Word Count 25,033
Thanks to Cat for the beta
2nd in the Line Series – Sequel to Staying Alive
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There was nothing to indicate his brother was troubled as he watched the Bostonian help drag the massive beams from the wagon bed to the damaged bridge site. Covered with sweat and grime, Scott performed his duties as well as any of the hands that worked to reconstruct what the late fall storm washed away. But Johnny knew things were not always what they appeared to be.
He watched many times in the last several weeks as Scott stared off into nothingness. At first, to the casual eye, it looked as if Scott was enjoying the view of countless miles of lush, green pastures, and the glory of the purple-gray mountains that lay beyond. Johnny himself spent many an hour gazing at the stunning beauty that caught his sight and refused to let go. But, with Scott, it was different. Turbulence swirled just beneath the surface, and Johnny knew trouble lurked in the Harvard-educated mind. But until Scott asked for help, Johnny would not bring it up and would leave his brother’s private thoughts just that, private.
It was one thing to let his brother know he would be there, but a whole other thing to intrude where his offer wasn’t needed or wanted. The problem was, Johnny didn’t know if Scott realized he needed help or not.
“Hey, Boston, you know yet what the ol’ man’s got you doin’ tamorrow?” Johnny asked as he came out to the patio after dinner. Once again, Scott was looking out over the moonlit mountains, and Johnny watched his brother as he fought to hide the emotions that wrapped around him in a constricting shroud.
“Well, I know that you will be going after supplies,” Scott said as he, hopefully, covered his thoughts to conceal and secrete them away. He wouldn’t be able to hide this from Johnny much longer, he was sure. His brother already caught him with a few worried frowns lately, and Scott knew Johnny already had his suspicions, but thankfully stayed quiet about them. It would only be a matter of time before he wouldn’t be able to put his brother off and would have to face the questions he knew awaited him.
Scott forced a chuckle. “And, yes, brother, I do know what I will be working on. Murdoch has assigned me the honor of the books tomorrow.”
Turning away, Johnny sighed in relief. “Better you than me!” he breathed out. Damn! He hadn’t meant to put that into words!
“What did you say, Johnny?”
“I said what a fine job you’ll do, too! Hey, didn’t Val wanna talk ta us? You an’ me?” Johnny asked, remembering the request from the Green River Sheriff.
“Yes, he did, but I know you can take care of that without me.” Scott stretched his arms above his head and yawned. “I’m going to bed, brother. See you in the morning.” And with a playful slap to Johnny’s ribs, Scott left his brother alone in the dark of the night.
He ain’t foolin’ me… Johnny leaned his elbows against the warm adobe and laced his fingers together. With a deep sigh, he looked out over the mountains and wished Scott would open up and let him in.
The cry woke Johnny from a sound sleep, and he instinctively knew what was wrong. Throwing the blanket aside, Johnny pulled on his calzoneras and bolted across the hall to Scott’s room.
Quickly, quietly, Johnny sat next to his brother on the bed. Scott was locked in a nightmare, clutching the blanket in white-knuckled fists.
“Easy, Boston, it’s just a dream. C’mon, Scott, open your eyes. It’s alright, just a dream.” The murmured words began to have their effect as Scott’s agitation lessened. “That’s right, Scott, just a dream, just a dream…” And Scott settled with the comfort brought about by the velvet tones, the anchor that never ceased to hold him steady. Johnny stayed with Scott for the next hour. The small clock on the table by the bed ticked away the minutes, sounding loud and lonely in the still of the night.
“Gracias, Señor, I’ll be back ta get this loaded in the wagon. Don’t you be liftin’ this heavy stuff, I’ll get it!”
“Gracias, Juanito!” the elderly man said, wishing more of his customers had the manners and consideration of Johnny Lancer. Smiling to himself, Señor Baldomero clutched the Lancer’s order in his hand, then returned to his store.
Johnny left Baldomero’s and headed for the Sheriff’s office. Dios, it’s cold this mornin’, he thought as he walked down the street, wishing he’d brought a heavier coat.
He saw the man leaning on the roof support post of the hotel when leaving Baldomero’s store. There wasn’t anything that told Johnny he was a threat, but the man was a stranger. He did not have ‘the look’ about him. He was not a gunfighter, but, again, Johnny thought things were not always what they seemed to be.
Touching his fingers to the brim of his hat, Johnny drawled a “Mornin’,” without breaking his stride, and received a nod in return, then he stepped onto the boardwalk and into Val’s office.
The interior of the workspace was dark, and the coffee pot was empty. Johnny thought chances were, given the time of day, either Val was making his rounds or getting breakfast. He was betting on breakfast. Shutting the door behind him, Johnny strode back across the street, taking note the stranger was gone, then turned the corner and made his way into the café. Thoughts of a cup of hot coffee sounded better and better.
The lawman sat at the table in the corner. He slurped his coffee and ate his food as if he was starving. Val Crawford wasn’t much for table manners. Looking up, he spotted his amigo and waved Johnny over to join him.
Johnny pulled out a chair, and as if by sleight of hand, a cup of hot coffee appeared in front of him.
“What’ll ya have, Johnny?” the waitress asked as she laid an affectionate hand on his shoulder.
He awarded her his best smile. “Coffee’s fine, Annie, thanks!”
The sparkle in the deep blue eyes set her heart to flutter, then she turned to Val. “How you doin’, Sheriff? Can I get ya anything else this mornin’?”
“Naw, Annie, thanks. I’m ‘bout finished here,” Val turned his grin at her, and she nodded, leaving her two favorite customers to their talk.
“What’re you doin’ in town so early, amigo? Ya rile the ol’ man already taday?” Val laughed.
“Gettin’ supplies. Ya wanted ta see me an’ Scott, what about?” Johnny asked as he wrapped his hands around the cup, enjoying the heat on his fingers.
“Scott with ya?”
Johnny smirked. “Nope, Murdoch’s got him doin’ the books. He told me ta find out what ya wanted.”
Val lowered his voice. “Let’s wait’ll we get back ta the office, amigo.”
“Sure, Val. Hey, who’s that stranger in town? Ya talk with him yet?” Johnny asked as he snitched a piece of bacon from Val’s plate and helped himself to a biscuit.
“Yeah, I talked with him. Gave him the usual ‘what business ya got here, how long ya stayin? This is a peaceful town’ talk. Said he wasn’t lookin’ for no trouble. Just restin’ up a coupla days before he heads outta town.” Pulling the napkin tucked in the neck of his shirt, Val stood, then threw coins on the table, plus a generous tip for Annie. He took another loud slurp of coffee, then Sheriff Val Crawford and Johnny Lancer headed for the privacy of Val’s office.
“So, what’s on your mind, Val?” Johnny asked as he settled in the chair across from the Sheriff.
“Just wanna know if I can count on ya ta help if I need it. You, Scott an’ the boys have offered an’ I’ve deputized the two of ya before. Just need ta know if yer still able ta help.”
“Yeah, sure, Val. What’s goin’ on?” Johnny sat up from his slouch in the chair, sensing trouble.
“Well, can’t say anything for sure. Just some peculiar incidents. Got a wire from Dan Thornton in Merced. A ranch outside of town reported two horses got stole. An’ the general store was broke inta. Missin’ some supplies. The blacksmith in Modesto reported a break-in an’ missing some things. The courthouse, too, got broke inta; some boxes got took. Stuff that was stored in the cellar is missin’. Minor theft. Hey, figure this out. Clothes got stole off the line when they was dryin’. How ‘bout that?”
Val shook his head, and a puzzled expression resided on his face. He watched Johnny mull things around, putting his thoughts in order. He had his opinion regarding the thefts but waited for Johnny to voice his theory. And Val wasn’t disappointed.
“Sounds like someone just outfitted themselves with everything they’re gonna need, horses, food, an’ supplies. No names, huh?”
“Nope. Not yet.”
Johnny sighed; a brief smiled tugged the corner of his mouth. “Well, I gotta get goin’ before Murdoch thinks I’m neglectin’ my duties an’ sends Jelly lookin’ for me. Ya know where ta find us if ya need us.”
“Thanks, amigo,” Val sighed. “Now get outta here, I got work ta do!” The Sheriff growled as he flung himself into the desk chair, pulled his hat down over his eyes, and propped his dirty boots on top of a pile of wanted posters.
That smile grew into a grin as Johnny drove the supply wagon out of town, unaware the curtain from a second-story window dropped down into place.
Cletus Jeffries climbed the hill behind the barn, searching for his cows. Gertie, the milk cow, wandered off again, and no doubt was down by the creek. And if Gertie were there, Fanny would have followed. The heifer was as curious as a cat and tagged after Gertie wherever she went. But Cletus needed the milk the cow provided; he had to find her.
The death of his wife two years ago left Cletus with a broken heart and three young mouths to feed. Doing the best he could for his family, he scratched out a living, relying on the crops in his fields, the milk Gertie produced, and the wild game he brought home.
Long on patience, Jeffries trudged over the hill, looking down at the water below. The brush moved on the creek bank, and Gertie bellowed her frustration. Cletus smiled, thinking the milk cow was just like a child, needing protection and guidance. I’ll come get you out, Gertie. Seems like you’d know better by now. How many times does this make that ya got yerself caught, huh?
Rescuing the cow took only minutes, and as the farmer searched around, he found no sign of Fanny.
The crackle and warmth of the fire should have calmed the unsettling thoughts, but, tonight, it wasn’t meant to be. The incidents that led up to this point, so unfair, so… undeserved, brought him to this predicament and all of it caused by one man. But that man would pay for what he did and the harm he wrought. He will pay dearly!
Securely chained for the night under the watchful eye of the guard, Harrison closed his eyes. His chance was coming, he just had to wait it out.
The men lined up in perfect formation. They followed his orders without question. They were the pride of the Confederacy. There were no better soldiers than the men under his command. They would march to Hell should he issue the order. And they would die for him!
Kenneth Harrison, late of the Confederate Army, woke with a start. Dreams. They were just dreams. For now…
The wagon jolted to a tooth-jarring stop. The coach bounced on stiff springs as the guard riding above jumped to the ground. Harrison and Mitchell waited as the key slid into the lock, the tumblers turned, and the door swung open, flooding the interior of the coach in bright sunlight.
“Alright, you two, out!” the guard ordered.
The coach dipped again as the driver jumped to the ground and tended the team. With a water bucket in hand, he waited as the horses drank their fill.
Harrison caught Mitchell’s eye, and, with a subtle nod, went out first. Pretending to fall, Harrison ducked low as Mitchell launched himself at the guard, successfully wrapping the chain linking his hands around the guard’s neck. The cartilage in the throat collapsed as the chain pulled ever tighter. No voice called out to warn the driver, the guard giving up his life as he failed to draw breath and his eyes glazed over. The rifle used to cover the prisoners fell to the ground. Harrison retrieved the weapon and turned it on the guard watering the horses. The man fell dead with a shot to the back of the head.
With the guards dispatched, they made their escape. Riding bareback on the team horses would serve their immediate purpose in the hurry to get away, but the need for saddle mounts was imperative. Hiding by day and traveling by night, they eluded the posse only one day behind and kept getting closer to their goal, Lt. Scott Lancer and his half-breed brother. They would have their revenge.
In the dark hours of the night, they stole horses and supplies. The thefts completed without a hitch provided them the means to carry out their plans while remaining hidden in the solitude of the mountains, the solitude needed to exact their rightful revenge. The heifer they’d stolen would provide food for a while.
They hunkered down after finding a small farm located in the hills. As he lay watching the goings-on at the ramshackle place, Harrison took note of the solitary inhabitant. A tall man of large frame and gray hair ambled into view.
Beside him, Mitchell grunted. “Looks like it could be your brother!” Then Mitchell settled down to sleep.
Kenneth Harrison did not. He would remember this place. It just might be of some use…
“It’s good ta get outta them prison uniforms!” Mitchell said as he kicked at the pile of dirty striped garb. “I’ll be glad ta burn ‘em!” he groused as he buttoned his shirt and tucked the tails into his pants, happy to be in his own clothes again, then settled his revolver around his hips.
“You’re not going to burn them, Mitchell. We might have a use for them. If you would stop and use your head, instead of your mouth, you might understand what it will take to see this plan to fruition.” Harrison waited; he knew the man would ask.
What’s fru… frui…” Mitchell stumbled on the unfamiliar word.
“Fruition, it means complete, achieve, fulfill. Those old uniforms could serve us well. You just leave the thinking to me, Mitchell, and do what I tell you to do.”
The piercing, colorless eyes held him in their glacial stare, making his blood run cold. For a brief moment, Mitchell was a child again, paralyzed by unexplained terrors prompted by the glare.
Damn those eyes!
Second thoughts swirled in Mitchell’s mind. Where he had no loyalties for Harrison, and, truth be told, found the condescending manner more than irritating, Mitchell had a score to settle. And he couldn’t see it through without Harrison’s help, so he took the abuse knowing, in the end, it would be worth it. Harrison would seek his revenge on Lt. Scott Lancer, and with that vengeance, Mitchell’s reward would be the satisfaction of beating Johnny Lancer to death.
Three months ago, Harrison had captured both Johnny and Scott. Using Johnny as bait, he lured Lt. Lancer into a trap, a trap designed to seek revenge for the loss he suffered resulting from the prison escape organized by the lieutenant. The only blemish on Harrison’s record and he was court-martialed, stripped of his rank, and humiliated. But the fact was that his court-martial was not because he failed to prevent the escape attempt, but for war crimes he committed on the prisoners in the camp.
As part of the lieutenant’s punishment, he was to witness his brother’s death. Only the half-breed did not die— quite the contrary and Johnny embarrassed Mitchell, shamed him for his inability to bring Johnny to heel, and Johnny almost died in the process. But capturing the two Lancers would happen again, and this time, both Harrison and Mitchell would succeed, and the plans would come to fruition! Mitchell smiled wickedly.
The memory of three months ago burned in his brain, and begged for a chance to make Johnny Lancer pay for what he did. And pay he would.
So, Mitchell took whatever Harrison handed out. It would be worth it to watch the life drain out of that half-breed’s broken, bleeding carcass.
Harrison stood alone, reveling in the feel of the gray-blue Major’s uniform against his skin. The once bright yellow-gold braid on the sleeves and distinctive shiny buttons were now tattered and worn but discernable in the glow of the fire. The blood coursed through him, and he felt alive; he felt in charge again. But it was the saber clutched in his hand that made the ultimate difference. He was once more Major Kenneth Harrison, late of the Confederate Army, and his heart pounded against his ribs with the power of that saber.
Though it wasn’t in the plan, Harrison and Mitchell found help in the form of a stranger, Aaron Hart, after a week on the run. Recently fired after ten years working for the town of Merced for one too many infractions, Hart now carried a grudge against the municipality and the Powers That Be. He was only too happy to offer his help when, stopping for water southwest of town, Mitchell attempted to rob him.
Hart knew the man pointing the gun at his head was one of two escapees. With the law only a day away, just maybe, this presented an opportunity for Hart to get even. After all, what were a few minor indiscretions when Hart had given the town ten years of his life?
It worked in their favor to join forces. With Hart’s knowledge of the town, he was able to get them into the courthouse cellar to claim their personal belongings, utilizing a key overlooked by superiors upon his firing. Hart made no admission of having the key in his possession, conveniently tucked away in his pocket, and had no plans to relinquish what could aid in his revenge against Merced.
For over two months, they eluded the posse. No one witnessed their travel, and with time, people would forget them; eventually, they would pass into obscurity. But all the while, they made plans for revenge. Revenge for Harrison’s court-martial. Yes, atonement from Lt. Scott Lancer was near at hand.
