Lancer stories by Whistle

The story is rated PG-13 for slightly adult content.

Stitches

Johnny didn't know anything about the visitors. Even Murdoch acknowledged that afterward, although the rancher also maintained - loudly - that it didn't matter if Johnny knew or not. It still shouldn't have happened. Scott, listening to his father bellow about his brother's behavior, felt slightly guilty.

"I should have warned him, sir," he said.

Murdoch turned his glare from his younger son to his firstborn. "Yes, you should have," he fumed. "But that's still no excuse."

Johnny was getting restless. "Dios, Old Man, it's not like I killed anyone."

"I don't know about that." Scott's mouth twitched. "Miss Frobisher was still having heart palpitations when she left."

Johnny and Murdoch both glared at Scott.

"This is not funny, young man," Murdoch growled. It would have been more impressive if he could keep his mouth from twitching too.

"I'm sorry," Scott managed to say before he dissolved into helpless laughter. "But the looks on their faces..."

Johnny stood up. "You're right, Murdoch."

"What did you say?" Murdoch's jaw dropped.

"I said you're right," Johnny hissed. "This isn't funny."

He stalked upstairs and his door slammed with a force that made the glasses rattle on the sideboard.

***

Johnny had been plastered with mud, from head to toe, by the time he extricated himself from the ditch. The pinto was grazing quietly nearby. "Stupid horse," Johnny said. It decided to move away. Johnny swore a blue streak in English and Spanish. The horse moved faster.

He'd been away from Lancer for more than a week, delivering a contract, and had figured on reaching the hacienda in time for lunch. He looked forward to it, he admitted to himself, and not just because he missed Maria and Teresa's cooking.

But that was before the half-broken pinto he was riding decided to spook at nothing at all. He went sailing over its head into the mud and landed with a splat that knocked the breath out of him.

Lunch was hopeless, he figured, when he finally crawled out. He might still get back in time to clean up and have supper with his family if he caught that damn horse quickly.

He watched the pinto prance and buck down the road and swiped his hand across his face, but only managed to smear more mud across it. He wished for Barranca, but his beloved palomino was in the barn at Lancer. He'd purchased the pinto to ride home instead of taking the stage. The only other choices had been an old, broken down cart horse or a tiny burro. He was beginning to think he picked wrong. He sighed and started after the horse.

A tall, straight-backed blond strode across the yard from the corrals when Johnny finally rode through the arch that afternoon and stopped in front of the barn. He reached for the younger man as Johnny slid off the pinto. "Are you hurt?" he demanded. "What happened?"

"I'm fine." Johnny tried to pull away.

"You need some sleep and a bath." Scott Lancer took a long look at his brother and smiled. "Not necessarily in that order."

"Johnny!" Jelly hurried out of the barn and took the pinto's reins. "Bout time you got yourself home," the old handyman grumbled.

"I'm two days early," Johnny pointed out.

Jelly ignored this. "There some reason why you brought all that mud home with you, boy?"

Johnny tried again, unsuccessfully, to shake off his older brother's hand. "Long story."

Scott turned Johnny toward the bathhouse, nudging him forward. "Tell us later. You go on and get into the bath. I'll get some clothes for you and bring them down."

Scott didn't even think to mention that their foster sister, Teresa, was hosting the church sewing circle in the great room. He left his brother soaking in a steamy tub, carried Johnny's muddy clothes to the laundry and started up the back stairs.

A commotion in the yard distracted him. Johnny's new pinto reared wildly, pulling away from Jelly, and Scott ran outside to help the older man catch the horse. Then one of the hands drove in with a wagon to pick up more supplies for a fence crew, and another came along with a question about another job. Nearly an hour passed before Scott remembered he was supposed to bring Johnny some clean clothes.

The screaming reminded him.

Johnny had fallen asleep in the tub. The water was cool by the time he opened his eyes. He stood up, the water sliding off his wet skin, and reached for a towel. He couldn't find any clothes on the bench when he finished drying himself.

That puzzled him but he finally decided to make a dash up the back stairs to his room. He wrapped the towel around his waist and peered cautiously out the bathhouse door with one blue eye. No one was around and he ran across the courtyard to the door.

It would have been fine if the minister's sister-in-law hadn't eaten so many blackberries for breakfast. She started across the hall toward the privy just as Johnny ran inside. The impact knocked both of them to the floor.

Scott skidded into the back hall minutes later. A large woman was flat on her face on the tiles, screeching at the top of her lungs and beating Johnny on the head and shoulders. Johnny sprawled underneath her, struggling to get free and to hold onto his towel. The rest of the sewing circle crowded into the doorway. They looked wide-eyed at Johnny - very nearly all of Johnny, Scott realized.

"Oh, my," a little spinster who ran a dressmaker's shop murmured.

Scott thought Johnny's cheeks were flushed with something more than sun, but he hadn't lost any of the sheer nerve that allowed him to survive his years as a gunfighter. He wrenched himself free and rose gracefully to his bare feet, clutching his towel with one hand. He glanced at his older brother before he looked at the sewing circle in the doorway. His mouth was slightly lopsided.

"Ladies," he said, sketching a small, jaunty bow. "If you'll excuse me." He strolled toward the stairs.

"Oh, my," the spinster said again.

***

Johnny had recovered his equilibrium and his sense of humor by breakfast. He demolished the plate of huevos rancheros that Maria set in front of him and gave the housekeeper a dazzling smile in thanks. She poured more coffee into his cup and offered him a plate of churros, sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar.

Murdoch pushed his own plate away and stood up. "I want to talk to both of you if you're finished eating," he growled.

They followed their father into the great room. Johnny took his coffee cup with him and snagged another churro on his way out of the kitchen. Scott did too. He mostly preferred his food plainer than the spicy dishes the housekeeper created for his brother, but he had a weakness for the star-shaped Mexican doughnuts.

"Jerusha Harper is going to be trouble," Murdoch said when he'd settled into his favorite chair behind the massive desk.

Johnny sighed and took a gulp of coffee. "That old bitch is always trouble," he said. "What difference does it make?"

"Watch your language, young man." Murdoch's face was stern.

Scott frowned. "Murdoch, I'm just as much to blame as he is."

"We'll discuss that another time," Murdoch said. "Right now, I'm concerned about what people are going to say, and how it could affect Teresa."

"It's nothing to do with Teresa," Scott insisted.

"No?" Murdoch decided to be blunt. "She is 17 years old, living with three men who are not actually related to her by blood, and one of them runs around the house, in front of the entire church sewing circle, without any clothes on. At the least, wouldn't you say there's bound to be a lot of talk?"

Johnny flushed. "Murdoch, I didn't..."

Murdoch held up his hand. "I know you wouldn't do anything to hurt Teresa on purpose, John."

"But you're saying I did hurt her." Johnny's face was desolate. "And I reckon you're right."

"Johnny!" Murdoch said as his younger son stood up. "Where do you think you're going?"

"There'd be less talk if I'm not here," Johnny said.

"No," Murdoch said flatly. "Absolutely not. I have an idea."

***

Teresa was puzzled when her guardian called her into the great room a few days later. "A governess?" she said. "Why on earth would I need a governess?"

Murdoch didn't want to discuss the real reasons for the decision with his ward. "A young girl should have an older woman to talk to," he said vaguely. "About things."

"What things?" Teresa asked.

"I've made my decision, Teresa. In fact, I've already made the arrangements. Mrs. Peabody will arrive on the train from San Francisco next week."

Teresa's face was rebellious. "I'm not a little girl, Murdoch," she protested. "I'll be 18 in August."

"You're certainly old enough to know better than to argue with me, young lady," Murdoch said.

Teresa flounced out of the great room, seething, and ran into Johnny outside.

"What's wrong?" he asked, putting his hands out to stop her from falling.

"Murdoch thinks I need a keeper," Teresa said. "He just told me he's hired a governess."

Johnny snatched his hands away from his foster sister, remembering why Murdoch had decided to hire an older woman to come to the ranch and live there with them.

"Yeah?" he said. "That doesn't sound so bad, Teresa. You'll have someone to keep you company."

"I'm not lacking for company," Teresa stormed.

"Female company," Johnny amended.

Teresa frowned at him. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And I've taken pretty good care of you and Scott and Murdoch too. I don't need some stranger trying to tell me what to do, as if I were a child."

"Teresa, that's not what Murdoch meant," Johnny protested.

"What does he mean, then?" Teresa's brown eyes were stormy.

Johnny ran his hands through his hair. It was easier, in many ways, to face another gun hawk than an angry teenaged girl. "He just wants to protect you."

It was the wrong thing to say. "Protect me?" Teresa shrieked. "Protect me from what?"

Johnny focused on his boots, drawing a circle on the floor with his toe.

"John Lancer! Tell me, right this minute, what is going on."

"Nothing," Johnny mumbled, still not meeting her eyes. "Teresa, I have to go. Scott's waiting for me and Murdoch's going to skin both of us if we don't finish that fence today."

***

Murdoch scowled as Johnny fidgeted again and tugged on his necktie. He caught his younger son's eye and the boy subsided on the hard wooden pew.

This was a first for the family. Scott often accompanied Murdoch and Teresa to the Sunday morning service at the church in Green River, but Johnny had flatly refused to have anything to do with church, either the Protestant church in Green River or the Catholic mission church in Morro Coyo, since he came home to Lancer.

Murdoch hadn't even tried to insist, up until now. He had enough battles with his younger son and wasn't going to add another. Johnny was old enough to make his own decisions about attending church.

This Sunday, however, five days after the incident with the sewing circle, Murdoch told both of his sons they would attend church together, all of them, and the Sunday school picnic afterward. And he added, his eyes on Johnny, both of them better be on their very best behavior.

The gunfighter didn't argue with his father, for once. Teresa looked surprised when Johnny came downstairs with Scott, but didn't ask any questions either. She was still mad about the governess due to arrive in a few days and wasn't speaking to any of the Lancer men more than necessary.

Johnny swung his leg and Murdoch found himself stifling a smile. The boy hadn't learned to sit still through a church service any better than he did when he was a toddler. Murdoch and Maria had taken their son to church in Morro Coyo most Sundays and it was Murdoch's job to keep the active little boy reasonably quiet during the Mass. For a long time, after Maria took Johnny away, Murdoch had stayed away from church. When the church formed in Green River, he started attending the Sunday service more out of a sense of duty to set an example in the community than anything else. He had lost his faith along with his second son.

He only started to believe again when both sons came home and agreed to help him fight the land pirates. He prayed desperately he wasn't going to lose this second chance during the week when Johnny was so sick from a bullet wound and they didn't know if he would live or die. He still couldn't quite believe both of his sons were home or that they would stay.

Murdoch reached out and tapped his son's knee. "Sit still," he whispered. "It's almost over." Johnny looked up, startled, and gave him a sudden grin. The congregation rose to sing and Johnny fumbled with the hymnal. Murdoch suppressed a rusty smile.

The minister beamed vaguely at Murdoch and both of his sons at the close of the service. The Reverend Timothy Harper was a scholar at heart, a quiet, happy soul who was more interested in his books than the daily doings of his small flock or his household. Murdoch enjoyed talking with him and hadn't worried that the minister would do anything but chuckle if he heard about Johnny's introduction to the sewing circle. He suspected Timothy tuned out most of his sister-in-law's constant, scolding stream of complaints, and couldn't blame him.

Timothy was a widower with a daughter Teresa's age and his sister-in-law ruled their roost. They had arrived in Green River just a few months ago. Jerusha sized up the town quickly, decided on its failings and set out to reform them with a zeal that would have done credit to a missionary. Timothy was more inclined to offer gentle guidance than dire warnings of hellfire and brimstone.

"How nice to see you, John," the minister said to Johnny, shaking the young man's hand. "My daughter tells me that you and Drew Compton were most helpful when she planned the Sunday school races this afternoon."

Drew Compton was the red-haired son of another local rancher, about the same age as Johnny and another naturally born hellion. The two of them should have grown up together. As it was, they were rapidly making up for missed opportunities for mischief. Murdoch felt deep misgiving at the news that Johnny and Drew had anything at all to do with planning the afternoon's entertainment. He tried to catch Johnny's eye, but the minister's blond daughter, Molly, had pulled both of his sons and his ward into a group of young people.

***

"Mr. Lancer," a cold voice said and Murdoch found himself taking the hand of the minister's sister-in-law.

"Mrs. Harper," he said politely. "I hope you're well."

"I've been better. My nerves took an awful shock." Jerusha Harper's eyes darted to Johnny. She had eyes like a fish, Murdoch thought uneasily, large, baleful and glistening.

"I'm glad to have a chance to talk to you," he said aloud. "I wanted to apologize to you, again, for what happened at the ranch last week. I can assure you that I've spoken to my son about his behavior."

She wasn't mollified. "I should hope so. I never saw anything like it in my life, not in any Christian house."

