The Saga of Joe and Rebekah.

By Beppina.

Part one: Joe’s Story.

For those of you who don’t know me, let me give you a brief introduction. My name is Joe Cartwright. I have a middle name, but I try to keep it private. What man wants a name like Francis banded about on the local population’s lips? I don’t, though Doc Martin still likes to catch me out on some occasions when I give him grief.

Since the Virginia City Press came to be, it has entertained the local population with tales of my many escapades. The good folk of Virginia City have had plenty to talk about over the years. I suppose it goes with being the owners of the largest ranch in the territory that we are considered a big deal and of some interest. Now that I am that much older and wiser, there isn’t the gossip to print.

My father died just over a year ago. There had been too many tragedies in the preceding three years. I believe he died of a broken heart. Now, I am the Head of his empire.

I wasn’t sure if I could shoulder his role. My father had cast a giant shadow. Was I ‘man’ enough to step into his shoes? Again, as was my habit under stress, I took to the bottle.

Alcohol became my crutch. I couldn’t function without it. Hop Sing would prepare meals that I would refuse. Hank kept the ranch working to its schedule while I drank myself into oblivion. Doc Martin tried giving me one of his lectures but to no avail. I fell deeper and deeper into the abyss. Unknown to me, Roy Coffee, my father’s oldest friend, had sent wires to many cities hoping to find Candy, my foreman and best friend, and get him back to The Ponderosa.

Things came to a crisis one Sunday morning. I had long given up on going to church. Too much had happened, and I had lost my faith. On this day, my father would have been celebrating his sixty-sixth birthday. There would have been a party, and our friends would have been enjoying my father’s renowned hospitality.

Instead, I was alone. And drunk.

I was sitting at Pa’s desk, a glass of brandy on one side and my mother’s picture on the other. Beside hers stood a picture of my father, his handsome face set in a smile.

“I’m sorry, Pa,” I whispered, “I don’t think I can do this alone.”

In one swift move, I threw the brandy back. My left hand reached for the pearl-handled pistol my father had given me for my sixteenth birthday. It would be so easy to put an end to it all. I picked the gun up. I stroked the barrel, caressing it as you would a beautiful girl’s face. Was I man enough to follow this through? Or was I taking a coward’s way out?

The front door swung open and banged against the dresser. A familiar voice shouted my name throughout the room as Candy rounded the corner to where I sat.

“What the hell…”

The gun was forgotten as I turned bleary, bloodshot eyes to my friend.

“Where’d you come from?” I slurred.

“Never mind where I’ve come from. What the hell are you doin’ Joe?”

“Hu, nothin’ just mindin’ my own business.”

“Mindin’ your business with a .45?”

I shrugged off his comment. How could I explain just how low I had sunk? I could see the pity in Candy’s eyes. Pity was the last thing I needed.

That day was the day I got my life back on track. Hop Sing rejoiced as I began to eat again. The weight I had lost started to be regained. I looked better and began to feel better. Hank and the hands were happier now than they had been for quite a while. Ranch work was accomplished with me working alongside my men rather than getting drunk and abusing them. Life improved for us all on the Ponderosa. Doc. Martin quit worrying if I was drinking myself to death and was happy to see me working again. Candy nor I mentioned the Sunday gun episode. That would remain forever just between us. I was determined not to fall by the wayside again. With Candy’s help, I put my heart and soul into building on my father’s legacy.

Towards the end of summer, I found myself in San Francisco. I’d made a few trips there in the past, once with my family and a couple of times alone. I knew my way around and decided to have a short break between finishing my business and returning home.

I checked into the best hotel I could find, The Majestic. It certainly lived up to its name. With the elegant entry and beautifully proportioned facade, I’m sure my brother Adam would have been impressed by its design. The interior was well presented and included an elevator to the upper floors. My suite was on the uppermost floor and reached by elevator, a new experience for a lowly rancher.

I’d been there a couple of days. My business finished, and I was now deciding where to spend some free time. I bought a newspaper from the concierge desk and wandered towards the main entrance. Of course, I was too busy with my nose in the paper to see the young woman coming through the same door as me. We collided without damage to either of us and did the little dance of giving way as I apologised for not looking where I was going. We passed a few minutes in idle conversation before I invited her to join me for a coffee.

This was the first time I’d had such dealings with a woman since my wife died. Was I being too forward, as we had not been properly introduced? To my surprise, she accepted my invitation. We sat in the hotel restaurant, coffee and cake between us.

We talked and talked and talked. I found myself telling this young woman everything. I did think, ‘Was I telling her too much?’ When I was younger, I could chatter away about anything. My father would let me rattle on without interruption. Adam would ignore me while Hoss would engage in conversation. Now, I was more reticent and kept my feelings and opinions to myself. This young woman just listened. Sometimes, she would nod or murmur a word of sympathy or encouragement. Then, to my complete and utter surprise, she reached across the table and squeezed my hand. She blushed a delightful shade of pink, which made me smile as I squeezed her hand in response.

“I have been in your position,” she whispered. “I know how you must feel.”

Now it was my turn to colour up, although I wasn’t sure if it was the fact that she held my hand or the gentle words she had spoken.

“Look, I know we haven’t been properly introduced, but would you care to have lunch with me?”

“I need to register for a room first, but that would be very nice,” she answered with another beguiling smile.

Finally, we made proper introductions as she gave me her name for the hotel register.

“Mrs. Rebekah Berkley.” she offered, “But please, call me Rebekah.”

“Joe, Joe Cartwright.” I countered, “I’ll call you Rebekah if you would call me Joe.”

I took the liberty of arranging for Rebekah to have the suite next to mine. I had felt an instant affinity with this young woman that was missing from my life. I have never been shy around the opposite sex, but she intrigued me. I wanted to get to know her better. Lunch would be the perfect opportunity to do just that.

While she went to see her room and ‘freshen up’, I reserved a table and wandered to the elevator to escort her to lunch. Only minutes later, she reappeared and gave me a heart-stopping smile. Without another thought, I offered her my arm as we walked into the restaurant.

Neither of us was aware that this lunch would be the start of something life-changing for us both.

Part two: Rebekah’s Story.

