The Lancer Fanfiction Archive

It was a beautiful California morning.  The soft, lilac filled breeze reminded Scott of the more carefree times back in Boston in his grandfather’s garden.  Fond memories of that childhood invaded his thoughts, pushing aside the quarrel he had had with his father and brother the evening before.  He bowed his head in contemplation, his mind reminiscing of those amiable years.  Even as a child when his thoughts would drift towards his father and the great yearning he had for him, he had the ability to push those thoughts aside.  He would force himself to dwell on more pleasant things, unknowingly building defenses to guard against the overwhelming pain of not being wanted by his own parent.  He had become quite good at that, erecting walls; he resorted to politeness, civility while always keeping others at arms length.  Many people thought he was aloof, until they got to know him.  When he opened his heart the warm, compassionate, loyal, generous nature of the man was easy to admire, like and even love.

He raised his eyes to take in the beautiful countryside before him.  His father’s empire, built by determination, endurance and the overwhelming strength and focus of a man he barely knew but highly respected; and now one-third of this was his!  Close to 100,000 acres, thousands of head of cattle, hundreds of horses, pastures, meadows, mountains, rivers, orchards, vineyards and all needed to be looked after, maintained, and even nurtured.  He resentfully wondered if this is what his father nurtured and loved; this unforgiving and demanding piece of land that could never love or respond to him.

How quickly a person’s life could change.   He thought of how easily he had responded to his father’s request to come to California.  Scott had been angry with himself for acting so positively to that summons, but if he honestly thought about it, he was still somewhat that little boy wanting his father’s love and approval.  And if Scott was anything, he was honest; and curious.  Now, six months later, he was still learning about this new life he had taken on; the business of ranching with its long, grueling hours; and the more serious endeavor of getting to know his father and a brother he hadn’t known even existed.  What a surprise he had been!

Cocky, self assured, and very angry initially, his younger brother had weaved his way into Scott’s heart in a manner that left Scott a little bit off kilter.  Scott liked to be in control, and Johnny was a bit of a whirlwind to say the least.  Passionate, quick tempered, emotional, fiery were all adjectives that described Scott’s initial assessment of Johnny.  Scott had not particularly liked Johnny when they first met; he hadn’t liked his swaggering, arrogant manner until he perceived quickly that Johnny had erected his own type of walls, albeit a different sort from Scott’s.  A gun-for-hire who had been plucked by a Pinkerton detective hired by his father from before a firing squad just before his execution, Johnny had an equally difficult time adjusting to his new life and family.  Johnny had harbored bitter resentment towards his father, whom he thought had kicked him and his mother out when he was two.  As he later learned, his mother had run off with another man, taking Johnny with her.  Whereas Scott had grown up in luxury and plenty, Johnny had grown up in poverty and abuse, alone since the age of ten when his mother had died.  Scott marveled and was grateful that Johnny had survived his precarious and tumultuous childhood.  Fiercely independent, this undoubtedly dangerous man was also extremely protective and tender to those he loved; even though he could be bull headed and pulled no punches when voicing his opinion, as he so aptly did last night.

Scott’s thoughts once again travelled to that unpleasant confrontation.  He didn’t know why he had reacted so strongly.  He was normally so rational, so controlled, so logical, but something had given way last night and no one was more surprised than he at his behavior.  The request was not unreasonable, so how had it gotten so out of hand that his brother was insulted and his father angry enough to order him to comply, and the matter was closed.  After all, he called the tune and his son was going to abide by it.  Therein, however, lay the problem.  Scott recognized it now.  Scott was tired of always doing what Murdoch asked without question, without consultation, without input.  Scott had been in the army and was familiar with the chain of command and that orders needed to be carried out as directed.  However, this was not the army.  His father should be treating him as an equal partner; not someone to give an order to and ignore as he had ignored him all of his life.  He had not asked to come here, but had been asked.  He suddenly was tired of his father’s directives; fed up with being disregarded for so many years as he still was; and angry that his father thought he didn’t owe his son so much as an explanation for not contacting him before this.  But he had kept this all quietly within and seethed, directing that turmoil to a simple request that shouldn’t have been an issue.  That Johnny had suddenly sprung to his father’s defense was the final thrust of the sword so to speak.    He hadn’t meant to hurt Johnny, but the words, inflamed by Scott’s own confusion and sorrow, had erupted.  And Johnny, being Johnny, had erupted back.   Now he was going to spend time with two men who were definitely angry with him; Johnny hurt and Murdoch incensed.  

The distraught cry of a child caught Scott’s attention and he turned his head towards two children that had been playing in the dusty road leading into the hacienda.  The seven year old daughter of the ranch’s foreman was trying to comfort her little six year old brother.  It was obvious the child had fallen and was holding his leg, his mouth open wide with tears streaming down his face.  Maria, who cooked for the Lancers and was the children’s mother, came running quickly from the kitchen door, picking up the little boy, soothing and comforting him from his hurt.  The little girl’s lip started to tremble; crying for the pain her little brother was feeling.  Maria gently placed her hand on the little girl’s head and told her to “hush”, her little brother was fine.  Scott marveled at how quickly the children ceased their tears, all from the touch of their mother.   His heart caught for an instant, touched by a moment that had never been his and would never be part of his memory.  He was indeed a motherless child, his mother dying shortly after he was born, as he was whisked away to be raised by a domineering grandfather.  Scott shook himself mentally then, not one prone to self pity he would not, could not dwell on something that he couldn’t change.  He would have liked to have talked to his father about his mother, at least learning more about the woman, but his father made it very evident that the past was the past and needed to be left behind.  Scott was willing at this time not to push the man, as Murdoch didn’t take kindly to pushing.  In fact, Scott had pretty much made up his mind that he may never be able to get that information from his father, or why he had left him in Boston to be raised by another man.  The question was if Scott could accept that.  Up to now his respect and inherent good nature had not pushed the subject.  Well, at least not on the surface, until last night when something ugly had taken form.

Scott noted Maria had left her children once again in play, and was turning to go towards the ranch house to finish getting breakfast ready for the family Lancer.  She saw Scott staring at her and caught his eyes.  She smiled at him, her careworn face suddenly looking soft.  “Breakfast will be ready soon, Senor Scott.” 

Scott smiled back at her and nodded slightly.  “Thank you, Maria.  I’ll be in soon.” 

Maria hesitated a moment, and seemed to want to say something more to him.  “Is there something else, Maria” Scott asked, noting her glance.  Maria took a step towards him, smiled once more and shook her head.  “You seem … sad this morning.  Is everything all right?” she asked. 

Scott bowed his head momentarily, brought his gaze back to her, “Yes, Maria.  Just a bit tired today I guess.”  And then he smiled at her, a large beautiful smile that made his silver blue eyes glint and his handsome face relax.  He smiled at the woman in her, at the gentle person, and the special individual that she was.

She held her breath with that smile and looked into his eyes that were warm with kindness and said “You should smile more, Senor.  It is good to see, like the sun”.  She then turned towards the house and disappeared into the kitchen.

Scott watched her walk away.  He was not outgoing like his brother, who smiled often and beautifully with the ladies of the ranch.  Johnny loved women; all ages, sizes, shapes and temperaments.  He was at ease with them, and it was very obvious they were appreciative of his attentions.  Handsome, dark hair that was almost a blue black, intense blue eyes and a voice that could melt honey, he was most charming and relaxed when in the company of the opposite sex.  It was one of the first things Scott noticed about his brother.   Scott as well admired and respected women; he just wasn’t able to show it in the same manner that Johnny did, although he was always charming and polite.  But he had shared something with Maria in that moment; he had wanted to give her something, to let her know that he cared about who she was.  And she had responded.

He swung his gaze once more back over the grounds surrounding the hacienda noting the lush pastures, the lowing cattle, the almost idyllic scene; he sighed and walked slowly into the house to get breakfast.  They would be leaving soon and Scott had a feeling it was going to be a long week.  What he did not know was how long that week was actually going to be and how it would change all of their lives.

--

Murdoch studied his first born child from the large window framing his desk in the great room.   He dwelled on his son’s tall, too slim form, his hay colored hair as soft as his mother’s, and the erect posture that spoke of easy confidence.  He had been so silently proud of his son when he first met him, but at this moment he was irritated, exasperated and puzzled by Scott’s anger last night.  He thought Scott was being unreasonable to a simple request to accompany him and Johnny to a line shack for stocking and repairs.  Granted, Scott’s initial reasons for not doing so were logical; to Scott at least.  But Scott didn’t understand all of the ramifications that went with running a ranch this size and Murdoch wanted to teach both of his sons at the same time.  Murdoch didn’t see the need to explain this to Scott.  He was the boss, had never had his actions or instructions questioned and he resented it.  However, he did acquiesce somewhat to his son by trying to make clear why they all needed to go.  When had things started to deteriorate?  What was behind Scott’s reluctance?  Granted, Scott was tired last night, but not more so than usual or than anyone else.   He had been edgy as well all through dinner.

Then Johnny had come to Murdoch’s defense, which was totally out of character.  Most often the fiery Johnny was butting heads with his stubborn, inflexible father and it was Scott who was trying to mediate.  There were times that both relatives reacted as harshly to Scott’s attempt to calm them as to each other.  It seemed that Johnny’s support of Murdoch had caused Scott to resist even more the idea of all three going to attend to what seemed a simple duty.  Things got out of hand quickly, with Murdoch ordering Scott to go and Johnny exploding at his “fancy Dan”, green horn, and know-it-all brother, deteriorating into a goodly number of Spanish explitives.   Murdoch was fearful that Johnny would strike Scott, but he didn’t.

Scott had said some hurtful things to Johnny last night, driven by his younger brother’s volatile directness, which resulted in Johnny throwing that final insult.  Scott seemingly could be just as stubborn as both he and Johnny.  And when his normally rational son refused to budge, Murdoch had turned to him and said, “You will go with us tomorrow; the matter is closed.”  Scott’s eyes had glinted like hard steel, his jaw becoming so firm Murdoch thought it would break; his stance rigid, unbending and bitter.   Without so much as a word to either brother or father, Scott had left the room, the hard clips of his foot steps resounding angry and indignant as his long legs took him quickly from them.

