Letting it Stand

 Letting it Stand

Chapter Fourteen

 

“They’re still not home, Murdoch.”

 

Teresa was sitting on top of the gate, waiting for him as he rode up. It seemed like only yesterday she used to wait right here for her father to return from his day’s work. Only she always wore overalls back then, and her hair was usually in pigtails or braids rather than the half-up, half-down style that all the young ladies wore these days, making her look more grown up than she should.

 

“You said five days, and it’s been a week.” She looked at him expectantly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

 

“I’m sure they’ll be home soon.” Dismounting, he handed his horse off to Pedro before taking up a lean against the fence. It was late afternoon, the air already hazy with impending dusk, even if the sun still lazed on the barn roof and the surrounding pastures shimmered more gold than grey.

 

“Just as long as they haven’t run into that horrible man again.” She hooked her boot heels on a rung of the gate so she could cross her arms tightly over her chest. “I can’t believe he wanted you to take a belt to Johnny. Whatever Johnny said, I’m sure Ellison deserved it.”

 

He raised an eyebrow. It was good to hear her sticking up for Johnny—a little over a week ago, her response might have been different. “I wasn’t aware you were in the room when that conversation took place?”

 

“Oh, I wasn’t, but I was about to… dust… before I realised you had company.” She smiled at him sweetly.

 

“Is that so?” He took his hat off and thumped some of the dust out of it.

 

“Why, it’s ridiculous. Ellison talking about them like they’re children. Scott is twenty-four. If he thinks Scott’s a child, then he’d consider me a baby!”

 

Murdoch gave her ear a light flick. “With the size of these ears? I don’t think there’s any danger of that, young lady.”  

 

Her cheeks got pink. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. He just talked very loud.” 

 

“Uh-huh.” Ellison had done that all right, only settling when Murdoch made it plain that he wasn’t about to roll over like one of Ellison’s dogs, especially when it came to how he dealt with his sons.

 

“Do you think they’ve sorted things out between them? Scott and Johnny, I mean.”

 

He lent Teresa his arm to help her jump down from the gate. “Darling, I’d put money on it.” Hat still in hand, he started his walk to the house.

 

“Sharing that bottle of tequila you had me bury in the blankets?”  

 

“Either that or settling things the old-fashioned way between brothers.”

 

“What’s that?” She’d hurried up beside him now, linking her arm through his.

 

“Well, in my day, it involved a few fists, a fair bit of shoving, and an awful lot of rolling around on the ground.”

 

She gasped. “Fighting? You talk like that’s a good thing.”

 

The chuckle came from somewhere deep. “It settled more than a few arguments when I was young, so it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Just so long as it never takes place in front of the ranch hands—we have an example to set, after all.” He carried on walking, only she’d slipped her arm out from under his, and when he turned, she stood still, wringing her hands like she wanted to confess.

 

“I slapped Johnny.”

 

Well, he hadn’t been expecting that. He could only imagine Johnny’s reaction had been similar!

 

“It was on that day we argued. The day he made me leave town.” Her hands clasped in front of her, fingers interlocked. “He was being unreasonable, and I was upset, and then when he called me a dumb heifer… something snapped and I slapped his face.” She grimaced. “I didn’t feel guilty about it because he… well, he was being so infuriating, but I have been feeling awful since he apologised for how he behaved and I… didn’t.”

 

Murdoch glanced towards the house, stalling. How the devil to respond to this? He could hardly lecture her on lashing out when he’d just said he didn’t see the harm in two brothers working out their differences that way. Of course, it was slightly different because Teresa was a girl, and for Johnny, that was a bit like being hit with your hands tied…

 

Brisk hoofbeats saved him—Johnny and Scott rounding the corner of the hacienda with two black horses in tow, but no sign of the wagon. They drew up outside the hacienda and dismounted as Murdoch walked towards them, the smile warm on his face.

 

“You’re back. We were expecting you a couple of days ago.”

 

“We ran into a few issues early on, which set us back a little bit.” Scott put his arm around Teresa as she leaned into his side. “But the fence line’s all fixed, shack’s painted, chimney cleaned, roof repaired. Everything on the list.”

