Because We’re Brothers #5

 ~ Dreams of Revenge ~

by jfclover
~~~

With the War Between the States over, men were looking everywhere for work. Large city banks had been forced to close, leaving hundreds homeless and destitute. A nationwide depression, starting on the east coast, had swept the country, finally easing its way into the state of Nevada where transients roamed the streets of Virginia City only to find the job market at nearly a standstill. Wagon trains brought families from war-torn states to the wide-open spaces out west. Some of the travelers were searching for a place to settle while others came eager to make their fortunes in the gold and silver mines they’d only read about in periodicals.

The Ponderosa was barely holding its own. Demand for board lumber was over. The once prosperous days during the war, supplying timber for the mines and then cutting ties for the transcontinental rails were fading away, and we were barely keeping our heads above water. I struggled daily to keep things on an even keel. I did the books in the evenings after working daylight hours alongside the few men we’d kept on the ranch.

Even with profits down and after having to let a third of the men go, I’d kept Tim Wilson in charge of the mill, and it was his job to ride up the mountain once a week and one less worry for me. The rest of the week, he spent working with me and in the evenings when I was trapped behind the desk doing paperwork, Tim would help Pa with his nightly therapy.

But our way of life was being threatened. Over the years, I’d tried to accept that there were reasonable explanations for events that happen during the span of a man’s lifetime. The unanswered question is how do those incidents model a man’s character? Does he benefit or is he altered for the rest of his life?

In the case of my father, the stroke has forever changed him, but Pa was far from down and out. My father is a warrior—a fighter—who has taken the setback as something to overcome, not something that will overtake him.

It’s been two months since Pa and I returned from San Francisco where the illness struck, leaving him paralyzed and speechless. It’s been a long haul of grueling therapy, but we manage to get through the routine Doctor Martin set up. Increasing my father’s mobility and getting him to speak clearly takes time, a lot of time, and there are days I grow impatient, days I want to walk away and leave Pa and the ranch behind, but it’s only a fleeting thought, a stupid thought, and I’m embarrassed I let my mind conjure up such ideas. I’m just tired of the day-to-day routine.

Pa has made tremendous progress, and I should be grateful. He walks with a cane and he’s forming words that were impossible weeks ago. I could’ve lost my father, and I should be counting my blessings. So should my father, but he isn’t one hundred percent, and he’s developed an attitude that needs to change.

Ben Cartwright has always been a powerful man, a strong man with strong opinions. He’s always been a powerhouse in the community and at home, but all that’s changed now.

The simple things he used to do like riding Buck or driving a team are no longer an option. Even simple paperwork is too much of a chore. His eyesight was damaged slightly so reading and writing are difficult and frustrate him more than he lets on.

When I’d mentioned hiring a bookkeeper, the fire in my father came alive. A definite no was his answer. So, after a day in the saddle, I come home to the books, and I’m tired. There’s no actual break in the routine.

Arguing with Pa is useless, and I step away from the desk without Pa or Tim suspecting how the constant demand of work is eating at me, making me want to scream that life isn’t fair. Instead, I walk out the door for a breath of fresh air, but these are the cards I’ve been dealt, and I remind myself to get back on track and quit feeling sorry for myself.

Pa and I had a good day today. I drove the two of us into town for church services, and we had lunch at the International House, which was a huge mistake since the hotel rooms above us were being renovated. Even though the carpenters didn’t work Sundays, there was still the presence of dust, almost cloudlike, as we walked through the lobby and into the restaurant.

“When’s this ever gonna end, Fred?” I joked with the slender, thin-haired clerk standing behind the front desk.   Pa and I had come for dinner a couple of weeks ago when they were just beginning the process. I knew it was an extensive project, but I forgot about the mess when I invited Pa out to lunch.

“Oh, it’s a year-long project, Mr. Cartwright. We want it done right, you know.”

I smiled at my father, who was in an exceptionally good mood. “Maybe we should find a new restaurant next time, Pa.”

“Yes, in … deed.”

Over the next several months, matters concerning the ranch and its holdings had been in a steady decline. Lumber was no longer a profitable commodity. Mills built along the coastline used primarily Chinese workers, reducing costs by cutting labor wages and left most of the inland mills out of operation. We no longer milled for the mines, and the Virginia City boom was over. Just a few short years ago, we struggled to keep up with demand; today, we closed the mill for good.

I had to let good men go—men with wives and children—men who had lived and worked on the Ponderosa for years but were no longer needed. Their prospects for a decent future were slim and the severance pay I offered each man would last no time at all with hungry mouths to feed.

Besides the mill and disappointment over its closure, silver prices were at rock bottom due to the war in Europe, and we were forced to shut down our mines. Plus, our stock holdings in major mining operations throughout the Comstock were nearly worthless since those mines had suspended operation too.

With the population growing rapidly in most major cities, cattle prices were up dramatically so raising a large, healthy herd was our only direct source of income. We depended on this year’s herd to see us through the winter months and even with rail prices up, we’d still bring in a handsome profit. The Ponderosa wasn’t diversified as it had once been; consequently, everything depended on the profits we’d make from the sale of our steers.

Cattle drives weren’t nearly as rough as they’d once been. These days, we drove our beef to the railhead and they were loaded into boxcars and shipped back east like any other cargo. With Hop Sing able to watch over Pa, Tim and me, and our drovers would head out next week to deliver the herd to the railhead.

I had to laugh at Tim one night as he and Pa and I sat around the dining room table. There was a new woman in his life and every time I broached the subject the kid turned beet red. We had yet to meet the young lady—and I was dying to do so—but Tim was overly secretive and wouldn’t tell us much about his girl.

Apparently, she was new to Virginia City and she’d literally bumped into him one day when he’d gone into town for supplies. For Tim, it was love at first sight, but he gave no more information than he’d met a woman and he liked her a lot.

“What’s your lady friend gonna do while we’re away on the drive?” I asked between bites of my supper.

Suddenly, the food on Tim’s plate became terribly interesting. Pa made a face and shook his head, letting me know I should mind my own business but this was just way too much fun.

“I hope she doesn’t take off with some other fella while we’re on the drive,” I joked.

Tim’s head snapped up immediately. “She wouldn’t do that, Joe.”

“A week’s a long time, isn’t it, Pa?”

“Enough, Joseph.”

“You’re Pa’s right, Joe. Ain’t none of your business.”

I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest. “Maybe there isn’t a lady after all. Maybe Tim’s making her up. I’ve never met her, have you, Pa?”

My father shook his head and reached for his cane that hung on the arm of his chair. “Watch your step . . . Joseph.” He stood from his chair. “I have better … things to do.”

Pa had nothing better to do, but he didn’t want to be dragged into the conversation either. I couldn’t blame him, but dang, I loved watching the kid squirm. It wasn’t hard to forget when Adam and Hoss had done the same thing to me, and although it was pure torture, I couldn’t help goading the kid a bit more.

“All right then, is this woman blonde, brunette, or maybe a fiery redhead? Is she tall, short, fat, thin?” I leaned forward and rested my elbows on the table. “She ain’t got no teeth so that’s why you’re not bringing her around, right?”

“If you must know, she’s beautiful, Joe. Her hair’s sorta between blonde and brown, and she’s not very tall. She’s definitely not fat and she ain’t missin’ no teeth. And more’n that, I know she ain’t lookin’ for any other fellas while I’m gone!”

Tim stood from his chair in a huff. He marched out the front door and slammed it shut behind him. I glanced at Pa, who had picked up his newspaper and taken a seat in his chair. “Guess I went a little too far.”

“You guessed right, Joseph.”

“Guess maybe I should go talk to him—straighten things out.”

I found Tim leaning against the corral, arms draped over the top rail, but when I came up behind him, he turned his head the other way. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Tim. I was just fooling with you.”

He hesitated but finally turned toward me. “I guess I knew that all along. It’s just—I think I might be in love with her, Joe. I’ve never met anyone like her before.”

“Then I’m truly sorry. I didn’t know.”

“She’s just so—I don’t know. She’s so gentle—so kind. I think she might love me, too.”

“Have you told her how you feel?”

He shook his head. “No.” He half laughed. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“You serious?”

“Sure, I’m serious. What’s holding you back?”

“Everything, Joe.”

“Okay—” I said, leaning my back against the fence.

“I can’t just come right out and say—say love stuff to her.”

I kept silent and waited in case he had more on his mind. This was something he needed to work out alone and I’d made him more than uncomfortable. I’d said more than I should’ve and it certainly wasn’t up to me to decide the kid’s future, especially with women.

“So, what if I tell her I love her and—and she wants to get married or something?”

“Do you want to get married?”

His hands, which had been dangling over the rail, were now scrubbing his face in frustration. “I don’t know, Joe.”

“Well, you better know before this goes too far, right?” Tim stared at me wanting answers I couldn’t give. “Look, it’s only been, what, not even a month since you met her, right?”

“Right—”

“So give it time. There’s no reason to hurry, is there?”

“No, I guess not. But part of what you said scared me, Joe.”

I racked my brain. “What was that?”

“Well, you said she might go off and find some other fella.”

“Tim,” I said, sliding my arm across his shoulders. “I was only kidding but I’ll say it again. I’m sorry. I’m sure that won’t be the case.”

Tim and I rode out the next morning after patching up the mess I’d made after last night’s teasing. We’d been rounding up strays for the drive when, unexpectedly, a rifle shot came out of nowhere. Tim and I scrambled off our horses and crawled behind a fallen log. I pulled my Colt as did he, scanning the hillside in front of us, but there was clearly no movement either of us could see. “You see where the shot came from, Joe?”

“No, but you and I are the only ones out here so guess what? Someone wants one or both of us dead.”

“But who?”

I knew as much as Tim did—nothing. We’d just finished the day’s job and were ready to head back to the house when the shot rang out. I lifted up partway and still nothing. No more shots, no movement at all. “What do ya think, Joe?”

“I wish I knew.” Crouched low and scanning the hillside, I ventured away from Tim, still holding my gun at waist level. “Stay put,” I said. I sidestepped quickly until I was behind a large-trunked cottonwood.

“See anything?”

“No, cover me. I’m going for the horses.”

The sudden blast had scared both mounts, but I could see them on down the ravine. I climbed down the rocky terrain, and after I grabbed both sets of reins, I headed back up toward Tim. There’d been no more shots, just the one. The question was who and why?

I’d holstered my gun and stood out in the open. No more shots rang out, and deciding the coast was clear, we mounted and rode home, but we still knew nothing. After taking care of our horses, I stopped Tim before we went inside the house. “Don’t say anything to Pa. I don’t want him worrying the whole time we’re gone.”

“Sure, Joe.”

The sun was shining; the sky was blue. There was a warm, gentle breeze as we headed down the mountain—we were off to a good start. The cattle were rounded up, and we were pushing them forward by 8:00 that morning. In order to maintain the cattle’s weight, we’d let them stop to graze frequently, plus we’d stop over for a night’s rest and still make the railhead in plenty of time. It was an easy trip; far from the old days when it took weeks to get our cattle to market. This time we’d take it nice and slow and deliver healthy, fat steers in exchange for top dollar.

The four men I’d picked as drovers were mostly friends of mine. Two of the boys, Rex and Andy, were my best wranglers and the third was a man named Ralph who’d worked alongside Tim at the mill.

I’d hesitated at first, but I went ahead and hired a longtime nemesis of mine who’d been down on his luck since the day his brother had died from excessive burns caused by a fire nearly twenty years ago. Harry Allen had never really gotten over Jerome’s death and when he came begging me for a job, I gave in. His father had passed a year after Jerome, leaving only Harry to tend the goat farm, but his heart wasn’t in it—his heart was usually in a jug of locally stilled whiskey. I figured I could handle the likes of Harry Allen for two days, knowing how desperately he needed the money.

After moving the cattle about four or five miles, it was time to break for lunch. Ralph built a small fire to boil our coffee while I grabbed enough grub from my saddlebag to feed us all. We hadn’t bothered with a cook and chuckwagon this time; we’d had Hop Sing load us up for the two-day trip instead.

Harry had wandered off into the woods, and when we’d all finished our sandwiches and apples and some of Hop Sing’s cookies, I glanced to my left to see Harry coming toward us, lumbering up the hill from the narrow gully below. I assumed he’d just gone to relieve himself, but he was red-faced and seemed out of breath as he yelled out frantic words a ranch owner never wants to hear.

“Smoke! Smoke!” He yelled, panting for breath. “I seen smoke over the next ridge!”

Jumping up, I knocked over my second cup of coffee and dropped my cookie in the dirt. Harry was right—smoke was billowing from the adjacent ridge, precisely in the direction we were headed.

Why hadn’t I seen this or smelled the smoke before we stopped for lunch? None of us had. But clouds of white, billowing smoke had claimed the clear blue sky. Flames began their dance on the hillside ahead. If we didn’t move the cattle now we’d lose them all.

“Let’s ride!” I hollered. “Head ‘em west—toward the lake.”

Cinches were tightened. We mounted within minutes and were driving the cattle over some of the roughest terrain in the area. Had I made the right decision? I wasn’t sure but the men did their best to keep the panicked steers moving forward without the threat of stampede.

The cattle sensed danger and became restless, moving in several directions and making our job that much harder. Harry, not being much of a cowhand, was more of a detriment than useful, but the rest of us fell into a rhythm and put in twice the effort.

