CHAPTER ONE

Glowing hotly in the western sky, the sun hung just above the rolling, oak-dotted hills and glared over the land. So far, it had been a mild summer, but the last few days confirmed that the dog days of summer were late this year and that autumn was just around the corner. Driving the grass- fattened cattle to market would be more uncomfortable than usual.

Murdoch Lancer gave the burning orb a squinting glance. Acknowledging its heat, he removed his hat and wiped his hairline with his forearm, the grit of the day's dirt scratching his skin. He replaced the hat with a sigh, glad he’d taken advantage of the shade offered by an ancient oak tree. From there, the Scotsman sat astride his horse and surveyed the country that was Lancer. The sight never failed to lighten his heart. Faint lowing of distant cattle and the buzz of busy insects were all he heard at this moment in time. He closed his eyes to appreciate it.

When he opened them again, he saw a figure top the rise before him. Sitting a horse in his own distinct way, Scott Lancer waved when he saw his father and reined his lanky bay toward the tree's tempting shade. Murdoch couldn't help but smile; family made this land complete.

As he watched his older son approach, Murdoch evaluated Scott's physical state and pondered his mental one. The widower hadn't had time to mourn properly before being thrown into back-to-back nightmares since the funeral. And now, the pressures of caring for his injured brother and preparations for the drive were taking a visible toll on the young man.

Scott was getting leaner by the day, the shadows under his eyes growing darker by the hour. At least the concerned father knew Scott and Johnny had been on some sort of working terms prior to Johnny’s accident; before that, they hadn’t been speaking and Scott had been considering returning to Boston, blaming himself for Alexandra's death. Murdoch wasn't able to pinpoint when Scott had decided to stay in the west, but knew the decision had been made from Scott’s interest in staying by his recuperating brother’s side. 'One good thing in a passel of bad,' he thought.

Scott looked bone weary when he finally reined to a stop. A tap of heel brought the son's horse alongside his father's. As Scott wiped his sleeve across his forehead and reached for his canteen, Murdoch quietly assessed the blond’s features and noted a subtle change; the edgy sharpness of the past few days was gone. The big man breathed a sigh of relief.

"I completed the count in the east pasture. It's just what we calculated," the young man said wearily. "That should be the last tally, right?"

"Think so."

Scott took a deep gulp from the canteen. "I saw Claude Davis at the property line. He says his count is what he estimated at the last meeting."

Murdoch nodded and adjusted his hat. "Looks like it's going to be a large drive this season. Good thing we kept those men on from the house building since Johnny can't go."

Scott's head ducked as he re-capped the canteen. 'Alexandra and Scott's house,' Murdoch thought instantly. 'Maybe, someday, it will be finished and hold a family.'

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, appreciating the view. After the horses caught their breath, Murdoch reined around to face the Lancer arch just beyond the oak; the feeling of peace he'd had just moments before vanished. In its place was the familiar anxiety they had all been living with for the past weeks.

"Well," he sighed. "On to the next challenge."

"The only challenge I want to conquer is a good night's sleep," Scott quipped.

Scott's attempt at humor was just a bit too close to the truth to get a chuckle from Murdoch. An instant mental picture of the long, lanky figure of his older son sprawled in the armchair by Johnny’s bed, stocking feet hanging over the ottoman almost nightly, came to his mind. The big Scot knew his older son didn’t do much thinking as he watched his unconscious brother; it was the only time he seemed to sleep, but it wasn't restful repose.

The picture in his mind of that chair also brought thoughts of his ward Teresa. When Scott wasn't in the chair, she was. Ever since Johnny and Scott had rescued her, Teresa had no inclination to be alone. Murdoch noticed that she, too, avoided her room, preferring Johnny's chair or Scott's room with the door open. The young girl rarely left the house.

