Some Kind Of Trouble chapter 25

 Some Kind Of Trouble

Chapter Twenty-Five

“And there’s something else you ought to know…”

 

 

It seemed that the gunfight at Lancer remained the talk of Green River – at least that’s what the waitress in the café said. Without revealing who he was, Johnny had heard all about Scott Lancer, who was far more than just a gentleman from Boston. Why, rumour had it he’d actually been the one to kill Pardee! Even though Murdoch’s other son, back from Mexico in the nick of time to help save his father’s ranch, was Johnny Madrid – a gunfighter, better than Day Pardee himself.

 

Johnny hadn’t bothered correcting her because the story was mostly right. Scott was far more than a gentleman from Boston; he had killed Pardee; and yeah, Johnny was the better gunfighter – in more ways than one. The only thing wrong in the story was the part where Johnny arrived to help save his father and the ranch – because he hadn’t come here with that intention at all. He was kinda ashamed of that. For all his smarting off this morning, it sure had taken Johnny long enough to pull his head out of his ass and see that, no matter what mistakes his old man may have made, he didn’t deserve to die or even lose everything he’d worked for.

 

Later, the blacksmith repeated the same story. His sweaty gaze had darted to Johnny’s holstered gun at least a dozen times until it dawned on him who he was talking to. It turned out easier than Johnny expected to get his hands on the Lancer horse.

 

The Lancer horse was black, like Fuego, but the similarities ended there. Fuego had been strong and fast, lively and spirited, but this one was docile as a lamb and handled so easy, it’d probably carry him back to Lancer without so much as a jerk on the reins. He sure wasn’t headed back to Lancer, but an easy ride was what he needed right now. With a meal in his belly and not a clue what came next, he was gonna leave this town; point the horse south and see where he ended up.

 

He was doing that when he spotted the kid from Lancer again. Luis and his friends had crossed over the river to this side of town. No longer sporting fishing poles on their shoulders, one of them had a rifle, and while two of the boys were chasing each other in and out of the bushes, Luis and a fourth boy were roughhousing on the grass for control of the weapon. Johnny reined the horse to a stop, put his fingers in his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. The boys broke apart and Luis looked up.

 

“Kid, get over here.”

 

Luis jogged over, the sandals on his feet slapping up clouds of dust. “Hola, Johnny.”

 

“Hey. Whatcha doing?”

 

“Nothin’.” Luis grinned. His friends trotted over, and Johnny was sure he heard his name whispered behind their grubby fingers.

 

“Nothin’ with a rifle?”

 

“Aw, it ain’t loaded, mister,” one of the boys said. “We’re just playing around.”

 

Johnny fixed his gaze on Luis. “Didn’t I hear my old man say something ‘bout school?”

 

Luis’ grin faded as he shrugged and rolled his eyes.

 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He pointed across the river. “How ‘bout you take your scrawny ass there, huh? Either there, or home to your ma.”

 

The other boys sniggered behind him and Luis pinked right up. Tilting his head, he glared up at Johnny. “Maybe, Patron did say that,” he huffed, before his eyes took on a wicked gleam. “Right before he dragged your ass into the barn for sassing ‘im.” Luis fixed Johnny with the smuggest grin he’d ever seen on a kid.

 

Dang. Johnny broke out a grin of his own. To think his old man said this kid was respectful! Aw, he really shouldn’t laugh. And he’d clearly done too good a job of convincing Luis he’d never have gone ahead and shot him that day – because the kid was anything but wary of him now. Sobering a little, Johnny leaned on the pommel. If Luis heard what he said to his old man, then it was surely nothing to be proud of. “Luis, I’m ‘bout five years too old for that to happen, even if I mighta deserved it. You on the other hand….”

 

Luis’ eyes widened, but before Johnny could enjoy the moment, the shortest kid in the group spoke up. “Are you really Johnny Madrid?” He had a round face full of freckles and sunburn. “’Cause my Grampa works in the post office, and we got a letter waitin’ on Johnny Madrid.”

 

“There’s a letter there for me?”

 

“Uh-huh. Go see my Grampa and he’ll give it ya.”

 

Go back to town? No way. He looked ahead to the wide-open road headed south. Aw, dammit, he didn’t wanna turn back, but…who the heck would be writing to him…here of all places?

 

“Mister – don’t tell my Grampa what we were doing, huh?”

 

He looked down at the group of boys as he reluctantly turned the horse around. “Sure. So long as you all get to where you’re s’posed to be.”

 

There were lots of nods and smiles that Johnny didn’t believe for a minute. Only Luis pouted at the ground, which might mean he was the only one gonna do what he was told.

 

The Green River post office was a narrow building with faded red panelling, jammed between a dressmaker and the undertaker. The sign above the door hung loose on one side so you had to tilt your head if you wanted to read it. The door was ajar and as Johnny stepped up on the boardwalk, he could hear the voices of several people inside. Damn. He didn’t have time for this, maybe it wasn’t worth bothering with after all… He must’ve leaned against the door because it swung in and set a small bell tinkling above his head.

