A REFLECTION OF CHARACTER CHAPTER 26

 A REFLECTION OF CHARACTER

 

CHAPTER 26

 

 

They hadn’t talked much as him and Murdoch trudged up the backstairs to the hotel rooms. He guessed they both had a lot on their minds. Maybe gamblers and gossip and ghosts?

 

Well, whoever the gambler was, he was long gone by the time Johnny was frying size and dodging wagons and donkeys with their baskets of corn and tomatoes and chilies. But he was small and quick and used to the crowds at the market. She’d be under an umbrella, somewhere close by. Maybe watching him. Maybe not. But she’d taught him well; “Hold out your hat like so—and look muy triste, Juanito.” Well, it wasn’t all that hard to look sad with the sun doin’ a powwow on his bare head and a hungry belly smelling the tamales and tortillas cooking under the sailcloth just a few steps away from his dusty feet.

 

“How’s your arm? Do you want me to look at it?”

 

He rubbed his hand over the spot that ached then took a look. “It’s not bleeding, is it?” He stopped on the landing, near a lamp, and lifted his elbow for Murdoch to get a look.

 

“No, I can’t see anything.”

 

He stole a quick look at Murdoch’s face.  They didn’t talk about his mother too much. But when they did, Murdoch would always smile and his face would kinda soften. Maybe to let Johnny know the memories hadn’t been all bad?

 

‘Maria’s boy.’ He heard someone say that one time him and Murdoch rode into town. Some of these people probably remembered his mother better than he did. These days he’d have more luck grabbing hold of a shadow than getting a picture of her in his head. She laughed. She sang. She loved him. He knew that much. But her words—all that hate spilling outta her lungs—nope, he’d never forget that. Not in this world. But he sure wished he could ask her why.

 

Murdoch stopped at Johnny’s door. “Have you got your key?”

 

Johnny fished it out from his boot then held it up. “Right here, Murdoch.”

 

“Good.”

 

It looked like Murdoch aimed to stand there while he put the key in the lock, like he was some little kid that needed watching. “Murdoch, I don’t think we’ll be seeing Daniel Drew cause any more trouble tonight. You put the fear of God in him, old man. I was kinda scared of you myself.”

 

Murdoch looked up and down the hallway with its rows of six doors either side and a strip of carpet in the middle so as you couldn’t hear the tramp of boots outside your door. Except for a beetle near the lamp, they were the only ones standing out here. “No need to take any chances.”

 

The key was a little stiff in the lock but he got it in after jiggling it a bit.

 

“Get  yourself cleaned up.” Murdoch put a hand on his shoulder. “The three of us need to talk. I’ll be waiting for you in the next room.”

 

Waiting for him…

 

He was getting used to that idea. Since coming to Lancer, there were three things in his life he could be sure of: the sun would come up, the sun would go down—and his old man would be waiting for him when he got home.

 

“Sure thing, Murdoch. I won’t be long.”

 

.

 

 

Johnny peered in the mirror above the tallboy. He’d got  most of the dust off his face but his lip was already swelling up. He wet the washcloth in the bowl then dabbed away the last of the dried blood but he winced when it stung. Just as well he’d kissed Maryanne before the dust-up with Drew’s hardcases. No, he should be saying before Maryanne kissed him.

 

He tossed the cloth back in the bowl to rinse off the blood, then wrung it out and slapped it over his face. Right now, hiding under the cold cloth felt pretty good. He wasn’t really looking forward to ‘the talk’ Murdoch wanted to have.

 

Maryanne.

 

That kiss of hers could make a saint wanna do things a padre said you shouldn’t. And Johnny was no saint. Not by a long stretch.

 

What the dickens was he meant to make of all that stuff about her old man and feeling bad about something she did to McKillen…when they were growing up, maybe? He bet ranchers’ kids could be pretty cruel to someone who wasn’t part of the pack. It still bothered him the way she’d murmured McKillen’s name when they kissed, but right now his body was hurting too much to set his mind on it. Drew’s hardcases must’ve landed more than one good punch, damn them, and his ribs and back were letting him know it.

 

What bothered him was how long would Drew wait before shooting his mouth off and spreading it all over town that Maryanne and him had been kissing in the alley? No doubt Drew would stretch the blanket to the two of’em stripped naked and going at it like a pair of jackrabbits. Now, he had to admit, that idea sounded pretty darn fine to Johnny Madrid but—he took the cloth away and looked in the mirror—he was Johnny Lancer now. And Johnny Lancer was wearing a frown as deep as any he’d seen on his old man’s face. Murdoch expected him to be a gentleman. Leastways, that’s what he’d hinted at any number of times, even if he didn’t come right out and say it—but after eight months of living with him, well, you started to know the signs on that craggy face of his.