Since bringing Johnny home the household had been smothered under a blanket of shock. Everyone seemed mechanical in their actions and speech. No one volunteered to voice their feelings or thoughts, and being thrown into the preparations for the fall drive made that easy enough. It was in stark contrast to the previous week when his young ward had noisily made it her mission to bring her family together again by forcing them to interact. The big man had to smile at her determination at the time.

But now things were different. There was something unspoken that was both binding them and keeping them apart. Murdoch sighed, and, hoping they all survived the next several weeks, told himself that after the routines returned to normal, everyone could finally begin to heal. Dr. Jenkins' decision to keep Johnny completely sedated since he broke his leg kept a lid on the whole simmering pot that was currently the Lancer hacienda. Always a poor patient, the stress Johnny would bring on the house could simply be too much for everyone’s nerves and cause the fragile peace in which they existed to collapse - or erupt.

Sam Jenkins would have been satisfied to keep the boy under a few days more to insure that the broken femur was well on its way to being healed, but the gunshot wound to the head concerned the family doctor. Tonight, he was going to allow Johnny to come around so he could check the vision in Johnny’s blue eyes. When he had mentioned his plan the previous night, no one had looked surprised. They all had noticed the disappointment in Sam’s face every time he examined Johnny.

Murdoch also knew everyone had an idea of what they were in for once the volatile young man came around. No one had said anything, but Murdoch knew they were all mentally preparing in their own way for the hostile handful that would be Johnny. Confined to traction and basically blindfolded, his younger son would rebel against his lack of freedom.

The quiet pair crossed slowly under the arch, allowing their mounts to catch their breath. A barn hand came out and waited patiently for the bosses to dismount. The big Scotsman swung his leg over the sorrel's rump. Muscles tugged stiffly in his back, and when his feet were earthbound, he took a moment to stretch after he handed off the reins. "Gracias," he said, getting a nod in reply. He was tired in more ways than he cared to admit, even to himself.

Scott mumbled a quiet thank you and the men were left standing awkwardly in the yard, both reluctant to go inside the house. Murdoch let his eyes wander to the elegant hacienda and felt his anxiety swell to the forefront. A nudge from his son set his feet moving.

Maria met them inside the door and pressed a tall glass of lemonade into the mens' hands as soon as they entered. She took their hats and hung them up, indicating they should rest for a few minutes in the kitchen while they had a chance. Both of them took her up on the offer and gratefully slid into two chairs at the sturdy oak table. A substantial snack was laid out and waiting.

Just then Teresa entered the kitchen with a load of dirty bandages. "Hi, you two. Glad to see you taking some time to cool off." She dumped the load near the side door. "I changed the leg bandage and left it loose so Sam can look at it before Johnny wakes up. I thought it would save a little time."

"Good thinking," Scott said, closing his eyes and rubbing the cool glass on his forehead.

"Sam should be here soon," the young girl said softly, her manner becoming more hesitant.

"Yes, he should." Murdoch gave his ward a smile and gently squeezed her hand. "You ready for this?"

She smiled back and nodded. "I guess so. Sam calls the tune on this one, right?"

"Absolutely." The elder man tried to sound confidant. He felt like he'd failed miserably, but the girl kept smiling. Her eyes, though, showed fear. She took a chair with them and they ate the light meal while making conversation that danced entirely around what was really on their minds. Finally, Murdoch stiffly rose to his feet. "I'm going up to wash and change my shirt."

With a light kiss to the top of Teresa's head, Murdoch made his way upstairs. As his steps faded, the young girl turned to her older brother-by-heart.

"Scott . . ." she started, and then stopped as she stared at her hands clasped together on the table.

"What?" he gently urged, taking note of her body language. "You scared?"

Teresa nodded briskly, and then choked as her eyes met his across the table, "Yes. Aren't you?"

Standing stiffly, Scott walked around to her side and pulled the trembling girl to her feet. He hugged her tightly. "Yes, I am," he admitted. "It's been a nightmare. I just want to wake up and find it all over."

She sniffed, her cheek pressed comfortably into his chest. "I feel exactly the same way," she whispered.

