Letting it Stand Chapter 16

 Letting it Stand

Chapter 16

 

Morgan Randolph’s front door was real fancy, with polished glass and gold lettering that glinted in the midday sun. How many times a day must he shine that glass to get the dust off? Most folk didn’t care about stuff like that. Beyond the glass, there was a small hallway and then a door to the right that led into the office itself. Even with both doors closed, Murdoch’s deep voice rumbled through the walls. Probably making what Scott called small talk—the kinda talk folk did when they felt they had to fill the silence, or wanted to pass the time. Johnny’d never had much use for that. You either had something worth saying, or you didn’t.

 

From the sounds of things, Murdoch’s small talk grew smaller by the second. Maybe ‘cause he was running out of things to say, looking at the clock, wondering where the hell Johnny had got to and why he hadn’t tried to talk him out of taking Barranca when the rest of them were travelling in the buggy.

 

Well, Murdoch couldn’t be too sore; Johnny had made it here, hadn’t he? He took a minute on the boardwalk, letting his hand rest easy on the door handle before he had to walk on in there and sign his name—his new name—on the partnership agreement. Boy, he’d not signed much before. Not even as ‘Johnny Madrid’ except to register for a room, and even then he’d only sign as Madrid if he wanted folk to know who was in town. Often, he’d create a new name on the fly. Never once used Johnny Lancer. Hadn’t even uttered them two words together until that day in the post office when they badgered it out of him. But Johnny Lancer was who he was gonna be from now on. 

 

The handle turned, and his spurs rang as he stepped into the office. Everyone looked his way—Scott stood to the side of the desk, Randolph behind it, and Teresa and Murdoch in front. Looked like Murdoch had been wearing a path in the floor ‘cause he pulled up mid-pace; his hands still on his hips, frustration fighting real hard to break into a smile. Aw, damn. Something tugged in his chest. He had to stop doing this to his old man. 

 

Dios, everyone looked all smarted up for this. Murdoch in a jacket and tie, Teresa with some fancy hat on. Scott wasn’t wearing a tie, but he still looked all tidy, like maybe he’d smuggled one of them silver clothes brushes from his room and given himself a dust down when they got to town. The thought made Johnny grin, so he wiped his hand across his mouth to cover it, nodding to the lawyer as he ventured into the room.

 

Randolph nodded back. “It’s good to see you again, Mister… Lancer?”

 

“Yeah, sorry I’m late.”

 

Murdoch gave him one of them looks. The one Scott called ‘exasperation’. Like he wanted to ask how it was possible Johnny was only just showing up when he’d left the ranch a good hour before the rest of them.

 

Flashing a quick smile, he headed for Scott’s side of the desk and took up a lean in the corner between his brother and some big old wooden cabinet. The office felt smaller with them all crammed in. Books and knick-knacks took up every shelf, and what d’ya know, there was a clock on the wall right in Murdoch’s eyeline. Bet he’d been watching that ‘til the moment Johnny walked through the door.

 

Letting his hat tip down against his back, Johnny popped one of the stampede strings into his mouth and chewed on it.

 

“Shall we make a start?” Randolph was pulling an envelope out from a file on his desk. “As discussed—one uncontested letter of guardianship for Miss Teresa Ann O’Brien, signed by Judge Martin. To run until Teresa turns twenty-one.” He went to hand it to Murdoch, but Murdoch pointed at Teresa instead.

 

“It’s all there in writing, darling. If you’d like to read it.”

 

“No, I don’t need to.” She leaned into the old man, a big ol’ smile on her face even as she wiped a tear from her cheek with her finger. Women and their tears—happy or sad, they’d shed ‘em just the same. It could be darn confusing sometimes. Murdoch stooped to murmur something into Teresa’s hair, and she nodded. 

 

Randolph had a cream-coloured folder out now, the corners all creased like it had been wedged in the filing cabinet too long. He flipped the cover to a page filled with neat, looping script.

 

“Now, to the terms of the partnership agreement.” Randolph pushed his spectacles higher on his nose. “It’s a simple arrangement—third share of the profits, third share of responsibilities. Fairly straightforward. I understand the three of you reviewed everything last night?”