Steers tumbled and fell; stronger cattle trampled the weaker ones. Our job had become chaotic, and I couldn’t afford to lose one steer much less a larger portion of the herd. The Ponderosa’s welfare depended on this delivery and the outcome looked bleak.

We covered our faces with bandanas as the smoke grew in volume and nearly blocked our visibility. With wind gusts growing stronger, flames jumped from treetop to treetop then swept lower, igniting dry tinder below. My eyes and throat burned. The flames were closing in, and the cattle were determined to flee in every direction possible. Screaming orders became impossible. It was each man for himself.

Tim circled to the left, and I waved my hat, pointed to the right, and took off in that direction. Not able to worry about strays at that point, I tried to keep track of the main herd. My legs ached from gripping Cochise though I suppose it was nerves rather than my ability to keep balanced on my horse, but I felt no different than the steers we drove. I was as scared and as nervous as they were.

Rex, the lead man, came racing back and pulled to a sudden stop beside me. “Fire ahead!” He screamed so I could hear over the roar of panicked cattle.

“Can we turn them south?” I yelled back.

“Doubt it, Joe. They’re all about half crazy.”

“We have to try. Let’s go!”

Rex and I rode hard to the front of the herd, tried to turn them, and head uphill. I caught sight of Andy moving forward with Tim, but the effort was worthless. Flames had jumped to the south of us. We were surrounded, and the stench of burning hides filled the air. We were losing them faster than moving them. There was nowhere left to go.

I had to think of the men. The herd was going down, and not a damn thing I could do, but get the men out safely. If we stayed on this mountain much longer, we’d all be dead. “Follow me,” I hollered at Rex. We rode as fast as possible toward Tim and Andy. I stood tall in my stirrups. Where the hell was Harry?

“Anyone seen Harry?” I shouted over the flames.

The answer was no. I took a deep breath, sucking in a huge amount of smoke then proceeded to cough my fool head off. When I was able to speak, I told the men to give a quick look for Harry then get the hell out of there. “Meet back at the knuckle-shaped rock by the springs.”

The four of us took off in separate directions to look for Harry Allen. The smoke became unbearable and I could only imagine what Adam had dealt with when he’d been trapped in the burning building with no way out. When he’d recovered enough to come home, he’d never wanted to talk about it and now I understood why.

None of us could stay out much longer. Without being able to see the other men, I prayed they’d already ridden out to safety, but Harry was my responsibility. I’d hired him on as part of the crew, and it was up to me to check every hidden draw until I found him.

After another 20 minutes of searching, I had to give up and leave Harry behind. Visibility was zero and the jumping flames were nipping at the heels of Cochise. As scared as he was he stayed surefooted as we slowly trekked down toward the stream where Rex, Andy, Ralph, and Tim stood, thank God.

“No, Harry?”

“Sorry, Joe,” Tim said.

“Okay, let’s get the hell outta here.”

I sent Rex and Andy back to the ranch and Ralph rode with Tim and me to his own place in town. I’d told the men to clean up and rest in the bunkhouse, but I also asked them not to mention anything to my father. He should hear the story from me, and not one of our ranch hands.

I thanked Ralph and said goodbye at his cutoff. Tim and I dismounted and led our mounts into town. I needed to tell Roy about the fire, and I felt obligated to tell him about Harry. I spotted the sheriff on the boardwalk making his afternoon rounds.   “Roy,” I called out.

“Little Joe, Tim. What’s up?”

“Fire, Roy—fire up on Sattler’s Ridge”

“Fire? How bad?”

“I don’t think there’s much you or anyone else can do except warn people to get out. The wind’s carrying the fire all across that side of the mountain.”

“You look beat, Little Joe,” Roy said. “I’ll get some men from town to ride out that way.”

“We lost the entire herd.” I rubbed soot from my upper lip. “We lost a man too, Roy.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Yeah, Harry Allen. I thought you should know.”

“Harry Allen?”

“Yeah, I hired him on as a drover.”

“I don’t know whether this is good news or not, Little Joe, but I just seen Harry over at the Bucket of Blood nursin’ a bottle of whiskey.”

“What?” Tim piped in before I could speak. I wouldn’t let my anger show in front of the sheriff, but to say I was burning mad was an understatement.

“Buy you a beer, Tim.”  I smiled and slapped the young man’s back.

“I don’t want no trouble, Little Joe.”

“Don’t worry, Sheriff. I’m just gonna buy my friend a beer.”

He didn’t see us enter the saloon. Tim and I walked straight to his table until he had the sense to look up. “Hello, Harry,” I said. I saw the frightened look in his eyes as he started to scoot his chair away from the table. “We looked for you, Harry; thought you might be trapped in the fire.”

“I—I had to get outta there, Joe.”

I leaned over the table, slamming my palms on the top. “Without telling anyone you were leaving?”

“I—”

“Did it ever occur to you we all could’ve been killed trying to save your sorry hide?”

“I’m sorry, Joe.”

“Go home, Harry, and don’t ever come begging for a job again.”

I left it at that. I should’ve beaten him half to death for running out like he did. My drovers were safe; no one was injured and thank God, no one was killed, but that was Harry, a worthless drunk and a sorry excuse for a man.

Tim and I were beat and our mounts were exhausted as well but we still had to ride home. My father was next on the list and it was going to kill him, knowing I’d lost the herd and worse, knowing how they died. The Ponderosa was at risk, and I wasn’t sure which part would upset him more. So far, the fire wasn’t a threat to our land but if the winds changed—

We were all in for a sleepless night.

Filthy and half-starved, Tim and I walked up to the house together. A soft, amber glow brightened the front window over my father’s desk. I reached out to open the front door and found it locked for the night so I knocked and we waited. Pa wasn’t expecting us home this early, and I’d probably startled him knocking at this late hour. I heard the tapping of his cane against the wood floor. “Yes? Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Pa. Me and Tim.”

Pa slid the latch and opened the front door. He took a step back and our eyes met, but words weren’t needed. With our clothes reeking of smoke and covered in ash, if he hadn’t smelled us already, he could tell by the look in my eye. “The herd’s gone, Pa.”

My father’s eyes closed but only briefly. “You’re all right?”

“Yeah, fire on Sattler’s Ridge, but everyone got out safely—everyone’s fine.” I hung up my hat and unbuckled my gunbelt. “The fire’s still burning,” I said without looking up at Pa. “Every last steer was—” I didn’t go any further, and I wasn’t about to go into detail. Pa already knew. I also failed to mention anything about Harry. Why bother? “I’m sorry, Pa.”

“As long as … everyone got out safely,” he said, “we’ll deal with the rest … later.”

Talking had become easier for Pa. He barely hesitated anymore, and I concentrated more on his words than the day we’d had.

“You both look tired. Get cleaned up and … get to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Go ahead, Tim. I’ll be up later.”

“Nite, Joe. Nite, Mr. Cartwright.”

“Hey, if you need somethin’ to eat—”

“Not tonight.  Thanks.”

I needed a drink, maybe two. Tim probably did also, but he’d already started up the stairs. “Join me?” I said to Pa, reaching for his decanter and pouring myself a brandy.

“Yes, thank you.”

Pa made his way back to his chair next to the banked fire. “I was just heading up to bed myself … before you—” he started to say. “A drink may help us both sleep easier.”

I poured us each a brandy; handed him a glass then sat down next to him. I downed mine quickly and then leaned back on the settee. I hesitated to say anything more about the fire tonight. I was beat, but I couldn’t go to bed. Not with the fire— “I should keep a watch out tonight.”

“The fire?”

“Yeah. If it heads this way—” I was too tired to finish a simple sentence and too tired to cover my mouth as I yawned and slowly closed my eyes.

“Joseph, go to bed. I’ll be up for a while; I’ll wake you if there’s trouble.”

“Maybe I’ll sleep down here,” I said, already deciding that was the plan. I grabbed a throw pillow and tucked it under my head as I stretched my legs out on the narrow settee.

The rooster crowed loud enough to wake me. I raised my head and noticed Pa was beginning to stir in his chair. Seems we’d both fallen asleep sometime during the night. I’d sat up and run a hand through my hair, settling it off my forehead, when Hop Sing slipped into the room carrying a tray. “Morning, Little Joe. Hop Sing make fresh pot for you and father.”

“Thanks, Hop Sing. It’s much appreciated.” I poured a cup for me and one for Pa, who was adjusting himself straighter in the chair. “Here you go,” I said, handing him a cup and saucer.

“Thank you, son,” he said, suppressing a yawn.

All I could smell and taste was smoke that clung to my clothes. The house was still standing, but I thought I should check outside. “Be right back,” I said, carrying my cup with me.

I walked out the front door to see low-hanging, dark clouds. The ground was damp, and I had good reason to be thankful. It rained during the night though I never heard a thing. The outside air smelled fresh and clean with only a hint of lingering smoke. Hopefully, the threat of fire moving onto our land was over. Still, the Ponderosa was being threatened in other ways—not losing trees and scaring the land but losing everything we’d ever worked for.

I threw out the last of my cold coffee and walked back into the house. “Rained last night, Pa. I think we’re safe now.”

“That’s good,” Pa said. “Real good.”

In my absence, Pa had moved to the dining room table so I joined him, taking my usual seat to his right. “We have more to think about than a wildfire, Pa. I don’t know how we’re going to make up for losing the entire herd.” I looked up at my father. He should’ve been as concerned as I was, but I didn’t see any sign of worry or stress in his face. He looked rather calm and collected.

“You’ll think of something, Joseph.”

I almost laughed. “I’m glad you think so, Pa. Offhand, I don’t have anything in mind. Maybe you can enlighten me.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

What the heck was the attitude? I’d never known my father to talk that way before, and I was a little dumbfounded. “You okay, Pa?”

“I’m fine, son.” Pa picked up a platter of scrambled eggs and scooped some out on his plate. “Eggs?”

“Thanks.” I took the platter and served myself what was left and handed Pa a plate of sausage.

“How many head did you leave behind before the drive?”

“Well, the bull and the yearlings, so maybe thirty or forty head.”

“That’s a start.”

“Yeah,” Probably the smallest herd we’d had since Pa built this place.

“You work with what you have, son. The herd’s gone. You move on with what you have left.”

“We won’t have any cattle to take to market next year, Pa. We’re basically starting from scratch.”

“That’s right.”

I was speechless. This wasn’t like Pa to sit and remain calm when our way of life had been threatened. Even though none of the events of the past six or eight months had been our fault or preventable, I questioned the odd behavior—the odd state of mind.

“I need a bath,” I said, changing the subject. Pa was talking crazy, and I didn’t have the energy to set him straight.

“Too bad we’re not in San Francisco,” Pa said as I stood up from my chair. “Baths were much easier in our suites, weren’t they?”

“I’ll say they were. I’ll get Hop Sing to heat the water.”

I stripped down and climbed into the bath. Remembering the private bathrooms Pa and I enjoyed at the Palace Hotel, this felt nearly as good. How perfect life had been back then. How much our lives have changed.

I lay my head against the back of our old copper tub and closed my eyes. I smiled to myself, just now realizing what Pa was trying to say during breakfast. We’d lost the herd, the mill was shut down, and the price of silver was at an all-time low. We were at rock bottom just like Pa had been when the stroke had knocked him flat on his back and speechless. He’d made a miraculous comeback and in his mind so would the Ponderosa.

I envied my father’s faith. If he thought we could do it then it would happen just as he said. This time, though, it was my turn to come up with a solution, but I admit, I didn’t have a tenth of the faith my father had.

When Tim finished breakfast and took time to bathe, the two of us rode out to see how much the fire had destroyed. Though we’d never know how it started, I needed to see the destruction for myself. My mind quickly flashed to Harry Allen and what a useless idiot he was, but even Harry wouldn’t have been that careless. There had been no lightning strikes, which was usually the case, and no one would burn anything this time of year and lose control of the fire.

I remember when I was just a kid; a family from Kentucky decided to settle near here and thought they’d burn out the land as a cleansing tactic. Maybe that’s something people did in Kentucky, but not when timber is so dry and delicate to begin with.

I fought with that old man when I’d seen what he’d done, and told him how many acres, homes, and families could be destroyed by the blaze. It didn’t turn out like I’d expected, though, and when he aimed his long-barreled rifle at me, I ended up having to shoot first, ending his life instead of mine. I hope that wasn’t the case this time with some new settler thinking that’s how we did things in Nevada.

Tim and I surveyed the damage; acres had been burned and even some of our own land at the north end of our property. Trunks of trees were still smoldering, but the real danger was over thanks to the unexpected rainfall. Whereas it never occurred to me to pray for rain, I’m sure my father had done that very thing, and maybe his prayers had been answered thus saving most of the land he cared so much about.

The Ponderosa wasn’t altogether penniless, and I wondered if buying more cattle and enlarging what herd we had left might be the wise thing to do. We could always drive some of those Texas longhorns up and breed them with our Herefords. It may carry us over until the mill was needed or the price of silver rose again.

“Joe?” Tim said as we rode back to the house. “You mind if I stop in town for a while or—”

His voice trailed off. I was no dummy; I knew exactly why he wanted to go into town. “Missin’ your lady friend?”

“Well, I thought I might—I mean, if you don’t mind, I’d like to—”

“Sure, go ahead. See you back at the ranch later.”

“Thanks, Joe.”

