Letting it Stand Chapter Eight

 Letting it Stand

Chapter Eight

 

Scott hefted the last sack of feed onto a packed wagon bed, the third wagon of the morning, thumping it a few times to wedge it in before throwing his weight against the tailgate to bolt it shut. Yelling to Manny that the last one was ready to go, he walked into the barn, tossing his gloves on the chest of drawers by the door. Hard work could sure bring up a sweat, even when the sky was gunmetal grey and the breeze made the loose hay dance in circles around the entrance. Picking up a towel, he mopped his face and the back of his neck, refusing to glance again at the palomino’s empty stall at the back of the barn, a stall that had been empty since before he and Murdoch woke up.

 

Johnny had no plans to leave—that was what he said last night. So, where the devil had he gone before dawn?

 

“I know it might not be hot today, but I brought you some lemonade.”

 

Teresa stopped at the barn entrance, holding a glass in one hand while a runaway ginger kitten squirmed in the other. Throwing the towel over his shoulder, he rescued the drink as she crouched to release the cat. “Teresa, your timing is impeccable.” He raised the glass in her direction and took a long sip. It hit the spot. “When did you get back?”

 

“About an hour ago.”

 

She hadn’t come home for breakfast, probably Murdoch’s way of keeping a lid on things until he could broker some peace between Johnny and Teresa. An unnecessary precaution, it turned out, thanks to Johnny’s disappearing act.

 

“Well, we missed you.”

 

Teresa was playing with the kitten, pulling a piece of hay along the ground while the kitten pounced and pawed at it. She looked up when he said that, rolling her eyes, but smiling all the same. “Don’t be silly. I was only gone one night.”

 

“I know. But it felt like longer. Between you and me, there’s only so much of Murdoch’s cooking I can take. His eggs were on the rubbery side this morning.”

 

Not that he’d voiced that complaint, given Murdoch’s mood. He’d tried reassuring Murdoch that Johnny had said he was signing the agreement, but received only a look of stern scepticism in return. Reassurances didn’t hold much weight when Johnny wasn’t there and they had no idea where he’d gone. Johnny was clearly having more doubts than he’d let on.        

   

“I think Murdoch’s quite a good cook. Better than my daddy was. Now he could burn water.” She straightened up, and the kitten scampered back to its littermates.

 

He finished the lemonade and set the glass down. “Is Manny out there? He’s supposed to be taking this wagon.”

 

“I think so. He was over—” She peered out of the barn, only to duck straight back in, her face blanching as she pressed herself out of sight behind the door. What had gotten into her? He crooked an eyebrow. Maybe Johnny had come back—only she wouldn’t hide from him. Heck, it was more likely she’d go out there and give him a piece of her mind.

 

“Scott.” Manny nodded in greeting as he came over to collect the wagon, and the reason for a wide-eyed Teresa jamming her finger to her lips in a ‘ssh’ gesture became apparent when Diego came with him, the young man raking a hand through his shaggy dark hair.

 

“Diego.” Scott blocked the barn entrance, greeting Cipriano’s nephew with a smile. No matter what Johnny thought, Diego was a decent young man. He helped on the ranch now and then, was a hard worker and respectful.

 

“Señor Scott. You are well?” From the way Diego’s gaze roamed over Scott’s shoulder, he was searching for something, or someone, else.

 

“I am.” As Manny started off with the wagon, Diego shifted over to peer around Scott into the barn. Well, he’d take pity on the young man even if Johnny wouldn’t. “Are you looking for Teresa?”

 

“Sí.” The young man frowned. “She was muy desolada yesterday. I come to see if she is okay. Señor Lancer say she is not in the house. Tía say she came out here. You know where she is?” 

 

“Well, it seems to me I’ve seen her somewhere around here. I could’ve sworn she was—” An urgent poke in his side from behind the barn door gave him pause, and he had to bite back a grin. “I’m sure I saw her headed back to the house a short while ago.”