Murdoch looked at his sons and sighed inwardly. Johnny would hate this, and he didn't like it himself, but he needed to try to repair some of the damage this woman's malice could do to his children.

"It's unfortunate that John never had the benefit of a good woman's influence," he said. "I worry about it."

To his horror, a speculative look crossed her face. "I should think so," she agreed avidly.

"He has a good heart," Murdoch said uneasily. "He just, well, I'm afraid he's lacked proper guidance for most of his life."

"You need to take a firm hand with him," she said. "Spare the rod and spoil the child."

Murdoch could just imagine how his volatile younger son would react if he tried to take him out to the woodshed. He couldn't stomach the idea anyway. Johnny wouldn't admit it, and Murdoch wasn't about to confide any of his son's secrets to Jerusha Harper, but he suspected someone had beaten Johnny mercilessly, more than once, when he was only a child. "John was a bit too old for that when he finally came home," he said mildly.

She pursed her lips. "If thy hand or thy foot offend thee, cut them off, and cast them from thee."

Murdoch gulped. He wasn't about to cast off his long lost son, certainly not for anything so harmless, now that he finally had him back again. In fact, he was beginning to regret that he had even hollered at Johnny. "I'm hoping he'll settle down now that he's living at home and has better examples."

"It could work the other way," she warned. "He may lead Scott and Teresa astray. Teresa, poor lamb, is just a young girl. I can't help but worry about what she may be seeing and learning in your house, after what I saw Tuesday. No decent woman could help it."

Murdoch held his temper. "Teresa needs a woman's influence too," he said, wondering why Jerusha's eyes suddenly gleamed. "That's why I've hired a governess for her."

"A governess?" The eager look disappeared from Jerusha's face.

"She should be arriving this week from San Francisco. A very good woman, the widow of a professor at California State and highly recommended." Scott was waving at him and Murdoch grasped eagerly at the opportunity to escape. "If you'll excuse me, I'd better join my sons."

***

Johnny unfastened his tie as soon as the surrey rolled out of town that afternoon.

"Slow down," Murdoch growled from the seat next to him. "Or I'll drive."

Johnny didn't say anything but the carriage slowed perceptibly.

"It wasn't Johnny's fault, sir," Scott said from the back seat.

Murdoch sighed. "I know that. Can you say the same, young man?"

"Me?" Scott was stunned. "I didn't do anything."

"Exactly," Murdoch said dryly.

Scott was unused to his father finding any fault with him. "I didn't know until it was too late that Drew spiked the lemonade."

"And when you did know, what did you do about it, Scott?"

Scott's face turned a dull red. "Well, nothing, sir," he admitted. "I didn't think it was my place to interfere."

Teresa chose that moment to giggle and hiccup. Murdoch closed his eyes, as if in pain. Most of the Sunday school, including his own ward, would have a vicious hangover in the morning. That lemonade had been all too popular.

Scott looked at his foster sister. She was holding a handkerchief to her mouth. "Johnny, stop the carriage! Quick."

Teresa was pale when Scott helped her back into the surrey. "I want to go home," she moaned, leaning her head on Scott's shoulder.

Murdoch twisted his neck to assess his ward's condition. "John, maybe you'd better drive a little faster after all."

The Sunday school picnic had been a disaster. Murdoch thought the only good thing about it was that Jerusha Harper couldn't possibly blame Johnny. With any luck, she might even be distracted enough by the day's events to forget about his recent transgression.

Murdoch, worried about what kind of scrape Johnny might get into with Drew Compton, kept his younger son at his side when the family finished the picnic lunch Maria had packed for them. Johnny didn't argue, to Murdoch's relief, but he was under no illusion that his son had suddenly turned obedient. Johnny was obviously bored. Scott was no less bored, but better trained to be polite.

Murdoch spent the afternoon chatting with other members of the cattlemen's association. Johnny listened quietly and fell asleep in the shade. He was still fast asleep when the races began.

It quickly became clear to many observers that the younger members of the congregation were off balance, and not merely because they were trying to run a three-legged race. The egg and spoon race disintegrated into a melee. Tommy Preston threw his egg at Billy Cole and hit his sister Susie instead. She retaliated instantly. Soon there were dozens of raw eggs flying through the air. Jerusha Harper rushed in to restore order and a volley of eggs smacked her in the head, running down her face.

Johnny was awake by now, but Murdoch grabbed him by the collar when he started toward the action. "Stay right here," he ordered.

The big rancher watched, amazed, as Teresa and Molly Harper tackled Drew Compton and ground eggs into his hair. His eyes scanned the field, searching for Scott. The former Bostonian was standing well out of the line of fire, a bemused look on his face.

"Scott!" Murdoch shouted. "Get your sister."

***

Zachary Compton rode over to Lancer a few days later. He found Murdoch in the great room, working on the accounts.

"Murdoch," he said. "I need to talk to you."

"Good to see you, Zachary," Murdoch poured Scotch for both of them. "Sit down. I was just thinking that we should go over the plans for the cattle drive soon."

Zachary sipped his drink and sighed. "There's something else we have to talk about first, Murdoch."

"What's that?"

"There's been a lot of talk in town since the picnic. I suppose you know my boy, Andrew, was responsible for spiking the lemonade."

Murdoch gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm sure you've dealt with him appropriately."

"Damn right I have. He's not too old to feel my belt, not when he behaves like a fool kid, and he isn't sitting easy on his horse. And he's not leaving the ranch for the rest of the month either, not unless I'm with him."

Murdoch nodded, not quite sure why his old friend was telling him how he'd dealt with his son.

"I wanted you to know that Drew swears that Johnny didn't have anything to do with it," Zachary said abruptly. "And I believe him. He may be a lot of things, but my boy's never been a liar."

Murdoch didn't understand why the question had even come up. "I know Johnny didn't have anything to do with it. He was with me the whole time."

"You haven't heard the talk, then?"

"What talk?"

Zachary sighed. "They're saying in town that your boy put Drew up to it."

Murdoch froze. "Who's saying that?"

"Well, near as I can tell, just about all the ladies in the church. My Rebecca went to the sewing circle yesterday and says Johnny was just about all they talked about. She tried to set them straight but they didn't believe her. And she heard all about the sewing circle meeting last week too. She was poorly and didn't go to that meeting."

Murdoch rubbed his face, not certain what to say. "I suppose it's inevitable there's a lot of talk about Johnny, given his past."

"This sounds like it's more than talk," Zachary said. "Becca didn't like the sound of it, Murdoch. That's why I rode over today."

"What do you mean?"

"I think your boy should watch his back," Zachary said. "No one's likely to take him on to his face. They don't have the guts for that. But Sarah McClintock was there, and plenty steamed that anyone gave her girls liquor. And you know those boys of hers are like bulls, only meaner."

Murdoch felt cold. There were three McClintock boys, all massive and dim-witted. The twins were a year older than Johnny and Drew and the eldest was Scott's age. They lived with their straitlaced, deeply religious mother and two sisters on a small ranch. Their father had disappeared years ago after a drunken spree. Any kind of liquor was anathema to Sarah McClintock. "I don't remember seeing the McClintock boys at the picnic, come to think of it."

Zachary snorted. "You'd need a team and a hay wagon to carry enough food to feed that crew. Sarah's no fool. Besides, they were in jail. They damn near killed some stranger last week because he spoke to Charity and Temperance outside the store. The sheriff only turned them loose Monday because the man wouldn't press charges. He high-tailed it out of town on the stage as soon as Doc let him."

Murdoch's face was thoughtful. "And they're blaming Johnny?"

"Fraid so," Zachary said. "I told Drew to look out and you'd better warn Johnny too. Might not be such a bad idea to keep him close to home until the McClintocks cool off some."

"He and Scott drove over to Cross Creek to meet the train. I hired a governess for Teresa and she's arriving from San Francisco."

"Cross Creek, huh? They have to go right by Sarah's place."

Murdoch knew that. "Maybe I'll send some of the men out to meet them this afternoon," he said.

"Maybe you better," Zachary agreed. "I'm real sorry, Murdoch. Drew didn't mean any harm. That boy just doesn't think."

"I know the feeling. Johnny's just the same."

"Imagine if the two of them grew up together, like they should have." Zachary shook his head. "Reckon we'd both have had our hands full."

Murdoch wished he'd had that chance.

***

Johnny had been late for breakfast and didn't have time to finish his second cup of coffee before they left for Cross Creek to meet the train. He complained grumpily about taking the surrey instead of riding Barranca. Scott teased him about the swaybacked, badly behaved pinto.

"It beats the burro," Johnny said, mystifying his brother.

"The what?"

Johnny knuckled his eyes and changed the subject. "Hey, Scott, how old do you reckon this governess is anyway?"

"I hadn't really thought about it," Scott said. "She was married to Alec Peabody, who was about Murdoch's age. He was killed six months ago in some kind of mining accident."

"You knew her husband?"

"No, not really. I know some of his cousins, back in Boston, and I know he taught natural history at Harvard before he came west, but he left Boston when I was just a child. He was teaching at the college in San Jose and doing some work for a mining company."

Johnny leaned back in the seat and settled his hat on his head, tilting it down over his eyes. "Sure hope Murdoch's not borrowing more trouble."

"What do you mean?"

"Look at Mrs. Harper," Johnny said. "How'd you like to have her living in the house, riding herd on you?"

Scott made a face. "Mrs. Peabody is going to be Teresa's governess, not ours."

"Long as she knows it," Johnny drawled.

Two pairs of eyes watched with interest as the surrey passed. "Ma told us to whomp Johnny Lancer," Luke McClintock said, flexing giant fists.

"We're gonna," his twin said. "But she didn't say nothing about Scott. And Simon will be awful mad if he misses out on this."

"You reckon them Lancers will be coming back this way?"

Matthew McClintock thought, the effort scrunching his freckled face. He paused to scratch himself thoroughly. "Reckon so," he finally said. "Looks like they're headed for Cross Creek and there ain't any other road back to their place. Let's go and get Simon."

The Lancer brothers arrived in Cross Creek as the train pulled in, but no older woman stepped off. There weren't many passengers. A couple herded four small children off one of the cars, scolding the boys not to go too close to the edge of the platform, and an older man who looked vaguely familiar followed them. He nodded at the brothers and Scott recognized one of his father's friends from the cattlemen's association.

Farther down the platform, two young women stepped off a car together and stood talking. The conductor pulled their baggage off the train and piled it up on the platform.

"She must have changed her mind about coming," Johnny said, when it became clear there were no more passengers. "Let's go."

"Wait," Scott said. One of the young women waved to a man coming down the platform. He picked up her bags and they left the other young woman standing by herself. She looked around expectantly and said something to the conductor, who pointed to Scott and Johnny. She moved down the platform.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, but are you from Lancer?" Her voice was clear and confident. Scott guessed she was a little older than his brother, but not by much. She had fine-boned features and hazel eyes and hair, swept up in a loose knot under a fashionable hat.

"I'm Scott Lancer and this is my brother, Johnny," he replied slowly.

"I'm Elizabeth Peabody," she said, offering him a hand.

"You're going to be Teresa's governess?" Johnny asked, openly skeptical.

She gave him a cool look. "Yes," she said. "If Teresa is Mr. Murdoch Lancer's ward? Do you have a problem with that?"

The corner of Johnny's mouth turned up. "Nope, but Teresa may have something to say about it."

"I am perfectly capable of teaching a little girl, Mr. Lancer."

His crooked smile grew, but there was a challenge in it. "It's Johnny," he said softly. "Murdoch is Mr. Lancer. And Teresa ain't no little girl."

"Teresa isn't a little girl, you mean," she corrected sweetly. "Perhaps you could also use a few lessons."

"Yeah?" The blue eyes gleamed wickedly. "You reckon you could teach me something, Miz Peabody?"

Scott stepped in hastily. "Let's get your baggage," he said. "It's a long way home and we should get started."

***

The three McClintock brothers watched the surrey approach. "They got some girl with them," Luke said, disgusted.

"So what," Simon said. "What difference does that make?"

"Might be better to wait until we can get Johnny by himself," Matthew suggested.

Simon considered it. "Johnny won't shoot if we get our hands on Scott first. Or maybe that gal."

"If we do," Matthew, the brightest of the trio, wasn't enthusiastic about this plan. It wasn't that he objected to beating up Johnny Lancer, if they could, but he was wary of the former gunfighter's skill with a pistol.

"I'm the oldest and you better do what I say or I'll tell Ma," Simon said. "You get ready now."

"Hold up!" Luke lifted his head. "I hear riders coming."

The McClintocks watched as a group of vaqueros swept cross-country toward the surrey. They recognized the Lancer segundo at the head of the pack.

"Hey, Cip," Johnny called, pulling up. "Thought you were going out to the mesa today."

