too," Maria said. "But they won't be able to tell you anything. Johnny killed them."

"What?" Murdoch roared. "He didn't touch them, you bitch! Johnny locked them up, but they're fine."

She looked surprised. "Well, I don't know what he did when he took them downstairs," she said sulkily. "You can't believe anything they say, Papa, not after they let Juanito and Murdoch escape. And you certainly can't believe what he says. He'd say anything to protect his precious son."

"Would he?" Don Andreas looked from his daughter to Murdoch. "Maria, you must be fatigued. Go to your rooms, and stay there."

"I'm fine, Papa."

"I said, go."

***

Carillo emerged from the gatehouse. The federales had released him and the guards, and hustled Madrid roughly into one of the cells. He saw Murdoch Lancer standing with two younger gringos outside. Don Andreas was standing a little apart from them while Don Luis talked to the soldiers' captain.

"Patron, I'm sorry," Carillo said.

Don Andreas glanced at him. "Did you release that boy and the gringo from their cell?"

"No," Carillo said, surprised. "Of course not."

"The guards, then? Did they?"

"No."

Don Andreas sighed. He didn't ask any more questions. "The federales intend to shoot him at sunrise," he said. "See to it that they are offered appropriate quarters tonight. Oh, and the gringos, as well. In the morning, after the execution, you will escort them safely to the border. Once they pass it, it is another matter, but Luis will handle that."

"What about the priest?" Carillo asked.

"Perhaps he will stay with Senor Madrid tonight and offer him an opportunity to make his confession," Don Andreas said. "If not, he can stay with the gringos. It doesn't matter."

Carillo had to ask. "Patron, did you see him?"

"I saw." The don looked into the segundo's eyes. "It changes nothing, Enrique."

"You are sure of that?"

"I'm sure."

***

Alejandro objected to the idea of going indoors with his mother. "I want to help put my pony away," he insisted.

"Do as I tell you," she said. "Someone will take care of your horse."

"No," he said stubbornly. "I can do it myself. Besides, I want to see the soldiers set up their camp. I'll stay out here with Papa and the other men."

She grabbed at his arm, and he yanked it away. Her hand snaked out and she slapped him hard across the face, something she had never done before, not to Alejandro. He stared at her in shock and reached up to touch his lip.

"Alejandro!" she hissed. "Come with me, right now."

"No!" His eyes were bright with unshed tears. He ran toward the pinto and scrambled into the saddle, kicking the pony's sides before he managed to get his feet all the way into the stirrups. It reared backwards and he clung to its back.

Maria's scream ripped through the air. Scott, who was closest, lunged desperately toward the pony, trying to catch its bridle, and missed. The boy was still holding on, his hands buried in the mane, and he looked more determined than frightened. The pinto reared again and lost its footing, falling backwards.

"Let go!" Scott shouted.

Alejandro didn't let go. He stuck like a limpet to the pony's back, and he was underneath it when it hit the ground with a thud. It rolled, crying out as shrilly as Maria as it fought to find its feet. The boy didn't move or make a sound.

***

The doctor came down the stairs slowly. "I'm sorry," he said to Don Andreas, who was sitting behind his desk. "I did everything I could, but there was too much damage inside."

The don lifted one hand and dropped it. "I understand. He is gone?"

"Si, he is gone."

"Did he suffer?"

"No," the doctor said. "He never woke, Andreas."

Don Andreas nodded. "Thank you for coming so quickly, mi amigo."

"I wish I could have done more."

The don looked down at his desk, rubbing the gleaming surface with one finger. "Thank you," he repeated.

It was a dismissal. Carillo rose from a chair near the fire and opened the door for the doctor.

"There is a priest upstairs with the boy and his parents," the doctor said to him. "Perhaps he could help."

"I don't think so, but I'll ask," Carillo said. "Gracias. There is a meal waiting for you in the dining room, and two of the men will escort you home."

He shut the paneled door and turned to look at his employer.

"Can I get you anything, Patron?"

"No, nothing," Don Andreas said. "Wait. Yes. Cognac, por favor. Get some for yourself too."

Carillo poured liquid gold into two snifters and carried one to the desk. Don Andreas ignored it for a few moments. His hand shook when he finally reached for it.

"Alejandro should have done as he was told," he finally said. "He would still be alive. But Maria should not have slapped him."

Carillo took a sip of cognac. He didn't say anything.

Don Andreas looked up. "Well?" he said.

"There are no words," Carillo said, turning his free hand upward. "I am sorry for your loss. It is our loss as well."

"First my son, and now my grandson as well," Don Andreas said heavily.

"Both of your grandsons, soon."

The don glared at him. "The other one is not my real grandson."

"No?" Carillo strolled over to a cabinet and removed a silver-framed miniature. He brought it over to the desk and set it down gently. "He looks like a Mariano, Patron, even more so than young Alejandro, rest his soul. And he behaves like one too. Are you really going to let the federales shoot him like a dog because you are too pigheaded to admit what is in front of your eyes?"

***

Father Barnabas found the Lancers and Jarrod Barkley keeping vigil outside the gatehouse, kept at bay by soldiers at the door.

"How's the boy?" Scott asked.

Barnabas hesitated. "In a better place."

"Is that what you're going to tell us when they shoot Johnny?" Scott's eyes turned dark and his voice grated.

"Scott." Jarrod put a hand on Scott's shoulder. "Take it easy."

"That's easy for you to say. He's not your brother!"

"Scott," Murdoch said. He'd been silent for hours and his voice was rusty. "I'm sorry about the boy, Padre. I know you cared about him."

"Aye," Barnabas said. "Thank you."

"Were you going to see Johnny?"

The priest nodded. "I'll stay with him until morning, if he'll have me."

"Thank you," Murdoch said. "Only, please, don't tell him about the boy. He'll blame himself, and it wasn't his fault. None of this is his fault."

"I understand," Barnabas said.

"Will you tell him I said so, please?" Murdoch said.

"I'll tell him."

"Is that the best you can do?" Scott said. "They're going to shoot your son in a few hours and you just want the priest to tell him it's not his fault?"

Murdoch looked down. "Johnny will understand."

"Tell my brother I love him," Scott said to the priest. "And tell him my father does too, even if it's a lie."

***

Scott walked off and didn't return until the first streaks of light began to crack the darkness.

"It's not a lie," Murdoch said quietly.

"I know. I'm sorry, sir. I shouldn't have said that."

"Do you think Johnny knows?"

The door of the gatehouse opened before Scott answered. Father Barnabas emerged.

"It's not time yet," Murdoch protested.

"No, not yet," Barnabas said, looking at the sky. "But Johnny is fast asleep and I thought I would see how you're doing."

"Asleep? How can he sleep?" Scott protested.

Barnabas's eyes twinkled. "Well, I couldn't swear he wasn't playing possum on me, not at first," he said. "But I think he really is asleep now."

"We have to do something." Scott paced up and down. "Jarrod, do you have any ideas? Anything at all?"

Chapter 17

Don Andreas hadn't been to bed. He sat alone, brooding. The miniature still lay on the desk and he picked it up.

Maria wasn't too old yet. Perhaps she and Luis could have another child. He shook his head. Luis would not stay with her, not now. There was no reason. Alejandro was dead, the overriding need to protect the child from his mother's folly gone. Andreas wouldn't blame his son-in-law for abandoning the false marriage now. His lips thinned as he thought of his errant daughter. She would be sorry, but that was no satisfaction, none at all.

He glanced at the miniature and set it face down, pushing it away. His head drooped and he rested it in his hands.

Rifle fire woke him. He jerked his head up. Already? He sighed and went outside.

Don Luis was standing in the corral, emptying a rifle into the pinto pony.

***

Carillo stood next to the corral, disgusted. It was not the pony's fault. He had tried unsuccessfully to persuade Don Luis there was no reason to kill the horse. He would not listen. Long after it was already dead, he continued firing shots into the bloody black and white carcass. He even reloaded the rifle and emptied it again. The man was not right in his head. Granted, it was a terrible thing to lose a son, but it was senseless to take it out on a good horse that had only behaved as horses do.

Don Andreas pulled the rifle out of his son-in-law's hands.

"Enough!" he said. "Luis, go into the house."

Don Luis stared at him, his eyes glazed. "No," he said. "I will see the other one die too. Maria's other son." He spat on the ground. "I have lost my son, but she will lose both. This is his fault."

"That he was born? Or that we brought him here?" Don Andreas shook his head. "No, Luis. It is not his fault."

"I will see him die," Luis insisted, shaking off the older man's hand and striding toward the gatehouse.

***

The sun was rising now. Scott willed it to stay down. It couldn't be time yet. They hadn't come up with a plan.

When they heard the shots, they stopped talking. Murdoch looked stricken.

"Johnny's still in the gatehouse," Jarrod said gently, touching his sleeve. "You know that. They'll bring him out through this door."

Murdoch nodded after a moment. More shots sounded and he took a step toward them.

Scott couldn't believe what he was seeing in the corral. He started to push past his father, but Jarrod grabbed him.

"The horse is dead," he said. "It's no use."

No use. Scott froze at the phrase. He glanced at his father, wondering if Murdoch even remembered. He'd said those words six months ago when they watched Johnny tumble off his horse in the meadow. No use. They couldn't save Johnny, or so Murdoch thought.

This time, it might be true. Scott turned back toward the gatehouse blindly.

The door opened and they brought Johnny out, flanked by two soldiers. His shirt was torn and he'd picked up a few more bruises overnight.

He wore a deadpan expression, his eyes remote. Johnny Madrid would face the firing squad, not Johnny Lancer. Scott hated it when his brother retreated to the gunfighter's pose. But he couldn't argue about it, not now. He met those vivid eyes, saw them flicker briefly. They were cold again when Johnny lifted his lashes.

"John," Murdoch breathed, stepping forward. "No."

***

He was taking it as a man should. Carillo had seen other men reduced to frightened children, wetting themselves and begging tearfully for their lives, but this one held his head high. If he was afraid, it didn't show on his face. The segundo looked at Don Andreas, wondering, but the patron's face was just as expressionless as his grandson's.

The gringos were arguing with the captain. The blond one, the half brother, was obviously upset. The dark-haired man spoke more calmly, but Carillo could see the anger in him too. The older man, Madrid's father, was the angriest of all of them, waving his arms and yelling. The captain finally walked away from them. He offered Madrid a blindfold, but the young man shook his head. The captain nodded to his second-in-command, who gave the order for the firing squad to line up.

Carillo fingered his handgun absently, almost without realizing it. The servants had come outside. The vaqueros had drifted out from the bunkhouse and were watching too, instead of getting on with their business.

There were nearly sixty federales in the cavalry unit. Not a full company, but too many to fight. Carillo looked again at the patron.

The sergeant shouted an order and the members of the firing squad snapped their rifles up, cocking and aiming them in one synchronized movement.

The blond gringo looked sick. The big one sagged, but he kept his eyes on his younger son. The priest crossed himself and bowed his head.

***

"Uno momento." Don Andreas's calm voice carried easily in the absolute silence that had fallen over the yard. He strolled forward. Carillo let out his breath slowly. The patron had come to his senses.

Don Andreas said something to the captain. They stepped away to talk privately. Madrid still stood in front of the firing squad, his hands tied behind his back. They waited for the signal to fire.

Carillo watched his employer carefully. The captain shook his head at first, and seemed to be arguing. Don Andreas spoke again, his face still impassive. He might have been discussing the weather, not the fate of his only remaining grandson.

Carillo sent up a prayer that Don Andreas was intervening on behalf of his grandson and not discussing something else with the captain. He had to have felt something, surely, when he finally saw the boy.

The conversation continued, and Carillo shifted impatiently. The wait was nerve-racking. It must be even worse for Madrid, staring into the row of rifle barrels. He cast an eye at the boy to see how he was holding up. Yes, this was a grandson worth saving.

The gringos weren't doing so well. They were watching Don Andreas and the captain, a mixture of hope, anger and suspicion on their faces.

Finally, the captain nodded and stepped back toward his men. Don Andreas turned away and apparently noticed for the first time that most of his employees were watching instead of working.

"Carillo," he called. "Tell the men to go to work."

No one moved, not for a moment. Every eye had gone back to the scene in the middle of the yard.

The captain said something to the sergeant, who looked uncertain. The captain spoke again. The soldiers' arms had to be aching with the strain of holding their guns at the ready. The sergeant snapped out an order and they moved as one. The shots, when they fired, were nearly simultaneous.

Chapter 18

Scott hadn't been able to watch. At the last moment, he spun away, sick at heart. He heard the rifles, heard his father say his brother's name. He couldn't look.

"Scott." Jarrod grabbed his arm, his voice urgent. He seemed to be trying to turn Scott around.

"Damn it, give me a minute. I can't ... "

"Scott, it's all right," Jarrod said. "They fired into the air."

"What?" Scott didn't know if he'd heard correctly.

"Johnny is all right. At least, for now."

Scott turned, his eyes going to his brother. Johnny looked dazed. The sergeant hadn't dismissed the firing squad, but it had dropped arms.

"No! I will see him die!" Don Luis was shoving his way through the soldiers.

"No!" he shouted again, outraged. "You have to shoot him." He pushed his face in the captain's. "It's your duty!"

The captain stepped backward, clearly offended. Don Luis took another step forward.

"Carry out the sentence, now." He jabbed a finger at the captain's chest for emphasis. "Or I will see to it that you are shot for disobeying orders."

"I do not take orders from you, Senor," the captain said.

"You apparently take bribes." His voice was loud. "How much did Don Andreas offer you? Whatever it was, I don't care. I'll pay more."

The captain drew himself up stiffly. "I know you suffered a great loss yesterday, Senor, and I will forget you said that."

"How much?" Don Luis lost patience and strode over to one of the soldiers, snatching his rifle. "Never mind. I'll do it myself."

Scott and Murdoch both started to move, but Don Luis was closer to Johnny.

"Luis!" The voice was cold. "Drop the rifle."

"No!" Don Luis scowled at his father-in-law. "I will have satisfaction, damn you."

"Luis, I warn you. Your quarrel is with my daughter. He has nothing to do with it."

In answer, Luis swung the rifle toward Johnny. Scott lunged for him, but knew he couldn't make it in time. A shot rang out and Luis dropped the rifle. He grabbed at his hand, covered with blood.

A tall Mexican replaced his pistol in its holster.

"Thank you, Carillo," Don Andreas said to the man. "Have someone help him into the house, por favor. I suppose we should send for the doctor again. Captain, before you and your men leave, perhaps you will allow me to offer you a drink."

He disappeared into his house with the captain. He hadn't said a word to any of the Lancers.

***

The sergeant intervened when Scott tried to cut Johnny loose. "I have no orders to release him."

"Then at least take him back into the gatehouse, out of the sun."

"I have no orders."

Scott appealed to the tall Mexican. "Can you do anything?"

"I have no instructions either, Senor," Carillo said. "But I will ask."

"Thank you." Scott watched him head toward the house. He turned back to his brother. "Do you want a drink of water?"

Johnny shook his head. He still seemed to be dazed. Scott wasn't surprised. He felt dazed himself. He looked at his father, who was standing on Johnny's other side. "Sir, perhaps you should go sit in the shade. I'll stay with Johnny."

Murdoch glared at the soldiers. "I'll stay too."

"Both of you, go," Johnny said. His voice was hoarse. "I'm fine."

Carillo returned while they were still arguing about it. He carried a second hat in his hands. "The patron and the captain are discussing it," he said. "I am sorry, but they said to leave him where he is until they are finished."

"I want to speak to them." Murdoch's jaw jutted out.

Carillo placed the extra hat on Johnny's head. "Don Andreas gave orders that they are not to be disturbed. I am sorry, Senors, but you will have to wait."

"Get him out of the sun," Johnny said to Scott, nodding toward Murdoch. "I'd just as soon have a little time to myself anyway."

"You're sure?" The hat shaded Johnny's eyes, and Scott couldn't read them.

"Yeah. Go on."

***

The hours dragged by. Scott kept a sharp eye on his brother, but Johnny seemed to be holding up all right. He finally took a few sips of water, although he spit it out again, and he asked Scott to empty the canteen over his head. Scott did, carefully replacing Carillo's hat afterward.

Even in the shade, it was hot, but Murdoch wouldn't settle. He paced restlessly.

They had no idea what game Don Andreas was playing. It had raised their hopes when he apparently persuaded the captain not to shoot Johnny. Then again, he'd left Johnny tied to a post in the middle of the yard, baking in the increasingly merciless Mexican sun.

The soldiers had moved under the trees and made themselves comfortable.

"Maybe we could make a run for it," Scott said to Jarrod.

Jarrod glanced across the yard. "Too risky."

"What about the risk that the captain will come out and tell the firing squad to line up again?"

Jarrod frowned. "It's possible, but I don't think it's likely, Scott. I can't say I like the chances either way, but this looks slightly more promising."

Scott sighed and took another swig from the canteen Carillo had given them. He stood up and walked across to Johnny.

"You need to drink," he said.

Johnny's eyes were distant. "Not now."

"Now," Scott insisted. "You're going to end up with sunstroke."

Johnny took a sip of water and rinsed his mouth.

"It's not enough."

"It's enough. Leave it, OK. I've been in Mexico before. You're the one who's likely to get in trouble, not me."

Scott grinned. "That will be the day, little brother."

***

Maria emerged from the house late in the morning. She wore black from head to toe, including a veil. Scott watched suspiciously once he realized who the woman was.

She walked up to Johnny, who seemed to be dozing, and caressed the side of his face. Scott got to his feet and followed Murdoch across the yard as Johnny roused.

"Leave him alone," Murdoch ordered.

"He is my son." Her eyes challenged him before she turned her attention back to Johnny, who had opened his eyes. His face was confused. "Mijo, you are too warm."

"I'm fine," Johnny slurred, trying to pull away from her hand. "Just leave me alone."

"Of course I'm not going to leave you alone," she crooned. "And you won't leave me either, will you, my sweet boy, now that we've finally found each other again? If Papa lets you go, you'll take me with you?"

Chapter 19

The captain was tipsy when he finally emerged from the house. Carillo kept his scorn off his face as the man mounted his horse. The soldiers mostly did too, but Scott had no trouble reading their thoughts.

Don Andreas didn't give anything away. If he had been drinking with the captain, it didn't show.

Murdoch advanced on him before the dust had settled behind the federales. "We need to get Johnny out of the sun," he said, his teeth clenched. "Right now."

Don Andreas glanced at the young man in the middle of the yard. "I suppose so. My segundo will see to it. Carillo!"

"Si," the tall man said.

"Cut Juan loose and do whatever's necessary to cool him off. The gringos can stay until he is well enough to say goodbye to them. Then put them in the coach and have someone drive them to San Diego."

"What do you mean?" Scott stared at the older man. "Johnny isn't staying here!"

"He is my grandson, my only remaining grandson, and he will stay here for now."

"He will like hell." Murdoch was furious. "He's my son."

"You have two sons. If Juan stays and promises he will not make any trouble about it, you and your other son may go. If not, none of you will reach your rancho."

"You already agreed we could leave," Scott protested. "You promised Johnny when he surrendered."

