Soft earth folded beneath Cochise's hooves as Joe Cartwright rode over the crest of the hill.  The ground sloped away before him, unfurling in a sun-drenched tapestry of green.  Further in the distance, the jagged caps of the mountains rose above the treeline--majestic peaks erected to a cloud-streaked sky.

Joe followed the fence line, watching for stray cattle, and any rifts in the taut rows of barb wire. He shifted in the saddle, feeling the stiff ache of abused muscles.  It was inching towards noon, and he was operating on a few hours sleep. Lately it was habit--spending the evening in Virginia City, well into dawn.  Somehow poker and friends had taken the place of family and responsibility.  Only this morning his father had given him a delayed lecture on the vices of gambling and alcohol.

Joe grimaced at the memory. He and Ben were drifting apart and he didn't know how to stop the separation.  Joe knew his own restless nature was partly at fault.  He was not the businessman Adam was, nor was he as dependable as Hoss, but he'd always thought there was a place for him on the Ponderosa.  Lately, even that seemed an unlikelihood.  Only last month his father had entrusted him with the ranch's horse operation, but already Joe sensed Ben's disappointment.  It wasn't so much his handling of the business that seemed to bother Ben, but rather Joe himself. Ben started finding shortcomings in everything Joe did and that made him feel more and more a failure.  He didn't see how he could ever measure up to his father's standards.

The acrid reek of smoke brought him back to the present.  Joe nudged Cochise further down the trail he was riding, then over the next hill.  Just beyond the rise, two men reclined in the grass around a camp fire.  A sorrel and black were tethered nearby and an array of tools was strewn over the ground.  The line of fence that wound by the makeshift camp was in bad need of repair.  Two of the posts were busted and the wire was breached in countless places.

Suppressing a sudden stab of anger, Joe rode for the camp and dismounted.  Moving swiftly to the fire, he kicked dirt over the flames, sending a hissing ribbon of smoke into the air.

"Hey, hey! What'dya think yer doin'?"  A heavyset man with thinning brown hair huffed, as he struggled to his feet.  Joe recognized him as Frank McCay, one of the new hands his father had hired only last week.  His partner, still reclining on the grass, was Kent Rudy.  Rudy tipped a bottle of whiskey to his lips and took a long swig.

"He's playing rich kid boss, McCay.  Let him go."

Reaching forward, Joe snagged the bottle out of Rudy's hand.  A snap of his wrist sent it crashing against the nearest post.  Glass shattered over the broken wood and rainbowed in glittering fragments to the ground.  "You're supposed to be mending that fence, not getting foxed.  We told you when we hired you, no alcohol."

Rudy and McCay exchanged a glance.  Unwinding like a cat, Rudy rose to his feet.  He was all harsh, angular lines, with a pinched face and a swath of mud-dark hair.  Bloodshot eyes, glazed by the haze of alcohol, bore into Joe. "Guess we forgot that part."

"Guess again, you're fired." On a normal day, Joe had little tolerance for fools.  This morning, the crackling edge of his temper made that leniency almost nil. "You've got a weeks pay coming.  Pick it up at the house." As he started to turn away, a hand clutched at his shoulder and whirled him around.

McCay's blow clipped him on the side of the face and sent him reeling back into Cochise.  The horse sidestepped out of the way and Joe fell backwards.  Instantly, a hand closed on his shirt front and hauled him to his feet.  A second blow buffeted him below the ribs, doubling him over.  As the pain constricted across his stomach, he was vaguely aware of Rudy approaching from the side.  Lurching forward, Joe barreled into McCay's bulky frame, sending them both tumbling to the ground.  Scrambling to his feet, he snagged McCay by the collar.  Drawing his arm back, he snapped his fist into the larger man's face.  Teeth grazed against his knuckles and he felt the sudden hot flow of blood spread across his hand.

McCay cursed.

With a quick swipe of his foot, he hooked Joe below the ankles, and kicked his legs out from under him.  Joe grunted as his back struck the ground, the jarring impact clattering his teeth together.  He rolled to the side as Rudy moved forward to strike.

Ducking the smaller man's blow, Joe reciprocated with one of his own.  Rudy's head rocked to the side, and Joe followed the strike with an uppercut to the man's mid section.  Almost immediately, Rudy folded in half and dropped to his knees.  Before Joe could move again, he heard the tell-tale click of a gun hammer being cocked.  Slowly, he raised his hands in the air and turned. Frank McCay had drawn his revolver.

"Seems we got us a situation."  The big man wiped a hand across his mouth and spat blood on the ground. "What'dya think, Rudy?"

The thinner man staggered upright.  Grinning wickedly, he cast a sideways glance at Joe.  "I think maybe we don't want that week's pay after all, rich kid.  We'll just take it out of your hide." As he spoke, Rudy eased Joe's gun out of his holster.  Tossing it aside, he moved to his horse and retrieved a coil of rope.  With a backwards glance over his shoulder, he grinned wolfishly at Joe.  "We gonna have us some fun now, Cartwright."

Joe's eyes flickered to the rope.  His chest was heaving with the exertion of the fight, and his hair hung ragged over his brow.  He could taste blood in his mouth; feel more seeping from his lacerated knuckles. Rudy grabbed him on the shoulder and propelled him towards the nearest fence post.  With his back to the splintered wood, Joe's arms were wrenched behind him and secured by the rope.

Rudy gave one last tug to the binding, and stepped back to survey his handiwork. "What'dya think, Frank?"

McCay slipped his gun into his holster.   He crunched the knuckles of one hand against the other, a sadistic gleam in his oatmeal-pale eyes.  Licking his lips, he took a step forward.  "I think the boy needs a lesson."

Undaunted, Joe lifted his chin, his green eyes defiant.  "And who's gonna teach me?  A lazy toad and a skinny drunk?"

"Why you--" McCay lurched forward, driving his fist into Joe's stomach.

The explosion of pain was staggering.  Joe gasped, bending double.  The binding on his wrists snapped taut, holding him in place.  Sweat dripped into his eyes.  At Rudy's urging, McCay hit him again, then backhanded him across the face.  Blood flooded Joe's mouth.

"Hold it right there."

The voice was distant, fogged by the pain-numbing haze in his mind.  Joe waited for another blow, but it never came.  Blinking sweat from his eyes, he lifted his head.  Ten yards away, his father sat mounted on Buck, a Winchester rifle laid over his lap.  McCay cursed and backed away.

A nervous laugh escaped Rudy.  He sniffled and dragged a dirt-encrusted sleeve beneath his nose.  "Mr. Cartwright, this ain't like it looks."

"Then how is it?"

Rudy chanced a quick glance at McCay.  His friend's skin had mottled with rage and his lips were white like the underbelly of a fish.  "We was just--"

"Untie my son."  Ben snapped.

Rudy jumped as though physically prodded into motion.  Moving to Joe's side, he undid the binding, allowing the rope to coil harmlessly to the ground.  Roughly, Joe shoved him away then bent to retrieve his gun.  "Get the hell out of here," he muttered.

Ben jerked his head behind him.  "The road to Virginia City is that way.  I don't think I have to tell you what will happen if I find either of you on the Ponderosa again."

Head bobbing on his skinny neck like a child to eager to please, Rudy snagged his companion by the arm.  McCay turned away wordlessly, but his heavy-lidded eyes bore into Joe as he mounted his horse.  Ben watched as they rode away, then returned his rifle to its scabbard and dismounted.

Joe thumbed blood from the corner of his mouth.  "Thanks, Pa."

"What happened?"  The edge was gone from Ben's voice.  As he moved to Joe's side, his dark eyes narrowed in concern.  Gripping Joe's chin, he tilted his son's head to the side, to better examine the bruise rising on his cheek. Impatiently, Joe brushed his arm away.

"I caught them drinking.  When I told them to pack up and collect their pay, they jumped me."

Ben nodded thoughtfully.  He'd saved his son from a beating, but had been too late to prevent some painful blows.  He could tell by the way Joe was standing, that he favored his left side.  Ben frowned.  He knew solicitousness would get him nowhere.  Joe would brush off the concern as unwanted and unnecessary, all the while bristling to be away.  Ben resisted the urge to touch his son.  "We shouldn't have to hire men like that, but with the competition from the mines--"

"I know, Pa."  Joe's reply came much too quickly.  He wet his lips.  "I've still got a lot of fence line to cover.  I should get back at it."

"Sure, Joe."  Ben watched as he swung onto Cochise's back.  Joe winced with the effort, but composed his face quickly.  Lacing the reins between his hands, he glanced down at his father.

"I'm gonna ride to Virginia City afterwards, Pa.  I promised Mitch I'd stop by the saloon."

"Again?"  Ben hissed and immediately regretted the slip.  He saw Joe stiffen.  Lately they seemed to argue more than they talked.  "You were just there yesterday," he said, trying to keep his tone neutral.

"I know.  I won't be late.  Besides--I can pick up the mail while I'm there.  You're expecting a letter from Adam, right?"

Reluctantly, Ben nodded.  He wished his eldest son were home to council him on the situation with Joe, rather than brokering a cattle auction in San Francisco.  Adam wouldn't return for another three weeks and each day the gulf between Ben and his youngest son grew. "Come home early," he instructed.

Joe grinned.  "I promise."

The grandfather's clock struck 3 a.m., sending a melodic shiver of sound rippling through the great room of the Ponderosa ranch.  With an irritated glance at the timepiece, Ben Cartwright clasped his hands behind his back and continued to pace.  His boot heels scraped against the hardwood floor, eliciting a clipped echo from the plank boards.  In the hearth, the fire had dwindled to a few remaining embers--topaz coals, weakly sputtering thin ribbons of smoke up the chimney.  The light from a nearby hurricane lamp washed a puddle of gold over the floor, chasing long-tailed shadows to the corners.

Ben sighed and laced a hand through his hair.  He'd given up trying to sleep almost two hours ago, when he'd abandoned his bed for a book and a fireside chair.  As the hour inched deeper into the night, those too had been forsaken in favor of the anxious pacing that occupied him now.

Joseph was still in Virginia City.

The thought brought an agitated frown to Ben's lips.  He was uncertain if he was concerned, angry or both.  Certainly his twenty-two year old son was mature enough to set his own hours, but when that included an increasing penchant for late nights, liquor and gambling, Ben feared a line had to be drawn.  It would have been easier had Joe slacked off on his duties at the ranch, but despite the late nights and occasional hangovers, his youngest son still managed to fulfill his obligations at the Ponderosa without fault.  He'd finished his work today before riding into town.  He'd just conveniently forgotten his promise to return early.

Ben jerked suddenly at the click of the front door opening.  He'd been so immersed in his thoughts, he hadn't even heard Joe approach.  His son tossed his hat on the sideboard by the front door, then moved to unbuckle his gunbelt.  As he set the hostler and weapon aside, his eyes caught sight of Ben.

"Pa.  What are you still doing up?"

Ben folded his arms across his chest and waited as his son approached.  Joe's thick, curly hair was tousled, the bangs falling softly across his forehead.  There was a flush to his tanned skin and his green eyes were unnaturally bright, but there was nothing to indicate the dull haze of alcohol. Ben breathed a sigh of relief.  Whatever he'd been doing, Joe hadn't been carousing with his friends.  As Ben's eyes dipped lower, he realized his son's shirt was rumpled and the buttons improperly alined.  A hint of perfume clung to his clothing.  Ben's eyes narrowed. There was something vaguely familiar about the scent, as though he should recognize it.  Joe had obviously been with one of the many women who favored his company, but what type of woman kept hours so late?

"Do you know what time it is, young man?"

Joe looked momentarily puzzled by Ben's harsh tone.  He shrugged.  "Sure, Pa.  I know I promised to be home early, but--"

"But you thought it wasn't important to honor that vow?  Have you forgotten you're meeting with a prospective buyer tomorrow?"

"You mean Wingate?"  Joe placed his hands on his hips.  "Come on, Pa, that's nothing.  I--"

"Nothing?"  Ben bit the word off like steel.  "Joseph, do you realize the potential business that one man represents?  If he buys the string of horses you've just broken, it will be the cement to supply not only working stock, but breeding stock as well.  He represents a conglomerate of California-based ranches.  He's only in town for one day, and it's taken painstaking effort to set up this meeting.  Mr. Wingate insists on speaking with you, since you work directly with our stock and oversee the horse operation of this ranch."

"I know, Pa."

"Don't interrupt me!"

Joe ducked his head.  "Yes, Sir."

"I don't need you fouling this up because you're too fog-headed or hungover from a night of carousing with your friends, or God-knows-what-else you've been up to.  I specifically asked you to come home early.  I've given you almost complete control of the horse operation of this ranch, Joseph, but I'm starting to question whether or not that was a sound decision.  Lately you seem more interested in your friends and the night life of Virginia City than you do with the Ponderosa."

Joe raised his head, dismayed by his father's anger.  It seemed no matter what he did, he just couldn't please Ben.  He was partly to blame, he knew.  He had been away from the ranch too frequently, indulging in late nights on the town with questionable friends.  He didn't understand his own restlessness, only knew that it had become so much a part of him, it was erecting a wall between himself and his family.

Joe wet his lips.  "You don't have to worry, Pa.  I'll be fine tomorrow.  And I wasn't drinking."

Ben's demeanor failed to soften.  "What were you doing?"

Joe hesitated, then glanced away.  His eyes dipped to the floor, where he studied the tips of his boots.  "I was visiting a friend."

"And gaining a reputation.  Joseph, do you realize half the women of Virginia City have branded you a philanderer? And what woman, with any type of upbringing entertains a bachelor, until almost three in the morning?"

Joe flushed.  Tight-lipped, he glanced aside.  He could understand his father's displeasure over another late night out, but he hadn't expected this assault on his character, much less the character of his friends.  It was unlike Ben to delve into his personal life, and that wound cut deeply.  "I didn't say I was with a woman," he returned stiffly.

The fire hissed as the last sputtering coal succumbed to darkness.  Wrapped in the halo of light from the hurricane lamp, Ben's face was unnaturally grave.  Deep creases puckered the corners of his eyes and etched a spider-thin webwork of lines around his mouth. His chin was tilted up, creating a belligerent mask-like effect, readily magnified by the frosted glare of his eyes. "If you weren't with a woman, who were you with?"

Joe fell silent.  He could feel his insides twisting.  His father had never grilled him like this before--never made his behavior seem so demeaning.  He knew Ben didn't approve of his recent penchant for gambling and late night saloon visitations, but he'd never before hinted at improper conduct when it came to women.  A burgeoning thread of resentment danced along the exposed edge of Joe's nerves.  He was suddenly tired.  Fatigued by all the confrontations he'd had with his father.  What ever it was that had put them so much at odds, he just couldn't seem to heal the breach, and was weary of trying.  That frustration made his temper grow dangerously thin.

"I'm tired, Pa.  Could I please just go to bed?"

"Oh, I see.  You've been out.  You've had your fun.  Now you want to push all this aside and skip the lecture."

"I didn't realize you were planning on giving me one," Joe snapped.

Ben took a threatening step forward.  His glance was baleful.  "Don't take that tone of voice with me, boy."

Joe caught his bottom lip between his teeth and ducked his head.  His chest rose and fell with the effort to control his anger.  At his sides, his hands had white-knuckled into fists.  Ben was standing much too close now, glowering down at him, making him realize not for the first time, how terribly slight in stature he was, next to his father's tall, broad frame.  Still his chest heaved.  "It isn't fair," he muttered.

"What isn't fair?"  Ben demanded.

Joe's eyes flashed to his father's face, his gaze bristling and defiant.  "You wouldn't do this with Adam or Hoss.  If Adam came home at three in the morning you'd--"

"If Adam came home at three in the morning, I'd know he had a valid excuse."

"And I don't, is that it?"

"Well?  Do you?"  Ben challenged.

Disgusted, Joe glanced away.  He heard Ben swear softly, then stalk from his side.  A moment later his father's curt voice came from the shadows by the hearth.  "Go to bed, Joseph."

Joe didn't hesitate.  He walked briskly to the staircase, taking the steps two at a time as he hurried to his room.  Once inside, he closed the door behind him, and sagged against the stout wood.  Expelling a ragged breath, he raised his head and stared at the ceiling.

Ben had been right about one thing--he had been with a woman.  He just didn't see how he could possibly tell his father that woman was Lorna David--Adam's, steady girlfriend.

"Morning, little brother."

Joe managed a weak nod at Hoss's gap-toothed smile.  He still wasn't awake.  It had taken all his energy to crawl out of bed this morning, but he'd been determined to be up, before Ben had to call him.  He was stiff and sore from the beating he'd taken yesterday, the muscles of his midsection protesting with every slight nuance of movement.  Sliding into his chair at the breakfast table, Joe stole a glance at this father.

"Morning, Pa."

Ben's eyes flicked to his face, then back to his plate.  He muttered a greeting, still obviously nursing his displeasure from the previous eve.  Failing to note the tension between the two, Hoss shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth.  "I got that fencing loaded on the buckboard, Pa.  Want me and Joe to head up to the north pasture and mend that rift in the line?"

Ben nodded.  His fork scraped over his plate as he pushed fried potatoes to the side.

Joe glanced up, holding a platter of scrambled eggs suspended in the air.  Startled, he glanced from his father to his brother.  "I was gonna pick up the mail in Virginia City, Pa.  Remember-- that letter from Adam?"

Carefully Ben retrieved his knife and sliced a piece of ham from the slab on his plate.  "You were supposed to do that yesterday.  Why didn't you pick it up then?"

Joe set the platter down.  Nervously he wet his lips.  He knew he couldn't tell his father the truth about Miss David.  "I got tied up with Mitch," he lied, inwardly cringing at the falsehood. "The post office was already closed when I got there.  I just figured I'd go back today.  I can still be back in plenty of time to make that 12:30 meeting with Mr. Wingate."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you haven't forgotten that." Ben's voice held the slightest sting.  He chose not to comment about Mitch, though it was on the tip of his tongue to remind his son of his responsibilities.  His eyes shifted aside to Hoss.  "Take a couple of the hands, Hoss.  Your brother wouldn't have much time anyway.  I need him to have that string ready for Wingate to review."

"Sure."  Hoss nodded thoughtfully, suddenly aware of the tension.  Joe had abandoned the platter of eggs, and was morosely pushing a couple of potatoes around his plate with his fork.  His head was bent, his lips slightly parted.  Hoss could see the thick black line of lashes cresting his cheeks and realized with a start there were creases of shadow beneath his eyes. A light bruise feathered the smooth skin of one finely boned cheek.

"So . . . it's all right if I get the mail?"  Joe ventured, casting an uncertain glance at his father.

Pushing his plate away, Ben reached for his coffee.  "Somebody has to.  Just make sure you're back by 12:30."

"Yes, Sir."  Joe drew his napkin over his mouth and stood.  "I think I'll go now.  I'm not really hungry."

When Ben made no reply, but gave a clipped nod of his head, Joe moved quickly for the door.  The atmosphere in the room was oppressing, weighing on his shoulders like lead.  Looping his gun belt over his shoulder, he grabbed his hat and jacket and slipped outside.  A rush of cool morning air greeted him the moment his boots struck the porch.  Closing his eyes briefly, he delighted in the crisp edge of welcoming breeze that ruffled the strands of hair at his collar.  The touch washed away the last clinging traces of sleep, and he strode briskly from the porch to the barn.

Inside, the pungent aroma of horse and hay filled his nostrils.  Cochise whickered a soft greeting as he drew near her stall.  "Hey, Cooch."  Joe stroked strong gentle fingers over the horse's mane, smiling slightly when a soft nose nudged him in the ribs.  Looping an arm over her broad shoulders, he made a soft clucking noise and pressed his face to her neck.  He could feel the smooth satin of her coat against his skin.  Inhaling deeply, he found himself contented by her familiar scent.  "We gotta go, girl.  You ready for another ride?"

It seemed only hours ago he'd returned to the Ponderosa, only to encounter the irate edge of his father's scorn.  Joe was thankful Adam was in San Francisco. He didn't think he could juggle his father's anger and what would surely have been Adam's ridicule for his behavior.

Then there was the matter of Miss David.

Joe frowned.  He buckled on his gunbelt, then slipped into his corduroy green jacket, tugging the collar up around his neck.   "Come on, Cooch."  Joe saddled the mare and led her from the barn.  Once outside, he swung onto her back, grunting a little at the resurgence of pain the action induced.  Tapping his heels lightly to Cochise's sides, he headed for Virginia City, thankful to put distance between himself and Ben Cartwright.

Joe tucked Adam's letter, along with two others obtained from the post office, into his saddle bag.  The sun had risen higher in the sky as the morning inched closer to afternoon.  He could feel the lick of warmth against his neck, displacing the whispering edge of a mid summer breeze.  It was going to be hot today.  Already he could feel the air was weighted with blossoming heat--the kind that made the trees listless, even when the wind rippled through their branches.

Joe dragged the back of his wrist across his forehead, and squinted up the street.  Though early, there were already patrons at the saloon--a few diehards from the previous night and a handful of early risers who needed a shot of rockgut, before venturing into a new day.  Across the street, the mercantile was open--busier than the saloon, but not as active as the livery stable, half a block down.