 

Oh boy, if he could get his hands on Aaron’s brother, Thad, he’d grab him by the ankles and dip his head a couple of times in a bucket of horse piss. That oughtta teach him to mind his own damn—

 

 He turned his head. It almost sounded like someone boiling rocks in an iron pot next door; well, he wished that’s what he heard instead of Scott hacking his lungs up from the smoke. And how the hell was Johnny going to tell Murdoch he didn’t have the medicine, like he’d promised? Aw, hell, if his brain was a duck, it’d fly north for the winter and freeze to death. Maybe it already had seeing as it didn’t seem to be working too well lately.

 

.

 

Johnny didn’t bother knocking—but he hung back in the doorway seeing both Murdoch and Scott standing up and looking his way like he’d interrupted talk that wasn’t meant for his ears. Or maybe that look on Murdoch’s face meant he’d somehow found out he didn’t have the medicine for Scott—and Scott sure as hell looked like he needed it. Even with it being gloomy as a graveyard in here, he didn’t need more than one lamp to see Scott’s hair was all mussed up and he coulda been a chimney sweep with all that soot on his pants.

 

Maybe he oughtta fess up? Get it over and done with. That was the best way to deal with his old man. “Um…Murdoch—"

 

“Good, you’re here, Johnny.” He pulled a chair out from the table like Johnny was late for a Cattlemen’s meeting. He sounded kinda crusty—worse even than the hens not laying and there being no eggs for breakfast. Was he still riled up about Daniel Drew and his mother? Sometimes Murdoch’s anger could build up a head of steam and it’d just roll from one aggravation and straight onto the next.

 

Well, he wasn’t ready to get too close to his old man just yet. “Howdy, Scott.” He wandered across to a writing desk against the wall and pulled open one of the tiny drawers so that he could peer inside. It was empty, save for a few ink stains.

 

“Good of you to finally make it, brother.”

 

He looked up and threw Scott a smile. Up close, Scott wasn’t looking too dandy in the lamplight. He’d seen a few corpses with more colour in their face than Scott’s. He bet that medicine woulda come in handy right now. But at least Scott was dressed and outta bed, even if he still stank like he’d been hanging in the smoke house. He sniffed the air. “You need a bath. But you’re looking a mite perkier than last time I saw you.”

 

“I’d like to say the same for you, brother.” Scott stuck out  his jaw and rubbed his finger along the stubble. “That’s a nice scratch you’ve got. I told Murdoch you wouldn’t go looking for trouble. I didn’t say it wouldn’t go looking for you. Who was it this time?”

 

Murdoch’s swallow was loud enough, even above the piano thumping downstairs, to make Johnny glance that way. Sure enough, he was standing stiff-backed and looking kinda distant behind the wooden chair, like he wanted to be a long way away from however Johnny answered.

 

In the end, Johnny just shrugged, letting his eyes travel around the room. “Yeah, I had a little dust-up.” He picked up a brass paperweight in the shape of a doorknob and hefted it in his hands. “Seems Uncle Dan’l’s still not happy about Aaron working at Lancer.”

 

“He’s still upset about that? Well, that certainly explains a lot of things. What did—?”

 

Only Murdoch came across and put a hand on his shoulder, steering him towards the chair. “Johnny, sit down and eat.” If the chair pad didn’t have that fancy, striped cushion he might’ve bruised his butt with Murdoch’s hand forcing him down like that.

 

“Okay, I’m doin’ it.” He put the knob down and picked up his knife and fork. He could just about eat the beefsteak with his nose it smelled so good.  “You eating, Murdoch?” He pointed his knife at the other plate.

 

“I might get something later, Johnny. What I want right now is for you to finish your dinner so that I can talk to my sons. If you can both finally spare the time?”

 

Ow, that last line bit. “Sure, Murdoch.” And he couldn’t sound any more honest than that. It only took a few bites for his belly to start singing hallelujah, food at last.

 

Murdoch lit another lamp on the dresser while Scott poured the coffee. “Here you go, brother.” He added a tilt of his head Murdoch’s way for Johnny’s eyes only.

 

So, maybe he wasn’t imagining things when he walked in? His chewing slowed as he glanced at Murdoch adjusting the wick then pulling the heavy curtains across. Maybe that bust-up with Uncle Dan’l still had Murdoch in a pucker? In that case, it sure as hell wasn’t the time to tell him he’d forgotten the medicine—or that he might be hearing some scuttlebutt about him and Maryanne Franklin. With a bit of luck, he could get the medicine first thing in the morning and no-one would be the wiser.