Maybe it was time for me to find a new lady friend, too, though not many of the proper ladies in Virginia City would give me a second look. Not much had changed in that respect, and as time passed, I’d gotten over the fact that I couldn’t change what any of the Virginia City bluebloods chose to believe. But now wasn’t the time to think about the ladies. The Ponderosa’s future was at stake, and redirecting our ventures would take most of my time and energy.

When we all sat down to dinner that evening, Tim rushed in at the last minute. Smiling rather sheepishly just as I used to, trying to stay on Pa’s good side, he took his seat across from me. Then, he said something that stuck in my craw, something I couldn’t dismiss.

“Well?” I said to Tim. “Did you have a nice afternoon?”

The kid blushed before he spoke. “Yeah—”

“And?”

“Well, she was out shopping when I rode into town, and so I took her to Miss Daisy’s for lunch.”

Pa eyed me, but I was done joking with the kid. He was so shy and so uncomfortable talking about his love life; I didn’t want him to run out of the house like he had last time.

“You know what was odd though, Joe? She was talking to that scumbag, Harry Allen when I rode in.”

“Harry?”

“Yeah. She seemed kind of flustered and told me he’d bumped into her and knocked the packages outta her arms. Then she told me that after he picked them up, he kept walking and talking to her. That guy gives me the creeps, Joe. I don’t like him being anywhere close to her.”

“I don’t blame you, Tim. I never should’ve hired him for the drive. He’s nothing but a no-good drunk and should be locked up on that farm of his and never let out.”

“Joseph—”

“Well, it’s true, Pa. You know it, and I know it. He’s a bad seed; he never did a worthwhile thing in his life.”

Pa didn’t argue with me because I was 100% right. Harry Allen was no good. I’d dealt with him since I was a kid in school, and he wasn’t worth two cents if you asked me. I don’t know what possessed me to hire him as a drover except that he looked so haggard and so worn-down from just trying to stay alive that when he begged me for the job, I caved. It would be the last time, though, and thinking back to what Tim had said, I’d be upset too if Harry were anywhere near a woman of mine.

“Hey,” I said. “What’s this lady’s name anyhow? I’m tired of calling her your lady friend.”

“Harriet,” he said. “Harriet Collins.”

“Well, I’m sure Harry was drunk when he ran into her. Slim chance it will ever happen again.”

The name Collins gave me chills, but I couldn’t tell Tim or say anything to Pa. They’d think I was some kind of nut job if I let the woman’s last name mean anything more than it was—a last name. Then I thought about Harry. He never did anything by accident, and I could only hope that Harriet and Harry Allen weren’t running with the same circle of friends.

As summer approached, I had more time to think about bringing steers up from Texas. Pa agreed it would be a worthwhile venture, and as much as I hated leaving my father home alone with just Hop Sing, it had to be done. If I could drag Tim away from Harriet Collins for a couple of months’ time, I’d be lucky. I’d thought about taking Rex and Andy, our horse breakers, but Tim had become such a close friend we’d even started thinking alike. If there was anyone I wanted watching my back, it was Tim Wilson.

I’d planned to leave in two days, and I thought I’d treat the kid to a night in town before we left for Texas. As we both rode into Virginia City, I wondered if he’d rather be with his lady friend than with me. He’d never say anything, but I knew how serious the relationship had become, and I hoped I wasn’t cutting in and ruining any plans he may have had.

I had to stop at the bank for cash while Tim headed down to the mercantile. Then we tried out a new restaurant in town called Reds. It was worth a shot. We each ordered a steak, which wasn’t anything to get excited about, and then lit out for the saloon for a few beers and maybe a few hands of poker. Neither of us played cards too much after what we’d each been through early on in our lives, but a friendly game never hurt anyone.

“The oddest thing happened at the bank,” I said to Tim as we leaned back against the bar at the Silver Dollar. “There was this well-dressed woman, and just as I walked into the bank, she almost ran me down trying to get out of there.”

“What was her hurry?”

“Beats me. She kept her head down, almost like she didn’t want me to see her face.”

“That’s kinda strange, ain’t it?”

“Sure was but now I’m curious,” I said, laughingly.

“Well, maybe you’ll see her again someday or maybe like you say, she ain’t got no teeth and didn’t want you to notice.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. The kid was quick and kept me laughing all the time. Although he’d never take the place of Hoss—nobody could—he was a good man to have around.

After a few hands of cards and more beer than either of us should’ve had, we were unsteady on our feet by the time we left the saloon. There was barely any moonlight so we plodded along slowly, both of us sobering up along the way.

An early morning chill filled the air as the low hint of sunlight spread across the horizon. Tim lifted his head slowly off the jagged rock. He reached the base of his skull, feeling the good-sized lump, which in turn left traces of rust-colored blood on his fingertips when he eased his hand away. “What the—”

He made it to his feet, started to stumble forward, but he righted himself quickly. A feeling of dread crept over him as he stood in the middle of the rutted dirt road, bewildered. Turning his head slowly, looking in all directions, he discovered nothing that made any sense. His horse was gone. Joe and his mount were gone. Had Joe ridden off, leaving him hurt and alone sometime during the night?

As fuzzy as his head was, he remembered some of what happened the night before. He and Joe had left the saloon and were on their way home when a shot was fired. He remembered falling and realized he must have hit his head on a rock when he’d tumbled from his horse.

He reached for the sleeve of his jacket—more blood, a flesh wound, but only a scratch, nothing to fret over. He hollered for Joe, then grabbed his head with both hands as pain shot through, and retched by the side of the road. After taking a deep breath and pushing his tousled, blond hair off his forehead, he started toward the house.

When no one came down for breakfast, and after asking Hop Sing if the boys had left the house early, worry got the best of Ben Cartwright. He could’ve been sleeping when the two had come in the night before, but now he realized there was trouble. He ate quickly and had just walked out the front door when he saw Buster, Tim’s horse, standing alone, still saddled in the middle of the front yard.

Ben walked Buster to the barn and noticed a man crossing the yard behind him. “Tim? That you?” Ben dropped the horse’s reins.

“Yessir, it’s me,” he said, cradling his aching head.

“Where’s Joe? Isn’t he with you?”

Tim removed his hat and looked at Ben. “I don’t know, sir.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Why isn’t he with you?”

“I don’t—there was a shot and … “

“Let’s start over, Tim, and tell me what you do know?”

“We left the saloon, and we were on our way home, and—I just don’t know, Mr. Cartwright. There was a shot. I fell off my horse and—and now I’m here.”

“Your horse is here. I was stabling him when you—”

“Oh, good. I didn’t know where …”

“But you don’t know who shot at you.”

Tim shook his head.

“And there was only one shot.”

“I think so, sir, but I may have already passed out. When I woke, Joe was gone. His horse was gone, and I … I’m sorry, but that’s all I know.”

Ben became even more concerned when he noticed the dried blood on Tim’s fingers. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and I’ll see if I can make sense of what you’ve just told me.”

Within the hour, Ben and Tim were in the surrey and on their way to Virginia City. Stopping where he and Joe had been bushwhacked, they found clues, but no explanation as to why.

“—and that’s all I know, Sheriff,” Tim said, after he finished giving the same account he’d given Ben.

Roy pondered the kid’s story then stood from his desk to refill his cup. “Coffee?”

“Not now, Roy,” Ben said.

“So Little Joe had quite a bit of cash on him, right?” Roy questioned. “How many folks knew about you boys headin’ for Texas?”

Tim looked at Ben and shrugged his shoulders. “No one.”

“Well, it sounds like robbery to me. What about you?”

Ben shook his head. “I don’t know, Roy. It’s like Tim said; nobody knew their plans.”

“I’ll round up a posse.” Roy buckled his gunbelt. “Little Joe can’t be far. I’ll send word as soon as we find him.”

Roy Coffee and his posse turned up nothing that summer afternoon or any of the days that followed. They stumbled upon Cochise, still saddled and grazing, close to a mile down the hill from where Tim and Joe had been ambushed, but that was the extent of their findings.

Days turned into weeks. Ben had corresponded with Adam numerous times, explaining the situation as best he could, but his letters became less hopeful as time went on. Adam did everything possible to keep his father’s hopes alive, but he could tell from the most recent letter, his father had lost any hope of finding Joe alive.

With Texas steers long since forgotten, Tim, although only a mere substitute for a blood son, had become Ben’s right-hand man, and he would hold that position as long as he was needed. Working steadily, he managed to keep the ranch running, but after long, tedious days, it became difficult to keep his employer’s spirits up. With Joe missing and presumed dead, Ben had grown less than enthusiastic when it came to his once-prosperous ranch.

Ben’s world had been shattered. Joseph was his only living son still residing at home, a son who prided himself on keeping an old man’s legacy alive. Since Hoss’ death, and with Adam’s work in California, Joe and Ben had become closer still. Ben had never deluded himself over who was the real boss; Joseph was in charge. Joseph ran the ranch. It was up to his youngest son to decide what was needed. Even though Joe felt it necessary to run things by him by asking his opinion or listening to his thoughts, it was Joe’s decision in the end. What would become of the Ponderosa and the legacy Ben would hand down to his sons?

“—I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.” Adam leaned in and kissed his bride, Kathryn Lemont, now Mrs. Adam Cartwright.

His best man, Jake Jacobs, slapped Adam on the back and reached for his hand. “I was starting to wonder if you were smart enough or man enough to make this lovely lady your bride, Adam.” Jake eased himself between the newly married couple, congratulating them both before wrapping his arms around Kate and kissing her full on the mouth.

“Hey, buddy. Friend or not, that’s enough,” Adam said, moving Jake aside and away from his new bride. “You missed your chance, my friend. She’s officially Mrs. Adam Cartwright.” Adam smiled at Kate, pulling her close to his side. As her fingers slipped up the front of his chest, he took her hand in his then brought it slowly to his lips, and whispered, “I love you.”

Held in a small chapel, Kate had decorated it with bouquets of flowers, and it was a joyous occasion with everyone in high spirits, but the celebration would be short-lived. Tomorrow, Adam and Kate would leave their friend, Jake, and the city of San Francisco behind. Adam was returning home, accompanied by his new bride, who seemed almost more anxious than he was to start over in the wilds of Nevada, a term she’d heard and couldn’t wait to begin their new life together.

The wedding hadn’t been a snap decision. Adam and Kate had been lovers for years, but since they were leaving the city, it was time to make their partnership official. Joe had been missing for two months, and Ben couldn’t manage alone. Tim, whom Ben had praised more than once in his letters, had done what he could, but Adam knew he had to return. He had to be there for his father.

Adam had enjoyed his life in the city, and he’d become well-known by the articles he’d written. He’d even won a journalism award after taking up pen and paper when Jacobs lured him in that direction. But it was time to put that piece of his life behind him and do what he could, even if it meant selling the ranch or subdividing the thousand acres his father owned.

Times were changing, and with new settlers moving into the area, it might prove cost-effective to let some of the land go, but he and his father would work that out as soon as he was settled back home.

And what in God’s name had happened to Joe? Why was there never a body found? Pa had written about the search parties that had combed the area so when Roy and his posse turned up nothing but Joe’s horse, Ben had called in a state marshal, and when he and his men failed, a private detective was hired but still, they’d found nothing.

He’d just dealt with Hoss’ death and now Little Joe, the baby brother who brought chaos and joy to the family was suddenly ripped away. As the Central Pacific headed east toward Virginia City, Adam tucked his musings away. He was determined to find answers where professionals had failed.

Ben had Tim drive him into Virginia City. Seeing Adam and Kate should’ve been a reason for celebration, but with Joe’s probable death, the homecoming and Ben’s mood was melancholy at best.

Tim pulled the large, four-seated surrey to a stop only minutes before the train roared into the depot. It was easier for Ben to stay seated and wait for his son to come to him than to try to manage the stairs up to the loading dock. Tim jumped out of the surrey, offering to help with their luggage and point Adam and Kate in the right direction.

Ben had accepted the young man as a devoted companion and as close to a son as any man could be. He’d learned to rely on Tim for everything, including personal needs as well as managing the ranch. But decisions concerning ranch operations would alter when Adam returned, and Ben was concerned about the transition. He didn’t dare lose the bright young man in the process.

Ben spotted Adam and Kate departing the train. He lifted his hat, waving it high over his head as he caught sight of his son. He did feel joy, more than he could imagine as Adam and his new bride walked down the stairway toward the surrey. They greeted each other; a hearty handshake from Adam and a kiss from Kate before climbing aboard the freshly cleaned buggy and heading back to the Ponderosa. The house would be filled with a woman’s voice and hopefully a mild distraction from the ever-present stillness at home.

Kate was a gift from heaven, a woman entirely opposite his conservative and quiet son. She was bubbly and full of laughter, something the house needed desperately right now. Ben hoped they’d be happy living with him and not feel the need to build a place of their own, but that would be discussed later. Ben was content and thanked the good Lord for bestowing on his eldest son this beautiful woman and the ultimate desire to return home.

The window shade had been lowered to the sill, and I barely knew day from night since I’d been brought to this place, weeks maybe even months ago. My wrists had been handcuffed and my ankles tied to a brass bed, which left me immobile. I’d lost all track of time.

It wasn’t hard to figure out that Harriet Collins and Abby Collier were one and the same. Why I hadn’t connected the dots earlier wasn’t worth dwelling on any longer. My life hung in the balance with Abby calling the shots. I wasn’t to speak unless spoken to; I couldn’t relieve myself unless she decided it was time. I ate whatever she fed me; I drank on occasion when she deemed it necessary to keep me alive.