Harrison was pleased. Just off Lancer land, they stumbled onto the perfect hideout. It was a secluded area; the cave, situated in the rocks, would keep them safe from detection, passageways wandered deep into the bowels of the mountain. Harrison inspected the chains and manacles Mitchell and Hart labored to pound into the rock walls. They were strong enough to last until the bones secured in the shackles turned to dust. Harrison could envision Lt. Lancer and his brother chained to these walls to face their punishment. Their deaths would be Major Harrison’s revenge.
After allying with Harrison and Mitchell, they sent Hart to Green River with detailed descriptions of the Lancers. Hart was to frequent the saloon, watch the sheriff’s office, and find out what he could regarding their prey.
Scott was doing it again. Johnny wondered just how long it would be before his brother took him into his confidence. Perhaps it wasn’t a matter of time, maybe it was more along the lines of would he take Johnny into his confidence. But whatever happened, he would be there, for whatever Scott needed, and Johnny did not doubt that Scott was going to need him. But for now, all he could do was wait, watch, and listen.
The chess game after dinner confirmed to Johnny the problem was not only still present, but intensifying. He began to rethink the strategy of waiting for Scott to say something, to ask for help, or even just to talk. The ordinarily sharp, keen mind wandered and floundered while Johnny continued to capture the opposing pieces on the chessboard. The blue-gray eyes that, in the past, obsessed over every play, now missed the obvious.
Murdoch, though attempting to catch up on paperwork, couldn’t help but enjoy the contest between his sons. Each with his own style so different from the other, consistently kept Murdoch on the edge of his seat. The senior Lancer watched game after game, betting on Scott to win as the Easterner scrutinized the chess pieces, what moves would be most advantageous, and the consequences of those moves. Johnny played chess just as he lived his life: recklessly and dealing with those consequences as they came along. He moved the pieces on the board with haste, not overly concerned by the whys and what-ifs. Then, as many times as not, Murdoch would hear the unexpected as Johnny claimed victory, leaving both Scott and him to study the board in utter disbelief of what just happened.
But on this night, after Johnny’s black knight took out Scott’s white queen, Murdoch knew his elder son was not playing up to his competitive self.
Soon after, the whispered ‘checkmate’ in the quiet of the great room mingled with the constant tick of the grandfather clock, a hushed duet to herald the end of the day as Johnny captured the white king, ending the game.
Scott graciously smiled. “Good game, brother. Well, I’m turning in. Tomorrow will be here before you know it, and I have a lot of work to do. Good night, Murdoch, Johnny.” Not waiting for his family to respond, Scott Garrett Lancer left the great room for the sanctuary of his bed and, hopefully, a good night’s sleep.
Johnny watched his brother’s back fade into the dark to the second story bedrooms like a spirit vanishing from the light. He picked up the chess pieces and returned them to the ornate mahogany box, each piece tucked safely in its place. He slid the box on the shelf under the coffee table and stood to face his father.
“Guess I’m gonna turn in, too. ‘Night, Murdoch.”
“Johnny, is something troubling your brother?” He held his son’s stare.
What could he say? There was no sense worrying Murdoch; Johnny didn’t know what was bothering Scott, and until he found out, he wasn’t going say anything. If he could help Scott, he would, and no one needed to know. Some things are best left alone.
“Well, he’s been workin’ pretty hard, Murdoch. Prob’ly just tired, is all. Hey, can ya do me a favor?” Johnny asked, hoping to divert the questioning he knew would follow.
A tiny smile broke the frown on Murdoch’s face. “Yes, Johnny, what do you need?”
“I’m clearin’ Stoneyrun Creek tamorrow. Could ya send Scott ta help?”
The smile grew, and Murdoch knew he could put his trust in Johnny to make sure Scott would be alright. “Yes, son. I think that’s a good idea.”
Johnny smiled. “Thanks, Murdoch. ‘Night.” And he left the old man standing, listening to the tick of the clock.
“Wait! Not yet! The guards will see… WAIT!” The terrifying words echoed in the night, as they pierced his heart with dread. Johnny threw off the covers and yanked on his calzoneras as he quickly made his way to Scott’s room.
Scott was locked in the throes of a nightmare. Blankets clutched in white-knuckled grips, lay across the bed at odd angles, and dragged on the floor. Sweat drenched the blond head, flattening the hair to Scott’s skull. His head rolled from one side of the pillow to the other, as his eyes moved in frantic motion under the lids.
Johnny eased onto the bed next to his brother, taking the cold hands in his, wanting to will them his warmth, his strength.
“Scott, easy Boston, easy… Can ya wake up? It’s a dream, brother, just a dream.” He closed his fingers, holding the trembling hands steady. He knew those dreams, knew from his own experience what they could do to a man. They came out of nowhere to latch on and clamp razor-sharp teeth deep into their victim’s brain, refusing to let go. The black, hellish dreams pulled down, to smother the air from constricting lungs, and wrap the strangling spider-web around and around as all hope was lost. Johnny Madrid Lancer knew those dreams, and he would fight with the last shred of strength to pull Scott back onto solid, stable ground.
“Hey, Scott, it’s okay, Boston, I’m here an’ I ain’t lettin’ nothin’ happen to ya. Scott? Can ya hear me? I’m right here, it’s alright.”
Scott stopped the restlessness and lay still, struggling to climb to the surface, toward the safety that lay in the voice. “J-Johnny?”
“Yeah, Scott, I’m here,” Johnny whispered next to his brother’s ear.
“Sorry to wake you,” Scott whispered.
“It’s okay, Scott. I’ll watch tanight. Nothin’s gonna happen now. I got your back.”
The words had the desired effect, and Scott slid back into sleep. Johnny settled his brother and straightened the blankets, pulling them up to cover Scott’s chest. Then he reached for the spare quilt at the foot of the bed, wrapped it around his shoulders, and leaned back in the chair. He would stand watch tonight, and Scott could rest.
The log, swollen with water, outweighed him twice over. Despite his resolve, there was no way Johnny would be able to move it out of the creek by himself. The battle waged for longer than patience permitted and accomplished nothing except to send his temper spiraling out of control. The only way he was going to conquer the maddening aggravation and pull it out of the stream was to get help. But first, he needed a rest.
Johnny grabbed his canteen and squatted next to the running water as it burbled over the rocky creek bottom. He sank the vessel into the water as bubbles splattered with a happy little tune, and the cold mountain creek washed over his hand. The rains in the higher elevations washed down in a reckless rush and carved out a deeper flow than usual. Replacing the stopper, he tossed the canteen on the creekbank, then scooped up several handfuls of water and scrubbed his face. Hell, if you’re gonna do it, do it right! Johnny submerged his head, then leaned back on his haunches. His shaggy, thick hair, heavy and saturated, dripped, soaking his shirt in seconds, and he shook his head like a dog. Smoothing the now tangled mass back with his hands, Johnny sat in the grass and rested.
It was after nine when Scott finally joined him.
Scott tied Remmie next to Barranca, and they exchanged their equine greetings, then stood quietly in the shade with long tails swatting at the biting flies.
Casting a furtive glance at his brother, Scott, unsure of his welcome, bided his time. He knew he’d interrupted Johnny’s sleep last night, and that was something his brother didn’t need. Johnny Madrid Lancer had his own demons to battle. Scott didn’t need to add his issues to the mix and make matters worse than they already were. But his worries were for naught.
At Scott’s initial reluctance to greet him, Johnny turned to his brother with a wide grin. “Mornin’, Boston. You’re just in time.” Johnny’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he nodded his head in the direction of the stubborn log.
Scott held back the sigh of relief that threatened to explode from his chest. Why had he thought Johnny would take offense? And he chastised himself for the unfair notion. If anyone would understand, it was Johnny. He sat next to his brother and began shredding a piece of grass as he’d seen Johnny do a hundred times with fingers that were never still.
“Just in time, huh?” Scott eyed the log but knew he needed to say something, to apologize for last night.
“Johnny, I… I’m,” but the words caught, tumbling over themselves in his throat. Taking a deep breath, he started again. “I’m sorry about last night. I don’t know what…”
“It was a dream, Scott. Ya can’t pick whatcha dream about. They just happen. Trust me, I know.” Johnny, with head slightly bowed, and hair dripping the cooling water down his back, faced Scott as the corners of his mouth turned up in the beginnings of a smile. “Are ya alright? Anything ya wanna talk about? Cuz when you’re ready ta talk, I’ll listen.”
There it was. He said it. Scott knew the offer was there; all he had to do was reach out and take it… when he was ready.
But it was the tone. The soft velvet of the words brought him to a safe place, a place that was protected, no chance to sink claws of terror into his skin, and flay it from his bones. Just peace. Sanctuary.
Scott said nothing but stared out over the pastureland to the mountains beyond. He was torn. He never talked about troubles or worries. Schooled from a little boy on by a cold-hearted grandfather who taught Scott to hide his feelings. “Scotty, a man does not cry,” the old man would tell him when he was a child. And after Scott returned from the war after a year in Libby Prison, the old man instructed Scott to forget the war; it was over now… So, Scott tucked everything away, to smoke and smolder. But it kept eating away at the thin shell that barely contained the explosion that was sure to erupt.
Pulling his mind back to the present, Scott fought to lighten the mood and try to convince his brother he was alright. The brother that knew first hand the hell those nightmares caused.
He forced a smile and turned to Johnny. “I’m… fine,” then quickly looked away from the deep blue gaze that knew better.
Not surprised with Scott’s answer, Johnny resigned himself to wait, then he nudged Scott with a dirty elbow. “Okay, let’s get this done, Boston. Don’t wanna hafta come back tamorrow!”
Johnny heaved himself to his feet and playfully slapped Scott’s shoulder. Then together, with ropes tied to their horses, they wrestled the log from the creek.
Johnny continued to watch his brother. Convinced all was not well, he knew he wouldn’t push, not yet. Scott needed to be ready to talk, and forcing the issue would only make matters worse. But he also knew there would be a time to step in, and he would be there for Scott should that time come. Fears were a personal and private thing, and a man had to be ready to face those intimate thoughts in his own time.
They stopped by the creek to rest their horses. The water followed a lazy meander and, in this peaceful spot, flared out into a wide, calm pool. Johnny gathered a handful of stones and threw them, one by one, into the water, watching the ripples spread out in rings and fade away. Scott settled on the bank, again quiet and sullen. Scooping up another handful of rocks, Johnny lowered himself by his brother’s side with a tired groan. Taking a stone, he launched it into the water with a satisfying plunk. The tiny wavelets marked the spot where the rock sank beneath the surface, then drifted away.
“It won’t be much longer before the weather turns.” Scott eyed his brother, knowing Johnny’s aversion to the cold.
Johnny shrugged and blew a sigh between his lips and let loose with an exaggerated shiver. “Think the ol’ man’ll mind if I head on out ta Mexico till spring?”
“I can tell you for a fact, brother, that Murdoch would definitely take exception to that, but you would have to go through me first!” Scott replied with a laugh.
“Aww, c’mon, Boston, you could handle this without me here!” Johnny teased, the corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile, but the smile vanished when Scott suddenly sobered.
“Maybe, but I wouldn’t want to,” Scott whispered, as his breath hitched in his throat, then he looked away, breaking the visual contact.
Johnny finished grooming Barranca. He offered the horse a carrot, then started for the house, looking forward to soaking in a hot bath before dinner. The day turned cold as thick clouds rolled in and held the damp close. It would rain soon.
He would have missed his brother had Scott not raised his head, giving up the sight of the toes of his boots to gaze out to the mountains in the distance. The movement caught Johnny’s attention, and he stopped, watching, once again, as Scott seemed lost in thought. There wasn’t much Johnny could do.
Like Hell there ain’t! Enough’s enough! And Johnny decided he would take the chance. He sidled next to his brother, leaning on the top rail of the fence, their shoulders touching, the closeness declaring Johnny’s need to help, and knowing Scott’s need for that help.
“Sure is gettin’ cold. Looks like rain, too.” Johnny said no more. He waited, giving Scott time to pull his thoughts together.
“Johnny, I…” What is wrong with me? Why can’t I tell him? He wants to help! Let him! Scott screamed at himself. He closed his eyes, held a breath, then slowly let it out. He gathered his resolve and trusted his brother. “It’s Harrison, Johnny. When we received word he escaped on the way to prison, it began. The nightmares, they started and won’t go away. I can’t… I can feel him; it’s like he’s here, and it makes my skin crawl!” The whispers became a desperate plea. “It’s there every night, waiting for me, and I can’t control it, Johnny! I can’t control it!” Scott looked down, embarrassed to be pouring out the fears he fought so hard to suppress as Grandfather taught me to do.
“Scott, I can tell ya there ain’t no controlin’ those feelin’s. But I can tell ya that we can fight them. You an’ me, Boston. I’ll be right there with ya. But until we know where he is an’ what he’s been doin’, we can’t do much of anything. This is the hard part, the not knowin’. He’s been on the run for what, close ta three months now, ain’t it?” Johnny asked, as he now looked to the mountains beyond. The setting sun, muted by dark clouds, slid further away, now leaving only a memory.
Scott caught his breath. His voice, once again, the strong, smooth baritone that Johnny yearned to hear. “Two months, three weeks, and five days. He’s up to something, Johnny. I know how his mind works.”
“The man’s crazy, Scott. How can ya know what a crazy person’s gonna do?”
“Because he was crazy when he was in charge of Libby. I know what he is capable of, the lengths he’s willing to go to get what he wants. And the pleasure he gets out of it. He’s too dangerous to be running loose.” Scott suddenly turned to Johnny, the blue-gray eyes filled with the realization that Johnny was still at risk as much as he was. Fear for the entire family flooded through him. Scott knew he had to do something to protect his family; they were innocent, but Harrison would use them if he could.
“Johnny?”
“Yeah, Boston?”
“I need you to promise me something.”
“If I can, Scott, you got it. What is it?”
“Stay out of this… It’s me Harrison wants. I couldn’t bear it if…”
Johnny knew where Scott was going: he wanted to protect his family. And that was something Johnny understood, more than understood. But he would be there right beside him and help Scott move Heaven and Earth to protect all that was Lancer. He just had to convince Scott of it.
“If what, Scott? He caught me, used me as bait like the last time? I’m already involved, brother, an’ like it or not, I’m gonna be right there alongside ya. An’ this time, we know he’s out there, maybe we can be ready.”
Scott knew Johnny wouldn’t back down. He didn’t want his family involved, but Harrison was not a reasonable man. He wasn’t a man at all but a devil and would use whatever means necessary to achieve his goal. Revenge for the loss of his military career. The court-martial he suffered because of Lt. Scott Lancer and the humiliation received at Lt. Lancer’s hands. That’s all the reason Harrison would need.
Harrison brought the spyglass to his eye. From the cover of the trees, he watched the scene inside the grand hacienda as Lt. Lancer and the filthy half-breed brother lounged in luxury in the finely appointed room. The fire cast a warm glow over the family as they enjoyed an after-dinner libation together. A young woman sat in a chair with a basket of mending. Interesting. Perhaps Lt. Lancer married, he thought, an evil smile stretched across his thin lips. More possibilities careened in his brain as he watched her, very pretty, Lt. Lancer, Harrison commended. Through the glass, he saw the young woman come to stand next to the lieutenant and place an arm across his shoulders in an intimate gesture. Yes, there were many possibilities to explore, and he began to firm up his plans.
Bringing the glass around the room, he came to rest on the tall, gray-haired man he suspected was Murdoch Lancer. Harrison had seen him at the farce they called a trial, staged in Merced. The man sat between the two younger Lancers and damned Harrison with his eyes during the entire proceedings. Yes, that had to be the great Murdoch Lancer.
