Word Count 35,875
Thanks to Cat and Chris for the beta
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Crackles and flickers emitted from the blaze should have cast its usual comfort; the heat began to challenge the raw chill in the room but failed to warm his heart. Why were his hands so cold? The scent of the greens tied with red ribbons that bedecked the great room went unnoticed, an element of cheer and goodwill for the upcoming Christmas. But it had nothing to do with the temperature of the December day or the damp chill that trapped Murdoch Lancer in its icy grip — it was the letter he held that made his heart crack and splinter into dagger-like pieces. The second he touched the missive, his anxiety ignited in a wild, out-of-control stampede through his body — a cold flood of memories… and nightmares.
The envelope arrived, addressed to Murdoch Lancer in Morro Coyo, California. Nothing strange about that, but the words written on the paper inside set his heart to batter the ribs in his chest. The note was attached to a smaller, tattered envelope, yellowed with age, also addressed to him.
Murdoch could not control the tremble of his fingers; apprehension washed over his body and churned through his mind, leaving him unsettled as a heavy weight formed in his belly. This is silly! Read the note, and open the letter! He took the paper wrapped around the smaller envelope and began to read.
Dear Señor Lancer,
It is my duty to inform you of the death of Father Miguel Mendoza in Cananea, Sonora, Mexico. He passed peacefully in his sleep and was welcomed into the Blessed Arms of our Holy Father on September 17 of this year.
Murdoch frowned; it was now December 22nd. Knowing communication to take weeks, if not months, Murdoch pushed the thought aside and continued reading the growing mystery of Father Mendoza and why the death was of consequence to him or Lancer. His apprehensions continued to spread throughout him, a precursor of the missive’s contents.
This letter was found in Father Mendoza’s earthly possessions – He confessed on his deathbed he had not passed it on as was requested by the woman mentioned and asked that I see it into your hands. The woman, assisted by the Sister at the mission, left this for you; unfortunately, she passed away the next day and was buried in the cemetery at the church.
I cannot condone Father Mendoza’s actions in his refusal to forward this letter to you; however, you will now be in possession of this letter as was intended, although many years late. I only hope that you can forgive Father Mendoza for his shortcomings and questionable judgment. He asked for your mercy and forgiveness.
In God’s Grace,
Father Juan Torres
What??? Murdoch’s head began to spin. Why would anyone have anything to tell… and it hit him with the impact of a shotgun blast. Could it be? Open the damn thing! You’ll not know until you read what’s written!
Trembling fingers ripped the tattered and yellowed envelope to reveal several pages of script written in a vaguely familiar hand; he began to read and felt his heart fracture — the tiny fissures grew into wide, frozen chasms with every word.
My Beloved,
As strength fails me, I write this letter hoping that it will find its way into your hands. Oh, those warm, strong hands that once held me, pulled me into your arms, kept me safe from harm, protected me, loved me. The same hands that held our gift from God — our precious Johnny!
Was this some sort of cruel joke? Shortly after Maria left the hacienda, taking two-year-old Johnny with her in the middle of the night, a letter arrived addressed to Murdoch. It was from Maria, telling him it had been a mistake to marry him and that she was leaving for a better life. He was devastated, heartbroken. He went after them; he would convince her to come home — he had to! He couldn’t bear to live without them, without Johnny! The pain was debilitating, crushing the life from his body. But he never found them, and that fact left him bitter. He had no idea why she left him… but she did.
Now, he sat with another letter from Maria, written years later. Had she changed her mind? With heart thundering in his chest, he blinked rapidly; was this from his Maria? And he continued, knowing what followed could hold the answer — the answer to the mystery that gripped him in suffocating fear and grief while simultaneously loving and hating her. The writing failed; crossed-out words, spider-like lines from an uncontrolled pen veined over the parchment. It was apparent when a new hand took command; the writing was neat and flowing. Murdoch felt shards of pain slice him apart, but he kept reading. Would he finally know what happened and the why behind the questions that tortured him for twenty long and agonizing years? The words held promise, but he found it impossible to blink away the growing tears that threatened to fall and possibly render them illegible. The wild hammering continued in his chest; Murdoch wiped his eyes in an anxious swipe, focused on the paper before him, and read the letter.
Forgive me, my love…
Tears washed away the words; his mind could not absorb their meaning as his heart continued to shatter into pieces. And anger began its wild run through the body, thinking of all the wasted years — critical years for Johnny as he fought for existence, fought for food, and fought for his life.
Murdoch sat for what seemed hours, contemplating the letter that quivered in his trembling hands — the letter that stirred his heart yet provoked the thunder in his mind. Love, grief, and anger battled; they competed for prominence in his brain as he stared into the flames that danced in the fireplace.
Then, with a deep breath, he read the last of Maria’s thoughts, written by a stranger, a nun at the mission who had passed the letter along to the priest who, according to Father Torres, disregarded Maria’s request to forward the letter to Murdoch Lancer, her husband. His eyes caught his name as she pleaded for his help.
… Murdoch, our Johnny has run away! He is alone; how can he survive? Please, my beloved, find our son! Take him back to Lancer where he belongs – where he’s always belonged. I fear for his life.
Never doubt that I love you. You and Johnny are my heart, my life.
And he read no more. He couldn’t absorb all that happened; it was too much to comprehend. Why was this… this tragedy, this grievous blow inflicted on innocents? On Maria and Johnny? And was Maria innocent?
Could it be all those years wasted damning his wife only to receive this letter now, so long overdue? Blaming her for taking Johnny, subsequently setting him on the volatile and deadly path to Johnny Madrid. How would he live with the truth of this letter? What would he tell Johnny? Murdoch buried his face in his hands and wept for all that was lost, and the Hell Maria had gone through.
Claiming a headache, he rejected the idea of eating dinner with his family. Murdoch resigned himself to his room; the Scotch kept there just for nights as this would serve him well.
How would he tell Johnny? And when would he tell him? Would he, could Murdoch spoil Christmas, risking that Johnny would leave to locate the person behind the mystery? The Patriarch knew that, with no doubt in his mind, Johnny would leave once he read the letter from his mother and go in search of answers, and Murdoch could only hope Johnny would find those answers but not seek revenge for the injustice the letter revealed. He wouldn’t let his younger son jeopardize himself now that he was home and settled into the family he was born with and should have had from the beginning. No, Murdoch resolved to wait until after Christmas, hopefully putting off the ‘talk’ until after the New Year. Now the question was, could he do it?
But Scott and Johnny would know something was wrong; hiding anything from a Harvard-educated Lieutenant in the Union Army and a savvy, self-taught street-fighting gunhawk would be next to impossible. But he had to try — for all their sakes.
“Mornin’, Boston,” Johnny’s hushed voice reached Scott’s ears as he came down the back stairs into the kitchen.
Scott knew immediately something was going on in Johnny’s head. “Good morning, brother. What has you so pensive at this early hour?”
Maria entered the pantry, leaving the siblings alone for a brief moment. Johnny huffed as he raised the mug of hot coffee to his mouth and drank. “Prob’ly same thing as you. Ya talked ta the ol’ man yet?”
Now it was Scott’s turn to huff, and a long, breathy sigh followed as he took his seat at the table. “No, I wanted to talk to you first. Nothing is going on between the two of you, is there?” Though the relationship had been prickly in their rocky beginning, they, Murdoch and Johnny, had grown close with none of the head-butting of their rocky start.
“Nope. It’s been just fine, but somethin’s got Murdoch troubled; ain’t no question about it. Figure we should just ask him? I mean, get it out in the open an’ stop walkin’ on eggshells,” Johnny grinned. “Ain’t that what you said a couple ‘a weeks ago about talkin’ ta Murdoch inta buyin’ that property up by Royal Creek? Stop walkin’ on eggshells an’ get him ta buy it.”
Scott chuckled, seeing his brother’s wicked smile. “Yes, that’s what I said, brother. But maybe we shouldn’t ask him about it today.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?” Johnny looked up with a frown, piercing Scott with his stare. Why not ask taday?
“Because, brother mine, it’s your birthday! Happy Birthday, Johnny!”
A smile twitched at the corner of Johnny’s mouth, but he was not happy putting off the questions he wanted to ask Murdoch. If there was something wrong, it needed to be in the open so it would be fixed, not put off until later. Murdoch was troubled; Johnny wanted to ease the turmoil that was so obvious as it swirled around their father.
“Look, Johnny, give him until after Christmas. If he wants to talk before that, he will, but let him have this time.”
Johnny knew that made sense; he smiled and looked down at the steam swirling out of the mug. “Yeah, sure. After Christmas, but then we’re gonna siddown an’ have us a talk.” But I’m keepin’ my eyes on him. Somethin’s wrong.
The birthday celebration at the Lancer Ranch went off without a hitch. The party was kept small, knowing Johnny’s aversion to large crowds. Sam Jenkins and Val Crawford were invited; Aggie Conway, Maria, Cip, and Jelly rounded out the guests. As the night progressed, Johnny observed Murdoch, cautious glances committed to memory his attitude, actions, and expressions. Yeah, whatever was bothering Murdoch still shadowed the old man, and Johnny was going to find out what ‘it’ was.
The long case clock struck eleven; they retired to their rooms, joking at the early hour that they were not as young as they used to be; tomorrow was Christmas Eve. Spending Johnny’s birthday and Christmas at Lancer began a new tradition, a treasured time together. They were creating memories — experiences none had ever had before. A melding together of differing backgrounds, although some were of the same family, formed a cohesive and close-knit bond, knotted together, strong, devoted to the other, and loyal.
Scott, Johnny, and Val sat before the crackling fire after the others found their beds. They talked in hushed tones, including Val in their discussion, welcoming any observation the savvy lawman would offer.
“Ain’t heard ‘a no trouble goin’ on. No one’s been complainin’. Ya ever think it might be somethin’ he don’t wanna share? Somethin’… personal?”
Yes, the Lancer sons had thought about it, but Murdoch appeared deeply troubled. If it was something serious, Scott and Johnny had a right to know what was going on. However, neither of them had approached their father… yet. If it was personal, they would have to let it drop — let Murdoch handle it himself. If he asked for help, they would stand by him in a heartbeat.
“Murdoch is a private man; I think we need to let him come to his own decisions,” Scott sighed. The statement was true enough, but it didn’t ease his concerns.
Johnny was not as patient; he snorted, bringing his brother’s attention to him with a critical eye.
“Well, brother? If you have a better idea, I’d like to hear it.”
“Scott, the ol’ man ain’t gonna come ta us about a problem, ‘specially if it’s personal. Didn’t you learn anything about him from his trip ta Mesa Roja? He was goin’ there ta make peace with Judd Haney and an’ was shot in the back. He ain’t gonna come ta us with nothin’ personal. If he don’t say anything, I’m gonna come right out an’ ask him, but I’ll wait’ll after Christmas. T’resa’s lookin’ forward to it, an’ I don’t wanna ruin it for her. All we can do is wait another day, then we’ll talk to him. That sound right ta you?”
Scott shrugged, then accepted Johnny’s plan. “Yes, I guess that’s about the only thing we can do.
And though they participated in the spirit of the holidays, Johnny and Scott kept their secret watch over Murdoch and waited for the time to approach him and find the truth of his preoccupation. They would find out. And soon.
Murdoch Lancer had always been a strong-willed man. He’d confronted every problem ever thrown his way, stood up for the things he believed in, and fought for everything he had. But receiving the letter from Maria after years of thinking she had forsaken him for another and deserted him, he was stunned and ashamed he had not given her the consideration that things were not as they seemed. He thought back to that time, wondering if there had been a clue he missed; if something was happening that he could have prevented, and came up with nothing. Admitting to himself he was completely wrapped up in running Lancer, he remembered there was no time for anything else. Then, the guilt ignited in his brain. I should have made time! I should have paid more attention to my wife! Maybe I would have seen something that was glaringly obvious! But she knew she could come to me about anything that was troubling her… didn’t she?
Murdoch Lancer couldn’t sleep. The questions swirled in his head; he felt light-headed, dizzy — suspended on a rope, spinning around and around.
Maria, I am so sorry! I doubted you! I damned you for leaving, for taking our son… and for leaving me…
A poker face. That’s what he needed to get through the day. He felt his sons’ eyes on him. They knew something was on his mind. They were observant, not missing much — it was going to be difficult to get through the day without questions from them. Would they give him the time he wanted before he could pull his emotions together and tell them about the letter? The letter posed more questions than it answered, but he had Maria’s explanation — she hadn’t wanted to leave him.
His faith in Scott’s and Johnny’s abilities could be an asset; perhaps, when he talked with them about the letter, they could approach it from a different angle, coming to a conclusion that he, Murdoch, had not yet made. Just get through today, then we’ll talk.
His smile was genuine as he watched those gathered in the great room as gifts were exchanged and jokes were made. Everyone laughed when Scott and Johnny reverted to the antics of young boys throwing wadded-up balls of wrapping paper at the other, and it crossed the patriarch’s mind for the hundredth time they had missed out on much as a family. He was jarred out of the wanderings as a crumpled ball of paper, thrown by his younger son, landed in his lap. And he laughed as he threw it back, laughing harder when Johnny picked it out of the air, and immediately tossed it to his brother. And he missed the wink between his sons.
The day would be remembered as one of their best holidays; friends and family came together, marking what was to become a tradition for many years afterward. Sheriff Val Crawford had not been called away and was able to join the festivities at Lancer, surprising them all. Apparently, Cletus and Bo Turner had not been at each other’s throats, forcing Widow Turner to involve Val’s help in keeping the rowdies under control and not kill each other on Christmas. Many an occasion had been interrupted as the brutish and bull-like brothers refused to get along, more often than not punching the other from behind, drawing blood, and requiring stitches. It was the general consensus that sooner or later, one would do the other in. Bets were placed at The Angels Nest Saloon, and bartender Henry kept the running tally.
Christmas Day progressed in the company of family and extended family. Laughter and cheer bounced off the walls; toasts to good health in the coming year were made, and Aggie and Teresa sang a beautiful duet of ‘Oh, Holy Night’. Dinner and drinks afterward were taken in Christmas spirit, and then… it was over.
Val accompanied Aggie back to the Circle C, then made his way to town. Teresa was exhausted and declared herself fatigued, only clearing up what was necessary, vowing to finish the following day, then excused herself and went to bed.
Murdoch knew the boys were waiting, but he, too, excused himself for the night. Tomorrow would come soon enough.
Scott and Johnny watched as he ascended the curved staircase and was out of sight in a few short seconds. Turning back to the other, Scott sighed, and Johnny shrugged.
“Guess we wait’ll tamorrow,” Johnny said.
“Yes, brother, tomorrow.”
Sleep came in brief snippets that interrupted beneficial rest. Johnny dragged himself out of the warm bed feeling worse than if he’d been up all night. His concern for Murdoch weighed heavy, but today would bring things into the open. Today, he and Scott would have the talk with their father, bring to light Murdoch’s trouble, and help him through whatever had him… what was it that Scott said? Preoccupied, yeah, Murdoch was preoccupied.
Scott was a smart man, and Johnny remembered the other fancy words he used while they talked after everyone had gone to bed the night before. Dilemma and predicament were two more, and oh, yeah, conu… What the hell was that other word? Conundrum… what the heck kind of word is that? But he trusted his brother’s wealth of knowledge, knowing it had something to do with Murdoch’s trouble. Johnny smirked, thinking he would ask Scott why he couldn’t just use the word ‘trouble’ and be done with it.
Johnny slipped into his calzoneras and shivered in the chill of the room, then shrugged into his shirt. He picked up the pocket watch Murdoch had gifted him shortly after his arrival at Lancer and checked the time. Damn! It was three in the morning. Coffee. That’s what he needed — a large mug of hot coffee. There would not be any more sleep for him today. He slipped the watch into his pocket, tugged on his socks and boots, and made his way down to the kitchen.
The coffee was almost done; Johnny reached for a mug, knowing it was too early to pour the craved brew; the grounds had not settled yet, but waiting the required five minutes for that to happen seemed like an eternity, and he refused to pour cold water into the brew to help that action. Well, he had the time; what’s a few minutes to wait?
Johnny silently wandered into the great room and started a fire. The warmth would be welcomed when Murdoch awoke, and the three Lancer men would have their talk. Scott and Johnny had waited long enough to ask their questions; they might as well be comfortable and warm. The fire blazed in the hearth, and Johnny returned to the kitchen, poured himself a mugful, then sat at the table to wait.
He leaned back in the chair and rested his ankle on his knee, fingers that were never still turned the mug in circles on the heavy wooden planks of the table. How many times could his mind pick apart the same thoughts? He had no idea, no information to process, to work out and dredge through. They would have to wait until they encouraged Murdoch to open up. And Johnny Madrid Lancer was not good at waiting.
Going to the stove, Johnny topped off the coffee in his mug; the pleasing trickling sound and the aromatic steam eased the trepidation that stuck in his throat like a splintered bone. He huffed, wondering why he couldn’t control his building anxiety; he and Scott would corner Murdoch today and discover what was going on with him. Johnny wondered again over the family dynamics, filled with worries, apprehensions, and, at times, down-right fear. Being part of a family was work, no doubt about that.
He turned at the soft footfalls on the back stairs. Scott was up; at least he wouldn’t be sitting here alone, going over thoughts he’d been sifting through his head all night. Johnny reached for another mug, filled it with coffee, and sat down at the table. Scott didn’t look any better than Johnny felt, and he hoped the strong drink would soon benefit them both. It was a good sign when, after taking a sip, Scott grimaced and reached for the sugar bowl.
“Mornin’, Boston,” Johnny said with a smile.
The brow arched above a bloodshot eye. “I don’t know how you can drink that!” Scott griped, then spooned a large amount of sugar into his cup.
Johnny snorted. “Well, I’m awake an’ you’re not, so ya need ta drink more.”
“If I have any more, this swill will burn a hole in my stomach…”
“Here, have a leftover biscuit — it’ll help ta soak it up,” and with that, Johnny lobbed one of Teresa’s now-stale treats at his brother.
Not caring enough to deflect the object, Scott let the missile bounce off his hand to land on the table with a thunk. He didn’t know what was worse — putting up with Johnny’s nonsense or going back to bed to lie and wonder about Murdoch.
“Maybe he’ll come down early. He doesn’t look like he’s gettin’ anymore sleep than we are.”
“No, he doesn’t. If he doesn’t want to talk about whatever is bothering him, how are we going to make him? I mean, the man is as stubborn as you are!” Scott declared.
Johnny’s wicked smile crawled across his face, and then he quietly said, “No, he ain’t.”
Scott sighed. “Alright, maybe he isn’t, but…”
“Look, Scott, whatever’s botherin’ him is bad. We just gotta make sure an’ let him know we’re in this tagether. No secrets anymore, remember?”
Hidden in the shadows of the back stairs leading down into the kitchen and out of sight, Murdoch listened to his sons as they expressed their concerns for his welfare. Their discussion made his heart swell with pride. They were the sons he hoped they would turn out to be. All the wasted years of dreaming, mourning, and agonizing were now over. They were men to be proud of, and Murdoch Lancer was honored they were his. And now, it was time to tell them about the letter.
“Was wonderin’ when you were gonna join us,” Johnny said as his eyes crinkled in a smile that warmed Murdoch’s heart.
“Good morning, Murdoch,” Scott said as he got their father a mug. No morning should start without coffee. But then, it was Johnny’s coffee… maybe something a bit less… toxic would be in order?
“Coffee? Before you decide, you need to know that Johnny made it,” Scott smirked.
“It sounds like just the thing I need,” Murdoch mumbled as he sat at the table and rubbed his eyes, knowing that the brew his younger son made would either shock him into the awareness he needed or put him into a mental state where he wouldn’t care about anything. There were jokes around the campfires at night that Johnny’s coffee could be lethal.
“Thank you, Scott,” he sighed as the mug appeared in front of him. He watched his sons as they, in turn, watched him. They were waiting for him to start, he knew; he took in a deep breath, let it out, and began.
“I wanted to wait until after your birthday, Johnny, and Christmas before I talked with you two. I didn’t want to risk any… turmoil it would cause and ruin the holidays for Teresa. You’ll understand that time is not of consequence now, but you both should know.” He studied them, noting the determination in their eyes. And he began.
Murdoch leveled his attention on Johnny. “The day before your birthday, I received a letter from Father Torres in Cananea telling me of the death of Father Miguel Mendoza…” Murdoch stopped when he saw the ice form in Johnny’s eyes. “You knew him?” Murdoch asked, alarmed at the loathing registered in the dark shadows of Johnny’s face when he recognized the name.
Johnny struggled to rein in the contempt that shrouded his memories. The fire in his heart began to burn out of control and fill him with rage. Murdoch stared as he and Scott felt alarm wash over them; they’d never witnessed the amount of hostility that consumed Johnny to this extent and thought there was still much they didn’t know of Johnny’s early years.
Murdoch reached out, laying a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “Son, who is Father Mendoza?”
Murdoch tightened the fingers on his son’s shoulder as he felt the muscles bunch, and Johnny was glad for the support they offered. Rein it in, rein it in… He took a deep breath to help clear his mind, then began the appalling account of Father Miguel Mendoza’s cruelty. “Mendoza was the priest in Cananea. At the time we were there, he was the only priest in the village. He decided who was… worthy of his church. An’ Mama and I weren’t. Every time she wanted to go, he would turn her away, call us names that no priest should ever say. He wouldn’t hear her confession, said she was sinful an’ told her ta stop wastin’ his time, that there were other people… more deservin’. He told her ta take her bastard son and leave.”
Murdoch had never in his life wished anyone to die, and at that moment, he was happy Mendoza was no longer of this earth. His heart shattered for Maria and Johnny, shunned from a place where they should have found sanctuary, given aid and comfort. How often had it happened to them? Murdoch felt his throat tighten; his fingers curled into fists, wanting nothing more than to have Mendoza clutched in those fists now.
Scott knew Johnny’s mad was centered on the priest and how he had treated Maria, not because of the hurt caused by the vile tongue of Mendoza, referring to Johnny’s heritage or lack of heritage. He wondered how long Johnny had suffered before those hurtful names began to roll off his shoulders, to shrug them off as if they meant nothing.
Johnny stopped the narrative. “What’s that sonuvabitch got ta do with anything?” he asked, disregarding the look from Murdoch for the use of profanity.
Murdoch collected his thoughts as best he could, then pulled the letter from his vest pocket. “I knew keeping this from you was wrong; you have the right to know what happened, son.” He handed the note from Father Torres to Johnny, waited until he read it, then handed Johnny the letter from his mother.
Johnny stared at the paper in his hands. Would it explain what happened? Why they left Lancer in the night? Would it explain about him? What about running, being scared, starving, and rejected by others?