But her goal was revenge, to drive me insane, to watch me commit yet another murder, my own. I’d killed her father and was the reason for her brother’s death, and she assured me I would plead with her—beg her to let me end my life.

For hours, I went without food or water, and I’d learned not to ask. Abby’s life had become a living hell after being introduced to morphine while she served her two-year sentence in the Women’s Facility for being an accomplice to her brother, Jackson’s, plan to kill me.

“You know what happens to women in prison?” She said early on, as she held the small vial of morphine up close to my face.

I never told her I’d done time, and I wondered what kind of game she was playing. Did she already know the answer? Anything could upset her, and I had to watch every word I said. “No, tell me,” I said, a bit too sarcastically, but I don’t think she noticed the inflection in my voice.

She held the vile eye level and stared at its contents. “This little drug is encouraged for women with female troubles, Joseph. Menstrual cycles or menopause, even pregnancy, of which I have no issues with any of those on the list, but” she said loudly, “I was given the drug anyway. We all were.”

“Why?” I asked then I realized anything was possible in prison. I should know.

“Morphine means control, Joseph. I thought you, being a man and all, would already be privy to matters of such.”

“I never tried to control you, Abby, and from what I remember of our time together, it was you who tried to control me.”

“Oh, Joseph, how silly you are. What you fail to realize, my sweet, is that after this marvelous drug has taken over every conscious thought, your mind is no longer your own. Men step in. Men who want to hurt you.” She lowered the small bottle to her lap. “I had to beg, on my knees, Joseph. I had to perform favors no proper woman should have to. Do you understand my meaning?”

“Yes,” I knew exactly what she meant although I said nothing to encourage her to say more, but she continued.

“The guards called it playtime, Joseph. I could see the outline of the vial in the guard’s shirt pocket as he stood outside my cell, smiling and grabbing himself in an ungentlemanly fashion. We had to have our playtime first. You understand, don’t you, sweetheart? I had to spread my legs for despicable men who put their filthy hands all over me, and why you might ask? Because you sent me there to live with those men.”

“Abby, please listen to reason. I had no way of knowing—” Without even hearing my plea, she continued.

“I was expected to remove my underclothes and lie down on the bed.” She hesitated but only for a minute. “I suppose you think I should have fought them off, don’t you. Rule number one, Joseph. Don’t fight back. Rule number two: never make a sound.

“I listened to those pigs grunt and groan as they forced their way inside me, leaving sticky wetness on my thighs while the second guard stood unfastening his pants for round two. But that wasn’t the end, not at all. After they’d spoiled me for any decent man and humiliated me to no end—it wasn’t enough. I was forced to my knees. I was forced to beg.”

She took a deep breath, and I supposed she was reliving the experience much like I had at times. What could I say? She held up the vile so I’d be sure to see.

“For this little bit of heaven,” she said, running her free hand down her thigh, “I had to demean myself even more by begging for one simple shot of the prison drug.” It was no surprise that when her sentence was complete, she’d been released back into society with a cruel addiction to morphine.

Twice a day, Abby sat next to me on the bed with her vile and her dirty syringe, making sure I was able to witness the process as she plunged the needle deep into her arm for the needed rush she craved. “I feel playful today, Joseph,” she’d sometimes say. I dreaded the words, knowing where her thoughts were headed and what she meant by “playful.”

As she’d been wronged in prison, she planned retribution for me. I was the scapegoat for all the horror that had plagued Abby’s life. She’d brought me here as one would a possession—a plaything—someone for her to humiliate and take pleasure in hurting whenever she felt the need. She’d proven herself successful, savoring every minute of the anguish she caused. In her mind, when I’d had enough of her games when life wasn’t worth living, I’d ask for release from this world to the next.

Abby’s physical features were changing almost daily. Her face had grown gaunt and gray, a washed-out look that aged her beyond her years. She’d lost weight, as I had too since she seldom fed me and rarely ate anything herself. The addiction took its toll, and she became more unpredictable, and her mood swings were more erratic.

The lovely woman I once knew was gone; her beautiful face, the gentle curves of her body, and even the refined and delicate way she moved when I first met her and enjoyed listening to her skirts swish softly through the hallways of the hospital in San Francisco. Her mind faltered daily as if it had withered and was close to breaking down. All that mattered now was the drug, which brought on frustrating and overwhelming aggravation for me.

Today was one of those days. She was driven to “play” as she called it, or “feeling playful,” which were, I believe, her exact words. In her warped state of mind, she enjoyed degrading and making me suffer just as she had suffered for so long.

Without ease or constraint, she handled the most sensitive part of my body, not with gentle fingers but with a grip meant to cause pain. By not allowing me the end result, the atmosphere in the room became two-sided—fulfillment for her and torment for me.

With the constant noise level, the endless pounding and shoveling sounds, and men’s muffled voices coming from somewhere outside this room, it suddenly came to me that there was complete silence. It must be Sunday, a day of rest, during the yearlong renovation of the International House Hotel. Could I possibly be right here in the heart of Virginia City?

Abby was a sly one, and this would be the last place anyone would ever look, especially after all this time when I was most likely presumed dead. She also had the hotel routine down well and knew when to expect a knock on the door. She would slip a heavy, leather mask over my head and buckle the straps under my chin. I couldn’t make a sound.

Only two people ever came to this room. First was a young man of Chinese descent who understood only some of the language but who offered to clean the room or at least change the linens. Abby would often reply that she was busy and ask that everything be set outside the door and she would gather up the clean items later. This was a classy hotel and linens were changed weekly for ongoing residents. The second person to show up was her accomplice.

The unforgiving mask was one used on her in prison, and she relayed part of the story to me one night after she’d attacked me with her fists when I’d asked for a drink of water.

“I had to wear this twice, Joseph,” she said, holding it up in front of her and staring as if the slits for eyes were staring back. “Twice,” she repeated. “Once, when my brother hung himself in his cell all because you forced him into that prison and for what? What, Joseph? Because he was getting back at you for killing our father? Is that what you call a reason, Joseph?

“Abby,” I started to say, but she hushed me and continued.

“The guard strapped this on me,” she said then twirled the damn thing on her finger. “I was beside myself. I screamed and cried when I heard Jackson was dead, and that’s all it took for the guard to slap my face, pull this from his belt and fasten it over my head. He tied my hands behind my back so I couldn’t reach the straps and slammed the cell door shut. I can still hear his belly-laugh as he walked away.”

“Abby, I’m sorry,” I said, but I don’t know that she listened or even heard my apology.

“Six pounds, Joseph. This little item weighs six pounds,” she said, still twirling, “and as you’ve discovered, it’s hot and uncomfortable. It’s used to control inmates who’ve become violent. I never became violent, Joseph, but I had to wear it twice.”

I knew there was more to tell, and I’d kept my mouth shut and listened, but I was wrong. She said nothing only stopped the twirling, leaned back in her chair, and stared at the tiny slits.

Her taunts had become pure evil. She’d often reminded me of our time together in San Francisco, which was a memory much different from anything I could recall. For Abby, we’d had a love affair until I turned my back on her by sending Jackson and her to prison. Why had I betrayed her so? That was the daily question she forced me to answer. What could I possibly tell her but to go along with the bizarre chain of events as she saw them?

I played the game. I did what was needed to stay alive.

“It’s so good to have you home, son, and you, Kate,” Ben said as they gathered around the dining room table, eating one of Hop Sing’s dinners.

“You might want to direct your appreciation to Kate, Pa,” Adam replied. “She’s the one who persuaded me to move back. She was ecstatic about coming here and leaving the city from the first day I’d mentioned it to her.”

“Well, I’m glad you convinced him, Kate. This old house came alive the minute you walked through the front door.”

“I didn’t have the heart to tell her how long the winters were,” Adam continued, “or how dry and dusty it was in the summer.”

“I have a feeling she’ll manage just fine, son.”

Kate, sitting beside Adam, took hold of his hand and looked at Ben. “Thank you, Mr. Cartwright. Your son can be quite stubborn at times, but I think we’re both happy to be here, aren’t we, sweetheart? And yes, I have no doubt I will adjust quite easily to this new way of life.”

Tim was also thankful that Adam had come home. The workload was too much for one person, and between the two of them, he could take a breath; maybe even sit back and relax for more than five minutes at a time.

Harriet Collins had been called out of town suddenly; something about a dying relative she’d written in a message and sent to Tim by courier nearly two months ago. On stationery she’d borrowed from her landlady at the boarding house, she wrote in very few words that she was sorry things hadn’t worked out, but she felt she was needed back home. She’d be forced to leave Virginia City on the next stage east, returning to her native Boston, and was deeply sorry she wouldn’t have time for goodbyes.

Tim dealt with the loss of the woman he loved although at first he was devastated when there had been no goodbye, no forwarding address. It was a blow to his ego, knowing he’d been in love, not her, and he’d never see or be with her again.

Harriet was older than Tim by nearly ten years and for that reason, he’d never brought her around to meet the family besides the fact, she’d never seemed to have any desire to see where he lived or meet the men he lived with.

What would any of the Cartwrights think of him courting a woman who was so much older and more experienced? Would they think he was out of his mind? Though he missed her at times, there was too much work to be done, but now that Adam was home, maybe it was time for him to find a new girl, maybe one closer to his own age and maybe one who actually loved him back.

When dinner was finished and the men retired to the great room for coffee, Kate bid the family goodnight and headed upstairs to Adam’s old bedroom, the room now stockpiled with their belongings. The remainder, furniture and other odds and ends, even some of their clothing was in storage and would be shipped from San Francisco later. Adam assured her his boyhood bedroom wouldn’t be their home for long, just until he had time to build a house of their own, a comfortable distance away from prying eyes.

As soon as he heard the door close upstairs, Adam poured two glasses of brandy and sat down next to his father to discuss what Ben thought had happened to Joe. There had to be more to the story, especially without Joe’s body ever being located; a simple robbery just didn’t make sense.

“I’m gonna go check the stock, Mr. Cartwright.”

“Thanks, Tim,” Ben said, turning and smiling at the young man.”

“I thought maybe we could have a private conversation while Tim’s busy with the evening chores, Pa.”

“Adam,” Ben said, adjusting himself a bit taller in his leather chair, “Tim Wilson is as much a part of this family as you or your brothers ever were. I won’t allow him to be left out of any family discussions or anything else concerning ranch business.”

“I just thought—”

“I know what you thought, son, but I’ve grown quite fond of the young man, and I need you to keep that in mind as we move forward. He’s been my right-hand man since Joseph—since Joe’s disappearance, and I won’t have him thinking he’s not needed or wanted.”

“All right,” Adam said in a drawn-out voice. “Should we wait for him then?”

“He knows everything I do, son. He was with Joe when this first happened so filling him in isn’t an issue.”

Adam hesitated before he asked the next question. His eyes met Ben’s. “Still nobody?”

“No—”

“Then there’s hope, Pa. There’s got to be something we’re missing.”

“It’s been weeks, Adam,” Ben said, adjusting himself in his chair. “No ransom note, no sightings, nothing.”

“Then why was Joe taken—a robbery?”

“That’s the only sensible conclusion any of us came up with, son. Joe had $1000 in cash to buy Texas Longhorns. Tim said no one knew about the money except the bank manager.”

“Was he questioned?”

“Son, I’ve known Harry Bristol for years. He’d never attempt something like this.”

“I know one person who would,” Tim said, walking back into the house.

“Who’s that?” Adam said.

“Harry Allen, that’s who.”

“Harry Allen? What’s he got to do with Joe? I just assumed—”

“Why didn’t you mention him before?” Ben said.

“I don’t know. It’s probably nothin’ anyway.”

“What’s this about Harry Allen, Tim? Why do you think he’d have anything to do with Joe’s disappearance?” Adam already knew what kind of man Harry was but why was he mentioned in relation to Joe this many years later? He had never assumed there’d still be cause for trouble with the likes of the Allen brothers.

“Joe hired him for the cattle drive up to the railhead last spring,” Tim said, glancing at Ben and then looking back at Adam. “I’m sure you already know about the fire and all—well, when the fire got too intense, Harry cut out—left us and the herd behind. All four of us searched for him, thinking he must have been trapped in the blaze. But Joe, he felt responsible, and he stayed out there looking almost too long. He nearly died that day all because of that fool.”

Tim saw the surprised look on Ben’s face. When the boys arrived home that night, Joe hadn’t mentioned anything about Harry or about having to endanger himself searching for him. Ben shook his head. Joe had spared him the details

“Go on,” Adam said.

“When Joe and I rode into town to tell the sheriff about the fire and about Harry being dead, we was told Harry was sitting in the saloon, drinkin’. I could tell Joe was hot under the collar, but all he did that day was tell Harry off rather than beat the stuffing outta him like he wanted to do. There wasn’t no fight or nothin’ but that guy’s trouble, Adam. He’s no good.”

“I have to agree with you, Tim. Harry’s been a thorn in Joe’s side as long as I can remember.” Adam glanced at his father. “Was Harry ever questioned?”

Ben tried to think back. His life was in such turmoil in the days following Joe’s disappearance, and he couldn’t recall all the details like he should. “I’m not sure, son, but as far as I can remember, no. I think it’s time we paid Roy Coffee a visit. First thing tomorrow morning.”