This was going to work out splendidly. Revenge for the loss of his military career was going to cost the lieutenant dearly. A half-breed brother, father, and a wife, perhaps? The price was high, but Harrison could justify the punishment for the crime. The court-martial he suffered because of Lt. Scott Lancer and the subsequent humiliation begged, demanded retribution. And retribution he would have.
“We’re in for a storm today; I want you boys to take some men and round up the cattle in the canyons above Cutter’s Creek. Take any cows you find to the pasture there. It won’t surprise me if there are quite a few we missed last time. There won’t be enough grass up there to support the stock through the winter. Cipriano will take a crew to the south and bring them closer. That will have all the cattle in those pastures closer to the ranch, so we won’t have to worry about them later in the season, especially if the weather should suddenly get worse.”
“’Kay, Murdoch, we can get that done. Take us the whole day ta do it, though, an’ maybe longer dependin’ on how ornery them cows are, not ta mention the rain.” Johnny, coffee in hand, went to the kitchen window. The sky in the northwest looked threatening, and it was a sure thing they were going to get wet. Rain and shit-for-brains cattle with a lousy attitude… not a good combination, Johnny thought. Nothin’ we can’t handle, though.
“Yes, son, I know you will have your hands full up there. Just please be careful. Both of you!”
Johnny turned to face his father as his smile grew. “Worried about us, ol’ man?” he teased, expecting the patriarch to growl. But, instead, was surprised to hear his father’s soft reply that conveyed heartfelt concern.
“Yes, Johnny, I worry. I always worry.” The eyes were sincere.
Johnny dipped his head, humbled. “Well, Murdoch, ya don’t hafta worry. I’ll keep Boston safe.”
Scott huffed and rolled his eyes. “Come on, brother, the sooner we get started, the sooner we get home. Don’t forget your slicker like you did last time!”
Johnny watched Scott disappear out the door, then turned to Murdoch, and, with a nod of his head, the soft words bespoke the thoughts in his heart. “Thanks, Murdoch. Never had someone ta worry over me before.”
Murdoch straightened and put a warm hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “Yes, you did, Johnny. You just didn’t know it.”
Again, Johnny saw the truth in those blue-gray eyes. He had to get out of there before he lost control over his stampeding emotions. “Thanks,” he whispered and followed his brother, then quickly returned and grabbed his slicker hanging on the hook by the door. With a grin, he left and ventured into the damp gray morning.
The canyons above Cutter’s Creek were full of bush and scrub trees. Piles of rocks lay amid the growth and provided excellent places for the cattle to remain out of sight. By the time the men would have all the bovines rounded up and driven to Cutter’s Creek, Johnny thought he’d be an old man. There was no giving a quick look to determine if there were any stragglers; the men had to scour the canyons, giving every nook and cranny a thorough check for the cows that did not want to be found by the men on horseback.
There was only one casualty when Isidro suffered a graze on his leg from the horn of an agitated cow. And where it was not a serious injury, Scott insisted it was tended then and there.
Shortly after noon, the rain began to fall, and in no time, the men were soaked to the bone despite the attempts to keep dry.
“I’m so wet and dirty, I’ve got mud squishing in between my toes!” Scott groused.
Johnny tipped his head back and laughed, then wished he hadn’t done that. Rain from the brim of his hat washed down his back and penetrated through the rip in his slicker, making him shiver. “I’ll be sure ta tell that ta the girls at The Angels Nest, I think they’d like ta hear about them dirty feet, Boston!” Johnny teased, earning himself a scowl from Scott.
“What are we, about half done checking out these canyons?” Scott asked as he turned to Johnny.
“Figure that’s about right. Best get to it.” And he hauled himself to his feet and into the saddle. The men followed suit, and, once again, began to ferret out the ornery cows.
Again, with the aid of the spyglass, Harrison watched the progress as Lancer’s hands labored to gather the cattle. The events could not have worked out better if he had issued the orders himself, and he huffed a sigh as if to say ‘It was about time!’ For the entire day, Harrison, Mitchell, and Hart kept their eyes on the men working the cows, and when finally, they herded the beef into the lower pasture, the exhausted men turned their mounts back to the ranch. Harrison had all he could do to keep from laughing out loud. It would take the men more than two hours to get home at the crawl they were traveling now. He would wait for another hour before he put the next phase of his plan into motion. Now it begins, Lieutenant! Now it begins!
“Glad your horse knows how ta get home, Boston. Ya look pretty tired,” Johnny teased.
None of the men bothered to wipe at the rain running down their faces. As soon as they cleared away, it was replaced by more. Thunder rolled increasingly louder, and the rain came down harder.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired in my life, brother,” Scott mumbled just as a yawn forced its way past his lips.
Johnny could only nod in agreement.
“When we get home, I get the bathhouse first…” and Scott’s words died in his throat as the blast cut through the cold mountain air. “What was that?”
Johnny pulled Barranca to a swift halt. “That was a rifle shot! Someone’s in trouble, or they’re causin’ trouble! Back at the pasture where we left the cattle!” And with that, Johnny whirled the palomino around and charged back the way they came with the others close behind.
“Dammit, Johnny! Wait!” Scott called out, not wanting Johnny to charge head-long into trouble. “Why can’t he wait for us?” With no time to waste on recriminations, Scott and the others took off hoping to keep the wayward brother out of trouble.
“Alright, you two, it will take them hours to round up these cattle. While they’re busy here, we have work to do elsewhere. Let’s get to it!” Harrison ordered.
The three men left the high pasture after making sure the cattle scattered in all four directions. It would take the Lancer crew at least an hour to race back to the cattle, giving the men bent on revenge more than enough time to get to Lancer.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” The rage coursed through his body as Johnny came off the ridge and took in the empty pasture. The gate was secured when they left, and now it stood open. Could this day get any worse? Don’t even think that, Madrid. It can always get worse! Johnny chided himself. It was getting late, soon the sun would go down, and it would be impossible to see anything, much less traipse around up here in the dark. Well, better get what cattle we can back behind the fence.
But the question remained, who fired the shot and stampeded the cattle?
“Murdoch, I’m getting worried. Scott and Johnny should have been home an hour ago! It’s already getting late, and with the bad weather, well, it just seems like something’s wrong!” Teresa peered out the window, trying to see through the storm. Lightning lit up the sky with bright flashes that caused her to jump.
“They’re big boys, darling, and can take care of themselves. They’ll be fine!” Murdoch placated, doing his best to cover his concerns. It would serve no purpose to justify her worries by adding his own. “I’m sure they will be along shortly. We have to be patient.”
Teresa sighed deeply. “Alright, I guess I’m just a little jumpy with this weather. I’ll get dinner on the table.” And she disappeared into the kitchen.
Mitchell and Hart kept to the shadows. Skirting around the bunkhouse, they raced across the open distance to the back of the main barn. The rolling thunder and frequent, deafening blasts concealed any noise when they broke through the door. Starting at either end, they splashed kerosene on the walls, bales of hay and straw. If the distraction could keep the remaining men busy, they would carry out their plan and get off the ranch before the others made it home.
With the accelerant deposited where it would do the most damage, the two men lit matches and started the blaze. In seconds the barn was filled with thick, black smoke and engulfed in flames. As quickly as they came, Mitchell and Hart left to meet Harrison behind the hacienda where their horses waited for a quick getaway. Then waited for someone to notice the fire.
“Darling, this dinner is very…” Murdoch’s praise was interrupted as the back door crashed open, and Jelly ran through the kitchen, rain dripping from his body and leaving a muddy trail on the floor.
“Boss! Barn’s on fire!” Then, as fast as he entered the house, he was gone.
Murdoch was out of his chair before the back door slammed shut. “Teresa, you stay here! Get ready in case someone needs medical attention!” Grabbing his coat off the hook as he left the room, he, too, vanished into the dark rainy night.
Teresa stood at the window and watched the horrific sight as, in the glow of the fire, she could see the attempts to rescue the horses in the barn. Men filled buckets and formed a line, taking the water to throw onto the blaze. The water sizzled as it contacted with the seared and scorched wood, much of it bubbling away into vapor.
Her heart pounded in her chest, knowing that she would be needed before the night was over. Her talents with things medicinal were going to be put to the test. Whirling around to the pantry where she kept the herbs, medicines, and salves, Teresa ran straight into the arms of an intruder. Kenneth Harrison stood straight and intimidating as he caught her in his grasp. She gasped in terror as the shocking silver eyes held her captive, and iron-like arms held her tight against her will as she struggled in vain to free herself.
“You do as you’re told, and you might live. Give me trouble, and I’ll make you wish you were never born.”
Teresa turned icy cold inside.
“Scott! Forget the cows! Too dark ta see anything. We’ll hafta come back in the mornin’!” Johnny called, his breath ghosting in puffs of vapor floating away with the words. And the question burned in his brain, who was responsible for this?
The men gathered, cold, wet, and frustrated, and started back to the ranch. Fatigue fell in a heavy cloak around them, and no one felt any need for conversation. All they wanted was to get warm and sleep. Get dry and fall into bed. And they still had a long way to go to get to the ranch.
But those dreams quickly vanished when the yellow-orange glow reflecting off the low hanging clouds exploded in their brains; there was trouble at Lancer!
As one, they spurred their tired mounts toward the ranch, every heart pounding, pumping blood through their veins in a frantic rush. Searing flames leaped skyward, destroying everything in its path.
Murdoch! Teresa! Were they alright?
Charging into the yard, the men jumped from their saddles and let the horses run loose. Grabbing whatever they could find to subdue the flames, they joined in the fight to save the barn.
Murdoch’s tall form emerged from the smoke and made his way to his sons.
“We got the horses out! I think the barn’s a loss, have to wait until morning to see if there’s anything salvageable. The men seem to be in one piece! Are you two alright?” he asked around a cough from the dense smoke, never knowing what to expect when Scott and Johnny returned home.
“Yes, we’re fine!” Scott shouted above the din.
“Murdoch, someone let the cattle out that we rounded up! I think, now, they did that ta keep us busy while they burned the barn!” Johnny voiced his suspicions. This was no coincidence, and the pieces fit together just a little too well.
“Why the hell would anyone…” Johnny stopped in mid-sentence. “T’resa!” And he raced to the hacienda with the Colt in his hand.
The door slowly swung open, allowing a full view of the interior of the kitchen. It was empty. No Teresa waiting with her herbs and medicines. Quickly, Johnny checked the pantry and found no one there.
Treading silently through the rooms confirmed what desperate minds did not want to accept. She was gone. Johnny glanced at Scott; their eyes met, and Johnny read the heartbreak, and more than that, he read intense guilt. Harrison.
“Scott, we don’t know for sure it was him. We’ll find out, though, won’t we?” And without giving Scott any time to protest, Johnny passed him on his way outside, checking for tracks, any that didn’t get washed away.
Behind the hacienda, deep hoof prints filled with rain told the ugly story. Three horses waited in this spot as the men burned the barn and abducted Teresa from the house. Broken branches of the hedge marked the place where they made their way into the night, and deep gouges in the mud testified to their hasty escape.
Critical seconds ticked away. Johnny and Scott raced into the house, splattering mud and rainwater on the floor as they retrieved extra ammunition and a few supplies, then turned back out the door. Ignoring pleas to wait until morning, they caught their mounts and rode through the storm as lightning ripped across the sky.
Murdoch, numb with fear, collapsed in his chair and wondered if he would ever see his sons and Teresa alive again. It was just three months ago his world nearly shattered as Scott’s past came to haunt them, stealing both his sons in an act of senseless revenge. He couldn’t bear the idea of losing his sons again! And now, Teresa was gone, taken from Lancer, and Murdoch knew it was not by her choice.
Though Murdoch had not made the connection that Harrison was at the bottom of Teresa’s disappearance until hearing the words spoken between his sons, the same fear held him frozen now. Oh, Lord! Please let them be safe!
They followed the tracks as best they could, north through the pounding rain. Johnny knew they had little time before the signs would begin to wash out, but there was no other option open… they had to travel in the storm and use the flash of the lightning to see the gouges from the hooves in the mud. Their sister’s life depended on it. Once the lightning ceased, they would have to stop or risk their horses, even themselves. Ending in a broken pile at the bottom of a ravine because of the dark would do no one any good. Teresa’s life was at stake, and if it was Harrison that had her now, both Johnny and Scott knew he would not hesitate to hurt her, and worse. They couldn’t let that happen. Johnny vowed if any harm were to befall her, Harrison, and his dog, Mitchell would regret the day they were born.
There were three sets of tracks, one slightly deeper as if carrying two people, and unless the rain became more intense, these tracks would remain, leaving some indentation from the hooves in the mud.
Scott’s gut was churning. He knew the lunatic was responsible for Teresa’s disappearance. And it was his fault. It was his past that haunted them now… again. And suddenly, Scott realized the agony that Johnny lived with every day; the torment of putting those you loved and held dear in mortal danger. And it was paralyzing. This was happening because of him.
He fought the rolling in his belly and knew he had to pull himself together. Turning toward the man riding beside him, Scott drew strength from the presence of Madrid, for it was Johnny Madrid that was with him now.
The rain was cold. Teresa shivered but did not complain. To do so would only serve to inflame the volatile situation she found herself in. To cause a delay or issue would ensure more harm. She heard the name ‘Harrison’ and immediately knew the danger. Though she wasn’t privy to all the details of the capture of her brothers at the hands of this madman, she knew the extent of the injuries they suffered because of him. She had tended them while they recovered and witnessed their nightmares and their pain, both mental and physical. Teresa knew enough about it to realize he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. The man would use her to get to them, and after that, her life would be meaningless.
Wild imaginings scrambled through her mind; what would her captors do with her? Could she get away? Where were Scott and Johnny? Would she live through the night? Would any of them?
Then, as if slapped across the face, Teresa took hold of the frantic wanderings in her head. She couldn’t think straight if she let herself panic and knew she had to be ready to escape if the opportunity presented itself. She peered through the rain, trying to discern where they were going and wondered how long they would run in the dark. It would be suicide to continue.
Her brothers would come for her, of that Teresa was certain. As soon as they realized she was gone, they would come. She had to be patient and hold terrorizing thoughts at bay. Physically shaking her head, she pushed those uncertain wanderings aside. Teresa did her best to stay strong, stay alert, and try not to show her fear. Don’t show them fear; Johnny taught her that.
She didn’t know how long they traveled, but it felt like hours. All she could do was to recognize landmarks in the light of the blazing bolts that tore through the sky. But through the dark and rain, there wasn’t much to see. They were climbing, that much she could tell. Their pace was much slower and much less smooth than before. The animal beneath them struggled, lurching upward.
Teresa, drenched with rain and chilled to the bone, could not control the tremors that ran through her body. Held fast within the iron arms, all she could do was to sit and wait. Wait for her brothers to find her and take her home.
It wasn’t much, but the shelter in the rocks was enough to keep them out of the wind. The rain stopped, so did the lightning, leaving them in the dark. Scott slumped against a boulder, miserable and desperately wishing for a break in the weather to continue the search for Teresa. The girl was young and beautiful, and he knew it would be only a matter of time before something would happen to her. Harrison would have no second thoughts about harming her, and Scott worried about Mitchell, too. The man was as evil as Harrison, but where Harrison wanted to control the situation and all involved, Mitchell would, given a chance, stoop to rape.
While held prisoner three months ago, Scott had watched as both Harrison and Mitchell beat Johnny, making Scott witness the brutal attacks as punishment. Punishment for something Scott didn’t do, and now they had Teresa. And Scott vowed to kill them with his bare hands if she were injured in any way.
Johnny could feel the tangible waves of cold fear rolling from his brother’s shoulders. But he had to make Scott push it aside and focus. If they were to be successful in this rescue, his brother had to let go of the personal feelings, or they should give up right now because those distracting thoughts would get them all killed.
