Stagestruck
The following is pure fan-fiction. No intention is made to infringe on any holder of Lancer copyrights. No profit is being made from this story.
Warnings: Some of you will surely want to lynch me after reading the first half. Bear with it to the end and I promise redemption (for me, hopefully!), angst, and owies. Oh yeah....and a good deal of sap and smarm <g> Lots of both Scott and Johnny, and even Murdoch gets a moment in the spotlight. There is suggestive reading in this story, adult situations, innuendo, and a smattering of language. Even so, I give it a PG-13...nothing overly steamy. Hope you enjoy...comments are welcome.
The heady scent of fresh spring flowers permeated the Great Room of the Lancer ranch, mingling with intermittent drafts of outside air. The latter coiled into the room each time the terrace doors opened, admitting yet another ranch hand or house attendant, adding to the already jumbled commotion within.
Pausing by the sofa, Johnny Lancer watched his "adopted" sister Teresa arrange a colorful bouquet of long-stemmed blossoms in an elaborate crystal vase. At her side, the housekeeper Inez kept up a steady stream of orders, directing Jelly Hoskins in the placement of everything from fresh garlands above the windows, to newly trimmed candles on the dining table. Standing behind his desk, Murdoch Lancer conferred with a ranch hand over which horses should be groomed and readily accessible for riding. Meggi Lyn, a wrangler's daughter who frequently helped with house chores, was busy fluffing cushions and dusting off tabletops and shelves. Amazed at the bustle of activity, Johnny shook his head.
"Johnny, did you finish with the surrey? We have to leave shortly--and where's Scott?" Moving past him, Teresa placed the floral arrangement on a marble-topped table. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she adjusted the blooms a final time, then stepped back to survey her work. "I see you changed clothes. You certainly *look* presentable."
With a distracted glance for his "Sunday Best," Johnny rolled his shoulders. Dressed in a coal black suit, pristine white shirt and charcoal string tie, he felt slightly foolish for the finery. Forsaking his silver-studded belt in favor of a traditional black leather strap with squared buckle, he looked remarkably conventional for an ex-gunslinger. "Don't worry, Teresa, everything's ready." He grinned, seeing a flicker of doubt in her eyes. "I promise the surrey's ready, but I've got no idea where Scott disappeared to." With a glance for all the activity in the room, he puffed out his cheeks and exhaled. "I sure hope our guest appreciates all the work we're going through."
"Johnny!" Voice dropping into a chagrined pout, Teresa stared pointedly. "It's not every day Morro Coyo gets a visit from someone like Julianna Saville. You do realize she's the toast of New York society? The greatest stage actress since--"
"All right, already!" Retreating a step, Johnny held up his hands in mock surrender and chuckled. "You don't have to convince me. I guess I just find it a little odd that someone of Miss Saville's . . . *reputation* . . ." Pausing on the word, he cocked his head as though realizing he might have insinuated too much. " . . . would even bother with a small backwater town like Morro Coyo."
Frowning, Teresa slipped her hand beneath his arm. Walking him to the terrace, she spoke slowly as though explaining something of great significance to a slow-witted child. "Miss Saville's on her way to a performance in Sacramento, Johnny. It's just a gesture of goodwill that she's chosen to stop in Morro Coyo. And since the hotel really isn't outfitted to handle someone of her stature, the town leaders asked Murdoch to act as host."
"Mmm-hmm." Unable to mask his cynicism, Johnny pressed his lips together. "So we all end up running around like a bunch of country bumpkins, waiting for the arrival of the celebrated Miss Saville.”
"The surrey," Teresa persisted, giving him a shove toward the door. "And find Scott." With a last disapproving frown, she hurried off to confer with Inez and Meggi Lyn.
Eager to escape the housekeeper, Jelly used the younger woman's approach as an opportunity to duck clear. Frazzled, he joined Johnny just inside the door, stopping long enough to pull a kerchief from his hip pocket, and mop it over his brow.
Johnny grinned. "What's the matter, Jelly? Inez riding roughshod on you?"
"Roughshod?" Jelly looked ready to burst. "I ain't never seen the like. Just look at your Dad over there--" With a nod of his head Jelly indicated Murdoch, who was just finishing his conference with the wrangler. "All spit and polished in a tidy suit like he's ready to meet the President of the United States hisself. We got flowers and fancies, and who knows what else--all for this actress.”
"Well, what about you?" Johnny asked noticing that Jelly's frown was a trifle too forgiving. He doubted there was any rancor behind the older man's bluster. More likely than not, he was just as anxious to meet their famous guest as everyone else. "Aren't you the least bit curious about Julianna Saville? You know what they say about her."
Appearing slightly intrigued, Jelly folded his arms across his chest and leaned closer. "Which part? That she's unbelievingly beautiful? Or talented? Or rich?"
Johnny shrugged. Though he normally wasn't one to spread gossip, a visitor of Miss Saville's renown brought rumors even he was hard pressed to ignore. "That she makes no secret of her fondness for men," he clarified.
Jelly snorted. "Younger men from what I hear. The bunkhouse is full of that talk. Don't do me a lick of good, seeing she's approaching forty or thereabouts. Besides--them rich actresses are all spoilt. You wouldn't catch me fawnin' over the likes of her, or any one of 'em."
"Oh really?" Johnny's brow crept into his hair. Before he could utter another word, Murdoch hailed him from across the room. He glanced up in time to see his father approach.
"Johnny, we'd better leave. I understand there'll be a crowd in town and the stage should be arriving soon. Teresa--" Glancing over his shoulder, Murdoch motioned the dark-haired girl to his side. "Everything else is going to have to wait."
"I'll take care of it," Jelly said. A glance at Inez told him one way or another he'd be responsible for getting the house in order. "You three go ahead. We'll have everything tip-top by the time you return with Miss Saville."
"What about Scott?" Teresa asked coming to Murdoch's side. "We can't find him."
Scowling, Murdoch tugged a pocket watch from his vest. "Johnny didn't you tell him what time we were leaving?"
"Sure. Last night."
Murdoch exhaled. He looked ready to snap something in frustration when his eldest son suddenly appeared, entering from the front hallway. A brief moment of silence settled on the group as all four took in Scott's disheveled appearance. Unlike Johnny and Murdoch who wore their finest suits, Scott was dressed in regular working clothes. A deep, royal blue shirt and brown pants, both generously stained with dust and sweat, comprised his everyday attire. Black boots, and a black leather gunbelt, were accented by a sweat-stained dun-colored hat. With a measuring glance for the decorative additions to the room, Scott set his hat aside and rifled a hand through his bangs.
"I see someone's been busy."
"And someone hasn't," Murdoch returned crisply. His scowl dug deeper, grafting creases at the corners of his mouth. "Scott did you forget we're picking up Miss Saville at the stage depot?"
"No." Glancing first at Murdoch, then the others in turn, Scott shrugged. "I just thought repairing that fence by Rim Creek was more important. You don't need me to--"
"There's no time for you to change clothes," Murdoch cut him off, already turning away toward the door. Adjusting his vest, he stuffed his watch into his pocket. "You'll have to go as you are.
Hopefully Miss Saville will understand."
"Murdoch." Annoyed at his father's directive, Scott strode forward. "I don't see the need for all of us to--"
"Uh-uh," Johnny interrupted, catching his arm. "If I have to play social knight, so do you. Now quit grousing and let's get this over with. I'll flip you for who gets to ride back with her in the surrey.”
With a dark glance, Scott settled his hat on his head. "I'll take my horse," he muttered and pushed through the door. A moment later the others followed, too concerned with the hustle-bustle of their guest's impending arrival to notice Scott's suddenly unpleasant mood.
