Letting it Stand Chapter Four

 Letting it Stand

Chapter Four

 

 

Murdoch had stared at the figures in the ledger for so long now, his eyes blurred. There was an error somewhere, but could he find it? No, he darn well couldn’t. 

 

A cup of coffee on a saucer slid into his line of vision. Teresa cleared her throat.

 

“It’s Sunday and you’re working too hard.”

 

A lump of sugar plopped into the coffee, followed by the rattling of the spoon against the porcelain as she stirred it around.

 

Maybe he’d find the error if he could concentrate.

 

The cup and saucer inched closer. 

 

Sighing, he put down the pencil and looked up from the accounts. It was hard to be annoyed when looking into Teresa’s kind face. Gone was the wobbly bottom lip of earlier, because Marigold was safe, the wound to the cow’s leg cleaned, and the garden on its way to some semblance of order. That’s if those two sons of his weren’t slacking off out there. The pair of them had looked rather worse for wear. Maybe he should have stayed outside to supervise. 

 

“Thank you, Teresa.” He picked up the cup and blew away some heat. “I’m finishing up, I promise. Then I thought I’d take a ride over to Aggie’s place. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her.” He took a sip of the coffee, set it aside, and then returned his focus to the accounts.

 

“Oh, I think that’s a lovely idea.”

 

And there it was. The pesky anomaly had been staring him in the face the whole time.

 

“Why, it must be all of seven days since you saw her last.”

 

“Hmm?” He corrected the error with a flourish. “Has it only been that long? Well, if I don’t go today, it’ll be at least another week before I find the time.”

 

Teresa was smiling and there had been little of that. This was why he wanted to speak to Aggie. She may not have children, but she had been a young woman once—she’d know how their minds worked. Blazes, he’d have to remember not to put it quite like that when he asked for Aggie’s advice, otherwise Teresa wouldn’t be the only unhappy woman in his life.  

 

Teresa perched on the blue armchair. “I think they’ve finished outside. Scott was washing up, so he’ll be through any second.”

 

“Have they done a satisfactory job of clearing up?”

 

Her smile faltered. “I can’t face looking yet. I’m sure Scott’s tried his best. He was looking rather unwell this morning.”

 

“All self-inflicted.” He popped the pencil back into the pot and reached again for his coffee. It was interesting how Teresa didn’t mention Johnny. He’d tried talking to her in the shed about their argument, but she’d insisted it was nothing; everything was fine, and the only reason she was upset with Johnny now was because of what happened to Marigold. To be fair, it was too soon to expect her to forgive either of his sons while she was still wiping blood from the cow’s leg.

 

“I thought I might go for a ride with a friend when I’ve finished my chores. Is that okay?”

 

“Of course it is.” A ride might do her good, and maybe when she returned, she’d be ready to face her garden again.

 

“Thank you.” She sprung from the chair and kissed his cheek. “Will you be having dinner with Aggie?”

 

“I expect so, but I won’t be late back.”

 

That made Teresa’s smile wider, and she skipped from the room. His brow creased. He’d thought he knew women until he started raising one.

 

Earlier, he had brought the newspaper through from the kitchen, and as he finished his coffee, he continued reading where he’d left off. A further three pages in, he noted movement on his periphery. Scott must’ve finished washing up, as Teresa said.

 

“There’s a notice of public auction for the Double C ranch. Whoever buys that place has their work cut out for them.”

 

“Yeah?” It was Johnny, not Scott, who had wandered into the room. He was finishing a sandwich by the looks of things, his dark hair messy, and he had soil stains down the front of his pants. “That’s where, the other side of Green River?”

 

“It’s a way out from there, but yes. A man named Heath Davie owned it until about a year ago. He died, and the land passed down to his son, only the son wasn’t interested in cattle ranching. Taxes went unpaid, the place went to ruin. What’s left of Davie’s cattle must be scattered in the foothills by now. I don’t envy rounding them up.”   

 

“You’re not tempted to put in a bid yourself then; expand this little empire you got goin’ on.” Johnny waved his hand around.

 

“Our little empire.” Murdoch closed the newspaper. The darn ink was all over his fingers again—he reached carefully into his pants pocket for a cloth. “But, no. The Double C is of no interest to us. Now, if it was land bordering Lancer, that would be a different story.” Not that they could afford such a purchase after all those months of trouble with Pardee. Their finances had taken a hit, and they’d need to tighten their belts until they got the cattle to market in spring.

 

“Because of rights of way, water rights—stuff like that?” Johnny strolled further into the room and perched himself on the table behind the couch.

 

“If any of our neighbours were to sell up, it might cause us problems, depending on who bought the land.”

 

Retrieving a knife from his boot, Johnny flicked up the blade and chose the biggest apple from the bowl. “Plenty of range wars have started over water rights.”