Johnny had to get him talking and turn his mind onto a path that would do the most good, something they could use. “Scott, do ya remember lookin’ at a map of Lancer? What’s up this way? Makes sense that they can’t travel any farther’n us in the dark. They need ta get outta weather as much as we do.”
Though the words came from Madrid, Scott could hear the tones of Johnny Lancer in them. The map of Lancer… Concentrate!
“Yes, some of it,” Scott answered, thankful to have his thoughts interrupted. “Aren’t there a few small canyons further up? But not much else comes to mind.”
Johnny shivered inside his slicker. Neither Scott nor Johnny took the time to change into dry clothes before they left in search of their sister. Both men were wet and cold, but until they had Teresa safe, their mad was going to have to keep them warm.
“I should have done something, Johnny! I should have known something like this would happen!”
“It’s easy ta say that now, Scott. But ya gotta push that aside right now, cuz if ya can’t, ya ain’t gonna do T’resa any good if ya can’t concentrate. An’ it ain’t easy ta do, but I can tell ya that unless ya get yourself under control, she could end up dead. Us, too.”
Madrid’s words had truth in them, but Scott was at a loss as to how to accomplish that feat. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then asked. “How do I do that, Johnny? Help me, please. What do you do?”
The plea sounded desperate in the cold night. Johnny shrugged. What could he tell his brother? That he had a lifetime of practice dealing with cold hard truths? That you can’t hold the emotions close? Shove aside those you love, your family? Ain’t gonna lie ta him.
“All I can say is, just keep thinkin’ with your head, not your heart. If we’re gonna get T’resa out of this alive, we gotta be careful, an’ that means not lettin’ yourself fall into guilt. That’ll come when it’s over an’ we can handle that tagether, brother.” That was it. That was all he could say to help Scott cope on this cold, dark night.
Harrison sat, observing the girl as she shook with cold. He admired her resolve to hold any complaints to herself, not that it would do any good. He would give her no comfort; she meant something to Lt. Lancer, therefore, did not deserve any comforts. He wished she would ask him for something so that he could deny her request.
He needed to stay ahead of the Lancers and the posse. Having eluded the law for almost three months, he was sure it was the least of his concerns for now. But when it became known that this girl was missing from Lancer, he knew the search would resume in full force. His success would lie in the ability to remain hidden.
Harrison grinned in the dark. The confident grin of knowing he would reach his goal, the grin of an unbalanced mind. The grin of a madman. He figured out the next step in throwing the law from his trail. In the morning, he would instruct Mitchell and Hart as to what he wanted them to do. The solitary old farmer he’d seen earlier was about to serve a purpose.
Murdoch Lancer had not slept. At all. Teresa was gone, and Scott and Johnny left to find her and bring her home. Until his family was safe, all of them together, there would be no sleep for him. He looked in frustration at his watch as the hands slowly ticked away the seconds, minutes, and hours. He could wait no more. Even if the posse could not go out yet because of the dark, they could prepare for the search; they had to start something! He had to send for Val Crawford before another hour would pass and was wasted.
He watched as Frank galloped under the Lancer arch on his way to Green River. They would begin their search as soon as the sheriff arrived at Lancer.
Teresa clenched her jaws to prevent her teeth from uncontrolled chattering. Chilled to the bone and miserable, she refused to ask for a blanket or anything to relieve her discomfort. Her mind went back to the day Scott and Johnny returned home after Harrison captured and tortured them. She helped to care for her brothers, and she had seen their injuries and knew full well that this sadistic criminal would not hesitate to torture her too. Teresa had to keep her wits about her and bide her time. Her brother’s influence was keeping her alive so far, and she would try not to let her family down.
But inside, she was quaking and terrified and didn’t know how much longer she was able to hold herself in control. She could feel her resolve slipping away. No! She had to keep it together. For Scott and Johnny! They deserved her best efforts!
The heavy clouds held back much of the dawn. Water dripped from the trees sounding as if the rain continued to batter the earth. Harrison roused Mitchell and Hart and gave them instructions. Then, Harrison handed Mitchell a bundle, and the two men rode out, leaving Teresa alone with her tormentor.
She said nothing but watched his every move as he readied his mount. For the first time, she noticed the blanket that covered her. Sometime during the night, one of them, in a moment of decency, had spread it over her to ward off the cold.
Tensing when she saw him stride toward her, she held out a defiant chin and leveled him with a cold stare. Though inside, she trembled with fear, she refused to let him see her true feelings. And she wondered if she could keep up the charade. I have to do this for Johnny and Scott!
“Get up,” Harrison commanded. He checked the rope that secured her wrists, then led her to a pile of rocks. He turned his back, giving her a modicum of privacy.
Teresa’s face flared red as she realized what he intended for her to do, but given no other choice, she saw to her needs. When she finished, she straightened her clothing and stood, still without a word.
Harrison flashed a cold smile, then pulled her to his horse and settled her in front of him. They left the meager camp, going higher into the mountains.
Johnny watched the trail. He studied every turned rock and trampled patch of vegetation. Much of the tracks had washed away, but there was enough left to follow until the ground became rocky.
“Scott, keep an eye up there for me. I’m gonna scout out that ravine over there.” Johnny nodded to the ridgeline above them as he nudged Barranca into the small gully. Leaving nothing unchecked, Johnny took a look around. He didn’t expect to find any sign of their target here, but he had to cover every option. He had to be sure.
He had to give Scott something to do, other than follow behind. Ever since they started this morning, Scott hadn’t said a word, and Johnny needed him to shed the sullen shroud and focus and push the guilt to aside. Teresa’s life, and theirs, depended on it.
Satisfied for the moment Scott had his mind occupied, Johnny surveyed the gully then made his way back to his brother. “No one’s been down there. It’s clear. The only way ta go now is up. Let’s go.”
Scott did not respond but followed Johnny’s lead. With every passing minute, guilt filled his heart, knowing their sister was now in the clutches of his enemy.
“What’s Harrison want him for?” Hart asked as he and Mitchell watched from their cover behind the trees.
“Dunno. The Major, he don’t let me in on all his plans. I just do what he says. See, he’s got a score ta settle with Lt. Lancer. An’ me, well I got a score ta settle with Lt. Lancer’s brother, so if it’ll get me what I want with Johnny Lancer, I’ll be doin’ whatever ol’ Harrison tells me ta do. Let’s go!”
Mitchell and Hart brazenly rode up to the small farm. They took their time looking around and asked the farmer if they could water their horses. The two dismounted and thanked the man before they pulled their pistols and pointed them at his head.
Threatened with a slow and painful death, Zebulon Conover had no choice but to comply with their demand to go with them. As they rode away, he turned and took one last look at his home, knowing in his heart, he would never see it again.
It had been almost ten hours since they abducted Zeb Conover. Mitchell reined his mount to a halt and looked back on the trail below. Movement caught his eye as he looked back over the way they’d ridden only moments before. He spotted riders through the breaks of the pines. Damn! Thought we’d have more time! Someone musta discovered the old man was gone! He wheeled the horse around and caught up to Hart as he led the mount that carried the old farmer.
“Get goin’! Posse’s behind us!”
Hart kicked his horse into a gallop and pulled the mount alongside. “Hold on, old man!”
An hour later, Mitchell stopped and checked behind them. There was no movement, no visible sign of the posse, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Mitchell had been on this side of the law before and knew from experience they wouldn’t just disappear. It was going to be close. They would need a diversion.
Up ahead, Johnny tensed in his saddle. Always aware of his surroundings and ever alert, he now turned his focus on what Scott could not see.
The Easterner scoured the terrain above but could see nothing. “Johnny… what is it? What do you see?” he whispered.
“Nothin’… yet.” But the feeling was there. His eyes never left the rocky outcropping above as that little twinge prickled in his brain and refused to be ignored. “It just hit me,” Johnny motioned with his chin, “that’d be a good place ta hide out.” He fixed Scott with a stare. Was this the place they would find Teresa? “Them maps Murdoch has of the ranch, ain’t there caves up in those rocks? Seems I remember him sayin’ somethin’ about goin’ after a mountain lion up here once… C’mon, Boston, let’s go.”
Scott’s belly flipped over. A hunch was all they had. But he pushed his apprehensions aside and followed his brother through the rocks.
“Hold up, Hart. These horses need rest. Won’t be any good ta us if we run ‘em inta the ground. Geddown offa that horse, old man!” Mitchell grabbed the bundle Harrison gave him when they separated, and with his pistol aimed at Zeb Conover’s head, he tossed it into the old man’s arms. “Put them on!” Mitchell ordered. “An’ make it quick!”
Bewildered, old Zeb looked at the clothes in his hands. It was a worn prison uniform. And old Zeb knew this was his last day in this life.
“Watch him, Hart!” Mitchell said as he walked through the boulders, looking for just the right place. What the hell, right here’s as good a spot as any. Yes, it was just the right place. Mitchell peered over the rocky precipice to the bottom of the gorge one hundred feet below. The posse would be riding close at this point. A sinister grin crawled across his mouth. Yup, this’ll do just fine! Just fine!
Mitchell returned to find the old man dressed in the dirty, torn uniform, and he did a double-take. Hmmm, maybe this’ll work after all. Looks jus’ like Harrison. “You, this way!” He motioned with the revolver for the old man to move, then waited in the rocks. Thirty minutes later, the dust from the trailing posse was again in sight and coming their way.
Mitchell stood, pistol pointed at Conover’s chest. He backed the man to the edge of the drop-off. Pulling back the hammer, a maniacal light in his eyes glared at the man. “Jump!”
The farmer stood rooted to the spot. Fear glazed his eyes, and his brain couldn’t grasp the order.
Mitchell touched the muzzle of the handgun on the farmer’s body and pushed. The scream echoed off the granite peaks; then, it was silent. Mitchell looked down onto the rocks below. The posse on the trail would notice the large red smear that cascaded over the boulders and marked the violent end of a man’s life. The posse couldn’t miss it. The body wedged itself between boulders in a broken pile. Stan Mitchell smiled, thinking Harrison’s plan was working very well.
The two men mounted up, leaving Mitchell’s stolen horse in the rocks where the ‘escaped prisoner Harrison’ fell to his death. He mounted the horse belonging to the farmer then left to rejoin Harrison at their camp in the mountains above Lancer.
Scott was losing his patience. They had to find Teresa; it was his fault she was missing. He couldn’t accept the thought of Harrison tormenting his family again. First, Johnny was severely beaten within an inch of his life because of Scott’s past, and now Teresa was gone. And Murdoch had suffered through it all.
He was not used to fighting this kind of war, and war it surely was. He would do whatever it took to get his sister back, but he also knew he had to keep himself together and take a lesson from Johnny and focus. He wouldn’t do anyone any good if he couldn’t keep his mind on what needed to be done. He shook his head, cleared his brain, and kept a sharp eye trained on the terrain above.
The move up the mountain was slow, much too slow for either Lancer brother, but they knew there was no other choice. Rushing into the unknown with reckless haste would do nothing except get them killed, and Teresa as well. And he would not let that happen.
Johnny could do nothing now but follow his gut. The rocky landscape prevented tracks, and unless an overturned stone or scrape on a rock left by a horseshoe was visible, there was about as much of a chance of locating their sister as there was tracking a bird in flight. So Madrid settled into place and took the reins. Together, they would find Teresa, and Madrid vowed to help his brother through what was to come.
Sheriff Haines pulled on the reins, and his horse skidded to an abrupt stop. The other mounts followed suit coming close to piling up on the horses ahead. There to the right was a grotesque reminder of the perils that mountain travel can throw in your face. The blood smeared on the rocks told an ugly story, and it was up to Haines to find out what that story was about.
He turned to the men behind him. “Sadler, you an’ Hank come with me. The rest of you keep a sharp eye open! We don’t know if there’s anyone up there pointin’ a rifle at us. If you see ‘em aimin’ at us, take ‘em out! If they start runnin’, go after ‘em!”
With instructions given to the posse, the three lawmen dismounted and began to pick their way through the rocks. It wasn’t long before they came upon the crumpled, broken body dressed in the prison uniform lying in a pool of blood. The head was crushed, the features damaged beyond recognition. The nose and facial skin were hanging in mutilated flaps of tissue.
The corpse had been a tall man, and the hair that wasn’t covered in blood shone silver in the hot sun. Gotta be him, Haines thought to himself.
“Alright, you two get up on top an’ see if ya can spot anything from up there!”
Sadler and Hank started up the bluff, not knowing what they would find and hoping it wasn’t a bullet from ambush.
The saddled horse stood, reins dragging the ground, and calmly watched the approach of the two men. The gelding nickered a greeting and shook his head, sending the dark mane and forelock in a black flurry around him.
Hank checked the horse over, identifying it as one of the two stolen from a ranch nearly three months before. The body lying in the dirt below had to be one of the escaped prisoners, and this was the horse used in his escape.
They searched the area but found nothing. No sign of the other prisoner. One down, one to go.
Murdoch Lancer held his temper in check. He wanted to keep riding and narrow the distance between him, his sons, and Teresa. But Cipriano was thorough and took his time reading what was left of the tracks. There was no room for a mistake.
“Patrón, it takes time, por favor. If I get it wrong, that will only set us back and maybe get there too late,” the Lancer segundo reasoned.
“He’s right, Mr. Lancer, can’t afford ta get this wrong. Miss T’resa’s countin’ on alla us ta get her home in one piece,” Sheriff Val Crawford said, doing his best to keep Murdoch from riding headlong into a viper’s nest and getting someone killed. Time was critical, he knew, but it was also necessary to take those extra minutes at this point. Precious time they really didn’t have to spare.
The flames of the tiny fire provided some comfort. Though the sun warmed the air outside, the interior of the cave was cold and damp. Teresa, chilled from the ride in the rain, huddled as close as she could to the flames, but being tied to a massive log, made the maneuver difficult. Her determination to appear strong in place, she waited for something to happen and that ‘something’ would be in the form of her brothers. And she smiled into the fire.
Harrison stood at the mouth of the cave, watching for Mitchell and Hart to return. The decoy of the farmer’s body would set the law on a different path, giving Harrison ample time to exact his revenge. In his demented mind, Harrison worked it out perfectly. Using the girl, he would force Lt. Lancer and his half-breed brother to surrender; then, he would kill the two, making Lancer watch, all the while enforcing the idea it was the lieutenant’s fault they were dead or dying. And then, the moment he’d dreamed about would take place. Lt. Lancer of the U.S. Cavalry would draw his last painful breath! And justice would finally be served!
Major Kenneth Harrison, late of the Confederate States Army, would be free of the horrible injustices he was forced to endure. He would attempt to get the court-martial conviction overturned. But there would be no return to his military status unless the miracle of a resurgence of the Confederacy were to happen. He could only hope.
The sound of hoofbeats interrupted his musings, and Mitchell and Hart rode into the camp.
Harrison considered the two men. From their demeanor, everything went as planned. He watched as they settled their horses and walked toward the cave, stopping them before they entered.
“Is it done?” he questioned.
Mitchell laughed as he passed Harrison on his way into the cave. “Worked out better’n what we planned. He landed on his head. There ain’t nothin’ ta identify.”
Teresa shivered at the vicious words ‘landed on his head- nothin’ ta identify’ and her stomach rolled. She fought down the bile and prayed for Scott and Johnny to come to get her and take precautions to keep themselves safe from harm.
“What’d ya think, Boston? We follow these pendejos inta that camp, we’re bound ta get T’resa hurt. I say we pick ‘em off one by one.” Johnny watched the men as they took the saddles from their mounts. “We can take their horses, lure ‘em out into a trap.”