Johnny sighed and closed his eyes. He wasn’t going to know anything if he didn’t open the damned thing and start reading…
His apprehension was growing, but with steady fingers, Johnny Madrid Lancer opened the missive that would change his thoughts, his mind, and his love.
He nearly tossed the letter on the table with the first line. My Beloved — Johnny wanted to hurl his ugly words in her face. ‘My beloved’ lyin’ right up till the end…
But he kept those words to himself… and was glad he did. Maria deserved more consideration than she’d been given.
Scott watched as his brother read the letter, mesmerized by the expressions that played across Johnny’s face. My God, what is in that letter? He thought, then glanced at Murdoch. Their father was worried; did he regret the decision to show Johnny the letter?
Johnny was lost; he was spinning out of control — the words he read contradicted what he’d been told all those early years. He’d been manipulated, yes, by Maria, but it wasn’t what he thought. And he was ashamed, thinking the worst of his mother.
“That bastard Mendoza coulda stopped all the torture we went through if he’d ‘a just sent that damn letter ta you! If he wasn’t dead already, I’d find him an’…”
“Johnny! Stop! You don’t mean that!” Murdoch stared at Johnny across the table — and Madrid stared back.
“Yeah, I do…” The coldness of his words spoke the truth, sending a shiver down Murdoch’s spine. “What kind of priest,” Johnny spat the word, “turns a woman and child away from the church? What kind of priest calls a woman a whore in front of her son an’ everyone that was standin’ in that church?” Johnny shook his head as if to clear his mind, then turned to Murdoch and asked, “Who’s Lane McCallister?” The question was deceptively soft, but Scott and Murdoch both knew it was laced with danger.
Murdoch met Johnny’s icy stare. “I have no idea.”
Johnny searched Murdoch’s eyes; his father was telling the truth. But if Murdoch didn’t know McCallister, what did he have to do with anything? Was it revenge for some unknown wrong Murdoch committed? Surely it wasn’t Maria’s doing… or was it?
Nothing was making any sense. Scott would help; Scott could reason things out, things that didn’t make sense, and Johnny needed his brother’s input; he shoved the letter across the table.
“What d’ya make of that, Scott?” Get yourself tagether, Madrid — ya never needed anyone’s help before comin’ ta Lancer! What the hell’s the matter with ya? Johnny berated himself. But he could feel Madrid’s pull; the force was growing, taking over the Lancer part of him, and he knew, regardless of what the old man would say, that he was going to find out just what the hell had happened to his mother and who the devil this McCallister person was. He straightened in his chair; Johnny Lancer stepped aside, and Johnny Madrid stood front and center. A calm that was not present five seconds ago wrapped the man in confidence. He would get his answers — sooner or later, he would get the answers. He owed it to Maria.
The words written on the paper slammed into Scott’s head, and his heart broke for Murdoch as part of the truth was now known. Scott thought of his brother finding he’d been living a lie all his life. Had there ever been a sadder tale?
Finishing the letter, Scott found both sets of eyes upon him. He handed the papers back to Johnny and wrapped his hands around the now-cool coffee mug.
“Well, brother, I think this calls for a visit to see Father Torres. We have to start somewhere.”
Murdoch began to protest.
The word ‘we’ registered in his head and Johnny would have smiled if he wasn’t filled with so much anger. Nope, it was more than anger. He was furious. He was also relieved by the support from Scott. But he declined.
“You ain’t goin’, Boston. I’m doin’ this alone.” Johnny leveled his glare… his Madrid glare, at his brother. “You ain’t goin’.”
There was no sign of life at the sheriff’s office; it appeared to be empty, or Val was sleeping in his chair again. Under normal circumstances, Johnny would have taken great delight in barging through the door, hoping to catch Green River’s intrepid lawman unaware and scare him witless. But these were not normal circumstances.
Johnny flipped the reins around the hitch rail, mounted the stairs, and opened the door. Val’s slump in his chair would no doubt promote a hitch in his back and probably a stiff neck, as well; his feet were propped on the desk, depositing a pile of dirt on the stack of wanted posters that littered the top, and his snore wailed in the quiet of the office. Johnny closed the door, then crossed the room to the potbelly stove and poured a cup of the worst coffee found anywhere in the town… make that, in the whole state of California. Right now, he needed the help those toxins would provide.
“Hey Val, wake up,” he spoke in the quiet of the room.
Val’s snores stopped as the murmured words seeped into the sleep-deprived brain, and hazel eyes opened to blurry vision. Johnny — somethin’s up!
“Yer up early. What’s the trouble?” Val asked as he read the signs. A quiet entrance by Johnny was never a good sign; the rigid, tense stance wrapped his amigo in a web of concern — no, concern wasn’t it. Ol Johnny’s got some trouble. The air in the office dropped several degrees, and Crawford knew danger was lurking just below the surface.
But he waited, knowing there was no rushing Johnny Madrid.
Johnny stared into the cup, not making eye contact with the sheriff, then posed his question. “You heard anything from the boys roamin’ the border?”
The voice, though soft, held that edge — the edge that, in the past, pulled Johnny Madrid into trouble.
“Nope. Ain’t heard nothin’ for a while. Why ya askin ‘bout them?”
“Ya know where they are?” Johnny asked, disregarding Val’s question.
The trail of questions with no answers to his questions was a bad sign. Madrid was like ol’ Russell Westin’s hound with the scent of somethin’ ta chase. Weren’t nothin’ on God’s green Earth gonna make that dawg give up that trail. And Val already knew he would be watching Johnny’s back and probably riding to the border very soon. Nope, not good at all.
“Nope, but it shouldn’t be too hard ta find out where they are. All we gotta do is talk ta Concha. She’ll know where ta find ‘em.” Val stretched, then went for a mug of coffee. “Ya gonna tell me what’s got yer tail in a knot?”
With a deep breath, then exhaled, Johnny turned his stare on the sheriff. “Ya ever heard the name Lane McCallister?”
The frown creased Val’s brow; he canted his head. “Can’t say that I have. Why?”
Johnny’s blue stare hardened. “He’s the man with the answers ta my questions.”
Val Crawford’s old feelings begin their stampede through his body. He’d missed them, and now he found out how much. But they were elevated. Because this time, they concerned Madrid and not a job from their days fighting the range wars.
The return wire from Sheriff Thornton in Merced came in, assuring Val that, along with Sheriff Gabe’s help in Spanish Wells, they would cover for him while he assisted Johnny Lancer with out-of-town business. Johnny would be by early in the morning to get him and begin the journey to Mexico — the journey to find the answers behind the mystery of Maria Lancer Quintero.
Val knew that he would be taking this trip with Johnny. No way in hell would he let Johnny go alone, even at the risk of losing his job as sheriff of Green River; it was as much for Johnny’s sake as McCallister’s, whoever he was. There was no doubt in Val’s mind that, if found, McCallister’s life wouldn’t be a long one if Johnny got to him without Val there to rein Madrid in if necessary. And besides, who knew? There was always the chance the bastard wasn’t alive. They wouldn’t know until they got there, but he would be there for Johnny and help in any way he could. Lord knew Madrid had been there for him when he needed help. Val sighed. He had his share of nightmares, just like Johnny did; even seasoned gunfighters and range war strategists needed help once in a while.
Johnny had not expected Murdoch’s support. He’d been ready for the argument he was sure would follow when he returned from town and informed his father he was leaving in the morning for Mexico. There was no explosion, no threats, no pleading to stay at Lancer and forget about all of it. Instead, and to his great surprise, there was only encouragement. Whatever money he would need would be made available; he was to wire Murdoch where the funds should be sent. Murdoch suggested he telegram his dear friend, rancher Ethan Ryker, of Tucson in southern Arizona Territory.
“No, Murdoch, I don’t want anyone ta know I’m comin’. The fewer people that know, the less chance my bein’ there will get out. No one can know I’m there.”
“Alright, how about I write a letter that you can give to Ethan in the event you need help? We might as well be prepared for any circumstances that might arise.”
Johnny wasn’t sure this man was the same Murdoch Lancer he’d been living with these last two years. He had expected a battle, an argument at the very least, and now he was getting support. It made him smile.
“Son? What is it?” Murdoch asked, not finding any of the situation humorous.
“Nothin’, except I didn’t think you’d be helpin’ me with it. I thought you’d be against me goin’ ta Mexico, an’ we’d have a big fight about it.”
It hit Murdoch he was being selfish. Any other time Johnny wanted to go south, there had been an argument, but now, because he himself wanted answers, he was willing to let Johnny go. What kind of father was he, he wondered? And he had to admit he was ashamed of himself.
Johnny read the conflict there and was ready for it. “Don’t worry about it, Murdoch; I was gonna go regardless of what ya said.” And he laughed, lightening the sudden dark mood in the room.
Scott hadn’t said much other than to ask about the routes his brother and Val would take, but he decided his silence had lasted long enough.
“Johnny, you know, I’ve been thinking…” Scott began.
“Uh oh,” Johnny smirked, then turned to Murdoch. “There’s trouble on the horizon…”
Murdoch was puzzled.
“Johnny,” Scott continued, undeterred, “Maria would have been my stepmother — I’d like to go with you. I’d like to be a part of finding out the truth of her disappearance and the circumstances behind it.”
To say they were shocked by Scott’s declaration was an understatement. Johnny didn’t want to jeopardize the lives of those he’d come to love, letting them risk everything to go with him, but Scott made a point, and it touched his heart. Had she not disappeared, Boston might have been raised as Maria’s stepson. Scott had a stake in this decision, too.
Murdoch opened his mouth to object but held his thoughts silent as he watched the interaction between his sons. Johnny’s stare went from ‘no way in hell you’re goin’!’ to a cheeky grin as he muttered, “Thanks, Boston, I appreciate it.” How could he say no after what Scott had just said?
It struck Murdoch that, although both sons were taking a substantial risk, they would be watching each other’s backs. Val would be there, and Murdoch knew if they needed more help, Johnny’s and Val’s friends from their lives before coming to Lancer would be there should the need arise. Judging from recent experience these last two years, help was there for the asking. Murdoch never thought he would ever be thankful for those in Johnny’s early life when he traveled the border towns. But he was now.
The Patriarch studied his sons, his gaze going from one to the other, drinking in their features, and again, he marveled at the bond that had developed between them. Miracle was the word that came to mind, but that miracle didn’t dispel the worry he felt about knowing they would be in Mexico. It was several years that Johnny had been there. Would he still be in danger?
“Johnny, Scott, I’d like to say something, and I want you to pay attention.”
The Lancer sons turned toward their father and waited for the words they knew would come.
“I know I don’t need to tell you to be careful, but it’s a father’s prerogative to say it. Be careful and take care of each other. Wondering why Maria left has been such a large part of our lives for so long, but in all honesty, it’s not worth either of you getting hurt. I’d like to know what happened, but not at the cost of your lives. Please… watch out for each other, boys!”
Wanting to lighten the mood, Scott shrugged. “Murdoch, I’ve been watching out for my little brother since I knew I had one. It would be too hard to stop now! Besides, you know I’m the sensible son.”
A shocked Johnny Madrid Lancer wondered who these two men were. The stiff, starched Easterner was making jokes and pushing aside the serious, no-nonsense attitude, displaying a mischievous side brought to light by his younger brother’s humor for them all to see. Murdoch had opened his mind and his heart, accepting Johnny’s past as Madrid as he never had before.
“You sure ya wanna come along, Boston?” Direct and to the point without divulging exactly what dangers lie ahead of them, Johnny gave Scott a way out should he change his mind about going.
Knowing what his brother was getting at, Scott cleared his throat and met Johnny’s stare. “Johnny, Maria would have raised me. She would have been there alongside Murdoch to see that I grew into a responsible adult. I owe it to her, and I want to do this.”
The warmth in the room rose to a level none of them had ever experienced, and it had nothing to do with the fire that danced a cheery jig over the logs in the hearth; the three Lancer men stood silent, each reveling in emotions not known to them but finding great comfort in the uncharted territory. They had all been denied their family, but not anymore, especially these last two years at Lancer.
Murdoch had never felt the pride in his sons as he did at that moment and sent up a prayer for their safety, asking the spirits of Catherine and Maria to watch over Scott and Johnny in their journey. He added an extra prayer for Val Crawford as well. The three made a formidable team, but even formidable teams needed divine help at one time or another.
Sleep was not coming — there was a vague, fleeting wisp of calm, then it was gone, not to be felt for the rest of the night. There were tangled swirls of memories — like vines caught in the vicious wind of a storm. McCallister… The name meant nothing to him. What did he remember of those times… besides the rejection and vile words of Father Mendoza? Why couldn’t he remember a man called McCallister? Johnny forced himself back into that time; times he wanted to forget, but now they were important. He needed to remember. He needed to know who that man was.
Morning arrived all too soon for Murdoch Lancer. He spent the long, quiet night awake as he stared at the ceiling and wondered if he was doing the right thing in letting his sons leave Lancer in search of answers they might not find. But he also knew holding them back would not be fair. They deserved to know what happened — they all deserved to know.
Murdoch descended the back stairs into the kitchen; Scott and Johnny were already up and had the coffee made. The aroma drifted up the stairs, heavenly and soothing, but Murdoch knew it was short-lived. His sons were leaving, and he had no idea when they would once again grace the arched doorway into the great room. He would never forget the day they both walked into his life through those doors and, unbeknownst to him, Murdoch’s life began in earnest that day.
But he didn’t want to think about them already gone; that time would come soon enough. At the moment, he wanted — needed to enjoy the few minutes they had left together, for soon they would be riding under the adobe Lancer arch and away from the ranch — away from him.
“Do you have everything you need? Supplies? Money?” It was an effort to keep his emotions from running away with him; Murdoch wanted to be strong, supportive, and let his sons know that whatever they needed would be available to them… including himself.
Two sets of eyes turned to him, filled with not only appreciation but all those sentiments too difficult to put into words. The room fell silent, then Johnny spoke.
He wrapped his hands around the mug, looked down at the steaming surface, and smiled. “Thanks, Murdoch; yeah, we have some things ready, but we’re travelin’ light. Gonna pick up Val, then head out. Hope ta get ta the border in about four days, then, well, it’ll depend on how things are lookin’ in Mexico. Maybe sneakin’ around won’t be as hard as it was a couple ‘a years ago. We’ll let cha know how we’re doin’ if we can. Not many telegraph lines down that way, but if it’s possible, one of us will send a wire.”
There was more he wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat. Johnny cleared away the knot that prevented him from speaking, then he stood, looking into his father’s face.
“Murdoch, I…,” why was it so hard? “I… thanks, ol’ man. I hafta find out what happened ta her.”
Not happy to see his boys riding off into Mexico, and who knew what kind of trouble — he needed to know as well.
“I know, son, I know!”
The whispered consent nearly took Johnny’s breath away. The ol’ man had to know, just as he did.
Murdoch met their gaze, and he felt his heart swell with pride in the men standing before him. Barely holding his emotions together, he spoke. “Just remember, whatever you need, all you have to do is ask, and it will be there.”
And then, it was time to say goodbye. Murdoch held the stampeding emotions in check; there would be time later to dwell on his hopes, doubts, and fears. How would he manage the not knowing as he anxiously waited for word from them? Where were they? Were they safe? When would they come home?
The horses were saddled, and the few provisions they took were tied securely behind their bedrolls. Murdoch stood in the dark and watched as his sons rode out under the adobe Lancer arch. His heart thundered in his chest, worry for Scott and Johnny first and foremost, but coming up close behind was the debilitating remorse that smoldered, ready to explode as he ached for Maria — all those years, Murdoch had blamed her, and now he felt the crushing guilt descend upon him. Please forgive me, my love!
They were making good time. The weather held, though it wouldn’t have made a difference in Johnny’s search for the truth. Short of getting struck by lightning, nothing was going to hold him back. Val’s help did not surprise him; however, Scott’s resolution did. Their relationship had grown in the two years they’d been together, and now, closer than brothers that had been brought up since birth, elevated the hunt to another level. Johnny saw in his brother’s eyes a need to help solve what had happened.
“Johnny, Maria would have raised me. She would have been there alongside Murdoch to see that I grew into a responsible adult. I owe it to her, and I want to do this,” Scott told him the night before. Ol’ Boston just might come in handy, Johnny thought to himself, but more than being handy, Johnny was genuinely touched when Scott made the offer.
The fire began to throw off enough heat to chase away the chill, and the dark descended with only the stars to grace the sky. This was their last night to sleep; tomorrow, they would be within twenty miles of the border, too close for safe travel in the light of day. It had not taken long to fall back into their old routines of sleeping when it was convenient, not necessary. Eat when you have the chance, not because you are hungry and travel under the cover of darkness. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but they slipped into the habit like they’d never left.
“Guess the first place ta check is with that old priest that wrote ta Murdoch, huh, amigo?” Val asked as he sipped the hot coffee.
“Yeah, figure that’s the first stop. After that, it depends on what he tells us. Maybe there ain’t nothing else ta go on.” Johnny sighed; did he believe what he’d just said? There had to be something more — didn’t there? Johnny’s fingers drummed against his leg as he tried to recall the words written in the letter. How many times had he read it yet found no clues, no hints as to why she was taken? But he had a name, Lane McCallister, and now Johnny wondered if the man was still alive. After talking with Father Torres, locating McCallister would be the next step, but if the man was dead, well, Johnny would face that problem if and when he knew for certain. In the meantime, Madrid would focus on the facts he had.
Scott read the varying emotions in his brother’s eyes. Madrid was front and center, but even Madrid couldn’t disguise the hurt, the pain of the truth, what little truth they had at the moment. In her letter, Maria admitted she had lied to Johnny about Murdoch, but for good reason. She was left with no choice, telling little Johnny his father didn’t want them in order to stop Johnny from the incessant crying — crying for his beloved Papi. She had to make Johnny hate his father — the threats were all too clear — threats to ‘dispose’ of the boy, one way or another, terrified her. Johnny’s life was at stake; she had no other choice.
Again, Scott was left with overwhelming guilt and a bit of jealousy as he contemplated the differences between his and Johnny’s beginnings. Where Scott wanted for nothing, his childhood was not demonstrative. Perhaps he received a pat on the head or an occasional cold handshake, but he missed out on the physical gestures that he was certain now Johnny had received. A hug from his mother, a cuddle when he was younger, maybe she sang to him? All endearing acts of love, something that Scott had never experienced, not from his grandfather, but the staff Garrett employed. Where it was physical contact, it wasn’t from his grandfather. But he had every other opportunity: education, a safe and warm home, anything money could buy. He had more food than he could ever eat, while Johnny had none of it. But Johnny did have one thing that Scott never had — his mother’s loving touch. Where was the justification for the things that happened? And the answer was there was no justification — for anything that happened.
Things were what they were and could not be changed, but Scott vowed they would find out everything they could. Because not only did Johnny deserve it, Maria did as well.
It was strange for Scott to think how, in the space of twenty-four hours, his thoughts about Maria had changed, literally from one side of the argument to the other, but it was the same for Murdoch and Johnny, too. Having all the facts made the difference. Until now, those were only words. Now, Scott knew their full measure. And there was one that understood, had understood, long before Maria’s letter was discovered.
In the years before Val became a lawman and Johnny returned to Lancer, hiring out in range wars and riding together, Val had heard Johnny’s nightmares, the cries of terror, as he witnessed once again images of the beatings his mother suffered at the hands of others, the embarrassment and rejections, the assumptions cast their way. He also heard Johnny’s nightmares of his father and how the bastard had kicked Johnny and Maria out because they were Mexican. And now there was proof, written partially in Maria’s own hand, that it wasn’t the case. Val wondered if they would find McCallister alive. He wondered if Buck an’ the boys were close, so’s they could help in the search. He wondered what was goin’ through Madrid’s mind. Hell, he wondered about a lotta stuff, but mostly, he wondered if he could keep Madrid from goin’ ta jail if the bastard he was lookin’ for was still alive.
Scott could only guess at the thoughts that swirled in his brother’s head, but Val knew. Val knew they were in for trouble; he hoped that whatever lay ahead of them, Johnny wouldn’t get himself killed, and the sheriff was grateful for Scott’s presence — there was no doubt that his influence would be needed.
It was as if time stood still. Be it countryside or town, everything in Mexico was the same. Everything. Poverty held the peasants in its clutches; hopelessness and indifference were their constant shadow, making them a prisoner. Would it ever change? Would the Rurales ever stop looking for Johnny Madrid?
With eyes in a constant search of the terrain around them, Johnny Madrid and Val Crawford watched for danger. Scott was alert, expecting the unexpected. He’d talked at length with his brother and the sheriff, learning from the best the perils traveling through this rugged, dangerous country. Bandits roamed — hell, they ruled the land, and the Rurales were no better; a man had to know how to deal with them if he wanted to stay alive. He slept with his eyes and ears open and didn’t turn his back on anyone.
The mission stood, looking consistent with the village; no money for upkeep, rugged and rundown. Poverty was the common factor that made all the missions and villages alike.
Johnny wondered if the Rurales patrolling this part of Sonora lived as those in other places as they plundered, stealing from innocent people and lived like kings while those who worked for what they had suffered and starved. Was it yet another thing that never changed?
The mission stood at the southern end of Cananea. The great wooden doors, scarred by constantly blowing sand, blocked the outside world, trying to keep those behind the thick walls safe from harm — safe from the dangers that plagued the innocents.
He pushed the heavy doors open, and Johnny Madrid Lancer walked back into his past. He stopped and looked around, searching the nooks and dark corners, but there was no one there. He walked slowly toward the altar, not bothering to genuflect as he’d been taught as a small boy; three sets of boots echoed in the silence of the tomb-like sanctuary.
The old feelings began their ascent from deep within him; his memories of the church did not promote comfort or solace, only rejection and prejudice — he and Maria had been shunned in this holy place. They found no peace here, and he found none now as he walked on the tiled floor, his footsteps echoed in the large space of the stone and tiled room.
The slip-slap of sandals whispered from a corridor to their right. Johnny, Scott, and Val stopped as a tall, slender padre entered, went to one knee before the cross surrounded by flickering candles, then stood. He murmured a prayer and turned, only then seeing the three men standing in the church. Noting they were Anglo, well, one was mixed, he smiled and greeted them.
“Buenos Dias, my sons! How may I be of service?”
Johnny controlled the churning in his gut, then spoke. “I’m here ta see Father Torres, por favor.” It was a good start — he hadn’t spat the words into the face before him, but he knew not all priests were as Father Mendoza had been. He’d give this man the benefit of the doubt — a courtesy he and Maria had not been given.
The smile did not leave the priest’s face. He reached out a gentle hand and placed it on Johnny’s arm. “I am Father Torres. You wish to speak to me?” The smile never left the priest’s eyes. It was genuine, one of the few genuine smiles Johnny ever received standing in a church.
“There some place we can talk?” Johnny asked, not bothering to explain his request.