 

Oh yeah, that’d been the old man’s idea. Scott reckoned that, this time, Murdoch wanted to put him at ease before the signing. Never mind ease, it almost put him to sleep. Or it would’ve done had Murdoch not kept asking if he had questions after explaining every little thing about running the ranch. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what he was getting into, or hadn’t already snuck a look at those ledgers Murdoch kept threatening to show him how to complete. He might not understand why they entered the figures the way they did, but he knew how to read a bottom line.

 

“As your father instructed, I’ve amended the name back to John Lancer.” Randolph turned the first page over and slid the second page across the desk towards him. “I trust that’s still your wish?”

 

All eyes came his way. He shifted against the cabinet, but managed to nod.

 

“Good. If I could have you sign first, John.”

 

Randolph held out the pen.

 

They were all gonna watch him do this, huh?  

 

Letting the string fall from his lips, he stepped up to the desk. He’d negotiated plenty of deals in his time—hiring his gun didn’t come cheap for those who could afford it—but unlike the deals he’d struck before, this wasn’t about money or quick gain. This was a tie, a promise that could last. Somehow, the feel of an actual agreement under his fingertips made him as uneasy as a room full of rurales. His belly was doing flips. Come on, Johnny. It’s a darn piece of paper. That’s all. Not even that, if you took a match to it. Agreements could turn to ash just like the paper they were written on.

 

He must’ve hesitated a mite too long ‘cause Randolph cleared his throat. “If you’d like me to clarify this section…” He pointed to the writing above where he was supposed to sign, like maybe Johnny couldn’t read. “… it specifies that, as you’re still a minor under California law, your father’s co-signature is required to validate the agreement.”

 

Jesus. His grip tightened on the pen. Needing his father’s signature still didn’t sit right. Made his shirt collar feel ten sizes too small. How could he be a man outside these walls—a man who’d done all the things he’d done—yet in here be some kid who couldn’t decide on his own? A snort of bitter laughter was bubbling up, but he forced it down.

 

“… and further, the contract is voidable until you reach twenty-one…”

 

“So, it can be cancelled, just like that?” No one mentioned that last night. Turns out it was just as he thought—this piece of paper was about as worthless as the match it’d take to burn it.

 

“Only by you, Johnny,” Murdoch said softly, like Johnny was a nervous horse about to bolt or something. “No one else.”

 

“Your father’s right,” Randolph added, with a quick nod. “The usual terms would apply, of course—conditions of breach, and so forth. But the agreement was drawn with particular care. Your father has been explicit in wanting this contract to extend you the same privileges and duties as your brother, regardless of your age.” Randolph adjusted his spectacles again, looking Johnny square in the eye. “Upon reaching the age of majority, provided you haven’t rescinded, the contract remains binding in full and can no longer be voided, not even by you.”

 

Dios, that was a mouthful if ever he’d heard one. He wanted to ask—what happened then, if he left? He wasn’t thinking about leaving, just needed to know he could. There’d been too many times in his life when things went south fast, and a quick exit was all that kept him breathing. But, just as he hadn’t been able to ask it last night, how the hell could he ask it now when Murdoch and Scott were giving him a get-on-and-sign-it tilt of the head? This wasn’t like hiring out his gun in some dusty town. This wasn’t business. It was family.   

 

So… he signed it. Ignoring the doubts whispering in his ear. What if I wake up in three months and realise I don’t want this? What if, six months down the line, ranching turned out to be about as suited to him as a preacher’s sermon, or worse, what if something from his past caught up, and he couldn’t stay? The pen scratched on the paper. It sure felt strange when he formed that ‘L’.

 

Straightening up, he stepped outta the way as Murdoch came around the desk to sign it too, and then they were all smiling; Scott grinning at him like he’d done real good, and Murdoch looking proud and satisfied—like after weeks of wrangling, he’d corralled Johnny at last.

 

Hell, the ink hadn’t dried yet, but it felt a little like he couldn’t breathe.

 

He settled some once they got back out on the street. Didn’t feel quite so penned in. Okay, so he couldn’t quite shake that prickle of warning that he was losing something, but at the same time, it felt like he’d gained something, too.

 

Scott slapped his shoulder, and Murdoch pulled Teresa close, relaxed, like he’d been holding his breath. “Let’s make our way to the hotel. We have some celebrating to do.” Murdoch paused, his gaze landing on Johnny. “You are coming, aren’t you, John?”