I was born in Texas, probably in 1844 or 1845. No one knows because my people didn’t keep records of births and deaths like the white man. My mother was Apache. My father, well, who knows? I don’t. I believe he was a white man. But no one can say for sure. Looking at my colouring, most would take me for white. It has served me well during my life. I am fortunate as I have never experienced the prejudice from the white man to the red man. When I was a small child, a storekeeper and his wife adopted me. They kept a mercantile store in Fort Worth, supplying all the extras that the wives of the serving officers needed. It was a good life for my parents. They were well respected and lived comfortably. I understand there had been a raid on some dissident Indians. Many of my people were slaughtered by the white men. My birth parents were among those who died. One of the troopers, I have no idea who, rescued a tiny, screaming girl child and returned to the fort with the child in his arms. The storekeeper and his wife were desperate to have a child. On seeing this forlorn babe, they decided to take her in. That was how I had my start in life.

My adoptive father was a European immigrant, and my adoptive mother was of Mexican descent, quite an unusual combination if you think about it too hard. I grew up with an open view of life. I believe my father was more progressive than many others of his faith. My mother followed her religion faithfully without influencing my choice of belief.

I was about ten when my parents decided to move to New York. Father had made his money in Europe and built on it in Texas. He now wanted to invest in something more ambitious than the mercantile at the fort.

For a child of my age New York was an exciting experience! It seemed there were so many people in such a small area. People rode to get from one place to another, but now there was also horse-drawn transportation. The streets were continuously alive with movement. Life seemed so crowded. More ships came into port than ever before. More immigrants landed looking for a home and work. Although I was protected and unaware of such things, crime and gang warfare increased daily.

I guess I was one of the lucky ones. As I’ve said, my father was progressive. I enrolled at a private school for young ladies. I cannot say I enjoyed this experience, but it did stand me in good stead for my future. I wonder how many other young women with my background are fluent in French and Italian.

Life was kind to me. Father’s investments paid off tenfold! I had limitless introductions to the ‘Elite’ society in New York. My father had many wealthy friends and acquaintances who welcomed us with open arms into their social circles. I suppose it helped that my father was now a monied man with good social standing, and I was a bit of a curiosity.

I never expected to be courted by the creme de la creme of New York society, but I was never short of male or female company. My social life enabled me to move freely amongst the upper echelon of society. By the time I reached eighteen, I knew many of the political personages of my father’s generation on first-name terms.

I was unaware that my parents were negotiating a marriage proposition for me.

My father had dealings with a large legal company relating to his business. All of his contracts were dealt with by the Berkley and Solomons practice. On occasions, I met the senior business partner, William Berkley.

William was a pleasant man. Ten years older than I at thirty years of age. He was mature, but still retained a sense of fun and youthfulness. We dined together and attended the theatre and the opera often. William was the perfect gentleman. I don’t recollect him forgetting to bring flowers for myself or my mother and a gift of expensive Belgian chocolates for her birthday.

His ardent courting paid off. Within twelve months, we had set a wedding date. My parents were overjoyed at this news and were obsessed with arranging the perfect day. I couldn’t believe a man of William’s status wanted to marry me, an orphaned, mixed breed with no knowledge of my background. But to marry me was what he wanted. If I am truthful, I thought I loved him too. Once the wedding plans were underway, it became akin to a runaway train. It was going so fast nothing could stop it. The day we married was glorious, just days before my twentieth birthday. The sun shone, the church was beautiful, and our friends were all in attendance. We could not have wished for a better start to our life together.

Our life together was good. William taught me a great deal about the Law. He wanted me to be able to discuss cases with him, to have a point of view on matters appertaining to female problems and to be a sounding board if necessary. I felt fulfilled in my life, that I had worth and was doing something to help women less fortunate than myself.

Our private life was enthusiastic. I had gone to our marriage bed as a virgin. I think, going by William’s performance, that it was not the case for him.

As is expected in any relationship, we had a child. William Junior was born eighteen months after our wedding. I think some people had expected a child long before his arrival. Little William was a beautiful child, with eyes as pale as his father’s and hair that changed from gold to blond in differing lights. There was little visible of my heritage in our son.

For ten years, we lived a happy family life. William’s work continued to increase, and financially we were very comfortable. I had maids to help in the house and a cook-housekeeper to deal with our every need. Life was perfect.

1874 was to be a change of fortune.

The year started as most Januarys do. It was biting cold. Even with fires burning day and night, it was a challenge to keep the house warm. We closed off the upper floors, moving the maids into shared rooms. Still, the windows had icy patterns etched on them first thing in the morning. Our breath was like wraths of smoke until the room temperatures rose. If we were cold, how were the impoverished surviving these conditions?

For us, it wasn’t a lack of money that caused the problem. It was a lack of coal or wood for the fireplaces. The adverse weather had hit hard, and for the first time, these things were in short supply.

We survived the winter. We were amongst the more fortunate, so many did not. Winter turned into spring as a fresh challenge raised its ugly head. Influenza became rife among the rich and the poor. It took its victims as it wished. What would start as a minor ailment soon developed into something much more. The local doctors became inundated with sick people. The hospitals could not cope with the influx of cases, and many died.

We did not escape from this epidemic. My parents were among the first to succumb to influenza. My mother, then my father took ill. Both were now of an age where maladies such as influenza were often fatal. Our family doctor tried his best to save them but to no avail. They passed within days of each other. William and I hoped we had missed catching the illness, but within days, William Junior took ill. We fought to save our son’s life. He was only ten. He had so much to look forward to in life. We were distraught about losing William Junior. I could not imagine how our life could go on without him. Our whole world collapsed around us. We were at a loss to know how to go on. My husband withdrew from his law practice, his grief too much to bear. His partner assumed all responsibilities until William was able to face work again.

William never returned to his office. We thought both he and I had escaped the illness. William always claimed I was as strong as an ox and that no virus or malady would dare to attack me. Only a couple of weeks later, his words proved true. My gentle and kind husband fell victim to the last onslaught of the influenza crisis.

I was my father’s sole benefactor on his death. He had thrown his lot in with another merchant. Between them, they had built a large and profitable department store that served the wealthy citizens of New York. Father hadn’t prepared me for a life of store business, and to be honest, I wasn’t interested in continuing his dream. Jacob Goldstein, his long-time partner, approached me and was happy when I agreed to sell what was now my half of the company.