Scott didn’t reply. Johnny shifted his gaze to his brother and didn’t like what he saw in those blue-gray eyes. They were filled with rage and swirling with fear. Fear for their sister. He had to get through to Scott, shake him from the grip on his emotions. If Scott couldn’t control it, they could all end up dead at the hands of the maniacal Kenneth Harrison.
Johnny knew that Scott needed to face his fears, and he would do everything in his power for that to happen. It was dangerous, life-threatening, and they had to be successful, for Teresa. And for Scott.
“Scott, I need your help,” Johnny said as he again turned his attention to the two men below. “Ya think you can help me with the plan I got?”
Scott could not quell the feelings of guilt, the anxiety of innocent Teresa in the hands of the demented Harrison. His emotions rampaged through him, leaving him unaware that he was still cold and wet. But something in his brother’s words began to break through those debilitating ropes that had him trussed up like a steer waiting for slaughter. They pierced the fog, and a streak of clarity suddenly blazed in his mind. Follow Johnny’s lead. And Scott shook his head, and only then was he able to answer.
“Yes, brother, what do you have in mind? Tell me what you want me to do.” The response was strong; no longer did Scott appear lost.
Johnny sighed with relief. He needed the brother that he knew was there, somewhere, in the body of muscle, bones, and brains. The man he knew he could count on was again in control and ready to back him.
“’ Kay, Boston, we know there’s three of ‘em down there. We’re gonna get as close as we can. I’m gonna take out the first one that heads off ta the bushes. When he don’t come back, I figure the next one’ll try an’ find him. You work your way down; maybe ya can get there in time ta back me up. If ya can’t, then, I’ll try ta take him out, too. That’ll leave one with T’resa. I’m thinkin’ it’ll be Harrison. He’ll be dealin’ with both of us then an’ won’t have any backup. We can take him, Boston, the two of us. What’d ya think?”
“I think you’ve lost your mind… but I don’t have a better plan, so let’s go!”
Sounds like ol’ Boston got himself straightened out… And Johnny allowed himself a brief grin. Then he shoved it aside and focused on his sister, and the plan he hoped to hell would work.
Mitchell sauntered to where Teresa sat on the log before the fire. He placed a booted foot next to her and leaned an elbow on his knee as a leering grin stretched across his whiskered face. He gently took a lock of hair in his fingers and inhaled the fresh scent, sending a shiver of disgust through her body, and she held her breath.
“Ummm, nice!” he breathed, but the pleasure was short-lived as Teresa turned and grabbed her hair from his hand.
“Don’t you touch me!” she railed. The venomous reply gave him pause. She stared at him with wide eyes, hoping she didn’t look as scared as she felt. Could she bluff him into thinking he didn’t terrify her?
Then he laughed, his raucous guffaws echoed in the cave, and he warmed to the game. “Well, Missy, you’re a spunky little thing, ain’tcha? Hey, I figure me an’ you can have us a good ol’ time while we wait. How ‘bout…”
“Mitchell, leave the girl alone. Hart, make yourself useful and get more firewood, Mitchell, I need you over here. There are questions I have about that posse,” Harrison growled.
Mitchell huffed, then turned to meet Harrison where he stood well away from Teresa, and although she did her best, she couldn’t hear anything they said. Hart wandered out into the late evening after the firewood, leaving her nerves stretched to their limit. She fought back her fears, her tears, resolving not to let them see any weakness. She needed to be strong.
Well, now, would ya look at that. Yeah, this is a good enough place ta… what would Boston call it? Subdue, yeah, that’s it… subdue this pendejo. Again, Johnny had to smile. And he watched as the man stopped with his back to him and unbuttoned his pants.
Now, it was bad enough getting subdued when you’re supposed to be keeping watch or checking on the horses. But it’s a whole different story getting subdued when you get caught while taking a leak.
Hart sighed as he relieved himself. The flow created a puddle in the dirt and caused it to splatter. Spreading his feet wider to avoid the mess on his boots, he felt the cold muzzle on the bare skin of his neck. Making a move to turn around, he was brought up short by the chilling command.
“Don’t move! You keep that thing aimed straight ahead a you!” Johnny couldn’t help but grin. Nothin’ like getting’ caught with your pisser in your hand! Johnny slipped the pistol from the holster, leaving the man unarmed.
“What… what’dya want?” Hart was in a panic. Disadvantaged in his state of undress, he quickly straightened his clothes. “You part of the posse?” The question went unanswered, elevating the level of his distress. He looked around, trying to detect more than this one man. Were there more in hiding?
“Shut up! Move over there!” Johnny nudged him with the Colt, shoving him behind the cover of boulders. Once out of sight from anyone leaving the cave, Johnny grabbed his captive’s shoulder and spun him around.
Hart turned to find a large, hungry blue steel barrel pointed between his eyes, and his heart nearly stopped. His mouth opened and closed, resembling a largemouth bass.
“Who’s in that cave?” Johnny demanded, his questions short, to the point, and his eyes cold and filled with anger.
“Just two…” Hart answered as his voice cracked with fear.
“Just two? What about the girl?” No unnecessary questions to waste time, just cold words filled with death should the answers be wrong. Nothing would save this pendejo from what was to happen now.
Hart froze. He now knew who this man was. He was one of the Lancers, and Aaron Hart began the countdown that would signal the end of his life. “She’s there, she’s there! She ain’t hurt!”
Johnny’s eyes narrowed. He motioned with his Colt toward the picket line, and Hart complied. He wondered if he could get Mitchell’s attention. He had to do something!
The Colt still leveled on Hart, Johnny pulled his knife from his boot and cut the picket line, wrapping it around Hart’s hands.
If he was going to do something, it had to be now. Hart took a breath and screamed, “MITCHELL!”
Johnny lashed out with revolver in his hand, catching Hart along the jaw. The bone cracked as blood streamed down his face, and he crumpled to the ground in a heap. The man looked vaguely familiar, and it took a minute, but he remembered. This was the stranger he’d seen in Green River, the man he asked Val about. The man that was getting information for Harrison. Johnny wondered how long they had been under observation.
Scott stood guard from his vantage point as Johnny silently went from cover to cover, closing the gap between him and the man outside the cave. He was to wait for Johnny’s signal, watch his brother’s back, then join him below. But plans have a way of going south, and Scott cringed when he heard the bellow from the rocks. With a glance at the cave opening, he was on the move. He had to do something before Johnny was caught by the madman, again! Scott had to get to Johnny’s defense, but in doing so, he missed Mitchell coming out of the cave.
Harrison knew their time was running out. The posse was closer than he thought. All the months of staying out of sight bolstered his confidence. But the disintegrating hold on reason and reality was gaining ground. At first, those thoughts ran unrestrained in his mind with his success, the plans he made worked out so well. But with the news of the posse now close, his mind began to crack and splintered the last shred of sanity as he sank deeper into madness. His inflated ego refused to accept that he could be defeated.
He turned to stare at Teresa, his silvery eyes lethal, unbalanced as he came to stand over her, and she couldn’t hold back the tremor that ran wild through her body.
“We need to get Lt. Lancer and his half-breed brother in here! Go get Hart…”
But the order was interrupted by Hart’s frantic call.
“Get out there and see what’s going on!” he bellowed at Mitchell.
Stan Mitchell stopped at the mouth of the cave, then slipped outside and disappeared. Keeping to the brush and boulders, he moved slowly toward the picket line, not sure at what he would find. Hart’s cry held a warning, and Mitchell didn’t need a detailed explanation to tell him there was trouble. Through the bushes, Mitchell caught sight of Hart as a stranger dragged him behind the rocks. Stranger? That ain’t no stranger! And Mitchell’s heart began to hammer against his ribs. Johnny Lancer! Hot damn! This’s gonna be fun! And he circled around his target in the cover of vegetation.
Stepping quietly, Mitchell came up behind Johnny as he secured Hart’s arms and feet. The snick of the hammer pulled back stopped Johnny cold.
Scott couldn’t see his brother and didn’t know what was happening. He had to get closer; he had to watch Johnny’s back and couldn’t do it if he didn’t know where Johnny was. The thought of his brother falling prey once again to Harrison chilled him clear through. He couldn’t let that happen again! He pushed those horrifying visions out of his head and started to Johnny’s side, to back him up.
Some sounds definitely got your attention; the scream of a horse in trouble or the roar of a tornado had sent dread racing through his body on more than one occasion. And an angered Murdoch Lancer was another. But a gun cocked behind your back, the anticipation of feeling that bullet tear through muscle and bone was like no other sensation he could think of at this moment. But at times such as this, Johnny channeled those apprehensions to Madrid.
He slowly stood and turned around. He’d be damned if he was going to let himself get shot in the back by some stinking cobarde. Besides, Scott was out there… somewhere. C’mon, Boston, where are ya?
Leveling his glacial stare at the man holding the pistol aimed at his head, Johnny’s insolent grin spread across his face. “Ya come back for another kick at your cojones? Boy, you sure hit the ground like a bag a shit! Wonder what your Boss thought about that? Ya didn’t last long, even goin’ up against a man with his hands tied an’ nothin’ ta defend himself with!” Johnny didn’t hold back the laugh. Mitchell’s temper was going to explode. ‘ Kay, Boston, any time now. But there was no sign Scott was coming.
Mitchell fought for control. He couldn’t let Lancer get the upper hand. So, with no other option open, he began his own harassment. And this one was sure to get a reaction. “Throw your gun over there… easy, like!”
Johnny had no choice but to comply and tossed his Colt into the dirt. Mitchell waved the barrel of his revolver and motioned Johnny toward the cave. Once they started to walk, Mitchell launched his attack.
“Just so ya know, I had me a fine ol’ time last night! Yeah, that little gal sure did help ta pass them cold, lonely hours! Sure is a feisty little thing, she is! Smells good, too!”
Johnny stopped in his tracks and dismissed the barrel of Mitchell’s gun as it jabbed into his back. Madrid corralled his temper and turned to face his captor. And he saw fear billow in Mitchell’s eyes.
For the second time, this unarmed man sent cold dread to pierce his heart, and though he’d never admit to it, Mitchell was humiliated again that this same man with no weapon, could elicit those emotions in him.
Johnny’s eyes were blue ice, hard and cold. “If I find out that you hurt her, I’m gonna gut you from them squashed cajones up ta your neck with a dull knife an’ that’s a promise.” He did not raise his voice, did not advance on Mitchell, but the intent was clear. Very clear. Johnny Lancer would kill him in cold blood if he found that Mitchell had touched Teresa.
At that moment, Mitchell was thankful he was a liar. There was no doubt in his mind this man would slice him in two and have no regrets about it.
Teresa tensed. Something was happening, but she didn’t know what. Could it be that Scott and Johnny had arrived to take her home? She sat still and tried to control the beating of her heart.
Harrison looked around. He could hear the voices. Inching further out of the cave, he saw Mitchell with a prisoner. The half-breed! Lt. Lancer must be close…
Mitchell motioned again for Johnny to move. With one last icy glare, Johnny turned and found himself facing Harrison. He snorted a disrespectful laugh. “Well, if it ain’t the Major! Hey, how’d ya like prison? Oh yeah, ya never made it there… but ya will this time, pendejo!” And that was the last he knew as Mitchell crashed his pistol into the side of Johnny’s head, and he fell to the ground.
Scott crouched behind the rocks and scouted the area in front of him. He was about to advance but stopped as he watched Mitchell drag Johnny’s limp body into the cave as Harrison brought up the rear. One of Scott’s biggest fears just came true. Harrison had Johnny in his grasp once again.
Now there were two people Scott loved at Harrison’s mercy. What was he going to do about it?
Val watched as Murdoch Lancer fought for control. The man was holding together by a thread. Teresa O’Brien and his sons were out there… somewhere, and there wasn’t a clue if any of them were still alive. Sheriff Crawford would do all he could to find the missing family, but he couldn’t afford to have Murdoch fall apart and have the potential to hamper the search.
“Mr. Lancer, we’ll find ‘em. I bet ol’ Scott an’ Johnny’ll have Miss T’resa all safe an’ sound an’ won’t even need our help!” Val said as he forced a smile. “We’ll find ‘em.”
Murdoch turned his eyes away, willing the tears to dry up. “I just hope we’re in time.”
Giving Lancer time to collect his emotions, Val walked to the edge of the clearing. Then his hand went to his side and hovered over his Colt. The sound of horses coming from down the trail drew his attention, and Val ordered the men to take cover.
Seven men pulled their horses to a skidding halt when Val stepped onto the path. He eyed them suspiciously, but those initial troubling notions died when he spied the sheriff’s badge on the shirt of the man in front. He then recognized the face and, with a sigh of relief, greeted the newcomer. “Haines, whatcha doin’ out this far from town?” Val asked, hoping for more backup.
“Lookin’ for those two escaped prisoners. We found one of ‘em, the tall one, claimed ta be a major, I think. We’re on the trail of the other.” Bill Haines shared what information they had. “The trail went cold, but we got another lead ‘bout a day an’ a half ago an’ been chasin’ ‘em.”
“Ya say ya got one of ‘em? Didya get anything out of ‘im?”
“Be kinda hard ta do that. He’s dead. Looks like he fell off a cliff… landed on his head. Wasn’t much left.” Sheriff Haines swallowed down the bile, remembering the ugly sight.
“When did ya find it?” a hopeful Val asked.
“Oh, ‘bout five hours ago. Looks like it just happened. Blood on the rocks wasn’t dried yet,” Haines said.
Something wasn’t adding up, Val thought. Timin’ ain’t workin’ out…
“Where did you find the body, Sheriff?” Murdoch asked, confused as he thought about the direction these men had come from.
“Twenty miles northeast of here. Why?” What difference could that make, Haines wondered?
Murdoch turned to Val. “Sheriff Crawford, doesn’t it strike you as peculiar that Teresa was taken from the house and the tracks of three horses we’re following were going northwest, and they just today, find a body to the northeast?”
Val said nothing but nodded his head. He turned to Haines. “You sure the body was that prisoner?”
“Well, just how many folks’d be wanderin’ around dressed in a prison uniform? I had one of the men take his body back ta Merced. When we get the other one, you can come see for yourself.”
Val’s brain suddenly filled with suspicion. Harrison was a clever man. It could be that he planned a diversion. But for now, he kept those thoughts private. Haines was new to the area, and his methods grated on Val. And there was no trust yet between the two lawmen. Would there ever be? He knew he had to give it a chance, but what was it that Scott said? Rome wasn’t built in a day… Whatever Rome was.
“Three men broke inta Mr. Lancer’s house and kidnapped his ward. An innocent girl that has nothin’ ta do with any a this. His two sons are after ‘em; we trailed ‘em this far but lost the tracks. They’re up here somewhere.”
Haines was getting mad. Just what he didn’t need. Unauthorized young’uns that didn’t know what the hell they were doin’, possibly destroyin’ any leads an’ doin’ a good job a puttin’ themselves in harm’s way! He shook his head and huffed. “Just what I need. Two kids up here gonna blow each other’s heads off! Do they know how dangerous this is?” he railed.
Val seethed but let a vicious smile slide into place. “Oh, yeah, they know, Haines, an’ you jus’ keep outta their way. They’re the two that testified against Harrison at the trial. They know better’n you do what they’re up against!” Val mounted his horse and followed Cipriano up the mountain, not bothering to see if Haines followed or not. Crawford did not want Haines’ backup
The loud grunt alerted Teresa someone was entering the cave. She turned to see Mitchell dragging a body by the arms. That jacket! I know that jacket! But her hopes were short-lived when she realized Johnny was out cold.
“Johnny!” she cried as she watched Mitchell drop him on the ground. She gasped as Johnny’s head rolled to the side, exposing the blood-soaked hair above his left ear. “Let me tend him!” but her words fell on deaf ears as Harrison and Mitchell ignored her pleas. She shot them each an angry glower when they dismissed her. She pulled at the ropes that held her secure to the log. “Please, let me see to him!”