Taking the query in stride, the Padre motioned down the corridor he’d traveled minutes before. “Sí, this way, por favor.” He led them down the hallway and stopped at another door. He leaned in and spoke to someone inside. “Bring refreshments to my chambers, por favor,” then he nodded, indicating the three men should follow.
The room was small; a narrow bed, table, and two chairs filled the confines, causing Val to stand and not feel as though he was stuffed in a coffin.
Father Torres settled at the table, his fingers laced together and patiently waited for the young man to begin.
“My name’s Johnny Lancer. You sent my father a letter about… Father Mendoza…” Johnny began but stopped as the name did its best to choke him.
The priest was overwhelmed with sadness as he remembered the missive, and he put two and two together. This is the child, Johnny, mentioned in the letter… His heart went out to the man before him. And he read a lifetime of trouble in those blue eyes that stared back. More than trouble — there was hate, rejection, and pain. This man had lost the two people most important in his world when he was very small. Why had his life been turned upside down? If God had a plan, it seemed unfair, but he did not question it any further. It was not for him to say.
Father Torres also knew this man by another name. Johnny Madrid. Johnny Madrid had done much for the people of Mexico, and Torres would do almost anything to help him now, knowing what he had sacrificed for the noble cause.
The priest’s eyes softened, filled with compassion. This man found himself orphaned upon his mother’s death, and the horrible world of rejection and hate continued into his adulthood. “Sí, my son, Father Mendoza confessed on his deathbed; he realized he had wronged the woman by not passing her letter along, and he was repentant over that decision. I hope that you can forgive him.”
The cold stare from the young man before him caused him to pause and wonder if forgiveness was possible. He could see the turmoil swirl like a tornado, out of control, powerful, and fierce. Father Torres read the signs; did these men come here to cause trouble? Certainly, Madrid would not allow it… would he?
When the young man spoke, the padre felt the chill in the small room, and it gave him pause. He knew some of the rumors to be true — Madrid could turn a man to ice when he wanted, but the priest felt God with him now. Johnny Madrid fought with honor and for honor, and he deserved the same in return; he’d been done a terrible wrong.
A tug at the corner of his mouth teased the beginnings of what might have been a smile, but that smile was cold, a frozen warning — the harbinger of danger. Had Father Mendoza not already perished, Father Torres might have been fearful for his life, only to remember his thoughts of seconds ago. Madrid was honorable…
“Tell me, Padre, how do I forgive him for ignorin’ Maria’s last request? How do I forgive the man for denyin’ my mother an’ me entrance ta the church? He turned us away time after time an’ embarrassed her in front ‘a all the people. Tell me how I do that, cuz I don’t think I can.
“Because of his bad decision ta not pass that letter on ta my father, it ruined Maria’s life and damn near ruined mine an’ my father’s lives.” Mendoza would receive no forgiveness from Johnny Madrid Lancer — ever. “Tell me, why would I forgive a man, while under his care, that beat me an’ locked me in a closet just for havin’ blue eyes? Seems like he appointed himself judge an’ jury, dealin’ out punishment for things he had no right to judge. What made him think he could decide anything? Wasn’t it his job ta act with kindness an’ compassion? Instead, he seemed ta like makin’ her feel that she didn’t belong. If he cared, he wouldn’t ‘a been so quick ta judge her, assuming she was a whore with bastard son, a mestizo son… But he never gave her a chance, so don’t be askin’ me ta forgive, ta be honest with ya, it ain’t in me ta do that.” Though soft, the words carried the message loud and very clear. Mendoza was dead, but he would be damned to Hell for Eternity by Madrid.
“Let’s not waste any more time. Talkin’ about Mendoza isn’t why I’m here.” Johnny’s temper raged, and he had to fight it down and push the priest and the past out of his mind. And he struggled greatly.
Father Torres sat stunned by the news. Surely it did not happen the way this man claims! But, by Mendoza’s own admission, he wronged this family. He defied the woman’s dying request that he send the letter that would have saved Murdoch Lancer years of grief and anguish and damned the boy to a lifetime alone, consequently dooming him to violence and death. But with this information, he could understand the grief and loss… and rage.
On his deathbed, Father Mendoza asked for forgiveness, but he could not have known the trouble he caused the family. Unknowingly or not caring, he condemned them all to an empty, lonely life, living without their loved ones around them. Father Mendoza had much to account for.
The implications were many, and he resolved to do what he could for Johnny, and hopefully, sometime soon, Johnny could leave Madrid behind and live in peace as Lancer. He raised his eyes to the cold blue ones of the man that sat before him.
“My son, what can I do for you? What questions do you have for me?”
“Is she buried here?” The question shocked him. He asked it, and it shocked him. Damn, Madrid, get a hold ‘a yourself! The mad he felt remembering the treatment he and Maria had suffered at the hands of Mendoza had him tied in knots, and the first thing out of his mouth was, “Is she buried here?”
“Sí, come, I will take you to her.”
Father Torres led the way to the small graveyard behind the church. Scott and Val stood at the gate of the cemetery, letting Johnny have a private visit with the woman who bore him — the woman he hadn’t talked with in over ten years. A weathered and ragged wooden cross with no name marked the grave at the far end, a ‘safe’ distance away from the other graves. It was a place alone, intentionally isolated, no doubt, by Mendoza’s prejudice. An unmarried woman with a bastard child could not be interred among honest, God-fearing people of the village. And Johnny took exception, wanting nothing more than to confront the pompous, arrogant priest; a visit from the notorious Johnny Madrid might have changed his attitude. If he could, Madrid would drag the demon out of his grave and hold him accountable for his sins against Maria.
Despite the heat of the daytime sun, Johnny felt a chill wash over him. He didn’t feel the touch of the priest’s hand on his shoulder or hear the parting, “Take all the time you need, my son,” then the priest left his side.
And there he was, alone with his mother for the first time in years. How many was it? Flashes of memory passed through his brain like tiny explosions — one right after the other, quick as raindrops falling into the dust. Things he hadn’t thought about in years. His mother’s brilliant smile while talking to him. He remembered her hair, long and shiny as she brushed in the firelight. The sound of her voice as she sang him to sleep at night. He remembered a bruise on her cheek and the tears as she cried. And he remembered her whispered prayers at night when she thought he was sleeping. The screams when she was beaten echoed in his head to this day. The image of a large man filled his brain; the man was screaming, and he hit Maria with a balled fist. Johnny remembered jumping on the man’s back, pounding him with his small fingers curled into harmless fists, and he was thrown off, slammed into the wall, and suffered through his own beatings.
Johnny shook himself clear, dispelling the torturous recollections. He bowed his head, closed his eyes, and murmured a vow to find the man responsible for tearing their family apart.
“Te amo, Mama,” he whispered, then turned and walked away.
“Vaya con Dios, my son. I wish I could give you more. Perhaps this name will have the answers you need. This man, he is old but has lived here since he was a small boy, and he remembers.”
Johnny nodded and shook the extended gnarled hand. “Gracias, Father Torres.”
The priest took Johnny’s hand in both of his, holding it in a tight grasp. “I will remember you in my prayers, Johnny, that you find what you are looking for and that you will be safe and find your way home to your father. I cannot condone what Father Mendoza did to your family — there is no defense for his actions, and I cannot push it aside as ignorance. He was a priest, and no priest should have acted in that way. But I will pray for his soul. And most of all, I will pray for yours as well. Vaya con Dios, Johnny Madrid Lancer!”
Deep in his heart, Father Torres knew that Madrid would always be a part of who the man was, and Madrid would keep Lancer safe. It was the danger that followed Madrid like a dark shadow, waiting to harm him, that kept the worries present in the priest’s heart. He would pray for the young man like he’d never prayed before. He would pray for the Lancer family to come to terms with the tragedy that struck them, and he would pray for the woman lying in the grave behind the church.
Johnny found the adobe structure three miles outside of Cananea. It was as Father Torres said it was — small, looking abandoned and desolate. But a few scrawny chickens scratched in the dirt, and a goat stood in the shade of the lean-to attached to the dwelling.
Johnny, Scott, and Val dismounted; again, the two stayed back with the horses as Johnny went to the door. About to knock, Johnny suddenly whirled to his left when a chicken squawked her displeasure, flapping her wings in an effort to get out of the way of shuffling feet coming around the side of the small house. Three feathers flipped into the air and fluttered to the ground in her haste. Johnny straightened and re holstered the Colt that had found its way into his hand, then he offered a smile.
The old man, startled at seeing three armed and uninvited ‘guests’ at his door, stared wide-eyed, stepping backward for fear of harm.
“Por favor, Señor Vargas, we mean you no harm. My name is Johnny Lancer. I’d like to ask you a few questions about a woman that lived in Cananea years ago. Por favor, I brought food. Can we talk over a meal?”
Pedro Vargas turned suspicious eyes to the three men. What was happening? Who were they, and why had they come here to his house? But there was no sense of threat, and Pedro looked again through clearer eyes. He wondered what they wanted, but he stared at the sacks of food they carried, and he took the chance.
“Why do you come here? What can I tell you?” The thought of food was making him bolder, and he hoped they wouldn’t hear his belly making noise and know he was hungry and wanting the supplies they brought with them. He looked them over a second time through squinted eyes; the young man spoke again.
“Father Torres gave me your name — he sent me… us. I need information you might have. I’m not here to harm you. I give you my word.”
Could he trust them? The growl of his belly answered for him.
“What information do you need?”
“Why don’t we sit over there in the shade?” Johnny moved toward the fence under the tree; he dragged a small barrel next to an old bench, and they sat as the branches of the tree shielded them from the sun’s rays. Val perched on the fence rails, leaving Scott to lean against the tree.
Johnny put the two sacks of food on the bench next to Pedro; the man wondered at the bounty within them. Johnny nodded, and Señor Vargas looked into the first bag, an ear-to-ear grin stretched across his face.
“What do you wish to know?”
Johnny began the questions, looking into Pedro’s face; he would know the truth, even if the man tried to tell him differently.
“You’ve lived here long?”
“Sí, since I was a small boy.”
Johnny nodded; a warm smile slid into place. A warm, hopeful smile. “You must have seen a lot ‘a people come an’ go, huh?”
Pedro nodded and returned the smile.
“You remember the people that lived here from years ago?”
“Sí, many of them. Some are not with us anymore, but I remember…”
“Señor, there was a woman an’ her boy here about eleven, maybe twelve years ago. The woman was alone, but a man was after her. His name was Lane McCallister. She was running away from him an’ he killed her. She’s buried behind the church. Do you remember?”
Scott listened as Johnny spoke, amazed by his even, casual tone, but deep down, he knew the indifference in Johnny’s voice belied what was in his heart. Scott heard his brother’s nightmares; how could a man not be affected after finding out the name of the man responsible for his mother’s death? He resolved to stay alert and stay close should Johnny need an arm to lean on. The support Val provided ensured that, between the two of them, the chance for Johnny to come through this ordeal and find the information the Lancer family needed would be known, and they could return home.
Pedro Vargas studied the young man’s face and knew there was truth behind the story. He remembered the young woman when she first came to the village. She was alone except for her son, but soon a man followed, bringing trouble with him. Her niño was of mixed blood, and that would condemn the child to a hard life, a brief life. Neither side would claim the boy. He would have to fight every day that he lived, and yet, here he was. It was a miracle he was alive, but he appeared to be healthy and prosperous now. And knowing who the man was, Pedro was certain what he was after.
“Sí, I remember. And I remember you, Señor. It has been many years, and I see you are well. I did not expect you to still be alive.”
“Yeah, well, you ain’t the only one. Kinda surprises me, too.” Johnny cracked a cheeky smile, then got down to business. “Do you know what happened to Lane McCallister or where he went?”
The pages of memory turned back to the beginning when the young woman first came to Cananea. She was a woman of uncommon beauty, and many of the female residents in the village grew jealous when the eyes of the men turned her way. But the child with her was scorned — a mestizo was trash, not fit to live among them, ‘them’ being the God-fearing residents. Even Father Mendoza agreed; he prevented Maria from access to the church and shamed her at every turn, often reducing her to tears as he denounced her and her child. What sort of woman but a whore would be traveling with a bastard child?
Pedro heard the talk; he wondered how these people could be so certain. No one knew her story, yet they assumed much. And then that day came when the man arrived. A gringo, large, loud, and… mean. He dragged the woman away, his massive paw-like hands held her with such force that bruises formed quickly on her skin. He was ready with a slap or punch with a rolled fist to her and her son. And no one would help her. No one. Father Mendoza had been happy when the man came to the village and happier yet when he demanded to know where she had been and why she ran away, after all, she had to have been at fault for the trouble between them. The woman should not have abandoned the man for any reason; it had to have been her fault!
But suddenly, the man left, and Mendoza had been summoned to the woman’s side; she lay bleeding from a concussion, suffering from the fatal beating. Who would give a second thought about her? She was only trash to cast away and her son with her. Neither of them worth a second thought.
The young son begged for help when he saw her beaten and bloody, and when it became known she would not live through the night, the priest, none other than the man who had turned her away from the church, Father Mendoza, consented to be there, and after she passed into the next world, he sent the boy to the orphanage. Pedro thought it cruel the boy was shown no sympathy, and he wondered how the child was treated while there — he heard awful stories…
Pedro Vargas pulled himself out of the past. The urge was strong to help this man — help him now when he didn’t before. Was it out of guilt? He didn’t know, but it was a chance to redeem himself, and he would do all he could. He did know about the tall, large-boned man, but the name McCallister was unfamiliar to him, and he never knew what happened to him.
“I do not know where this man, Señor McCallister, went, only that he traveled north to the border. There were many… how do you say el rumores?”
“Rumors,” Johnny smiled, then nodded, thinking there would be rumors, many of them concerning a man like Lane McCallister.
“Sí, rumors. Some say that he was a rich gringo from across the border, but who knows the truth of it?”
A flash ignited in Johnny’s brain… a vision of a large man, he was angry, and he was yelling loudly, then he lashed out, catching Johnny across the face, and he remembered falling… then nothing. Johnny physically jolted and shook his head. It was the same large man in his nightmares. He pulled himself together before Scott or Val saw him… but Vargas saw; Vargas knew he was remembering.
Johnny mulled over the information, then motioned Scott and Val to come closer. Val unfolded his lean off the fence where he stood with his casual slouch, waiting for his amigo to get the information from the old man, and ambled his way to Johnny’s side. Scott’s step was quick, anxious for something positive. Their combined protection, backing the man with the Colt tied low on his hip, was formidable, and Vargas knew that if the man, Lane McCallister, was still alive, he wouldn’t be for much longer.
Scott and Val waited for Madrid to pull his thoughts together; the plans were swirling around behind the cobalt pools as a slight frown creased Johnny’s forehead. Then he met Val’s stare.
“Heard from Buck lately?”
Buck Colby was an old friend, often fighting on the same side of the range wars with Johnny and Val. There weren’t many of the old gang left, but Johnny could count on those who were still around. Buck Colby, Sam Wade, and Tom McKay worked well together in the past and would do so again.
“Nope, but I got a feelin’ we’re gonna, huh?” Val’s wicked smile crawled across his lips, making Johnny’s twitch. Yeah, anything they could find out from Buck, Sam, and Tom would come in handy.
Johnny took one last opportunity to visit Maria’s grave. He never had much use for standing at a graveside, but this time was different. Father Torres offered more information than Johnny had not known at the beginning of this search — information that fanned the fires of hatred for Mendoza. There was no way in hell that Johnny would ever forgive the man for the dangers and raw, festering anxieties he brought to the Lancer family. And Johnny resolved he would avenge his mother’s death if the bastard responsible was still alive.
After returning from Pedro Vargas’s small farm, Father Torres asked Johnny into his quarters once again, and now they settled in the tiny room. The priest divulged things he neglected to bring to light with the initial visit.
“I took Father Mendoza’s deathbed confession, and I know he was remorseful. Your family has suffered greatly because of his inaction, but I beg you to forgive him. He did not know what he did.”
Johnny remained silent, not wanting to vent his rage on Father Torres, but with each word the priest spoke, old memories attacked, savage and bitter, that left him wishing Mendoza was standing before him — the priest should have known the tragedies he caused with his cold, closed-minded decisions. Johnny had never felt such loathing before in his life — the intensity left him breathless, and he wondered if he would ever be the same.
“I cannot tell everything he said, but you should know that your mother tried to protect you from harm.”
Father Torres fought for the words to convince Johnny of Mendoza’s regret, but he could see Johnny was having none of it.
“Your mother suffered to keep you safe. Please, Johnny, do not make that sacrifice meaningless. She tried to save you.”
Johnny stood in stony silence, his rage for both Mendoza and McCallister at the flash point. His anger balanced on the precipice; it pierced through his eyes — bolts of lightning, blazing hot, burned out of control.
“My son, please…”
Johnny’s cold stare impaled the priest, at the same time, chilling and burning hot — painful.
“I know you believe Mendoza regretted what he did. I guess you hafta do that, but don’t expect me ta forgive him. He tore my family apart because of his prejudice — I remember how he turned my mother away from the church. He embarrassed her an’ made her cry in front of everyone there. He took it on himself to decide what was important an’ who was worth his time.” Johnny took a deep, shaky breath, then, with more control, he continued.
“If he would ‘a given Maria a little more time, listened ta her an’ let her explain an’ showed that he cared like a priest should, maybe he woulda learned the truth about her instead ‘a signin’ her death warrant. It’s because of him she’s dead, so don’t be askin’ me ta forgive him, cuz like I said before, it ain’t in me ta do that.” Then Johnny rose from his chair and left the small room.
Val and Scott followed, leaving Father Torres scrambling to make sense of what just happened. He had some serious praying to do, not only for the lapse in judgment of Father Mendoza but for the tortured soul of Johnny Lancer.
He was sure Maria’s confession had not explained all of her abuse or the circumstances prior to her death at the hands of Lane McCallister.
Not waiting to see if Scott and Val followed, Johnny found his way to the cemetery one last time. One last time. He stood at the grave, eyeing the shabby wooden cross, knowing that Maria deserved better. Johnny understood now why she lied, had told him his father didn’t want them and had to make young Johnny understand about Murdoch Lancer, not ask for his Papi.
Maria paid the ultimate price, and if the bastard McCallister was still living and breathing, Johnny vowed on his mother’s grave he would kill the sonuvabitch.
He took only minutes, then turned to walk back to Barranca and mounted up. Together, the three men rode toward the border. There were plans to make.
Scott watched his brother navigate the turbulent waters surrounding Maria’s death. Finding the truths of her departing Lancer had sent them all reeling, and he watched as the heavy mantle of guilt wrapped around Johnny — suffocating and bitter; all these years, he’d thought the worst of her. Discovering that truth was bitter and opened new wounds for Murdoch and Johnny to bear — raw and gut-wrenching.
But Madrid stepped into the lead, ready to take revenge for the wrong done to his mother and for the Lancer family… his family. And Scott promised himself that he would be there for Johnny and help in whatever way he could.
Val Crawford knew what was to happen. He, too, would champion the cause. Johnny was his amigo, as close as a brother; he’d heard the nightmares, heard Johnny’s torment, and had been with Johnny in the mornings to help pick up the pieces that Johnny never let anyone else witness. Yeah, he’d be there, ready and willing to back Madrid in whatever was needed, but he would not let Johnny do anything that would land him in jail.
And now, they sat around the fire, discussing their options. Scott thought Johnny might be a little off his game upon receiving the information he learned from Father Torres and Pedro Vargas. Learning about one’s mother’s violent death was enough to throw a man into an unstable frame of mind. But Scott knew he was not with his brother Johnny Lancer, but with Johnny Madrid, protector and strategist. How did he manage to keep his thoughts from straying over that line?
The heat from the cup felt good in his hand as he contemplated his options. “We need ta know where McCallister is,” Johnny looked to Val as a smile twitched at the corner of their mouths. Together, they muttered, “Colby.”
They knew not much escaped Buck Colby’s notice. The man was a veritable wealth of information — and there wasn’t much that happened along the border that Buck didn’t know about or was involved in some way. The cantina in Nogales was their destination. Concha would know where Buck was and how to get in touch with him. Johnny would take any information Buck had but would reject their help. There was no sense in six men traveling together, drawing attention when three men could get the job done just as easy. But sometimes, a man couldn’t dictate his wishes and wants where others were concerned.
Johnny walked to the string line, indulging Barranca with an ear scratch. The horse leaned into the touch, then head bumped Johnny’s chest in appreciation, making him smile. He looked into the night sky and wondered if he would find McCallister and make him pay for the wrong he caused the Lancer family. A breeze kissed his face, and he smiled, thinking it might be Maria caressing his cheek.
Scott had never known a mother’s touch, the warm circle of her arms around him, a sweet song hummed in his ear. It was difficult to imagine something he’d never known. Which was worse — to never have it and yearn for the contact or experience it, then to have it ripped away?
He wondered how Murdoch was doing. What was going through their father’s mind now as he waited for word from them, all the while damning himself for laying the blame at her feet and taking Johnny with her. It was a repeat of the grief he suffered before, but this time, there was guilt as well, bringing the agony to new levels.
Val observed both Lancer brothers; he’d traveled this path with Johnny in the past, but it was different this time. They didn’t have a name before, and if the bastard was still alive, Val hoped that Scott would be able to handle what would happen because there would be no mercy. None.
Feeling the need to talk, Scott steered the conversation toward the man they would seek in Nogales. “I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Colby in Arizona when we were, ahem, invited to spend time at the ranch of a friend of Murdoch’s. It was a deception, an effort to exchange Johnny Madrid for the rancher’s daughter-in-law and grandson from the Rurales. Buck Colby and two others…”
Val chuckled. “Sam Wade an’ Tom McKay,” he volunteered the names, speaking them in what Scott thought was affection.
“Yes, and I’m glad they were with us. They were definitely an asset.”
And now Val laughed. “Yeah, they are that! Good ta have on yer side, an’ I’ll tell ya, Scott, we’re gonna need ‘em. I got a bad feelin’ about this McCallister fella. Any man that does what he did… well, he needs ta be held accountable.”
Held accountable? Val knew he was thinking like a lawman. The man needed a bullet between his eyes for the cruelty and tragedy he forced on the Lancers.
“Scott, ‘m gonna need yer help with this. See, Johnny’s been dealin’ with a lotta shit all his life regardin’ his mama, an’ now he’s findin’ out things ain’t what he thought they were. All these years, he thought one thing about her, an’ now he’s findin’ out different. Alla that shit weren’t true — but she had ta tell him them lies an’ he’s havin’ a hard time with that. He blamed her for something she didn’t do an’ he’s hatin’ himself for it. But the thing is, he don’t like talkin’ about it even though it’s eatin’ him alive.”
Scott’s heart broke for his brother, and he vowed he would be there to help Johnny deal with the aftermath, whatever it would be. Chances were that Murdoch would need them as well.
“We’re gonna have our hands full, ya know that, don’t cha?”
