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In this story, Johnny arrived at Lancer several months before Scott does. A little different turn on which son feels he wants to stay.
Thanks much to Lacy for her beta, Con for the story line, and ColbaltJan for suggestions after posting.
I do not make any type of gain on this story. This is strictly for enjoyment.
The party was in full swing; the fiddlers were playing, if not a concerto, damn good music that made you feel happy and grateful to be alive. The hard, grueling work that life demanded to keep a roof over your head and food in your belly was set aside for a few hours of song, food, and good company. Those in attendance celebrated both another year passing and Lancer’s good fortune.
The faces that usually registered worry that there was too much rain, not enough rain, too hot, not hot enough and countless other concerns were now smiling broadly displaying joy similar to welcoming a new child into the world. They were brave, strong, close souls who had suffered through crossing a young country. Youthful hearts filled with starry dreams eager to start over. Most soon discovered that dreams didn’t keep disease away or guarantee food on the table. Tonight all of those worries were laid aside.
The sweet fragrance of the night drifted on the breeze mixing with the music. Together they floated happily across the large compound, dancing through the barns and outbuildings, until settling at the farthest point of the ranch complex.
A tall, slim figure smiled at the muffled shouts and cheers that intermittently bounced off the surrounding buildings. They were good people, he thought. Good, hard working people who deserved a respite from the daily chores this land demanded before stingily giving anything back. And he should be back there with them. This was a party in his honor, and his brother’s. Their father had insisted on a welcome for them, a get-together to introduce his sons to the valley, although most of the folks had already met them in the months they had been here.
Scott breathed deeply the California night, and gazed up at the sky. He smelled his father’s orchards of peaches and oranges, mingled with the musky scent of horses and leather. Scott found the North Star, and pondered that it looked the same here as in Boston; large, bright and brilliant. What was his grandfather doing now, he wondered? Probably sleeping, he thought. Sleeping after a full day of business deals, wrangling not cattle but men and their money, and going to bed content that he had once again been victorious in adding more coins to his accounts than he could ever spend. For what, Scott thought? To leave to a grandson across a continent?
Scott wasn’t an idealist anymore, or so he thought. He had been through the ugliness of war. He had been taken down to the basest level of existence by his fellow man in a prison camp and lived. He had been a romantic at one time, joining the Cavalry of the North, thinking it was honorable to fight to free men. But were those men truly free, he wondered? They were still in a type of slavery, maybe more than they had been before. They were easily identified by their skin color, but he wondered if that really made any difference. Did black men in other lands enslave other black men? Was it just a fact of life that men enslaved other men, regardless of their color? And what was worse, and a question that he did not like to dwell on, was it all a matter of economics? As he starved in that prison camp and was literally sustenance to the louse and the fleas, he asked himself that question many times. As he was beaten, saw other men beaten and die, and sell their countrymen for a piece of moldy bread, did that piece of bread even come down to economics, the very basest kind?
He’d gone home finally, sick and gaunt. He had traveled north through a country of pale, thin women and sickly children who had been left alone by men doing an honorable deed. What would happen to these women now, he had thought. The land had been torn to bits by cannon shell; the livestock that had not been confiscated by either Union or Confederate soldiers to move supplies, had been eaten by those same soldiers; and the homes of these women had been burned and their daughters raped. Scott bowed his head, remembering the women. Is that why he was here? Is that why he came so quickly when his father called? To get away from the eyes of the women and children of the South and the ‘economics’ of both sides? He sighed heavily, tired of his own thoughts. He knew why he came, in part anyway. He came because he had a father who asked him to.
But, he was not happy here. He loved his brother with all of his heart, and he would miss him, but Scott had enough of his father in him, although he did not recognize that trait, to know that he needed something more. Scott needed to be more than the elder son of his father, or a shining star that his grandfather could show off to his friends. He deserved more than that and was willing to fight for it.
His brother belonged here; it was good for Johnny to be with his father. Johnny had arrived at Lancer several months before Scott. Johnny had been a couple of thousand miles closer when his father had found him and asked him to come home. He’d already come to know the man named Murdoch Lancer and Murdoch Lancer had come to know and love his younger son. Scott watched with pleasure their interactions; a hand thrown across a shoulder, a smile, an intimate remark that spoke of knowledge of the other. Scott found himself completely delighted by and enthralled with his brother and could see his father was as well.