My position in society had changed dramatically. I no longer received invitations to society dinners or balls. William’s friends avoided me. As a widow and single woman had I become a pariah amongst my so-called friends?

William’s partner willingly bought my share of the practice. I let it go at a realistic price. I just wanted to be free of my past now. I put my house up for sale as I moved into a hotel while I made decisions about my future.

I was adrift. I had no plans, without family or idea of what to do or where to go. My only saving grace was being independently wealthy. Few women of my age could claim that.

I have always been an avid reader. Now I sought solace in my books. Travel has been a subject of great interest to me, many of my books cover travel around the world, but a few are far closer to home. Was I brave enough to go exploring? To see the great wild west I had read so much about. Could I do this as an unaccompanied woman? At first I prevaricated over my decision; for proprieties sake should I enlist a travelling companion? When would be the right time to leave. Many questions presented themselves before I made my final decision.

 To be truthful, it was an easy choice. William’s Goddaughter announced her wedding to all and sundry. I was not on the invitation list. For me, that was the turning point. I obtained train and stage timetables and then planned my route westward. Propriety be damned, I would travel alone!

My goal was to reach San Francisco. I had heard so much about the city by the bay. I could take an easy, steady route. I wasn’t in any hurry. No one would miss me, and no one could stop me. Selling my house was put into the hands of my late husband’s partner. I could trust him to take care of things in my absence. He admitted he was concerned about my new venture but promised to deal with any necessities arising in my absence. With a light heart but some trepidation, I set forth on my journey to the farthest reaches of America.

I visited many cities. Some busy, bustling places where you could be as anonymous as you wanted. Others, not calling for the name town, or village for that matter, where I became an object of curiosity. I soon moved on from such places. My desire to be unnoticed was more than my need to explore these places.

With the passage of time, I did indeed find myself in San Francisco. It was a city of immense size and so very busy. I was used to New York, a grand metropolis, but this place was different again. Was this the place I wanted to live?

I took a carriage from the train terminus to my pre-arranged hotel. The carriage ride was ‘interesting’. The style of housing was unusual. Unlike at home with the brownstone porches and magnificent houses, many of those I saw were flat fronted with what appeared to be flat rooves. I doubt they were single-family homes as there were many different coloured blinds and curtains at the tall windows. Time would assuage my curiosity regarding these, as they were called, ‘flats’.

My hotel, it turned out, was not up to the expected standard. I was now in a quandary. Do I stay for the week I had reserved, or do I find alternative rooms more to my taste? And for now, I would sleep on it; I was too tired from travelling to search anew.

After eating a small and unappetising breakfast, I made my decision. The money wasn’t a problem; I would find a better hotel for my stay. Hailing a carriage took a few minutes, I was soon travelling to a better district. I had given the driver clear instructions as to my needs, and it was in only a few minutes that we stopped in front of The Majestic Hotel. It was imposing to look at. The fancy ornate brickwork and marble portico sheltered double glass doors into the vestibule. Two uniformed commissionaires stood guard on either side of the entry. To my eyes, this looked promising. My driver handed me from the carriage, deposited me on the sidewalk, and drove off to his next fare.

Gathering up my skirts, I mounted the steps to the grand entrance. My thoughts focused on what the interior and rooms would be like in this refined establishment. The glass door swung open, allowing me to enter the seemingly hallowed interior. A chandelier with at least one hundred glittering candles sparkled above the atrium. It was a grand room and so beautifully furnished. Echoes of blue in the curtains matched the velvet sofas dotted about the space. A forest of greenery gave the impression of an indoor jungle. Electric lamps glowed in many corners of the room. I was so absorbed in this beautiful space that I didn’t see the young man step before me until it was too late.

There was a fluster of apologies as we bumped headlong into each other.

He started and fell back, “I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s my fault,” I stuttered. “I was too busy admiring the room.”

Remembering his manners, the young man removed his hat. A shock of grey hair tumbled free and framed his tanned and weathered face. Bright green eyes sparkled as he smiled and revealed even white teeth.

“I wasn’t paying attention either,” he admitted, “too busy reading this. He waved the newspaper in his hand.

“No harm done.” I smiled in return. “May I ask, are you staying here?”

“Yeah, for now. Are you?’

We stood making small talk. It was the most conversation I’d had with anyone in a long time. And, of course, I accepted the offer of a cup of coffee and cake in the hotel restaurant.

Over our coffee, I made many discoveries about this young man. I had already deduced he was a rancher by his mode of dress. We talked of our families and the losses we had sustained. I could tell his grief was still raw by the thin line of his lips and the tightness of his jaw. How he missed being on his ranch, with the wide open spaces and more specifically his horse. I never knew horses liked coffee, but his does. One lives and learns.

I reached across the tabletop and placed my hand on his. I would not, in normal circumstances, be so forward with a man I had just met. But I felt he was a kindred spirit.

“I understand.” My words were soft and gentle as I squeezed his hand. “I have been through much the same as you.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologised again. “I don’t normally tell people my life story like this.” A smile broke through the sad expression, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Would you like another coffee,” he asked, “or something stronger?”

“I think I had better book a room first, and then I’d like some lunch. Would it be too forward of me to invite you to join me if you haven’t anything else you should be doing?” Where was this coming from, me asking a relative stranger to join me for lunch?

“I’ll get you booked in,” he offered, standing, and pulling his green jacket tidy at his waist. “Do you have a preference?”

“A room with a bath if they have one. It’s Mrs. Rebekah Berkley from New York City’”

I sat enjoying the beautiful restaurant and lounge. It was so much a reminder of my old life in New York. The elegant mansions that many of my old friends still lived in. The beautiful townhouse where William and I had spent our married life. The parties we had attended in some of the extravagant hotels and residences. It was all a lifetime away now, but here I was, thinking back to those happy days.

A soft cough broke through my reverie, “Excuse me, Madam. Mr. Cartwright asked me to show you to your room. If you would like to freshen up, he will organise a table for lunch?”

“Thank you, that would be very nice.”

“ This way, Madam. If you would follow me, please?”  Away at the desk, I could see Mr. Cartwright speaking with the clerk. He tipped his hat as he watched me follow the Bellboy into the elevator. We travelled to the uppermost floor and walked along the corridor until we reached a room marked ‘ The First Lady Suite’. The door swung open into an elegant pink and gold furnished suite of rooms. “Sitting room, Ma’am, the bedroom is through there, and the bathroom is off the bedroom. There is fresh linen every day for the suite. Room service is available. For anything you need, there is a Bellboy stationed on every floor.”