Murdoch had looked astonishingly at his younger son; which changed quickly to concern as he saw the hurt in Johnny’s eyes.  Murdoch instantly calmed, trying to sooth his son’s feelings.  “I don’t know what is wrong with Scott tonight, Johnny, but he didn’t mean to hurt you.  You know that normally he is not that type of person.”  Murdoch approached Johnny, lightly putting his hand on his shoulder.  He could feel the tension in his son’s body slowly ease and was surprised that his touch could accomplish that.  Murdoch knew so little about his children, and found that amazingly it troubled him very much.   That this young man could actually respond so quickly to his touch almost brought tears to his eyes.  He didn’t know their needs, but the larger question, was did he have the right to?   Feeling Johnny’s response, he knew that he needed them and hopefully they needed him just as much.

Johnny had bowed his head, closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.  He looked at his father and nodded, seemingly letting go of some of the anger that had been directed at his brother.  “I know, Murdoch.  I guess I added some of my own wood to that fire, didn’t I?” he inquired with a sad smile.    Murdoch and Johnny had talked for a while more, surprisingly drawing closer than they had before.   Johnny had gone to bed at least somewhat soothed, which was more than Murdoch could say.  He had spent a restless night, unsettled about the confrontation with Scott.

At least some good had come out of last night, Murdoch thought as he continued to observe Scott.  He wondered what Scott was thinking.  He always wondered what Scott was thinking.  Scott didn’t give much of himself, but Murdoch could honestly say that neither did he.   He knew Scott was wondering why his father had not sought him out; why he had left him with his grandfather.  Murdoch couldn’t give his son a satisfying answer because he couldn’t give himself one.  Everything else in his life he had fought for, and fought for intensely, but he had not fought for his own child.   He was a man that could not dwell on his failures.  But even though he was a proud man who did not allow people to question his authority, he was also an honest and fair man who knew when he owed a debt.  The only question was how he could pay this debt to his own son when there was no price to be put on abandoning him.

He saw Scott glance over to the cook’s children and how intently his son looked at the scene.  He saw Maria talking to Scott and then saw that beautiful smile that he had never seen before.  Something stirred within him that he tried to identify; jealousy that it was directed to someone else, sadness that he had never seen it before, and a great loneliness and longing for his son. 

How could he bridge the canyon between his sons?  He thought that last night he had learned to take a step with his youngest.  He prayed that he would be able to do that with his eldest, which he knew would be humbling.  Could he do it?  Would he be able to breech those walls?  He knew it would be one of the hardest things he had ever done in his life.  With that thought, he walked into the kitchen to begin breakfast and the week ahead.  However, he was unaware that the mountain he would need to overcome would become higher in that week than he ever would have dreamed possible.   

 ----

Johnny sluggishly sat down at the kitchen table, his normally exuberant relish for breakfast somewhat subdued.  His mind was in turmoil being pushed two ways.  He was still upset and angry with his brother, perplexed and troubled that his normally placid sibling had been so combative.  More than that, he had learned to care for Scott very much.  Although in the beginning he had belittled him, scoffed at his eastern ways, and tried to push him with insults, Scott had remained frustratingly in control.  Johnny had been puzzled by Scott’s seemingly polite, good nature, and compassionate personality.  Johnny thought he had an ulterior motive for his behavior and that no one could actually be as noble as his brother projected.  Johnny had studied, observed, baited and done just about everything he could think of to find the true man, without satisfactory results.  And then Scott had done the impossible; he had started to get under his skin.   Two so different personalities and Johnny had found himself impossibly entwined with his college educated brother.   

He knew exactly when he realized that he cared very much what happened to Scott.  Scott had gone into Green River to pick up supplies.  It was a trip that should have taken only a few hours.  He had left early in the morning and should have been home by early afternoon.  However, the hours had ticked away until Scott was almost three hours late.  Johnny found himself worrying about his brother and worrying very much.  Scott did not blend into the pack very well.  Even though he may now be dressed in western wear, his elegant manner made him stand out like a swan among ducks.  Johnny feared someone may have decided that the easterner needed to be taken down a peck or two and that Scott may be hurt, or even worse.  It wasn’t that he thought Scott wasn’t capable of taking care of himself; he felt that his brother was too naïve and trusting in certain situations and individuals.  He paced the floor in the Great Room, and found himself going to the window looking towards the rise for Scott’s wagon.  He went to the barn with several excuses until Jelly, the ranch’s fix it man, told him to saddle up his horse Barranca and go look for his brother.  Johnny was about to do just that when he heard the approach of a wagon.  He hurried out of the barn and saw his brother finally coming down the road.  He was surprised at his relief and astonished that the sight of this man in one piece could calm his frazzled nerves.  He walked out of the barn towards the wagon and saw the tired and haggard lines on his brother’s face.  Johnny’s stomach clenched – was his brother truly ok?  Scott’s eyes found his and his mouth turned up in a small smile. 

“What took you Boston?  Thought we’d have to send out a search party for you, that you got lost and headed east instead of west” Johnny drawled lightly, trying to reduce the beating of his heart.

“Wagon broke down.  Took a couple of hours to fix it, but first it took a couple of hours to figure out how to do it” Scott said tiredly.    He slowly got off the wagon.  Johnny noted that the elegant, well dressed man he first met those many months ago was now dirty, sweaty and exhausted.  “Where’s Murdoch?” Scott asked.

“He went over to the east pasture right after you left this morning.  He should be back soon.  Almost supper time and you know Murdoch and his schedule” Johnny quipped to his brother.

Scott bowed his head for a moment and looked slowly back to Johnny.  “I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention this to Murdoch.”  Scott paused.  “No reason to add to his thoughts of my being a hopeless greenhorn so to speak.”

Johnny looked at his tired brother and nodded.  “Come on, brother.  Why don’t you go take a bath and I’ll get Jelly to help me unload the wagon.  I’ll keep your secret but it may cost you a beer come Saturday night.” 

Scott started a bit at this comment.  His brother had never asked Scott to accompany him on a night off.   He smiled, and nodded, “It’s a good deal for me, and worth at least two beers.”   Scott then slowly walked away, dragging his normally erect posture off to the bath house. 

Johnny had watched him go, wondering at his own reaction, and shrugged.  He smiled and softly said to himself, “guess I’ll be watching him a bit closer from now on.”

Well, that had been several weeks ago and everything had been going well between them, until last night anyway.  Johnny couldn’t believe Scott’s reaction to their father’s request.  He was being unreasonable, and the more Murdoch tried to explain, the more obstinate Scott became.   It wasn’t that Johnny couldn’t sympathize, as he was always butting heads with his father, but when Scott had told Murdoch that Johnny was more equipped to handle the labor than he was, Johnny snapped.  What the hell was Scott trying to say, that Johnny couldn’t do anything else!!!!  Johnny saw immediately the flicker of hesitation in Scott’s eyes, that no, he didn’t mean that the way it came across, but Johnny’s patience had been stretched with Scott’s pigheadedness and he wasn’t going to be appeased.  Things had been said on both sides until Murdoch had put an end to it with his final “we are all going”. 

Johnny had never seen an angry Scott.  His control had been seriously lost and obviously was not about to admit defeat.  Johnny couldn’t understand Scott’s reaction until later when he and Murdoch had a long talk.

How the touch of his father had surprised him.  Not only that his father actually wanted to comfort him, but surprised that touch had meant so much to him.   Almost made the fight worth while…  almost. 

Murdoch had a feeling why Scott was resistant, and tried to relay that to Johnny.  His father was a proud man and it took a lot to admit that he had been wrong about many things in his life, one of them being overlooking his second wife’s unhappiness.  He had apologized to Johnny for that, for the life that Johnny had been forced to live.  But he was glad he was home now and hoped Johnny felt the same way. 

Johnny couldn’t talk at first.  He thought of that saying that ‘his heart was in his throat’ for the first time in his life seemed a reality and he understood what it meant.   He relished in his father’s attention and when he was able to speak, he didn’t know exactly what to say.  But his father had taken the time to help him, had known where to direct his heart until Johnny looked at him and said “are you sure you’re Murdoch Lancer?”  Murdoch had quietly chucked at this, and looked at the young man sitting next to him on the couch. 

“Johnny, I remember you when you were a little boy.  I knew who you were then, what made you happy, what made you mad and let me tell you” he grinned “there were a lot of things that made you mad.  But there were many more things that gave you joy.  When I look at you now, I sometimes still see that little boy.”

Then Murdoch had become reflective and said “but you’re not that little boy any more and I can’t bring that little boy back.  I’m sorry sometimes if I forget that.  You’re a man now, a man with your own thoughts and ideas and wants.  And I hope you want Lancer, and me, as much as I want you.”

Johnny had lowered his eyes, and then nodded his head.  “Yea” he said as he met his father’s eyes.  “Yea, I want all of this.  I want you and Scott and Lancer and maybe even Theresa when she’s not being so all fired demanding,” he laughed.

Murdoch’s smile was large and pleased.  “When Theresa gets home, I’ll tell her that.”   

His manner changing, “Maybe things wouldn’t have gotten so out of hand if she had been here” Murdoch distractedly said to his son. 

Theresa was Murdoch Lancer’s ward, the daughter of his dead Segundo who had been murdered in a war battling land pirates just before his sons came home.  Murdoch had taken responsibility for her.  She had been more like a daughter to him anyway as he had watched her grow into a young woman.  She had been born on Lancer and he would see to it that she stayed here as long as she wanted to; for the rest of her life if she desired.  Hers was the feminine touch to a household that desperately needed that presence.   She seemed to temper and soften the atmosphere and awkwardness of three independent, totally masculine strangers trying to live under the same roof.  They would be more careful of the words they used and how they acted when Theresa was around.  Theresa was aware and grateful for that acknowledgement, respecting their individuality and the work they did.  However, she also demanded the same respect from them when it came to the home she was trying to maintain for them.  Guns and hats were to be left at the door, muddy boots taken off by the back entrance for cleaning, and put things where you found them!  She had as full of a workload as they did, and she felt it only fair that they not add to it, just as she tried not to add to theirs.  A relationship formed on respect and need for one another; her presence caused them to defer to a gentler form of communication.  But she was not there last night having gone to visit friends for a few days.  How they missed her not being with them and all would admit to it.