Cipriano said something to Johnny in Spanish, far too rapidly for Scott to follow. Johnny's eyes narrowed and he fired back a question in the same language. Cipriano answered, but Johnny wasn't satisfied. He said something that drew a sharp look and stern response from the older man. Johnny gave him a cheeky grin and said something else. Cipriano still looked stern, but Scott could tell he was repressing a smile. Even the flint-faced segundo wasn't proof against Johnny's charm.

"What's wrong?" Scott asked.

"Dunno," Johnny said, starting the horses again. Cipriano and the vaqueros fell in alongside and behind the surrey. "Murdoch sent them out to meet us. Cip says the Old Man will explain when we get home."

"That's odd," Scott said. "Cipriano is the segundo, or foreman, at Lancer, Mrs. Peabody."

"So I gathered. I speak Spanish."

The back of Johnny's neck turned red and Scott wondered just what it was that his brother had said to Cipriano.

Johnny glanced backward. "Um, how well do you speak Spanish?"

"I can't say I've ever heard some of the phrases you used," she replied demurely. "But the meaning was quite clear."

"Sorry," Johnny breathed.

She didn't appear to be disturbed. "You speak Spanish very well, as if it were your native tongue."

"I should," Johnny drawled. "My mama was Mexican."

"Really." She glanced at Scott's blond hair, a little puzzled. "But you don't speak Spanish, Mr. Lancer?"

"We have the same father, but different mothers," Scott said a little stiffly. "And Johnny's right. Mr. Lancer is our father. My name is Scott."

She gave him a tentative smile. "Mine is Elizabeth. The two of you are half-brothers then?"

"We're brothers, Elizabeth," Scott said firmly.

A hint of a dimple appeared but she studied him gravely. "Tell me, Scott, just how old is your father's ward?"

"Teresa is seventeen. She'll be eighteen in August."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Seventeen? I've found most girls out here aren't still doing lessons at seventeen."

Scott's face was rueful. "Teresa finished school last year, I believe," he said. "That's not what Murdoch - what our father had in mind."

"Just what did he have in mind when he hired a governess?"

Johnny glanced backward again but didn't say anything to help Scott out.

"I believe my father is mostly concerned that Teresa have some suitable companionship," Scott said.

"I see. Would it be safe to assume that your father does not have a wife now? And that neither of you is married?"

"That's correct," Scott said.

"I see." She laughed suddenly and the dimple did appear. "I imagine he assumed that I'm quite a bit older than I am."

"I imagine so." Scott stole a cautious look at her.

"Teresa is not related to you?"

"Well, no. No, she's not."

"So there's probably been some talk about her living with your father and the two of you?"

"Gonna be more now," Johnny predicted from the front seat.

Scott frowned at his brother's back before he answered Elizabeth's question. "I'm afraid so. But she really is like a sister."

"She may be, but I'm nothing like a sister to either of you," Elizabeth pointed out. "Perhaps I should go back to Cross Creek to catch the next train back to San Francisco."

"There won't be another train for three days, until Saturday," Scott said.

"I see." Her eyes were thoughtful.

***

Murdoch's face showed his dismay when Scott helped the governess down from the surrey. "Where's Mrs. Peabody?"

"This is Mrs. Peabody, sir. May I present my father, Murdoch Lancer."

"How do you do, Mr. Lancer?" Elizabeth offered Murdoch a hand.

"You're Mrs. Peabody?"

"That's right."

"Mrs. Alexander Peabody?" Murdoch persisted.

"Alec was quite a bit older than I, of course."

Old enough to be her father, Murdoch thought savagely. He looked at his elder son, but Scott's face was bland. Johnny's eyes were full of mirth and Murdoch found some relief by asking brusquely why he was letting the horses stand there. Johnny just shrugged and led them toward the barn with a cocky grace that set his father's teeth on edge.

Teresa came down the stairs as they entered the house.

"Teresa, this is Mrs. Peabody," Murdoch said. "Mrs. Peabody, my ward, Teresa O'Brien."

"Hello," Teresa said uncertainly.

"It's nice to meet you." Elizabeth smiled at the girl, who smiled back after a moment.

"Perhaps you could show Mrs. Peabody to her room to rest before supper," Murdoch suggested. "She's had a long journey."

"Of course." Teresa refrained from asking any of the questions that were evident on her face. "This way."

Murdoch poured himself a drink as soon as they disappeared. He glared at his elder son. "She can't stay. Why did you even bring her here?"

"She can't get another train back to San Francisco for three days, sir," Scott pointed out. "We couldn't very well leave her on her own in Cross Creek."

Murdoch supposed not. He took a healthy swallow of his whiskey and sank into his desk chair. "This is the last thing we need right now, Scott."

"Why did you send Cipriano out to meet us?" Scott strolled over to the sideboard and helped himself to a drink. "He told Johnny that you'd explain."

Murdoch scowled. "There's talk in town that Johnny was responsible for what happened at the Sunday school picnic."

"How could he be? He was with you."

"They're saying he put Drew up to it."

"You believe that, Old Man?" a quiet voice drawled from the doorway.

Murdoch scowled at his younger son. "No, I don't believe it. His father rode over and told me Drew swears you had nothing to do with it."

Scott poured his brother a drink. Johnny sat down on the rug in front of the fire and swallowed some of it before he spoke again. "That still doesn't explain why you sent Cip out to meet us."

"Zachary says the McClintocks are pretty fired up," Murdoch said.

"Yeah? You don't think I can take care of myself?"

"You don't need to take care of this all by yourself."

"Yeah, I do." Johnny's expression was bleak. "And I sure don't need minders."

"I don't want you hurt," Murdoch protested. "Those McClintock boys are trouble."

"So am I." Johnny stood up in one fluid motion and set his drink down.

"Where are you going?" Murdoch demanded.

"Out."

Murdoch let him go without saying anything more. Scott let his breath out, unaware that he'd been holding it. "Just how dangerous do you think the McClintocks are, sir?"

"Zachary Compton told me they nearly killed a man last week because he spoke to their sisters."

"Shouldn't they be in jail then?"

"He wouldn't press charges." Murdoch set his own glass down abruptly. "I want you to stick close to your brother this week, Scott."

Scott's face tightened. His father should know that could go without saying, but he responded mildly, not showing his anger. "You can count on it, if he lets me."

"Cipriano will keep an eye on him too," Murdoch said absently.

Scott's head rose at that. "He's not a child, sir. He won't appreciate being treated like one."

Murdoch glowered. "I'm just trying to keep my son safe. Do you have a problem with that?"

"It's not a question of whether I have a problem. It's a question of what Johnny wants. He told you he'd prefer to handle this himself."

"The McClintocks won't make this a fair fight. You don't know them well, but I do."

Scott chewed on his lip. He had seen the oversized brothers in town and didn't want Johnny to take them on by himself any more than Murdoch did. But he also knew his stubbornly independent little brother would blow sky high if he noticed the ranch segundo riding herd on him. And he had little doubt Johnny would notice. The boy was always on alert.

"Tell me what I'm supposed to do." Murdoch's eyes pleaded for a solution and Scott felt his anger dissolve.

The younger man didn't know. He just didn't know.

***

Elizabeth came downstairs by herself and looked into the great room. Scott had gone upstairs to clean up before dinner, Johnny hadn't returned and Murdoch was alone.

"Mr. Lancer?" she said.

Murdoch had been staring out the windows. He swiveled his chair around.

"I think we need to talk." She moved into the room. She was wearing a plain, cream-colored silk blouse and a long dark skirt. A gold pin gleamed at her throat and she wore a plain gold wedding band. Her eyes glowed golden too, almost like a cat's. They were nearly the same color as her hair. She'd swept it up again in a smooth knot, capturing the tendrils that had escaped during her journey.

"Sit down." Murdoch waved a hand at a chair. "Would you like some, ah, sherry?"

"No, thank you." She sat, her skirt rustling. "Mr. Lancer, you cabled to San Francisco for governess, not a chaperone."

He looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," she said. "Clearly, it would hardly serve your purpose for me to remain here. In fact, it would probably cause more talk."

"Yes," he agreed. "I'll pay for your time and your expenses, of course, but I think you should take the next train back."

She nodded. "Your son Scott tells me that's not until Saturday."

"That's right." Murdoch was relieved, in a way, to find she was so direct, and a little shocked too. This girl couldn't be much more than twenty-two, twenty-three at most. She might be good company for Teresa, better than the older woman he thought he'd hired, but the very last thing the Lancer household needed right now was a beautiful young widow. He didn't even want to imagine what the sewing circle would have to say about Teresa's new governess. "In the meantime, of course, you'll be our guest."

"Thank you," she said. She looked around the room. "You have a beautiful home, Mr. Lancer."

"We like it," he said. "Your husband visited Lancer a few years ago. I was sorry to hear of his death."

"I didn't realize you knew him."

"Not well," Murdoch said. "He stopped by to ask permission to camp on our north mesa. He was interested in observing some of the local species. We got to talking and I invited him to dinner. He was an interesting man."

"I suppose so." Her face was oddly remote and Murdoch gave her a curious look. Alec Peabody had been an interesting man, able to talk for hours about a rock formation or a rare bird he'd spotted, but Murdoch just couldn't imagine the professor with a beautiful girl half his age.

Spurs jingled and Johnny came down the hall from the kitchen. Murdoch could hear the housekeeper scolding him in Spanish from the back of the house. He called back to her, laughing, and went up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Murdoch gave a small sigh of relief. Johnny was over his mad, for now, at least. The young man was as mercurial as his mother, shifting from storms to sunshine with a speed that made his father dizzy.

Teresa appeared in the doorway, still smiling at her foster brother's antics. "Supper will be ready in fifteen minutes."

"Good. Are you sure you wouldn't like some sherry, Mrs. Peabody?"

"Thank you, perhaps I will," she said. Murdoch poured sherry for both women. Teresa's eyes flickered, surprised, but she accepted the delicate crystal glass.

"Elizabeth is from Boston, like Scott," she said brightly. "But she didn't know him there."

"Boston is a large city, Teresa," Murdoch said. "Have you been in California long, Mrs. Peabody?"

"Two years," Elizabeth said. "I came here to join my parents after I finished my education."

"Oh? Are they still here?"

"No, they went back to Boston. My father teaches at Harvard." She took a small sip of her sherry. The crystal sparkled in the late afternoon sunlight.

"And you stayed here by yourself?" Teresa asked.

"Not by myself at the time," Elizabeth said. "I had married."

Teresa looked guilty and her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to remind you."

"It's quite all right." There was no sign of grief on Elizabeth's composed face.

***

During supper, Scott and Elizabeth talked about Boston. They knew many of the same people, and Scott was surprised he'd never met her. Their paths probably would have crossed if he hadn't enlisted in the cavalry.

"You must have attended the dances at Papanti's," he said.

She wrinkled her straight nose. "Sometimes," she said without enthusiasm.

"I attended some of your father's lectures at Harvard," Scott said.

Her eyes suddenly danced. "So did I."

"What?" Scott was puzzled. "Women aren't allowed to attend lectures."

"They're not?" Teresa interrupted. "Why not?"

"Harvard doesn't admit women." Elizabeth's eyes grew dark. "Regardless of their academic qualifications."

"Women's seminaries don't admit men either," Scott said.

Elizabeth gave him a scornful look. "It's hardly the same."

"Have women applied to attend Harvard?" Teresa asked.

"Yes," Elizabeth said. "The university refuses to allow it. It's turned down every application it's received."

"Really? That's not right," Teresa said indignantly.

Elizabeth smiled at her warmly. "I'm glad you think so."

Johnny had been eating his supper quietly. Scott wasn't even sure he was listening and was surprised when he suddenly spoke. "So, how did you get in?" he drawled, his vivid eyes on Elizabeth.

The dimple appeared. "A friend and I borrowed some of her brother's clothing and cut our hair short," she said. "And we used our middle names instead of our first names. Mine is Jordan and hers is Winthrop."

"You pretended you were boys?" Teresa was fascinated. "And you didn't get caught?"

"Not until Abby ran into one of her cousins. He told our parents. Abby's parents packed her off to the women's seminary at Mount Holyoke and mine sent me to Vassar, a women's college that had just opened in New York. I graduated in '68."

"Weren't the classes at Harvard difficult?" Teresa asked.

"Not at all," Elizabeth said, her lip curling.

Scott frowned. "Some of the lectures aren't suitable for mixed company."

"You think not?" Elizabeth said sweetly. "Or does the idea of competing with women in the classroom on an equal basis bother you?"

"An equal basis?" Scott paused. "It sounds like you've been listening to Lucy Stone."

"It's well worth listening to her," she shot back. "Why shouldn't women have the same rights as any other citizen to vote and hold property in their own names? Or do you think women are property too?"

Scott's smoky eyes remained calm. "I don't believe that any human being should be treated like property. That's why we fought a war a few years ago."