"I agreed to provide safe passage to the border for you and your father. Who can say what might happen after you cross it? And I did not agree that Juan could leave."

Murdoch scowled. "His name is John, not Juan."

"It will be Juan here," Don Andreas said.

***

Johnny rubbed his wrists when Carillo cut the rope. He looked at his father and brother vaguely.

Murdoch hurried over and reached out to steady him on his feet. Johnny's face was flushed and his eyes didn't focus. "Let's get you into the shade. You've got a touch of sun fever."

"He would be better indoors. This way," Carillo said. Murdoch and Jarrod steered Johnny toward the adobe building he indicated.

Scott joined them after a few minutes. Murdoch could tell he was seething, and wondered if Don Andreas had said any more, but Scott just shook his head and turned his attention to his brother.

Johnny had dunked his head in a horse trough outside the barn. Then he climbed all the way into the trough. He was dripping wet, but slightly more alert.

It was much cooler inside the thick-walled barn. Johnny sank down on some hay bales near the open doors. "Are you all right?" Scott demanded, leaning over him.

"Yeah. Just give me a minute." Johnny lay back and put his arm over his eyes.

"I'll get some dry clothes," Carillo offered. "You should try to get him to drink some more water. There is salt in the tack room, through there."

"Wait," Murdoch said. "This isn't settled. Tell Don Andreas we're not finished talking."

"I believe Don Andreas has said all that he intends to say to you, Senor."

***

"He can't get away with it," Scott said an hour later.

"He can get away with just about anything here." Johnny rubbed his eyes wearily. He still had a lingering headache and would have liked to sleep awhile longer, but Carillo had returned to the barn with the message that the patron wished to speak to his grandson now. "It's not like the States, Scott."

"Johnny, any promise you make under duress doesn't count. Isn't that right, Jarrod?"

"Don't matter what the law says," Johnny drawled softly before the lawyer could answer. "I don't give my word unless I'm going to keep it."

"Then don't give it," Scott shot back. "I mean it, Johnny. I don't want to go back to Lancer without you."

Johnny stood up. "No sense in all of us being stuck here. Besides, somebody has to look after my share of the place. You're not mad just 'cause you'll have to do my chores for a while, are you?"

"This isn't funny, Johnny."

"Ain't so bad either," Johnny said. "Maybe I can get my hands on some of those Andalusians."

"You don't want to stay here, do you?" Scott's eyes searched his brother's. "I mean, I assumed - but he is your grandfather."

Johnny sighed. "It don't matter what I want. He's holding all the aces. Makes more sense to fold and wait for another hand than to lose everything."

"He's right, Scott," Jarrod said.

Johnny could still hear his brother arguing with Jarrod when he followed Carillo to the house. The segundo opened the door into a tiled foyer and indicated another paneled door.

"Your abuelo is in his library. I will wait here for you."

Johnny looked at the door and then looked around the foyer, taking his time.

"It is not good to keep him waiting."

"No?" Johnny stopped in front of a portrait of a dark-haired woman with two small children, a girl and a boy. "Who's she?"

"That was your abuela, Dona Elena, with your mama and your tio, Alejo."

"She dead?"

"Many years ago, yes. And Alejo as well."

"So there's just Don Andreas and Mama left in the family?"

"And you, Senor."

"And me." Johnny looked at another painting, this one of a man in a fancy uniform. "Who's he?"

"Your great-grandfather. You should go inside the library, Senor."

"Johnny will do," Johnny said.

"Senor Johnny, do not make him angry, please. You will regret it."

Johnny grinned. "He may regret it too. And it's just Johnny."

"Your grandfather will call you Juan."

"Isn't my name," Johnny said.

"It is the same thing, no? And I heard your mother call you Juanito."

"Yeah, but nobody else better," Johnny warned. "I can't hit my mama."

The segundo smiled. "I will remember that, Johnny. Now, please. Go and speak to your grandfather."

***

The desk was even bigger than Murdoch's. And the room had two walls full of bookshelves. A big globe stood near the shelves, and Johnny paused to spin it. Scott had shown him a globe in San Francisco, at a fancy place called a reading room that he insisted on visiting. Johnny had never seen one before and he was fascinated.

"Never mind the globe," Don Andreas said. "Come and sit down."

Johnny put his hands in his pockets and looked the room over, just as he'd looked over the foyer. There were windows all along one wall, opening into an inner courtyard. Another fountain splashed outside the arched windows. This one was even more elaborate than the one he'd dynamited.

Don Andreas's desk was set at a right angle to the windows. Behind him, there were more bookshelves. The fireplace was on the opposite wall and there was a painting over it. Johnny went to look at it. It was the same woman from the painting in the foyer, only she was alone and younger. She looked something like Mama.

"Juan," Don Andreas said. "I realize your mother did not bring you up properly, but I assure you that I will teach you manners, one way or another. Your life here can be easy or it can be difficult, depending on how quickly you learn."

Johnny turned away from the portrait. He still didn't move toward the chair his grandfather had indicated. "Not used to doing anything the easy way."

"No?" Don Andreas gave him a thin smile. "Then suppose I give you a demonstration of how much better it can be. Do you think you can sit down in that chair, as I told you, or will I be required to tell my segundo to give five lashes to your half brother, as a parting gift from his hermano?"

Chapter 20

Johnny sat. He folded his arms across his chest, wishing he had his gun. No, he supposed he couldn't shoot the old bastard in cold blood, at least, not fatally. The bastard was his own grandfather.

That was still a strange idea. Mama always said she was an orphan. All the time they'd been living in one rat hole after another, this place was waiting for her. Course, so was Lancer.

Dios, he really did get too much sun today. This wasn't the time to wonder about Mama and why she did what she did. He pulled his thoughts back and focused on Don Andreas.

"I'm sitting. What do you want?"

"You are insolent," Don Andreas said.

"That's too damn bad. What do you want?"

"You are my grandson, the last of the Mariano blood. You will take your place here on the estancia and learn what that means. Once you have settled in, I will find a suitable young woman of good family for you to marry and your children will be born here."

Johnny gave him an incredulous look. "You looking for a grandson or a stud?"

Don Andreas ignored the remark. "As I said, I realize you were not brought up properly. You will nevertheless treat me with courtesy and show the proper respect whenever anyone else is present."

"Or what?"

Don Andreas smiled again, but his smile didn't show in his eyes. They were as cold and flat as any gunfighter's. "At least you are not stupid. In exchange for your cooperation, I will release your father and half brother and they can return to their rancho. If you do not continue to cooperate, you will find that my reach extends as far as California. One or both of them will suffer unfortunate accidents."

Johnny considered it. He took his time, although he already knew the answer. He didn't have any choice. He sure as hell wasn't going to let this bastard take it out on Murdoch or Scott. This was his problem, not theirs.

Don Andreas didn't appear to be in any hurry for an answer. He sat tranquilly at his desk, his hands folded.

Johnny was curious about something. "Why don't you just get married again and have another kid? You're not too old, are you?"

Don Andreas frowned. "I am not too old to enjoy a woman, no. And I considered this last night. But I am sixty-two years old. It will take too long to raise another son."

"So that's why you decided to pay off the federales?"

"I did not pay the federales." Don Andreas rose to his feet and poured drinks into two glasses. He handed one to Johnny and returned to his own chair.

"You must have." Johnny took a small sip. It was some kind of brandy, like Murdoch and Scott drank sometimes at home after they finished supper.

"I made a bet with the captain," Don Andreas said. "He was sure he couldn't lose."

"What did you bet?"

"I bet the captain that you would remain calm and not look away from the firing squad, even when the order was given to fire. If I won, he agreed to release you to my custody and leave. If he had won, they would have completed the execution and I would have paid him $5,000."

Johnny was silent. He took another sip.

"I have no use for a coward," Don Andreas said. "I needed to know if you are truly a Mariano."

"I'm a Lancer."

"You are not a fool." Don Andreas leaned back in his leather chair. "I have as much land as your father, and more. You can live a good life here, and your father and brother will be safe. All you need to do is give me your word, and Carillo will take them back to San Diego. If you insist, I won't even object if they visit here again later on."

The drink was adding to Johnny's headache. He played with the glass, tracing it with one finger. "You forgetting that I'm still wanted in Mexico? Your bet don't change that."

Don Andreas waved his hand grandly. "It may take some time, but I will take care of it. For now, you are safe here on the estancia."

Johnny knew enough about the power of the hacienderos and the corruption in the government to believe him. Money could buy just about anything. He sighed and put the glass down. "Yeah. OK."

"You are agreeing to my terms? And you will give me your word?"

"Yes," Johnny said.

***

The sun was setting when the carriage rolled past the gatehouse. Johnny was still standing by himself, his hands shoved in his pockets.

Scott leaned out the window, watching his brother until they went around a curve and the hacienda disappeared.

They hadn't seen Don Andreas again, just Johnny, the segundo and some vaqueros. Carillo and a dozen vaqueros were escorting the carriage to San Diego.

It nearly had another passenger, in addition to the Lancers and Jarrod. Carillo told them that Don Andreas was willing to allow Dona Maria to leave with them if Murdoch wished. She was, after all, his wife.

Scott was afraid that Murdoch was going to burst a blood vessel. His face had turned a shade between red and purple.

"No!" he said curtly. "Tell him he can go straight to hell, and take his damn daughter with him."

"As you wish, Senor," Carillo said.

Scott wasn't so sure it was the right answer. She could provide them with information about her father and the estancia they might be able to use to get Johnny back.

"I wouldn't trust a word she says," Murdoch said when he ventured to suggest it. "No, Scott. She's not coming with us and that's final."

Father Barnabas had decided to stay behind. They were going to bury Alejandro on the estancia, and he wanted to conduct the service for the boy. He promised he would keep an eye on Johnny for as long as he could.

Johnny hadn't had much to say. None of them did. Jarrod had shaken hands with Johnny and climbed into the carriage to give them some time alone. Murdoch had hesitated before he folded his younger son into a bear hug, something Scott didn't think he had ever done before. He said something Scott couldn't hear to the top of Johnny's head before he released him and climbed into the carriage after Jarrod.

Johnny looked nearly as dazed as he had that morning. Scott cuffed him gently. "We're going to find a way to get you home, brother. You're not getting out of your chores forever."

Johnny just nodded. Scott put his hand on Johnny's shoulder. "Try to stay out of trouble."

"Yeah. You too, Boston."

Scott nodded and got into the carriage quickly before he embarrassed both of them.

Chapter 21

Johnny slept later than usual in the morning. He rolled over in the big bed, puzzled for a moment by the strange room. Then he remembered and let his head drop back on the pillows.

Eventually, he climbed out of bed and wandered to the windows. They looked out on the courtyard with the fancy fountain.

The long sleep had taken away his headache and he felt like himself again. He pulled on some clothes and ran his hands through his hair, wondering where the outhouse was. He didn't think Don Andreas would appreciate it if he peed in the fountain. He was smiling at the idea when he opened the door and looked down a long, empty hall. He thought he heard voices somewhere but didn't see anyone.

He came, eventually, to a large, busy kitchen and someone gave him directions. When he returned, he set out to charm the cook. She shook her spoon at him, and his mood dimmed at the reminder of the Lancer housekeeper, but he was soon sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and a heaping plate. He tucked into the food hungrily. He hadn't eaten anything yesterday, now that he thought of it. The last meal he remembered was breakfast in the hotel the previous day, before he and Murdoch went to look at the Andalusians.

The cook beamed at him when he polished off the last bite and offered him more, but he shook his head and drained his coffee cup. "Gracias," he said, offering her his best smile and a few extravagant compliments. She laughed and gave him a smack on the head, but she also sent him off with another warm churro, dusted with cinnamon, in a napkin.

The place seemed to be deserted. He finished his churro, licking the cinnamon off his fingers, and wandered around for a time, trying to get his bearings. It was even bigger than the hacienda at Lancer, and more formal. He peeked into a huge salon with dark, heavy furniture and looked at the paintings on its walls, but he didn't know who the people were and there was no one to ask. There was a dining room with a long table, big enough to seat thirty people. The library was empty. He located his room again, shaved with a razor he found on the dresser, and tucked his shirt in properly before he went exploring again.

He finally found Carillo in the barn and was ridiculously pleased to see a face he knew. He gave himself a mental shake. Carillo was his grandfather's second-in-command, not a friend, and he better remember it.

The segundo smiled and wished him a good morning. "I did not expect to see you today."

"Why not?"

"Your grandfather thought you might need to rest. It can take a few days to get over sun fever."

Johnny patted an old bay mare standing in one of the boxes. She looked well cared for, despite the fact that she was far too old to produce any more foals. She nuzzled him affectionately, clearly expecting a treat.

"She is spoiled, that one," Carillo said. "But she deserves it. She has given us many of our finest horses. That stallion you rode in San Diego is her grandson."

"Yeah?" Johnny looked at the mare with more interest. "Is he around?"

"He is in one of the pastures. Don Andreas intends to use him as a stud colt, not for riding."

"We got something in common then," Johnny muttered. Carillo's mouth twitched, but he didn't comment. He turned his attention back to the bridle he was mending.

"Where is everyone?" Johnny asked after a few minutes.

"They're still at the church in the village," Carillo said. "The padre is saying the Mass for Alejandro. They'll bring him back here to the family cemetery. It is too far to take him to his father's estancia."

"Oh." Johnny rubbed the toe of his boot on the floor. "How come you didn't go too?"

"I intended to go and pay my respects, of course. But a matter here required my attention. One of the mares had colic."

"Did she make it?"

"Si, she is doing much better now. Don Andreas will be pleased. She is a fine horse, and he would not want to lose her." Carillo lifted his head, listening. "They are back now."

Johnny trailed after him to the door of the barn as the carriages came through the entrance.

Don Luis wore a sling on his arm. His face darkened when he saw Johnny and he took a step toward him, but the padre whispered something to him and he turned away as the pallbearers unloaded a small casket.

Don Andreas helped Maria down from the next carriage and followed his son-in-law toward a chapel on the far side of the yard.

"You've made an enemy there," Carillo said.

"He can't be too happy with you either," Johnny said. "Um, I didn't thank you for what you did yesterday."

"It is not necessary. It is my job to protect the patron's interests."

Johnny glanced at him. "Thanks anyway."

Carillo nodded. "You are welcome." His teeth gleamed. "Just try not to make my job too difficult, nino."

***

Murdoch refused, at first, to leave San Diego. He paced the sitting room in their hotel suite. "He won't be twenty-one until December and he's my son. Why can't we just go to court and force Don Andreas to turn Johnny over?"

"I'm afraid he'll be twenty-one by the time it's settled," Jarrod said. "Besides, well, I'm not sure it's such a good idea to bring any attention to Johnny in a Mexican court. Whatever kind of deal Don Andreas made with that captain, he's still wanted there."

Murdoch looked sick. "What if they go after him again?"

"That's not likely, not while he's under his grandfather's protection," Jarrod said.

"Are you saying there's nothing we can do? I can't accept that."

Jarrod sighed. "I don't like it either. But for now, it may be the best course. I'll talk to a few people and see if they have any ideas, or can bring any pressure to bear on Don Andreas, but from everything I've heard about him, that's not going to be easy."

Scott listened to both of them wearily. They had been going back and forth over the same ground for more than an hour. Jarrod's voice was still patient, but Murdoch seemed to be getting even more frustrated.

It had been late when they arrived in San Diego last night and they'd gone to bed, although Scott was sure his father hadn't slept any better than he had.

Murdoch was already up, and a waiter was delivering breakfast, when Scott emerged from the room he had been sharing with Johnny. Scott managed to persuade his father not to wake Jarrod at five-thirty in the morning, but he'd been relieved when the lawyer joined them at six.

Scott reached forward and poured more coffee. "What if we went in and took him? We could create a diversion, and get Johnny while his grandfather's men are dealing with that."

"It's a good way to get him killed," Jarrod said bluntly. "Scott, that place is well-guarded. I had no idea, but I talked to one of the federales after they picked us up. He told me they wouldn't go in without an invitation, not even with sixty men. There's no way you're going to find enough men you can trust to raid it. You won't even make it past the boundary lines, let alone to the hacienda."

Scott chewed that over unhappily. "Jarrod, do you think it serves any purpose for us to stay here in San Diego?"

The lawyer sighed. "No. I'm afraid not. It would be better if you went home to Lancer. At least there, Don Andreas won't know every move you make. He has too many connections here."

"I'm not giving up on Johnny," Murdoch said stubbornly.

"I hope you're not suggesting that I am." Scott glared at his father, who was still on his feet. He sighed and lowered his voice. "Neither of us is giving up on Johnny. But he wouldn't want us to give up on Lancer either. He told us to take care of his share, remember?"

"Cipriano can look after things at the ranch."

"It's not the same. Sir, if there were anything we could do here, anything at all, I'd be the first to say we should stay. But it doesn't appear there is. And if Johnny does get away, he'll expect to find us at Lancer, not here."

Murdoch wavered. "He may need help."

"He's not going to look for it in San Diego, sir. You don't really think he's going to get on a steamer again, do you, especially if someone is chasing after him?"

Murdoch bit his lip. "No," he finally conceded.

"Let's go home, sir, and let Jarrod work on this. It's the best we can do."

Chapter 22

Val Crawford listened to the story, his stubbled face unreadable. Scott's face burned. The scruffy sheriff hadn't said much, but Scott could just imagine what he was thinking. Scott couldn't blame him, either. They never should have let Johnny swap his freedom for theirs. They should have stayed together, no matter what.

Finally, Val dropped his feet from the desk and straightened out his swivel chair. He unpinned his badge and dropped it in the drawer. His keys followed.

"What are you doing?"

"Quitting. I could be away awhile." Val moved into the back room and stuffed a shirt and some socks into his saddlebags, even though they looked more like candidates for the ragbag.

"Where are you going?"

Val added a few boxes of ammunition to the saddlebags and took an immaculate rifle from the rack over the unmade bed. "Mexico."

Scott's face brightened. "You think we can get Johnny away from his grandfather's ranch? I'll go with you."

Val shook his head. "Unh-uh. You know better than that, from what you told me."

"Then why are you going to Mexico?"

"I can watch his back," Val said. "You can't. Even if the don didn't know you, you'd stick out like a sore thumb on the border. I won't."

***

Don Andreas sorted through the mail, his face tightening at the sight of a postmark from California. It was the gringo half brother again. By now, he knew that handwriting.

The letters arrived every week from California. Mostly, they came from the brother, but also the father and the foster sister.

He was tempted to tear the letter into bits and drop it in the wastebasket. These letters didn't make Juan happy.

Of course, nothing seemed to make the young man happy, other than irritating his grandfather and the time he spent with the horses.

Don Andreas frowned. He'd watched with secret pride as his grandson worked his horses, even the most intractable, like the young stallion. But that pride was mixed with growing fear that Johnny would break his neck.

If not for the price on the boy's head, Don Andreas would be tempted to take him to Mexico City for a time, away from the ranch.

His scowl grew. It was taking longer than it should to clear up that matter, and he detected his former son-in-law's hand. Perhaps he should visit Mexico City himself and deal with this in person.