Johnny studied his father, the granite lines of his face, the pure physical strength and stature of the man.  His father was large, close to 6’5” Johnny surmised, powerfully built and strong; a man to contend with even at his age.  Johnny wasn’t sure how old Murdoch was, but guessed him to be close to 50.  Johnny hadn’t been afraid of any man before, but he would grudgingly admit that the pure physical presence of his father did cause a bit of unease at their first meeting.   In time he learned that his father was not a physically violent man or he would have thrown Johnny threw the door during one of their many heated arguments. 

His thoughts about last night were interrupted by his father coming into the kitchen.  “Good morning, John” he greeted as he strode to the stove for a cup of coffee.  “Mornin” Johnny returned, noting that his father looked a bit tired this morning.  Probably didn’t get much sleep he thought to himself.

“Smells good in here” Murdoch said, sitting down at the table and smiling at his son.

“Yea, but I don’t know where Maria is.  She wasn’t here when I came down” Johnny remarked.

“I saw her outside a bit ago.  Miquel seemed to have hurt himself and she was trying to sooth him.  She should be in shortly.”  No sooner had Murdoch completed those words than Maria came into the kitchen from the outside.

“Good morning Patron” she said cheerily, “and Juanito.  Breakfast is ready.  I just need to dish it up.”

“I noticed Miquel was crying.  Is everything ok Maria” Murdoch asked her.

“Si, little boys have spills, they cry, but he is already playing.”  She busied herself getting the food ready, the two men watching the plates of eggs, bacon and hash browns as well as biscuits being brought to the table.

Maria noticed that both men were quiet, which was unusual.  “I was speaking to Senor Scott for a moment.  It is none of my business, but he seems … sad this morning.  I hope everything is all right.” 

Murdoch eyed her fondly.  “Maria, you are a part of this household and I appreciate your concern.  We just had a little disagreement about something that I wanted done.”

Maria looked at her boss closely, noting as he said those last words his voice became harder.  She smiled at him, knowing how difficult he could be, but at the same time, understanding how happy he was that his sons were finally with him.  “Ah, sometimes it is not easy to be the Patron, Si?” she inquired, “Especially when you are challenged.”

She brought the coffee over to the table to fill their cups, looking at Murdoch.  Once again she smiled knowingly at him.  “He is a good man, your son ….  Even this one, Si?” as she good naturedly ran her fingers through Johnny’s thick hair.  “They are both good men, Senor.”  Johnny ducked away from her hand good naturedly and laughed lightly.  “Finally” she exclaimed, “I get a smile from you this morning.”

She paused and said softly, “Senor Scott, he has much hurt in him.   He hides it well.” 

The door opened, cutting off further conversation as Scott put his hat on a hook by the door.  “Senor Scott, come, sit down, I will get you some coffee,” Maria bustled to the cupboard for another cup.

Scott noticed the tension in the room as he took his place at the table.  He glanced at his father and brother and softly said “good morning”, not looking directly at either one of them.  He thanked Maria for the coffee as she placed it in front of him.  She passed a plate to him for breakfast.  He set it down, not taking any of the food in front of him. 

“You are not hungry this morning!!!  You need to eat, you are too thin and you have much work to do” she admonished.

“Thanks, Maria, but the coffee will do” he said quietly.

Murdoch frowned at his son but didn’t say anything.  He did not want another argument.  He could see the fatigued lines in his son’s face and the almost weary slope of his shoulders.  His irritation quickly turned to concern.  The words Maria spoke just moments ago came back to haunt him.  (He hides his hurt well.) “You should eat something, Scott” he said trying not to sound confrontational.  “We have a lot of hard work before us.” 

Johnny also noticed the almost drained appearance of his brother.   “It’s a long time til lunch” he said in an off handed manner.   There was an edge to his voice that he hadn’t intended, but it was hard to forget the words of last night. 

Scott looked at him and quickly looked away.  “I’ll get the wagon hitched”.  He grabbed a biscuit from the table and strode from the room, his back straight and his walk almost hostile. 

Johnny let out an annoyed sigh.  “I have a feeling it’s going to be a long week”.  He looked to his father, noticing his father nodding in agreement as he bowed his head.   Johnny’s remark would prove to be an understatement about the long week.

-------

Scott grabbed for the harness in the barn to hitch up the horses to the wagon.  ‘He didn’t need anyone telling him when to eat; he was not a child and resented being treated like one.  His father was 24 years too late to try that with him now!’  He noted he was missing a piece of rig for the harness and marched back into the barn to get it.  Why couldn’t those hands put things back where they belonged, he seethed to himself, eyeing the leather that he needed lying on a shelf above his head.  Probably a hand had carelessly thrown it up there he thought angrily.  He jerked on the rein not realizing that it had caught on a rusty nail holding the shelf in place.  The strong pull on the leather caused the nail to come out, the contents of the shelf to fall down on Scott.  As he attempted to get out of the way, he tripped backwards, meeting the ground just as a very large can of white wash stored on the shelf rammed itself into his ribs.  Scott gasped at the initial impact, curling his arms around his midsection, cursing at the pain, the incident, the morning and everything in general.  When he had caught his breath, he cautiously started to move.  He didn’t think any ribs were broken but they sure were making themselves known.  He scooted over to a stall close to him and reached for the middle wooden beam for support in getting up.  As he did so, he felt a prick of pain on his forearm and saw the scurrying body of a spider out of the corner of his eye.    “Dam it,” he said out loud, “what next.”  He looked at the bite and saw a couple of tiny red marks on his arm.  He dismissed the bite, more concerned with the ache in his ribs.  Once again he put his arm on the stall beam and pulled himself up. 

Scott looked around at the mess from the fallen shelf.  He needed to hurry if he was to get the horses harnessed before his brother and father came out.  He was not going to tell them what happened.  They were angry with him anyway and would probably think he was trying to get out of going.   It was no secret he did not want to go, but he wasn’t about to use this stupid accident as an excuse.  And he was sure that’s exactly what they would think --- stupid.  He quickly gathered the items that had fallen and put them against the barn wall.  He grunted when he tried to pick up the can of white wash, his ribs painfully protesting.  He rolled it over with the other items.  He didn’t know how he managed to get the horses harnessed and hitched up to the wagon, but he grit his teeth and ignored the pain while his brother and farther silently loaded the supplies that would be needed.  Murdoch got up on the wagon seat and took the reins in his hands.  Johnny was seated on his horse.  Both were waiting for Scott to take the seat by his father.  Scott had contemplated saddling up his horse and riding, but decided it would probably be less painful if he rode in the wagon.  How the hell was he going to pull himself up on the seat, Scott thought as he walked towards the wagon?  Once again he forced the discomfort to the back, grabbed the wagon and pulled himself up, sitting down with a loud thump next to his father. 

Murdoch glanced at his son as he sat down next to him in an uncharacteristically ungraceful move.  Even though the morning was yet cool, he noticed Scott’s face glimmered with sweat, pale and strained.  “Everything ok” he asked gruffly.  Scott only nodded, his face straight ahead, his whole manner closed. 

“Boss” Murdoch turned to the voice of Jelly.  “Which line shack you headed for?” 

“The one on the far north slope, up over Sedona Pass.  Should be there by tonight, home in five to six days.”  Murdoch looked off to the north, at the clouds amassing over the mountains.  “We should be there long before that storm hits.”

Jelly looked a little doubtful, but nodded his head.  “Take care now.  Those storms can be fierce this time of year and you’re going a bit high.” 

Murdoch nodded at him and clicked to the horses, Johnny waived and Scott said “See you Jelly.”  Jelly watched the wagon and men roll out of the grounds, and down the road.   He felt a cold nudge in his bones and shivered.  He had an uneasy feeling, but shaking his head, dismissed it.  “You’re getting old, Jelly,” he said to himself.  “Shivering on a day like this.”  He headed to the barn to do his endless round of chores that needed doing on a spread this size.  He noticed the white wash can and other items against the barn wall and the broken shelf.  “What in blazes happened!” he exclaimed.  “Not enough for me to do now, I need to fix something someone else broke.”  As he went to pick up the shelf, he took one last glance at the now distant wagon and unexplainably, he shivered again.

--------

The three men steadily made their way to their destination.  It was a gloomy mood, Johnny not talking to Scott and Scott not talking to either Johnny or his father.  Once in a while Murdoch would attempt to draw Scott out, but Scott’s morose resistance to any kind of small talk resulted in Murdoch’s granite features turning even more so, if possible.  Murdoch and Johnny exchanged occasional quips about fencing that needed to be repaired, a creek that would need to be cleared and how many head of cattle to sell at the next drive.  At noon they stopped for lunch along a cool running creek in a meadow lush with flowers.  When Scott did not immediately come off of the wagon, Johnny had flamed “we’re not serving you lunch, Scott.  If you want something, come and get it.”  The lunch was spread out on a blanket a few feet from the wagon.  Even though the beef sandwiches, apples and cookies did look good, and he was hungry, Scott didn’t think he could climb off the wagon, much less get back up on it without his relatives noting something was wrong.  His ribs had steadily grown sorer as the day had progressed and each bump in the road sent a jolt to his tender side.   In fact, it had been more and more difficult to suppress a groan or two along the way.  In addition to that, he was beginning to feel an ache along his shoulders, into his back and once in a while almost what felt like a twist in his stomach.  He dismissed them as being just sore from the fall. 

He eyed Johnny disdainfully.  “I’m not hungry” he said and turned away from him.  Murdoch had just returned from seeing to his personal needs and took in the conversation.  He picked up a sandwich and apple, brought them to Scott and said, “You need to eat this.  You didn’t have any breakfast.  And young man,” he continued when a stubborn Scott faced him “I don’t know what has gotten into you the last couple of days, but I for one don’t deserve this treatment.   We have some long days ahead of us and I expect some respect as your father.”

“You never wanted to be a father before, why does it matter now” slipped from a livid Scott.  He could have bit his tongue when he saw what effect those words had on his father.  It was if he had slapped him in the face.  Silent and tight lipped, Murdoch turned from his son and sat down to eat, his back towards Scott. 

Scott closed his eyes, feeling a knot once again in his stomach.  Not only did he feel like he had just deeply hurt his father, but his head was starting to ache.  He glanced back to take in his father’s form, raised his eyes and saw an angry Johnny glaring at him like he could shoot him.  Just then a sharp pain in his abdomen crippled him, took his breath away and he bowed his head into his hand.  It lasted just a few moments, but when he looked back at Johnny, he was staring at him intensely.  Some of the animosity had been replaced by puzzlement and Scott thought, almost concern.  Scott quickly looked away from him and took a bite out of the apple.  He didn’t know how long he could go on hiding his pain.  If I can just make it until tonight, after a night’s sleep I’ll be fine, he thought to himself.  I’ll try to make it up to Murdoch somehow.  I just need to keep my mouth shut and stay focused on making it until tonight.  He knew Johnny was angry enough at him that he would try to ignore him as much as he could, which was a plus for now. 

