Letting it Stand Chapter Five

 Letting it Stand 

Chapter Five 

 

“If you don’t mind me saying Murdoch, you look exhausted.” Sam thumped the medical bag down on the table and narrowed his eyes, peering over the rim of his spectacles. “And I was the one up all night delivering a baby.”  

He grunted his agreement. His reflection in the shaving mirror had already confirmed he looked worse than his sons did yesterday, and he couldn’t blame it on an evening out. Despite his tired body, the reawakened parent inside him had been too angry to sleep. What had Johnny been thinking—telling a girl who’d not long lost her father, who thought her mother resting in the ground—that she was going to be alone for the rest of her life? Pausing outside Johnny’s door at midnight, he’d had to resist the temptation to drag him out of bed to apologise to Teresa.  

But that was when his anger had been as fresh as Teresa’s tears down his shirtfront. As the hours ticked by and his bedsheets grew more rumpled and twisted, the tight knot in his belly had unravelled. In this morning’s grey gloom, he felt drained. His insides left in a muddle of how-the-devil-was-he-supposed-to-handle-this? 

He sighed. “What’s the verdict on Johnny?” 

“Well, I’m pleased to say that’s one stubborn patient off my hands. Two, if you’re ready to give me my stick back.” Sam sounded too cheerful for this hour of the morning, even over the noise of the work crews riding out close to the French doors.  

“Take it.” The cane had remained propped by the fireplace for the past few weeks. “You gave him a clean bill of health, then?” Sam’s arrival at breakfast time had taken them by surprise, but it had been a welcome interruption to the tension at the table. There had been no jostling between Johnny and Scott to be first into the kitchen. After their disastrous conversation about his education, Johnny wasn’t looking his way at all. And Teresa, well, she didn’t stop looking his way—her gaze reminding him of his promise not to say anything to Johnny for fear of making things worse.   

“Let’s say clean enough, but he should exercise some caution.” Sam fiddled with the clasp of his bag. “He has healed remarkably quickly; I’ll give him that. But to hear Johnny tell it, his back feels as good as it did before Pardee put a bullet in it.”  

“But you don’t believe he’s being honest.”   

“Oh, I’m fully aware he isn’t, and so is he now.” Sam’s smile was wry. “I waited for him to be distracted, and then I poked him in the sore spot. He shot about a foot in the air.”  

What? Sam was damn lucky Johnny didn’t shoot him. “There’s that bedside manner we’re so fond of, Sam.” 

“Well, it proved a point. Johnny’s learned I’m nobody’s fool, and I’ve learned a few new cuss words in Spanish.” The doctor chuckled. “In all seriousness though, Murdoch, it can’t have been easy keeping him off a horse, so you’ll be pleased to know he’s free to ride without restrictions.” 

He ground his back teeth. “Nothing about Johnny is easy. Is he coming downstairs?”  

“You haven’t seen him? He left the room before I did.”  

“Tu café, Patrón.” Maria brought the coffee pot and cups on a silver tray.  

“Gracias, Marìa. Johnny pasò por la cocina?”  

“Sí Patrón. Bajó las escaleras traseras y salió por la puerta trasera hace unos minutos.”   

Sometimes he regretted having two staircases in the house. It was probably unrealistic to hope that Johnny’s swift exit out of the back door was to enquire about his assigned work for the day.  

“Coffee, Sam?” 

“I need something to keep me awake for the drive home.” 

“You’re welcome to make use of a guest room and drive home once rested. I’d also appreciate you looking at Ralph’s ankle. He twisted it Friday and I’m told it’s still swollen.”  

“I’ll check it, then be on my way.”  

Sam didn’t need an invitation to sit, nor did he wait for one. As his friend settled on the couch, Murdoch reclaimed his armchair from the night before, Teresa’s discarded blanket still draped across the arm.  

“I’m wondering if I’m being premature offloading you as a patient, my friend.”  

Maria was stoking up the fire for them, and the coffee tasted stronger than usual.  

“I’m not ill, Sam, although Johnny and Teresa’s bickering might drive me into an early grave.” 

“Ah.” Sam balanced the cup and saucer on his knee. “That bad is it?” 

He stretched out his legs. “Bad enough.”   