 

As it turned out, there weren’t as many folks inside as he thought. It just seemed that way in the narrow room with its long counter and rows of shelving all divided up into these neat little squares almost up to the ceiling. There was a small rectangle of floor space where two men in suits stood jawing, and a hunched-over old woman at the counter scooped coins into her purse. The mailman, or whatever he was, had stopped putting letters into those little squares and looked up at the bell.

 

“You take good care of yourself now, Mrs Parsons.” The old lady put her purse away and headed for the door. Johnny touched his fingers to his hat as she passed him – not that she would notice being as stooped over as she was – it was a wonder she could see anything other than her own shuffling feet.

 

“Can I help you, sir?” The mailman looked like the sunburnt kid, only with white hair and a wrinkled face.

 

“I heard there’s a letter here for me. Name’s Johnny Madrid.”

 

“Ah, yes, we do have a letter for you. Unfortunately, we’ve had it for some time and I’m sorry about that. It’s on account of the name, you see. There’s never been anyone of that name at Lancer before, so it didn’t get put in the pile with the rest of Lancer’s letters. We’ll make sure we do so in future.” The man seemed to know exactly what little square he was looking for because he went straight to one near the top and handed Johnny an envelope.

 

“Thanks.” He couldn’t rightly say he’d ever received a letter before, but sure enough, it had his name written on the front above the address of the Lancer ranch. He slid the envelope into the inner pocket of his jacket. “But there won’t be any more mail for Johnny Madrid at Lancer.”

 

“It’ll be John Lancer, will it, from now on?” A curly-haired woman stepped through from the back and began flicking a feather duster across the counter.

 

“No, ma’am, I ain’t never gone by that—.”

 

“But you are Murdoch Lancer’s son, aren’t you?” She clutched the duster to her chest and peered at him over the feathers, just as one of the men wearing a suit leaned into the conversation. “Excuse the interruption, but did I hear, right? You’re John Lancer – Murdoch’s son?”

 

Oh boy. Johnny backed up, beginning to wish he’d never stepped foot through the door. All four people in the room were looking at him, probably wondering why on earth he was hesitating over something as simple as a name. Figuring it was easier to say yes and get outta there, rather than trying to explain things that were none of their business, he said, “Yeah, that’s me. Johnny…Lancer.” It might be the first time in his life that he’d said that aloud. 

 

“Well, I wasn’t expecting you, but I suppose today’s as good a day as any.” The suited man’s voice was as smooth as his slicked-back silver hair. He reached for Johnny’s elbow and tried to steer him outside the post office. “Will Murdoch and Scott be along?”

 

Johnny let the man usher him out the door before knocking the hand from his arm. “Mister, I don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout, or why you think putting your hands on me is a good idea.”

 

The man’s bushy black eyebrows shot up as he laughed awkwardly, pointing to a fancy sign above a door across the street. “I’m Morgan Randolph,” he said, as if that explained everything. 

 

Johnny glanced at the sign and then back to the man in front of him. Yeah, the shiny, expensive suit and the slicked-back hair made sense now. “You’re a lawyer.”

 

“That’s right. Murdoch Lancer’s lawyer for many, many years. Yours too now, I suppose. Come, come…” Randolph was striding across the street toward his office, taking it for granted that Johnny was going to follow.

 

He did follow. Reluctantly. He had no clue what the man was going on about.

 

“Is your father on his way?”

 

“No, why would he be, I—.”

 

“Is he still suffering? Of course, he is, poor man. Usually, we would have the existing partners here to witness your signature….”

 

“My, what?”

 

“Your signature. When you put ink to paper and sign your name. Not to worry, we can find someone else to act as a witness or perhaps—.”  

 

“Whoa, Mr Randolph. You’re gettin’ ahead of yourself.” Now it was his turn to grab hold of the man’s arm. “Sign my name to…what?”

 

Those bushy black brows came together in the middle. “The contract – an agreement of partnership. For your third of Lancer?”

 

“Mister, you’ve got it wrong. Murdoch Lancer ain’t gonna be drawing up no contact.”

 

“But he already has.” Randolph unlocked the door to his office and disappeared inside. “He made it formal ten years ago…” his voice sounded faint from within, so Johnny moved inside to hear better, “…about the time he realised the ranch had significant monetary value - a third for Scott Lancer, a third for John Lancer, when they turned twenty-one, and if they came home to claim it. Of course, Scott Lancer claimed his third when he moved here. And when Murdoch Lancer returned from Mexico a couple of months ago he amended that contract, withdrawing the third earmarked for Mr John Lancer…”

 

“Look, none of this is a surprise to me, Mr Randolph.”

 

“…and replacing it with a third for Mr John Madrid.”