Scott sighed. “Yes, Val, I do. Can I count on your assistance?”
The smile was one Scott had never seen on Val Crawford before. Could he describe it with words? Compassion? Protective? Brotherhood?
Val’s eyes flickered in the flames of the fire, then, with all the sincerity he could muster, he nodded. “For Johnny? Always.”
Like Cananea, Nogales hadn’t changed either. It was the same dusty, dirty town now that it was when he became Johnny Madrid eight years ago, and although he had changed, this place and his past remained the same. Memories flooded through him — some good, some… not, but he shook them clear from his mind and concentrated on his surroundings. Rooftops, second-story windows, alleys — all the places that would shield an ambush.
But nothing was there. Madrid had been out of the picture for a while, and with Capitan Santos’s death last year, Johnny hoped that Madrid would fade away, that people would forget about him.
The cantina was down the street; it, too, had not changed. But what did he expect? A new coat of paint? Nope, that wouldn’t happen. Seeing no threat of Rurales, Johnny, Scott, and Val reined their horses to the leaning hitch rail. Johnny thought a good sneeze would knock it right over. The men flipped the reins around the disintegrating wood, and, with Johnny in the lead, they stopped at the door before entering.
No matter what time of the day or night, there was at least one patron in a state of oblivion slumped over a table. Johnny thought Reynaldo should charge them room and board for staying the night — he’d make a helluva lot of money if he did.
Reynaldo hoped they were paying customers as three men stepped into his cantina, then saw who it was that graced his establishment. No, there would be no charge for these men, and his smile split his face from ear to ear. He came from behind the bar and greeted them warmly, keeping his voice low, knowing that was how Señor Madrid wanted things handled. There was no sense in announcing his presence to ears that should not hear. There were many enemies along the border… but there were more friends, and he was happy to see them again.
“Señores! Welcome!” Reynaldo extended his hand and grasped those of the men before him, then canted his head toward the kitchen. “Come this way, I will get you food!”
The back room behind the kitchen was a perfect place to dine without being seen. Val went to the door and checked the alley, assuring them they would have no surprise visitors. Satisfied there would be no interruptions, he settled at the table that was suddenly covered with food. It was always this way; food, and a lot of it, appeared out of nowhere, and payment was refused. It was never discussed, but Johnny and Val always left Reynaldo with money, more than enough to cover the cost of the meals they consumed.
The feast was among the best along the border, and Johnny, Scott, and Val filled their bellies as Reynaldo scurried around the kitchen to keep replacing what was eaten. Once a platter was emptied, it was refilled with a nonstop supply.
Having eaten his fill, Johnny pushed away from the table and caught Reynaldo’s attention.
“Naldo, ya seen Buck an’ the boys lately?”
The casual tone of the question disguised the urgency; however, Reynaldo knew there was a reason — there was always a reason for everything Madrid said or did, and it was importante.
“No, but Concha, she will know where they are. You wait. I get her.”
Concha hadn’t changed, either. One look at Johnny Madrid and Val Crawford sent the woman running into their arms with hugs saved for those near and dear.
“¡Mis amores! You came to see me!” The embraces were strong, and the joy unmistakable as kisses, freely given, were bestowed upon them as they returned her lusty hugs.
Suddenly, she pulled back and, with a critical eye, looked from one to the other. “What brings you to me this time?” A wide smile bared small white teeth as she put her hope into words. “You could not stay away from me, sí?” Then the smile disappeared. “Or you need my help?” The arched brow raised in suspicion.
Johnny grinned. “A little of both, querida, a little of both.”
Not entirely believing him, Concha placed herself between Johnny and Val and, taking their arms, led them back to the table laden with refilled platters. Then she turned to Scott with a brilliant smile.
“It is good to see you again, Scott. Bienvenido. Por favor, sit and eat.”
“Thank you, Concha. I appreciate your hospitality, but I’ve already eaten more than I should have!” Scott said as he sat and rubbed his stomach while the food made a second pass around the table; they managed another round of the best food in Nogales.
Concha sat with them as they ate, knowing they would tell her why they were there in good time. One did not rush Señores Madrid and Crawford.
Johnny looked up from his meal and posed the first question. “You ever hear of a man named Lane McCallister?”
A frown creased Concha’s forehead as she tried to recall the name; finally, she shook her head. “No, I do not hear of this man. Who is he?” she asked, thinking whomever the man was, he was muy malo judging by the demeanor of the three men around the table.
Scott watched Johnny’s face, amazed and not for the first time at the control he saw there. Madrid was in charge, running the ‘investigation’ as if there were no connection, no ties to his heart, and Scott wondered how Johnny pulled it off.
“Just a man I need ta talk with.” Johnny leaned forward, placing his arms on the table, then asked. “Seen Buck lately?”
Concha smiled. “No, but I hear things. It is said he and the others are north of the border helping Señor Kendrick at his rancho. But that was a week ago.”
The parting kiss was long and passionate, but with a bold pat to her behind, Johnny ended the contact and left Concha standing alone, vowing he would be back for a… visit.
With a proper goodbye, Johnny, Scott, and Val mounted up, and the three men set out for Jack Kendrick’s ranch in hopes of finding Buck Colby and the rest of the boys. Concha watched them until they were but specks on the horizon. She turned, saying a silent prayer for their safety and a speedy return, then walked into the cantina to begin the long wait.
He remembered her crying one night when she thought him asleep.
The floor was cold on his bare feet as he padded to the door and opened it enough to see through the crack into the other room.
Mama sat on the floor before the fire; there was a bruise on the side of her face, and she held a bloody cloth to her lip. Tears traced a shiny path down her cheeks. Breath hitched in her throat as she tried desperately to quiet the sobs that tore from her body. As she bowed her head, her long, silken hair fell in a gentle cascade, shielding her battered, beautiful features. “Mama, what’s wrong?”
Johnny woke with a start. He hadn’t dreamed of that in a long time. How often had he awoken as a child to find her crying? She would claim it to be nothing, to go back to bed or go outside, depending on whether it was night or day. She never wanted to explain; she didn’t explain anything.
Now Johnny knew what the tears were about. There was no stopping the agony that tore into him, but it would get him nowhere. It wouldn’t do any good to torture himself with what-ifs. The only thing it would accomplish would be to distract from his objective, and that was to find the bastard Lane McCallister. Johnny needed to find him alive and to make him pay for what he’d done to Maria. What would he do if McCallister was already dead? Guess I’ll piss on his grave…
Scott leaned on the upturned saddle, drinking the hot coffee, casting furtive glances in his brother’s direction as he watched for signs that Johnny was in trouble. They had just learned the truth behind Maria’s departure from Lancer and it wasn’t what any of them thought it was. The woman had been under immense strain and had left her beloved husband. What would Scott be thinking had the situation involved him and Catherine? It was impossible to imagine.
But Scott knew one thing was certain. Madrid was among them now, and he could only hope that Lancer was strong enough to control the Madrid side of Johnny. Though there was no indication, so far, as to what Johnny was thinking, facing the man responsible for Maria’s death would require a degree of restraint that Johnny might not possess. Defending others was nothing like revenge for the atrocities forced on a mother. Scott would do everything he could to back Johnny, but he would not let Johnny go to jail for murder. He would help his brother but not at the cost of his life or soul.
After all, Scott had seen Madrid at his best… and perhaps his worst; he had a fair idea of the things Johnny was capable of doing. And he was ever grateful that Val was along to help. Scott wasn’t sure he could hold Johnny back and prevent him from doing something that would put him behind bars or, worse, a murder charge.
Although they had not discussed their thoughts, their ideas paralleled. Val knew he had an ally in Scott. The newly discovered information in the letter to Murdoch, along with the things Padre Torres told them, shed a different light on the story of Maria; it was Val’s fervent hope they find Lane McCallister and settle this once and for all. Between the two of them, Val and Scott would save Johnny from a noose because, left on his own, Val knew, sure as hell, that Johnny would kill the man, an’ the pendejo had it comin’.
Jack Kendrick’s Juniper Ridge Ranch lay tucked in the Coronado Mountains to the northeast of Tubac. Nothing more than a settlement remained of the famed town; the ruins of the 1752 Spanish Presidio stood crumbling with each passing year, marking what was one of the stops on the ‘Comino Real’, the Royal Road that led from Mexico to the Spanish settlements in California.
Johnny had heard the stories of the Spanish coming through the mountains, taking refuge at the Presidio, then continuing on to rich lands in California and settling vast expanses of land. Murdoch purchased what was now Lancer from the Vallejo family, as many other ranchers in the San Joaquin purchased from the original owners.
The Kendrick ranch was a home away from home to those like Johnny, Val, and Buck, who fought against the tyranny of the renegade Rurales, the Mexican soldiers who pillaged, and raped, plundered the villages for their own greed — not fighting for the good of the people and Mexico, but for their own gain. Johnny Madrid and Val Crawford fought for those who could not battle the renegades and fought at the risk of their lives. Buck Colby was one of the brave men who battled alongside them. Fought for the poor and for justice.
Jack Kendrick risked everything to help them. He gave them sanctuary when they were the hunted; he healed their wounds and sheltered them from those who would shoot them on sight and leave them no chance of survival. They became a family, willing to sacrifice themselves for innocent people and each other. They had all taken shelter at the beautiful ranch nestled in the pine-covered mountains at one time or another.
After two days of hard travel, Johnny and Val stopped atop the ridge to look down, once again, at Juniper Ridge — their home in years past, and they could only hope that Jack and his wife, Annie, were still there, alive and well. Anything could have happened in the five years since he’d seen them last.
Johnny remembered the last time he and Val traveled the narrow path that led down into the picturesque valley. But there had been no time to admire the scenery as he held the reins of Val’s horse, Val riding unconscious and more dead than alive. But with the help of Jack and Annie, Val pulled through, eventually riding away healed and ready to fight another day.
Much had happened since riding this trail last; however, Johnny never thought the next time he would be at this ranch would be in search of the man who had beaten his mother to death. The guilt of thinking she left Murdoch, left Lancer because she didn’t love him, was eating him alive, but finding the truth hit him like a kick in the gut from a maddened bull.
Johnny corralled his thoughts, pulled them together, and stuffed them into that place — that private, personal place where he let no one in and let nothing out. He’d heard Murdoch say that “Lancer takes care of its own.” Well, so did Madrid, and he would do everything in his power to find the bastard responsible for his mother’s brutal demise.
Neither Johnny nor Val saw the lookout when coming closer to the ranch. Either Kendrick managed his place differently, or the man didn’t feel the need for extreme security any longer. They pulled their horses to a stop at the hitch rail in front of the two-story log home as the front door swung open, and Jack and Annie Kendrick welcomed them with wide smiles and great bear hugs, astounded at the sight of their close friend thought dead… but he stood before them in flesh and blood.
“Johnny! Val! It’s so good to see you boys!” Annie was crying, desperately trying to keep the sobs under control but failing miserably. How could she contain the joy at finding Johnny standing at their door? “We heard you were dead, Johnny!” She reached up to place her hands on his face, not daring to believe her eyes; only a touch would tell her the truth, the warmth of his skin telling her he was real and not a spirit.
A few of Jack’s men stood and watched the newcomers, ready to jump in should the need arise.
Johnny returned the embrace, and although exhausted, he lifted her off the ground and greeted her with the same enthusiasm.
“Hey, Annie! Good ta see ya! How’ve ya been?” Johnny asked after the customary kiss on the cheek.
Val greeted Jack with a handshake and Annie with the same hug as she received from Johnny.
Johnny turned to Jack and held out his hand. “Good ta see ya, Jack! Don’t cha post guards anymore? Didn’t see any when we came down the trail.”
Jack grinned, “Oh, they’re there, just in a different place than before.” Jack turned his attention to Scott then introduced himself. “If you’re ridin’ with these two, ya must be alright! I’m Jack Kendrick, an’ this here’s my wife, Annie. Welcome, young fella!”
“Thank you; I’m Scott Lancer, Johnny’s brother.”
The declaration of ‘brother’ smacked Jack in the face and further words stuck in Jack’s throat. “Brother?” and he turned his attention to Johnny.
“Yeah, Jack, Annie, this’s my brother, Scott; look, I’ll tell ya about it later, but first, we need ta talk.”
For a moment, Annie wanted to laugh and cry at the same time — Johnny had found family! Something she wanted for all the boys, but she had seen something in him, something that screamed out for acceptance, for the strength that only family could give him, and though she never knew the details of his childhood, she suspected that he had been deeply hurt. Scott looked nothing like him, but one did not need to share the same blood to be bound together in brotherhood. Family was… family.
“You boys, come on in an’ get yourselves comfortable. Dinner will be ready soon.” Annie led the way into the house and left them to their business. All their ‘boys’ that came here had business with them, and they all were family.
The interior of the home was a surprise for Scott. It was furnished comfortably and lacked nothing. The secluded house seemed out of place, tucked away there in the mountains. Jack’s study, furnished with all the amenities as any other prosperous rancher, attested to a shrewd and perceptive mind — it was the inner sanctum of a savvy man. A desk the size of Murdoch’s back at Lancer occupied one wall, and a huge stone fireplace cast off comforting warmth as the flames blazed cheerfully in the hearth. Bookshelves lined other walls, and large cushioned chairs encouraged those who entered to be seated in comfort.
The room hadn’t changed at all, Johnny thought as he entered. It was strange to be back there; it felt that a lifetime had passed since he stood in this place. Well, there would be time to dwell on the past later; now, he needed Jack’s help.
Jack handed them all a glass as he held bottles of whiskey and tequila, offering them a badly needed libation from the looks of them.
The liquor was poured, and they raised their glasses in salute to friends and those long departed from this earth.
“Amigos — Salud!” echoed in the study.
Scott wondered about the custom and would ask Johnny about it when the opportunity arose. It seemed to be a ritual — a shared and sacred acclaim honoring lost amigos.
Johnny didn’t wait to be seated but began the questioning as he placed the empty glass on the table and waved off a refill.
“I’m tryin’ ta find Buck. Know where he is?”
The soft tone of Johnny’s inquiry belied his anxiousness to know the whereabouts of Buck Colby, but the urgency was not lost on Jack; he knew Johnny, and if Madrid was asking, there would be a reason for doing so — a good reason.
Expecting a ‘no’ response from Jack, after all, Buck usually didn’t stay in one spot for long, Johnny saw a spark in Jack’s eyes as a smile grew across his face.
“He’s been here for nearly two weeks, helpin’ with a few things. Buck’s here, Tom, and Sam, too. Looks like you’re here right on time, amigo!” But the mood did not lighten as Jack thought it would. Something was up — something serious that needed their attention.
Although Madrid appeared the same as he always had, Jack knew the façade; cool composure was shielding trouble underneath.
“You boys wait here. I’ll get ‘em.” Jack left the study, telling Annie that dinner might be delayed for a while.
The noise coming from the bunkhouse was nothing out of the ordinary, especially with the added presence of Buck, Tom, and Sam, but the significance of his errand shrouded Jack in dread, and he entered the bunkhouse without the intention of joining the rowdy men inside.
“Men,” Jack greeted all in the room, then nodded at the three men he needed. “Buck, Tom, and Sam, can ya come with me?”
The laughter stopped as the tomfoolery was interrupted, and they followed Kendrick out the door in the direction of the main house.
“Hey, Boss, wait up.” Hitch Randal, foreman of Juniper Ridge, called out to Jack before he left.
Hitch followed them out on the porch, feeling the eyes on his back.
“Yeah, Hitch? What is it?”
“Need ta talk ta ya about the new man.”
“Any trouble?” Jack queried.
“I’m keepin’ a watch on him. Not sure about him. Somethin’ ain’t right. Just thought you should know; might hafta cut him loose.”
Jack nodded. “You make the call, Hitch.”
Hitch nodded, then entered the bunkhouse. The eyes he felt on his back walking out the door were no longer there, but neither was the new man. Maybe he left by the back door. Outhouse? Maybe, maybe not. It would make things easier if he’d just up and left, quit on his own.
Jack led the way to the house.
“Everything alright, Jack?” Buck inquired.
“Hope so. Wait’ll ya see who just rode in.” No other information was offered.
Buck, Tom, and Sam exchanged glances but said nothing more. They would find out soon enough what was going on and who it was that rode onto the Juniper Ridge property.
Jack took them in the back door, through the kitchen, where they commented on the aromas of freshly baked bread, roast beef, and apple pie as it held their senses captive.
“Smells mighty good in here, Annie! When ya gonna teach Charlie ta cook like that?” Sam joked as Tom and Buck joined in support of the suggestion.
“What are you three talking about? Charlie taught me to cook!” Annie replied back, laughing as the men followed Jack through the house to his study.
Jack opened the door, knowing what the reaction would be. Buck and the boys exploded with exuberant salutations at seeing their amigos again. Johnny, Scott, and Val, though not quite as boisterous, returned the greetings.
Once settled, Johnny wasted no time with his questions.
“I’m lookin’ for a man — Lane McCallister. Any ‘a you heard of him? Talk has it he was from Safford.” It wasn’t much to go on, but it was all Johnny had. His hopes were Buck or one of the boys could fill in a few blanks.
They sat silent, each going through his memory, searching for bits and pieces of information that might shed light on Johnny’s request.
He listened at the window, desperately struggling to control the excitement that coursed through his veins. Kirby Gage couldn’t help but laugh. He just stumbled into more money than he ever expected to see in his lifetime. He knew of Lane McCallister, he knew McCallister’s temper, he knew the man was ruthless. He might be interested enough to pay for the information Kirby had fallen into.
When Kendrick came to the bunkhouse and left with the three hands, a spark ignited; could the boss’s intrusion signal something was not what it should be? Being the inquisitive sort, and not one to ignore an opportunity, Kirby left by the back door. If something was going on, he wanted to know about it.
Gage stayed by the window outside of Kendrick’s study, gathering bits and pieces that could be of value to McCallister. Yup, he was gonna be a rich man. He turned toward the barn, saddled his horse, and left Juniper Ridge. He didn’t need this job, not with the money McCallister would be payin’ him for this information, and he rode out under the cover of darkness with a wild grin that stretched across his mouth. Kirby would take easy money rather than work like a dog day in and day out.
Buck Colby, Sam Wade, and Tom McKay listened as Johnny described the man he was looking for, and yes, they had heard of Lane McCallister. The man had a sizable ranch, funded with old family money, a ruthless reputation, and generated fear wherever he went.
Scott listened to the conversation between Johnny, Val, and the three men from their past, amazed at the ease with which they gathered the information without asking specific questions.
“This a job, amigo?” Buck asked.
“Nope.”
And with that answer, Buck knew it was a private matter. If Madrid wanted them to know, he would tell them in his own time.
Before long, Johnny had a few answers he needed. After listening to the three men talk over places where McCallister could be, Scott suspected the others had a notion it was connected with Johnny’s past; he also suspected the three would be tagging along.
He had a name and a place; Johnny knew what he was going to do, it wasn’t much of a plan, and he fought the lethal grin that threatened. No, it wasn’t much of a plan — the bastard was still alive — but not for long.
They bid Jack and Annie Kendrick goodbye at dawn. Annie plied them with bags of food, not wanting any of ‘her boys’ to go without. Good friends were hard to come by these days, and there was no way she would let them leave without the support she and Jack could offer. The same men were there when they needed help, and now she would return the favor. And she sent up a prayer for them to be safe. She sent up another prayer, thankful that Johnny Madrid had found his family and for the closeness between the Lancer brothers. She watched as they rode away and blinked away the tears that welled in her eyes.
“Who are you an’ what’d ya want?”
The man didn’t look threatening, but that Winchester aimed at his head sure did; not wanting to waste any more time, Kirby answered the question — after all, there was money waitin’ ta be spent.
“Name’s Kirby Gage. I got information that Mr. McCallister might be interested in havin’.”
The guard gave the kid a going-over and decided that he didn’t look smart enough to get out of his own way; he opened the gate and let the young man through.
“Follow me,” Mr. Handlebar Mustache ordered as he spat the large plug of tobacco that bulged inside his cheek into the dirt, wiped his hand across his mouth, and mounted his horse. “Mr. McCallister’s at the house. Stay with me an’ don’t go wan’dring off.”
Hell, Kirby didn’t care if the guard told him ta hop on one leg while whistlin’ ‘Dixie’. He’d do whatever they said if it would get the money he had coming. With a knowing grin stretching from ear to ear, Kirby Gage sat in his saddle and anticipated the dollars that would soon line his pockets.
The large adobe house sprawled across the valley floor, boasting wealth. Several chimneys broke the roof line; a half-story raised wing on either side of the main residence bespoke the ability to house a large family.
Kirby smiled and shook his head. McCallister must have a passle ‘a kids!
Brady stopped at the hitch rail in front of the double oak doors.
“You wait here,” he mumbled, mounted the stairs, and walked into the house.
Kirby looked around. Yup, that was a smart move gettin’ this information for McCallister! He’s gonna pay me a lotta money! The corrals were filled with horses, and off in the distance, Kirby watched massive herds of cattle graze on the grass-covered hillsides. The man was rich! Once again, the thought of dollars took over his mind until he heard Mr. Handlebar Mustache calling him into the house.
Walk like yer someone important! Don’t slouch! Ya got something McCallister’s gonna want an’ ya ain’t no kid, so don’t act like one! Yer a man! Now, deal like one!
Kirby Gage sauntered into the large study but couldn’t help gawking at the wealth before his eyes. The room screamed money; the richness of the carpet alone could have bought his father’s ranch six times over. Remembering his resolve, Kirby pulled himself together.
Lane McCallister appeared bored. The interruption was not appreciated, and this… drifter better have a damn good reason for intruding. He pierced Gage with a cold stare and assessed the young man before him but said nothing.
Say somethin’, ya idiot! Kirby took a deep breath. “Ah, Mr. McCallister, I have somethin’ that might be of some interest to ya… sir.”
McCallister sighed. “Then say it, boy, and get out of here! I’m a busy man!” The words thundered with authority between the adobe walls.
Kirby drew a deep breath, then spilled his thoughts, not at all how he had planned. His words came out in a flood instead of the controlled, shrewd tones he intended.
“It’s Johnny Madrid, he’s lookin’ for ya!” Ya idiot! Don’t be babb’lin’!
McCallister nodded to Mustache; the man touched the brim of his hat, then walked out the door, closing it behind him.
McCallister leaned back in his chair, the hawk-like glare did not let up. What did this kid know?
“Sit down, Mr. …?”
“Gage, Kirby Gage!” Kirby fell into the chair in front of the massive desk McCallister sat behind with hopes this would turn in his favor. The rich man seemed interested.
“Tell me what you know.”
The ice was gone from the words, but an edge was there, and Kirby knew there was still time to save face after his blunder and conduct ‘business’. He was right in assuming this powerful man wanted to know what Kirby had to offer.