“I’m not the one to give advice on this, Murdoch.” The doctor’s expression was… sheepish? Unusual for Sam. Murdoch leaned in closer. “You’ll remember when William returned for those few months? Emily was still living at home, and, Lord, you’d think they were strangers rather than brother and sister—full-grown ones at that. They bickered. They sniped. He sulked, she sulked.” Sam grimaced. “In the end, I used to leave dear Mary to deal with them by pretending to call on patients, just to get some peace.” Sam sighed at the memory. “I thought myself clever until Mary would see people in the street and ask after so-and-so’s broken arm or irritating cough, and they’d reply they’d had no such affliction. It didn’t take her long to put the pieces together. You can guess who was bickering and sulking then.” 

“Oh, Sam.” Their chuckles rattled the coffee cups in their saucers, so they plucked them from their knees. Unfortunately, he had no ‘dear Mary’ to fall back on—only Scott—and his son would not appreciate any comparison there! But siblings fought, using fists sometimes—his gaze dropped to a faded scar on his hand—so why wouldn’t a twenty-year-old gunfighter and a teenage girl, who were strangers several weeks ago, struggle to get along?  

 

By the hands on the long clock and the heat coming from the fireplace, he and Sam must’ve sat there putting the world to rights for at least an hour.  Maybe more? Not bad for two not-so-old men running on little sleep. Sam had gone to the bunkhouse several minutes ago to check Ralph’s ankle, and when returning the empty coffee pot, Murdoch found the kitchen deserted but clean. Maria would return later, but Teresa should be around. She’d left a supply list on the table, too short to be complete, and he picked up her blunt pencil. He took it back to his desk where he had a penknife… but what on earth was going on outside? He flung a door open, expecting the rush of cold air, but taken aback by the warmth of the enthusiastic cheering. 

Stepping off the patio, he walked until the corral was in view. The ranch hands and vaqueros assigned to work around the hacienda were decidedly not working, and neither his sons nor his ward were where he expected them to be. Scott should be out with the field crew, but was leaning against the corral with his arms crossed on the top rung of the fence. Teresa was sitting on top of it, wearing jeans, her ponytail whipping about. As for Johnny, well, he could only be the blur in the saddle of a fast-bucking palomino horse. Oh, this younger son of his had enough sand for a desert. He couldn’t wait one moment more to break the animal? If Sam saw this, Sam would need medical attention himself! 

The horse was charging around the corral, kicking up dust for the wind to juggle as it jumped and reared, its snorts and neighs loud between cheers of encouragement. One thing was clear—Johnny had done this before—because no matter how many times the horse bucked or twisted, he shifted his weight and hung on. Cocky now, one hand raised in the air.       

“You’re stood watching this, man? Good God.” He realised he had been smiling only when it faded from his lips. Sam had finished in the bunkhouse. “When I told Johnny he was free to ride with no restrictions, it didn’t occur to me that the first thing he’d do was break horses!”  

Murdoch straightened up, hooking his thumbs beneath his belt, the sides of his vest flapping in the breeze. “It’ll just be the one horse. Johnny’s been working that palomino for a while.”  

“It’s one too many. Exercise some caution, I said. I don’t know why I waste my breath on you Lancers.” 

“Because I pay your invoices on time and you enjoy my scotch?” 

“It won’t be amusing if he falls, Murdoch.”  

“He’s not falling off, Sam.” And he wasn’t at that. Look at him go! Murdoch’s smile must have bloomed again because he was getting an ache in his cheeks. Leaving his friend to his mutterings, he closed his distance to the corral, his footfall cushioned by soft grass that rippled in the brisk wind. The horse slowed down, the battle won, and Johnny pulled up in front of Scott and Teresa.  

“Good, Johnny. You broke him. That was wonderful!” Amid the excitement, Teresa seemed to have forgotten she was upset with Johnny. A wagon piled high with hay afforded him cover to watch and listen, and their voices carried this way.  

“That was impressive, brother. You mind if I…?”  

Scott had climbed the fence, and Johnny was grinning as he handed over the reins of the breathless palomino. “Sure, just go easy on my horse, huh?” 

The grin Johnny got in return was devilish, and then Scott took the palomino on a fast circuit of the corral before sailing over the fence, causing two of the observing vaqueros to dive out of the way.  

Johnny let out a whistle of appreciation. “Yep, he sure can ride.” 

“You both can.” Teresa was scooting closer to Johnny along the fence. “I wish Murdoch could have seen you breaking the horse.” 

“I saw.” He stepped around the wagon and joined them. “And I’m impressed. You looked like you’ve done that before?”   

Johnny eyed him—one day his son would stop viewing every question as a trap—then gave an uneasy shrug. “Oh… well… I’ve done a bit of bronc-bustin’ in my time. Between other things, y’know.” With a flicker of a smile, Johnny’s attention returned to Scott, lining up another jump.    