The front door slammed and he heard spurs jingle as a now-familiar step crossed the foyer.

Johnny stuck his head in the door without knocking. "Any mail for me?"

"Good afternoon," Don Andreas said dryly. He looked Johnny over, noting the torn shirt and the grass stains. He had taken another fall, although he seemed to be all right. The week before, the stallion had thrown him into the rails of the training corral, knocking him out cold. Don Andreas would not soon forget the terror of watching as the vaqueros carried his grandson on a stretcher to the house.

Johnny poured a shot of tequila and tossed it down without responding. He poured another and perched on the arm of a chair instead of sitting down properly. He had tracked mud across the priceless Persian carpet. He also smelled, a pungent mixture of sweat and horses.

"I trust you told someone to draw a bath for you?"

"I can get my own bath." Johnny's mouth curved. "Too bad I blew up that fountain in the yard. Can see where it would come in handy."

"The servants will prepare your bath," Don Andreas said sharply. "That is why they are here."

"I can do it." Johnny's eyes slid over him, and then flickered toward the fountain in the inner courtyard.

Don Andreas made the effort to control his temper. He knew, by now, that the boy was baiting him deliberately and wanted him to explode. They had played the game for weeks and Johnny had won most of the preliminary skirmishes.

This time, though, Johnny seemed to tire of the duel far too quickly. "Any mail?"

Don Andreas hesitated before he held out the envelope. Johnny took it and headed for the door.

Don Andreas pressed his lips together, and made up his mind. He would go to Mexico City.

***

Carillo noticed the gringo in the cantina right away and looked him over carefully. He appeared to be nothing more than a drifter. He slouched by himself at a table, a glass of beer in his hand.

Johnny had noticed him too, as he noticed every stranger, but showed no interest. He was already at the bar, flirting with the prettiest girl in the place.

Carillo sighed. The patron had assigned him to keep an eye on Johnny, but he was beginning to think this was a job for a younger man. If his son were home, he might trust him. Then again, he might worry even more about how much trouble the two of them could get into together. Jaime was only a few years older than Johnny. They hadn't met yet, but Jaime should be back soon from a trip to Chihuahua to deliver some horses.

The segundo chose a table near the stranger, settling down for a long evening. Johnny soon disappeared with the senorita, just as he expected. Carillo's mouth turned up and he shook his head, marveling over the energy of youth.

The stranger finished his beer and ordered another. Some of the vaqueros from the ranch were playing cards, and the gringo watched the game idly.

Carillo wondered what he was doing in the village. Few strangers passed through. This one looked harmless enough, just another down-on-his-luck Americano drifting along the border, but something niggled at him.

He asked the proprietor when Senor Cortez brought him more cerveza. "He got a ride into town from a farmer," Cortez reported. "He was on foot, on the road from the south."

"On foot?"

"Si." Cortez wiped his hands on his apron. "He said someone stole his horse. Is there a problem, Senor Carillo? He rented one of my rooms."

"No, no problem." Carillo took a sip of his beer. A man who could not manage to keep his horse was a fool. "I just wondered."

The gringo had joined the game by the time Johnny reappeared. He didn't look up from his cards when Johnny crossed the room, spurs jingling, and straddled a chair next to Carillo.

"You're looking tired," Johnny said, a wicked sparkle in his eyes. "Hope I'm not keeping you up."

"You are the one who should look tired." Carillo tried to make his voice stern and failed. "Are you ready to return to the hacienda now? Some of us must be up before sunrise to attend Mass."

Johnny's smile flashed. "I'll be up. Just not at Mass."

"It would please your grandfather."

That smile flashed again, even brighter. "Definitely won't go then."

Carillo shook his head. "Is what he has done so wrong, Johnny? It isn't a bad life he's giving you."

"Got my own life," Johnny said.

"He is your grandfather."

"Murdoch's my father." Johnny's voice was quiet, and there was no laughter at all in his blue eyes.

Carillo sighed. He had no answer to that. It was true. "You understand, I don't disagree with the patron. I am glad to have you here on the estancia."

"But you wouldn't have done it the way he did."

"I don't know," the segundo said slowly. "He only did what he thought he must."

Johnny glanced at him and stood up. "Yeah. Me too."

***

Father Barnabas peered over the altar. Don Andreas sat alone in the front. Johnny had yet to make an appearance at Mass, with or without his grandfather. Barnabas had expostulated, but the young man wouldn't listen. He had just laughed when the priest warned that his soul was in jeopardy.

"There's a lot worse things a man can do than missing Mass," Johnny pointed out. "And I already done most of them, Padre."

"All the more reason to make your peace with God, my boy," Barnabas said, but Johnny shook his head and couldn't be budged.

By now, Barnabas knew most of the others who knelt in the simple wooden pews. The village wasn't large, no more than a few dozen houses, the church, the stable, store and cantina. All of it, even the church itself, stood on Mariano land.

Don Andreas was a good landlord, as landlords go. He expected absolute loyalty and obedience, but didn't shirk his responsibilities to the sick or aged. The village was poor and life was hard for many of its inhabitants, but Barnabas didn't see the hopeless misery he had seen in too many Mexican villages.

He was surprised to see a gringo in the back of the congregation this morning. He had a shock of brown hair that stuck up in all directions, and his clothes hung from a thin, gangling frame. He seemed vaguely familiar, and Barnabas tried, even as he led the litany, to remember where he'd seen the man before.

The gringo had already slipped away by the time Barnabas worked his way to the back of the church after Mass. The priest caught a glimpse of his back, disappearing into the cantina.

"Do you know him?" Don Andreas asked, following the priest's eyes.

Barnabas silently appealed to God for forgiveness. He was about to sin. "No."

Chapter 23

Maria made her first appearance at dinner the night after Don Andreas departed for Mexico City.

Johnny, already seated at the long dining room table, raised his eyebrows. He knew, from the kitchen staff's chatter, that Mama had collapsed theatrically at Alejandro's burial. She had not left her rooms in the weeks since. The doctor said she was sick with grief over her son, and it was out of the question for her to travel to the convent. Don Andreas had shrugged and left her alone for the time being. Johnny hadn't seen her at all. He wasn't sure he wanted to see her.

She didn't look sick or even sad. She poised in the doorway and seemed to be waiting impatiently for something. Johnny looked at the servant at the sideboard, ready to serve the soup, and remembered Scott and Murdoch always stood when a lady entered the room. He got to his feet, and Mama bestowed a smile on him.

He pulled out a chair for her and the servant brought another place setting. Mama waved a hand grandly to dismiss the woman after she ladled soup into their bowls.

Johnny concentrated on his soup. He didn't know what to say to Mama. She was as beautiful as he remembered. He stole a glance and found that she was looking at him too.

"Juanito." Her voice was a little husky. "You have grown so much, mijo. But I would know you anywhere."

Johnny swallowed a spoonful of soup. There was a time in his life when he would have given anything at all to see his mama again, but it was a long time ago. He wasn't still a heartbroken child. He hadn't been a child for years, not since those first, terrifying months of living on the streets, entirely on his own. He pushed away those memories, and stirred his spoon in the cooling soup.

"Juanito," she said again. "You are angry with me."

He looked up at that. He might as well ask, even if he couldn't trust a word she said. "Why, Mama?"

She gazed at him, her eyes big. Tears brimmed up. "I thought you were dead, nino."

Johnny shook his head. "Not that. Why'd you leave Lancer? And why did you take me - and lie about Murdoch?"

Her eyes shifted under his gaze. "Did he tell you that I lied?"

"He told me he loved you." Johnny kept his eyes on her. "He didn't kick us out, like you said, 'cause he was ashamed of me. You're the one who left him."

"It was so long ago." She looked down into her bowl. "Does it matter any more, what happened? We are together again now, and that is what is important, yes?"

"No."

"Juanito," she coaxed. "I am your mother. I did what I thought was best, always. I could not stay with Murdoch, and I could not leave you, mijo."

"You did leave me." He tried to keep the hurt out of his voice and knew he didn't succeed, not entirely. Mierda. He stamped down that old misery and composed his face. He wasn't going to show her that she had hurt him. It wasn't smart to let anyone see you were hurt. Hadn't he learned that lesson years ago, and hadn't it helped to keep him alive?

"I never meant to leave you," she insisted. "I didn't know where you were, Juanito, or what had happened. All I knew was that Carlos was dead, that pig, and you were gone. What could I do?"

He didn't answer. After a moment, Maria touched the bell and the servant appeared again to take away the soup and serve the next course.

***

Maria watched her son play with his food, moving it around on the plate without eating much of it. She was hungry after weeks of pretending to toy with broth and other sickroom fare, and did full justice to her own meal.

Johnny was so much older, practically a stranger to her except that he looked like her dead brother. She wondered what her father made of that, and smiled to herself. Papa had always thought the sun rose and set around his precious Alejo. It must have given him a shock when he saw her son, and realized what he had missed. It served him right. He had always favored Alejo, just because Alejo was a boy. Well, she had shown him before and she would show him again. She wouldn't let Papa have Johnny now any more than she would before. Johnny belonged to her. He might be a little angry with her, but she was sure she could win him back.

She finished her last mouthful and set her fork and knife across the plate, reaching for her glass of wine. Johnny had barely touched his glass.

He had grown into a handsome young man, she thought. Those sea blue eyes had caused so much trouble on the border when he was small, but she could see how a woman could drown in them now. He didn't look anything at all like Murdoch, to her satisfaction. Well, perhaps, that hint of obstinacy in his mouth and chin came from his father, but it must be clear to anyone who looked at him that Johnny was her son. It certainly must have been clear to Murdoch when he finally saw Johnny.

She let her smile show on her face this time. Johnny looked up and caught it, but he didn't smile back.

She felt her first misgiving, looking into that cool expression. He had grown into a pistolero, she remembered, and a famous one.

He had been quick when he disarmed Carillo and locked him in the cell, quick and dangerous. But up on the roof, when he was throwing dynamite so carelessly, his eyes had sparkled with the impish mischief she remembered. He certainly wasn't afraid of his grandfather, which was good.

"Juanito," she said sweetly. "You should eat your dinner. It is good and you are too thin."

"Think so?" He put his fork down and took a sip of wine. "I weigh more than I did when I went to Lancer. Don't remember ever eating so regular before."

"You don't remember that I used to cook for you?"

His eyes were innocent, just as they used to be. "Sure, Mama. I remember you used to cook sometimes when I was little. Not so much the last few years, though. Mostly I swiped food for you, remember, as soon as I got big enough? Even landed in jail for it a few times, or got a beating, or both. That's how you met Carlos before he quit the rurales. He beat the shit out of me for stealing some bread. You came looking to find out why I hadn't brought you any supper and you spent the night in jail too, screwing him and a couple of his friends and drinking their tequila."

The servant was standing in the doorway with the coffee tray, her eyes wide and her mouth open. Maria shot a dark look in that direction, and the maid fled back to the kitchen.

Now her son smiled at her, a cocky grin she wanted to slap off his handsome face. This might not be so easy.

Maria stood abruptly. "I feel faint," she announced, pressing a hand to her chest. "I shouldn't have left my rooms so soon."

"Probably not," Johnny agreed, not moving to help her. "You probably should've stayed right there, Mama, unless you're in a hurry to go to that convent. Your old man told his segundo not to wait until he gets back if you got any better. Carillo will probably want to pack you up tomorrow morning, once he hears you're on your feet again."

She swayed and dropped to the floor. That little bastard didn't even try to catch her.

Chapter 24

Scott wandered outside after supper, unable to sit through another long, silent evening in the great room. It had been more than a month now since they returned home.

They'd heard from Johnny, even if it was only a few scrawled lines. He was all right, or had been two weeks ago. Johnny's letters didn't say much. He didn't like to talk about himself, let alone write down anything. Scott had filled pages with descriptions of everything that had happened on Lancer, from the success of the fall roundup to the contretemps when the minister's sister-in-law called one afternoon when no one was home, and Jelly's goose chased her across the yard. She'd taken shelter in the henhouse, the one with the faulty door latch that Johnny was supposed to fix before they left for San Diego. And she couldn't get out again, not until Teresa finally returned hours later. Unfortunately, while she waited, she had chosen to sit on a box that concealed a rotten egg, and her weight had cracked it.

Johnny would have loved that story if he were home. And Scott would have enjoyed it more if he could laugh about it with his little brother.

He missed Johnny more than he would ever have dreamed possible a few months ago. The house seemed empty, all the life drained out of it. Murdoch was grouchy and nothing could cheer him up. Teresa tried not to show it, but she had lost some of her usual sunshiny good spirits. Scott had found her in tears one morning in Johnny's room, kept ready and waiting for him. It was tidier than it ever was when Johnny was home. It usually looked like a storm had blown through, scattering boots and clothing, but now the quilt on the bed was perfectly smooth and everything was neatly put away where it belonged.

Scott heaved out a sigh. They hadn't heard much from Johnny, and nothing at all from Val. Just waiting for something to happen was getting on Scott's nerves. He wanted to do something, if only there were something he could do.

Jarrod Barkley had been busy, but he hadn't made any progress, either through official or unofficial channels. The Mexican authorities would not interfere. Jarrod's mother had written to Don Andreas, and had even paid a visit to him at his house in San Diego, but he was adamant. His grandson was where he belonged, and the don would not release him from his promise to stay there.

Victoria hadn't seen Johnny. Don Andreas said he didn't wish Johnny to leave the estancia, not until he succeeded in clearing up his legal difficulties. He was well and settling into his new home, or so Don Andreas said. Scott didn't believe it for a minute. Johnny was far too restless to settle down meekly, especially when it wasn't his own choice.

He'd had trouble settling down at Lancer. He didn't have a choice there either, not at first, but that was different. Scott had come to think it was, well, not fortunate, but for the best that Johnny was too badly wounded in the battle for the ranch to ride away afterward. It had given them all some time to get to know each other.

By the time Johnny did have a choice about staying or going, he knew his father did care, in his own dour way. The two of them were too stubborn and too proud to get along without arguments. But when Johnny was hurt, Murdoch had been like a bear guarding a cub. Teresa had already cracked Johnny's belief in his mother's story. Murdoch shattered it, even if the two of them hadn't succeeded yet in clearing away all the sharp fragments.

They needed more time, time Don Andreas had stolen from them. Scott scowled. It wasn't lost on him that his own grandfather had done something similar. Harlan Garrett and Don Andreas Mariano had more in common than either of them would ever admit.

***

"Scott? Are you here?" It was Teresa's voice. He turned and saw her standing on the terrace, at the edge of the light that spilled through the French windows. She gave him a tremulous smile when he moved out of the shadows.

"You shouldn't be out here, Teresa. It's getting cold."

She wrapped her shawl more securely around her shoulders. "It's not so bad."

They both fell silent, just listening to the night's noises. A coyote howled somewhere in the darkness, a lonely sound. There was no moon, or even any glimmer of stars. A heavy cloud cover had settled over the valley as the days got shorter, and the winter rains would come soon. The winter brought rain here, not snow. The work would slow down and Scott had thought maybe they would finally find the time to talk. They still had a lot to talk about, the three of them. Only, now, he didn't see that happening. With Johnny gone, he and Murdoch were farther apart, not closer. The rancher had withdrawn behind a shell Scott couldn't crack. Johnny could. Johnny could always get a reaction from their father, even if it was an outraged bellow.

"At least it's warm in Mexico," Teresa said, pulling Scott's drifting thoughts back to her. "Johnny doesn't like the cold. If he were here, you know he'd be complaining about it."

"Probably," Scott agreed. If Johnny were here, he'd be basking like a cat on the rug in front of the fire - provided, of course, that he hadn't argued with Murdoch and stormed outside.

"I miss him." Teresa's voice was small, and held the threat of more tears. Scott hesitated for a moment, and took her hand, something Johnny was usually more comfortable doing than he. Scott's grandfather had never been one for hugs, or even for holding a small boy's hand. He brought up his grandson to maintain a proper distance, physically and emotionally.

Johnny had fewer inhibitions, although Scott had noticed that he flinched away from physical contact with older men, like Murdoch or the doctor, and supposed it had something to do with his mother's men. Johnny wouldn't talk much about his childhood, but he'd let some of it slip while in the grips of fever and they'd all seen the faded marks of old beatings on his back.

Johnny and Teresa frequently squabbled like children, but the affection between them was obvious. Scott had wondered about it, and had even asked Johnny if he did think of her as a sister. Johnny had given him a blank look.

"How else would I think of her?"

"Well, she's a pretty girl," Scott said cautiously. "A young woman, even."

Johnny had grinned at him. "There's plenty of pretty girls, Boston. I only have one little sister. You don't think Murdoch's gonna give us any more, do you?"

Scott was sure about Johnny. He wasn't so sure Teresa felt the same way, especially now.

"He'll be back." His voice was fierce and he tightened his grip on her small, warm hand. "Please, don't cry, Teresa. He'll find a way to come home to us."

She looked up, her eyes still too bright. "You really think so?"

"Of course," he lied.

Chapter 25

More than a month passed before Don Andreas returned to the ranch from Mexico City. He sent for Carillo right away, but listened absently to the segundo's usual report on ranch business.

When it was finished, his only question was about his grandson. "Has Juan behaved himself?"

"I have no complaints," Carillo said blandly.

"What about Maria? Is she still here?"

Carillo hesitated. "Si. She did have dinner one night with Senor Johnny, soon after you left. But she fainted in the dining room while they were talking and has not left her rooms since. El Medico still says she is not well enough to travel."

Don Andreas eyed him curiously. "Do you know what they talked about?"

Carillo doubted there was any adult on the ranch who hadn't heard some version of the maid's story. It had spread from the kitchen like wildfire. But he didn't want to tell Don Andreas. He didn't think the patron would be particularly surprised at this new evidence of his daughter's shamelessness. But it would serve no purpose except to cause him pain. Don Andreas already knew what his daughter was.

The patron smiled thinly. "Tell me, Enrique. If you don't, I will get it out of one of the house servants. I would rather hear it from you."

Carillo told him. The patron's face was expressionless and he didn't comment on the story. "I will speak to the doctor myself tomorrow," he said. "Send someone for him. And get the coach ready to leave the next morning."

Carillo nodded.

"She should have brought Johnny here to me when she left Lancer," Don Andreas said, more to himself than to the segundo.

Carillo noticed that the patron had called his grandson Johnny, not Juan, for the first time. That was a good sign and he ventured to ask a question.

"Your business in Mexico City, was it successful?"

Don Andreas sighed. "Yes." He reached for a paperweight and played with it. "Johnny no longer has a price on his head and the government has withdrawn the order to execute him. Don Julio Vasquez agreed to drop all the charges against him."

Carillo smiled, relieved. "That is good news, Patron."

"There's more," Don Andreas said, not looking up. "He will be married soon."

***

"No," Johnny said.

Don Andreas frowned at his grandson. "You will do as you are told."

"No," Johnny repeated. He was slouched in a chair across from Don Andreas's desk, perfectly relaxed. His tone wasn't angry or argumentative. It was definite.