 

“Yep.” He gave Randolph’s office one last glance before sticking his hat on his head and trailing after them.

 

 

The hotel was at the other end of town, opposite the stage depot, where the one o’clock must’ve pulled in early. Luggage blocked half the boardwalk, and buggies lined up to collect passengers, while the stage driver crouched on the roof, securing bags for the next lot heading out. Dios, were those days over for him? Riding free to somewhere new, never sure what waited for you when you arrived, or if you’d ever come back this way again.

 

A wagon rolled past too fast, kicking up a swell of dust in the street that made the Green River Hotel stand out even more with its fresh blue paint, whitewashed trim, and polished glass windows that gleamed in the sun. Teresa was lost admiring the flowers hanging in baskets from the veranda; colourful things, even at this time of year, that looked too well cared for in this dusty town. The folk drifting in and out of the brass-handled double doors were all dressed up like it was Sunday, not Monday, and this sure wasn’t a place Johnny’d pick to stay or eat in. He’d rather go hungry. Not that he had much say in it now. Murdoch, Scott and Teresa were heading for the doors, and Johnny was just about to follow them inside when Teresa stopped short.

 

“Oh no,” she said, looking back toward the lawyer’s office. “I think I left my purse.”

 

“I’ll get it,” Johnny said quickly, already stepping back. Hell, he’d take a few extra minutes of not having to sit down to that fancy meal, even if he couldn’t avoid it forever. “You three go on.”

 

“Thank you, Johnny.” Teresa flashed a smile, and Johnny waved them off, already turning back toward the street as Scott ushered Teresa inside.

 

“John, hold up a minute, would you?”

 

Darn. He couldn’t help a soft huff of irritation as Murdoch followed him down the steps. Worse still, he was giving him one of those looks again. Not exasperation, but one of them searching looks. The kind Johnny hated. He’d only offered to fetch a damn purse was all. “What is it, Murdoch? I’ll only take a minute or two.”  

 

“Are you all right?”

 

It was a helluva question to ask a man in the middle of a crowded street, when there was a kid in a hotel uniform collecting strewn luggage right by Johnny’s feet, and folk weaving around Murdoch to come and go from the hotel. That didn’t seem to bother his old man, though. Murdoch seemed to block all that out like he was looking at Johnny down the sight of a rifle.

 

“You askin’ me that ‘cause I offered to do somethin’ nice for Teresa?” he answered with a quick grin, but, dammit, Murdoch didn’t even crack a smile. That searching gaze of his stayed fixed on Johnny like he could see past every word, and then his hand was on Johnny’s arm, nudging him a little further along the boardwalk to where it was quieter.

 

“I’m asking because I know you had… reservations… about signing the agreement. I’d hoped we’d put those to rest, but you didn’t seem very happy back there in Randolph’s office—”  

 

“Reservations? Nah, I’m fine. Just not used to all these paper things. That’s all.” He gave a small shrug. “Only reservations I’m thinkin’ ‘bout now are for lunch.” He forced another grin, his hand moving to his belly. “Go ahead an’ order for me while I grab Teresa’s purse, huh?”

 

Murdoch gave a slow nod, his eyes lingering on Johnny a moment longer. “All right, if you’re sure.” He turned to go but hesitated, glancing back like he’d remembered something else. “One more thing, Johnny. The hotel has a no guns policy. You’ll need to hang up your belt in the lobby.” His voice was careful, a little softer than usual. “You okay with that?”

 

Nope. He glanced down at the belt on his hip. Yet another piece of him to leave at the door. He sighed. “Yeah, I can do that.”

 

“Right. Well, we’ll see you in a minute, then.”

 

“Murdoch!” someone called out, and as his father turned to see who it was, Johnny took his chance to escape, retracing his steps to the lawyer’s office.

 

Randolph must’ve been out back when Johnny walked in because the office was empty. Teresa’s purse was on the desk, resting on top of the cream-coloured folder. He was reaching for it when Randolph returned with a plate of sandwiches. With the man’s focus on his lunch, he didn’t notice Johnny until he was in the room, and then he jumped slightly, the hand not holding the plate pressing over his heart. “Mister Lancer! I didn’t hear you come in.”