Although he was no longer hungry, Scott did manage to eat all of the apple and most of the sandwich.  He washed it down with lots of water.  He hadn’t moved from the wagon seat and although he needed to relieve himself, he didn’t want to think of getting up and down from the wagon.  Just one more uncomfortable thing to think about until tonight, but maybe it would take his mind off his ribs.

Johnny and Murdoch packed up the lunch items and Scott felt his father settle in next to him.  He clicked the reigns and they once again started up the trail.

-----

The clouds were rolling in by the time they finally reached the line shack.  The last few hours had been very quiet, each man with his own thoughts.  When Scott had hurled that remark at Murdoch, he felt as if he had been knocked in the gut.  He noted the angry glare coming from Scott’s eyes, and the drawn gauntness of his finely sculpted features.  He almost looked ill, but could Scott hate him that much?  What he was going to do?  How could he respond to what seemed like such venom?  He hadn’t said a word to Scott, his emotions rolling from anger to frustration to remorse.  He was a man who didn’t deal well with emotions.  They were uncontrollable and he was certainly a person that liked to maintain strong control.  He had been hurt so many times in the past that he fought them back, burying them, remaining stoic, focusing on building an empire.  But as he grew older he wondered who was he building that empire for?  He couldn’t last forever.  What would happen to it when he was gone?  He decided he wanted his children to have it and when they came to him, it felt right. 

He had been afraid that Johnny wouldn’t stay, but he had.  He and Johnny had fought well and often, if they didn’t do anything else well together.  Johnny had seemed like a simmering storm, thunder and lightening just beneath the surface.  In reality he was more like a tinder dry mountain, apprehensive that a match would drop on him and explode and he had feared his father held the match.  But now Murdoch was certain his youngest wouldn’t leave him.  And it had never entered his mind that Scott could be so hostile and angry.  He hadn’t wanted to confront the past, but that past was challenging him in a way he never thought possible. 

A clap of thunder brought his focus back to the present.  He looked at the sky turning blue black and angry.  The horses were nervous.  “We need to hurry, Murdoch if we want to get to shelter before the storm breaks” his younger son urged.   “It looks like it’s going to be a nasty one.”

Murdoch looked over at Scott who was staring straight ahead, his face tight and rigid.  Murdoch noted that even though the temperature had cooled with the approaching storm, there was a gleam of sweat on his son’s face.  Something didn’t seem right, but he wasn’t about to risk further rebuttal from Scott and he needed to concentrate on making it to shelter. 

He clicked to the horses, encouraging them to go faster, although they had to pick their way along the difficult trail.  No sooner had they reached the shack then close lightening and thunder flashed, making the horses more nervous and skittish than they were before.  Murdoch jumped down from the wagon, throwing the reins to Scott, and quickly unharnessed the horses.  He led them into a lean to and made sure they had food and water.  Johnny did the same with his mount.  When they came out of the lean to, Scott was nowhere to be seen and nothing from the wagon had been unloaded.

“Looks like we’ll need to unload the wagon ourselves Murdoch.  Scott doesn’t seem to want our company at all, and right now, the feeling is mutual” Johnny vented to his father.  They made quick work of unloading the supplies putting them into the lean to and a small outbuilding built into a hill.  The wind had picked up measurably by the time they were finished and the rain had started, sending small streams of water down the mountain which would soon turn into gushing miniature rivers.  Both men hurried towards the shack, with Johnny noting that “at least he’s got a fire started” as smoke rose from the chimney. 

-----

They stepped into what really wasn’t a shack but a large, comfortable two room abode.  A fire was burning in the fireplace, sending grateful warmth through the larger of the two rooms.  The stove had been stoked for preparation of the evening meal and water was boiling for coffee.  In one corner of the room was a fairly large, comfortable bed with a chest at the foot.  The kitchen area was neat aside from the film of dust that had settled on the dishes since the shack was last occupied by Lancer employees.  And except for the quiet man sitting in the shadows in a chair to the far side of the fireplace, the room was warm and comfortable.  The entrance to the other smaller room was just to the left of the fireplace.  It contained two smaller but just as comfortable beds as the one in the main part of the dwelling.  Each bed had a small chest at the foot and there was also a small stove in the room for heating. 

Both men came into the room, breathless from their run from the rain.  They took off their rain gear and hung them on the rack to dry by the door.  They noted Scott by the fireplace, and the fire that had been started.  Scott had also opened up some tins of vegetables that were heating on the stove and some salted meat was frying in the pan.  Johnny was going to make a smart remark to his brother about not helping them with the wagon, until he caught site of his face.  Scott’s eyes were listless, almost fever bright, and his whole manner was one of exhaustion. 

He walked slowly over to Scott, staring at him intently.  “What’s the matter with you?” he asked in a low voice.

Scott didn’t want to hurt his brother, but he needed him to remain angry.  Tomorrow he would make it up to him.  Tomorrow when he felt better.  Getting off the wagon had taken all that Scott could do when his brother and father were occupied elsewhere.  He had been determined to get the fire going, and supper started before they came in although he had almost passed out doing so.   He couldn’t take another hour of pretense; his head throbbed, his muscles ached, his ribs hurt every time he breathed and where the spider had bit him was naggingly uncomfortable.  He was also accosted by the differing symptoms of being chilled and shivering one moment and burning up the next.  He needed to get into the other room away from their prying eyes.  He would be better by morning … he just needed a good nights rest. 

Scott turned his face to Johnny with as much anger and disdain as he could project.  “You, you are what’s the matter with me.”  He got the desired effect immediately.  Johnny’s face turned to hurt and rage. 

“Know what Scott” he spit out.  “I don’t care what’s the matter with you.  Maybe this life is too rough for you.  Maybe you need those silk shirts and perfumed baths.  Maybe you belong in Boston.  Maybe you’re not the man I thought you were.”

“Johnny” a dismayed Murdoch said.  “You don’t mean that.” 

Johnny turned to look at Murdoch, still hurt and angry and ready to throw just about anything, until he saw the look on his father’s face.   It was a pleading look, one that said not tonight.  Murdoch looked tired, almost vulnerable, and Johnny didn’t like that feeling that his strong father could fall. 

“I’m tired” a now standing Scott said to them, drawing Johnny’s fears away from his father’s mortality.  “I’m going to bed.”

Without comment from either man, Scott managed to walk into the next room taking the bed that was out of view of the door.  He had made it.  The bed beckoned.   He didn’t even want to think of the things he had said today.  He hoped they would forgive him.  He would do everything he could to make it up to them.  But tonight, all he wanted to do was to sleep.

He sat on the edge of the bed and removed his boots.  He decided not to light the lantern even though he wanted to take a look at his ribs.  He was afraid that Johnny or Murdoch may come in and see him and he didn’t want that.  He could hear his father and brother in the next room getting supper.  He thought Murdoch would take the larger bed in the main room and Johnny sleep in this room in the other bed.  He hoped to be undressed and lost in sleep long before Johnny came in.  He took off his clothes, all except the cut off long john’s he wore and slipped between the covers.  He grabbed a top part of underwear and pulled it over his head.   Even though both his brother and father knew about the scars on his back, he still felt self-conscious about them. 

Those scars, at least that took his mind off his present pain, but he wondered if the trade was worth it.    What he remembered most about the whipping was the whistle of the whip as it connected with his back.  He counted each stroke and wondered how he could still be alive?  His mind floated away from the unbelievable torment that he suffered at the hands of another human being.  He wondered if he could ever do something like this to someone else and prayed that he couldn’t.  Then he had lost consciousness; relief.  Well, he had lived through that hellish year in a Confederate prison camp; he would live through this as well.

He fell asleep with those thoughts.   When he woke the room was in shadow, the night sounded full of rain fall, thunder, howling wind and his own labored breathing.  He could barely see the grey outline of his sleeping brother in the darkness.   Lightening streaked eerily through the room, momentarily glazing the vague depths of the corners.   Something was wrong!!  His whole body hurt.  He knew then that a night’s sleep wasn’t going to fix what was wrong with him.  He needed help, he needed his family.  He was afraid.

Struggling to raise himself, he frighteningly found that he could barely move.  He focused on his legs, wiling them to the edge of the bed, but all he could feel was the pain in them; the incessant hurt that ran from his shoulders down his back and into his legs.  He was sweating profusely, his bedding saturated, his hair sodden and clinging to his brow.  His stomach suddenly arched with an agonizing thrust as if someone had plunged a knife into it.  It caught his breath for several moments; every muscle and sinew anchored into that unbelievable burn, and then released him.  With every needed breath he took his ribs seemed to collapse on him.

“Johnny” his voice sounded fragile and coarse as he called to his brother across the room.   His brother didn’t move.  Scott’s head drummed loudly, faster than his heart.  He tried to focus his foggy brain into his voice, tried to project his need, his desperate want into the one word that would help him, his brother.  “Johnny” he cried with fatigue.

------- 

Johnny had gone to bed angry at his brother, but there was something more that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.  There was something wrong that bothered him, there was something about Scott that just wasn’t right, and he went over and over it in his head.  It had taken several hours before he had finally drifted off to sleep.  He didn’t want to wake up, he was so tired, but what was that annoyance that kept prodding him, drawing him from his sleep?   His fuddled brain finally focused in on the frail voice calling to him.  It was Scott, weak, insubstantial but persistent.  

“Johnny” finally registered and he was immediately aware.  Johnny had learned at a young age that he needed instant mindfulness at all times, even when he was coming out of sleep.  It had saved his life many times, but his senses had been dulled from the comfort of his family.

But what was the problem?  He looked toward the bed where his brother was and heard the labored breathing.   He registered the fevered gloss from his brother’s eyes as lightening momentarily lit the room.  “Johnny” Scott whispered again. 

Johnny was by his brother’s side.  He heard the sigh when Scott knew he was finally there.  He touched his brother, felt the heat from his body, the sweat from his brow and fear clutched his being.  He heard his brother’s imploring breath, he lightly touched Scott’s hand and felt his fingers move, prompted by the touch of Johnny’s warm, tender stroke.