 

“What?”

 

“When Murdoch Lancer returned from Mexico, he changed the contract to give a third to John Madrid in case you decided to come home. That’s still you, is it not?”

 

“Yeah, it’s me, but I’m not…when did you say he changed it?”

 

“I’ll have to check the exact date,” Randolph was rummaging in his filing cabinet, “but it was before O’Brien was killed and Murdoch shot. I don’t think Murdoch could have been back from Mexico more than a day or so because he said he was still stiff from the stage ride. Those coaches aren’t built for men as tall as your father. He told me he’d finally found you, but that you go by a different name. I didn’t say anything to Murdoch, but I remember thinking that the name you use is the same one as that famous gunslinger…” Randolph stopped rummaging and looked at Johnny’s face, then down to his gun. “Well. Goodness me.”

 

“Yeah, how ‘bout that.” It seemed not all of Green River had heard the same story as the waitress and the blacksmith.

 

The lawyer had a file out now and buried his nose in it. It might help if he put on the spectacles that hung over his chest pocket. Johnny left the man to his reading, wandering around the lawyer’s office, trying to get to grips with what he’d heard. Lancer had gotten back from Mexico and changed the contract. Before things with Pardee had heated up. Before he knew for sure he needed a gunfighter on his side. He rubbed the back of his neck. Had his old man been telling him the truth this morning and he’d thrown it all back in his face?

 

Johnny perched his butt on the edge of Randolph’s desk. He picked up the big glass paperweight and turned it over. It was damn heavy, big enough to…Dios, big enough to smash a guard’s skull in like Garcia had done back in Mexico. He thumped it back down. Why was he thinking about that shit now? It was this damn stuffy office and the large desk. Boy, he could just about see his face in the polished wood. He’d seen his face in Garcia’s desk too right before he was held down over it...

 

“Ah…” Randolph came closer and Johnny tried to focus on what he was saying. Something about a problem? Of course, there’d be a Goddamn problem – that was the life he knew rather than one where Murdoch Lancer did intend Johnny Madrid to have a stake in his ranch all along. “Your date of birth here. You’re not…my goodness…” Randolph had to put his spectacles on for this bit it seemed. “Johnny Madrid isn’t…I mean you’re not even twenty-one yet.” He peered at him over the round steel rims.

 

That was the problem – his age? Why the hell did that matter? He’d never given it any thought and he’d sure never met a barkeep brave enough to refuse him a drink.

 

“In that case, we won’t be able to get it signed today as I need your father’s signature on this contract at the same time as yours. If he’s still not well enough to make it into town, then I can drive out to the ranch later in the week?”

 

“I won’t be there.”

 

“Well, the pair of you come in as soon as you can then. Ask your father – see what he wants to do.”

 

Johnny blew out a breath. It felt like the room had shrunk by a few square feet since he first walked in.

 

Randolph was standing in front of him with his hand stuck out waiting to shake like they’d come to some agreement. He was pretty sure they hadn’t. Sidestepping the offered hand, Johnny escaped from the lawyer’s office into the street, his thoughts racing as fast as a six-shooter horse. His gaze sought out the nearest saloon. Oh boy, he needed a drink about now, and if the damn barkeep dared ask how old he was, then he was gonna shoot him.

 

He hadn’t even opened the darn letter yet.

 

******

 

It had been one hell of a day. Scott rode in long after dinner time and didn’t even bother going into the great room to see Murdoch, just left his boots by the door and grabbed a bite to eat in the kitchen, before trudging up the back staircase to his room. There was so much dried mud on his clothes that when he took his pants off, they’d probably stand up all on their own.

 

He found Consuela in his room, about to lift the kettle and top up the tub. The older woman smiled sympathetically and looped a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “Pedro delivered your message, Señor. Your timing is muy bueno.”

 

“Let me do that.” He took the heavy kettle from her and poured the last of the steaming water into the bath as she stepped back and wiped the perspiration from her forehead.

 

“Leave your clothes outside the door, si? I take care of them.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

As soon as Consuela was gone, Scott undressed and sank into the water. He’d been out there more than ten hours; ten hours hauling cattle out of the boggiest ground imaginable. Or trying to haul them out, at least. Stupid animals. What was the point in spending all that time and sweat, stringing wire and hammering fenceposts, when it only took something in the night to spook them into banding together and demolishing their way through? Too wound up to relax, he scrubbed his skin and hair and got out. He’d just gotten dressed when there was a knock on his door.

 

“Come in.”

 

Murdoch closed the door behind him. “I’ve seen Cipriano. He tells me it was hard out there. He said you did a good job.”

 

Scott grimaced. “It went okay. We – I – lost a couple.”

 

“That happens sometimes.”

 

“For the first few hours, it seemed my horse knew what it was doing better than I did.”

 

“Every man out there today has felt that way at some point, son.”

