My usual disclaimer:  The following is a work of fan fiction and is not intended to infringe on any copyrights held by Bonanza Ventures, David Dortort, NBC Television, or any other holder of Bonanza copyrights.

Note: This story is pretty much self-contained (translation: you don't necessarily need to know what happened in previous ones).  There is however, mention of characters that occurred before.  So . . . if you want to know about Shey Cutter or that infamous Adam-Joe-Lorna triangle, suggest you read "Defending Miss David," then "Betrayal" before this one.  That said, hope you all enjoy!
 

"You really aren't serious?"  Joe Cartwright's expression was a bewildered mixture of frown and grin, as he tried to gauge the truthfulness of his friend's statement. Stepping through the yawning entrance of the barn, he followed Shey Cutter inside.  A short distance behind him, the two story bulk of a traditional Colonial home marked the northwest quadrant of the Circle C ranch.  A sprawling wraparound porch and stone entrance pillars gave the abode the appearance of a Boston Manor, rather than the main residence of a working cattle ranch.  Joe's nose crinkled as he followed Shey into the barn, the crisp redolence of horse and straw rising to greet him.  "This isn't funny, Shey."

"I wasn't joking."  Fair haired with whiskey-colored eyes, Shey Cutter was a match for Joe in build and age.  Though they'd known one another since childhood, it was only recently they'd developed a somewhat tenuous friendship.  An odd balance of companionship and rivalry, it kept both young men constantly guessing where the other was concerned.  Grabbing a pitchfork from a rack inside the door, Shey moved to the first empty stall and began spreading hay.  "I didn't have any choice, Cartwright," he continued with a glance over his shoulder.  "It was the only way Trudy would go to the dance with me."

"So you just volunteered me to take her sister?"  Joe was incredulous.  "Without even asking?"

Shey shrugged, unsure what all the fuss was about. "Why not?  It's been two months since Lorna David left.  You've been moping around like a long-faced calf ever since.  You need to loosen  up--have some fun."

Joe pressed his lips together.  "I like to choose my own dates, thanks."

Shey snorted.  "There you go, getting all uppity.  Geez, Cartwright no wonder I was always in scrapes with you.  You'd irritate the hell out of anybody."

"Consider the observation mutual."  Though Joe bit the words off tartly, Shey feigned indifference.  Turning his back, he continued to spread straw across the barn floor, whistling softly, as though the conflict had been resolved and it was time to move on to other matters. Frowning, Joe walked to the edge of the stall.  Idly he flexed the fingers of his left hand, pulling the black leather glove tightly across his knuckles.  The material made a soft crinkling sound.  Joe sighed.  "I know this girl, right?"

Shey's grin was slow and savoring.  The calculating glint in his eyes was evidence of a victory. Straightening, he set the pitchfork aside.  "Not likely.  Her family moved here about two weeks ago.  Her father's my new ranch foreman.  Trudy says her sister's kind of shy, but I've seen her,  Cartwright--she's a real looker."

"Shy, huh?"  Sighing, Joe slumped against the front of the stall.  "What you're telling me is, she's a prude.  Some stick-in-the-mud puritanical miss, who's probably so square-toed, I'll spend all evening standing on the side watching the dance."

"What are you complaining about?"  Shey chided gently.  "I thought you were still recovering from a broken heart?"

Joe looked doubtful.  "I don't know, Shey.  I was planning on skipping this Saturday's dance."

"Well plan again.  And while you're standing there, grab a fork and help me with this straw."

Joe smiled thinly and shook his head.  Another time he might have taken offense at the blunt directive, but he had some time to kill, and he'd grown accustomed to Shey's occasionally abrasive personality.  Removing his jacket, he located a second pitch fork and moved to an adjacent stall.  "Don't you have hired hands for this, boss?"

"Sure.  They're all down in the pasture.  The lot will do anything I tell them except work at the barn.  A bunch of grown men acting like weak-kneed schoolchildren."  Shey stabbed viciously at a mound of hay.  Joe heard the grating scrape as metal tines pierced the small pile and raked over the straw-littered floor.  Shey swore softly, his voice fading in an agitated grumble.

Joe chuckled.  "What's the matter, Shey?  Being head honcho harder than you thought?"  Though he could joke about it now, a short time ago Joe had avoided all reference to Shey's uncle, Amos Cutter.  It had been Cutter who had kidnapped and beaten Joe, later trying to kill him, when Cutter's plan to force Ben into selling him land had backfired.  It was through that conflict that Shey and Joe--once bitter enemies--had forged a fragile friendship.  With Amos's death, Shey had inherited the ranch originally titled to his father.  At twenty-two, he was the landholder of the second largest ranch in the territory.  Only the Ponderosa rivaled the Circle C in size.

"It ain't that.  It's just . . . well . . . it's Chaos."

Joe blinked.  "Huh?"

Disgusted, Shey tossed the pitchfork vehemently aside.  Stalking to the center of the barn, he slumped to a seat on the top of a barrel, his mouth twisting in a perturbed grimace. "It's my damn cousin, Joe.  She showed up three days ago and she's driving me and everyone on this ranch insane.  The men won't work up here, because she's constantly interfering, telling them they're doing something wrong.  No matter what it is, she's got a better way of doing it.  Either that or she'll bend your ear about how much better things are back east.  How a gentleman should treat a lady and how rough and crude the lot of us are."

Joe laughed out loud.  Setting the fork aside, he joined Shey.  "I don't think I've ever seen you this rattled before.  It's um . . . it's kind of amusing."  His grin spread, inching into a full-fledged smile. Leaning back against a sawhorse, Joe braced his arms on the freshly hewn wood.  "What's her name?"

"Connie.  But ever since we were kids I've called her Chaos."

"Interesting analogy."  Joe made little effort to hide his amusement.  Folding his arms over his chest, he crossed his legs at the ankles.  "She's right you know--you are crude."

"You keep grinning like that, Cartwright, I'm gonna have to pop you in the nose."

Joe's expression was smug.  "Uh-huh.  Then who would take what's-her-name to the dance Saturday night?"

A look of utter panic crossed Shey's face.  "Oh hell, the dance!"  Pushing from the barrel, he struck his forehead with his open palm.  "What an idiot.  I forgot about the dance."

Unable to follow the inane conversation, Joe shook his head.  "Shey, what are you talking about?"

"Connie!  I've gotta find a date for Connie.  You think I want her tagging along with me and Trudy?"

Before Joe could say anything, he heard footsteps beyond the barn door, accompanied by a pleasantly feminine voice: "Shey?  Shey Cutter are you in there?"  Joe stepped away from the sawhorse as a petite woman moved through the open doors.  Small and slender, with a nipped-in waist, the woman appeared in her early twenties.  A lustrous bounty of cinnamon red hair wound in a web of becoming curls, framed her face, the stray ends trailing over fawn colored skin.  Dark blue eyes touched speculatively on Joe before settling on Shey.  "There you are.  Heavens, Shey.  Haven't you finished in here?  It's almost noon."

"Connie.  I, um . . ."  Noting the unhealthy flush spreading over Shey's cheeks, Joe nudged him in the ribs.  Shey grunted and found his voice  " . . . got sidetracked.  Joe, here . . ."

"Hired hands should carry their own weight, Shey Cutter. I don't understand how you expect to run a ranch as large as the Circle C when you can't even complete a simple task like rehaying the horse stalls."  Striding purposefully into the barn, the red-haired woman stalked to Shey's side, where she stood appraising his suddenly dour expression.  Lodging her hands on her slim hips, she adopted an ill-tempered look.   "You haven't changed an iota since we were children.  It's a good thing you have a cushy job as head of this ranch, because you wouldn't make it as a worker with such tendencies for laziness and procrastination."

"But--" Shey sputtered, unable to find his tongue.

Ducking his head, Joe bit his lip, vainly striving not to laugh.  His friend's frustration was comical. The cavalier disregard so permanently ingrained in Shey's personality suddenly took a backseat to almost subservient behavior.  As Shey struggled for the appropriate response, the woman's attention shifted to Joe.

"And you--the last I looked, wages did not include loitering about the barn, no matter how friendly you might be with the boss."

Caught off guard by the misconception that he was a hired hand, Joe blinked.  "Uh, ma'am--"

"Miss Greenwood to you."

"You don't understand, Miss Greenwood--"

"No, I don't.  And take off your hat when you address a lady."

Quickly, Joe removed the offending article.  There was something oddly paradoxical about this creature.  Her pixie-like appearance was a staggering contrast to her jarring personality.

Joe decided he would very much like to strangle her.

"Well?"  she snapped.  "You're certainly not paid to stand around."

"Actually I'm not paid to do anything, Miss Greenwood."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Connie, if you'd let me--" Finding his voice, Shey stepped forward.  Joe thought he looked like a schoolboy bravely confronting an unreasonable teacher.  "Joe's not a hand, he's a . . ."  Shey glanced askance at Joe, hesitating. " . . .friend," he finished at last, as though just happening on the discovery himself.  He cleared his throat.  "Joe Cartwright of the Ponderosa ranch, may I present my cousin, Miss Connie Greenwood of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania."

