Away from Home

by

Beppina

It wasn’t much of a town.

A few adobe buildings cobbled together around the sun-baked square, a functional water fountain and a solitary dying tree. Everything was tinged with the same brown-beige, muddy stone that had faded from years of exposure to the searing mid-day sun.

Two mangy dogs sheltered under the lip of the fountain, out of reach of the sun and anyone who fancied a kick at their skinny bodies. The multitude of flies added to their discomfort as they buzzed lazily around them. The occasional snap gave them a moment’s respite, only for the buzzing to continue seconds later.

Across from the fountain, a darkened doorway led into the sorry excuse of a cantina. The plaintive sound of a guitar escaped into the square. A voice could be heard singing what sounded like a love song.

Joe Cartwright looked around at the sorry surroundings. It would do for a night or two. Maybe he would find some work, maybe not. He wasn’t too worried. He had sufficient money to last a month or so if he was careful and didn’t gamble it away in an unexpected game of poker.

His initial glance took in the cantina. He couldn’t see a livery nearby but guessed it could be on the road leading further south and deeper into the Sonora area.

“Well, Cooch, let’s see if we can get a bed for the night, eh?” The pinto was tied to the tree under the only shade offered on the square. Close enough to get water and within sight of the cantina.

“I won’t be long,” Joe eased the cinch and patted the black and white rump, “Don’t wander off, you hear?”

The music stopped. Faces turned to the dark shape that filled the doorway. The room fell silent as Joe stepped into the gloom. His eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, and he counted maybe half a dozen men sitting around.

“Buenos dias.” He greeted the room in general and made his way to the servery. “Una cerveza, por favor.”

A glass half-filled with pale, pee-coloured beer was placed on the rough, unpolished plank counter. Joe downed it in two swallows.

“Uno mas.”

Another beer was placed at his elbow.

“Can I get something to eat?”

“Sí, Señor. There is some chilli and tortillas.”

“Gracias.”

The cantina resumed its gentle hum of conversation. The guitar played a soft accompaniment to the chatter. All interest now lost in the gringo sat eating and facing the door.

“Is good?” the rotund barkeeper asked as he placed another beer by Joe’s bowl.

“Muy bueno, gracias.” Joe managed his reply in Spanish, although that was his limit of the language. “I need some information. Do you understand English?”

“Si, Señor, I can speak some English. What do you want to know?”

 “Is there a hotel or livery here? And I’m looking for work, so any ranches taking on hands?”

“I have rooms here, Señor. There is a stable out back. You can put your horse there. Work, I don’t know. The biggest is the Rodrigez rancho; he has cattle and horses, so maybe he needs men.”

“I’ll take the room, gracias. The stable’s out back?”

“Si, my grandson, Miguel, will look after your horse.”

Midday drifted into evening. The heat of the day lingered in the small room above the cantina. Joe had dozed for a while, fighting the heat and the stuffiness of the room. He’d tried writing to his father but failed after the words ‘Dear Pa’ were on the paper. Even after six months of leaving home, Joe was still too stubborn and angry to make the first conciliatory move towards his family.

Darkness had fallen. The small town was wrapped in a stifling, hot black blanket. The only illumination came from the soft glow of the cantina windows and from the small adobe houses nearby. A bubble of noise filtered up the stairs to Joe’s room, awakening the thought of something to eat and a grumbling of his stomach. With a sigh, he stretched, splashed his face with cold water and then pulled his dusty green jacket over his beige shirt. Tomorrow, he would arrange for a bath and do some laundry. Both he and his clothes were getting a little too stale for his taste.

The Cantina held a few more customers; mostly labourers clad in their rough, white cotton pants and loose shirts. A raven-haired girl danced around the tables serving beers, tequila, or food. Joe found himself at the same table, ordered a beer and a steak, then sat back to absorb the atmosphere surrounding him. The girl flirted with the young cowboy. Her eyes, as dark as her flowing hair, flashed and sparkled as she teased him in broken English. She swirled and swished her gaudy red and blue skirt. Her white blouse was cut low enough to create interest, the smooth, tanned breasts exposed like soft, creamy dumplings. But just high enough to remain decent. Joe enjoyed her floor show and flirted back, though he had no intentions of pursuing the girl; she made for a pleasant interlude but nothing more.

He downed another beer, finished his food, and sat back. He watched the girl as she worked the room, laughing and joking with all the workers. Laughter followed her from table to table, all good-natured and harmless fun.

The evening wore on. Men departed for their homes. Work started early for these people; most would be up before daylight and in the fields soon after.

The guitarist stopped mid-tune, and the girl turned to the door. A tall, very distinguished man strode into the room.

“Señor Rodriguez,” the barkeeper greeted, a bottle of tequila placed on the bar alongside a shot glass. “Your usual?”

“Gracias.”

Joe watched the newcomer. So this was the ranchero who may have some work. Rodriguez stood as tall as his brother, Adam. He was probably the same build, though younger, from what he could see. He was quite the elegant dresser. Very much in the fashion of the wealthier Mexican landowners, and again, like Adam, Rodriguez favoured black. He wore pants with silver Conchos on the seams. A short-waisted jacket that nipped in at the waist like a bullfighter. The black hat, matching the pants and high-heeled black boots, completed his look. With the respect given, it was clear that Rodriguez was a very important member of the community.

Joe remained quiet, his demeanour relaxed, bored even. Rodriguez was having a private drink; he would not approach or disturb him until the morning. He sipped at the tequila before him. He wasn’t drunk, but there was a bit of a buzz going on in his head. This would be the last drink of the evening.

“Good evening.” The black clad figure stepped into Joe’s line of vision.

“Evening.”

“I am Enriquo Rodriguez, at your service. May I sit? Jose tells me you are looking for work?”

Joe waved a hand to the chair opposite, “Please. Name’s Carson. Joe Carson. Yeah, I’m looking for work.”

Rodriguez placed the tequila and two glasses on the red checkered tablecloth. Pulled the chair out and folded himself onto it. The glasses were filled to the brim with the clear spirit. Lemon and salt were placed on a plate to one side.

“I am looking for someone for my ranchero, Mr Carson. You may be able to help me.”

“What kind of work, Señor Rodriguez?” Joe was interested, as long as it was a horse or cattle ranch. He raised the tequila in a toast. Rodriguez threw his back in one swift move and poured another.

“What are you good at?”

“You name it, I’ve done it.”

“You are… confident.”

“I’ve worked my whole life on a ranch. Since I was old enough to walk, I’ve done chores and worked with horses and cattle since I was big enough.”

”Then perhaps, Señor Carson, we can come to an arrangement.” Rodriguez raised his glass, Joe did likewise, then downed the spirit in one. He grimaced at the taste; tequila was not a favourite of Joe’s.

“I am staying here for this evening. If you are in agreement, you can ride with me to my ranchero tomorrow. We can discuss terms. Shall we say for breakfast around nine o’clock?”

“Nine o’clock is fine.” Joe felt the alcohol taking effect, “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to my room. Good night, Señor Rodriguez, and thank you.”

“Buenas noches, Señor Carson.”

Joe bid the owner and the girl good night before he climbed the narrow staircase to his room.

The heat of the day still lingered in the small room. Joe flung the window wide, hoping for the slightest breeze to venture in. With his head now beginning to spin, he splashed cold water onto his face as a poor excuse of a wash. “Tomorrow will do.” He muttered and ran a hand through the unruly and dusty hair. His jacket hung over the back of the single wooden chair, and his hat lay on the small dresser. He placed his holster at the end of the bed and concealed his pistol under his pillow. Dropping his pants over his jacket, Joe climbed into the soft, sweet-smelling, and cool white linen. Grateful for the refreshing drop in temperature and the effects of the tequila, Joe was asleep within minutes of his head touching the pillow.

Below in the Cantina, Rodriguez was quizzing the barkeeper. He wanted to know everything he could about the young cowboy he was about to employ. Joe had offered very little information other than his name and the need for work.

“I am sure to find out more tomorrow. Buenas noches, José, Rosita.” He took the same route as Joe to the upper floor, though his room was much more luxuriously appointed by comparison and befitting his position. Unlike Joe, he took his time undressing and performing his ablutions. His clothing hung from the wardrobe, tidy for the following morning. Rodrigez lay back against the polished bedhead, the pillow propped behind his head. Slowly, methodically, he began stroking his already engorged and swelling member. His thoughts were filled with the handsome young cowboy who he hoped would be joining him the next day. The boy, yes, he was still a boy, was probably the handsomest youth he had seen in years. The wild curly hair framed a fine-boned and small-featured face. The eyes were of a green-hazel that he had never encountered before. Even in the subdued lighting of the cantina, he could see they were bright and intelligent, although they carried a tinge of red from tiredness. He would have this youth. It would be of the young man’s own choice, so it would take time. But he would have him. He had never taken a partner by force or pressure, no matter how much he desired him. Rodriguez found that friendship and companionship often led to the gift he desired.

Rodriguez thought more of the young man, the slim waist, but broadening shoulders. The slender hips and well-proportioned legs. The outline of his member against the tight fabric of his grubby grey pants. The taught buttocks as he moved across the room to the stairs…

His hand moved quickly, his mind imagining fucking the youth and urging his cock to its climax. He gasped, caught his breath, and exploded cum into his hand and over the coverlet.

“One day.” He whispered, “One day soon, Joe Carson.”

Chapter Two.

Breakfast proved to be a fine affair. Eggs, fresh bread, some bacon, and tortillas served with a good, strong coffee. After the tequila of the previous evening, the coffee was the pick-me-up that Joe desperately needed. Rodriguez was at the table only minutes after Joe. They shared the usual niceties of the day, then enjoyed their meal in silence.

The ride out to Hacienda Rodriguez took them through desert and scrubland. Jagged sun-bleached rocks erupted from the ground like broken daggers. Cactus plants as tall as a one-story building dotted the landscape, their spines sharp and dangerous. The land was either sand or rock; no grass was visible. Joe was used to desert landscapes, but this was bleaker than anything he had experienced before. He did wonder how cattle or horses could be raised in these conditions that were alien to his home on the Ponderosa.

Rodriguez asked a few questions of Joe, who answered as honestly as he could without revealing his real identity. He told of having a big fight with his father and his oldest brother and explained he’d left in anger and decided to make his own way rather than trade on his family name.

Joe learnt his new employer was single and came from a very wealthy Spanish family. He was the only surviving member and had inherited the rancho and properties in Mexico. The ranch was his life, horses his passion and cattle a means to keep the land in use. He was three years younger than Adam and well educated at universities in New England and Madrid. As with Adam, Joe felt inadequate in his limited formal education.

“Most of my schooling was done at home,” Joe admitted. “We didn’t have a school until four years ago, so I only got about a year. I didn’t enjoy what I did get.”

“But you know about ranching. You can read and do mathematics. You know your history. Many of the things I studied are of no use to me now. I have learnt more running my rancho than I did at university.”

“My oldest brother went to college. He tried to get my father to send me. I refused; it wasn’t the life I wanted. I liked working on the ranch. Breaking the horses, even riding fence, was better than school!”

Rodriguez chuckled at Joe’s comment, “I didn’t have a choice. My father decided for me. You will have plenty of opportunities with the horses. I supply the Mexican army with mounts, so there is always work to be done. The men I have now are not so good. I hope you will be better.”

“How do you raise cattle in these conditions? I haven’t seen a blade of grass since we left the town. What was it called? Nogales?”

“Yes, Nogales. My cattle are on the other side of the ranch. The river feeds some good pasture land. I will show you around when you are settled in.”

The remaining hour passed in small talk about the horses Rodriguez traded and those he kept, and what he expected of Joe as an employee.

In the shimmering midday haze, Joe could see a two-level building emerging in the dusty distance. As they drew nearer, he could see the gently curved outer wall of the traditional-style hacienda. A pair of ornate iron gates stood sentinel at the entrance. A single man posted sentry on a raised post to one side.

“Guards?” Joe questioned.

“Just a precaution. Stray Indians or Comancheros. They are not a problem, but it is better to be prepared.”

“Señor Rodríguez.” The voice called down.

“Miguel.” He returned the greeting.

Another worker took the horses as Joe was led into the impressive house. Unlike his rather austere home, this was very luxurious. Artwork hung from every wall. Expensive drapes at every window, silverware on the dining table and mantelshelf.

“Your room is at the top of the stairs, turn left and the third door on the right. The washroom is directly opposite.”

“Thank you. I expected to be in the bunk house.” Joe took in his surroundings, “not in the main house.”

“Go wash, then we will speak of work over some food.”

Joe’s room was, for want of a better word, elegant. His few belongings were soon stowed in various drawers and hung in the mirror-fronted wardrobe. He made use of the marble-fitted washroom and dusted off his clothes. Getting his clothes clean was a priority now. He felt sure there were washing facilities somewhere nearby.

Barely half an hour later, Joe and his host were sitting in the fine, furnished dining room. Two plates of steaming food before them and wine at their elbows.

“At lunch time, I prefer the food my workers enjoy. Two of the wives have control of my kitchen, and unless I request something special, they serve the same as for their menfolk.” Rodriguez announced, “Enjoy your lunch, Joe Carson, then we will see if we can find some suitable clothes for you while my ladies clean these.”

Much later, clad in a crisp white shirt and tight black pants, Joe rode out to the breaking pens just a short distance from the house. He was amazed to see the collection of small corrals set between two buildings. Barns, he assumed, were for stored fodder or stables for the tack and house mounts.