Sighing, Joe leaned against Cochise.  Propping an arm on her saddle, he lowered his head to his sleeve.  Involuntarily the events of the previous day played through his mind. He'd had all good intentions of picking up the mail and meeting Mitch at the saloon, but on his way into town he'd met Lorna David along the side of the road--her buggy banged up, the rear wheel turned beneath the carriage.  Joe could still recall her reaction when he'd stopped to help her:

"Miss David, are you hurt?"  Joe's voice rose in alarm as he realized the woman was weeping softly.  Jumping from Cochise, he moved to her side and gripped her arm.  The wheels of her buggy had struck a deep rut on the shoulder of the road, and the vehicle was leaning at a precarious angle.  "Let me help you down from there."

Weakly, she tried to fend him off.  "Go away, Joe.  I don't need any help.  I'm fine."

His mouth tightened at the obvious lie.  Stepping up on the footboard, he applied gentle pressure to her arm.  "I'm not going away, Miss David, so you might as well step down."

Watery green eyes lifted to his face.  Though a decade older than him, Lorna David was a stunning woman with delicate features and fawn-colored skin.  Her hair was heavy and glossy, with a sheen like onyx.  She wore it coiled neatly at the back of her head, one single braid dangling free over her slim back.  She had been seeing his brother Adam for close to three months, and the family speculated the pairing grew serious.  Biting her lip to stifle further tears, Lorna nodded and allowed Joe to help her from the wagon.

"What happened?"  he asked.

She waved vacantly at the air, a lace handkerchief clutched in her thin hand.  "I wasn't paying attention.  I was distraught over some news I received and the wheel--"

"What news?"

She looked at him with a measured gaze.  "Joe Cartwright, that's none of your business."

He hesitated, uncertain if he should pry further.  Though he didn't know Lorna that well, he sensed she was a woman not easily given to tears.  She had a certain sternness about her that went hand-in-hand with his brother's proper conduct.  He might have coaxed her from the wagon, but that was all he was going to get.  Reluctantly, he inclined his head.  "At the very least, let me take you home.  This wagon isn't going anywhere without some repairs.  I'll come back and mend the
wheel, after I see you home."

"I couldn't ask you to do that."

Joe smiled.  "You didn't ask.  I offered."

Now it was her turn to hesitate.  One hand plucked uncertainly at the delicate chain of her necklace.  Joe's eyes followed the movement and he noted she wore the locket Adam had given her for her birthday--the one Joe had purchased for his brother in Sunset Draw.  As her fingers worried the chain, a troubled crease furrowed her brow.  Joe waited patiently, until at last she nodded.  "That's most kind of you, Joe."

Smiling warmly, he helped her onto Cochise then mounted behind her.  Lorna had a small home a few miles beyond town where she did alterations and made baked goods for sale at the general store.  Upon arrival, Joe scrounged some tools from the shed behind the house, then went back to the wagon to make repairs.  It was well past the dinner hour when he returned with the newly repaired wagon.  The sun was already sinking into the cradle of the trees, bathing the ground in a milky red glow.

Miss David came onto the front porch as she heard the wagon roll up, a white towel held in one hand.  Joe pushed the brake forward and sprang lithely to the ground.  The earlier stiffness was almost completely gone from his muscles, and his battered stomach gave only the slightest twinge. Grinning crookedly, he glanced up at the dark-haired woman on the porch. "All fixed."

"I can't thank you enough." Lorna stepped to the edge of the porch and wrapped one slender hand around the post.  "There's a pump just around back.  You can wash up there, then come inside for dinner.  I wouldn't send you home hungry after all the work you've done."  She handed him the towel.

Joe nodded.  He'd barely eaten any breakfast, and no lunch.  At the moment, he didn't doubt he could eat Hoss under the table.  At the water pump, he stripped off his jacket and shirt and vigorously scrubbed the dirt from his hands, neck and arms.  The water was frigid, making him shiver, but it felt good after a day of sweating beneath the hot sun.  He used the towel to dry off, then slipped into his shirt, failing to pay attention as he hurried to button the garment.  Tucking the tails into his pants, he grabbed his jacket and headed for the house.

Lorna served a thick meat-filled stew, with fresh baked bread and warm apple pie for dessert.  When he was through eating, Joe sat on the couch nursing a cup of coffee as Lorna cleared the dishes away.  Though clean and well-maintained, Lorna's house was small.  One room served as the focal point, encompassing both living and dining areas.  Thus the circular table where he'd eaten, was just off the side of the couch.  Tipping the coffee to his lips, Joe watched as Lorna moved from the table to the kitchen area, where she deposited the dirty dishes in a deep basin.

"Are you going to tell me what had you so upset earlier?" he asked.

The clatter of dishes stopped as she grew suddenly still.  After a beat, Lorna dipped her head, and returned to stacking dishes in the basin.  "I told you that was none of your business."

Joe set his coffee aside and rose to his feet.  Stepping to her side, he caught her elbow and tugged her about.  Though he was not exceptionally tall, Lorna David barely reached his shoulder.  His lashes lowered as he gazed down at her.  "Look, Miss David--my brother cares about you a great deal, and he's not here right now to help you, so I'm making it my business."

She turned her face to the side.  "Please, Joe.  I don't want to talk about it.  Not now."

There was a tremor in her voice that made him think she hovered on the brink of tears.  His fingers fell from her arm and he turned away.  Expelling a breath, he laced a hand through his hair.  "If there's anything I can do," he said, his back still turned, "All you have to do is ask."

"I know."  Hesitantly she came to his side and embraced him.  He could smell her perfume--a sweet mixture of violet and rose.  "Thank you, Joseph.  Adam is fortunate to have such a loving, supportive family."

Joe wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of his head.  "I should go now."

"You haven't finished your coffee," she said hastily.  Drawing back, she raised her head. Her eyes were large and limpid, underwoven with a sliver of fear.  Her hands still rested on his chest.  Belatedly, she seemed to realize the improperness of their proximity.  Ducking her head, she withdrew, a heated blush staining her cheeks.  "Please stay."

Joe wet his lips, sensing her awkwardness.  What ever was troubling her, it left her frightened to be alone.  Though she wouldn't say it outright, she wanted him in the house.  "Coffee sounds good," he said, and immediately felt the tension slack from her body.  She glanced at him from beneath a veil of lashes, a wane smile flickering over her lips.  Joe watched as she moved back to the kitchen.  He stepped to the couch and retrieved his coffee.

Sometime later, the soft din of the plates clicking together, and the cushioning warmth of the sofa combined to lull him to sleep.  Long nights and early mornings, coupled with the beating he'd taken earlier that day, made his body demand a respite. Though he thought to only rest his eyes, he awakened much later to a dark house.  A thin blanket was draped over his chest.  It smelled faintly of Lorna's perfume.

Joe sat up with a start, his eyes immediately flicking to the clock on the mantle of the fireplace.  A groan escaped his lips when he saw that the hour crept towards 1:00 a.m.  He had promised his father he'd be home early, and now he wouldn't make it until almost three.  Shrugging the blanket aside, he rose stiffly to his feet.  His battered stomach muscles--constricted from lack of use--sent a sharp twinge of pain skittering across his abdomen.  Joe hitched in his breath.

It was obvious Miss David had retired for the evening.  Collecting his hat, gun and jacket, Joe quietly opened the front door and stepped outside.  A rush of cool night air teased a whisper of perfume from his clothing--Miss David's perfume.  Joe frowned as he recalled how frightened she had seemed.  He hesitated, uncertain if he should leave her alone for the night, but knew he had to return to the Ponderosa.

Tomorrow, he vowed, he would have some answers from her.

Joe lifted his head as the last of the memories washed away.  Squinting against the rising sun, he calculated the time it would take to visit Miss David and make it back to the ranch. As long as he was at the Ponderosa by noon, he felt his father would be appeased.  Wingate wasn't arriving until 12:30.  That gave him plenty of time to resolve the situation with Miss David.

Hiking his foot into the stirrup, Joe swung onto Cochise's back.  His stomach was still tender.  It would be awhile before he could manage his favorite vault mounting technique.  "Come on, Cooch."  With gentle guidance from the reins and slight pressure from his knee, he urged the mare around and headed away from town.

Two hours later Mitch Campbell rode at an easy canter up to the Ponderosa ranch house.  As he dismounted, he happened to catch Ben coming out the front door.

"Morning, Mr. Cartwright."  Mitch grinned easily, a habit that brought familiar warmth to his dark blue eyes while dimpling his face.  A swath of copper-colored hair hung forward over his brow.  Rolling his thin shoulders, he lifted a hand and raked it aside.  "Joe around?"

"Oh--morning, Mitch."  Ben buckled on his gunbelt as he neared the hitching post.  Though he tried to reserve judgement on Mitch, he knew that coupled with his youngest son, the two were nothing but trouble.  "Sorry, he left early for town."  Bending over, Ben tethered the holster to his right leg. "Besides--as late as the two of you were out last night, I wouldn't think there 'd be anything you hadn't already discussed."

"I ain't seen Joe, Mr. Cartwright," Mitch volunteered without thinking.  "We were supposed to meet up last night but he never--" He stopped suddenly, realizing abruptly, he'd just placed his friend in a precarious situation.

Ben straightened.  "Oh?"

Chuckling nervously, Mitch backed towards his horse.  "I really gotta go, Mr. Cartwright.  If you see Joe, just tell him . . . um . . ."

"Yes?"  Ben lodged his hands on his hips and adopted his sternest expression--the one that withered most cow hands, including his three sons.

Hastily, Mitch scrambled onto his chestnut.  "Never mind."  With a half-hearted wave, he bolted from sight as though rustlers clung to his tail.  A moment later the front door opened and Ben heard the heavy tread of Hoss's boots against the porch boards.

"Found that wire cutter, Pa.  I'm gonna head back up to the north pasture and finish that fence line."

Ben continued to stare into the distance, only half listening.

"Pa?"  Hoss ventured, drawing abreast.

With an agitated frown, Ben glanced aside.  "I'm going to skin that younger brother of yours, Hoss.  That was Mitch Campbell."

"Joe's friend?"

"Yeah.  The one he said he was with last night.  He supposedly got tied up with Mitch, and that's why he didn't get the mail."

Hoss hesitated.  He knew Ben was agitated, but didn't understand why.  Lately, most everything his younger brother did seemed to irritate their father.  He knew Ben wasn't terribly fond of Mitch, but-- "What's the problem, Pa?"

"The problem," Ben snapped, biting off the word, "Is that Little Joe was never with Mitch."

Hoss swallowed.  He could feel a tightening in his gut as the implication struck home.  "You mean he--he--" He couldn't get the words out.

"I mean your brother lied to me!"  Ben spat with venom Hoss rarely heard.  Angrily his father shook his head.  "It's almost ten o'clock now.  That little rapscallion better get his britches home in the next two hours, or so help me, they'll be hell to pay!"

Hoss watched Ben stalk away.  He knew his father had an awful lot riding on the deal he hoped to broker with Wingate.  For all their sakes, Hoss prayed Joe would be punctual for a change.

Not for the first time, he wished Adam were home.

"Little Joe."  Lorna looked surprised to see him, then slightly embarrassed.  Dipping her chin, she held open the door and stepped aside.  "Please come in."

Removing his hat, Joe stepped into the living area.  It had undergone an amazing transformation since the previous eve.  Boxes littered the kitchen table, each one packed with knick-knacks and pictures that had been removed from the shelves and walls.  White sheets covered the two wing-back chairs, and more boxes occupied the floor by the door.  Joe bent and lifted a plate from the top of the nearest carton.  His jaw tightened perceptively.  "It looks like you're leaving."

Clutching her hands at waist level, Lorna nervously twined her fingers together.  "I'm sorry.  I would have written to Adam and explained, once I was safely away."

Setting the plate down, Joe tried to calm the helter-skelter reel of his thoughts.  He tossed his hat aside and took a step forward.  As if unable to meet his eyes, Miss David turned away from him.   A prickling edge of anger made Joe catch her arm and draw her roughly around.  "You were just going to leave without telling my brother?"

"Joe, don't you see?  It's the only way."

"No I don't see.  I don't understand what's going on, and I don't understand what you're running from.  I told you last night I'd help you."  Despite his best efforts to control it, his temper was kicking in, as his frustration level grew.  He knew the woman was scared.  He could tell by the wide-eyed gaze of her eyes; the minute trembling of her body.  "I don't have Adam's patience, Miss David, and I'm not very good at guessing games.  What is the matter?"

She seemed to fold in on herself.  The strength he'd always thought so much a part of her, crumbled at her feet.  Sagging to a seat on the edge of the sofa, she pulled a handkerchief from the sleeve of her dress.  Dabbing lightly at her eyes, she raised her head.  "I don't know where to begin," she whispered.

Joe's anger fled as though doused by frigid water.  Taking a seat next to her, he braced his right arm over the back of the sofa.  Sitting sideways, he rested his knee on the cushions, tucking the ankle below his left leg.  "You said you received some upsetting news yesterday, while you were in town?"

"Yes.  A letter."  She pleated the edge of the handkerchief, working it through her fingers.  "I was distraught.  That's why the buggy went off the road."

"Who was the letter from?"  Joe prodded gently.

Lorna drew a breath and Joe heard the air rattle in her throat.  She was fighting tears again.  "A man named Brian Lancaster.  He's my brother-in-law."

"Brother-in-law?"  Joe couldn't keep the surprise from his voice.  He blinked.  Adam had told him Miss David had no family.  Her parents had died when she was young and as far as he knew, she had no brothers or sisters.  "But I thought--"

"I lied, Joe.  I lied about most everything.  I just couldn't tell Adam the truth."

Joe's mouth tightened in a rigid line.  If she had somehow betrayed his brother-- "What truth?"

Uncertainly, her eyes flashed to his face.  "That I've been married before."

"What?"

Lorna rose to her feet.  She paced to the fireplace where she stood with her back to him.  Her hair was loose this morning, secured only by a foam-colored ribbon.  A cascade of glossy black hair tumbled over her back, brushing the top of her small waist.  "Joe, I'm not who you think I am.  I married when I was seventeen, but I was naive and didn't know what he was like.  I know that's no excuse, but my parents were dead and I was living with an aunt and uncle who already had six of their own to feed.  I believed in Del.  I believed he loved me."

Joe rose slowly to his feet.  He was shocked by what he was hearing.  The words came from a great distance, encased in a mind-numbing fog.  Though the name Brian Lancaster meant nothing to him, the name of Del Lancaster did.  "Del Lancaster was your husband?  Del Lancaster, the gunfighter?"

Lorna bit her lip and nodded.  She turned, half expecting to find accusation in his eyes.  Joe's face was troubled but there was nothing malignant in his expression, only concern.  Though her heart belonged to Adam, she was beginning to see why so many of the girls in Virginia City favored the youngest Cartwright.

"Lorna, Del Lancaster died four years ago while trying to rob a Wells Fargo waystation."

"I know.  And after that I thought I was free."  She smiled slightly.  Sadly.  One hand rested on the mantle of the fireplace.  Unable to hold his gaze any longer, her eyes dipped to the floor.  "I was living with Del's father and brother at the time.  Del and I never truly had a home of our own. When I received word that my husband had died, I took some money I had stashed away, and slipped off during the night.  You see, the Lancasters feel that when you marry, you marry the family.  I won't say it was intolerable living with Brian and his father, but it certainly wasn't pleasant. When I left, I changed my name.  I moved from town to town for awhile, until I came here.  That was just last year."

Joe moved in front of her.  "And this letter you received, from Brian--?"

The white line of her mouth dipped in a resigned frown.  "He's finally found me, and now he's coming to take me back."

"You don't belong to him," Joe snapped irritably.

"It doesn't matter, Joe.  I was his brother's woman.  That's why I have to leave.  I can't be here when he arrives, and I can't let Adam know.  Not now, not like this.  When I'm safely away, I'll write to him and make up some other story.  If he knew the truth it would destroy him."

"Lorna, you're wrong!"  Joe caught her hands in his, desperately trying to make her see.  "Adam loves you.  It isn't fair to run out on him like this.  Do you really think he'd just let this Brian Lancaster take you away?"

"No.  He wouldn't, but he'd probably get himself killed trying to stop it.  Brian isn't the gunslinger Del was, but he's fast with a pistol Joe, and Adam's no match for him.  Besides--" The resignation returned to her face. "I don't want Adam knowing the truth.  You must swear to me you won't tell him.  That you won't tell anyone what I've shared with you today."

Joe hesitated.  He thought she was wrong for keeping her past secret, but he sensed her determination it remain that way.  "I promise," he said flatly.  "But I'm still not letting you leave."

"Don't you understand?"  She was exasperated now and the strain came through in her voice.  "There's nothing else for it!"

"I don't believe that," he said.  "We'll think of something."

Joe didn't know how to keep Lorna from leaving, but he knew he owed his brother that much. Adam was due back in a few weeks.  Perhaps by then some conclusion could be arrived at, that didn't involve him learning of Lorna's past. Though Joe didn't think any less of Miss David, he wasn't truly sure how his brother would feel.  Married to a notorious gunslinger would certainly make her fodder for town gossip, should the word ever spread.  In addition, she had told Joe some of the things she'd done to support herself after leaving the Lancasters.  While none were truly improper, most were beneath a lady of standing.  Adam wouldn't condemn her, but he might be inclined to cool their romance.

Despite Joe's insistence, Lorna refused any involvement on the part of the sheriff .  She also declined a temporary stay at the Ponderosa, claiming it would just alert Adam to the situation. After a lengthy discussion, Joe finally convinced her not to leave town until he was able to work something out.  With obvious reluctance, Lorna unpacked the boxes she'd so carefully filled just hours before.  Joe uncovered the chairs, folding the sheets as best he could, then assisted her with the remaining cartons.  Outside, shadows lengthened across the ground, as the day wore on into early afternoon.

"I can't let you stay here alone," Joe announced worriedly, once the boxes had been unpacked and the items returned to their proper places.  "I really wish you'd come to the Ponderosa."

"I'm fine, Joe.  At least for a few days.  If Brian really is coming for me, it will be a week or more before he arrives, judging from the postmark on that letter.  I have work to do--alterations for some of the ladies in town.  As long as I'm staying, I need to make a living."

He grinned slightly.  "Okay."  Resting a hand on her shoulder, he looked down into her eyes.  "We'll work this out.  I promise."

Impulsively, she hugged him.  "Thank you," she whispered.

Only later, when he had mounted Cochise and was heading back towards the Ponderosa, did Joe remember his appointment with Mr. Wingate.

It was almost four o'clock when Joe rounded the corner of the barn.  His throat was dry and his heart thrummed in his chest.  He didn't know how he was going to face his father.  He'd become so immersed in Lorna's complications he'd completely forgotten his appointment with Mr. Wingate.

Dismounting, Joe looped Cochise's reins over the hitching post by the barn.  His eyes skimmed the long path to the house.  Flexing his hands, he struggled to find the nerve to face his father.  He hadn't felt so anxious or afraid since his teenage years, when he'd done something foolish and awaited his father's discipline.  He drew a ragged breath, ready to take a step forward, when he heard footsteps behind him, exiting the barn.  Joe turned.

For a moment the three Cartwrights stood staring at one another.  Hoss held a length of rope in his hand.  He'd been saying something to his father, but when he caught sight of Joe, his pliable face folded in disgust.

Ben glared at his youngest son.  "Hoss, leave us please."  The words were quiet and clipped, causing a quaking ripple of fear to dance down Joe's spine.  He'd never seen his father's face so remote. The man before him was a stranger--the set of his jaw and the frosted-flint of his eyes, like parts of a mask.  Nervously, he wet his lips.  He couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"Sure, Pa."  Hoss shot his brother a vicious glance, then stalked off around the barn.  Joe waited, every muscle in his body strung taut.  He'd failed Ben miserably and he knew it.

Without a word, Ben seized him by the upper arm and dragged him towards the house.  Mutely, Joe stumbled along in his father's grip, wincing slightly as the rough handling sent needles of pain skittering across his battered stomach.  He could feel himself starting to tremble, frightened not so much by his father's harsh demeanor, but by his ominous silence.

Ben opened the door and propelled Joe over the threshold.  Joe caught himself, nearly tripping, then backed into the room until the rear of his legs collided with the sofa.  Ben slammed the door and the echo rocketed along the walls and ceiling.

Joe's chest rose on a jagged breath. "Pa, about today--"

Ben cut the words off with a severing motion of his hand.  His dark eyes glittered with a diamond edge as he stalked in front of his son.  "I don't want to hear it, Joseph.  I've had enough excuses and enough lies.  Mitch Campbell was by earlier and confirmed that you hadn't seen him last night.  Since I can't trust you to tell me the truth, I guess I can't trust you with the workings of the ranch either.  Your failure to keep your appointment with Mr. Wingate only enforces what I should have seen earlier.  I've given you too much responsibility, too soon. I'm taking the horse enterprise away from you."

 "Pa, you can't mean that!"  Joe felt like the floor had just fallen out from under him.

With effort Ben controlled his temper.  It galled him that his son could look so hurt after behaving so irresponsibly.  Joe was past the age when he could take a strap to him, no matter how tempted Ben might be.  "Joseph, do you have any idea what you cost me today?  What you cost this ranch in lost revenues?"

Joe felt sick.  He clenched his hands to still the sudden tremor in his fingers.

Ben stepped past him to the edge of the sofa, and turned his icy stare on the room.  When he spoke, his voice was brittle.  "I delayed Wingate as long as I could, but when he realized I was stalling, he became irritated and left."