 

Once the second lamp was lit, Murdoch turned it up, pushing light into the corners. This room was even more smarted-up than his next door; fringe on the bedspread, paintings on the wall, and a leather couch studded with buttons. “Kirby sure liked to throw his money about.” But a bowl of fruit on the wall? Kirby coulda hung the naked lady behind the bar up here instead.  Or one just like it. “He sure had grand ideas for a hotel in a two-bit town that sprung up because some Spaniards dug a few wells a hundred years ago.”

 

“I didn’t know you were a student of history?” Scott grinned.

 

 He grinned back and thumbed his finger in Murdoch’s direction. “That’s what the old man told me the first time we rode into town.”

 

Murdoch came across, putting a hand on the back of Johnny’s chair. “I did indeed. The Spaniards came looking for riches. Apparently, this was Kirby’s room. And you’re right. He had expensive tastes.”

 

“I believe it. Him and that satin vest of his woulda felt right at home in here.” He stabbed at his steak, maybe wishing it was Kirby’s heart, instead. “It makes you feel sick, don’t it.” A lump of misery filled his throat; turning his words to a mumble.  “Him livin’ high on the hog while Charlie’s in a shack worse than the McKillen dump.”

 

“Hard to understand a man like that.” Scott murmured too, running his hand over the dining table with its shiny wood.  Not a single scratch in sight.

 

Johnny had half a mind to etch his name into it with his knife. Would’ve burst in and done it when Kirby was trying to stop them building the jail, if he’d known this was how he lived.

 

“Kirby’s treasure was right under his nose—and he never saw it.” Murdoch shook his head.

 

Murdoch was right about that. How come Kirby didn’t feel for Charlie what he felt for Murdoch? They’d both been given another chance at life. “I feel bad for ole Charlie. I don’t think he’s doin’ so well.”

 

“Well, that’s to be expected, I suppose. I’ll look him up tomorrow. Get him to come out to the ranch and do a few things about the place. Keeping his hands busy is probably the best thing for Charlie right now.” But Murdoch sounded pretty glum about it all. Sure, Charlie wanted to build the jail, but did he know the price was gonna be that high?

 

.

 

Once he’d finished his last bite and put his coffee to his mouth, Murdoch cleared his throat. “Shall we start?” Any minute he’d be banging that paperweight and calling out, ‘order, order.’

 

Johnny pointed his fork at Scott. “You’d better come and take a seat, too, brother.” With the two of them prowling around, it was like being stalked by a pair of mountain lions.

 

Maybe it was no accident the way Murdoch brought the lamp across and put it bang-smack in the middle of the table like Teresa did when she was working on her sewing. The yellow light made Scott look even more peaked as he sat down, and now the corners of the room were back in shadow.

 

Murdoch folded his arms and stared down at Scott and him. “So, my two sons decided to do some detective work, did they?”

 

Scott pushed aside the steak Murdoch still hadn’t touched. “Now, wait a minute, Murdoch. Before we start, I think the three of us need to agree to put all our cards on the table. Agreed?”

 

“Agreed, Scott. Johnny?”

 

He shrugged. “Sure. I’ve got nothin’ to hide.” Mostly. Just medicine and Maryanne and hell, he wasn’t looking forward to letting Murdoch know maybe another friend of his had gone rogue and turned on him. If that’s what Maryanne’s message meant? Dios, he sure wanted to believe she’d written that note about not trusting her father because she was mad at Franklin—not because he’d turned on Murdoch like Jay McKillen had.

 

Scott was nodding at him “Good. We’re agreed. Going back to your question, Murdoch, we were just trying to find some answers as to who shot Johnny and who set fire to the storehouse. Starting at the McKillen ranch seemed like a good idea.”

 

“Scott, didn’t the sheriff tell you to keep away? That he’d do his investigating?”

 

Scott opened his mouth but Johnny held up his hand. “I guess I figured Gabe didn’t have too high a stake in things seeing as it wasn’t his arm that had a hole in it. But I’m thinking we might’ve been  wrong about that, Scott. I talked to Gabe. He wants to get to the bottom of all this, too.”

 

Scott leaned forward. “Murdoch, all we were going to do was snoop around a little, while McKillen was in town. Nothing more.”

 

“Whoever tossed that lantern through the window put an end to that.” Murdoch’s growl was deep enough to dive into. “The two of you have made a fine mess of things. That’s all I know. Canopus no longer has a house and it’s probably only a matter of time before he presses charges against you and I can’t say I blame him.”

 

Johnny was starting to feel mulish. “Like I said, Murdoch, it wasn’t us who started the fire.” Boy, talk about a dog with a bone. They’d never get anywhere in this ‘talk’ if they couldn’t get Murdoch’s mind off being irate with the two of them.