 

“I know. It would also make sense for us to buy up any prime grazing land surrounding our borders.”

 

“A hundred thousand acres ain’t enough, huh?”

 

“I built the ranch up to those one hundred thousand acres on my own, with the help of men like Cipriano and Teresa’s father along the way. But I like to think that with you and Scott on board now, in time, our ambitions might grow.” He looked over Johnny’s shoulder. “Is Scott still out there?”

 

“Nah, he went upstairs. Said something ‘bout his bed calling to him.” Johnny grinned as he sliced into the apple.

 

“Don’t you want to do the same? You must be tired, too.”

 

His son froze mid-slice with the knife, and damn, he could have kicked himself. What a blazing fool—making it sound like he was trying to get rid of Johnny when they were finally talking and Johnny was asking questions about the business side of Lancer.

 

“You’re all done outside?”

 

He rushed the question to keep Johnny in the room, but maybe it sounded demanding, because Johnny didn’t answer right away. He took his time cutting through the apple, as if dissecting Murdoch’s words. Clearly concluding that his ‘old man’ was a blundering idiot, Johnny shrugged and said, “We’re done. Least I think we are. Can’t do nothin’ ‘bout the flowers ‘til we get to town and buy new seeds.”

 

Murdoch forced a smile into his voice. “And are you ever going to tell me how Marigold came to be a ‘distraction’ last night?”

 

Apple juice dribbled down Johnny’s thumb and he licked it off. “Oh, not if I can help it.” He popped the slice into his smirking mouth.

 

Maybe he’d never hear that story. Moving the newspaper, he went to shift the accounts aside, only they reminded him of one topic he wanted to discuss with Johnny. With Johnny showing an interest, it might be the ideal time.

 

He spread his hands out on the desk. “John, I’ve been wanting to ask—it wasn’t something I discussed with your mother in Mexico, and I should have broached this with you before now…”

 

Johnny’s shell slammed shut so fast Murdoch almost flinched, his gaze challenging, yet wary, before it dropped straight to that apple like it was the most interesting thing in the room. “Just ask it,” he growled.

 

The ‘old man’ moniker might be silent, but it was definitely there.

 

He took a deep breath. “Did you get much schooling growing up?”

 

Johnny gaped—a good thing he’d swallowed the apple—and then his shoulders relaxed. “That’s what you want to talk about—whether I went to school?”

 

“Yes.” Among other things. He’d not seen Johnny pick up a book or a newspaper since he got here. His son was smart, but about things that were never taught in a classroom.

 

Johnny shrugged. “Well, I did here and there. Didn’t much like it and always found somethin’ better to do when I thought I’d get away with it.”

 

“How old were you?”

 

Johnny ran the blade through the apple. Shrugged again. “Eight, maybe?”

 

“Eight?”

 

“Coulda been seven. I don’t remember.”

 

“Seven?”

 

Johnny frowned. “You hard of hearin’ or just repeatin’ every number I say?”

 

“Your mother, she didn’t insist or ensure—”

 

“You gonna tell me why this matters now?”

 

“The reason it matters, Johnny, is that Lancer isn’t just the land, the cattle, the physical day-to-day work. It’s contracts, accounting, taxes.”

 

“That’s what you got Scott for, ain’t it?”

 

“It’s a partnership, Johnny. A three-way split of everything.”

 

“Except the tune.” Johnny smirked, pointing the knife at Murdoch before tossing a thin slice of apple into his mouth.

 

“Watch it, Johnny.”

 

His son sighed. “Look. You wanna know if I can pull my weight.” He swallowed. “It’s like I said. I skipped school when I could, so I got taught at home by my mama and—” he stopped, a flicker of indecision crossing his face. “Reading and sums mostly. She taught me enough to get by.”

 

Mama and who, Johnny? That’s what he wanted to ask next. A memory from Mexico—that dog-eared photograph of Maria and another man—Maria not smiling yet looking so happy. How much of a relationship had that man had with his son? His fingers curled into fists on the desktop.

 

“Enough to get by?” There was derision in his tone. He couldn’t help it. What had Maria been thinking? He knew she’d had her problems later, but clearly she’d been letting Johnny down long before that. Had Johnny grown up here, he would have had a proper education, maybe even gone on to further study, if that was what he wanted.  

 

He pushed up from the desk and strode to the scotch, his fingers clutching the bottle like it was medicine. He didn’t drink early, but this was feeling like a rule-breaking kind of day. “Enough for what, Johnny? Gunfighting?”