 

Dios. Mister Lancer made him sound forty-something. How old was Murdoch, anyway? Johnny let the hint of a smile tug at his mouth. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that.” He nodded to the corner of Randolph’s desk. “Teresa left her purse.”

 

“Ah, of course.” Randolph cleared his throat and nudged the small purse towards Johnny, who picked it up, eyes straying to that folder again. Aw, damn it. He oughtta just come out with it. “Mister Randolph. Mind if I ask you somethin’?”

 

Randolph adjusted his spectacles again, then folded his hands atop the paperwork. “Of course. Go ahead.”

 

Johnny trailed his fingers along the desk. “Say… someday… I decided ranching ain’t for me. Would I be able to just leave, or would this agreement I signed tie me down?”

 

If the question surprised Randolph, he didn’t show it, just settled back in his chair, his hands moving to clasp over the front of his expensive-looking grey suit. “That depends on what you mean by ‘someday’. As I said earlier, before twenty-one, you can walk away. After, should you choose to leave, you’d be entitled to your share’s fair value. A formal process would be needed to transfer your interest, of course. Either as a buyout or through a dissolution arrangement.”

 

Johnny gave a slow shake of his head. “No, I wouldn’t want nothin’. ‘Cept to walk away.”

 

Randolph raised a bushy eyebrow. “Well, that’s a generous notion. However, in a formal partnership, it would still be advisable to outline your intentions explicitly, perhaps even in advance. Legal documentation can prevent misunderstandings, especially in family agreements.”

 

“So, if I asked you to draw up somethin’ and I signed it. That’d work?”

 

Randolph peered at him over the steel rim of his spectacles. “I can do that, but have you discussed this with your father and brother? They’d likely want to understand your position on this.”

 

“I will.” The lie—‘cause he was pretty sure it was one—slipped out without a hitch. There would be little point worrying ‘em over something that might never happen. 

 

Randolph’s expression softened. “In a partnership, transparency benefits everyone.”

 

“Appreciate it, Mister Randolph. You’ve been… clear.” Gripping Teresa’s purse, he gave the lawyer a brief nod and left the office.

 

 

Inside the Green River Hotel probably wasn’t what his brother’d call fancy, but it sure was polished up all nice. More so than that cafe he’d eaten in the last time he was in this town, and a helluva lot nicer than the saloon. The hotel manager thought it was something all right, strutting about, greeting everyone like they were his most important customer, chest all puffed out like a rooster, as he led Johnny into the dining room. Seemed he didn’t give a damn about Johnny’s boots traipsing dirt over the thick red carpet, just so long as his gun belt was out of the way in the lobby.

 

Their table was tucked into the big bay window with a view of the courtyard, dotted with more of them pretty little hanging baskets Teresa liked. Murdoch, Teresa and Scott looked right at home, chatting about how the place had changed hands and whether the beef burgundy would still taste the same.

 

Dios. Even though they’d already ordered from the menu, Scott was still going on about the champagne, saying, “You realise you have a vintage bottle in the wine cellar back home,” and Murdoch chuckled. “I know that, Scott, but it’s nice to be out, isn’t it? This is a celebration, after all.”

 

Jesus. What did he know about champagne? He’d tried some once. Didn’t taste much better than other drinks, just sharper, like something they’d made expensive for no good reason. He drummed his fingers on his thigh, played with the fork on the table. It was nice and all, but how much silverware did a table need for one meal, and was this the fork he was supposed to eat dinner with—who the hell knew? It was almost a relief when a voice called out across the room, “Murdoch, Scott! I don’t believe it!” because the two of them excused themselves to go talk to whoever it was they hadn’t seen in months, Murdoch throwing out a, “When the champagne comes, have them pour it, would you?” to Teresa, as Scott slapped Johnny on the shoulder like he was supposed to get up and follow.

 

He didn’t.

 

Teresa sat there, hands folded, watching him. “Aren’t you going over there, too?”

 

“Nope.” He flicked a look their way. Out in the lobby, Murdoch and Scott were talking to a man Murdoch’s age, their handshakes pumping like neither wanted to let go, until Murdoch crooked a finger and beckoned Johnny over.

 

Shit. He pretended not to see.