“Scott, what’s wrong” Johnny said softly. 

“I don’t know” Scott’s breath was rapid.  “Something’s wrong.”  He clutched at Johnny, his long fingers wrapping around Johnny’s arm, trying to anchor himself to what he knew wouldn’t let him go.  His strong, loving, passionate brother. 

Johnny couldn’t breathe for a minute; his heart thundered with panic and rattled his mind.  He willed his fear down, stroked his brother’s fevered brow.  “It’s ok, Scott.  Let me light the lantern.”

Scott clung to him, afraid to let go.  “It’s ok” Johnny lulled.  “I need to get Murdoch.  It’s ok, Scott.  I promise.”  Scott shivered, clutched his stomach and groaned. 

Johnny lit the lantern and stared at his brother.  Scott was covered in sweat, the bed linens sodden and carelessly tossed aside.  His cheeks were red with fever, his head rocked back and forth on the pillow in hazy awareness.  Johnny reached for a blanket to cover him up, but Scott tossed it immediately aside, “nooo, it’s hot, it’s so hot” he whispered, his voice catching on a muffled groan.  Johnny laid his hand over his brother’s heart and felt the frantic beating.  Johnny brought his hand up to Scott’s forehead, sweeping aside plastered bangs, trying to calm his brother as well as himself. 

“I’ll be right back, Scott” Johnny soothed.  “I need to get Murdoch.  He’ll know what to do.”  Scott’s eyes opened slightly, searching Johnny’s face. 

“I’m sorry” Scott’s voice cracked.  “I didn’t mean those things I said.” 

“I know, Scott.  It’s ok,” Johnny soothed continuing soft strokes across Scott’s brow.  His hand stopped as he caught the silver blue eyes of his brother watching him.  He tried to swallow the dry, painful fire in the back of his throat.  His touched his brother’s cheek, Scott’s eyes never leaving his.  “It will be ok” he whispered.  “I promise you, it will be ok.” 

Johnny reluctantly got up from the bed and went in to wake his father.  As he approached Murdoch’s bed, he could hear the soft snores of his father.  “Murdoch” he said, shaking his shoulder.  His father did not respond.  “Murdoch” he called louder, pushing on his shoulder with more intensity.  Murdoch woke with a start, unnerved until he saw it was Johnny.

“What is it” he asked sleepily, trying to focus on his son.

“Scott’s sick” Johnny said, his mouth dry.  “He’s real sick Murdoch.  You need to come look at him.”  Johnny tried to maintain calmness as he spoke to his father.

Alarm flickered in Murdoch’s eyes.  He threw back the covers and followed Johnny into the other bedroom. 

The lantern sparsely illuminated the man in the bed, just holding darkness at bay.  “Johnny, we need more light.  Get another lantern.”  Johnny hastily complied, bringing the light to his father as he seated himself on the edge of Scott’s bed.

His large hand touched his son’s face, stilling Scott’s rolling head for a moment.  Burn bright eyes opened to gaze at his father, long fingers clenching and unclenching the bedding.   Murdoch’s hand brushed his son’s damaged side and he felt the intake of Scott’s breath as he did so.   Murdoch lifted the shirt from Scott’s ribs and the ugly bruising caught his attention.  Scott’s whole side was bruised a deep purple, the edges turning from red to rose and to yellow as the colors leached on his chest.

“Son” he said softly.  “What happened?” 

Scott tried to focus on his father’s question.  “I don’t feel so good” he said, his face turning to the side, his eyes confused and pain filled.

“What happened to your ribs?” his father asked, trying to keep Scott’s attention by turning his son’s face to look at him. 

It was evident to the two men that Scott was trying to answer, but his hold on reality was quickly fading as the fever’s threshold was close to delirium.  “I fell, I fell … the can hit me” he managed to whisper. 

“Murdoch, broken ribs shouldn’t be causing this fever,” Johnny expressed with concern.  “I think he’s got a pain in his gut too; he doubled over earlier after he woke me up.”

Murdoch brought his hands down to his son’s side.  “Scott, son, I need to make sure your ribs aren’t broken.  It’s going to hurt some, but I promise I’ll go as fast as I can.  Johnny’s here, just concentrate on him.  OK?”

Scott was unfocused and Murdoch didn’t know if he comprehended what he had told him.

“Johnny, I need you to talk to him, try to distract him from me  … you understand, son?” Murdoch said quietly.

Johnny nodded and moved to the head of the bed.  He rested his hands on Scott’s shoulders and started talking to him.  Scott was unresponsive, barely hearing Johnny’s voice, irritated because something seemed to be buzzing in his ear.  Nothing really registered until he felt something pushing into his injured ribs.  He drew in an agonized breath and tried to move away from the pressure.  Johnny started talking louder, but Scott only heard the noise, not the words.  He was focused on the hand moving down his side, burdening his already bruised ribs with more pain, the sound of his tortured breathing reverberating throughout the room.  His hands grabbed at the arm putting pressure on his side, trying to push it away.

“Johnny, grab his arms” Murdoch quickly said.

Johnny took hold of Scott’s wrists and held them down.

“Scott, listen to me.  Remember Amberlyn, that little gal I used to make you jealous.  Did you know she really didn’t like me at all!  I just liked to tease you about her …. ” Johnny rambled, talking louder and louder to get Scott’s attention.  

“It’s ok, Johnny, I’m done” a pale Murdoch said.  “I’m sorry Scott,” he soothed, gently running his hand up and down Scott’s side.  “Johnny, let him go.”  Scott’s hands wavered in the air, coming to rest on his father’s arms, weakly trying to push them away.

“There are no breaks in his ribs, but a couple may be cracked” a severe Murdoch said.    “I’ll wrap them up and he’ll be more comfortable.”

“We need to get this bedding changed.  It’s too wet and keeps him chilled.”  Murdoch paused, collecting his thoughts.  “Let’s get that done, and maybe we’ll find something else on him to let us know what’s causing the fever …. Johnny, let’s put him on your bed for now, get these sheets drying before the fire.  We’ll need some water to cool him off, rags, try to get some water into him ….” He rambled through a check list.

Scott moaned softly, drawing their attention back to him.  He drew his legs up and folded his hands across his stomach, holding his midsection.  He held his breath as the pain once again attacked his stomach, then ceased as fast as it had come.  They were becoming more frequent, and his limbs ached without letup.  Suddenly, he leaned over the bed and vomited; but there was nothing to throw up.  He felt a hand on his shoulder, supporting him.  He wretched repeatedly, until he thought he’d pass out from exhaustion.  Finally it quit and he lay across his father’s legs, tears clustered in his eye lashes, all energy spent.  He felt his father’s hands gently brushing across his back, soothing, calming and so needed. 

Murdoch rolled him onto his back, careful not to put any more pressure on his ribs.  He brushed his bangs back from his sweaty forehead, noting that Scott had started to violently shiver.  “Johnny, we need to get him out of these soggy clothes and into your bed.  He’s too cold. ”

Johnny lifted his brother by the shoulders as Murdoch passed the thermal shirt over Scott’s arms and head.  Murdoch tossed the garment on the floor and as he turned back to Scott, he saw those awful scars that someone had inflicted on his son.  Gently he passed his hand over the puckered flesh, faded and ugly.  He lifted his eyes and caught Johnny watching him.  They knew about the scars; Johnny saw them when Scott stopped to cool himself off in a stream after a hard day of branding.  Scott didn’t notice Johnny riding up with the same idea of cooling off.  He had already taken his shirt off.  Neither one said very much; Scott just relayed “got them in the war – something I’d just as soon not go into” as he noticed his brother staring fixedly at the marks.  Johnny had nodded his head, quietly taking in the reserve of his brother.  He had told Murdoch about Scott’s scars, but nothing more had been said by anyone.  If Scott wanted to talk about it, he would; otherwise they respected his silence.

“Let’s get him moved Murdoch and finish undressing him.  It’s too cold to lay him back down.”  Murdoch nodded and easily picked Scott up to carry him to the other bed.  Scott moaned as he was lifted from the bed, his ribs protesting, and his head throbbing.  He felt someone carrying him, but where were they going he wondered.  It’s so cold.  “Someone close the door,” he muddled.  “We’ll close it Scott” he heard someone say back to him.  Then he felt a softness and warmth beneath him as he was laid down.  His body shivered again, and he wanted to curl into the large warm hand that rested on his chest.  But that hand moved down his body, to his waist and rested momentarily on his stomach.  What were they doing? he wondered, his mind baffled.  But then he drifted, trying not to think of anything but sleep and freedom from the hurt of his body.

Murdoch put his arm beneath Scott’s hips and lifted him up, allowing Johnny to take off his underwear.  Johnny absently chuckled, “Scott would be embarrassed without any drawers, Murdoch.  You know how shy he is about this stuff.”

Murdoch nodded idly, “I know Johnny.  But I don’t think he knows what’s happening.” Both Murdoch and Johnny started to closely look over Scott when Murdoch spied an angry red pussy welt on Scott’s forearm.  He took hold of the arm, pulling it closer to the light.  “Johnny” he cried, “this is a spider bite!”

Johnny ran his fingers over the arm, noting the same marks that his father had.  “Why wouldn’t he say something, Murdoch?” he worriedly remarked, upset that Scott would ignore or not mention that he had been bit. 

“Maybe he doesn’t realize how bad a bite can be.  He’s from the east, Johnny; he may not know how severe or common poisonous spiders are here.”  Murdoch studied the abrasion closer, and said “Well, at least we know what’s making him sick and what we need to do.”  He paused, once again collecting his thoughts.  “We need to wrap those ribs, get some water into him and keep him calm.”

“Johnny, would you make some willow bark tea?  There should be some in a tin on one of the shelves.  That will help to settle his stomach and sleep.  I’ll get the other bedding in front of the fire to dry.  We’ll probably need it.”  Murdoch looked at his youngest, “It’s going to be a rough couple of days, but there’s no reason why Scott shouldn’t pull through.  He’s young, strong, and he’ll make it.” 