"Yes, we did," she said. "But that war didn't free all of America's slaves."

"You're surely not comparing the situation of women to slaves? It's only natural for men to want to protect women."

"I don't need or want protecting." She looked from Scott across the table to his brother and paused as Johnny gave her a slow smile.

"You never know," he said to her softly. "You might find it's not all bad."

Murdoch cleared his throat. "I don't think this is conversation for the dinner table."

Johnny didn't take his eyes off Elizabeth. She looked straight back at him. Scott's eyes narrowed.

"Johnny," he said sharply. "Pass the potatoes, please."

When they had finished the meal, Elizabeth helped Teresa clear the table and the three men moved into the great room.

"You'll need to drive her to Cross Creek Saturday to catch the train, Scott," Murdoch said. "Jelly can go with you."

Johnny's brows rose at that. "Jelly?"

Murdoch poured drinks. "Cipriano is rounding up the herd. I want you to help him move it to the higher pastures Saturday."

"Little early for that, isn't it?" Johnny asked. "There's still plenty of water and grass in the south pasture."

"I don't think so." Murdoch's voice was more abrupt than he intended and he watched his younger son stiffen.

Scott looked from his brother to his father and decided it was time to change the subject before either of them blew up. "Johnny, how about a game of chess?"

Johnny shook his head and got to his feet. "Not tonight. Think I'll turn in early."

***

Elizabeth's long hair fell loose over her shoulders. The windows were open and she could hear the night sounds from the garden.

She felt restless for some reason, unable to settle down to sleep or read. She left the bed and sat by the windows. A lithe figure crossed the shadowy courtyard, approaching the house, as she watched.

"Johnny?" a voice called. The figure stopped. Elizabeth watched as a second, taller man strolled across the courtyard. "Where have you been?"

"You checking on me, brother?"

"Damn right I am." Scott's voice was half exasperated and half amused. "It's the first rule for older brothers."

"Yeah?" She could see Johnny's teeth flash in a smile. He was facing the house, his shirt hanging loose. "You sure you aren't just making up those rules as you go along, Scott?"

"That's the second rule for older brothers," Scott replied gravely.

Johnny's laughter surprised her. It was a contagious sound and Elizabeth found herself smiling too.

Scott sat on a bench in the courtyard. Johnny hesitated, but joined him. "You said you were turning in early," Scott said.

"Changed my mind."

"Murdoch worries, you know," Scott's tone was slightly apologetic. "And so do I."

"Don't know what I can do about it. Not if you're going to work up a sweat every time I drop into the bunkhouse to play a little poker."

"I didn't know that's where you were," Scott pointed out.

"Scott, I'm not a kid. Hell, even when I was a kid, I didn't have to tell anyone where I was going or what I was doing."

More's the pity, Scott thought to himself, but he kept that idea to himself. "Johnny, we're family. Don't shut us out."

"You want me to wake you up to let you know if I visit the privy during the night?"

"No." Scott refused to smile. He held Johnny's eyes, his face serious. "You know what I mean. I don't want anything to happen to my little brother because he was stupid - or stubborn - and insisted on handling the McClintocks all by himself."

"I can handle them."

"Probably," Scott agreed. "But it's not necessary this time. Murdoch and I just want to help."

"It's not your fight."

"Yes, it is. If it's your fight, it's our fight too."

Johnny tensed suddenly, listening. Scott watched as he looked around the courtyard and then up at the windows of the silent hacienda. Something moved in one of the windows on the second floor. Scott identified it, in a moment, as Elizabeth's room.

"It's just the curtains," he said.

"Think so?" Johnny gave him a look and stood up. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed."

"You think maybe you might stay there this time?"

Johnny grinned. "Maybe. At least until breakfast."

***

Elizabeth had never seen anything so arrogant as the wild stallion, except possibly the young man who stood alone in the middle of the corral. Johnny and a charcoal black stallion faced each other, both of them issuing clear challenges. The horse moved first, snorting and stamping his feet. Johnny moved with the same thoughtless ease. The stallion shook his head furiously, and Johnny stepped a little closer. He was saying something, a soft, inaudible mixture of Spanish and a language Elizabeth didn't recognize.

The stallion broke away and ran a circle around the corral, his hoofs cutting effortlessly through the hard-packed dirt. Johnny watched calmly. Elizabeth held her breath as the horse slowed and faced Johnny again. It reared on two legs, screeching defiance.

Johnny stood his ground, still whispering. After a moment the horse settled down.

"What is he saying?" Elizabeth asked Teresa.

"He's talking to the horse," Teresa said. "Shhh. Just watch."

The horse broke free from Johnny's voice and ran even more wildly around the corral. Elizabeth noticed that Scott Lancer had stepped back from the rail and put a hand on his gun, loosening it from its sheath.

Johnny paid no attention to any of the spectators lined up around the corral. The stallion tossed its head again and stepped toward him. Elizabeth heard Scott's quick intake of breath, but Johnny let the horse walk right up to him. He reached up to touch it and the horse pulled back uneasily, then moved closer.

Elizabeth's mouth dropped open as Johnny handled the stallion, touching it all over. The horse shuddered but didn't move away. The two of them looked at each other and Johnny's hand rubbed the stallion's nose. The horse was very nearly the same color as the black hair that fell carelessly over the man's forehead.

Thunder rumbled in the distance and the stallion's powerful muscles bunched. Johnny pushed it away from him. The horse began to run wildly around the corral again.

"That's enough for today," Scott called from the rail. "Come on, Johnny. That storm could move in quickly."

Johnny glanced at his brother and back at the stallion. Lightning flashed across the sky. Johnny sighed, and crossed the corral, slipping under the rail. The stallion pulled up, watching him, then jumped at another flash.

"He sure can run, can't he?" Johnny watched the horse thunder around the corral.

"He can," Scott answered. "So don't get in his way, little brother."

Johnny shot him a quick smile, full of mischief, before he turned to look at the storm clouds on the horizon. "We could use that rain but I don't think we're going to get it this time. Think I'll ride out to give Cipriano a hand."

"It's almost lunch time," Scott objected. "We might as well stay to eat, and then we'll both go."

Johnny shook his head. "Cip's gonna have his hands full with the herd, even if we only get dry lightning."

"I'll come too then. Teresa, will you tell Murdoch?"

The girl nodded. "Do you want some sandwiches to take with you?"

Scott watched his brother disappear into the barn to get his horse. "I don't think Johnny's going to wait that long. Be sure you tell Murdoch where we went."

"I will. Don't be late for supper."

"I'll do my best." Scott gave her a rueful smile and followed Johnny into the barn. Ten minutes later, they were gone. Johnny kicked Barranca into a gallop before they passed through the arch and Scott urged his horse to keep up.

"That was amazing," Elizabeth said to Teresa, who was still watching her brothers' horses cross the golden range. The sky was growing darker, almost blue black, on the horizon and the air had an electric tingle. "But isn't it dangerous? That stallion could kill your brother with one kick."

Teresa looked up at that. Her shoulders drooped. "Johnny knows what he's doing but, yes, it is dangerous. Scott says that's part of the reason why he does it. Johnny's not exactly used to a quiet life."

That didn't surprise Elizabeth.

***

Jerusha Harper had taken a buggy and her niece to visit Sarah McClintock that morning. Molly rolled her eyes as the two older women dissected the town and its inhabitants over cups of tea and slices of cake. The McClintock girls listened, never putting a word in. Charity and Temperance rarely spoke, even when spoken to.

"Those Lancer boys brought another girl to their ranch yesterday," Sarah said. "My boys saw them."

"Another girl?" Jerusha's eyes narrowed. "Murdoch Lancer told me he hired a widow to be Teresa's governess, and about time too. She was supposed to arrive on the train from San Francisco yesterday."

"My boys said Scott and John drove by with a girl, all dressed up in fancy city clothes. I don't believe in girls dressing up like that. It gives young men the wrong ideas, not that John Lancer doesn't have plenty of the wrong ideas already."

Jerusha shook her head. "I'm surprised Murdoch doesn't have the sense to send that boy back to wherever he came from."

"Murdoch was besotted with that boy's mother too," Sarah said. "I said good riddance when she left and took her brat with her. She was Mexican, you know, and no better than she should be."

"So I've heard," Jerusha said.

"If I were Murdoch, I'd be afraid of being murdered in my bed," Sarah said. "I wouldn't sleep a wink with that gunfighter in the house."

Molly had heard enough. She spoke. "Johnny's not a gunfighter any more. And he was never a murderer."

The two women scowled at her. "That's enough from you, Molly," Jerusha said sharply. "I'm sorry, Sarah, I don't know what's gotten into her. I don't like some of the influences on young people in this town."

"You're right about that," Sarah agreed.

Jerusha was still carrying on about the new girl at Lancer when they drove away from the McClintocks.

"Why don't we stop and meet her?" Molly suggested.

"Meet her? I don't want to meet a shameless hussy who's moved into a household with three unmarried men."

"We don't really know anything about her," Molly pointed out. "She could be a relative who's visiting, not the governess Murdoch told you about. If we stop at Lancer, we can find out for sure. It's your duty, don't you think?"

Jerusha pressed her lips together. "Perhaps it is," she said.

Molly smiled sweetly as her aunt turned the horse down the road to Lancer.

Murdoch was out in the yard, talking to Jelly. "You expecting company today, Boss?" Jelly asked.

"No," Murdoch said, his heart sinking as he recognized the woman driving the buggy. He had hoped to avoid introducing the governess to anybody, least of all Jerusha Harper, before she caught the next train. Elizabeth was too young, too beautiful and far too outspoken. "Do you know where Teresa and Mrs. Peabody are?"

"They was out in the garden," Jelly said promptly. "Want me to fetch 'em?"

"No!" Murdoch said. "Actually, Jelly, I was thinking that perhaps it would be better if they weren't at home."

"Miz Harper might leave faster," Jelly agreed.

"Do you think you could take care of that?"

"Sure," Jelly said, but it was too late. Teresa and Elizabeth came out onto the porch as the buggy pulled into the yard. Murdoch let out his breath and accepted the inevitable.

***

By the time Jerusha departed from the hacienda with her niece, Murdoch was steaming, Teresa was in tears, Molly was mortified and Elizabeth was flabbergasted.

"I'm sorry," Murdoch said abruptly to their visitor. "She had no business being so rude."

Elizabeth watched the buggy roll away with something like awe on her face. "She certainly doesn't mince words, does she?"

"No," Murdoch said.

Teresa dashed angry tears out of her eyes. "She's an evil old bitch."

"Teresa!" Murdoch roared. "I won't have you using language like that!"

"It's true. How could you let her say those things about Johnny?"

"Teresa, people are always going to talk about Johnny. And they're going to talk about you too as a result, unfortunately."

"This is his home," she stormed. "He belongs here."

"I know he does, sweetheart," Murdoch said. "Shhh, don't cry." He patted her back awkwardly.

Johnny had been right about the rain, and about the herd as well. The steers bawled restlessly as lightning flickered across the sky and Cipriano needed every hand to keep them together.

"They're likely to stampede," Johnny said to Scott. "You know what to do, right?"

"Get out in front of the leaders and try to swing them into a circle," Scott said, as if repeating a lesson. The three Lancers had discussed this one night after supper - well, it was really more of a lecture from Murdoch than a discussion, although Scott had asked a few questions. Scott had no experience at all with cattle and Murdoch wasn't sure how much his younger son knew. Johnny hadn't exactly been forthcoming with details about his past.

"Yeah," Johnny said. "And make damn sure you don't get too close. If you go down in the middle of a stampede, you don't have a chance."

Scott thought his reckless brother was far more likely, of the two of them, to get too close to the herd. He opened his mouth to say so when one of the hands shouted. "They're going!"

Johnny touched his spurs to Barranca and shot off. Scott thundered after him, but soon lost sight of his brother and the golden palomino in the dust that surrounded them all.

Johnny was nowhere in sight when they finally succeeded in turning the herd in a wide circle and slowing it down, miles from where they'd started. Scott looked over at Cipriano anxiously. "Have you seen Johnny?"

The segundo shook his head, just as concerned. "He was at the front when they started to swing."

None of the men had seen his brother, as far as they could determine, since then.

"Go and look for him," Cipriano suggested to Scott. "I will take care of the herd."

Scott was torn. He wanted, more than anything, to find his wayward brother but he knew Cipriano and the other men could use his help. Johnny knew it too. If he were able, he'd be here too. Scott's gut twisted, thinking of the stampede and imagining his brother going down under tons of panicked cattle. He swallowed painfully. "I should help. That's what Murdoch would expect."

The segundo's dark eyes were unreadable. "No, Senor Scott. Go and find your brother. And let us know when you do. You know the signals?"

Scott nodded. He hadn't had to use them yet, but Murdoch had taught him the ranch signals the first day he rode the range. Two rapid-fire shots, repeated after an interval, called for immediate help.