Dr. Jenkins brushed the dust from his jacket in the courtyard. Maria appeared out of nowhere and took his jacket while Scott took his bag. "Glad to see everyone here," the wizened doctor commented with a smile. He noted the small smiles in return, his heart yet again going out to this family.

The doctor cleared his throat and accepted a cool glass of lemonade while Scott and Teresa stood by, obviously uncomfortable. Scott mentioned that Murdoch would meet them in Johnny’s room. After a feeble attempt at small talk with the waiting pair and getting nothing in return but short replies or simple nods, Sam gave up and suggested they get on with it. He handed the almost empty glass back to Maria.

Sam couldn't help but think Scott and Teresa were taking their last steps to the gallows by the way they carried themselves. At the top of the staircase, Scott and Teresa headed to their brother's room while Sam, hearing the footsteps behind him, paused to wait for Maria to catch up. She carried a pot of steaming water, so he politely stood aside and let her lead the way.

When Sam stepped into Johnny's room behind the small Mexican woman he felt like he was walking on to a stage. Jelly leaned against the window frame, arms crossed over his chest and his lips pursed; Scott perched edgily on the edge of the armchair on the far side of Johnny's bed, between it and the window, looking positively glum. Teresa stood by the bed on the near side, next to Johnny's injured leg, nervously picking at pillows stacked under the wooden splint Murdoch stood at the head of the bed looking like he'd rather be anywhere else than standing in this room.

The object of their thoughts lay quiet, his head turned slightly toward the door. A black line which was the nasal tube ran across his shoulder, jigging slightly with every short breath the boy took. Johnny's head slowly rotated the other way as his mouth worked dryly. His arm jerked slightly when Sam plopped his bag on the dresser.

"I see he's starting to come around. We better get going, then." Sam rolled up his sleeves with a bracing sigh and turned to find Maria pouring the hot water in a basin. He thanked her and decided to talk as he washed up. "I'm going to check the surgery site first and get that wrapped again. Next, I'll check his head wound and eyes. After that, I'm going to use smelling salts to bring him around. Scott . . ." The young man's head rose slowly. "I want you at his shoulder on the far side. Murdoch, this side. Jelly, I want you at his leg to make sure it stays put. You too, Teresa."

"Stays put? You mean that he don't get all balled up in that contraption?" The old man made a motion at the traction device keeping Johnny's leg aligned. "Kinda hard when he's strapped to the bed!" A leather strap low around Johnny's hips kept him from slipping down the mattress, and also kept him from turning as he slept. From the first day, Jelly looked at the setup as an insult to the boy's spirit, but he grudgingly had to admit he saw the advantage.

"You know this boy. If there's a way to mess it up . . ." the doctor started.

"You sure got a point there, doc," Jelly snorted as he moved into his position.

"Teresa, you help me with the bandages, and Maria, hold this." The doc had finished washing up and handed off a pre-filled syringe to the small woman. "I'll need that pronto if Johnny acts up. I'm not going to sacrifice the headway we've made on that leg."

"Si, senor," Maria said, accepting the syringe.

"Go stand near Murdoch." Sam moved to the leg and began to inspect it. "I see you were all ready for me, Teresa. Good job." She nodded a nervous acknowledgement. The doctor probed the raw looking wound and the stitches with a slight frown. It was redder than he liked, but there wasn't anything oozing from the small drain he'd left in. After a few minutes, he clucked and nodded and had Teresa wrap it up. "That looks fine," he summed up.

Sam then moved to the patient's head and removed the wrappings. The abused wound looked much worse than the thigh, still oozing a nasty substance. The doctor cleaned it thoroughly and pressed his lips tightly together as he examined the stitches. 'It could look better,' he thought. "I think your poultice needs to be applied again, Jelly. We need to draw out that infection."

"Yessir," Jelly said, the reply uncharacteristically short.