“Where’s Hart?” Harrison asked, waiting for Mitchell to catch his breath.
Mitchell nodded to the unconscious man on the floor. “The half-breed has ‘im tied up, but it looks like he’s dead.”
“No matter. He served his purpose.” Harrison crossed to the wall and inspected one of two sets of manacles that dangled from chains pounded into crevices in the rock. It was a stroke of genius to steal these shackles. So reminiscent of the chains he used at Libby. They worked so well, and no one got out of line after having experienced the punishment. Yes, they would work just fine! Just fine!
Harrison’s cold dismissal of the man caused Teresa another tremor. But she tried to focus on Johnny. He hadn’t moved since Mitchell dropped him in the dirt. Blood continued to ooze down his face and drip on his collar.
“This is an excellent job, Mitchell. These chains will keep them secure so we will be able to finish our obligation and punish Lt. Lancer for his crimes. They will never get away!” Harrison smiled, and Teresa swore his eyes took on a lethal shine.
“Punish Scott for what? He did nothing to warrant any punishment! I know what you did to them, and you were wrong then just as you are now! You deserve to go to prison!” Teresa’s tears flowed down her face as she vented her rage.
In two long strides, Harrison was at her side and grabbed her face in a cruel hand. There would be bruises, but she didn’t care. She loathed this man, this insane beast with the scary silver eyes that filled her heart with terror.
“And what do you know of it? Nothing yet! But you will when you hear the charges against Lt. Lancer. Then you will know what he did. And, you, my dear, will be sentenced and punished… right after I kill that half-breed, and Lt. Lancer will see it all before he dies!” Harrison let go of her face noting the red marks on her skin. It made him smile. The fact he caused her pain amused him, and he couldn’t wait to begin Lt. Lancer’s trial and have three prisoners to punish.
“Mitchell, get him chained!” Harrison said as he lashed out with a savage kick to Johnny’s ribs as he passed the prone man lying in the dirt.
Stan Mitchell pulled Johnny to the wall, slipped his arms under Johnny’s, and lifted the dead weight. He grabbed a manacle and snapped it around the limp wrist. Repeating the process with the other arm, Johnny soon hung on the wall, his weight suspended by arms and hands. The steel of the manacles tore at the skin as blood seeped down the arms, soaking his shirt.
Teresa openly cried. The nightmare was getting worse! Where was Scott?
Bracing himself for anything to happen, Scott did his best to form a plan. All he could think to do would be to get down there, stay hidden, and take them one at a time by surprise, a duplicate of the plan Johnny had outlined. Not a great plan, but it was the only one he could think of. He only hoped that, along with Teresa, Johnny would remain alive long enough for Scott to rescue him.
He tried desperately to push those crippling thoughts out of his head. The fact that both Teresa and Johnny were in the hands of this madman, Johnny, for the second time, ripped Scott’s heart in two. And at that moment, Scott had no doubt he could kill Harrison. Pull the trigger of his gun and not have another thought about it. His emotions scrambled from one side to the other, from keeping his family safe to putting a bullet between Harrison’s eyes.
Control, Boston, control! And Scott halfway grinned. He’d just called himself Boston…
The sharp pain in his head and constant pressure and ache in his arms, wrists, and hands brought Johnny to consciousness. But he did not move, did not gather his feet under him, and did not open his eyes. He listened. There was nothing other than a sniffling, and he knew Teresa was near. Taking a chance, Johnny Madrid Lancer slitted his eyes and took stock of his surroundings, such as they were.
A small fire burned, shedding enough light to the interior of the cave, letting him know they were alone. Quietly Johnny pulled his feet under him, taking the pressure off his arms. Soon, they began to tingle as if icepicks were assaulting him, and pain blossomed in his ribs. He had to get Teresa’s attention without anyone knowing he was conscious. He couldn’t see them, didn’t know where they were, but he knew he had to do something and be quick about it.
“T’resa,” he whispered and watched his sister’s head jerk to face him. “Shhh.” He needed her to be quiet, to talk to him without alerting anyone he was now awake.
“Johnny! Are you alright?” she frantically whispered back, her eyes shiny with tears.
Johnny smiled, the smile he reserved for the people he loved, the ones in his life that mattered the most. The sweet smile that his family cherished.
“Yeah, just a little headache. T’resa, did they hurt you?” He stared into her eyes and would know the truth. She wouldn’t be able to hide it if something had happened.
She took a breath and shook her head. “No, I’m alright, Johnny.”
And he was satisfied with her answer. “Where are they?”
“They went outside; I think to look for the other man. What happened to him?”
Johnny’s grin spread across his face despite the pain crawling through his head, ribs, and arms. “He’s, uh, indisposed.” Then Johnny changed their conversation along more productive lines. “Querida, whatever happens, go along with it.”
“What are you going to do?” Teresa asked incredulously. “What can you do?”
“Dunno, yet. Just be ready for anything!” he answered with ‘that’ smile.
“Johnny, where’s Scott? Is he here?”
“Yeah, he’s here somewhere. I just hope he doesn’t give in. Harrison’s gonna use us as bait an’ get him ta give up.”
Harrison stared at the unconscious body of Arron Hart. The man looked dead but wasn’t. He had taken a vicious blow and was now useless. But he disregarded the man; he was not necessary, and Harrison shoved all thoughts of him aside. He had to concentrate on apprehending Lt. Lancer. And that was all that mattered.
“Mitchell, you get back to the cave and keep an eye on the girl and that half-breed. Lt. Lancer is here, and we shall draw him out. He will soon be in my grasp!” Harrison walked into the brush, expecting Mitchell to do as ordered.
Mitchell didn’t mind. He had what he wanted. And Harrison be damned! That half-breed was chained and at his mercy. And the girl was a bonus. Maybe he’d make the breed watch…
Stan Mitchell waited at the mouth of the cave. There was no noise, no conversing between the prisoners. The Lieutenant’s brother must still be unconscious. I’ll just wake ‘im up!
Mitchell sauntered into the cave and was surprised to see Johnny standing and alert. He snorted a gruff laugh as he eyed Teresa, tied and helpless. And with Lancer chained to the wall, there wouldn’t be a problem.
But he had to look away from the glacial eyes that held him with a glare that promised his death. Then Mitchell tried to shake it off.
“Well, well, well… Looks like this is where we left off last time, Half-breed!” Encouraged when he got no reaction to the degrading remark, Mitchell continued.
“Looks like I’m gonna hafta teach ya some manners, Breed! But first, I just might have me a taste of this sweet little peach!” He reached for Teresa’s arm and jerked her to her feet, pulling her against his chest. She began to struggle, pushing against him and turned her face when he tried to kiss her.
Johnny hoped she wouldn’t fight him; he knew that would only heighten the desire of a man like Mitchell.
“MITCHELL!” Johnny bellowed. The shock of the yell had the effect he was hoping for. Mitchell turned to face him, and that one move gave Teresa time to launch her own attack.
She surprised not only Mitchell, but Johnny felt pride in the little slip of girl he knew as his sister. She erupted with a turbulent force that shocked both men.
A tiny girl can pack a considerable punch if adequately aimed, and Teresa’s knee found the target perfectly. She stood, awed at the result, as Mitchell fell into the dirt as if by magic.
“T’resa, get away from him,” Johnny ordered, and she did what he commanded. All he could do was hope Scott was near, and he had to take the chance. Johnny had to keep Mitchell’s attention off his sister and on him. He would do whatever it took, even at the risk of his life. Then Johnny started in and didn’t let up.
Though it hurt his head, Johnny let loose with a raucous laugh that broke through Mitchell’s agony. He let it continue for a minute, knowing the taunt would get to the man and send his rage spiraling out of control.
“Hey, it happened again! Boy, them cajones ain’t never gonna work right! Don’t think that you can take too many hits like that an’ expect ta come outta that an’ have ‘em work like they should!” Another laugh, “But, hey, don’t worry none, cause where you’re headed, you won’t need ‘em!”
The insinuation was not lost on Mitchell, but he was not going to prison. He struggled to his feet, his hand wrapped around the butt of his gun, and he pulled it from the holster.
Teresa gasped; she had to do something. She shoved Mitchell in the back just as the gun went off, and her scream was as deafening as the blast from the pistol. Her blood drained to her feet as she watched, horrified, as Johnny slid down the wall to stop only when the slack was out of the chains.
Scott froze. The shot came from inside the cave. He had to move. Now! Both Johnny and Teresa needed him, needed him to help. Help them because of him… And Scott went cold inside. Because of him, Harrison was going to kill them. Get moving, Boston! He screamed at himself!
Harrison didn’t flinch. He didn’t care what was happening in the cave, not really. But this shot could lure in Lt. Lancer, and Harrison would be ready. His vantage point was excellent; it allowed him to see in all directions, except the wall of rocks directly behind him, and he highly doubted anyone would be coming from there. He watched intently, knowing that the lieutenant would be there. His eyes blazed, his heart pounded, and his mind sank deeper into the black abyss.
Teresa lunged toward Johnny, only to have Mitchell grab her arm and hold her back.
Johnny sagged, once again, held off the floor by the chains secured in the rock wall. His head hung between his shoulders, and he groaned. Dios, this hasta stop! It was only then that he felt the fire in his left side caused by the slug that skimmed across his hide. Damn, but he hated bullet creases! They could be worse than if he’d taken a direct hit. His sharp exhale brought with it some semblance of clarity, and he lifted his gaze to find Teresa locked in Mitchell’s large hands.
Standing off on one leg, Mitchell, though still nursing the personal injury, tried to smile. He shoved Teresa into the dirt, then came to Johnny and punched the blood-soaked side. The agonized groan that reached Mitchell’s ears made him laugh. “Ya got this an’ more comin’, half-breed!”
And now it was Mitchell that stiffened at the sound of the hammer snicking into place. With a command not to do anything stupid, although knowing it would be difficult for him, Scott Lancer made his presence known. Going further into the cave, he covered Johnny and Teresa and almost hoped Mitchell would try something to warrant Scott to pull the trigger of his pistol. Something to release this pent up energy that was looking for a way to be expelled; the struggle for control taxing and exhausting.
Scott observed all the angles, and with no other option left open to him, he headed to the mouth of the cave. He could only hope he would find Johnny and Teresa alive.
Moving quickly, quietly, Scott kept alert, watching in all directions. The need to know where Harrison and Mitchell were was paramount. My fault, my fault!
He stopped just outside and listened; hearing voices, he stepped into the cave just as Mitchell drew back and landed the punch to Johnny’s side. The wound must have resulted from the shot he heard. Johnny, helplessly chained to the wall, shot, and now bound for a beating, Scott pulled back the hammer of his revolver, effectively halting Mitchell in mid-swing.
“There’s nothing like that sound, is there Mitchell?” He turned to his sister, “Are you alright, Teresa?” he asked but didn’t take his eyes from Mitchell.
“Yes, Scott, but hurry! Harrison is out there somewhere! We have to get away!”
Scott reached into his boot and handed her his knife to cut herself free. “Get away from him!” Scott ordered, and Mitchell turned to obey.
But it wasn’t enough for Johnny. He wasn’t about to take another blow from this pendejo. His blood boiled, and temper exploded. Taking his weight on his arms as the shackles bit savagely into his wrists, scraping the skin into a bloody mass, Johnny lifted his feet off the floor, kicking out, and wrapped his legs around Mitchell’s neck, then pulled him closer. His knees, now on the man’s throat, squeezed with a strength born of sheer will.
All the hours of gripping the heaving sides of bucking horses now put to another good use as he easily held onto the man’s throat as Mitchell fought a futile battle for his life.
Mitchell’s struggles were in vain as his face turned purple, unable to draw in air. Johnny crossed his ankles, locking Mitchell in a death grip that not only did not allow him to breathe but crushed the cartilage within. Flailing hands grasped at the legs that held him in the death grip, and his vision began to fade. No longer able to see through the haze, Mitchell’s mind went black.
Johnny blocked the pain in his body, forced his arms and wrists to bear the strain, and soon, Mitchell was motionless and landed in the dirt.
“Ah, Lt. Lancer, you decided to join us!” a pleasant voice sounded in the quiet after Mitchell fell. But it wasn’t to continue as Harrison issued a harsh order. “Now, drop your weapon!” Harrison’s revenge was coming to… fruition, and he glanced at Mitchell lying on the floor, and he smiled.
“Val! That was a gunshot! From up there! There are caves up there; that must be where they are! Come on!” Murdoch kicked his horse into a gallop, leaving them all to follow.
The men charged after him, hoping to get there in time. Teresa, Scott, and Johnny were fighting for their lives. Val and the Lancer hands would do whatever it took to ensure a successful outcome. They would not disappoint their Patrón. And they would see Scott, Johnny, and Miss Teresa safe.
Ugly, bloody images flashed through his mind. With every remembered volley of gunfire, a new horrific scene would spark, ignited by the words spoken in that voice. It was a voice from nightmares, a voice that belonged in Hell. And now it was here, with him in this cave. It was time to face the devil.
“Lt. Lancer, how nice of you to drop by for your trial. But I would expect no less from a man of your caliber and rank. I will not tell you again, drop your weapon!” Harrison held a gun in his hand, and with the other, he caressed the saber hanging from his belt.
Scott had no choice, and he let his revolver drop to the ground. “Harrison, I have no rank, and neither do you! We are not in the Army and are not at war!”
“Silence! You will address me as Major and only when asked to speak! Now, Lt. Lancer, you are to be tried…”
“I will do nothing, Mister Harrison!” Scott interrupted. “You’re a sick, sick man, and I will not let you use my family as you did before, to appease your misguided sense of justice!” Scott was amazed he’d been allowed to talk as he faced the lunatic before him, and he could see the illness in Harrison’s eyes.
“Silence, I command it, Lt. Lancer! Silence until you are allowed to speak! You know the rules!”
“There are no rules, Harrison!”
Teresa sat beside the log, hiding her untied hands, and was stunned at the scene playing out in front of her. She would not cause a distraction; Scott and Johnny needed her cooperation. Teresa O’Brien was as quiet as a church mouse, and she waited for whatever was to come.
Johnny leaned against the wall waiting to play his part in whatever would happen. His pain was forgotten; he was ready to help his brother.
“Lt. Lancer! Silence! You will pay for your indiscretions, and I will remind you that we are at war! And as my rank is superior, you will do as I say. I have your family at my mercy, and I will use them at my discretion for your punishment! For the Confederacy!”
Scott kept the ‘war’ of words going as long as he could, hoping against hope he would somehow get the advantage over the court-martialed ex-major.
“Harrison, the Confederacy is dead! There is no Confederacy. You are doing this for you, because you’re sick! You have no allegiance for anything except yourself!”
“I lost my post because of you and your escape attempt!” He drew the saber, and Teresa gasped. The reflection of the blade from the fire flashed bright and blinding.
“No, Mr. Harrison! You lost your command because of your war crimes! Your brutal treatment of prisoners, the whippings, starvation, and tortures! That’s why you were court-martialed, not because we tried to escape!”
His eyes wide and glazed, Harrison reached Johnny in two angry paces and held the blade out to touch his wounded side. An evil smile slid across his thin lips. “It begins now, Lt. Lancer!” And Harrison pressed the blade into the bullet crease along Johnny’s ribs.
Funny, he thought how temper could block out pain. And Johnny wasn’t going to take any more. Not from this bastard.
Reflex took over, and Johnny quickly lashed out with his boot, catching Harrison’s wrist. The saber flew out of his hand and landed with a plunk in the dirt, no longer the majestic symbol of distinguished rank, but now disgraced, covered with dirt and dust.