Half a dozen men stood around the main corral. Some leaned against the rails, others perched cross-legged on top. In the centre, a spirited and angry chestnut tried its hardest to throw the rider clean out of the saddle. Cheers and shouts, in a mixture of Spanish and English, circled the corral as the men shouted their encouragement. It was a very familiar sight for Joe, as it brought back memories of home, and the pangs of homesickness threatened to overcome him.

“He looks a mean one,” Joe remarked and leaned forward on his pommel. “Reckon I can have a go if your man comes off?”

“If you wish.”

A cheer, then a collective groan rippled across. The wrangler fell in a dusty heap by the rails. Hands grabbed and pulled him clear as the chestnut kicked out and stomped at the offending body.

A shouted instruction soon had the horse standing quiet in the middle of the space. A bandana covered its eyes as it felt a gentle hand run down its flank. Soft sounds whispered in its ears as they twitched to listen. Joe stroked the soft muzzle. Sweat and spit flecked its face from its recent exertions, its nostrils still semi-flared.

“It’s ok, boy,” Joe murmured, his face close to the still, but alert animal, “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m not gonna hurt you. You gonna trust me, eh?”

He checked that the cinch was still tight. That the stirrup was right for him. Gingerly placed his left foot up, then swung across. For seconds, the horse remained in place. Then hell on four legs exploded across the corral.

The horse bucked, danced, pirouetted, and turned in endless circles. Joe hung on. His gloved hand was taking every pull and twist. His body followed every move the horse could make. Joe could feel just how strong this horse was. His hand ached from the effort of holding on. His back pinched from the constant bucking. Dust filled his mouth and eyes, but he stayed with it. Around the corral, the men cheered him on, anxious for his safety but eager to see this unknown young man ride the horse into submission. Rodriguez smiled with pleasure. This Joe Carson knew his stuff; he would be an asset to the ranch, as well as his own future desires.

After an eternity, well, three minutes, the horse, still with his rider, trotted around the ring. Joe eased it into a figure of eight and back to a circle. Brought it to a standstill, then moved back to a walk and trot. It was a good horse and, with the right training, would be an excellent mount for the military. Joe urged it forward and stopped at the rail nearest Rodriguez. He slid from the saddle and handed the reins to another, who in turn patted his back at his success.

“I think you have proved you are good at this. My men have tried for days to calm that stallion, and you have done it in one ride. I am impressed, Joe Carson!”

Joe grinned with pleasure. A good horse, a challenging ride, what more could he ask for?

“You enjoyed that, yes?” Rodriguez smiled, “I have another equally as lively. You may try that today if you wish?”

The smile he received confirmed his thoughts; the boy was a natural with the horses. They would work well together, and then, well, only time would tell. And time was something he had plenty of.

Chapter Three

Days gave way to weeks, then to months. Joe revelled in the work. The other wranglers watched him at every opportunity. Although he was the youngest hand working for Don Rodriguez, the other wranglers treated him with deference and respect, gladly acknowledging that he was the best of them all. His relationship with the owner had deepened from employer and employee to friends, good friends. Most evenings were spent in the comfort of the hacienda. After a satisfying meal, they would share a bottle of wine. Like at his home in Nevada, they would play a game or two of checkers or chess. Joe found his game improved as Rodriguez pushed his ability further. The moments of silence between moves gave him time to think, plan, and learn from his friend. Some evenings, Rodriguez would play his beautiful mahogany grand piano. Joe had never heard classical piano; he had only experienced the Sunday Church music or the honkytonk sound of the saloon. Enriquo Rodriguez was a skilled pianist who soon drew Joe into the music’s magic. Many evenings, he would sit, eyes closed and allow himself to drift away with the sounds that filled the room. The warmth of the blazing log fire, the music and the fine wine wrapped Joe in a contentment he hadn’t felt in a long time. Rodriguez would watch as the youth relaxed. His face was calm and frown-free. He had never thought this young man would arouse such feelings within his being. It wasn’t just the strong desire to love Joe physically, but the boy had taken a part of his heart. For the first time in his life, he felt a responsibility towards another, and heaven forbid, he loved him.

As for Joe, he lost the gaunt, lost look. He gained some weight and was happier than he had been for months. He still had bouts of homesickness, but these were becoming less frequent. He never forgot his father or brothers. The pain of their last argument still lingered; it prevented Joe from writing home. He felt guilty. He knew his father would be worried, sad, and sorry for not standing up to Adam, but he still found it hard to forgive the way they had turned against him.

It was a rare occasion to venture into Nogales or further afield to Sonora, or even north to Tucson. Sonora and Tucson both entailed overnight stays, so a good meal and wine were often enjoyed. Nogales was closest, though it carried only the most basic of supplies. Jose, the cantina owner, would, when needed, send one of the local youths to Sonora to return with a wagon load of pre-ordered goods. Joe once volunteered for this task. Along with Jose’s son, Juan, he made the jaunt to Sonora. For Rodriguez, it was a painful couple of days. He imagined all manner of things happening to the two youths. Attacks by Comancheros, waylaid and robbed, possibly killed by bandits, or worse of all, that he should meet a girl!

For the two boys, it was a straightforward task. For Joe, it was on par with a trip to Virginia City. Get in, get loaded, and get home. Only he didn’t have Hoss to do the heavy work or keep him from the saloon.

After a decent meal of tortillas and tamales with Juan’s uncle and with six hours of daylight to burn, the boys set out for Nogales and home. Like all boys off the leash for a few hours, they laughed and joked. Spoke of their dreams and aspirations for the future. Juan had picked up some English when helping in the cantina, so he practiced with Joe. He dreamt of getting away to the big city, though which city he didn’t know. He just wanted to escape from his small world and experience life. Joe listened sympathetically. He understood the boy’s dreams but warned him life was just as hard across the border, more so if you were without work or family to help.

Twilight had fallen by the time they arrived back at the cantina. The few lanterns lit to keep the darkness at bay. They stowed the wagon in the livery; nothing would perish overnight and could be unloaded and distributed the next morning in daylight. Joe decided he would stay at the cantina until morning. The ride out to the hacienda in darkness did not appeal.

“Papa, we’re back,” Juan called out as they entered through the kitchen door.

His father poked his head around from the bar, “Ustedes son temprano, muchachos.”

“Si, papa. We wanted to come home tonight.”

Jose raised an eyebrow, then motioned them through to the bar.

“Dos cervezas, señor Jose, por favor,” Joe asked as he sat by the stairs. Juan sat opposite and both savoured the cold beers. As if by magic, two bowls of chilli were placed on the table.

“Gracias, mama.”

The two youths sat chatting until Juan produced his guitar. The sound of flamenco soon filled the room, and his sister, Rosita, began her performance.

Joe stifled a yawn. The heat of the room and his full stomach had caught up with him, and he was about ready for bed. He intended to be back at the Hacienda in the early morning. He had bought a book of sheet music as a surprise for Rodriguez and wanted to give it to him before starting work on the latest batch of horses.

“Joe,” Jose held a key, “You can use Don Enriquo’s room tonight.”

“Gracias, José. Please thank your wife for the food. ‘Night, Juan. See you tomorrow.”

Joe appreciated the splendour of his room. The elegant furnishings with matching drapes, he could see why Rodriguez retained it for his personal use. He had probably furnished it from his own pocket. Putting the wrapped gift on the ornate mirrored dresser, Joe stripped off his clothes and slid into the soft, downy bed. Within minutes, he was in a deep, dreamless sleep.

The ride out to the hacienda took Joe a couple of hours. He’d started out before having breakfast, hoping to get there before Don Enriquo had started his daily routine. They had taken delivery of twenty wild mustangs three days earlier, and today was to be the start of breaking them. Joe wanted to be there to sort them into order for working.

The smell of eggs greeted him as he opened the front door.

“Enriquo, I’m back.” He called out as he placed his gun and holster on the dresser and his jacket over the chair.

“Joseph. You’re back early. I didn’t expect you until lunchtime.”

“We came back last night. I stayed at Jose’s. I wanted to be here ready to start with the new horses.”

“Have some breakfast, then we’ll go. Come, sit down.” He put an arm around the youth’s shoulders and guided him to the table.

“I have something for you.” Joe handed the package across, “I hope you like it.”

Rodriguez frowned, “A gift, for me? Why, thank you, Joe.” He opened the carefully wrapped parcel. Turned the book around to see the title.

“Joseph, this is perfect. It is a wonderful surprise and a marvellous gift. This evening I will entertain you with some new pieces.”  He pulled Joe into a tight embrace and placed a kiss on both cheeks. “Thank you.”

“I wanted to find something that you don’t need but would enjoy. You love the piano, and I love to hear you play. So, we both get pleasure from it.”

Rodriguez hugged him close again, gaining pleasure from the nearness of the young man’s body. Feeling himself react immediately, he left as Joe sat to eat. He hurried to his room to relieve himself of the now obvious erection straining against his pants. As much as he loved this boy, he would not rush him into a physical relationship until he knew Joe was ready.

Summer turned to Fall. Not that the weather changed so much. It was still hot days but colder nights. Rain was scarce, and the land remained parched. Fodder was always a problem unless the horses were put to pasture on the river meadows. Turnover became more important than ever. Every horse that wasn’t sold was a liability. Only horses that earned their keep were kept. Personal mounts like Joe’s Cochise and the cow ponies that were used for rounding up the cattle or wild mustangs, plus a team of draught horses for any heavy work. Joe loved his work. He treated every day as a new challenge. In the evening, they would discuss the day’s progress. How many horses were ready for the military, and how long for the next herd?

Rodriguez never questioned Joe about his home or family. If the youth wanted to share his story, then he would listen. Until such time, he left well alone. On occasion, he would see Joe gazing off into the distance and wonder what he was thinking about. His father, brothers, or the ranch he grew up on. He would ask, “A penny for your thoughts, Joe?” And more often than not receive a shrug and “Nothing special” in reply.

Joe had still not written to his father. It had been almost a year since he had stormed out. He had tried, but the right words wouldn’t come. He knew his father would be hurting. He hurt, but his stubborn pride would not give way.

A cold wind howled around the hacienda. The night sky was an ebony black. A myriad of stars glistened and glittered like diamonds cast against an ocean of darkness. Joe stood on the veranda gazing skyward. The wind whistled and moaned around him as he looked to recognise the constellations he had learnt as a child.

“It is a beautiful night, is it not?” Rodriguez stepped behind Joe. He placed the green work jacket around the youth’s shoulders and stood at his side. “There is something about the stars I find fascinating. How they sparkle and change colour. Some are red, some are blue, and then others are a hard, cold white.”

“I learnt to find my way by the stars,” Joe started, “my father was a seaman when he was young. He taught me about the stars. How to find the Pole star, how to recognise the major constellations. These are the same stars I could see—before.”

“Perhaps you will teach me the stars, Joseph, so that I do not get lost.”

Joe turned and looked into his friend’s face, “I think we are already lost, Don Enriquo.”

“Come, Joseph. The wind is cold, you can give me my first lesson by the fire, along with a glass of wine to warm the inner man.” Rodriguez draped his arm around the narrow shoulders, then led him into the warmth of the sitting room. Joe leaned into the older man. He needed the safety offered and the closeness that was shared. He knew how close he had come to disaster before meeting Enriquo Rodriguez. How he almost drank himself to death. The pointless gunfights he had, the trouble he had got into. This man had given him work when he was at his lowest and never questioned his story. This man had taken the time to care.

Chapter Four

“Look at this, Joseph. I had forgotten I had this.” Rodriguez handed Joe an exquisitely bound book. The cover was a deep maroon colour with gold binding and lettering.

‘An Easy Guide to the Constellations, with an Atlas of the Stars. By J Gall Inglis F.R.A.S.’ Joe read the title.

“May I borrow this?”

“Come and sit here, we can look through it together. You can  explain some of the stars to me.” Rodriguez moved along the spacious settee, putting the wine decanter and glasses on the low marble table. The fire blazed cheerfully, casting shadows around the corners of the big room. The oil lamps brightened the evening gloom.

Joe moved from the chair at one side of the hearth to the settee, scooted around Rodriguez, then sat at his side.

“I’ve never seen a book like this. I remember my father saying they had charts for the stars, but I don’t think he had one at home. What he told me was all from memory.” Joe turned the pages, diagram after diagram, picture after picture, showing the position of the stars and their names. Never in a hundred years would he have read a book like this before. He doubted his brother Adam would either. Now he was anxious to see what he could learn.

Heads bent low and touching, in comfortable and close proximity, Joe and Enriquo Rodriguez began their journey to the stars.

Chapter Five

Far up north in Nevada, Joe’s family continued their daily life on the Ponderosa. Ben, along with Hoss and Adam, was getting ready to bring the cattle down to the lower pastures for winter. Hop Sing had prepared plenty of preserves to tide them over the expected isolation during the heavier snowfalls. It was a rare winter when they weren’t cut off from civilisation. This year would be no exception.

“D’you reckon Joe’ll be home for his birthday?” Hoss asked his brother as another herd were moved to the still-green pastures by the lake.

“I dunno, Hoss. I thought he’d come home months ago.” Adam leaned on his saddle horn, “I’m surprised he’s not written to Pa. It’s so out of character for Joe.”