"Go, then." The segundo turned away, calling orders to the men.

***

Johnny limped toward the road, leading Barranca. The palomino was limping even more heavily, favoring his right foreleg. Barranca had caught a horn in his side as they'd turned the herd and Johnny had battled to keep the horse upright long enough to get both of them out of the way. As soon as he could, Johnny slid down to examine the jagged tear across the palomino's shoulder. He sluiced all the water from his canteen over the wound, trying to clean it out, even though his own throat was desperately dry from all the dust he'd swallowed.

He approached the road warily, hearing voices.

"It's stuck," a girl said. "We'll have to walk back to Lancer, Aunt Jerusha."

"We will not!"

Johnny groaned inwardly, hearing the second voice. Dios, he sure as hell didn't need this, not on top of Barranca's injury. For a moment, he contemplated whether he could just circle around the women. He could send someone from the ranch to help them once he got home.

He could, except he figured it would take him at least an hour, maybe two, to walk Barranca home. He couldn't just leave Molly Harper and her aunt out there all that time. Johnny sighed and headed toward the voices.

The buggy tilted over a deep rut in the road. Jerusha was still sitting in it, urging the livery horse forward. Molly had climbed down to try to help. Her blond braid had escaped from its pins and trailed down her back, wisps curling around her heart-shaped face.

Her face lit up when the youngest Lancer limped out of the trees. "Johnny!" she said. "Can you help us?"

"Sure," Johnny said, dropping Barranca's reins and moving over to the buggy's mired wheel. He sighed as he assessed the situation. "Sorry, but your aunt will have to get down."

"Do you think you can get it out?" Molly asked hopefully.

He looked at the wheel again and rubbed his face. "Dunno."

Jerusha scowled. "Young man, you'd better do something quickly," she ordered.

Molly looked from her aunt to Johnny and reached into the buggy for a canteen. She unscrewed it before she handed it to him. He took a small sip and spit it out on the ground, then a deeper swallow.

"You're bleeding," Molly said, dismayed.

Johnny glanced down at his concho pants, ripped just above the knee, and shrugged. Like Barranca, he had also caught a horn but it was just a graze. He hadn't paid any attention to it once he wound a bandana around it, other than to wonder briefly if Teresa could mend leather as well as she mended his shirts. He tightened the knot casually. "It's not bad. Molly, you're going to have to lead the horse while I push. Ma'am, you just stand clear, OK?"

Johnny strained to push the wheel out of the rut while the horse pulled. They nearly had it when it slipped and slid back.

"Try again," Johnny said, wiping his hands on his pants and bending down again. "Straight ahead, Molly."

Molly tugged on the horse's reins and Johnny put his back into pushing the buggy. He didn't hear the footsteps behind him until Molly shouted a warning, and then it was too late. Pain exploded across the back of his head and he fell heavily.

"Why did you do that?" Molly said indignantly to Simon McClintock. He dropped the branch he'd used as a club and bent to yank Johnny's gun out of his holster.

"Afternoon, Miss Molly, Miz Harper," he said politely once he had the gun in his beefy hand. "We'll get that buggy out of the hole for you right off."

Molly came around the horse and kneeled next to Johnny. He was out cold. She touched the back of his head gingerly and stared at the blood on her fingers.

"I don't understand," she said to Simon. "Why did you hit Johnny?"

"Don't you worry none about him," Simon said. "Twins, get that buggy."

Matthew and Luke stepped forward, one on each side of the buggy, and lifted it with one grunt. Jerusha beamed at them.

"Thank you, boys," she said. "Come, Molly. Time for us to be on our way."

Molly stared at her aunt. "We need to take Johnny back to Lancer," she said. "He's hurt."

"We'll take care of him," Simon said. "You go on with your aunt now."

Jerusha climbed up into the buggy and took the reins. "Come, Molly," she said again, her tone sharp.

"No. I'm not leaving Johnny."

Simon nodded to his brothers and the twins moved over to the girl. They lifted her easily, despite her struggles, and swung her up into the buggy next to her aunt. Simon reached down and grabbed the back of Johnny's belt, moving him away from the buggy before he dropped him on the ground again.

"You can go now, ma'am," he said to Jerusha, who started the horse.

***

"Aunt Jerusha, turn this buggy around," Molly said furiously. "We need to go back and tell Mr. Lancer that Johnny's hurt."

"Nonsense," her aunt said. "The McClintock boys will take care of that."

"The McClintock boys are the ones who hurt him," Molly exploded. "And they may hurt him worse if we don't get help quickly."

"It's none of our business." Jerusha slapped the reins across the horse's back. Molly tried to grab at them but her aunt held on firmly. "Margaret Mary Harper, you stop that," she ordered. "I don't know what's gotten into you since we came to this godforsaken town, but I'm going to speak to your father."

"So am I," Molly stormed. "What do you think Papa is going to say when he hears that you turned your back on any injured man, let alone his friend's son?"

Jerusha paused, suddenly thoughtful. Timothy Harper was normally mild-mannered, perfectly willing to let her have her way when it came to running his household, but he was no pushover when it came to anything he considered a matter of conscience. And he was friendly with Murdoch Lancer, who was also a member of the church's board of trustees, not that Timothy had the sense to be concerned about that.

Jerusha considered the situation. Perhaps this had gone just a bit too far. She had no doubt that Johnny Lancer was responsible for the disgraceful events at the Sunday school picnic and deserved to be punished, but she'd been a little shocked herself when Simon McClintock clubbed him so casually.

"Turn the buggy around," Molly begged. "Please, Aunt Jerusha."

Jerusha hauled on the reins reluctantly, bringing the buggy to a stop. "Well," she wavered.

"Aunt Jerusha, Johnny didn't have anything to do with what happened at the picnic."

Her aunt frowned. "He and that Drew Compton are thick as thieves."

"Drew's a good friend of mine too," Molly said. "Do you think that means that I had something to do with it?"

"Of course not."

"You put this into Sarah McClintock's head," Molly accused. "Whatever her sons do to Johnny, you're responsible."

That was going too far. Jerusha drew herself up. "Don't be ridiculous, girl. I didn't bring you up to speak to your elders like that."

"They nearly killed a man last week, you know," Molly said. "Drew told me they beat him up and he almost died. They'd be in jail right now except the poor man was too scared to press charges."

Jerusha hadn't heard about that. She scowled at her niece, who pressed her advantage. "Murdoch Lancer won't be afraid to press charges," Molly said. "And the sheriff is a good friend of Johnny. He might even charge Mrs. McClintock and you."

"That's nonsense!" Jerusha snapped, but she turned the buggy around. "I suppose it is only Christian to let Mr. Lancer know that his son is injured."

Barranca arrived at Lancer on his own before the Harpers drove into the yard again. Murdoch caught the reins, his eyes glued to the ugly gash in the palomino's shoulder. "Jelly, take him," he ordered. "I'll ride out and see if I can find Johnny."

"I'll come with you," the old handyman said immediately.

Murdoch shook his head. He thought he could move faster on his own, although he knew better than to say so. "You know Johnny would expect you to look after his horse. That wound needs attention."

"That boy probably needs looking after too," Jelly argued, but he knew the rancher was right. No matter what shape Johnny was in, he'd be bitterly disappointed if Jelly didn't doctor his horse straight away.

Murdoch had already galloped away, cutting across the range, when the buggy pulled into the yard. Teresa and Elizabeth were down by the barn, watching while Jelly fussed over Barranca.

"Teresa, where's Mr. Lancer?" Molly called before the buggy even stopped. "He has to go after Johnny, right away."

"He already did." Teresa turned away from the palomino to stare at her friend. "Johnny's horse came home on his own. Murdoch is on his way to the south pasture, where the boys were helping Cipriano with the herd."

Molly shook her head. "Johnny's not there. The McClintock brothers have him."

"What?" The color drained out of Teresa's face. "How - are you sure?"

"Johnny was leading Barranca home and he stopped to help us with the buggy. The McClintock brothers came along and took him. He was trying to get the buggy out of a rut and Simon hit him on the head."

"Is he hurt?" Teresa asked.

"He was unconscious." Molly faltered. "Simon hit him awfully hard."

Teresa bit her lip. "I'm going to go after Murdoch."

"Not by yourself, you're not," Jelly objected at once.

Teresa looked at Elizabeth. "Do you know how to ride?"

"Some." Elizabeth glanced at the horses in the corral. "Mostly in a park, though, and sidesaddle."

"Molly, you'll have to come with me," Teresa said.

"She will not." Jerusha spoke up. "I forbid it. Do you hear me, Molly. I forbid it."

"Let's go," Molly agreed simultaneously.

Elizabeth made a quick decision, looking at Jerusha. "I'll come too."

"This ain't a good idea," Jelly said, but he saddled three horses, grumbling all the time, while Molly and Elizabeth ran up to the house to change into jeans borrowed from Teresa's wardrobe.

***

Johnny lay on his side on damp, hard ground, his wrists and ankles tied together. The smell of the place tickled his nose, but he didn't twitch a muscle as he listened to the McClintocks argue.

"You hit him too hard," one of the twins complained. Johnny didn't know which one it was and didn't much care.

"You shut up, Matthew," Simon said.

"Leave Matt alone," the other twin said. "He's right. What if Lancer don't wake up? He's been out an awful long time. And Ma's gonna have our heads if we don't get our chores done."

"Ma told us to take care of Johnny Lancer."

"She didn't tell us to kill him." That was Matt again, Johnny decided. The voice was like Luke's, but it came from a different place. "They'll hang us for certain sure if we kill one of the Lancers."

"They gotta find him first, don't they?" Simon said. "And he sure ain't going nowhere. Check them ropes."

Johnny felt someone tug on the ropes around his wrists, making sure they were tight. He still didn't move. He'd learned a long time ago to be cautious about opening his eyes too soon, before he knew where he was and what was going on. He had no idea yet about where, but he knew pretty well what, and figured he was better off playing possum for now. If the brothers started quarreling, he might get a chance to get away.

Besides, the way his head throbbed, he figured it was better to wait awhile. He felt dizzy and a little sick to his stomach. Concussion, most likely, he decided. It wasn't too bad, but it was likely to slow him down.

"It's almost supper time and I'm hungry," Luke whined. "Let's leave him. Ma's making stew and I don't want to miss it. We got just enough time to do the barn chores if we hurry."

"Suppose it won't do no harm," Simon said. "We can take care of him, one way or another, in the morning."

Johnny still didn't move, even after he heard a door bang. He waited, his eyes still closed, in the silence. He wished that Luke hadn't mentioned stew, or any other kind of food, not when his stomach was still doing slow somersaults.

Finally, he cracked his eyes open, just a little bit. The light was dim, but not quite dim enough, and he shut them again quickly. It was no use and he rolled over and lost the meager contents of his stomach. Then he rolled away and forced himself into a sitting position. His head was still swimming but he felt a little better.

He was in some kind of shed. There were no windows, but light spilled through cracks in the walls and through a hole in the roof. The place looked like it was just about ready to fall apart and it smelled like something had died in there. Johnny coughed and checked his boot. His knife was gone and he swore. Those McClintocks weren't quite as stupid as they looked and sounded. He looked around for something he could use on the ropes. There didn't seem to be much. His eyes fastened on a rusty scythe, hanging on the wall. Even if he could get it down, it didn't look sharp enough to cut the rope, although it might still be sharp enough to do a job on him while he was trying.

Johnny sighed. He didn't see anything else he could use. And at least he still had enough light to see what he was doing. He looked up, trying to gauge where the sun was through the hole in the roof. He must have been out for longer than he thought. He wondered if Scott was looking for him, and shook his head at himself. Scott was probably still busy with the herd and since when did he expect anybody else to get him out of trouble anyway? Johnny scooted himself across the shed, and got to his feet carefully. His head spun and he stopped, leaning against a beam. Maybe he better sit down again, before he fell down. He'd be in big trouble if he managed to knock himself out again. Hell, he already was in big trouble.

Johnny gritted his teeth and looked up at the scythe. It hung on a nail, just above his eye level. He just had to stay on his feet long enough to reach up with his bound hands and knock it down. He could do that. He better do that. Because he knew better than to expect any cavalry, not even his brother, to ride to his rescue.

Johnny knocked the scythe off the nail on the second try and fell with it, trying to twist away from it. He landed with a thud. The scythe, when he opened his eyes again, was on the ground just in front of him.

***

Murdoch pulled up his horse when he saw his older son approaching. "Where's your brother?" he called.

Scott reached for the words reluctantly, pulling them out slowly. "I lost sight of him in the stampede. He didn't come home?"

"Stampede!"

"Cipriano has everything under control," Scott said hastily. "We just couldn't find Johnny afterward."

"Barranca came into the yard on his own, bleeding. It looks like he was gored."