Harrison’s enraged howl filled the cave, and his uncontrolled fury burst out of his body. He brought up the loaded pistol and aimed it at Johnny’s face.
But the gun didn’t go off.
As Harrison moved toward the defenseless man chained to the wall, and the subsequent kick from Johnny that sent the saber flying in a crazy spin through the air, gave Teresa the time she needed. She threw Scott his knife, and with two long strides, Scott was behind him, plunging the knife into Harrison’s neck. The gun fell from his useless fingers as a choking gurgle escaped from the gaping mouth, and Harrison died while still on his feet.
Scott let the body fall, but stood in front of his sister, not allowing her to see the grotesque scene. But she jumped to her feet and ran to Johnny, ripping open his shirt to access the damage.
The bullet crease was bad enough, but the punch from Mitchell and the slash from the saber set the left side of his body in flames, wicked and scorching.
“Scott, help me find the key to these cuffs! Johnny, give us a minute, and we’ll help you to lie down!” She looked up into his face, noting the pain lines, but also caught his encouraging smile. Teresa took his bandana from his pocket and pressed it to the wound.
Hissing in pain, he gasped out, “’ M fine, querida,” as he ground his teeth together.
Scott’s fingers closed around the thin piece of metal in Harrison’s pocket, and he unlocked the cuffs. Johnny’s arms fell as if weighted down, no strength left in them. The biting prickle began its assault as the blood began to flow again through veins too long without.
Scott grabbed bedrolls and tossed them over the two bodies lying on the cave floor; then, with Teresa’s help, they tended Johnny’s injuries.
And it was that scene that Murdoch and Val came upon, guns drawn, faces grim, and ready to fight.
Johnny’s eyes went to the men standing in shock as they looked around the cave. “’Bout time ya got here,” he grinned, then passed out.
Scott paced. He knew he was getting on Murdoch’s nerves, but he could not sit still. A tangle of emotions tore through him, and he wasn’t able to sort them out.
He’d never felt this confused before in his life. Scott Lancer was always in control of every aspect, in almost every situation. He could dissect a problem and come up with a logical solution. But, here, he floundered and felt unbalanced. He felt like he was losing his mind.
He should be ecstatic that Harrison was dead, and where he was relieved the unstable man would never again terrorize his family, an empty, cold void caught and held him captive. A prisoner, once more. How was he to feel, react? Frustrated beyond reason, he killed the man responsible for the assault on his family, but he wasn’t able to see it through to an acceptable outcome. It was out of his control.
And Scott once again, knew his brother was right. What was it Johnny told him? There was no control… His brother might have been referring to dreams when he said that, but it could apply to this dilemma as well. Perhaps Scott wasn’t able to control this particular issue either.
Then, his obstinate nature kicked in. Yes, there should have been something else I could have done! And every bit of reason he might have gained washed away. And he wanted to scream.
Dr. Sam Jenkins left over an hour ago. Johnny would be fine after several days of bed rest and after, light chores around the ranch. Sam checked Teresa, and satisfied she suffered no ills from the incident, he then insisted on giving Scott a brief going over. After an in-depth conversation regarding the potential for a psychological problem, Sam gave strict orders for Scott to rest and then a return to work in the morning.
Effects of the first capture and subsequent beatings just over three months ago, compliments of Harrison and Mitchell, thought to be under control, could escalate after this last encounter, causing significant issues. And if that happened, Sam would be there offering all the help he was able to give.
“Scott, can I help, son? Would you like to talk about it?”
“I’m fine.”
Murdoch’s words, spoken in smooth, deep tones, settled around him and offered a modicum of comfort. What could he say when he couldn’t explain it to himself? Anxious to turn the focus away from him, Scott did his best to redirect the conversation on a different path. He thought to mention Teresa, and her bravery during the harrowing incident would no doubt make Murdoch very proud.
Successfully pulling off the diversion, Scott then launched another deflection.
“Murdoch, how’s Johnny doing?”
Murdoch shrugged and smiled. “Oh, he’s sleeping. Sam had to trick him into taking something for the pain. You know how stubborn your brother is!”
Scott snorted and offered a smile of his own.
“Teresa is with him now, even though Sam said he wouldn’t wake until later tonight. But it won’t be long before he’s up and around.”
We have to talk… the sooner Johnny’s awake, the better. Teresa, too. She needs to hear what I have to say.
“… tomorrow, Val’s coming to take your statements… Scott, are you alright?”
Murdoch’s words broke into his wandering thoughts, and Scott flinched, having not paid attention while his father was speaking.
Embarrassed, Scott lowered his head. “I’m sorry, Murdoch. I guess I’m not very good company tonight. Excuse me.” He turned to the stairs and made his way to Teresa and Johnny.
Oh, Scott, this is not your fault… Murdoch stared into the fire, wondering what he could do to help his son.
Scott nudged the door open with his foot and watched Teresa sitting in the chair as she wrung the excess water from the cloth and placed it across Johnny’s forehead. He entered the room as she looked up and gave him a sweet smile. She seemed to be alright, and Scott could only hope this incident would not have any lasting effects for her.
Standing at the foot of the bed, Scott observed the tenderness and care that, once again, was needed.
“Is there fever, Teresa?” he asked, the worry escalating.
Teresa smiled and shook her head, no. “Johnny told me once how good it felt to have a cool cloth on his face like this. If it provides comfort, then he’ll have it. But he’s doing fine, Scott. Please don’t worry.” She lifted her large doe eyes to his gaze; they were filled with love for her brothers.
“And you, Teresa, how are you? Truthfully…” He studied her features. He would be able to tell if she was glossing over her feelings.
Teresa turned to face him and met his stare with one of her own. “Honestly, I’m fine, Scott. Truthfully!” She held the look. “I won’t lie about it, I was scared, plenty scared when I saw that man in the house… I walked right into him! Traveling from Lancer up to the mountains, I didn’t know what was going on or why, but I knew that you two would come and find me, Scott, and that kept me going.” She relaxed into the chair, then, as a thought came to her, she suddenly sat forward.
“Scott! Those men, they did a horrible thing! I heard them talking about it! They said ‘it was done’ and nothing much to identify, he landed on his head’. What happened, Scott?”
At the worry that set fire in her eyes, Scott leaned down, and with an arm around her shoulders, he tried to alleviate any lingering, unsettling memories.
“I’m not sure, but Val will be here tomorrow to take our statements. Maybe he’ll have more information for us.” He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll stay here, sweetheart. Why don’t you go rest?”
Gently, with his hands on her shoulders, Scott eased Teresa from the chair and saw her to the door.
“You’ll call me if you need me, won’t you?” she asked.
“I’ll call, I promise.” Then, “Teresa?”
Stepping out into the hall, she turned, “Yes, Scott?”
“Teresa… I’m… I’m sorry this happened. It was because of me that…”
Teresa stood before him. “No, Scott, it wasn’t because of you. It was because of him! I know what that man did to you, Scott, and to Johnny, and I have some idea of what happened in that war because of him. So, don’t you take the blame for something you had nothing to do with, Scott Lancer! I won’t let you!” Then, as soft as a brush of butterfly wings, she stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Call me if you need me, Scott,” she whispered and left for her room.
He knew it wasn’t necessary to sit with Johnny as he slept, but there was comfort in the closeness. And where he was reasonably sure Johnny would not blame him for what happened, the guilt Scott carried with him was debilitating. Could he put this behind him? Would he be able to resume life without the crippling guilt?
Slouching in the chair, Scott sighed and closed his eyes.
What was that noise? Then it stopped, and his breathing deepened as sleep overtook him once more… only to be interrupted again. Noise, stop the noise! Scott’s eyes slowly cracked open. He was in the chair next to Johnny’s bed. So, what was that noise? Then he figured it out. Johnny was laughing, it was soft, but he was laughing in his sleep! As long as it isn’t a nightmare… Scott thought. He watched as Johnny smiled and briefly chuckled again, then with a sigh, he settled into the comfort of the bed.
He was late. The Ol’ Man was gonna have his hide if he didn’t roll outta bed… now! Grabbing the blanket, Johnny threw it off his body as the groan slipped away before he could call it back. Oh, yeah, remember now… Waiting for the pain to subside, as much as it was going to, Johnny inched to the side of the bed, gingerly sat up, and set his feet on the floor. The room did not spin, his head stayed on his shoulders, and his belly didn’t threaten to empty, so he was ahead of the game.
Slowly he began to pull on his clothes.
Deciding to forgo a shave, Johnny worked his way down the back stairs to get the confrontation that was to come out of the way first thing.
The aroma of coffee lured him to the kitchen. His socked feet padded across the floor and did not announce his presence, enabling him to sneak behind Maria without her knowing. A quick kiss to her cheek was not the smartest move for him to make, and he took a few back-steps to avoid the wooden spoon in her hand.
“Juanito! Niño! What are you doing out of bed? You go, back to bed with you!” The spoon did not waver in the attempt to herd him upstairs.
He laughed, hand pressed to his side, holding the stitches that now were beginning to pull. “Mornin’, Maria!” he teased with a sparkle in his eyes she could not resist.
She caressed his cheek with a flour-coated hand, leaving a white, perfectly shaped print on his face. She knew he secretly liked her soft mutterings and, hoping her niño was feeling better, and she smothered him with gentle orders to not over-do today and to rest. The commands swirled behind him like the dust devils he’d seen racing across the desert.
With a mug of coffee in hand, Johnny wandered slowly into the great room. Murdoch was sitting at his desk, going over the ledgers, meticulously figuring the numbers until they came out just right.
The Lancer patriarch looked up, knowing he was not alone, and surprise crossed his features as Johnny eased himself into a chair.
“Johnny, I didn’t expect to see you down here today. I know Sam didn’t want you up so soon. How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine, Murdoch, honest,” he insisted.
Murdoch wasn’t so sure. He heard the hiss of pain when Johnny settled onto the cushions. “I don’t want you doing anything today! Nothing! Do you hear me, young man?” he scolded, imparting his stern paternal directive.
“Well, it ain’t like I’m plannin’ on breakin’ horses taday, Murdoch…” then, with a cheeky smile, he added, “Savin’ that for tamorrow!”
And Murdoch couldn’t hold back the chuckle. “Just don’t overdo today, Johnny, that’s a nasty wound on your side. Sam stitched quite a while to get that closed.”
Johnny watched the steam from the coffee ghost into the air, then spoke. “Murdoch, is Scott alright?”
Laying the pencil down on the ledger, Murdoch left his desk and took a seat closer to Johnny. He sighed before he could answer. “He says he is, but I know this whole thing is bothering him. He seems to battle with his thoughts and emotions. I’ve tried talking to him, but I don’t think I’m getting through. It’s been a few days, and I can only hope he’ll find his way out of it.”
But Johnny knew. He would talk with Scott if Scott wanted. It was guilt, and he knew first hand that dealing with guilt could take a long, long time. And there was a chance it would never go away. But Boston was worth the battle, and Johnny would fight to get him back the way he was, before Harrison threatened the Lancer family.
“He workin’ taday?”
“Yes, he was up early, in fact, he may not have gone to bed. I know he sat with you last night.”
“Why’d he do that? I didn’t need no one with me,” Johnny countered.
“Well, Johnny, I think he just wanted to be with you. I think he feels guilty.”
Johnny nodded. Maybe between the two of them, they could convince Scott he had nothing to feel guilty about.
“T’resa around?” Johnny wondered.
She was in the garden a few minutes ago.”
“Thanks, Murdoch,” Johnny groaned as he hoisted himself out of the chair and headed for the kitchen.
“Oh, Johnny?”
“Yeah?”
“You be careful, son,” Murdoch leveled ‘the eye’ at Johnny. “Behave yourself!”
And Johnny just laughed, making Murdoch shake his head at the retreating back.
She was working hard. Harvesting the last of the bounty before the cold weather set in and putting up the last of the produce always made Teresa a little sad. But it was a good feeling to have the larder stocked with the result of her labors. It made her proud she was pulling her weight, contributing to the family, and keeping them healthy and nourished. Her workload doubled after Scott and Johnny came home with the extra food preparation, laundry, and cleaning. But she wasn’t going to complain. She would never complain. It was a labor of love. And love them all, she did.
So busy she was, she never heard the approach.
“Hey, querida.”
The soft words took her by surprise, and she startled. “Johnny! What are you…”
“I’m fine. I was wonderin’ how you’re doin’. Are you alright after what happened?” Johnny lowered himself to the garden bench as he watched her get to her feet and come to sit next to him.
She noticed he held his left arm tight to his side to limit unnecessary movement. But other than that, he appeared to be doing well.
“Yes, Johnny, I’m fine. Scott asked me, too. You two are always looking out for me!” She looked around the yard, corrals, barn, and the mountains beyond. Then turned back to Johnny.
“I know you want to protect me, Johnny, both you and Scott, and I’m so grateful to you for that, but I’m not as innocent as you all seem to think. I have seen awful things; I’ve watched men get hurt and die. I’ve cared for all of you when you’re hurt. And I’ve witnessed awful, cruel behavior and have seen what it does to you. I know how bad some people can be, and you, Scott, and Murdoch try so hard to protect me from the violence and bloodshed. But I’m not a little girl anymore and haven’t been for a long time.
“I’m not doing a very good job of this, but I guess what I’m trying to say is, I am alright, Johnny. I know what Harrison and Mitchell, and that other man were doing. And I know what they did to you and Scott before. Harrison was a brutal man, a sick man, but all three of us are here, back where we belong now. We need to get past this, and I, for one, plan on doing just that! He took enough away from us, and I won’t let him take any more! If I let myself fall apart and wallow in fear of what could have happened, then he’s won. And I refuse to give him that victory. I’m fine, Johnny. Really!”
He saw it in her eyes. She was telling him the truth, and relief flowed through him. But there was something that sparked in his head, and he needed to get it straightened out with her.
“Ah, T’resa? Remember in the cave when Mitchell started actin’ up?”
Teresa’s eyes darkened. “Yes, I remember, why?”
“Well, I was tryin’ ta get him ta do somethin’ stupid. Make a move an’ catch him off guard, so I was sayin’ some pretty bad things ta him… some things I never shoulda been saying around you.”
Teresa’s cheeks flared red as she recalled the raw, blistering remarks Johnny was throwing in Mitchell’s face. “Yes, I remember,” she said as she studied the toes of her boots, and not looking him in the eyes.
“Well, just don’t tell Murdoch what I said, huh? Don’t want him ta know I was talkin’ that way when you were around,” Johnny asked with a worried grin.
Then, she started to laugh, softly at first, but it began to run away with her. Pent up emotion broke through the dam, and Teresa laughed until the tears ran down to her chin. Then she hiccupped. Stress washed away with the sudden release.
“Oh, Johnny! I promise I won’t say a word! But under the circumstances, I don’t think he would find fault with you!”
She was still a kid. But she had the heart and strength and courage few people possessed, and he was proud to have her as his sister.
They sat together for several minutes before Johnny spoke again, his words feather-soft. “T’resa, thank you.”
Three simple words, but she wasn’t sure why he said them. “For what?”
“For bein’ you.” He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head then left her to her gardening.
As promised, Val returned to take the statements of Teresa, Scott, and Johnny. Sheriff Crawford was direct, holding the visit to a minimum but imparting information, filling in the gaps to things the Lancers didn’t know.
With facts supplied by Sheriff Haines, Val was able to relay a timeline and events of Harrison, Mitchell, and Hart while on the run. Their escape from the prison wagon, the break-in at the courthouse and retrieval of their belongings, to the murder of the old farmer, and all other crimes committed, laid out, detailing the unstable and savage pursuit of Kenneth Harrison.
Much was left for a later time out of respect for Teresa. The young woman displayed admirable courage during the ordeal but was spared the violent, bloody specifics.