 

“To the letter,” Johnny added, exchanging a quick grin with his brother. “Teresa.” Johnny smiled at her as he whipped off his hat.

 

“Good, good.” Murdoch slapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly. “Teresa? Go in and tell Maria the boys are home for dinner.” He let her get as far as the front door. “Oh, and about what you didn’t say—maybe you ought to find the time to say it soon, hmm?” 

 

She nodded, relieved, and darted into the hacienda. He turned back to his boys. “The wagon didn’t make it back, I see.”

 

He’d have to be blind to miss the pointed look that passed between them.

 

Johnny slapped his hat against his thigh. “Murdoch, the wagon didn’t make it there.”

 

Now that was a surprise—he'd been sure Scott would be the one to take the floor and explain, not that any further explanation seemed forthcoming now. It was like they were waiting to see what he knew first.  

 

“Well, we can talk more about that later. It sounds like you got it all taken care of, regardless.” Murdoch peered at the pair of them. Not a bruise or sign of a scuffle in sight. “Is everything taken care of?”

 

“Yeah, Murdoch, it’s all good,” Johnny said softly, but it was an affirmative nod from Scott he sought. He got it and smiled. Even if he didn’t know what had happened with Ellison, whatever story they came out with wouldn’t have mattered when the trip’s main aim had been achieved.   

 

“Right, well, find a hand or two to take care of the horses, and then come inside. I’m sure you could both use a drink after that long ride home.”

 

They came into the living room about five minutes later, Scott hanging his jacket and gun belt up, Johnny tossing his hat towards a hook, and draping his jacket over the back of one of the dining chairs on his way past. His gun belt, as always, remained around his hips.

 

“Here.” Murdoch handed them both a drink and sat down, Johnny ignoring the chairs in favour of his usual spot on the side table. His backside occupied the space where the wooden ship used to sit before it got knocked to the floor when he was shot.

 

“So, did we miss anything while we were gone?” Scott settled into the chair in front of the desk. 

 

“I've made a new appointment with Randolph to sign the partnership agreement on Monday morning. Is that okay with you, Johnny?”

 

Johnny put his untouched drink on the table beside him and flicked his gaze up. “Sure.”

 

Was that a convincing ‘sure’? He was damned if he knew. 

 

“How did the Cattlemen’s Association meeting go yesterday?” Scott asked. “We forgot we were due back for that.”

 

“It doesn’t matter. You didn’t miss much. We discussed bringing law to Green River, but a couple of them aren’t in favour. They made some arguments that may persuade a couple of others to think twice.”

 

Scott frowned. “What arguments could they have?”

 

“An increase in taxes, or more to the point, an increase in the collection of taxes.” Murdoch picked up his glass. “Losing the freedom to act as they see fit when settling disputes. Even putting the trouble with Pardee aside, the cattlemen have been handling things their way for a long time. Legal intervention may change that. Some don’t want that type of interference in what they see as private business.”

 

Johnny didn’t comment. He was staring at the rug in front of his boots.

 

Scott sipped his scotch. “Us, Porter and Douglas are the biggest landowners. Couldn’t we force it?”

 

“Perhaps. But throwing our weight around is always the last resort. It’s better to stand with our neighbours than against them. That’s what the Association is all about. Porter said he has a few ideas to convince the others, so we’ll see what comes of that.”

 

He finished his drink. They may as well get this over with. “Speaking of neighbours… I had a visit from James Ellison while you were gone.”

 

Johnny scowled and crossed his arms. Scott straightened his shoulders. “Some sort of warning about him might have been prudent, sir.”

 

“You’re right, but, in truth, Scott, it didn’t occur to me you’d run into him. Ellison’s land isn’t exactly on the line shack’s doorstep.”

 

“We might have mislaid the map and got a little lost.”

 

“So I gather.” It was easy to smile because he wasn't angry with them. Pushing up from the desk, he wandered over to the map on the wall. “Ellison doesn’t run cattle or horses—just raises what he needs to survive. His land’s only about a thousand acres. Shares a border with Lancer for a mile, give or take.” Less than a fingertip’s width on the map. “The man’s always been something of a recluse, makes a trip into town a few times a year for supplies. Truth be told, we don’t see or hear much of him.”