 

Diego scratched his head. “Ah, well. I do some work for Tía now. Maybe later I find Teresa.” He jammed his hat back on his hat. “Gracias. Adios.”

 

“Adios, Diego.” 

 

Scott leaned against the door. Waited until Manny had driven off in the wagon and Diego was almost at the hacienda before taking a step backwards into the barn. Teresa lifted her head from her hands with flushed cheeks and downcast eyes. This wasn’t the spirited Teresa he knew.

 

“Teresa,” he said gently. “You don’t need to hide.”

 

She shook her head, eyes brimming with held back tears. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, look at me.” She reluctantly met his gaze. “Johnny was out of line, but that doesn’t change how Diego sees you. If anything, it shows Diego you’re strong enough to handle Johnny’s… nonsense.”

 

Teresa let out a shaky breath. “Does the whole ranch know what happened yesterday?”

 

“No. Just me, Murdoch and Johnny, as far as I’m aware.”

 

“Murdoch told you what Johnny said, then? How he made out Diego wasn’t acting properly towards me when he was. We’re friends. Nothing more. Diego must think I’m so immature.”

 

“I doubt that. He came here worried about you, didn’t he?”

 

She sniffled. “I guess so.”

 

“There you go.” He gave her shoulder a shake. “Besides, if Johnny didn’t scare Diego off, then he’s definitely a friend worth your time. Give him a chance to show you that.”

 

That got her shoulders straightening up. “Diego’s not easily scared. It’d take more than Johnny in one of his moods.” She seemed to pull herself together. “Maybe you’re right.”

 

“You know I am. And if Johnny tries anything like that again, he’ll have to answer to me.”

 

There was the ghost of a smile on her face as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “You sound like a proper big brother.”

 

“I’ve been practising.”

 

She laughed, the tension in her shoulders easing. “Thank you.” She pushed off the barn wall, but frown lines appeared on her forehead. “Did you know Murdoch told me off this morning for leaving Johnny by the roadside? He said, ‘Two wrongs don’t make a right’ and next time I’m to hold my tongue and not kick Johnny off the buckboard until we’ve at least reached the Lancer archway. Can you believe that?”  

 

“Yes, I can believe that.” He grinned. Murdoch was the type of man to consider all points of view in an argument.

 

“Not that there’ll ever be a next time, because I don’t intend to go to town with Johnny ever again.”

 

Ah, there was that spirit he recognised.

 

“That might be best. For a while at least.” He swapped the towel for his gloves, tucking them in his pocket. “I’m headed back inside. Are you coming? Diego’s helping María—you could talk to him?”   

 

“Well, I was going to check on Marigold…”

 

“You do that then.” He picked up his empty glass. “I’m going to check on Murdoch.”

 

 

He found his father seated, staring out the large window behind his desk, fingers tapping on the armrest in time with each tick of the clock. Wherever Murdoch’s mind had gone, he was lost there. Only when Scott dragged a chair over did Murdoch pull himself out of it, glancing over his shoulder before easing his chair back around.

 

“Johnny’s not back,” Murdoch said. It was a statement, not a question. They both glanced at the clock, and Scott shook his head as he sat down. What the hell was Johnny playing at, and why didn’t Murdoch look surprised?

 

“I take it this isn’t how you envisaged it, sir? Having us home, I mean.”

 

Murdoch reached for his coffee cup with a thoughtful expression on his face. It took a long time for him to answer. “In truth, Scott, I don’t know what I envisaged. After a while, I guess I’d stopped dealing in what ifs or maybes.” He took a sip, eyebrows pulling together in a frown like the drink was colder than expected. Just how long had Murdoch been staring out of that window? The cup rattled back on the saucer. “I can’t imagine this is the way you expected it to be, either.” 