 

“Sir, Johnny and I, well, we both feel there’s something you’re not telling us about Bone Mountain.”

 

Johnny lifted his head. He was all ears, now. “Yeah, like what did you find up there? We, um…well, we both think maybe you’ve been holding out on us.”

 

Scott and his military problems. Find the enemy. Engage the enemy. Destroy the enemy. Not that Murdoch was the enemy, but he sure put Murdoch on the back foot by coming right out with a question about Bone Mountain before Murdoch had a chance to dig in. He’d never seen his old man look kinda flustered before.

“You’re half right. It’s true that I’ve been reluctant to speak about what I found there.” And he still looked ‘reluctant’ because he took a few steps away from the light, like maybe two sets of eyes boring into him was too much to take. “You boys know that since everything happened with Jay McKillen and Buttermere’s shenanigans, we haven’t been running any cattle on Bone Mountain.”

 

“Scott and me figured it was a sore point with you, after ol’ Jay threatened to kill you.”

 

Murdoch sighed, like sighing and him were old friends. “I’ve seen disputes over land end friendships before—I just didn’t think it would happen to me.”

 

“We don’t blame you any for not using the land, Murdoch. Besides, it wasn’t much use anyway. You said it was bone dry and useless. Not even a sodbuster could make a go of it.”

 

“That’s right; dry and useless.” Murdoch muttered the words like him and Scott weren’t even in the room.

 

Scott eyed Johnny like he was looking for answers but heck, all Johnny could do was shrug one shoulder with Murdoch looking away.

 

Finally, Scott said, “Go on, sir.”

 

Murdoch turned back to them. “A few months ago, we had that earthquake, remember?”

 

Johnny nodded. “Sure, I remember. It knocked some of our fencing down.” Him and Scott and most of the hands had been out there running wire and digging post holes for days.

“The earthquake must’ve been stronger on Bone Mountain because it affected the creek. Instead of running on the west side, the disturbance diverted the flow. Now the stream runs right through our land. And thanks to the drought breaking, it’s presently one of the best tracts of land we own for running cattle. Good water supply. Plenty of feed.”

Scott looked as puzzled as Johnny felt. “Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it? Why would you want to keep that a secret from us?”

“Because, when I rode up to Bone Mountain, I discovered someone else was running cattle up there—on our land.”

 

Whoa. Johnny let out a long, low whistle. “That’s what I call taking a liberty.”

 

“Could it be a mistake, Murdoch?”

 

“Boys, every rancher knows what happened with that land and Jay McKillen. News like that runs faster than a wildfire. It was no mistake.”

“Have you got any ideas as to who’d be bold enough—.”

 

“Try ‘crooked’ brother.”

 

“You’re right; crooked enough, to be using our land. I assume you checked for a brand on the cattle?”

 

“Not a single brand. On any of them. Joshua Fielding owns the land next to ours. But he’s as honest as they come. All his cattle would be branded.”

 

Scott and him looked at each other across the table. In the silence, the piano player sounded even louder, like he’d got a second wind.

Bone-damn-Mountain. Even trying to picture the land up there made his head get achy again. He thumped his forehead a couple of times but that didn’t shake any memories free. “I just don’t remember seeing any of this, Murdoch.”

“No, I don’t think you would’ve, Johnny. I can’t be sure, of course, but the area where I found the bullet casings was a good distance from the creek and any cattle. Although you might’ve noticed how green it was up there?”

 

He tried closing his eyes but a hand on his arm made him open them. “Don’t try too hard, John. If the memories are there, they’ll come back over time, by themselves.”

 

Scott tapped the table with his finger, like he was pointing to a place on a map. “Murdoch, is it possible someone shot Johnny to stop him proceeding further and seeing what you saw up there?”

 

“It’s possible, I suppose. But eventually one of us was going to ride up there. Short of killing Johnny, I don’t see that shooting him was going to serve any purpose. Unless it was meant to be some kind of warning?”

 

“Or payback from a man who thinks you were responsible for his father’s death.” Scott looked Murdoch straight in the eye as he said that. “Isn’t that what we both thought?”

 

Murdoch rubbed the back of his neck. “I admit, it seemed like the obvious answer at the time, but now we have a charred storehouse and McKillen’s ranch in much the same shape. And we know Canopus was in town this last time—any number of people saw him—and it’s highly unlikely he’d burn his own home.”

 

Damn, if he could just remember. Something. Anything from that ride. He put his head down and tried rubbing both temples but all he saw was, well, not even a black hole. “Speaking of Joshua Fielding, I saw him in town today at Mabel’s. He wasn’t exactly neighbourly.”