“Good,” Adam said, slapping his hand on his knees then standing. “Now that that’s settled, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have a beautiful wife waiting for me upstairs.”

“Nite, son.”

“Night, Adam. I’m off to bed too, Mr. Cartwright.”

“Goodnight, Tim.”

Ben remained seated, staring into the dying flames of the fire. Harry Allen. Why hadn’t his name been brought up before? Ben recalled how years ago, the Allen brothers had nearly killed Little Joe over a gambling debt even though Joe had the money in his pocket to settle up with the miserable gambler. Could it possibly be they’d overlooked Harry Allen all along?

Someone pounded on the door. Looking through the narrow slits of the mask, I knew who’d come and I knew why. He was out of pocket change, and Abby was his meal ticket. After a night in the saloon, he’d be back for more, but Abby was preoccupied and the banging sound continued.

She took pleasure in the sudden rush. Before removing the needle from her arm, she’d lie back in the chair and close her eyes. Nothing else mattered, not her appearance, or the constant pounding or the guttural sound that filtered through the mask. I couldn’t yell out, and I couldn’t move.

Minutes passed before she actually stirred. “What?” she shouted. Loose strands of matted, blonde hair lay lifeless across her shoulders. Her dress was filthy; she never bathed or cleaned her teeth, but when she leaned forward, she extracted the needle and let it fall to the floor.

“Miss Collins?”

“Who is it?”

“It’s Harry. Unlock the damn door before I kick it in.” She reached for the latch and turned the lock. Harry flung the door open and pushed Abby aside. “I need cash, lady, and I need it now.”

I watched the confrontation but could barely hear Abby’s voice since the mask was so tight on my head. It wasn’t the first time Harry had seen me lying on the bed buck-naked, and I was long past feeling embarrassed.

Harry Allen had been in on the kidnapping. Whether it was the money Abby paid him or his lifelong hatred for me, I’d never know, but like a good little errand boy, he arrived daily with either another vial or a bottle of whiskey. I don’t know what she’d paid him, but he had the upper hand and wanted more.

One of the two had made out with the $1000 I had on me; I suppose whoever reached into my pocket first. I assume it was Abby or Harry who wouldn’t be coming around screamin’ and carryin’ on like the fool he was.

“No more,” Abby said. “I told you before. There’s no more money.”

“Then don’t expect me comin’ ‘round here no more, Missy. The party’s over.” Harry moved closer to the bed and stared down at me. “What are your plans for Cartwright?”

Abby plopped down in the chair, her knees spread like a man’s, and she cradled her head in her hands. “He—he needs—”

“What? He needs to die is what needs doin’ ‘fore he tells the sheriff what we done.”

She lifted her head slowly, and with a scowl on her face, she stood from the chair. “I make the rules, Harry, not you,” she said. “He’ll die, but he’ll die by his own hand, not yours, not mine. Do you understand me?”

I couldn’t make out Harry’s last words though I doubt he was thrilled over having a woman give orders and pointing to the door. Harry slammed the door on his way out, and a chill ran through me. Maybe this was the end. Harry was of no use to Abby anymore, and if she were truly out of money, how would she finance her need for morphine?

I’d seen her at her worst. I’d seen her trying to hold off, struggling with herself not to pick up the vile and dirty syringe. It may sound odd to most people, but there were times my heart broke for the once beautiful woman, who’d encountered a series of circumstances that affected her so, forcing her to live through the misery and settle for the kind of life that was spiraling out of control.

Her moods were up and down, sweet and reminiscing or violently angry. She’d speak of our love affair one minute and then become aggressive, attacking me, slapping, gouging even ripping her torn, ragged fingernails down my face and chest.

Abby unbuckled the straps from my neck, removed the mask, and set it aside. I pulled in as much air as I could after what seemed like hours. The drug was still affecting her mood, and she was at peace, but somewhere down the road, there’d be hell to pay.

“My plan hasn’t worked out, has it, Joseph? You’re still alive.”

I was so thirsty. “May I have something to drink, sweetheart?” It was time to try the absurd. Maybe if I joined her fantasy world and carried on as if we were lovers, I could leave the room alive.

“Did I ever tell you about the second time I wore this mask?” She held it with both hands and ran her fingers over the moist, warm leather.

“Tell me, my love,” I said, choking on each word.

It was the same narrative I’d heard before, but I listened as though it was the first telling. It was the story every woman would tell who had spent time in prison. It was the story of being raped repeatedly in order to get a single shot of morphine the warden used to control his inmates. I knew the story well, and I listened to this version, which paralleled all the rest.

“—and I did what every decent lady does. I spread my legs and urged him to take me,” she said as she filled the syringe. “Then he’d jam the needle in my arm—” I watched, and with force, the needle broke in her arm.

I cringed as her face tightened with pain. She never deserved such treatment, no one did. I understood pain. I understood prison life though I would never let on. I would never give her the satisfaction of knowing I, too, was raped.

Abby rubbed the raised mark she’d left on her arm then leaned back in her chair and looked straight at me. “From that very first time, as that pig-faced guard forced himself inside me, I began planning my revenge, Joseph. I wanted you to know pain. I wanted you to feel what I felt. I wanted you to know what you’d done when you sent me to that place with those horrible men.”

She moved to the front edge of the chair and had a cunning, almost cheerful smile on her face. “Revenge is good therapy don’t you think? I mean what else do I have, Joseph? My life is over. I have no family, and I don’t have you. That’s why you must die. You understand, don’t you?”

It had all been said and somewhere between love and madness stood her obsession for revenge. Abby’s feelings were clear. Her life was over, and mine would be too. I didn’t know how or when but I felt it would be soon.

She scanned the room. A bottle of whiskey sat on the table next to her chair. She pulled the stopper and walked back toward the side of the bed. “Tell me again why you deceived me, Joseph.”

“I love you, Abby,” I lied. “I would never deceive you; you know that by now, don’t you?”

“You deceived me, Joseph. You lied to me. You killed my father, and now my brother is dead. Why, Joe? We had everything. Why do you hate me so?”

“I didn’t mean for Jackson to die. He took his own life. He wasn’t strong like you and me. We can be together now just you and me.”

She held the bottle in her hand, turned, and walked away. Apparently, my answer wasn’t the right one. I didn’t know what she wanted to hear. What did she expect me to say? I’d tried everything, but Abby held firm in her distorted way of thinking and nothing I said would satisfy her.

Abby stood across the room and gazed at her reflection in an oval mirror that hung above a small dresser. I wondered what she saw—certainly not the beautiful woman she used to be but a down-and-out morphine addict, who had long since cared about herself or her appearance. Her hollow face, matted hair, and her filthy, loose-fitting clothes were a disgrace to the woman she’d once been. Did she see what she’d become or did her eyes deceive her? Did she still see the lovely woman I’d met in San Francisco or did this ghostly image of her warn-out self stare back?

Unexpectedly, she grabbed the neck of the bottle and slammed it against the mirror. Shards of broken glass fell to the floor, and while still in a fit of rage, she flung the broken whiskey bottle clear across the room, sending the coat rack alongside the front door, teetering.

Her violent rage continued as she swept her hands across the top of the small dresser and then the round table adjacent to the chair, flinging lamps and countless smaller items, sending them flying then crashing to the floor in this tightly furnished room.

She stood over me and glared. The hate in her eyes was visible as she raised her hand high above her head and with all her might; her hand came down, slapping my face, jerking my head sideways. “I hate you!” A second slap. “I hate you!”

Again—and again—and again.

There was no sense pleading—she’d lost control. Closing my eyes while she viciously tore at my face, I grabbed a tight hold of the end rails as she continued her vicious rant. She beat on my chest and punched her fist in my gut before the slapping began again. My ankles had been tied with rough hemp, and whenever I jerked from the attack, the ropes dug deeper into my raw and swollen skin.

As quickly as she’d begun, she brought it to an end. She straightened herself to full height, glaring at the marks she left. I struggled to catch my breath. “I thought you—thought you loved me, Abby,” I said, gulping for air, hoping I could calm her frenzied attack. “You told me you loved me.”

As my breathing returned to normal, Abby transformed into someone completely unlike the woman who tore at me only moments ago—a look of sadness and distress claimed her eyes as tears flowed slowly down her reddened cheeks. She sat down next to me on the edge of the bed and reached out her hand, tracing her fingertips across my swollen cheek then pushed my sweat-soaked hair from my forehead.

Standing up, Abby gathered her skirts then she lifted one knee, climbed up and stretched herself out lengthwise alongside me. She reached down for the coverlet and pulled it up over the two of us before wrapping her arm around me and laying her head on my chest. Just above a gentle whisper, she mumbled the words, “I’ll always love you.”

She was exhausted, as was I. Neither of us moved or said a word. I hadn’t a clue what brought on the erratic behavior. Since I’d been her captive, she’d never acted that way before. Why the sudden change? Maybe she’d dosed herself differently this time. It was my chance to scream out, to see if someone would find us. But I was so dry; I could barely hear my own voice much less holler loud enough that I’d be heard outside the hotel door.

Morning light flooded the room, and Ben sat in his bedroom chair, still upset over the name Tim had mentioned the night before. He made his way downstairs, but he’d stay home rather than ride to town with his boys.

Wondering why Harry Allen had never come to mind all those weeks ago, Adam and Tim could ride in and see Roy Coffee easier than dragging him along anyway. He cursed how his body betrayed him since the stroke. He’d recovered most of his faculties, but the fact that he tired easily angered him most of all. Yes, the boys could handle things just fine and report to him later, but as much as he wanted to believe in miracles, his hopes of seeing his youngest son alive and well were dashed long ago.

Roy Coffee stood outside. He was fanning himself with his hat when Adam and Tim rode in and tied their mounts to the hitch rail. “Adam Cartwright!” Roy said with a smile. “When did you get back in town?”

“Just yesterday, Roy.”

“Well, it’s sure good to see you, son.”

“Thanks. Good to see you too,” Adam said. “If you have a minute, we’d like a word.”

“Somethin’ on your mind?”

“Yes, there is.”

“Come on then,” Roy said. “Let’s talk inside.”

Roy led the way and sat down behind his desk while Adam grabbed a chair from across the room and swung it around, setting it in front of the sheriff’s desk. “Wanna sit down too, Tim?”

“I’m okay, Sheriff,” he said, pulling off his hat and leaning his shoulder against the office wall.

“What’s this all about, Adam?”

“It’s about Harry Allen, Roy, and a possible connection between Harry and Joe’s disappearance.”

“Harry Allen? What makes you think he had anything to do with Little Joe?”

Tim crossed the room and leaned forward, flattening the palms of his hands on Roy’s desk. “Remember the fire on Sattler’s Ridge, Sheriff?”

“Yeah—”

“Remember when me and Joe rode in to tell you we thought Harry was dead and all the time he was over there drinkin’ at the saloon?”

“Yeah—”

“Well, Joe didn’t do nothin’ to hurt Harry, but they had words and it weren’t long after when Joe went missin’.”

“So you two think Harry Allen had somethin’ to do with Joe’s disappearance?”

“It’s possible, Roy,” Adam said. “Was he ever questioned?”

“No, there was no need; at least I didn’t think there was at the time.”

“Maybe there is now,” Adam suggested.

“I seen Harry earlier this mornin’ while I was makin’ my rounds and I’ll tell ya, he looked madder’n a hornet.”

“Is he still in town?”

“Don’t rightly know but let’s take a look-see.”

The three men settled their hats on their heads and walked down the steps from the boardwalk to the street. “Might as well, check the saloons first. That’s where I usually see him,” Roy said. They crossed the street together; first stop, the Silver Dollar Saloon.

It was early enough in the day that the saloon was nearly empty. When they didn’t spot Harry right off, the three men marched down the boardwalk to the Bucket of Blood. There sat Harry, alone; a half-empty bottle of low-grade whiskey sitting on the table in front of him. “You let me handle this, boys,” Roy said, anticipating trouble before it began.

All three men crossed the room. Harry looked up only to find Roy Coffee standing there, his hands folded together in front of him, and behind him stood Adam Cartwright and Joe’s friend Tim. “I’d like you to come with me, Harry.”

Harry glanced past the sheriff at the other two men. He swallowed the lump in his throat before he asked why. “What for, Sheriff?”

“There’s somethin’ we need to talk over and I’d rather do it in my office than here in the saloon.”

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere with you, ‘specially not with them two standin’ there gawkin’ at me.”

“You’re comin’ with me, Harry. Come on, let’s go.” Roy took hold of Harry’s arm, and the frightened man jerked it away.

“Okay, I’ll come peaceful-like, Sheriff, but you tell them two to stay away from me.”

“Let’s go,” Roy said, knowing that Harry was hiding something, whether it had anything to do with Joe Cartwright, he didn’t know. Looking back, though, he wished he’d questioned Harry and spared Ben so many weeks of torment.

Tim and Adam hung back, keeping quiet for now, as the sheriff settled into his office chair to question the new suspect. Roy planned to do something he’d never done in all his days as sheriff; he was going to lie.

“I brought you in, Harry, because there’s new information concerning the disappearance of Joe Cartwright.”

Harry leaned back, slumping casually in his chair. “What’s Joe Cartwright gotta do with me, Sheriff?”

“I’ve got an eyewitness who’s fingered you as one of the suspects. That’s what I got, Harry.”

“You’re crazy, old man. I ain’t seen Joe Cartwright since—since that cattle drive,” he said, glancing up at Tim.