Johnny fit; that was the word Scott thought of. Johnny fit with the hands and the country and the work and the people of the west. He was one of them, born at Lancer; Johnny belonged here. Scott did not. He was the ‘Easterner”, the greenhorn always messing up no matter if he did it right. He’d been trained and honed by his grandfather and didn’t realize how his elegant ways held him off from the others in his father’s land. What was more was that Scott wasn’t ready to settle anymore just to be a shadow of his father or grandfather. He had proved himself on the battlefield, and in the hell of that prison.
Laughter made its way to him, music, cheers and singing. He smiled. He loved his father, but felt his father did not need or love him. But that was okay with Scott. He knew what he could change and what he could not. He had thought of just leaving a note and riding out, but that was a coward’s way out and Scott was not a coward. He had decided he would leave tomorrow. His plan was to head to San Francisco and see what opportunities there were for bright, educated young men. He’d tell his father goodbye to his face. He didn’t think that would be hard, but saying goodbye to Johnny would be.
Scott leaned against the top of the coral and Charlie came up to him and nudged his arm, looking for a piece of apple or sugar cube that Scott would occasionally give him. Scott stroked the velvet nose of the horse. “You’ll have to settle for just a pat fella,” Scott said to him. He hoped his father would sell him the long legged Saddlebred. The endless energy of the animal and ground eating strides suited the ex-cavalry officer well.
“Hey, Boston. Wondering where you took off too. What you doing out here?”
The soft drawl of his brother startled him a bit. Scott turned and saw Johnny in the moonlight, walking towards him with an easy smile on his face. Scott returned the smile. “Nothing, Johnny. Just visiting Charlie.”
Johnny stood next to his brother and patted the horse’s neck. “He suits you, Scott.” The horse was like his brother, Johnny thought, long, lean, and stronger than he looked.
“You’d rather be visiting this horse than twirling a pretty girl in your arms? They may not dance like those society ladies you’re used to, but they’re just as soft.”
“Just thought I’d take a slow walk around, Johnny. It’s reticent.”
Johnny gave him a puzzled look.
“Soothing, quiet.”
“Reticent, huh? Could have just said quiet you know.”
“Sorry, Johnny. Didn’t mean anything, just popped into my mind.”
“Natural like?”
“Yes, Johnny, natural like.”
Johnny’s heart tugged a bit, feeling sad, not understanding why completely. It had something to do with ‘reticent’ though, and how effortlessly it flowed from his brother. He tried to pin the thought down, but it kept slipping away, kind of like water prisms when grease drippings left from wagon wheels settled into a rain puddle. The colors shimmered and reflected in the sun, but didn’t seem really there when you looked at them too close. Suddenly apprehensive, Johnny tossed his hands as if throwing the uneasy thought away.
“Murdoch wondered where you were.”
“Did he?” Scott raised an eyebrow at his brother’s statement.
“Sure, Boston, we’re the guests of honor you know.”
“Didn’t think a few minutes would matter, Johnny. But being the perfect gentleman that I am, I’d better not slight our father, or his guests.” Scott’s banter was light, and Johnny was relieved to hear the lighthearted tone in his brother’s voice.
They started walking slowly towards the music, relaxing in each other’s company. The thought that tomorrow he would be saying goodbye to his brother darkened Scott’s face for a moment and he unconsciously let out a sigh.
“He’s hard to get to know you know.”
“What?” Scott asked, not realizing that Johnny had misinterpreted his sigh as pertaining to his father.
“Murdoch, he’s hard to get to know.”
“I’ve noticed little brother,” Scott said wryly.
“Doesn’t mean he don’t care, Scott.”
Scott eyed Johnny from the corner of his vision. “I’m sure he cares, Johnny. Some things more than others. Why did you mention that?”
Johnny paused and looking directly at Scott, remarked, “You’re a lot like him, you know.”
Scott chuckled lightly. “You’ve been out in the sun too long, Johnny. Murdoch and I have nothing in common.”