Sam patted the wound dry. "All right, now for the next part. I think you all know what I'm concerned about. The injury and blindness he dealt with a couple of years ago may have left some residual damage that could have been re-injured. I don't like the way his eyes are reacting to light, and I need to know if the optic nerve is damaged again. If it is, we need to get him to an expert as soon as possible. That's the only reason I'm risking this now."

"If he's blind again, could it be permanent?" Scott asked. All eyes zeroed in on the doctor.

Sam paused in the face of questioning eyes, carefully considering his words. "I'm not an expert. I don't know. The last time, the treatment I did was based on a medical journal article. We can try that again if need be, but let's see what we have first, shall we?" Short nods all around were all reply he received.

Sam turned back to the restless young man and checked Johnny's eyes carefully. Then he slipped the jar of smelling salts from his pocket. One quick wave resulted in a frown and a twist of the dark head away from the offensive smell. Sam asked Scott to speak to his brother. Looking like he was being asked to stand in front of a firing squad, Scott slowly complied.

"Johnny," Scott called, gently patting his brother's sunken cheek. "Come on, brother, open your eyes."

Cinder black lightened to ash grey, and the horizon of his inner eye saw flashes of light that were edged in pain. A flash of memory recalled a more violent storm of agony, but, for now, he simply ached all over and was unable to suppress a moan.

"Open your eyes, Johnny. Look at me."

The voice was soothing and caught his attention. Johnny felt his head turn that direction, but all he saw was the same ash grey. That's when the first lightning bolt hit, striking first in his thigh, then racing through the rest of his body. Johnny automatically shied away from the sudden pain and tried to sit up.

"No, no, Johnny, don't move. You have to lie still."

This all seemed familiar, and the visceral memory was not good. Johnny felt pressure on his shoulders, confining him. He couldn't see anyone through the fog so Johnny began a frantic search in front of him with his hands for something – anything - solid and human. Immediately, a pair of hands was on his face, cradling each cheek and turning his head away from the soothing voice of his brother. Johnny latched onto the offensive hands in an effort to peel them away, but another voice cut through the pain and he froze to listen, trying to make out the words through his own heavy breathing and pounding heart.

"Look at me, John, you have to look at me. What do you see? Hold still, now." It wasn't Scott's voice and the change distracted him from his panic. "Johnny, do you hear me?"

Johnny heard the question repeated several times before he realized what the words meant. His throat hurt, his head ached and his leg, oh, his leg was making it difficult to think! Finally getting his mouth to work through the jumble of pain and chaos, he croaked, "Doc?"

"Yes, Johnny, it's Sam." Johnny felt the hands on his face relax under his grip, but fear compelled him to hang on to them. "Now listen to me; I know your leg hurts and I'm sorry. We're taking care of it. Right now, I want you to tell me what you see."

"See?" Johnny had to think about the question for a second. Even with the agonizing pain shooting from his leg, he managed to concentrate enough to force a blink. He could feel his lids moving; he knew his eyes were open, but nothing but the gunmetal grey and flashing sparks appeared to him. He released the doctor’s hands and felt his face for any kind of bandages. Finding none, the stirrings of panic began to rise once more. He found the doctor’s hands again and held tight. "See?" he rasped a little louder.

Scott’s heart sank. Keeping the pressure on Johnny's shoulders, he glanced up and saw the grim expression on his father's face across the bed. Doc Jenkins continued to hold Johnny's face and speak lowly, but it was obvious to all that Johnny couldn't see. The rising panic, though, was very clear in the blue eyes and growing muscle tension under Scott's hands.

Fear grew in the older brother's heart. Sam's voice was not doing the trick. Johnny shook his head at the effort to get free of the doctor’s grip, and then flailed his hands and tried to sit up.

"I can't see you!" he cried, his voice cracking. "Scott? Murdoch?"

"Right here, Johnny, you have to lie still." Murdoch's voice was amazingly calm but his face showed a different story.