“You’ve seen him since then, Harry, so I’m tellin’ ya right now you have a choice. You can either tell me what happened to Little Joe or you can spend time as a ward of the county right here in my jail.”

Harry jumped up from his chair. “That ain’t fair, Sheriff! I ain’t done nothin’ to Joe Cartwright.”

“Well, I say you did so if you ain’t willin’ to talk then come with me.” Roy kept his voice as calm as possible. “Let’s see if your memory improves while you’re sittin’ in that cell.”

Harry Allen glared at Adam and Tim. How could they possibly know? They didn’t, and now he was being railroaded, and it was all because of that woman and her idiotic plan to kidnap Joe Cartwright. The money she’d paid him had run dry, and now he was going to pay for something she’d planned all along.

Once Harry was locked in the cell and Roy had walked back into the outer office, there was nothing more Adam or Tim could do but wait. “We’ll check back tomorrow,” Adam said. “Maybe he’ll be more talkative by then.”

“All right, boys, but you both know I can’t hold him forever.”

“Thanks for doing what you did, Roy,” Adam said, then stopped and gave a sideways glance to the sheriff. “That was some fancy police work, Roy. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Roy smiled up at Adam. “I didn’t either, son.”

Abby had fallen into an unresponsive sleep, and I felt her dead weight on my chest. She hadn’t moved a muscle since she’d climbed into bed with me. I was dying of thirst, and I desperately needed to relieve myself so I called out her name, not knowing if I could wake her or not.

“Time to get up, Abby.” I tried to shift my weight but it was impossible to move. “Abby, please. Abby, wake up.”

Still dead weight. The room grew warmer, and the stench, overwhelming. Between the two of us, who hadn’t bathed in a month, and having to relieve myself on the filthy bed, it had become challenging just to breathe. What I wouldn’t give for a day outside; a day on the back of Cochise.

How was Pa coping? Had he become ill again worrying about me? I prayed that wasn’t the case although I couldn’t imagine what my father had put himself through since the day I’d gone missing. Had he given me up for dead and put up a marker next to Ma’s grave? Without a body, there was always the chance I’d walk through the front door and that’s the burden he carried—never knowing whether I was dead or alive.

“Abby,” I called out again. I lifted my chest up slightly from the bed, trying to wake her. Thank God, I didn’t have the mask on, but damn, the dead-weight was hell.

Harry Allen was an addict in his own right and after days without a bottle, he was growing agitated and restless in the confines of Roy’s cell. Whiskey had become Harry’s best friend after his brother, Jerome, had died and within a year, his father, and then the mess with Joe Cartwright.

How had he been talked into such a scheme? He knew exactly how. He was dead broke. The farm was in ruins, and he’d become a penniless drunk in need of a quick solution. When Harriet Collins approached him and mentioned Joe Cartwright was the target, he knew he’d found his gold mine.

The woman had thought long and hard during her days behind bars. She’d devised a plan to hurt Joe and his precious Ponderosa, the land he’d told her so much about, and then as a final blow, she would persuade him to end his own life.

First, there was the random shooting, a scare tactic she’d called it. Then Harry had started the fire that killed the Ponderosa herd, precisely as she’d asked and subsequently paid him to do. Hell, the world would be better off without the likes of Joe Cartwright as far as Harry Allen was concerned so not only would he earn himself pocket change, he’d never have to deal with Cartwright again.

Little Joe Cartwright had been a constant irritation to Harry ever since they were young boys in school. His fancy clothes and good looks, something Harry and Jerome were never gifted with, brought on a world of hate for Harry; the handsome boy who all the girls fell for, never once giving him a second look. Jerome had to be persuaded to join in with his brother’s constant taunting and excessive thrashings when they were young boys, but the best night of Harry’s life had been nearly beating Joe Cartwright to death when a gambler in town paid him and Jerome for doing what came naturally.

“Sheriff!” Harry hollered. “You can’t hold me any longer. Lemme outta here!”

Roy had listened to Harry’s bellowing for three days, and he was growing weary of the constant yelling and banging his tin cup between the cell bars. He was going to have to release him soon, confession or not.

The elderly sheriff finally stood up from his chair and walked back to speak to Harry once more before Adam made his daily trip into town. “Ya ready to talk, Harry?”

“Ain’t nothin’ to say, Sheriff, now lemme outta here!”

“Who’s in on this with you, Harry?” Roy hoped Harry might lower his voice to match his own.

Harry threw his tin cup at the cell wall, denting it even more. “Damn bitch,” he muttered quietly.

“Who, Harry?” Roy asked only hearing the last word. “Who wanted Joe dead? Who paid you to kill him, Harry?”

Harry’s back was to Roy, hands on his hips, his head bowed but still, he wasn’t talking.

“Okay, if that’s the way you want it, I think I’ll walk on over to the saloon and get me a drink,” Roy teased. “I’ll be back later, Harry.”

“Sheriff! Sherrr—iff!

Roy walked away from the cell; the yelling grated on his last nerve. He heard the sound of boot heels crossing the wooden floor of his office and figured it was probably Adam. After closing the double doors, separating him from his prisoner, he shook his head in disgust. Harry’s muffled screams could still be heard.

“Mornin’, Son.” Roy lowered himself into his chair. “You see what I have to put up with here? He’s been yelling like that for three days.”

“He say anything yet?”

“Sit down, Adam. We just may have a lead here.”

“God, I hope so. Pa’s taking the news about Harry awfully hard.”

“He ain’t sick again is he?” Roy leaned forward, genuinely concerned.

“Not yet, but I’m worried about him. You know Pa, he blames himself for not thinking of Harry Allen in the first place.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Well, you and I know that, but Pa figures Joe might still be alive if Harry had been questioned early on.”

Roy shook his head. “You tell Ben to blame me for that, not hisself.”

“So what’s our lead, Roy?”

“First off, I’m positive Harry had a part in all this. Second, I believe there might’ve been a woman accomplice.”

“A woman?” Adam questioned.

“Yep. Harry mumbled something just a minute ago thinking I didn’t hear him, but I’m certain there were two people involved. Can you think of any woman who would want Joe dead?”

Adam leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know, Roy. Joe hasn’t been with a woman since—wait—” Adam ran the timeline in his head. “There was a woman in San Francisco. She went to prison after Joe’s testimony—a two-year sentence. She should be out by now.” He looked up at Roy. “It was that business with the Colliers. Remember Harold Collier, the escaped prisoner that Joe ended up killing out at that line shack?”

“Yeah, but where does the woman come in?”

“She’s his daughter. She and Joe—well, it’s a long story, Roy, but more than likely she’s carrying a lot of hate and—”

“What’s this woman’s name, Adam?” Roy scrambled for a piece of paper. I’ll wire the Women’s Facility, see if she’s been released.”

“Abigail Collier but she goes by Abby.”

“I ain’t heard of no one by that name ‘round here, but we could always check the hotel, see if anyone’s registered under that name.”

“Let’s go.” Adam stood from his chair and opened the front door.

“Hang on a minute. I gotta tease my prisoner a little more. Roy opened one of the double doors and poked his head in. “Me and Adam Cartwright are goin’ for that drink now, Harry. You stay put and I’ll be back shortly.”

“You’re a damn son-of-a-bitch, Sheriff. Least you could do is bring me a bottle.”

“Not till you’re ready to talk. That’s when you’ll get your bottle.”

“Roy,” Adam said, laughingly, “You’re quite a character.”

“Just doin’ my job, Adam, anyway I know how.”

Roy and Adam stepped up to the front counter at the International Hotel. “I need to look at your registry, Fred.”

The thin-haired clerk turned the book around. “Here you go, Sheriff. Are you looking for someone in particular?”

“Yeah, a woman named Abigail Collier.”

Fred rubbed his index finger across his chin. “Don’t remember that name. I have a woman named Collins but no Collier.”

Roy ran his stubby finger down the page. “How long’s this Collins woman been here?”

“Oh, let’s see, I’d say close to a couple of months. I told her we were renovating and it would be noisy and dusty most of the time, but she said that was no problem—said she was just doing some work for a client that was way overdue and asked that she not be disturbed. I had to give her the only room I had left that hadn’t been updated. It’s in the back of the hotel, but she holes up in her room most of the time.”

“Show me where she first signed in, will you, Fred?”

He spun the book back around, flipping pages until he came to the right date. “Here, here’s when she checked in, Sheriff.”

“Harriet Collins, that name mean anything, Adam?”

Adam stared at the name. Harriet Collins—Harriet Collins. Adam ran the name over in his head. “No, nothing, Roy.”

“Well, thanks anyway, Fred.”

“Anything else, Sheriff?”

“No, that’ll do.”

Adam and Roy started out of the Hotel. There was something oddly familiar about that woman’s name, Adam thought, although nothing was coming to mind. “Guess I’ll head home, Roy.”

“I’ll keep Harry one more day, but I’m gonna have to let him outta jail tomorrow,” Roy said. “I’m sorry, Adam.”

“You’ve done everything you could, and more,” Adam replied.

“Tell Ben to take care of hisself, will ya, Adam?”

“Sure will. Thanks again.”

Adam rode slowly; he was so sure they had found a lead, but again a dead end. When Tim had mentioned Harry Allen, he thought for sure they were on to something. He chuckled to himself thinking of Joe and how he would have handled the situation had the roles been reversed. He’d take him in some dark alley and beat the truth out of him if that’s what it took to get a confession. Adam wondered if he had it in him to do exactly the same thing.

Abby died about two days ago from what I figure. Not knowing day from night, it’s hard to know, but her weight, although slight, is dead weight, and she’s crushing my chest and my leg. I’ve soiled the bed, and with Abby’s bodily fluids releasing after her death, I’m overwhelmed by it all and close to dying myself.

The crazed woman will get her wish after all. I can’t hold out much longer, lying in filth with no food or water. Harry hasn’t been back or I’d plead with him to release me. I’d gladly meet his demands. I’d pay anything he asked.

The room is dark, and my mind wanders. I think of Hoss. Hoss is waiting, calling out for me to join him and Mama, and I’ll be with the two most beautiful people I know. If I’m meant to leave this world, I hope it happens today. There’s no earthly reason to prolong the inevitable.

I thought back to a day when Pa and I were out riding. It wasn’t long after my brother’s death but before my father’s stroke. Thinking back, it may have been the last time we rode horseback together. We’d ridden out to check the herd, and I asked him if he’d take another ride with me. He agreed. We rode to a special place, a place where my ma was buried and Hoss alongside her.

“This is going to be hard for you to hear, Pa,” I said after we’d dismounted. My father didn’t say anything but his hand slid across my shoulders as we walked down the hill toward the lake and sat on a wooden bench Hoss had made a few years back so Pa or I could visit this very special place. I should have started talking by now, but the words hadn’t come.

Again, Pa’s hand gripped my shoulder. “You’re my son, Joseph, and I pray you have the strength to tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I wish things could have been different, Pa, but they weren’t.” I looked to the heavens for that strength my father always referred to. “I don’t know how to say this, especially to you.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Adam knows,” I said, “and he begged me to tell you—otherwise, I don’t know if—”

“Only you can be the judge, Joseph. If you’d rather not say anything more, I’ll understand.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Would this only cause more pain for my father? God, if I only knew the answers before I blurted out words I may always regret. I took a deep breath, glanced at my father, and then looked away.

“For two years, I—” Oh God, why was Harold, the cell, and everything about that time so clear in my mind?

I glanced up at Pa; he had tears in his eyes. Had I made things worse by not telling him for so many years? Did I dare go on? I felt like a little kid, finally revealing the truth after telling a deceitful lie. And even though Pa’s gentle touch gave me strength, I was petrified to say anything more.

I leaned forward, rested my elbows on my knees, and covered my face with my hands. It was now or never, and I blurted out the past I’d failed to put behind me.

“I was raped, Pa. For two years, Harold Collier beat me and raped me. He held a knife to my throat while he— I was held captive in the cell with that madman, and there was nothing I could do but let him have his way or—”

It was said, in crazed haste, but I could say no more. I sprang up from the wooden bench and walked farther down the hill. Why had I felt the need to talk about it again? Why? I leaned against a large boulder; tears streaked my face, just as they had when Harold—

I didn’t hear Pa come up from behind until I looked up and there he stood. I was so ashamed and so remorseful after spilling my guts. “Damaged goods”—from that first encounter until the day I die. And now I’ve damaged my father’s feelings for me in the worst way possible.

“Son,” Pa said, placing his hand on my shoulder. I turned quickly; I didn’t want to be touched. Pa’s hand slipped away. “You’ve tortured yourself long enough, Joseph. Let it go. Prison and all the tragic events you endured are a part of your past, a horrible and terrifying part, but don’t let Harold Collier or your memory of him torment you for the rest of your life.” Pa waited for me to look up at him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, not now, maybe never. “Believe me, son, I think no less of you than I did five minutes ago. I only wish I—”

“No, Pa! That’s just it! You couldn’t do more. Don’t put any of this on yourself. That’s why I was reluctant to say anything at all.”

A slow smile appeared but never reached Pa’s eyes. He would always feel guilt over words he’s spoken long ago, words of comfort when I was in Roy Coffee’s jail. “Have faith, Joseph. Everything will be all right, you’ll see.”