Teresa swept stray hair from her face. “Have you seen Scott ride like this before, Johnny?”  

“Yeah, in Mexico.” Johnny pushed his hat back. “It sure shocked me the first time, I tell ya. I didn’t know ‘bout the cavalry unit then, didn’t even know he’d been a soldier. I thought most soldiers were s’posed to follow orders, but he sure hadn’t done a thing I told him up to that point.” His eyes tracked his brother as he launched the horse over a hay wagon. “Or since.” He gave a low chuckle. “Guess we’re alike in that way.”  

“It’s an older brother’s prerogative not to take orders from a younger brother.” Murdoch had a wealth of experience on that score; he rubbed at the scar on his hand.   

Scott had brought the horse back around and he stopped in front of them, the palomino snorting and tossing its head. Jumping down, Scott handed the reins to Johnny. “I didn’t know you were out here, Murdoch.” 

Murdoch folded his arms. “Hmm. None of you are where I expected you to be, either.” 

Scott pressed his lips together, trying to appear regretful when he wasn’t. “Well, sir, I was about to head out with the field crew when I realised Johnny might need some… supervising.”  

Murdoch glanced at Johnny, who was grinning at his brother. “I see. And you two?” That wiped away Johnny’s grin, and when he turned to Teresa, she was climbing down from the fence.  

“Actually, Murdoch, as Scott’s still around, could he take me to Morro Coyo? I have a list as long as my arm for Don Baldemero, and I need to give señora Vega the baby blanket I knitted for her granddaughter.”   

Ah, señora Vega—she would be Diego’s widowed mother. He narrowed his eyes at Teresa. “It didn’t look like a long list when I saw it in the kitchen?” 

“It’s long in my head, Murdoch. I just haven’t finished writing it out yet. So, will you take me, Scott?” 

“I’ll take ya, Teresa.” Johnny pushed off the fence. “I gotta work with Barranca first, but after. That all right with you, Murdoch?” 

While consultation as an afterthought was better than no consultation at all, Teresa’s wide eyes no doubt mirrored his own. Only Scott didn’t appear surprised at Johnny’s offer—his sons had clearly done some talking since breakfast. Teresa didn’t look happy about it; she was shaking her head. “No, it’s fine. I’ll ask Ralph. He usually takes me and I’m more than happy for him to do so again. Tell him, Murdoch.” 

“Ralph sprained his ankle on Friday. He won’t be taking you to town.” He glanced between Johnny and Teresa. Was this a good idea? Scott was giving him a subtle nod, and had there been a table between them, he had the notion he’d be the one getting kicked. Yet he didn’t want to force it; those had been proper tears last night. “Teresa, Johnny’s offering, so either go with him or give him your list and he can pick up the order. I’ll let you decide.”  

Teresa pouted. “I’ll go. Thank you, Johnny.”  

“Sure.” 

And that was that, apparently. Johnny went off with Barranca, while Teresa headed to the house. The ranch hands and vaqueros had already drifted back to their chores. The wind shunted the barn door against the wall.  

He chewed his bottom lip, not liking the taste of the indecisiveness he found there. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that. Perhaps I ought to send you with them, just to—” 

Scott was removing his gloves. “Referee? No. That won’t be happening.”  

“Because you don’t want to, or because you don’t think it’s necessary?” 

“Both?” Scott climbed back over the fence so they were on the same side again. “I’ve talked to Johnny—he’s going to apologise—and if I read the room right at breakfast, then Teresa’s talked to you. Surely, the rest is up to them. Frankly, Murdoch. I’ve better things to do with my time.” 

His laugh rose from a long-forgotten place. “Spoken like a true big brother.”   

Scott dipped his head, not quick enough to hide his smile. “I’ll be heading out to join the field crew now.” 

“I was thinking about that. Seeing as how your brother’s given himself the morning off, how about we do the same and make a start on that axe?” 

****** 

“Scott, hand me a hammer, would you?” 

Crammed into the narrow space between workbench and table, Scott reached across to where a row of hammers in size order hung from the wall. The idea behind this afternoon had been to learn more about Murdoch’s past, but it turned out he was also learning a few things about the man Murdoch was today. Such as he liked to tinker with machinery besides woodwork. As he leaned forward, his hip bumped the table, jolting a jigsaw of machine parts laid out, each part labelled with Murdoch’s notes and attached with string.  

“Careful with those.” Murdoch didn’t look up from his work.