“I heard Madrid asking questions about ya. Said he needed ta find ya, but never said why.”
McCallister wanted to laugh. He knew why Madrid wanted to see him, but the little bastard would never get the chance. He’d make sure of that.
“Where is Madrid now, Mr. Gage?”
Mister Gage! No one’s gonna believe that he called me Mister Gage! Say somethin’!
“They’re less’n a day behind me. They’s comin’ up from Tubac…”
“They?”
“Yeah, Madrid has five men with ‘im. Four friends, an’ a brother.”
McCallister frowned. Brother? Maria never mentioned another son or stepson… “Tell me everything you know, Mr. Gage.”
“There’s yer money, Boss. It’s all there.” Mustache tossed the rawhide pouch on McCallister’s desk.
The big man huffed. “You took care of him?”
“He never knew what hit ‘im. Won’t be a bother to ya no more.” Mustache left the study as he shifted the plug of chewing tobacco around in his mouth. There was no receptacle in the room, and he needed to spit.
McCallister picked up the pouch and smiled. He had his five hundred dollars back and valuable information that hadn’t cost him a cent. The confident smile slithered across his face.
But that smile was short-lived as he thought about Maria. Even now, as he sat in his home all these years later, the feelings she stirred in him would not be ignored. She resisted his advances, fought him at every turn, and cursed his name to the Heavens. And he was still captivated by her charms. Why couldn’t she love him?
Johnny could have traveled this part of Arizona blindfolded. How many times had Madrid been around the area, he couldn’t say, but in all those years around the border, he couldn’t recall hearing about Lane McCallister. Names didn’t mean much to some folks; he’d known many over the years who would change their name to suit their purpose, and he suspected that McCallister might be one of them. He had no memory of the name, but that didn’t surprise him. Was he expected to remember every incident or person from his past? Unless they were a threat, there had to be those that slipped into the dark recesses of his mind, never to bother him again. And maybe sometimes, that wasn’t good. Those incidents and people made it a habit of bushwhacking the smartest of men. Was this one of those times? Johnny wondered.
Roused out of his musings, Johnny listened to the conversation around the campfire and contemplated the fact that he should have rejected the help of Buck and the boys; in the past, he would have left in the middle of the night, and ‘fixed’ the problem alone. Was he happy they’d all volunteered their time and talents toward his cause? Well, yes… and no.
After reading the long-delayed letter from Maria, Scott’s feelings pivoted from anger and disgust to those of respect and admiration. And now he devoted himself to her cause… his revenge for the tragedy she endured. Val’s presence didn’t surprise him in the least; Val was there for Johnny, whatever the circumstances.
Buck, Sam, and Tom were close amigos, but Johnny hadn’t expected their company, only what information they might have. Six men traveling together would attract attention, but they avoided towns, and only one or two were seen by others when they came to a place and supplies were needed. Johnny knew they were taking care to not draw unwanted attention and risk the possibility that word would reach Lane McCallister, no matter how remote that was.
“… an’ if we can find out where the pendejo is, maybe we can… persuade him ta talk.”
“Yeah, I gotta few tricks on how ta make a man talk! A sharp knife at his throat’ll make a man sing like one ‘a them yellow canary birds!” Smiles and a few chuckles around the fire lightened the mood, except for Johnny’s.
“I don’t want any ‘a you interferin’ in this. This’ between me an’ McCallister, so back off.”
The words were soft but brooked no opposition, and they understood it was Madrid’s call. Even Scott caught the meaning behind his brother’s statement, and where he knew what was in Maria’s letter, and some of how and what Johnny felt, he wouldn’t let Johnny do anything that would lead him to a hangman’s noose. The thought kept going through his head, over and over. He had no problem in letting Johnny confront the man and get him to talk, but he would do everything in his power to keep Johnny safe and on the right side of the law.
“Whatever happens is gonna be my call. I ’ppreciate the help, but this’ gonna be done my way.” He met the eyes of each man, enforcing the way things would be.
There was a moment of silence, then they all agreed it was for Madrid to determine what would happen and how they would handle it; but they all made a silent promise to watch Johnny’s back; no matter what he said, they would have his back.
The closer Johnny rode toward Safford, snippets of memory flashed in unexpected blasts in his mind and left him filled with dread. It was a sensation he wasn’t familiar with, and he couldn’t define it, couldn’t put a name to it. Then, he remembered a bit more — the big man, when he went after Mama an’ hit her an’ there was nothin’ I could do. The cold fear of a small boy witnessing the brutal beating of his mother and not able to help… Johnny had been jarred awake last night, drenched in a cold sweat, and it was another hour before the sparks of memory began to fade away. Fade into the night where Johnny hoped they would stay.
It was no surprise when they rode closer to Safford, Buck, Sam, and Tom broke off from the rest to come into town on the far side. They would camp for a day or two, making a reconnaissance run around the area, perhaps gathering information from the locals, anything that would benefit in the search for Lane McCallister. They would take the usual tactic, riding into town under the guise of looking for jobs.
Colby, Wade, and McKay weighed the odds. Private wars were tricky to navigate, and Madrid was a private man. If he told them to butt out, they would, but not before they made sure it was a fair fight. Johnny had covered all three of them in the past, and now it was time for them to help Madrid. And they would die trying.
Expertise from their past was put to good use as they covered all contingencies to guard Madrid’s back, whether he wanted them there or not. But one thing was certain — they would not let Lane McCallister harm a hair on Johnny Madrid’s head.
Johnny, Scott, and Val rode into town after dark. No sense in announcing their arrival. People were bound to see them sooner or later; the later they hit town, the better. After eating a spicy meal at the cantina that left Scott gulping a glass of milk, they got a room and appeared to retire for the night. But they did not and left by the back door, leaving the rundown hotel unnoticed.
Once outside, they met up with the other three amigos and listened to what they had learned from the locals.
Apparently, Lane McCallister was not a very nice man. But that was no surprise.
“What have you found out, Brady?” McCallister was impatient.
Mustache had barely entered the study before he was inundated with questions from his boss. Brady Forest had lived all his life on the border. Familiar with gunfighters and border trash, there wasn’t much that escaped him.
“Six men was seen headin’ this way. But that was three days ago, an ain’t no one knows where they are now. But it’s a sure bet it’s Madrid, an’ if that Gage kid that came here with that information was right, we got us a heap ‘a trouble. Madrid’s bad ‘nough, but throw in Crawford, Colby, Wade, an’ McKay, an’ we might need ta get help.”
McCallister grinned. Maybe he would need help… maybe not. Regardless, he would be meeting Johnny Madrid again, and it would still be under his terms and not Johnny’s. He began to laugh. Convincing young Johnny of the deception had been the ultimate revenge, and the notion amused Lane immensely, often throwing it in Maria’s face to watch her battle the emotions for her and her half-breed brat.
The hacienda was quiet, too quiet. Since Johnny and Scott left, Murdoch tried to keep himself busy with all the tasks he’d let go around the ranch. But he couldn’t stay with them. He would start a job, but almost before he began a task, his thoughts drifted to his sons. Where were they? Had they found anything yet? Having Val with them helped to ease the worry, but it was always there, in the background, threatening to come out of nowhere to do his sons harm and to make him crazy with worry. Even if Scott and Johnny made contact with the men from Johnny’s and Val’s past, that was no guarantee they would be alright.
Cold rain hit the windows, and lightning lit the sky with magnificent bolts that tore across the heavens, wicked and fiery. The crackling flames in the hearth should have cast a warmth in the room, but Murdoch shivered as he looked down at his hands — the hands that held his wife’s letter. How many times now had he read it? How many more times would he read those words? It wouldn’t matter — they said the same thing as they did when he first received the long overdue missive. If he had only known then what he knew now… He opened the fingers of his left hand, and there, held now in love, where before was nothing but rage and hurt, was Maria’s wedding ring that Murdoch had found on the floor of Johnny’s room. He thought she had thrown it there and left as a final insult, salt rubbed in the wound. But he knew now that he was wrong. The tiny gold band sparkled in the firelight with a life of its own.
Johnny wondered when Scott would start the questions that swirled in his Harvard-educated mind. He left camp and went to the stringline, finding comfort tending Barranca, and soon he felt his brother’s presence beside him. If Boston thought to talk him out of confronting McCallister, he had another thing coming. Nothing or no one would change his mind. Maria died because of McCallister and Father Mendoza. Mendoza was dead, and now Johnny would see the remaining man would pay for not only tearing their family apart but for the murder of his mother.
“What’s on your mind, Boston?” he asked softly.
Scott smiled. “You are, brother. You are.” He paused, thinking over the best way to get inside Johnny’s head and find out what he had in mind. The direct approach — that was Johnny’s way of getting information. Just ask; Johnny would understand.
“What are you planning, Johnny? “
“Don’t know yet. Ya heard what the boys said. No one trusts the bastard, seems ta me they’re scared of him. That sounds about right.” Johnny snorted. The man ruled using fear to control those around him. And the confirmation regarding the type of man McCallister was made Johnny’s decision of how to handle the trouble. Again, the nightmarish remembrances of what his mother went through ripped his heart in two like a dull, jagged knife, tearing him into shreds. “That tells me a lot right there. But I won’t know for sure until I see him. There’s no way he’s gonna meet me alone, face ta face, not without pullin’ something dirty… like an ambush. But I need ta see what the ranch is like. If I know the layout, I’ll have a better chance of…”
Scott exploded. “You are out of your mind! Knowing what the man is like, you can’t be serious about going in there! Once he finds out who you are, he’ll kill you!”
“Oh, he might try…” Johnny muttered softly as he looked out into the night, then turned back to Scott. “But some things are worth the risk, brother, an’ I know that you understand that.” He offered Scott that little grin; the grin that said, ‘You know I’m right’, and Boston realized there was nothing he could say or do to change Johnny’s mind.
Scott took a deep breath, knowing he’d already lost the argument. He promised Murdoch he would watch over his brother, and now, he realized how big of a job it would be. He just hoped he could see the job through because the ice that was forming in his belly was a bad sign, indeed.
“Let’s get back ta the others; we need ta make some plans.” Johnny patted Barranca’s golden neck then he and Scott joined the others.
“Me an’ the boys can ride in there an’ ask for jobs; a ranch like his, he oughta be needin’ help…”
But Buck’s idea was cut short when Johnny struck it down. “No need for that. I’m gonna meet McCallister alone and make him face me. No sense any ‘a you boys gettin’ yourselves shot cuz of me. I told ya before, I don’t want any ‘a you interferin’ in this. I’m takin’ care of things my way.”
Val could always count on ol’ Buck for backup.
“Well, ya don’t mind if we watch your back, do ya, amigo?”
“Ya know we ain’t gonna let ya do nothin’ stupid, don’t cha, Johnny?” Wade asked with a raised brow; the half-smile was enough to let Johnny know that even though spoken lightly, it wasn’t a joke.
McKay sat, nodding his head in agreement. “Johnny, we’re gonna be there; ain’t nobody better’n us ta help ya… even if ya wanna do this alone, an’ we understand that. But this McCallister, he’s a sneaky sonuvabitch, an’ we can’t trust him. You just tell us what ya want us ta do, an’ we’ll do it… but we’re gonna be there…”
Johnny knew he was cornered, but this was his fight; he didn’t want any of them taking chances because of him. He shrugged, looked down at his boots, then a smile tugged the corner of his mouth. He looked each man in the eye and murmured his thanks. But he would still handle things his way.
“An’ like we said, we’re gonna be there. Now that’s settled, we need ta make some plans. Johnny, get yer ass over here, siddown an’ let’s talk.”
And now, Scott fully understood — though not of blood, Johnny had a family before he came home to Lancer, and Boston couldn’t have been more appreciative. Val, Buck, Sam, and Tom were one hell of a family and great men to have on Johnny’s side to watch his back.
“Boss, Hollis at the saloon said there was three drifters thet come in — claimed ta be passin’ through. I think Madrid’s not too far b’hind ‘em.”
“Thank you, Brady. Set up the guards.”
And now it begins! I’ll have Madrid handled before he knows what’s happened to him! Lane McCallister smiled. He was never wrong.
The surveillance was set around McCallister’s ranch. From the higher elevations, in the cover of rocks and trees, they could watch the happenings without detection. Johnny watched — for a while, but the longer he waited, the more the incessant flashes assaulted him; images of Maria burned on his brain, and nothing he did could relieve the pain… the terror of that time.
Not one to wait for something to happen, Johnny would make that something happen. He wasn’t going to wait any longer. They’d sat undercover for the last six hours, and it was all he was going to take. After all the years of hate, loss, and not knowing the truth, he was finally going to have it out with the bastard behind it all. McCallister — soon to be a dead man.
Madrid let the boys make plans, watch the ranch, keep tabs on who was there and who left, but Madrid had his own plan that he kept to himself. He told them in the beginning that he didn’t want them involved, that it was his fight, not theirs, and all he needed from them was information, but they had their own ideas. In truth, Johnny was honored by Scott’s declaration of loyalty towards Maria, and he was grateful for his brother’s view; it was expected that Val would be with him. However, Val knew ‘how things were’; he knew when to butt out and when to back Johnny. Well, Johnny hoped the others would stay out of his way because it was time for him to do what Madrid did best.
But it was the onslaught of haunting memories, attacking at every turn, that made him act. Under the cover of darkness, Johnny removed his spurs and stowed them in his saddle bags, then he melted into the night, down to McCallister’s hacienda and into trouble. Unseen and silent, but not for long.
Lane McCallister could be a patient man when he had to be. Anxious for the impending visit from Johnny Madrid, he took every precaution he could. Brady had guards posted around the ranch; everything was secure, but he wondered how Madrid would show himself. Surely the half-breed wouldn’t ride up to the front door… would he? And McCallister knew something that Madrid did not — he knew Johnny was coming, thanks to that money-grabbing runt, Kirby Gage. The smart-mouthed kid barged in, thinking he could weasel money out of him by offering information about Madrid, Maria’s half-breed pup. Well, the information was useful, and Kirby died thinking he was rich. It all worked out.
Johnny watched the man from the shadows of the hallway; he studied the face. It was old, older than Murdoch’s. Deep lines etched over weathered skin; another flash ignited behind his eyes as Johnny recalled the mountain of a man reaching out, grabbing his thin arm, and throwing him into the wall as he tried to protect his mother. From the fringes of his mind, as he fought to stay conscious, Johnny remembered the man as he turned toward Maria and began to beat her with his rolled fist. Bastard! Johnny pushed those thoughts aside… for now. He needed to keep his control if he was going to accomplish what he came here to do and get out of this house in one piece.
McCallister was confident things would go his way; he would take care of Madrid, was, in fact, ready for the confrontation, and Madrid… was not. The cold grin stretched across his face as he went to the sideboard for a whiskey, and it was then he felt the cold barrel of a gun behind his left ear.
“Move, an’ you’re a dead man.” Johnny felt the man tense and almost smiled but quickly reined it in; this was not the time to get careless. “Ya got yourself worthless security, McCallister. I walked right in here.”
McCallister seized the opportunity to cast doubt into Johnny’s mind. “And you fell for it. It’s all in my plan…Madrid! See, I knew you were coming, I had a warning, so I planned to capture you!”
“You might ‘a known I was comin’, but ya still got shit for guards. They got no idea I’m in here with you. If they did, they’d a been here by now. An’ they can’t do anything about it when I kill you. Put that drink down an’ put your hands behind your back; do it quick an’ quiet. We ain’t wastin’ no time.”
McCallister had to stall. Where was Brady and the others? Had Madrid done as he stated, walked right past the guards? With no other chance left open to him, Lane placed the glass on the table and put his hands behind his back where they were tightly tied.
“Now, move!”
McCallister went for the front door, and Madrid pulled him back.
“Uh, uh; this way, out the back through the kitchen.”
He had to stall for time and stopped the progress through the house. “How do you think you’re going to get out of here alive?” He risked turning to make eye contact with the mestizo brat from years ago.
“Oh, that’ll be easy. See, I don’t care if I live or die. Never have, but you do.” Johnny let the icy grin snake across his face, prompting a cold shiver down McCallister’s back. ”All I gotta do is keep you in fronta me, an’ my gun on you. If I even think somethin’s wrong, I’ll blow your head off. Let’s go.” Johnny pushed him toward the door and forced the man through to the back of the hacienda.
Apprehension began to grow in McCallister’s head; for the second time, he wondered where Brady was. How did Madrid get into the house? Why weren’t his men swarming into the room? Was Madrid as good as everyone claimed? He couldn’t equate this man with that whore’s scrawny brat; many years had passed, and all McCallister could remember was that little welp charging at him in defense of his mama. The man with him now was still defending his mother and willing to take chances that he couldn’t possibly win… or was he just insane?
“Now, we’re gonna go nice an’ slow; just remember, one wrong move an’ you’re gonna be scrapin’ your brains out of the dirt, pendejo.” Keep control… keep control…
The shadows proved to be effective in aiding their escape. McCallister was beginning to panic. Dammit! He had to do something; he couldn’t let Madrid take him away… He turned to face his nemesis.
Brady Forest made his rounds, thinking there was no way Madrid would break through their defenses, but the rumors told of the gunhawk said differently. Well, they’s only rumors. Ain’t no one gonna get on this ranch an’ get away… There was movement in the shadows on the side of the barn; two men moved carefully behind the structure, and one of those men was McCallister. Brady followed, wondering if he’d been wrong about Madrid. He moved in behind them, bided his time, and attacked.
“So what are you going to do with me? What have I done to you?” Could he play the innocent? Place doubt in the outlaw and murderer’s mind? Finally, Thank God, though God had nothing to do with what was to happen. McCallister’s voice grew louder, pulling Johnny’s attention to him and away from their surroundings.
“Keep your voice down…” Johnny snapped.
“I demand to know what you’re going to do with me!”
Emotions were exploding like cannon fire, and the urge to pull the trigger was never so great as it was that minute. But he wouldn’t do it – he wanted to see this pendejo suffer… just like he made Mama suffer…
Brady came from behind, closer… closer as McCallister kept the border trash busy. It wasn’t hard to rile someone who was out for vengeance. Brady grinned under the bushy mustache and swung the axe handle at Madrid’s head; he dropped the half-breed in his tracks.
McCallister let out the breath he held, thinking it had been too close a call. “I didn’t know how much longer I could have held him off! Glad you got here when you did! Get him into the barn!”
Brady picked up Johnny’s Colt and tucked it into his waistband, grabbed Johnny by the arms, and dragged him into an empty stall. There, Brady dropped him on the floor and tied his arms behind his back, then tied his feet. As an afterthought, the foreman put fingers to Madrid’s neck to check for a heartbeat. He would have hated to hit the little bastard too hard. The boss man had plans for him…
He lay still, letting the man with the mustache think he was unconscious, but another flash erupted in his head — he remembered a man… this man, with the reddish-brown hair, standing over Maria, pulling on his clothes. He wanted to vomit.
Johnny thought back to the last conversation with Father Torres; the priest did his best to convince Johnny that Mendoza didn’t mean to cause any harm, but he hadn’t believed any of the one-sided conversations, he still didn’t. Johnny knew Torres wanted to get through to him, to make him believe Mendoza needed forgiveness. And now Johnny wanted to laugh… and cry. Mendoza had not cared about them when they needed his help, and probably thought to make amends on his deathbed for the sin he committed. The priest felt guilt.
“I cannot tell everything he said, but I feel you need to know that your mother tried to escape the man holding her against her will. The man made it… difficult for her and you, as well. But she tried to get home, and when her attempts failed, she lied to you, convincing you that your father hated you to make you push him from your mind — to stop asking for your Papi because it made that man angry. Please do not hold that against her as she acted out of love for you. She feared for your life when you called out for your father.”
Johnny knew what he would do. Once he got out of the ropes that bound him, he knew what he would do.
“Coffee, Scott?” Val held out the charred, dented pot in offering.
Scott declined; his attention was focused solely on Johnny, speculating over how his brother was handling everything they had learned in the last two weeks. It was much to take in, digest, and process. Johnny witnessed his mother’s death, had seen her abused at the hands of Lane McCallister, and, Lord knew how many others. That was a lot to take in. He wanted to be there for Johnny when he needed to talk, but he also knew that Johnny wanted time to himself. He had watched as his brother walked off into the dark; it was Johnny’s way, and he would deal with things as he always had. The Madrid way.
But come morning, Scott resolved to talk with his brother. Alright, brother, you have until morning to keep your thoughts private. But that is all. Then, you and I are going to talk.
Brady Forest stood watch over Maria’s son; he held the gunhawk’s Colt in his hand. It was cool to the touch — powerful; the blue steel menacing, deadly. How many men had fallen lifeless into the dirt after being shot with this gun? Brady wondered, thinking how ironic it would be when Madrid was killed with his own pistol. The balanced piece felt powerful in his hand; it was a fine, reliable firearm, and Brady smiled; he would keep it for himself. It should have felt dirty in Brady’s hand, knowing that Madrid was responsible for how many dead men? But somehow, it added to the appeal.
This was Johnny Madrid’s gun, and I took it from him! And that thought prompted a bigger smile across Brady’s mouth. He would let others think he’d outdrawn Madrid and took it from his dead body… No, that wouldn’t work; there was no way that Brady Forest could defend the title. He would be shot dead where he stood. Well, it was fun to dream about it.
Brady looked down at the prone man. This was Maria’s boy — the same little rat that gave them all trouble, an’ now look at him! He wanted to laugh. Maria’s little bastard had grown into the famous Johnny Madrid, and here he was, lying trussed up like a pig waiting for slaughter. That’s plain funny!
“Don’t look like much ta me. Just a damn mestizo! Hey, Mex, what’d ya say?” Brady kicked Johnny in the ribs, satisfied when he heard the yelp of pain. He laughed aloud, thinking it was like old times. “What’d ya say? Gonna fight like ya did when you was a snot-nosed little bastard?” He waved the gun in front of Johnny, then took aim at Johnny’s head.
Brady remembered ‘that little bastard’, how the Mex kid tried to help his mama, the whore that his boss was bedding. Brady helped himself when McCallister wasn’t looking, threatening Johnny’s life if Maria told McCallister. Brady Forest took every advantage he could, without the Boss’s knowledge, and once he tasted Maria’s charms, although not willing on her part, he satisfied himself whenever it suited him, and every time, that little piece of shit was a problem. How many times had Brady beat that kid? He lost count.
The kick bruised flesh and bone; the pain pierced into his brain and jolted him into consciousness. He opened his eyes and tried to focus. Mierda! Another demon from the past came into his line of sight, and Johnny knew he would be in for the fight of his life. Not only McCallister would pay, but this asshole, too. Memories assaulted his brain, one right after another —Mama begging him to not say anything to McCallister — the man standing over him now laughing as he threw Maria onto the bed and began ripping the clothes from her body as Johnny tried to fight him, fight him for his mama, protect her — her tears traced down her face as she refused to submit — Mama… lying on the floor, eyes closed, her face covered in bruises. And Johnny remembered that ugly scar on Brady’s back…
Appearing deep in thought, Forest continued to grin; why not? He had the upper hand and continued to threaten Madrid with the Colt.