Compared to The Grand Hotel, this was heaven. I made use of the bathroom. I brushed the dust from my suit and refixed my hair. I was ready for lunch.

Mr. Cartwright was waiting as I stepped into the atrium. He had brushed his hair, his hat now nervously clutched in one hand.

“I was just coming to get you,” he started, “Is the room okay?’

“It’s beautiful. Much better than the last place!”

“Let’s have some lunch, Mrs. Berkley?”

Joe Cartwright offered me his arm. Together arm in arm, we walked into the restaurant. Little did we know where this lunch would take us or what the future would bring.

Part three: A Cowboy Came Calling.

Rebekah Cartwright pulled herself up from the old, folded towel she had been kneeling on while gardening. She stood and brushed the loose soil from the calico apron covering her dress and wiped a grubby hand across her brow, leaving a streak of dirt in its trail. Then on finding a hanky in her pocket, she dabbed at the sweat on her flushed cheeks.

The sun was peeking above the magnificent Ponderosa pines surrounding the large, timber-built ranch house Rebekah now called home. The sky was a limpid blue and cloudless, with only the slightest hint of a breeze disturbing the greenery around her. She had been working on the vegetable garden since early morning and had felt the urge to sit on the front porch and take a break before recommencing her planting. Today, she had the house to herself. Her husband was busy on the cattle drive somewhere in the direction of Sacramento. His exact location was unknown to her. Hop Sing, their friend, cook, and general major-domo, had gone into Virginia City on a supply run. He was not due back until the following morning. The yard hands were all out on the range, chasing stray cattle or checking the watering and feeding points. It was a day of solitude, just what she had hoped for.

Rebekah was returning to the back of the house to resume gardening when she heard a horse approaching on the track to the house. She stood and waited until it appeared around the side of the barn.

“Howdy, Ma’am,” the rider, a young, good-looking cowboy, called down. “I don’t suppose I could trouble you for some water for my horse, could I?” She looked up to the young man, who gave her a beaming, wide smile as he doffed his hat to reveal longish curly hair.

“I guess so,” she said, pointing to the water trough across the yard.

He dismounted and then led the pretty, black and white paint horse across to drink its fill.

“I don’t suppose you could find it in your heart to give me a cup of coffee too, could you?” he asked, stepping towards her. “An’  a sandwich to eat?”

“I can get you a coffee. Come on into the kitchen and I’ll get you a cup.”

Giving her his best smile, he followed her into the house.

“Mighty nice house you have Ma’am,” he remarked, looking around and taking in the masculine but comfortable decor and furnishings.

“We like it,” was her only reply.

She stood at the cooking range, one hand on the coffee pot, the other holding a tin mug. She felt, rather than saw, the young man come close behind her. Then she felt his warm breath on her neck. Rebekah turned to step away from him, but he caught her hand. He removed the hot pot and replaced it on the stove. He untucked and removed the apron at her waist and pulled her close to him.

“I’d really appreciate you being nice to me, Ma’am.”

“You’d better leave, my husband will be home any minute now…” Rebekah shot back as she pushed him away.

“I’ll take my chances!”  he said as he swung her into his arms.

“Put me down,” she demanded, struggling against him, her fists beating at his chest as he lifted her clear from the floor.

“Oh no, like I said, you’re going to be nice to me!”

He strode from the confines of the kitchen into the living area. With Rebekah still protesting in his arms, he crossed the room to reach the stairs to the upper floor. Rebekah fought to escape. She kicked out as hard as she could, hoping he would set her down, but he had a tight hold to stop her from getting free.

“Hey. Not so hard sweetheart. I don’t want to drop you.” he whispered in her ear as he made his way up the stairs. Gripping his green jacket a little tighter, Rebekah giggled into the corduroy fabric.

“You smell of cows and horses.”

With a non-committal grunt, he kicked open the bedroom door, he then pushed in and slammed the door behind them.

Rebekah ran across the room and cowered in the corner furthest from the bed, her eyes watching his every move.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said, “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

“Please no, I love my husband. I can’t do this, please…don’t.”

He reached out and pulled her close, with one hand freeing her long, raven-black hair from its pins. His mouth enveloped hers as he kissed her hard and long. Again, she struggled and tried to resist his advances. But he was much stronger than she. Fingers found the buttons of her blouse and then, with practised skill, unfastened them. Her chemise untied in seconds.

‘Take it off,” he ordered. “Now.”

“No,” was her only response.

Again, he leaned in to kiss her, need and passion at the forefront of his mind. Eager fingers pulled the flimsy garments from her shoulders until they fell to the floor in a cloth puddle.

He stepped back to take in the sight of her standing exposed before him. Her breasts were creamy, round and firm. The nipples were erect from the chilly room. The smile on his face was one of appreciation and desire.

He brushed his fingers against her face. “Get on the bed,” he ordered, pushing her across the room.

Having no choice but to obey, Rebekah sat on the edge of the bed.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

“Because you are beautiful, I need to, and I can!” he almost growled his reply, “Now get that skirt off.”

With deliberate reluctance, Rebekah did as he bid. She wrapped her arms around her breasts as she stood shivering. She was clad only in her pantaloons. She watched in disbelief as he pulled his shirt off to reveal his sun-bronzed chest and threw it on the dresser. She noted his chest was smooth and free of hair. Nimble fingers unbuttoned the fly to his pants and began to ease them down over his hips. He sat on the chair to pull the boots from his feet, then stepped out of his pants. Rebekah’s eyes widened in shock and surprise as she saw how aroused the man was.

He sifted through a drawer until he found what he was looking for, her silk stockings or scarf.

“Lay down,” he ordered as he knelt at her side. ” Put your arms over your head, hold onto the bars.”

Without a word, she obeyed and gripped the fancy bars behind her head. She watched his every move.

The silk stockings were soon put to work holding her wrists, albeit without restraint, to the bars.

He sat back on the bed. His hunger-filled eyes took in every inch of Rebekah’s cream-hued form. Her black hair spread in tangled abandonment across the pillow.