Joe hung his head.  "Pa, I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Sorry?"  Ben whirled on him.  Gripping his upper arm, he shook him hard.  "How can you be sorry for what's becoming a way of life for you?  Can you honestly tell me you weren't with a woman or at the saloon?  I can smell the perfume on your clothing, Joe."

"I--"

"You've no idea how you've failed me, boy."

"Pa, please."  His father's words cut as sharply as any knife.  Joe was trembling violently now and made no effort to conceal it.  "You don't understand."

"No, I don't."  Ben's fingers slid from his son's arm.  For a moment the anger left his gaze, replaced by a thread of remorse.  He lifted his hand as though to touch Joe's face, then his arm fell to his side.  The wintry edge returned to his eyes.  Clearing his throat, he straightened his shoulders.  "When you're ready to become a part of the Ponderosa again, we'll talk.  Until then, you may as well stay in town, since you seem to favor it above your family."

Joe blinked rapidly to still the sudden hot sting of tears that flooded his eyes.  Ducking his head, he turned his face away before Ben could see.  "Pa, I'm sorry."  His voice wavered, threatening to crack.  Unable to stand the friction between them, Joe pushed past his father, walking briskly for the door.  Once outside his strides lengthened.  Soon he was racing for the barn and Cochise, his heart hammering wildly against his ribs, his chest so tight he couldn't breath.  Fighting tears, he swung into the saddle and wheeled the horse around.

He never looked back as he left the Ponderosa behind.

Ben folded into the chair at his desk and buried his face in his hands.  Somehow the words had come out all wrong, and he had driven Joe further away from him.  The bristling rage he'd felt earlier that day washed away, leaving a hollow pool in its wake.  Had he really sent his son away from the Ponderosa?

Ben leaned back in his chair and tilted his head towards the ceiling.  "Dear God, Marie, what have I done?"

Lorna David awoke with a start, roused by the unexpected knock on her front door.  Rising from bed, she slipped into a cotton robe and worn slippers.  Easing open the drawer of the bedside table, she withdrew the .44 Colt revolver Del had insisted she learn to use.  A glance at the clock revealed the hour neared 11:30 p.m.

Feeling her way from the bedroom through the darkened house, she fought silent a rippling tremor of panic.  Brian couldn't have arrived already and he certainly wouldn't knock.  Still, any unexpected visitor was a cause of concern for a woman alone.

At the door she hesitated and cocked the gun.  "Who is it?"

"Joe Cartwright."

Surprised, Lorna eased back the hammer.  Setting the revolver aside, she hastily unlocked the door.  "Joe, what are you--?"

"I'm sorry to wake you, Miss David, but I need a place to spend the night."

Lorna barely recognized the man on her doorstep.  His face was drawn--the youthfulness lost somewhere in the age-deepening lines around his mouth and the harsh smudges of shadow below his eyes.  There was something haunted in his gaze--an emptiness that ate at her soul.  His curly hair was disheveled, hanging ragged over his ears and collar.  A distracted part of her yearned to smooth it into place.  Her eyes dipped lower and she realized his shirt was unbuttoned to the waist.  The material gaped against his jacket, exposing faded bruises on the tanned skin beneath.

Concerned, Lorna took his arm and lead him into the room.  "What happened?  You look terrible."

With a shake of his head, Joe waved the statement aside.  Lorna located a lantern on the table beside the couch and lit the wick.  In the dim halo of yellow light, she could see the dull haze of alcohol in his eyes.  Her mouth pinched in a tight line.  "Let me make you some coffee."

"I'm just tired, Lorna."  Joe dropped to a seat on the couch.  Resting his elbows on his knees, he lowered his face into his hands.  The slump of his shoulders made his misery that much more apparent.

Lorna frowned.  She had always considered Adam's youngest brother a carefree gallant.  Only now was she beginning to realize he was far more complex.  Taking a seat beside him, she rested her hand on his arm.  "What happened?" she repeated.

Joe sighed.  Raking his hand back through his hair, he snagged his hat and dropped it on the end table.  His fingers were trembling.  "Could I sleep here?"  He evaded her question.  "On the couch?"

Lorna hesitated.  She wanted to question him further, but it was obvious he was exhausted.  Whether that fatigue was caused by duress or a combination of anxiety and alcohol, she wasn't certain.  There was a scrape on his cheek, fresh since this morning, and she realized he'd probably been in a fight.  Adam had often bemoaned his brother's notoriously short temper.  Wetting her lips, she rose to her feet.  "I'll fetch you a pillow and blankets."

Joe glanced up and a shadow of his familiar grin flickered over his face.  "Thanks."

As Lorna moved away, he shrugged out of his jacket.  Only then did he realize his shirt was open.  Flushing slightly, Joe fumbled with the buttons.  He vaguely recalled a saloon girl at the Silver Dollar who'd been intent on undressing him.  Though he normally didn't go for that kind of public behavior, he'd had one too many beers and was looking for anything that might divert his attention from Ben.  Had it not been for the intervention of a drunken cowhand, the girl might have gotten a lot further than she did.  As it was, the cowhand's intrusion gave him the excuse to punch someone.  He hadn't really cared who, so long as his fists connected, allowing him to expel his frustration. The man hadn't put up much of a fight, but the girl looked more determined at its conclusion.  Joe had deemed it time to move on.

Falling back against the couch, he listened to the soft rustle of Lorna's slippers against the floorboards as she went in search of the promised blanket and pillow.  He blinked up at the ceiling, watching the darkness swirl overhead, as Ben's angry words replayed in his mind. Joe groaned and turned on his side.  He buried his face in the corner of the couch, closing his eyes tightly.  The memories were silenced beneath the weight of fatigue.

Joe was asleep before Lorna returned.

Glumly, Hoss pushed a piece of breakfast sausage around his plate, sopping up the excess maple syrup that had puddled over from his flapjacks. Normally, he would have attacked the meal with gusto--it was one of his favorites--but this morning he ate mechanically, more from habit than need.  Pursing his lips, he stole a glance at Joe's empty chair.  Hoss knew his kid brother hadn't come home last night.  He also knew that Ben had lectured Joe yesterday, and had probably said some things he regretted.

Hoss had never seen his father as angry as he had been when Joe failed to keep his appointment with Mr. Wingate.  Truth be told, Hoss had been fairly incensed himself.  Had he come across Joe at that moment, he might have taken his brother's head off.  But that was yesterday, and this morning the house seemed empty without Joe's bright chatter and infectious grin.  His brother had been far too serious of late and Hoss missed the easy comradery they used to share. Huffing out a sigh, he leaned back in his chair and glanced at Ben.

"Pa, ain't you worried where he spent the night?"

Ben's dark eyes skitted aside and pinned Hoss.  His expression was bleak.  He hadn't touched his food.  "Your brother's old enough to take care of himself, Hoss.  When he's ready, he'll come home."

Hoss scrunched his face up and wagged his head from side to side.  "Dadburn it, Pa.  You know how stubborn Little Joe is.  He ain't gonna come home as long as he's gotta do the bending.  He probably thinks you don't want him here."

"That's utter foolishness!"  Ben gathered his napkin off his lap and slid it onto the table.  "I've got work to do," he said frostily.

Hoss laid a hand across his wrist as he stood.  "Pa, at least let me check the hotel.  See if he's there.  Make sure he's okay."

Ben hesitated and Hoss saw the indecision in his gaze.  Part of him refused the small concession, but the other half ached to know that his son was safe.  At last he gave a clipped nod of his head.  "After you're through with your work."

Hoss grinned.  "Thanks, Pa."  Picking up his fork, he attacked the food on his plate.

Already he felt better.

Ben left his horse tethered to the low-hanging branches of a slender pine and walked the short distance to the solitary grave.  He half expected to find his youngest son kneeling by the stone, his expressive eyes brimming with emotion.  Joe often sought his mother's grave when hurt or confused.  Saddened to find himself alone, Ben squatted before the wind-pitted marker.  At his back, Lake Tahoe glittered in the early morning sun, its rippling surface strewn with a thousand faceted eyes.

"I'm afraid I've really hurt him, Marie."  Gently, Ben traced one finger over the roughly carved letters of his beloved's name.  "My anger got the best of me and I said and did some things I shouldn't have."  Ben sighed as a gentle breeze whispered across his face.  It carried with it the cooling scent of the lake, and t he green cluster of pine at his back.  "He's so full of life, Marie.  Sometimes I lose my patience when I can't rein him in as easily as Hoss or Adam.  He was wrong and he has to realize that, but I never meant to push him away."  Bracing his arm against the stone, Ben hung his head.

He was thankful Hoss would be riding to town.  Though he couldn't admit it to his middle son, he would rest much easier knowing Joe was safe at the hotel.  Perhaps he could even slip some extra money into Hoss's saddlebag, in case Joe needed anything.

Ben closed his eyes.  If only he hadn't made that impulsive remark about Joe staying in town.  He'd practically told the boy he wasn't welcome at home.  The memory sliced through him like a hot knife through butter. Inwardly he cringed.  Somehow he had to find a way to heal the rift between them.  Of his three sons, Joe had always been the most demonstrative with his affections, welcoming physical contact.  Lately, Ben missed that aspect.  Joe had been remote, shying away when Ben moved to touch him.  He silently vowed that endearing trait of his son's, would not be gone forever.

Rising to his feet, he looked down at the tombstone.  "Help me find a way, Marie.  I need to bring him home."

Kent Rudy and Frank McCay were on their way to town when they passed in front of Lorna David's small house.  It was still early in the morning.  The sun inched above a cloud-laced horizon, dusting tree tops with soft beads of golden light.  Already the air was warm, underscored by a chatter of birdsong and the muted clop-clop from their horse's hooves.  Neither man paid much attention to the small homestead until Rudy noticed the horse hitched to the porch rail. Jutting his chin towards the house, he nudged McCay in the ribs.  "Look there. Ain't that Cartwright's pinto?"

McCay narrowed his eyes, then slowly grinned.  "Sure is.  What'dya think that kid's doin' there so early in the mornin', paying court to his brother's gal?  You'd almost think he'd spent the night."

Rudy snickered.  "Might just ruin a fella's reputation with rumors like that.  Not to mention what it would do to poor Miss David."

McCay's grin grew savoring.  "Come on, Rudy.  Let's get to town.  We got people to see and stories to tell."

Joe rubbed his hand over his eyes.  Lowering his arm, he glanced across the table at Miss David.  "I'm sorry about last night.  It was too late to get a room at the hotel, and I didn't know where else to go."

"You need some coffee, Joe."  Retrieving the pot from the center of the table, Lorna refilled his cup and inched it forward.  He was obviously feeling the effects of last night's binge, but whether that was from alcohol or fisticuffs, Lorna wasn't certain.  Her guest was slightly bleary-eyed this morning, his thick hair tousled over his  brow.  Color flushed the high bones of his cheeks, almost concealing the scrape below his left eye.  He lowered his gaze to the cup, and his lashes dipped in
a lush, dark line against his skin.

"I've been thinking about your problem," he said.  Diverting the conversation helped him evade the situation that had brought him here.  "You said the Lancasters believe when you marry, you marry the family, and that's why Brian is coming to take you back."

Lorna nodded, uncertain where he was headed.  She watched as Joe took a sip of the coffee, then set the cup aside.  He leaned back in his chair, hooking his right ankle over his left knee. "If Brian thought you were married, I think he'd leave you alone."

"But I'm not married," she protested.

Joe grinned.  "He doesn't know that.  If he thought I were your husband--"

"Joe, please!"  Lorna rose to her feet, unable to believe what she was hearing.  Dismissing the idea with a frown, she started to turn away.

Joe reached across the table and snagged her wrist. "All right, maybe that's stretching it.  But if he thought we were going to be married, it would probably be enough for him to leave you alone."  Tugging her closer, Joe stood.  "Look Lorna, half the town knows you're in love with a Cartwright.  We'll just let Brian think I'm Adam Cartwright.  That way even if he asks around, there's nothing to poke holes in the story."

"Joe, that's silly."

He frowned.  "Listen to me."  Cupping his hand beneath her chin, he tilted her face up.  "I'm not going to let this man chase you away.  If you don't want Adam to know about your past, this is the easiest solution."

Still she hesitated.  "It's too dangerous."

"Lorna, I'm as close to a gunslinger as this town has.  I'm the fastest draw in Virginia City, and you know it.  No one's going to stand a better chance against Lancaster, than me.

Clamping her hand down on his wrist, she shoved his arm aside.  "Don't you understand?  I don't want it to come to that.  That's why I have to leave."  Once again she started to turn away. Snagging her arm, Joe swung her around.  With a startled cry, Lorna bumped up against his chest.  Her eyes flashed in sudden anger.  "Release me!" she cried.

Joe looked down on her, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-grin. "Not until I have your promise that you'll play along with my charade.  Come on, Lorna, admit it--you just might like being my girl."

A descriptive retort was on the tip of her tongue when she saw the teasing look in his eyes. Slowly, she relaxed.  Leaning forward, she rested her head against his chest.  "Joe, I don't want you to get hurt.  I'd never forgive myself if anything happened."

Joe smiled.  Hooking a finger beneath her chin, he raised her head.  "Nothing's going to happen.  And once I take care of Brian, I expect you to point my brother towards the altar." He kissed her lightly on the forehead.  "I'm counting on having you as a sister-in-law, Miss David, and I'm growing weary of waiting."

Lorna smiled hesitantly in return.  When all was said and done, she hoped he'd still feel the same way.

Ben shuffled through the stack of papers on his desk, irritated by the ever growing sheaf of reports.  He would be glad when Adam returned and took over the books.  The older he got, the less patience Ben had for record keeping.  Sighing, he dropped his pencil and rubbed tiredly at his eyes.  His mind was elsewhere, unconcerned by livestock expenditures and mining profits.  What he really wanted to know, was how his youngest son fared.  With any luck, Hoss would return
shortly, providing an update on Joe's whereabouts.

Deciding he needed more coffee to help him through the muddle of paperwork, Ben headed for the kitchen.  He was almost to the dining area, when he heard the arriving thunder of hoofs beyond the front door.  Shoving his cup aside on the table, Ben hurried to the door.  He caught Hoss just as he stepped over the threshold.

"Well?"  Ben demanded, trying not to appear too eager.  "What did you find out?"

Hoss's mouth dipped in a one-sided frown.  Closing the door behind him, he moved to unbuckle his gunbelt.  "He wasn't at the hotel, Pa."

"Not at the hotel?"  There was no disguising the alarm this time. "Where else would he go?  With Mitch?"

Setting his gunbelt on the sideboard, Hoss lifted both hands to ward off his father's growing agitation.  "I didn't say he ain't at the hotel, Pa.  I said he wasn't at the hotel."

Ben's temper was on a short fuse.  "Well is he, or isn't he?  Make sense, Hoss."

"He's checked in, but he wasn't there when I got to town.  Thing is . . ." Hoss scrubbed one thick palm over his chin, not sure how to continue.  "There's some rumors floating around town, about where Joe spent last night."

Ben's eyes grew narrow.  "What kind of rumors?"

Hoss shrugged.  "Well, Pa, there's some folks saying Joe spent the night with . . . um . . ."  Hoss bit his lip.  " . . . Miss David."

"Lorna David?"  Ben was taken aback.  When Hoss nodded, he was suddenly struck by a memory of the perfume clinging to Joe's clothing.  Abruptly he recalled where he'd encountered it before--he'd been with Adam when his son had purchased it in Placerville. Ben swore softly and turned aside.  Joe had done some foolish things in his day, but he'd never two-time his own brother.

"Pa, it ain't like most folks are listenin'."  Hoss attempted to smooth over the news.  "Them cowhands you kicked off the Ponderosa--Rudy and McCay--they're the ones started the rumor.  Most folks know they got it in for Joe.  It's just well . . . if Adam were to hear of it--"

Ben waved him off.  He couldn't even begin to contemplate the damage that might arise.  "I should never have sent Joe away."  Yet even as he berated himself, a prickling thought resurfaced at the back of his mind: why had Joe's clothing--his rumpled, disheveled clothing--smelled of Lorna's perfume?

Ben drew a ragged breath.

One thing was for certain. He had to bring Joe home.

The following morning Joe arrived at the Ponderosa.  Not bothering to stop at the house, he went to work on the new string of horses that needed breaking.  Since rumors had already circulated regarding his dismissal as head of the Cartwright's equine enterprises, most of the hands were uncertain how to respond to his directions.  Joe eventually gave up trying to give guidance, and merely concentrated on the mounts that needed breaking.

Hoss and Ben found him shortly before noon.  Joe had taken a particularly nasty fall and was dusting himself off, when he saw his brother and father draw rein at the rail fence.  A couple of hands snagged the bronc he was working on, and pulled the horse aside.  Settling his left hand on his right shoulder, Joe drew his arm forward, trying to work out a knot of pain. With a perturbed frown for his visitors, he crossed to the fence.

Ben dismounted, ill-at-ease.  He'd seen the spill Joe had taken and had to restrain himself from touching his son to assure he was all right.  Lacing Buck's reins between his hands, he sought to stop the wayward stray of his fingers.  Just seeing Joe again brought a lump to his throat.  His son looked tired and wane.  Though he'd always been slender, Ben thought he looked thinner than usual.  Pressing his lips together, he inclined his head.  "Joseph."

Joe's green eyes skitted from his father to his brother.  Turning his face to the side, he hooked his hands through the back of his belt, and gazed off in the distance.  "You don't mind if I work here, do you, Pa?"

The words were like a handslap across Ben's face.  He felt Hoss squirm beside him, miserable to have two people he loved so at odds with one another.  Before Ben could answer, Joe turned away.

"Joe, wait!"  Ben was surprised by the desperate sound of his voice.  When his son turned back, he drew a breath, trying to compose himself.  "I was just wondering . . . if there's anything you need.  Anything at all son.  I--"

"No, Pa."  The reply was as clipped as the steel edge in Joe's eyes.  Turning his back, he headed across the corral, calling for the hands to bring the next bronc.

Hoss kicked viciously at the dirt.  "Dadburn it, Pa, I know he's hurtin', but his attitude ain't helpin' either.  You let me talk to him, and I'll pound some sense into that dadblame stubborn head of his."

"Leave him alone, Hoss."  Ben's voice was low, thick with remorse.  He'd brought this on himself.  He'd placed entirely too much emphasis on the deal with Wingate, holding the business transaction over his son, like a failure Joe could never right.  In retrospect, Ben realized the deal meant very little to him.

Next to Joe's affection and respect, it was worthless.

The following week replayed in much the same pattern.  Joe arrived each day at the Ponderosa to attend to his chores and responsibilities, and left each evening to spend the night at the hotel.  Throughout the duration of the stressful week, he never set foot in the house and avoided Ben at all cost.  After that first awkward encounter at the corral, Ben respected his son's wish for distance and made no further effort to speak with him.  For his part, Hoss silently fumed at both men.  Though rumors of Joe's involvement with Miss David had cooled, new gossip regarding the rift in the Cartwright family readily took its place.  When Adam arrived unexpectedly at the end of the sixth day, Hoss thought things might finally be on the mend.  If anyone could set his father and brother straight, it was Adam.

"If this don't beat all, Adam!"  Hoss's bright grin set his blue eyes dancing.  "We didn't expect you for nigh on another two weeks."

"Two weeks?"  Puzzled, Adam glanced from his brother to his father.  The three conversed in the great room of the Ponderosa ranch house, while outside the sun dipped between the trees. Seated in the high-backed blue chair by the hearth, Adam stretched his legs before him, crossing them at the ankles.  "Didn't you get my letter?"

"Your letter,"  Ben murmured.  He nodded knowingly.  In all the confusion with Little Joe, his son had never given him Adam's missive.  Clearing his throat, Ben shifted in his seat and set his coffee cup aside.  "We had a little mix-up and I never received it."

"Oh?"  Adam looked questioningly to his brother.  Seated on the couch, Hoss shook his head, warning him from the topic.  "Well--" Adam rolled a hand in the air.  "Basically I was able to wrap everything up a lot sooner than expected.  We made a nice profit, and I've got a bank draft that should more than offset our expenses."

Ben tried to smile.  "That's good news."

Leaning back, Adam propped an elbow on the arm of his chair. He could sense his father's distraction.  Idly, he tapped a knuckle against his chin.  "Where's Little Joe?"

Ben jerked as though awakening from a fog.  Rising from his seat, he made no effort to hide his inattentiveness.  "It's been a long day, Adam.  I'll see you boys in the morning."

Adam watched his father walk to the staircase.  He knew without being told, whatever was troubling his father, his youngest brother was the cause of it.  Murmuring a "good night," he waited until he heard Ben's even tread fade down the hallway.  His eyes slewed aside to catch Hoss.

"All right, out with it.  What's going on?"

Hoss drew a deep breath.  "You ain't gonna like it," he said.  Quickly, he told Adam what had transpired during his stay in San Francisco, omitting the part about Miss David and Joe.  When he was through, his brother looked thoughtful, his face set in a grim expression.  Wordlessly Adam rose to his feet and walked to the sideboard by the front door.  Retrieving his gunbelt, he fastened it around his waist.

Surprised, Hoss half turned on the sofa.  "Where are you goin'?"

"To town."  Adam's tone was gruff.  "I'm going to try to talk some sense into Little Joe."  Grabbing his hat, he opened the door.  "For Pa's sake, someone has to."