++++
Morro Coyo positively bristled with activity. A strong undercurrent thrummed in the air, not unlike the crackle of energy preceding a storm. Amazed by the number of townspeople and local ranchers who had turned out for the arrival of the noon stage, Johnny whistled softly. A large crowd had gathered in front of the depot, some standing in groups, others milling anxiously about, awaiting the arrival of Morro Coyo's illustrious guest. Each had dressed in their finest--cattle ranchers and businessmen alike, attired in immaculate suit coats and felt-brushed hats. The women, obviously more intimidated by the preconceived style of their high-society guest, had adorned gingham and calico dresses with bits of silk taffeta and brocade. Hats were trimmed with feathers, false pearls and bits of lace, in what was hoped a semi-fashionable style. A small band, hastily thrown together, waited with their instruments on the raised platform of the boardwalk. Johnny doubted whether the musicians--a drummer, fiddler and harmonica player, had squeaked out more than a ribald drinking song over the last six months.
Unable to move the surrey closer to the depot, Johnny left the vehicle parked on the fringe of the crowd. Springing smoothly to the ground, he wrapped the reins around the holding pin. "Looks like we walk from here," he announced with a backward glance for the others. Teresa, anxious to be among the excitement, scampered quickly from the surrey, craning her neck to see through the milling throng. "Thank heavens we're not late," she breathed.
Dismounting, Murdoch passed the reins of his horse to Scott. "See if you can get someone to tend the horses, Scott," he suggested. "Johnny, Teresa and I, will wait for you at the depot."
Still mounted, Scott gave a brisk nod, then turned his horse away, trailing Murdoch's gelding behind him.
"Have you ever seen such fuss?" Johnny wondered aloud.
Catching his arm, Teresa practically dragged him forward. "Oh, dear. I hope I look presentable."
On tiptoes, she tried to peer through the press of those crowded in front, frowning when her efforts proved fruitless. Taking the lead, Johnny cut a seamless path, his very presence and a softly spoken "pardon me," making others bow clear.
"There you are," a persnickety voice intoned when he, Murdoch and Teresa had reached the forefront of the crowd. A balding, thin man, wearing a foppish ruffled shirt and bottle-green suit, darted nervously to their side. Drawing a scented handkerchief from his pocket, he patted it over his glistening cheeks. "I thought you'd never get here, Murdoch. Fortunately the stage is overdue. It would have been an embarrassment to have Miss Saville arrive, and the family who's hosting her stay, be unaccounted for. You do realize what an honor this is for Morro Coyo? If you can't accommodate Miss Saville, I would be more than happy--"
"We've already covered this, Owen," Murdoch interrupted shortly.
Suppressing a grin, Johnny lowered his eyes, smugly dragging a thumb beneath his nose. At his side, Teresa elbowed him in the ribs, correctly guessing he was one step shy of a less agreeable reply. Biting short a sardonic observation about Stockton's appallingly tawdry suit, he sent a sideways glance to his sister instead.
Ever since word of Julianna Saville's arrival had reached Morro Coyo, Owen Stockton-- proprietor of the town's only hotel--had been nothing short of miserable. Deeming his establishment too provincial for their upper-crust guest, the town leaders had voted Lancer the most desirable choice. Slighted, Stockton had done everything short of decrying Lancer at the town hall, belittling it as a "rustic pen, suitable only for cattle and horses."
"Quite a day, huh?" Another voice proposed, putting an end to any squabbling Stockton might have instigated. Johnny shifted his attention as Roy Gardner, the local banker, joined their small group. Shaking hands all around, the robust man hooked his thumbs into his breast pockets, grinning indulgently. "Yesiree, this is one for the books. In all the years I've been west of the Miss, I've never known someone of Miss Saville's fame to visit a tiny, end-of-the-trail town."
"Sort of makes you wonder why." Johnny inserted quietly. Since he'd first heard the news, it had been foremost in his mind. Eastern stage actresses, particularly those toasted by elite society, didn't make a habit of hobnobbing with the unrefined. Though he'd tried to embrace the contagious excitement, he couldn't quite silence a more cynical voice that warned all was not as it seemed. Aware of Murdoch's speculative gaze on him, Johnny shrugged. "There's other ways to reach Sacramento."
"Who cares," Teresa said, sparing a frown. Two boys darted past her, one rattling a noise-maker, the other waving a handful of colorful streamers. "Jimmy! Brian!" a frazzled feminine voice admonished from somewhere deep in the crowd. "Come back here and bring your sister's ribbons."
With a chuckle, Teresa hooked her arm through Johnny's. "Isn't it grand?" she whispered. Even the weather had cooperated, producing a cloudless sky, as startlingly blue as a secluded mountain lake. The breeze, warm and clingy, was underscored by a frolicking breath of cooler air, imparting occasional spurts of relief to the dry climate.
"I see it! I see it!" An excited voice cried, breaking over the crowd with near hysteria. Johnny turned to see one of the stockboys from the mercantile, standing on a barrel dragged to the extreme edge of the boardwalk. Bouncing up and down on the unsteady keg, the lanky youth, removed his hat, waving it back and forth in the air. "The stage is coming!"
Immediately a babble of heightened anticipation broke through the crowd. Voices rose, tangling with one another as the majority of onlookers craned their necks, hoping for a glimpse of the
celebrated stage. Word had it that Miss Saville had commandeered the entire line for her sole use, traveling with only one or two personal attendants. Quite an extravagance, Johnny realized, considering the average Concord stagecoach could seat twenty-one passengers, counting the less desirable rooftop seating.
Watching the lumbering vehicle approach, Johnny drew a resigned breath. Like it or not, life as he knew it was about to shift upside-down for the next few days. Realizing Scott had yet to return from the barn, the ex-gunslinger sent a searching glance through the crowd. If anyone should be present to greet their New York visitor, it was his eastern-bred brother. In all likelihood, Scott had probably seen the acclaimed Miss Saville perform at one time or another. He knew his brother had often attended the theater, rubbing elbows with society’s finest. City borders weren't one to keep Scott hemmed in when he had a yen for travel, and Johnny knew his brother had visited throughout most of the east coast, including New York. Though he couldn't be expected to know Miss Saville personally, he certainly had to know her "type" and thus, was best qualified to greet her.
Johnny's musing gave way as the stage rolled to a stop in front of him. It had been decorated with streamers and lacy ribbons, but the high dust of the plains left the fragile fabric bows wilted and tattered. Despite the sad state of adornment, there remained something vibrantly gay about it's polished surface, proud wheels, and stately horses. Dropping to the ground, a wide grin on his sun-burned face, the driver reached for the door.
"No need, I'll do that," Owen Stockton said quickly, pushing to the forefront of the crowd. Roy Gardner followed closely, bumping on his heels when the slighter man stopped. Before either could reach the door, it swung free of it's own accord, admitting a fashionably dressed man with dark, graying hair. Distinguished and proper, he gave the crowd a once over, nodded briefly, then stepped from the vehicle. "I'm Henry Waltham," he informed Stockon who was closest, extending his hand. "Miss Saville's manager."
"Uh . . . welcome . . ." Stockton stuttered, taken aback by the presence of someone other than his idolized guest. Flustered, he tried to peer around the other man's shoulder into the stage. Behind him the crowd rustled, collectively holding its breath.
"Are you Murdoch Lancer?" Waltham asked.
"No, I--"
"I'm Lancer," Murdoch inserted, stepping forward. Accepting the man's handshake, he turned to Johnny and Teresa, pausing to introduce each.
Johnny guessed Waltham's age on the higher end of forty, his well-formed features beginning to show the spider-thin lines of wear. Turning to the stage, the dark-haired man extended his hand.
A young girl, no more than eighteen, carefully exited the vehicle. Pale and somewhat unsteady, it was obvious the rough ride had not agreed with her. A thin sheen of sweat clung to her finely boned cheeks, and her brown eyes were frightened and wide beneath a coiffured crown of auburn hair. "My daughter, Hannah," Waltham introduced her. "She acts as Miss Saville's personal assistant and secretary."