 

Scott kicked his foot under the table. “While I was lying on my deathbed, you were at Mabel’s?”

 

Johnny gave him half a grin when he looked up. “No, brother. I was in the livery and when I came out, the awning fell down on Big Hugh’s head. Mabel sent me inside to get a cloth to wipe his face. That’s when I saw Joshua Fielding. He was talking to a kid called Melody.” He shook his head. That sure wasn’t sitting right with him. “She’s barely as old as T’resa. I don’t know what a kid like her is doing in place like that.”

 

Murdoch came across, leaning on the back of the other wooden chair at the table. “Mabel’s been running that establishment for nearly ten years. She always had a reputation for taking on older women.”

 

“Yeah, well, she doesn’t own it anymore. She told me. Said she’s moving on.”

 

“Really?” It wasn’t often he managed to catch Murdoch by surprise.

“Yep. Word is Franklin and his town council don’t want her type in town.”

 

Murdoch rubbed his jaw. “Well, they’re probably getting pressure from their wives.”

 

“Yeah, well, if you give some men a whiff of authority it goes straight to their heads.”

 

“Speaking of Jeb Franklin…” Scott leaned on the words with his eyes on Johnny, “you need to tell Murdoch about the note, brother. I’ve already filled Murdoch in on the basket.”

 

“You mean the feller snatching it from McKillen’s before he burned the shack to the ground?”

 

Murdoch was looking at him keenly now. “That’s probably the basket Scott and I saw at McKillen’s the morning after you were shot.”

 

“Yeah, well don’t bother asking about’em. According to Henry, there ain’t a woman in the whole valley who doesn’t own one. Probably half a dozen of the damn things. You’ve only gotta look around the main street. I count three of’em now. The one Maryanne gave me, the one in McKillen’s place and I saw Joshua Fielding handing one out at Mabel’s this morning.”

 

Scott nudged his foot this time. “Mabel’s again? You’ve got a one-track mind, brother. What’s that got to do with anything?”

 

“I dunno. Nothin’, I guess.” Scott filled up Johnny’s cup again, but his eyes were sending signals faster than any telegraph operator as he pushed it towards Johnny. Maybe Scott forgot how Murdoch took Jay McKillen’s betrayal to heart. But Johnny sure didn’t. He took a gulp of his coffee. Dios, what was the best way of dealing with this? Maybe it was a military problem? “Murdoch, how well do you know Jeb Franklin?”

 

“He’s been in the valley since Maryanne was a youngster. I remember them visiting Lancer when she was only three or four. As a fellow rancher, we’ve grown close over the years. We’ve weathered droughts and floods and helped each other out. He’s a good man.”

“So…um…you consider him a friend of yours, then?”

“I considered Jay McKillen a friend of mine, if it comes down to that.”

“Yeah, well let’s keep ole Jay outta things Murdoch. I’m talkin’ about Jeb Franklin.”

 

“Why? Is there something I should know?” Murdoch could pin the entire town of Spanish Wells to the wall with that look he was giving him and Scott.

 

Scott shrugged, like he was saying Johnny had no choice. “You’ve got to tell him, Johnny.”

 

Oh, boy. “Thanks, brother.”

 

“Will you both stop beating around the bush—if you’ve got some further information, then say it!”

 

Hell, when Murdoch yells, his voice goes right through you. “Okay, okay. I’m getting to it. I just don’t know how happy you’ll be to hear it, that’s all.” Murdoch’s eyes were just about disappearing under his frown so…  “The thing is, when Maryanne gave me that basket of fruit and stuff, she gave me a note that said, ‘Don’t trust my father.’”

 

“Why would she do that?” He shot the words out before Johnny could even blink.

 

“I dunno.” He rubbed his nose before risking his next words. “Scott and me were kinda hoping you might…um…have some idea?”

But Murdoch shook his head, bottom lip poking out. “I don’t know what to think. It could mean a hundred different things.”

 

Well, he didn’t get his head blown off and at least Murdoch sounded thoughtful instead of crushed, like he’d been about Jay McKillen. “Yeah. Or maybe it means just one.” Well, that was that. He was hoping Murdoch might know something about Franklin they didn’t know. Johnny stood up and walked across to the window and pulled the curtain back. There was some sort of noise down there. Probably a drunk being thrown out of the saloon. “I…ah…I saw Maryanne in town today. I asked her about her the note.”

 

“And?”

 

“Nothin’. She said it wasn’t about me being bushwhacked.” He let the curtain fall back and turned around. “I can tell you one thing, though, she ain’t too keen on her old man. Told me she hated him. Can’t say I’ve got warm feelings about him, either.”