Those words didn’t ring true, and my father would always blame himself, but something Pa said clicked and finally, the answer we both desperately needed became apparent. Maybe it was this special place—maybe a miracle of sorts had occurred, and I turned to face my father.

“Pa, you’re absolutely right,” I said, shocking my father with my sudden outburst.

He tilted his head slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest. “How so?”

“We both need to lose the guilt. We can’t change or dwell on the past, and I won’t if you won’t. We’ll make a pact.”

Now the smile reached his eyes and feeling just like that little kid, who was afraid of speaking the truth, he grabbed me in a tight hug. Eventually, he leaned back but still gripped my shoulders with both hands.

“You’re smarter than I ever gave you credit for, Joseph.”

“Thanks,” I chuckled softly.

The subject was never brought up again. Pa never asked questions, and we each buried the past on that hill by the lake—its final resting place.

Maybe it was that special place where loved ones were present. I’ll never know, but it proved to be a good day and a good memory of my father. Since my time was drawing near, I’d take his love and all the good memories we had together with me.

Tim met Adam in the yard in front of the house. “Did Harry say anything this time?”

“No,” Adam said. “Roy knows he was in on it though, but there’s no proof.” He watched Tim’s face fall with disappointment. “Roy thinks there may have been a woman involved.”

“A woman? Who?”

“He doesn’t know,” Adam said, leading Sport to the barn. “Roy and I checked at the hotel for the only woman I could think of who might’ve held a grudge, but it didn’t pan out either. The only woman registered was a Harriet—Harriet something.”

Tim swallowed hard. “Collins?”

Adam stopped suddenly. “You know her?”

With his hands planted on his hips, Tim sighed. “I did,” he said. “Yeah, Adam, I knew her real well until she told me she left town; said she was going back to Boston to take care of a sick—”

“Harriet Collins—” Adam interrupted. “It has to be!”

“What?”

“Saddle your horse,” Adam yelled over his shoulder as he ran toward the house. “I have to tell Pa and Kate.”

The front door banged loudly against the sideboard just like it had when his young brother used to fly into the house and had been reprimanded for his actions. “Pa?” Adam hollered before the two almost collided.

“What in the world?”

“I can’t explain, but I have to get back to town. I think Abby Collier changed her name to Harriet Collins, and she’s staying at the International.” The words flew faster than lightning. “I think Harry Allen and she planned Joe’s kidnapping. He may not be dead after all, Pa. Tim and I are riding in. Where’s Kate?”

“Upstairs—”

“Tell her I’ll be back as soon as I can. I need to go now.”

After alerting Roy to the possible name change, the sheriff told Adam and Tim to stay put while he talked to Harry. “I was thinking of letting you out, Harry, but a Miss Harriet Collins has just told us all about your involvement with Joe Cartwright.”

“She what?” Harry stood from the narrow cot and grabbed the cell’s bars. ”That goddamn bitch.” Roy’s head nodded slightly.

“What did she promise you, Harry? Money? Did she give you enough so you could sit in the saloon all day rather than tend them goats of yours?”

“Goats is all dead,” he said, moving across the cell.

“You make yourself comfortable, Harry. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Don’t forget that bottle, Sheriff.”

“I need the key to Miss Collins’ room, Fred.”

“Well, I can’t just let you barge into the woman’s—”

“The key, Fred.”

“Here,” he said, reluctantly handing Roy the key.

“You boys stay here. I’ll call ya if’n I need ya.”

Disgusted that it had taken so long to figure Abby Collier had been the one to determine Joe’s fate, the last thing Adam wanted was to stay put. While Tim paced the lobby and the sheriff climbed the hotel stairs, he leaned heavily on Fred’s counter and waited.

When Roy stood in front of room 16, he couldn’t help but detect a nauseating smell. He knocked on the door twice, hollered the woman’s name, and inserted the key.

“Lord Almighty.” He covered his nose and mouth with a bandana and moved closer to the bed then backed toward the window and lifted the shade. He turned back to the bed. Two dead bodies. The woman and Joe Cartwright.

Wishing he could spare the family, they’d have to be told. What would this do to Ben? All these months and they hadn’t had a clue … and now this. Tears filled the old sheriff’s eyes. Taking a step back, he saw Adam and Tim standing in the doorway.

“It’s bad, boys. It’s real bad.”

Tim hesitated, but Adam crossed the room. “All this time—wasted.”

“I’m sorry, Adam. I wish I’d … I don’t know how—”

Adam ignored Roy’s mumblings. He stood next to the bed and reached down to touch his brother’s forehead, but there was warmth beneath his hand. Not the chill of death he’d expected. He ripped back the blanket and pushed Abby’s lifeless body to the side.

“Adam—stop!” Roy cried. “That’s not the way.”

“Joe’s alive, Roy, but he’s chained to the bed. I need a set of keys!”

Adam cringed at the sight before him. Excrement, urine—filth like he’d never seen before, and Joe’s body was laden with it all. Pulling his old pocketknife, he slashed through the ropes at Joe’s ankles. “Key’s Roy. Now!”

“I’m looking, son.”

Joe began to stir.

Roy had searched every dresser drawer, every tabletop, everything besides the dead woman, but she’d be next. He rolled her on her back and for a second, he had to look away. He found skirt pockets but no keys, then finally, a hidden pocket inside her blouse. “Found it.” He tossed the key to Adam. One, then the second, and his brother was free.

“Wrap him up best you can, Adam. I’ll run and tell Doc we’re on our way.” Though Adam didn’t look up, he nodded to the sheriff.

Roy wasn’t as spry as he’d once been, but that didn’t stop him from his duty as sheriff. “Help Adam,” he said to Tim. I’m goin’ for the doc.” He stopped at the front counter and told Fred to lock the room until he could get back for the body.

“Body?”

“I’ll explain later. Just lock the door.” Roy was out the front door, running toward Paul Martin’s office like a man unexpectedly struck by youth.

“Joe’s alive,” Adam said. “Ride home and hitch up the surrey. Bring Pa to Doc Martin’s.”

“We have to get him to drink,” Paul said. “Then I’ll clean him up.” After removing the soiled blanket and laying a clean sheet over his patient, Paul turned to Adam. “Take this to Sara. Have her burn it out back.”

Adam didn’t know the woman named Sara, but he’d find her and hand over the blanket. When he returned to Joe’s bedside, his brother was still unconscious, but Pa had lifted his brother’s head and was having Joe take sips of water reflexively. And, he did. The process was slow, but Adam smiled when he saw the look on Paul’s face. If nothing else, Joe was a fighter.

Though Joe was thin and pale and had been lying in his own filth for at least a few days, Paul was concerned about what diseases the woman might’ve carried. Her reason for death wasn’t clear, and since their bodies had been thrown together on the bed, Paul wanted to take precautions.

He laid Joe’s head back on the pillow when the natural reflex to drink had subsided and sent Adam out again to ask Sara for a pot of boiling water. It would take lye soap and the hottest water he could stand to clean up the mess the boy was in.

Roy had excused himself after Adam carried Joe into Paul’s office. He wasn’t needed and only stood in their way. Besides, he had other business to tend to. There was a dead body to remove, a task that never sat well with him since the first day he’d put on the badge.

Paul took the lathered cloth and scrubbed the boy’s body. Soiled sheets were changed before they rolled him over to do his back and legs. Until he was as clean as possible without soaking in a tub, Paul’s diligence gave Adam hope that the potential for Joe to contract any disease was obsolete.

Joe’s hair came next, and Adam adjusted his brother and held his head over the side of the bed for the doc. Paul scrubbed and rinsed, scrubbed and rinsed. “That’s all we can do for now.”

“What comes next, Paul?”

“Rest and water. More rest and more water. And pray.”

When Joe began to shiver, Adam looked to Paul, but the doctor seemed pleased. “Shouldn’t we cover him? He’s freezing to death.”

“Not yet. Let him shiver a few more minutes, Adam. It might bring him around.”

That didn’t turn out to be the case although Joe began to moan, a deep, rasping sound in his throat. It seemed he was trying to say something, and even though his lips moved, the words wouldn’t form. Adam leaned in closer, trying to distinguish the sounds, but it was no use.

“Let’s warm him up now.” Paul had Sara hang blankets near the kitchen stove just for this purpose. After what Roy had told him and his new assistant, Sara Michaels, when he first burst through the door, Paul began preparing for the long day ahead. “Grab those blankets from the kitchen, Adam, and let’s warm this boy up.”

Adam wanted answers, but he wasn’t about to leave his brother. When the shivering finally slowed, Joe still wasn’t awake, but Paul kept forcing the kid to drink. All they could do now was wait.

The thump, thump, thump of the cane alerted the two men that Ben had arrived. Paul stood up from his chair just as Ben threw open the surgery door. Ben’s eyes met Adam’s first then shot straight to Joe. “He’s alive?” he said just above a whisper.

Paul smiled at his longtime friend. “Joe is alive although he hasn’t come to yet.” He reached out and placed his hand on Ben’s arm. “Perhaps he’s waiting for you.”

As much as Ben hoped Paul’s statement was true, was it only wishful thinking? He moved toward the bed where Adam had moved Joe after they’d gotten him cleaned and dressed in a soft, flannel nightshirt. Paul scooted his chair across the room so Ben could sit next to his son, a young man who’d been presumed dead for nearly two months. Adam stood next to the door, and when he caught Paul’s eye, he motioned with his hand, requesting the doctor to leave father and son alone. Paul nodded his consent and followed Ben’s eldest out the door.

Ben rested his hand on the blanket covering his son’s chest. He had to feel a heartbeat, the only indication that his son was still alive. He forced a minimal smile before bowing his head. Today brought him a miracle unlike any other day in his life.

When Joe began to stir, Ben pushed a lock of his son’s damp hair off his forehead. Running the back of his hand down Joe’s face, he felt a warmth and not the chill of death. Though still overcome by the shocking news Tim had delivered, he admired the young man and praised him for having second thoughts about Harry Allen. Otherwise … no, he wouldn’t let his mind go there.

Ben and Joe had grown fond of Tim over the past several years, and how devastated the young man must feel knowing Abby had posed as Harriet Collins. Only using him to get her hands on Joe, Tim must feel a fool. Ben would remedy that as quickly as possible.

After Joe settled into a deep sleep, Ben stood up and quietly left the room. He found four people sitting in Paul’s kitchen drinking coffee. “Tim? I’d like a word if I may.”

“Sure, Mr. Cartwright,” he said, standing and following Ben out of the room.

They walked to the far end of the hallway before Ben stopped and turned back to Tim. Noticing fear in the young man’s eyes, Tim looked nervous, but there was no need. Ben smiled, hoping to reassure him that he was way off track.

“I can’t begin to imagine how hard this is for you, son.” The young man bowed his head. “What I can tell you is how grateful I am that you made today possible.”

“But, I—”

“You saved my son’s life,” Ben continued, “and there’s no way I can repay you.”

“I just wish I’d thought of—”

“Stop right there,” Ben interrupted again then waited for Tim’s eyes to meet his. “I’ll repeat what I just said. You saved Joseph’s life. I’m just sorry that sick, horrible woman involved you in her plans.”

“Guess I should have known from the start what was going on, Mr. Cartwright.”

“How would you ever know? She’s very good at what she does. She worked her magic on Joe a couple of years ago just as she did this time with you.”

“She did? You mean she—”

“Exactly. So unless you’re a mind-reader, which I seriously doubt, you never stood a chance.”

Tim gave Ben a slight nod. “I just feel like such a fool.”

“As did my son when she used him.”

Again, a nod from Tim.

“I’ll say one more thing and then I need to get back to Joseph.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“The same thing I’ve told my own boys from time to time over the years, and I’ll say it to you. Don’t let a deceitful, spiteful woman affect the rest of your life. Wipe away the feelings you had for her and leave the memories behind. Move on with your life. I assure you, son, you’ll find happiness elsewhere.”

“Yessir.”

“I’m serious, Tim. Let it go.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cartwright. I’ll try.”

Ben patted the young man’s shoulder then turned and walked back toward Joe’s room. He stopped at the doorway and looked back over his shoulder. “I’ll be staying here tonight. You and Adam go on home and get some sleep. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a low flame, barely visible in a bone-china lamp across the room. The second was my father’s radiant white hair. He sat next to me in an upholstered chair, his head resting on a fisted hand, sound asleep. Maybe I should have waited until morning, but I reached out and touched his arm.

His body twitched, and he opened his eyes, but he couldn’t get his bearings until his eyes met mine. “Joseph,” he said. My throat was dry, and I smiled instead of trying to talk. I’d only croak out the words, and I didn’t want Pa’s worry lines to deepen ever more on account of me.

Seeing Pa after my ordeal with Abby paralleled so many dreams I’d had over the last few weeks that I had to keep reassuring myself. Slowly, though, Pa reached for my hand and a smile began to form. Though his eyes were barely visible in the soft light, they were glassy and bright, but he held his emotions in check.

“I had to make sure you were real,” I whispered.

Pa lifted my hand to the side of his face. He closed his eyes and tightened his grip. There was dampness now that wasn’t there before. “I’m real and so are you, Joseph.”

We shared the moment. We’d both had our ups and downs, and we’d each been through troubling times, but my father and I were survivors. Nothing could keep us down for long though I admit I’d lost faith. I wonder if Pa had too.