 

A waiter moved past, balancing plates, and a fat man in the corner was laughing too loud at what must be his own joke, ‘cause the woman he was with dabbed her mouth with a napkin, rolling her eyes when he wasn’t looking. From somewhere out front, the stage driver’s shout echoed through the street, and at the other end of the dining room, through the large windows, the stage coach doors slammed shut and the stage jolted forward and was gone. Aw, for a second, he kinda wished he was the one heading off. ‘Specially when Teresa’s boot nudged his ankle, and he turned to find her staring at him like he was a puzzle she was trying to work out. Sometimes her gaze bored right into him in a way he didn’t much like.

 

“You don’t seem very happy, Johnny. What’s wrong?” 

 

“I’m happy.” Jesus. What was it with everyone asking him that? Just because he wasn’t leaking tears of joy didn’t mean he wasn’t happy! “What d’you want me to do—dance a jig on the table?”

 

Teresa rolled her eyes. “What is it with men not admitting when they’re unsure about something?”

 

Madre de Dios. It was a darn good thing Scott came back to the table when he did. Murdoch had been on his way back, too, only he’d got waylaid by someone else. Boy, their old man sure seemed a big deal around here—everyone knew who he was and wanted a minute of his time.

 

“What are you two talking about?” Scott slid into his seat.

 

“I was trying to find out how Johnny feels about being a partner now. How did you feel about it, Scott?”

 

Scott looked thoughtful. “Excited. A little nervous, I suppose. It’s a big responsibility and there’s a lot to learn.”

 

Huh. So Scott had felt it, too. All this time he’d called it doubt. Maybe it was just plain nerves.

 

Scott smiled and then tilted his head over to where Murdoch was still jawing. “Fortunately, we have a good teacher.”

 

The waiter arrived with the champagne, holding up the bottle, and at Scott’s nod, started pouring. But Teresa was still watching him, all quiet and patient, like she was scheming up something to say. And hell, when her lips parted, it looked like she was about to pick up her nosy questioning right where she left off. The waiter had moved ‘round the table to her side, so Johnny reached out, blocking her glass with his hand. “Uh-uh, Teresa. How old are you again?”

 

Yep, that oughtta do it. Her lips pressed into a thin line. Whatever she’d been about to say—gone. The waiter circled to Johnny’s side, just about to fill his glass, when Teresa’s hand shot out to stop him. She flashed a sweet smile, leaned in, and murmured, “That’s funny, Johnny, because Mister Randolph pointed out you’re not twenty-one either.”

 

The waiter hesitated, frowning between them, then set the bottle down and moved off. “Are you two finished?” Scott asked.

 

“I was just pointing out that Johnny’s not old enough either,” Teresa said, sitting back with an innocent look. “Isn’t that right, Scott?”

 

Scott arched an eyebrow. “It’s right if we’re being particular about it.”

 

“See!” Teresa said, and damn, that smug grin of hers’d get right under his skin if he were the kinda man who cared about being ‘particular’. Shrugging off Scott’s amused look, Johnny reached for the bottle and tipped enough champagne into his glass to wipe the grin from her face.

 

Her arms folded, but as her gaze shifted past him to where Murdoch was weaving his way back through the dining room, a little smugness crept back in. “We’ll ask Murdoch if I’m allowed, shall we?” She leaned in. “I’ll let you explain to him why you object when it wasn’t all that long ago you poured me a tequila in the saloon…”

 

Ooh… so that’s how it was, huh? She was playing dirty now. Still, the grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. She had pluck, he’d give her that.

 

“Sorry about that.” Murdoch jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the spot where he’d just been held up. “What have I missed—something about the saloon?”

 

Teresa looked like she’d laid down the winning hand, while Scott moved his hand across his mouth to hide his smile, his eyes glinting like he was enjoying the show.

 

Aw, what the hell. He could let her have this one. Guess he owed her after the whole Diego thing. Still grinning, but with a slight shake of his head, Johnny reached for the champagne bottle, tipping it just enough to pour a healthy splash into Teresa’s glass, his gaze darting up to meet Murdoch’s.

 

“A lotta people sure do wanna talk to you, Murdoch.”

 

“It appears so. I was wondering if I’d make it back to the table before dessert.”