 

Scott sighed. He’d thought things were going well in this new life of his, but the time spent away from the ranch in Mexico hadn’t helped, and then there’d been so many other things going on with Pardee that the day-to-day ranching had shifted into the background a little. Today he’d felt like a greenhorn all over again. Damn, he didn’t want to talk about it, he wanted to forget – already he could feel the tension grabbing hold of him.

 

He folded the damp towel over the side of the tub. “How’d it go with Johnny this morning?”

 

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Murdoch stuck his hands into his pockets. “Johnny’s gone.”

 

Scott ducked his head. Of course, he was. Why even bother to act surprised? Damn him. Stuffing the shirt tails into his pants, Scott ran a hand through his wet hair. “Well, I guess that answers my question then.”

 

Murdoch looked weary. “Your brother had already made up his mind he was going. You know that. And you have to trust me when I say that, considering what came out of your brother’s mouth at the start of our conversation, I was the epitome of calm.”

 

Oh, yes. He knew how Johnny could push. “Are we to assume he’s gone for good?”

 

Murdoch sat on Scott’s bed with his elbows on his knees. “I believe so. He said he doesn’t want a stake in Lancer and he doesn’t want to stick around.” Murdoch massaged his temples. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get through to him. I tried. I damn well tried.”

 

“When did he go?”

 

“This morning. He walked out on our conversation and hitched a ride into Green River with Ralph.”

 

“So, he doesn’t have a horse.”

 

“Ralph told him that one of our horses was with the blacksmith. I suppose he’ll take that. Do you think you’ll go after him?”

 

There was no mistaking the hope in Murdoch’s eyes, but dammit, this time he was going to let Murdoch down.

 

******

 

It was a cold evening; the sun was nothing but a last splash of gold against a darkening sky. The cattle were making their way to the lower ground and being noisy about it.

 

Scott stopped by the fence and tugged the collar of his jacket up. There was a nagging voice in his head urging him to do what Murdoch wanted and go after Johnny.

 

“Boss?”

 

He might be a partner in Lancer but he wasn’t comfortable with the title of boss, not until he’d earned it, and going on today’s performance, he’d be closer to Murdoch’s age before that ever happened.

 

“Boss?”

 

“It’s Scott.” He turned from the fence to find Ralph smoking a cigarette, one arm wrapped around himself to ward off the chill.

 

Ralph nodded in recognition and took a drag, the cigarette tip sparking bright for a second in the dwindling light. “Took your brother into Green River today. Your pa probably said.”

 

“He did.”

 

The older man dropped the butt and ground it deep into the dirt with the toe of his boot. He blew the last of the smoke into the air. “Your brother said for me to tell ya that it’s better this way. Said he didn’t wanna leave on an argument.”

 

“Is that all?”

 

“Reckon so.”

 

“Well, thank you for telling me.”

 

Ralph shifted his weight from one foot to the other, before pursing his lips together and turning away.

 

Scott watched the ranch hand head off in the direction of the bunkhouse. Johnny didn’t want to leave on an argument? Damn him. Well, he wasn’t going to traipse over California looking for Johnny. He’d spent a month in another country trying to find him. And it wasn’t conditional. It wasn’t. But, Goddamnit, after all they’d been through, Johnny was turning his back on them…on him…to what…return to gunfighting? His brother may as well have delivered one of his breath-robbing punches to the gut again.

 

He tossed his hat down to meet the dirt. When that provided no satisfaction, he drove his fist into the fence post.

 

No, he wasn’t going to go after Johnny this time. His brother was a big boy, more than capable of making his own decisions. Johnny’s mother hadn’t been able to make him quit; being seconds away from death by a firing squad made no difference either. Why had he ever entertained the notion that a home with a family would hold greater sway?

 

******

 

Murdoch watched Scott standing alone by the corral. He watched until it got dark; until Murdoch’s own face was easier to see in the glass than the shadowy form of his son walking away in the opposite direction to the barn.

 

He wasn’t surprised that Scott didn’t want to go after Johnny again. There were only so many times someone could walk away before you stopped trying to follow.

 

Teresa had gone to bed about twenty minutes ago, but Scott hadn’t come in yet, so Murdoch didn’t lock the front door. He drew all the curtains and put more logs on the fire, straightening up with one hand against his back. It’d be a good day when he could return the cane to Sam; he barely used it now anyway. 

 

The couch called, so he poured a scotch and sat down, pulling a blanket half across his lap.

 

Firelight flickered on the silver frame of Maria’s photograph, lying on one of the cushions. He’d been looking at it earlier and he picked it up again now; tracing his thumb over her image. Her eyes looked dark in the photograph but they’d been lighter in person; a soft brown flecked with gold. He’d forgotten the little details over the years until seeing her again brought them all back. Now she was truly gone and he didn’t know how or why she died. He needed to. He didn’t want to spend the next eighteen years battling more unanswered questions.