I’d lived through a grueling two months, but I’d lived through worse. If nothing else, I would remind myself of my father’s helpful words—“let it go”. Somehow, it made life bearable to know I could do just that—I’d learned to move on and leave the past behind.

“How ‘bout a glass of water, Pa.” It was hard to speak. Even my lips felt tight and swollen.

My father’s smile reached his eyes this time before he turned in the chair and lifted the pitcher next to him. “Can you sit up some?” He said, clearing his throat.

“Yeah—”

I leaned up on one elbow and took the glass from Pa, but my entire body ached. “Good,” I said, handing it back. I lay back down, exhausted. Everything hurt, my face, my ribs, even my stomach, and legs. I took into account the last time Abby had lost control, and I’d paid dearly for her crazed outburst.

But I could smell the freshness of lye soap, which was my first clue that somehow I’d gotten out of that miserable hotel and out from under Abby’s dead body. My wrists were wrapped in bandages, and I wore a clean nightshirt. There was some kind of salve covering the cuts on my face, my chest, and probably my ankles too.

“Where are we?”

“Paul Martin’s,” Pa said. “I sent Adam and Tim home.”

“They were here?”

“Earlier, yes.”

“How’d I get here?”

“Why don’t you get some sleep, Joseph? We’ll go over all of that in the morning.”

“Okay,” I said, thinking Pa was right. The explanation could wait. “Is there somewhere you can stretch out and get some sleep too?”

“I’m fine right here, son.”

I should have known Pa wouldn’t leave my side. I was curious though, wondering if I’d been held at the International House like I’d thought and for how long but Pa was right; I was too tired to concentrate on anything.

When morning came, Pa and I talked some then he was gracious enough to leave the room while I tended to my personal needs. I wasn’t sure he’d leave me alone, and I’ll admit it was a bit of a struggle to get in and out of bed without help. But Pa was soon walking back in, accompanied by a young lady I’d never seen or met before. “This is Sara Michaels, son. Sara is Paul’s new assistant and following the doctor’s orders, she’s here to feed you this bowl of broth.”

I flattened my palms and pushed myself up a little taller in the bed. I was dressed in a nightshirt, but my face was a mess, and I was embarrassed for anyone but Doc or family to see me like this. I’d turned my face to the side when she came through the door with Pa, but I had no choice now.

“I’m able to feed myself,” I said, embarrassed, and fidgeting with my blanket, “but it’s nice to meet you, Sara.”

“Nice to meet you too, Mr. Cartwright.”

“Call me Joe,” I said, still trying to get my swollen mouth to cooperate.

“Okay, Joe. You sure you can manage?”

“I’m sure.”

She rested the tray on my lap and took a step back. “There you go then.”

“Thank you.”

“I think I’ll go get a cup of coffee,” Pa said.

“Bring me one too, will you?”

“Oh, you stay put, Mr. Cartwright. I’ll bring you a cup.”

“And me?”

“I’ll see what the doctor says, Mr.—Joe.”

I waited until Sara left the room and closed the door behind her. “Where’d she come from?”

“From what I can gather, she’s been working for Paul for about a month. She used to work in a big city hospital before arriving in Virginia City. Apparently, she came in on the stage, saw the doctor’s shingle, and with her valise still in her hand, she marched down here first, convinced Paul how much he needed an assistant, and he hired her on the spot. Smart girl if you ask me.”

“Pretty girl if you ask me.” I smiled at Pa between sips of soup, but I didn’t miss the way he shook his head or the face he made.

Paul came into the room with two cups of coffee, one for Pa and one for himself. It was obvious I was the odd man out, but I’d live. I was just glad to be clean and fed; I wasn’t going to complain.

Before Paul had a chance to say anything, Roy Coffee joined us. He looked across the room and smiled at me. “You sure don’t look like the same person I saw yesterday, Little Joe.”

“I’m not, Sheriff. I’m a free man now.”

“You up to makin’ a statement?”

“I’m not sure what I can tell you that you don’t already know.”

“Well, you can tell me who was in on this—kidnapping is what I guess we’ll call it.”

“Yeah, that’s a good word for it.” I took a deep breath. “As far as I know, the only people in on it were Abby Collier and Harry Allen.”

“So they’re the ones who attacked you and Tim Wilson on the road that first night?”

“I assume so, Roy. When I came to, I was chained to a bed, and I stayed that way until yesterday. Pa told me this morning I’d been at the International House this whole time. I suspected as much but I never really knew for sure.”

Roy shook his head. “I’m sorry we didn’t find you sooner, Little Joe. If it hadn’t been for Tim Wilson, we might never have found you—in time that is.”

“Guess I owe him my life.”

“I’ve got Harry locked up in my jail.”

“Yeah. What happens to him now?”

“I’ll set a trial date with Judge Morrissey as soon as possible and with you testifying against him, I’m sure Harry will spend a good deal of time in prison.”

I glanced at Pa and back at Roy. “Harry,” I mumbled. A lost soul if I ever knew one. “I’ll be there, Roy. I’ve had enough of Harry Allen to last me a lifetime.”

Paul took the bowl when I was finished and told everyone, even my father, to scat. “This young man needs his rest.”

Pa consented, said he was going down to the barbershop for a bath and a shave, and he’d be back later. Paul sat with me for a minute after everyone left. “I have some concerns I didn’t want to mention while your father was in the room, Joe.”

“What concerns?”

“Do you have any reason to believe Abby was diseased in any way, anything she could have picked up in prison that she might have infected you with when she died, or even before for that matter?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so, Paul. Her only disease, if you want to call it that, was morphine.”

“Roy told me he found small, empty vials in the room. I suspected morphine.”

“It’s sad, Doc. She was a beautiful woman once.” I smiled at the thought. “A woman I thought I loved a long time ago.”

Paul rested his hand on my arm. “I’m sorry, son.”

“An entire family ruined,” I said more to myself than Paul.

Paul stood from his chair and started to pull down the window shade, and I stopped him. “Will you leave the shade up, Doc, and open the window?”

I woke to a pleasant surprise. Sara opened the door and peeked in to see if I was awake. “Come in,” I said. I pushed myself up and leaned back against the headboard, smoothing out the blanket that covered my legs.

“I thought you might want a shave before Doctor Martin sent you home.”

“Am I leaving today?”

“I believe so, Mr.—I’m sorry, Joe. Dr. Martin mumbled something about it would be a lot easier on him if he sent you home now rather than later.”

I ran my hand over my chin. “I suppose a shave wouldn’t hurt,” I said, still feeling the effects of my swollen face although I imagined Sara would be gentle, unlike Abby, who had taken the liberty to shave me, but compassion was never her strong suit. But in all the weeks I was held captive, I’d never seen my reflection in a mirror, and I assumed my face was a dreadful display of cuts and bruises.

Sara smiled, giving me a reason to smile back. “I’ve heard some of what you’ve been through, Joe. I can’t imagine anyone being so hateful. Maybe deranged is a better word.”

“It wasn’t a pleasant experience, but it’s over now. I’ve learned over time not to dwell on the past. Today’s a new day and yes, I definitely need a shave.”

Perfect white teeth and a dazzling smile brightened her face. “I’ll be right back then. We’ll have you looking quite smart before you leave.” I knew a shave wasn’t going to help much although I was looking forward to the young lady sitting with me before it was time to go.

Tim drove the surrey into town to pick up Pa and me while Adam stayed home for some much-needed private time with his wife. The doc released me that afternoon noting that Hop Sing could do as much for me now as he could. Eat—drink—rest. I knew the routine better’n anyone.

As we drove into the yard and I glanced at the house, I pondered the next steps we’d all have to deal with concerning the ranch and the financial problems we’d be forced to evaluate and somehow resolve in the near future. It was too late in the year to consider adding longhorns to our existing herd; winter would be here before we knew it and driving cattle up from Texas was no longer an option.

But with all the problems we faced, it was nothing we couldn’t handle. We’d been hit hard before and it could happen again sometime down the road. If we all put our heads together, my father, my brother, and Tim, we stood an excellent chance of making it all back, maybe not with longhorns but something would take their place.

My family was blessed with experienced men and a young man, who, by chance, had stumbled into this family and who just may surprise us all with fresh new ideas, keeping the rest of us from growing rigid or stale in our conventional way of thinking.

When we arrived home, Pa went upstairs to lie down. He had encouraged me to do the same, and I said I would later, but I needed fresh air, and I found myself content, sitting outside rocking in the front porch chair. I looked like a ghos,t and I pretty much felt like one too. I’d all but given up hope of ever leaving that room alive and from what anyone could gather, Abby had moved out of the boarding house and rented the hotel room the day she’d told Tim she was leaving town.

I’ll never know how she and Harry ever got together, but I do remember Tim being upset one day after seeing the two of them in Virginia City. Abby had come up with a simple explanation that had satisfied Tim’s curiosity, but I’m certainly glad he and Adam finally put two and two together and got me outta that mess before it was too late.

I heard the front door close, and I turned to see who was coming. Tim came up on the porch carrying two cups of coffee. “Can I join you, Joe?”

“You bet. Have a seat.” He handed me a cup, which I wasn’t sure I was allowed, but I took it anyway. Who would be the wiser? “It’s been quite a couple of days, hasn’t it?” I said.

“Longer’n that for you, Joe.”

“Well, yeah.” I took a sip of coffee and cradled the cup with both hands. “I don’t know how to thank you, Tim.”

“Ain’t necessary, you know that.”

“You know I’d be dead today if you hadn’t thought of Harry.”

“Well, that’s ‘cause you taught me them kinda things, things like never giving up, even like you done when you stayed out there looking for Harry on the drive.”

“I guess—”

Tim leaned forward in his chair. He rested his elbows on his knees and held his cup with both hands. “You said to me once that brothers do for each other no matter what it takes. Heck, Joe, you’re more like a brother to me than anyone ever could be.”

“I feel exactly the same, little brother.”

“I like the sound of that, Joe.”

“Well, I know one thing we have in common.”

“What’s that?”

“We have the same taste in women.” I could have smacked myself for blurting out those stupid, unkind words when I saw the look on the kid’s face. My entire life, I never learned to think first and blurt later.

“Yeah, bad,” Tim replied. Suddenly, he burst out laughing. “Real bad.”

“No more conniving, wicked women,” I said, holding out my hand. We shook on it—a pact between brothers.

“Just what are you two scheming out here?” came Adam’s deep baritone voice.

“Come join us, big brother.”

“Thought I might.”

I was the middle brother now, and although I’d never fill Hoss’ boots, it felt good to have family surrounding me. “Where’s Kate?”

“She’s dressing for dinner.”

“Uh-huh—”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” That perplexed look came easy to him whenever I spoke.

“Good grief, Adam, I wasn’t born yesterday and neither was our little brother.” I winked at Tim. “Just because Tim and I pick unstable women to court doesn’t mean you have to rub it in that you have a wife catering to your every need.”

“That’s enough out of you. Obviously, you’ve forgotten how to respect your elders?”

“Respect or envy?”

Adam smiled—enough said.

Our kidding stopped when a buggy rounded the side of the barn. “That looks like Doc’s buggy but who’s that drivin’?” Tim asked.

“It ain’t the doc but I aim to find out.” I jumped up then wished I hadn’t moved so quickly. Leaving my brothers gaping at my rush to find out, I walked toward the buggy, thinking I knew exactly who it was and was excited at the prospect. “Hello, Sara.”

“Joe—”

I held out my hand and helped her down. “What brings you out this way?”

“The sheriff came by Doctor Martin’s office not long after you left. He brought some of your things by not realizing you’d be released so soon. I was anxious for some fresh air so I asked him if I could bring them out to you.”

“That’s very kind of you.” I smiled the best I could, and her cheeks reddened slightly. Framed by her silvery, blonde hair, she had a healthy glow.

“Here, in the back,” she said.

I reached in and picked up my gunbelt, my hat, and my corduroy jacket. “The sheriff said the rest of the items weren’t worth saving.”

“I’m sure he’s right. Thanks, Sara.”

“You’re welcome,” she said then turned as if she had to leave.

“Um, do you have time for a cup of coffee or—”

“I really should be getting back to town.”

I reached for Sara’s elbow and helped her onto the seat. She glanced at me quickly, with almost a shy demeanor, before she picked up the reins. “Bye, Joe.”

I wanted to say more but hesitated; she flicked the leather reins. ”Sara?” I called as soon as she started forward. She pulled up on the reins. “I just wanted to say thanks again.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome but really it was nothing.”

“Sara?”

“Yes—”

“Would you maybe want to picnic with me after church on Sunday?”

“Yes.”

“You would?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll see you Sunday then.”

“See you Sunday.”

I watched her drive away. My heart pounded; I felt like a kid in a candy store and I wasn’t about to turn around and let my brothers see the huge smile on my face. My entire body buzzed with eagerness—a new start, fresh and clean, and if we hit it off like I hoped we might, I’d tell her everything about me, the good and the bad. If she chose to listen and accept the man I’d considered “damaged goods” then maybe we stood a chance.

After I’d composed myself, I glanced over my shoulder at my brothers, who’d obviously enjoyed the show. I don’t know whether they heard any of our conversation but for now, it would remain a secret, at least until Sunday. They could pester me all they wanted, and, believe me, I’d have it no other way. Why? Because we’re brothers.

The End

1-2012

• Reference to Season 2 – The Spitfire