"Juan," Don Andreas said sternly. "I am your grandfather, and it is your duty to obey me."

Johnny's eyes met his. "This wasn't part of the deal. I'm not marrying one of that cabron's daughters. They're all older than me anyway."

"You know them?"

"We've met." Johnny's jaw was set.

"Dona Magdalena-Angelica is Julio's youngest daughter," Don Andreas said. "She is only a few years older than you, and the best-looking of the sisters."

"No." Johnny crossed his arms. "It ain't going to happen."

"It is all arranged," Don Andreas said. "Don Julio and his family will arrive in a few weeks for the betrothal ceremony. The wedding will take place here too. The government has forgiven the charges against you, thanks to your new father-in-law, but we agreed it would be wise for you to stay on the estancia for now. It will take some time for the word to get out."

Johnny shook his head. "Unarrange it."

"It is too late for that. I have given my word."

Johnny got to his feet. "Marry her yourself then," he suggested. "I won't."

Don Andreas's eyes narrowed. "I told you I expected you to behave properly. And I also warned you that your father and brother would regret it if you do not."

Johnny moved. One moment, Don Andreas was sitting in his high-backed leather chair, glaring at his recalcitrant grandson. The next, Johnny had crossed the room, spun the chair around and pressed a knife against his throat.

"You ever threaten them again, and it will be the last thing you do." Johnny's voice was soft. For some reason that was more frightening than anything else. "Compendre?"

Don Andreas stared at him and at the knife. He nodded.

"Aloud," Johnny ordered.

"I understand," Don Andreas gasped, his voice strangled.

Johnny released him and Don Andreas put his hands to his bruised windpipe. He stared, dazed, at his grandson.

"Had time to do some thinking while you were away," Johnny said, his voice still calm. "If you were dead, I reckon I could go home. And you're going to be dead if anything at all happens to Murdoch or Scott. You're my grandfather, and I've done enough killing, but I promise I will kill you if you ever hurt them."

Don Andreas believed him.

***

Johnny slid his knife back in his boot and poured cognac for his grandfather.

The don looked shaken and, well, old, for the first time. Johnny felt a tinge of regret. If the man hadn't been so damn high-handed, he might have liked his abuelo. Not enough to stay, but enough to visit sometimes, maybe.

Johnny sat down again. "You and me, we need to talk. It's not such a bad idea for you to marry Dona Magdalena-Angelica." He grinned suddenly as something occurred to him. "Or maybe, if she's anything like her father, somebody else."

Don Andreas shook his head impatiently. "I told you, it will take too long to raise another son. I am too old."

"Maybe," Johnny conceded. "Maybe not. You worried that you'll die when he's still just a kid and he won't be able to hold onto the place?"

"It takes a man, not a child, to run the estancia."

"Reckon Carillo can run the estancia OK if anything happened to you," Johnny said. "Or his son."

Andreas shook his head. "They would do their best, but it is not enough. They know the cattle and the horses, yes, and they will defend the estancia with their lives but they will lose them."

"Not if I backed them up."

Don Andreas froze at the words. He was silent for a few moments, thinking it over. "You would do this?"

"Why not? The kid will be family."

"You could have it all for yourself."

"Don't want it," Johnny said. "Well, maybe a few of the horses. But I already have a ranch. Don't need this one."

Chapter 26

Val was slumped over his usual table in the cantina. He looked up when he heard spurs and watched as Johnny headed for the bar. The segundo and his son both trailed after him. One of them always did. Val hadn't exchanged more than a few words with Johnny in the last month.

They ordered beer and sat at a table in the opposite corner. Val went back to a game of solitaire.

After a while, he drained his glass and walked out the back door to pee. He was just unbuttoning his trousers when Johnny appeared next to him.

Val cocked one eyebrow at him. "Your minders letting you take a piss all by yourself? You must have been a real good boy lately."

Johnny rolled his eyes and said something rude. Val laughed.

"You OK, buddy?"

"Yeah, sure," Johnny said. "Listen, Val, my grandfather might get married soon."

"That right? Who's the lucky girl?"

"One of Don Julio Vasquez's daughters."

"Vasquez? That bastard!" Val concentrated for a few moments on what he was doing. "Is he coming here?"

"He should be here in a couple of weeks."

"Does he know about you?"

Johnny nodded. "Don Andreas got him to drop all the charges. The marriage was part of the deal they worked out."

Val whistled. "Vasquez hates your guts. Sure never thought he'd drop the charges or agree to marry one of his daughters into your family."

"Yeah. Uh, he thinks she's marrying me."

Val's eyes widened. "Hell, I know your grandfather's rich, but I didn't think there was that much money in the world."

"He may be planning something else."

"Makes sense. What do you want me to do? I have a couple of horses hidden close by. We could make a run for the border."

Johnny shook his head. "I can't. For now, just keep your eyes open."

Val sensed, rather than heard, movement behind them. Johnny obviously did too because he raised his voice. "Yeah, that sure was some storm," he said. "Never saw nothing like it."

"Johnny?" Jaime Carillo was standing in the doorway. "Is there a problem?"

"Nope, no problem," Johnny said. "We were just talking about the cyclone in Brownsville a few years back."

Jaime was diverted. "You were there?"

"Uh-huh." Johnny grinned at him. "Sure wished I wasn't. Place needed rain, but not that much all at once."

Val coughed into his hand and Jaime stiffened. "If you'll excuse us, Senor," he said to Val, pulling Johnny away from him. "My father is waiting for us."

***

"Johnny, you should stay away from that gringo," Jaime said, back inside the cantina. "He has the lung disease."

Johnny's eyes flickered up. "Where'd you hear that?"

"That's what the doctor told my father. Otherwise, Papa would have told him to move on."

"Did the doctor say it was bad?"

It was the wrong question. Johnny kicked himself as soon as he asked it, but for once Jaime didn't seem to notice. He just shrugged. "I don't know. Papa wondered why he was hanging around the village, but it makes sense if he's sick and can't work. He's been doing a few odd jobs at the mission and the padre let him have a room there, but mostly he just sits in the cantina all day."

They reached the table and Johnny picked up his glass of beer, taking a thirsty gulp. Carillo looked at both of them, lifting his brows at his son. Jaime shrugged again and Carillo relaxed a fraction.

Johnny stared into his glass. He already knew Val was sick, but hoped it hadn't gotten any worse. Val always had a cough, as long as he'd known him, and never seemed to gain a pound on his scrawny frame. The sickness didn't slow him down any; at least, it hadn't yet. Johnny knew that could change, and so did Val. That soft cough had become more frequent since he came to Green River and Johnny had finally dragged his friend to see Doc Jenkins.

Sam couldn't do much, not for lung sickness. He just told Val to take care of himself and gave him some tonic. Val went about his business, same as before, and told Johnny to mind his own damn business if he asked.

But Val was in Mexico, breathing the dry dust, to mind Johnny's business. He scowled. If Val was worse, it was on his account.

He realized Jaime had asked him a question and dragged his thoughts back. He liked both of the Carillos, but he didn't know how this was going to play out and there was no sense in showing any of his hand now.

"Yeah, he said he was from someplace near Brownsville," Johnny said when Jaime repeated the question. "Don't remember seeing him while I was there, but I was just passing through." He gave them a grin. "That storm blew me clear to Laredo, and I just kept riding. You ever seen a cyclone, either of you?"

***

Jelly Hoskins brought the envelope from town, along with the supplies, and took it upon himself to deliver it personally to the great room. Murdoch was at his desk, brooding over a ledger. Scott was dozing by the fire. He had a bad cold and was stuck indoors for the day. Teresa sat opposite him, working on some mending.

"There's a letter from Mexico, Boss," the handyman announced. No one invited him, but he stayed anyway to hear what it said.

Murdoch tore it open and immediately frowned.

"Is it from Johnny?" Scott sat up straight, pushing away the blanket Teresa had draped over his legs. "Is he all right?"

"He's fine," Murdoch said, puzzled. "It's a wedding invitation."

"What!" Scott got to his feet and crossed the room, anxious to see with his own eyes. It was an invitation card, written in a flowing script he didn't recognize. The envelope also held another sheet of paper, half covered with a familiar scrawl. Scott read it twice, not believing his eyes, and looked at the invitation card again.

"Is Johnny getting married?" Teresa looked from one of them to the other uncertainly.

"No," Scott said slowly. "Not Johnny. His grandfather is. And Murdoch and I are invited."

Chapter 27

A haze of cigar smoke rose from the terrace. She could hear the men's voices rumble, and drunken laughter. Magdalena's lip curled scornfully.

They were pigs, all of them. She stabbed at her needlework resentfully and looked across the room at her sisters. Papa had finally found a husband for Caterina. Now it was her turn from the sound of it.

She remembered the pistolero they were talking about. She had seen him in the village near her father's estancia in Sonora. He was better looking than any of the sons of her father's friends. Her elder sisters had noticed him, too. Serafina flirted with him shamelessly, but Serafina would flirt with anything in pants, even a pistolero who was at least ten years younger.

She jabbed her finger with the needle and popped it in her mouth. It didn't really matter if Madrid was handsome, not when he was poor. She was a Vasquez, and she wasn't stupid. She didn't intend to throw away a comfortable life for a dazzling smile. Besides, he had to be stupid - or loco - to side with those filthy peons. They couldn't win. Papa was furious when Madrid got away, and even more furious when Don Andreas Mariano claimed him as a long lost grandson.

Madrid wouldn't get away this time. Magdalena's smile spread across her face as she listened to the men talk. If their plan worked, Madrid and his grandfather would be dead and she would be rich, the new mistress of the Mariano fortune. And then, she just might have a surprise of her own for Papa.

***

"Don Luis is coming?" Johnny was pouring a shot of tequila but he paused when he heard that news.

"He is Julio's cousin," Don Andreas said. "And he has just married one of Julio's daughters, the second youngest."

"Didn't take long." Johnny felt a spark of resentment. He didn't know exactly what to think about his mother. She had clung to him tearfully before she climbed into the coach for the trip to the convent, and an old protectiveness surged through him, although he tried not to let it show on his face. She was his mama, and he guessed he still loved her. He also hated her. It confused him, and he didn't like the feeling.

Don Andreas gave him a sharp look. "Your mother deceived him."

"Yeah. I know." Johnny dropped into a chair, hooking one leg casually over its arm. He tossed down his drink and let himself sink deeper into the cushions. He'd spent the afternoon falling off some green horses and he needed a long, hot soak and another long, strong drink. He just didn't have enough energy right this minute to get either. His eyes started to slide shut, and he blinked, trying to keep them open.

"Johnny," Don Andreas said.

That didn't sound right. Johnny tried to think why.

Don Andreas was reading a book when he opened his eyes again. Johnny watched through lidded eyes, not moving and furious at himself. When did he start to get so comfortable here that he could just fall asleep in front of his grandfather, like some damn kid? Hell, he'd known better than to leave himself that vulnerable when he was a kid.

Those months at Lancer had turned him soft. When he was recovering from Day's bullet, he was so desperate to finally escape from his room that he let them help him down to the sofa in the great room. He didn't feel safe there, not exactly, but just couldn't keep his eyes open for long. And they had been careful not to startle him awake. It puzzled him, at first, and amused him.

By the time he felt better, he'd already slept so many hours on the sofa that it seemed foolish to worry about falling asleep there again.

But this wasn't Lancer, not by a long shot.

***

Don Andreas's mouth curved slightly. He knew Johnny was awake. He turned a page of his book, but watched his grandson covertly.

Maria should have brought Johnny home when she left Lancer. He understood it less every day. As she said, he would have been angry. But he doubted that he could have sent away a child who looked so much like his beloved son and daughter. Even if he did, it would be to a decent home, nothing like the life Johnny apparently led with Maria.

Elena was right. He had spoiled their children, both of them, but especially Maria. And Maria's sons had paid a terrible price.

He had allowed himself to hope Johnny would settle down on the estancia, but knew now it wasn't going to happen. He was stunned when Johnny turned on him. They had sparred, of course, and the boy had gone out of his way to irritate him. But Johnny had kept his promise, more or less, up until that moment when he pulled the knife. The older man had looked into Madrid's eyes and seen death there.

He was just as stunned when Johnny said he didn't want the estancia, but would look out for it. But Don Andreas trusted his word.

He stole another look at his grandson. He was a practical man, and would do what he must. It was no use to regret the past. He couldn't change it, not now. He needed to secure the future.

***

Don Luis looked up and down the hall and closed the door carefully. Don Andreas had put him in another set of rooms, not the ones he had always shared with Maria on previous visits to the hacienda. This time, he was in a different wing with his new bride, father-in-law and the rest of their family. He removed his tie and discarded it carelessly. "The betrothal ceremony went well. We will wait until after the marriage, of course, before we make our move."

"Of course." Don Julio accepted a glass of wine and held it up, gloating. "Magdalena will be a very rich widow."

"Only if your men follow orders and make sure they kill Madrid first," Luis warned. "You know the terms of Andreas's new will. He's left almost everything to Madrid if this marriage doesn't produce another son. Magdalena won't inherit unless he dies first."

"They understand." A shadow crossed Don Julio's fat face. "It is too bad Andreas decided he would be the one to marry her. I would like to finish Madrid myself, and take my time about it."

Luis scowled. He agreed with his new father-in-law. Madrid resembled his pig of a mother. Maria was beyond his reach, locked behind a convent's walls, but he still burned to avenge his son's death. "It would be a pleasure. But an expensive one."

"I suppose so," Julio conceded. "Either way, he will be just as dead, and I will make sure the peons know it."

"Don Andreas is too soft on his peons," Luis said. "They may give you some trouble."

Julio gulped the last of his wine. "They will learn."

Chapter 28

Johnny slipped through the kitchen door into the dark yard. It was late and no lights showed anywhere in the hacienda. He knew men watched from the roof, and he was careful not to make a sound.

It was a moonless night, and he made it as far as the wall. He'd scouted out the spot carefully. It wasn't visible from the gatehouse, although the lookouts on the roof should be able to see him if they were paying attention. But wine and beer had flowed freely during the celebration after the betrothal ceremony, and the employees had toasted the patron and his new bride enthusiastically. Johnny didn't think the guards would be paying much attention, especially since he was breaking out of the place, not into it.

He threw his lasso, snagging a post at the corner of the wall. It only took a minute to climb up and let himself down on the other side. He shook the rope free and crouched next to the wall, listening. It was still quiet. Before he left for good, he would have to talk to Carillo about the hacienda's defenses. For now, it was just as well they hadn't cast a professional eye on the job.

He followed the wall for a few hundred feet, and ran across a clearing to an orchard. From there, it was easy. He walked down the narrow lane that ran to the village. It wasn't much more than two miles. He'd rather ride, but they did guard the horses well.

Lights still spilled from the door and windows of the cantina when he reached the village, and he could hear music and voices. Don Julio had brought a large entourage with him, and some of his men were staying in the village.

Johnny hoped Val wasn't among the revelers. He needed to get back inside the hacienda before sunrise. He pushed open the church gate and headed for the outbuilding where he'd heard the priest was letting the stranger stay.

Val's room was empty. Johnny swore under his breath and froze as someone cocked a gun behind him.

"You're getting careless, John."

Johnny agreed, but he turned and gave the sheriff a grin. "I knew you were there all the time."

"Sure you did." Val put his gun in his holster. "How'd you get away?"

Johnny shrugged. "Getting out was easy. Getting back in might be harder."

"You sure you want to get back in?" Val lit a lantern, and produced a bottle and two glasses.

"No." Johnny tossed down the drink. "But I don't trust Vasquez. He's planning something, and it's not just a wedding."

"He sure brought a lot of men with him," Val agreed.

"You hear anything tonight in the cantina?"

Val shook his head.

***

"Murdoch and Scott are coming to the wedding," Johnny volunteered after a few minutes silence.

"That right?" Val looked at him. "Are you going home with them afterward?"

"Guess so." Johnny's face was unreadable, even to an old friend.

"You getting to like it here, buddy?"

"It's not Lancer."

"It's not so bad, either. And you don't have a price on your head any more. You could stay in Mexico if you wanted."

Johnny changed the subject. "How come you went to the doctor? He told my grandfather's segundo all about it."

"That's why," Val said. "Figured he'd be running me out of town if I didn't come up with some excuse to stay here. I would, if I were him."

"So it's not any worse?"

"I'm fine." Val didn't feel like talking about this. "Is the senorita pretty?"

Johnny's mouth twitched, but he went along with the change of subject. He damn well better, Val thought, since he pulled that trick all the time. "She don't look anything like her father."

"Well, that's something, I guess."

That brought out a smile. "Let's just say I don't feel bad my grandfather, not me, is marrying her."

Val laughed.

***

Johnny didn't make it back to the hacienda before sunrise. Instead, he arrived at the hacienda inside the donkey cart from the mission, driven by Val. Padre Barnabas perched next to Val on the seat. Johnny was in back, hidden under a load of hay. It tickled his nose and he fought not to sneeze when they stopped at the gate.

"Buenos dias, Padre," the guard said.

"Buenos dias," Barnabas answered. "Is Senor Carillo available this morning?"

"I will ask."

"We'll just pull up under the shade while we wait, if you don't mind," Barnabas said, mopping his brow with his bandanna. "It's already getting hot."

The guard hesitated, but agreed. He waved them through and Val drove the cart under some gnarled live oaks that stood outside the barn.

Johnny did sneeze when the cart stopped.

"Stay put, John," Val said quietly. "The segundo and his son are just crossing the yard."

"Great," Johnny muttered, and muffled another sneeze.

Carillo greeted the priest courteously, and agreed after a small pause to show him the chapel where the wedding would take place. Johnny waited impatiently. He was just about to slide out when he heard Jaime's voice, close by.

"So, you are from Texas, Senor?"

"Don't speak a lot of Spanish," Val lied. "Habla English?"

"Yes, of course." Jaime's voice held a trace of scorn and Johnny grinned. Val spoke Spanish nearly as fluently as he did.

"That sure is a good-looking horse," Val said.

"Yes," Jaime agreed.

"Mind if I take a look?" Johnny felt the cart shift as Val hopped off. Their voices moved away.

"I wouldn't get too close," Jaime said, just as Johnny heard Val swear. "He has a tendency to bite."

Johnny pushed some of the hay away and peered out before he slid out of the cart. He ducked into the barn and went out the back.

Ten minutes later he was in his room, cleaning up. He was sitting at the table in the kitchen, drinking coffee, when Carillo came in.

"Buenos dias, Senor Johnny."

"Morning." Johnny put down his coffee cup and dug into the plate of huevos rancheros the cook had set in front of him. He didn't look into the segundo's astute eyes.

Carillo accepted a cup of coffee and joined him at the table. "The padre was just here, with that gringo you were talking to in the cantina the other day."

"Yeah?" Johnny shoveled more food into his mouth.

"He wished to look at the chapel," Carillo said, his voice as dry as the desert. "Or so he said."

Johnny looked up and gave the segundo the innocent look he'd perfected as a street urchin, living on nothing but his wits. "Well, must be true, then."

Carillo looked at him gravely. "It must be," he agreed.