“Sure you do, Scott. Sometimes though when something is so close to you, you can’t see it. You’re alike more than you’re different. Besides, you’ve got me in common.” Johnny’s voice held a huge smile.
“Well, that I’ll agree with.” Scott didn’t say anything for a few moments. “But little else I’m afraid.”
“Give him time, Scott. Me, I usually don’t hold nothing back. That’s why it was easier for me and the Old Man to talk, right from the get-go. You, well, like I said, you’re more like him. You don’t give much away, got all those polite ‘sirs’ and manners you hide behind.”
“I’m not hiding behind anything Johnny. And being courteous is just a part of me, like you scouting out a room before you go into it. I can’t change that training any more than you can change yours.”
“You might have a point there, brother. But, he’s your father and maybe worth the effort.”
“Why, Johnny, I was never worth it to him.”
“You don’t know that Scott,” Johnny said hesitantly, recognizing that his father had known exactly where Scott was the years he was growing up, yet never contacted him. That was a question that niggled at Johnny, but in the months he’d come to know his father, he felt there was probably more unknown about that fact than known.
“No matter, Johnny. I reconciled myself to that years ago. I had a good life with my grandfather, comfortable, much more so than yours.”
Johnny again felt the ugly pull of a bad feeling. What was his brother not saying? Finally, all he could think of to say was, “I’m glad I’m here now. Why can’t you be?”
“I’m glad you’re here too, Johnny. Very glad, it suits you. Murdoch is good for you and you’re good for hm. “
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“Johnny, let’s just enjoy the dance. It looks like Emily Bendt has her eye on you tonight.”
Johnny chuckled lightly. “Emily Bendt has her eye on anything in trousers, Scott. Hell, she might even like a dance with you, tall and skinny as you are.”
Scott’s smile sparkled with humor, and he lightly slapped his hand across Johnny’s stomach. Johnny in turn draped an arm across Scott’s shoulder and brought his other hand up to Scott’s head, ruffling his hair as Scott laughed. They stepped into the edge of the lanterns’ light rimming the yard, side stepping the dancers as they gently teased one another with banter, laughter and warmth.
**********
Murdoch saw the two young men walking together coming from the far corrals. He was pleased they were laughing with one another; more pleased that they seemed to have formed a close relationship in the few months they had been together. Scott and Johnny. He rolled the names over in his mind over and over again. He liked that sound.
He had to admit that he didn’t know how their homecoming would be, especially Johnny’s. His gunfighter son had come home several months before Scott arrived in California. Johnny had a chip on his shoulder that he dared his father to knock off. Murdoch thought they would actually come to blows, if Johnny didn’t shoot him first. But after a couple of weeks they seemed to settle into a truce; Murdoch wouldn’t throw Johnny through the door and Johnny wouldn’t shoot his father.
Instead of being awkward around one another, Johnny’s openness had made it easy for Murdoch to talk to him. They had quickly formed an easy rapport, then a liking for one another and finally a bond as father and son. Murdoch was delighted and Johnny felt like he had finally found a home.
His tall, slim, golden son had proved harder, much to Murdoch’s surprise and distress. Murdoch was a realist and knew it would be awkward at first, but he didn’t think it would be this bad. He thought Johnny would be the most difficult to reach, but the opposite had proved to be true. Part of the problem was Scott, but Murdoch recognized that he was to blame also.
It was so a part of Scott’s upbringing that a façade of politeness always be maintained, no matter the situation. A gentleman always retained control, and never laid bare his emotions. Some of that character was who Scott was, much like his father, but much of it was training day in and day out. What many of his father’s friends interpreted as aloofness and almost snobbery, was actually Scott’s reserved nature coupled with the environment he grew up in.
Murdoch knew Scott was having a difficult time adjusting to his new life. The hands had respected Johnny immediately, welcomed him as one of their own. Scott, on the other hand, was the educated Easterner whose knowledge consisted of books, not what was needed to survive in the west. Their disdain was subtle, but it was there. Everything Scott did was scrutinized for failure, even when the opposite was true. Ironically, they were doing to Scott what they thought Scott was doing to them. No one, not even his father, recognized all involved in Scott’s adjustment. He was an honorable man, trying to fit because he loved his brother, unknowingly running from a war that had torn him apart, and groping for a father, who he thought, never wanted him.