“Careful, it’s loaded. Don’t… shoot yourself, pendejo…” Johnny gasped, knowing it would do no good other than to earn him another kick. But it would fuel his mad when he got loose and would kill this sonuvabitch along with Lane McCallister.
Brady Forest pulled the trigger back, snicked it into place, and aimed between Johnny’s eyes, only to produce a smirk and not the fear Brady was expecting.
“You think you scare me? Hell, I could kill you in the blink of an eye!” Brady scoffed.
Johnny shook his head. Throw the man off balance, and he would likely make a mistake. But McCallister would not be a happy man, Johnny knew, if Brady blew his head off without collecting his own amusement first. He was as safe as he could be, for the time being… until the boss man came to ‘visit’.
“If that’s all it takes ta make ya feel important, I guess it’ll have ta do.”
Brady’s question went unasked as the rage flooded through him, and he lashed out again and punched Johnny’s jaw, rendering him unconscious in the straw. Lane McCallister entered the stall, then smirked as he looked at the body sprawled on the floor at his feet.
“Well, if it isn’t Maria’s half-breed outlaw son!” The cold eyes raked over Johnny’s unresponsive body from the top of his head to the toes of his boots, and McCallister couldn’t hold back the demonic laugh. The young man didn’t look as formidable as he was led to believe, and he could see nothing of the small boy in his memories of years ago in the despicable scum that lay at his feet now. “My dear, Maria, if you could see your precious son now! You would be so proud! Outlaw! Killer! Oh yes, every mother’s dream!”
McCallister remembered all the times the child spoiled his fun with Maria. He would cry, and Maria would abandon his bed to go to her son. He loathed the boy, encouraging her to leave the kid at the church to be raised by the priests there — let them take the responsibility off his hands! The kid meant nothing to him; he was another man’s spawn, garbage to be tossed on the alley trash heap. The kid took the violent path of a gunfighter. Yes, the scourge of the earth — filth to be eradicated. Lane McCallister had taken Lancer’s wife and son, it would be a fitting end, one that had satisfied his need to repay Murdoch for taking what Lane wanted. Now, he would kill that son like he should have done years ago.
After all the years, McCallister could now have his revenge. It was, indeed, too bad Maria’s father, the man that caused McCallister’s troubles and spurred his need for revenge, was no longer living, for it was her father’s refusal to give her hand in marriage and the subsequent marriage to Murdoch Lancer that changed the course of his life. Luis Quintero suspected Lane’s intentions — it would not be a pairing of love but lust and power. She would be his possession, a beautiful wife for others to envy. He wouldn’t subject his daughter to a life as McCallister’s property. Quintero knew McCallister’s reputation. And it didn’t stop with Maria; Lane McCallister wanted the property in the San Joaquin Valley, but the Vallejo family refused to sell him the property, eventually selling it, ironically, to Murdoch Lancer. Murdoch Lancer ended up with the two things that McCallister wanted most on this earth — the land and Maria and now, Lane wanted to disrupt everything connected to Maria and Lancer.
And he would kill their brat — Johnny Madrid.
The smirk grew into a wicked sneer as he grabbed a bucket of water and threw it in Johnny’s face, reviving him as the water invaded his nose and sinuses. Johnny sputtered, choked, and coughed water out of his throat. His head throbbed as he looked around confused, then settled his sight on the big man before him, but didn’t give anything away.
“What’d ya want?” he growled at the blurry face above him; squinting against the pain in his head, Johnny struggled to clear his vision and then heard that voice — the one that had cursed and threatened him years ago.
“Why Johnny! Don’t you remember your Papa?” McCallister laughed. As a kid, Johnny was insolent. The little bastard hasn’t changed.
“You ain’t nothin’! Not ta me or anyone else.” The battle within raged but he couldn’t let his mad get the best of him — he had to control it; he’d never get out of this if he couldn’t. But getting out of this situation wouldn’t mean anything if he didn’t make this man pay for the wrong he’d done.
McCallister began talking as if to a child, his voice condescending, demeaning. “Oh, Juanito, you shouldn’t be so disrespectful to your Papa; without me, both you and your Mama would have ended up whoring for money…”
“Without you, ya sonuvabitch, my mother would have lived out her natural days with my father — Yeah, I know all about the fact ya kidnapped her right outta my father’s house.”
It was faint, but there was a flicker of surprise in the eyes that pierced into his; Johnny knew he had McCallister’s attention and held nothing back.
“An’ as long as I’m talkin’ truths here, ya might wanna ask this cobarde,” he canted his head in Brady Forest’s direction, “why he was usin’ Maria when your back was turned. See, he threatened her by sayin’ he’d kill me if she told you about it, so any time he wanted, he was fuckin’ her behind your back, an’ you were too stupid ta know!”
For a split second, Johnny saw the fire explode as McCallister’s eyes flicked to Brady’s face, then swung back to Johnny, refusing the bait while Brady’s face went white.
“He’s lyin’, Mr. McCallister! He’s lyin’! He’s just stallin’ for time!” Brady vehemently denied the accusation.
McCallister’s brain was spinning in circles, desperately trying to make sense of facts that he wasn’t to have known. Was Brady using Maria behind his back? And where had Madrid found out what happened all those years ago?
“Boss, what he’s sayin’, it ain’t true!” Desperate now, Brady turned to Johnny. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, you bastard! You didn’t see nothin’!” But the fear was there — it was in his eyes, and he couldn’t shake it free.
Finding out Brady Forest might have betrayed him was a blow that McCallister could not forgive. He’d been made a fool of in the most embarrassing way. Could it really be true? He didn’t want to believe it, but he suspected Brady had been attracted to Maria. After all, what red-blooded man wasn’t?
“Didn’t I? Why don’t ya ask him, McCallister? Ask Brady how many times he threw my mother on the bed, ripped her clothes off her body an’ fucked her! An’ you never knew about it! All that time an’ he was laughin’ behind your back!”
The big man began to have his doubts; which one was lying to him? “And how do I know that you aren’t lying? You could have lied about it, trying to start trouble between us.” McCallister, again, looked at Brady Forest; he was unnaturally pale and beginning to sweat. But he gave Brady the benefit of the doubt. He would call Johnny’s hand.
“Alright, Madrid, can you back up what you claim?” McCallister gathered the scrambled thoughts together; his composure coming back, disbelieving Johnny had any kind of proof. The mestizo was stalling for time.
For a moment, Johnny said nothing. Both Brady and McCallister regained a modicum of the control that had begun to splinter; however, Brady’s heart was hammering against his ribs.
The corner of Johnny’s mouth twitched as a smirk tugged in a lopsided grin. His eyes went from one man’s face to the other, and he stretched their limits of patience with the slow response.
Suddenly, Brady could take no more, knowing Madrid was about to prove his secret, and he pulled Johnny out of the straw, holding him on his feet, and drew back his fist for a well-placed blow to Johnny’s head.
“I about had enough ‘a his bullshit, Boss! I say…”
“Seems kinda worried, don’t cha think, McCallister? He doesn’t want ya ta know why I think he betrayed your trust. But, if you’re gonna keep him on the payroll, well, I think ya should know the truth if ya can trust him or not.” Johnny focused his cold stare on Lane McCallister and disregarded Brady. “Don’t you?”
Brady slid his knife from the sheath and pressed it into the hide on Johnny’s back, just enough to pierce the skin, but was halted when the boss spoke.
McCallister was again unsure. What did Madrid think he knew? “If you are so certain, why don’t you tell me?”
Johnny snorted through his nose. “Yeah, sure, but first, ya wanna tell him ta get that knife outta my back? Didn’t think ya knew he had it like he was tryin’ ta stop me from talkin’.”
McCallister looked to Brady; the man shrugged, then stepped away from Johnny and sheathed the knife and McCallister felt the trust in Brady begin to crumble. Johnny leaned against the stall rail to steady himself before he continued.
“Ya know he ain’t gonna do nothin’ ‘cept lie ta ya, Boss! He cain’t be trusted; he’s just a half-breed!”
Johnny sighed. He needed to finish this; he needed McCallister to know what Forest was… and wasn’t. He wasn’t the man McCallister thought he could trust. “Ya know, I was just a little kid when you caused all this shit ta happen, an’ I don’t suppose ya think the word of a kid’d mean anything, huh? But I can tell ya that when a kid sees his mother abused, well, it don’t set right with him. An’ he remembers things. Things like that big scar Brady has on the left side of his back, lower down. It’s kinda big an’ round. Now, that was bad enough, but when he was thrown from that horse and broke the rails of the fence, that broken board gouged into his back an’ made another scar above the first one; it ended up lookin’ like a sun with rays above it. In the cold weather, the scar turned blue. I know that cuz I saw it plenty ‘a times. That enough proof for ya… Mister McCallister?”
Brady was stunned. His mouth opened and closed like a bass lying on the riverbank, gasping its last breath. His eyes went wide with panic, and he backed up a step. The Boss knew he’d used the woman, and he could not deny it.
Brady broke eye contact. He stood wordless, then hung his head. “Boss, I… I didn’t mean no harm! She… she teased behind yer back! She asked me ta come ta her bed…”
“That why ya had ta threatened her ta not say anything to McCallister, Forest? Ya told her you were gonna kill me if she didn’t cooperate an’ let you have your way with her. If she gave herself ta you, ya wouldn’t ‘a had ta keep her under your control by sayin’ you were gonna kill me. No, pendejo, ya raped her any time ya wanted.” Johnny felt his rage boil over but fought for the strength to hide the darkness of the wanderings in his mind. He was Johnny Madrid, for pity’s sake! But even Johnny Madrid had a mother to defend. She deserved to be avenged; the whole Lancer family deserved vengeance. Keep control, keep control. Don’t lose it now!
McCallister stared at his foreman, a stare that threatened to tear Brady apart and leave him for dead. He’d committed the ultimate betrayal, one that could not be forgiven, and Forest knew this was the end of the line working for McCallister. He’d be lucky to get off the ranch in one piece.
“I’ll pack my gear an’ head out.”
“You’ll do what I tell you to do, Brady. You’re not leaving… yet.” McCallister leered as a solution for the problem of Brady Forest ignited in his head. “No, Brady, if you leave here, you’re going to have to earn that right.” Appearing deep in thought, Lane McCallister began to pace around the barn, stretching the silence and Brady’s nerves to unbearable lengths.
“Scott! Wake up!”
“My watch… already?”
“Johnny’s gone. We gotta get down there before he gets hisself killed! Let’s go!”
Instantly awake, Scott let his temper stampede in a wild tide. When he caught up with Johnny, they were going to have it out! Scott was tired of his brother taking problems solely on his shoulders. He had a family now, and there was help… but he never asked for help. Never. If it was the last thing Scott ever did in this life, he had to make Johnny understand he was not alone anymore!
Johnny leaned against the stall rails, wishing McCallister would shut the hell up as he struggled to push the thundering in his skull aside and watched for an opportunity to make a move. How he would manage that was beyond him, tied as he was. However, the problem was solved when McCallister spoke.
He looked at the two men standing before him. One, a once trusted foreman, a confidant, a man he depended on to run his ranch, and now he was nothing more than a thief guilty of deception. Ugly deception.
Finally, McCallister spoke. “Cut him loose, Brady, and hand me his gun.” The order was simple, to the point, and demanded to be obeyed.
Brady’s guts dropped to his feet; he stood unmoving, wide-eyed, and scared. He knew what was going to happen, but he didn’t move.
McCallister turned a cold stare on his former trusted friend. “Don’t make me repeat myself, Brady. Do what I told you!” The voice thundered throughout the barn, causing the horses to whinny and stomp in their stalls.
Brady slowly slid the knife out of the sheath, nervous eyes going from his boss to those of a smirking Johnny Madrid. Little bastard, I shoulda killed him all them years ago! He stepped behind Johnny and cut the rope that bound his hands.
Johnny shook the tangle of rope off his wrists, rubbing them to get the circulation going as quickly as he could. Brady stooped and cut the bindings from around his feet. And once free, Madrid’s temper exploded before Brady knew what hit him.
The well-aimed blow to the jaw sent the older man flying backward to land flat on his back, with Johnny not far behind. Visions of his mother, attacked, beaten, and pleading for his life detonated in vile blasts of searing fire, flashes of living Hell. She’d been held prisoner for nearly eight years by these two bastards!
Brady never had a chance. Johnny kicked the knife out of his hand and fought like a madman, for, indeed, that‘s what he was. His fury ignited the flame of years of pent-up hate and rage, and now, with the knowledge these two had almost destroyed the Lancer family, Johnny would kill the man with his bare hands.
McCallister watched Brady’s pathetic attempt to defend himself. Not a young man anymore, the most he could do was fend off a few of Madrid’s blows. It would be over soon, then he, McCallister, would have the distinct pleasure of blowing a hole through Johnny Madrid’s head.
Johnny grabbed Brady by the front of the shirt, hauled him to his feet, and landed hit after hit to the man’s body. The man was incoherent; he no longer knew… anything. White rage flowed through him as Johnny grabbed Brady with a hand on the man’s chin and the other at the back of the head and jerked it, snapping the man’s neck with a sickening crunch of bone and cartilage. Brady’s lifeless body fell into the straw, the dried stalks of wheat scratched across the open dead eyes.
Johnny stood panting and slowly turned to face the large man of his nightmares — the dreams he’d sequestered in that dark place in his mind, hoping to forget, but they exploded now in vivid memories. They opened like pustules of toxic poison, now disturbed and brought back to life; they assaulted him, erupting one after another, memories of hurt and pain, memories of Maria’s many bruises, and then, the sight of her as death claimed her and left her dark eyes open but unseeing. She was dead… because of him!
Johnny took a step forward, then another. McCallister took a step back… then another. No, he had nothing to fear from the man before him… the little mestizo brat that caused all the trouble years ago. No, he was exhausted; it seemed that Brady had taken delight and trounced on Madrid, after he was tied up, of course. Johnny was favoring his left side, most likely a broken rib. No, I have the gun. I’m safe. Then came the words that froze the blood in his veins.
“You’re a dead man, McCallister.”
Whispered soft. They would have caressed his ears if their meaning wasn’t threatening. Lane gathered his gun-bolstered courage. “You seem to forget, Johnny, I have your gun aimed at you.” The stupid kid wouldn’t do, couldn’t do anything.
Johnny charged McCallister as his finger tightened on the trigger. The gun went off in a deafening explosion.
“Hey, Val, that gunshot came from the barn! Let’s geddown there!” Buck called, knowing that Johnny had found trouble. He took a second to check Scott- the man was six shades paler.
No! Johnny, No! Please be alive…
Circling the grounds and staying in the shadows, they saw the bunkhouse door open, and men began to run out, guns drawn.
Val took the chance and yelled out, “Nothin’ ta worry about, men! There’s a coyote sneakin’ around! That’s all!”
One man called out, “Brady, that you?”
“Yeah!” Val answered, hoping the man wasn’t paying too close attention to the voice.
“Ya better lay off that rot-gut ya been drinking! Yer startin’ ta sound like an old man!” Laughter drifted behind him as he closed the door to the bunkhouse.
Val, Scott, Buck, Sam, and Wade kept in the shadows as they slipped into the barn. And went cold inside.
Val and Buck grabbed Scott to hold him back as they watched Johnny throw punch after punch, landing most of them on the face and body of the large man he fought. Wade and McKay, with guns drawn, kept watch at either side of the door, hoping Madrid would finish what he came to do, so they could get the hell out of there before the boys in the bunkhouse grew a collective brain and overpowered them.
The man, nearly Murdoch’s size and about the same age — they knew him to be Lane McCallister, was tossed mercilessly around as Johnny waged his private war. A man stricken by insanity had the power and strength to beat a much larger opponent. But Johnny Madrid was not insane — well, maybe a little, and was filled with unrestrained rage.
Was it right they held Scott, preventing him from aiding Johnny? Maybe. But they knew Johnny needed retribution. Vengeance, Madrid style, and it looked like he was succeeding.
Scott struggled for all he was worth; he had to get through to Johnny before he murdered the man. “Johnny! This wasn’t what Maria would have wanted, Johnny! Think about it- she sacrificed herself so that you and Murdoch would live! Don’t make her death meaningless! She put you two before herself to save you- don’t waste her sacrifice!”
McCallister suddenly fell, and Johnny was on him before the man’s head bounced on the barn floor.
“You bastard! Why did ya have ta kill her?” Johnny punched the battered face again. All those years, he damned his mother; her faults had gotten them into their predicament, but in truth, she did it to save his life and Murdoch’s. And he exploded in a fury he’d never known before, a black storm, releasing vicious blows upon the demon that caused torment on the entire Lancer family with his greed and lust. Blow after uncontrolled blow, Johnny Madrid wanted to kill this man.
“Why did you kill her, you sonuvabitch?”
There was something on Lucas Hart’s mind. Brady Forest. “Hey boys!” Once he had their attention, Lucas asked one question. “That didn’t sound like Brady ta me. Did it ta any ‘a you?” Fourteen ranch hands charged out of the bunkhouse toward the lights in the barn but slowed, then stopped to listen when they heard voices… and McCallister’s sickening confession.
The moment he dropped the gun, McCallister knew he was done. The attack from Johnny left him to realize that, unless there was help, he would soon be a dead man. “Stop! I’ll tell you… everything! I… I wanted her! Her father said… no to my offer… of marriage! I was… going to buy… that property… the Vallejo property, only… Mur… Murdoch Lancer bought it out from under me! Then he… took Maria from me! I… took her back… so he couldn’t have her… but she was more trouble than… what she was worth to me! It became a… game. For years I… beat her… threatened her with kill… killing you!”
Johnny exploded with vengeance he’d never before felt. It was only when he felt hands pulling him off McCallister’s prone body that he knew that help had arrived. Help he didn’t want; help that would prevent him from killing the bastard that murdered Maria. Scott threw Val’s and Buck’s arms from him and went to his brother’s side, narrowly missing a punch to the face, and he noted the smear of blood from the bullet wound that creased Johnny’s side when McCallister fired Johnny’s gun.
Sam and Wade spaced themselves on either side of the door, braced for the ranch hand’s arrival. No doubt they heard something more than one gunshot.
Lane McCallister lay panting in the straw, wondering what would happen. He’d beaten Maria to death, and now Johnny knew the truth. He had nothing more to lose.
“Johnny, come on, it’s over now. Let’s get this wound tended, brother.” Scott stood and helped Johnny to his feet. He stopped, seeing for the first time Brady Forest’s dead body stretched out on the floor. Why hadn’t he gotten there earlier? Johnny was forced to kill again, and somehow, Scott knew McCallister was at the bottom of it.
“He… he was in on it, too. He… Mama…” Johnny couldn’t say anymore. Scott pulled him close.
McCallister’s fingers touched the knife that Brady dropped in the straw. Slowly, he wrapped his fingers around it as Johnny began to walk away. What could he hope to achieve now that there was backup for Maria’s half-breed son? He didn’t know, but he wasn’t giving in. He maneuvered the knife into his hand, then shifted his body and threw the blade in a careless launch. It spun in a crazy circle before it dropped through the air and embedded itself into the flesh of Johnny’s thigh, and he fell. Scott’s hand went to his holster, drew his Colt as he turned, and pulled the trigger. McCallister, minus an eye, settled onto the floor as his men charged through the door.
Sam and Wade, guns out and ready, turned the tide. Val was quick to defend their actions, identifying himself as sheriff. “You heard what he said! An’ there’s witnesses that know what happened. So, you all jus’ go back ta the bunkhouse an’ leave us. We’ll be outta here soon’s we get this ‘un ready ta travel!” Val nodded to Johnny, lying on the floor; a howl rent the air as Buck pulled the knife from Johnny’s leg.
Lucas Hart looked around. McCallister was dead, so was Brady. “What’re we s’ppose ta do? What happens ta Mr. McCallister’s ranch?”
“He got any kin?”
Lucas shook his head.
Val smiled. “You boys want a ranch? Cuz it looks ta me that ya got one now.” Val hesitated, then asked, “You boys seen what happened; ya heard McCallister’s confession — he was aimin’ ta kill him with his back turned,” he nodded again toward Johnny. He hoped there weren’t many whose loyalty would override right and wrong. Val had a belly full of wrong as he learned what Lane McCallister had done to the Lancer Family.
“Johnny, you need to rest. I think we should head into Safford for a few days. If there’s a doctor there, he can see to your leg, but you’re worn out, and you need to be off your feet.”
Johnny gritted his teeth, suffering through the ministrations as Val stitched the wound closed, and Scott wrapped the bandage around his thigh and pulled it tight. The ministrations continued to the bullet crease in Johnny’s side and the concussion he suffered, compliments of the blow to his head when Brady ambushed him from behind.
“Ahh!” he moaned.
“Sorry, brother.”
“ ‘ M fine. An’ we ain’t stayin’ in Safford. McCallister’s bound ta have friends there. Better if we put all the miles we can between us and town. We need ta get goin’.”
“I gotta agree with Johnny, Scott. We got lucky getting’ away without trouble from those ranch hands, but that don’t mean the good citizens of Safford’d let us leave town.”
Scott knew Val was right. Folks made their own laws when there were no officials, and the name of Madrid would make locals… nervous at best.
Buck, Sam, and Wade had not heard the entire story until McCallister confessed to the crimes he committed against the Lancer family, particularly against Maria and Johnny. What little they did know or suspected, added to the horrific account they heard from McCallister’s own mouth, completed the puzzle. After what happened at McCallister’s ranch, they decided they would ride along with Johnny, Scott, and Val to make sure they were safe from potential retaliation.
“Since Johnny can’t seem ta stay out of trouble for more’n a day, I guess we’ll ride with ya for a spell.” Buck wanted to lighten the mood; however, the levity was brief as he watched his amigo manage the pain, and it wasn’t all physical pain. He’d just avenged the atrocities that he and Maria were forced into for over seven long years. Johnny’s heart and mind needed to heal, as well as his body.
The six men mounted their horses and cut northwest, away from Lane McCallister’s ranch. And hopefully, left the nightmares behind them.
A spark ignited in Scott’s brain, and it wouldn’t let go. A thought stewed and simmered and finally boiled over and took control of him. After two days of travel, Scott pulled Val to the side to talk; he would need help to complete his task.
The night was clear but chilly; banter around the fire was kept soft out of respect for Johnny. He was not the Johnny of weeks before as he floundered in the spinning eddy of guilt, sucking him into a black void for thinking badly of Maria, and at the same time, profound love for her now he knew of her sacrifices for him and Murdoch. The answers he found to the painful and personal turmoil rendered him unable to think of anything other than her. It pulled him into a strange place, a foreign place; he tried to shake it loose and push it away. Johnny Madrid couldn’t control everything.