“Now,” he spoke ‘sotto voce’, “I told you I won’t hurt you, so why don’t you lie back and enjoy it? You never know. It might be better than you’ve ever had before.”

Rebekah glared in rebellion. Bright lights flashed like daggers from her eyes. “I doubt it. My husband is a wonderful lover!”

He chuckled at her comment. “We’ll see about that.”

His hands began to explore her body as he stretched out alongside her. His hands caressed and stroked, squeezed, and kneaded. He turned her face to his and kissed her lips, eyes, and nose. His tongue traced the line of her jaw and then down to the hollow of her throat. He could feel her breathing change pace as she became more aroused. His lips found hers, and although she refused to return his kiss, his tongue remained insistent in its attempt to enter.

One hand drifted down towards the lacy pantaloons; it found the ribbon holding them in place, then in one movement, he had the bow unravelled and his hand caressing her stomach. At the sharp intake of breath, he plunged his tongue into her warm mouth and began to kiss her deeply and with a longing and heated passion.

Now his free hand wandered up to the silk bindings on her wrist and travelled the length of her arm, stopping only at the pit. He stroked down the smooth curve of her ribs to her waist, back to the fullness of her breasts. Her breathing became more urgent as his hands explored further.

His tongue travelled lower, now caressing the brown areoles and erect nipples. Rebekah jumped as he nipped at her flesh and whimpered at the unexpected twinge of delicious pain. Paying her no heed, he moved lower down her flat stomach. His fingers stroked and caressed as they went. Without warning, he stopped at the indent of her belly and blew a raspberry!

She jumped in surprise as she heard him chuckle, then felt the tip of his tongue resume its exploring.

Now his fingers pulled at the unfastened ribbon of her pantaloons. Taking one swift movement, he pushed them past her hips to her knees, then beyond to her feet. Another quick move, and they joined the rest of her clothing on the floor.

Rebekah pulled her knees up, trying to hide her naked body. The man took his time as he eased them apart. He moved his body between her legs, his fingers now curling in the hair protecting her secret place.

“Please, no,” she begged. “Don’t do this.”

“Shush…” as he bent forward, both hands covering her hips as he lay between her knees. His tongue resumed its journey of exploration, kissing and licking every nook and cranny it discovered, following the curve from hip to her groin. Fingers moved towards her secret opening, sliding into the warm moist space. Rebekah gasped at the intrusion as he continued his action and leaned closer to her.

“Beautiful,” he murmured as he gazed upon her naked body. “Just beautiful.”

Now he lowered his head as he inhaled the scent of her sex. His face was only inches from the moist entrance to her deepest secrets. Rebekah moved her hips a little; she wasn’t sure whether to avoid his touch or to encourage it. He moved with her and began to explore her being. His tongue followed his fingers as he nibbled at the soft pink outer lips before slipping further into the warmth within.

He plunged further, drinking in her juices as he sought the tiny nub that would be the centre of her pleasure. He teased, nibbled, and kissed until Rebekah writhed in excitement.

She pulled at one wrist and was surprised that the silk stocking came free. Trying the other had the same result. Now she was free!

Both hands were eager as they reached down to grip his head. Rebekah hitched her hips up and opened her legs a little further. The handsome man slid his hands under her, clutched her buttocks, and pulled her sex closer to him as his tongue plunged in and out.

He felt her hands grip his hair and her groin thrust upward to meet his probing tongue.

Her groan was almost silent, just a mere vibration. Her whole being was on fire with excitement and desire.

She wanted this man more than anything else in the world!

Then he withdrew, turned until they were side by side, head to toe, and resumed his oral stimulation. Again, Rebekah gasped in pleasure, but now she could return that same pleasure and sensation. Mere inches from her face, his rampant and engorged member pointed at her. She reached out to restrain it and then teased it with her tongue. She licked from the base to the head, following the blue vein running the length of it. Her lips brushed the head as she lapped the pooling liquid on the tip. It was his turn to gasp in delight as she took his penis deep into her mouth. Her fingers ran up and down the erect shaft, her tongue flicking across it in her mouth. She caressed the folds of his scrotum, teasing it as it tightened every time she stroked it, watching as it hardened and then relaxed at her touch. Together they moved in perfect rhythm, building towards an explosive climax. Without warning, he pulled back, “No, not yet.” His only words as he moved back to face her. “Not yet.”

Again, he kissed her hard and with an unending passion. He could taste his fluids on her lips. His tongue was deep in her mouth as it tangoed with hers. No resistance was forthcoming. She was his willing partner! His kisses covered her lips, cheeks, nose, eyes, and brow. His tongue found its way into the shell of her ear, then back to her throat and up to her lips again.

“Do you want me now?” he breathed in her ear, his lips touching the rim along with the ever-busy tongue.

“Yes…oh yes…” Rebekah almost cried, reaching out for his arms.

With gentle and slow movements, he shifted his weight as he moved back between her outstretched legs. One hand reached down to travel to her knees and beyond. His fingers traced a lazy path back towards her now damp and aroused secret place. He touched her opening, one finger sliding in and out, then two, three, testing and probing.

“Are you sure?”

Rebekah reached up. She held his face in her hands and pulled him close. Then, she kissed him hard before saying, “Yes, I’m sure, please.”

“Your husband?”

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” was her only reply.

He chuckled again as he reached down between their sweat-covered bodies. His hard, throbbing penis was more than ready. He eased it into place, then plunged into the hidden depths. Rebekah reacted with another sharp intake of breath; it was just a gasp and then an upward thrust of her hips to match his downward thrust. They found their perfect rhythm within a couple of moments. Their bodies moved in complete harmony as they approached a mutual climax. He held her close, his mouth covering hers, lips locked together as they writhed in their enthusiastic embrace. Neither wanted to give ground as they neared their climatic explosion. The cowboy moved. He lifted her legs over his forearms, shifted to his knees without warning, and slid back into her welcoming and waiting warmth. Now he was thrusting harder than ever. Rebekah clung to his buttocks, pulling him in as far and tight as she could. She now had restricted movement pinned beneath his lithe body. He had to do the hard work while she continued thrusting as hard as possible against him.

He plunged deeper. His body was covered in a film of sweat, his hair clinging to his forehead and neck, his breathing hard and ragged as he soared to his approaching climax.

“Bekah…” he gasped, “baby…ooohhhh.”