Johnny smiled as he took the girl's hand, hoping to put her at ease, but it was obvious she was too flustered for kindness to have any effect.
"And Miss Saville?" Gardner spoke up.
An elegant, long-fingered hand appeared on the window-ledge. Adorned in a dusty, rose-colored finger-glove, the artfully posed hand was Johnny's first introduction to the east's most famous stage actress. Eyes dropping, he watched as a delicate foot emerged in the doorway, displaying just enough flesh above the ankle, to be considered provocative. With a breath-taking smile, Julianna Saville stepped onto the narrow street. Instantly, Morro Coyo's hastily assembled band struck up a halting, off-key fanfare. Though it quickly fell flat, no one noticed in the sudden burst of exuberant cheers.
Taking the lead, Waltham introduced Julianna to Stockton, Gardner, Murdoch and Teresa. When it was Johnny's turn, he found himself easily enthralled, his heart quickening with a rapid one-two beat, as the stunning raven-haired beauty offered her hand. With courtly manners that surprised even him, Johnny brought her thin fingers to his lips.
Her smile was dazzling. The stretch of her full lips across perfect white teeth sent an unexpected flutter through his blood. With dark-lashed, violet eyes, and creamy, petal-soft skin, she was easily the most beautiful woman he'd ever met. Guessing her age somewhere between thirty-five and forty, he sensed most eighteen-year-old girls looked upon her with envy.
Turning to the crowd, she smiled brightly, waving to the throngs who cheered her arrival. Behind her, the band still played, screeching out notes more sour then before.
"We have a surrey just a few doors down, Miss Saville," Murdoch said politely. "I believe there's a small reception here in town, planned in your honor. Afterwards we can leave whenever you like."
"You're most kind," Julianna returned sweetly. Pausing, she canted her head, glancing at him with keen interest. "But I was led to believe you had another son . . . ?"
"Yes." Now it was Murdoch's turn to pause, surprised by the inquiry. "He went to the barn to stable our horses."
As his father's voice broke off, Johnny followed the path of Murdoch's gaze. At the edge of the crowd, unhurriedly making his way to the front, the ex-gunslinger caught a glimpse of Scott. Johnny's blonde-haired brother seemed oddly out of place in his casual work clothes, as he moved among a sea of finely tailored suits and lace-embroidered gowns.
"Actually . . . " Murdoch said slowly, with a nod in Scott's direction. Before he could utter another word, Julianna's face lit with a wondrous grin.
"Scott!" she cried, rushing toward him.
As the blonde-haired man drew abreast, she threw her arms around his neck, tugging his head down for a bold, intimately-acquainted kiss. Shocked, Johnny choked back a grunt of surprise. Startled exclamations ran through the crowd at so shameless a display. Tensing beneath the
scrutiny, Scott brought his hands up to pull Julianna away. His fingers settled on her shoulders, but the intention lasted only briefly. Relenting, he wrapped his arms around her waist, bending his head to return the kiss with equal passion.
Half-embarrassed, half-amused, Johnny laughed aloud. At his side, Teresa blushed furiously. Somewhere back in the crowd, a few of the more unruly on-lookers took up a chorus of hoots and rowdy cat-calls. Murdoch's expression soured. Clearly displeased by his eldest son's behavior, he sent a reprimanding glare in Scott's general direction. "That's enough," he muttered darkly, though no one other than Johnny heard, over the boisterous din of onlookers.
As though sensing his father's displeasure, Scott ended the kiss. As he drew back, Johnny caught an unexpected flicker of emotion on his face. Scott's features were flushed, his lips slightly parted, an anguished tangle of desire and self-loathing in his moody, blue-gray eyes.
Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Owen Stockton sidled next to Julianna. "Uh . . . Miss Saville . . ." A fluttery, high-pitched laugh escaped his lips. "If you'll come just a few doors down to the hotel, we've prepared a reception I think you'll find enjoyable."
"Yes, Julianna," Waltham intoned with a dark glance for Scott. "We should get off the street now."
Eyes glowing, her fingers entwined with Scott's sleeve, the New York actress nodded distractedly. Taking her by the arm, Waltham tugged her away from Scott, his expression thunderous as he guided her down the street. Smiling silkily, she cast a backward glance over her shoulder, her expression conveying both promise and desire to Scott. Shuffling in her wake, the crowd clung to her heels, eagerly following to the hotel.
With a devilish grin, Johnny moved to his brother's side, punching him soundly on the arm. "You tight-lipped cad. You could have told us you knew her."
Clasping her hands beneath her chin, Teresa bounced on her heels, smiling brightly. "Scott, that was terribly romantic."
"Holding hands is romantic," Murdoch inserted with a fierce glower. "*That* was a spectacle."
Uncomfortable, Scott looked away. "I'm sorry. I didn't know how she'd react to seeing me again."
"Or how you'd react?" Murdoch snapped pointedly. With a parting hostile glance for his errant son, he stalked toward the hotel.
"Oh, dear." Worried by his curt demeanor, Teresa frowned. "I'd better make certain he isn't overly upset." Hastily following behind him, she left Johnny and Scott to converse on the empty street.
Disturbed, Scott turned away, dropping to a seat on the edge of the boardwalk. Bracing his knees apart, he propped his forearms on his thighs, eyes falling to the soft white dust at his feet. A fine powder clung to the hem of his pants, gathering beneath the frayed edge of brown fabric, spreading further to the worn leather of his boots. Bracing one foot on his heel, he watched the sediment shift then settle. "I knew her in Boston," he said at last. A short breeze rose from the east, tugging the collar of his shirt aside, creating a fluttering edge of blue linen. Granted access, cool air slipped beneath the garment, dancing across his bare skin with tantalizing familiarity. Scott rubbed at his temple, unsettled by the sensation. "It was shortly before Murdoch sent the Pinkerton agent to find me. We were . . . together . . ." he swallowed. "For a while."
Clearing his throat, Johnny stepped nearer. "It's probably none of my business, but the Lady has a bit of a reputation."
Annoyed, Scott shot him a dark glance. "You're right--it *is* none of your business."
Keeping his voice soft and even, despite the rising anger he heard in Scott's, Johnny shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. But from where I'm sitting, it's not entirely unfounded. You can't ignore what they say about her. You're only twenty-five years old, Scott. That proves--"
"It proves nothing!" the older man flared, rising heatedly to his feet. Leaning slightly forward, he used his minor height advantage for the edge in confrontation. "You don't know what you're talking about, Johnny."
"I know what I saw." //It looks like she's got you wrapped around her finger.// Though the thought screamed loudly, Johnny couldn't voice the accusation. The odd mixture of hunger and loathing he'd seen reflected on Scott's face still haunted him. Though his brother was agitated and incensed, something told Johnny there was more to Scott's readiness to quarrel than just a bruised ego. No man wanted to admit he was a mere passing dalliance for a world-wise woman, but Johnny knew Scott was far from innocent himself.
"Keep your comments to yourself," Scott instructed crisply. Realizing discussion was futile, Johnny held his brother's gaze until Scott's confrontational stance melted into caged irritation. With an annoyed scowl, Scott stalked in the direction of the hotel.
++++
The reception was thankfully short. Throughout the gathering, with its bountiful platters of fresh fruit, cheeses, pastries, and seasoned spring vegetables, Scott remained in the background. Johnny noticed that as Julianna socialized, her eyes were drawn time and again to his fair-haired brother. Only once, however, did he actually see them conversing. Granted a rare moment of privacy, the couple stood to the right of the doorway, quietly talking. Scott's head was bent low to catch the words of the shorter woman, who stood with her hand resting on his arm.