Joe inclined his head.  "Miss Greenwood."

"The Ponderosa?"  Finely shaped brows rose in mild appraisal.  "So . . . that would be your land that connects to Shey's southern border?"

Joe wet his lips.  "Yes."  Though the inquiry was clearly curiosity, it left Joe feeling decidedly awkward.  The parcel of land that Connie Greenwood referred to, was the tract that had almost gotten Joe killed and had ultimately cost Amos Cutter his life.  He was thankful for the distraction when the distinctive rumble of an approaching wagon drew their attention.  Replacing his hat, Joe retrieved his jacket, then followed Shey and Connie from the barn.

"Mr. Cartwright.  Adam."  It was Shey who hailed the two men in the buckboard, surprise evident in his voice.

Ben inclined his head.  "I see I found what I'm looking for," he observed as his eyes tracked behind Shey to his youngest son.  "Joe, I've got a couple wagon loads of lumber being delivered to the east pasture.  We need your help in getting started on that new corral."

"Yes, Sir."  Shrugging into his jacket, Joe started to move towards his horse when he noticed Connie Greenwood staring intently at the wagon.  Her features had altered--the crisp authoritarian edge replaced by a becoming softness.  When she caught Adam returning her gaze, she lowered her eyes, long lashes sweeping against her cheeks as a blush raced across her skin.  Catching the exchange, Joe nudged Shey in the ribs.  "Introduce them," he hissed.

Startled into motion, Shey cleared his throat and stepped forward.  "Um, Mr. Cartwright, may I present my cousin, Miss Connie Greenwood.  Connie, this is Ben Cartwright of the Ponderosa, and his oldest son, Adam."

Perfectly poised, Connie tilted her head and offered her hand.  Ben returned the nod, but it was Adam who caught her fingers, jumping down from the wagon and sweeping his hat from his head.  "Miss Greenwood, it's my pleasure to welcome you to Virginia City."

Connie's eyes flashed to Ben before returning to Adam.  "Thank you.  It's quite a change from  Philadelphia, but a pleasure to see Shey after so many years apart.  This is my first visit to the west, and I must say, I find it rather appealing."

Off to the side, Joe cast a bewildered glance at Shey.  It was hard to believe the demure creature exchanging pleasantries with his father and brother, was the same authoritarian shrew who encountered them in the barn.

"There's a lot to recommend this land," Ben returned with a warm smile.  "You might find yourself enamored of it, given half the chance."

"Yes, I can see that," Connie said quickly.

Ben's glance shifted to his son.  "Adam, we should go."

Still holding Connie's slim fingers, Adam raised her hand to his lips.  Behind him, Joe rolled his eyes at Shey.  His friend scrubbed a hand over his mouth, wiping away the tell-tale emergence of a smile.  "I certainly hope we'll meet again, Miss Greenwood.  Perhaps you'd allow me the pleasure of escorting you for a ride on the Ponderosa.  I don't like to brag, but we've got some of the best scenery Nevada has to offer."

"The Ponderosa?"  Connie allowed her hand to fall to her side.  "Yes.  That might be nice."

Adam doffed his hat.  "Until then . . ."  Springing lithely to the wagon, he collected the reins and gave a final nod to the trio who stood watching.

"Now, Joseph," Ben reminded as the buckboard lurched forward.

"Yeah.  I'm coming Pa."  Joe clapped a hand on Shey's back as the wagon moved down the road. Both men broke into laughter.

"I don't see what's so funny," Connie said sharply, spinning about to confront the two. Annoyance flashed dangerously in her storm-dark eyes.  "It's encouraging to encounter a man of such obvious taste and stature, here in this . . . this rugged dustbowl you call home.  He's clearly eastern bred."

"College bred," Joe corrected.

Straightening her shoulders, Connie lifted her chin, adopting an air of superiority.  "I might have known."  Almost immediately her gaze grew withering.  "Shey, you still have work to do, and I believe your friend has been summoned to the Ponderosa.  I'll have lunch ready in a few moments, but only if you clean up and make a presentable appearance at the dinner table."

As she retreated towards the house, Joe cast his friend an offhand glance.  "Guess she runs the place, huh, Shey?"

"Cartwright, there's nothing I hate worse than a smart-mouthed pup, but I need you at the moment, so listen up: We just found Connie her date for the dance."

"Say again."

Catching Joe's sleeve, Shey pulled him towards the hitching post.  Tethered to the narrow strip of wood, Cochise waited contentedly, her long tail swishing periodically to hold a bothersome fly at bay.  "Your brother Adam was all but fawning over my cousin.  Now Chaos--I mean Connie--isn't the easiest person to get along with, but she was pleasant to him and she seemed interested. All you've got to do is convince him to take her to the dance.  With her out of the way, you and I
are free to escort Trudy and Jane without worrying about you-know-who."

"You want me to play matchmaker for my brother?"  Scowling, Joe shook his head.  "I don't know, Shey.  Adam and I don't have a good history together when it comes to women.  Look at the mess I made with Lorna."

"Forget Lorna.  This is different.  You're trying to fix him up with a woman, not steal her away.  Uh . . . bad choice of words," Shey amended quickly when Joe's face darkened.  "Come on, Joe.  If I don't find Chaos a date, she's going to be hovering around me the entire time I'm with Trudy. I'll have to sit with her.  Get her punch.  Dance with her.  You know . . . cousinly things.  And don't count yourself out, 'cause she'll be hovering over you too.  Once she's made contact, the hooks are in for good.  Do you really want that woman--" Shey pointed to the house, "--telling you everything you're doing wrong on Saturday night?  You've seen her in action, Joe.  She's a banshee.  She--"

"Enough!"  Raising both hands, Joe took a quick step backwards.  "All right, already.  You've made your point."

"Then you'll get Adam to take her?"

"I'll try.  I'm not promising anything, Shey."

The blonde-haired man exhaled, momentarily contented.  "Good enough.  I owe you for this one, Cartwright."

"Yeah."  Snagging Cochise's reins, Joe swung into the saddle.  "Just remember that when it's time to collect."
 

"You've bitten off more than you can chew, little brother."  Hoss Cartwright stretched an arm across the back of the sofa, allowing his large frame to sink against the cushions.  Hooking his right ankle over his left knee, he watched his younger brother pace before the fireplace.  Evening had settled sometime ago, ushering in the heavy cloak of night.  Beyond the windows, the sky was a black blanket, illuminated by a pearlized string of stars. While Hoss and Joe lounged in the Great room, Adam and Ben had retreated to the barn to make one final check on the horses, before bedding down for the night.

Moving before the hearth, Joe retrieved the heavy iron poker, giving the logs a lingering prod. There followed a crackle and hiss as the wood settled and thin strings of black smoke curled up the chimney.  "It's no big deal," he told Hoss, casting a glance over his shoulder.  "You didn't see them today.  Trust me--Adam will be thrilled to date this woman."

"If she's the same woman Ross Linden was talking about in town, she's got a mean streak wider than a mockey. 'Said she dang near took his head off for suggestin' she wait outside, when a couple of cowhands got all horns and rattles in the general store."

"That's our demure Miss Chaos," Joe said with a tight grin.

"Huh?"

"Nothing."  Setting the poker aside, Joe propped a foot against the edge of the coffee table. Lacing a hand through his hair, he expelled a frustrated breath.  A cascade of dark curls sprang back into place the moment his fingers slipped free.  "I don't get it, Hoss.  Shey cons me into a date I don't want to make, then he gets me to sweet-talk Adam into taking Connie.  I think I liked it better when he and I were adversaries."

Hoss chuckled. "Well you're gonna have your hands full this time, little brother, 'cause if I'm not mistaken, Adam already has a date with Sharon Parker."

"What?  No--" Joe shook his head in agitation.  "Hoss, you gotta help me.  Adam's gotta take Connie to this dance.  She practically fell into his arms.  You should have heard her talking about how cultured he was.  I'm telling you, it was downright disgusting."

Spreading his hands wide, Hoss worked his shoulders into a shrug.  "You could always find Sharon another date."

"That priggish churchmouse?  Hoss, the girl's as timid as a rabbit in a wolf den.  Where am I ever gonna find someone to--hey!"  He stopped suddenly, his expression becoming animated as an idea struck home.  Joe snapped his fingers.  "That's it--she's quiet, she's backwards--she's perfect for you!"

"Forget it, Joseph."  Hoss had seen the curve coming the moment the light sparked in Joe's green eyes.  Waving a hand in dismissal, he turned sideways, effectively blocking his brother from view.  Undaunted, Joe sprinted around the side of the couch.

"Come on, Hoss, think about it--"

"I have thought about it.  The answer's 'no'."  Hoss gave a clipped nod of his head.  "Besides, I'm taking Sally Linden."