Johnny let the situation ride, hoping Scott would initiate the conversation that he needed to have, the heart-to-heart talk, brother-to-brother, that would be the start to his healing. Guilt was a horrible mistress, and Johnny knew that well. And the ironic part of all this was, it was Scott that helped him to see it. Well, now it was his turn, and Johnny was bound and determined his Boston bred brother was going listen to him. Even if he had to hog-tie, gag, and threaten him, telling Murdoch about his indiscretions with Cindy at the Angels Nest Saloon. Scott would hear him out.
Johnny smiled. It was strange, in an amusing way, to have something on his older brother. In his time before Lancer, it was life and death, kill or be killed. Now, things had changed, and he could be the younger, impertinent brother, teasing and lippy, with smart-alecky ways, and Johnny was mastering the art and using it to his advantage every chance he got.
So, it was on this beautiful morning, five days after returning to Lancer, that Johnny rode Barranca to Stoneyrun Creek to see his brother. To have ‘the talk’ that, Johnny hoped, would bring his brother back from the despair that held him prisoner. Scott had been a prisoner once already, he didn’t need that hanging over his head again, and Johnny would do everything he could to help him out of the paralyzing darkness.
Johnny watched from the ridge as Scott worked, lugging the water-soaked branches out of the creek. Boulders dislodged by the recent rains congregated like harridans at a Church Social, gossiping and eager to hear the latest scandal. Scott wrestled them out of the water and away from the bank, preventing any return to the ‘socializing’.
Sure is workin’ hard. I think he needs a break. With a nudge to Barranca’s side, Johnny moved down off the hill without Scott’s knowledge, getting close before he captured his brother’s attention. The lack of Scott’s regard was a worry for Johnny, but, now that Harrison was no longer an issue, Johnny would let it slide… this time.
“Howdy, Boston!” Johnny said, around a cheeky grin. He chuckled at the shock he saw in his brother’s eyes.
Scott, however, failed to see the humor in the situation. “What the devil are you doing?” With anger flaring, he stepped out of the water and placed his hands on his hips, hoping brotherly intimidation was going to work. Someone needed to look after him because he certainly isn’t!
Johnny slowly leaned forward, resting forearms on the saddle horn, cocked his head, and looked up, as if deep in thought over the question. Then he smiled. “Talkin’ ta you.”
“Sam’s going to have your hide if he finds out you’re riding! You shouldn’t be out of bed yet!”
“Oh, pfft! I’m fine. Ya worry too much!” He can’t let go of that guilt… “Looks like you could use a break, you’re workin’ too hard, Boston.” Johnny stepped to the ground, hiding the grimace from the pull of the stitches. Digging through his saddlebags, he pulled out a bundle wrapped in a kitchen towel. He grabbed his canteen and settled on the bank, giving the impression this was only a social visit and not the necessary kind.
Scott stood watching Johnny as he eased down onto the ground, and he shook his head, wondering what it would take for his brother to realize this was serious. And he waited for Johnny to say something. But it didn’t happen.
Johnny opened the cloth and began to munch on cookies that did look very tempting. With a sigh, he gave in, sat next to his brother, and settled into the grass.
Reaching across Johnny, Scott snagged two cookies and began to eat as they looked out over the little valley and the mountains beyond. The glory of Lancer land never failed to spark comfort and pride. It was indeed a balm for the troubled soul, and a troubled soul he was. Even though the threat was now gone, the self-reproach held him fast, and his shame was near unbearable.
It was then Johnny snickered. “T’resa don’t know I stole these. Took the towel an’ stuffed it fulla cookies before she came outta the pantry. Hope they weren’t for somethin’ special, cuz she gonna come up short if they were!”
And Scott did smile at the thought of their sister, picturing her standing in the kitchen, puzzling over the missing bakery.
“Well, she’ll figure it out once she realizes you’re up and on the loose!” Scott took a bite, then grabbed the canteen from Johnny’s hand.
“Doin’ a good job clearin’ up this mess. That last rain made a lotta extra work for everyone.”
Scott made no reply, and Johnny let it go, knowing the next thing he said would nudge Boston to speak.
It was soft. Almost a whisper, “Talk ta me, Scott.”
It was what Scott was dreading. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t have any answers. There was nothing there except a void. A big, black pit and he couldn’t seem to navigate the vastness, nor could he escape. Scott hung his head.
“I don’t know what to say.”
And Johnny knew precisely where his brother was. He was in Hell. After a minute, Johnny chuffed, drawing Scott’s irritated glare.
“Ya know, Scott, someone told me once that it don’t matter what happens to ya. What matters is how ya handle it. What ya do about it ta not let it eat you up inside. Ta take… control. That control ya told me that ya didn’t have before… take it back. An’ I know you can do it.”
They sat in silence for a minute, and Johnny could only hope Scott was thinking about the words he said and let him have the time he needed. He was relieved when Scott began to talk, unsure at first, coming easier the more he said, but it was hard for Johnny to listen to the agony in the words. But no matter how difficult it was for Johnny to listen, it was harder on Scott to divulge what he needed to say and what he had to believe.
“It was my fault he was here. He caught us twice, Johnny! And you came so close to death both times! If it had been just myself…”
Johnny cut in with a soft laugh. “If it had been just you, I woulda gone after ya, so, no matter, Boston, I woulda been there anyway! Lose the guilt, Scott. It ain’t doin’ anyone any good an’ it’s weighin’ ya down, eatin’ ya alive. Besides, ya got nothin’ ta be feelin’ guilty for!”
Scott turned to Johnny, stunned at his declaration. “Nothing to feel guilty for? He almost killed you! How am I not supposed to feel guilty about that?”
“I’m sittin’ here, ain’t I? That’s just the point! He didn’t shoot me! You saved my life, Scott! He was gonna blow my head off an’ you stopped him!” Then it hit Johnny like a punch in the gut. It was how he killed Harrison— stabbed the man in the neck! That was it… How he did it!
“Johnny, I killed a man in a horrific way! I shoved a knife into his neck! That sickens me! I’m no better than he was!” Disgusted with himself, Scott closed his eyes, wanting nothing more than to shut everything out, push it away, and not have to deal with anything.
It was then Johnny’s mad got the best of him. “Bullshit, Scott! You ain’t nothin’ like he was! Just cuz you killed him don’t make you like him! He liked killin’ an’ makin’ people suffer! If you were like him, it wouldn’t bother you that ya killed him the way ya did— but you’re not, Scott, an’ that’s the line that divides you from him!” Johnny took a breath, then continued, letting the edge out of his voice.
“Scott, look at me.” And Johnny watched the internal struggle, the force it took for Scott to face him. The pain in the blue-gray eyes seared Johnny’s heart, but Scott was worth fighting for, worth the battle it was taking to make him see what Johnny knew was the truth.
“Scott, he was gonna kill me. Ya did what ya had to do. It was war, brother. Flat out war, an’ if ya hadn’t done what ya did, I’d be dead an’ we wouldn’t be havin’ this conversation.”
Johnny knew he heard the words and could only pray Scott took them to heart. He waited a minute, then launched the final salvo, the ‘attack’ on Scott’s ethical reasoning. Perhaps this would be the battle to win the war.
“Know what T’resa said?”
Scott stiffened, knowing their sister was thrust into danger along with them, because of him. And he shuddered, falling back into self-reproach.
Johnny saw the slide, Don’t give up, brother! Don’t give up!
“What did she say, Johnny?” Scott prepared to hear the worst. He prepared to hear the words that would haunt him until the day he died. He’d put his innocent sister in harm’s way.
Johnny couldn’t help but smile, thinking back on the conversation they had in the garden sitting on the bench. “She said she wasn’t gonna let Harrison take any more away from us. She said if she let herself wallow in that fear, that Harrison’s won. An’ she ain’t lettin’ that happen. So, I guess that’s it, Boston. Ya gonna let the bastard win? Take more away from us, even when he’s dead?” That was it. He said it. Now it was up to Scott, and Johnny pushed himself to his feet with a groan, wishing he was home now, taking a nap or relaxing in the sun on the patio. He’d said all he could. Now it was Scott’s decision to make.
The bundle of cookies still in his hand, he stopped and nodded to them. “You want these, Boston?”
Scott stood as the weight began to lift. He walked to Johnny’s side and took them out of his grasp. “No. What I want is to ride home with you. You look like you need some help getting there, brother.” And Scott smiled, something he’d not been doing lately, and Johnny knew then that his brother was trying.
Riding into the yard, Scott suddenly pulled up on Remmie’s reins. Several steps ahead, Johnny halted Barranca and turned to his brother, baffled as to why Scott wasn’t headed to the barn. With a raised brow, Johnny put to voice the question. “What’s wrong, Boston? Ya look like ya got somethin’ on your mind.”
“As a matter of fact, Johnny, I do. I have to ask… The other night, when we first got home, you were sleeping.”
Johnny had to wonder where this was going, but he waited for Scott, waited for his brother’s words.
“I was sitting with you, and you were… laughing. It wasn’t loud, just a soft laugh. Do you remember dreaming?”
“Hell, Scott, I always dream. Did I say anything?”
“No, just a couple soft laughs. After what we’d been through, I can’t imagine what…”
Johnny felt the chuckle begin, and he nodded. “Yeah, Scott, I remember. I remember. I was dreamin’ I just took a job escortin’ someone someplace.”
“You were escorting a person?” At his brother’s nod, Scott had to ask, wondering why that would be humorous. “Who were you escorting, and where did you escort them to?”
Johnny sighed. “Well, Boston, it was Harrison an’ I was takin’ him ta Hell. He started mouthin’ off, so I pulled my Colt an’ pointed it at him.”
Scott’s face dropped.
“Never mind. Guess ya had ta be there, but, trust me, it was funny. Shoulda seen his face when this voice outta nowhere told him ta be silent until he was allowed ta speak!”
Scott was stunned, the words sounding all too real, nearly brought him back into that cave. “I’ll have to take your word for that. Personally, I hope I never have him wander through my dreams. More like nightmares!”
“Don’t worry, Boston. If that happens, just call me. I’ll help ya out!” Johnny said with a laugh as he caressed the butt of the Colt on his hip.
“Ahh, Johnny? You just might need my help. Here comes Sam, and I know he hasn’t cleared you for riding. I’ll take Barranca; you go in the kitchen door and up the back stairs. He’ll never know you were disobeying him… again.”
Johnny grinned. His brother was coming back. Perhaps another talk would be needed, but whatever it took, Scott would be back.
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~end~
August 2020
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PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT
Thank you for reading! The authors listed on this site spend many hours writing stories for your enjoyment, and their only reward is the feedback you leave. So please take a moment to leave a comment. Even the simplest ‘I liked this!” can make all the difference to an author and encourage them to keep writing and posting their stories here. You can comment in the ‘reply’ box below or email Buckskin directly.
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Thank you for this story. You describe the special bond between the brothers very well.
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Thank you, Caterina! I’m very happy you liked this story. Yes, Johnny and Scott had a special bond and it’s always fun to explore their relationship.
I appreciate the feedback. Thanks, again, for taking the time to read and comment.
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Always enjoy your stories and this one was no exception. Thank you.
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Thank you, Val! I am delighted that you enjoy my Lancer World. Thank you so much for taking the time to read and comment. It seems as though the boys never cease to find trouble to get into and these stories must be told!
Thanks, again!
Diana
Buckskin
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Diana,
Another great story and some important closure on the original. I love the depth and connectedness that you give to the brothers’ relationship. It amazes me the fresh and wonderful ideas that you come up with, time after time.
Thank you for sharing your wonderful talent with us!
Chris
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Hi, Chris!
Thank you so much for commenting! Yes, exploring the Scott/Johnny connection is a favorite topic to write about. When I wrote Staying Alive, there was no intention of writing a sequel until after it was posted, three readers asked “When happens next?” Thinking it over, I realized there was an opportunity here, and Staying Alive did need a sequel. But that would have happened without those readers making those comments. Those nudges were responsible for this story.
Thank you for reading, enjoying and commenting on The Line That Divides. My inspiration grows knowing you like my Lancer World!
Diana
Buckskin
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Really enjoyed reading this story, I love the stories when it involves the two brothers and their relationship. Although I’m English I love the Lancer stories and fell in love with Johnny when I was a young girl watching the series. Thank you for sharing your fantastic stories and always look forward to when a new one is written
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A very enjoyable read, thank you for sharing, I really love your stories
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Thank you, Jan! I’m glad you like my Lancer World. Hang on, there’s more to come!
Diana
Buckskin
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Diana, I just had the pleasure of reading this and Staying Alive as well. Nice job building tension and especially good to see the relationship between Scott and Johnny.
Thanks!
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Hey there!
Thank you so much for reading and commenting! The brother bond is a great source of inspiration and Scott’s past, as does Johnny’s, has so much to explore!
So glad you liked this series, and, again thank you for reading and letting me kow!
Diana
Buckskin
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Wonderful story! I was looking forward to hear what Sam had to say to Johnny sneaking in the house. 🙂
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Hi, Sheri
Thank you for your comments. I am glad you enjoyed this tale. Poor Sam! He’s probably tired of saying the same thing over and over. Johnny doesn’t seem to want to follow his orders!
Thank you for reading and you kind words.
Diana
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Diana,
I reread “Staying Alive” before reading “The Line That Divides”. I so enjoy your stories and especially the relationship that you protray between Johnny and Scott. Looking forward to your next story.
Lesley
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Hi, Lesley
Thank you so much for your kind words. It means more than you know. Yes, the Johnny/Scott connection is spercial and as long as inspiration hits me, I will write about them.
Thank you for reading and commenting!
Diana
Buckskin
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“Thanks, Murdoch. Never had someone ta worry over me before.”
Murdoch straightened and put a warm hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “Yes, you did, Johnny. You just didn’t know it.”
Oh my goodness, the lines you use to capture the relationships between the three of them. Loved the two stories, and how Johnny stepped in to help Scott deal with his demons. Great job, as always.
Sue L
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Awww! Thank you, Sue! Your comments mean so much to me. Yes, the brothers will always be there for each other. And poor Murdoch! Worrying over his sons all those years, and now dealing with grown sons… There were adjustments for them all.
Thank you so much for your kind words.
Diana
Buckskin
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I loved this series. It was great. I lived the relationship between the family. Little sister has as much spunk as her brother’s. Great villain. But my favorite line was Murdoch telling Johnny that he had always had someone worrying over him even if he didn’t know it. That was palpable. Love it.
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Hi, Charlene! Yes, it was time to have Teresa show some spunk. She wanted to make her family proud and she did. Scott was trying to keep his family out of this mess, and Johnny jumped in to help his brother. Harrison was a crack pot that needed to answer for his crimes. Thanks for reading and sending feedback! I appreciate it.
Diana
Buckskin
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Was on the edge of my seat reading this story of captures and rescue. Excellent.
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Hey there, Tanya! Glad this story held your interest, and thank you for letting me know! I appreciate it very much!
Diana
Buckskin
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Great story, and very entertaining. I was happy to see that Johnny could still find humor in some of the situations. I love that about him. 😀
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Hi, Ruby! I’m happy this tale was to your liking and thank you for the feedback! Yup, Johnny found humor in many places where the average person didn’t. Ha, that’s part of his appeal!
Thank you for the feedback!
Diana
Buckskin
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I loved rereading this series-your stories are great adventures!
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Hi, Debra! I’m so happy you liked this two story series. Scott felt responsible for all that happened and wanted so badly to keep his family safe. Johnny wanted to help Scott navigate through his guilt. And Teresa played a key role in the second story, showing a strength that often is ignored in fan fiction. For the most part, I am guilty of that, but not this time!
Thank you for liking my Lancer World!
Diana
Buckskin
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