Scott's heart sank. "And there was no sign of Johnny?"

Murdoch shook his head, suddenly feeling years older.

"If he fell..." Scott didn't finish the sentence. "I've never seen anything like it, sir."

Murdoch had seen many stampedes, and he knew exactly what had happened if Johnny had fallen in the herd's path. The idea made bile rise in his throat and his eyes sting.

He ducked his head. The gesture was so familiar it took Scott's breath away. "Sir?" he breathed. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Murdoch said after a pause. "When was the last time you saw Johnny?"

"During the stampede," Scott said. "He was up near the head of the herd when we turned it. But there was so much dust - and I lost sight of him. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." Murdoch felt a familiar dread clutch his chest. He'd worried desperately about Johnny for most of the boy's life. Surely God wouldn't be so cruel as to take him away again, not when Murdoch finally had him back. Murdoch swallowed hard and set his shoulders.

"I've already looked along the trail of the stampede," Scott said miserably.

Scott probably didn't realize just how little there might be to look for, Murdoch thought. He schooled his face and looked at his son. If Johnny was gone, he didn't think Scott would stay long either. He'd been surprised when Scott accepted his offer to come to Lancer, and even more surprised when his elder son agreed to stay instead of returning to his comfortable life in Boston. Murdoch had no illusions. He knew Scott's decision had a lot to do with the opportunity to get to know his brother, not the father who had left him in Boston all those years.

"We'll keep looking," he said. "Show me where you were the last time you saw him."

"There was so much confusion," Scott said apologetically. "I'm not sure I can pinpoint it exactly."

"Just do your best."

They were still looking, and still hadn't found anything, when Scott heard a cry. He looked up unbelievingly. His sister was waving wildly to him. Molly was following her and Elizabeth trailed far behind them in the distance. Jelly had found an old sidesaddle for her, but she still had trouble keeping up with the other girls, who were riding astride.

"Teresa, what are you girls doing out here?" Murdoch demanded as soon as they were within earshot. He grabbed her horse's reins. "You know you're not allowed to ride around the ranch without an escort."

"It's Johnny!" Teresa was breathless. "You have to go after him quick."

"We're looking for him right now, sweetheart," Murdoch said.

"No, not here," Teresa gasped. "Mc-McClintocks."

Scott gave her a sharp look. "Take a minute to catch your breath and then you can tell us properly." He unhooked his canteen and handed it to her.

Teresa swallowed a little water and handed the canteen to Molly, who was equally breathless. Elizabeth still hadn't caught up.

Teresa recovered her breath first. "The McClintocks have Johnny and he's hurt. You have to hurry."

"What? How do you know that?"

"I saw them." Molly chipped in.

Murdoch and Scott listened grimly to the story. "They probably headed back to their place," Murdoch decided. "I'll try there first. Scott, take your sister and the other girls back to Lancer."

"I'm coming with you," Scott objected.

"I can handle the McClintocks."

"That's what Johnny said."

"Scott, we don't have time to argue about this." Murdoch's voice was impatient.

"We're not going to argue about this," Scott told his father. "Teresa, will you be all right riding back to the house on your own?"

"Of course," she said indignantly. "I'm not a baby."

"Then let's go, sir."

Murdoch looked from Teresa to his son. Scott had set his jaw and pressed his mouth into a straight line. Since the two boys arrived at the ranch, Scott had rarely even raised his voice to his father but just now he looked as obstinate as his brother.

"We'll be fine, honestly, Murdoch." Teresa reached out and put her hand on his arm. "Please go and find Johnny."

Murdoch gave in, mostly because he was unwilling to lose any time arguing. "You take it slow on the way home, young lady," he said. "Do you hear me?"

"I promise." she said. "Go."

***

The McClintocks were just sitting down to their supper when the Lancers galloped up to their small house.

"Sarah!" Murdoch bellowed.

Sarah McClintock, about to say grace, paused. Her thin lips tightened. She looked at her three sons. They had scrubbed the top layer of grime off their hands and faces, although their necks and ears didn't bear close inspection, and were hunkered around the table, their eyes focused eagerly on the large, steaming stew pot on the stove.

"Simon, see who's out there," she ordered.

Simon rose reluctantly from the table and clumped across the room. "It's Murdoch Lancer," he said, peering through the window. "And that tenderfoot son of his."

Sarah marched to the door, pausing to pick up the shotgun. "Murdoch Lancer, you should know better than to interrupt our supper," she snapped. "I was just saying the blessing."

Murdoch scowled at the scrawny, gray-haired woman on the front porch. "I'm looking for my son, Sarah."

"Well, that's your business, not ours. You get off my land."

"Where's Johnny, Simon?" Murdoch growled.

"Simon don't know nothing about your boy," Sarah said. "I told you to git."

"Simon and your twins knocked Johnny out and took him off my land," Murdoch said. "And he damn well better be all right, or there's no place on earth where they can hide."

Simon was wearing his napkin around his neck. He pulled it off and took an uneasy step sideways on the porch, edging closer to the rail, as Murdoch spoke. His mother looked at him, and back at Murdoch.

"You can't prove that."

"There will be no difficulty at all in proving it." Scott spoke up. "There are reputable witnesses. Where is he, Simon?"

"Witnesses?" Sarah glowered at her son and lowered the shotgun. "You dern fool. You're as useless as your father."

"Aw, Ma," Simon said. "You told us to beat up Johnny Lancer."

"Don't you have no sense at all!" she hissed. "Shut your mouth."

"I want my son, right now," Murdoch said, his voice hard.

The twins stuck their heads out the door. "He's in the old cow shed out in the back pasture," Matthew said to Murdoch.

"Did anybody tell you to open your big mouth?" Simon and Sarah both rounded on Matthew. Luke immediately bristled and moved closer to his twin's side.

"You leave him alone," he said. "He told you that you hit Lancer too hard, Simon."

"Scott," Murdoch said. Scott rode across the yard and disappeared around the corner of the barn.

Murdoch waited silently. The twins and Simon glared at each other angrily. Sarah gave all three of them a withering look and sat down on a bench on the porch, folding her arms.

Scott was back in less than ten minutes, alone. "He's not there," he told Murdoch.

Simon's mouth dropped. "That's where we left him, not more than an hour ago." He gave the twins another glare. "I told you to check them ropes."

"I did," Luke protested. "They was good and tight."

Scott showed Murdoch a length of frayed rope, stained with something dark. "I found this in the shed," he said quietly.

Murdoch nodded. "Let's go. He can't have gotten far on foot in an hour."

"Just a minute." Scott's eyes settled on Simon. "Where's his gun?"

"Huh?"

"Johnny's gun," Scott said. "I want it, right now."

Simon scratched his side. "I don't know nothing about no gun." His voice was sullen.

"Get it," Scott ordered crisply in his cavalry officer voice. "And hurry up."

Simon moved a few steps before he even realized it.

"Move!" Scott ordered again when Simon's steps slowed.

"I'll get it," one of the twins offered. Matthew hurried into the barn and returned with Johnny's gun and holster, which he handed over to Scott. Scott checked it over and shoved it into his saddlebags, then wheeled his horse around. Murdoch followed him without another word to the McClintocks.

Scott led the way across an overgrown pasture to a tumbledown shed.

"They left him in there?" Murdoch gave it a look of loathing.

"It's even worse inside." Scott's tone was short as he dismounted and looked for tracks. The ground was spongy and he found signs of footprints heading for the woods. "This way, I think."

They followed the trail to a creek, increasingly concerned at the way it wove. The tracks disappeared completely at the water's edge.

"Now what?" Scott asked his father.

Murdoch wished he knew. "He probably waded up or down the creek to hide his tracks."

"Should we split up then? One of us go upstream and the other downstream?"

Murdoch brooded for a few minutes. "It's going to be dark soon," he said. "And there's no moon tonight. We could ride by him and not even notice."

"You don't think he'd call out to us?"

"If he's conscious. Molly and Matthew both said Simon hit him pretty hard, and it doesn't look, from the tracks, like he's too steady on his feet."

"You're not suggesting that we give up, sir?"

"No." Murdoch hesitated. "But I think we should stay together. It will give us a better chance of finding him."

"If we choose the right direction."

"Yes," Murdoch admitted.

"Upstream or downstream?"

Murdoch stared at the creek. The flow had slowed from the rush of early spring. It was still high, but it wouldn't be long before it dwindled to a trickle.

Moving upstream would be harder, even if Johnny wasn't hurt, but it would take him toward Lancer. Moving downstream would be easier and take him toward Green River.

Murdoch tried to figure out what his son would choose. He just didn't know him well enough, not yet. It hadn't been three months yet since Johnny came home. That wasn't nearly enough to guess how the boy's mind worked. His younger son frequently baffled Murdoch. Scott was calm, orderly and analytical. He would have worked out the problem carefully and made the most logical choice. Johnny might see all the angles too, in a flash, but he was as likely to make his choice on a moment's impulse as anything else, as far as his father could tell.

"What do you think?" Murdoch asked Scott.

There was a long pause. "It would make more sense to go downstream toward Green River," Scott said finally. "It's just about the same distance, either way, but it would be easier on him and he'd have a better chance of meeting someone along the way."

"So you think he went downstream?"

"No." The serious blue gray eyes met his father's squarely. "I think he'd go upstream toward home."

***

Johnny waded out of the stream. The sun had set and he shivered in the night air. He didn't have a jacket and he'd fallen a few times as he stumbled through the water. His shirt was soaked and clung to him, while his boots squelched with every step. At least the water had made him more alert.

He peered through the dusky woods, trying to figure out just exactly how far he'd come. Lancer was somewhere ahead, still hours away at the pace he was traveling.

There was a line shack, though, not much more than two miles from the creek if he climbed up through a canyon in the right place and cut cross-country. There would be blankets there and firewood and supplies. Johnny wasn't hungry, despite missing lunch and supper and losing what was left of his breakfast, but he allowed the idea of a blazing hot fire and dry blankets to tug at him. Dios, it was still cold here at night, even in June, compared to Mexico. And he was so wet, and so tired, and his head ached. He eyed the rocky wall he'd have to climb. He thought he could make it.

Almost two hours later, Johnny fed another stick into the fire in the potbellied stove before he peeled his sodden clothes off. He left them draped over a chair by the stove and tumbled into the nearest bunk, huddling under the rough blankets. He fell fast asleep in minutes.

Still later, Scott's shoulders slumped with defeat. "I was wrong. He must have gone the other way."

Murdoch's face was just as tired and defeated. "We might have missed him."

Scott looked down at the hacienda from the rise. It was past midnight, but lights still glowed in some of the windows downstairs. "I hope not. I hope he's in Green River and he found Val or Sam." His voice was bitter.

"Son," Murdoch said. "This isn't your fault."

"I told him I'd always watch his back. I didn't do a very good job."

"You did your best." Murdoch wished he thought he could say the same. "Johnny wouldn't expect anything more from you."

"Johnny doesn't expect anything from anybody. He deserves a lot better."

"I know." Murdoch let his breath out through his teeth. "Let's go down to the house."

"No. I'm going to keep looking."

"We're both going to keep looking. But we should get fresh horses and check to see if there's any word."

Teresa had finally gone to bed but Jelly was sitting up by the fire in the great room, snoring. He came awake in a hurry when the door opened.

"Boss?" Jelly stared unbelievingly at Murdoch and Scott, looking for the third Lancer. "You didn't find Johnny?"

"No." Murdoch's voice was curt. "He got away from the McClintocks on his own, before we got there."

"Did they hurt him bad?"

"Just the bang on the head if they were telling the truth," Scott answered. "And whatever he did to himself getting free. They had tied him up. He got away but there were some bloodstains on the rope."

"And you couldn't track him?"

"We've been trying for hours," Murdoch said. "We hoped he would head back to the ranch, but he might have gone toward Green River. We'll look there next."

"I'll be ready in five minutes," Jelly said promptly.

"No, Jelly." Murdoch was grateful to the man for his loyalty but didn't want to leave Teresa and Elizabeth alone in the house. "I'd rather you stayed and looked after Teresa and things here. Someone should be here anyway just in case Johnny turns up."

Jelly's face fell. "Reckon that's true," he conceded reluctantly.

"If we're not back, get Cipriano at first light," Murdoch said. "Tell him to take all the men and go over the ground between here and the McClintock place. It's pitch black out there and we might have missed him if he passed out."

"We could start now with lanterns, Boss."

"No. It's no use in the dark, not over that ground. At first light."

"If it's no use, then why are you two headed for Green River?"

"Jelly." Murdoch had stretched his supply of patience well beyond its usual breaking point, and his voice was taut. "I'm in no mood to argue tonight. Just do as I say. Would you get the medicine kit? I think we'd better take it with us, just in case."