“I know, Pa sure misses him something fierce. I reckon we should go look for him.”

“It’s too late now, winter’ll be in before we get going. If he doesn’t return by spring, then we’ll start looking.”

“You gonna tell Pa?”

“No, let’s wait it out for a while longer. Maybe the kid’ll come to his senses and come home before winter.”

October had almost given way to November. In Nevada, the missing son’s birthday was a quiet affair. Ben spent the day at the house or at Marie’s graveside. The absence of his youngest weighed heavy on his heart. Spring couldn’t come soon enough to start a search for his boy.

Chapter Six

Enriquo Rodriguez watched as Joe put another green-broke mare through her paces. She was an easy ride and reacted well to the youth’s bidding. Like many of the mustangs, she was of a deep golden colour that glistened and shone in the bright sunlight. Her mane and tail were as blonde as the fairest woman’s hair. Joe moved her around the corral, giving her a loose rein to trot at her pleasure. She stopped, started, and turned with the gentlest of touches from his knees, his hands resting on his thighs as she moved.

“She’s a good mount.” Rodriguez called across, “I think the Major will have her for himself.”

Joe slid from the saddle, gave the mare a reassuring pat on the neck before he handed her off to one of the vaqueros.

“I think she’s too good for the army. Reckon we could use her here.” Joe leaned on the rail, “She’d make you a good second mount.”

Rodriguez looked and watched as the mare was led away. Joe was correct. She was a good horse, responsive and good to look at, though maybe a little small for his own taste.

“It’s always a thought.” He agreed as Joe returned to the corral and mounted the next horse to be broken.

By the time Joe had finished for the day, he’d been thrown a couple of times. He sported a blackening bruise on one arm where he had hit a rail coming off, and every bone he could name ached. At least there was the consolation of a hot bath before dinner to take some of the pain away. The ladies of the house had plenty of water heating ready, and all he had to do was find a change of clothes, then relax.

With water up to his neck, Joe rinsed the dust and grime of the day from his hair and body. The soap had a pleasant fragrance that hung in the steamy air. Damp tendrils of hair clung to his neck and framed his face as he dunked himself under to rinse the soap away. The gentle rap on the door caused him to sit up, the sudsy water covering most of his body.

“It’s open,” he called out, “You can come in, I’m decent.”

Rodriguez opened the door, a large glass of red wine in one hand, fresh towels in the other.

“You forgot the towels,” he placed them on the chair nearest the bath. “I thought you might enjoy a glass of wine while you soak. Dinner will be in an hour or so.”

Joe reached out for the glass, their fingers touching momentarily. A shock of electricity, of something unexplained, passed between the two. Both felt it and shared a long, questioning look.

“Would you like me to wash your back?” Rodriguez asked. His voice low and husky.

“Uh-huh, please. I’ve got a few bruises today, and I can’t reach that far.”

“Lean forward.”

Taking a large swallow of wine, Joe did as asked. Rodriguez’s hands were gentle and soothing as they stroked across the youth’s shoulders and neck. The hot water seeped into the aching muscles.

“Relax, Joe. Your shoulders are as tight as knots. It’s no wonder you ache.”

For ten minutes, he eased Joe’s shoulders. His arousal was unseen by the young man.

“Finish your wine, young man. Dinner will be served in a few minutes.” Rodriguez left the bathroom and hurried to his private quarters.

It didn’t take Joe many minutes to dry off. He was quite surprised to find he had a full erection. He had never had this reaction when his father or a brother had fulfilled this task. This was a disturbing and new experience for him.

Dinner was, as always, an enjoyable time. Joe was picking up more Spanish every day and was able to hold some conversations without a problem. They would eat, drink, and discuss the day’s workload, then plan for the following day. For Joe, it was like being at home on the Ponderosa, but here his views were taken seriously, and he wasn’t talked down to, as Adam often did.

“How long have I been here, now?” he asked as they sat with the chessboard between them.

“When did you arrive? March, so almost nine months. It’s the last week of October now. November 1st is on Saturday. Why?”

“I just wondered. It’s my birthday on Friday.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? We could have a party or have people for dinner.”

“I didn’t think I would still be here.”

“You want to go home?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” Now Joe stammered; he didn’t want to leave this place. It had become ‘home’, but he missed his father.

“You can leave anytime you wish, Joseph. I would not stop you. I don’t want you to leave, but if that is your choice…”

“No, Enriquo. I’m not going anywhere. Now, let’s see if I can beat you for once.”

Chapter Seven

Joe’s birthday came and went. As Rodriguez had suggested, he hosted a barbecue at the hacienda. All the vaqueros and their families were in attendance, along with folks from Nogales. The women were busy with the food, while two of the men took charge of the beef sizzling on the spit.

Wine and tequila flowed. Music played, and people danced. The fire blazed, lighting up the yard, and starlight glistened above. The almost full moon put on its brightest show for the evening, bathing the party with silvery light.

By the time midnight had passed, people returned to their adobe quarters. Children were carried in their Papa’s arms as they fell asleep amid the noise and were soon placed in their beds. The sounds of ‘buenas noches’ echoed from home to home until the last door closed, and only Joe and Rodriguez remained sitting on the porch.

“Happy birthday, Joseph.” Rodriguez held out a hand to the young man. “I am so pleased you chose to stay.”

Taking the older man’s proffered hand, Joe held it between both of his. “So am I, Enriquo. So am I.”

Rodriguez stood and pulled Joe to his feet. His arm draped around the young man’s shoulders. He pushed the heavy door closed and slid the bolts across.

“Come with me…” he led Joe up the stairs. The lamps and fire were left to burn overnight.

At the top of the stairs, they turned right towards the main bedroom, not left for Joe’s. Inside, it was beautifully furnished. Joe thought his room was luxurious; this was another level. In the soft lighting cast from the oil lamps, he could see some paintings on the walls. The drapes were of a deep gold with rich red tie-backs. The cover of the massive bed matched the curtains in colour and design. The two soft armchairs were placed on either side of the large ornate fireplace, where a fire blazed merrily.

“Come here.” Rodriguez pulled Joe into his outstretched arms, “I have waited so long for this moment…”

Without hesitation, Joe stepped into the offered embrace. His gaze held Rodriguez’s eyes.

“I, I’ve never done anything like this before.” He whispered, “I was taught it was wrong.”

Rodriguez never responded with words. He bent forward, his lips finding Joe’s in a soft, fleeting kiss. The youth reacted immediately. His kiss was searching, deep, and full of unspoken promise and desire. Their bodies pressed close, moulding one to the other. Their need was blatantly obvious in their closeness.

Rodriguez felt for the buttons on Joe’s shirt. It soon fell, discarded across the nearest chair. Joe tugged at Enriquo’s unfastened buttons, and the white shirt joined his on the chair.

Shoes and pants were shed. Joe stood clad in the cut-down under shorts he favoured. His tanned, work-toned torso shivered in anticipation. Rodriguez, too, had a good body and a natural tan. He stepped back to admire the young man whose erection threatened to escape his shorts. His own body had betrayed his need, and now he stood naked by the bed.

Taking Joe’s hand, he sat, bringing Joe to his side. He kissed him tenderly and pulled him down onto the bed. One-handed, he pulled the offending shorts to the floor and ran his hand across the smooth buttocks.

“Relax,” he murmured, “I won’t hurt you. I promise. If you feel uncomfortable, we’ll stop.”

A slight shake of the head gave him the younger man’s reply. Rodriguez stroked the curly dark hair and caressed his cheek. Using slight pressure, he lay Joe back against the silken pillows, his lips now exploring the nooks and crannies of the taut throat and neck. His breath was warm and urgent against the silk-smooth skin. Fingers moved down the young, finely muscled chest. Stopping only to tease and stroke the now hard nipples. Joe gave a tiny gasp as he nipped at the tender skin. Further down, Rodriguez moved. His tongue tasted the salty sweat formed on Joe’s skin. A hand pulled Joe’s hip closer, cupping the cheek tighter and bringing his body nearer to his face. Rodriguez traced the groin line with a finger, tucking it between the crease at Joe’s genitalia, then cradled both testicles in his palm. Joe ran shaking fingers through Enriquo’s raven-black hair and held his head close to his member.

Deep inside his memory, a long-forgotten lecture sprang to mind. His Pa’s explanation of what was right and wrong in relationships. This act was definitely wrong. Pa’s voice told him to stop, before it was too late. His own voice argued against it.

He wanted this man completely. Much as this man desired him.

Joe thrust his cock up to meet Rodriguez’s eagerly waiting mouth. He gave a sharp gasp as it was drawn deep into the warm, wet opening.

His lover’s tongue flicked and licked the engorged member before taking it out to caress and kiss it. He rubbed his face along the length, then kissed the thin blue vein from tip to base. As if with a life of its own, Joe’s cock slipped back into the warm refuge of Enriquo’s mouth.

This wasn’t the first time he’d had relief or satisfaction in this manner. One of the first times he’d been with a girl, she had taken him to the peak with her mouth. He had barely contained himself on that occasion and had cum too quickly. The girl had forgiven his haste and soon revived him for a more conventional fuck. Without doubt, he had enjoyed the encounter and had at times used that memory when pleasuring himself.

This time was mind-blowingly different; he didn’t want it to stop.

Morning found Joe and Rodriguez wrapped in each other’s arms. Enriquo woke first and smiled with contentment as he felt the warm body alongside him. He ran a hand down the lithe waist to the hip as the young man stretched against him. His fingers were already searching and caressing the slim form.

“Good morning,” he greeted, kissing the bare shoulder. “I’m glad you are still here.” He felt his own reaction to the soft body and pushed a little closer.

“Hey,” Joe twisted to face him, one arm reaching behind to clasp the erect member that pressed between his buttocks. “Good morning.” His own body betrayed the fact that he was also fully aroused.

“No regrets?” Rodriguez whispered as his tongue found its way to Joe’s ear.

“No regrets.”

Rodriguez moved to one side of the big bed, allowing Joe to roll onto his back. He raised himself across the young man, their bodies touching from head to toe. Both erections were hard and pressed tightly against the other.

Enriquo gazed into the sparkling green eyes, seeing his own reflection in them. He kissed Joe’s forehead, then, like a butterfly, kissed his eyelids and the tip of his nose before settling on Joe’s bruised lips. Resting on his elbows, he brushed the curls from Joe’s face. He bent to kiss his cheeks and throat. Joe remained still, his eyes closed at the gentle touches. His hands stroked his lover’s back and buttocks. They moved together. Their chests were slippery with sweat. Hands clung to hips and shoulders as their movement increased. Enriquo kissed Joe long and hard, his tongue exploring deep into Joe’s mouth. Their bodies fought to become one as they neared their explosive climax.

With a shuddering jolt, Enriquo shot his cum across Joe’s belly and groin. Only seconds later, Joe too had covered both bellies with his juice. They collapsed into each other’s arms. Both lay silent, and they waited for their heartbeats to return to normal.

Chapter Eight

 November brought another large herd of horses to the breaking pens. Joe had trained four of the vaqueros in his methods and now allowed them to prove themselves. It also gave his body a bit of a rest from the constant pounding he’d subjected it to. Unless there were problems, he would sit on the rail and assess each animal and each ride. Now that he had the final say with the wranglers and their work, he kept note of exceptional horses. These would bring a premium price when the time came to sell them.

“Señor Joe,” one of the older vaqueros approached as he watched another get thrown for the third time, “What do you think of this stallion? Do you think we will succeed? He is very headstrong and powerful.”

“I’ll give it a go, Pancho. If I can’t, we’ll set him free, give him a mare from his group, and leave him to it. Get him ready, please.”

The stallion stomped and snorted. It chewed on the bit and wrenched its head back and forth. It was a stunning beast! As black as the night sky. Tall and muscular, and of perfect proportions. Joe reckoned it stood around sixteen hands, and so plenty big enough for the army.

He patted the long, curved, foam-flecked neck. Ran a hand down its flank. All the while, he spoke soft words, hoping to calm it enough to ride. He checked the cinch, adjusted the rein, then slipped one foot into the saddle. His butt had just made contact with the saddle as the animal hurled into life. Joe hung on with every ounce of his strength. The horse feinted left, then right. Leapt with all four feet off the ground, then spun like a top. His head went down, then twisted away, reared up and balanced on hind legs. Joe moved in time with every twist and turn, one arm waving to give balance, the other gripping for dear life. His knees and thighs clenched tight. This was the hardest battle he had ever fought with a mustang. He was determined to be the winner.

The men cheered and shouted. They wanted this young gringo to tame the devil black. Their yells summoned Rodriguez out to the pens to see what was happening.

One minute passed, then two. Joe was still glued to the saddle. The horse showed no sign of tiring. Three minutes, then four. Joe was tired, but the horse wasn’t. It spun again, pirouetted, then bucked towards the rails. It pushed close to the wooden posts, then reared up again on its hind legs. This time, like a rag doll, Joe fell. He hit the rails with a resounding crack. The top two broke under impact. Joe sprawled unconscious across the remaining three.

“Joe,” Rodriguez dropped to his knees, touching the bloodied face, “Joe, answer me?”

Pancho took charge. The horse was caught and taken to one side. Two men ran to get a flat piece of wood to move Joe.

Another was dispatched to Nogales in the hope that the doctor would be in his small office and sober.