 

“Sure.” Johnny had twisted round to face him now. “You’d be surprised how it came in handy, old man. I could read wanted posters with any face on ‘em that looked like mine, ‘cause I always needed to know I’d stayed on the right side of the law.” He might be talking quietly, but there was no mistaking his sarcasm. “Counting bullets, makin’ sure I didn’t get paid short money on a job, keepin’ count of all the men I killed. Uneducated fools have to have somethin’ worth bragging ‘bout, right?”

 

He’d been pouring the scotch, but it missed the glass when he rounded on Johnny. “Stop being so damn facetious, boy.”

 

“You tell me how I do that, Murdoch, when I don’t even know what the hell that means.”

 

Good Lord. He sucked in a breath. This conversation was hurtling south, and he had a good idea that he was to blame.

 

“It means…” He poured a double measure into the glass this time, “… you’re using inappropriate humour to distract from a more serious conversation. It will not work with me.” He let his remaining breath out with a sigh. “Do you want a drink?”

 

“No.” There was a snap as Johnny closed the blade, and he put the half-eaten apple next to him on the table. “We’re done with this talk.”

 

His glass was already empty by the time he reached his desk. “That won’t work with me either. No, don’t get up. You keep your backside right where it is.”

 

He thumped the glass down but kept eye contact with Johnny, who raised an eyebrow, but did remain slouched against the table. Murdoch flicked his gaze heavenward as he turned. It was a minor victory, but he was going to take it. The leather creaked as he settled back in his chair. “Can we rewind and try this again?”

 

He got nothing back but a hard stare.

 

“John,” he said softly. “You talk, and I’ll do nothing but listen.”

 

Johnny snorted. “Y’know what, fine. Let’s get this over with, ‘cause talking with you plumb wears me out.”

 

Likewise. He ground his back teeth together. He should’ve brought the damn bottle over.

 

“There weren’t always schools where we lived, but if there was, an’ if they agreed to take a mestizo kid, then Mama’d make me go. Sin educación no vas a ninguna parte en este mundo. You know what that means, Murdoch?”

 

“Something like—you won’t get anywhere without an education.”

 

“Yep. That’s what she’d yell at me every time she caught me someplace else when I shoulda been in school, usually while dragging me home by my ear. I wasn’t ‘xactly an angel.”

 

God. He’d thought he knew what bittersweet meant until his sons came home and offered glimpses into their lives without him.

 

“Mama wanted me to get an education, which is why she gave up trying to send me to school and taught me stuff at home. It worked too. Then later, I picked up a bit on my own. I ain’t had real proper learning like Scott, but I can read okay. English, Spanish.” He shrugged. “Maybe not all them long words you get in contracts and legal stuff, or them fancy words you and Scott like to toss around for no real reason at all.”

 

That made him purse his lips to stop a smile leaking out. “Hardly anyone understands all the words in legal contracts, Johnny. That’s why we employ lawyers.”

 

Johnny pushed off the table and came closer to the desk, poking at the ledger with his finger. “I can do some figuring too, just not the way you and Scott do it in these accounts.”

 

“We can teach you what you need to know.”

 

Johnny pulled a face. “Well, that’s somethin’ to look forward to.” His gaze caught the photograph of his mother on the desk, and just as quickly, he looked away.

 

“María did the best she could by you. That’s what you’re telling me.”

 

“Yeah. That’s what I’m tellin’ you.”

 

“Then I’m glad.”

 

But it would never be okay.

 

Johnny scowled. “Well, I’m real glad you’re glad, Murdoch. Can I go now?”

 

“You can go.” He’d barely uttered the words, and Johnny’s boots were already clomping up the stairs. Dammit. Well, no one needed to tell him he’d mishandled that. He tipped Maria’s photograph over so he didn’t have to see the usual look of agreement on her face, although if she was still alive, despite everything, he’d invite her here in an instant. She could tell him so much Johnny would not. 

 

******

 

It ended up being late by the time he returned from Aggie’s. Late enough that all the curtains were closed and the box lamp outside the front door gave off an amber glow. Opening the front door into a darkened hall, the only light inside was from the crackling fire in the great room. “Hello? Anyone still up?” He was taking his jacket off when Teresa’s head popped up from the couch.

 

“Murdoch, you’re home. I waited up.”

 

“Sorry, I’m later than expected.” He removed his gun belt and hung up his hat. “Just you? Where’re the boys?”

 

“In bed.”

 

“Already? Please tell me they haven’t been in bed this whole time?”

 

“No, don’t be silly. They were around all afternoon. At least Scott was. He and I ate dinner together.”

 

“Did you enjoy your ride?”

 

Her face fell. “I didn’t go in the end. My friend must’ve been busy.”

 

“And Johnny?”

 

“Well, I don’t know about him. Johnny and I… well, we had words this afternoon, and then I think he and Scott had words about that. I was in the kitchen, but I heard them arguing and then Johnny left. He came back though, about an hour ago. He went straight up to bed then.”