 

As Murdoch shook out his napkin, the waiter swooped in with a basket of bread and a dish of butter, like he’d been waiting on Murdoch getting back to his seat.

 

“The fella who caught me on my way back just then had some interesting information to share. Do you remember me telling you that the Double C ranch was up for auction?”

 

The waiter set steaming bowls of soup in front of them. Murdoch’s attention shifted to thank him, and then his focus was back. “It seems the buyer is a man named Adams from back East. Let’s just hope he’s not another one of those lone wolves or spoilers. Bored men with more money than sense, wanting to play cattleman for a while.”

 

Scott picked up his spoon. “Perhaps he’s looking at it as an investment, and intends to hire a good foreman.”

 

“Ranching isn’t something you pick up overnight, not even with the best foreman money can buy. Rounding up all his scattered cattle will take considerable time and manpower. Spring’ll be here before we know it, and then there’s calving, branding, fences, fields.” Murdoch shook his head. “I remember what it was like, trying to manage it all on my own. That time of year can make or break a ranch.”

 

Johnny tilted his head, fingers toying with the base of his glass. “Sounds like Adams has his work cut out for him, then.”

 

“Indeed.” Murdoch smiled faintly. “But he’s not the only one who’ll have plenty of work ahead. We’ve got to hire a significant number of new hands ourselves, and there’s still plenty you boys need to learn.”

 

Yep, there it was. The reminder that pretty soon, they’d be working from sunup to sundown, and Johnny’d be knee-deep in cow shit and other back-breaking chores he didn’t wanna think about. He’d had little to do with the cattle since arriving here, thanks to Pardee’s bullet, but that was gonna change.

 

Teresa picked up her spoon. “Oh, Murdoch. You’re not going to talk ranch business over lunch, are you?” She smiled, glancing between them. “This is our first time out together as a family.”

 

Family. Johnny swallowed the word down with a spoonful of soup. Not so long ago, that word felt like a lasso cinched tight around his chest, squeezing a little every time he so much as shifted. It’d slackened some since then, but it still wasn’t what he’d call comfy. Not yet. His gaze flicked to Scott, who was smiling at Teresa. It was hard to tell with Scott sometimes, but maybe this all felt strange for him, too.

 

“And it’s supposed to be a celebration. You said that yourself,” Teresa continued. “Can’t we talk about something else?”

 

Hell, was she scolding Murdoch now? It sure sounded like it. Ooh, this oughtta be interesting. Johnny didn’t know his old man all that well, but everyone knew the ranch was his favourite thing to talk about. Teresa had as much chance of getting him to talk about something else as—

 

Murdoch chuckled. “You’re right, darling. There’ll be plenty of time for ranch talk later.”

 

Wait… what? One little plea from Teresa and Murdoch softened like butter in the sun. Oh boy, if she had the old man wrapped any tighter ‘round her finger, they’d need a doc to pry him loose. Johnny’s gaze flicked to Scott, whose raised eyebrow suggested he might be thinking the same thing.

 

“Let’s raise our glasses to why we’re here, hmm?” Murdoch said, and while his fingers might’ve locked ‘round his glass, he wasn’t rushing the toast—his jaw worked like he still had a mouthful of food.

 

Come on, old man. Just clink glasses and get it over with. 

 

“Us all, together like this,” Murdoch said at last, his voice rough, and he was looking at them all like maybe this wasn’t real. Like it all might disappear if he wasn’t careful. “It’s not something I thought I’d see…” The words fell off, his voice faltered, and he tried to push it down by clearing his throat.

 

Blazes. The old man stumbling? Damn. Maybe this meant more than he let on—all them years alone, holding onto the ranch. Waiting—for Scott, for him. “It sure is something, huh?” Johnny offered, and there might’ve been a ‘thank you’ in the look Murdoch flashed him. Either way, the look on his face softened the same way it had for Teresa.

 

“Yes, son. It sure is something.”

 

Scott’s glance caught Johnny’s, a quick reminder he wasn’t alone, before Teresa’s soft laugh brought them all back. Johnny let out a slow breath, raising his glass with the others.

 

“To the future of Lancer,” Murdoch said, his voice firm now, “and to family.”

 

***End***

To be continued in part three: Killing Time.