Jelly headed toward the kitchen, audibly grumbling. He came back with packets of sandwiches and a couple of flasks of hot coffee, in addition to the medical supplies Murdoch had asked for. "That boy's bound to be hungry. Probably wouldn't do no harm for you to get some food into you neither."

"Thanks, Jelly." Scott spoke, glancing sideways at his silent father.

"You'll send word straight away if you find him?"

"Of course," Scott promised before he and Murdoch went outside again. A stable hand had two horses waiting for them outside the barn. They mounted and headed back into the night.

***

Murdoch and Scott found no trace of Johnny on the road to Green River. They woke the sheriff, who was ready to ride out immediately, despite the hour, to arrest Simon and the twins.

"You're going to press charges, right?" Val Crawford said to Murdoch.

"Absolutely," Murdoch said wearily. "But I think that can wait, Val. Right now, I'd just like to find Johnny."

Val frowned. "Did you check at Doc's?"

"Not yet," Scott answered.

"I'll come with you." Val buckled his gun belt around his waist and grabbed his hat.

But Sam Jenkins hadn't seen Johnny either. The doctor answered the door in his robe, his gray hair sticking up in tufts, and poured measures of brandy for all of them while he listened gravely to the story.

"You can't do anything else tonight," he said, rising to fill Murdoch's glass again. "You're not doing that boy any good and you're just wearing yourselves out. Get a few hours sleep so you're ready to go and find him as soon as it's light."

"You may be right," Murdoch admitted reluctantly.

"I am right, and you know it." Both Lancers looked exhausted but Sam was especially concerned about Murdoch, who wasn't as young as he thought. The strain of the long, anxious night showed on the rancher's face. Sam looked into his old friend's worried eyes and softened his tone. "You know where the spare room is, Murdoch. Go on, both of you. Johnny might need you, but you aren't going to be much use to him if you don't get some rest."

The Lancers finally gave in to the truth of the doctor's words and their exhaustion, leaving Sam and Val alone in the front room. Val set his glass on the table. "I better be going too," he said. "I'm going to bring in the McClintocks, first thing in the morning."

"Pity you can't bring in Sarah McClintock and that Harper woman too," Sam said. "They're the real menaces."

Val couldn't agree more. Jerusha had visited his office, more than once, to lecture him on his duty and the numerous ways he had failed to carry it out. She'd also delivered a sermon every time on the disgraceful condition of his office, his jail and his clothing. And Sarah - well, Val actually thought Sarah was more responsible than her sons for most of the trouble they caused.

"I just might do that," he said, his face dark.

Sam smiled in spite of his worry. Then he frowned and glanced at the sheriff out of the corners of his eyes. "Val, Johnny could be in a bad way."

"I know," Val said gloomily.

***

Johnny felt much better when he woke in the morning, although he hadn't meant to sleep so long. The McClintocks probably knew he was gone by now and might be looking for him, although he didn't think it would necessarily occur to them that he had climbed up the canyon wall in the dark. More likely, they'd look for him on the road to Green River or Lancer.

He stepped outside the door and stretched his arms and legs. The morning sun was warm on his skin and felt good. Last night's chill was gone and it was going to be a hot day. His leather pants were still damp, but he pulled them on, and his boots, before he went across the clearing to a small, spring-fed lake and splashed some water on his face. He felt dried blood in the back of his hair and submerged his entire head to rinse it away. He had a small headache at the base of his skull, but nothing like it had been, and the dizziness was nearly gone.

He wasn't too sure he could climb down the same way he'd come up, not in daylight with his brain working again. Lancer was hours away by foot but if he were lucky, he'd run into one of the crews working the ranch and could catch a ride home.

First, though, he was starving. Johnny considered trying his luck with the fish in the pond, but settled for coffee and hardtack from the supplies in the cabin. He thought wistfully of breakfast in the kitchen at Lancer and shook his head at himself. He was getting soft.

He found an old canteen at the shack and took it with him, along with a butcher knife. He'd learned to throw and fight with a knife as a child, even before he learned to shoot. It made him feel slightly less defenseless, but he was still uneasy without his gun. His shirt had dried by the fire and he slipped it on and buttoned it up, tucking the tails in.

By late morning, Johnny's feet hurt. He sure wouldn't have chosen his riding boots for a long walk. He wouldn't actually choose to walk, not if he could ride. He'd been taking too many walks lately, and he was getting tired of it.

He was surprised, and even irritated, when he didn't find a fence crew working where he'd expected them to be. He smiled at himself and stopped to take a drink of water. If he didn't look out, he'd become a grouch like his father, always grumbling about whether the work was done and when.

He was still traveling cross-country, instead of heading for the road. He'd explored the land around the hacienda carefully while he was recovering from Pardee's bullet. The doctor hadn't let him go to work for weeks, and hadn't even let him ride fast or far at first, but he could scout out the terrain at a walk, even on a slow horse. And he had. If he was going to live there, he needed to know all the ways in and out. He hadn't lived so long in a dangerous job by pure luck.

Since the doctor had lifted the last restrictions, he'd branched out in his explorations. He had plenty of time to study the map by his father's desk while he was stuck on the sofa downstairs. By now, he'd matched it up to his own observations. Murdoch Lancer would be surprised at just how well his younger son knew the land already. Another thing Johnny had learned, a long time ago, was not to volunteer information.

He paused to get his bearings and kept going.

***

Teresa waited anxiously all morning for news from the searchers. Murdoch sent a message to the ranch that he and Scott were leading a search along the road from Green River. Meanwhile, Cipriano and Jelly had taken just about every hand on the ranch out at dawn to look along the road from Lancer. They'd been out there for hours now but hadn't found any trace of Johnny.

Teresa and the housekeeper had water boiling, willow bark tea brewing and bandages waiting, ready to deal with any injuries. Maria also started cooking early in the morning, finding some relief for her pent-up feelings in chopping, stirring and kneading. An enormous pot of Johnny's favorite spicy stew, posole, simmered on the big range and fresh bread cooled on racks.

Teresa helped in the kitchen until Maria chased her out. She wandered reluctantly into the great room. Elizabeth had chosen a book from the shelves and settled in a chair by the windows to read. Teresa picked up her mending basket and set it down again immediately. One of Johnny's shirts peeked out. He was so hard on his clothes. Teresa wondered sometimes how he had managed on his own without anyone to sew his buttons back on, or to mend the rips.

She was surprised when Elizabeth tentatively suggested that Teresa give her a riding lesson after lunch. She really hadn't thought Elizabeth would be anxious to get on a horse again, not after yesterday's ride. But it was something to do, something better than sitting around to wait for news, and Teresa agreed readily.

Elizabeth wanted to learn how to ride astride on a western saddle and was wearing the borrowed jeans again. She rode around the big corral, uncertainly at first and then with more confidence.

"This is so much better than riding sidesaddle," she said to Teresa as she came around again.

"I've never used a sidesaddle," Teresa said from the top of the railing. "Daddy always thought it was silly, thank goodness."

"I wish my parents were so enlightened." Elizabeth's tone was bitter.

Teresa looked a little uncomfortable.

"Let's take a short ride," Elizabeth suggested. "I think I'm ready."

Teresa didn't see any harm in a short, slow ride near the house. Elizabeth was riding a placid, lazy gelding and he wasn't likely to give her any trouble unless she asked him to gallop. Teresa decided to give her old pony some exercise instead of taking out the lively young mare she usually rode now. Brownie was mostly retired, but they both still enjoyed an occasional ride.

They were ambling along in the back meadow when Johnny limped out of the trees.

"Johnny!" Teresa's face lit up and she kicked Brownie's sides to cross the meadow. "Are you all right? We've been so worried." She jumped down and flung herself at him.

He patted her, a little uncomfortable with her display of affection. "I'm fine."

She lifted her head, searching his face. "Molly told us the McClintocks had knocked you out. Murdoch and Scott were out all night, looking for you. They're still out looking."

"Yeah?" Johnny pulled away from her as she started to look for the bump on his head. "How come?"

"How come? Because they're worried about you! We all were. Stand still and let me see where you're hurt."

"I'm not hurt. Did Barranca come home?"

"Yes, and Jelly took care of him. He's going to be fine, Jelly says. He doesn't even think there will be much of a scar once he heals."

"Good." Johnny relaxed slightly.

Teresa assessed him critically and decided he really wasn't hiding any serious injury. He looked sunburned and a little tired, and she noted the tear in his pants, but his blue eyes were alert.

"We should get back to the house and let everyone know you're safe," she said. "You'll have to ride double with Elizabeth. I'm afraid Brownie can't carry you."

Johnny glanced at the horses and his crooked smile appeared. He looked up at Elizabeth. "I could walk if you mind."

"Not at all," she said stiffly.

His smile widened. He helped boost Teresa onto Brownie and then turned back to Elizabeth. "Take your feet out of the stirrups then, and hold onto the saddle horn." He swung up easily. Elizabeth sat very still as he settled behind her and reached for the reins, taking them out of her hands. His lean, warm body pressed against her back and she was suddenly conscious of how thin her blouse was. He smelled of leather and sweat, but it wasn't unpleasant.

"I'll ride ahead and let everyone know you're safe," Teresa said. Elizabeth opened her mouth to object and closed it. Teresa was already racing across the meadow, as fast as her elderly pony could go.

"Fraid that Buttercup here isn't likely to do much more than a walk," a voice drawled in her ear. "He's slow as molasses."

Elizabeth straightened her back a little. "That's all right," she said, wondering if those blue eyes were still dancing with mischief. His arms were around her and he held the reins loosely in his hands. She glanced down at them, fascinated by those long, deft fingers. She was suddenly glad he couldn't see her face, which was burning.

***

Johnny was in the kitchen, polishing off his third bowl of Maria's stew, when Murdoch, Scott and Sam arrived. He watched while they all tried to get through the door at once. Scott fell back and Murdoch stepped through first, followed by the doctor.

"It's not that I'm not glad to see you but I don't need any doctoring," Johnny said to Sam, taking a gulp from his glass of milk and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I'll be the judge of that, young man," Sam said sternly but his eyes twinkled.

"John, you will let Sam take a look at you," Murdoch ordered, his eyes on his son.

Johnny sighed and wiped his bowl clean with a last bite of bread, popping it into his mouth. "Gracias, Maria," he said softly when he finished, turning his eyes to the housekeeper. "Muy bueno." She beamed and patted his shoulder before she disappeared into the pantry.

"Johnny, we've been looking for you all night." Scott pulled out a chair. "Where were you?"

"Spent the night at a line shack," Johnny said, picking up his glass again.

"A line shack?" Murdoch's brows rose. "There's no line shack between here and the McClintocks."

"Yeah, there is." Johnny avoided his father's eyes. "If you go up the canyon, it's not that far to the east shack."

"Up the canyon?" Murdoch stared at his son in horror. It had never occurred to him or anyone else, for good reason, to check that line shack. "You didn't climb up that canyon? In the dark? What were you thinking?"

Johnny flushed slightly. "Well, I didn't exactly think about it much. Had a headache at the time. I'm fine now though."

Murdoch just shook his head, speechless, and sent up a silent prayer of thanks. God must have been looking out for his younger son last night, and it was a lucky thing because Murdoch increasingly didn't feel he was up to that job.

"I'll tell you if you're fine," Sam said smoothly, filling in the gap. "Upstairs, young man, and let's get this over with so your father can offer me a good stiff drink and the lunch we all missed while we looked for you."

"Aw, Doc," Johnny protested but he swallowed the rest of his milk and got to his feet.

Sam found Murdoch and Scott in the great room when he came downstairs again. Scott got up to pour a drink for the doctor.

"Well?" Murdoch asked.

"Nothing serious." Sam settled into a chair and took a sip of his whiskey. "He has a good-sized lump on the back of his very hard head, but he's already over the worst of the concussion. I told him to take it easy for the rest of the day, and no riding or ranch work tomorrow either, but it's mostly because I don't want him to risk falling and hitting his head again so soon, not because I'm worried about this injury. He has a graze on his leg, and some cuts and abrasions on his wrists, but there's no sign of infection. I cleaned them out good. Keep an eye on him, especially if he starts running a fever, but I think he's all right."

"Where is he? Still upstairs?"

Sam laughed. "No, I'm afraid not. He went down the back stairs to visit his horse."

"Naturally." Scott stood up. "I think I'll go check on both of them, if you'll excuse me."

"Maria is getting ready to put lunch on the table," Murdoch said.

"I won't be long, sir."

Scott paused just inside the barn. He could hear voices in the shadowy interior. He smiled as he recognized Jelly in a full scold, and decided he wasn't going to rescue his too-independent little brother this time. He had a few choice words to say to Johnny himself, on the subject of recklessness and wandering off on his own, but it could wait until they were alone. He strolled outside again and found Elizabeth sitting by herself in the courtyard.

"Is something wrong?"

She looked up. "No, nothing. I was just thinking about how different it is here, compared to Boston."