 

“We made a mess of things, didn’t we?” Maria stared back in agreement. Johnny had a right to be angry at them both, and Good Lord, was he angry.

 

Sighing, he leaned forward and set the frame on the table. He raised his glass to the picture. “Que tu alma descanse en paz, María.” He meant it – he did want her to rest in peace – only with Johnny out there doing God knows what, he wondered if she could. Closing his eyes, he tossed the scotch back and collapsed against the sofa, letting the warmth of the drink and the fire soothe him inside and out.

 

“It was her heart.”

 

Johnny?

 

He opened his eyes, sure at first he’d nodded off and was dreaming.

 

Yet here he was.

 

“Least that’s what the doc said.” His voice was so soft it was hard to hear him over the crackle of the fire.

 

Stood a few feet away, Johnny made eye contact for the briefest time. “He reckoned it was quick, and when I found her, she…” He rotated the hat in his hands. “…she looked real peaceful like she’d gone to bed and forgot to wake up or something. Nothin’ like the time before…” He sucked in a breath. “Anyway, Teresa said I should tell you what happened.”

 

Murdoch tried to speak, but it came out as more of a croak until he cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

 

Johnny nodded, but he didn’t move, and he looked…unsure…like he was mulling things over in his head, or questioning why he’d come back here in the first place.

 

Murdoch swallowed. Good God. He’d shake himself if he could. Say something, man! There had to be a reason why Johnny had come back and he needed to know it. If there was even a chance….

 

“Johnny…” He threw the blanket off his lap and shifted closer to the edge of the couch. “No matter what came later…your mother and I were very happy together for a time.” Johnny had ducked his head so Murdoch was talking to his hair again, but if he stopped now, would there ever be a time to say this? His son knew all about the hurt and the anger between Maria and himself, but it hadn’t all been like that. Johnny needed to know that too. “I loved your mother, and never more so than when she gave me you. I…I never realised how unhappy she was until it was too late.  You were right in what you said this morning. I should have taken my head out of my ass and noticed. The fact that I didn’t will always be one of my biggest regrets.”

 

Johnny didn’t say anything or lift his head. But he was listening.

 

“Another regret would be what I said to you in Mexico.”

 

Well, that made Johnny’s head jerk up.

 

“You asked Scott if he came to find you because having Johnny Madrid in the family might come in useful sometime. I said we had no use for a gunfighter.”

 

“I remember.”

 

He grimaced. “I’m not surprised.” Good God, if only he could take those words back. “You know, I’d woken up that morning believing you were dead and gone. Then, there you are for the first time in eighteen years and that’s what I say.” He shook his head. “They were damn clumsy words, Johnny. Stupid words. I’m sorry.”

 

Johnny didn’t say anything at first, but he was scuffing his boot on the edge of the rug, like a nervous horse pawing the ground. Murdoch found himself holding his breath. This was a Johnny he’d not met before and he didn’t know what to expect. Finally, Johnny looked at him again.

 

“I guess coming face to face was a shock to both of us, huh?”

 

He let out the breath he’d been holding. “Yes. And what I’m trying to say here is I’ve never needed Johnny Madrid because you’re a gunfighter, I need you because you’re my son. That’s all I ever wanted.”

 

It was hard to tell what Johnny was thinking. He hadn’t come any further into the room, but he hadn’t walked out. That had to be a good sign.

 

“Y’know, I saw that Mr Randolph today in town. He thought I was there to sign the partnership agreement. He told me ‘bout the change you made when you got back from Mexico. Before Pardee shot you.”

 

“I had no idea how bad things would get then. Pardee had nothing to do with the change I made.” He held Johnny’s gaze. “You never needed to earn your share, Johnny, but you needed to want it – to want to know me. That’s all I asked of Scott.”

 

“I didn’t wanna know you.”

 

“No.” He sighed. Wished his damn glass wasn’t empty. “I’d asked your mother to share some of what we talked about before I left Mexico, but I guess she didn’t, or it wasn’t enough to change how you felt.

 

Then, that day with Pardee, I wanted you to stay and fight with us because you wanted to, because you’re my son, but when that didn’t seem enough for you, when you were still walking out the door, I blurted out the offer in a last-ditch attempt to get you to stay.”

 

Damn it to blazes; he’d made such a mess of it all. 

 

Johnny turned the hat in his hands again. “You were telling the truth this morning.”

 

“Yes. I’ve made mistakes, but I’ve never lied to you.”

 

“No. I reckon you haven’t.” There was a trace of something on Johnny’s face – sadness, or maybe some regret of his own. It was hard to tell in the flickering firelight and Johnny was quick to hide it.

 

Murdoch leaned forward. “You don’t need to ask me to stay here, Johnny. You’ve never needed to ask.”