 

“Johnny, we can’t let our imaginations run away with us and start suspecting everyone in town, but I admit Franklin can be overbearing at times.”

 

No-one said anything more. That frown of Murdoch’s was likely to take root or he was gonna rub his mouth right off if he kept running his hand over it. Well, they weren’t getting too far with this ‘talk,’ were they. Blazes, he was just about seeing double he was so damned tired. Maybe he ought to—?

 

“Johnny, there’s a possibility I know why Maryanne hates her father.”

 

They both stared at Scott. His voice had been sounding pretty hoarse with all his coughing but there was another note to it now that made Johnny’s fingers twitch and had him looking at Scott real close. “What are you talking about?”

 

Scott held up both hands as if Johnny was holding a gun on him. “Look, I don’t know how true this is, and I can’t say I heard it from a reliable source.”

 

Johnny walked back to the table. Ooh, he had a feeling in his bones he wasn’t gonna like any of this. “Who was the source?”

 

“Marcy Peterson.”

Scott had to be kidding. “Shoot, she’s one of the biggest gossips in town, ‘cording to T’resa.”

“Exactly, so I don’t know if I should even be repeating this, but we all agreed to tell what we knew.”

 

Scott defending his words before he even said them out loud was unlike Scott. “Go on, brother. You’ve got the floor.”

 

Scott folded his hands on the table in front of him. “I don’t even remember how it came up, but Marcy told me Maryanne was sent to San Francisco because of Canopus.”

Dios, that couldn’t be right—but something was squeezing his chest making it hard to keep his breathing smooth, all the same. “Her father was trying to break’em up?”

“According to Marcy, there was more to it than simply that.”

 

What the hell was he talking about? He narrowed his eyes, fixing his stare on Scott. “What are you saying, brother?” Or not saying, more likely. “Spit it out. Like Murdoch says, if you’ve got something to say—”

Scott wasn’t flinching. “She more or less told me Maryanne went to San Francisco because she was carrying his child.”

 

“That’s a load of bull!”

 

He held up his hand. “I’m only mentioning this because we all agreed to share what we knew.”

 

“You said that already.” He had to grind out his words with his breath jumping into his throat. “Only it seems to me this is just what you heard.”

 

Scott nodded. “That’s true. And I’m just putting it out there for us to think about.”

 

Dios he hated it when Scott sounded so damn reasonable. How was he meant to fight that? But Dios, Maryanne and Canopus? He snatched  up the paperweight, hefting it in his hand. If this had been anyone else but Scott, he’d be grabbing them by the shirt front right now.

 

Murdoch put his hands in his pockets like he was trying not to take sides. “Johnny, I don’t think Scott’s implying anything.”

 

“Aw, phft, maybe I didn’t go to Harvard, but I’m pretty sure I know exactly what he’s implying.” He fixed his eyes on Murdoch. “You heard anything about this?”

“Johnny, I don’t pay attention to scuttlebutt, especially that type.”

 

Yeah and paying attention to it ain’t the same as saying you never heard it. Hell, was she playing him for a fool?

 

Scott stood up. “Look, Johnny, I didn’t say anything before because I didn’t know if it was true or not, but there’s no doubt that Maryanne seems to have, somehow, wormed her way into this whole situation.”

 

What the heck? Well, he was done trying to hide how mad this was making him. “Wormed her way in, huh? Why, because she visited me when I was laid up and because we talked at the dance?” He wasn’t exactly shouting but he sure wanted to. “That’s enough to make her guilty in your book, huh, Scott?”

 

A fire lit Scott’s eyes. Good. “Well, you know her, Johnny. Why don’t you tell us what she’s like? If you think there’s no truth in this, then, fine, I’ll trust your judgement.”

 

Him and Scott were locking horns across the room when Murdoch came across and stood between them. “It is worth considering if Maryanne knew you were riding up to Bone Mountain.” He put his hand up when Johnny just about spluttered. “I’m not saying she told anyone—.”

 

“Canopus you mean?”

 

“Not precisely. But she might have mentioned it in passing to someone. Anyone. Did you tell Maryanne you were riding up to bone Mountain?”

 

“Well, Johnny?”

His head was just about spinning with all the questions. “How the hell do I know? The only thing I remember for sure from that night was being sucker-punched by McKillen. Maryanne and me probably talked about a lotta things.” He rubbed his forehead again. “I told you everything’s foggy about that night. Only thing I remember are the feathers.”

“Feathers?” Scott just about jumped on the word.

