"I’m sorry," he started. How often had he said those words, how often had he watched hope crumble to despair? "I’m truly sorry, Ben, but there’s nothing I can do." He shook his head. He’d known this family a long time, knew he was ripping the heart out of it. "There’s just too much damage. Maybe if the horse hadn’t rolled on him, but the saddle horn caught him in the stomach, and you know there’s not much worse…"

All three had gone sheet white. He’d pulled so many seeming miracles out of his black bag that he knew they’d thought surely he could find one more.

"I’ve given him a little medicine for the pain, just to take the edge off, but he didn’t want any more than that." He paused, then said gently, "He’s asking for you. All of you."

He watched the three men move slowly to the stairs in a fog of despair. Ben stopped next to him.

"How long?" he whispered hoarsely.

Paul clenched his jaw and looked at the floor, then up into the devastated brown eyes. "Not long. Not long at all."

Ben took his son’s hand, called his name quietly, and Adam’s eyes fluttered open. They could see the pain lurking in the dark depths.

Adam spoke softly, as if he could control the agony by parceling out the amount of breath it took to speak. "Hi, Pa."

Ben wiped his brow with a damp cloth. "Just rest, son. It’ll be all right."

Adam gazed up with eyes that gently chided him with the truth, then asked, "Joe?"

Joe moved to his side and sat cautiously on the bed, not wanting to jostle him, not wanting to hurt him. "I’m here, Adam."

Adam turned from his father and focused on his youngest brother. "Marie always asked me to take care of you. I know sometimes that’s been hard on you, but once I promised I just couldn’t seem to stop." He paused for a moment to catch his breath, and Joe grabbed his free hand, holding it tight. "Well, I don’t need to do that any more; you’ve grown into a fine young man who can take care of himself."

"Adam, I want you there. I don’t know what I’m gonna do if you’re not always looking over my shoulder—" He broke off and looked away.

"Shhh," Adam soothed. "I know, buddy, I know. I’ll still be watching over you, I promise."

Joe nodded; his throat closed with tears.

"Hoss…" Adam said. Joe rose and made room for his other brother.

"Adam…" Hoss started, but he couldn’t go on.

Adam smiled. "We’ve never needed words, have we?"

Hoss shook his big head and a single tear tracked down his dirty cheek. "I just wish I coulda done something, stopped that big bull…"

Adam gripped his arm. "Hoss, listen to me. There’s nothing you could have done." He could see Hoss didn’t really believe him, so at the expense of additional pain he took a deeper breath and spoke strongly. "Hoss, I won’t let you go on thinking this way. Look at me," he demanded, and Hoss reacted instinctively to his older brother’s voice. Adam spaced his words carefully, forcefully. "It was not your fault," he said.

Joe moved up behind Hoss, put a hand on his shoulder. "Adam’s right, there wasn’t anything any of us could have done."

Adam looked up at his little brother gratefully. "See?" he said. "All grown up."

Joe smiled sadly at him. "Don’t worry, I’ll work on him."

"Hoss," Adam said, his voice growing weaker. "Hoss, I need you to do something for me."

Hoss looked up from his misery. "Anything, Adam. You just tell me."

"I need to talk to Pa for a minute, then I want you to take me outside." He looked around his room, saw the drawings he’d been so proud to hang on his walls, the guitar he’d never play again that rested upright in the corner, the books he’d loved lined up on the shelves. "I want to see the mountains once more."

Hoss rose. "You just let me know when. Joe and me’ll go get a couch for you."

"Thanks," he breathed, and closed his eyes. He heard the door close, felt his father’s weight shift onto the bed. It was getting harder to stay awake—fatigue pulled at him, enticed him to sleep, but he had a few things yet to do. He felt his father’s grip on his hand tighten, and he opened his eyes again. His brothers were gone.

"Pa," he whispered, but the agony in his voice wasn’t from the physical pain. "I’m sorry, Pa. I didn’t mean to do this to you."

"Oh, Adam," Ben groaned. "I don’t want you to go, boy."

"I know, and I don’t want to go, either." His breath caught and he bit his lip as he rode the wave of pain. Gasping when it finally ebbed, he said wryly, "Remember I used to say you had to kill me to hurt me?"

Ben nodded, his chest aching too much for words.

Adam’s habitual control deserted him, and the little boy in his heart cried out to his father. "It hurts, Pa; God, it hurts."

Ben cupped his cheek in his hand. "I know, son." He took a cloth from the nightstand and softly stroked the sweat from his boy’s face. "I know."

Joe spoke first. "We’ve got it set up."

Ben looked up, swallowed once, then rose. "Go ahead," he said roughly.

Joe pulled the comforter off his brother and folded it carefully. He hugged it against his chest, and the warmth it held from his brother’s body loosened the knot in his gut just a little.

Hoss slid his arms carefully under Adam’s shoulders and knees. He lifted him as gently as possible but could see Adam clench his jaw against the pain. Hoss looked at his father, wondering if this was the right thing to do.

Ben nodded, so he maneuvered carefully out the door, down the hall, down the stairs. He paused for a moment on the landing, knowing Adam would want a last look around the room that he’d designed for his family, would want to remember for just a moment the many happy times they’d shared here. Then Hoss went down the last few steps, through the big room and outside.

Hoss and Joe had hauled the settee outside and placed it so that, once he was settled on the cushions Joe’d brought, Adam had a sweeping view of the mountains, the trees and meadows, and, with just a slight turn of his head, the ranch house. Some of the ranch hands were standing respectfully distant, hats twisting in their fingers. Joe tucked the comforter around his brother, and Adam touched Joe’s hand once, lightly, his gratitude for more than the blanket.

Ben knelt beside the couch, one knee in the dirt of the yard. He took his son’s hand and finally faced what he’d known since he’d first seen Adam lying in the back of the buckboard. It was time. "You say hello to your mother for me."

Adam smiled then and mischief danced in his eyes for one last moment. "I will. To all three."

Ben’s laugh caught on a sob.

Adam’s face relaxed. "It doesn’t hurt any more," he said with wonder.

Hoss and Joe moved up close behind their father. "I’m glad, son," Ben said.

Adam looked out at the distant peaks but then turned his gaze on his brothers and, finally, just his father. "We did good, didn’t we, Pa?" he murmured.

"Yes, Adam," said Ben with his deep, rich voice. "We did good."

And he watched the light disappear from his son’s dark eyes, watched the lids flutter shut one last time, then he buried his face against the broad chest and wept.