"Again?"  Joe's contempt was obvious.  He slid to a seat on the edge of the table.  "Dang, Hoss, you might as well just marry the girl.  There is such a thing as variety you know."

Before Hoss could spout off a reply, the front door opened and Adam and Ben entered the room "Don't strain yourself getting up," Ben said evenly, when he saw his younger sons glancing in his direction.  "We managed fine without your assistance."

Flushing, Joe ducked his head.  "I . . .uh . . .I-I was getting wood for the hearth, Pa."

"Yeah."  Hoss's head bobbed in ready agreement.  A toothy smile spread across his broad face "And I was helping, Pa."

Ben scowled.  "Sure you were."  As he moved towards his study, Adam closed the door. Immediately, Joe appeared at his brother's side, his expression eager and solicitous.  "Hey, Adam, I was wondering if you've got a date for Saturday night's dance."

"And why would you want to know that?"  If experience had taught him anything, it was that Joe usually had a motive behind his inquiries.  Particularly when it had something to do with women.  Casually rolling back his sleeves, Adam studied his brother's face.  Still incredibly young at twenty-two, Joe's expressive green eyes and comely features often made him seem several years younger.  Now, with the gilded glow of lantern light haloing his dark hair, his innocence seemed almost natural.  Adam, however, was not easily deceived. "I sense I'm going to regret this conversation."

With practiced efficiency, Joe's expression grew wounded.  "And here I am trying to do you a favor."  Raising his arms in the air as though he'd washed his hands of the whole affair, Joe crossed to the sofa, where Hoss watched the exchange with keen interest.  Shaking his head, Joe exhaled noisily.  "I tell you, Hoss, there's just no appreciation among family anymore.  It's a sad day indeed."

"What do you want, Joe?"  Adam said pointedly.

Joe shrugged.  "Just that a certain woman with red hair was desirous of a Saturday night dance with a certain fellow, but hey--" he spread his palms wide.  "--I guess that fellow wouldn't be interested in the details, when he already has--"

"Are you talking about Miss Greenwood?"  In three quick strides, Adam was at Joe's side.

Noting the haste of his brother's question, Hoss gave a throaty guffaw.  "Dang, Adam, I don't think I've ever seen you move so fast."

Joe propped his hips against the rear of the sofa and crossed his legs at the ankles.  With apparent disinterest he studied his nails.

"Well?"  Adam demanded, ignoring Hoss's amusement and Joe's irritating nonchalance.  There was no one who galled him more than his youngest brother when he was at his most annoying.

Joe yawned.  He buffed his nails over his shirt.  "What does it matter, if you've already got a date?"

Adam wet his lips.  Craning his neck, he glanced towards the study.  Ben was engrossed in a perusal of multiple papers behind his desk, oblivious to the conversation his sons held a few feet away.  "All right," Adam relented, lowering his voice.  "I don't have a date exactly.  I kind of thought I'd take Sharon Parker, just so I'd have someone to go with.  I haven't been . . . well, I haven't been involved with anyone since Lorna--"

Joe flinched, his expression crumbling at the name.  Though it would always hang between them, there was no longer any hostility attached.  Still, the mention of the woman they'd shared, was enough to put Joe in his place.

"Ask Connie Greenwood to the dance, Adam.  You'll be doing both of us a favor."

Suddenly suspicious, Adam's glance grew pointed.  "How?"

Joe shook his head.  "It's a long story."

Realizing he wasn't going to get an explanation, Adam turned away.  Crossing to the red leather chair by the fireplace, he sank into the welcoming padding.  "I'd like to help you out, Joe, I really would, but Sharon's expecting me to ask her.  I've hinted around enough, that she'd be disappointed if I didn't take her."

Walking around the sofa, Joe slumped into a seat beside Hoss.  Leaning forward, he dropped his head into his hands.  "Damn, this was supposed to be easy."

"What was?"  Adam was still confused.

"Hey, Joe.  Isn't Walter Reese sweet on Miss Parker?"  Hoss's blue eyes grew wide as the memory struck home.  "Why don't you just get Walter to ask Sharon, then Adam can take Miss Greenwood?"

"Say, that's not a bad idea."  A wolfish grin spread over Joe's lips as he raised his head.

"You're forgetting Walter Reese is about as bashful as a schoolboy on his first date."  Reclining in the chair, Adam laced his hands over his lap.  "The man collects butterflies.  Between his awkwardness and her shyness, it'd take 'till next summer before they work up the nerve to say hello."

"I'll worry about that," Joe said.  "You just take Miss Greenwood."  The grin inched higher, curling into smug satisfaction.  "If you think you can handle that."

"Piece of cake." Adam was determined his brother's breezy arrogance wouldn't get the best of him.  Folding his arms behind his head, he stared up at the ceiling.  He'd allowed himself to be cornered into worse scenarios than escorting a beautiful woman to the dance.  As anticipation of Saturday night settled on him, a wheedling voice surfaced in the back of his mind: Connie Greenwood wasn't just beautiful, she was stunning.  So why wasn't his cocky younger brother taking her himself?

Lorna? Adam mused quietly.  If that was the case, Joe wouldn't be going at all, and he had the feeling his brother would be making an appearance.  As he watched Joe converse with Hoss, Adam developed a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.  Each time he'd let Joe sucker him into something, it had turned out disastrous.  Was it possible Saturday night would be the same?

Adam straightened in his chair.  If nothing else, he would make certain his date with Connie Greenwood was memorable.
 

Sharon Parker was a frumpy five-foot-three, her plump frame appearing larger in a lace-embroidered dress, with high-necked collar and tightly laced sleeves.  Caramel-colored hair, rolled into a loose pompadour offset the near cherubic features of her dew-skinned face.  Lowering her eyes to the fleshy hands folded in her lap, she waited while Joe continued his speech.

"So you see, sometimes a man can't come out and ask for himself.  Sometimes it's hard to say what he truly feels."  Adopting his most earnest expression, Joe inched forward on the edge of the davenport.  Holding his hat in his hands, he addressed the woman sitting adjacent him, her plump form framed by a navy blue wing chair.  Morning sunlight streamed into the parlor of the Parker home, dusting the carpeted floor with squares of lemon-gold. "I know you thought Adam was going to ask you to Saturday's dance, but he was really asking for someone else."  Joe smiled becomingly--the dazzling grin that showed his perfect teeth to their best advantage.  Lightly, he touched her hand.  "I have to admit my friend is shy, Miss Parker. A little too timid to escort you himself, but he promises to attend you at the dance."  Wetting his lips, he curled his fingers into hers.  "I hope I've clarified things."

Sharon Parker nodded.  There was a brilliant flush on her rosy cheeks.  "Quite, Mr. Cartwright." Only when he'd left the house did she dare breathe again.  Folding into the couch in the now empty parlor, she dragged a hand across her perspiring brow.  The patter of footsteps drew her attention to the doorway, where a short, pudding-faced woman appeared.

"Well?"  the woman asked.

Sharon sighed dramatically.  "You were right, Mama.  I'm going to be spending Saturday evening with Joe Cartwright."
 

Shey Cutter swallowed the head off his beer, then tilted his chair back on the hind legs.  It creaked with his movement, protesting the unnatural position.  Behind him, the saloon bustled with regular Friday night activity, thinner than usual, but just as loud. "I don't get it, Cartwright.  You'd better run it by me again."

Joe set his beer mug aside, leaving a wet trail on the table as he slid it across the worn wood.  "It's simple.  Adam was gonna take Sharon because he needed a date, and knew she didn't have one.  I convinced him to take Connie, then I wheedled Walter Reese into meeting Sharon."

"But Walter didn't ask Sharon?"  Clearly confused, Shey scrunched his face into a look of bewilderment.  "Make sense will you, Joe?"

"I told Sharon that Walter was too shy to escort her, but he'd meet her at the dance.  That left Walter an opening, so he didn't feel pigeon-holed into something he was too timid to do. It took me two hours just to convince him to show up Saturday night."

"Now I've got it."  Shey's grin was appreciative.  "That puts Sharon with Walter, Adam with Connie, and leaves you and I in the clear for the Falcon sisters.  Just one more thing--"

Downing the remainder of his beer, Joe signaled for another.  "Now what?"

"It's about Connie.  If she thought I'd arranged a date for her, she'd skin me alive.  I think Adam should just meet her at the social hall, then plan on taking her home.  That'll give me time to soften her up on the way over.  By the time we get there, she'll be chomping at the bit to spend the evening with your college-bred brother."

Joe was reluctant.  The second beer arrived and he downed a quick swallow.  "I don't know.  Adam's going to a lot of trouble for me--"

"Trouble?"  Shey scoffed.  "Open your eyes, Cartwright.  Did you see the way he looked at her? This is mutual admiration among the highbrowed and uppity--not that your brother doesn't have occasional moments of humility."  Reclaiming his beer, Shey hefted it in the air.  "Drink up, Joe. It's Friday night and tomorrow is romance time.  You'll thank me when it's all over."