 

“Aw, old man, you don’t know what you’re asking.” He couldn’t believe it when Johnny came over and threw himself in the leather armchair beside the fireplace, letting his hat fall on his lap. “D’you think I can walk away from what I am, the things I’ve done, just like that?”

 

Murdoch got up and went to the liquor. He poured a tequila for Johnny and handed it to his son.

 

“The present can’t become the past until you let go of it.”

 

“Well, that’s good advice, old man. You make it sound easy.” He tossed the drink back and handed Murdoch the glass.

 

“Not easy, but achievable…in time.”

 

Johnny rested his head against the back of the armchair and closed his eyes. Tucked in next to the fireplace, his face was all shadow. “I was tellin’ the truth this morning too. I don’t take orders too well.”

 

Murdoch walked back to the couch. A part of him wanted to tell Johnny whatever it was he wanted to hear to make him stay – but sugarcoating things now wouldn’t do either of them any good in the long run. “Then you’ll learn. And I’ll try to make some requests.”

 

Johnny opened one eye. “But not all.”

 

“No, not all.”

 

“Because you call the tune.”

 

“That’s right.”

 

Johnny chewed on his lip and Murdoch could see him weighing things up in his mind. Like a nervous horse, was Johnny’s first instinct always going to be to run?

 

“Think about it,” Murdoch urged. “Stay here tonight and talk to your brother in the morning. He may have led a completely different life to you in Boston but it was as different from this one as yours has been. Possibly more so. Since coming here, he has good days and bad days and I’m sure he’ll tell you that today wasn’t one of the good ones, but he’s not giving up. He knows we’re building something here. It’s where you both were always supposed to be.”

 

******

 

Johnny escaped upstairs, the honesty in the old man’s words ringing in time with his spurs. He must’ve left the window open in his room this morning because the sheer drapes were fluttering; patches of moonlight dancing on the floor.

 

Tossing his hat on the dresser, he shucked his gun belt and jacket, reaching inside for the letter. He squinted in the semi-darkness at his name on the open envelope, then tapped it a few times against his thigh before dropping it on the bedspread.

 

His mama didn’t have neat handwriting.

 

If he’d known who the letter was from, he’d never have opened it while sitting at a table in Green River’s saloon. But it hadn’t come from Mexico and he hadn’t recognised her hand. Couldn’t rightly say he’d seen her write much before. So, sitting with a glass of tequila, he’d torn open the envelope.

 

Turned out the letter was hard to read in ways that had nothing to do with the handwriting.

 

Feet still on the floor, he lay back on the bed with his hands behind his head, and watched those patches of moonlight dance on the ceiling instead. The letter had been long. Several pages. And he supposed he could say nothing about her loopy scrawl, ‘cause if she’d copied out the same letter half a dozen times, then her hand must’ve been cramping up by the time she got to that one. He could only figure that it was the last copy she made because Lancer must have been one of the last places on earth she thought he’d end up.

 

Even though it was the one place she wanted him to be.

 

“Johnny?” Scott poked his head around the door.

 

“Yeah, c’mon in.” He struggled up on his elbows and dragged a hand down his cheek, before leaning over to light the lamp. His back and side had been protesting more and more as the day wore on. They protested louder now. As the room lit up, Scott closed the door with his shoulder. His mussed hair and pink cheeks suggested he’d been out in the cold for a while. 

 

Scott carried tequila and two glasses. “I brought up a bottle. After the day I’ve had I need a drink, and seeing as you’re back, I thought we’d share our first or last drink together, depending on how you want to look at it.”

 

Johnny took the bottle and glasses while Scott pulled the chair over from the window.

 

“Who’ve you been fighting with?” Johnny pointed to the knuckles smeared with blood on Scott’s right hand.

 

His brother glanced down. “A fence post. Although I could have sworn it had your face on it at the time.” 

 

“Ah.” Johnny shifted on the bed. “I didn’t tell you I was going. It was an asshole move.”

 

“I thought we were past that.”

 

“I’m sorry.” He pulled his boots off. A change of subject was probably a good idea. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a tequila man.”

 

“Well, I wasn’t, but a month in Mexico gave me a taste for it.” Scott uncorked the bottle and poured two glasses before setting it down on the floor. “Perhaps I should ask Teresa to join us. She’s partial to a glass of tequila herself, I understand. What’s with the letter?”

 

Johnny glanced at the envelope on the bed. “It’s from my mama.”

 

Scott looked confused. “Isn’t she…”

 

“Yeah, Scott, she’s still dead.”

 

“I didn’t mean it like that. I—.”

 

Johnny waved the explanation away. “After me and you went our separate ways, I laid low for a while with some friends of mine. They used to live in Mexico. My mama, well, she was mad that I didn’t go see her or let Tomás tell her anything ‘bout what happened with the rurales.”

 

“She’d been worried.”