 

So much for his relaxed mood, cultivated by Aggie’s food and good company.

 

Well, he had no rule about drinking in an evening, no qualms about pouring himself a generous brandy and lowering his weary body into his armchair. Teresa had wrapped herself in a blanket and her hair looked a little mussed, like maybe she’d fallen asleep while waiting for his return.

 

“Are you going to tell me what you and Johnny had words about? Was it Marigold, by any chance? Did they not do an adequate job in the garden?”

 

“No, it was none of those things.” Teresa dragged her chair closer to his and plopped down beside him. “It doesn’t matter now. It was stupid.”

 

He sipped on his brandy. Aggie said Teresa was at a ‘delicate age’. He’d had to admit he was clueless as to what that meant. Aggie had rolled her eyes and nudged him with her surprisingly bony elbow. “Teresa’s at an age where she’s looking beyond the corral fence,” she’d said, and when he’d remained puzzled, she’d tried another approach. “It’s like when we go to the horse auctions, and I’m not talking about those where we outbid each other just for fun. We take our time to look at the horses, but we’ve figured out what qualities we like and what we’re looking for. Sometimes we think we’ve found a horse that’s special, but we worry if the horse will choose us as much as we choose them.” Finally, Aggie had given up on analogies and said, “Oh, for heaven’s sakes, Murdoch, I’m talking about men. Teresa is at an age where finding the man of her dreams isn’t as far off as it once was. She’s seeing young men in a whole new light. She’ll be starting to worry. Maybe there’s one particular boy she likes already, and she’s worrying about whether he likes her back.”

 

Good God. He’d wondered at first if Aggie meant she was seeing Scott or Johnny in that light. It wasn’t even something he’d given thought to. Scott was far too old for her, but Johnny wouldn’t be, not in a few years.

 

Aggie had burst out laughing. “Goodness me, no. They’re her brothers, for sure. If I was to place a bet, I’d say it’s that Diego boy. They used to be quite close, and he’s about Teresa’s age, isn’t he? She was talking my ear off about him the last time I came to dinner.”

 

“She was?”

 

“Yes. You won’t remember as you and Scott were by Johnny’s bedside most of the night. It was just after he’d developed that fever. And there was that birthday party fiasco earlier in the year.”

 

Teresa and Diego. He glanced down at his ward, the light from the fire picking out all the red strands in her brunette hair. How could she be at that stage already? She’d snuggled down next to him, still wrapped in the blanket, her head resting on the arm of his chair.   

 

“Murdoch, you know you said this morning that I could talk to you about anything that was bothering me.” Her voice was quiet, and he almost missed what she said when a log cracked in the grate. “Well, I was wondering… I mean, none of us know what the future holds, and while I’d like to get married one day and have children of my own, if that didn’t happen, would I be able to stay here? I’d be incredibly useful to have around, and in a few years, I’ll be so much more accomplished at cooking and needlework, so you might not even need to employ anyone else. I’d be saving you money just by being here.”

 

Murdoch rested his hand on her head. Maybe Aggie hadn’t been far wrong with her theory. “What? Honey, this is your home for however long you need it to be. I thought you knew that?”

 

“Well, yes, but saying it’s my home for a few more years is different from saying it’s my home for… life.” She lifted her head, and her eyes were bright with tears. “And what about when you’re… if you’re not around anymore? What if Johnny or Scott didn’t want me to stay?”

 

“Why wouldn’t they? Teresa, what is this about?”

 

He withdrew his hand from her hair and sat straighter in his chair.

 

She had gone silent. “Teresa.” He pushed on her shoulder until she sat up and looked at him. 

 

“It’s nothing. Maybe I am taking too much to heart.”

 

“Teresa.” He put more weight behind the word that time. “If the word ‘nothing’ comes out of your mouth one more time, you’re going to be in trouble. Now spill it. All of it.”

 

She took a sharp breath, pulling the blanket around her like a hug. “We argued yesterday. Me and Johnny. I was concerned about him jumping fences on that horse, but he said I was nagging him again, and maybe I was.” She looked a little sheepish and shook her head. “He got mad and said if I carried on, I’ll be sad and alone for the rest of my life. He said that there isn’t a man on this ranch, or in the whole…” she stopped talking and swiped a glistening tear from her cheek. “… damn county that would want a nosy, pecking hen like me.” Another tear was on her cheek now, followed by several more. Her fingers were grasping at his shirt sleeve. “I’ve been so cross with him for saying that, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, and, oh, Murdoch, what if he’s right?”

 

“He’s definitely not right.” Dear God. Murdoch downed the brandy, almost tempted to offer Teresa one. Just wait until he talked to Johnny. He’d be hard pushed not to wring his darn neck.

 

***TBC***