“Yes…yes…Joe…Yessss…”

He remained on his knees for a few seconds, then lowered her legs to the bed and flopped beside her. Rebekah turned into his waiting arms. Both were slippery with sweat and passion.

“I love you, Joe Cartwright,” she whispered into his chest.

“I love you too, so very much,” he responded, kissing her forehead and eyes.

“Can we stay here for a while?” he asked as he rested his chin on her head, “I’ve been up since yesterday, and boy, am I tired.”

“We can stay here as long as you like,” she murmured into his chest, “We’ve got the house to ourselves until tomorrow morning. Hop Sing’s gone to town.”

“Good, come here. Do you know how much I’ve missed you, sweetheart?”

“Enough to come home at least a week early,” she teased as she stroked his cheek. “And as much as I’ve missed you, I’m sure.”

Joe kissed her forehead, then rested his cheek against her wild, mussed hair.

“Do you mind if we have a little nap?” Another kiss found her nose. “I am bushed!”

Rebekah tilted her face to his, kissed the edge of his mouth, and smiled into his shining eyes.

“I think that would be a lovely idea, but only if we can have a repeat performance when we wake up.”

Joe’s eyes widened in surprise, his eyebrows disappearing into his hair in shock. “Again!” He exclaimed. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Rebekah giggled against his chest. “OK, maybe later then. I’m just making up for some lost time.”

Joe shook his head, a growl at the back of his throat as he tipped her chin up to kiss her again. “What will I do with you, woman?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

With that, they snuggled up together; a lovers’ knot of arms and legs as they drifted into a sated, peaceful, and restful sleep.

Part Four: Reflections on a Sunny Day.

The sun blazed down from the cloudless cerulean sky. A gentle breeze drifted lazily across the meadow and down to the barely rippling lake. The sky-reflecting water lapped at the shoreline, little gurgling noises bubbling up as it flowed back to its mass. Gold and silver reflections glistened as the sunlight bounced across the surface.

Today would have been my father’s sixty-eighth birthday; he loved this place as much as me. Often, after Hoss died, we would spend days fishing or just sitting together. It was a special place for us both.

I perched on a sun-warmed boulder, my grubby green jacket was to one side, and my hat tilted away from my eyes as I surveyed my surroundings. If I had a dollar for every time I had sat on this rock, I would be a wealthy man.

Come to think of it, I am a ‘wealthy’ man.

In front of me stand the Sierra Nevada mountains. They reach ever higher towards the heavens. Snow was still visible on their peaks even this late in the year. The mountainsides are covered with many varieties of trees supporting the local wildlife.

They are the boundary to my home.

The lake fills my senses. The murmur of the waves trickling among the shoreline pebbles takes me back to the times my brothers and I skipped stones across to the small sand bar. Hoss, the expert, always getting them further than Adam or me. Once, he managed eight bounces. I had jumped up and down with glee, but I must admit, I was only eight. I had only ever managed three or four skips. Hoss was the undisputed champion! The smell of the sun-warmed sand underfoot, how many times as a small child had I made bare-foot tracks along this stretch of sand as I tried to hide from my pursuing brothers? They were far too many to count. This beach had always been a favourite destination after school or work.

The stark contrast of the colour of the intense blue of the deeper water compared to the clear water at the shore. The golden sand reached finger-like to the rich, verdant swathe of the meadow. In times gone by, this place was a veritable paradise playground for us boys.

This body of water is the source of life on my ranch. Behind me is a stand of Ponderosa pines, whispering in the breeze. Trees that are as tall and majestic as the church spires I’ve seen in Adam’s books on England.

Now I gaze up at the bluff that overlooks my small beach, where I can see a riot of green foliage and the exposed rock face and can describe all concealed there.

Behind the iron railings are the remains of my family, their resting place is one of solitude and comfort for me. Too much has happened in the last few years. So many have gone before me.

The first stone is the marker for my mother, underfoot the ground is flattened from years of settlement. It is nothing ornate, just a polished granite stone, her name and dates the only inscription. I cannot remember her face; the only reference I have is the picture on my father’s desk in his office. The stories I’ve heard are the very few memories I keep.

According to my father, I am equal to my mother in temperament, quick to lose it, and equally swift to apologise if I’m wrong. I have spent most of my life searching for someone to replace her. I know I have made plenty of mistakes, but I hope my mother would be proud of the man I have become. Although time has lightened my loss, grief occasionally overwhelms me when I least expect it.

To the left of my mother is Hoss. The man whose heart was as big as his character and who gave his life to save others.

Together, we had tried to rescue a family trapped in a fast-flowing, flooded river. Regardless of his safety Hoss had plunged into the swirling, rank water. He had supported their wagon while I pulled them to the bank and safety. Then as I had reached to pull him ashore, the wagon shifted, trapping him under it. In the water alongside Hoss, I had struggled to get the weight off him to release him. I prayed for a miracle as I clung to my brother, imploring God to help me free him from the wagon. But I failed! My heart broke as I watched him take his last breath. I fought to hold my breath and his gaze until I knew life was gone. Hoss’ blue eyes were fixed open, the grip on my arm slack. I wanted to stay with my brother, but the thought of Pa losing two sons was too much for me to bear. With a heavy heart, I battled to the water’s surface and my survival. My brother didn’t deserve to die like that. I had always imagined he would be at my side, my best friend, my partner in many more misdemeanours and adventures. At that moment, I had never felt so helpless or useless. I would have given anything to save him, even my own life.

For a while, I blamed Hoss for dying and then blamed myself for being smaller and weaker than he. Why him and not me? My father had a phrase for how I felt, ‘You’re feeling guilty because you survived, and Hoss didn’t.’ That was what he said. I did feel guilty for letting Hoss drown. I had tried my best but still failed him. How do I live with that? Pa soon put me straight. “It was God’s Will, son. You did your best, but God wanted your brother more.” And now I was older than he ever would be.

My attention and thoughts drifted again at the sound of a sharp squark. I looked up at the sun-filled sky. I could see a pair of eagles gliding effortlessly on the warm updrafts coming off the land. Shading my eyes, I watched them circle; it was like watching an elegant ballet as they moved in perfect synchrony across the sky.

Alongside my brother Hoss’s resting place are two more memorials. No graves, just the stones.