Chapter 29

Johnny's face lit up when two riders came through the gate. He jumped off the railing of the corral outside the barn and headed across the yard. Murdoch's face was sour, but it split into a smile when he saw his younger son. Scott was beaming.

Carillo sighed, watching them.

"Is that Johnny's father?" Jaime asked. "And his hermano?"

"Si," Carillo said.

"He is glad to see them."

"Yes." The blond gringo swiped Johnny's hat off his head and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. The big one had only pumped his hand, but couldn't seem to drag his eyes off his younger son. Carillo turned away abruptly. "Have someone see to their horses."

"Papa, they are his family."

Carillo nodded. "I know. See to the horses, hijo."

Jaime went to take the horses, instead of telling someone else to do it, and Johnny called to him. Carillo watched as Jaime joined the group and shook hands with the gringos.

A coach rolled through the gate and Carillo went to open its door. Jarrod Barkley jumped down first, nodding coolly to the segundo, and helped out a small, silver-haired woman.

"Senor Carillo," Jarrod said. "My mother, Mrs. Barkley."

Her eyes twinkled and she smiled. "Enrique and I have met before, Jarrod."

"Senora Victoria, you are even more beautiful every time I see you," he said, taking her hand and bowing over it.

She chuckled. "I wish it were true, but I thank you. How is Felicia? And your children?"

"They are well, gracias."

"You have grandchildren now?"

"Si. My son has a boy and my daughter has two boys and a girl."

"I hope I'll be able to visit Felicia while I'm here."

"She would be honored, Senora." Carillo offered her his arm and escorted her toward the house.

***

Don Andreas greeted his guests with formal courtesy and introduced them to Don Julio, who was sitting with him in the library. Scott was not impressed, looking into reptilian eyes set in a jowly face.

He thought of the first time he'd seen a gila monster sitting motionless in some rocks. He had been fascinated and wanted to get a closer look, but Johnny had pulled him away, warning that the lizards could be dangerous and it was better to leave them alone.

Unfortunately, Johnny rarely followed his own good advice to avoid trouble. Johnny hadn't left this monster alone, and he'd barely escaped with his life. If that Pinkerton had turned up a few minutes later, Scott never would have met his brother. He looked over at his father, who wasn't even trying to hide his animosity.

They had arrived early in the evening, in time to clean up and change before dinner. Johnny showed Murdoch and Scott to comfortable rooms and disappeared into his own, just down the hall. Scott unpacked his clothes, took a bath, and was shaving when the door opened again and Johnny stuck his head in.

"You still haven't learned to knock," Scott said, smiling at his brother's image in the mirror.

Johnny aimed a mock punch at him and flopped on the bed, watching while Scott finished shaving, tucked in his shirt and knotted his tie.

Scott fastened his cufflinks and gave his brother a searching look. "How has it been, really?"

"Fine."

Scott let his breath out through his teeth, frustrated. "Talk to me, brother."

Johnny got up. "No time for that now. We'll be late for dinner."

***

Scott sat between two of Don Julio's four daughters, Serafina and Caterina, at dinner. He'd been surprised, to put it mildly, to be introduced to Don Luis and his new wife. He tried to catch his brother's eye, but Johnny's grandfather had pulled him aside and was talking to him.

Johnny was sitting next to Dona Magdalena, and both of them looked bored. Murdoch was next to Victoria Barkley, who had succeeded in drawing him into a conversation. Scott had worried that his father was going to glower at Don Andreas and Don Julio throughout the meal.

He stiffened as a hand slid over his thigh, and looked at Serafina. She batted her lashes at him archly. She had a square, pugnacious face and beady dark eyes, like her father, but she exuded something her sisters lacked. Scott glanced across the table at Magdalena's cold, composed face and tried not to respond as Serafina's hand continued to move. Serafina's husband was sitting on the other side of the table, eating his dinner placidly.

Scott met Serafina's eyes, which were full of mischief. He took a sip of wine and tried to ignore what she was doing. "Is your husband also a rancher, Senora?"

"Felipe? No, he is a banker."

"Do you have any children?" he asked.

"I do." He didn't miss the emphasis on the first word, or the squeeze she gave him. He gulped, reached down, and surreptitiously removed her hand.

She pouted a little, but picked up her fork. Her eyes wandered across the table to Johnny. "Your brother isn't so shy, Senor. At least, he didn't used to be."

"You've met Johnny before?"

"Si, at my father's estancia near Sonora. I went riding one morning, and my horse ran away with me. Johnny came to my rescue." She smirked. "Of course, I had to find some suitable way to thank him."

"Of course," Scott murmured. Serafina was much older than his brother, and he couldn't quite picture the two of them together. Still, Johnny did have a positive talent for playing with fire.

"The two of you don't look anything alike," she said. "Not that I am complaining, you understand."

Scott had previous experience with forward debutantes, but he could feel his ears turning red. Johnny smiled at him and said something to Magdalena, who immediately glared at her sister.

Serafina flounced in her chair, but turned her attention to her food. She ate with the same single-minded intensity that Johnny usually did.

Johnny wasn't eating much, Scott noticed, although he seemed to be comfortable enough with the grand table setting and the formal service.

When they first came to Lancer, Johnny had watched the rest of them at meals. Scott had been puzzled, at first, until he realized that Johnny had no clue what to do and was too proud to admit it.

Scott realized right away, of course, that his brother's upbringing hadn't been as privileged as his own. But he'd had no idea, at the time, just how bad it had been. He was horrified when Murdoch first told him how long Johnny had been on his own.

Johnny didn't talk much about it, not even after they got to know each other better, but Scott could read between the lines. It must have been another kick in the teeth to learn that none of it was necessary. Johnny's mother never had to live the way she did. She didn't, as soon as she lost Johnny. She had returned to the luxury of her father's house while her son survived any way he could.

Maria wasn't at dinner, to Scott's relief. He wondered if she was still here and whether she had given Johnny any explanation. Johnny had to wonder. Scott wondered too, although he doubted his brother would ever tell him much.

He did venture to ask about Johnny's mother after dinner, when the Lancers were alone on the terrace.

"She's gone." Johnny's voice didn't invite any more questions, but Scott asked anyway.

"Gone where?"

Johnny scuffed his boot. "My abuelo sent her to a convent."

Murdoch was sipping on cognac. He choked, and Scott grabbed the delicate snifter out of his hand. "Are you all right, sir?"

Murdoch nodded, wiping his eyes. "John, did you say your mother had entered a convent?"

Johnny nodded. A small smile appeared on his lips. "Wasn't her choice, not exactly."

"I bet it wasn't."

Chapter 30

"How long are you going to stay here?" Scott asked later. Murdoch had gone to bed and the brothers were alone in the library.

"Just until the wedding's over."

Scott lifted his head. "Really?"

"Yeah. Me and my grandfather, we had a talk. That's when he decided to get married."

Scott didn't understand what the marriage had to do with it, but he didn't care, either. "You're really coming back to Lancer with us? Why didn't you tell us earlier?"

Johnny was slumped in a deep leather chair. "May not be that simple, Scott."

"What do you mean?"

Johnny hesitated. "Don Julio may have something else in mind."

"Like what?"

Johnny shrugged. "Could be just about anything, long as I end up dead from it."

Scott frowned. "Why is your grandfather marrying his daughter, anyway?"

"It was part of the deal he made for dropping the charges."

"He agreed to marry Dona Magdalena if her father dropped the charges against you?" Scott's eyebrows rose.

Johnny shifted in his chair. "Well, not exactly. I was supposed to marry her, only I said I wouldn't."

"I should think not," Scott said, staring at his brother.

***

They'd talked a long time in the library, until the lamps sputtered and the sky began to lighten. Alone in his own room, Johnny pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on the closest chair. He sat down to pull off his boots and dropped his trousers and drawers. He wandered over to the windows and opened them, enjoying the faint breeze on his bare skin. The fountain splashed in the courtyard.

He scratched his stomach and turned toward the big bed, yawning until he thought his jaw would break. He could catch a few hours of sleep, at least, before breakfast.

Somebody was already in his bed, somebody with warm, silky skin and curves in all the right places. Half asleep already, he pulled her closer without really thinking about it. She purred and pressed against him, her hands busy. His eyes popped open.

Serafina gave him a pleased look and kissed his eyes. Her lips moved down to his mouth. "Hola," she whispered.

"What are you doing?" His brain hadn't quite caught up, but other parts of him were responding rapidly.

"What do you think?" She bumped against him and let one hand snake down possessively.

"Quit it!" He rolled out of the bed, breathing fast. She stared at him.

"You can't tell me that you're not interested." Her eyes moved over him deliberately. "I can see for myself that you'd be lying. Come back to bed."

Johnny was definitely interested, but he wasn't loco. He snatched a towel and wrapped it around his waist. "Get out."

She sat up in bed, stretching her arms over her head. "You can't mean that."

Johnny swallowed hard. He did mean it, even if he couldn't keep his eyes off her breasts. Serafina was trouble, something he sure didn't need just now.

Her eyes narrowed when he didn't move. "You weren't so unfriendly the last time we met. Do you remember?"

"Sure." His voice was hoarse. "Look, this is my grandfather's house. And your husband's here. What if he wakes up and finds out you're gone?"

"He won't." Contempt laced her voice. "He drank too much of your grandfather's wine. And it doesn't matter if he does. Felipe lets me do what I want."

Johnny shook his head. Maybe he'd had a little too much to drink, too. He knew perfectly well that this was a bad idea, and he should get her the hell out of there. He looked down at his towel. Dios.

She smiled, kicking the sheet off the bed. The room was still full of shadows, but her skin shone in the half-light. "Come to me, pistolero," she whispered.

Serafina was gone when Johnny woke, and he wondered drowsily if he'd dreamed it. He buried his face in the pillow. No, he hadn't dreamed it. He could still smell her perfume, clinging to the linen. Mierda.

Someone tapped on the door and entered without waiting for an answer. Johnny rolled over, reaching for his gun with one hand and the tangled sheet with the other.

***

Magdalena watched disapprovingly as Serafina helped herself to more eggs from the platter.

"You're going to get fat."

Serafina added cream and sugar to her coffee, undisturbed. She seemed even more pleased with herself than usual this morning. Magdalena frowned.

"You went to that gringo's room, didn't you?" she accused.

Serafina swallowed a large mouthful of eggs and smiled at her sister. "No, not yet."

"I don't believe you."

Serafina loaded her fork again. "I thought Madrid would be more fun," she announced. "And he was."

Magdalena blushed. "You didn't!"

"You don't think so?" Serafina belched.

Magdalena knew her sister was capable of just about anything. "What about Felipe?" she demanded.

Serafina's smile grew. "Madrid is definitely more fun than Felipe, Lena," she purred. "Just look at the two of them. You shouldn't have settled for marrying his grandfather, although Don Andreas is a handsome man, as well. I wonder ..."

"Serafina!" Magdalena was horrified. "You wouldn't dare."

"No?"

***

Murdoch stared into the barrel of his son's Colt. After a moment, Johnny lowered it and slid it back under his pillow. Dios, why couldn't it be Scott?

Murdoch was just standing in the door, his jaw working. Johnny got out of bed, dragging the sheet with him, and looked for his pants. No point in being bare-assed while Murdoch hollered.

Murdoch still hadn't said a word by the time Johnny buttoned his pants and pulled on a shirt. The rancher had closed the door with a distinct bang and carried a tray over to the table. It held a coffeepot and two cups, to Johnny's amazement. He stood in the middle of the floor, eyes on his boots, while Murdoch poured.

"Murdoch," he said softly.

"I don't want to hear it," Murdoch growled. "This is your grandfather's house, not mine, and you're not a child. It's none of my business."

Johnny's eyes widened. It was true, but he sure as hell didn't expect his father to see it that way.

"Just be careful," Murdoch added. "I want grandchildren, but not until you're married."

Johnny nodded.

Murdoch shoved a cup toward him. "I was hoping we could talk. I haven't seen you for more than two months."

Johnny wondered if someone had hit his father in the head during those two months. He sat cautiously and sniffed at the coffee, enjoying the rich aroma, before he took the first sip. "What did you want to talk about?"

There was a long pause. Murdoch gulped some of his coffee. "Is your grandfather treating you all right?"

"Yeah."

"We've missed you. I had to hire two more hands to keep up with the work."

Johnny didn't know what to say to that, so he just drank more coffee.

Chapter 31

By the time Scott barged in, Murdoch was gone and Johnny was washing up.

"Who is she?" Scott asked.

"What d'you mean?"

Scott smiled and reached out to rearrange Johnny's collar. "You have a rather obvious bite mark on your neck, brother. And you aren't just late; you missed breakfast entirely, which isn't like you. You didn't drink that much last night, so I'd say you were busy with something - or someone - else."

Johnny flushed. "No es importante." He turned away and dragged a comb through his hair. "You seen my grandfather this morning?"

"He's giving the Barkleys and Murdoch a tour of the place." Scott was still curious about the girl, but let it drop. "I haven't seen Val at all. He is here, isn't he?"

"Yeah. He's staying in the village. If you do see him, don't let on you know him."

"Do you really think Don Julio is going to try something?"

"Don't hurt to be ready, even if he isn't." Johnny buckled his gun belt around his hips and checked his Colt before he slipped it back into the holster. "Did he go with the others?"

"No, he and his sons-in-law are in the salon, I think." Scott followed his brother down the hall to the kitchen. He wasn't surprised when the cook greeted Johnny warmly and started breaking eggs. Scott had another cup of coffee while Johnny wolfed down his food.

They went out the kitchen door and wandered over to the barn. The horse in the corral trotted up to Johnny, and he stroked its nose absently.

"I'll help with your chores," Scott offered. "What needs to be done?"

Johnny looked up. "Don't have any chores."

"What do you mean? Did your grandfather give you the day off?"

"Nope." A hint of mischief lurked in Johnny's eyes. "It's different down here. Hacienderos don't do ranch chores."

Scott stared at him. "Then what do you do all day?"

Johnny shrugged. "I usually give Carillo and Jaime a hand," he admitted. "Mostly with the horses."

Scott chewed on that while he followed Johnny inside the barn. Murdoch had made it clear from the beginning that he expected a full day's work from his sons, and then some. Once Johnny recovered, Murdoch gave them the dirtiest, most backbreaking jobs on the ranch and complained loudly if they didn't complete them to his satisfaction.

Murdoch had been serious, that first day, about wanting their arms, legs and guts. He'd signed the partnership agreement giving them equal shares in the ranch, but it was no gift. Murdoch Lancer's sons would sweat for every one of those blades of grass he loved so dearly.

Don Andreas apparently didn't feel the same way. Once he accepted that Johnny was his grandson, it was enough to establish his claim.

Despite the cockiness Johnny displayed to the world, Scott thought his younger brother could use some similar assurance from the father he'd grown up doubting. At the least, he needed some indication that he was measuring up to Murdoch's standards. It didn't help that Murdoch's standards, when it came to Johnny, seemed to be set higher than his expectations of his Eastern-bred son.

Growing up, Scott always had his grandfather and never had to earn his place in the man's heart. But Johnny didn't have anyone, not really. Scott certainly wouldn't count his mother.

"Carillo is your grandfather's segundo, right?" he said aloud. "And Jaime is his son?"

"Yeah." Johnny was inside a stall with an old horse, checking its hoofs. She leaned against him familiarly, enjoying the attention.

"Johnny," Scott said reluctantly. "It's not wrong for you to like it here."

***

Magdalena, blinded by tears, stumbled on the stairs and nearly fell. Someone caught her arm and a calm voice spoke to her. She dashed away her tears angrily. The voice spoke again.

"Are you all right, Senorita?" It was the blond gringo. He kept a hand on her arm, steadying her. "Is something wrong?"

"No nothing."

The hand withdrew. He looked down at her through hooded eyes. He was good-looking too, although he didn't resemble his half brother at all. Their eyes weren't even the same shade of blue.

They didn't sound alike either. The blond brother had an educated voice, not a soft drawl. He was speaking again, and she forced herself to concentrate.

"Gracias, Senor," she said. "I don't require any assistance. I was just going to sit in the garden for a few moments."

He opened the door for her, and she passed through it.

She sat on a bench near the fountain, staring blindly at the splashing water. Her father had just told her what he expected her to do. He issued his orders as if she was a peon, someone born to obey him without question.

She knew, of course, that Papa intended to kill Don Andreas and his grandson. But it hadn't occurred to her that she might have to help - or watch.

Papa was going to take care of Madrid himself. She didn't know what, exactly, he had planned. All she knew was that it would happen on her wedding day, shortly after she and Don Andreas retired for the evening, and it would appear to be an accident.

She just had to put the poison into her new husband's glass.

***

"Lena!" The voice was sharp, and Magdalena scowled. Everyone thought they could order her around, just because she was the youngest.

Her oldest sister, Lucia, was in the doorway. "Why are you mooning out here? We have things to do. Andale!"

Magdalena thrust her lip out rebelliously. "The servants can do whatever needs to be done."

"Lena, don't be an idiot," Lucia said impatiently. "Just wait until you have a few babies, if that old man can manage it."

"He's not that old!"

"He's older than Papa," Lucia said. She smiled, a superior smile. "Still, he's not so bad. Better than Felipe."

***

"Better than Felipe." The words rang in her head. Magdalena looked across the table at her brother-in-law, who was slurping his soup down noisily.

Don Luis wasn't such a pig, but Magdalena didn't like him any better. And Lucia's husband, Don Francisco, had a pockmarked face, a missing eye and a filthy temper.

Don Andreas sat at the head of the table, his silver hair glowing in the candlelight as he listened to Victoria Barkley speak. He was still a handsome man, Magdalena thought. Not so handsome as Madrid, but not so rough or dangerous either.

He spoke to her with courtesy, which she liked. She had noticed the Lancers and the gringo lawyer were the same way, even Madrid. They didn't even object when Senora Barkley spoke her mind, as freely as any man, or disagreed with one of them.

Her papa never listened to his daughters. He told them brusquely what to do, and expected them to obey him without questions. And his sons-in-law were the same way. They weren't above using force to get their way, either. She had seen Francisco slap Lucia, and Caterina cringed if Luis even frowned.

Papa would do as he pleased once Don Andreas was dead and she inherited the Mariano estate, and she would have no say at all. She was loco to think of defying him. He might even poison her.

She took a spoonful of soup. She didn't know what to do. It really might not be so bad to be married to Don Andreas Mariano. It might be better to be his wife than his widow.

Chapter 32

"Those horses we saw this morning are magnificent," Jarrod said to Don Andreas when the women withdrew into the salon and the men relaxed over port and cigars. "My brother Nick is likely to make you an offer for that young black stallion if he ever sets eyes on it."

Andreas smiled. "I'm afraid my grandson would shoot me if I sold that one."

Murdoch gave him a sharp look, but the older man's tone was light. Don Andreas sounded like an indulgent grandfather, not the bastard who had damn near killed his son and then forced him to stay behind in Mexico, instead of returning home.

"It takes a lot of time and money to make any profit breeding horses." Murdoch's voice was harsh. "Lancer is a cattle ranch."