 

That was an understatement. He’d been warned he’d find a dour, stubborn man with an indecipherable accent living a solitary existence in desolation and dust. Grandfather hadn’t pulled punches with his description of Murdoch or Lancer. Turns out he was only right about the stubbornness and the dust.

 

“Did I say something amusing, son?”

 

Darn. He schooled his expression before meeting Murdoch’s enquiring gaze. “No, I was just thinking the same thing. I gained a brother and a sort of sister in a matter of weeks. They certainly liven things up.”

 

Murdoch snorted softly at that. “I suppose I should’ve asked you how you felt before having Teresa here, only it all happened so fast; Paul being killed and Teresa moving in. I was in a bad way. You were in Mexico. There was no one other than María and Cipriano to reassure Teresa, and no one knew the longstanding agreement between Paul and me as to her guardianship. Bringing her to live with me, reassuring her she was part of the family while the man who’d murdered her father was still out there…”

 

“You had a longstanding arrangement with Paul. Why would I object?”

 

“Still. I suppose it was a surprise to come home from Mexico and find her occupying the bedroom a few doors along.”

 

Scott grinned. “It was more of a shock to learn she didn’t know how to knock before entering a room.” At Murdoch’s concerned expression, he added. “Something we resolved before any improprieties occurred, sir.”

 

“Hmmm.” Murdoch sat back in the chair, steepling his fingers over his belly. “I suppose I should have considered how things would work with Johnny and Teresa, too, but I didn’t. I thought they were getting on in the beginning, but clearly, I was mistaken. Although I can’t help but wonder if Johnny was being entirely truthful with the reasons for his behaviour yesterday.” 

 

So Murdoch had suspicions, too. “I wondered that myself, but maybe it was as he said. Teresa’s not afraid to stand up to Johnny and she can be wise beyond her years—we’ve seen plenty of that. What we’ve seen little of is her acting like I imagine sixteen-year-old girls might when they think they’re in love. Johnny wouldn’t know how to handle that. Frankly, I’m not sure I do either.”

 

“I think we’ll be relying on Aggie’s advice to see us through.” Murdoch sighed. “Did Diego find her this morning?”

 

“No, because she’s trying her best to avoid him.” He tilted his head towards the barn. “Not that she needs to. I tried telling her that Johnny couldn’t have scared him off that much if he’s ridden out here today.”

 

Murdoch huffed. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Diego knew Johnny wouldn’t be here because he saw him looking pretty settled in the Morro Coyo saloon. It seems your brother would rather take off and spend the day drinking, rather than sign the partnership agreement with his family.”

 

What? He glanced at the clock again. They both did. If they were to make it to Green River, they’d have to leave in a few minutes. “You know, there’s every chance Johnny’s planning on meeting us there…”

 

“No.” Murdoch sounded resigned. “There are several saloons in Green River, and your brother knows that. Don’t you think if he had any intention of signing the partnership agreement, he’d be drinking in one of those instead?” He shook his head. “I’ll send a hand into town to tell Randolph we won’t be there.” He pushed up from the desk and walked to a door, pausing as he grasped the handle. “I knew last night that he’d changed his mind, not that he admitted to it. He was cagey, and when I pushed, he walked out mid-conversation. He seems to think we’re rushing it, suddenly. I asked him outright if he changed his mind, so it appears he’s lied to my face.”

 

Not only their father’s face, perhaps. Damn it, Johnny!

 

The handle turned with a squeak. “Your brother’s made a decision, Scott. He’s just neglected to tell the rest of us.”

 

******

 

Determined to get some answers out of Johnny, Scott was almost at town when a burst of gunfire shattered the afternoon silence, sending birds into panicked flight over Morro Coyo. He spurred his horse, trying to quell the unease in his gut. Unease that didn’t need the encouragement of gunfire. Maybe Johnny was just having a drink in the saloon while thinking things over. Maybe he had left for Green River. Scott’s hope dissolved when he saw Johnny’s saddled palomino tied to the first hitching rail. Damn.