With caution, Joe was moved from the rails onto the barn door they had brought across. There were no obvious signs of broken bones, but there might have been internal injuries from the force of the fall. Joe remained out of it. Even moving him didn’t wake him.

“Get him back to the house,” Rodriguez ordered. “Get that horse out of my sight!” he ordered another, before walking back to the house. He soon had Joe transferred to his bed and his clothes removed. Rodriguez called for hot water and soap; he could at least get Joe clean before the doctor’s arrival and could see if there were any visible signs of damage. A quick check of Joe’s head revealed the huge bruise formed behind his ear, and a collection of scratches and cuts on his arms, chest and back.

With tender care, he ran his fingers along Joe’s ribs. There were at least two that he could feel were broken; he hoped they hadn’t caused any further damage internally. The doctor, when he arrived, would know better. Both arms and legs seemed to be in one piece, the ribs and bruising the worst Joe had suffered.

It was a frustrating wait at the Rodríguez Hacienda. Joe’s temperature had risen over the course of a couple of hours. He hadn’t regained consciousness and had scarcely moved. He had muttered a few words in his feverish state. Called out for his father once or twice, but had also called for Enriquo many times. Rodriguez and his domestics kept cooling Joe down. Towels soaked in cold water, fresh from the well, were placed on pressure points to reduce the heat building in the young man’s body. Rodriguez never left Joe’s side, not for a moment. He loved this boy and would fight for his recovery. Enriquo Rodriguez was not a religious man, not a churchgoer, but he did spend a few moments in quiet prayer asking for Joe’s well-being.

At long last, the shout was heard from the guard. A buckboard and rider were approaching.

One of the women was dispatched to greet him and show him to Enriquo’s bedroom.

The doctor, Arturo Mendez, was a former military officer who had been dismissed for drinking on duty. He was a good doctor, but was drunk more often than sober. By a stroke of good luck, the rider had found him in his office and as sober as he ever could be. They’d made good time getting back to the ranch, and he now examined his patient. He was aware of the Gringo working for Don Enriquo but had never met the young man. Now his curiosity would be satisfied as he probed and palpated different parts of Joe’s body.

“The cuts and bruises are minor.” Mendez announced, “he needs a few stitches in the deeper ones, but otherwise they are not so serious. The ribs, well, I count six broken, I’m sure the rest are bruised.”

“You going to bind them?”

“No, Señor Rodríguez. I want to try leaving them to heal without binding. I cannot feel any internal damage. He’s breathing well, so there’s no lung puncture. I think it may be more beneficial for him. I’m more concerned about the bruise behind his ear. How soon after the fall did it swell?”

“Immediately. I was with him in less than five minutes, and it was already there, not as big but present.”

“Has he woken at all? Said anything?”

“He muttered a few words with the fever, but not much. And no, he hasn’t woken or opened his eyes. I’ve been talking to him, trying to get him to wake, without success.”

“I’m sure there is a concussion. We need to cool him right down and see how that goes. Do you have plenty of cold water?”

Rodriguez sent for more water and resumed his vigil beside Joe’s bed. The doctor sat with him, asking about the boy and for more details of the fall.

Night fell. Lights burned throughout the house. The doctor had retired to a guest room. The women had returned home. Enriquo continued his vigil, holding Joe’s clammy hand and talking to him in a gentle voice. Joe remained unconscious and still for the rest of the night.

Two days passed without Joe waking. Enriquo and his female staff continued to care for the sleeping youth. The doctor had returned to Nogales on the first day with instructions to summon him if the need should arise, but he would visit again within three days, and hopefully Joe would be awake.

Rodriguez spent most of his time at Joe’s bedside. His worry was evident in the three days of beard growth, and the lack of sleep showed in his eyes. He summoned Pancho to the house; he had some specific instructions he wanted carried out.

“The horse,” he started when Pancho finally arrived, “Where is it?”

“In the corral, Señor.”

“Take it and shoot it!”

“But Señor Rodriguez, Joe said I must let it go. His words, ‘Give him a mare from his herd and set them free.’ He did not want it shot.”

“I said shoot it.”

“No.” A whispered word from the bed. “Let him go, please, Enriquo.”

“Joseph? Joseph, oh, thank heavens you are awake.”

Joe groaned as he tried to move, “I hurt. Everywhere.”

“Pancho, do as Joe has asked. Let that horse go. Then send someone for the doctor. Tell him Joseph is awake.”

“Si, Señor.”

“What damage have I done?” Joe held onto Rodriguez’s hand.

“The doctor said at least six broken ribs. You have many cuts and bruises, and probably a concussion. Other than that, you were very lucky.”

“What happened? I can’t remember.”

“The big black devil threw you! He threw you right into the rails and tried to stomp you. I thought I’d lost you.” He squeezed Joe’s hand tight as he spoke, his eyes met Joe’s and showed the fear he felt.

A slight chuckle escaped from the bed, “You won’t get rid of me that easy. Oww, it hurts to laugh, and to talk.”

“Then don’t laugh or talk. Just try to relax. I’ll get some food sent up for you. You must be hungry?”

“Can I have some water? I’m thirsty. And Enriquo, you need to shave.”

Rodriguez leaned over the bed, “For you, I will shave.” He then kissed the young man tenderly before leaving the room.

Joe spent a week flat on his back in bed. His ribs were too painful and prevented him from disobeying the doctor’s orders, and for once, he did as he was told and stayed in bed. Enriquo found himself spending most of the day entertaining his young lover. He would get the ranch business out of the way by mid-morning, then pass the time reading or talking to Joe. On some occasions, he would leave to play the piano. With all the doors open, Joe could hear it and found it relaxed him enough to fall asleep.

On the seventh day of the enforced confinement, Joe was very quiet. The conversation stalled, and he frowned constantly.

“What’s wrong?” Enriquo noticed the frown, “Something worrying you?”

“Umm, yeah. How long have I been here?”

“Almost a year. You came in March, remember?”

“Where was I before I came here?”

“Nowhere in particular. You were drifting.”

“Did I say where I was from?”

“No, Joseph. What’s wrong, why the questions?”

“I — I can’t remember anything from before. It’s all blank. I remember everything here, with you, but nothing before.”

“It’s from the fall. Your memory is a bit confused. We can ask Mendoza when he comes out. Don’t worry, you never told me much. Other than your name, Joseph Carson. I don’t know where you are from. I do know you had a big fight with your family and left home. But I have no idea where they are.”

Again, Joe frowned, unsure of how he felt not knowing his story. He was safe here and loved. For now, he would put any doubts out of his mind.

November turned into December. Horse breaking had slowed in the run-up to Christmas. Preparations were made for the holiday. Hacienda Rodriguez was large enough to accommodate many guests either in the house or in the various outbuildings. This year would be a big festive occasion. Joe had finally recovered from breaking his ribs in the previous month, and although banned from bronc-busting, he was back to working with the vaqueros. His memory hadn’t returned. All thoughts of his family and home in Nevada were erased from his mind.

Joe’s relationship with Enriquo Rodriguez had deepened. He never thought he would say he loved another man physically and emotionally, but love him he did. And Enriquo Rodriguez loved him.

They were very discreet. Not a soul had any idea of how far their association went. Many saw Joe as a favoured employee or a favourite nephew. Enriquo had no family, so many others assumed Joe had become a surrogate son. Even the house workers were unaware that the two men shared the same bed most nights of the week.

Chapter Nine.

December was a miserable month on the Ponderosa. Ben Cartwright and his two sons tried their best to inject some Christmas spirit into the holiday season. Ben seemed to have aged considerably over the previous ten months or so, since his youngest son had disappeared without warning. Both Adam and Hoss bickered over any inconveniences. Hop Sing chastised them all in loud Chinese at every opportunity. He missed the youngest son as much as the blood family did, and he made sure they knew his feelings.

Christmas Eve saw Ben host the annual festive party. The tree glittered with bright glass baubles lit by the tiny white candles in their gilt holders. Boughs of fresh, pine-scented greenery hung from the stairs and fireplace. The room was decked out in all its Christmas finery for the evening’s guests. The dining table groaned under the weight of Hop Sing’s delicious culinary offerings, sweet and savoury sat side by side waiting to be eaten.

Ben and his sons had exchanged gifts and had changed into their finest suits. In the past, Hoss had dressed as Santa Claus and ho-ho-hoed around their friends for the evening, but for this party, he had refused.

Roy Coffee, Paul Martin and many other friends attended the get-together. All tried to put on a brave face with the ongoing situation of Joe missing, but it was obvious that the Cartwright family were in mourning for the youngest member.

Seven hundred and fifty miles away, some distance from Nogales, Mexico, another household hosted a bustling festa. Friends, neighbours, hands and children had all gathered at the Rancho Rodriguez. A steer was roasted on the spit set up in the yard. Its mouth-watering smell drifted across the evening air. Musicians played cheerful guitar tunes as the crowd sang, or the young women danced. It was a happy evening with an abundance of food, wine and gaiety. There were small gifts for the children, handmade dolls of scraps and wool for the girls and carved animals or skin balls for the boys. No one was forgotten, even the oldest resident of the village had a small gift of a crocheted shawl. As had happened for Joe’s birthday, they were still celebrating into the early hours of Christmas Day. Nogales’s priest called for quiet from the revelry, and all clustered around the still bright fire. In his clear Spanish, he reminded them of the Christmas Story. He led them in a brief prayer, then asked the musicians to play a few of the Christmas songs they all loved. For another hour, they sang as they gathered together by the warm fire. They were a community joined by love for their fellow man.

Joe and Enriquo managed to slip away during the singing, leaving their friends to enjoy the remains of the night.

With the bedroom door closed for privacy, they stood close by the hearth. The fire still burnt, though no longer a blaze. The room was comfortable and warm.

Enriquo pulled the younger man into his arms. His lips brushed Joe’s. “Feliz Navidad, Joseph.” He whispered and held him close.

“Merry Christmas, Enriquo.” Joe’s arms wrapped around his lover’s waist as he leaned in for the offered kiss.

They were enclosed in their own private world.

Chapter Ten.

Christmas drifted into January and then February. March followed quickly with warmer weather. Both ranches, one in Nevada and one in Mexico, were working towards the spring and then the summer work. Nevada had a major roundup to contend with, while Mexico were ready for the next batch of horses and thinning out the herd of cattle roaming in the riverside pasture. The work was accepted by all and carried out by those involved.

Things ran slowly in Nevada. Ben Cartwright had contracted a bad case of pneumonia and had been confined to bed for almost a month. Hoss had also taken ill during this time with influenza. Father and son were not the easiest of patients. On many occasions, Hop Sing had threatened to ‘Go back to China’. He stayed, of course. He waited for the day the youngest Cartwright returned home. Adam Cartwright found more reasons than ever before to rile against his brother. Ben would remonstrate with him over his attitude, but to no avail. Adam was angry at Joseph. He felt he’d let his family down, was selfish and should have returned home by now. There was no excuse, and now his father and brother were ill, and he himself could have done with Joe’s physical help.

In Mexico, the weather was warming up and hinting at being another hot, dry summer. River maintenance was carried out under Joe’s supervision, and the low-lying pastures soon became lush and verdant, ready for the livestock to be moved from their winter grazing or quarters. Once again, the task of finding the wild horses and bringing them in for breaking and basic training began.

Enriquo had asked that Joe refrain from bronc busting. After the bad fall of the previous autumn and Joe’s continuing loss of memory, he was concerned for the younger man’s well-being. This rubbed against everything Joe wanted; his life was breaking, and training the horses, not standing by, and letting others do his work. He understood Enriquo’s fears. But still needed to prove himself to Enriquo and the other vaqueros.

All memory of his family and home in Nevada had gone. There were never flashbacks or dreams. It was as though the first nineteen years of Joe’s life never happened. Enriquo Rodriguez, the ranchero, and the people living there or in Nogales were his family. He was respected and loved by all. Joe’s relationship with Enriquo, still private and unknown to others, deepened. The Mexican Grandee adored his young lover. His biggest desire was to have an open and accepted relationship with Joe. To have people know just how much he loved him, but he knew just how damaging it would be for both of them. Discretion and secrecy remained his paramount concern.

Chapter Eleven.

Ben  Cartwright had recovered from the pneumonia by early April.

Leaving the Ponderosa in the care of his trusted foreman and friend, Hank Wilson, and with Sheriff Roy Coffee promising to keep an eye on things, the Cartwright family set out on their search for the youngest son.

They had very little to go on. The trail was long since dead. No one in Virginia City had heard from Joe Cartwright. After much discussion, it was decided to travel south. California still had a lively horse trading market, with some large ranches taking on itinerant hands. Maybe they would be lucky and find Joe on one of these. Arizona was also an option. Ben knew of some large holdings near Tucson that could be of interest. The states to the east seemed more unlikely. Joe was a cowboy, not a city boy, and would not enjoy that kind of life.

Placerville was their first stop. They tried all of Joe’s favourite haunts in the town. By the end of the first day, all were certain he hadn’t been to town. None of the saloons could help; the Sheriff had not seen him in over a year. Adam questioned a couple of working girls Joe had frequented in the past and drew a blank.

Sacramento was next. Surely they would find some news there.

Onwards they travelled, always in a southerly direction. They stopped at small towns, hamlets, larger cities, ranches and mine workings. Always asking the same questions; had they seen or had dealings with a young cowboy, not very tall, with brown curly hair and green eyes, riding a black and white pinto. A few remarked they had seen a pinto with those colourings, but the rider could have been anyone. The description could fit many men who had passed through.