“Yeah, I don’t know. Every time I try to think back to that night, it’s like heading into a mine with no lamp. I guess someone was wearing feathers or …”

 

Scott took a step closer. “Or you saw a flock of birds up on Bone mountain?”

 

“Nope. They weren’t in the air.”

 

“Johnny, you just remembered something. You said the feathers were on the ground.”

 

Dios, next minute  Scott’ll be slapping him on the back and giving him a cigar. “I didn’t say that.”

 

“Okay, but you said they weren’t in the air.”

 

“Dammit, Scott, I don’t even know if I saw the damn things and now you’re putting words in my mouth!” What the hell was wrong with him?

Murdoch put a hand on his shoulder. “Son, the mind is unpredictable when it’s been through a hard knock. I can remember having a bad concussion once and I imagined all sorts of things that had nothing to do with anything.”

 

Johnny put his hands on his hips. “Well, that’s great, Murdoch. All we’ve got is feathers that aren’t there and Scott thinking Maryanne’s a spy for —.”

 

“Johnny, I never said that. I said there might be a reason why Maryanne hates her father, if he forced her and McKillen apart.”

 

Johnny walked across to the window and pulled back the heavy curtain. With any luck he’d find a wagon on fire out there being attacked by Indians. Dios, all this talk made his head throb like a piston engine.

 

“Johnny?”

 

He tried rubbing the back of his neck. “Dammit, Scott, I just can’t talk about remembering anymore.”

 

“Johnny … look.” And that was as much as he got out before the coughing started up again.

 

Murdoch poured a glass of water from the jug on the bedside table. “Where’s the medicine, Johnny? Did you leave it in your room?”

 

Aw, shoot. He’d been waiting for this. “I didn’t get it.” He mumbled the words, like he did the few times a teacher asked him to read out loud in school.

 

“You didn’t get it?” Scott snapped the words out, between coughs. “Isn’t that why you went out? What the hell were you doing all afternoon?”

 

He’d been darn-well looking for answers and being beat up by Drew’s men and … and kissing Maryanne!

 

“Maybe you should ask Marcy Peterson, Scott. Seems like she knows everything that’s goin’ on in this town.”

 

.

 

Johnny didn’t slam the door on his way out — and if he had, they probably wouldn’t have heard it when his lungs were turning themselves inside out to the point he almost gagged.

 

“Scott, I’m sorry about the medicine. I’ll head down first thing in the morning. I should’ve know Johnny had too much on his plate.” He handed Scott a wet cloth from the basin then shepherded him across to sit on the bed. “Here. This might help.”

 

Scott held it up to his face, pressing it against his eyes. It was cold, thank God. Every time he coughed, he could feel the heat of the flames again, remembered the smoke clawing at his throat—

 

“I would’ve thought … a simple trip across the street to Henry’s … wouldn’t have taxed Johnny’s mind too much.” Even after those few words, he had to swallow more water.

 

“If you remember, you’re the one who took Johnny out riding when he was meant to be taking things easy. Instead, the pair of you almost burn to death by going where you weren’t meant to. It’s only by the grace of God I still have two sons.”

 

He rolled his eyes. “Sir, you only asked Johnny to cross the street to the mercantile. A matter of a hundred yards or so.”

 

“It turns out, there are extenuating circumstances as to why he didn’t.”

 

“Is it too much for you to share with me what they might be?”

 

Murdoch started pacing. “It would have been better if you’d kept your suspicions regarding Maryanne to yourself.”

 

“You seem to forget, sir, that someone shot your son—and my brother—and we don’t know who it is. I’m sorry if Johnny’s upset, but I’d rather an upset brother, than a dead one.”

 

“Well, quarrelling amongst ourselves isn’t going to help!”

 

 

.

 

The first boot hitting the door felt pretty damn good.

 

The second one felt even better. It hit the door with a whack loud enough to be heard over the piano thumping away downstairs. Why the hell couldn’t Scott just mind his own damn business? What makes him think he knows better than anyone else? It’s Melissa Harper all over again. As if Johnny can’t think for himself when it comes to women. He’d been doing just fine all these years before coming to Lancer. Scott acts like he thinks Johnny’s some wet behind the ears shavetail who turns to mush over a pretty face. Well, Scott hasn’t been doing so well since coming out here. He got duped by Polly when the Foleys were after her, then pretty much made a fool outta himself over Moira McGloin. Wouldn’t hear a word against that family of thieving hyenas until it just about hit him in the face.

 

He took his gun belt off then ripped the bandage off his hand before yanking his shirt out of his pants.

 

Hell, he wished he hadn’t put his green shirt on. Easing his arm out was a damned fool’s errand but at least there was no blood on the bandage. It had been giving him plenty of grief since Drew’s hardcases set on him. Oh boy, he’d walked into that one, hadn’t he.