Mere months after losing Hoss, we received notification that Adam was missing. My father had heard from him every few months or so, but recently we were without letters. We knew Adam had married and had a family, but not much more.

The devastating news took time to reach us but reach us it did. The family were on a ship bound for San Francisco: it had foundered somewhere in the Pacific with the loss of all onboard. I still find it hard to believe I will never meet his family, my nieces, and nephews, or see him again.

My father went into a deep trough of depression after Hoss died. He lost interest in the ranch and in our business dealings. We were lucky the Ponderosa was in good shape financially. We could ride it out. I struggled to deal with it all but took on the paperwork while Candy became a permanent fixture in our lives as the ranch foreman. Pa seemed to be coming back to us when we got the news of Adam’s demise. Now I was at a loss for how to cope with him. We were back at square one. My father refused to eat, sometimes not washing, or changing his clothes for days. He barely slept, and when he did, it was only for an hour or so. Pa went days without speaking. If he did, it was to question what he had done to drive Adam away from our home. I often felt he blamed me. I was the guilty party and the root cause of Adam’s departure. I would ask questions, needing his opinion or advice. Pa would shake his head, cutting me off completely. I was irrelevant in his world of mourning. Hop Sing would try to tempt him with his favourite meals, these would be sent back to the kitchen untouched.

We lost a couple of timber contracts. I didn’t have the time to get the tenders out. It was unfortunate, but I couldn’t pull it off. Most of the time I was exhausted, but I had to continue. I could not, would not, let the Ponderosa go under. I could not let my father’s dream die.

Along with all of this, I needed to grieve for my brothers. I was supporting my father in his grief. I needed to grieve, but who would be there for me?

Was I being selfish?

Sometimes I wasn’t sure he would survive this, but with his typical Cartwright stubbornness, he climbed out of the trough of melancholia and got on with life.

About now, to Pa’s delight, I met and married Alice. I felt complete. Alice was everything I wanted, a gentle, kind, loving person. The day she told me there was to be a child, I was ecstatic!

Suddenly, my life had a deeper purpose. I was to be a father!

If I were half the father to my child as my father was to me, then I would be a happy man.

Hers is the stone set alongside Adam’s. Alice is still in the meadow where she, and our unborn child, perished.

That same sunny, flower-filled field where I had built the little house that was our home.

Rage had filled my heart and my mind!

 I raged at God, the world, at everything after Alice’s death. My anger knew no bounds. For months I was impossible to live with. If I wasn’t working on the range, I would be drinking myself into a stupor and picking fights with whoever got in my way.

 I was not a nice person.

To this day, I cannot recall everything that I did while indulging my grief. Candy, my best friend, came close to giving up on me and my bad behaviour. A day came when I wanted to give up. Death would have been a welcome friend for me at that time.

The breeze had picked up. It blew across my shoulders and then away across to the water. It felt like my brother Hoss’s arm reaching around to pull me into a hug. He would be happy now that my life was back on track. Smiling, I looked towards the flower-strewn field behind me. The wind now had the flowers bending and swaying like the waves on Lake Tahoe. Their heady perfume carried around me and out across the water.

My memories returned to the bluff above my boulder and the final resting places there.

Alongside my mother stands a large Celtic Cross. Here is a fitting tribute to my beloved father in honour of his strong faith and belief in God. Pa succumbed to a series of heart attacks in the months following Alice’s murder.

Doctor Martin did everything medically possible for my father; rest, change of diet, and pills. He and Roy Coffee made several visits hoping to draw Pa back into the everyday world but without success. I tried involving him in every decision, every action regarding the ranch, anything to bring him back, but without success. I believe Alice and the baby’s death had been the final straw.

The final attack happened during the doctor’s weekly visit. Nothing could save him. For a while, I was in denial. I suppose my brain shut down to everything that had happened. Grief and grieving were beyond me.

I did my work and kept the ranch running as smoothly as I could. Candy was a godsend to me, shouldering some of the weight of work and keeping me focused on staying alive. I’m sure he knew how close I was to giving up. My life seemed so pointless without my wife or family alongside me. I was living my worst nightmare, they were all gone, and I was the sole survivor.

I found myself alone in the house, at my father’s desk, gun in hand, drunk as was usual these days. It would have been so easy. Could I do that to my father’s memory?

The front door slammed open with a resounding bang on the credenza.

‘Joe,’ Candy’s voice yelled through the room and my head. I will never forget the look of pity, or disgust on his face as he looked across the desk. ‘What the hell?’

Candy pulled me back from the edge. I shocked myself with those thoughts. From that day I stopped my drinking and fighting and decided to go on living.

Time has eased the loss. At last, I can think of my father, brothers, and Alice without tears. I have moved on, and I have a great deal for which to be grateful.

The final grave is fresh.

Less than a month old, it is still a brown mound rather than grassed over. Time will take care of that. But will it take care of the pain so raw and keenly felt?

Here lies the man who became my brother in all but name, Candy. His demise was avoidable. Had I won that toss of a coin, I could have died that day.

In the general scheme of things, I would have done the banking. Candy had badgered me silly into letting him go. I knew he was sweet on a young lady working there, but I wasn’t going to give in without a little funning along the way. He suggested we toss a coin for it. It just so happens I still have the double-headed coin that I always used for tricking Hoss. Being generous, I let Candy win. The tasks allocated, we set off to get them done. The first thing on the agenda was a quick beer in the saloon before going about our business. Me to the Sheriff’s office and then to collect any mail and Candy by choice, to the bank. When finished, we would then meet up at the mercantile. It was a day like any other, except that isn’t what happened.

  I can remember every detail of every minute of that day.

I was standing in front of the Sheriff’s office watching as Candy ambled from the saloon across the street to the bank. His saddlebags draped across his shoulder, and his right hand held it securely in place. In the blink of an eye, gunfire erupted with a blast of noise and smoke from the bank building.

Four masked men shot their way across to the horses waiting at the hitching rail. Candy shouted! I saw him throw the saddlebags to the ground and duck as he went for his gun. Unknown to him, and unseen to me, a fifth man was sitting astride his horse with his gun in hand. Before we became aware of him, the rider fired off four shots. Candy fell, each bullet finding its target as he dropped to the dirt. Time slowed as Roy, and I, hit the street together, our guns blazing at the rider and the four robbers as they rushed to mount their horses. Two were dead before they hit the ground, and two more were wounded from our shots. More guns joined the firefight until all five robbers were dead or injured in the dirt. As I peered through the gun smoke and searched across the street, my thoughts were racing. Where was Candy? Was he ok? I soon saw him lying prone on the ground. Was he still alive?