Days turned to weeks, then into months. Summer arrived along with soaring temperatures and a need to return to the Ponderosa. The foreman could do so much, but Ben Cartwright’s hand was needed to ensure the continued smooth running of his empire.

“We’ll go to Tucson,” Ben announced as they approached the city from the west. “If we don’t have any luck, we’ll head back. We’ve been away too long already.”

“We could carry on, Pa,” Hoss suggested, “You go on home. Me and Adam could keep searching.”

“Count me out!” Adam interrupted, “The kid can stay gone so far as I’m concerned. We’ve wasted months looking for the selfish brat. I’m ready to go home right now.”

“If we don’t find him here, we will go home. Adam, that’s enough. It was your narrow opinion that started this.” Ben closed down his eldest son. He knew it was a combination of himself and Adam that had caused the argument, then the rift, between them. He hoped time would have healed the distance and pain.

They tried a few cantinas on the Tucson Main Street without luck. Most of their customers were Mexican and would have noticed an American cowboy passing through. It was a small border town that held a major military outpost. Ben visited the camp commander in the hope he might have some information. Unfortunate as it turned out, the only thing the commander could offer was for Ben to visit the largest Yankee-owned property in the area, The Double G. Its owner, George Grainger, was well-connected with the local population and might have some news.

The Cartwrights headed north from Tucson. The ranch in question was an hour ride from the town. It was a hot, barren landscape as they travelled along the dust track that led them towards the ranch.

George Grainger was a tall, red-haired, bluff man. Taller than Ben by a couple of inches and younger by a couple of years. He listened with interest as Ben explained his mission. Adam and Hoss became acquainted with the Grainger family over cool drinks as the senior members talked. They accepted the offer of a decent meal and a bed for the night. The Graingers proved to be kind hosts and shared many qualities with the Cartwrights. The Double G was a bleak and unforgiving land that shared an uneasy truce with local Apache Indians. The family employed a mix of hands. Vaqueros and Americans, along with wives and children. The Cartwrights were surprised that cattle could be raised in such harsh conditions. This was something they would discuss in depth over dinner.

Meanwhile, Adam chatted with a young Grainger employee, Luis Vargas, and asked if he had heard anything from his Mexican friends about a stranger in the region. After a moment’s thought, he shook his head, “No, my friend, I haven’t heard anything. But you must remember, we do not gossip so much among outsiders. We talk only amongst our family or the workers of our Patron. Things can happen on this ranch that no one else will ever hear of. It is the same with the other rancheros here.”

“Are there any other big ranches here?” Hoss asked, “This can’t be the only one outside of Tucson.”

“No, Señor Hoss. My father has a large ranch just south of here. He does not have Americanos working for him. There is also the  Hacienda Rodriguez south of Nogales. Of that rancho, I have no idea.” Luis shrugged his shoulders, “It’s maybe eighty or ninety miles from Tucson, across the border in Sonora.”

Adam looked across at his brother, “No. We are not going into Mexico on a wild goose chase, Hoss. Pa doesn’t need any more false hopes. Let’s get him home.”

“But Adam. Ninety miles, it’s only another few days. If he’s not there, then we go home. It’s too close not to take a look. I’m going to tell Pa over dinner. I’m sure he’ll say yes.”

Adam shook his head, resigned to the fact that they would be moving further south the following day.

“Riders coming!” The shout rang across the dusty, sun-baked hacienda yard. Women stopped their labours, and vaqueros gathered to see who was approaching. Visitors were quite an event at the Rodriguez rancho, so all work ceased as they waited for the new arrivals. Don Enriquo stood in the shade of the deep stoop, the door open wide behind him, leading into dark shadow. Joe was in the office and too busy with paperwork to be interested in uninvited visitors. He wanted to get the books balanced before lunch was served. It was a task he hated but tackled whenever called upon. The small but functional office was at the back of the house, tucked into a shady and cooler corner. From his desk, he could hear little of any conversation, but it afforded him privacy to work in peace and quiet.

“Buenas dias,” Enriquo Rodriguz greeted the three riders, “can I help you gentlemen?”

Ben shifted in his saddle. He expected an older man, someone more his age. This man was young, not as old as Adam, he reckoned. He was elegant in his dress, very traditional, refined, upper-class and monied.

“Good day,” he introduced himself, “My name is Ben Cartwright. These are my sons, Adam and Hoss. Do I have the pleasure of addressing Señor Rodriguez?”

“I am he. What can I do for you, gentlemen? Perhaps you would like coffee or something stronger?”

“That’s very kind of you. We’re looking for a young man. He’s my youngest son, Joseph. We were told you take on drifters from time to time. I hoped you may have seen him.”

Rodriguez looked them over. He didn’t see any family resemblance between the three men. The names Adam and Hoss were familiar. Many months before his fall, Joe had told him of his brothers and called them by name. All along, he had never mentioned his surname; now, Rodriguez realised Joe wasn’t Carson but was Cartwright.

“I do not know this Joseph Cartwright.” It wasn’t a lie, just a slight bending of the truth.

“Are there any other ranches that might hire Americans?” Adam interrupted.

“No. There is an American rancho beyond Tucson, a man called Grainger, I believe. You could try him.” Rodriguez wanted rid of these gringos. He could not face the thought of Joseph leaving him.

“We’ve seen him, he advised coming to see you.” Ben sighed; disappointment filled every word.

“Enriquo,” a voice called from the darkness, “where are you?”

‘Damn,’ he thought and excused himself before hurrying into the house. “I’m here.”

“I’ve finished. It’s all up to date. I thought I heard voices. We have visitors?”

“Yes, some Americans. Looking for a friend. They are just leaving.”

Without a thought, Joe walked across to the door. Enriquo went to stop him, then thought better of it. Joe had no memory of his earlier life. These people would be total strangers to him.

Together, they stepped out into the shade of the porch.

“Hello,” Joe greeted, still hidden from clear view. “We don’t get many Americans visiting here.”

Ben rocked in his saddle. The voice was that of his boy, his lost son.

He almost fell from his horse in his haste to see the boy in close up. “Joseph, is that you, son?”

The young man stepped into the sunlight, his dark, sun-bleached hair framing his handsome face. He was dressed in tight black pants with a crisp white shirt. Polished black boots replaced the brown skin boots. Gone were the earthy beige and tan colours of his life in Nevada. In their place, clothing more suited to rich Mexicans.

“Joseph, Son.” Ben stepped forward to reach out to the young man, his arms spread wide, ready to embrace him. Adam and Hoss had dismounted and waited for their father’s next move.

Joe stepped back, shaken by this big man’s approach and words. The other two were equally as big, and for a moment, Joe felt intimidated by their presence.

Chapter Twelve

“Joseph,” Ben approached the young man, who in turn stepped further away from him and closer to Rodriguez.

“I don’t know you,” Joe spoke, his voice hesitant. “Who are you?”

“I’m your father, Ben Cartwright. These are your brothers, Adam and Hoss. You’re my youngest son, Joseph.”

“No, my name’s Joe Carson. This is my family, here.”

“Mr Cartwright, if I may?” Rodriguez started, “Joseph, would you go and arrange some refreshments for our visitors, please. I want to speak with Mr Cartwright for a moment in private.”

Casting a glance at the strangers claiming to be his family, Joe returned to the safety and familiarity of the house.

“Please, come in.” Rodriguez led them into the large sitting room. Ben took in the beautiful artworks adorning the walls, and the grand piano in pride of place under an elaborate chandelier. This was obviously the home of a person of taste and used to the finer things in life. Rodriguez indicated to sit, then began to speak.

“Joseph had a serious fall some time ago. He has no memory of anything before last year. He has been with me since March of last year. He told me his name was Carson, and I believed him. I know a little about his past life. This only came out when he was delirious with fever after the fall. I knew he had two brothers, you, Adam, and you, Hoss. From what he said when he was delirious, I understand you have a problem with Joe, Adam. I got the feeling from his delirium that you wanted him gone from home. Is that true?”

Adam looked at his feet, whether in embarrassment or shame, Rodriguez couldn’t decide.

“Joe and I had our differences.” His only reply.

“Really, Rodriguez, our family squabbles are not your business,” Ben spoke out. “Now, I would like to see my son and see about getting him home.”

“I think you must ask Joseph what he wants to do rather than assume he will obey your orders now, don’t you?”

“You don’t have to ask me,” Joseph stood in the archway. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t know you. I am staying here, this is my home.”

“Aw, Joe,” Hoss spoke for the first time, “ you don’t mean that little brother. I miss you, Joe. You should come on home.”

“I’m sorry, Mr Cartwright, Adam, Hoss. I won’t change my mind. Please excuse me, I have some work to do. Enriquo, I’ll be at the breaking pens.”

Rodriguez answered in rapid Spanish, Joe nodded and replied in the same language before disappearing out and across the yard to saddle his horse.

“I can’t believe he said that.” Ben sat back on the sofa. “He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know me!”

“He’s telling you the truth.” Rodriguez stated, “Let me tell you how this last year has been.”

“Please do,” Adam spoke, his tone rude and sarcastic. Rodriguez cast a glare his way and sat opposite Ben Cartwright.

“I met Joseph early last year. He was in the cantina in Nogales looking for a bed and work. He was half-starved, as thin as a stick. He was also a drunkard. I brought him here to work for me. I fed him, gave him a bed, and then got him off the alcohol. It was not easy. Drink was a crutch to help him survive. He told me many reasons why he left home, but never revealed his identity. I gave him a home. I never asked anything of him, except his loyalty, which has been unwavering. He had the fall I told you of and lost his memory. I told him what he had told me before, nothing more.”

“He should be with his family,” Ben said.

“Will he get his memory back?” Hoss asked, “If he’s back on the ranch, maybe it’ll jog his memory.”

“The doctor said it could return any time, or it could be forever. We  do not know.”

“I want to talk to him,” Ben stood. He was ready to leave the room.

“We’ll come too, Pa,” Adam added.

“Please, Señor Adam, I would like to speak to you.”

Once alone, Adam turned to Enriquo Rodriguez, “Well?”

“I see you, Adam Cartwright. I see you!”

“What do you mean, you see me?”

“ I see the jealousy in your eyes. Your attitude. Your disdain for your brother.”

“Jealous of Joe? Are you mad? I’d like to give him a good thrashing for the pain he’s caused Pa and Hoss.”

“No, not jealous of Joe. You’re jealous of me.”

“What, why on earth…?”

“Because I have what you want and cannot have. I have Joe. I can see the want, the hunger in your eyes, on your face when you look at him.”

“Don’t talk such rubbish.”

“Is that the reason you wanted him to be sent away to school? Get him away from tempting you? And the reason to get him into the military?”

“Of course not. I wanted the best for my brother. What do you think you are implying?”

“Oh, Señor Adam. I am not implying anything. Your thoughts about your youngest brother are as clear as day. Your state of arousal confirms my point.”

Adam’s hands flew into his lap, covering the obvious bulge.

“This is none of your business.”

“Joseph is my business, Señor Adam. I will protect him.”

“I think you have said enough.” Adam rose from the armchair, “Personally, I don’t much care what my brother does or doesn’t do. I am only thinking of my father and Hoss.” He turned on his heel and left the room.

Rodriguez called for his horse, then made his way to the pens. Joe still worked the stallion in the ring. The Cartwrights stood and watched as he put the animal through its paces.

“He certainly knows his stuff.” Hoss remarked with pride, “And that’s a fine piece of horse flesh he’s working with.”

Ben watched every movement his youngest son made, “Yes, he does.” He agreed, with a slight hitch in his voice.

“If Joseph regains his memory, I will tell him of you all. Perhaps he will decide to return to your family.” Rodriguez remained mounted, “I cannot promise more.”

Ben turned to face him, his expression one of sadness and loss. “I am far from happy with this. I want my son home. If he refuses to come, I cannot force him. But if there is any chance of him regaining his memory, I want him sent straight back to the Ponderosa. Do you understand me, Señor Rodriguez?”

“Perfectly, Señor Cartwright.”

Reluctantly, the Cartwrights mounted up. Joe stopped and turned to watch them depart.

“Goodbye, Joseph,” Ben called across to his son, “ I love you, son. Come home soon, please.”

“Bye, Joe. You heard Pa, you come on home real soon, you hear?” Hoss added his farewell. Adam looked at his youngest sibling and tilted his hat in salute.

“Goodbye, Kid, Rodriguez.” Then turned and followed his family away.

“Leave the horse, Joseph. Let us go and talk about this.” Rodriguez motioned to the house, “I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.”

Sat in the living room, both nursed a large glass of red wine. Joe took a large gulp of the ruby coloured liquid, then rested his head back against the chair back. He emitted a long sigh, then ran a hand through his now dusty hair. He felt sad for the Cartwright family, searching for so long, but he truly did not remember anything about them or their connection to him. He could not face the idea of going to their home and trying to become part of a family of strangers.

“Are you okay?” Rodriguez asked as he sat on the arm of Joe’s chair, his arm circled the boy’s shoulders in a gentle hug.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Joe looked up into Rodriguez’s eyes, and noted they were as dark as Ben Cartwright’s, “I’m sorry they’ve come all this way, for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing. They know you are alive and well. You’re living a different life now. You control your destiny, not them, not me. It’s your choice what you do, Joseph. Only you can decide what you want.” Rodriguez squeezed his shoulder, “You know what I want?”