Scowling, Joe glanced into his beer.  He was thinking of Jane Falcon.  "You said she was shy," he muttered.  "It's just as well . . ." The words trailed away as he thought of Lorna David somewhere in the east.  Heart suddenly heavy, he finished the beer and ordered another.

Tomorrow was going to be a very long night.
 

When Saturday night arrived, Joe dressed in his favorite blue suit, carefully combing his unruly curls into place, before adjusting his dark string tie.  Dusting off his black hat--the good one with the silver studded band--he clambered noisily down the steps, his freshly polished boots clacking against the wooden boards.

"Well--someone should be awfully impressed with your appearance," Ben observed as his young son reached the bottom of the stairway.  Attired for the evening, Ben's appearance was similarly striking, in a black suit with silver brocade vest and crisp white shirt.

"I didn't know you were going to the dance, Pa."

Ben shrugged.  He slid a companionable hand across his son's shoulders and gave an affectionate squeeze.  "I'm not ready for pasture you know, Joseph."

His son flushed and ducked his head causing Ben to laugh.  He was glad to see Joe attending the dance, even if it was at the cajoling of Shey Cutter.  Since his broken engagement with Lorna David, Joe's interest in women had been minute at best.  Perhaps this was just what he needed to stimulate a once healthy interest.  Ben remembered a time when his son would have had a different date each night of the week.  Though he hoped Joe wouldn't return to those extremes, he wanted to see his son lay Lorna David to rest.  His hand slid to the back of Joe's neck where it lingered beneath his son's lustrous curls.  It took every ounce of restraint Ben had not to lift his fingers and muss the silken tendrils.  Before the night was through, he was certain some woman would have that distinct pleasure.

Ben lowered his arm, his fingers instinctively curling around his son's biceps.  Of all his children, Joe allowed him the most physical contact, never shying from his touch, often eagerly welcoming it.  That closeness was a bond Ben prayed would never shatter.  "I'm glad you're going to the dance, Little Joe."  That name too, brought it's own special measure of closeness.  Ben didn't use it as frequently as he had when his son was younger, reserving it instead for moments when he wanted it to express what his own inelegance could not.

Responding to the pet name, Joe smiled warmly.  "Thanks, Pa.  I, um . . . I guess I'd better get going.  I'm supposed to meet Shey at the Falcon residence."  He paused, struck by the absence of his brothers.  "Where's Adam and Hoss?"

"Already headed to town." Ben's fingers slipped free of his son's arm.  Once again he had to resist the urge to muss Joe's impossibly thick hair.  "If you want to make the opening sequence, you'd better get going yourself."

"Right."  Tugging his hat down over his brow, Joe headed for the door.  He was halfway there when he stopped and turned around.  "Say, Pa--" A crooked grin lifted the corner of his mouth in a half-smile.  "--you wouldn't be meeting the Widow Dalton, would you?"

"Joseph," Ben warned, his expression suddenly stern.

Chuckling, Joe walked for the door.
 

Joe took the buggy to the Falcon residence where he met Shey Cutter and Connie Greenwood with their surrey.  Shey introduced him to Rob Falcon, his new ranch foreman, the father of Jane and Trudy.  Though Mrs. Falcon was out of town visiting relatives, Rob made no pretense where he stood considering his daughters.  The picture of genteel behavior, they waited patiently while Rob pulled Joe aside into a small alcove off the foyer.

"Now, see here, Cartwright.  I know Shey well enough, but all I've got to judge you by is reputation."  A tall man with a weather-beaten face and swag belly, Rob Falcon squared his broad shoulders and turned a scathing glare on Joe.  "On one hand Cartwright is a respectable name in these parts, but there's all this talk I hear, about you liking the ladies.  I wouldn't want to think you'd try to take advantage of my poor Jane."  Rob crunched the scarred fingers of one hand against the other, leaning slightly forward, his massive frame towering over Joe.  "Shey tells me you're a decent enough young man, so I'm trusting you with her.  But if anything happens--"

"Mr. Falcon, please!"  Joe held up both hands and retreated a step.  A nervous smile flitted over his lips.  The alcove was suddenly confining, the small space swallowed up by Rob Falcon's intimidating presence.  "I assure you, you have nothing to worry about.  I'll take good care of Jane and I'll bring her home right after the dance."

"Hmm."  Falcon grunted, still not convinced.  "See that you do."  One large hand propelled Joe back into the foyer.  Nearly stumbling, he came to a halt beside Shey.  His friend gave him an amused glance, then proceeded to introduce the women.  Quietly seething, Joe did his best to appear attentive.

Trudy, the younger of the two sisters, was small and dark, with blue-black hair and alabaster skin. By contrast, Jane, a few years older, was tall and willowy with a bountiful mane of sungold hair. This was pinned beneath a straw hat, the band of which was decorated with tiny pearls and impossible lengths of pale violet ribbon. Though stunning in appearance, Jane was clearly reserved, barely raising her eyes when she was introduced.  Joe seriously doubted he'd have to worry about anything "happening" with her.

"You owe me for this one, pal," he hissed aside at Shey as the two escorted the women towards the buggy and surrey.  Feigning distraction, Shey pretended not to hear.  He helped Connie into the back of the surrey, while Trudy took the seat up front.  Scowling, Joe assisted Jane into the Cartwright buggy, then climbed into the seat beside her. He was acutely aware of Rob Falcon's presence.  The man hovered just off the edge of the front porch, his narrow eyes boring into the back of Joe's head like hot metal.

Joe tried not to grow annoyed.  His first date since Lorna, and he had to snag a woman with an overprotective father.  Gathering the reins, he made a soft clucking sound, urging horse and buggy forward.  Shey's surrey had already moved onto the road, stirring alive a small dust devil in its wake.

 "So how do you like Virginia City, Miss Falcon?"  Joe asked, hoping for some--any--conversation.  The girl merely bobbed her head--a quiet affirmation of the positive.

Sighing, Joe leaned back against the seat.  It was going to be a long ride to town.
 

"Mr. Cartwright, could you stop please?"

Surprised, Joe glanced aside.  He'd almost forgotten the girl was there.  She hadn't said a word since his arrival at her house, preferring to remain quiet as the buggy made its slow, cumbersome path towards town.  Now, a few miles distant, she shifted on the seat and tugged lightly on his arm.  "That copse of trees--would you mind?  I feel a little faint."

Joe followed the direction of her finger, noting a thicket of pine set back from the road.  Guessing the heat didn't agree with her fragile constitution, Joe nodded and directed the buggy towards the trees.  What did it really matter if they weren't there for the opening sequence?  He didn't imagine she'd want to do a lot of dancing anyway.  As the buggy slipped between the trees and the shadows settled over them, he realized she was laughing softly.

Surprised, Joe drew the carriage to a halt.  He turned his head in time to see her unpin her hat, the golden hair tumbling free over her shoulders.  "Dear Lord, I thought we'd never get away from my father.  He's so dreadfully over protective, I shudder just thinking about it."

Joe blinked.  "Miss Falcon?"

She smiled silkily.  "Jane, please."

"Um . . ."  Joe had enough experience with women to read the look in her eyes.  Inching nearer on the seat, she lifted one finger and trailed it across his lips.  His throat was suddenly dry.

"When Shey agreed to fix me up with a date, I wasn't expecting anyone so . . ." She hesitated as she drank in the sight of him, her eyes slowly moving down his body, lingering on his flat stomach and slim waist.  Eventually her gaze returned to his face.  Her lips brushed his ear.  " . . . so . . .desirable."

Joe's fingers white-knuckled on the reins.  This was not what he had in mind.  It was also not what her father had in mind.  "I think we should go," he said carefully.  Her fingers had located the knot in his string tie.  She gave a gentle tug and it unraveled against his shirt.  "Look, Miss Falcon--"

"Jane," she said again, her lips tasting his ear lobe.  Joe shifted, attempting to draw back.  For a woman of gentle breeding, his date had obviously experienced a certain aspect of bedroom behavior.  Her fingers located the buttons on his shirt and began freeing them, one by one.  Joe caught her hand.

"Jane, this really isn't um--" Her mouth was on his, making him forget what he intended to say.  Though he hadn't kissed a woman since Lorna, the feel of her lips against his reawakened the slumbering edge of his passion.  Suddenly restless, Joe released her hand, permitting her fingers the leisure of their quest.  The last button on his shirt came free and he felt the gentle scrape of nails across his stomach.  With a muffled groan, he pressed her back against the seat.  His kiss intensified as her fingers slipped lower still, inching beneath his belt.  That was when he remembered Rob Falcon.

Breathless, Joe jerked backwards.  "I don't think this is a good idea--"

"Don't worry about my father," Jane whispered, correctly interpreting his reluctance.  As she spoke, her hand retreated from his waistband, settling lightly on his leg.