"They make an attractive pair, don't they?" Henry Waltham asked as he moved to Johnny's side. Sipping a glass of tepid wine, he nodded toward Scott and Julianna. "You should have seen them in New York and Boston--quite the society couple."
"Then you knew Scott?"
Waltham smiled thinly, as though happening upon something disagreeable. "I make it my business to know anyone who distracts Julianna from the stage. Your brother, was . . .” He paused, rolling his shoulders in grudging admiration. " . . . convenient. His name brought excellent press when linked with Miss Saville's--the grandson of one of Boston's most prominent citizens, who was somewhat renown in own right. A Harvard graduate and a Civil war veteran, with looks and charm to spark envy in most rivals."
"Are you saying she didn't love him?"
Chuckling, Waltham studied his wine, deftly swirling it against the sides of his glass. "I'm saying Miss Saville has a weakness for handsome, young men. You figure it out, Mr. Lancer." With an indolent smile, the older man melted into the crowd.
Frowning, Johnny glanced about for his brother, noting that Scott had moved from Julianna's side. While the stage actress again became the center of attention, Scott stepped aside to speak with Hannah Waltham. The girl still looked pale and unsettled, her wide eyes betraying growing exhaustion. Guiding her by the elbow, Scott led her to a chair, then went to a nearby table to retrieve a glass of water. As he returned, passing her the beverage, Johnny caught a glimpse of Julianna's gaze. She watched the exchange, a small frown creasing her forehead. To Johnny, she seemed displeased by Scott's attentions to the younger woman. He had no time to ponder the matter further, however, when a neighboring rancher bumped into his shoulder, demanding to know "ain't that New York woman a looker?"
A half-hour later the gala disbanded, with Julianna begging to take her leave. Although Stockton, and certainly the majority of townspeople, would have liked for the festive affair to last well into the evening, Julianna waned, faulting the long carriage ride for a case of mounting fatigue. With cultured charm, she lavished praise on anyone dignified enough to warrant city-official potential. Townspeople were graced with smiles, waves, and a few air-blown kisses. Whatever else he might think of her, Johnny had to admit she knew how to cultivate the sympathies of the crowd.
Assisting her into the surrey, he caught a glimpse of Scott from the corner of his eye. His brother's face was unreadable, schooled with composure. Though Johnny would have willing relinquished the reins of the buggy, the older man turned away and mounted his horse. Waltham helped his daughter and Teresa into the rear of the surrey, then joined them. As Johnny pulled the vehicle from town, Scott and Murdoch trailing on horseback, the crowd spilled into the street and sent up a boisterous cheer.
Polite small talk flowed back and forth between the passengers. After a time, Hannah grew comfortable with Teresa. As Lancer loomed nearer, and Teresa, Hannah, and Waltham engaged in conversation, Johnny sent a speculative glance to their guest.
Sensing his gaze, she smiled knowingly, her lips curving with bold pleasure. "You're curious about me, aren't you? About your brother?"
Uncomfortable with her directness, Johnny shrugged. Scott and Murdoch rode in front of the surrey now, giving Johnny pause as he considered Scott' straight back. *It really is none of my business.* "Guess I'd be lying if I said differently."
Tilting her head, Julianna let her eyes track to Scott. She was silent a moment, an expression of wistfulness crossing her face. "I almost didn't recognize him," she admitted softly. The corner of her mouth lifted in a sad, nostalgic smile. "The Scott I knew wore silk cravats, expensive suits and stylish top hats. He's changed so much."
"In appearance?" Johnny guessed.
"Yes, in appearance. But manner too. He seems . . ." Her voice trailed into silence as she considered the solitary man riding a sleek chestnut mount. "There are rough edges that weren't there before," she decided at last. "It's more than appearance. Oh, he looks like some rugged, vagabond cowboy to be sure--" A sultry, unabashed smile curled her lips. "--but I'd be willing to bet, under all that dirt-stained clothing, he's exactly as I remember."
The tone of her voice (*take out the comma) left little doubt to the double-meaning. Surprised by her flippancy, Johnny stared boldly. If she had no intention of pretending gentility, neither did he. "You really have no shame, do you?"
Amused, she chuckled silkily. "And why should I be ashamed? Simply because I enjoyed your brother's company in bed?" Shifting slightly, she allowed her leg to come into contact with his. Though the movement was casual and unobtrusive, Johnny sensed the intention behind it was anything but chance. A nerve of disquiet flickered to life in his mind. Leaning closer, the dark-haired woman smiled coolly. "You've no idea what your brother did to me when he left Boston. You'd think a woman of my position, wouldn't care which young man warmed her bed, but that's not the case. Not all men have the same 'talents.'" Her expression grew suddenly calculating. "Perhaps I might find yours an enjoyable diversion."
His expression darkening, Johnny cleared his throat. Irritated by the insinuation, he flecked the reins over the back of the gelding. You're barking up the wrong tree, Lady. I don't two-time my brother with anyone, let alone a high-priced whore."
Clapping her hands beneath her chin, Julianna broke into laughter. Johnny had expected sheer outrage, even a stinging slap for the insult, but she seemed delighted by his curtness. Settling back against the seat, she watched him with mocking disdain. "Oh, Mr. Lancer--I do believe you and I would be wonderful together in bed. It's a shame I'm in love with your brother."
Before Johnny could comment on the odd reaction, the rolling hills and green pastureland of Lancer unfurled before them. "Home," Teresa announced proudly to their guests.
Drawing the surrey to a halt, Johnny let his eyes sweep the vast expanse of land he'd come to value so highly. At his side, Julianna Saville leaned forward, opting for a better view. "How beautiful," she whispered rapturously.
But her eyes, shining with possessive hunger, were on Scott.
+++++
As the first stars of evening threaded through the deepening blue dome of the sky, Scott busied himself in the barn. A draft of air slithered through the open doorway, carrying the impromptu fragrance of wind-dusted grass, dry earth, and straw. Biting down on his bottom lip, Scott stood just inside the doorway, studiously working the knots from a frayed coil of rope. He didn't care that the hemp was old and basically useless. It gave him a place to focus his attention, a reason to be busy outside of the house.
At Murdoch's pointed urging, he'd bathed and changed for dinner, then sat through the troubling ordeal of exchanging pleasantries with their guests, over herb-encrusted pot roast and candied potatoes. It was difficult keeping his eyes off Julianna, and he felt her returned stare through most of the meal. Afterwards, he'd shared brandy with Johnny, Murdoch and Waltham, while Teresa took Julianna and Hannah on a short tour of the terraced garden behind the main house. Freed moments later, Scott discarded his dinner jacket and string tie, retreating to the barn on the pretext of finishing neglected chores.
"I'd wondered where you'd gotten to."
Startled, Scott glanced up as Julianna entered the barn. Dressed becomingly in a low-cut lavender gown, embellished with silver lace, she was every bit as breathtakingly beautiful as he remembered. Inwardly loathing the effect she had on him, he felt his heart quicken in his chest. After that first incident at the stage depot, he'd tried to avoid her as much as possible. Though the sting of their past yawned between them, the crackle of attraction was greater still. "You shouldn't be here," he said bluntly.
"Why?" She challenged, stepping nearer, her very presence charged with the magnetic pull of what once lay between them. "Aren't you the least bit curious why I came to Morro Coyo?"
Jaw tensing, Scott turned his attention back to the rope. He worked briskly and efficiently, long fingers tugging at the stubborn knots in the worn hemp. "Not especially."
"Don't be bitter, Scott. You're the one who left me."
Irate, he stared at her critically. "I seem to recall you couldn't be satisfied with one man."
"I'm not the only one who bed-hopped. How many women did you 'romance' before me?"
"That's not the point." Unexpected anger turned his expression black. "When we were together, I was faithful to you."
"And I traveled across country to say I made a mistake. To tell you I want you back in my bed."