-----

Scott was now settled into a fresh bed, sleeping somewhat fitfully after Murdoch and Johnny had managed to coerce most of the tea down him.  He had tried batting the liquid away, and after a few frustrating minutes, Johnny had slipped behind him, supporting Scott on his chest and holding his arms as Murdoch had held his chin and brought the tea up to his lips.  Too weak to move much less fight, he had grudgingly taken the tea just to get them to leave him alone. 

Murdoch dipped the rag into the cool water and mopped the perspiration from Scott’s face and neck.  He dipped it again and ran the cloth down his son’s arms and over his chest, trying to cool down his body.  The cold that Scott had been experiencing was now intense heat.  He watched his son try to kick the covers off, and noted that his limbs were too feeble to accomplish that.  “Easy, Scott” he tried to console, as he once more ran the cloth over his chest. 

A gust of wind brought Johnny in from checking the horses, making sure they were still secure and comfortable in the raging storm.  He was drenched from just the few minutes he had been out in the storm, his rain gear making a puddle on the floor beneath the coat rack.  “Dam, Murdoch, it’s nasty out there.  I swear that creek below us is wider than the Rio Grand” he embellished.     

“How are the horses” Murdoch asked, continuing to wipe down Scott.

“They’re fine” Johnny relayed.  “A little jumpy, but I threw them some more hay and they were munching when I left.  That lean to keeps them out of the wind and dry.”  He paused, walking over to the bed.  “How is he?” Johnny said nodding to his brother.

“He’s a little quieter.  That tea helped to relax him, but he’s burning up.  We’ll just need to keep wiping him down.”  He looked at his youngest.  “Why don’t you get some rest, Johnny?  We can relieve one another off and on.  It’s may take a while for his fever to break, and one of us needs to be awake for him.”

“I won’t sleep much anyway Murdoch.  Why don’t you take the first break?” Johnny suggested, noting the bags under his father’s eyes.  He knew Murdoch hadn’t slept well since the argument with Scott and was probably dog-tired.  He watched his father eyeing him with skepticism, and said “Come on, Murdoch.  At least I got a little sleep.  I can keep him cooled off.”  When his father hesitated some more he said, “I’ll call you if he gets worse or I need you.”

Murdoch looked at his eldest and back at Johnny.  “I’ll take a couple of hours, but call me if anything changes.  You understand?” he stated emphatically.

“Yea, I understand.  I promise, I’ll call you,” Johnny replied.

With a nod, Murdoch reached his hand to Scott’s face and tenderly traced the outline of his cheek.  “If he wakes, try to get some fluids into him.  If he doesn’t, we’ll need to get some into him in a couple of hours regardless.  The way he’s sweating, it won’t take much to dehydrate him.”  He got up from the bed, put his hand on Johnny’s shoulder, and walked into the other room.  Johnny could hear him settling in the bed and within minutes heard snores coming from his father.

Johnny sat down beside the bed.  He started the mindless task of trying to cool his brother off, continually dipping the rag in the cool water, wringing it out and passing it over his brother’s body.  He replaced the water a couple of times, but Scott seemed unaware, as he was caught in an uneasy sleep.  He mumbled in his sleep, and a couple of times Johnny caught a word here or there, but for the most part, Scott didn’t make any sense.

During that time Johnny did a lot of thinking.  His thoughts went back to that tender touch his father had given Scott right before he went to bed;  that look on his father’s face as he gazed at his brother; and the touch his father had given him as he left the room.   He wished he could take those years back that had been lost to him, to Scott and to his “old man”.  But he couldn’t, and maybe they would have been different people; maybe they loved one another because of how their lives had shaped them, had determined who they were today, good and bad, revealed their strengths and weaknesses, and formed their characters.  Maybe they loved one another because they had been lost. 

He studied his sick brother.  Who would have ever imagined that Johnny Madrid, cynical, fatalistic, yes, even cold blooded at times, would ever care for another human being as much as he cared for his brother?  Scott had taken his insults and threw back affection; he had absorbed Johnny’s anger and offered him friendship.  And in the end the swaggering, angry, hurt young man had responded to something that had not been opened to him before. 

Johnny’s pulse raced as he noted the white heat of fever in Scott’s eyes, the sweltering skin and his restless limbs.  “Please” he whispered, bowing his head, clutching his brothers long, strong fingers.  “Please, please, please, please, please, please” until only his lips moved the words.  And those long, strong fingers pressed back and then relaxed.

---------

After a couple of hours Johnny tried to get Scott to take some fluids.  He did not want to wake his father, but he was finding it impossible to get Scott to drink the tea.  Although Scott was very weak, he was still able to turn his head away from the cup, or swat at Johnny’s hand as Johnny tried to hold him.  With a sigh, Johnny went to wake his father, calling his name and shaking his shoulder.  Murdoch responded quickly, waking at Johnny’s first call.

“How is he?” a drowsy Murdoch asked, slowly getting up from the bed.  He stretched his back and took the cup of coffee Johnny had poured for him. 

“Bout the same” Johnny said.  “I tried to get him to take some tea, but he won’t do it.”  Johnny smiled tiredly, “We’ll need to convince him.”

Murdoch could see that Johnny was tired and needed a break, but it would be hard to convince his overly protective son that he needed some rest with Scott as ill as he was.  Murdoch decided to take an offensive tactic and brook no argument before Johnny was able to raise one.  “OK, let’s get some tea into him and then you are going to take a break.”  Murdoch held up his hand as Johnny started to protest.  “I don’t want any arguments John.  I need you to help me with Scott and you can’t do it dead on your feet.  Scott needs us alert, both of us.”

Johnny couldn’t argue when Murdoch stated it that way.  Sullenly he nodded his head.  Both of them went into the next room and were able to get the tea into Scott.  With that, Johnny went to lie down and try to rest.  He didn’t think he’d be able to, but Murdoch smiled when he heard Johnny’s soft snores shortly after he went to bed.

Through the long night and following day Scott pitched fitfully in sleep, memories and monsters walking through his dreams that at times seemed like a reality.  When Murdoch and Johnny again tried to get some fluids into him, he opened his eyes and recognized his father.  “What are you doing in the war, Murdoch?” he asked with alarm, his eyes frantic and hands clutching his father’s shirt front.  Images of ragged skeletal men reduced to fighting over dead rats and rancid water marched through his mind, the confederate prison camp once more a reality. 

“We’re not in the war, Scott.  Its ok, you’re safe.  You’re with me and Johnny,” Murdoch eased, stroking his son’s forehead, obviously very distressed by Scott’s nightmare.

“Don’t let the rats eat Johnny” he cried.  “Murdoch, get Johnny out, the rats will eat him, the rats will eat him,” a frantic Scott proclaimed, struggling to move. 

“Take it easy, Scott.  I won’t let them hurt Johnny, I promise,” an anxious Murdoch reassured.  Scott’s breathing was rapid, his heart galloping.  He couldn’t understand how his father and brother were in the war with him.  Finally, Murdoch’s strong assurance voiced over and over again that all was safe penetrated Scott’s haze and he settled down, trusting that his father wouldn’t lie to him.

At one point when they were changing the sweat soaked bedding and had placed Scott back in the bed, he had reached out a hand to his father, and with a catch in his voice said, “PaPa, where have you been?” 

Murdoch clasped his sons outreached hand, “I’ve been right here son” moved by Scott’s use of the term PaPa. 

He watched his son’s eyes, warm with fever and full of tears, as they fixed upon his father’s face.  “I’ve been waiting for you for so long, PaPa.  What took you so long?”

Murdoch cringed and closed his eyes momentarily, caught in a maelstrom of guilt and self-recrimination.  He raised his face and saw Johnny.  “I’m sorry son I took so long,” voicing that sentiment to both sons.  “I have no excuse but I love you and your brother more than my own life,” turning once again to Scott.  “I love you Scott” he said, trying to reach his confused son. 

He ran his long fingers over and over across Scott’s forehead, imagining him as a little boy, trying to comfort him now, 24 years gone.  Scott settled under the light caress of his father, feeling those large calloused hands.  His mind still muddled but somehow more at peace, he drifted into sleep. 

All through the night and the next day they battled the fever, coaxing Scott with fluids and when he refused, forcing them down his throat.  They cooled his body, changed the sweaty bedding, and reassured him when the nightmares overtook him.  They alternated in trying to rest, but both men were spent when the fever finally broke in the early morning hours of the third day.   

Johnny had fallen asleep with Scott lying against his chest.  After Johnny and Murdoch had once again managed to get some fluids into Scott, Scott had relaxed against the strong presence of his brother.  Johnny hadn’t wanted to move him, and both had fallen into a heavy sleep.  Murdoch sighed with relief, bowing his head into his large hands.  He ran his fingers through his hair, raised his eyes and looked at Scott’s face, finally sleeping a natural sleep, his features smooth, his breathing peaceful.    He glanced at Johnny, his cheek resting against the top of Scott’s head, one arm at his side, the other draped across Scott’s chest. 

Murdoch looked at the empty rumbled bed to his left.  He needed to just lie down for a few minutes; he felt depleted and his irksome back ached.  He stood up, stretched his long form and placed his hands on the small of his back trying to stretch out the kinks.  He went over to the other bed and was asleep within minutes.

------- 

Birdsong was strong and incessant when Murdoch stirred.  The sun was stretching its warmth through the windows, the heat from that distant star welcome after almost three days of wind and rain.  The world smelled refreshed, renewed and beautiful.  Murdoch realized he had slept for several hours and turned his head to look at his sons.  They were still sleeping; the only thing that appeared to have changed was that Scott had moved farther down on his brother’s chest, his face turned in profile.

Murdoch stiffly rose from the bed, stretching and bending to limber his body.   He strode into the cooking area of the main room and put on coffee to boil.  The aroma of the coffee soon filled the cabin as he busied himself preparing breakfast.  He didn’t know if Scott was up to eating anything, but he cut some bread and prepared to toast it, hoping his son would be able to keep that down.  It had been nearly three days since Scott had eaten that apple and sandwich by the creek.  His already lean son did not need to become any leaner and Murdoch was anxious to quickly get him back on the road to recovery. 

Murdoch scratched his chin, rubbing the irritating stubble of his beard.  That was one more thing he needed to do, bathe and shave.  He was sure Johnny was also anxious to get cleaned up.  Three days without being able to do much more than care for Scott and snare a few fleeting hours of sleep here and there had left a slightly uncomfortable odor on him and he did not want it to get any stronger.