Joe closed his eyes, trying to drown out the noise of the saloon.  No matter what he did, he couldn't block the incessant chatter.  He didn't even know why he was there--just that sitting in that wretched hotel room had made him feel boxed in and alone.  He'd never realized how truly important family was before. Only this week, bereft of those he'd taken for granted, did he begin to understand how fortunate he'd been.

Absently turning his beer glass in a circle, he watched the amber liquid slosh against the sides of the glass mug.  A few drops spilled over the edge, sprinkling the pitted surface of the bar and puddling in the deep grooves of the worn wood.  Joe stood at the far end, away from the other patrons.  He'd intended to get good and drunk, but after two beers had abandoned the idea for foolishness.  He'd just about decided to return to the hotel, when someone bumped into him from behind.  Glancing over his shoulder, he encountered Kent Rudy's pinched face.

The older man swayed, a half-empty beer glass clutched in his hand.  He guffawed suddenly and swung back to the table behind him.  "Lookee 'ere, McCay," he hailed his seated friend.  "It's that pretty rich kid from the Ponderosa.  Hey, pretty rich kid--" Rudy shuffled up to Joe, craning his neck forward, until his nose was inches from Joe's own.  "What's the matter?  Daddy cut off your allowance?"

Joe looked away.  "You're drunk."

Rudy laughed, plunking his beer glass on the bar.  "Is that why you're shacking up with that prim Miss on the outside of town?  Can't pay for your whores anymore?"

The words were barely out of his mouth when Joe's fist slammed into his jaw.  Lifted by the blow, Rudy reeled backwards, sprawling across McCay's table.  The big man came to his feet, instinctively reaching for his pistol.  His fingers were halfway to the handle when Joe's revolver cleared his holster.

McCay paled.  The saloon had grown deathly silent.

"Get him out of here," Joe told McCay with a nod for Rudy.

Quietly seething, McCay hauled his friend to his feet.  His pale eyes narrowed in a malignant stare.  "You ain't heard the last of this, Cartwright.  You just remember, you ain't got Daddy behind you, no more."

Joe waited until they were gone.  With a reflexive twirl, he returned his Colt to its holster, then leaned an arm against the bar.  Already the noise in the saloon was returning to regular volume.  Joe was just about to leave when he saw Adam step through the swinging doors.  His brother hesitated on the threshold, then glanced in his direction.

"Oh, hell."  Joe turned his back.  Behind him he heard the even footsteps that signaled Adam's approach.  His brother stepped to the bar and leaned forward, bracing both arms on the pitted surface.

"Give me a beer, Sam," Adam hailed the bartender.

Reluctantly, Joe turned around.  "Back kind of early, aren't you?"

Adam's beer arrived and he took a sip.  "Not really.  I sent a letter explaining I'd be back sooner than originally expected."

"Oh."  Joe thought of the letter still neatly stored in his saddlebag.  Like a number of the other things he'd forsaken or fouled up, it had fallen by the wayside.  Silently, he tried to calculate what Adam's arrival did to the plans he'd made with Miss David.  "What are you doing here?  Pa send you?"

"No."  Adam's tone was measured.  He tilted his head to look up at his brother.  "Just wanted to see for myself what a fool looks like."

Joe's chest heaved with sudden anger.  "I don't need a lecture, Adam."

"Mind telling me what you do need?   Do you have any idea what this little rebellion of yours is doing to Pa?"

Joe's expression soured.  He didn't understand how his father could be effected.  His father was the one who wanted him away from the ranch--the one who had told him to remain in town.  But then Adam would side with Ben, making it seem like Joe was at fault.  He knew he'd fouled up where Wingate was concerned, but he hadn't thought Ben would value that deal above his own son.  Joe felt his stomach constrict.  A dull ache bloomed in his temples, induced by stale beer and
unwanted memories.  Swallowing thickly, he forced down bile.

"Good seeing you, Adam." Shouldering past his brother, Joe threaded his way through the crowd and stepped outside.  He hesitated on the edge of the boardwalk, trying to regain his composure. Slipping two fingers beneath the brim of his hat, he massaged his forehead. The ache persisted. Glancing across the street, he noticed the puddle of yellow light spilling through the front window of the International House.  Though warm against the darkness, the beckoning glow did nothing
to ease his bleak constitution.

"Joe,"  Adam said quietly.

He hadn't heard his brother approach.  This time he didn't turn.  "Adam, please leave me alone."  His emotions were a conflicting knot, and he knew if he didn't escape, he'd say or do something he regretted.

Silently Adam watched his brother move away.  The gulf between Joe and his father was unnatural.  Though all the Cartwrights shared a special bond of closeness, Adam had always
thought Ben hovered a bit more protectively over his youngest son.  Maybe that was due to Joe's uncanny penchant for trouble, or the frightening ease with which his temper flared.  Whatever the reason, having the two of them at odds was as abnormal as snowshowers in the summer.

Little Joe was needed back at the Ponderosa.

Adam scowled.  The problem would be convincing Little Joe.

Joe stepped through the front door of the International House, intent on reaching his room.  He wanted nothing more than to fold into bed and forget everything that had happened to him over the last couple of days.  As he started for the steps, his attention was snagged by a tall man at the registration desk.  Though the hour was late, the stranger had obviously just arrived, evidenced by the travel bag at his feet.

"There you go, Mr. Lancaster," Joe heard the hotel clerk say, as he handed over a key.  "Room number three at the top of the stairs."

With a grim nod, the man pocketed the key.  Tall, and broad through the shoulders, he had pale hair and raven-black eyes.  Dressed in a black suit with white ruffled shirt and a light blue vest, he seemed more dandy then gunslinger.  Joe's eyes dipped to the holstered revolver riding the man's right hip.  He wore the gun low, a practice Joe favored himself, for a faster draw.

"Brian Lancaster?"  Joe asked, stepping forward as the man moved towards the stairs.

The blonde haired man hesitated, obviously surprised to be addressed in a town where he considered himself a stranger.  His dark eyes skewed aside to catch Joe.  "Do I know you?"

Up close, Joe could see fine lines about his mouth and eyes.  The man was older than Adam by a good five years.  "My name's Cartwright.  I'd like to talk to you."

"What about?"

Joe considered how much detail he wanted to divulge.  He glanced aside to the reception desk, thankful to note that the clerk had disappeared into the dining area.  The lobby was deserted. "About Lorna David."

Lancaster's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.  "What's she to you?"

Joe wet his lips.  "My fiance.  We're to be married next month."

"Really?  Kind of young, aren't you?  I didn't realize Lorna's taste ran to boys."

Joe flushed.  He knew the man was goading him.  Fueled by his own problems with Ben, and his subsequent encounters with McCay, Rudy and Adam, Joe's temper was on a short fuse.  He didn't want to make a scene.  Not in the lobby, where anyone passing by could easily blow his story.  For that matter, the desk clerk would be returning shortly.  "Just leave Lorna alone," he snapped.  "She's not going anywhere with you."

"We'll see," Lancaster responded.  His smile was silk--a malicious caress that made Joe's skin crawl.  Without another word, he turned and walked slowly up the stairs.

Joe swore softly and released a pent-up breath.  This was not going to be as easy as he thought.

Joe operated on a few hours sleep that evening.  He knew he had to be at Lorna's early if he was going to head off Lancaster.  The man had no doubt already discovered where she lived, and would plan on an early arrival.  Though the sun was still struggling through the sky when he knocked on her front door, Lorna was already up and dressed.

"Joe!"  Catching his arm, she drew him across the threshold.  "You look like you've barely gotten two winks of sleep.  What are you doing here so early?"

He tossed his hat on the couch and ran a hand through his ragged hair. "It's Lancaster.  He's in town.  I saw him last night."

Lorna's mouth worked into a startled "O" of surprise.  Lifting a hand to her lips, she sank into the nearest chair.  Joe knelt on the floor and gathered her fingers in his.  "It's gonna be okay, Lorna.  I've already told him he's not taking you anywhere.  He thinks I'm your fiance."

Lorna was mortified.  "Joe this is never going to work!  I shouldn't have involved you.  I should have left like I planned. I--" She stopped suddenly as the thunder of hooves announced an approaching rider.  The color ran from her face leaving a bloodless shell.  "Dear God, it's him!  It must be."

Moving quickly to the window, Joe flicked the curtains aside.  His mouth tightened noticeably.  "He doesn't waste any time, I'll give him that.  Stay here."

"Where are you going?"  Lurching from her chair, Lorna snagged Joe's arm as he moved towards the door.  "I've changed my mind.  I'm going to go with him.  I'm--"

"Lorna!" Joe snapped, all the anger and frustration of the last couple days tumbling through in the name.  He saw the woman flinch and immediately regretted his tone.  Lifting a hand, he grazed his knuckle over her cheek.  "Please, Lorna.  Trust me."

Her face was upturned to his, her eyes wide and swimming with fright.  She bit her lip and Joe saw the indecision in her gaze.  Finally she nodded.  Her fingers slid from his arm.  Turning aside, Joe drew open the door and moved onto the porch.  Shielding his eyes from the early morning glare, he watched Lancaster approach.  When the man had almost reached the porch, Joe stepped into the grass, blocking his path and forcing him to draw rein.  Seething, Lancaster glanced down at Joe.

"You're an ornery cuss, ain't you, kid?"  Shifting slightly, he eased his coat back over his gun, exposing the handle.  A thin smile lifted the corners of his mouth.  "A trait like that's, liable to get you killed."

Joe swallowed uneasily, his heart racing, as Lancaster's hand drifted towards the revolver.

Adam yawned.  He'd been too tired to ride home last night, so he'd taken a room at the International House.  Having deposited his room key at the desk, he was turning to leave when the registration clerk hailed him.

"Oh, Mr. Cartwright--did the blonde-haired gentleman find you?"

Adam stared blankly.  "Who?"

"Mr. Lancaster.  'Said he talked with you last night.  I told him you were staying here.  Though I have to admit--" the clerk winked, "--I didn't know you'd made an official engagement to Miss David.  'Course I didn't tell him that--him being a family friend of the lady's and all."

Adam shook his head.  "What are you talking about?"

It took awhile to get the information from the befuddled clerk, but in the end Adam was able to decipher the story.  Apparently Brian Lancaster had questioned the clerk regarding Lorna's relationship with a 'Mr. Cartwright', and the clerk had readily confirmed the union.  What Adam didn't understand, was who Lancaster had spoken with the previous evening, and what the man was doing there in the first place.

Determined to get to the bottom of the confusion, Adam headed to the livery stable.  He planned to retrieve his horse and ride out to see Lorna.  Aside from the sweet reunion he anticipated, he hoped she'd be able to explain who Lancaster was and what he wanted.  Anxious to settle his bill, Adam paid the stable hand, then turned to saddle his horse.  As he reached for his gear, Frank McCay and Kent Rudy rounded the corner, obviously intent on the same business.

Catching sight of Adam, McCay snorted.  "Look Rudy, it's another one of them Cartwrights.  You'd think they'd have enough to do out there on the Ponderosa without having to stick their noses in Virginia City."

"I don't know."  Rudy worked a wad of tobacco around the inside of his mouth.  "I hear tell this one's been away in San Francisco too long.  Guess he don't know what his kid brother and that little filly of his have been up to."

Adam swung his saddle onto Sport's back and bent to tighten the cinch.  He really wasn't listening.  Rudy and McCay had been hanging around Virginia City doing one menial job or another for the last five months, and Adam knew the two were nothing but trouble.  Since his return, he'd already heard rumors they'd tangled with Joe.

"Yeah."  McCay stretched the word into feigned consideration.  "It'd be a real shame if he went out there and caught them in the act."

"All right."  Adam straightened.  He'd had just about enough of the double talk, especially since the two gave no indication of departing.  "What is it you're trying to say?"

Rudy and McCay exchanged a glance.  The thinner man worked his bony shoulders into a shrug.  "We thought you knew."

"Knew what?"  Adam snapped.

"About that kid brother of yours--the runty one."  McCay pursed his lips together, savoring the tale.  "He and your lady friend, Miss David, have been sharing the same bed."

"What?"  Lunging forward, Adam grabbed McCay by the shirtfront.  Though the larger man outweighed him by a good eighty pounds, Adam's sudden rage made him reckless.  "Take it back," he hissed, "Or so help me, I'll--"

"Hey, hey!"  Rudy caught his arm.  "It ain't gonna change nothing.  Half the town knows about it.  While you've been off in San Francisco, your brother's been two-timing you behind your back.  You think he's been at the hotel all this time?"  Rudy snorted.  "Why stay in a lonely bed when he can get cozy with a willing partner?"

With a howl of rage, Adam released McCay and drove his fist into Rudy's face.  The skinny man reeled backwards, tumbling up against a bale of hay, then sliding to the ground.  Seething, Adam struggled for breath.  He knew he had to get out of the stable before his temper got the better of him.  He was normally able to control his emotions, but he didn't always think clearly where Lorna was concerned.  To hear her discussed like a common trollop . . .

Reaching behind him, Adam snagged Sport's reins and pulled the horse from his stall.  McCay was already helping Rudy to his feet.  Adam felt both men's eyes follow as he stalked past.  They were lying, of course.  Lorna loved him, and Joe would never do anything so unforgivable.  But coupled with the desk clerk's revelations about Brian Lancaster, Adam was beginning to grow very troubled.  Hiking a foot into the stirrup, he swung onto Sport's back and spurred the horse out of town.

Alone in the barn, McCay and Rudy broke into laughter.  Rubbing his jaw, Rudy indulged in a relishing smile.  "That was worth a punch or two." He spat a wad of tobacco juice from his mouth and glanced aside at McCay.  "Guess we don't have to take Joe Cartwright out, after all.  His brother's gonna do it for us."

"Still . . ."  McCay's heavy brows climbed into his thinning hair.  "It wouldn't hurt to make sure it's done proper."

Rudy's smile thinned.  Together the two men saddled their horses and rode from Virginia City.

Joe's left hand hovered near his holstered revolver.  Pinpricks of lightning danced the length of his arm, tingling the tips of his fingers.  His green eyes narrowed as he studied Lancaster's body language--the set of his shoulders, the barely perceptible tremor of muscle in his gunhand, the slip of his tongue across his lips--all were signs that signaled the man was ready to draw.  An unnatural calm settled over Joe as he readied to reciprocate.

"Brian!"  Both men jerked at the unexpected intrusion.  Lorna David rushed from the porch into the yard.  She'd been the wife of a gunslinger too long, not to recognize the betraying signs of a man ready to draw his weapon.  Possessively, she slipped her hand through Joe's arm. Her face was flushed as she stared up at her brother-in-law.  "I didn't realize you were in town."

"Lorna."  Lancaster flicked one finger over the brim of his hat in acknowledgment. He relaxed his gunhand, returning it to rest on his saddlehorn.  His expression remained watchful. "I've met your beau," he said with a scornful glance for Joe.

Joe tried not to bristle.  Beside him Lorna wet her lips.  "Then you know why I'm staying.  Why I can't leave with you."

Lancaster shifted slightly and his horse side-stepped with the movement.  With a barely betraying flick of his wrist, he brought the animal under control.  "My brother's grave is in Texas.  His family too.  That's where you belong."

"I belong with the man I'm going to marry," Lorna said quickly.

Lancaster jutted his chin at Joe.  "This boy?"  His lips curved in a thin, contemptuous smile.  "You disappoint me, Lorna.  I'd have thought after my brother, you'd want a real man, not some snot-nosed brat."

Joe cursed, and lurched forward.

"J-Adam!" The slip was almost past her tongue before she caught it.  Lorna snagged his arm and wrenched him to a halt.  The two exchanged a quick glance, fearing the momentary lapse had cost them credibility.  Lorna knew Joe struggled to control his volatile temper.  She could feel the tension in his body--the hard ridge of muscle drawn taut in his arm, just beneath her fingertips.

"I told you before, Lancaster," she heard him say.  "Lorna's staying here.  She's to be my wife. What she had with your brother is in the past--"

"I don't see it that way."

"Brian," Lorna said sharply.  When the man glanced at her, she released Joe's arm and stepped forward.  Drawing near the horse, she placed a hand on his leg and gazed up at him.  "I loved Del, but it was a long time ago.  In the end it was bad, and you know it.  Del spent more time with any girl who smiled at him, then he did with me.  Your Pa would want me to come home if I was still single, but not if I'm a married woman.  I'm going to be married, Brian.  You have to go back without me."

Lancaster's gaze was withering.  "You ran from us.  You left in the middle of the night--"

"I was scared.  Del was dead.  Maybe it was a foolish thing to do, but it's how I felt at the time."

"And now?"

Lorna's eyes returned to Joe.  Wordlessly she stepped to his side and slipped her arm around his waist.  "Now I've found someone else.  Go home, Brian.  Please don't make this ugly."

For a time no one said anything.  A gentle breeze blew from the east, sighing through the leaf-heavy canopy of the oak tree beyond the porch.  Lorna listened to the soft creak of the aged branches, unconsciously holding her breath.  At last Lancaster dipped his head.  "We'll just see," he said quietly.  The ominous tone of his voice sent a shiver dancing up Lorna's spine.  When he vanished behind the ridge of trees fording the road, she wilted against Joe.

"It isn't going to work," she mumbled.  "Dear God, Joe, I must be insane to think I can pull this off.  You're much too young for any union between us to be credible.  He doesn't believe us."

"He's not sure."  Joe caught her shoulders and turned her about to face him.  "All we have to do is keep at him and convince him."

"How?  If I know Brian, he's up there behind that ridge of trees, watching us right now.  He's waiting for us to make a mistake."

"Then we can't make one."  Joe tugged her nearer, into the circle of his arms.  "Especially if he's watching."  Bending his head, he pressed his lips gently against her own, folding her in his embrace before she could shy away.

Immediately, Lorna stiffened, every muscle in her body going ram-rod taut.  She pressed her hands flat against his chest, ready to lurch away, when she realized what he was doing.  Slowly, she relaxed, willing herself to remain calm.  She could feel his body pressed to hers, the muscled line of his thigh wedged tightly against her hip. The musk of horse and sweat clung to his clothing, mixed with the wind-washed fragrance of his hair. The scent was oddly intoxicating, and a distracted part of her mind found it surprisingly pleasant.  Though his kiss was not open-mouthed, it left her breathless all the same.

Joe drew back, a wicked grin on his face, and winked.  "What do you think?  Did we convince him?"

Lorna lowered her eyes.  She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks.  "Joseph, please, you mustn't do that.  It isn't right.  Adam--"

"Oh, hey, I didn't mean anything."  He stopped suddenly as a horrible thought crossed his mind.   "Lorna, you didn't think . . . I mean . . . you're attractive and all, but Adam's my brother--"

She pressed her hand to his lips before he could say anything further.  "Let's forget it.  You set out to convince Brian and hopefully you have.  Come into the house?"

Joe hesitated.  The troubled crease had yet to ease from his brow.  He was frivolous with his affections, yes, but this was role-playing on his part.  He was mortified to think that Lorna might view it differently. Turning towards the house, he slipped his arm around her shoulders.  "We won't have to do this much longer," he said, as he steered her towards the porch.  His voice was troubled, and Lorna could see the wounded dismay in his eyes.

For both their sakes, she prayed he was right.

Adam had just reached the treeline at the edge of Lorna's property, when he realized she was not alone.  Even from this distance, he recognized his brother's distinctive green jacket and sand-colored hat.  Perplexed by Joe's presence, Adam drew rein beneath the sheltering canopy of an elm.  Lorna and Joe stood just beyond the front porch of Lorna's small rancher.  As Adam watched, Joe drew Lorna towards him and bent his head to kiss her.

The bottom fell out of Adam's world.

Lorna loved him.  Though he'd never committed to her in so many words, the unspoken promise had always been there.  He'd always felt it was just a matter of time before he made her his wife.  And Joe--dear God, Joe!

Adam could still recall the giggling child with soft curls and luminous eyes, who had worshipfully looked up to his older brother.  Though time had muted that adoration and complicated their relationship, it had not blunted the underlying affection. Somehow throughout the years, Adam had never stopped playing the role of surrogate father.  To find that trust usurped, left him swimming in the black depths of despair. He might forgive Lorna her weakness, but he'd never forgive Joe his.

With a brutal lurch of the reins, Adam swung around.  He rode blindly, uncertain where he was headed, uncaring where it left him.  The rage built in his chest, pushing against his throat, until at last he dispelled it in a harrowing scream against the sky.  The sound echoed down the road, chasing birds from trees and blunting the furious thunder of Sport's hooves.

Adam wilted in the saddle, empty inside.

Brian Lancaster never saw Adam approach from the other side of the treeline, but he did see Joe kiss Lorna.  Frowning, he bided his time until Joe mounted Cochise and headed away from the house.  Lancaster let him go a few hundred yards down the road before hailing him.

"Cartwright."

Joe twisted in the saddle.  Catching sight of Lancaster, he drew to a halt, waiting until Lancaster pulled rein beside him.  The thin-lipped smile was back on the older man's face, edging the corner of his mouth upward in sardonic amusement.  "Let's just cut to the chase, kid.  I ain't leaving without her, so you know what you've gotta do to stop me."

Joe wet his lips.  He'd hoped it wouldn't come to this.  "When and where?"  Keeping his voice level, he made his gaze flat.

Lancaster was unimpressed by the bravado.  He gave a nod over his shoulder.  "When I rode in, I saw a nice smooth knoll about five miles, that way.  There's a stand of pine just off the side.  You know which one I mean?"