"Annie, don't do this." Frustrated, Scott tossed the rope aside. He thought he'd been past this—past her. Of all the women he'd romanced, there had been only one who'd left him wanting more. He hated the way she made him feel. Hated the fact that he was helpless to control his emotions when she was around. Even now he felt the heightened flush of desire, as her very presence sent hunger coursing through his blood. What made matters worse was her knowledge of the effect she had on him--had always had on him. From the moment they'd first met at a dinner party given by a mutual friend, she'd been determined to coax him into bed. He'd needed little enticement, as attracted to her as she was to him. Initially they'd been a pleasant diversion for one another, but the relationship grew complex in a relatively short time.
Julianna had become possessive, collapsing in histrionics if he so much as looked at another woman. At the same time, she liked her freedom, flirting with every available young man who crossed her path. The relationship was already in a downward spiral by the time the Pinkerton agent arrived with Murdoch's offer.
Settling comfortably into life at Lancer, Scott had put all thought of Julianna Saville behind him. It was only when he'd learned of her anticipated stay in Morro Coyo (*remove he comma) that his mood began to shift and sour. Determined not to fall into the same pattern of entrapment and desire, he'd promised himself he wouldn't be swayed by her charms. All his intentions had shattered, however, the moment she'd kissed him at the stage depot. Even as he'd returned that passionate welcome--reveling in the intoxicating heat of her lips against his--he'd hated himself for the weakness.
"Can you tell me you haven't missed me?" she asked softly.
A sliver of breeze ruffled the edges of his hair, carrying with it the inviting fragrance of her floral perfume. Closing his eyes, Scott struggled to remain aloof. Her fingers settled on his arm, tracking lightly up his sleeve. Before he knew it, she'd moved in front of him, brushing a ghostly touch across his cheek. Though the air was heated and dry, a shiver coursed down his spine. Sensing the change in his body, Julianna leaned forward, twining her hands behind his neck.
"Don't lie to me, Scott--you want this as much as I do." Pushing forward on tip-toes, she kissed him on the corner of the mouth. When he didn't respond, she grew bolder. Her fingers played across his chest, freeing the first button of his shirt. Once more her lips settled on his, moving fully onto his mouth. Undone by the contact, he groaned softly, gathering her into his arms.
Sense and reason spun away as he felt the delicious press of her body against his. It was as though he was in Boston again, acting like a stagestruck fool, taken with a woman who lived in the glittering world of fame and prestige.
Deftly freeing the buttons on his shirt, Julianna slipped her hand under the soft edge of cream-colored linen. Beneath her fingertips, the molten heat of Scott's bare flesh sent her heartbeat racing. He smelled of sun-soaked leather and the warm, musty taint of hay. As his mouth moved over hers, imparting buried desire, she had the sudden impression she'd lost control of the situation.
Threading the fingers of one hand into her long hair, Scott cradled the back of her head, the heated path of his lips moving slowly from her mouth to her throat. Bending, slipping an arm beneath her knees, he lifted her easily. Carrying her deeper into the barn, he settled her on a soft bed of hay, away from the door and stray, prying eyes. A lazy, half smile curled his lips as he tugged the laces of her bodice free. "Aren't you worried about your reputation?" His smile grew indulgent as he traced a finger down the plunging neckline of her gown. "--the toast of New York, making love in a barn?"
"My reputation's already tarnished," she returned, "and I'd rather be here with you, then Society Row, with someone else."
Her answer sounded rehearsed, but he didn't care. Not with the heat of suppressed passion surging through his veins. Tomorrow when his head was clear, and he could think rationally, he'd likely be more critical of his choices. Slipping his hand beneath her gown, Scott slid the silky fabric high on her thigh. His hand lingered on the satin flesh of her leg as his mouth found hers.
And then he forgot all else, abandoning himself to the frivolous whim of desire.
+++++
"Thank you for walking with me," Hannah Waltham said quietly. Uncertainly, she offered Johnny a shy smile, as they strolled across the twilight-cloaked grounds. Before coming to Morro Coyo, Hannah knew her father had investigated the Lancers thoroughly. Though she'd known Scott in Boston, the prospect of meeting his father and brother had left her nervous.
She'd heard all the rumors about Johnny Madrid Lancer. To a sheltered, school-bred girl from the east, the idea of encountering a notorious gunslinger, was nothing short of dreadful. She hadn't known what to expect, but certainly not the soft-spoken sincerity, this engaging man displayed. Though wary at first, she'd since found herself relaxing around him. There was something gentle in his blue eyes, and the way he smiled so easily. Not at all what she'd expected, he was as contradictory and enigmatic as the vast, rugged country in which he lived.
"The stage ride was rather grueling," she explained, touching a light hand to her temple. "I'm afraid I wasn't very good company earlier at the reception. Hopefully Julianna didn't mind."
"Oh, I don't know . . ." Johnny kicked a stone lightly across the courtyard. He'd changed earlier, donning black jeans and a slate-gray shirt. Resting his hands on the links of his studded, silver belt, he casually rolled his shoulders. "I'd say she barely noticed you were there--until Scott spent some time with you, that is."
Wincing, Hannah frowned. "I wished you hadn't noticed that."
"I make it my business to notice things that concern my brother."
"You're very close to him, aren't you?"
Caught off guard, Johnny halted. "Is that so surprising?"
"I didn't mean that to sound judgmental," Hannah explained quickly. Gathering her shawl about her shoulders, she studied him openly. “It’s just that you haven't known each other very long." Smiling slightly, she started walking again. Trailing behind her, he followed in the direction of the barn.
"I remember how Scott was in Boston, and later when he came to New York," Hannah explained. "He didn't really care about anyone, with the possible exception of Harlan Garrett. Your brother was different then, Mr. Lancer--quite the rake of polite society. You might say he was a challenge for Julianna." As they'd reached the corral fence, she leaned forward, lightly resting her fingertips on the wooden rail. In the silver-laced gloaming, her eyes sparkled with an emotion Johnny couldn't place. "Julianna likes to *own* people. When they first met, your brother was as careless with his affections as she was. It was simply a matter of time to see who would emerge the dominant player. I think they both stumbled unexpectedly and fell in love.
Bracing his arms on the top rail of the fence, Johnny gazed across the corral. He and Hannah stood on the west side of the barn. Around the front, he could see the door slightly ajar, and guessed Scott was inside working off bottled steam. "Then why'd he leave?"
"Because she wasn't happy with just one man, even though he's the only one she's ever cared about." She smiled bitterly. "Why do you think we're here? Do you really think the great Julianna Saville cares about Morro Coyo, or even a performance in Sacramento? She's self-destructive, Mr. Lancer. She's always been. When Scott walked out on her, she lost control of the game. With Julianna Saville, it's all about what she can't have."
"And that's why she didn't like Scott speaking to you?"
"Exactly. I shouldn't talk so about her, but your brother is one of the few kind people who moved in her circle, back east. I'd hate to see him hurt." Emboldened by his openness, Hannah placed her hand over his where it rested on the fence. "I know the power she holds over him, Johnny. I've seen them together. If you care about your brother, you'll talk some sense into him before it's too late."
Reluctantly, Johnny nodded. It was as he'd expected--Scott stumbling around with a twisted parcel of emotion, uncertain if he loved the woman, or simply lusted for her.
"There's something else I should tell you," Hannah announced quietly. When Johnny looked at her expectantly, she wet her lips, clearly uneasy. "My father didn't want Julianna to come here," she admitted hesitatingly. "I . . . I think you should know that my father's in love with her—that he has been for many years."
Shocked, Johnny turned fully to face her. How could a man be in love with a woman, who constantly waved blatant affairs beneath his nose?