Joe shook his head.  He was also thinking of Shey and Connie, and Sharon, and the menagerie of dates-seeking-dates he'd orchestrated for the dance.  "Jane, we've really got to get to the dance. Maybe we could, um . . . save this for later?"

Canting her head to the side, Jane Falcon smiled coyly.  Her fingers danced up the inside of his thigh, lodging in that most sensitive of spots.  "If you make it worth the wait," she whispered.

Joe swallowed hard.  "Promise," he croaked, barely able to part with the word.
 

A short time later he drew the buggy to a halt outside the town fire hall and helped his datedismount.  He saw Shey, with Connie and Trudy, the three still lingering outside, socializing with others as strains of music floated through the open doors of the brick abode.

"What took you so long?"  Shey asked as Joe drew abreast.

Handing his date off to the women, Joe snagged his friend's arm and yanked him roughly aside. "Tell me you didn't know about her."

Shey's expression was blank.  "Know what?"

"Come on, Shey--some shy date she turned out to be.  If we'd had a bed, she'd have had me in it."

Shey laughed.  "Damn, Joe.  I guess you're just too charming for your own good.  If I were you I'd be careful--Rob will take your head off if he finds out you fooled around with his daughter."

"Like I'm gonna take your head off?"

Shey managed to keep a straight face.  "Come on, how bad can it be?  So you got a little more than expected."  His eyes tracked aside to Jane, appreciatively noting her tight bodice and trim waist.  "She's not a bad looking woman, Cartwright.  You could do worse."

Joe shook his head.  "You're missing the point, Shey."

"Yeah, I am.  Come on, I want to get inside.  I need to keep Connie occupied--if you know what I mean."

Joe hesitated, eyes narrowing as he considered.  "Occupied" simply meant pawning Cousin Chaos off on Adam.  Joe had to admit, Miss Greenwood had been relatively quiet since arriving at the fire hall.  Even at the Falcon residence she'd been subdued.  Perhaps the thought of spending the evening with his brother had quelled her caustic tongue.

"All right."  Joe's reply was clipped, but he nodded nonetheless.  He would worry about Jane Falcon and her amorous advances later.  With a smile for his date, he moved to her side and reclaimed her arm.  Her hand curled possessively around his sleeve.  Through the intervening fabric of his jacket and shirt, Joe felt her fingers caress him. Hitching in his breath, he dismissed the distraction and followed Shey and Trudy inside.  Connie trailed behind, stepping away from the group as she moved within the door.

"What did you tell her?"  Joe asked Shey with a nod for the red-haired woman.

"Oh, you mean about Adam?"  Shey grinned.  "I told her the man of her dreams was going to be here tonight and he specifically wanted to spend the evening with her."

"Hmm--seems like she's spotted him." A transformation overtook Connie's face as she spied someone across the room. The combative edges softened, replaced by a look of rapt adoration. Joe followed her gaze, momentarily perplexed when he realized Adam was nowhere in sight.  "Hey, Shey, do you see my brother?"

"He's really here," Connie breathed, her voice unnaturally throaty.  Stepping forward, she started across the room.  It was then Joe realized which man drew her undivided attention--which man had caused that look of intense rapture to cross her face.  He choked on a gulp of air.

Connie Greenwood walked directly towards Ben Cartwright.
 

"Pa . . . hey, Pa . . ." Joe raced by Connie and got to his father first.  There was a group of people gathered around Ben Cartwright, and they turned expectantly as Joe barreled into their midst.  He caught a brief image of Mr. Stratford the banker, Mr. and Mrs. Linden, owners of the local mercantile, and the Widow Dalton.  Ben had been in the process of addressing the last, when his son's unexpected presence drew him up short.

"Joseph, is something wrong?"

"W-Wrong?"  Joe's voice lurched up an octave, cracking on the word.  "W-W-Why would you think that, Pa?" He smiled nervously, green eyes darting back through the crowd to check on Connie's progress.  Shey had reached his cousin's side and had his head bowed, speaking to her quietly.  They were halted midway across the floor.  Trudy and Jane, abandoned by their dates, remained near the door, clearly annoyed.  Joe swallowed.  "Pa . . . don't you want to go outside and get some air?"

Perplexed, Ben laughed at his son's display of uncharacteristic nervousness.  "Joseph . . ." Ben spread his hands wide.  " . . . can't you see I'm talking?"

"Um, yeah.  Sorry, folks.  Would you pardon us?"  Snagging his father's arm, Joe attempted to drag him aside.  Startled and annoyed, Ben made a polite excuse to the group and allowed himself to be pulled a short distance away.

"That's enough, young man," he said sharply, when they'd taken three steps apart.  Planting his feet, he wrenched his son to a halt.  Caught off balance, Joe nearly stumbled.  Ben drew him around and backed him up against the wall.  Lodging his hands on his hips, he glowered at his son.  "Your behavior back there was extremely rude."

"Pa, I'm sorry.  It's just--" Joe craned his neck trying to see over Ben's shoulder.  The music had started again, prompting a crowd of people to move onto the dance floor.

"Joseph, look at me when I'm talking to you!"

Flinching, Joe shrank back against the wall.  From the corner of his eye he could see Connie making a direct path through the crowd.  Joe wet his lips.  "Pa . . . um . . this whole thing is really kind of funny--"

Ben's eyes were withering.  "What thing?"

"Well, see . . . that's just it--" Joe tried his most congenial smile--the one he knew gave him a perpetually innocent look.  Even that failed to soften Ben's stony exterior.  Clearing his throat, Joe turned one hand palm up.  "Now, Pa, you're gonna laugh . . ."

"I'm waiting," Ben said icily.

"There you are!"  The voice drew both men about--Ben appearing surprised, Joe wanting to sink through the floor.

Recovering quickly, Ben inclined his head.  "Miss Greenwood.  It's a pleasure to see you again."

Connie's smile was courteous.  "And you, Mr. Cartwright.  I'm so glad you were able to attend this evening.  When Shey mentioned you would be here, I was looking forward to continuing our acquaintance."

Not certain what to make of the statement, Ben kept his response gracious.  "I normally try to attend the dances, Miss Greenwood.  Though I might not be up to some of the newfangled steps, it's nice to see folks I haven't chatted with in awhile."  From the corner of his eye, Ben saw his son slinking away.

Connie laughed brightly.  "You underestimate yourself, surely, Mr. Cartwright.  And you must call me Connie."

"Uh--" Still distracted by Joe, Ben failed to react.  It was only when Connie stepped forward and slipped her arm through his that he realized something was dreadfully wrong.  Glancing down at the petite red-haired woman at his side, he had a fair notion of what that something was.  "Miss Greenwood--"

"Connie," she corrected.

Ben pressed his lips together.  Joe was now nowhere in sight.  "Miss Greenwood," he persisted, vainly attempting to remove her arm.  Her fingers remained permanently attached.  Inwardly Ben cursed, vowing to skin a certain green-eyed son.  "I think there's been a misunderstanding--"

"It's so hot in here.  I really do need some air, Mr. Cartwright."  Lowering her eyes, Connie fanned her face.  "Would you mind escorting me outside?"  Glancing sideways through her lashes, Connie smiled sweetly--the meaning beneath that demure request painfully clear.

Ben swallowed hard.  Skinning was definitely too good for Joe.
 

Joe retreated to the back porch of the fire hall, pacing like a caged bear. Click, click, click.  The tap of his boot heels against the plank boards echoed like the rapid fire of a gun.  Each ping seemed to reaffirm mistake after mistake that he'd made.  Removing his hat, he raked nervous fingers through his hair before tugging it back over his brow.

"Hey, Cartwright.  You look a little anxious."

Joe whirled about to find Shey Cutter standing in the doorway.  Descending twilight left patches of shadow at his feet, while intensifying the square of yellow light haloing his back. Moving away from the threshold, he laughed softly.  "Come on, Joe--it's kind of comical when you think about it."

"Oh, yeah, real comical.  I'm a dead man.  Why didn't you stop her?"

"Me?"  Shey held up both hands and retreated.  "I'm just the messenger.  You set up the date."

In the thick mesh of twilight, Joe's eyes were chips of green ice.  "Cutter, I'm gonna kill you."

"Geez, when did you become such an old maid?"  Stepping forward, Shey slid a hand across his back.  "You're missing the picture, Cartwright.  This is priceless--your father and my cousin." With his free hand, Shey tapped Joe on the breast and leaned close.  "I mean--did you see your old man?  Joe--he was sweating!"

"Really?"  Despite his better judgement, Joe chuckled.  That thin sliver of laughter was all it took for the absurdity of the situation to tumble through.  As his eyes locked with Shey's, both men burst into laughter.

"What's so funny?"

The inquiry drew the two friends around.   Joe exchanged a glance with Shey, all the while striving to keep a straight face.  The gelatinous shadows parted, allowing the newcomer to move forward onto the porch.  Ink black clothing contrasted with the pristine linen of the man's immaculate white shirt.

Joe lowered his head.  "Hi, Adam."  He bit the words off quickly, fearing he'd lose composure. At his side, Shey giggled.