Murdoch did not know how to communicate with this son due to factors of guilt that he had not brought Scott home as a child where he belonged. He begrudged Harlan Garrett the fact that his son had turned out to be a fine young man in spite of his father’s absence, and Murdoch was afraid that his son would find him disappointing.
Murdoch watched his sons blend into the crowd, Johnny easily with his beautiful smile and sparkling eyes, Scott less so, polite but hesitant as if he was on display. Murdoch wandered over to the group of men that his sons found themselves in, and heard the end of a conversation between Scott and a neighbor, Wilbur Mills.
“Yes sir, son, I haven’t seen your father happier than when your brother came home. He seemed to take on a new life, a new spark. Johnny, well, Johnny was the best thing that ever happened to your old man.”
“I’m glad to hear that, sir,” his ever polite son said. “I’ve heard that many times from others. I’m sure Johnny is glad to be home.”
“I hope so. It would break your daddy’s heart if something happened to that boy.”
“I’m sure nothing will happen, sir. My father does seem very happy, and so does my brother.”
“Good to hear, son. Your father is a good man; he’s done a lot for this valley. Well, I remember when . . . . “
“Wilbur, you’re not going to tell my son a long story about any past deeds I’ve done, I hope,” Murdoch good naturedly interrupted, hopefully prying his son from a long recitation from Wilbur Mills, a kind man but long winded.
“Murdoch, no, I’m just telling your son how much you’re glad that Johnny’s home. Well, him too,” Wilbur finished almost as an afterthought, pointing to Scott. Murdoch almost cringed at the comment, but caught himself, suddenly understanding that Scott had probably heard the same statement over and over again from friends and neighbors. Looking at his son’s face, Murdoch was afraid that he was losing Scott before he had a chance to know him and that if he didn’t do something, and soon, that Scott would leave and he’d never see him again. If Murdoch didn’t try to convince this son how much he needed him, he’d never get another chance.
“Wilbur, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to my son a bit before morning comes. He’s not been home too long you know, and there are others I’d like to introduce him to.”
“Not at all, Murdoch. I’ve a mind to dance with pretty Miss Teresa if that’s all right?”
Murdoch chuckled lightly. “If you can keep up, Wilbur, she’d be delighted. But don’t step on her toes. I don’t want her feet broken.”
“I won’t do that, Murdoch. You know I’m the best dancer in these parts.”
“That’s not what I heard from the Widow Harkis. She couldn’t walk proper for weeks after she danced with you at that last barn raising dance.”
“That wasn’t my fault. She didn’t follow my lead,” Wilbur said, not willing to admit that he wasn’t as good a dancer as he liked to think.
“Just be careful, Wilbur, and you have a good dance,” Murdoch placated.
Putting an arm around Scott’s shoulder, Murdoch guided him expertly away from Wilbur Mills, quipping to friends and neighbors as they passed them, offering a comment here and a good word there, until they were finally alone in the small enclosed patio just off the kitchen.
They could hear the laughter and the music, and mingled with the heady smell of Teresa’s roses, it was relaxing, soothing and muted. There was enough light floating into the sanctuary that the two men could see one another, even if the details of their faces were subdued.
“Who did you intend to introduce me to here, sir?” Scott asked with some bewilderment.
“I must admit, son, that I was deceptive in that particular. I didn’t want to introduce you to anyone. I wanted to talk to you.”
Scott looked at his father, his blue eyes dark and glimmering in the night, and asked, obviously baffled, “What did you want to talk to me about, sir?”
“I’m not good at words, Scott. Never have been. Your mother understood that, Johnny’s mother didn’t. But what I gained with Johnny, I’m afraid I’m losing with you.” Murdoch brought his hand up through his hair, and heaved a sigh. “I know things haven’t been easy for you; it’s a different world, Scott, from what you’re used to.”
“I’ve been in a war, Sir, I know what different is.”
Murdoch eyed his son, acknowledging with a nod that Scott would indeed be aware of a world usurped by change and turmoil. “I’m sorry, Scott, I didn’t intend to belittle that experience.”