As though sensing his thoughts, Hannah continued: "In the past, Julianna's . . . dalliances . . . were always passing flings, and it was easy for my father to overlook them, hoping she'd come to her senses and realize the extent of his devotion. I won't say it wasn't painful for him to see her carrying on with another man, but he knew it would be over quickly. Scott's another matter."
"Julianna's followed him across the country," Johnny observed quietly.
"Yes." Troubled by the admission, she nodded apprehensively. "My father felt threatened by your brother in Boston, but now--" Her eyes grew wide and direct. "I'm afraid what he might do, if he thinks there's a chance of Scott and Julianna reconciling. I don't wish to say anything bad about my father, but his intentions toward Scott have grown increasingly hostile."
"Wonderful." Puffing out his cheeks, Johnny exhaled. It wasn't enough to be burdened with an unscrupulous siren, intent on seducing his brother. Now he had to worry about the siren's jealous suitor, too boot. "I think we've had enough intrigue for one night, don't you?" Johnny asked. His head was already spinning with the myriad complications Julianna's unwelcome presence inspired. Catching Hannah by the arm, he began walking toward the barn. Maybe a visit with Barranca was just what they needed to put the night back in perspective. "Come on," he said, with an easy grin. "I'll show you my horse."
Hannah's troubled expression melted beneath an answering smile. As they neared the stable, however, a dark form bolted from within, nearly barreling Johnny over, in anxious haste to depart. "Father?" Hannah cried softly, realizing who it was.
Henry Waltham never stopped, never cast a backward glance at his daughter's bewildered cry. Darting across the courtyard, he rounded the side of the house, swallowed by shadow. "He must have been going for a ride," Hannah explained with a befuddled glance for Johnny. "In New York, he used to take carriage rides at twilight. I can't imagine what has him so upset."
"I can." Though he hoped against hope he was wrong, the sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach warned differently. Stepping into the barn, Johnny let his eyes sweep the darkened corners.
At first he saw nothing, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the smoky light. A horse snorted softly, stamping restlessly in its stall. From further away came a low moan of feminine pleasure. Following the sound, Johnny grimaced with dismay, realizing his brother had succumbed to the woman's considerable charm.
Scott and Julianna lay twined together, partially concealed by a mound of hay, bare flesh defined by strips of shadow and contouring lines of fading light. Disturbed, Johnny stepped outside, gripping Hannah by the arm.
"Change of plans," he said tightly. "Let's go back to the house."
+++++
Scott rolled the cuffs of his white shirt, then tucked the tails into the waistband of his pants. Retrieving a brush from the dresser, he ran it through his dark blonde hair, pushing the heavy bangs back from his brow. Morning sunlight funneled through the window at his back, drenching the wide-plank floor with a buttery haze. A soft breeze, still moist and scented with clinging dew, rifled through the open window. Reaching for his belt, Scott paused to glance outside as he slipped the supple leather through corresponding loops. The hint of a smile fleetingly touched his lips as he glimpsed the rear of the barn.
Originally, he'd thought he'd feel differently come morning, but last night's encounter with Julianna still lingered favorably in his mind. He'd forgotten how wonderful they were together-- how the touch of her flesh next to his, made him forget every other woman he'd ever known. When the shadows had slanted, growing long and velvety in the barn, he'd wanted her to return to the house, but she'd been unwilling--desiring him with a hunger that had left him winded. In New York they'd spent entire afternoons and lazy evenings in bed, content to pleasure one another with lingering touches and slower kisses. Scott thought he'd put that hedonistic lifestyle behind him when he came west, but it was dreadfully easy to fall into old habits. He wanted to believe this was different--that she loved him this time, and that somewhere in the uncertain, doubtful mire of his feelings, he loved her too.
Buckling his belt, he looked over his shoulder when a knock sounded on the closed door. "Come in," he invited shortly.
Fingers appeared on the side of the door a few inches above the knob. Johnny's head followed almost immediately. "Hey, big brother, you didn't forget Murdoch wants us up at Sawtooth Ridge? The line shack, remember?"
"I'm almost ready," Scott returned, double-checking the closure on his belt. Reaching behind him, he snagged a short-waisted, brown jacket from a chair. "Where's our guests this morning?"
"Finishing breakfast. I think Teresa and Hannah are planning a ride, but I'm not sure what your high-society lady's got planned."
Alerted by the slightly bitter tone in his voice, Scott glanced at him sharply. "What does that mean?"
Crossing his hands over the front of his gunbelt, Johnny elbowed the door shut. Momentarily silent, he leaned against the wood, watching Scott's face for reaction. "She got to you, didn't she? Last night, in the barn."
Eyes narrowing in annoyed concentration, Scott scowled. "You saw?"
"I wasn't the only one--Waltham did too."
With a steadying breath, Scott tried to remain calm. "What were you doing, Johnny? Spying on me?"
The younger man chuckled humorlessly. "Don't flatter yourself. I was going to check on Barranca. If you wanted to play at being lovestruck, you should have saved it for the bedroom."
"That's enough," Scott warned darkly. Slipping into the jacket, he strode crisply for the door. Though his fingers closed over the doorknob, Johnny didn't move.
"She doesn't care about you, Scott," the younger man said quietly. "She fancies the idea of having you on a string--a young, good-looking lover to keep her from feeling old. Why can't you see her for what she is?"
Scott's fingers tightened over the brass knob with white-knuckle force. Irrational anger nipped dangerously at his nerves. Somewhere deep inside, he knew Johnny had his best interest at heart, but hearing the woman he'd just made love to maligned, was tantamount to a kick in the stomach. "Keep your nose out of it, Johnny." Mouth tightening, he tugged on the door.
Leaning close to his ear, Johnny lowered his voice. "She'll dump you for the next pretty face who comes along." The words were no sooner past his lips when he realized he'd made a mistake. Deciding Scott needed a mental kick in the butt, he'd resorted to blunt truth, not realizing how cruelly it would wound his emotionally confused brother.
With a violent curse, Scott gripped his shoulder and flung him across the room. Stumbling, Johnny careened into a chair, striking out blindly to steady himself. Before he could recover, Scott snagged the front of his shirt and slammed him up against the wall. Enraged, his face just inches from Johnny's, he jabbed a finger beneath his brother's nose. "I don't need advice from you," he snarled. "If you know what's good for you, you'll keep out of my way."
Releasing him, Scott spun on his heel and stalked from the room. With a resigned breath, Johnny straightened his shirt. Still early, it promised to be a long, uncomfortable day. Murdoch, restless and bitey since Julianna's arrival, was already short-tempered and curt with Scott, for reasons Johnny couldn't unravel. Despite that awkwardness, the three of them were to spend the day completing repairs on a line shack in high rock country, while Jelly and Teresa played host to their guests. With Scott growing as viperous as Murdoch, Johnny knew he had nothing pleasant to look forward to.
"Might as well get on with it," he mumbled, heading for the door.
+++++
" . . . planned all along. If you had any sense you would have stayed away from her." The first voice Johnny heard upon entering the Great Room, was Henry Waltham's, raised in anger. The older man, attired in an impeccably tailored suit, stood toe-to-toe with Scott, his face flushed and mottled with high color.
"Henry, do control yourself," Julianna admonished with a flippant scowl. Still seated at the breakfast table, she sipped delicately at her morning tea, dismissing the exchange as something beneath her notice. Less disparaging then her employer, Hannah, looked worriedly from her father to Scott.
"She's capable of making her own decisions," Scott said pointedly.
Waltham squared his shoulders. "You're a bigger fool than I thought, if you believe that. The woman is incapable of rational thought where you're concerned. You're like a narcotic to her, Lancer--something she craves and hates at the same time. The best thing you can do for her, is leave her alone."
Scott's gaze grew flinty. "So you can have her?"