Uncertain what he'd interrupted, Adam was wise enough to know his brother was probably up to no good.  At the moment, however, Joe's mischief was his own.  He had more important matters to attend.  "Have you seen Miss Greenwood?" he asked.

When Shey gave a strained snort of laughter, Joe elbowed him in the ribs.  "Um . . . no."  His own voice grew thready and thin, threatening to crack.  "Why don't you check with Pa?"

Hesitating, Adam cocked his head, a discerning gaze flashing between the younger men.  When a pointed stare produced no magical answers, he was forced to ask the obvious.  "What would Miss Greenwood be doing with Pa?"

"Oh . . ." Joe tilted his head back, staring innocently at the roof overhang.  At his side, it was all Shey could do to contain himself.  "That depends on how cooperative he's being."

It was the final straw.  Doubling over, both men succumbed to peals of laughter.

"Joseph Cartwright!"  The shrill voice sliced through Joe's laughter, making him gulp silent his amusement.  It was Adam's turn to be entertained as a plump brunette appeared on the porch, her rosy face mottled with indignation.  Striding purposefully forward, she stopped directly in front of Joe, her considerable bosom heaving against the fabric of a bodice cut two sizes too small.

"I've been waiting for you for over an hour," Sharon Parker snapped, "Then I find out you're back here, laughing with your friend.  Is that any way to treat your date?"

"Date?"  Joe squawked.  His voice cut out completely.  Helplessly, he glanced at Shey.

Clearly enjoying himself, the young cattle rancher retreated.  Joining Adam, he lounged against the railing.  "Your behavior's appalling, Cartwright."

Joe resisted the urge to slap him.

Stretching one arm towards his brother, he appealed to Adam's sense of fair play.  "A-Adam . . .t-tell Miss Parker there's been a mistake."

"Mistake?  What mistake?"

"Come inside, Joseph."  The timid churchmouse had become a dictatorial dragon lady.  Snagging Joe's arm, Sharon Parker pulled him indoors.  Once inside he realized not only was her dress too small, it was also the most garish shade of turquoise he'd ever seen.  Stretched tight across her back, the material strained at the seams.

"Um, Miss Parker--" Vainly Joe tried to disentangle himself.  "We need to talk."

"Joe," an icy voice inquired.  "Is this somebody I should know about?"

Joe balked.  Intent on freeing himself from Sharon's clutches, he'd failed to note Jane Falcon's advance. Glancing aside, he saw the taller woman watching pointedly, one tiny foot tapping an angry cadence against the floor.  Her brow arched meaningfully into her hair.

Joe gulped.  "Um, Jane--I-I can explain."

"Who is this woman?"  Now it was Sharon Parker's turn to be affronted.  Fleshy hands still clinging to Joe, she lifted her nose in haughty disregard for the slender vixen with wheatgold hair."Really, Joseph, I think you should send her away."

"I can't.  She's my date."

"Your date?"  Miss Parker's fluty voice rose in indignation.  "Then what am I?"

"That's what I've been trying to explain--"

"How dare you upset Miss Parker!"

Joe had barely formed two words before the new voice cut him off.  Inwardly he groaned.  An agitated Walter Reese elbowed his way among the trio, his horsey face pinched in an offended mask.  Short and reed-thin, his emaciated frame seemed almost insubstantial--something a strong wind would easily  blow away.  "I trusted you, Joe Cartwright!  Trusted you, and here you are two-timing me with the only woman I've ever cared about."

"No--Walter--"  Pulling Sharon's fingers free, Joe lifted both hands and retreated.  "It's all a misunderstanding.  Really--"

"Misunderstanding?  Hah!"  Walter puffed out his cheeks.  Lifting a stick-thin arm he rolled back one sleeve, exposing blue-veined skin beneath. "Prepare to defend yourself."

"What?  Walter, be serious."  Were the other not so deadly grim, Joe might have broke into laughter.  He had no intention of humiliating Walter in a fist fight, nor did he plan on standing around while the smaller man made a scene. The sight of Walter balling his hands into diminutive fists was comical--and attention-getting, as evidenced by a gathering crowd.  One woman in particular took note of her angry defender.

"Walter!"  Sharon Parker exclaimed breathlessly, batting her eyelashes.  Diverted momentarily by her apparent admiration, Walter failed to note Joe backing towards the rear door. His exit, however, was not completely overlooked.

"JOSEPH!"

That distinctive bellow cut across both fiddle music and voices, drawing a sudden hush through the throng.  Joe had nearly reached the doorway when he saw Ben Cartwright appear in the front entrance.  His father's face was set in a fierce glower, his silver hair mussed; string tie hanging loose.

Needing no explanation for his father's rumpled appearance, Joe did the only thing a sane man could do--he bolted for the exit.
 

"There you are.  I must say, I've had better dates."

Joe lifted his head to find Jane Falcon standing in the alleyway.  Two hours had passed since his hasty departure from the firehall.  He'd spent the last hour sprawled on a pile of hay behind the livery stable, gloomily contemplating his options.  Now, seeing the woman he was supposed to be escorting, he flushed guiltily.  "I'm sorry, Jane.  I really made a mess of things."

"Hmm."  Moving forward, she joined him on the straw, curling her legs to the side as she snuggled up against him.  "Fortunately you're a tad irresistible, Joseph Cartwright, or I might truly be angry."  Her finger toyed with the edge of his collar.  "It's not as bad as you think.  That Sharon lady and Walter have spent the evening arm in arm, and Miss Greenwood has latched on to your brother Adam."

"Really?"  Joe's expression shifted from bleak depression to renewed optimism.  "What about my father?"

Jane giggled.  "Well, not every cloud has a silver lining.  He was a bit miffed.  I believe he headed for home an hour ago."

Groaning, Joe sank back into the hay.  He didn't want to think about what would happen when he reached the Ponderosa.  Sensing his misery, Jane did her best to distract him.  Lightly she traced her fingertips over his chest.

"Maybe now we could see about continuing our earlier encounter," she whispered near his ear. Once again she tugged free his string tie and began to undo the buttons on his shirt.  After the events of a truly disastrous evening, it was all the encouragement he needed.  Concealed by the shadows of the alleyway, Joe let his own hands do some exploring.  Stroking her cheek, he moved his mouth against hers. His fingers trailed over her neck, slipping lower to caress her breast.  Her own hand was inside his shirt, fingertips ghosting across the tight muscles of his stomach.  Deepening her kiss, she tugged open his belt.

Joe moaned softly.  Mounting pleasure threatened to carry him into oblivion, when Jane was suddenly wrenched away.  Startled, he heard a sharp cry of distress, followed by a muffled grunt as she crumbled to her knees in the straw.  Disoriented by the flush of passion, Joe failed to register the hulking form above him--the same who had pulled the girl away.  A knee wedged against his stomach and pinned him to the hay.  "I'm gonna kill you boy," a gruff voice intoned.

Bewildered, Joe looked up into the enraged face of Rob Falcon.  "I just knew I needed to follow you," the older man sneered.  With one hand restraining Joe's shoulder, Falcon used the other to withdraw his revolver.  He rammed the barrel beneath Joe's chin, his eyes blazing with murderous fury.

"Papa, please."  Jane tried to pull the larger man away, but a shove sent her sprawling back to the ground.

"Get help," Joe gasped, his eyes darting aside to the frightened woman.

"That's it, Janie--run and get help.  Lover boy here, will be dead before you get back."

"Mr. Falcon--" From the corner of his eye, Joe could see that Jane had indeed fled the alley.  "I-I can explain."

"Can you, pretty boy?"  The gun dug deeper.  "You think I don't know about scum like you? About what you want to do to my daughter?"

"It's not like that at all."

"Oh no?"  Falcon looked down at Joe's disheveled clothing, noting his gaping shirt and open belt. Briefly he lowered the gun, dragging the tip of the barrel across Joe's bare chest.  "So you always entertain your dates half dressed?"

Joe wet his lips.  He could feel himself growing panicky.  "Look, we were just--"

"Just what!"  Falcon shouted.  He cocked the hammer on the revolver.  "Just what, you good-for-nothing-godawful-excuse-of-a--"

"Falcon, don't!"  Shey Cutter's voice sliced through the darkness with an abruptness that made Joe start.  Breathing a sigh of relief, he sent a prayer of gratitude heavenward for errant friends.  Though Falcon's knee allowed him no movement, Joe could see Shey off to the side, his lean frame tensed for confrontation.  Trudy and Jane hovered in the background, clinging to one another, their pale faces pinched with fright.  Jane had obviously located Shey with little effort.

"I'm gonna kill him!"  Falcon screamed.  Spittle flew from his mouth.

Shey drew his gun.  "I'm warning you, Falcon . . ."

The older man was beyond reasoning.  Joe saw it in his eyes; felt the white-knuckle wash of fear as that realization swept over him. He knew he'd never be able to twist clear should Falcon pull the trigger.  His mouth went dry as he contemplated the last remaining seconds of his life.