“Experience, Sir?” Scott commented dryly. “But then, there were, are, hundreds of thousands who have had that experience. Please, say what you want to say. I’m sorry for the interruption.”
“I don’t know anything but being direct.” Murdoch tried to read his son, and he was lost.
“Then be direct. There is nothing wrong with that, Sir.” Scott’s voice was straight forward, just as his father’s had been.
Murdoch thought, ‘Does he know how much we are alike?’
Continuing, Murdoch said, “I know this life is difficult.” He stopped, discerning how shallow that statement must seem to his son. Scott had been through a horrible entanglement, something that Murdoch could only surmise, never having experienced something like that himself. Murdoch had also learned, through the coldly worded reports of the Pinkertons, that his son had been a prisoner of war for one year and lived through it when thousands had died. It quickly occurred to Murdoch that he needed to say more than the usual platitudes of ‘knowing how difficult life is’ and ‘I understand’, because he didn’t know how difficult Scott’s life had been and he didn’t understand. So, he said what he did understand and what he knew, as a father, even if it was 24 years late.
“I love you, Scott. You are my son, my child, the child of my Catherine, all that I have of her. If you would leave, it would deeply hurt not only Johnny, but me. I don’t know what else to say, other than give me a chance to be, if not your father . . .” Murdoch stopped abruptly and faced Scott. “No, Scott, give me a chance to be your father, because that’s what I am and that’s what I want to be.”
Scott turned away from his father. He’d made up his mind to leave; now his father was making it difficult to do that. Why did he have to say these words tonight? Why couldn’t he have said them earlier, or why did he have to say them at all? He heard absently the music of a waltz played sweetly on the fiddle, and thought of Boston. How elegant that life had been, smooth and easy, like the soft 1-2-3 of the dance surrounding the moment. Everything in place, smooth, beautiful, reminiscent of the sound of a flute that Scott remembered at the going away party his grandfather had given him when he left for Harvard. He’d been 16 years old then, and two years later he’d be fighting for his life in the battlefields of the Civil War and the red mud of a Southern prison.
“I am not your shadow, Sir, nor my grandfather’s, nor Johnny’s. I am Scott Lancer, no more, but no less. Why do you tell me this now, when I wanted, needed to hear it 24 years ago?”
Murdoch looked away. “There’s more to it, Scott” he whispered. “More to it than you know.”
“Then tell me, Sir. Tell me why I should stay?” Scott’s tone was almost pleading, though he had tried not to convey that feeling.
“You won’t like it Scott. You won’t like what I have to say. And it can’t be told in a few moments.”
Scott bowed his head before looking back at his father. “I need to know.”
Murdoch nodded. “Can we talk tomorrow, Scott? We have guests, and we need to get back.”
“All right,” Scott acquiesced. “Tomorrow, but if you don’t tell me, I will leave.”
“I understand.”
They were both aware of what was left, of what would be talked about tomorrow. Murdoch stepped aside, indicating that Scott should go before him. As Scott passed him, Murdoch brought his hand up to the back of Scott’s head, skimmed down his hair that felt so much like Catherine’s, and rested on his shoulder.
Scott relished the broad, strong hand of his father on his shoulder, at least for tonight. He didn’t know what would happen tomorrow, or what Murdoch would say to make him change his mind. He hoped it would be enough, but wasn’t going to expect anything miraculous.
Coming into the light, he walked into the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.
“Was wondering where you two were,” Johnny intoned lazily.
“You sure you’ve never been in the South, Johnny. You have a slow burr when you speak.” Scott was smiling, which lightened Johnny’s mood.
“Well, I’ve been in Mexico, that’s south. At least, south of the border.”
“Yes, but the inflection is wrong.”
“Inflection, Scott?”
“Accent, Johnny.”
“Why didn’t you just say accent?”
“Just popped into my mind, brother.”
“Natural like?”
“Yes, Johnny, natural like.”
This time the tone was easy and smooth, and Johnny didn’t feel the sad, unexplainable tug.
“You take the long way around, Scott.”
Johnny threw an arm over Scott’s shoulder, the one that wasn’t taken, and the three men rejoined the celebration.