He poured a cup of coffee for himself and Johnny and went into the smaller room hoping that the smell of coffee had woken his younger son.  Walking into the room, he glanced over at his sons and met the slate blue eyes of Scott.  “Good morning, Scott.  How are you feeling?” 

“Tired”.  Scott was surprised at the weak, raspy sound of his voice.  His father poured a drink of water for him and brought it up to his lips.  Scott turned his face away from it.  “Young man, we’ve had this argument many times during the past couple of days.  You need to drink fluids, and lots of them.  Come on, now, this will make your throat feel better,” Murdoch pressed.

“Murdoch, if I drink anything more I’ll burst.” Scott’s face turned bright red with embarrassment.  “I really need to pee,” he said, a note of desperation in his voice.

Murdoch chuckled lightly, laying his hand on Scott’s thigh.   “Well, that I think we can take care of.” 

He set the glass of water down and shook Johnny lightly.  Johnny grumbled, and Murdoch shook him again.  Johnny’s sky blue eyes opened grudgingly, finally focusing in on Murdoch and the weight of his brother upon his chest. 

“Hey, Scott” he said softly.  “How you feeling?”

“Scott has a personal problem that needs to be taken care of, with your help,” Murdoch said.  Johnny looked at Murdoch a bit confused, until Murdoch smiled at him and said, “He needs to relieve himself.” 

Johnny also chuckled at this, causing an irritated but obviously still very weak Scott to say, “I can do it myself.  Just get me a bucket.”

At this Johnny slid out from behind his brother and laid Scott back on the pillows.  “OK, Scott” Johnny said as he searched for a chamber pot in under the bed, waiving one triumphantly as dust and cobwebs flew from the vessel.  “Here’s the pot.”   

Scott lay on the bed, willing his body to obey his command to get up and take the pot, but he was unable to do anything but lift his head, and that only for a few seconds.  His brother looked at him smugly.  “Well” Johnny said, “why aren’t you getting up?”

Scott looked unpleasantly at Johnny.  “I’m working on it,” he stated flatly.  If it weren’t for the fact that he was putting all his concentration into holding his bladder, he would have said more to his smart alec brother.

“Well,” Murdoch said with amusement, “I’m sure you two young men can figure something out.  In the meantime I’ll be making some breakfast for us, and I expect the matter to be taken care of within the next ten minutes.  If you two can’t get it done by then, then you can be assured that I will see to it.”  With that, he left the room, trying very hard to hide the grin on his face.

Scott eyed Johnny warily, trying to act like it really didn’t bother him.  The truth was that his very strict puritanical upbringing by his grandfather had left Scott much too modest to deal with matters of this type.  While in prison the lack of privacy had been almost as hard to deal with for Scott as the physical aspect of his incarceration.  It was something he had never been able to overcome even though while a captive it was a daily issue.

“Come on, big brother” Johnny said sympathetically.  “You hold it anymore your going to bust open.  We didn’t sit with you for almost three days battling a fever to have you keel over because you didn’t pee.”

With that, Johnny maneuvered Scott into position and once again supporting him, assisted his brother in releasing the pressure.  Scott was so relieved from the painful build up of fluids that he sincerely thanked Johnny, albeit a bit mortified.

Scott was sitting part way up with pillows supporting his back when Murdoch returned with the breakfast tray.  He had made biscuits and fried up some salt pork, accompanied by some of Maria’s home made jam, and canned peaches.  He set the tray on the table. “I’m assuming everything has been taken care of?” he questioned, busily pouring coffee for Johnny and getting Scott some tea with sugar in it.

He handed the coffee off to Johnny and looked at him for an answer.  “Yea, we got it taken care of” Johnny smiled.

He set the sugared tea next to Scott and offered him some toast, very aware of the chagrined look on his son’s face.  “Good” was all that Murdoch replied.

Scott was able to eat the toast without assistance, but Murdoch helped him to hold the cup of tea.  He looked longingly at the coffee his brother and father were drinking and would have loved to have taken just a sip.  Murdoch noticed his desire for the strong, dark liquid and said “Maybe tomorrow, Scott.  The tea is better for you now.” 

Murdoch and Johnny ate with relish, the last few days having eaten only hard tack and jerky between snatches of sleep when not caring for Scott.  Scott was able to eat a couple of pieces of toast and drink the tea, but shortly thereafter the pillows were removed to allow him to sleep. 

“Scott” he remembered his father saying to him before he closed his eyes, “Johnny and I are going to take a bath.  We’ll get something ready for you when you wake up.”  Scott gratefully nodded his head, barely able to stand the smell of stale sweat and the sticky feel of his hair. 

------- 

Murdoch and Johnny took turns bathing and soaking in a large wooden tub that had been brought in from the storage building.  The water was hot, soothing and cleansing.  They then occupied themselves by busily putting the supplies away which had been the original intent of the trip.  They managed to clean up the cabin, stock fresh blankets, worn but clean spare clothing and assorted underwear into the chests at the end of the beds.  They fixed a light lunch of home canned vegetables and leftovers from breakfast for themselves and plied a groggy Scott with a couple of biscuits and overly sweet tea, which he hated.  He then quickly returned to sleep. 

Thus it was that later in the afternoon, after Johnny had returned from a successful trek of hunting rabbit, the delicious aroma of rabbit stew permeated the cabin.  The smell made its way into the smaller room where Scott slept.  It was this pleasant smell that woke a yet very weak but hungry Scott.  Even though his stomach still was in a bit of upheaval, he was hoping he might sample a small portion of the robust smelling stew.  The headache and severe body aches of the last three days had been reduced to niggling sensations in the background.  His ribs still protested when he moved, but wrapping them had brought great relief. 

From his bed he could see the activity in the other room and noticed Johnny filling the tub with water.  A moment later Murdoch’s large frame appeared in the doorway.  “Ready for that bath?” he asked Scott.  Scott nodded, anxious to remove his three day growth of stubble and wash his sweat-soiled body. 

“OK, Scott.  I’m going to take off these wrappings so your ribs will hurt a bit.  Don’t do anything; just let me and Johnny do it for you, OK?”  Scott nodded his head, very attentive to his father and very anxious to soak in that nice, hot tub.

His father was right.  His ribs did hurt more when they were unwrapped and he held his breath a little.  “Just relax, Scott.  I’m going to pick you up and get you into the tub,” his father said.  With that, Murdoch picked Scott up and carried him into the other room where Johnny was waiting.  To help maintain Scott’s dignity, Murdoch had placed a small throw over him before he lifted him up.  However, that had to be discarded as Murdoch, with the aid of Johnny, lowered him into the tub.

Scott’s face had turned pale and his lips were compressed, biting back the discomfort of being moved.  When he was settled in the tub, it took a minute for the pain to subside, but when it did he was in heaven.  The warm water felt so wonderful, taking away the soreness of his aching muscles. 

“OK, Scott?” Murdoch asked his son.  Scott looked up at his father, smiled, nodded and rested his head against the back of the tub.

“Trust me with a razor, brother?” Johnny glibly asked, prepared with a strait razor in one hand and shaving soap in the other, his smiling face looking down at Scott. 

“I trust you with my life, Johnny” Scott said, meaning every word, relaxed with the statement and content.

Johnny smiled, thinking back on just a few short days ago he was so angry with Scott he would have gladly paid his passage back to the east coast.  “You know, Boston,” he hesitated, “I said some things to you … well, I was pretty angry when I said them and wanted you to know I didn’t mean them.”

“Forget it, Johnny.  I said some things too that I shouldn’t have.”  Scott bowed his head and after a few moments, looked back at his brother.  He felt now was also the time to apologize to his father for his horrible behavior prior to their departure from the ranch.  He now realized how much his father cared for him, as he had proven over these past few days.  It was up to Scott to let the past die.  It did no good to dwell on something that couldn’t be changed, regardless of the circumstances.  He wanted this new life to work, and only Scott could make that happen.  There was no question that his father and brother wanted this new family also; he needed to let go of the anger.  Although he would have preferred to do this fully dressed and not quite in such a vulnerable position, the opportunity was present.  Turning his gaze to Murdoch, he paused before speaking.  “I’m very sorry, Murdoch, for how I behaved earlier, the things I said …”

“It’s ok, Scott” his father stopped him, putting his hand on Scott’s arm, remembering how he had finally realized how deeply he had hurt Scott by not contacting him sooner.  He traced his thumb along Scott’s arm, looking at his son’s face and seeing the weariness still present.  “You’re tired.  We don’t have to do this now.”

“No, we do” Scott said, determined to make amends.  “There were just so many things in the past that I didn’t want to let go of; so many disappointments.  I didn’t want to hurt you, but … well I was so angry for so long” he sighed, putting his head back and closing his eyes. 

“I’m sorry too, Scott, for not getting in touch with you sooner, for not fighting for you.  I thought Harlan could give you so much more materially than I could.  I thought that was the most important thing …. I was wrong” he said almost in a whisper, his face full of remorse as he looked at Scott.  “Forgive me.”

Something clutched at Scott’s heart, his empathetic nature wanting to take on the burden of his father’s sorrow.  Scott’s wall had been broken, and Murdoch could see that in the glisten of his eyes and the sympathy on his face.  They had fallen so easily with the right tool, honest love.  He reached out his hand and traced the outline of Scott’s cheek, cupping his chin.

“Dam, Scott,” Johnny said, “You certainly know how to pick the time.  Don’t mean to break the spell, but if the water cools off, he’s going to catch pneumonia, Murdoch” a practical and worried Johnny commented.

Both Scott and Murdoch laughed lightly, releasing the heavy feelings of guilt, remorse, anger and hurt.  They both gratefully eyed the youngest in the family, still standing with the razor and shaving soap.  “Well,” Murdoch smiled at Johnny, “we’d better get going then.”  He rose, allowing Johnny access to his brother. 

----- 

They crested the rise overlooking Lancer, Murdoch and Johnny pausing to take in the house, barn, buildings and activity of the center of the ranch.  It had been four days since Scott’s fever had broken.  During those days, Johnny and Murdoch had made repairs on the buildings, built a holding pen and finished up what they had come to do.  Murdoch had also made it quite clear to Scott that not telling them about his accident was thoroughly foolish.  He allowed that Scott may not have known how common poisonous spiders were, nor how serious, but still to go for a day in pain without revealing it was unacceptable.  Scott was properly chastised even though it was evident the lecture was intended for both sons. 