Joe nodded.

"Good.  Be there tomorrow.  Sunup.  I like to take care of business early, so it doesn't foul up the rest of my   day."  Smiling malignantly, he gave a casual tip of his hat.  "Oh, and kid--do yourself a favor.  Go pick out a nice pine box.  Wouldn't want you to get the wrong fit."

Silently, Joe watched him ride away.  Though outwardly he was composed, inwardly his resolve wavered.  Joe was a fast draw and he'd been in gunfights before, but Lancaster was another breed entirely.  If he was going to defeat the older man, he had to remain focused.  That meant keeping the rendezvous a secret.  If he told Lorna, she'd surely try to talk him out of it, or at this point, he feared she might even go to Adam.  While Joe was certain of his own skill with a six-shooter, he feared his older brother was no match for Lancaster.  No, he had to keep his family and everyone else in the dark, until after Lancaster was gone.

Joe grimaced.

One way or another.

Frank McCay watched as Joe Cartwright wheeled his pinto around and headed for the Ponderosa.  He and Rudy were just off the stand of trees, having followed Adam to Lorna's homestead.  Though they'd arrived too late to witness Joe and Lorna kiss, they did overhear Lancaster's challenge.

"Did'ya catch that?"  Rudy asked McCay.  "Cartwright and that fancy dandy are gonna draw down on each other."

McCay laughed.  It was too good to be true--Joe Cartwright killed in a legal gunfight.  "I think we need to be on that knoll tomorrow, Rudy.  Just in case that dandy fouls it up."

Rudy clapped his hands together and grinned.

"I'm with you, partner.  What say we have a beer to celebrate?  It's gonna be too pleasin', seeing one of them high and mighty Cartwrights planted six feet under.  'Specially that kid."

"You buyin?"

"Hell, to see Joe Cartwright taken down, I'll spring for bottles and smokes."

McCay grinned.  "Good enough for me."

"Hey, Adam."  Hoss grinned as his brother rode around the corner of the barn.  He pulled a sack of grain from the rear of a wagon and let it thud at his feet.  "Did'ya see Joe?  When you didn't come home last night I figured--"

But Adam didn't even stop.  He kept riding towards the house, his face set in bleak lines.  Befuddled, Hoss watched as he hitched Sport by the porch and stalked into the house.  The front door slammed behind him, sending a loud echo crackling across the yard.

Lifting an arm, Hoss mopped sweat from his brow.  "If that don't beat all," he muttered under his breath.  "He goes to straighten Joe out, and he comes back angrier than a bull calf at brandin'."

Hoss turned back to his work, determined that if anyone was going to sew up the gaps in his family, it was going to have to be him.  Two hours later, he was grooming Chubb in the corral when Joe rode up.  Intent on his work, murmuring gently to the horse, he failed to see Joe arrive and dismount.

"Hi, Hoss.  Pa home?"

Hoss flinched, dropping the brush with a start.  His head popped up over Chubb's broad shoulders.  When he saw Joe staring back at him, he gave a loud hoot of delight.  "Hey, Joe!"  Hoss was around the horse in no time, catching his brother's forearm in a warm clasp.  He couldn't actually recall the last time he'd seen Joe in the vicinity of the house.  "Damn, little brother, it's good to see you!"  Warmth spread to the tips of his toes when Joe's lips curled in his familiar heart-stopping grin.

"Good to see you too, Hoss.  Is Pa around?"

Hoss shook his head.  "Nah.  He was riding over to the Jeb Ferguson's place.  Something about a horse Jeb wanted to sell."  Hoss closed one eye, scrunching his cheek up as he looked at his brother.  "Course if you really wanted to talk to him, you could probably ride over there."

"That's okay."  Joe was disappointed, but he didn't let it show.  Though he was fairly certain he'd beat Lancaster tomorrow, there was a slim chance he wouldn't be walking away from the duel, and he wanted to set things right with Ben.  Only now did he realize how foolish and selfish he'd been. "Just tell Pa . . ." he hesitated as Hoss studied his face.  Uncomfortable, Joe cleared his throat and glanced at the ground.  When he looked up again, the words tumbled over his tongue in a rush: "Tell Pa I'm sorry.  About everything.  Tell him that I love him and I never meant to disappoint him."

"Hey, Joe."  Hoss was concerned.  These weren't words a man said on casual passing.  "You sound like you're going away or something."

"No, I just--" Joe halted, interrupted by the loud clap of the front door swinging closed.  Adam stalked beneath the porch overhang, headed for his horse.  When he caught sight of Hoss and Joe by the corral, he redirected his path.  His face was severe as he approached--dark as a thunderstorm, with lightning in his eyes.

"Adam," Hoss called.  But his brother never halted his advance.  Chin clipped close to his chest, arms held rigidly at his sides, he kept walking until he was almost on top of Joe.  Surprised, Joe took half a step back, ready to say something, when Adam's fist clipped him on the side of the jaw.  Staggering, Joe caught himself on the fence.

"What in tarnation--?"  Hoss was over the rails in a instant, reaching to restrain Adam.  But Adam was set on one purpose.  Ducking Hoss, he barreled into Joe and bore them both to the ground.  Joe grunted as his brother's fist caught him in the ribs, forcing the air up, out of his lungs.  He tried to shove Adam aside without striking him, but a second blow crushed against his mouth, driving his head back against the ground.

At last Hoss managed to get an armhold on Adam.  With effort, he physically dragged him off Joe.

Wiping blood from the corner of his mouth, Joe scrambled to his feet.  "What the hell is the matter with you?"  he yelled at Adam.  Bending to retrieve his hat, he slapped it against his legs, sending dirt billowing into the air.

Adam's eyes blazed cold fury.  "You have the audacity to ask that after this morning?"

Joe's face was blank.  He exchanged a puzzled glance with Hoss.  His larger brother was still holding onto Adam, who looked ready to take Joe's head off if given the chance.  "At Lorna's," Adam spat.  "I was there.  On the road.  I saw you."

A cold knife sliced through Joe.  "Oh, God . . ." he took a step forward as the realization struck him.  "Adam, please.  You don't understand."

"What don't I understand?  That the hotel's just a convenience?  That the bed you've really been using, belongs to the woman I love?  Damn you, Joe.  I never thought--"

"But I didn't!  You're wrong!"

Adam wrenched from Hoss's grip.  Stalking forward, he caught Joe's shirtfront in his fist.  "If you weren't my brother . . ."

"Adam!"  Hoss was appalled.  Stepping forward, he laid a hand on Adam's arm.  "You can't be listenin' to them tales.  That's just Rudy and McCay spreadin' gossip."

"I was there, Hoss."  Adam didn't even bother to look aside.  "I saw them together.  I saw Joe kiss Lorna."

Hoss was mortified.  He glanced aside to Joe.  "It ain't true, Joe.  Tell him it ain't true."

Wordlessly, Joe hung his head.

With a grunt of disgust, Adam released him.  "I don't ever want to see you again.  Do us all a favor and just stay away from the ranch."  Turning on his heel, Adam strode back towards the house.

Joe lifted a beseeching gaze to Hoss.  His brother was studying him with a slightly accusatory glance.  "I thought it was all just talk.  Rudy and McCay trying to get back at you--"

"Hoss.  Please--" Joe wet his lips.  His stomach was in his throat.  He'd already alienated his father, now his brother too.  He didn't think he'd survive, if Hoss turned his back on him.  "I promise you, there's nothing going on between Lorna and I."

Hoss turned his head slightly to the side.  His eyes narrowed.  "Lorna?"  he asked suspiciously.

Joe huffed out air.  "All right, Miss David.  You've just gotta trust me on this, Hoss. Please."  Hesitantly, Joe laid his hand on his brother's massive forearm.  His eyes were luminous, and  imploring.  Beneath that gaze, Hoss had a hard time maintaining any diffident conviction. Pressing his lips together, he nodded.

A flicker of a smile passed over Joe's lips.  "Thanks, brother," he said softly.  Turning away, he collected Cochise's reins and swung onto her back.  The misunderstanding with Adam tore at his conscience, but he didn't see any way to correct it now.  He didn't want his brother facing Lancaster, and Joe knew that would be the end result, if were he to tell Adam the truth.

With a tip of his hat for Hoss, Joe wheeled Cochise around and rode from sight.

Ben sat quietly, listening to the tick-tock of the grandfather's clock.  Seated adjacent to him, perched on the edge of the sofa, Hoss tapped one boot heel against the floorboards.  Finally, unable to stand the silence any longer, he heaved out a frustrated sight.

"Ain't you gonna say anything, Pa?"  Hoss complained.  He'd just finished telling his father the events of the morning, including Joe's rather cryptic message and his fight with Adam.

Thoughtfully, Ben drew on his pipe.  His eldest son had been touchy all afternoon, picking at dinner and remaining oddly tight-lipped.  He'd declined both coffee and dessert and had headed upstairs with a muttered "good-night," just a few hours ago.  Hoss had squirmed restlessly, obviously having a tale to unburden, but uncertain where to begin.  Finally, Ben's prodding had wormed the truth from him.

"I don't know what's going on, Hoss," Ben consented at last.  "But one thing's for certain--Little Joe's at the bottom of it. Tomorrow, you and I will ride into Virginia City and escort him home, whether he's inclined or not.  I think we've given the gossip-mongers enough fodder for awhile.  I don't want this situation with Adam and Joe being blown out of proportion."

Later that night, as he lay in bed unable to sleep, Ben rehashed what Hoss had told him.  A number of things bothered him--Joe's message had sounded oddly final, as though he was planning a departure of some sort.  And then there was the situation with Miss David.  Adam didn't lie. He'd obviously seen Joe with Lorna, but Ben couldn't believe his youngest son would ever do anything so deceitful.  There had to be a rational explanation.

Sighing, he rolled onto his side.  Nothing had been the same since Little Joe had left.  The house seemed empty, devoid of life.  Ben's own outlook had grown bleak.  He felt shorn inside, as though a part of him were missing.  As he lay staring into the darkness, willing sleep to overtake him, he knew what that something was.

Tomorrow he'd find Joe.

Joe stood on the smooth hill known as Fenner's Knoll, nervously flexing the fingers of his left hand.  His stomach was tight, weighted with lead.  He could see Lancaster approaching from the distance--horse and man, thin stick figures silhouetted in the early morning haze.  It hadn't occurred to him until now, that he might actually kill this man.  Thus far he'd been too intent on his own survival to consider the ramifications of taking another life.  Suddenly, it all felt like cold-blooded killing.  His Pa would say--

Joe shifted uncomfortably, his throat tightening at the thought of Ben.  With effort, he refocused.  No matter how much he had wanted to talk to his father, he couldn't afford the distraction now.

Lancaster drew rein, tethering his horse in the thicket of pine just off the crest of the hill. Neither he nor Joe, glimpsed the two shadowy figures already concealed in the copse.  Languidly, the gunslinger walked the few paces to the top of the hill.  "Glad to see you're punctual."

Joe's mouth was dry.  "We don't have to do this," he attempted to reason.

Lancaster withdrew his gun, twirling it a few times before returning it to his holster.  "Is that a bit of yellow I hear in your voice, kid?"

Joe ignored the slur.  "There's no reason one of us has to die."

"Sure there is: Lorna.  But since I'm not going to be the one dying, it doesn't much matter to me.  Now if you value that woman like you say you do, get ready to draw.  Otherwise, just stand aside and I'll take her with me."

"I could call the sheriff."

"A lot of good that would do you.  Besides--I know Lorna.  She wouldn't stand for it, or you'd have done it already."  Lancaster flicked a hand across his sleeve, brushing off lint.  His mouth inched upward in a thin smirk.  "Just to keep things interesting, I've dealt her hand into the game. On my way here, I stopped by her house and tacked a note on her door.  I figure by the time she finds it and comes rushing out here to halt the fight, you'll be dead.  I want her to have one last look at you, Cartwright, before I haul her home."

Joe's mouth tightened.  He saw the look of satisfaction that entered Lancaster's black eyes.

"We understand one another," the gunslinger said.

Wordlessly, Joe turned and walked a few paces, setting the distance for the gunfight.  Lancaster lowered both arms to his side and took three steps backwards.   Across the distance, both men locked eyes.

Joe could feel the rapid swell of his heart; the heightened flush of breath in his lungs.  A trickle of sweat seeped from beneath the hair at the base of his neck and slid under his collar.  A barrage of images hurled through his mind in a matter of seconds--Hoss, Ben, Adam.  The breeze slithered through the grass at his feet, brushing brown-tipped blades against his dusty boots. He heard the distant call of a morning jay, and then his concentration funneled into razor-edged sharpness.  Lancaster's fingers twitched.

With speed that was as much fluid motion as it was instinct, Joe wrenched his gun from the holster. His finger convulsed on the trigger, even as he leveled the weapon for aim.  The crackling explosion was followed almost instantaneously by the sharp report of Lancaster's revolver.  Joe heard the bullet whine past his ear.  Mouth pumping like a fish out of water, Lancaster clutched his chest and pitched face forward onto the ground.

Joe's heart hammered against his ribs.  He hadn't meant to kill the man.  He started forward, but was brought up short by a second explosion of gunfire from the pine thicket.  Joe grunted, startled at the sudden impact of a bullet slamming into his side.  The force spun him around, dropping him to his knees, even as the pain ricocheted in splintering waves across his abdomen.

"Oh, God . . ." Joe dropped his gun.  Bending double, he pressed one hand over the other, trying to staunch the hot flow of blood.  His breath hitched between his teeth in short gasps, as he used the pressure to try and force the blinding pain into submission.  A distracted part of his mind was vaguely aware of footsteps approaching behind him.  Lifting his head, he felt the sky reel above.  A wave of dizziness drove him to the ground.  His hat tumbled to the side.  Weakly, he rolled
onto his back, blinking up at the shadows that hovered over him.

Frank McCay's face split in a sadistic grin.  "You don't look too good, boy."

Joe groaned when McCay's booted foot struck him in his injured side.

Lorna flicked the reins over the back of her mare, sending the horse and buggy barreling down the winding road.  She was perched on the edge of the seat, every muscle in her body coiled tight, like rope.  Lancaster's note lay crumbled on the floorboard, where she'd carelessly tossed it in her haste to reach Fenner's Knoll.  Angrily, she berated herself for the mistake she'd made.  She never should have allowed Joe to talk her into this foolish charade in the first place.  Confident and cocky, he would likely pay for the game, with his life.

"Faster!"  Lorna commanded the horse, flicking the reins again.

Ben rode silently, oblivious to the bright array of birdsong that sweetened the morning air.  At his side, Hoss too was silent, appearing oddly anxious.  Ben knew he wanted to find Joe quickly and bring him home.  Hoss had even rushed through breakfast, a pastime he normally savored. Though Adam, unusually glum, had left early for the lower pasture, Hoss had persisted with idle chatter, right up to the time he saddled Chubb.  Once on horseback, however, his focus had turned inward, and he'd become close-lipped.

Wrapped in his own thoughts, Ben chewed on his bottom lip as he contemplated confronting his youngest son. Joe's volatile emotions always made his mood unpredictable.  Ben was never sure if he was going to react with candor or belligerence.  For a boy who could be so incredibly endearing when he chose, Joe had a combative streak that knew no equal.  Yet whatever the case, Ben was certain of one thing: Joe was leaving the International House, even if he had to physically
remove him from the premises.  It was not a situation Ben approached with relish.

"Hey, Pa.  Look there.  It's Miss David."

Ben pulled Buck to a halt, startled by the break-neck speed of the approaching buggy.

"Mr. Cartwright.  Oh, thank God!"  Lorna drew the buggy to a shuddering stop.  Her hair was wild about her face, black tresses having worked free of the silk ribbon at the nape of her neck.  "You have to help me.  Please.  I've made a terrible mess of things . . ."

"Miss David, please slow down."  Concerned, Ben leaned forward in the saddle.

"You don't understand.  It's Joe--"

"Joe!"  Hoss exclaimed.

"Yes, I-I . . . I don't have time to explain.  Please . . . he's on Fenner's Knoll, facing a man who may very well kill him."

"You're not making sense," Ben said sharply.

"He's in a gunfight, Mr. Cartwright.  He's protecting me, but--please . . . we have to stop him before it's too late."

Wordlessly, Ben wheeled his horse around.  He could feel the urgency pressing on his chest, forcing his stomach into his throat.  Joe in a gunfight!  He couldn't think clearly.  Leaning forward, he urged Buck to greater speed.  Beside him he could hear the thundering clop of Chubb's hooves; the rumbling roar of the buggy to his rear.

Ben's hands white-knuckled on the reins.  He prayed he was not too late.

"Well?"  Joe heard Frank McCay call to his partner.  The big man stood nearby, while Rudy--a few feet away--was bent over Lancaster's still form.

"Cartwright's bullet hit him in the chest," Rudy hollered back. "But he ain't dead yet."

"Well help him along, then bring me his gun." McCay squatted next to Joe.  One thick calloused hand grabbed Joe's chin and wrenched his face to the side. "Bullet hurts, don't it?  That idiot gunslinger couldn't hit you, so I had to do it for him."

Joe's head was spinning.  The fire in his side spread across his stomach and his ribs, growing in agonizing waves.  Weakly he stirred, trying to pull away from the brutal grip that restrained him.  He could feel the blood leaking from his side, saturating his shirt and trousers.

"Seems a dang fool thing to do--killing a man for such a simple wrong as the one lays between us."  McCay chuckled softly. A savage grin pulled his lips tightly against his teeth.  "Course it won't be the first time, and killin' a Cartwright is just too sweet to pass up."  Releasing Joe, he pushed to his feet with a grunt of effort.  "Well?" he demanded as Rudy approached.  The smaller man passed him Lancaster's six-shooter.

"Like you said, I helped him along."  Rudy made a pinching motion over his nose and mouth, indicating suffocation.

McCay gave a satisfied nod, then flicked open the chamber of Lancaster's gun.  "Five bullets left.  Be a shame to waste 'em."  His eyes dropped to Joe.  "When they find your body, kid, they'll just think Lancaster pumped you full of lead, 'fore you plunked one in him.  Kind of ironic, ain't it?

Gasping, Joe rolled onto his side, and made a weak grab for his gun.  The pearl-handled revolver lay just beyond his reach.

"Oh, no you don't."  Rudy kicked the weapon aside.

The voice seemed to come from a great distance.  Joe felt his fingers slide through the empty grass; he could feel the ground pressed against his cheek, small stones biting into his flesh.  A hand claimed his shoulder and yanked him roughly onto his back.  He moaned softly as the world reeled over his head, sky and earth tilting at an alarming angle.  Bile rose in his throat.

"Pay attention now."  The hard tip of McCay's boot drove into his wounded side.

Joe screamed, corkscrewing into a fetal position as the pain knifed through him.  For a moment, there was nothing but the blinding agony of molten fire consuming him.  He dug his fist into his side, vainly trying to silence the torturous needles slicing through his abdomen.  Blood flowed over his hand, running hot and wet to his wrist.  Joe gasped for breath and tried to crawl from his tormentors.

Laughing, Rudy snagged him by the collar.  A new conflagration of pain erupted as he was wrenched back in place.  His side was soaked, shirt and jacket plastered to his skin by blood.  Darkness ebbed into the corners of his vision, threatening to render him unconscious.  Sensing the departure, Rudy cuffed him across the face, jarring him back to the present.

Joe heard the click of a gun.  He was lying on his back, both hands clutched over his side, staring up at Frank McCay's twisted face.  He wet his lips and tried to speak, but no sound came to his constricted throat.  He watched McCay level the pistol.

"We're gonna have some fun," the big man said.

The gun exploded.  Joe screamed as the bullet penetrated his leg.  The slug struck him in the right thigh, about two inches above the knee, burrowing through his flesh with coldfire.  Groaning, Joe tried to draw the leg closer.  He turned his head to the side, swallowing thickly and convulsively as his stomach threatened upheaval.

"Come on, Cartwright."  McCay booted him again.

"Go to hell."  Somehow he got the words past his dry lips.  He was going to die and he knew it. Nothing he could do about it.  The retort seemed to incense Rudy who dropped to the ground, driving his knee into Joe's stomach.  The man applied pressure, pinning him in place.  Joe blanched, as he fought the excruciating resurgence of pain in his side. Unsuccessfully he tried to push Rudy away.

McCay cocked the hammer again.  "What'dya think, Rudy?  His shoulder or his other leg?"

"I think his face.  Kid's too pretty.  Mess him up, McCay."

"Hold him still now," McCay intoned.  Bracing his wrist across his left arm, he took careful aim.  Once again Joe tried to dislodge Rudy, but didn't have the strength. He could feel the darkness reconvening, and welcomed the oblivion that would come with unconsciousness.  As if in mockery of that escape, McCay's pistol erupted again.  Joe jerked his head to the side as the bullet sliced across his cheek, laying open his skin, before embedding in the ground near his head. Blood flowed over his face, sticky and warm.  He could feel it's trail over the curve of his cheek, seeping into his hair and dribbling against his earlobe.  A hiss of breath escaped his lips.

Rudy bent close, then grinned up at McCay.  "Hey, Frank, I think he just cursed you again.  That deserves a bullet in the chest, don'tya think?."

"Don't rush me now.  I got three slugs left, and I'm gonna put all three in this runty kid."  He twirled the chamber on the revolver--*click, click, click.*  Frowning, Rudy lifted his head, and glanced over his shoulder.