Buck, with hot coffee in hand, sat by Johnny’s side; he tossed a piece of wood into the fire and glanced sideways, getting a read on his amigo’s face. “Ya alright, Johnny?”
He didn’t think he deserved their concern, but that’s what family did, he thought. And they were family. Shrugging, Johnny looked up into the face that had seen him at his best and now, his worst. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be glad ta get home and put this behind me.” But he knew it would be a while before that would happen. The truth could be as difficult to take as believing lies, and Johnny Madrid Lancer knew that for a fact.
“I guess me, Sam, and Tom are gonna take off tomorrow. We ain’t finished helpin’ Jack an’ Annie Kendrick; besides, Annie promised us an apple pie!”
Johnny couldn’t help but chuckle. And he knew that one of Annie’s pies was worth the trip back to the ranch. “I didn’t mean for ya come with me; this wasn’t a job…”
“It was for you, amigo. How many times have you pulled our bacon outta the fire? It’s what brothers do; you know that as well as anyone. An’ speakin’ ‘a brothers, I gotta tell ya that Scott, well, he’s a helluva good man, an’ I’m glad that ya finally found yer family, Johnny.”
And now the smile reached Johnny’s eyes. “Thanks, Buck, for everything. I kinda feel like ya wasted your time comin’ with me.”
“Hell, Johnny, we didn’t do much at all. But we had ta come with ya. God knows ya don’t watch out for yourself, so we just thought ta tag along. We were there for ‘just in case’! But McCallister’s men weren’t kickin’ up a fuss once they saw him try ta kill you. Hey, how’s that leg? An’ yer head… yer side, too? Ya doin’ alright?” Justification was offered, and Johnny seemed to accept it even if he didn’t agree, but it was over now, and it was time to move on.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Ya know ya already said that, don’t cha?”
“Hey, don’t you boys run outta here without saying somethin’ in the mornin’.” Why did he say that? Johnny hated goodbyes, as did they.
They spent a quiet last night together in light conversation. There were no questions asked of Johnny and he appreciated the consideration. He wasn’t ready to talk about what happened or why it happened. The emotion was raw as he tried to process what his mother had done for him and Murdoch.
Under the sliver of yellow moon high in the sky and the lonely howl from a coyote, the men crawled under their blankets and slipped into the dark, restful place that eluded them too often, but not tonight.
When Johnny woke in the morning, the only one with him was Val.
“Don’t worry about Scott, Johnny. He left with the boys…”
“Where’d he go, Val?” Johnny sensed something very wrong and would not let it drop.
“Aww, you know your brother’s sense of right an’ wrong. He wanted ta report what happened to the nearest law. He’s travelin’ with the boys up ta Oak Ridge ta clear it with the sheriff there. He’ll be goin’ home after he does that. Ol’ Scott’s lookin’ out for ya; he said he’d handle it, an’ I hafta agree with him; he has a way with words an’ there won’t be no problem. Let’s you an’ me saddle up an’ go home, amigo.”
He wanted to argue; it started to build into a full-blown Madrid-style altercation, but suddenly, he was tired, so tired. Val was right. Boston could handle what needed doin’. Exhaustion and pain from the knife wound in his leg washed over him; he began to question himself, something Madrid had never done before, but then, Johnny Madrid Lancer had discovered truths he’d never known before; he felt completely drained.
Scott was with three of his most trusted amigos. He would be alright, Johnny decided. He would go with Val — back home — to Lancer.
But Scott did not talk with any law. He, Buck Colby, Sam Wade, and Tom McKay rode south. There was something that needed their attention.
How many times would he read the fading words on the paper? Each time he agonized over the letter, Murdoch hoped the words would change and say something different, something that wouldn’t tear his heart to pieces. It was easier thinking Maria had left of her own accord… but she had not. And she suffered thinking Murdoch would get the letter and come for her. He would find Johnny and come to take them home. She waited… and waited. And he did not come.
His eyes read the words yet again — the same words he’d read a dozen times since this ordeal began. And Murdoch felt hot tears sear his face.
My Beloved,
As strength fails me, I write this letter hoping that it will find its way into your hands. Oh, those warm, strong hands that once held me, pulled me into your arms, kept me safe from harm, protected me, loved me. The same hands that held our gift from God — our precious Johnny!
I did not leave you by my own accord. I awoke to Johnny crying and went to him. As I entered the nursery, there was a man I did not know standing behind the door — he forced me to go with him. He said to stop our Niño’s cries of fear, and I had no choice but to take him with me, lest he wake you. This man said he would kill you if you came after us. I had to comply. I could not bear to see you die. I tried to leave Johnny with you, knowing there was great risk to him if I brought him with me, but it was not to be. His cries stopped only when I held him; he was afraid of the strange man. We were rushed out of the hacienda with only the clothes we wore and a few blankets.
My dearest husband, I did not want to write that letter — but I was forced to take pen in hand and tell you our marriage was a mistake. Johnny’s life was at stake. I cannot banish the image of our son, held by our captor as he put his knife to Johnny’s throat, telling me to write words that were not true. Forgive me, Murdoch, but I would do so again if forced to keep our son safe!
My attempts to escape all failed. Each time was worse than the last. We were beaten and threatened. As our son grew, I was forced to lie to Johnny, tell him you had thrown us out and didn’t want us. He would ask for you, making the man behind the kidnapping angry. He hit Johnny when Johnny called for you and told him you didn’t want a mestizo for a son. I couldn’t bear that! I had to tell him that his Papi didn’t want him anymore, I had to make him hate you. It broke my heart to do it, but it was the only way to make him stop asking for you. I am so sorry, Murdoch, I didn’t want to hurt you, but I had to keep Johnny alive, and telling him lies was the only way I could keep him safe!
I did not leave you, my love! But finding our home empty the next morning, what else could you have thought? I did not know who this man was that invaded our home, only that he was working for someone — a man I learned later, Lane McCallister, paid him to take me away, but that is not my only worry. Murdoch, our Johnny has run away! He is alone; how can he survive? Please, my beloved, find our son! Take him back to Lancer where he belongs – where he has always belonged. I fear for his life.
Never doubt that I love you. You and Johnny are my heart, my life.
I’ll wait for you, Querido.
Maria
It had not been Maria’s desire to run from him, and she waited for Murdoch to come to her, to take her and Johnny back to Lancer, but he did not.
How much more could he take? He failed his wife, and he failed Johnny! Murdoch was gripped in a festering open wound of self-recrimination. All those years wasted damning his wife for a crime she had not committed. Blaming her for taking Johnny, subsequently setting him on the volatile and deadly path to becoming Johnny Madrid, and to find now that he was mistaken! How would he live with this knowledge? What would he tell Johnny? And Murdoch buried his face in his hands and wept.
Val Crawford kept the travel to a slow pace; he resisted Johnny’s efforts to keep moving, insisting they take frequent rests and early camps. The wound to Johnny’s leg was troublesome, causing pain that Johnny denied having and would not admit to needing rest. Val did his best as he watched his amigo deal with the demons of the past. There was little talk between them, and Val let Johnny take control of any conversation they had, but deep in Val’s heart, he, too, felt the tragedy forced upon the Lancer family. If McCallister wasn’t already dead, Val knew he would have to do something about that.
All Val could do now was to get Johnny home to heal. The leg would be alright — it was Johnny’s heart and soul he fretted over.
They stood on the hill overlooking Lancer, their horses anxious to be back, knowing sweet hay and treats of apples and carrots awaited them. Johnny sighed, glad to finally be home — home to come to terms with all that happened. Now, the family had to find a way to cope with what they learned. They had to forgive themselves and deal with their guilt.
The front door opened to reveal Murdoch looking older than he did before Johnny left Lancer. Damn! How long had he been gone? Maria came out of the hacienda, chattering and chastising in rapid-fire Spanish. Johnny stepped from the saddle as his father came forward. In an uncharacteristic move and oblivious of Val’s presence, Murdoch wrapped his arms around Johnny’s shoulders and held him tight, both finding surprising comfort in the intimate gesture.
Finally, they broke apart; Murdoch was suspicious of Scott’s absence. Val eased the tension with his explanation.
“He’s fine, Mr. Lancer. He’s with Buck an’ the boys, so he’s in good hands. I’ll let Johnny explain. Gotta get back ta town. See ya, amigo!” He touched the brim of his hat in a two-fingered salute.
Johnny turned to Val, his face unreadable, but his eyes said all that needed to be said. “Gracias, amigo.”
Val’s voice was soft as the words came from his heart. “Cualquier cosa por mi hermano…” (Anything for my brother).
The sentiment took Johnny by surprise; he fought to hide the emotion before the sentiment betrayed him, but he let a smile slide into place. It wasn’t like Val to say something like that, but this had not been a normal circumstance.
Val turned his horse and rode out, leaving Johnny and Murdoch to talk. He hoped it would be a healing talk… they both needed it.
“It’s fine, Murdoch, let it be. Scott an’ Val took care of it right away, an’ it hasn’t given me any trouble. I’m fine,” Johnny insisted.
“It’s my prerogative to worry! I’m sending for Sam!” Without any more discussion, Murdoch sent a rider to town despite anything Johnny said. “You’ve had a rough time of it, son; let me act like a caring father!” Murdoch said, and not entirely in jest.
Defeated, Johnny limped to the couch, flung himself against comfortable cushions, and closed his eyes. Maria huffed as she tugged Johnny’s boot off and elevated Johnny’s leg onto a pillow, then inspected the cut covered in thick, brown-black hair.
She couldn’t resist her comment that Johnny was like the ragdoll — held together with stitches!
“Thanks, Mamacita,” he mumbled as she touched his cheek.
“Me preocupa, Juanito,” (I worry, Johnny), she stated, and he smiled, appreciating her concern.
“Johnny, tell me where Scott went and what happened.”
Johnny bowed his head, then nodded. “The short of it is, Murdoch, we found Lane McCallister. He tried to knife me in the back, an’… Scott killed him. There’s no law down there, an’ Scott, bein’ your sensible son,” Johnny stopped to offer his father a tiny grin, “wanted ta make an official report about what happened. So, Buck an’ the boys went with him ta find the nearest law. He’ll be fine if he’s with them. They’ll see to it he gets home alright.”
There was more… much more, Murdoch knew, but it would have to wait. Johnny was exhausted and wasn’t up for any more questioning; the blue eyes were losing their focus, and Murdoch watched his son as he drifted into sleep. Sam would be here soon enough, and perhaps after dinner, he would find out all that Johnny had learned. He had waited this long for Johnny to come home, a few more hours shouldn’t be a problem… but it was.
Before long, Sam barged through the front door, forgoing any pleasantries. Johnny was hurt again and he had no information of how serious it was. But he stopped his questioning upon seeing his patient stretched out on the couch, interrupted from a deep sleep by his intrusion. Murdoch had confided in Sam about Maria’s long-overdue letter, and he softened his tones as he came into the great room. “What have you done now, young man?”
Johnny sagged back onto the cushions and closed his eyes. “It ain’t nothing, Sam. Almost healed already. Sorry ta waste your time.”
Sam settled next to Johnny and unbuttoned the calzoneras to judge for himself. Johnny had made light of a serious situation in the past, and Sam was not about to take his word for it now. The wound had been stitched and kept clean, easing Sam’s worries about infection and traveling the many miles from Mexico to California.
The sage doctor took in Johnny’s complexion. It appeared normal. He examined the head wound and the stitched crease on Johnny’s side, deeming everything was as well as it could be. The young man was exhausted, but Sam knew the cause. He wondered how Johnny was coping. Not knowing any details, he was not foolish enough to think there wouldn’t be any grief, guilt, or trauma.
“You did a good job taking care of these injuries, Johnny,” Sam softly commented.
Johnny sighed as he hovered between consciousness and sleep, “Scott an’ Val…” he murmured.
“You know you would rest better in bed instead of here on the couch, don’t you?”
“’ M fine, Sam… don’t fuss.” The words barely left his mouth as sleep claimed him and pulled him gently under. The last thing he was aware of was the scent of roses; a tiny smile twitched the corner of his mouth.
Sam motioned to Murdoch, and the two men left for the privacy of the kitchen.
“Do you know what happened to them, Murdoch?” Sam asked as Maria placed coffee on the table and left the kitchen.
“Not much, but they did find Lane McCallister. It ended when the man tried to kill Johnny while his back was turned, and Scott shot him. But that’s about all I know. Val brought Johnny home but left almost immediately. He knew we would need to discuss what happened, but Johnny was exhausted and fell asleep before he could say much.”
A frown wrinkled Sam’s brow. “Where’s Scott? Couldn’t he tell you what happened?”
Murdoch took a hesitant breath. “Scott isn’t home yet. Val said after he killed McCallister, he felt he needed to report the incident to the nearest sheriff. He and the other three did that while Val brought Johnny home.”
Sam’s frown smoothed out a tad but didn’t leave entirely. Well, that does sound like something Scott would do.
“I have to say I am concerned with him doing that, but with Johnny’s friends with him, I have to be content that he will be alright. I’ve learned to trust those boys after the fiasco with Joe Truesdale last year. If not for them, I don’t think Johnny would have made it back alive after Joe’s daughter-in-law turned him over to the Rurales.”
“Well, I guess we have to have faith that Scott will make it back home safe.” He drank the last of his coffee, thanked Murdoch, and with a final word for Johnny to rest, take it easy, and not do anything he shouldn’t, Sam Jenkins left for town.
Murdoch took his place next to the fire and watched Johnny sleep.
He heard himself sigh, then he opened his eyes. Home. He was back at Lancer, sleeping on the couch; a fire was burning, and he felt warm and rested. As he sat up, he saw Murdoch sitting in the chair, staring into the flames.
“We gonna stay here all night, ol’ man?” Johnny whispered as Murdoch turned toward him.
“Johnny, how do you feel after a little sleep?”
“Still tired, but better. Could use a bath, though,” he stated, not entirely joking.
“Yes, I imagine a nice long soak in a tub of hot water will feel good. But, if you don’t mind, son, can we talk first? Or are you too tired?”
Johnny knew it wasn’t fair to keep Murdoch waiting. So, they would have the talk they both needed.
“Yeah, sure, Murdoch, we can talk.”
He came to sit next to Johnny, needing the closeness — needing his son, and waited for Johnny to begin.
He began when they made contact with Father Torres. “It was hard ta talk about Mama. She didn’t deserve any of what happened to her, an’ I know I didn’t make Father Torres too happy with me, but I wasn’t gonna let him defend what Mendoza did ta her. Murdoch, he showed me her grave…”
Johnny’s voice hitched, and Murdoch placed a warm hand on his shoulder, urging him to continue. “He told me he wasn’t there until a few years later, after everything happened, but said there was an old man who remembered most of the people that lived around there. I went ta see him. The old man remembered us, Murdoch. From all those years ago, he remembered us.” Johnny turned to Murdoch, then, “an’ he remembered McCallister comin’ after us. They all knew he beat her, but she managed ta get us away; I don’t know where we were livin’, where McCallister kept us, but she got ta Cananea an’ went ta the church. Mendoza… hell, for all I know, he coulda told McCallister we were there, anyway, McCallister found us.”
Murdoch was confused. “Why didn’t she try to come home?”
“Maybe she didn’t know where we were. She could read, but McCallister kept us prisoners… Father Torres said she tried escaping more than once an’ every time that bastard McCallister caught her, us, and refused ta let us go. I remember seein’ her bruised face every time it happened. Mexico was familiar. She had ta start somewhere, but he caught us. Murdoch, I left her… I left her when he…” Johnny closed his eyes, the ugly visions racing through his mind again as the past reared up and, with evil vengeance, stuck out and left Johnny breathless.
Murdoch pulled Johnny into his arms. “It’s alright, Johnny. It’s alright,” he crooned.
“How can it be alright, Murdoch? I left her!”
“Johnny, you were a child! You weren’t able to care for the two of you! Don’t be so hard on yourself, son!”
“But… I left her… They put me into an orphanage, an’ I ran away, but she was alive when I ran. When I came back, she was… dead. Why didn’t I stay with her? It’s rippin’ me apart inside!” Johnny agonized as the nightmare tore through him once again.
Murdoch held him tight; he held Johnny until the tremors subsided and Johnny gained a modicum of composure. “I won’t even assume to guess what you were put through, Johnny, but I can tell you now that your mother did everything in her power to protect the both of us. You read her letter; she was afraid for us; she wanted to protect us, even though she knew she would suffer, she made the ultimate sacrifice. She saved our lives, Johnny.”
Murdoch contemplated his son; the old hurts boiled to the surface in violent waves and left Johnny’s emotions brawling between believing what Maria told him as a child, that Murdoch didn’t want them, and her deathbed confession of the kidnapping. And the father ached for the child of years ago and the man beside him now.
“Murdoch, why couldn’t I remember it? It wasn’t until I saw McCallister that I remembered him and… what he did ta us. You’d think that’s somethin’ I wouldn’ta forgot…”
“Johnny, you were so young — I’ve heard of people blocking things out of their minds, a kind of self-protection that happens during a traumatic situation. It’s a normal reaction, son.” Could he convince Johnny, make him see he wasn’t to blame?
Johnny snorted. “I can protect me, but I couldn’t help Mama…” The guilt was eating him alive.
“Johnny, listen to me and take these words to heart — There was nothing you could have done for her; son, you were only ten! How could you have protected her from McCallister?”
“I coulda shot him…”
What more could Murdoch say? Johnny was taking the responsibility solely upon his shoulders. Murdoch had to take the conversation in a different direction. Would Johnny allow himself to talk about the good, think about the beautiful heart and soul of his mother?
“We were lucky to have her, son. She was a devoted wife and mother. She loved us with all her heart.” He reached into his shirt pocket and brought out a small object held in his fingers. “I want you to have this, Johnny. It’s her wedding ring. I found it on the floor of your nursery the night you two were taken.”
Murdoch nudged Johnny’s hand to lay the tiny gold band in his palm. The gold caught the firelight, seeming to come alive in Johnny’s hand.
Murdoch watched as Johnny fell into silence. “Why don’t we finish this talk later, son? You’re worn out.” Fatigue had its part in dragging Johnny down into despair.
Over the course of the next few days, Johnny divulged more of the happenings, filling Murdoch in on the events of the encounter with Lane McCallister.
“Murdoch, right before he died, McCallister confessed to wanting this property — the Vallejo family wouldn’t sell it to him. He said that you bought it out from under him.”
Murdoch frowned. He had no recollection of anyone else interested in the property. He and Catherine purchased the land and began to build what was now Lancer. No other buyer was mentioned.
“But, that ain’t all, Murdoch,” Johnny paused, making sure he had Murdoch’s full attention. “He wanted Mama. He asked her father to marry her, an’ my abuelo said no, so that made twice that you got what he wanted. You beat him twice an’ didn’t even know it, so I guess he decided ta even up the score and just take her.”
Murdoch sat stunned by the revelation. Twice he’d taken what McCallister wanted and ended up paying a horrible price. It was over, and nothing could be done about it now, but it did nothing to lessen the pain of knowing.
Murdoch felt the violation of a man who had been in his house and took his wife and son! And he never knew it! He expressed his horror and embarrassment to Johnny. He couldn’t keep his family safe in their own home…
“Hell, Murdoch, it ain’t that hard ta do. Besides, ya weren’t expectin’ any trouble; nothing was goin’ on ta make ya think ya needed ta take precautions. Ya can’t blame yourself for that. Take it from Johnny Madrid, there was nothin’ ya coulda done, Murdoch.”
It was two weeks later when the wagon came over the hill and up to the hacienda. As it came closer, they identified Scott as the driver. Murdoch and Johnny left the great room and met him as he pulled the team to a halt by the front door.
“Scott! Welcome home, son! Did you straighten things out with the law?” Murdoch asked, relieved that his son appeared to be well with no injuries.
Taken aback, Scott then remembered what he asked Val to tell Johnny about his absence out on the trail. “Thank you, Murdoch. Oh, yes, everything is taken care of.” He looked at Johnny, noticing only a slight limp. “I see you’re doing better, Johnny. Are you alright?”
No, he wasn’t alright… but he would be. “Yeah, I’m fine, Boston. What’d ya got in the wagon?” Johnny asked as he leaned on the wooden rails. A tarp covered the load in the bed, sheltering something underneath.
Scott became unsure and hesitated but knew he had to get it said. “I’d like a word with the two of you if you don’t mind,” Scott spoke softly, beginning with an uncharacteristic “Um, I ah…”, the tone put Johnny on alert. What had Scott done, and what was under the tarp?
“I want to explain my absence for the last few weeks. I…” He was suddenly nervous, not knowing what to expect, but he couldn’t delay any longer. Murdoch and Johnny deserved better. “Johnny, Murdoch, I went back to Cananea. I brought Maria back to be buried here at Lancer. She never wanted to leave here, so I… brought her back.” His voice grew softer the longer he talked, not knowing what their responses would be.
There was silence. Until Johnny vaulted over the side of the wagon and pulled the tarp away to reveal the steel coffin. It was plain in design, no frills, but would withstand many decades, far longer than one made of wood. Maria deserved that protection.
Murdoch stood stunned. Had he heard correctly? Did Scott say that he brought Maria home? The words stuck in his throat, and his eyes filled with tears. What happened was a tragedy and though a long time in coming, she was finally home!
“I stopped in San Diego and… had her transferred into this coffin.” Scott remembered the undertaker’s description of the body, “…having been buried in the dry climate of Mexico, the remains were mummified, making it easier to move into the new coffin…”, but for the time being, he kept that part to himself. He would explain to them later when they were ready to talk more about it and accept the process as it was told to Scott.
“A headstone will arrive when the stonecutter is finished. I had him leave a place so we could have her birthdate carved on it and a… rose. I don’t know why, but when I think of Maria, I think of roses…” Why he thought that Scott couldn’t say.
Murdoch was speechless. He cleared the mist from his eyes and pulled Scott into his bear-like arms. It seemed he was doing that a lot lately with his sons… and it felt good, more than good — it was heaven! It was what he had dreamed about for years. Why had he waited so long to carry out the act?
“Roses were her favorite flower. Scott, I don’t… Thank you, son! Thank you! I never thought Maria would ever be back on Lancer land. Thank you!”
Scott returned the unexpected hug and relished in it. Years of ‘Garrett reserve’ slipped away, and in its wake, Lancer family emotions took its place.
Johnny kneeled in the wagon, his heart hammered in his chest, not believing, yet believing Scott’s words, and stared at the coffin. His mother was home. He laid his hand on the smooth surface of the vault as if touching her cheek. He would never again feel her smooth skin, but he felt her presence with him now and it was as he remembered from a small boy. Mama, you’re home! Forever and always!