EPILOGUE – SEVERAL WEEKS LATER
It was a beautiful morning; the sun wrapped golden warmth around the mountain peaks and shimmered its light down into the valley. The moisture from the gullies and hollows evaporated in the sunshine, causing a thin white vapor to rise and creep across the pastures, veiling the flowers in a delicate mist. The air was light and clean as the two men traveled down the road to town. Their business was long overdue.
“Lawyer sure is getting up early for us, Murdoch?”
“Yes, Johnny.” After a pause, Murdoch continued, “We should have done this weeks ago, but that flooding last month caused so many problems. Well, you know son.”
“Yeah, been a lot of work moving cattle to drier ground, getting creeks cleared, washed out fences back up. I don’t remember working so hard in my life, Old Man,” Johnny said lightly.
Murdoch smiled back at his son. “Me neither, Johnny. It’s been one thing right after another ever since you came home. Tough way to break you into ranch life. Sorry, Son.”
“Couldn’t be helped. Kept us all pretty busy. Not much time for anything else, though.” Johnny looked down the road and turned back to his father. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Murdoch, about that day with Scott, after the party . . . .”
Murdoch glanced at Johnny, the memory of that day painful, one of the worst days of his life. “It was between me and Scott, Johnny,” he said carefully, not wanting to think about it.
Johnny fidgeted in the saddle, but didn’t want to let the subject go. “He’s my brother. I think I have a right to know. What happened that day changed my life, too.”
Murdoch took off his hat, wiped his brow with his forearm and resettled the hat. He wanted to forget that day, but knew he owed Johnny an explanation.
“It was hard, John. Very hard. I had to tell your brother things about his grandfather and about me he didn’t want to hear. I don’t blame him for his reaction. I understand it, though.”
“Scott told me a little bit about what happened, but not all of it. And then, well, not able to talk to him any more about it, I’d just like to know. He did say that he thought you’d probably tried to bring him to Lancer when he was a kid. He also didn’t think you tried hard enough.”
“Johnny, that was a horrible time in my life. It was probably the only time when I almost gave up. Your mother had left with you, and I didn’t know why. I looked for both of you for months; months Johnny. When I came back to that lonely house I almost went out of my mind. I went to Boston for Scott, and Harlan wouldn’t give him up. Threatened to leave the country with him if I took him to court.” Murdoch laughed bitterly. “Took him to court. Like that would happen. I was so broke I barely had enough money to get back to Lancer. The only thing that kept me going was work. I buried myself in it. Some of the cattle came down with brucellosis and their calves aborted a year after Boston. I had to shoot 200 of the best stock I had, and burn the carcasses. I can still smell it. It was like a nightmare. I had to keep throwing wood on the pile for days and days after, make sure they all burned. Luckily I had some animals in another part of the ranch that weren’t affected. It was like starting over.”
Murdoch stopped and stretched his back.
“Back hurtin’ you?”
“A bit, Son. I guess it’s the morning dampness. Settles like a sore tooth sometimes.”
“We can slow down some. Town’s not that far.”
“It’s okay. We don’t want to be late. We’ve got important papers to sign.” Murdoch smiled, pleased that signing those papers was finally happening.
“You think those papers have me locked in, Old Man,” Johnny teased.
“As long as I live, Son.”
“Well, you’ll live a long time yet. Too ornery to do anything else.”
“You might have a point. No one lives forever though.”
Johnny sighed. “I know that.” Looking at his father he said, “Not ready for anything like that now though. Don’t want to lose you too”
“Are we ever ready, Johnny?”
“No. Lots of things happen in life you’re not ready for. Happens anyway.”
Murdoch nodded and patted Toby on the neck. His old gelding was a sturdy mount, tall like his master. He had been the tallest and biggest horse Murdoch could find when he was looking for an animal to carry his large frame. But he was getting older, just like Murdoch. The horse blew through his nostrils at the touch, acknowledging the sign of affection, and continued easily down the road.
“Scott tell you anything else, Johnny?” Murdoch asked, wondering just how much brother had told brother about the talk.
Johnny shrugged, looked up at the sun and squinted his eyes. “He didn’t want to go back to Boston. I think the war took something from him that he’s looking for. I don’t know if he knows what it is though.”
“Did he talk to you about the war?”