"You hear that?"

Click, click, click.  "Hear what?"

Apprehensively, Rudy rose to his feet.  "Horses."

McCay followed his glance.

"Hell, Rudy, you're as jumpy as a whore in a convent.  Ain't nothin' but--" He stopped suddenly as the approaching sound of hooves grew louder.  McCay's face twisted in alarm.  He could see two riders and a buggy on the horizon, coming fast.  Tossing the gun aside, he snagged Rudy's arm. "Forget Cartwright, let's get out of here."

Joe heard the hasty retreat of their footsteps, followed by the departing drum of hooves against shale.  Rolling onto his side, he curled tightly into a ball, wrapping his arms over his middle.  Having survived the ordeal, he felt the adrenalin snake from his body.  Air came harsh and rasp between his teeth, each breath igniting a new spasm of pain in his battered side.  The darkness settled on him, softly at first, then with a heavier hand, knitting his lashes shut.  He drifted in a cold bed of oblivion until a hand on his shoulder, combined with a desperate voice, to drag him back to coherency.

"Joe.  Joe, come on, son.  Please."

Struggling up from the gray matter of unconsciousness, Joe immediately recoiled, drawing his knees to his chest as he sought to protect his wounded side.  The hand on his shoulder drifted to his face, cupping his cheek in a warm caress.  He felt the fingers slide over his skin, heedless of the blood soiling his face.  "Joe, it's me."  Ben's voice came from a great distance.  "Please don't fight me, son."

Joe hitched in his breath, choking back a sob.  "Pa?"  Lifting his hand, he wrapped blood-stained fingers around Ben's wrist.  He blinked, unable to stop the sudden rush of tears that flooded his eyes.  "Oh God, Pa, I--"

"Ssh."  Ben smoothed a hand over his hair.  "Don't talk.  We'll get you out of here."

"It hurts."

"I know it does, son."  Slipping one hand beneath Joe's head, Ben rested the other on his knee.  "You have to straighten your legs.  Let me see your side."

Joe shook his head.  "Can't."

"Yes, you can."

"Pa, it hurts."

"I know it does, Joe, but you have to try."  Briefly, Ben touched his face, stroking his cheek.  "I'm right here, Joe.  You have to trust me."

Joe closed his eyes.  Tears seeped from beneath his lashes, streaking his face.  His fingers tightened on Ben's wrist as he began to straighten his legs.  Almost immediately he cried out, doubling up as the pain knifed through him.  The wound in his right leg throbbed with tenacious fire, but it was the torture in his side that left him white-faced and trembling.

Ben lifted a concerned gaze to Hoss.

His middle son had confirmed Lancaster dead upon arriving, then hovered anxiously to the side, allowing Ben to examine Joe.  Beyond his shoulder, Ben could see Lorna David, her face pinched with worry.

"Pa, we gotta do somethin'," Hoss said miserably.

"Joseph."  Once again, Ben tried to reach his son.  He smoothed his hand over Joe's brow, pushing back the heavy sweat-soaked fringe of hair.  "Hoss and I are going to try to lift you.  We're going to put you in Lorna's buggy."

The hand on Ben's wrist became an iron clamp.  "No."  There was sheer panic in Joe's voice. "No.  Don't try to move me--"

"Joseph--"

"Please."

The desperation in his son's voice cut Ben to the bone.  There was no greater agony then seeing his child suffer.  A silent voice laid the condemnation for that suffering at his feet.  He didn't know the details of what had happened here, but he was certain none of it would have taken place, if he hadn't sent Joe from the Ponderosa.  Lowering his head, he bit his lip.  There was nothing he could do to ease Joe's pain, but he'd be damned if he'd let him die.  Raising his eyes, he nodded to Hoss.

The larger man moved hesitantly, stooping down, and slipping his arms under Joe's slight frame.  "Easy, little brother."

"Don't," Joe said weakly.  Ignoring the protest, Ben added his support to Hoss and the two men lifted together.  Immediately the pain sliced through Joe, careening across his stomach and splintering over his ribs.  His head fell back and he screamed.

"Hold on, Joe."

"God, Pa, it hurts.  Please . . . make it stop.  Pa . . . Pa, please . . ."

Ben was practically panting by the time he got his son to the buggy.  It wasn't exertion that left him weak-kneed and trembling, but rather the gut-wrenching horror of Joe's scream and his pleas for mercy.  Easing him into the buggy, Ben crawled past him, sliding to the corner of the bench seat.  He wrapped an arm around his son's shoulders and pulled him against his chest.  Joe's head dropped to his shoulder and his fingers knotted in the coarse fabric of Ben's workshirt.  Ben could fell the trembling in his slender frame, see the convulsive hitch of his shoulders as he fought against sobs.  Lifting his hand, he stroked his fingers against Joe's cheek, feeling the warm wetness of tears; the tacky stickiness of blood.  He could see the hole in Joe's side now--noted that his jacket and shirt were pressed into the wound, the fabric acting as a clotting aide. Glancing over his son's bowed head, Ben met Hoss's concerned stare.

"Ride to Virginia City and get Doc Martin.  I'll have Lorna drive us back to her place.  It's closer than the Ponderosa.  And while you're there, see if you can find someone to ride out and tell Adam what's happened."

Hoss pressed his lips together and nodded.  His eyes dropped to his brother.  Awkwardly he laid a hand on Joe's arm.  "Hang in there, Little Joe.  I promise we'll get you patched up."

Ben felt his throat tighten up as Hoss turned away.  Gingerly, Lorna eased into the wagon and collected the reins.  When she glanced at Ben, he nodded and mouthed the word "slow."  With a tiny lurch, the buggy ambled forward.

Joe drifted in and out of consciousness on the trek to Lorna's home.  His cheek was pressed to the hard plane of his father's chest, his fingers tangled limply in the fabric of Ben's shirt.  He groaned when the buggy hit an uneven spot in the road.  Immediately the reality of the waking world returned him to a pain-laced fog.  Fire lanced through his side.  Gasping, Joe tried to drive his fist against the wound.

"No."  Ben caught his fingers.  "Joseph, you mustn't.  The wound's clotted."

"Hurts.  I--" He tried to pull his hand free.

"If you apply pressure you're going to break the clot.  I know it hurts, Joe."

"Pa . . ."  The tears were starting again.  Ben felt the moisture soak into his shirt.  Still holding his son's hand, he pressed his cheek against the top of Joe's head.  He could feel the silky crown of soft curls beneath his skin; smell the wind-washed fragrance of his son's hair.  "I-I'm so sorry," he heard Joe stammer.

Confused, Ben tensed.  "Joe?"

"About t-the things I said to you before . . .an-and wh-what I did . . ."

Ben's stomach constricted.  He tightened his embrace around his son's shoulders.  "Joseph, please don't apologize."

"But, Pa, I--Oh, God!"  He cried out as the buggy hit a rut in the road.  Once again he tried to drive his fist against the wound.

"Mr. Cartwright, I'm so sorry," Lorna cried.  "I didn't see the hole."  Her hands were trembling, her face a white shell.  But Ben didn't have time to address her.  His son was bent double, panting for air.  Ben had hold of his shoulders, restraining his arm once again.

"Pa, I'm gonna be sick."

"Joe, hang on."

"No, Pa.  I'm gonna be sick."

"Lorna, stop," Ben commanded sharply.  When the wagon came to a halt he helped Joe lean across him.  He knew the movement was going to tear open the wound.  Tugging free his neckcloth, he folded it into a square and palmed it against Joe's side, applying gentle pressure. His other hand was wrapped tightly around his son's biceps, helping support him.  Joe's body convulsed as the first bout of sickness struck him.  When his stomach was empty, he collapsed limply over Ben's lap.  Wrapping both arms about him, Ben hugged him close.

"I'm so sorry, Joe."  His voice cracked.  "Dear Lord, if I could just take back the last week and a half."

"Pa . . ." Joe lifted his hand and gripped his father's wrist.  Turning his head, he buried his face against Ben's shoulder.  "I won't ever leave again.  I promise."  Something warm and wet fell against his cheek.  Startled, Joe glanced up, expecting to find a rain-heavy sky, but the expanse was blue and cloudless.

Joe closed his eyes, feeling the wet fringe of his own lashes.  He knew his father did not cry.

"What do you mean he wasn't there?"  Ben's voice cracked with an edge like a whip.

Hoss hated to be the bearer of bad news.  His stomach was already in a knot from the futile ride to Virginia City.  He shifted his weight from foot to foot, his troubled gaze flicking between his father and Miss David.  The three stood in the central room of her home, while Joe rested in the bedroom to the rear.  "Sam at the saloon told me Doc Martin left early this morning for Sunset Draw.  There's some kind of fever epidemic over there and he went to lend a hand.  Some of the townsfolk went too, loadin' wagons with blankets and stuff.  Pa there just ain't nobody here to help Joe, 'cept us."

Ben shook his head.  Turning away, he rubbed two fingers against his temple.  "Go back and send a wire," he said.

"I already did that.  I wired Doc Martin, explaining what happened to Joe, and askin' what we could do 'til he got back.  Charlie at the general store's gonna fetch it out here, soon as Doc replies.  And I sent someone to the ranch for Adam."

Ben paced the small room.  "Damn it, Hoss, that bullet has to come out.  I looked at the wound in his leg and the bullet went clean through.  That gash on his face is more blood than anything else, but that one in his side--"

"I know," Hoss said somberly. "It's bad."

Lorna wrung her hands together.  "This is all my fault."

Ben's gaze was unyielding.  "I think you'd better tell us how you're involved, and what Joe was doing, going up against a gunslinger."

"Pa, that man didn't do this to Joe, anymore than Joe's bullet killed him.  That fella was suffocated."

Ben nodded.  "There were other tracks around Joe.  Two men from what I could tell."

"One large and one small," Hoss confirmed.  "I saw them too."

"That still doesn't explain what Joe was doing on that knoll."  Ben's glance returned to Lorna.  There was nothing accusatory in his gaze, but she found it withering all the same.

Lorna paled.  In halting speech, she unburdened her tale, even going so far as to relate Joe's staged kiss.  When she was through, Hoss gave a low whistle.  "So what you're saying . . . is my little brother was protecting you?"

"I never wanted him to fight Brian.  I didn't think it would come to that."

"Yeah."  Thoughtfully, Hoss chewed on his lip.  "But Joe did.  That's why he kept everything from Adam.  He knew Adam would go up against Lancaster, and he didn't think Adam was a match for him."

"Damn fool, kid," Ben muttered.  He'd heard enough.  Without another word he turned away, and walked back into the bedroom.  Small and rectangular, the chamber housed a mahogany bed, chest of drawers, washbasin and vanity.  A high-backed chair was pulled close to the bed, and two windows permitted access to a cooling breeze.

Anxiously, Ben hovered at his son's side.  Joe was still asleep, though he shifted restlessly and moaned softly from time to time.  While Hoss was still in town, Ben had removed Joe's gunbelt, then set about tending his leg wound.  Slicing Joe's trousers to expose the wound, Ben had carefully cleaned and bandaged the affected area.  Afterwards, he'd washed the blood from his son's face, and tried to make him as comfortable as possible.

The hole in his side was another matter.  Ben feared touching it, but knew something had to be done shortly.  He hadn't tried to remove Joe's jacket or shirt, fearing that by doing so, he'd break the clots in the wound.  Still, he knew it had to be cleaned before infection set in.  Threads from Joe's jacket were pressed into the wound, along with bits of dirt and grass.  The infection could be more dangerous than any blood loss Joe might suffer.  Ben had hoped Doc Martin would be available to tend his son, but now found that responsibility falling to him.

Stepping forward, he smoothed his hand over Joe's brow, then pressed the back of his fingers against his son's cheek.  Though Joe's skin was slightly warm, there was nothing to indicate fever.  Ben breathed a silent prayer of relief.  Grimly determined, he cuffed back his sleeves and stalked to the door.

"Miss David, could you come here please?"

"Yes, Mr. Cartwright?"

"I need lots of clean towels.  Sheets cut up for bandages, boiling water, and anything alcoholic you might have."

Lorna looked thoughtful.  "Cooking sherry."

"It will have to do."

She nodded, then hesitated.  Ben could see the indecision in her eyes.  "What about . . . do you need any knives, Mr. Cartwright?"

Ben felt the cold pierce through him.  He couldn't even contemplate cutting a bullet from his son.  "Not now.  Just the towels and water.  I've got to clean that wound."

Silently, Lorna nodded.  As she moved away, a knock sounded on the front door.  From his position by the bedroom, Ben watched as Hoss moved to answer it.  Though he couldn't see the visitor, he did see Hoss accept a folded slip of paper.  A moment later, Hoss met Ben's eyes across the room.

"Well?"  Ben demanded.

Hoss shook his head.  "It ain't good, Pa.  Doc Martin says that bullet's gotta come out, and he can't leave Sunset Draw."

Ben sagged against the door frame.  The news was as he expected, but that didn't make the hearing of it any easier.  "Tell Lorna to gather some knives," he said quietly.  "And Hoss---get me some rope."

Hoss's brows scrunched into his thinning hair.  "Rope?"

"Just do it," Ben said.  Grimly, he moved back into the bedroom.

Ben sat on the edge of the bed, his hand resting on Joe's shoulder.  His son's breathing seemed to be getting shallower, more raspy. His skin was flushed and his hair tousled over his forehead.  His eyes were unusually bright, the long lashes clumped from earlier tears.  Ben couldn't recall him ever looking so young or vulnerable.  Lifting his hand, he brushed the unruly curls from Joe's forehead.

"Son, we've got to take care of that bullet in your side."

Joe nodded.  Weakly, he drew a jagged breath.  Lowering his hand, Ben began to carefully unbutton Joe's shirt.  "Pa . . . is Lancaster . . .?"

Ben's hand moved down his son's chest as he eased one button after another free.  "You didn't kill him.  He was asphyxiated."

Joe closed his eyes, wincing as a wayward spasm of pain rocketed through him.  His fingers dug into the mattress.  There was an odd ringing in his ears and he felt strangely dizzy.  "It was . . . McCay and Rudy.  Lancaster's bullet . . . never touched me.  They were in the thicket . . . shot me . . .after."

"Ssh.  Don't talk.  We'll deal with them later."  Ben had thought McCay and Rudy involved, but figured it was Lancaster's bullet in Joe's side.  That he had survived the gunfight only to be assaulted by the saddletramps, left him quaking with silent rage.  Ben drew a deep breath, struggling to bring his emotions under control.  If  he was going to help Joe, he couldn't afford the distraction of rancor.  With effort, he turned his full attention back to Joe.

Ben had freed the buttons on Joe's shirt all the way to his waist.  Unbuckling his son's double-holed belt, he slid it free beneath him.  Reluctant to pull on the shirt, he reached for the basin of hot water by the bed.  Lorna had cut up strips of towels and sheets as he'd requested.  Folding one of the larger pieces into a square, Ben soaked it in water.  Gently pinching off the excess, he turned back to Joe.  "I'm going to lay this over your side, Joe.  Hopefully the moisture and heat will soften your jacket and shirt.  The fabric's clotted pretty good in that wound."

Eyes large and trusting, Joe nodded.  Once again, Ben was struck by the vulnerability he saw reflected on his son's face.  Joe sucked in his breath, tensing, as Ben laid the cloth over his side. The presence of heat reawakened raw sensation in the wound. Hot needles fanned across Joe's side, coaxing a low moan from his lips.  He tried to pull away, turning his face into the pillow.  Ben laid a hand on his shoulder, applying gentle pressure and holding him in place.  After a time Joe stilled, his lashes dipping over his eyes.  Ben replaced the compress with a new one.  Bending over the bed, he unfastened the hook on Joe's pants and gently tugged the left side of his shirt free.  Carefully, he freed the last of the buttons, then replaced the compress yet again.  By now the fabric had loosened enough for him to work it from the wound.  Removing the compress altogether, Ben slid one hand beneath his son's open shirt.  He used the back of his fingers to gently pry the material from the wound, while the other hand assisted.  Joe gave one startled gasp then bit down on his lip.

"I'm sorry, son."  Ben could feel fresh blood against his fingers, and knew that some of the clots had broken open.  "I need you to sit up." Shifting position, Ben braced an arm across Joe's shoulders and guided him forward.  Almost immediately he felt Joe's hand clamp upon his forearm in mute desperation.  Joe gave a strangled cry, digging his nails into his father's skin.  "Just a little farther," Ben coaxed.  He had eased Joe's left arm from the jacket.  Pushing the shirt from his
shoulder, he let the garment slide across Joe's back.

Joe pressed his forehead to his father's shoulder.  "Pa, please," he panted.

Acting quickly, Ben shifted his grip, allowing his son to slump against him.  Hooking the shirt inside the collar, Ben used the garment to push the overlaying jacket from Joe's left shoulder.  The material slid down his arm, but clung to the wound, where it was stuck fast by bits of dried blood.  Reaching behind him, Ben grabbed a towel from the nightstand.  He slid it beneath Joe's back, allowing the end to hang loose over the side of the bed.  "Okay, Joe.  Lie back now."  Once again, Ben bore his son's weight as he eased him down on the bed.  The breath hissed between Joe's teeth.  His face was drawn and ashen, streaked with sweat.  Ben felt the quivering strain of muscle in his shoulders and arms, as his body fought off trembling.  Lifting his hand, he grazed his knuckles over his son's cheek.  "It's all right, Joseph.  We're almost done."

Joe closed his eyes and tilted his head back.  "You have to . . . take out . . . bullet."

Ben didn't want to think about that.  Catching his bottom lip between his teeth, he worked at the bit of cloth still stuck to the wound.  He felt Joe shudder as the material pulled away, but his son was silent.  Blood oozed from the hole in his side, seeping onto the towel beneath him.  The skin around the bullet hole was raw and swollen.  Lacerations slanted across the wound, and Ben realized with a tightening of his stomach, that Joe hadn't just been shot, but deliberately abused as well.  Paling, he sank into the bedside chair.

"Joe, it's pretty bad.  I've got to clean it."

Joe turned his head on the pillow.  His face was sheened with sweat; the gash on his cheek a startling contrast against his waxen skin.  He swallowed thickly.  "I know."

Ben glanced aside at the nightstand--at the basin of hot water and the bottle of sherry.  Over the years, he'd nursed his son through all sorts of ailments, including sprains and broken bones.  There'd been knife cuts, bruises, fevers, even concussions, but thus far he'd been saved the horror of having to carve a bullet from his child.  Ben dragged a hand across his face.

"Pa?"  Joe's voice was a sliver of it's normal strength. "Pa, I don't feel so good."

"I'm going to take care of you, Joe."  Ben stroked his face, soothing with his touch as much as his words. After a time he felt his son settle.  Soaking one of the compresses, he dabbed at the wound as gently as he could.  Joe stiffened, but remained mute under the prodding.  The effort it cost him was visible on his face.  When Ben was through, he reached for the bottle of sherry.  Joe watched silently, then turned his face away.  He hitched in his breath, waiting for the blistering sting of alcohol that was sure to follow.  This time he couldn't stop crying out.

His body convulsed, his fingers digging into the matters as alcohol struck the inflamed wound.  Ben pressed his shoulders to the bed, restricting him, until the buffeting agony passed.  When it was over, Joe collapsed limply against the pillow.  The air rattled through his throat. Closing his eyes, he turned his face against his father's arm.  " . . .tired," he mumbled.

Ben brushed the sweat-slick hair from his brow.  "Go to sleep, Little Joe."

" . . . bullet . . ."

"Not now.  Sleep."

The raspy breath gave way to even breathing.  Exhausted, Ben sank into the chair and dropped his head against the bed.  He could feel the sheet--damp with Joe's sweat--pressed to his forehead.  He allowed himself a moment to recover, then leaned back in the chair, scraping both hands through his hair.  Though the wound was now clean, it was swollen and red; the skin puckered as though drawn by a string. Ben knew it was going to be extremely painful for Joe when he tried to remove the bullet. He also knew that Hoss alone would not be able to restrain Joe, and Lorna would be little help.

With a frazzled sigh of resignation, he went to see if Hoss had located the rope.

"Pa, you ain't gonna tie him?"  Hoss was appalled.

Ben measured the length of rope, notching it with his pocket knife where he wanted it cut.  "There's no way I can restrain him, if I'm cutting a bullet from him.  You can't hold his arms and his legs."

"Miss David--"

"Miss David isn't physically strong enough to hold him down, Hoss, you know that.  Besides, I may need her to assist me."  Ben was being matter-of-fact.  At this juncture, he knew it was the only way he'd get through what lay ahead.

Hoss worked his face into a disgusted frown.  "Yeah, but, Pa.  Tying him--"

"Do you have a better idea?"  Ben snapped.

Miserably, Hoss looked away.  "No, Sir." Dropping to a seat on the couch, he rested his elbows on his knees and plopped his head in his hands.  Ben stood nearby, working the rope, while Lorna hovered in the kitchen, sterilizing the knives Ben intended to use.

"Mr. Cartwright," she called.

"What is it, Miss David?"

"I found a bottle of brandy if that will help."  Stepping from the kitchen area, she offered Ben the bottle.  He accepted with a nod of his head and passed it to Hoss.

"Go see if you can get your brother to drink some of this."

Hoss left out an exasperated sigh.  "We could wait for Adam," he said, still not abandoning the original topic.

Ben gave him a warning glare.  "That might be hours from now.  If you want to do something for Joe, get some of this brandy in him."