Scott was well on the way to recovery, but he still tired easily and an overall weakness seemed to linger.  He had spent the trip home lying in the back of the wagon and was in fact, in a deep sleep, not moving as the wagon lurched to a stop. 

“It’s good to be home” Johnny said sweeping his eyes over the landscape.

“Yes, it is” a contented Murdoch replied.

“Do you think we should wake him?” Johnny asked, nodding to Scott.

Murdoch looked back at his sleeping son.  “No” he said, shaking his head.  “Let him sleep.  Theresa will be fussing over him soon enough, might as well be peaceful as long as he can.”  He smiled, clicked to the horses and they started the descent into the valley.

----- 

Jelly had noticed the wagon coming down off the rise, with one man driving and who he assumed was Johnny riding the palomino.  He started walking across the paddock, concern very evident on his face for the missing man.  He didn’t know who was driving until the wagon came closer and he saw it was Murdoch.  He walked faster to greet the wagon, fearful of what may have happened to Scott.  His worry was somewhat relieved when he saw him sleeping in the back of the wagon. 

“Boss, glad you’re home” he said to Murdoch.  “Scott ok?”

“Thanks, Jelly.  It is very good to be home.  Yes, Scott’s ok, but we need to send for Sam just to check him out” came the reply.  “Send someone, will you?  I’m going to drive the wagon up to the house to get Scott out.  Come and get it and take care of the horses, ok?” Murdoch requested.

“Yes, sir.”  Jelly glanced at Johnny, obviously very curious as to what happened to Scott.  “What should we tell Dr. Jenkins happened to Scott?” 

Murdoch smiled, knowing that Jelly was worried about Scott, but too proud to ask outright, feeling it was his due to know and not have to ask.  “He banged up his ribs pretty good.  But he got bit by a poisonous spider which made him very sick” Murdoch relayed.  “I just want Sam to make sure he’s going to be ok, and how long before he’ll be back to normal.  He’s still pretty weak.”

Murdoch clicked to the horses and they started towards the house.  Jelly sent a hired hand to town to get the doctor, and quickly caught up with the men heading for the house. 

“Theresa get back yet?” Murdoch questioned Jelly.

“No, not yet.  She sent a wire that she’d be a couple more days.  Spect her home by tomorrow’s stage” Jelly said, noting that Scott hadn’t stirred.  “You sure he’s all right, boss” a frustrated Jelly asked.  “He’s not moving t’all!”

Murdoch pulled the horses up in front of the ranch house and stopped them.  “He’s just very weak, Jelly.  We were thinking of delaying coming home for a couple more days, give Scott more time to rest, but didn’t want someone to come up looking for us.  Scott said he felt good enough to travel,” Murdoch paused, eyeing his unmoving son.  “Maybe we should have waited after all,” he said worriedly.

“Scott” he said, touching his arm.  “We’re home son, you need to wake up,” he said with a louder voice when Scott didn’t respond.  He could see Scott struggling awake, a soft moan coming from his lips.  He moved his head slightly, and then seemed to settle back into slumber.  “Scott, come on son, wake up” Murdoch called, shaking Scott by the shoulder.

Confused, half closed eyes finally focused on his father. 

“Scott, we’re home.  We need to go into the house.  Can you walk on your own?” Murdoch asked.

Scott rubbed the back of his palm over his eyes, nodded his head and reached for the side of the wagon.  Johnny and Murdoch took his arms and helped him to sit up.  “I’m ok” he mumbled, finally becoming aware of where he was.  He managed to climb out of the wagon and stood for a minute with his eyes closed while lightheadedness overtook him.  After a short time, the feeling of vertigo vanished.  He looked up to find Murdoch, Johnny and Jelly staring at him.  Feeling a bit self-conscious, he pushed away from the wagon and started towards the house.  He was surprised that after only going a few steps, he was sweating and felt like he had walked for hours.  His body wavering on the portico, he felt a warm hand take his arm and help him into the house. 

“Don’t think I can carry you up the steps, Boston, but I can give you a hand” an indulgent Johnny said to him when they reached bottom of the staircase. 

“I can make it” came the reply, causing Johnny to chuckle at the words. 

“Yea, well, that’s what I thought too after I was shot, remember?   But I was on level ground when you caught me.  Why don’t we let Murdoch on one side and me on the other and that way you don’t have to worry about embarrassing yourself by falling down the steps.  Probably wouldn’t hurt your hard head, but sure would your pride.  That’s harder healing,” Johnny retorted.

The corner of Scott’s mouth turned up in a grin.  His eyes sparkled with amusement, causing Johnny’s stomach to catch with affection.  Scott nodded his head to brother and father, and they headed up the stairs to Scott’s bedroom.  Once inside the room, Scott looked at his fawning relatives and said, “I can handle it now.  Thanks.”

Obviously hesitant to leave his son alone, Murdoch said “I’ve sent for Sam.  Spider bites are very serious, Scott” Murdoch resolved to Scott’s look of dismay.  “People have been known to die from them and you were very ill.  Now, get some rest and …. Just, get some rest.  I’ll see you later.”  Murdoch looked towards his other son as he exited the room, a stare indicating it was time for Johnny to leave also.

“I’m coming Murdoch, I’m coming.”  Johnny looked at his brother, already sitting tiredly on the edge of the bed.  “Might as well get your duds off brother.  Murdoch aint gonna let go of doc comin out.”  Johnny turned back to look at Scott from the door.  “Besides, it’s probably a good idea.  Didn’t think you could get any paler, but you’re whiter than Barranca’s mane.”  He turned the knob and smiling said “See ya later,” noting the baleful glance from Scott.

------- 

“He should be ok, Murdoch, with rest” Sam Jenkins reported later that evening after examining Scott.  “He’ll tire easily, the results of the poison, may take several weeks.  Make sure that bite wound doesn’t get infected.  It looks nasty now, but keep it clean.  I’ve left some salve to put on it.  He managed to crack a couple of those ribs; they’ll be sore for a bit.  Don’t let him do any heavy stuff; probably couldn’t anyway but knowing your son he would try.  Biggest concern I had was for his liver, kidneys, those organs flushing the body of toxins.”  Sam paused to take a large sip of scotch, one of the more pleasurable “duties” as he instructed his client on the proper care of the patient.  It was a known fact that Murdoch Lancer imported the best scotch whiskey in this part of California, and Sam never turned down an offer to help keep that legend going. 

“Nothin’ wrong with his kidneys” Johnny quietly laughed, drinking his preferred tequila.  Sam threw a questioned stare at Johnny.  Johnny shrugged his shoulders and quipped, “Let’s just say I know my brother a whole lot better now than I did a week ago and leave it at that.”

“He’s lost some weight” Sam continued, eyeing Johnny with uncertainty.  “He‘s naturally lean anyway, so try to get some weight back on him.  Lots of Maria’s cooking will go a long way.”  Sam set his glass down, picked up his hat and bag and said “I’d best be going.  Have to see the Carter girl.  That little girl is as bad as your sons.  Always getting into some kind of trouble.  She was chasing her brother up a tree and fell and broke her arm.  Her father says it’s bothering her and I would bet that child has done something she shouldn’t.  But, her father will blame me for not setting it right because his little angel couldn’t do anything wrong,” Sam grumbled.

Murdoch walked his old friend to the door, putting an arm on his shoulder.  “Tell the Carter’s hello.  You tell little Amy that she can’t marry Johnny if her arm is crooked.  That will get her to behave.”  It was a well known fact, well known because Amy told everyone she knew, that she was in love with Johnny and was going to marry him when she grew up.

“Yea, Doc, you tell her if she doesn’t behave, I’m not going to talk to her at the picnic on Sunday” Johnny said. 

“Well, that will certainly help, Johnny.  I can use any ammunition I can get to make that little girl slow down.”  Sam shook Murdoch’s hand, nodded a goodbye to Johnny, and stepped into the early evening, closing the door behind him.

Murdoch and Johnny turned back into the Great Room.  Dinner was being prepared and they could smell pot roast cooking.  “I’m beat, Murdoch.  After dinner I’m taking myself off to bed.  This week feels like it’s been a month,” Johnny stated to his father.

Murdoch threw an arm around Johnny’s shoulder as they walked into the room.  “Well, I think I’ll record a few bills before dinner and then I think your idea is excellent.”  With that Murdoch headed to his large desk and Johnny went out to the barn to see if a mare had foaled yet. 

-----------

The clock struck ten as Murdoch headed upstairs to his room.  Johnny had gone to bed a couple of hours ago, looking forward to a long night’s rest.  Maria had taken a tray full of food up to Scott at dinner and disappointingly most of it had been returned.  “He was very tired, Patron” she explained to Murdoch.  “Let him get more rest and tomorrow will be better.  You’ll see.”

He stopped at Scott’s room, noting light coming from in under the door.  If he was too tired to eat much, what was he doing up now, an irritated Murdoch thought.  Well, he would certainly tell his son what was on his mind about that.  He turned the knob and walked into the bedroom.  An oil lamp burned on the night stand.  Murdoch looked towards the bed and saw his son, his eyes were closed.  He walked closer to the bed and noted that Scott was indeed sleeping very soundly, and surmised that he had fallen asleep too tired to turn out the lamp.  He stepped up to the bed, and watched his son.  He was sleeping peacefully, the even rise and fall of his chest comforting to his father.  It was as if he hadn’t suffered the horrendous pain and fever just a few days ago. 

He looked so much like his mother, Murdoch reflected.  He had never taken the time until now to see how much Scott truly resembled her.  The lamp flickered, highlighting the gold in his long lashes, the honey color of his hair, shadowing the high cheekbones and sculpted features of his face.  Indeed, he thought, Scott is as beautiful as Catherine was, although he would never dare to use that term out loud to describe him. 

He brought his hand up to the crown of Scott’s head, settling on the silkiness of his hair.  Murdoch’s hand traced down to Scott’s cheek and lingered, testing for fever, he told himself.  He smiled then, knowing truthfully that he wanted to touch him.  Murdoch wanted to hold him, but knew not only would it wake Scott, but his son would disapprove to say the least.

Murdoch walked over to the lamp and turned it down, a dim glow just hushing the darkness.  He glanced once more at the sleeping figure of his son and went to his room to sleep.  Much had been let go in this week, this endless week, and he knew he would slumber peacefully tonight.

 

~end~

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