"It is that," he agreed. "Are you thinking of returning to Boston, Elizabeth?"

"No." She answered without any hesitation. "No, I don't think so."

"It must be difficult on your own," he said.

"That's actually one of the things I like about California," she confessed. "At home, I'd be expected to go home to my parents or to Alec's family. Here, I can make my own decisions."

"Is that what you want?"

"Absolutely." Her eyes were suddenly hard. "I'm not a child and I don't need any man to tell me what to do. Women are as capable as men of making their own decisions."

"I don't disagree," Scott said slowly. "It can be lonely though, for a man or a woman, to be entirely on their own. My brother has been alone most of his life, and settling down on the ranch with a family hasn't been an easy adjustment for him. We drive him crazy sometimes, all of us, but it's because we care about him."

"That's different," Elizabeth said. "Your father doesn't treat him like a backwards child, incapable of thinking for himself."

A slow, rueful smile appeared on Scott's face. "Sometimes he does, and sometimes Johnny deserves it. I can assure you that if my brother ignores the doctor's orders, as he's all too likely to do, Murdoch will haul him to his room as if he were ten, not twenty. And if Murdoch doesn't, I will. We're not going to let him hurt himself if we can help it."

Scott couldn't read the expression on her face. The bell rang, signaling that lunch was about to be served and he rose, offering her his arm. "May I escort you to lunch?"

"No, thank you," she said. "Teresa and I had our lunch earlier. If you don't mind, I think I'll just sit here and enjoy the garden."

***

Elizabeth pushed open the barn door cautiously. The whiskery old man they all called Jelly, the one who seemed to be something between an employee and a favorite uncle, had gone up to the house for lunch but Johnny was still inside the barn. She found him slouched on a hay bale outside his palomino's box, chewing on a piece of straw.

By rights, if she were attracted to either of the Lancer sons, it should be Scott. They were far better suited, equals in education, background and temperament. She and Johnny Lancer had absolutely nothing in common. He was everything she despised: macho, cocky and intensely physical. From Teresa's chatter, Elizabeth had gathered that Johnny had almost no formal education. That wasn't his fault, certainly, from the sounds of it, but it also meant he knew nothing of the subjects of conversation that normally interested Elizabeth.

Still, she couldn't deny, not to herself, that it was the younger brother who intrigued her and had from the beginning, even before that oddly breathless ride back to the house on Buttercup. The horse had barely broken a walk but Elizabeth had found that her heart was thumping and it was difficult to get enough air into her lungs.

Johnny Lancer knew it too, she thought crossly. He couldn't help it, pressed so closely against her. She could feel the steady beat of his heart too, through their shirts.

She hadn't ever felt anything like this with Alec. They had marital relations, of course, but she hadn't found it particularly pleasurable. Theirs had been a marriage of like minds and, to tell the truth, convenience for both of them. He needed someone to keep his notes and papers in order and run his household; she wanted independence from her parents. Alec and she got along well enough as companions but there was no passion in their relationship.

She had a feeling, from the way Johnny's eyes traveled over her, that this might be something he knew more about than Professor Peabody. And her own reaction surprised her. She knew she was playing with fire and the flame still drew her.

Those blue eyes were watching her now, but Johnny didn't say anything.

She hesitated and walked over to sit next to him. "I want to talk to you."

He cocked his head. "Talk, huh?"

He was laughing at her, no, not at her. Elizabeth looked into those incredible eyes and found herself blushing again. Johnny was definitely enjoying this, but he wasn't laughing at her.

"You're so serious," he said softly. "Scott too, when he first got here. Those fancy schools back east don't teach you how to have any fun, huh?"

"There is more to life than fun."

"Yeah," Johnny agreed. "There is. But there isn't much to it without any."

"I'm leaving tomorrow."

"I know." The laughter disappeared and sadness filled his eyes, just for a few seconds. "Can't offer you any tomorrows, Elizabeth, and I'm sure not expecting any from you. Just today."

She moved closer and his lips brushed hers, gentle at first, then more insistent. He pushed her down on the hay bale, his hands roving while he kissed her even more deeply. They were both breathless when they finally came up for air.

"Maybe we should move up to the hayloft," he murmured in her ear.

The blood pounded in her head, and other places too. She hesitated and nodded. Men took what they wanted from women; why shouldn't she do the same thing to a man? Johnny gave her a brilliant smile, and pulled her to her feet, guiding her toward the ladder.

Scott went looking for his brother after lunch, and failed to find him. Barranca was still in his box, chewing on a mouthful of hay. Scott checked the corral where Johnny was keeping the wild stallion, but Johnny wasn't there either and hadn't been there, according to the hands. He wasn't in his room, he wasn't anywhere else in the house and he wasn't in the garden - and neither was Elizabeth, come to think of it.

Scott closed his eyes briefly and rearranged his face as Teresa burst out of the house.

"Scott, have you seen Elizabeth or Johnny?"

"I think they went for a walk," Scott said.

"A walk? But Johnny said his feet hurt from walking so far this morning."

"I could be mistaken," Scott said. "Um, I have to get to work, Teresa. I'm sure they're both fine."

Late in the afternoon, Elizabeth watched Johnny sleep in the hay, long lashes tucking his eyes shut. She'd been wrong. She thought she could do this without losing any of her heart. But she wasn't about to admit she was wrong, least of all to Johnny, and she wasn't exactly sorry either. She reached out to trace his face, pushing away the wayward sweep of silky hair that fell over his forehead. He woke at once and gave her a sweet, drowsy smile. Her nerves started to tingle again.

"Hey," he said softly, putting his hands on her back and pulling her closer. "You all right, querida?"

"I'm fine," she said, her voice muffled. "I was just thinking."

"You think too much," he teased. He tickled her and she giggled. A new thought occurred to her, and her dimple suddenly quivered.

"What are you thinking about now?" he asked.

"Jerusha Harper," she said.

His eyes widened. "Why would you think about her?"

She gave him a smile, the dimple fully evident. "We just spent the afternoon doing exactly what she warned your father we might do."

"Yeah?" Johnny grinned, unrepentant. "Want to do it again?"

***

Johnny was in his room, washing up, when Scott finally found him before supper. Scott folded his arms and leaned against the doorway.

"Did you have a restful afternoon, brother?"

Johnny looked up at the mirror and wiped his face with the towel. He could see his brother's reflection, faintly reproachful. "I rested some," he said cautiously.

"You still have hay in the back of your hair, you know." Scott strolled inside the room and shut the door.

Johnny gave Scott one of his most angelic looks. "I do? Must have picked it up when I visited Barranca."

"Perhaps," Scott said. "Elizabeth had hay in her hair too when I saw her downstairs."

"She did?"

Scott shook his head. "I hope you know what you're doing, both of you."

Johnny smirked. "We managed." Then he gave his brother a quick look, somehow maintaining his unlikely air of complete innocence. "You don't know what to do, Boston?"

Scott aimed a mock punch at his younger brother and pushed him down on the bed. They were still wrestling when Murdoch pushed the door open.

"What is the meaning of this?" he thundered.

Scott froze and Johnny promptly took advantage of it to pin him down. "Got you!" Johnny crowed, even as a large hand grabbed him.

Murdoch hauled both of his sons to their feet and gave them a shake. "Why are you fighting?"

"We weren't fighting, sir," Scott said. "Sorry, we were just fooling around and got carried away."

"You weren't fighting?" Murdoch glared at Johnny. "Is that right, John?"

Johnny's smile had disappeared completely. "Yeah, it is right."

Murdoch released them. Johnny sat on the bed, his head down. Scott stood next to him.

Murdoch made a strange noise, deep in his throat, and his sons looked up.

"Sir?" Scott said uncertainly. The brothers exchanged a look.

Murdoch was laughing. He dropped into a chair and wiped his streaming eyes. "Sorry," he said when he could speak again. He looked at his two sons, his face softer than usual. Murdoch usually guarded his heart just as fiercely as his younger son, afraid to let anyone past the thick walls he'd built around it, but it had been a long day, and his defenses were down. His voice was quiet, with none of his usual gruffness. "I'm glad you're here, both of you."

Johnny didn't say anything. Scott shifted, not sure how to respond to the emotion he could see shining in his father's eyes.

"Just try not to destroy the furniture," Murdoch added.

Scott smiled. "Yes, sir."

Murdoch looked at Johnny. "John, I was looking for you this afternoon. You didn't go for a ride, did you?"

Scott nearly choked. Johnny shot him a look.

"Haven't been anywhere near a horse, except for checking on Barranca," he said. He was wearing the innocent expression again.

"Good." Murdoch stood up. He wasn't sure what mischief Johnny had gotten into now, but quickly decided he really didn't need to know, as long as his son was following the doctor's orders. "It's just about time for supper. Are you two coming?"

"In a minute, sir," Scott said. "Johnny needs to comb his hair."

"Don't be late." Murdoch opened the door.

"We'll be right down," Scott promised.

As soon as the door closed, Johnny tackled his brother again. Murdoch heard a muffled thump and laughter, and paused for a minute. He shrugged and headed down the stairs, smiling.

***

Johnny fidgeted. Timothy Harper had finished his sermon and was reading some notices from the pulpit, his reading glasses sliding down off his nose. Murdoch was tempted to nudge his son, but held back, unsure how Johnny would react.

Saturday night, as they finished supper, Murdoch had suggested that the entire family attend church in the morning, but didn't make it an order. Given subsequent events, he never got an answer. Murdoch wasn't sure if either of his sons would go to the service until they turned up together as he and Teresa were preparing to leave.

Murdoch sighed. He needed to talk to his younger son. Just after supper, Johnny had confessed what he had done in town earlier in the day. Murdoch lost his temper and they ended up shouting at each other, yet again. Johnny stormed out, slamming the door behind him, and Scott had quickly followed him. Murdoch wasn't sure when they returned, but knew it was well past midnight. Neither of them appeared at breakfast.

He looked across the church at the reason for his anger. The McClintocks had also decided to attend church as a family. Simon and the twins sat next to their mother and sisters, filling an entire pew.

Murdoch hadn't expected to see them so soon, but already knew the brothers weren't still locked up in Val's jail, awaiting trial on charges that could send them to San Quentin for a few years. Johnny had told him last night, as they settled down by the fire for what Murdoch thought would be a peaceful evening.

Elizabeth was gone, on her way back to San Francisco. Scott had taken her to Cross Creek Saturday morning to catch the train, as planned. Against his better judgment, Murdoch let Johnny go with them. He would have preferred not to let his younger son too far out of his sight. But there really was no reason to say no. If anything, Johnny was far more likely to follow the doctor's orders and stay off his horse if he was sitting in the surrey. And Murdoch knew Scott would keep a careful eye on his brother.

They stopped in Green River on the way home, and Johnny dropped the charges.

Murdoch was furious. He was still furious as he stared at the McClintocks' broad backs and thick necks. He could have lost Johnny. He'd been terrified that he had lost him.

Johnny nudged his father and Murdoch realized belatedly that the congregation was on its feet. He rose too, wishing the last hymn didn't have quite so many verses. He wanted to get out of there, out of the little church, out of the town, and back home to Lancer. He wanted to sit down and talk to his son. He needed to understand what in the world the boy was thinking when he decided, on his own, to just let this drop. Murdoch resolved to listen calmly this time.

Sarah McClintock was waiting for him when they finally filed out of the church. She stepped directly into his path after he shook hands with Timothy.

"I need to thank you," she said abruptly to Murdoch, patches of red burning on her thin cheeks. "For dropping the charges against my boys."

Murdoch clamped his jaw. "Don't thank me," he growled. "I didn't drop the charges. If it were up to me, they'd get everything that's coming to them."

She looked puzzled. "The sheriff told me the charges were dropped and my boys won't go to prison."

"That's right. But it certainly wasn't my decision, Sarah."

"I don't understand," she said.

Murdoch glanced at his two sons, who were talking to Molly Harper and Drew Compton. Molly and Drew were holding hands, and he noticed that Jerusha was glaring at them. "It was Johnny's decision, Sarah. Not mine."

"Johnny?" Her eyes were shocked.

"I don't mind telling you that I don't even begin to agree with it."

Sarah wheeled and marched up to Johnny. "Why?" she asked. "You sure aren't scared of my boys, even though they're twice your size. And they hurt you, and you could have sent them to prison for a long time. The girls and me, well, we couldn't hold onto our place without them. Why didn't you get us back for what we did?"

He gave her a crooked smile. His eyes flickered over to Jerusha, who was listening avidly, and back to Sarah. His smile widened just a fraction, and danced devilishly in his eyes as both women and his father stared at him.

"Wouldn't be Christian," he drawled.

THE END

Whistle, July 2005

The Harpers also appear in two of my first stories, Spilling Words, which is set earlier, and Fourth Rites, which is set about a month later than Stitches.

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.