 

“Well, we heard from him all right.” Scott cradled his glass in both hands.

 

“Him and that pack of wannabe wolves he was runnin’.” Johnny’s voice was soft, but there was an undercurrent of anger.

 

Murdoch refilled his scotch. “One less ‘wolf’ now, I understand,” he said mildly.

 

“Did he tell you what happened? He’s damn lucky Barranca wasn’t hurt like the wagon horses. As it was, it took us hours to find ‘em.”

 

“He told me.” Murdoch made his way back to the desk. “It was an unfortunate situation. I’m not saying Ellison went about things the right way—” 

 

“You’re not kidding. He coulda at least found out what we were doin’ there ‘fore he sicced his dogs on us.”

 

“But a man has a right to defend his property. Johnny. You know that.”

 

Johnny snorted. “Yeah. It’s a pity I wasn’t around when he showed up here. He’d have been on our property then, so I’d have every right to put down those other two mutts of his.”

 

“In that case, maybe it’s fortunate you were somewhere else.” The leather chair creaked as Murdoch sat and focused on his simmering son. “He’s our neighbour, Johnny. And if he made the effort to come all this way to speak with me, then it’s because he felt he had a genuine grievance to air. It was only right I heard him out.”

 

“He had a grievance? Ellison could’ve killed us, Murdoch. He’s damn lucky I didn’t kill him.”

 

Scott leaned forward. “Murdoch, surely you didn’t entertain any of his demands?”

 

“Hell. He probably did, Scott. Ellison probably went home with enough money to buy hisself another two dogs and a new shotgun.” Johnny threw up his hands in disgust.

 

“Johnny.” He shot his son a warning look. Johnny needed to settle down, or this wouldn’t go well. He turned his attention back to Scott. “He demanded a few things.”   

 

“Like compensation for the dog and the trespassing?” Scott shook his head. “The trespass is one thing, sir, although why compensation is required, I don’t know. It’s not like we did any damage to his property. In fact, it was the other way around. And anyone would argue that shooting the dog was self-defence.”

 

“I agree. I told Ellison that Lancer will make no reparation for either of those.”

 

Scott's gaze was shrewd. “Why do I sense a ‘but’ coming, Murdoch?”

 

He smiled wryly at that. “There’s no ‘but’. More of a ‘however’.”

 

“That’s the same thing, aint it?” Johnny said harshly.

 

Murdoch ignored him. “We agreed on how to move forward.”

 

“Go on,” Scott said, but there was wariness in his tone, like he knew he might not like what he was about to hear. Johnny wore a similar look, only his eyes glinted, almost daring Murdoch to come out and say it.

 

Well, they might not welcome what he had to say, but they’d have to accept it.

 

“Ellison’s owned that land for fifteen years. When he first moved in, I went to see him. There’s a creek that runs from the mountains down through his property and then through ours, so I wanted to ensure there’d be no challenges to the water rights. I offered to build a fence line to separate the land, but Ellison wasn’t interested. He had nothing to keep fenced in, and as the land that directly edges his border isn’t suitable for grazing cattle, I saw no reason to push the issue. However, since what happened a few days ago, he's changed his mind about wanting a fence to protect his property.”

 

“Phft. He can build one then.” Johnny decided he wanted the drink now—he knocked it back like water and set the glass down with a thud.  

 

Scott sat back, his shoulders relaxed. “So, you’re going to put up a fence between our land and his.”

 

“No...” Murdoch took his last sip of scotch, letting the warmth sit on his tongue for a moment before he swallowed. “You’re going to put up a fence. The pair of you.”

 

Scott's eyebrows rose, but Johnny was the powder keg with its fuse lit, his knuckles white as he gripped the table edge, even if his voice was soft. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

 

Murdoch settled back, crossing one leg over the other. “No joke, Johnny. The fence was my suggestion—a way of keeping the peace. Bad blood with a neighbour is not good for business. As part-owners of Lancer, it’s important to respect—”

 

“Oh, come on! He’s one man with one small patch of land. Who the hell cares if he gets his britches in a bunch?”

 

“A fence will take weeks. Time we don’t have.” Scott rubbed his chin, his voice measured, but he was clearly frustrated as well.