Paling, Waltham fell silent. His lips thinned into a tight, white line as he looked from Scott's incriminating gaze to Julianna's indifferent stare. To Johnny, watching from the distance, it seemed like something within the man abruptly snapped. Face flushing with rage, he jabbed a finger against Scott's shoulder, grinding the point home. "Stay away from her," he spat. "I promise you, this isn't over, Lancer. Not by a long shot."
Turning, he stalked from the room, exiting through the veranda doors. Waiting only briefly, Hannah rose from the table and followed wordlessly. Still irate, Scott confronted Julianna. "What did you say to him?"
Glancing up from her breakfast plate, the dark-haired woman shrugged vacantly. "I didn't say anything, darling. He saw us in the barn last night. I merely told him I enjoyed you as much as you did me."
Seething, Scott tried to hold his temper in check. "Julianna--" Raising both hands, he tried to emphasize his point. "What happens between a man and a woman in love, is meant to be private. Why must you publicize everything we do?"
When she didn't answer, but merely cast a blank stare, Scott shook his head in agitated defeat. With a tight glance, he strode from the room.
Still hovering at the entrance, Johnny leaned into the wall. "I can answer his question," he announced quietly. Surprised, Julianna cast him a wary look. "Because it makes you feel young and desirable, sleeping with a guy as good-looking as Scott." Voice dropping into a low, husky drawl, Johnny walked slowly forward, his eyes demeaning and merciless. Reaching the table, he braced both hands on the top, locking his elbows and leaning forward. "What excites you the most, Lady--the fact that he's only twenty-five, or that he had the grit to dump you?"
The stinging crack of her hand across his cheek, made Johnny smile tightly.
Enraged, Julianna Saville gazed at him with hatred naked in her eyes. Breasts rising and falling sharply, she breathed unevenly, struggling for control. The degrading curl of his lips made her mouth harden into an unforgiving line. "Oh you are good, Mr. Lancer," she said acidly. "Or should I say Mr. Madrid?" Rising to her feet, she met his icy stare. "I wouldn't be so quick to judge another, if I carried the taint clinging to your heels." Lips curling in a feral sneer, she sidled a step closer. "You can pretend all you want, but I know what drives a man like you--savage, unforgiving." As the words left her lips, a change came over her face. The rage slithered into something stricken and wounded, then coalesced into determined hunger. With an unflinching glance, she laid her hand on his shoulder. Tilting her head slightly, exposing the long arc of her neck, she let her eyelids droop with veiled enticement. "Aren't you the least bit curious what you're missing?"
Johnny's glance was withering. "Is that an invitation?"
Her finger trailed over his cheek, dropped to the collar of his shirt. "It could be a lot more. I'd like to see if you're as good as your brother is in bed."
"Julianna!" Scott's voice cracked on the air with crisp command.
Shocked at the harsh interruption, the dark-haired woman wrenched quickly backward. Less chagrined, but no less cautious, Johnny turned to find his brother framed in the doorway. Uneasily he wet his lips. "Scott . . . I--"
"Get the horses, Johnny. I'll meet you at the barn."
Hesitating, Johnny tried to gauge the play of emotion in his brother's stormy, gray-blue eyes. Uncertainly, he nodded. Even as he walked from the house, he felt the critical weight of disapproval hang over him. Though he'd done nothing wrong, it somehow felt as if he'd betrayed his brother. Pausing at the stable door, he rubbed tiredly at his temples. Would Scott believe him innocent of trying to lead Julianna astray? Surely someone as versed in drama as New York's greatest stage actress, would have no problem putting on a show for her already confused lover. Johnny didn't doubt she'd tried to blame the whole situation on him.
Minutes later, when Scott joined him at the stable, wordlessly collecting the reins of his horse, Johnny shot him a questioning glance. "Well?" he prompted carefully. "Aren't you going to ask what happened?"
Tugging on his saddle strap, Scott kept his expression carefully neutral. "I already know what happened."
"You mean what she told you?"
"No." Swinging into the saddle, he looked down at his brother. "I'm not a fool, Johnny. I might have been momentarily stagestruck, but I know how she is, and I know you'd never . . ." Uncomfortable, he cleared his throat. "I know you'd never betray me like that. I told her it was over between us."
Seeing the weight of regret in his eyes, Johnny looked away briefly. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah, me too." Brusquely, Scott gathered the reins. "She'll be gone in a few days. Come on--Murdoch's waiting."
With heavy silence hanging between them, the two brothers rode for high rock country.
+++++
Murdoch guessed something was wrong the moment both arrived. Withdrawn and moody, Scott barely spoke while Johnny maintained an annoying habit of casting worried glances at his brother, every few minutes. Deciding whatever lay between them could wait, Murdoch set both to work repairing the small corral to the right of the shack. Tethering all three horses nearby, he continued his repairs on the dilapidated front porch.
He'd already been at work a few hours before his errant sons arrived. Short-tempered and disagreeable, he pounded a nail into a hard plank board, trying to pinpoint the reason for his irritability. A brusque man, he wasn't accustomed to having guests of Miss Saville's stature, and reasoned she was partially at fault for his foul mood. Though he'd never truly cared for his role as town host, his disposition over the arrangement had soured further when he'd learned of Scott's previous involvement with the woman.
Ever since the incident at the stage depot, when Scott had allowed her to make a spectacle of them both, Murdoch had been critical and cold with his fair-haired son. He tried to tell himself he had reason to be angry--that Scott, flaunting his affair with an older woman--had brought shame to the Lancer name. But Murdoch knew such reasoning amounted to little more than tripe. At the heart of the matter lay a fear he didn't want to admit--that Julianna Saville might succeed where Harlan Garret had failed. That she'd lure his son back east, and he'd be powerless to stop her.
Reaching for another nail, Murdoch swore softly. He didn't know how to talk to his son--to put into words all the twisted, turmoil in his heart. Sometimes, watching Johnny and Scott, as close as they were, he felt envious of their relationship. They'd come into the partnership clean of recrimination, but he still carried the burden of past sins. And for that matter, were they partners or father and sons? Though he wanted both, he knew he didn't have the right to ask. Even now, he stood the chance of losing the awkward relationship he did have with Scott.
Hearing the soft tread of his eldest son, Murdoch glanced up as Scott walked past him, heading for the water bucket. Hesitating, he came within an inch of hailing him. Too quickly the moment slipped past, and Scott continued on his course. Exhaling, Murdoch lowered his eyes.
Into the pocket of silence, a sudden burst of gunfire rolled from a thicket of nearby trees.
Even as Murdoch glanced up--even as he prepared to launch himself for the gun he'd left discarded a short distance away, he saw Scott pitch forward. "No!" The cry burst from his lips as he sprang to his feet. Behind him, he heard the rapid, repetitive crack of Johnny's pistol.
Straining against their tethers, frightened by the unexpected volley of bullets, the horses burst free. Murdoch heard the thunder of their hooves as they bolted for the trees.
"Scott!" Gun in hand, he rushed to his son's side. Johnny's pistol still spit fire, giving him protective cover. From the corner of his eye, he saw a rider vanish into the thicket. Hardly daring to breathe, he touched his son's shoulder. Scott lay face down, his head turned in profile, bangs spilling forward against his eyebrow. Unconscious, he looked almost peaceful. The small, bloody holes drilled in his back told another story.
Rushing forward, Johnny dropped at his side. "Damn it." Reaching out a hand, he shrank backward before his touch could bring his brother pain. "A scatter gun." Raising his eyes, Johnny stared fearfully at his father. "Murdoch, he's gonna need help in a hurry."
Grim-faced, the older man nodded. "Horses are gone," he said tightly.
"I might be able to find Barranca," Johnny returned. "If I turn up the other two, I'll come back. If not, I'll go for help and bring a wagon. The ranch isn't that far."
"All right," Murdoch agreed. "Help me get him inside first."