I dropped to my friend’s side, shouting for somebody to get the doctor. My fear was tangible as I could see just how serious his injuries were and how much blood was pooling beneath him in the dust and dirt of Main Street. It would take a miracle for Candy to survive this. I knelt at Candy’s side as Doc Martin tried to stem the fast-flowing blood from the gaping wounds.

“Hold on, Candy,” I begged, kneeling close, my mouth near his ear. The Doc’s here, he’ll help you.” Doc Martin just looked into my eyes, a drawn expression and a shake of his head told me there was no hope. Too many bullets and too much blood loss had sealed Candy’s fate.

I was losing my best friend, and again as with Hoss, I was helpless to save him.

“I’m sorry, Joe.” his final words as I gripped his trembling hand with mine. I knelt at Candy’s side, clasping his hand, not wanting or willing to break contact with him.

I am no longer a religious man. I prayed to whichever God could hear me to please save my friend. I hoped my willpower and desperation would be enough to bring him back.

I rested back on my heels, unwilling to release the hold on my best friend. Unashamed, I allowed the tears to fall. Roy gripped my shoulder and pulled me to my feet. Other men came and crowded around us. Then silently and with gentle reverence carried the body of Candy from the street.

I still ask myself, had I gone to the bank rather than Candy, would the outcome have remained the same? Would I have been a fraction quicker crossing the street, or a tad slower? Would I have been quicker getting my gun out? Could I have taken the gunman out before getting shot? Too many questions that I cannot answer.

 Now, Candy has his place with the rest of my family.

I sigh as I collect my thoughts. It is pointless my feeling sorry for myself. Nothing can change the past.

Now my hair is almost white, just like my father’s. I’m sure the last few years have contributed to that. My father always blamed me for his white hair. I have my doubts that I was the only cause! I certainly have his stubbornness, that’s for sure!

I’ve taken on my father’s mantle as Mr. Cartwright or Boss. He set a high bar. I hope I can match his achievements. It still feels strange to hear ‘Mr. Cartwright’ and I have at times, looked around to see if my father was standing behind me. I have changed since Pa died and have grown up. Gone are the temper tantrums I was famous for as a younger man. I am no longer so free and easy. I keep people at arm’s length and don’t want to get too close. I don’t think I could suffer as much loss as I have over the last few years and still survive. I thought Hoss dying was the worst thing that could ever happen. How wrong could I have been?

I couldn’t protect Alice in our own home. I deeply regret Adam and I never had the chance to renew our former relationship. His leaving to some degree, was my fault, something else I must live with. Pa was right all along.

Looking towards the sun, I can see it has moved significantly across the sky. The shadows reached out across the meadow and put me in the cooling shade. It is time to go home. My memories are from yesterday. It’s time to put them away and live for today. I have good enough reasons to look to tomorrow.

Silently wishing my father a happy birthday, I whistle for my horse.

Cochise wandered back to me. He knew it was time to make our way back to the house. It will be a good rub down for him and a good meal for me.

I enter the yard at a gentle canter, yet something else I had learnt to do in more recent times. From here, I can see the front door set wide to catch any stray breeze across the yard. At the open bedroom window above the door, the sheers fluttered with the slightest movement of warm air.

Sliding from my faithful horse’s back, I passed him off to one of the hands.

“Give him a good rub down, Jimmy, and a double helping of oats, please,” I instructed the youth as he led my mount to the barn. He flicked a quick salute as they disappeared into the darkness of the wooden building.

Breaking into a jog, I crossed over to the porch. Rebekah, my wife is there, rocking back and forth in the old chair that seems to have been on there forever.

The smile she gives me is enough to take the sadness from my heart. Rebekah is blooming. Her belly is swollen with our unborn child, and her time is very close now. She reaches out, her hand in mine as she draws me to her. Words aren’t necessary. With a slight tilt of her head, she gazes up into my face, the look in her eyes asking if I was all right. The kiss I place on her lips is all the answer she needs. Rebekah is my lifeline.

 The calm after the storm.

Our meeting just over a year ago was a lucky accident. I was on my way out of my hotel in San Francisco, and I must admit I was reading the newspaper and not paying attention to what I was doing.

I went to exit the door and bumped into a young lady, I’m not sure who was most surprised! We both jumped, apologised, and then smiled. Remembering my manners, I quickly doffed my hat as I stepped to one side. Again, we both tried to apologise, her explaining she was looking to register and me stumbling over my excuse. This was the first time I’d had any interaction with the female species in a very long time. Little did I know that this dark-haired, dark-eyed lady would steal my heart and with quite an indiscrete speed, become my wife?

“Rebekah to Joe, Rebekah to Joe…” The soft voice and a gentle nudge brought me back from my reverie.

“Umm, sorry, I was just thinking,” I stuttered.

“It’s time.”

“Time, yes Hop Sing is preparing dinner now.”

“Oh, Joe! It’s time, the time!”

I jumped out of my seat at this, “What, why didn’t you send someone to get me? What do you need, what can I do? Oh, my gosh, it’s happening, really happening!”

Rebekah stifled her laugh, then patted the seat I had vacated only seconds before, “Don’t panic. It’s all under control, Dan’s gone for Paul and Hop Sing has everything ready inside.”

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“No, it could be ages yet. Let’s sit here and enjoy the evening, it may be the last chance we get for a while.”

Taking Rebekah’s lead, I sit back down, her hand in mine. Finally, our child is ready to come into our world.

Through the open doors to the kitchen, I can hear Hop Sing singing a Chinese song I can remember from my childhood as he busies himself and prepares some food. He too has suffered these past years whilst remaining steadfast at my side. I believe he is as excited as I am about the coming child. Now, we have a sense of peace in our home.

I am the last of my father’s bloodline of Cartwrights: Yes, there are other relatives, my cousin, Will is just one example. Of my father, Benjamin Cartwright, there is none but me to continue his name. I can only hope my child is a boy to continue my father’s name and legacy.

The End.

N.B. many thanks to June Baker for her patience in editing and correcting my many errors.