 

Murdoch picked up a pencil and tapped it against the desk. “At this time of year, we can find the time.”

 

Johnny was a keg igniting now. He shoved off the table. “You wanna roll over like a whipped dog and kiss that sonofabitch’s boots with a fence?” His voice didn’t rise but sparked with anger. “Go ahead. But you’ll have to quit hidin’ behind your damn desk and build it yourself, old man—’cause I sure as hell ain’t doin’ it.”

 

Scott’s sharp “Johnny!” cut through the air, and Murdoch’s grip tightened on the pencil, his teeth damn near grinding to dust as Johnny walked off, throwing out his arm to show he was done.

 

Scott half-rose from his seat, glancing Murdoch’s way. “Maybe I ought to—”

 

“Leave him.” Damn, his jaw ached. “Let him cool off. Then I’ll talk to him.”

 

Scott settled back in the chair. “Are you going to cool off before you attempt that?”

 

Murdoch followed Scott’s pointed gaze down to the two halves of the splintered pencil in his fists. Better a pencil than Johnny. Good God. Sometimes it felt like Johnny was pushing him to see when he would snap. He’d given no more thought to Ellison’s absurd suggestion that he tan Johnny’s hide. Oh, but right about now...

 

“Is something funny?”

 

Scott sounded confused, and damn, he hadn’t meant to let that flicker of levity show. “No, not really.” Sweeping the pencil pieces into the desk drawer, he focused on the one son who was unlikely to push him into an early grave. “Say what else you’re thinking, Scott.”

 

“I’m thinking I don’t understand this any better than Johnny. He wasn’t making light of things when he said Ellison was lucky not to get shot. Things got pretty tense up there and Ellison was… patronising for want of a better word, especially towards Johnny.”

 

Murdoch sighed. “To a man Ellison’s age, anyone under thirty-five isn’t much worth listening to. You can’t tell me Johnny hasn’t come across that attitude before.”

 

“Maybe not, but you telling us that we have to go back and build a fence for the man; it feels like you’re punishing us for something, and we’re not guilty of anything other than making a mistake. Like Johnny said, he’s just one man. Why bend over backwards to keep him happy?”

 

******

 

A long time had passed since he’d let someone talk to him the way Ellison had—holding a gun on him, barking orders like he was another one of his dogs. But, dammit, he’d let it slide, figured it was what Johnny Lancer might do—oughtta do—put it down to a mistake and walk away. Well, it turns out Johnny Lancer was a sucker ‘cause walking away wasn’t enough for his old man. Nope, Murdoch Lancer wanted arms, legs, guts, but not an inch of Goddamn pride. Hell no, they had to leave that at the door.

 

Well, screw that. Let him find some other sucker to build his fence.  

 

With a scowl, Johnny let the front door slam shut behind him and walked away from the hacienda, the gravel crunching beneath his boots. Hell, he didn’t know where he was going or if he was going anywhere at all. Just somewhere Murdoch wouldn’t come looking.

 

It was quiet in the barn, too darn quiet for the chaos in his head. Barranca raised his head in the dim light, staring at him with soft brown eyes, before his head drooped again.

 

“I get it, you’re tired.” He ran a hand down the horse’s warm neck, letting go of the idea of saddling up and heading to town. Truth was he was feeling pretty darn tired himself. And hungry. Couldn’t Murdoch have brought up Ellison after they’d eaten?

 

He slumped down on a hay bale, elbows resting on his knees. Why the hell couldn’t Murdoch see this was wrong? He tangled both hands in his hair, just about yanking clumps out by the root. Murdoch was asking a helluva lot more than building a fence. Oh, he could talk it up real smooth about respect and playing nice with neighbours, but where was Murdoch’s respect for him and Scott? Seems the old man didn’t give a shit about that.

 

Not only did Johnny Lancer have to be a sucker, it seemed he had to do it without a shred of self-respect.

 

 

Cheery whistling from outside the barn had him raising his head and damn, he must’ve been sitting here frowning over things longer than he thought, because they were losing light; the sky had faded to deep, hazy grey as Manny walked in, still whistling, and went straight for a drink from the pail by the door.

 

“Hey, Manny.”