Don Andreas lifted his brows. "So I understand," he said. "But Juan is certainly good with the horses. I was most impressed. And he seems to enjoy working with them, more than the cattle. Of course, there is no need for him to herd cattle, not here."

Murdoch ground his teeth, but didn't respond. Had Johnny complained to his grandfather about working the cattle at Lancer? Or some of the other jobs Murdoch had given him? He shot a look at his younger son, out of earshot on the other side of the room.

Johnny stood in the open door to the courtyard, looking up at his brother. One stray piece of hair had fallen over his forehead into his eyes. He was laughing at something Scott had said, his face relaxed. Murdoch couldn't see Scott's face or hear Johnny's response, but he could tell that Johnny had given a smart answer when Scott swatted him and chased him outside. The two of them disappeared and Murdoch dropped his head. Johnny did have one thing at Lancer that Don Andreas couldn't give him.

***

Jarrod had turned the conversation in the smoke-filled dining room to the boom in San Diego, and the 100-room hotel that had just opened its elegant doors in the new town.

"Horton is a fool," Felipe said scornfully.

"A prosperous one, from the looks of it," Jarrod responded. "The place was packed, and Mother and I were lucky to get rooms. It's amazing what he's done in just a few years."

"Bah," the banker said, helping himself to more port. "Everyone knows that land is worthless."

Jarrod's eyes twinkled. "Everyone but Alonzo Horton. As I understand it, he picked up close to 1,000 acres on the bay for less than $300. He's already made his money back, and a lot more."

"He has spent a fortune, and on what? To build a new town where there is no need. Old Town is already there." Felipe waved a pudgy hand. "It will all come to nothing, you will see. It has before."

His brother-in-law Francisco laughed. "That's what you said about the gold mines at Julian." He puffed on his cigar. "We could have made a fortune, if you were not so cautious."

The banker's face darkened. "I know what I'm doing."

"Of course." Francisco wore an eye patch, which gave him a sinister appearance. "I am sure, mi cunardo, that you guard your money just as well as you guard your lovely wife."

Felipe nodded absently, guzzling his port. He reached out for the decanter and filled his glass again before he passed it along.

Francisco and Don Luis exchanged a look between them, which puzzled Murdoch. The conversation seemed innocuous enough, despite the mocking edge in Francisco's voice.

Don Julio scowled and changed the subject. "Andreas, is this the port you imported from Spain a few years ago?"

***

More wedding guests arrived in the morning and afternoon, and all the places in the dining room were full the next evening. Scott had been to many large dinner parties in Boston, but this one would easily rival any of them for elegance. He wondered what his own grandfather would think of it, and his mouth twitched. He'd received another letter from Boston just before they left Lancer. His decision to stay in California had appalled his grandfather, who seemed to be firmly convinced that Scott was living in uncivilized squalor, surrounded by rough, dangerous undesirables.

Johnny, the letters made clear, was the most dangerous and undesirable of all as far as Harlan Garrett was concerned. He hadn't managed to conceal his pleasure at the news that Johnny wasn't at Lancer any more.

The woman seated across from Scott was wearing more diamonds and rubies than he'd ever seen in a Boston ballroom, and she had an imperious manner that rivaled the grandest Brahmin dowager. She was Johnny's great-aunt, the sister of Don Andreas's first wife. She was also Don Julio's aunt by marriage. Scott smiled a little. Johnny had teased him about the difficulty of keeping track of his Boston cousins, but Johnny's family appeared to be larger, even more complicated, and just as wealthy, if not more so.

Johnny seemed to be at ease, listening quietly as his aunt talked enough for both of them, but Scott could tell he was on full alert from the remote expression on his face. Johnny had mastered the knack of looking inattentive when he was really watching everyone in the room.

Dona Serafina wasn't sitting next to Scott tonight, to his relief. She was farther down the table, talking to an elderly man who was some kind of cousin.

Victoria Barkley was seated on Scott's right. She had been chatting in fluent Spanish to the man on her other side, but she turned now to Scott. "Do you understand Spanish, Scott?"

"Not as much as I'd like," he admitted. "I've been trying to learn. I studied Latin and Greek in school, of course, and some French as well. That helps somewhat but I still miss a lot. And I'm never quite sure if I can believe Johnny's translations."

She laughed. "Your brother was a scamp when he was a toddler and I can see that hasn't changed."

Scott's eyes widened. "You knew Johnny when he was small?"

"We visited at Lancer when he was just a year old." She smiled. "He had already learned to walk and he kept everyone busy chasing after him to try to keep him out of trouble."

"Murdoch did tell me you were old friends, but I didn't realize," Scott said slowly. "You must have met Johnny's mother."

"Yes." She didn't volunteer any more information.

"You didn't recognize her as Don Andreas's daughter?"

Victoria shook her head. "I wish I had. But I never saw either of Andreas's children. We visited his home in San Diego a few times, but they were away at school."

"Did you know my mother?"

"I'm afraid not." Victoria's voice was full of regret now. "My husband met her, and spoke highly of her. He spent a few nights at Lancer on his way home from a business trip. They were already expecting you, but promised to visit us sometime after you were born. From what Tom told me, I was sure we'd be friends. I was so sorry when we heard what happened."

Scott nodded. He'd never known Catherine Lancer, except through her portraits and his grandfather's memories. But he imagined Victoria Barkley was something like what she might have become, if she had lived and stayed in California.

Of course, if that had happened, he might have had a brother, but not this brother. Johnny never would have been born. He looked across the table. Johnny had said something that made the dowager laugh. She rapped his hand with her fan, speaking in Spanish too rapid for Scott to follow.

"Is she angry?" Scott asked Victoria.

"No," Victoria said, her eyes going to Murdoch, who was also listening, his face glum. "She's not angry at all. She's saying that she's glad he's finally home where he belongs."

Chapter 33

Scott woke with a start. Johnny had suggested that he lock his door at night. Scott didn't ask any questions, warned off by the expression on his brother's face, but he'd followed Johnny's advice.

And he did think someone had just tried the door. He sat up in bed, listening, but couldn't hear anything out of the ordinary.

He hadn't shut the tall windows that opened into the courtyard. He glanced at them. It was so hot. Still, he had no idea who would have tried to enter his room, or why.

Scott sighed and pushed the sheet back. He reached out to snag his robe and put it on before he went to the windows. The courtyard was quiet. He shut the windows reluctantly and latched them.

Movement caught his eye. He stepped behind the curtains, watching as a woman crossed the courtyard. She wore nightclothes, some kind of sheer, clingy negligee that made it obvious she wasn't a servant. She came closer and Scott recognized Serafina. He took another step away from the windows, standing against the wall, as she tried the handles.

Scott waited until Serafina turned away. He didn't light a lamp. He stepped quietly into the hall and tapped on his brother's door.

A few minutes passed before Johnny opened the door. He had pulled his pants on and held his Colt in his hand. His hair stuck straight up, but his eyes were wide-awake. He relaxed a little when he saw Scott.

"Something wrong, brother?"

Scott pushed past him. "Better close the door."

Johnny did, and then leaned against it, rubbing his jaw. "You couldn't sleep?"

"I was fast asleep until Dona Serafina woke me."

"Oh."

"Did you tell Murdoch to lock his door?"

Johnny nodded fractionally.

"But you didn't tell him why, either?"

"Hell, no." Johnny pushed away from the door and went over to the table. He poured a glass of water from a carafe, and drank it down.

Scott sat in a chair. "She's the one who was in your room the night we got here."

"Yeah."

Scott shook his head. "You sure do know how to complicate things, brother."

"Wasn't my idea." Johnny shot him a resentful look.

Scott kept his smile to himself. He supposed he couldn't really blame his brother, not if Serafina had climbed into his bed, and especially not if she'd been wearing that negligee, or even less. Scott collected his thoughts hastily.

"It's only an hour or so until sunrise," he said. "The wedding is at eleven, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you think Serafina is part of whatever Don Julio is planning?"

"Don't know," Johnny said.

In Scott's experience, it was not a good sign when Johnny resorted to one or two word answers. It frequently indicated that he knew more than he was saying, and was either worrying it over in his own mind or had already decided to go ahead and do something incredibly stupid, reckless and dangerous.

Scott also knew he wasn't likely to persuade Johnny to talk to him, not if Johnny didn't want to talk.

He pressed his lips together. He wasn't going to let his younger brother out of his sight for a minute today.

***

Scott's good intentions didn't fully account for the fact that a wedding was about to take place. He managed to keep an eye on Johnny through breakfast without difficulty. Afterward, it got complicated.

It was easy enough during the wedding itself, since Johnny stood next to his grandfather, both of them dressed Mexican style in short charro jackets and calzoneras trimmed with silver down the sides. Johnny looked every inch a young haciendero. Scott, in his tailored morning suit from Boston, was the one who felt slightly out of place.

Father Barnabas performed the wedding ceremony. He came up to Murdoch and Scott afterward, smiling. "It is good to see you again," he said. "And I'm sure Johnny was happy to see you. I understand that Don Andreas has agreed to allow him to return to Lancer."

Scott was craning his neck, trying to spot Johnny in the crowd of guests and employees milling in the courtyard, but he snapped his attention back to his father when he heard Murdoch's reply.

"I'm not sure he wants to come back."

Barnabas's eyebrows rose. "You have not talked to him about this." It was a statement, not a question.

"Not much," Murdoch admitted.

"You should talk to your son," the priest said. Someone hailed him and he excused himself.

"What do you mean, you're not sure if Johnny wants to come home?" Scott demanded. "He told me he was coming home."

"Look around you, Scott," Murdoch said. "He has everything he has at Lancer, more even. Maybe he's better off here."

"Don't you want him at Lancer?"

"Of course I do. But I want what's best for him, too."

Scott forgot about keeping an eye on Johnny. He glared at his father, the father who had left him in Boston all those years without a word. "You need to tell Johnny you want him to come home."

"Johnny knows that."

"Just how is he supposed to know?"

"I'm his father. And I did tell him we missed him."

Scott shook his head. "It's not enough, sir. Trust me, I know."

"I always wanted both of you at the ranch."

"Tell him, then." Scott remembered belatedly that he had lost sight of Johnny, and swung around. "Do you know where he is?"

Murdoch looked at the crowd too. Tents had been set up, with long tables underneath, and a band was playing. Two sides of beef were roasting on open spits, sending out a mouth-watering aroma. "No, I don't see him anywhere."

"We need to find him. You go that way and I'll go this way. I'll meet you on the other side of the courtyard."

***

Scott didn't find his brother, but he did run into Val. It appeared that Don Andreas had invited the entire village to the wedding feast.

"Have you seen Johnny?" Scott asked, too worried to care if anyone saw them talking.

"Not since they all came out of the church. Something wrong?"

"I don't know. I can't find him. Murdoch is working his way around the other side."

"He might've ducked into the barn. You know Johnny don't like crowds much."

"Maybe. Could you look? And, if you find him, tell him we're looking for him."

Val nodded. "If we don't find him anywhere, you better tell the segundo," he suggested.

"Senor Carillo? But he works for Don Andreas."

"You tell him Johnny's missing all the same," Val insisted. He raised his voice. "Yeah, Mister, them dancers really are something. Don't know what the tune is, though."

Scott glanced sideways, and saw Don Luis watching the two of them. He turned, forcing a smile to his face. "Don Luis," he said. "I was just asking this man about the music and the dancers, but he doesn't seem to know much."

"Why should he? He is a gringo." The scorn in the other man's voice was obvious.

Scott kept smiling, despite the insult. "I had hoped that he had learned something of local customs and could explain them to me in English. Perhaps you'd be good enough."

Luis hesitated. "Of course," he finally said.

Chapter 34

Something was wrong. He just couldn't seem to think of what it was, couldn't seem to think at all. His eyelids felt weighted and his head throbbed. Maybe he'd fallen off a horse. He could smell horses and hay, seemed to be lying face down in a pile of hay.

He wondered vaguely why and where he was sleeping in a pile of hay, but didn't have the energy to investigate. He figured he'd just keep still awhile, and maybe his head and stomach would stop spinning.

Someone grabbed a handful of hair and lifted his head. The flash of pain splintered him, like lightning striking a tree, and he spiraled helplessly into darkness.

***

Scott couldn't find his brother. Once he left Luis, he ran into Francisco and Felipe, who said they thought Johnny was taking a stroll with one of the girls who had been dancing earlier. Francisco suggested that Johnny might not appreciate any interruptions, and offered Scott a glass of wine.

The band was still playing. Serafina came up while Scott was still talking to her husband and brother-in-law, and he couldn't politely refuse to dance with her.

Next, he ran into Johnny's great-aunt, who took his arm and asked him to fetch her some food. She ate her way steadily through two laden plates while demanding to hear all about Lancer, his life, education and family tree.

Scott rather liked the indomitable old lady, but he was desperate by the time he finally escaped, more than an hour later. He hoped Murdoch had done better. His heart sank when he spotted his father deep in conversation under one of the tents.

"Did you find him?" Scott asked when he finally made his way to Murdoch's side.

"It's all right. He's with Jaime Carillo and some of the other younger men."

"Did you see him?"

"No, Don Felipe told me."

"He told me that Johnny had gone for a walk with one of the dancers." Scott chewed on his lip. He froze as he spotted Jaime, who was sitting with two dark-haired women and holding a small boy on his lap. Scott plunged through the crowd toward them.

"Pardon," he said abruptly. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, but have you seen my brother?"

Jaime's eyes widened. "No, Senor Lancer, not since the Mass. You don't know where he is?"

Scott shook his head. "Don Felipe told my father he was with you."

Jaime said something to the younger of the two women, and handed the toddler to her. "I will help you look."

"It's probably nothing," Scott said, hoping that was true.

"Probably not," Jaime agreed. "But we will just make sure."

They checked the barn first, and circled the yard twice without finding Johnny. Scott also didn't see Val anywhere.

Jaime was frowning. "Perhaps you should go and check his room. I do not think Senor Johnny will be there, but we should make sure."

Scott nodded. "Where will I find you?"

"In the barn. We didn't check the lofts earlier."

***

Don Julio was watching the segundo's son and the blond gringo from his chair at the head table. He wiped his face with his napkin and heaved himself up, crooking a finger at one of his employees.

"They're looking for Madrid."

"They won't find him, Patron."

"Are you sure?"

The man nodded. "One of the wagons behind the barn is filled with hay. We put Madrid inside."

"He is still alive?"

"Si. But I don't know if we can make him wake. Porforio hit him harder than he intended."

"It doesn't matter," Don Julio said. "It's nearly time. Another hour, and Don Andreas should be ready to retire with his new bride. Make sure that Madrid has his accident immediately after they go inside, and that there are plenty of witnesses. And if anyone gets in the way, kill them too."

***

Val crouched in a bush, watching. Where in hell was Scott Lancer, anyway? By now, he must realize something was wrong and should have widened the search. It wasn't like Johnny was that far away, although even fifty feet behind the barn was too damn far for Val to do anything about it.

He'd seen them carry Johnny's limp body out of the barn and stuff him in the back of a wagon, covering him over with hay. Val hoped he was still breathing, but couldn't be sure. The only hopeful sign was that they'd tied Johnny's hands and feet. No need to tie up a dead man, he figured.

Six men guarded the wagon, passing a bottle back and forth. Unlike the other wedding guests, they were carrying guns and wearing bandoliers stuffed with ammunition. Val recognized them from the cantina in the village. They were Don Julio's men, and they sure as hell weren't vaqueros. Don Julio called them guards, but Val thought they probably did as much threatening as guarding. He'd recognized one or two of them from his days along the Tex-Mex border, and had avoided them in the village in case they remembered him.

His eyes went up to the roof of the hacienda. Speaking of guards, he didn't understand why no one had spotted the men carrying Johnny out of the barn. Even if the men at the gatehouse couldn't see them, the man on the roof should have raised the alarm. They must have taken him out first.

He sighed, clutching his Colt in his hand. He'd managed to smuggle it inside the gate when he drove the priest here, but it wasn't much use, not against six men. And he didn't dare leave to get help, in case they made a move while he was gone.

He hoped Scott was as smart as Johnny always said because Johnny's life might depend on it.

A figure appeared in the back door of the barn. Val squinted, trying to make out who it was. The guards had spotted him too, and were straightening up. The bottle disappeared.

"What are you men doing out here?" Jaime asked, taking a few steps out of the barn.

"We're not dressed for a wedding, Senor," one of the guards answered, glancing at the others. "Don Julio thought it best if we stay out here, where we wouldn't disturb anyone."

Jaime looked them over doubtfully. "Everyone was invited. Did you get anything to eat? There's plenty of food."

"We'll get something later, Senor."

Jaime walked toward the wagon. Val swore to himself. The segundo's son wasn't even wearing a gun, as far as he could see. He'd be no help at all if hell broke loose. The guards looked edgy, and their hands started to drift toward their guns.

"Jaime!" a voice called from inside the barn. Jaime turned and Val swore again as Carillo appeared.

"Jaime, I need you," Carillo said abruptly, paying no attention to the other men. "One of the colts is in trouble."

Jaime headed obediently toward the barn and Val let his breath out slowly.

***

"We don't have any colts in the barn," Jaime said to his father.

"I know we don't," Carillo said dryly, pulling his son farther inside, away from the open back door.

"Then why?" Jaime broke off when he saw the Lancers. "Did you find Senor Johnny?"

"Not yet," Scott said. "Who are those men?"

"They work for Don Julio." Carillo answered for his son.

"Johnny thought Don Julio was planning something." Scott's face showed his worry. "I knew I shouldn't have let him out of my sight."

Carillo smiled faintly. "It is not so easy to keep track of Senor Johnny."

"We need to find him," Murdoch growled.

Carillo agreed with him. He hoped it wasn't already too late, but he didn't say that to the Lancers. Instead, he took another, cautious look though the back door of the barn, keeping to the shadows. "I think we already have, Senor. It is interesting that Don Julio's men are guarding a wagon that does not belong to him."

Scott got it right away. "You think Johnny's inside?" He started toward the door and Murdoch grabbed him.

Chapter 35

Moving was stupid. The pain shot straight through his skull down his neck, and made his stomach flop over. He was hot, itchy and thirsty and he panicked for a few seconds when he couldn't move his hands. He closed his eyes again, swallowing hard.

He was still lying in hay, although not in the same place. He couldn't smell or hear horses, and could sense space above him. He could hear voices too, close by. He gulped air and tried to concentrate.

Somebody had tied his hands together, and his feet too. He brought his wrists up to his face carefully and cracked open his eyes to peer at the knots. The hay rustled when he moved and he stopped, listening. The owners of the voices didn't seem to be paying attention. He could hear music, somewhere in the distance. Dios, it was his grandfather's wedding.

He vaguely remembered the ceremony, and coming out of the chapel into the bright sunlight. But he couldn't remember much more.

Someone guffawed. "That hay's pretty dry. We could take care of Madrid right now with a match."

"No," another voice said. "Not yet."