Reluctantly, Hoss took the bottle.  Stepping into the kitchen, he retrieved a glass, then made his way to the bedroom. The door creaked softly as he pushed it open.  Hesitating on the threshold, he let his eyes rest on the still form in the bed.

Joe's eyes were closed, the long fringe of his lashes creating a licorice-black line against his pale skin.  A stippling of sweat clung to his upper lip, and pooled in the hollow of his throat.  The wound on his side was an angry blotch, tipped in scarlet.  Stepping as quietly as he could, Hoss moved to the bedside.  He could hear Joe's breathing, shallow and rasp, like wind through brittle reeds.  As he settled in the chair, Joe stirred slightly, a whisper-thin moan slipping from his lips.

"Easy, little brother."  Leaning forward, Hoss brushed the sweat-damp curls from his brow.  Joe blinked and opened his eyes. The barest flicker of a smile touched his lips, before being claimed by a grimace of pain.  Joe caught his breath as sudden fire rippled through his side.

Hoss blanched.  Hastily he poured brandy into a glass.  "Here, drink this."

Joe shook his head.

Setting the bottle aside, Hoss perched forward on the edge of the chair.  "You got to Joe.  It'll help with the pain."

Once again, Joe shook his head.  Blinking back dizziness, he tried to focus on Hoss's concerned face.  Sweat-slick fingers strayed to his brother's arm, wrapping tightly about his wrist.   " . . . stomach . . .sick . . ." he mumbled thickly.

Hoss slid his hand beneath Joe's head, lifting slightly as he held the glass to his lips.  "Come on, Joe.  Please.  I know it don't seem good now, but you'll thank me later."

Too weak to protest, Joe swallowed the bitter alcohol.  Hoss set the glass aside, then thumbed a drop of clinging liquid from the corner of Joe's mouth.  He eased his brother's head back to the pillow.

Joe drew a thready breath.  He was sweating profusely.  ". . . hot . . ."

Glancing aside, Hoss located a pitcher of water.  Dipping a cloth into the cool liquid, he wrung off the excess moisture.  "This'll help."  Carefully, Hoss drew the rag over his brother's face and neck, stroking aside glistening beads of sweat.  Joe shuddered and closed his eyes.  Dipping the cloth a second time, Hoss smoothed it over his chest. Joe stirred, seeking a position of greater comfort.  Immediately the wound awakened in white-hot agony.

"Hoss!"  Crying out, Joe threw his head back against the pillow, his body arching upward from the bed.  Both hands instinctively tried to clutch his side.  Snagging his wrists, Hoss held tight, restraining him.  "Dadburnit, Joe, you can't."

"Hurts--"

"I know it does, but you gotta leave that wound alone."

"Let me go.  Please--"

Hoss lowered his forehead to Joe's wrists.  He could feel the quivering strain of muscle in his brother's arms; the corded tension strung like wire through his slender frame.  Joe's breath came hard and fast as he struggled to master the pain. Even as he restrained him, Hoss heard Ben enter the room, his boots clicking a quick cadence against the pine floorboards.

"What's going on?"  Ben had two lengths of rope in his hand.  Tossing them aside, he moved quickly towards the bed. "Joseph--son, I heard you cry out."

Hoss lifted his head.  "It's his side, Pa.  He tried to move."  He felt Joe grow lax beneath him.  Easing back on the chair, he released his hold on Joe's wrists.

Gingerly, Ben sat on the edge of the bed.  He stroked a feather-light caress over his son's cheek, avoiding the torn skin left by McCay's skirting bullet. "Joseph."

"I think he passed out, Pa."

Ben glanced at Hoss.  "Did you get any of that brandy into him?"

"A little, but if you're gonna poke for that bullet, he's gonna need a lot more."

"Mr. Cartwright, are you ready for . . . knives?"  Lorna David hovered in the doorway, her face pinched and white.  Her voice cut out on the last word, dropping to a whisper.  Twisting her hands together, her eyes strayed from Ben to the bed.

"Soon."  Straightening his shoulders, Ben cleared his throat.  "Miss David, could you please boil some water? And you'd best cut up some more bandages."

"Yes, Sir."  As Lorna backed from the room, Ben motioned towards Hoss.

 "Pass me some of those cloth strips.  The thinner ones."

Hoss glanced from his father's outstretched hand to the coil of bandages on the nightstand.  Perplexed by the request, he nevertheless did as he was told.  On the bed, Joe turned his head, moaning slightly, but failed to open his eyes.

Ben laid the first bandage in his lap, folding it in half, until he had a strip about an inch wide. Using his teeth to tear the end, he pulled the fabric apart, creating two tails a quarter of the way up the bandage.  Drawing Joe's hand onto his lap, he wrapped the cloth around his wrist, then used the ends to tie off the cuff.  Ben passed a second strip to Hoss and nodded at Joe's other arm.

"What's it for?"

"Just do it," Ben instructed.

Silently, Hoss did as he was told.  From the corner of his eye he watched Ben lean forward and lightly touch Joe's face.

"Little Joe."

Joe came awake with a startled grunt.  "Pa."  He seemed to sense Hoss working on his arm, and tried to pull it away.

"It's okay, son."  Ben's fingers slipped into his son's thick hair.  He paused, feeling the soft, silky texture beneath his fingertips.  There was no easy way to say what he needed to say.  "Joe, Doc Martin's in Sunset Draw.  I'm going to have to take that bullet out."

Joe's eyes were drifting shut.  "Told you . . . to . . ."

"I need you to drink some more brandy."

"Huh-uh."

Ben wet his lips.  "Joseph.  I need you to be as still as possible.  For what it's worth, the brandy might help."

Joe's lashes flickered, then dipped again.  For a moment Ben thought he had drifted to sleep, but he roused suddenly and nodded.  Hoss immediately poured more brandy, and held his brother's head while he drank it.  Collecting the rope from the floor where he'd tossed it earlier, Ben placed it on the bed, beside him.  He waited until Joe was lying back once again, then pulled his hand into his lap.  Absently, Ben traced his thumb over the ridge of Joe's knuckles.

"Joe . . ." Ben lowered his eyes, uncertain how to proceed.  "Son, I've got to--"

"It's okay, Pa."  Joe's voice was thready, his eyes glass-green. A slight flush stained the high, angled bones of his cheeks, induced by the brandy.  Glancing at the rope, he nodded.  "I . . . understand . . ."

Ben drew a deep breath.  Exchanging a somber glance with Hoss, he passed him a section of rope.  Joe closed his eyes as Ben wrapped the hemp binding over the protective padding on his right wrist, allowing the end to hang free.  "Hoss, go see if Miss David has everything ready," Ben instructed.

Hoss finished securing the rope over Joe's left wrist.  Not trusting his voice, he gave a clipped nod and walked briskly from the room.  Ben coiled his fingers into Joe's hand.  For the startling moment, his son's gaze was steady and clear.  But just as quickly, the clarity passed, and Joe's eyes clouded with pain.  He turned his head, reaching for Ben's arm.  Joe gave a soft whimper and pressed his brow against the cuffed sleeve of his father's shirt.

Ben's throat constricted. If nothing else, he'd see that Rudy and McCay paid for what they'd done to his son.  His chest swelled with fierce anger, as he looked at Joe, lying helpless and in pain.  Once again he had to redirect the rage and leash his emotions.  Raising his hand, he cupped his son's cheek.  Immediately, Joe turned his face, eagerly seeking the reassuring warmth of that caress.  "It will be over soon, Joe.  I promise."

Ben heard the click of the door behind him.  A glance over his shoulder revealed Hoss and Lorna.  The former carried a tray with a basin of boiling water, soap, and fresh bandages piled to the side.  The latter bore a smaller server with an assortment of knives.  Ben drew a hand over his face.  He stood as Hoss moved to one side, setting the tray on the nightstand, and Lorna to the other.

Ben glanced down at Joe.  He could see the sliver of fear in his son's eyes, despite his obvious effort to mask it.  A nervous smile flitted over Joe's lips.  "You're gonna . . . wash your hands, aren't you?"

Ben exhaled, almost choking on the breath.  Bending down, he pressed his lips to his son's forehead.  When he straightened, he gave a clipped nod to Hoss.  Lifting Joe's arm, Ben extended it behind his head, securing the loose end of the rope to the bedpost.  On the other side, Hoss did likewise.  Instinctively, Joe gripped the rope, tensing for what was to come.

Ben moved to the opposite side of the bed.  Rolling his sleeves above his elbows, he vigorously scrubbed his hands and forearms.  Behind him, he could hear Hoss speaking softly to Joe, reassuring his brother that everything was going to be fine.  Lorna set the knives near at hand, then stood ready with a lamp.  Ben drew the chair close to the bed.  He was petrified to look at Joe's face.  Keeping his head bowed, he selected a knife.

"Hoss.  His legs.  Watch that wound on his thigh."

Hoss moved to the foot of the bed.  Sitting on the edge, he gripped Joe's legs just below the knees.  In the yellow glow of lamplight, sweat glistened like dew on his broad face.  Catching his bottom lip between his teeth, he nodded at Ben.

Against his will, Ben's eyes were drawn to Joe.  The blinding trust he saw reflected on his son's face almost made him drop the knife. Gathering his resolve, Ben laid his left hand against the wound.  Immediately, he felt Joe stiffen.  Heat flamed against his fingertips, coaxed like liquid fire from his son's torn skin.  Before he had time to rethink the decision, Ben cut into the wound.

Joe jerked, his wrists snapping tight against the rope.  He cried aloud as Ben worked the knife deeper.  With a tortured gasp, he strained against Hoss's hold on his legs.  Blood oozed from the wound, trickling down his side to the towel beneath him.  It gushed in slick ribbons against the gentle probe of Ben's fingers.

"Easy, son."  Ben could feel tissue closing over the knife, inhibiting it's path.  Withdrawing it, he reached for the long, thin tweezers Lorna had sterilized along with the knives.  Joe's blood coated his hands, making him sick with the scent of it.  He slid the tweezers into the wound, probing deeper.  Joe bucked against his restraints, gasping aloud.

"Pa, please.  Pa, stop!"

Ben kept digging.  He could sense the bullet, more than see it.  Knew he was almost there.

"Oh, God, Pa, please!"

It took everything he had, not to withdraw his hand.  At his side, Hoss sat with his head lowered, his face red and his arms locked as he held onto Joe.  Sweat dripped from his face, staining the bedsheets beneath him.  Tissue gave way beneath the probe, and Ben felt the bullet scrape against the edge of the intruding metal.

Joe screamed.

"Mr. Cartwright--!"  Lorna trembled visibly, her face bleached of all color.

Ben stayed focused, pushing until the tweezers closed over the slug.  Panting, Joe arched his back against his restraints.  Despite the protective padding on his wrists, blood seeped from beneath the rope, staining the cloth strips and tricking down his bare arms.  He wrenched his legs, trying to pull free of Hoss's grip.  Despite his weakened state, there was surprising strength in the movement, and Hoss found himself struggling to hold on.

Joe's body was slick with sweat.  It pooled in his throat and in rivulets across his flat stomach, trickling into the wound with the raw sting of salt.

"It's almost over, son," Ben whispered encouragement.  Carefully he withdrew the slug, sliding the blood-slick tweezers from the wound.  With a shaking hand, he dropped both bullet and instrument on the tray.

"You got it, Pa."  Hoss's voice mirrored his relief.  On the bed, Joe lay still, panting heavily.  His eyes were closed and sweat streaked his face.  Carefully, Ben cleaned the wound, using a diluted mixture of brandy and water.  Afterwards, he bandaged the area, wrapping strips of cloth around Joe's slim waist to hold the padding in place.  While Hoss untied Joe's arms, Ben scrubbed his hands, grimacing as he washed away his son's blood.  He felt oddly bestial as though he had
somehow violated Joe.  Behind him, Lorna collected the bloody instruments and silently departed.

Ben could hear Hoss speaking quietly to Joe, trying to comfort him.  Sliding onto the bed, Ben reached for his son, pulling him tightly to his chest.  Joe's hands rose and knotted in his father's shirt. Ducking his head, he leaned against Ben's shoulder, the quivering hitch of his breath giving way to pent-up sobs.

Closing his eyes, Ben pressed his cheek to Joe's soft curls.  He could feel the tremor in his shoulders.  Lifting his hand, he stroked his son's silky hair.  "I'm sorry I hurt you, Joe."

Reluctant to intrude, Hoss withdrew.

Within moments, Joe slept.  Deeply, at first, but restlessly as the hours inched by.  Ben could see the flush of fever settling on his son.  As he brushed his hand lightly over Joe's face, he could feel the blistering sting of heat against his fingertips.  Lorna replenished the bedside pitcher with fresh water, and together she and Ben bathed Joe's face and chest with cool compresses.

He moaned softly beneath the treatment, turning his head on the pillow, but failing to awaken.  Ben changed the bandage on his wound, discarding the soiled dressing for clean. Joe tossed fitfully through the entire procedure, until Ben, stroking his face and murmuring reassurances, soothed him into submission.

Feeling somewhat useless, yet needing an outlet for his frayed nerves, Hoss volunteered to ride to Virginia City and speak with Roy Coffee about Rudy and McCay.  When he had departed,  Lorna withdrew to the living area, leaving Ben alone with his son.

She moved through the cramped quarters with a detached air, her hands trembling as she deposited the blood-saturated bandages beneath the kitchen pump.  Working the handle up and down, she coaxed water from the spout--sending garnet-dark threads of blood swirling from the soiled dressing.  Suddenly the horror of what she'd witnessed caught up with her.  Pressing her hand to her mouth to stifle a sudden cry, Lorna sank into a ladder-back chair.

She knew Brian Lancaster was not responsible for Joe's injuries, but she still felt accountable for placing him in the situation in the first place.  Choking on a jagged breath, she twined her hands together.  Joe was so vibrant and full of life.  Seeing him lying on the bed, twisting with fever and pain, made her realize how easily his life could have been forfeit.  He was still so very young.  She'd never forgive herself the wrong she'd almost done.

She jerked suddenly as the front door banged open.  Lorna's face drained of color as she rose unsteadily to her feet.  She barely recognized the apparition in the doorway.  Adam's face was dark, his eyes glittering like twin pools of ebony flame.  His chest rose and fell with the quick, rapid swell of his breath, as his eyes skimmed through the room.  Trail dust clung to his clothing, coating the black fabric with a peppering of white. Sweat and dirt streaked his face.  It was obvious he'd ridden hard and fast to get there.

"Where's Joe?"  he demanded crisply.

"In the bedroom.  With your father."  Lorna didn't understand the caustic edge of his voice. She took a hesitant step forward as Adam stalked towards the bedroom door.  Part of her melted, assured that his very presence would set everything right.  The other half quaked, disturbed by the glowering lines of his face, the reproachful glare of his obsidian eyes.

Lorna sank back into the chair, knowing with sudden dread that something was very wrong between them.

Adam felt the heavy weight of dread settle on his chest as he stood looking down at his youngest brother.  Joe's skin was sallow, his breath uneven and ragged.  Eyes closed, the lush line of his lashes crested his cheeks like coils of velvet thread.  Despite the pallor of his skin, there was something perpetually youthful and angelic about his features. Clenching his fists, Adam tried to gain control of his conflicting emotions.

"How is he?"  Adam's glance was fleeting.  He didn't want his father to see the brooding look in his eyes.

Ben shifted in the bedside chair.  "I got the bullet.  It was those two drifters, Rudy and McCay."

Momentarily distracted by the revelation, Adam met his father's eyes.  "Wells said it was a gunslinger--Del Lancaster's brother."

"We thought so at first, but Lancaster's bullet missed him completely.  Adam . . ."  Ben cleared his throat and leaned forward in the chair.  He didn't know how to broach the subject, but knew the air had to be cleared.  "Apparently there's been a lot going on while you were in San Francisco.  It concerns Joe and Lorna."

"I know about it," Adam snapped.  His gaze shifted back to the bed.  Once again the tangle of inner turmoil assaulted him.  When he'd received the message from Paul Wells that Joe had been shot, Adam had been stricken with sudden dread.  Fearing for his brother's life, he'd ridden as fast as he could to reach Lorna's home, all the while trying to silence the demon that insinuated Joe and Lorna had been together again.  He would have thought the difference in their ages would have negated any attraction between them, but he also knew that Joe had once been involved with Julia Bulette, a woman considerably older than himself.  His brother was young and handsome, with a an easy charm that attracted women.  Adam just thought Joe would have had the decency to leave Lorna out of that loop.  Now, as he stood looking down on Joe, the anger returned.  He wanted his brother to survive and go on with his life, he just didn't want that life to include him.

"No, Adam, you don't know," Ben said firmly.

On the bed, Joe shifted and groaned, stirring towards consciousness.  His eyes flickered, then opened.  Almost immediately, his features contorted with pain.  "Pa?"

Ben reached forward.  "I'm here, son."

Joe clasped his hand.  His eyes flitted aside and he caught sight of Adam for the first time. Need tangled with remorse on his face.  Lifting his right arm, he stretched his fingers towards his older brother.  "Adam--"

Frowning, Adam looked away.

The breath caught in Joe's throat.  Struggling, he attempted to rise.  "Adam, please!"

Ben was appalled by his eldest son's disregard, but he had his hands full, trying to keep Joe in bed.  Bracing an arm across Joe's chest he forced him back against the mattress.  "Joseph, don't move around so.  You'll rupture the wound.  It hasn't been stitched yet."

But Joe was single-minded, and he continued to struggle.

"Adam, talk to your brother," Ben snapped, losing all patience with his eldest.

Adam's glance was withering.  "You talk to him."  Turning on his heel, he strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Lorna stood as Adam came back into the living area.  She didn't understand his distance; was frightened by the bristling edge of his usually conciliatory demeanor.  Hovering near the sofa, she let her eyes stray to his face.  Adam's gaze was cold and reproachful. It was not the reunion she intended.

"We need to talk," she said evenly.

With a grunt of disgust, Adam backhanded the air in dismissal.  "There's nothing to talk about.  I came to see my brother.  Now that I know he's going to live, I'll be leaving."

"Why?"  Lorna's voice held an equal measure of irritation and appeal.

Adam laughed without humor.  "How can you ask that?  After you and Joe--"

"After Joe and I what?"  The irritation was overridden by sudden indignation.  Lorna read the accusation in Adam's eyes as clearly as if he had spoken it aloud.  Striding forward, she stopped a hand's breath from his chest. "How dare you insinuate there's anything between Little Joe and I. Do you have any idea what he's done?"

"Short of almost getting himself killed?  Who was Lancaster to you, Lorna?  Another spurned lover?"  The words were barely past Adam's lips when Lorna's open hand cracked across his face.

"You're a fool, Adam.  Lancaster was my brother-in-law, and Joe was protecting me."

"From what?"  Adam scoffed.

"Not what--who. Brian wanted to take me back to Texas, because I'd once been the wife of his brother, Del.  I didn't want you to know that, so Joe pretended to be you, and stood up to Lancaster.  He didn't tell you, because he didn't want you facing Lancaster yourself.  He thought he stood a better chance of defeating Brian, but knew you'd intervene."

As Lorna talked, Adam's face gradually took on a chalky, blanched appearance.  The words seemed to strike from a great distance, each one like an arrow piercing his flesh.  He turned away, drawing a hand over his chin.  "But I saw . . . I saw Joe kiss you."

"It was staged.  He knew Brian was watching us."

Sagging into the nearest chair, Adam raked his hat back from his head.  Catching it by the brim, he set it aside and dipped his face into his hands.  Drawing his palms down his cheeks, he gazed at Lorna over his fingertips.  "I . . . I don't know what to say."

"I'll tell you what to say," Ben's angry voice thundered from the threshold of the bedroom.  The door behind him was shut, outlining his broad frame against the dark wood.  He hadn't heard the conversation, just Adam's final remark.  Stalking into the room, he leveled a finger beneath his son's nose.  "You can start by apologizing to Joe.  Or so help me, Adam--"

"Pa, I didn't know--"

"Didn't know what?  That your brother was hurt and needed you?  That you callously shoved him aside?  Do you have any idea what he's been through?"

"Pa, I--"

"Of all the arrogant, insensitive--"

"Pa!"  Adam jumped to his feet, chafing to be heard.  "You've made your point.  I'll apologize to him.  I just . . . I was under the impression that . . ."  His voice trailed off and his gaze shifted guiltily to Lorna.  From the corner of his eye, he could see the set look on Ben's face.  His father's expression told him Ben knew exactly what he'd misinterpreted.

"Lorna, I think you'd better explain everything to Adam," Ben instructed, without turning.

Moments later, Lorna finished her tale.  Spurred by the sudden, unnatural stillness in the room, Adam cleared his throat.  "Is Joe awake?" he asked his father.

Stepping aside, Ben gave him a pointed look.  Head lowered, Adam brushed by him, anxious to set things right.  He should have known Joe would never betray him.  As he stepped into the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind him, his stomach constricted in a punishing knot.  He sagged against the frame, hands looped behind his back, resting lightly on the knob.

Joe was awake, staring at the ceiling.  At the sound of the door clicking shut, he turned his head on the pillow.  "Adam."  Joe normal nonchalance was replaced by wariness and obvious pain.  Hitching in his breath, he tried to scrunch up on his elbows.