 

“¡Chin!” The man practically jumped outta his skin, water splashing down the front of his shirt. He smacked a hand over his chest. “You want the heart to leave the body, Johnny?”

 

Johnny smiled, which felt strange. He sat up and stretched out his back. “Sorry.”

 

Manny stuck the ladle in the pail. “You arrive back from the line shack only now?” He looked confused, his eyes skimming over Johnny’s head to Barranca in his stall.

 

“No, I’ve been back a while.”

 

Manny nodded, wiping water from his face with his hand. “I thought that must be. Senorita Teresa, she is outside earlier. She says your supper, it is ready.” A cowbell clanged three times from the bunkhouse. “As is my own.” He patted his belly through the wet shirt.

 

“Well, you go on, but if she asks again, tell her you ain’t seen me, okay?” Johnny dug his fingers into the bale, pulling loose a handful of hay.

“Sí, Johnny.”

 

“Have a good night, Man.”

 

“I think it will be.” Manny turned to walk out, but only made it a couple of steps before something made him turn around again. “You know, we could use sharp eyes in the bunkhouse on Pedro’s poker hand. Mi amigo has been on a lucky streak, and I grow muy sospechoso.”

 

“You think he’s cheatin’?”

 

“Sí.” There was a smile tugging at the corners of Manny’s mouth. “He wants to buy a pair of new go-to-town pants real bad.”

 

Johnny let the fistful of hay fall from his fingers. “Another pair of eyes, huh?”

 

“They would be welcome.”

 

“All right, just for a little while.”

 

A little while was hard to measure when he didn’t own a watch, and it was easy to lose track of time in a warm bunkhouse filled with easy laughs. All right, so the smell of tobacco and coffee didn’t quite cover the whiff of Josh’s stockinged feet as they hung way off the end of the bunk, too close to where Johnny sat, but it sure was better than being in the hacienda. Even if he was getting some wary looks from a few of the men he didn’t know too well.

 

“Grub all right for ya, Johnny?”

 

Johnny handed up his empty plate. “Sure was. Thanks, Tom.”

 

“But it is not the cooking of Cipriano’s wife, no?” Manny murmured over his cards as Tom disappeared to the rear of the bunkhouse with an armful of dirty dishes.

 

Johnny picked up a toothpick from the table and stuck it in his mouth. “Nope, but tonight, the company in here’s a whole lot easier on the ears.”

 

The bunk Johnny perched on bounced a little as Richie flopped down at the other end of it, already halfway through a tale. “Not just pretty; she’s got fire in her eyes and ain’t shy showin’ it. I sure could use some a’that in my life.”

 

“C’mon then, Pedro, what ya got?” someone called, and the hoots and hollers could probably be heard inside the hacienda as he laid down another winning hand.

 

Manny looked at Johnny, who shrugged and grinned. “Maybe he’s just a better player when he ain’t full as a tick?”

 

“… I hear her fingers grip like a vice…” Richie continued, jerking his hand in a loose fist, while Josh and a few others leaned in to hear more about this woman. Dang, the way Richie described her, Johnny wouldn’t mind getting to know her himself.

 

Frank’s voice cut across the room. “Er… Johnny? Mister Lancer’s looking for you.”

 

Well, shit. That confirmed it then—there was no place on Lancer where the old man wouldn’t find him.

 

Gathering up the cards from the table, Manny glanced his way. “When el jefe is your papa and your papa is el jefe, there is no time that is yours, Johnny, sí?”

 

“You got that right,” Johnny said with a sigh, before the silver head of Murdoch Lancer popped his head around the door and killed the chatter.

 

At least Murdoch looked real bad about that. “I’m sorry for the interruption, men. I was lookin’ for—ah, Johnny, there you are.”

 

Johnny stared at his old man, the toothpick grinding between his teeth. Murdoch might look calm, but so could a rattler before it reared up to bite. Not waiting to be ordered out, or whatever Murdoch had in mind, he pushed up to his feet and muttered a quick, “See you later,” to Manny and the others.  