Johnny shook his head. “He don’t say nothing about the war. He was captured and spent about a year in a prison camp. Doesn’t say anything about that either.” Johnny glanced at his father. “He ever say anything to you about it?”
“No, nothing.” Murdoch looked down, his face full of worry.
“He’ll be okay, Murdoch. He just needs to figure out . . . damn, I don’t know what he needs to figure out. Just don’t worry so. He’s a strong man.”
“You worried about him, Johnny?”
Johnny rolled his neck and stretched. “It’s different, you know? Never worried about anything or anyone once Mama died. Wasn’t goin’ to either. But yea, I worry about him. Not so much that he can’t take care of himself, cuz he can.” Johnny laughed lightly. “Hell, I don’t why I worry about him.”
“I do Johnny,” Murdoch ventured. “You worry about him because you care what happens to him. So do I.”
“I guess you’re right, Old Man. I’ve got too many people to worry about now; don’t know about this ranchin’ business. Seems to be a lot more than cattle attached to it.”
Murdoch laughed out loud, lightening the mood he’d been in since remembering that morning with Scott, the quiet accusations, the bewildered questions, and finally, the awful silence. But, Johnny was riding with him into town to sign papers. They’d be partners soon in the work of his life. Murdoch had a legacy to leave, a hard won birthright to pass along.
The town was before them and in a few minutes they’d be at the lawyer’s office. It was mid week, but still bustling with wagons by the mercantile, grain store, bank, livery and other businesses. Men loitered at the saloon and cantina, and the stage depot had both passengers and those saying goodbye lined up at the ticket office.
Murdoch and Johnny stopped in front of the horse hitch near the attorney’s office. They dismounted and Murdoch draped an arm across Johnny’s shoulder, proud and relieved that his son was going to be a partner, a full partner, and the papers would soon be signed.
“Well, it’s about time you two got here. I’ve been waiting forever in this heat.” The tall, blond man pushed away from the building, moving gracefully to the end of the boardwalk.
“Don’t you know enough to come in out of the sun, Boston?” Johnny teased.
“I wasn’t waiting in the sun, Johnny. But I was up before sunrise from that north line shack to get here on time. I think the least you could do is not make me wait.”
“Scott, you had a couple weeks off already, taking off for who knows where. We’ve been working our butts off for weeks. So, if we’re a few minutes late, deal with it.”
Scott smiled broadly, his face glowing tan and his manner relaxed. “Little brother, I deal with a whole lot more than you’ll ever realize.”
“Is that right? I’ll bet you don’t have any know-it-all big brothers who keep telling you what to do and how to do it.”
“No, but I have a smart ass little brother who doesn’t listen to big brother’s advice.”
“Ah, Sons, could we step into the lawyer’s office. We have kept him waiting for several weeks, and myself as well. I’d like to get you two locked into a contract, so you can take one-third share of the headaches.” Murdoch opened the door and held it open, waiving his two sons to proceed forward.
“Age before beauty, Boston,” Johnny quipped, doffing his hat for Scott to go ahead.
“Wisdom before immaturity, Johnny,” and Scott walked through the door.
“Wisdom? You’re only a couple years older than me and I’ll have you know I’m much more mature than you are.”
“As mature as I am, I’ll not stoop to debate the question,” Scott cracked back. “However, I don’t think challenging Luke Harper to a spitting contest is a sign of maturity.”
“He challenged me! I couldn’t back down.”
“I suppose if he challenged you to see which one could piss the farthest, you’d do it.”
“I can piss farther than Luke Harper.” Johnny looked almost offended. “And higher too,” he said as an afterthought.”
“You’d probably both end up with wet heads,” Scott retorted, and started laughing at the image.
“What are you laughing at?”
“You and Luke Harper with a head full of piss. Did you know Billy goats pee on their heads, brother? That’s why they stink. Maybe that’s your problem.”
“What are you saying?” Johnny asked, his voice low and menacing.
Scott stopped, stepped up to Johnny’s head and sniffed, wrinkling his nose as he walked away.
“What’s that supposed to mean!” Johnny shouted.
Murdoch shook his head, listening to the banter between his sons. He smiled broadly and followed them into the office. After almost 25 years, he finally had his family complete. Now he could celebrate.
~end~