***

Johnny had been working on the knots with his teeth, for what seemed like forever, without making much progress. He closed his eyes and wrenched his hands apart, ignoring the pain as the rope bit into his wrists. It seemed a little looser, but not enough. He went to work again, trying not to gag. His mouth was dry, and he would have given just about anything for a sip of water. He yanked at the rope again. It was looser. He gnawed on it some more. The knots were still tight. He let his eyes slide shut for just a few moments. His head pounded, but he couldn't give in to the temptation to just slip off to sleep. He couldn't.

The damn knots weren't budging. He wondered if anyone was looking for him. Scott might be, if he'd been gone long. Johnny had no idea how much time had passed. He hoped Scott wasn't looking. He was likely to get himself killed.

He heard voices again, including one he recognized. "Any trouble, Porforio?"

"No, Don Luis. He's not going anywhere."

"Good. It's almost time."

"What about Don Andreas?" Porforio asked. "It will look like an accident, but if anyone looks too closely ..."

"Don't worry about him," Luis said, contempt lacing his voice. "The girl is going to slip him some poison. He won't even know his precious grandson is dead until he joins Madrid in hell."

***

Carillo watched from the barn as Don Luis walked over to the wagon, waving most of the men away while he spoke to one of them. The segundo looked at Murdoch, who was watching too, his big hands formed into fists.

"Not yet, Senor," he said. "Jaime hasn't had time yet to get the word out."

"Are you sure your people will back us up?"

"They know what Madrid did for Don Julio's peons in Sonora, and why. I think they would help even if they did not know Senor Johnny now."

Murdoch chewed on his lip. "They like him?"

Carillo nodded.

"People do at home, too," Murdoch said. "I was surprised. But he's not what I expected, either."

"You expected a killer, a pistolero?"

"Yes." Murdoch bowed his head. "I wasn't even sure I should bring him home. When I found out who he was, I thought it might be too late."

"He is your son."

"He's more Maria's son than mine."

Carillo frowned. "He resembles Dona Maria and her brother, si. But he is nothing like her."

"It sounds like you've gotten to know him pretty well."

"Yes," Carillo said, a smile tugging on his mouth. "The patron, he asked me to keep an eye on Senor Johnny, make sure he didn't get into any trouble."

Murdoch eyed him sideways. "That's more than a full-time job."

Carillo shrugged. "He is a young man, and he is reckless. But he has a good heart."

"You like him too."

"Si, Senor."

The rancher hesitated. "I've been thinking he might be better off here than at Lancer. Happier. He and I, well, we don't always see eye to eye."

Carillo stared at him, surprised. Didn't the man want his own son? No, that wasn't it, not from the misery he could see in the gringo's eyes. He decided to speak his mind. "That should be for Johnny to decide, Senor. Not you, and not the patron either. He is not a child."

***

Scott strolled toward the barn with Jaime, his heart thumping. They had made a slow, casual circuit of the yard, stopping to chat with various groups at the tables. Jaime had introduced Scott to his wife, mother and sister. To an observer, they should look like they were circulating among the wedding guests. Inside, Scott's nerves screamed.

He still didn't see Val anywhere. He didn't know if he should say anything to Jaime. He decided against it.

"Senor Scott." Serafina beckoned from one of the tables as he passed. "You promised to dance with me again."

"It would be my pleasure," he lied. "But I have made a bet with Senor Carillo, and we need to settle it first. You understand."

She pouted. "What if I told you that I have made a bet too," she said, rising and taking his arm. "Surely you would not be so ungallant as to make me lose it."

Scott shot a desperate look at Jaime as Serafina dragged him toward the other dancers. The segundo's son shrugged and shook his head slightly.

The dance lasted forever, as far as Scott was concerned. Jaime was gone when the music finally stopped.

He heard a pop as Don Andreas got to his feet at the head table and offered a hand to Dona Magdalena. No one else seemed to notice at first.

Another pop sounded, and it definitely wasn't a champagne bottle. The crowd murmured. Don Andreas swung toward the noise, frowning.

Serafina clung to his hand. Scott snatched it away, and headed toward the barn in a hurry, pushing through the crowd of men who seemed to have gathered outside its doors. To his relief, they parted to let him through.

He looked back once, and saw that Don Julio and Don Andreas were both surrounded too.

Chapter 36

Johnny sneezed explosively. He swore and braced himself.

"It sounds like you didn't hit him so hard as you thought," someone said. "He's awake."

The one called Porforio laughed. "Not for long."

Johnny waited, but nothing happened. His eyes returned to the rope. The knots were slipping, at last. He tugged on them again with his teeth, and the rope slacked. He tore it off his wrists and reached cautiously for the knife in his boot.

It wasn't there.

He sighed and reached next for the derringer hidden in his jacket. They hadn't found that. His hand closed around the small gun. Two shots. He didn't know how many men he faced, but he would make those two shots count.

The music stopped.

"Is that the signal?" It was a different voice, one Johnny hadn't heard, so that made at least three of them. Don Luis seemed to have departed, to Johnny's regret. He would have liked to use one of his bullets on him.

"No," Porforio said. "It's not. But maybe someone is making a speech. It won't be long."

Johnny hoped not. He listened to them talking. He could distinguish four voices. Long odds, but he'd had worse. After a moment's thought, he transferred the derringer to his left hand and wiggled carefully from his side onto his back. His head still ached, but he couldn't pay any attention to that. He waited.

When someone finally cleared the hay away, he shot the man between the eyes before they even registered that Johnny's hands were free.

Johnny was already moving, lunging to get the dead man's six-shooter from its holster. He hoped it was loaded, even as he aimed it toward one of the others, the fastest to react. The shot, at close quarters, knocked the burly Mexican backwards. Johnny heard another shot, one he hadn't fired, as he swung the gun toward another of the guards.

***

Val fired again, swearing. Damn Johnny anyway. He hadn't been expecting Johnny to make a move, not with that goddamn popgun, against six heavily armed men.

Two shots, Val thought. Johnny had exactly two shots. If he were awake enough to get his hands free, he had to know there were more than two men. And he'd still made his move. If he survived this time, Val was going to kill him.

At least he'd managed to get his hands on a real gun, Val noticed, as Johnny took out another guard. Four down, but there were two more, and they had their guns out now, at practically point blank range. Val held his Colt with both hands and fired. The guard's gun discharged as he fell and Johnny dropped sideways out of his crouch in the wagon and hit the ground. Damn it.

The last guard had spun around to aim at Val. A rifle sounded from the barn and he went down too.

Johnny was still on the ground, and Val started toward him, stopping just long enough to kick the guards' guns away from their hands.

Scott and Murdoch arrived on the run from the barn with the Carillos. While the segundo and his son checked to make sure the guards were dead, the two Lancers bent over Johnny, rolling him onto his side and pulling off his jacket. Val could see blood spreading across his white shirt.

"How bad is it?"

Johnny's eyes fluttered open and he tried to push away their hands. "Not bad."

"Stay still," Murdoch ordered.

"Can't." Johnny looked up at Carillo and asked for his grandfather in Spanish. The segundo's face tightened.

"I will get him. Do as your father says."

"Johnny," Scott said, clearly exasperated as his brother tried to sit up. "You're bleeding."

Johnny gave his brother a small smile. "It's not bad," he repeated.

Val figured Scott just might wring Johnny's foolish neck first, before he got the chance.

***

Johnny was still arguing with Murdoch and Scott when Don Andreas arrived, but they'd succeeded in determining the bullet had just skidded across his ribs. Johnny broke off in mid-sentence, his eyes on his grandfather.

"Need to talk to you."

Don Andreas looked him over. Scott could see the doubt on the older man's face. Johnny no longer looked like a young haciendero. His bloodstained shirt was in tatters, dirt smudged his face and his hair stuck up in all directions. Scott had done his best to brush some of the hay off him, but it hadn't helped much. He had flatly refused to lie down, so they had propped him up against the wagon wheel. "It can wait until you are in your room and the doctor has treated you," Andreas suggested.

Scott agreed with him wholeheartedly, but Johnny shook his head. "Can't," he insisted.

Don Andreas frowned, but he succumbed to the plea in Johnny's eyes. "Very well, I am listening."

Johnny turned his eyes next on his father, brother and Val. "Sorry," he said. "It's private."

Murdoch opened his mouth to object, but Scott thought it might be faster to let his brother have his way than to argue. He pulled their father away, and they waited impatiently while Don Andreas knelt down, his silver head close to Johnny's dark one.

Whatever it was that Johnny had to say, it took a long time.

Don Andreas looked older when Johnny finally finished speaking, older and bleak. He frowned at Murdoch and Scott and reached out to push Johnny's hair out of his eyes before waving them forward.

"Help him to the house, por favor. The doctor is waiting for you, Johnny, and you will do exactly as he says. Do you understand?" He locked eyes with his grandson, who nodded.

"What about Don Julio?" Val spoke up.

Don Andreas paused, his eyes flicking over the sheriff. "I do not believe we have met, Senor, although I have seen you in the village."

"This is Sheriff Val Crawford from Green River," Scott said. "He's a friend of Johnny's."

The don nodded. "A good one, from what my segundo told me. I am in your debt, Senor Crawford."

Val looked embarrassed. "What about Vasquez?"

A thin, mirthless smile hovered on Andreas's lips. "My people escorted Don Julio and his sons-in-law to the cells in my gatehouse, Senor. They were concerned that perhaps Don Julio's employees might attack him next, based on the violent attack upon my grandson."

"They're all in the gatehouse?"

"All except Don Luis," Andreas said blandly. "Most unfortunately, he seems to have misunderstood the effort to protect his family from harm. I am afraid he broke his neck in the struggle."

Scott's eyes widened, but he couldn't honestly say he was sorry. He glanced at Johnny. Johnny didn't look sorry either.

"It was, of course, an accident," Don Andreas continued.

"Of course," Scott repeated. "Was anyone else hurt?"

"Just your brother." Don Andreas gave Johnny a pointed look. "If you will take care of him, I should be going. My new wife is no doubt alarmed, and I should reassure her that all is well."

"Of course we'll take care of him," Murdoch growled.

"Good." Don Andreas looked at Johnny again, a strange expression on his face, before he walked away by himself.

Chapter 37

Magdalena watched Don Andreas open a bottle of wine. He set it on a tray with two glasses. "If you will pour, I shall return in a moment. There is one small matter I should attend to tonight."

She nodded nervously. Don Andreas went into the hall, closing the heavy door behind him.

She had poured the wine by the time he came back, but hadn't taken a glass.

He locked the door and moved into the sitting room, part of a luxurious suite of rooms on the second floor of the hacienda. She was sitting at the table by the windows, which overlooked the inner courtyard. He dropped into a chair opposite her. A candle glowed between them, casting soft light on the red wine.

He looked at the tray, which was next to her, and gestured. She picked up one of the glasses and offered it to him.

"To us, my dear," he said, raising it slightly. She lifted her own glass silently. He didn't take a sip. "I hope you are not too upset by what happened."

She shook her head.

"Good," he said, playing with the stem of the glass with his fingers. Her big, dark eyes fastened on it, fascinated. He lifted it again, smiling at her, and paused.

"If you will bear with an old man's romantic notions, it is the custom in some places for husbands and wives to exchange glasses." Smiling, he took the glass from her hand and replaced it with his. He took a sip and watched as she did too.

***

The doctor finished stitching Johnny's side and bandaged him. Johnny's eyes were heavy, even though he'd refused to take any laudanum, and he finally lost the battle to keep them open. He relaxed into the bed with a tired sigh.

"He will sleep through the night, I think," the doctor predicted, washing his hands. "But someone should stay with him, in case there are any problems."

"What kind of problems?" Scott asked.

The doctor put on his coat and shrugged his shoulders. "The bullet wound is not too serious, in itself. But there is always a risk of infection. He may run a fever."

"He will run a fever," Murdoch rumbled from the chair by the bed. "He always does."

"Then you should know what to do for it," the doctor said. "Just try to keep him as comfortable as possible, so he can rest. That is what he really needs to get over the blood loss and the concussion, rest and plenty of fluids. He is a healthy young man and he should be all right in a few days. I will come again tomorrow afternoon, but you may send for me, of course, if you need me sooner."

Murdoch nodded. "Thank you, Doctor." He paused for a moment and went on. "I'd like to pay your bill now. I don't know how long we'll be staying."

"It is not necessary, Senor. Don Andreas will take care of it."

"He's my son, and I'll pay you." Murdoch got to his feet. "I'll get some money from my room."

"If you insist."

Scott watched Johnny sleep while Murdoch went out with the doctor. He always looked so much younger when he slept, his face unguarded. He had dark circles under his eyes and his skin was pale, his tan drained away. The wound was shallow, but it had bled a lot before they finally got him up to the house.

Johnny hadn't stirred by the time Murdoch returned. "I'll stay with him tonight, son."

Scott didn't argue, but he didn't move either. He had already pulled a second chair up to the side of the bed. "It will be a few days before he's ready to travel, even in a coach," he said. "You didn't really need to pay the doctor now."

Murdoch sank into his chair, his eyes on Johnny's face. He rubbed his own face wearily before he answered. "I'm not sure Johnny is coming home with us."

Scott frowned. "You need to talk to him, sir."

"I will," Murdoch promised. "But I don't want you to argue with him, Scott, if you don't like his decision. Carillo said something to me and I think he's right. This should be Johnny's choice, not mine, not his grandfather's and not yours either. If this is what he wants, I don't think we should stand in his way."

Scott stared at his father. "You're wrong," he said.

"What did you say?"

"I said you're wrong." Scott was furious. "You're his father, damn it. For once in his life, why don't you act like it and fight for him? You didn't have any problem asking us to fight for you."

***

Magdalena finished her wine and set the glass down. She gave Don Andreas a defiant look. She didn't know how, but he knew. He was leaning back in his chair, apparently relaxed, but his eyes watched her.

She didn't care. It didn't matter now.

"You did use the poison," he said.

She nodded. "He is my father."

"And I am your husband," he reminded her.

She scowled at his glass, still full. He had set it down after his first, small sip. "I put it in both glasses."

He cocked his head at that, his brows rising. "So, you betrayed both of us."

She got to her feet, dropping a twist of paper on the table. A few remaining grains of white powder spilled out. She knew the poison wouldn't work right away. Papa had said it would take hours, possibly until morning. He hadn't wanted to take any chance that Don Andreas would die before his men killed Madrid. "I would like to see the priest," she said.

"Perhaps the doctor? I expect he is still here."

"No. The priest. I need to make my confession."

"As you wish," he said. He opened the door to the adjoining room for her, and she passed through it, her head high.

Don Andreas went down the stairs to his library and rang the bell. He was surprised when Carillo appeared instead of one of the house servants. What else could be wrong?

"Is Johnny all right?"

"Si," the segundo said. "The doctor just left. I talked to him, and it is not too serious. He is sleeping."

Don Andreas nodded. "Is the priest still here?"

"He went back to the village."

"Get him. You'd better send someone after the doctor, too."

Carillo wouldn't ask, but his brows rose. Don Andreas sat down at his desk.

"Dona Magdalena drank a glass of poisoned wine. She wants the priest."

Chapter 38

The doctor sniffed the powder and tasted it. He frowned at the glass of wine that still stood on the table. "Arsenic. Did you drink any of it, Andreas?"

"A sip."

"You're sure? No more than a sip?"

Andreas nodded.

"Good," the doctor said. "Where is she?"

Andreas gestured toward a closed door. "The priest is with her."

"He may be able to do more for her than I can. Did she tell you how much she used?"

"No."

The door opened and Father Barnabas came out. "I'm glad you're here, Doctor," he said. "She is not feeling well. She says it feels like she has pins and needles in her hands and feet, and she is lightheaded."

"Did you finish with her, Padre?"

"She made her confession, yes, but I think I should stay if that is all right with you, Don Andreas."

"Of course," Andreas said. "I will be in the library."

A door opened as he walked down the hall, and Victoria Barkley looked out. "Is something wrong?"

He slowed. "I am sorry we disturbed you, Victoria. Magdalena is unwell."

"Oh? Is it something I can help with?"

"The doctor and the priest are with her, thank you."

"The priest?" Victoria looked horrified. She stepped out into the hallway. "Is it that serious?"

"I am afraid so, yes." Andreas hesitated. "She put poison, arsenic, in our wine. Her father had planned for her to poison me, but she poisoned both glasses."

"What?" Victoria stared at him blankly. "Did you drink it too?"

He shook his head. "Not enough to be concerned about. Johnny warned me. He overheard Don Luis talking about it."

"Thank God for that." Victoria gave him a worried look. "Andreas, I'm truly sorry."

He didn't say anything, just looked down at his shoes.

"I'll go see if I can do anything to help. She may be more comfortable with a woman there."

"Thank you," Andreas said. "I'm not sure her sisters will be much help."

"No," Victoria sighed. "But I think someone should tell them, just the same. I'll see to it."

***

Don Andreas poured some cognac. His hand trembled a little and he frowned at it.

Lights still showed in the windows of a room on the other side of the courtyard. It was Johnny's room, he realized. Carillo had told him Johnny was sleeping and his injuries weren't serious, but perhaps he should check. He stepped through the library's French doors into the courtyard and ran into someone who was just coming out of a dark room.

"Dona Serafina!" He had put his hands out to steady her, but snatched them away when she reached for him.

"Don Andreas," she purred. "I didn't expect to see you tonight, but my little sister has always been a fool."

He gave her an outraged look. "Your sister is ill. Someone went to your room to tell you."

"Ill? Truly ill?" She stepped back, her eyes narrowing. "What is wrong with her?"

"You had better go upstairs to her," he suggested. The doctor could tell her about it. He watched her slink across the courtyard in no particular hurry. Victoria Barkley had been wearing a brocade dressing gown. Serafina wore some kind of filmy garment that left little to the imagination, and no robe at all. And what had she been doing in Scott Lancer's room? The rooms assigned to her family were in the wing on the opposite side of the house.

Andreas shrugged and turned toward his grandson's room, illuminated by lamplight.

Whatever Serafina was doing in his room, it wasn't with Scott. He was asleep in a chair by Johnny's bed, his long legs stretched out. Murdoch was sitting on the bed, wiping his younger son's face with a damp cloth.

Andreas watched as Murdoch soaked another cloth in a basin of water, wrung it out, and placed it on Johnny's forehead. Johnny shifted his head on the pillow and tried to push the covers away. Murdoch replaced them, murmuring something to him until Johnny settled.

It was like sitting alone in his box, high in the theater in Mexico City, and watching the players on the brightly lit stage below. He was reluctant to step into the scene.

***

The library doors opened, across the courtyard, and Andreas swung around at the sound.

"Don Andreas?" It was Carillo.

"Si. What is it?"

If the segundo was surprised to find his patron standing outside in the dark, he didn't let it show on his face. "Dona Magdalena has asked to see her father. I told Dona Lucia that I would have to check with you first."

Don Andreas thought about it. He supposed it was only decent, but he was reluctant to let Julio cross his threshold again. The man had no honor. He had come here as a guest, planning all along to murder his host and Johnny too. And he had nearly succeeded.

Still, Magdalena was Julio's daughter and she was dying. Andreas did not want to deny her wish.