"Don't."   Adam darted immediately to his side.  Joe's eyes were bright, with an edge like glass.  Adam could feel the heat radiating from his body, licking against his fingertips as he eased Joe back against the mattress.  Reaching for the pitcher on the nightstand, he poured a glass of water, then propped a hip on the edge of the bed.  "Here, drink this."

"I want . . . to talk."

"In a minute."  Adam slid a hand behind his brother's head and supported him while he swallowed.  When he was done, Joe sagged back against the pillow.  The shadow of a smile touched his fever-cracked lips.

"Does this mean . . . you're . . . speaking to me again?"

A pained expression crossed Adam's face.  Setting the glass aside, he busied himself with a gentle examination of Joe's wound.  "I know what you did for Lorna."

Joe stiffened beneath the prodding.  His fingers curled into the mattress, then relaxed as Adam finished the light probe.  He could feel a growing sensation of dizziness, and for a moment felt detached, floating above the bed.  Blinking, he struggled to reorient.  "I didn't mean . . . to hurt you."

"I know."  Adam closed his eyes briefly.  "I'm sorry for what I said."

Joe reached for his hand.  His fingers were dry and papery from the fever; his grip weakened.  Already his eyes were drooping, the long thread of his lashes spiking shadows across his cheeks.  " . . . tired," he whispered.

Adam hung onto his hand.  "Go to sleep, Joe."

"Stay."  The word was question and plea both.

Adam remained into the night.

Joe's recovery progressed at a slow rate.  Though infection did not set into the wound, he struggled with fever for two days.  On the third, though hollow and flushed, he was able to drink broth and keep it down.  Doc Martin returned from Sunset Draw and proceeded to give him a thorough examination, as well as providing medication for pain.

Joe was reluctant to rely on the drug, refusing it even when Ben and Hoss moved him to a buckboard for transportation back to the Ponderosa.  Though his face was pinched and streaked with sweat, he insisted he was fine, waving off the small bottle when Hoss offered it to him.  It had been almost a week since he'd faced Brian Lancaster on Fenner's Knoll.  Though McCay and Rudy had not been found, notices requesting their arrest had been wired to the sheriffs of neighboring towns.

As Lorna moved to the side of the wagon to bid Joe goodbye, Ben claimed the bottle of medication from Hoss.  "I'll take it," he said, slipping it inside his vest pocket.  He watched as Lorna leaned forward and kissed Joe on the cheek.  Though the air had been cleared with Adam, Ben knew that matters remained strained between his eldest son and Lorna.

Turning away, he retreated in the distance, allowing Joe his privacy.

"I don't know how to thank you," Lorna told Joe.  Despite the hard-won freedom from Lancaster, she was oddly melancholy.

Taking her hand in his, Joe raised her fingers to his lips.  "We had a deal.  I take care of Lancaster, and you get a certain brother of mine to the altar."

Despondent, Lorna lowered her head.  "That isn't likely to happen, Joe.  Things aren't the same between Adam and I."

Joe felt a flush of irritation.  "He's a fool."

"He's a realist.  What's happened has made us both see things in a new light.  We've decided to give each other some time."

"Lorna . . ."  His voice was stricken.

"It's all right, Joe."  She managed a wan smile, but her eyes betrayed her misery.  Joe noted she was still wearing the locket Adam had given her.  Raising his hand, he brushed the hair back from her face.

"I'm sorry.  I thought I was helping, not hindering."

"You did help," Lorna said quickly; fiercely.  "You've given me the freedom to go wherever I choose, without having to look over my shoulder. Without having to live in constant fear, that one day I'll be dragged back to Texas.  Joe--" Lorna choked on the name, her eyes welling with sudden tears.  "I can never repay you for what you've done.  When I think that you almost died . . ."  Her voice trailed off, and she flung herself into his arms.  Joe held her tightly, bowing his face into her hair.  He didn't understand what he felt for her, only knew that it was unexpectedly complex.  He pressed his lips against her brow, drinking in the rain-washed fragrance of her hair.  He could smell her perfume--the familiar scent that had clung so often to his clothing.  When the embrace grew longer than proper, Joe reluctantly released her.  His fingers trailed lightly down her cheek, brushing over her lips.  Without another word, Lorna fled into the house.

Joe drew a breath, feeling oddly hollow.  What the hell was wrong with Adam anyway?

"Ready?"

Ben's query drew Joe from the confused muddle of his thoughts.  He gave a quick, sheepish grin, disturbed to be caught unaware.  "Sure, Pa."

Ben clambered into the front of the wagon, collecting the reins as he slid onto the seat.  Bracing his arm against the backrest, he turned around and offered the bottle of medication to Joe.

"Drink some of this."

Joe frowned.  "Pa, I don't need it."

"Maybe."  Ben tilted his head and arched a brow.  "Maybe not.  Let's be sure, okay?"

"Pa--"

"Joseph."

Sighing, Joe took the bottle.  He uncorked it, and took two quick swallows before passing it back to Ben.  Satisfied, his father slipped it inside his vest.  With a wink at Joe, he flicked the reins urging the team of horses forward.  Hoss reined Chubb behind, and the trio proceeded to the Ponderosa.

Hop-Sing fussed over Joe like a mother hen over her chick.  With the Chinese cook's capable ministrations, Ben had little to do but sit back and watch as Joe was ordered to eat.  "You too thin.  You eat Hop-Sing cooking, you get strong again.  You no make face or Hop-Sing find Mr.Hoss and he hold, while Hop-Sing feed."

"Okay, okay."  Grinning, Joe held up his hands. He was sitting at the table, a steaming bowl of soup beneath his nose.  Catching Ben's amused glance from the corner of his eye, Joe gave his father a wink.  Hop-Sing stood over him, frowning, as Joe spooned soup into his mouth.  Pulling the butter plate towards him, Joe skimmed some off the top and spread it over a thick slice of bread.  Satisfied that his charge intended to eat, Hop-Sing retreated to the kitchen, muttering as he went.  Joe chuckled then glanced at his father.

"Where is everyone, anyway?"

"Well, young man, you took a bit of a nap."  Ben was sitting at the head of the table, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair, his fingers steepled before him.  "Hoss and Adam have already eaten.  Hoss is in town, and I believe Adam went to see Miss David."

At the mention of Lorna, Joe grew suddenly edgy.  "I wish they'd just resolve whatever's eating at them."

"Joseph."  Ben cleared his throat and leaned forward in his chair.  He shifted his dinner plate aside, the remains of a meal much richer than Joe's, still littering the fine china.  "I don't want you to take this in the wrong regard . . ."

"What?"  Joe eyed his father, suddenly wary.

Ben was not immune to the sudden caution.  "Without rehashing the foolishness of facing a man like Brian Lancaster, what you did for Miss David, was courageous, even chivalrous."

Joe's eyes narrowed.  He'd just been reprimanded and complimented in the same breath.  "Pa, are you giving me a delayed lecture?"

"No son.  What I'm trying to point out, is that you've recently spent an inordinate amount of time with Miss David, and it's quite possible your feelings may have been affected."

"My feelings?"

"Joe, sometimes people feel an attraction they're not even aware exists."

"Between Lorna and myself?"  Joe dropped his spoon into the soup bowl and shoved it aside. "Pa, I thought we'd already clarified this."

"We did."

"But you thought I wasn't completely honest?"

"I didn't say that."

"Then what are you saying?"  Joe's voice was suddenly heated.

"Calm down, Joseph."

"Calm down?"  Pushing his chair back, Joe shoved to his feet.  "How can I calm down, when you're accusing me of--"

"I'm not accusing you of anything.  Sit down."

Joe slid his napkin onto the table.  "I don't think I have any appetite left.  Excuse me."  He started away when Ben's deep bellow drew him up short.

"Joseph, sit down this instant."

Joe hesitated, torn between his desire to leave and the authority in his father's voice.  Eventually respect for Ben won out, and he slid gingerly back into the chair, careful of his injured side.  Frowning, he glanced at the table, then smoothed the pant leg over his left thigh, pretending to adjust the bandage beneath--anything to keep from looking at his father.

"I want you to understand something," Ben said firmly.

It was not the opening Joe expected.  He lifted his head.

"I believe your intentions are honest, Joseph.  I also know you'd never do anything to deliberately hurt your brother Adam.  But I think that you need to examine your feelings.  I saw you today with Miss David when you said goodbye--"

Joe felt a quiver of apprehension.  That parting had left him strangely disquieted, and he'd been careful not to analyze why.  "That wasn't anything," he said much too quickly.

Ben saw the turmoil behind his son's eyes and knew that he'd struck a nerve.  He also sensed that Joe was mortified to discover the hidden feelings.  Reaching across the table, he gripped his son's wrist.

"When you realize something exists, it's easier to control.  Do you understand, Joe?"

Joe nodded, his expressive eyes betraying his misery.  Ben stood and walked behind Joe's chair. He placed one hand on either side of his son's neck and bent slightly forward. The light from a nearby lamp cast his shadow over his son's cheek.  "Things will work out.  Your brothers and I are here for you, Joe.  You know that, don't you?"

"Pa--" Swiveling in the chair, Joe crossed his right hand to his left shoulder, catching his father's wrist.  His face was upturned to Ben's, his chestnut hair threaded with glimmers of gold in the halo of lamplight.  For the last few weeks, he'd carried an oppressive burden, and Ben's comment about family brought it tumbling home.  He felt the familiar sting of old pain as the wound awakened new.  Uncertainly, Joe wet his lips.  "I-I have to ask you something.  It's about Mr.Wingate."

"Who?"  Ben winced as the memory returned.  "Joe, we don't need to talk about this."

"We do.  Y-you said I-I failed y-you."  He could barely get the words out.  Ben's rebuke had cut through him more than the separation had.  Even now the memory was raw.  "You were right."

"No."  Ben scowled, wanting nothing more than to put the whole matter behind him.  Reaching for his chair, he dragged it over beside Joe, so they could converse at eye level.  Taking a seat, Ben gripped his son's arm, just above the elbow.  "What happened then was a mistake on both our parts.  I realize now you weren't with your friends or at the saloon, you were with Miss David."

"I-I couldn't tell you."

"I know."  Ben's thumb caressed the tense muscle beneath Joe's sleeve.  "And I placed entirely too much emphasis on the matter.  There's always other buyers, Joe, but I can't replace you."  Smiling, he raised his hand and grazed his knuckles over his son's cheek.  Joe's lashes dipped.

"Pa, I--" He jerked suddenly when he heard a loud crash from the kitchen.  Flinching, he started to rise.

Ben motioned him to stay seated.  "Hop-Sing?"  Frowning, Ben stood and moved towards the kitchen.  "Hop-Sing what in thunder is going on in there?"

Ben drew up short as a barrel of a gun rounded the corner.  Frank McCay followed, grinning ear to ear.  "He go nappy, Mr. Cartwright.  No harm, just a little sleep."

Ben's eyes traveled from the gun to the man's face.  He thought about making a grab for the weapon, but decided it would go bad.  Kent Rudy appeared at Ben's shoulder, and both men backed him into the dining area.  Seeing the two, Joe rose quickly to his feet.

"What do you want?"  Ben demanded.  He had intentionally stopped his retreat in front of his son, shielding Joe with his body. He could hear the hiss of breath between Joe's teeth as he tensed.

"Just tryin' to get out of town, Mr. Cartwright," Rudy returned.  Stepping to the table, he rooted through the left over food, and helped himself to a cold slice of roast.  "We figure you got horses and cash.  Saw your older boys ride out, and figure the youngest can't be in too good of shape to put up a fuss.  Yes, you done got him all patched up."  Rudy smiled as he circled the table.  Ben turned with him, but the chair blocked him from easing past Joe.

Rudy halted beside Joe and looked him up and down.  "Yes sir, it's purely amazin' what money can do.  We left you at death's door, boy, and here you are lookin' better fed and dressed than me and Frank, after a week on the trail."

"If you're looking for sympathy, forget it," Joe snapped.

Rudy frowned.  "Still don't know how to mind your elders, do you, boy?"  With a downward slice of his arm, Rudy cracked the barrel of his gun against Joe's wounded side.  Joe gave a yelp of pain and folded in half, dropping to his knees.

"Joseph!"  Instantly, Ben was at his side, kneeling next to him and supporting his shoulders.  Joe folded one arm across his middle and bent forward, panting on air.  Raising his head, Ben glowered at Rudy.  "I'll give you all the money I have.  Just get out of here and leave him alone."

Rudy's mouth inched upward in a malicious grin.  "Sure."

Ben helped Joe to his feet, then walked him to the davenport.  With a soft moan, Joe eased into the couch, leaning back against the arm.  Ben gripped his chin and tilted his face up.  "You'll be okay, son."  The two men locked eyes.  "I'll give them what's in the safe, and it'll be over."

Joe wet his lips.  "Sure, Pa.  I understand."

"All right, enough all ready.  Get the money."  McCay waved Ben away from Joe.  Frowning back at the two intruders, the elder Cartwright moved towards the safe.  The big man trailed behind him, while Rudy hovered near the square hearth table, his gun trained on Joe.

Ben knelt in front of the safe and turned the dial.  Near the sofa, Rudy scrubbed a hand over his chin, scraping beard stubble.  "Hey, Frank, just think--with the money Cartwright's handin' over, we'll be livin' like kings."  He smiled wolfishly, revealing tobacco-yellowed teeth.

McCay glanced over his shoulder.  He heard the safe click.  "Might even be enough to buy our own Ponderosa.  Come on, Cartwright--" he waved the gun as Ben swung the safe door wide.  "Give me the money."

On the sofa, Joe tensed.  He could see his father's hunched shoulders in front of the safe.  Ben jerked aside and Joe a glimmer of bluing on the Colt.  He lashed out with his good leg, catching Rudy's wrist with the toe of his boot, even as Ben's bullet sent Frank McCay crashing back against a circular table.  Joe launched himself from the couch, plowing into Rudy before he could recover.  Pain ricocheted throughout his body at the brutal impact.  Joe cried out, even as both men tumbled to the floor.  Making a grab for the gun, he stretched his arm above his head, exposing his side.  Rudy immediately honed in on the weakness and drove his fist into Joe's unprotected side.  Joe screamed, instinctively curling inward, folding his arms over his stomach.  Rudy's hand closed on the gun, just as Joe heard the ping of a bullet through the air.  The older man grunted, than flopped onto his back, rolling away from Joe.

"Joseph."

Joe stayed in a tightly curled ball, even as his father's hand settled on his shoulder.  He could feel the blood puddling from the broken wound, soiling his shirt and pants. Keeping his knees drawn close to his chest, he tried to turn his head.  "Is McCay--?"

"They're both dead," Ben said.  "Thank God I keep a gun in a safe."  He paused for breath and stroked a hand through his son's luxurious curls.  "It might not have worked if you hadn't gone after Rudy."

Joe tilted his head back and closed his eyes.  "A lot of good it did.  Pa, I think I'm bleeding pretty bad."

Ben set his gun aside.  He tried not to look at Rudy, a few feet away, lying on his back, glazed eyes turned up towards the ceiling.  "Can you stand if I help you?"  Ben asked his son.  "Just enough to reach the sofa."

Joe licked his lips.  He was frightened to move and it showed in his eyes.  "I-I'm not sure."

"Okay."  Ben made his decision.  Lifting Joe's left arm, he hooked it over his shoulders.  "Hold on to me.  Now, turn just a little, so I can get my arm under you.  That's good, Joe."

Guided by his father's voice, Joe made the effort of movement.  Biting his lip, he stifled a cry. The pain wasn't as bad as expected, but it left him light-headed and trembling all the same.

"You're doing fine, Joe." Ben slipped his right arm beneath Joe's back, and hooked his left under his knees.  As gently as he could, he straightened, lifting his son in his arms.  Joe gave one muffled cry, reflexively digging his nails into father's shoulder.  Ben walked the few paces to the couch, settling Joe on to the cushions. He slid a pillow behind his son's head, then sat on the edge of the square table to examine his wound.  Gently, he pulled Joe's blood-soaked shirt from his pants.

The front door opened and three of the ranch hands rushed in, pistols drawn.  Hollis Noonan took one look at Ben bent over Joe and paled.  "Mr.  Cartwright, we heard gunshots."

"You're a little late, those two are dead."  Ben nodded at the bodies, lumped close together by the stairs.  "Someone check on Hop-Sing in the kitchen."

"Sure thing."  Hollis motioned to his associates and they immediately moved off in that direction. "Mr. Cartwright you want me to fetch the doc from town?"

"Yes.  The sheriff too.  And Hollis, send someone after Hoss and Adam."

With a hasty nod, Hollis retreated.

Looking again to his son, Ben peeled away the soiled dressing and examined Joe's wound.  He was glad to see it wasn't as bad as he'd feared.  "Nothing some stitching and bandages won't fix," he assured.

Joe groaned, but there was the thinnest trace of drama in the sound.  "Great.  More stitches. I could sure use some of Doc Martin's magic potion now."

Ben frowned.  Doc Martin's "magic potion" was the name Joe had tagged on to his medication.  Shortly after returning to the Ponderosa, Joe had conveniently upset the bottle, "accidentally" spilling the contents.  Ben didn't understand his son's reluctance to take the drug, until he'd overheard Joe tell Hoss, it left him feeling "fuzzy" and weak.

"Guess you'll have to do without."  Ben moved to the buffet and withdrew several linen napkins.  Returning to Joe, he folded two together, and pressed them to his side.  "Here--" Taking Joe's hand, he placed it over the make-shift compress.  "Hold that in place."

Joe's gaze was steady.  "What are you going to do?"

Ben's eyes skitted sideways across the room, and Joe followed his glance.  "Get rid of those bodies." He started to turn away, when he stopped suddenly and glanced back at his son.  He'd forgotten how impossibly young and vulnerable Joe could appear.  The same man who had challenged him in heated debate over Lorna David just moments before, now looked at him with the trusting eyes of a child.  Ben smoothed the hair from his brow. "You're going to be okay, son."

Joe nodded, his eyes dipping closed as the events of the day caught up with him.  The two men who'd gone into the kitchen to check on Hop-Sing, returned with the cook in tow.  The Celestial was unhurt, but for a rising bump on the back of his head.  Seeing Joe was injured, he immediately retreated to his domain, intent on mixing a broth of medicinal herbs.  Ben motioned for the ranch hands to move the bodies of Rudy and McCay outside.

Taking Joe's hand, he sat quietly by his son, content to watch as he slept.

Three weeks later Joe was sitting on the top rail of the corral fence, watching Hollis Noonan and two of the other hands work some of the new stock.  Although Ben had returned full running of the horse operation to Joe, he wasn't ready to actively break horses.  His leg had healed, and the gash on his cheek faded to a barely distinguishable line, but his side remained tender.

"Keep at 'im, Hollis," Joe yelled encouragement, as the older man clung tenaciously to a spirited black.  Grinning, he glanced over his shoulder to see Adam ride up.

"Thought I'd find you here." His older brother dismounted.  Pushing back the brim of his hat, he leaned forward, bracing his arms against the top of the fence.  "Hot one today, huh?"

"Sure is."  Joe glanced back towards Hollis, watching as the black bucked and danced, trying to dislodge his rider.  "Hotter for him, though.  I kinda like this light duty, Pa has me on."  Joe's grin widened.

"Enjoy it while you can," Adam quipped.  He laced Sport's reins between his hands, appearing suddenly edgy.  "I just saw Lorna," he announced casually.

Joe tensed.  "Oh?" His eyes skimmed back across the corral.  He tried not to appear too interested.

"We broke it off.  I thought you'd want to know."

Joe glanced back at his brother.  "Why would I want to know?"

Adam rolled his shoulders.  "Just thought maybe you would."  Raising his right hand, he laid the knuckle of his index finger against his chin.  "It's kind of odd, Joe.  You think you want something so badly, until you think you've lost it, then suddenly it doesn't have the same meaning anymore."  Tilting his head, he glanced up at his brother.  "A month ago I would have told you I was going to marry her.  Now I don't know why I ever felt that way."

Joe's mouth was dry.  "What about Lorna?"

"The decision was mutual.  We parted on good terms."

Joe ducked his head.  He didn't know what to feel, much less what to say.  Adam clapped a hand on his thigh.  "I've got to ride up and help Hoss in the north pasture.  I'll see you at dinner, okay?"

Joe nodded, not trusting his voice.  When Adam rode away, he let out the breath he'd been holding. I thought you'd want to know, Adam had said, and Joe had experienced a tiny thrill at the news.  But Adam was wrong and Ben was wrong.  There was nothing between him and Lorna--just warm feelings built on friendship.

Joe pushed off the fence.  Hollis had handled the black remarkably well, though he'd been thrown at the end.  The older man was dusting himself off, as the two other hands secured the temperamental horse.

Joe clapped his hands together.  "Way to go, Hollis."

He couldn't think about Lorna now . . . didn't want to examine the tangled web of feeling in his gut. Striding forward he called out to the men: "Keep going like that and you fellas won't need me."

He saw an answering grin from Hollis.  It allowed Joe to wash aside all thoughts of Lorna and concentrate on work.  But Joe knew that sooner of later he'd be forced to own up to his feelings about her.  Glancing over his shoulder, he looked in the direction Adam had ridden.

He swallowed.

Time enough for that later.  For now, there were wounds to heal, both physical and mental.  If the other was meant to be, it would happen of its own accord.

Walking forward, Joe fell into his easy low-hipped stride.  "Come on, fellas.  We got work to do."