 

Murdoch held the door open with one arm while talking to Frank, but rather than stepping aside so Johnny could get past, he lifted his arm for Johnny to duck under, guiding him out with his other hand flat against Johnny’s back. Murdoch didn’t follow him out, though—he stayed right where he was—jawing on to Frank about some injured steer or something. Dios.

 

Sauntering outside, Johnny tossed the toothpick into the bucket by the door and glanced at the barns. Dammit, he should’ve lit out for town. ‘Least then Murdoch wouldn’t have come looking for him like he was some errant kid who’d skipped out on supper.

 

It was fully dark now, the light from the bunk house just enough so he could race his own shadow walking alongside the hacienda wall. He walked further until his shadow ran out, then stopped at the foot of a staircase that led up to the second floor.

 

******

 

“John?”

 

What should have been a few quick words with Frank had dragged on too long, and now Murdoch was outside the bunkhouse, lantern in hand, peering into the shadows, looking for a son who wasn’t there. Behind him, the men’s cheerful chatter had resumed, drowning out the quiet of the yard.

 

Where had Johnny gone? The house? The barn?

 

Blazes. This was like when Johnny was small—always darting off, never staying put. But this wasn’t a little boy toddling after butterflies or jamming baby lizards into the pocket of his overalls. This was a man escaping a conversation he didn’t want to have. Just like earlier.

 

Why did Johnny have to make everything so personal? As a partner in Lancer, he needed to look at the bigger picture. One of these days, would he walk out and not come back?

 

“John?”

 

He quickened his pace, swinging the lantern wide. An arc of light caught Johnny, leaning against the wall with one knee bent, watching.

 

“You know something, young man?” Murdoch strode over, failing to keep the irritation out of his voice. “I don’t much care for your habit of walking away when you know I want to talk to you.”

 

Johnny stayed quiet, but the scowl on his face suggested there was a lot he didn’t care for right now, either.

 

“You walked out earlier, too.” Murdoch tried to gentle his tone. “And that’s not how we settle things.”

 

Johnny snorted. “No, ‘round here, we settle things by rollin’ over and lettin’ men like Ellison get their way.”

 

Murdoch lowered the lantern, throwing Johnny’s face into a shadow which softened his scowl a little. “No one’s rolling over. If you'd been present for my conversation with Ellison, you'd know that. I get that you're angry—”

 

“What gives it away?” Johnny snapped. “Me not sticking around for your damn lecture earlier, or me not sticking around to listen to you now?”

 

Murdoch’s hand shot out, catching Johnny’s arm before he could take off again. Johnny jerked back, but Murdoch held firm, letting Johnny feel the weight of all those years of chopping wood and pounding iron in the strength of his grip. “You haven’t calmed down any, I see.”

 

Johnny’s whole body tensed, poised for flight, but grounded by the grip Murdoch still had on his arm. “If you mean, am I still pissed that I didn’t shoot Ellison when every damn bit of me wanted to? Yeah, I am. Am I still pissed about the fence? You bet. And if you think a sermon ‘bout being neighbourly’s gonna change that, then you know even less about me than I thought.”

 

The silence between them felt like a wall. When he finally found his voice again, it sounded unsure. “Oh, Johnny… I’m not going to stand here and tell you I’ve handled things right today. But I will ask you to listen to what I told Scott.”

 

“Go ahead, old man. It ain’t like you’re letting me go anywhere.” Johnny glared at Murdoch’s hand, still wrapped around his arm.

 

“No, I’m not. And don’t call me ‘old man’ in that tone again.” He let go then, but searched Johnny’s face. “We’re past that now, aren’t we?”

 

“I’m not sure where we are.” Johnny’s voice might be softer, but he looked away, shoulders tight.

 

That hit hard, but Murdoch swallowed it. He took a breath. “I understand why you’re angry after what happened with Ellison. He crossed a line. And I don’t blame you for wanting to handle it your way. It’s not an easy thing when it feels like your pride’s at stake.” Murdoch glanced into the darkness, then back at Johnny. “But you didn’t shoot him.”

 

He set the lantern down on the low wall by the stairs, so both their faces were in its glow. “Ellison had a shotgun aimed at you and Scott, so you could’ve taken him down right there. But you didn’t. That tells me something, and it should tell you something, too.”

 

Johnny’s jaw clenched as he pressed a palm against the wall. “It tells me I made a mistake.”