He didn't blame the girl, not really. She had made a desperate choice, and a foolish one. He had tested her by switching the glasses, but it had never occurred to him for a moment that she would drink the wine if she had poisoned it - or that she would decide to poison both glasses. He was appalled, and shaken. It was sheer accident that he didn't drink the poison too, even with Johnny's warning.

"Patron?"

He glanced at the segundo. "Yes," he said. "Under guard. You will see to it yourself?"

"Of course." The segundo's face was expressionless.

"You don't approve," Andreas said.

"I did not say that."

Andreas glanced across the courtyard at his grandson's room. "Perhaps you should say what you think more often, Enrique. I have been a foolish old man, and I've lost more than a stupid girl. He will go back to California with his father and his hermano."

The segundo looked steadily at him, but remained silent.

"Well?" Andreas challenged.

Carillo lifted his shoulders. "He will go," he agreed. "He might come back, though, if you loosen the reins and let him run."

Chapter 39

Don Julio's voice carried up to the guardroom from the cells, alternately offering threats and bribes. Carillo looked at his son, who was sitting at the table, and signaled him to come outside.

The gringo stranger, who had driven the priest back to the house, was slouched casually on a bench. Carillo had heard Scott tell Don Andreas the gringo was a friend and he had undoubtedly saved Johnny's life. He made up his mind quickly.

"Senor, I could use your help, por favor."

Val exhaled cigarette smoke, his eyes lifting. He nodded faintly.

"I am Carillo and this is my son, Jaime."

"Val Crawford. What's going on?"

Carillo filled them both in on what had happened. "She is asking to see her father and Don Andreas has decided to permit it."

Jaime spat on the ground. "He should put her in a cell too. She tried to murder him."

"Jaime." Carillo gave his son a stern look. "We will do as the patron wishes."

Jaime glared at his father. After a moment, Val cleared his throat. "What do you want me to do?"

"Could you help guard him? I have other men, but you are good with that gun."

"Sure," Val said. One side of his mouth turned up. "Wouldn't mind if I get a chance to use it, neither."

***

Val and Carillo took Don Julio up to the house. Carillo decided to leave his son at the gatehouse to keep an eye on the other two prisoners. Jaime obviously didn't like it, but he did as his father said.

They'd tied Don Julio's hands, and the man hadn't stopped complaining about it. Val was sorry they hadn't gagged him, too.

The hacienda was even fancier than Lancer. Val followed Carillo and Julio up a flight of stairs, pausing only to look at a picture of a woman and two kids. The boy reminded Val of Johnny, but it couldn't be. From the look of him, this boy had never been hungry or dirty in his life.

They entered a sitting room upstairs. The two eldest Vasquez sisters were arguing loudly. "No!" Serafina insisted. "I am not going in there again. It's disgusting."

"She is your sister," Lucia hissed.

"I am not a nurse. It's the doctor's job to take care of her, not mine." Serafina noticed the men and broke off. "Papa! Did you hear what that little idiot did? She says you gave her the poison. You should have known better than to depend on her for anything."

He gave her a withering look. "Hold your tongue, Serafina."

She pouted and sat down in a chair, crossing her arms. Something caught her eye and she stared at her sleeve unbelievingly. "Dios! She got vomit on me! And this is silk!" Serafina stood. "I am going to my room to change. You can tell me how Magdelena is in the morning."

The door to a connecting room opened abruptly. "Ah, good, Carillo," the priest said, peering at them. "The doctor says there may not be much time. Bring him inside."

***

Magdalena opened heavy eyes. Papa was standing over the bed and she shrank at the look on his face. Her eyes darted to the doctor and Senora Barkley, and back to her father.

"Papa," she said. It came out as a whisper and she tried again. "Papa."

"Don't worry, daughter," he said. "I will see to it that Mariano pays for this."

Her eyes opened wider. "But he didn't do anything. I did what you told me to do. I put the poison you gave me in the wine."

"Don't try to talk," he ordered.

"I will speak," she insisted.

He took a step toward the bed, but a scruffy gringo blocked him casually. Magdalena gave the stranger a puzzled look. She recognized the segundo, but didn't know who this man was. It didn't matter. He was another witness to what she had to say.

"It's your fault," she said to her father. "You planned the whole thing. Only you didn't do your part. Madrid got away from you again. If I had poisoned Don Andreas, as you planned, Madrid would have inherited his grandfather's property, not me."

She paused as the pain clawed at her bowels again. The spasm passed and she glared at her father. She knew this wouldn't be quick, but didn't think it would be so painful.

"You ruined everything. What kind of life could I have here after what you did? If I poisoned Andreas, as you planned, I would get nothing. And if I did not, he might take his revenge on me. I had no choice, and it's your fault."

She had to stop to catch her breath. Her heart thudded.

"She is hysterical, out of her head," Don Julio said to the doctor, who had picked up Magdalena's wrist. "You should give her something."

The doctor shook his head. "She is perfectly lucid, Senor," he said coldly. "And I shall tell the authorities so, when they enquire into this matter. Don Andreas has already sent a message to the jefe, and he should be here by morning."

***

Carillo and Val escorted Don Julio down the stairs in silence. A door opened and Don Andreas looked out.

"Andreas!" Julio said. "I want to talk to you."

"There is nothing to say." Val could see where Johnny got his poker face.

"We are old friends," Julio said. "Surely we can discuss this like civilized men, and work something out."

Andreas ignored him. "Take him back to the gatehouse," he said to Carillo.

"No!" Don Julio pulled away from them, lunging with both hands toward an old-fashioned sword displayed on the wall.

Val had his gun out of the holster, but the shot sounded before he fired. Julio gave them a surprised look before his knees buckled and he fell to the floor.

Don Andreas was holding a small derringer, similar to the one his grandson always carried.

"Is he dead?" he asked Carillo.

The segundo checked. "Si, Patron."

"Good. Get him out of my house." Don Andreas's face was still impassive, his voice calm. He turned away, shutting the door behind him.

Chapter 40

Someone tapped on Johnny's door. Scott opened it after a few minutes, rubbing bleary eyes. The sun was just coming up.

"Good morning," he said, surprised.

"Morning." Jarrod Barkley didn't look like he'd had much sleep either. "How is your brother doing?"

"His fever finally broke a little while ago." Scott looked at the bed, where Johnny had curled up on his uninjured side. Murdoch was sprawled in a chair that barely contained his large frame. Both of them were fast asleep. Murdoch's snores rumbled across the room. "Is something wrong?"

Jarrod sighed. "It's been a long night. Dona Magdalena is dead. Her father is, too."

"What?" Scott stared blankly at the lawyer. "What happened?"

Jarrod told him. Scott ran a hand through his hair and looked over at the bed again. It wasn't fair, but he wished they were all home again at Lancer, blissfully unaware that Johnny even had a grandfather.

"Don Andreas killed Don Julio?"

"It was self-defense," Jarrod said. "The segundo and Val saw it all, and they both say the same thing. But the jefe, the local governor, will be here soon and he's going to want to talk to Johnny about what happened yesterday."

"Johnny has a concussion," Scott protested. "Surely the jefe can wait."

"I'm sure he will wait for Don Andreas's grandson. But if Johnny is up to it, it might be better to get this wrapped up quickly."

***

Johnny, of course, insisted he was up to it. In fact, he insisted on getting up and dressed, and seeing the jefe in the library, not in his room.

Scott argued, but knew he wasn't going to win. Hell would freeze over before his self-sufficient little brother would ever admit an injury to a stranger. He'd spent too many years hiding any signs of weakness from the world.

Murdoch was fuming. He'd actually ordered Johnny to stay in bed, and they ended up shouting at each other. Scott interceded quickly, and Murdoch had stomped off angrily. Scott intended to find him just as soon as Johnny finished with the jefe and was safely back in his room. If Murdoch thought for a minute that this was the way to persuade Johnny to come home, he needed to think again.

Scott paced up and down the courtyard and pulled out his watch. Johnny had been talking to the jefe for nearly an hour. He looked at the French doors. He could see his brother through the glass, sitting in a high-backed chair.

He could also see Don Andreas, sitting at his desk. Johnny's grandfather had strolled into the library with the jefe and hadn't given Johnny any opportunity to argue about his presence. Scott would have liked to stay too, but something in his brother's eyes warned him not to even try it.

Don Andreas was finally getting up from his chair. He poured a drink for the jefe, but not for Johnny, to Scott's relief.

Johnny stood and headed for the French doors. Scott crossed the courtyard to meet him.

"Are you all right?"

Johnny gave him a look. "Fine."

"Is everything all right?"

"Yeah." Johnny started across the courtyard toward his own room. A stranger might not see that anything was wrong, but he was moving slowly, without his usual energy. "The jefe is going to take Francisco and Felipe into custody. They'll be able to buy their way out eventually, but it will probably cost them every cent they have."

"What about their wives and Dona Caterina?"

Johnny shrugged. "They say they didn't know anything about it. They're packing up to leave for their father's estancia. Probably to get their hands on every cent they can before the government takes it."

"Will they take him back there for burial? And Magdalena?"

Johnny nodded. He was a little pale, but kept on walking.

"How is your grandfather?"

"He's fine."

***

Johnny wanted sleep, not company. Scott helped him pull off his boots and left him alone.

He found Val before he found Murdoch. The sheriff was sitting in the sun, watching a young horse circle a corral.

"Johnny OK?" Val asked, taking his tobacco pouch out of his pocket and starting to roll a cigarette.

"I think so. He just finished talking to the jefe. Have you seen Murdoch?"

A smile flitted across Val's face. "Hard to miss him. He went for a walk with Miz Barkley. She wanted to visit with Carillo's wife."

"He and Johnny had another fight."

Val finished rolling his cigarette and took out a match. "That's nothing new, is it?"

"No. No, it's not." Scott gave him a sideways look. "Johnny seems to get along all right with his grandfather."

Val coughed softly into his hand and wiped it on his pants. "You get along OK with your grandfather, dontcha?"

"Yes," Scott said.

"He's rich, from what Johnny's said. And he'd give you just about anything you could want?"

"Yes."

"Only, you still decided to go to Lancer when your daddy sent for you, and you decided to stay awhile?"

"Yes."

Val took a long drag on his cigarette. He didn't say anything else.

***

Johnny slept through lunch. He was vaguely aware that Murdoch and Scott looked in on him a few times, but kept his eyes closed. He didn't feel like talking to them or anyone else.

He felt better when he woke late in the afternoon. His head still ached, but nothing like before, and he was starving. He pulled on his boots and wandered to the kitchen, where the cook scolded him for getting up and fed him two bowls of the posole she had simmering on the stove. She watched him like a hawk until he finished the last spoonful of the spicy stew.

"More?" she suggested.

He shook his head and gave her a smile. "If you feed me any more, I'll bust something. Gracias. You saved my life."

She laughed at that and patted his shoulder, her touch warming him nearly as much as her soup. He felt at home in the kitchen, just as he did at Lancer. He sat at the table for a few minutes, listening to the women chatter in Spanish as they went about their work.

He needed to talk to his grandfather, even if he wasn't looking forward to the conversation. He sighed and pushed his chair back.

He found Don Andreas alone in the library. The older man raised an eyebrow when he appeared in the door. "I thought you were resting."

"I did," Johnny said. "Can I talk to you?"

"Of course."

Aware his grandfather was watching him as carefully as the cook had, Johnny sat down in his usual chair. He gave Don Andreas a slight smile. "I've had worse than this."

Don Andreas opened his mouth, appeared to think better of whatever he was going to say and closed it again. "What did you want to talk about?"

Johnny slid farther down in the chair, contemplating the toes of his boots. "I'm sorry about Magdalena."

"Thank you. I am sorry, as well, for the girl, but I cannot pretend to be grief stricken. I barely knew her."

His grandfather sure didn't waste much time on sentiment or putting up appearances. Johnny didn't mind. He didn't either.

"You reckon you'll get married again?"

"I don't know. If I do, I assure you I will choose more carefully." Andreas picked up a paperweight from his desk and played with it. "I am grateful you warned me about Don Julio's plan. I should have stopped it, instead of trying to test the girl."

Johnny shrugged. "Nobody forced her to drink that poison. It was her choice."

"Was it?" Andreas looked up. "She did not think so."

"That's not your fault."

"She would still be alive if I had not given her a choice."

"It was her choice," Johnny repeated. "Not yours. It was up to her to decide what to do or to ask for help if she wanted it."

Andreas thought about it for a few moments. "Are you trying to tell me I should let you make your own choices as well, nieto? Because, I warn you, this is not the best example you could offer."

Johnny grinned. "I been making my own choices for a long time. Can't say I haven't ever done anything stupid, but I made it this far."

Andreas sighed deeply. "I wish my daughter had brought you here when you were young. Even if she had left you with your papa, it would have been better than what she did."

Johnny was startled by the regret he could hear in his grandfather's voice. He waved a hand dismissively. "That's all done. Nothing you, or Murdoch, or Mama, can do to change it now. And I'm not a little kid any more."

"No, you are not."

Johnny lifted his chin. "What I said before, it still stands. If you marry again and have another kid, I'll back him up if something happens to you and he needs help. But I want to go back to California. Murdoch and me, we don't always get along so good, but he's my father and we made a deal last spring, him, Scott and me. I'm not running out on Lancer like my mama did."

"I understand." Andreas studied him. "I don't think I will have another son, but it doesn't matter. I already have an heir I can be proud of. Perhaps, even if he lives in California, he will choose to visit his grandfather occasionally?"

Johnny nodded.

Chapter 41

Johnny eyed the steamer waiting at the wharf in San Diego. Scott almost laughed at the expression on his face. Johnny glared at him and turned his attention to the horses Jaime Carillo was leading onto the ship.

"They're beauties," Scott said. "It was good of your grandfather to give them to you."

Johnny didn't say anything. He'd been unusually quiet the last few days.

Scott waited until the steamer had pulled away from the shore before he tackled his brother again. Murdoch and the Barkleys had gone to their cabins, and Val had disappeared into the smoking room to play poker, but Johnny was leaning over the rail, watching as San Diego receded.

"Are you OK?" Scott asked.

"So far," Johnny said.

"I wasn't just asking if you felt seasick."

A smile curved Johnny's mouth. "I wasn't just telling you I'm not going to puke yet."

Scott thought about it, and nodded. "Murdoch told me he invited Don Andreas to visit Lancer."

"Yeah," Johnny said. "I'll probably go back to visit some time, too."

"What about your mother?" Scott asked. "Will you visit her?"

Johnny's smile flashed at full strength for the first time in days. "That could be hard."

"What do you mean? They don't allow visitors at the convent?"

"She isn't at the convent."

"She isn't?"

Johnny shook his head. "She ran off a few weeks ago. They don't usually have any men there, but they took in someone who was hurt, and Mama went with him when he left. The nuns just wrote to my abuelo to tell him she was gone."

"Does Murdoch know?"

"Nope." Johnny shot a look at his brother. "He divorced her, didn't he?"

"I don't actually know." Scott gulped. "He didn't say anything more about it. You better tell him."

Johnny looked over the railing. He looked as if he were contemplating a swim and Scott grabbed his belt without thinking. That drew another dazzling smile. "I'm not loco," Johnny protested.

"Let's go down below and talk this over," Scott said. "Maybe we should consult Jarrod."

Johnny hesitated, looking down the companionway. "I kinda like it up here on deck."

"You can't stay up here for the entire trip, Johnny. And you do need to tell Murdoch about your mother."

"What about your mother?" a deep voice said behind them.

Johnny looked at Scott before he answered his father. "We were just wondering if you divorced her yet."

Murdoch's face was puzzled. "Yes, I did. I'm sorry, John."

"Oh, it's OK with me," Johnny assured him. "Um, I think I'll go check on the horses and make sure they're all right."

"I'll come with you," Scott offered.

"No, that's all right. You stay with Murdoch. You can tell him the rest of it." Johnny disappeared rapidly down the companionway he had been looking at so doubtfully before. Scott was still opening his mouth to object. He started to follow his brother, but a big hand gripped his shoulder.

"The rest of it? What does he mean, Scott?"

"It's nothing to be concerned about, sir." Scott was thinking hard. If Murdoch had divorced Maria, it didn't really matter if he knew she was on the loose again. And he never would know, not unless they told him or she turned up at Lancer. Scott shuddered.

"Scott? Are you feeling all right?"

Scott was still thinking. Maybe it would really be kinder to let Murdoch think his ex-wife was still safely locked in a convent, atoning for her sins. Otherwise, he might worry that she would show up at the ranch, or try to contact Johnny. The idea made Scott's stomach lurch, and he could just imagine how his father would feel about it.

"Scott?" Murdoch repeated.

"I guess I am feeling a little sick, sir," Scott said truthfully. "I think perhaps I should go and lie down for a while."

"I hope both of you aren't going to be sick all the way to San Francisco."

"I don't think so. I'm sure I'll be fine."

"I'll help you get to your cabin."

"No, that's all right, really." He would hole up in the cabin for a few hours, and Murdoch would probably forget the entire conversation as long as Johnny didn't blurt anything out.

Scott decided to take his chances.

***

On the other side of the Mexican border, as the steamer headed north, Maria was dancing for an appreciative audience in a boisterous cantina.

A tall man came up to her afterward as she caught her breath, and offered her a glass of wine in exchange for the flower she wore in her hair. She liked the looks of him. He was darkly handsome and he'd obviously never worn his well-cut vaquero-style clothing to herd cattle or horses. He spoke as well as he dressed. It didn't bother her that he wore his gun low on his hip. She joined him at his table without a second thought for the army captain who had rescued her from the convent.

By the third glass of wine, she was sitting on the stranger's lap and he had one hand clasped around her waist. He was a few years younger than she, but that didn't matter.

The captain was drunk enough and stupid enough to object when he finally looked up from his card game. Her lip curled scornfully when he told her curtly to come along, as if she belonged to him or any other man.

The stranger shot the gun out of the captain's hand while he was still fumbling to draw it.

"Bitch!" the captain screamed after her as they departed. "Whore!"

Outside the cantina, the stranger kissed her hand and turned toward his horse.

"You're not leaving?" she said, dismayed.

"I am afraid so," he said. "It has been a pleasure, Senorita, but I have business elsewhere."

She had no money, well, not much. And the captain had friends in this miserable town. "But I thought you would take me with you."

"I am a pistolero," he said. "It is no life for such a lovely lady."

"I know what a pistolero's life is," she said, putting a hand on his arm. "My son is a pistolero, a famous one."

"Is he? Would I know the name of this famous pistolero?"

"Everyone knows his name," she said proudly. "It is Madrid. Johnny Madrid."

The man went still. "Madrid is dead. The rurales killed him last spring."

"No, he is not dead," she said. "He escaped."

He looked her over carefully. "Pardon, Senorita, but I cannot believe that you are old enough to be the mother of Johnny Madrid."

She smiled at that. "I was little more than a child when he was born, of course. And Juanito is not so very old."

"I suppose not," he said. "He was a boy the last time I saw him."

"You know him?"

"You could say that." The stranger held out a hand to her. "Perhaps you could ride with me for a while, after all, and tell me all about Juanito."

THE END

Whistle, August 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.