 

Johnny tugged at the bedcover; it was pink with red and white stitched flowers. When he pulled at one of the threads, a flower shrivelled up like it was dying. “I don’t know how, but she’d figured out she didn’t have long left. In case she couldn’t find me, she wrote down everything she wanted to tell me in a letter and copied it out a whole bunch of times. Sent ‘em to all the places she thought I might end up in the hope one of ‘em might get to me.”

 

“She thought Lancer might be one of those places?”

 

He shrugged. “I reckon it’s more likely she thought you’d see the letter and you’d know where I was.”

 

“Ah, yes. Because you’re especially good at letting me know your plans.” Scott sipped his drink. “Your mother did find you though – you saw her before she died?”

 

“Yeah. She knew me pretty well.” He flipped the envelope in the air and caught it. “Most of what’s written in here, she got to say to my face.” He took a swallow of tequila. “Boy, it turns out she’s as good at telling me off by letter as she was in person. If I’d forgotten anything she said, then I sure ain’t about to forget it now. The only thing missing is the slap.”

 

“Ouch.” Scott’s gaze dropped down to his drink and he smiled a little. “Your mother slapped me on the first day we met. Did she ever tell you that?”

 

“No.”

 

“I was trying to explain why I wanted to meet you and she wasn’t having any of it. I said something…unwise…and, well, she let me know just how unwise it was.” Scott reached for the bottle and topped up their glasses.

 

“She could rile up pretty quick.” A smile played on his lips and it felt good. There hadn’t been much to smile about when he thought of his mama lately. “Reckon she forgave you. She liked you.”

 

“It must have been strange: reading her words.”

 

He took a drink and pushed up to his feet. “There’s a couple things written that she didn’t get the chance to say to my face. I guess because I cut her off. Told her to stop talking and leave me alone.”

 

Dios. He’d thought they’d have other times….

 

He gripped the glass tighter. “She didn't get to say she thought she was dying...or that, when she and the old man had their cosy chat about me, he told her he'd always have a home for me if I wanted it: a chance to have a part of this and start the life I always shoulda had.” He wandered across to the window and pulled it shut. “She wrote that, lookin' back on things now, maybe the old man had wanted me all along.” 

 

Would it have made a difference if she’d gotten a chance to tell it all that day? Maybe, he wouldn’t have come here quite so angry. Maybe, he’d have given the old man a chance to explain – to tell him that he wanted him, as he’d said downstairs tonight.  

 

Keeping his back to Scott, he finished the drink in one go and studied the empty glass. “Y’know, when I saw her, one of the last things she asked me to do was quit gunfighting and come live here. She asked me to do it for her. I told her she was asking too much.”

 

Was it asking too much? Even now?

 

He could see her in his head, her hands grasping his arms. She was practically begging him to listen, but he wasn’t going to. He’d been so darn mad about it all. And then she’d told him she loved him and he hadn’t said it back. Not that she’d have expected him to – he didn’t think he’d told her that since he was a little kid, but he damn well would’ve done, had he known, had she damn well told him that she was dying. Jesus. He must be staring too hard at the glass because his eyes were starting to blur.  

 

Scott was quiet for a long time before he said, “Sounds like your mother had come up with a good plan. I don’t know why I never thought of it.”

 

Johnny snorted and turned back around.

 

Scott had knocked the rest of his drink back and was putting the glass down by the chair leg. “Yessir, you have quite the dilemma.” Leaning back in the chair, Scott stretched. “On the one hand, you have a stake in the biggest ranch in the valley, a father, a brother, a think-of-me-like-a-sister, all wanting you to be a part of their lives in a nice home surrounded by nice people. Not to mention, it’s what your late mother wanted for you, too. Then, on the other hand...” Scott flexed his fingers in and out of his palm as if trying to grab thin air. “…remind me, brother. What do you have on the other hand again?”

 

Sometimes, Scott was a real pain in the ass.

 

“Yessir, it’s a dilemma all right.” Scott pushed up from the chair and picked up the bottle. Walking over, he topped up Johnny’s glass and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll let you sleep on it. Or not, as the case may be.”

 

******

 

Or not sure turned out right. Johnny must’ve finally drifted off just before dawn dragged the first rays of light across the sky, and he stirred only briefly at the sound of banging doors in the hallway and boots clomping down the back stairs. When he next opened his eyes it was to morning gloom and the whole damn ranch must be up because he could hear horses and the murmur of voices somewhere below the bedroom window.

 

Urgh. He buried his face back in the pillow and groaned, before pulling himself out of bed. He hadn’t bothered to undress so it didn’t take long to get his boots on, buckle on his belt and take the gun from under the pillow. He splashed some cold water on his face before peering through the gap in the drapes over to where the old guardhouse was.

 

Lancer's hands were gathering for morning orders, laughing and joshing each other, as chatty as the crows perched in the highest bare branches of the oak trees – wide awake despite the early hour.