Together they lifted Scott--Murdoch gripping him below the arms, and Johnny taking his legs. The inside of the small shack was dusty and dank with disuse. Weak light filtered through grimy windows, dousing the interior with gray, watery haze. A square wooden table flanked by two chairs, a squat, pot-bellied stove, and a cot with a rope back, were the only furnishings in the room. An assortment of dry goods and a few battered cans lined two shelves on the far wall. One of the boards had begun to warp from age, bowing upward in the center where a dark knot blistered the surface. As they moved toward the rickety cot with it's waffle-thin mattress, Johnny and Murdoch stirred small billows of dust from the floor.
Scott moaned, half coherent, as he felt the touch of the dirty mattress against his back. Immediately the other two men rolled him onto his side, keeping pressure off the wounds. Though there wasn't much blood, the holes were numerous.
Swallowing, Murdoch stepped backward. He wasn't prepared for what the sound of his son in pain did to him. "I don't think the holes are deep," he told Johnny, though his eyes never strayed from Scott's face. The younger man's complexion had grown ashen. A thin sheen of sweat stippled the high arch of his cheekbone, making the sudden rings of shadow beneath his eyes seem deeper still.
Leaning forward, Johnny brushed a tentative hand over his brother's cheek. "Scott, we'll get you out of this."
"Johnny?" Scott's long fingers found his brother's wrist, coiling tightly over the rigid bones. His lashes fluttered as he struggled for a foothold in reality. "What . . . what happened?"
Wetting his lips, Johnny glanced to Murdoch before looking back to his brother. "Someone hit you with a load of buckshot."
Scott drew an uneven breath, grimacing as the action sent molten needles cascading from wound to wound. Fingers tightening, he bit back an anguished cry, turning his face into the pulpy mattress. Raising, his other hand, Johnny touched him lightly on the hair, stroking his fingertips through the thick blonde tresses. "Take it easy, brother," he said softly.
Watching, Murdoch felt his stomach contort. He heard Scott's ragged intake of air as he struggled to mute the spiraling agony in his body. Johnny's soft words and gentle touch went a long way to calming the other man, and Murdoch realized that left alone with his eldest son, he couldn't provide the same comfort.
He'd never learned how to express himself--not in any manner that mattered. All the years he should have spent comforting both boys as they grew, he'd concentrated instead on carving out a cattle empire. As hurt as Scott was, Murdoch suddenly realized he was frightened to be left alone with his son.
"Johnny, you stay. I'll go for the horses." He still hadn't moved. Still hadn't found the strength to reach forward and lend a comforting hand to the wounded son who needed him. Somewhere deep inside he feared that gesture would be rebuked, and that was something from which Murdoch knew he'd never recover.
Kneeling beside the bed, still holding on to his brother, Johnny looked over his shoulder. "Barranca won't come to you. I'm the better choice, Murdoch, we both know it."
And that was the crux of the problem. Johnny was the better choice to go for help, but he was also the better choice to stay and comfort Scott. In the end, Murdoch was basically worthless—a man not even capable of tending to his son.
Resigning himself to the obvious, the older man nodded. "Bring some water in please, before you go."
As Johnny left the cabin, Murdoch turned to sort through whatever salvageable items he could find. Locating a flannel shirt on a hook in the back of the room, he tore it into strips. Though faded and worn, the material was soft. Next he retrieved a battered, tin basin, and dragged a chair close to the bed. By then Johnny had returned with the water. Taking the pitcher, Murdoch halted by the door.
Pausing on the threshold, Johnny stared at his father. "Do what you can for him, Murdoch. I know you haven't been too friendly lately, but he needs you now."
Another man might have been insulted, might have responded in rage. But Johnny's interest was solely for Scott and Murdoch knew that. It was as if his practical, gunslinger son had suddenly grew divining--as if he could see within Murdoch's tattered soul, to realize how empty it was. Rather than respond directly, he took another track. "Be careful," he said thickly, unexpected emotion, momentarily making the words stick in his throat. "We don't know who did this or why."
Johnny's mouth tightened. "I've got a fairly good notion."
As he left, darting into the trees, Murdoch closed the door. He stood for a moment, looking down at the coarse wooden pitcher in his hands, clear liquid within reflecting the craggy lines of his face. Behind him he heard Scott shift and moan. Striding to the bed, Murdoch dropped quickly into the chair, pouring a generous portion of water into the basin. "Easy, Scott." Recovering a thicker strip of fabric, he dipped it into the water, wringing the excess clear. Biting his lip, he dabbed the cool cloth against his son's flushed face.
Disoriented, Scott moved his head against the mattress, his hair catching and fanning on the dishwater-gray covering. "I . . .” Tortured, pain-filled eyes, more gray than blue in the waxen light, settled on Murdoch. "Where's Johnny?"
Murdoch stilled. "He went to try and find our horses, and get help."
Shifting, Scott pushed his father's hand away. "I'm all right," he said, but Murdoch could see that he wasn't. Lips parted, Scott's breath came a little too unsteadily. His fingers tightened on the frame of the bed as he fought to silence a cry. A tremor ran through his arm.
"Scott--" Murdoch tossed the cloth aside. The air felt uncomfortable and awkward, a prickly side-effect neither man needed. "That jacket has to come off. I need to look at those wounds."
With a reluctant nod, Scott lowered his eyes. He seemed to be trying to collect himself, as if he knew movement would require all his strength. Bracing his arm against the edge of the bed, he tried to lean forward. Moving to assist him, Murdoch slid an arm carefully around his back. The touch, light as it was, made Scott cry aloud. Awakening tendrils of pain speared him with unexpected viciousness. Gasping, he turned his head against Murdoch's shoulder. His father slid one arm free of its imprisoning sleeve, and the jacket fell across Scott's back.
"Almost," Murdoch breathed near his ear.
Scott trembled, his breath coming hot and rapid, as razor-edged pain splintered from the wounds. "Please," he panted, feeling blackness push against his senses. Lifting one hand, he hooked his fingers into Murdoch's shirt. The jacket fell clear, and Scott slumped into his father's arms, too exhausted to move.
With a somewhat belated start, Murdoch realized he was sitting on the rickety cot, cradling his grown son in his arms. Scott's head rested on his chest, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. The clean scent of prairie grass and wind-blown earth clung to the younger man's hair. Though the small effort of movement seemed to have exhausted him, his chest rose and fell steadily. Content, Scott made no effort to move.
Awkward as comforter, Murdoch glanced down at the younger man's back. Scott's white shirt was soaked with small, dribbling circles of blood. Though some had already dried, others still oozed, prompted no doubt by the latest bout of movement. With Scott's heavier jacket out of the way, Murdoch knew he'd be able to tear the linen shirt with little effort. "Scott?" Grappling for control, Murdoch filtered the uncertainty from his voice. "Scott, I need you to lay on your stomach."
The younger man drew a long, shuddering breath. Moving his head slightly, he turned his face against his father's neck. "Not now," he pleaded. He knew he should move, do as his father asked, but the darkness was so heavy, and he was content. Movement would bring a recurrence of the agony that even now left blood dribbling down his back.
Despite everything that lay between them--past and present--Scott was oddly comforted in his father's embrace. His fingers tightened in the scratchy fabric of Murdoch's shirt as his eyes grew heavy. Snagged on the fringe of his vision, like an insubstantial wraith, he saw a blonde-haired child. The boy ran up an ornate u-shaped staircase, sobbing, because yet another year had passed without contact from the father he coveted. Even as Scott grappled with the memory, the image changed. He saw a fashionably dressed young man, bitterly explaining to a college friend that he considered his father dead. A new pain stabbed low in his gut--not the physical torment of his wounds, but the emotional torture of something he'd kept long buried. Breath quickening, he tried to separate reality from memory--tried to silence past hurt in favor of the tenuous relationship, he had with the man known as Murdoch Lancer. Business