Eyes bulging, Falcon rammed the gun against Joe's chest.  "Say your prayers boy--"

"Don't!"  Shey lurched forward, even as Falcon pulled the trigger.  Joe heard the clack of the hammer; the roar of the gun as it fired. He could smell the sulfur in the air; felt Shey fall against him.  It took a moment for Joe to realize there was no pain; no bullet hole burning his chest or stain of gunpowder on his skin.  Falcon was no longer restraining him--had in fact retreated a short distance away and was watching with a slightly enigmatic expression.   Shey was curled beside him, his arms folded double across his middle, his whole body quaking with uncontrollable spasms.  Fearing the worst, Joe gripped his shoulder.

"Shey?" he asked cautiously.

Throwing his head back, the blonde haired man howled with laughter.

Stunned, Joe glanced from his hysterical friend to Trudy and Jane.  Still clinging to one another, they collapsed in a bout of shrill giggles.  Only Rob Falcon seemed disaffected.  He merely shrugged his shoulders and grinned.

Joe's confusion quickly gave way to agitation.  "What the hell is going on here, Cutter?"

"Oooh!"  Shey was rolling on the hay now, holding his stomach, his laughter coming in high-pitched gasps.  His pistol tumbled from his fingers.  Retrieving it, Joe waved the barrel beneath his nose.  The smell of spent powder clearly indicated it was Shey's weapon that had fired--loaded no doubt with a blank charge.  "You should have seen your face, Cartwright."  The laughter intensified, spurred by a series of shrill cackles.  "You fell for the whole thing--hook, line and sinker.  Oh, damn, but I'm good."

"Hope there's no hard feelings, Mr. Cartwright."  Stepping forward, Rob Falcon holstered his gun. "I only went along with it, well . . .  'cause Shey's my boss."

"Along with what?"

"The ladies."  Falcon's mouth spread in a toothy grin.  "Ain't neither one of them my daughter. Hell, I ain't even married."

Joe's eyes shifted to the women.  He had a sudden terrible notion.  Sensing his gaze, Jane sauntered forward.  "Come on now, Joe.  You had to know I was . . . experienced."

Briefly, Joe closed his eyes, futilely trying to silence the quick-silver flash of anger that rippled through him.  It would be like Shey Cutter to pull this elaborate hoax.  Everything from the arranged date to the supposedly shy daughter and the fiercely overprotective father now made sense.  "Where'd you find them, Shey?"

"Where do you think?  A brothel."

"No hard feelings?"  Rob Falcon asked again.

Joe made a strangled sound.  With effort he maintained his composure.  "No hard feelings."  He stood and shook the man's hand.  "But I really need to talk to my friend alone, so if you could just escort the ladies back to the dance."

"Sure thing."

As Rob Falcon and the women moved away, Joe turned back to Shey Cutter.  The other had stood and was dusting pieces of straw from his rumpled gray suit.   Still chuckling, Shey lifted his head. "Pretty funny, huh, Cartwright?"

"You've no idea."

Shey was still grinning when Joe threw the first punch.
 

The hour slipped past midnight when Joe quietly opened the front door of the big log home and stepped inside.  It was relatively dark within the Great room.  A single lamp, the wick trimmed low, provided the only illumination to the otherwise shadow-drenched room. Eyes already accustomed to the darkness, Joe moved effortlessly towards the stairs.  His gait was stiffer than usual, the result of a wholly satisfying scuffle with Shey Cutter.  Hair ragged and disheveled, blue suit splattered with mud, he was the picture of untidiness. Yet even the ache in his muscles couldn't dim the satisfaction he felt at having won the bout with Shey.  Tomorrow he'd probably regret his impulsiveness.  Tonight, he savored the victory.

Joe made it as far as the bottom step when a wintry voice sliced through the darkness and drew him up short.

"Hold it right there, young man."

Hand resting on the banister, Joe paused.   Slowly, he turned his head.  "Hi, Pa," he offered weakly as his father moved from the relative seclusion of his study.   Joe could feel his heart racing, thundering against his chest.  Ben's face was set in an impassive mask, his eyes hooded and dark.  Moving to a lamp at the bottom of the stairs he adjusted the wick, flooding the room with light.  Wincing from the sudden glare, Joe retreated a step.

"You left the dance in a hurry," Ben observed cooly.

When Joe failed to respond but looked ready to flee, Ben motioned him to the living area. "Joseph, sit down."

Reluctantly his son complied, slinking to the couch where he folded despondently into the stiff cushions.  "I know what you're gonna say, Pa."

"Do you?"  Ben's lips were a tight white line in the brittle mask of his face.  "Joseph, I don't think you have a clue what I'm going to say.  I don't think you have a clue what a disastrous mess you almost made tonight."

"It wasn't my fault!"

"Oh no?  Then whose fault was it?"

Joe swallowed.  He hated trick questions.  "It was a misunderstanding," he decided at last.

"I see."  Ben's gaze failed to soften.  Pacing a few feet away, he hesitated, as though giving the matter careful consideration.  Joe recognized the tactic as the calm before the storm.  Lowering his head, he muttered something unintelligible.

"What was that?" Ben snapped.  Stalking towards the sofa, he leaned forward, bracing his arm on the backrest. One thick finger plunked against his son's chest.  Joe shrank further into the cushions.

"Do you have any idea what that woman wanted from me?"  Ben hissed.

Joe bit his lip.  A dozen snappy comebacks ran through his mind, all of them guaranteed to get him flayed alive.  With effort he kept his face straight.  "Gee, Pa.  At your age, I-I'd have thought you'd figured that one out on your own."  Ben's face darkened with such alacrity, Joe nearly choked.  "Come on, Pa," he amended quickly.  "You should be flattered.  It's not every man of your, um . . . stature . . . who has a twenty year old girl ready to . . .  you know . . ."

Ben glared.  "Yes, Joseph, I do know.  And I have you to thank for putting me into that uncomfortable situation.  I escorted the young lady outside because she said she needed some air, and she--" Halting suddenly, Ben drew back and cleared his throat.  "Let's just say, she forgot the meaning of the word restraint."

Ducking his head, Joe stifled a giggle.  The effort was not lost on Ben.

"You find this amusing?"  he asked sharply.

"What--me?  Why no, Pa."  Raising his eyes, Joe adopted his sincerest wide-eyed gaze.

Ben scowled severely.  "What I don't understand is how you could have led that young lady on--letting her think that I was going to be her date for the evening."

"No, Sir, I didn't," Joe said quickly.  He shifted restlessly, sensing a crack in his father's bristling demeanor.  "It was all an honest mistake.  Shey and I thought Chaos--uh, I mean Miss Greenwood, fancied Adam, so we made arrangements for her to spend the evening with him.  It was only when we got to the dance that I realized she really liked, um--" Joe couldn't help grinning.  "--well, that she liked you, Pa."

"And--?"  Ben prompted.

Joe shrugged.  "There just wasn't time to warn you."  He hesitated, then ventured a hopeful glance.  "At least it got you away from the Widow Dalton."

"Joseph--"

"Sorry."

"I doubt that," Ben said flatly.  Folding his arms across his chest he gazed down at his troublesome young son.  "Despite your meddling, you'll be pleased to know Adam and Miss Greenwood did eventually spend the evening together.  All it took was a little persuasive engineering on my part.  Once Connie learned that Adam had spent time in Philadelphia, her perspective changed."

"That's great, Pa."

"Hmm."  Ben gave a noncommittal grunt.  "As usual, I was left to clean up your mess--including, I might add, a very disgruntled Walter Reese and Sharon Parker."

"Oh--" Joe hedged.  "Well, you see, Pa--"

Ben held up both hands.  "I don't want to hear it.  It's been a long night and I want to go to bed."

Inwardly, Joe sighed with relief.  He was getting off a lot easier than anticipated.  That realization brought the hint of a satisfied grin to his lips.

"Oh, and Joseph--" Ben said as he started for the stairs.  "Your brother Adam is going to be busy with Miss Greenwood all next week, so plan on doing his chores as well as your own."

Joe's smile faltered as though doused by frigid water.  "Pa?"

"And I promised Mrs. Parker you'd escort her daughter and Walter on a tour of the lake region. Walter said something about looking for butterflies."

With a muffled groan, Joe dropped his head into his hands.  Halfway to the stairs, Ben stopped and turned around.  Between a week of extra chores and a day of chasing butterflies, Ben was certain Joe would think twice before meddling again.  Laughing at his son's forlorn expression, he held out his arm.  "Come on, Little Joe.  Even you've got to be tired after tonight."

Clearly reluctant, muttering to himself, Joe trudged to the steps.  Still smiling, Ben gave into the urge that had plagued him earlier.  Slipping his fingers into his son's unruly hair, he ruffled the thick curls.  Yes, some woman had definitely been there before him.  He could see a trace of lip powder on Joe's collar, but that wasn't all.  Now that he was able to set his ire aside, he noticed his son's rumpled appearance for the first time.  Eyes narrowing, he drew back slightly, his hand dropping to Joe's shoulder.