 

He swallowed. His belly was in knots. Who was he kidding in thinking he could do this? It wasn’t too late to change his mind – he hadn’t promised anyone anything. All the darn doubts were pecking at him again. How could he get up at this time on the regular? Hell, he’d have to get up even earlier if he wanted breakfast – back when he heard those doors and boots clomping probably. This morning he didn’t think he could eat a darn thing.

 

He was a gunfighter - sometimes midday was too early. And if he was hanging up his gun, he wasn’t about to stop practising. There was no way in hell. What would his old man make of that? He didn’t know how to be a rancher’s son, ranch hand, business partner, or whatever he was supposed to become. And what did he know about ranching or business? He’d cut enough fences in his time, but he hadn’t strung wire. He’d spooked cattle but never rounded the dumb things up again. Then there was the rest of it. It had been a long time since he’d been a beginner at anything.

 

Damn. Pull yourself together, Johnny.

 

He got to the stairs just in time to see the old man dressed in a black shirt ducking out the front door. Scott was in the foyer, buckling on his gun belt. He raised a brow when Johnny came down.

 

“I don’t think anyone expected you to be up this early.”

 

“I sure as hell didn’t expect it,” he muttered, although it was a lie. He didn’t know if he could do this, but as his mama would say – muéstrate dispuesto, hijo, eso es todo – he had to show he was prepared to try.

 

“Are you joining us out there?” Scott sounded real casual, but it was a loaded question and they both knew it.

 

“Yeah.” He hadn’t let go of the bottom bannister though, his fingers tapping out a rhythm on the wood.

 

Scott picked up his gloves and moved to the door. When Johnny didn’t follow, Scott reached out and slapped his shoulder as if to say ‘come on’, indicating outside with a tilt of his head.

 

As Scott left the house, Johnny let go of the bannister. Dios. What if his leaving yesterday had been the kick in the pants his old man needed to realise that he’d had a lucky escape? He’d had a night to sleep on it now – what if he’d decided he was well rid of Johnny after all? Having Johnny Madrid here wasn’t without risk. Maybe he’d changed his mind about learning to live with a gunfighter. What if Lancer took one look at him this morning and ordered him off his land for good?  

 

The laughing and joshing out there had settled some now his old man and Scott had left the hacienda, and it stopped completely when Murdoch Lancer started to talk. He could imagine there’d be a lotta yessirs and head bobbing as the old man called the tune.

 

Shit. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together by his thigh. What he wanted to do was hightail it outta there. What he did was saunter out the hacienda and across to the crowd of assembled men, finding a space amongst them to lean his butt against the wall.

 

All the attention came his way, but his old man didn’t seem to care this time. And…Dios…was he smiling? It wasn’t a face-splitting effort but there sure was a lift to the lips and a softening ‘round the eyes.

 

“You don’t have to be out here yet, Johnny. Not until the doctor clears you for this kind of work.”

 

He shrugged. “I’m sure you can find me something to do.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure I can.” His old man still had a friendly look on his face, even when he said, “And you ought to know…morning orders are at seven-thirty sharp at this time of year.”

 

Aw, hell. He was trying hard, but he just couldn’t help himself. He folded his arms and stuck his bottom lip out a little. “Even if I own a third of the place?”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scott raise an eyebrow before dipping his head to hide a smirk or a look of frustration – it was hard to tell with Scott sometimes. The men were looking curiously between the three of them.   

 

“Well, as you’ll own a third of the place, John, it may well be you giving the orders on occasion. I don’t think everyone will want to stand around waiting, do you?”

 

Huh. He hadn’t thought of that. A smirk crossed his face.

 

“Don’t think anyone’s gonna refuse an order from Johnny Madrid,” someone muttered and that raised a few chuckles amongst the men, and then someone else said, “But it won’t be Madrid no more will it – we’ll be taking orders from Johnny Lancer. Ain’t that right?”

 

His old man shifted his weight to his other foot and glanced at Johnny. “Johnny’s name will still be Madrid—.”

 

“No.” Damn. He’d spoken before he meant to, but there was no going back now. Boy, sometimes his mouth needed to take some orders of its own. Why did he feel like a corralled wild horse watching the gates shut? His belly was doing flips like the time he and Wes leapt fifty feet off a cliff to splash into the water below. Thankfully, none of what he was feeling made it into his voice. He had too much darn practice for that. “It’ll be Lancer…from now on.”

 

Oh boy, that put a grin on Scott’s face, and he almost didn’t dare look, but there was no question now that their old man was smiling – it reached to his eyes and further up, softening all them lines across his forehead. Funny, but their old man wasn’t looking so darn old all of a sudden. Maybe Johnny wasn’t the only one ‘round here who needed a change of name.

 

“That won’t cause a problem, right…Murdoch?” It felt strange to use his father’s name for the first time. It felt good.   

 

“No, Johnny.” Murdoch’s smile couldn’t get much wider. “It won’t cause a problem at all.”      

 

 

The End