 

Barranca was jittery, possibly why Johnny had left him here rather than in the bustling centre of town. Strange he hadn’t used the livery, though.

 

More gunshots. Barranca jerked and snorted. Shouts and screams erupted, doors and shutters slammed shut. Leaving his horse hitched, Scott drew his gun and, keeping low, rounded the corner where gunfire came from.

 

A thick haze of gun smoke lingered on the deserted street. Baldemero’s store windows had been shattered. A man lay out front, twitching, dying on a bed of broken glass. No sign of the other shooter. Edging forward, Scott peeled the gun from the man’s fingers just as his round cheeks puffed out one last exhale. Bloodstained shards crunched beneath Scott’s boots. More shots rang out, ricocheting off buildings across the street. Baldemero seized Scott’s arm and yanked him through the open door.

 

“Señor, señor.” Baldemero had fallen to his hands and knees, breathless, sweat glistening on his skin.  

 

Scott scanned him. “You okay?”

 

“Sí. I am unhurt. But your hermano…”

 

“Johnny’s hurt?” Scott scooted to the window, splinters of broken glass gouging the wooden floor.

 

“He’s the one who shot out my windows!”

 

“Who was shooting at him?”

 

“Pistoleros, señor. Five or six men.”

 

“Frank!” Johnny’s voice, cold and angry, echoed through the street as the smoke cleared. Scott swallowed hard, the dry air of the store scratching his throat. Was this the same kind of gunfight he’d seen Johnny in before—where words flew quicker than bullets? Only there was no swagger about Johnny this time, no crooked grin, no showing off. As soon as ‘Frank’ showed his face, Johnny took his shot as gunfire erupted from everywhere.

 

He glimpsed Johnny through the smoke—a flash of red diving behind a low stone wall. The man Johnny shot was still alive, screaming orders, his left hand clawing at a broken and bloody shoulder. He lurched around a building, out of sight.

 

Shit.

 

Gun in hand, Scott slipped out of the store and darted for cover, his heart a drum in his chest as he headed for Johnny.

 

******

 

Madre de Dios. Johnny threw his arms up to protect his face as gunfire cut up the surrounding bricks. Damn Frank for bringing more men. This was like that darn canyon near Mama’s village all over again. He’d surrendered to the rurales then, but no way in hell would he surrender to Frank Evers and his gang of no-accounts. Outnumbered, sure, but he’d faced worse odds and lived to kill another day. He’d hit Frank but hadn’t damn well killed him, judging by the blood smear along the wall. Boy, Frank’d be smarting now, not just from a bullet wound, but because Johnny was still fighting.

 

So far.

 

The stink of gunpowder and horseshit stuffed up his nose and coated the back of his throat. The horses in the livery were making a ruckus; hooves kicking the stall doors. Sweat was stinging his eyes, making it hard to see, but at least his fingers were steady. This might be walking a knife’s edge with death, but, Dios, he felt more alive than he had for weeks. He turned, fired off a few shots, and ducked as the answering round smashed into the stones above, showering more brick dust over his head.

 

Two, maybe three, of Frank’s men were dead, sprawled in the dirt with blood pooling beneath them. No one Johnny recognised; stragglers from the job up north. Ed Rollins was dead outside Baldemero’s store, so the odds were evening out. 

 

He dragged his sleeve across his eyes to get rid of the dust. With another six beans in the wheel, he darted out, fanning the hammer and shooting. Glass shattered. Gunsmoke swirled. Goddamnit. Frank’s men were everywhere. One man staggered through the cantina doorway, blood spurting from his neck, another dropped to his knees, spitting curses with his blood. Shots came from behind. But not at him. Past him. A third man toppled off a charging horse right behind Johnny, his skull cracking against a rock. Holy shit. Johnny darted between archways, heart pounding so damn hard he felt it in his back against the stucco wall. Someone threw themselves against the wall beside him. What the—? He threw a frustrated look towards the sky, every damn cuss word he knew trying to get out at once.