"Little Joe, what happened to you?  I sure hope you didn't get that cut lip from your date."

Grinning, Joe thumbed dried blood from the corner of his mouth.  "It was nothing, Pa.  Just a practical joke."

"Practical joke, hmm?  I think we've had enough tomfoolery for one night."

"No arguments here," Joe said.  He felt Ben's hand tighten on his shoulder and was thankful for the incredible closeness they shared.  Stifling a yawn, he followed the older man up the steps.
 

"Shey's in the library, Joe."  Connie Greenwood stood aside as Joe removed his hat and stepped into the foyer of the large Colonial home.  Frowning, she glanced down the hallway before clicking the front door firmly in place.  "Whatever you do, go softly.  He's in a bit of a temper today."  Midnight blue eyes raked Joe from head to toe.  "Men!"  she scoffed.  "Thank heavens your brother Adam is a tad more refined.  You certainly wouldn't find him rolling around in an alleyway or hungover from a bottle of whiskey."

Joe's brows shot into his hair.  "He's drunk?"

"Not at the moment. Last night was another story."  Disgusted, she shook her head.  "Lord only knows what he'll do in two weeks when I head back east.  I'm thinking of just staying here permanently."

"Oh, no," Joe said quickly.  "Shey's a survivor, Miss Greenwood.  You don't have to worry about him."  He smiled.  Encouragingly.  "Really."

Though her lips pressed together in a pinched line, Connie said nothing.   With the smile plastered in place, Joe pushed past her and walked towards the library.  His boot heels clunked against the floor, the sound muffled by thick rugs.  Unlike the Ponderosa, the main residence of the Circle C was designed for grandeur. Sweeping staircases, double-door room dividers and ornamental ceilings combined with pristine wallpapers and plush furnishings for an opulent decor.  Joe made his way down a short hallway, flanked by tall urns and filigree-framed portraits.  At the end of the corridor he turned left, entering a room enhanced by mahogany furniture and row upon row of leather-bound books.  Shey was seated behind a massive desk, his feet raised and propped on the edge. Reclining with the chair tilted back, his hands laced over his stomach, head tilted towards the ceiling, he was the picture of total relaxation.  It was only when Joe entered the room, drawing his attention, that Joe saw the tell-tale marks of a hangover on his friend's face.

Laughing slightly, he crossed to the desk and propped a hip on the edge.  "Looking a little rough there, Shey."  In addition to red-rimmed eyes and uncombed hair, the young cattle rancher also bore a bruise over his left brow; another on his chin.

Dropping his feet to the floor and spinning around in the chair, Shey folded his arms on the desk. He tucked his head in the cradle.  "Cartwright.  That woman will be the death of me."  Whiskey-brown eyes gazed up at Joe.  "It's bad enough you insisted on beating the bejeevees out of me--for a truly inspired practical joke, I might add--the whole point of which was to make you forget a certain dark-haired woman who dumped you, and is probably already involved with some uppity stuffed-shirt in the east--"

"Shey--" Joe warned darkly.

"Okay, okay."  Shey held up both hands and sat back in the chair.  He studied Joe for a minute, then grinned.  "Come on, admit it--Jane had you pretty hot and bothered before Falcon showed up.  I bet you forgot all about you-know-who."

Joe glanced at his hands. His expression remained neutral as he attempted to decide if he was angry or amused.  Eventually he gave up trying.  "I really don't know why I'm friends with you."

"Me either.  You're a pain in my ass-end, Cartwright.  Now about that woman out there--" Shey pressed two fingers against his temple and closed his eyes.  Joe suppressed a smile, realizing he was feeling the effects of the hangover. "Trudy and I were having a wonderful time here alone last night, when Cousin Chaos showed up sooner than expected.  Do you know she had the nerve--the audacity to boot Trudy out of this house?"  Shey sat up straight in the chair.  "My house!  This is my house, Cartwright!  What am I going to do with her?  She's out of control.  Is it any wonder I spent the night with a bottle?"

"She's leaving in two weeks," Joe said evenly.

Shey snorted.  "Trust me, pal, that ain't soon enough."

"Well," Joe shrugged.  "There's always Adam.  I'm doing double chores next week, because he's supposed to be squiring her around the ranch.  That should keep her out of your way for awhile."

"That's not good enough."  Shey pressed both hands to his temples.  Standing, he paced a short distance, before swinging back to confront Joe.  "I need her gone.  You know--gone.  Back east for good.  A visit on the holidays, maybe.  A letter, fine--"

Joe laughed.  "You know, Shey, you're more flustered than I was last night when I thought Falcon was gonna kill me."  The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he hit on an idea. A slow smile spread across his lips and was quickly squelched.

Failing to note his distraction, Shey snapped his fingers.  "That's it.  I'll hire someone to play rough and tumble with me.  She'll get so scared she'll run home."

Joe stood.  "I think you're overreacting.  Two weeks isn't that long.  Besides, if Connie thought you were in danger, she'd camp here permanently."

"Hmm."  Shey scrubbed his chin.  "You might be right."

"Look, Shey, I've gotta go.  I've got some things to do for Pa--" Joe cringed thinking about arranging the butterfly expedition for Walter and Sharon.  "I'll come by later.  If you're feeling up to it, I'll help with some of your new stock."

"Yeah.  Thanks, Joe."  Shey gave a vague wave of his hand, still entranced with his plans for ridding himself of Connie.  Ducking his head to conceal his grin, Joe left the room.  He found Miss Greenwood in the parlor.

"Sorry to disturb you," he said graciously, when she glanced up at his entrance.

Setting aside a teacup, Connie turned a questioning glance on her visitor.  "How was Shey?"

Joe exhaled a slow breath as though the answer required serious contemplation.  Crossing to an adjacent chair, he perched on the edge, dangling his hat between his knees.  "He's okay, Miss Greenwood, but I've got to be honest with you . . ." Joe left the sentence hang momentarily.  His eyes rose to her face, his gaze schooled to sincerity.  "Shey's my friend, and sometimes I worry about him . . . well, with all that's happened . . ."

"Yes, I know, but I don't see--"

"--he's not holding up as well as I originally thought."

"Oh?"  Connie's lips puckered into a startled bow.

"It's the thought of you leaving.  He's gotten accustomed to having you around."  Joe gave a half-hearted shrug, an actor finely attuned to his role.  "I wouldn't be surprised if his getting drunk last night, doesn't have to do with you going back east."

"Heavens, no!"

"He has a hard time admitting things, Miss Greenwood.  Why I bet if you asked him, he'd tell you he wants you to leave--I'd bet he'd even insist on it.  It's that selfless character trait of his."

Suddenly suspicious, Connie sat back in her chair.  "Selfless?  Shey?  Joe Cartwright, he's been trying to get me out the door ever since I got here."  Her eyes narrowed in shrewd scrutiny. "Are you pulling a ruse on me?"

Joe hedged.  To deny the truth now would alienate the one person he needed for the charade to work.  "Okay, so I am," he admitted reluctantly.  "But I owe him.  Come on, Miss Greenwood--there must be some trick he's pulled on you.  Think back when you were kids.  Let him think you're going to stay here permanently.  I want to torture him for two weeks--just until you're ready to go back east."

"That's appalling," Connie cried.  Sitting straighter, she tugged at the waistline of her dress. "I won't be part of it."

Joe's gaze was pointed.  "He pawned you off on my brother."

"Your brother's charming."

"Miss Greenwood--"

"All right."  She held up her hand.  "One week.  And I'm not doing this for you.  I'm doing it because Shey needs a lesson."  Frowning, she studied him from the corner of her eye.  "I don't understand how two people who profess to be friends can be so . . . conniving."

Joe grinned.  "That's easy--we've had a lot of years to practice on each other."  Leaning forward, he patted her hand.  When her frown deepened to danger levels, he drew back abruptly.  A fleeting smile touched his lips.  "Sorry.  Um . . . about this little scheme of ours--Shey's feeling pretty hungover right now.  It might be an ideal time to tell him you plan to stay."

"Mr. Cartwright, I'm beginning to think you have a sadistic streak."

Joe grinned ear-to-ear.  "Only where your cousin is concerned, Miss Greenwood."

In command, after a brief departure of allowing himself to be conned by a friend more manipulative than he, Joe realized he felt good. Even the thought of the impending butterfly hunt couldn't dim his spirits now. With a nod of his head, he retreated to the hallway, waiting in anticipation of the show to come.  A short time later, Connie Greenwood walked to the library, where her cousin still battled a lingering hangover.  Joe trailed behind, hesitating just outside the closed door.  He could hear muffled voices through the stout wood--Connie's steady in tone; Shey's spiraling upward in frustration. As he listened to his friend's growing agitation, Joe smiled smugly.

There was nothing better than stirring up a little chaos of his own.