“Tell me, Enriquo, what do you want?” Joe held his gaze, steadfast.

“I want you…Joseph. I want you always, but more than anything, I want you now!”

The half-full crystal glasses were left on the side table. The decanter now stoppered beside them.

“Come with me.” Rodriguez took Joe’s hand, “Let me show you how much I want you.”

Chapter Thirteen

Joe allowed Enriquo to remove his clothing. Every button on his shirt was unfastened with loving care. His pants eased over his hips and fell to the floor; the underthings slid down with them. The fine white cotton shirt was discarded on a chair.

“Sit,” Enriquo whispered, then pulled Joe’s boots and socks from his feet. The younger man sat naked on the big bed, his lover kneeling before him, still fully dressed.

“Let me,” Joe began on the dress shirt buttons. He peeled it off, revealing the smooth bronze chest. His hands moved to the waist of the black tight pants, and the buttons popped open with ease.

Enriquo stood, allowing his pants to drop to the floor. His shoes were off, and he was sock-free. He stood as naked as the day he was born. Like Joe, his body was tanned from working outdoors, but from the hips down, he was as pale as any white man could be.

Enriquo wrapped his hands in Joe’s tangled curls and pulled him closer.

Joe reached out, his arms wrapped around Enriquo’s hips. He buried his face in the soft flesh of his belly and groin. His tongue traced a path across his stomach. His fingers entwined in the dark pubic hair. He heard Enriquo’s groan as he took his cock between his lips and began to suck and lick it.

“No,” the older man pulled back, “It’s too quick.”

They lay side by side, hands touching, bodies almost as one. Both were aroused, almost to bursting.

“Joseph.”

“Hmm”

“I want to make love to you. Completely. Do you understand?”

Joe placed a hand on Enriquo’s chest. “I think so, I guess you mean you want to fuck me?”

“Those are not the words I would use, but yes, I want to fuck you!”

“I’ve never…”

“I know…”

“You’ll guide me?”

“Every step. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

 Enriquo kissed Joe long and deep, his tongue fought and probed. His hands tangled in Joe’s long hair. They moved lower, stroking the taut flesh. He kissed the erect coffee-coloured nipples, nipped them as Joe squirmed under his touch. Further down his fingers went, brushing against the engorged flagpole that was Joe’s cock.

“Turn over,” again a whisper, “put the pillow under your belly.”

Joe rolled to one side, then obeyed with the pillow. Enriquo knelt behind him, his shaft anxious and ready in his hand. He wet his fingers, then stroked between Joe’s buttocks. One finger, then two, found their way into his private place. He caught his breath. A third finger was squeezed in.

“Okay?” was the only word from Enriquo—a nod of the head and a muffled yes from Joe.

The fingers moved.

A new sensation.

Joe gasped as he felt the warm, hard, and very eager cock ease into him. Every fibre of his body felt alive. His own cock strained in his hand as it sought release. Enriquo moved carefully, his hips propelled in and out in a constant rhythm. His hands gripped Joe’s hips as he gained momentum, the depth of his thrust increasing with each stroke.

Joe had raised his hips, so he was almost kneeling. His face was sideways on the pillow as he gasped to breathe. One hand reached for his cock. He knew he was close to the edge. Then it happened! Joe’s muscles tightened as he felt he could climax forever.

“Joseph…oh God…Joe…”

Joe’s own cock exploded on the final ‘Joe’. His body convulsed and shuddered as he shot his cum into his hand and onto the bed. Sweat dripped from his face and into his eyes. His breathing was ragged and heaving. His hair plastered to his neck and brow. Enriquo still clung to his hips. His face against Joe’s sweat-covered back. His own body was slick with perspiration. His cock still joined with his young lover.

“Mi amor.”

He pulled away and flopped beside Joe, his arms reaching to pull him into his embrace.

Joe’s head rested against Enriquo’s chest. Their hearts beat as one. Their breathing was in perfect time.

A hand reached across and caressed Joe’s hair and cheek, pushing the damp locks away from his face. The other wrapped around his shoulders held him close. Joe’s free arm lay across Enriquo’s belly, his hand flat against the smooth skin.

A kiss touched his brow, then the tip of his nose.

“That is how much I wanted you.”

Joe didn’t reply; his hand squeezed the flesh beneath and pulled it closer. His face was buried in Enriquo’s chest.

Held safe in his lover’s arms, the young man known as Joseph Carson fell into a deep, satisfied sleep.

Dinner was a quiet time. Rather than dine at the table, they sat before the blazing fire. Even in high summer, it could be cold at night in the desert area, so a fire was often lit to ward off the chill.

“Was that my father?” Joe asked after finishing his meal and biting into an apple.

“I believe it was. He was distraught that you refused to speak to him or to go home with them.”

“I didn’t remember anything about them. The big man, Hoss, seemed kind. I didn’t like the older one, umm, Adam. He made me feel uncomfortable. Mr Cartwright seemed quite nice but stern.”

“Those were my feelings, too. I promised Mr Cartwright that if your memory returned, I would send you home. But only if you wanted to go.”

“I don’t think he would understand me now, do you? He would disapprove of ‘us’. That’s for certain.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t understand or approve. So long as we are happy, I do not care about the others. You are happy, Joseph, yes?”

“Yes, Enriquo. You know how much I love my life here with you. Maybe it is my turn to show you how much?”

Enriquo touched his heart and smiled, “I think that would be a perfect idea.”

They sat by the fire, the chessboard set up, glasses of wine at their elbows. It was too early to retire, and the house staff were still in the building. A game of chess would kill time, but also feed the anticipation of what was to come.

The longcase clock struck nine-thirty. The last of the ladies had finally departed for her home. Now only Enriquo and Joe remained. Joe drained his glass and placed it on the silver serving tray.

“Shall we?” he held out his hand and waited as Enriquo finished his wine.

“My bedroom,” he led Enriquo to the smaller room. A small fire warmed the space and created a cosy, intimate effect. The room, although smaller, was beautifully furnished. The bed was equally as large.

Joe closed the door and pulled Enriquo into his arms. Although Enriquo was taller and heavier, he allowed Joe to take control. He was pushed against the door, unable to move. Joe’s hands were flat on the wooden panels. Joe leaned in and kissed his lips, gently, then forceful and demanding. His tongue probed and teased until Enriquo gave way. Now they fought for dominance. Probed, teased, and nipped. Their bodies pressed close. Both erections were tight in their clothing, straining at the fabric and desperate for release. Joe’s hands fumbled at Enriquo’s pants until they slid to his feet. Shirt buttons forgotten as the white fabric was pulled over Enriquo’s head. It landed on the floor by the discarded shoes. Joe knelt, his face brushing against the rampant cock, and pulled Enriquo’s pants clear. He moved up, his fingers running up his lover’s inner thigh, his lips following inch by inch. Enriquo raised Joe to his feet; he helped remove his clothing. The shirt and pants were draped over the chair. Both men stood naked in the glow of the firelight. Flickering shadows surrounded them. The long mirror reflected their image as they held each other close. Joe turned Enriquo to the mirror. His hands ran up and down the lithe body as they watched the reflection. He stroked the rampant member and clutched Enriquo’s balls in his hand. Joe’s tongue flicked in Enriquo’s ear that sent a shiver down his spine. The tiny kisses across his shoulders encouraged his erection to grow.

“Don’t move,” Joe commanded. He reached across to the bed and grabbed the quilt, then threw it onto the carpeted floor. The pillows followed.

He squatted and pulled Enriquo to him. They kissed again, deeper and longer. They were fully exposed to the mirror. Joe’s fingers explored every inch of Enriquo’s body. Where they went, so his lips and tongue followed. Every wrinkle, every fold was kissed, licked or sucked. He took the now engorged cock and teased the head. Semen leaked into the tiny curve as he licked around it. The whole time Enriquo watched his seduction in the long mirror.

Joe’s own cock was rigid.

 It throbbed in anticipation.

It was ready.

 Enriquo twisted to one side. Now he could reach Joe’s appendage as their bodies moved together. He took Joe deep into his mouth, amazed at the length it had become. He could see their reflection and watched as his head moved up and down.

“Enough,” Joe drew back, “it’s my time now.” He helped Enriquo turn onto his knees, cushions and pillows supported him.

Joe knelt behind him. His fingers traced the shape of the buttocks, wandered close to his secret place. He kissed the cheeks and licked the creases. His fingers teased, tickled and probed at the opening. He wet his fingers, slid one deep inside, then another, and another. His erection was hovering close to its destination. Another finger squeezed in. Enriquo groaned as his breathing became faster and shorter. Joe slid his fingers free. His cock was dripping as he pressed forward into his lover. Enriquo gasped. Joe caught his breath. Suddenly, he was transported to another place. He rocked back and forth, his shaft almost withdrawing before plunging back into the depths. Like Enriquo, he gripped his hips. His movement gained momentum with every stroke. The feeling was something he had never experienced before. He slowed his movement for a moment. He wanted to make it last as long as possible. Enriquo rested, his own cock at the verge of spurting forth.

Joe picked up speed. He watched in the mirror as he pumped at Enriquo’s body. He could see Enriquo working his own erection to climax and was watching Joe as he was fucked hard from behind. Neither had realised how exciting it would be watching each other in the mirror.

Joe was close. His grip tightened. He thrust hard and deep, his balls thumped against Enriquo’s.

“Now, ‘Riquo, now…”

Joe exploded! He pumped and pumped until his body could produce no more. He was still rock hard as he leaned into Enriquo.

“You never told me,” Joe gasped as he struggled to draw air into his lungs, his arms wrapped around Enriquo’s waist.

“I wanted you to find out for yourself,” came the soft reply. Joe drew back, his cock finally shrinking to normal. He rolled onto his back, faced up to his lover. He shook his head, reached up and kissed Enriquo. “I never thought it…”

“Don’t think, Joe. Accept it for what it is.”

There in the glow of the fire, they lay wrapped in each other’s arms until the room began to chill.

“Come, it’s time we went to bed,” Enriquo pulled Joe to his feet. The discarded bedding was thrown onto the bed, and they retired to Enriquo’s room.

Chapter Fourteen

Christmas was upon the Hacienda Rodriguez. Preparations made and invitations sent out. Enriquo Rodriguez had guests visit from Hermosillo. Bedrooms were aired, flowers bought for the ladies and bathing facilities made available.

The guests arrived in a caravan of covered wagons and elegant coaches. It took them five days to cross the one hundred and eighty miles between the towns. Consideration had been given to the ladies’ comfort on the journey, hence the time taken.

They arrived late on the day before the Christmas Vigil in a flurry of dust and horses and some bad tempers after the long journey.

Joe watched with interest as Rodriguez greeted the party of ten. He was aware of the sleeping arrangements but wondered how everyone would get on for the ten-day duration of the visit. It was an impressive and large house, but ten extra people would make it feel small and overcrowded.

He had selected some gentle mounts for the ladies to enjoy and more spirited horses for the men. Some of the time would be spent riding around the rancho and viewing the river. He was nervous about meeting these people. Enriquo had informed him they were from one of the best families that had arrived from Spain many years before and were stuck in their traditional ways.

The festivities were underway. More help was brought in to help the usual kitchen staff and to help the ladies with their preparations.

Joe soon found himself in great demand by the young ladies of the party. He took them riding, played cards, and organised checkers or chess challenges. He was careful not to give the ladies any idea that he was interested in any specific one. He treated them each with polite friendliness, nothing more. They were Rodriguez’s guests, and he tried to make things as pleasant as possible. Unfortunately, the ladies had other ideas. They all flirted outrageously with the young man. Separate and combined, attempts were made to get Joe on his own. Begging to ride ‘just the two of them’ was often the plea. Enriquo was not exempt from their feminine wiles, though he was more expert in brushing the advances to one side. On two separate nights, Joe had gone to bed only to be woken by tapping at the door in the dead of night. Whispered words soon had the young ladies in question scuttling back to their rooms. Joe’s door was locked against any further visitors.

Chapter Fifteen

The second of January could not come quick enough for any of the residents of Hacienda Rodriguez. The guests were very demanding and unable to entertain themselves even for short periods. They were rude and disrespectful to the staff and expected every whim to be satisfied.

Side by side, Joe and Enriquo stood in the shade on the front veranda. The caravan of coaches and wagons were ready and loaded for the return journey to Hermosillo. Food hampers packed full of food for the first days of the journey. Waystations and small towns would suffice for the remainder of the journey.

“They’re going,” Joe muttered.

“Thank heavens.” Enriquo agreed, his voice just audible over the noise of the horses and departing wagons. Joe stifled a giggle and waved goodbye to the young women who had plagued him for days. They remained standing and watched the grey cloud disappear into the distance.

Enriquo placed a hand on Joe’s arm and started to laugh. Joe grinned, a giggle building up just waiting to burst free.

“Never again. Never, ever again.” Enriquo chuckled and pulled Joe into the house. Both flopped onto the sofa; their laughter rang through the house. The kitchen ladies came running.

“Señor Rodriguez, ¿qué pasa?” one called out.

“Nada, it’s ok. Maria, get the others. You all go home. You have done enough for me, go to your families. Take tomorrow off, we can manage without you for a day or so.”

The ladies thanked their employer and were soon back with their families.