 

“Goddamnit, Scott. You shouldn’t be here.”

 

“No. I should be in Green River. With you.” Scott reloaded his gun, breathing hard. “You know, most people go looking for peace and quiet if they’ve got some thinking to do.”

 

“Yeah, well, I ain’t most people.” Johnny’s fingers pushed bullets into the chamber of his Colt.

 

Scott snorted. “I make it six bodies out there. How many were there?”

 

“More than I counted on.” Johnny snapped the chamber shut. “Two left, but I dunno where. One of ‘em I shot, but…”

 

“But what?”

 

“But he ain’t dead and he needs to be.”

 

Another round of gunfire. A bullet splintered a beam near Scott’s head, and he flinched. “Well, two against two is better odds than eight to one.”

 

“It’s not two against two, ‘cause you’re staying out of it.”

 

“Madrid!” Cody’s shout came from the cantina, lifting above the echo of gunfire. “Let’s talk, huh? This is between you and Frank, not me.” 

 

“That’s why you’ve been trying to kill me for the last few minutes,” Johnny muttered. He risked a quick look around the wall. Couldn’t see Cody. He turned to Scott. “I need to finish this.”

 

Scott rolled his eyes. “Something tells me you don’t mean to finish it with a conversation.”

 

“Frank’s problem ain’t with you,” Cody yelled. “Not now he knows the truth!”

 

Aw, hell. He could almost see Scott’s ears prick up.

 

“What’s he talking about? Who’s Frank?” 

 

“He’s trouble. Stay out of sight. I’ll explain later.”

 

Cody’s voice rang out again. “An eye for an eye. That’s all he wants. Let him fight it out with Lancer, and me and you, we’ll walk away!”

 

“Lancer?” Scott grabbed his arm, gripping tight. “Explain now, brother. Make it good and make it quick.”

 

Dammit! He took a breath. Looked from Scott’s fingers down to his gun. “Frank’s after the man who killed Pardee. They figured it was me. Now they know it was you.”

 

Shit. All them puzzle pieces were falling into place for Scott. Johnny was gonna get a dead arm in a second. Cursing under his breath, Scott released him with a shove. “You knew about this, didn’t you? Damn you, Johnny. I ought to—” 

 

“Don’t interfere,” he snapped out. Whatever Scott ought to do would have to wait. He peeked around the corner again. “You ain’t walking away from this, Cody. It’s too late for that now!” A bullet whizzed past his ear, and he yanked his head back, heart in his throat. Shook Scott off again. He had to make a move fast. “Stay here.” He threw himself into space, rolling in the dust and coming up shooting, diving behind a water trough just as return fire peppered the ground. Dios. White hot pain flared in his shoulder. He bit back a yell.

 

The gunfire paused, but his damn blood was louder, his pulse pounding in his ears. He reloaded but his fingers fumbled, slick with sweat. Blood raced down his arm. “Come on, come on,” he muttered. He slammed the chamber shut just as Cody stumbled through the cantina doorway, arm tight around a young woman’s neck. Pistol at her temple. Her eyes were wide with terror, a thin line of blood trickling from her lip. 

 

“Figured you might say that, Madrid. So I got me a little insurance pol—”

 

Johnny’s bullet hit Cody dead centre of the forehead. Cody’s arm went slack around the girl before his pistol hit the ground. She screamed; a high-pitched, gut-wrenching sound. He turned to Scott. More gunshots came, and something heavy slammed into him from above, knocking him down. What the hell? He’d felt a bullet whizz past his ear, but he wasn’t hit. No burning sensation. No lick of fire under his skin. Just heavy dead weight on his back. He fought against it. His fingers scrabbled in the dirt as he tried to throw it off. 