 

Murdoch shook his head slowly. “I think it tells you more than that, son.”

 

Johnny smacked the wall hard. “It tells me that this life you want me to live is pretty darn close to one I left behind a long time ago. Where people stomp all over me and I let it happen. There’s a reason I picked up a gun in the first place.”

 

Murdoch couldn’t swallow this time—the lump was just too big—and all his words were stuck in his throat. Good Lord, he’d well and truly messed this up—made a sow’s ear out of being a father and a tune-caller if Johnny felt that acting in the best interests of the ranch was akin to whatever had pushed him to becoming a gunfighter. God, he didn’t even know what that was. Probably never would.

 

Johnny wouldn’t look at him, and Murdoch’s fingers curled into his palms, but it wasn’t Johnny he was angry with. Why hadn’t he considered how Johnny was used to living day to day? Maybe in those range wars, when things didn’t go his way or the orders were not to his liking, there’d be a fight, and if Johnny didn’t like the outcome, he’d walk.

 

Those days were over now—only Johnny couldn’t see it. Running a ranch wasn’t about survival in the immediate sense. It was about patience, compromise. Apparently, that didn’t come easy to a not-so-former gunfighter who was used to settling things more directly. Johnny had to learn he couldn’t do that here, but how on earth was Murdoch going to make him understand that?

 

Murdoch let out a long, measured breath, steadying himself before speaking again. “Building the fence isn’t a punishment or some lesson in humility. I should have made that clear from the start.” He waited for Johnny to drag his gaze toward him before he continued. “It’s about keeping a good relationship with our neighbours, no matter how big or small they are. Ellison might be cantankerous, demanding respect he hasn’t earned because he’s old and you’re young. But he’s not a bad man, Johnny. When he realised who you and Scott were, he lowered his gun, didn’t he? Called off his dogs. One bad encounter doesn’t erase years of him being a decent neighbour to Lancer.”

 

Johnny said nothing, but the way his fingers flexed against his sleeves told Murdoch he wasn’t taking it well, but Murdoch pressed on. “I know it feels like I’m asking a lot of you. But there’s more at play here. You and Scott are Lancer now, and will be long after I’m gone. When Ellison sees you building that fence, it won’t be because you’re backing down, and it won’t make you look powerless or weak. He’ll know it’s because you, as owners, choose to—”

 

“Choose?” Johnny’s eyes glittered in the lantern light. “It sure didn’t sound like you were giving us a choice, old—Murdoch.”

 

Murdoch stroked his chin. Of course, Johnny would pick up on that. Too sharp, this son of his. Both of them were. Still… He held his ground, his voice steady but soft. “No, and I wasn’t. Because this is about what’s best for Lancer, for all of us. I’ve been at this a long time, and I know when to fight, when to compromise, and when to build.”

 

Johnny’s fingers were digging into his sleeves. “I don’t like it.”

 

Murdoch’s lips twitched. “I don’t expect you do, and neither does your brother, particularly. But he said he understands now why it matters.” He sighed. “Look, we need to get enough fence posts cut and order a lot more wire. It’ll be weeks before we’re ready to start. If you still feel then that it’s something you can’t do, I’m not going to force it. I’m trying to teach you, Johnny. Not break you. You’re more important to me than some damn fence.”

 

Johnny’s head was bowed, his fingers still working his shirtsleeves. Was he mulling it over, or just trying to keep warm? Because it was damn cold out here now. 

 

Murdoch picked up the lantern. “Who knows, maybe I’ll give Scott a hand—it hasn’t been so long that I’ve forgotten how to sink postholes.” He turned towards the door, the lantern swinging in his grip, but couldn’t resist glancing back. “Might do me good to get out from behind that desk. Seems you think I’ve been hiding there long enough, hmm?”

 

Johnny’s sigh cut through the shadows. His hands dropped to his sides, tapping a rhythm against the wall as if trying to fill the silence with something. “Wasn’t exactly my best line,” he muttered eventually, offering a half-hearted shrug.  

 

Hardly an apology, yet somehow enough. With a nod of acknowledgement, Murdoch headed towards the warmth of the house.

 

***TBC***