Enriquo closed the house and windows; no one could get in and disturb them. They would have peace for the first time in days.

“Wine?” Enriquo poured the ruby-hued liquid into the crystal goblets. “I think we deserve one after those people.”

Joe took the offered glass. “Are all wealthy Spaniards like those people?”

“I’m sorry to say yes, many are. It is the old Spanish ancestry that makes them so. Some of them are poor but must keep up the façade of wealth. Others are more forward-thinking and less stuck in the old traditions.”

“It’s kinda different here. It’s not how I would like to live.”

“Then you would not have liked going to school in Boston. They have a very defined social class system.”

Joe frowned, “School in Boston?”

“You told me your father and brother tried to get you to further your education. That was one reason you left home.”

“ ‘Riquo, I still can’t remember anything from before. How long is it now?”

“Six months, I think. The doctor said it may never come back.”

“Do you think the Cartwrights have given up on me going back?”

“No. I’m sure Señor Cartwright thinks about you a lot. Do you think of them? You never speak of them.”

“I wonder what my life was like before. What would it be like now? But I still have no wish to return there.” Joe smiled as he looked across at Enriquo, “My home is here.”

Evening fell,  shadows danced and played in the corners of the room, which was lit by the flickering light of the blazing log fire. The crackle and pop of the fire were the only sounds that broke the silence.

The two young men lay entwined on the sofa. Their naked bodies  warmed by the heat of the fire. Enriquo Rodriguez kissed and nibbled at the shoulder of his lover. His erection was ready again for another round of lovemaking. One hand caressed and squeezed Joe’s cock as it swelled with excitement, moved up and down in a gentle rhythm. Joe leaned back, twisted to kiss Enriquo over his shoulder, one hand reaching to hold his cheek. Enriquo raised Joe’s leg, slid his arm under him and stroked the entrance to heaven. His fingers touched and probed. Joe caught his breath; he ached for Enriquo’s touch and body. His stomach clenched in anticipation as the fingers excited him and prepared him for sex.

Enriquo’s shaft pressed against the pink entry, seeking its way in. Enriquo held Joe ready and slowly slid into the warm, tight depths.

Once in, his movements were slow and steady, and matched the up, down as he worked Joe’s engorged cock. Joe gripped Enriquo’s hip, pulled him as close as he could. Their bodies melded as one. The movements increased, more powerful and more desperate with each plunge.

Enriquo pumped harder. His tongue flicked and kissed along Joe’s neck and shoulder, his teeth nipping at the tender flesh, his breathing rapid and shallow.

“Joseph…”

Enriquo shuddered, his body releasing every drop of fluid as Joe erupted into his hand. Their bodies rocked together, not wanting to part. Hearts beat as one as they held each other close. Enriquo’s face buried against Joe’s neck, content to breathe in their sweat-soaked odour. Joe’s hand was still holding the other’s hip tight to his buttocks.

“I have missed you,” Enriquo whispered, “these last days have been forever.”

“I missed you, too.” The murmured reply, “So very much.”

Morning found Joe seated at the table, a plate of almost demolished scrambled eggs and a cup of cooling coffee before him.

“Joseph, buenas días.” Enriquo tripped light-footed down the stairs, “You should have woken me.” He wrapped an arm around Joe’s shoulder, squeezed them, then dropped a kiss on his long curls.

“You were sound asleep. I didn’t want to wake you.” Joe went to stand, “I’ll get your eggs and coffee.”

“Stay there, I’ll get it. Some more coffee?”

“Please.”

Minutes later, with his plate in one hand and coffee pot in the other, he sat opposite the younger man.

“I’m so happy we are alone, Joseph. I have a gift for you when we have eaten.”

“ ’Riquo, I don’t need presents,” Joe protested, “I have everything I need here.”

“Ah, that may be so, but this is something special from me. Now eat your breakfast, and then I can give it to you.”

They chatted about the trivial work to be done on the rancho and about the plans for the coming few weeks. The new year was always a quiet time, unless of course there were horses to be broken and trained. For the moment, they had a short respite from the usual hustle and bustle, so smaller, less important jobs could be tackled with ease.

“Come, sit here by me for a moment.” Enriquo moved to the settee and patted the cushion beside him.

Joe raised a quizzical eyebrow but did as he was asked.

“You know how much I care for you, don’t you?” Enriquo faced his lover.

“Yes, you tell me every day.”

“I want you to have this, as a token of my—my— love for you.” Enriquo handed Joe a small black velvet box.

“Please open it. I hope you like it.”

Joe opened the gift. A heavy gold ring with a single inlaid diamond lay glistening in the white silk fabric.

“It’s beautiful. I can’t accept this.” Joe stuttered.

“I will be very hurt if you don’t. We cannot be open with our relationship, but I want you to have something to show you how I think of you, not just my lover but as my partner.”

“I don’t know what to say. Other than thank you, Enriquo. I will wear it with pride and love.”

“Good! Come here, my beautiful boy.” Enriquo pulled Joe into his arms. His kiss was soft and gentle as he ran a hand through the curls. “You have no idea how happy you have made me.”

Chapter Sixteen

The course of the year continued. Horses were broken, cattle moved, deals made, and journeys were undertaken. Life on the hacienda continued at its own easy pace. Enriquo Rodriguez and Joe Carson were as deeply involved as ever. By now, it was an unspoken secret amongst the small community that the two men were more than employer and employee. Rodriguez was happier than he had ever been before, and everyone loved Joe. To their mind, if their patron was content, then so were they. What happened within their small community stayed within the community.

Spring turned to summer. The temperatures rose, days became lethargic, and even the animals became fractious and uncooperative.

Every day brought the same cloudless azure sky and blazing sunshine that had even the hardened workers scurrying for shade at the height of the day. Lunchtimes had become afternoon-long, and any work was done early morning or late evening. Rodriguez had taken to wearing his fine white linen shirts rather than his heavy embroidered jacket when venturing outside of the house. Joe, too, had forsaken anything heavier than his cotton shirts for working.

Life was good at Hacienda Rodriguez, until…

Chapter Seventeen

The day had begun so well. Joe and Enriquo had woken early. Enriquo had stroked and kissed his lover to an easy state of readiness. Both were fully aroused and had time for some passionate lovemaking.

“Come here,” Enriquo patted his lap for Joe to sit on him.

“No,” Enriquo reached out and pulled Joe closer, “Face me.” Joe sat astride Enriquo, his shaft erect and proud between them. Enriquo eased him forward until his own throbbing cock prodded at Joe’s buttocks.

“Lift up for me.” He whispered and guided himself into the tight recess. Joe’s arms were wrapped around his neck. His forehead rested against Enriquo’s. His body rose and fell in a slow rhythm as their connection grew stronger. Enriquo moved a hand to Joe’s cock, and matched the same movement as he fucked him, deep and hard. Joe moved and pulled him closer. Now, he kissed Enriquo, his tongue plunging in and out. Enriquo tried to speak but was unable. Joe had full control of the situation now and was using his body to fuck Enriquo. Joe could feel the urgency building; both were at the point of no return. Enriquo thrust hard, his hips lifted Joe high as he reached an explosive climax. Joe couldn’t hold back and sprayed his cum across his and Enriquo’s bellies. Both gasped and tried to catch their breath, their bodies slick with sweat and body fluids.

“That was wonderful.” Enriquo kissed the younger man, “Truly wonderful!”

“Comancheros,” the shout echoed around the yard, “Comancheros, coming in fast.” Two gunshots warned those who didn’t hear the shouted warning. Terrified women raced to gather their children from the dusty yard where they were playing. Bundled them into their small homes and barricaded the doors. The men positioned themselves around the yard and buildings, concealed behind walls and water butts. Behind or under any solid object that could stop a bullet or an arrow. Enriquo and Joe, both armed with pistols and rifles, took shelter at either end of the house, the trailing ivy and roses giving them a measure of concealment.

“Don’t shoot till they get real close,” Joe yelled advice, “make every shot count.”

“I see them,” Enriquo shouted back, “so many.”

Thirty men charged, like an army, into the yard. Screaming and shouting like banshees, as their horses trampled anything underfoot. The noise of gunfire drowned the cries of men as bullets or arrows struck them down.

They were outnumbered. Thirty wild, murderous men against a handful of under-armed ranch hands and their women and children.
Joe fired, shot after shot. One Comanchero fell, then another, both landed in a bloody heap on the dusty ground only feet from the building. Enriquo downed a couple more. Now their hiding places were exposed, and more rode closer, firing nonstop. Arrows thudded into the wooden shutters, ever closer to the two defenders. Joe could see riders as they rushed the adobe homes, battered the doors open and dragged the screaming women and children into the yard. Forsaking his own safety, Joe crossed the veranda to Enriquo.

“The women,” he gasped, “I’ll try an’ get to them, cover me if you can.”

“Joe…”

“I know. And you.”

Joe charged out into the yard, his gun blazing. He took two down as they tried to strip one of the women. She ran to the nearest child, grabbed it and hurried to the closest house. The men turned their attention to Joe. The women could wait; they would get their pleasure in good time.

More gunfire echoed across the chaotic scene. The noise was deafening. Joe felt the sting as a bullet creased his forehead, and blood trickled into his eyes. Gunfire from behind gave him a moment to reload, then continue his fight back.

The Comancheros regrouped by the gateway, horsed milled around, agitated as they waited to move.

Enriquo covered the space to Joe’s side in seconds.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s just a scratch. You got any more shells?”

“Six each. We’d better get inside.”

“It’s just us, ‘Riquo.”

They started backtracking to the house, step by step, unable to turn their backs and run to shelter.

The horses moved as one. They galloped across the space, kicking up thick dust clouds.

Joe ran, Enriquo followed. A volley of shots rang out.

Joe went down. Blood blossomed like a giant red rose against the white of his shirt from a hit in his shoulder. More blood ran crimson down his pant leg from another. Enriquo dropped to his side and pulled Joe almost to his feet.

“Come on, we can do…” Enriquo collapsed across his young lover. A bullet was buried deep in his back.

“Stay down,” he gasped, “Play dead. I love you, Joseph. I love you.” Enriquo fell forward, his hand clasping Joe’s in a final squeeze as he took his last breath. Joe lay still in the dirt; he couldn’t move, and within seconds, darkness claimed him as he lost consciousness. His blood mingled in the sand with Enriquo’s as they both lay bleeding on the ground.

After ransacking the property of as much as they could carry, the Comancheros rode out. They turned loose the horses in the pens and took Joe and Enriquo’s personal mounts along with their tack. Both would bring good money at one of the horse sales across the border. For now, they were content to ride off with their ill-got gains.

Chapter Eighteen.

Ben Cartwright had never believed he would not see his youngest son again. It had been nearly four years since the boy had run away from home, and three since they had found him at the Hacienda Rodriguez. Enriquo Rodriguez had promised to send the boy home if he should regain his memory. That had not happened. Now he and Hoss had business with George Grainger at the Double G, which was a day’s ride from Joe’s new home. They were less than an hour’s ride from the hacienda. Ben had questioned whether they had done the right thing by appearing unannounced.

As they approached the grand hacienda, Hoss noticed the troupe of Comancheros riding off in the distance. They were too far away to be of any consequence, but it gave Hoss an uncomfortable, edgy feeling.

“Pa, I gotta real bad feelin’. Let’s pick it up a  bit an’ get to the ranch.”

“You’ve seen them too?”

“Yep.”

The sight of devastation that met them at Hacienda Rodriguez shocked and chilled them both to the bone. Bodies were scattered across the yard. Men, women and children. None had been spared. Livestock not driven away had been slaughtered in their pens; not even the chickens had been spared.

A couple of the houses had been torched and were now blazing infernos.

“God help us,” Ben muttered in despair. “We’ve come too late.”

“Joe. Joseph.” Hoss shouted, looking around at the twenty or so dead. “Joseph. Where are you, boy?”

They picked their way towards the house. Some of the dead were Comancheros, but too many were unarmed ranch workers, who would not have stood a chance.

“Pa, here,” Hoss pointed at Rodriguez’s body. “It’s Rodriguez.” He bent to check if he was still alive, then realised the body was covering another.

“It’s Joe. Pa, it’s Joe, here.”

Ben fell to his knees as Hoss eased the bloody form from his little brother’s body. Ben felt for a pulse and found a thin, thready thump.

“Is he?” Hoss couldn’t ask the question.

“Yes, just. Let’s get him inside the house. Careful, there’s at least a couple of bullets that I can see.”

The Comancheros had taken pretty much everything they could carry. The house hadn’t been torched or damaged to any extent. Hoss carried his brother up to the first floor and straight to the biggest bedroom. He placed Joe in the big bed and pulled a cover over him. Ben found the kitchen and got hot water to clean his son up and assess the severity of the wounds.

Joe lay quiet. Eyes closed and senseless to the world, as Hoss bustled about to make him comfortable. He glanced around the ornate room, his eyes resting on the portrait above the fireplace.

“Oh my.” He thought aloud, “Pa—”

“I’m here. Has he woken up?”

“No, Sir, not yet. Look at that,” he pointed to the artwork hanging before them. Ben stood transfixed. It was a beautiful painting and very lifelike. Before his eyes was the painted image of his youngest son, dressed in immaculate Spanish-style pants, jacket, and snow white shirt. Beside him in typical wealthy Spanish garb stood Enriquo Rodriguez. Both were dashing and handsome; their pose and smiles were forever caught in oils. What affected Ben most was the expression between the two young men: something more than friends, something far more intimate. Something that he did not want to dwell on.