 

Face down and winded, chest bursting, he sucked in a greedy breath, only to inhale a mouthful of street dirt. Spluttering, he struggled out from under a body. Frank’s body. Dios. He rolled onto his back, squinting at the hazy sky. The girl was still screaming.

 

Scott was striding over, but unless Johnny was seeing double, someone behind Scott was dragging themselves up from the ground, raising their arm to shoot.

 

“Scott, look out!” Johnny fired. The girl’s screams turned into choking sobs, and Frank’s last surviving man crumpled face-first into the dirt.

 

Jesus, that was close. He flopped back on the ground, his ears ringing like someone was yanking the rope of that big ol’ bell on the church roof.

 

“Thanks.” Scott offered a hand to pull him up.

 

“Thanks to you, too. That was good shooting. Again.” On his feet, he spat at the ground; dirt and blood in his mouth.

 

Folk had come out for the sobbing girl. He recognised her now as the young waitress from señora Mendez’s café. The señora was outside, clutching the girl, crying “¡Gracias a Dios!” into her hair.

 

Scott moved to stand over Frank’s body. “Seems to me an awful lot of backshooting goes on out here. This one was trying to shoot you from up there.” He pointed to a balcony. “Isn’t he the one you shot earlier? You know who he was?”

 

“Yeah, I know who he was.” Johnny grabbed a handful of Frank Evers’ jacket and flipped him over, so his lifeless eyes stared at the sky. “This here’s Frank Evers: top gun, back shooter and cousin to Day Pardee.”

 

Scott glanced at the body. “The pleasure’s all mine. And the others?”

 

“Gunfighters. Some of ‘em rode with Frank. That there’s Matt Cody: not so much of a top gun, but good enough to get by.”

 

“Until today.” Scott’s gaze roamed the street and, blazes, Johnny could guess his brother’s thoughts. The town looked like a damn battlefield, smoke drifting in lazy layers above broken bodies, bleeding into the dirt. Scott’s gaze landed on each of the dead men. The colour had drained from his face. “Holy shit, Johnny,” he murmured, hands resting on his hips as he shook his head. 

 

“Yeah. Holy shit,” Johnny agreed, but he sure didn’t feel like Scott looked. Scott’s expression was grim and weary like the weight of the dead was pressing him down, but the zing of the gunfight still rushed through his own blood, and his fingers twitched, ready to fan the hammer and squeeze the trigger of a gun that wasn’t even in his hand no more. Dios. He’d missed this feeling. It sure didn’t come from no ranch chores.

 

Around them, more doors were creaking open, with cautious faces peeking out. People emerged, whispering. Scott sighed. “You okay? Your shoulder’s bleeding.”

 

Johnny nodded, wiping sweat and dust from his face. “Just a scratch.”

 

“Let’s go fetch the undertaker, then.”

 

 

An hour later and the last of the bodies was being loaded onto a wagon. The sun had finally decided to come out, and it was sitting low on top of the buildings, throwing shadow over the overturned barrels, the bullet holes in plaster, and the scuff marks in the dirt from dragging dead men away. Baldermero swept up the broken glass outside his store. Ed Rollins’ battered, wide-brimmed hat lay forgotten in the dust.

 

Johnny sat outside the café, his right hand inside his shirt, holding a wad of cotton against the bleeding graze on his shoulder. Señora Mendez pushed a strand of black hair behind her ear and tutted to herself as she picked up a fallen chair.

 

“Let me help you with that.” Johnny went to rise, but the señora clicked her fingers and pointed back to the chair.

 

“¿Quieres que deje de sangrar o no?”

 

Yeah, he wanted to stop bleeding. He slumped back into the chair, leaning his head against the cold wall as he reapplied pressure to the wound. The rush from the gunfight had faded now and between his throbbing shoulder and the aches and pains from Frank’s body clobbering him, he was tired and sore. “She doing okay?” He could see the waitress through the doorway, and women gathered around. A bottle of tequila stood in front of her, and she’d gotten back the colour in her cheeks.  