The headstone wouldn’t arrive for several weeks, but Murdoch and Johnny didn’t want to wait to hold a memorial service. The priest from Morro Coyo, Father Montero, was summoned to perform the service at the Lancer’s request. Val Crawford, Aggie Conway, and Charlie and Molly Poe were the only guests in attendance as they paid their deepest respects to the family, then left them to their privacy and grief.
The return of Maria’s body hit Aggie Conway particularly hard; she and Maria had become close in the two years that Maria was at Lancer. They had both married older men; both held an important role in the running of the ranch households and had become fast friends. Aggie and her then-husband, Henry, had been the first visitors when Johnny was born, showering him with attention and affection, and were there to praise his first steps and words.
Aggie was heartbroken when Murdoch woke to find Maria and Johnny gone. She always thought there was more to the story than Maria leaving on her own. Why would she do that? Aggie had talked to Murdoch but was unsuccessful in convincing him otherwise. Maria was gone; she left her wedding ring on the floor like a slap in the face and took Johnny, knowing it would break Murdoch’s heart. The subsequent letter, stating Maria acknowledged their marriage was a mistake, was proof enough for Murdoch. Aggie didn’t agree, and she tried reasoning with Murdoch, but he didn’t listen. Was it embarrassment he felt? They had had no trouble between them. It was a bitter pill for Murdoch to swallow.
Aggie couldn’t stop the flow of tears, no matter how hard she tried. I have to be strong, she thought, knowing that Murdoch and Johnny needed her support, but it crumbled away, and she felt Johnny’s arm come around her shoulder to offer comfort. He stared straight ahead, his eyes never leaving the coffin as it was lowered into the ground. She wrapped her arm around his waist, then glanced at Murdoch. Aggie had never seen him look so lost. She waited until she was at home, safe from other’s eyes, and she wept uncontrollably.
The service was brief; after Father Montero blessed the grave, he departed but not before assuring himself there was nothing more he could do and made the offer of comfort or guidance available should they need him. Not for confession but for healing conversation of thoughts and memories. Sometimes, talking with friends helped in the grief process, and Father Montero was just that, a friend. He was one of the few in the priesthood whom Johnny trusted.
Molly Poe left two pies for the family, not that they would go hungry, but that was what Molly did. Food was love, and she knew that Johnny loved her peach pie.
Soon, the Lancers were alone. Everything happened quickly after Scott returned with Maria’s remains. They established the Lancer Family cemetery in a private and beautiful place not far from the hacienda. It was a place where Maria liked to come and enjoy peace and tranquility while listening to the soft calls of songbirds and the cheery trickle of water running over rocks on its way to fill the lake. Murdoch remembered the many hours she sat on a blanket nursing baby Johnny as a gentle breeze rustled through his thick dark hair, swaying the soft curls in a merry dance on the sweet head. The memory brought tears to his eyes; she was the picture of contentment, and Murdoch knew Heaven. But not for long.
The evening was warm for the time of year. The night birds began their serenade, joined by the chirp of crickets and tree frogs. The sun had set but left a stain of rich yellow and orange behind the mountains as they stood guarding all that was Lancer.
Scott stood at the adobe wall that encircled the patio. He breathed deep, feeling a gentleness settle around him. An aura of calm, a tenderness he’d never felt before. He wondered if that was anything like a mother’s touch. And he smiled and spoke to the breeze of what was in his heart.
“I wish I could have known you, Maria. Murdoch and Johnny have begun to open up and talk, and it’s good to hear them relate their memories of you. I would have liked to have been a part of it all, to be there and share with them memories I can only imagine. And I can hope that had I been there with you, you would have liked me and perhaps thought of me as your son. I think we would have made one heck of a family.”
Johnny halted, not wanting to interrupt Scott’s private conversation, but when the words stopped, he came forward and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with one of the three men he admired most in this world. His heart nearly burst through his chest as he listened to Scott’s private words, words to Maria, the woman who had been tragically misunderstood. The sigh was deep and cleansing; it allowed the thoughts in his mind a clear path to voice what was in his heart.
“Scott, I wanna ta thank you for bringin’ her home. There’s no way for you ta know what it means ta me. She didn’t deserve what happened ta her. It’s still hard ta believe she said all them things ta make me think Murdoch didn’t want us. Why did I believe that? How could I have been so wrong about her?”
“Johnny, a child will believe what his mother tells him, no matter what it is. And she had to convince you — she had to make you believe that Murdoch didn’t want you so you wouldn’t ask about him; neither one of you would have come out of it alive if she hadn’t done that. It was her only way of saving you, brother. She did a good job of keeping you alive, and I’ll be forever grateful to her for doing it.”
Johnny didn’t speak — he couldn’t at that moment, but he nodded at his brother’s words. Could he understand why she did what she did? Yes, but could he forgive himself now that he knew the truth? He had cursed her, thinking it was her bad decisions that put them on the path of poverty.
He sat cross-legged in the grass and stared at the fresh earth now exposed to the elements. How could he ever forgive himself for thinking the worst of his mother while she suffered in silence, trying her best to protect him from harm? The tragic existence forced upon his mother filled his every thought. Knowing the truth of what happened was a constant ache, a constant nightmare, but could he have changed anything and kept her safe? He was a child, he didn’t know, but the guilt of believing the lies she told to keep him safe from McCallister and Forest was suffocating, and that knowledge didn’t make it easier for him now. Either way, he was locked in a deep, black void, a spinning circle with no beginning, no end, only dizzying uncertainty. I shoulda been able ta do somethin’… And he found no clear answer.
But things were slowly beginning to change. With the passing of the last several weeks, he was seeing things differently. It was minimal at first, and though he continued to flounder with the uncertainty, now when he saw her face in his mind, her beauty, even covered with bruises and battered, he saw her love blaze through, overpowering the discolored and bloodied skin, and he remembered clearly the purity of her love for him, for them. She would forever and always be the rose in the garden, kissed with rain and showered in sunlight.
A breeze rustled the leaves above him, a soft whisper, calming, comforting. Was she trying to tell him something? Johnny remembered her holding him when he awoke from a bad dream. She hummed softly, petted his hair, and hugged him to her breast. And she whispered, “Te amo, hijo mio…”. Johnny’s throat tightened at the remembrance.
And then, he wasn’t alone. A whisper from the present, a calming, comforting tone, offered support from a father for his son.
“I thought I might find you up here,” Murdoch murmured as he stood, studying his son; the way Johnny leaned forward with elbows on his knees. He could envision Maria reaching up to place her soft hands on their son’s face to look into the deep blue pools…
“Hey, Murdoch,” Johnny whispered. “Why don’t ya join me?” he said as he half turned at the voice behind him.
Knowing it was a mistake to sit on the ground, Murdoch disregarded his better sense and lowered himself to sit beside his son. They sat in silence, taking comfort in their company, when finally, Johnny spoke.
“I can’t believe she suffered for all those years, takin’ that abuse… Murdoch, if Scott hadn’t ‘a shot McCallister, I would have… She didn’t deserve what happened ta her.”
It was over, but Murdoch wondered how they would get past the trauma, the ugly truths of what had happened to their family, and mostly how Maria suffered.
“Johnny, what we have to focus on now is what we have. We can’t change anything…”
Johnny huffed. “Yeah; I been tryin’ ta think of what I coulda done different — somethin’ that woulda helped her… but I can’t come with anything.”
“Son, you were too young! Don’t put that responsibility on yourself! There wasn’t anything you could have done.” At Johnny’s silence, Murdoch continued. “She left us with the greatest gift that life has to offer. Her love, Johnny. We have to push aside our guilt — it does none of us any good. She did what she had to do out of love for us. She sacrificed everything for us. It took me a while to come to terms with it, but after much thought, contemplation, and soul-searching, that’s what I believe. And I love her more now than I ever loved her!” His throat tightened, and he was not able to say more. But what was left to say?
Johnny’s heart was shattered by the tragedy of what happened and, at the same time, warmed by the power of her love for them. He bowed his head, then leaned to his left and nudged Murdoch’s shoulder. “Gracias, Papi,” he whispered.
Murdoch fought desperately to keep the sob from escaping. Struggling to keep control, he took a deep breath as he looked over the vast land of Lancer from their spot on the hillside.
“Well, the way I see it, there’s one more problem we need to address.”
Without taking his eyes from his mother’s grave, Johnny frowned, not knowing where his father was going with the statement. “Yeah? What’s that?”
Murdoch smiled. “How do I get up off the ground? My back is killing me!”
Johnny turned to stare at his father, then the dazzling Johnny Madrid Lancer smile broke out across the handsome face, and laughter bubbled forth. He stood and extended his hand.
“Lean on me, ol’ man, lean on me!”
Murdoch grabbed his hand, and Johnny helped him up; the grip was strong, a natural touch — neither wanted to let go. They took a last look at the grave for the evening before turning toward the hacienda. It was hard to think of the horrendous existence Maria suffered, and it would take time to process, time to come to terms with all that happened. Years of wondering were put to rest; their journey to healing had begun. They were together, they found the answers to the questions that haunted them for years, and Maria was back on Lancer land.
“Hey Murdoch, what’d ya think about askin’ T’resa ta plant some roses up here?” Johnny asked as they walked away from the beautiful spot.
His breath caught in his throat, and he hesitated before he spoke. “Maria would have loved it, Johnny. I think it’s good idea, son, she would have loved it. Maria would have been Teresa’s stepmother, too, you know.”
Johnny smiled. “Yeah, that woulda been somethin’, huh? Raisin’ us rowdies as a family… Sounds kinda nice, doesn’t it?”
“It surely does, Johnny! It surely does!”
January 2024
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This is a beautiful tale of restoring Maria’s memory in an extremely heartfelt and in a truly positive light. I cried the whole way through reading it until the end but I am glad you wrote it because tears of joy for such a happy and wonderful ending to have Maria rest in peace on Lancer land forever. Scott is such a remarkable man to do this for his brother and father as well as being the one to kill the evil nemesis who had haunted and hurt Johnny as a child as well as hurt, beaten, raped, and eventually killed Maria, leaving Murdoch to think he was at fault. However, Maria loved Murdoch and Johnny by sacrificing
her life so they could reunite as a family. What a spectacular and special story!
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Hi, Carol – Thank you for your kind words for ‘Answers’. This story has been tickling my brain for several years, and finally made connections with my lazy muse. In The High Riders episode of Lancer, we heard that Maria left with another man and that she abandoned Murdoch, taking baby Johnny with her, making it so easy to vilify her in fan fiction. But what would have happened if Maria left under different circumstances? And this story is the result of how things might have progressed. I wanted to write a special role for Scott to play in bringing the story full circle. For some reason, it just seemed… right.
Thank you again for reading and sending this wonderful feedback. I appreciate it more than you can know.
Diana
Buckskin
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Again, I like to read positive ending stories for the Lancers!
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I enjoyed Answers very much, Diana. I was a little confused as to where McCallister came from, and I looked back to see if he had been mentioned. It might be my tiny brain.
Anyway, what a great bad guy and then for Johnny to remember there were two of them, it was very hard to think of Johnny beat on by two large men when only a small boy.
I very much warmed to your depiction of Maria, how tragic, the set of circumstances that saw her and Johnny stolen away under threats. A very believable scenario.
The emotions of all of the men was very well handled. Murdoch, still so much in love with ‘his beloved’. Scott’s thinking is that she would have been his step-mother and possibly could have raised him. Nice! And poor Johnny, what heartbreak for him.
When I first read about Johnny seeing his mother’s dilapidated and lonely grave, I thought ‘wonder if he will try to bring her home’. This ending topped it off beautifully.
Well done, yet again, my friend.
Rob x
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Hey there, My Friend! I’m glad you liked ‘Answers’ and what might have happened regarding Maria. It is so easy to paint her in an unflattering light – the ‘what if’s’ began to bubble in my head and this was the result. She’d been taken away from Lancer, forced into a life she did not want, but to keep Johnny and Murdoch alive, she had no other way out. And she sacrificed herself for those she loved.
With no answers as to why she left Lancer, it was easy for Murdoch to assume she left of her own accord, especially when he found her wedding ring on the floor of Johnny’s nursery and received the letter from her stating she’d made a mistake in marrying him.
Murdoch’s and Johnny’s guilt was eating them alive after finding the truth behind her leaving, that they’d thought the worst of her and they were wrong.
Thank you s much for reading a sending feedback!
Diana
Buckskin
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This is the first story of yours I’ve read. It reminds me of a Louis L’Amour book as this band of brothers are away on a mission, all the while looking after each other, and ‘get ‘er done’ in dealing with McAllister.
Your portrayal of Johnny is somewhat different from the Johnny of the series, deff a harder edge and more of a ‘take charge’ no-nonsense attitude presented here. But his demonstrative, emotional side seems the same, especially in his conversations with Murdoch.
I was quite moved when Scott brought Maria home to Lancer. Perhaps one day he could bring Catherine away from Carterville to have her rest at Lancer as well, or is she buried somewhere else in your series?
Thx for a nice adventure with a satisfying ending for them all.
Cristy
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Hi, Cristy – Yes, in my Lancer stories, Scott and Johnny always look out for each other.
In the series, we never saw Johnny under this kind of stress/anxiety. In ‘Answers’ he found out that things were not as he had been led to believe, that Maria lied to keep him and Murdoch alive, and it resulted in her death. That would make a man callous – it would make a man want revenge. He had no use for the priest who denied Maria and him access to the church; that closed mindedness had no place in a church. In the series, Madrid took care of issues the only way he knew how, and it was hard-edged, take charge, and head-on attitude.
Scott came through as the hero in bringing Maria home. She deserved to be there. As Scott never knew a mother’s love, he wanted to do this for Maria, and his family.
Thank you for reading and commenting on ‘Answers’. It was an adventure to write and explore a different path that might have been.
Diana
Buckskin
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Ciao Diana,
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Thank you, Silvia! I’m happy you liked this story of ‘what might have happened’.
Diana
Buckskin
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Sorry Diana, you must have thought “Great comment!”More than anything, I would say it is a lost comment.
I wrote that with this magnificent story you had woven a double thread of honor, brotherhood, friendship, family and love.
This thread will help to find the path and will keep the family bonded together in the future.
Thank you for another great story.
Silvia
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Lovely story.
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Thank you , Tina, for reading and the feedback!
Diana
Buckskin
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Wow ! What a wonderful story. Such an interesting take on the life of Maria….moving, sad, poignant, yet a positive ending. Many thanks for writing it – congratulations, it’s a cracker.
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Hi, Helen! From what we learned in watching The High Riders, much was left to our imagination as to why Maria left Lancer. Murdoch’s explanation to Johnny of ‘I woke to find her gone and you with her’ made it easy to blame her in fan fiction. But what if things weren’t that easy? Could there be more to the story?
There are a few stories in the fandom where she was still alive, but she was treated so badly in this story that she wouldn’t have survived, and I thought that Scott would emerge as the hero here and bring her body back to Lancer and be buried there.
Thank you for your kind words. I appreciate them.
Diana
Buckskin
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Diana, you moved me to tears when Maria came home to Lancer. Thank you for a satisfying explanation of shy she left, and for a vivid story of her redemption. Well done!
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Hi, Terri! Oh, no! I didn’t intend for anyone to cry! But I guess the story came out alright if it was that emotional. Fan fiction has done a wonderful job of creating a villainous Maria, but what if that wasn’t the case? This story is a result of what happened in my pea-sized brain.
Thank you so much for reading and supporting this story of ‘what might have happened’!
Diana
Buckskin
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Another great tale, nice take on Maria’s departure
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Thank you, janbrac! Yes, it’s time Maria has a different story. Glad you liked this one and thank you so much for reading and the feedback.
Diana
Buckskin
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Thank you for this. I have always thought Maria must have been a loving mother because Johnny’s must have experienced love to grow into such a caring man. And Murdoch obviously loved her to call out for her when he was badly injured. So this story which shows a loving side to her was great to read.
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Hi, Jil, – Yes, the writers of the Lancer series could have done much better to create a different story behind Maria’s departure. There weren’t many facts and it left the door open for us to completely vilify her, and myself included. But the old “What if” began to take root and this was what came to be my ‘Good Maria’ story.
Thank you for reading and offering feedback.
Diana
Buckskin
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What a lovely story and what a different take on Maria! There is so much that is heartwarming – Scott and Johnny, Val, the friends who helped them. Scott’s take that she would have been his stepmother as a reason to go shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. It was a given that he’d go with Johnny, but that was an unexpected element. And there is Madrid at his best and worst. I so happy that someone came up with a story where Maria was a loving wife and mother who left happy memories behind.
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Thank you so much for the wonderful feedback! I appreciate it more than you know. I don’t know if you’ve read the earlier comments, but in them, I said that this idea has been floating around in my head for a long, long time. It took a while to build on that and make a reasonable story (especially as my muse has taken a powder and not returned!). Taken against her will from Lancer and forced to write Murdoch that letter, telling him it was a mistake to have married him, had to crush him.
It was fun, in a sad way, to make Scott the hero and have him bring Maria home. Once he knew the circumstances of her leaving Lancer, he knew he had to do something to honor her.
Thank you for reading and the feedback.
Diana
Buckskin
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This great mystery about Maria’s departure is so much more plausible than her running off with a gambler. At first I thought Harlan Garrett was the villain pulling the strings but a former suitor who coveted Lancer makes more sense. From start to finish this is a beautiful, very realistic story. Thank you for writing and sharing it with us.
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Thank you, drduke! Yeah, ol’ Harlan was responsible for much of the heartache for the Lancers, but not this time. However, there are other stories where that happened. It was tragic enough that Maria and Johnny were taken against their will, but more than that, she was forced to lie to them about why she left and lie to Johnny all his young life, intentionally to make him hate his father.
After her death, Scott honored her the only way he knew how.
Thank you for reading and commenting.
Diana
Buckskin
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I loved this story that gave the answers to why Maria left. It’s a sad tale, but at least Murdoch has some peace of mind, and Johnny knows why his mother told him all the lies. You’ve made good sense of all that. Scott bringing Maria’s body back to Lancer was the sweetest thing. Thank you for this piece that revealed so many secrets.
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Hi, Sherry, and thank you for reading and commenting on ‘Answers’. We never knew much about Maria, other than her leaving in the middle of the night and taking Johnny with her, but I got to thinking (I know – dangerous!), what if things weren’t as everyone thought? So, this was the result. Also, having Scott bring Maria home put him in hero status, and that appealed to me.
Thanks again for reading.
Diana
Buckskin
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This story is really something different and well written to explain why Maria left. And it is nice to see Scott bringing her back to Lancer. Thank you.
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Thank you, Caterina – I’m glad you liked this story. It’s been tickling my mind for a long time now, and finally finished. Yeah, I wanted Scott to be the hero and bring Maria home. Thanks again for reading and the feedback.
Diana
Buckskin
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Loved your story. Nice to see Maria treated in a positive way as a loving mother and wife. A really nice touch having Scott bring her body back to Lancer. What story were Buck, Sam and Tom introduced in? They are familiar, just can’t remember which story. Looking forward to reading more from you.
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Hi, Lesley – Thank you, I’m happy you liked this tale of Maria’s leaving Lancer. Ahh, fan fiction is great in that we can change the story, sometimes making more sense of things that the writers of the show missed or omitted. Buck Colby made his debut in my story Tempting Fate; Sam Wade was in my story Last Man Standing, a Madrid pre-Lancer tale, and Sam returned, bringing Tom McKay for Breach of Trust. Who knows? They might make another visit to help out Johnny and Val.
Thanks for reading and sending feedback.
Diana
Buckskin
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Wonderful story. Enjoyed it very much
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Thank you, Sandy. Glad you liked this tale.
Diana
Buckskin
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This is such an emotional story. I love that you made Maria the victim instead of the villain as she’s usually depicted. And, Scott opened his heart to let Maria in. His thoughts of Maria being his “mom” and her raising him were warm. As always, Johnny’s friends and brother were by his side, willing to help. It felt good to see Johnny and Murdock finally being comfortable with one another. All in all a beautiful story despite the pain. There was much love.
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Aww! Thank you so much, MaryAnn! I appreciate your kind words. Yes, every time I wrote about Maria in other stories, the ‘what if’ thought would pop into my head. What if she wasn’t to blame for what happened? What if things were not as Murdoch and Johnny thought they were. She needed a voice or a story in her defense. I can picture Scott, once he read the long overdue letter to Murdoch, coming to his conclusion to go with Johnny and, ultimately, bring her back to Lancer.
Thank you again for reading and sending feedback.
Diana
Buckskin
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Hey Diana,
You have written an emotional and lovely story for Maria, a woman who was unjustly blamed but has been restored to loving wife and mother. Her’s was a true example of sacrifice for loved ones, sadly, due to the vindictive motives of a priest, too many years passed for the truth to be revealed.
The pain was so deep for Johnny, Murdoch, and Scott that your words made the reader, me, feel their pain. Sometimes it’s hard to accept that evil can so easily enter the lives of the innocent, especially to a child.
I like that you have redeemed Maria’s character with your story, it strengthened the family bond. That Scott considered Maria his stepmother was touching and supportive for Johnny and Murdoch. As I was reading, I kept thinking they will bring her home to Lancer. Then Scott did.
A nice touch was the Lancer family plot, I hope you write a story where they bring Catherine to Lancer.
Thank you for a heartwarming story of a family reunited.
Elin
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Hi Elin – The notion of ‘what if the situation regarding Maria leaving Lancer wasn’t as Murdoch and Johnny thought’ was intriguing. The series pilot didn’t really say much about her, other than leaving with another man, a gambler. Fan fiction took it a step… or two further. But… ‘what if’ kept popping up in my head. I’ve never done this with any of my stories, but the ending was written first. Scott was deeply affected, probably because he never knew a mother’s love, her gentle touch, and he felt compelled to do this for Murdoch and Johnny.
Thank you, Elin, for this feedback. You will never know how much I appreciate your kind words!
Diana
Buckskin
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Answers is a special, unforgettable story. Thank you for sharing it with us.
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Hey there, drduke0a6c72947a! Thank you for reading and commenting on Answers. This tale began percolating in my head years ago; the ‘what ifs’ were too many to ignore. It took a while to put the pieces together and figure out acceptable reasons for Maria leaving, then lying to Johnny about Murdoch. The ‘whys’ and ‘hows’ of the story were fun to explore.
Thank you again for your kind words. I’m happy you liked reading this tale.
Diana
Buckskin
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Oh, I just love all the blogs! I’m now saving them in my document so I can read them easier – that’s why I’m commenting on so many blogs. smile.
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Lancer Fiction Gateway is a great site for reading about our favorite family. With over 4,300 stories and great authors, in my humble opinion, we are the best site for Lancer fic… but then, I may be a tad biased! So, sit down, kick your shoes off, and enjoy!
Diana
Buckskin
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