“Ride to Nogales, Hoss, find a doctor, bring him out here, drag him out if need be. Quick as you can.”

“On my way,” Hoss hurried to mount up and ride.

Chapter Nineteen.

Making Joe as comfortable as possible, Ben set about preparing to remove the bullets still lodged in his son’s body. He had discovered a third in a fleshy part of the boy’s torso that he hoped hadn’t caused further internal damage. The bleeding had stopped, though how much Joe had lost Ben couldn’t imagine; his shirt was a coppery colour with the odd flash of its original white. His pants were stiff with the mix of dried blood and sand. The bed too was covered with the boy’s blood.

Ben pushed the overlong curls away from his son’s ashen face and caressed the cold cheek.

“You have to hold on, Joseph. Help is on its way. You just need to trust me and get well.” He squeezed the hand he held. He would forgive the boy everything so long as he recovered.

Hoss made good time getting to Nogales. The cantina was his first destination. They would know where the doctor could be found, and as help was needed at the hacienda, he hoped some would return with him.

A dozen or so horses were tied to the rail. One in particular stood out from the others. Leaving Chubby in the shade by the central fountain, he crossed to check the animals. As he expected, the Ponderosa brand was etched into the Pinto’s rear. The Comancheros were responsible for the bloodshed at the Hacienda Rodriguez.

Hoss was no gunman, but a quick check of his weapon showed it was full and ready for use. The door swung into the shaded room. The bubble of noise and smell of stale cigarettes rolled out to greet him. The Comancheros were spread around the room, feet up on tables, beer glasses either in hand or alongside the boots. Ignoring the stares, Hoss pushed his way to the bar, placed a meaty hand on the counter and beckoned the patron over.

“I need the doctor,” Hoss announced, “There’s been a shooting at the Rodriguez place. I need help out there, now.”

“The doctor is at his house, by the church. I cannot help you; you can see I am busy. Don Enriquo, he is ok?” Juan asked, keeping his eyes fixed on Hoss. Behind him, the voices ceased. They were eager to hear what Hoss had to say. Hoss could feel the silence; the back of his neck twitched and itched. Looking Jose in the eye, he gave an almost invisible shake of his head.

“¿Señor Joe?”

“Needs the doctor.”

Hoss turned to face the gathered men.

“Who owns the paint?”

No one spoke, just shrugged and laughed at Hoss’ question.

“I asked who owns the paint?”

“I own it.” An older, overweight man walked into the cantina and went straight to Hoss. “Why, who wants to know?”

“That’s my brother’s horse. So you stole it. And I guess you shot him!”

The man laughed, a rough, unpleasant sound, “Hoss Cartwright, is that you? It’s been a long time. Remember me, Uncle Gunnar’s best friend?”

Hoss stepped back in surprise, “Sven, Sven Gudsson? You? You’re the one who killed everyone at the Hacienda?”

“That was a little bit of fun for my friends here,” Gudsson waved an arm around the room, “we wanted food and supplies. They got in the way. Your brother was there? Which one? The pretty one, of course?”

Gudsson’s hand dropped to his pistol. Hoss was quicker. Two shots exploded in the small space of the cantina, stunning all in the room. Sven Gudsson fell mortally wounded. Jose held his shotgun at the ready as Hoss stood over the bleeding man.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke in a low voice, “You deserve to die!”

“I’ve got to get back to the hacienda. You can lock these up or bury them? I don’t care.” Hoss turned to leave.

“Señor, the doctor is ready. He is waiting. I will put these in jail, then bring some men. Is there anything you need?”

“No, just get there as quick as you can.”

“Si, Señor. Miguel, look after the horses. Antonio, Manue, help me lock these up. Shoot them if they do anything that looks like escaping!”

Chapter Twenty

Ben Cartwright had found food and heated more water. He had checked and rechecked his son’s injuries and was thankful they had stayed dry. The young man hadn’t moved, his breathing shallow, his temperature rising. Ben could only sit, wait and pray for his son. He looked up at the painting. It was a beautiful work of art and had caught his son in every way. He left the bedside for a moment to examine it up closer. He didn’t recognise the artist’s name, but he was certain the artist was well known in the Spanish art world. He moved back to the bed. Ben could see a small picture to one side. It was a head-and-shoulders painting of Joe. This time Joe wore his usual tan shirt. Tucked alongside were a collection of pencil or ink sketches. Ben picked them up, curious to see what they were. One by one, he saw that each was a perfect reproduction of his son. Some were of the boy naked, sitting reading, or lying on the settee. Many were moments caught unaware, sometimes eyes closed as he slept. Each had a signature in the corner. Enriquo Rodriguez had done all of them. One surprised him, Joe, fully dressed, sat at the grand piano. In the corner, in an elegant hand, was the date and the words “Joseph playing Moonlight Sonata.” The boy had learnt to play the piano; he wondered what else he had learnt in the time away from his family.

The sound of horses galloping into the yard broke through his reverie. The front door slammed open, and heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs.

“Mr Cartwright,” the doctor held a hand out, “how’s Joseph still with us, I hope?”

“Yes. He hasn’t woken at all. His breathing is slow, and he’s running a fever. There are three bullets still in him, but the bleeding has stopped.”

“I need boiling water, clean towels or sheets if you can find some. Oh, and some more lamps. Hoss, can I leave that to you? Mr Cartwright, we need to strip Joe, so I can see what’s happening.”

More horses and a wagon rolled into the yard. Men from the town leapt to the ground, taking in the massacre that lay before them. Rosita, from the cantina, along with other ladies, searched for survivors in the remaining buildings. They faced the torn and desecrated remains of the women and children that had been murdered without thought or compassion. They did their best to give them a measure of dignity and love before their final journey.

Hours passed as the doctor fought to save Joe Cartwright’s life. Two bullets had been easy enough to remove. The third was wedged under his shoulder and proved difficult to locate or extract. Ben held his son down as the doctor prodded and probed. Blood flowed fresh and bright as his knife cut into tender flesh. Ben grimaced and flinched at every move, but kept dabbing at the blood, keeping it clear for the doctor to work.

“Got it!” The final lump of lead dropped into the china bowl resting on the bloodstained sheet. “Let’s get him stitched up and get this fever down.” Arturo Mendez wiped his bloody hands on an almost clean towel.

“Ben, go and get us a brandy, or wine, whatever you can find. I think we deserve a drink, don’t you?”

Voices could be heard from the lower floor, Hoss’s the deepest of all.

“How is he, Pa?”

“Holding on, Hoss. He’s holding on. Can you find a drink for the doc and me, please?”

“Sure. I’ve got help to deal with the—  people. We’ll do what we can before dark.”

Chapter Twenty-One.

Beds were set up for the townsfolk who volunteered to stay overnight. Doctor Mendez made himself comfortable alongside one side of Joe’s bed. Ben, on the other. Hoss settled on the settee across the room. Rosita took charge of the house and soon had everyone fed, watered and with a bed. Lamps were lit, and the house drifted into the night and tranquillity.

For three long, worrying days, Joe hovered between life and death. Ben was a constant at his bedside. The doctor spent his time between Joe and those of Nogales, who were overcome with grief at the loss of their family or friends. Rosita became a permanent presence in the hacienda. Food was provided, cleaning carried out, repairs to damaged property made, and clearing of the destroyed homes begun. She would give Ben and Hoss moments of respite and sit with the still-unresponsive Joe while they ate or rested.

By the third day, the older Cartwrights were concerned. Would Joe recover, or was the head injury worse than the doctor had said? The young man had moments of delirium in his fever. He cried out for Enriquo, begged him not to leave him, not to die. His voice was frightened and young as he thrashed around in the bed, plaintive and sobbing as he relived the terrible attack in his fever.

It cut Ben to the core to hear his youngest cry out for another man and not for him.

“Joe don’t know you’re here, Pa,” Hoss tried to comfort his father, “he’s relivin’ it all.” Hoss’ meaty hand gripped the smaller, fine-boned one of his brother’s. “’S okay, little brother, Pa, n’ me are here. You gonna wake up for us now?”

Ben watched as Joe struggled to open his eyes. An arm was flung up and covered his face. A deep moan worked up from his chest as the grief pulled him in. The tears filled his eyes and flowed down onto the pillow; some gathered and created small pools under his eyes.

“’ Riquo,” he whispered, “Enriquo?”

“It’s your Pa, Joe.” Ben took the other hand, “Hoss and me are here with you. Open your eyes for me, son, please.”

“Pa?” Disbelief filled the one word.

“I’m here, Joe. You’re safe now.”

Hoss looked at his father, “He remembers, Joe remembers you.”

A gentle hand wiped the tears from the young man’s cheek as he blinked his tear-filled eyes.

“You’re here, how?” The words soft, not believing his eyes.

“We were coming to see you, but we were too late.” Ben looked at the pale face, pain and grief clear to see. “Can we get you something, a drink of water, something for the pain?”

“Some water, please.”

Hoss poured a glass and helped Joe drink it.

“You sure scared us, little brother,” he teased, “for a while there, we thought we’d lost you.”

“Enriquo, where is Enriquo?” Panic and pain filled Joe’s voice.

“Rosita and the townsfolk buried him. In the plot by the chapel. We couldn’t wait for you to wake; we didn’t know if you would.” Ben explained, “The Priest from Nogales was here. He performed the services for them all.”

“He saved my life,” Joe whispered, “I should be dead. He died saving me.”

“He was covering you when we found you,” Hoss added, “They thought you were dead too.”

Joe looked straight into his father’s eyes. How would he react to his next statement? Would he be cast aside, or would Ben Cartwright understand his youngest son?

“I loved him, Pa. I loved him and wanted to stay with him. He loved me more than anything in the world. He died to protect me. He gave his life for me.”

“I know, son.” Ben stroked the cold hand, “I knew the first time I met him how he felt for you.”

“Do you hate me? Who I am? What I am?”

“Joseph, you’re my son. The rest we can deal with. My main concern  is for you to get well and come home to the Ponderosa.”

“I’m not going to the Ponderosa.” Joe’s voice was stronger now and certain. “I’m staying here. Enriquo’s people need me. The hacienda needs me. I won’t fit in there. I’ve changed too much.”

“We’ll talk about it when you are better,” Ben closed the conversation, not wanting to hear Joe’s thoughts.

“I’m staying here,” Joe’s stubborn streak flashed to the surface, “my home is here now!”

“Think about what you’re sayin’, young’un,” Hoss interrupted, “Pa’s been worried sick over you these past few years. We’ve all been  worried ‘bout you.”

“I understand that, but I… But I am not a nineteen-year-old anymore. I’m twenty-four years old, and I am capable of knowing my own mind and making decisions about my future. You can’t tell me what to do. Do you know why I left, Pa? Because you and brother Adam wanted to send me away. I didn’t want to go, but you were all so certain it was right for me. I wasn’t asked what I thought about it. College in Boston or West Point military academy? They were my idea of hell. If you had let me be, I’d be married by now, you’d be a grandfather, Pa. You’d be an uncle, Hoss. I’d never have left home. Instead, well, I’m here. Leading my life on my terms.”

Ben stood, not wanting to argue with the determined young man any further; he could see his son was overwrought and needed to sleep.

“We’ll leave you to rest, Joseph. I’ll come up later when the doctor arrives.”

“Think on what you’ve said, Little Joe,” Hoss used his old familiar name, “you think good and hard.”

“Hoss,” Joe tried to sit up, “Where is Adam? Why didn’t he come with you and Pa?”

“He left ‘bout a year ago. Last we heard, he was going to Europe. Now do as Pa said, get some rest. The doc’ll be here later.” Hoss cast another look at the portrait of Joe and Enriquo, then back at Joe. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Joe’s comments; he would have to discuss them with his father and try to understand how Joe felt.

Chapter Twenty-two.

Two weeks later, Ben and Hoss Cartwright set out on their return journey to Nevada and their home. Work had to be done, contracts sought or fulfilled, and time enough had been spent in Mexico. Every argument to get Joe to return with them had fallen on deaf ears. He was still too weak to travel, but promised to visit when he was fully recovered. Rosita had moved into the hacienda to care for Joe, do the cooking and cleaning and help with the survivors of the massacre. It would be a long time before things were back to normal, but if they worked together, the Hacienda Rodriguez would return to its former glory.

Epilogue.

Two years passed. Joe had the Hacienda running well and efficiently; now was the time to invite his father to visit.

The letter arrived at the Ponderosa in the late spring. Hoss had ridden in whooping and hollering for his Pa.

“It’s a letter from Joe, Pa,” he shouted as he leapt from his horse. Ben hurried from the house, took the letter and ripped it open. He scanned it, then read it.

“Well, I’ll be.”

“What’d he say, Pa. When’s he coming home?”

“We’re invited to the Hacienda Rodriguez to see what he has done since we left, and listen to this, Hoss. To meet his daughter, Ysabella Maria. Joe and Rosita were married last year. Rosita, she was the girl who cared for him, yes?”

   “Yes, sir. A pretty little thing, if’n I remember correctly. We are going, ain’t we?”

“As soon as we can get things organised around here. And we’ll take Hop Sing with us. A granddaughter, well, I never.” Ben slapped his big, burly son on the back, “Things are looking up!”

                                           The End

November 2025.