 

Just like he’d walked into Maryanne in the alley…

 

He sat on the bed then threw himself back on the pillows.

 

Maryanne.

 

Just thinking about her made his blood boil.

 

Was she playing him for a fool? He’d been played before—plenty of times. He could hardly give Scott all the credit on that score. Sure, sometimes he knew it and didn’t mind. A tangle between the sheets on a cold night, in a real bed, was always better than camping outside with a small fire and a single blanket that barely covered your butt. He figured his chances of slipping out the window before morning was worth the risk of a beating, any day.

 

Yep, he’d learned plenty of times that a pretty face was as likely to be dishonest as any other kind of face.

 

And Maryanne’s face sure was pretty. But it wasn’t just that. There was something about her … right from that first night at the dance. Maybe she felt like him that night? He’d seen the ugly side of ranching hidden behind perfect smiles and polite manners so often that it was hard to look at folk and not wonder what they were planning behind closed doors. Was her old man one of those folk with white teeth and a hand shake that was more crush than welcome?

 

Aw hell, that kiss in the alley had really been something…until she started talking. “Johnny, I believe you didn’t burn down the McKillen farm. But I don’t believe Canopus shot you.”

 

Oh sure. He knew when he was being played. Recognised that same sour taste even with her tongue teasing his mouth and his lips still wanting more. A whole lot more.

 

He flung his good arm over his eyes, trying to remember. He had to think this through if he wanted to make sense of it all. What else had she told him in the alley?

 

That she hated her father.

 

And she’d done something to McKillen she couldn’t even talk about because it made her feel bad.

 

The things Marcy Peterson said; could they line up with all this? Maybe she didn’t tell Canopus about the kid, if there was one? Did her old man force her to give the baby up? That could account for a lotta hate.

 

Blazes, the idea of Maryanne and Canopus McKillen locking lips when the stink of him would be enough to make any bluestocking run a mile was more than he could take. Still, she said they’d known each other since they were kids? Maybe Canopus used to take a bath back then? Maybe he stopped taking baths when she dumped him? Hell, you always knew a man was in love when he started taking a bath more than once a month.

 

He closed his eyes but his gut was churning like a river in flood and he was pretty sure all his thinking was sending him nowhere fast.

 

And now that sounded like more coughing coming from Scott’s room. He felt bad. No two ways about it. How could he make such a mess of not getting the medicine? If the shoe had been on the other foot, no way would Scott have forgotten to get it for Johnny. Scott just wasn’t like that.

 

He scrubbed a hand down his face…but everything that was said in the other room was still ringing in his ears. Only now he heard how careful Scott was trying to be…showing his hands…doing what he could to spare Johnny’s feelings.

 

He blew out a long breath. If he hadn’t jumped into being mad, he would’ve seen that Scott didn’t take any pleasure in what he said about Maryanne tonight. He probably only got mad in return because of things Johnny said. Truth was, if Johnny thought none of it was true, he wouldn’t have gone off half-cocked at Scott. And he sure wouldn’t be blaming Scott for stuff Maryanne did. All he did by storming out was show Scott and Murdoch that Maryanne had got under his skin.

 

And dammit, only last night Scott mighta been killed dragging Johnny’s ass outta that burning hellhole.

 

He sat up and swung his legs back off the bed. No way was he gonna fall asleep with an arm that ached like the devil and all this buzzing around his brain.

 

He stood up and  wandered across to the dresser. One glance in the mirror was enough to show he looked like hell. Scott looked pale enough but his own face wasn’t much better, and now he had a split lip and a knuckle graze along his jaw as well. And all that was just the aching parts that he could see! The water helped before, so he cupped his hands into the bowl and splashed it over his face. Once he was done, he scrubbed his face dry, then tossed the towel over his bare shoulder.

 

He paced across to the window, then back again, but he got the same answer both times; he was gonna have to go back in and apologise. And maybe worse than that, he’d better tell Murdoch about Maryanne and him before he was ambushed by Jeb Franklin with a rifle in his hand.

 

Well, if he was gonna get this done, he’d better do it quick. He didn’t try to put his shirt on, just took the few strides down the hallway to Scott’s room. He could hear their voices inside, so he didn’t bother knocking—just grabbed the handle and opened the door. He was gonna get this off his chest right now. “Murdoch, I—.”

 

“Johnny.” Murdoch wasn’t looking all that happy about seeing him. And straightaway, Johnny could see why.

 

Jeb Franklin was standing in the middle of the room. And it sure didn’t look like he was there on a social visit. Not with a thunder-face like that.

 

To be continued...