 

“Sí.” Señora Mendez smiled, then pointed to the glasses of water she’d placed on the table. “Drink.”

 

Scott was coming out of Baldemero’s store. The storekeeper held a broom to his chest, shaking his head when he saw Johnny. Well, Baldemero hadn’t liked him before today, so no loss if he disliked him more. He’d tried apologising to the man for shooting out his windows, but Baldemero didn’t wanna know, and Johnny wasn’t about to lose sleep over it. He’d been through all this before. A hero to some, a black-hearted killer to others. The weight of their stares slid right off his back. They’d make their minds up about who was to blame for what happened here. 

 

“They had a few dollars between them. Enough to pay for the buryin’.” He got up and handed Scott the second glass of water as the señora returned inside.

 

“And the damage to the town?”

 

He shrugged. “Probably not enough for that.”

 

“Thought as much. I told Baldermero that Lancer will cover it.”

 

Oh boy, Murdoch was gonna pitch a fit. Although, paying for damages was likely to be the least of his complaints.

 

Taking the water, Scott took a long drink. Once done, he stared into the glass before looking up. “You knew this would happen today.” He nodded toward the street.

 

Johnny shifted his weight, leaning against the post. “I knew there was a chance. I didn’t know for sure.” He tried holding Scott’s gaze, but it was tricky. He’d been pretty darn certain there would be gunplay today, just not this much. Damn. He leaned a little heavier against the post. How was he still pretty much in one piece? Maybe he wouldn’t be if Scott hadn’t turned up when he did. 

 

“You knew you wouldn’t sign the partnership agreement.”

 

“I wanted to. I told you to remember that.”

 

Scott snorted, a wry smile tugging at his lips. Johnny knew damn well his brother didn’t find this funny.

 

“And Teresa?”

 

“Needed to get her outta town quick. It wasn’t safe.” 

 

“Right.” Scott put the glass down and reset the hat on his head. He might look calm, but fire burned in those usually cool eyes of his, even if he was trying to quench it. “There’s more to sort out here, so I’m going to stay and take care of it. You can tell Murdoch I’ll be back in the morning.” He stepped down from the café portico, grasping the railing, only to spin back around. “How do you do it?” he growled. “Convince yourself you’re invincible, even after everything?”

 

Dammit. The fire in Scott’s eyes was winning. Johnny glanced around to see who might overhear this. Baldermero had gone back inside, and the señora was fussing over the girl again, but they were attracting a few nosy glances from other townsfolk. “I don’t think I’m invincible, Scott.”

 

“You could’ve died today, and we wouldn’t have known you were in trouble.” He jabbed Johnny’s uninjured shoulder with his finger. “And if Frank came after me then? I’d be a prime target without a clue.”

 

“Look. I thought about that. That’s why—”

 

“No.” Scott held a hand up. “Just… save it, Johnny.” He let his hand fall to his side and turned his head away. “Go explain to Murdoch before he hears about this from someone else.”

 

Aw, hell. That was the last thing he wanted to do. His gut twisted up at the thought. “Any ideas how I go ‘bout doing that?”

 

Scott rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. But this is your mess to clear up, so be damn well honest with him for once.” He went to move off. “A word of warning though, brother. You wanted to see how far you could push Murdoch before he snaps? This might be the time you find out.”

 

Dios. It was a lonely feeling watching his brother walk away, the tension in his body winding tighter with every step his brother took. Dammit, Scott was right—this was his mess to clean up—only he could count on one hand the number of times he’d had to answer for his actions in the last four years. An upside of being Johnny Madrid was that he didn’t have to explain a darn thing to anyone unless he felt like it. Or unless the person asking was someone he cared about or respected, and sometimes not even then. He closed his eyes and rolled his shoulder, wincing at the ache. He didn’t know Murdoch well enough to predict his exact reaction, but he had an idea that Scott’s warning was a fair one.

 

***TBC***