Scott glanced at Jelly and Teresa working to keep Johnny's leg still. Tears ran down the young girl's face but she ignored them, too busy with keeping the traction set up from being destroyed by Johnny's flailing.

"Johnny." Scott turned his attention back to his sibling and cut in, his voice firm. "Johnny, calm down. You have to calm down. Stop it, Johnny."

"Scott?" Johnny panted, turning his head to the voice. "Don't go!" Johnny released Sam's hands and grabbed Scott's forearms. The older brother could feel the fearful tremble of his grip.

"I'm not going anywhere, brother. You have to calm down."

"Oh, God, not again. Not again," Johnny squeezed his eyes shut and rolled his head back and forth, his voice a plaintive wail. "It hurts, Scott, I can't do this. I can't . . ." His back arched and he began to fight anew as his last semblance of self control crumbled away. The traction frame groaned with the sick man’s struggles.

"Maria!" Sam barked, using both hands to press Johnny's arm to the bed. He snatched the syringe from her hands and applied the needle. Johnny's body twisted away from it, but the older man managed to hold on and complete the injection.

"No, no, no, don't . . ." Johnny begged weakly, his voice ragged.

"You'll be fine, Johnny, just relax," Scott said evenly, his tired eyes shining wetly. "Just go to sleep. I'll be here, Johnny, I won't go anywhere." The soft cadence seemed to help. His little brother turned to face him, his fearful eyes turning dull and finally slipping closed as his body relaxed with a faint sigh.

Everyone held their positions for a few seconds until they were sure Johnny was out, and then one by one, they released him. Scott turned his back on the bed and stared out the window, running a shaky hand through his hair. Teresa stifled a sob and walked quickly from the room. Murdoch sank into a straight back chair and rubbed his face.

Jelly clucked and mumbled, then went to stand by his boss. "Well, that answers that question," he grumbled.

"Guess it does," Sam replied softly. "Murdoch, I'll start the same treatment I did before while I ask around about a specialist. If it's not better in two weeks, there's nothing more I can do."

"Yes, yes, whatever you think is best, Sam." Murdoch showed no inclination to rise from the chair but instead sat, staring at his hands.

CHAPTER TWO

Dr. Jenkins did not trust his normally active patient, and he was kept sedated until the disfiguring swelling around the broken femur and surgery site was reduced. Only then did the doctor think the danger of re-injuring the bone was nearly past. In the meantime, the eye treatment - so successful years ago - was started while Johnny was in unnatural slumber.

It was many days before Sam decided to cut back on the daytime morphine, allowing the patient to become a little more aware each day. The night dose remained the same, however, so that everyone else in the house would get some rest. The doctor knew full well the young man would be a handful during the day when he was finally fully awake and wanted the family rested.

Each time Johnny came around, there was someone there to talk to him and keep him calm while he slowly progressed out of his twilight state. His eyes were tightly wrapped, and he was assured everything was going fine.

Sam, however, was skeptical. This injury was much more severe than the previous incident years before.

On Dr. Jenkins’ orders, laudanum was administered via the nasal tube at regular intervals, keeping the patient perched on a fine line between sleep and awareness. Ten days passed before he was allowed to come fully awake and the inevitable explosion occurred.

Teresa had just brought in Jelly's lunch and a lukewarm cup of broth when she noticed Johnny’s bandage-swathed head turn toward her as the door opened.

“Oh, you’re awake! I wasn’t expecting . . .”

“What do you want?” Johnny growled roughly, causing a dry cough. One hand automatically rubbed his irritated throat in an uncoordinated fashion.

“Lunchtime, Johnny.” Teresa kept her voice light, but her hands began to shake a little at the angry tone. She set the tray on the small bedside table. Jelly, rinsing out a cloth at the wash basin, immediately locked his eyes on Johnny, wariness setting his stance.

“Just go away.” Dropping both hands on the mattress, Johnny, still groggy, started to adjust his body on the mattress. That's when he noticed the restriction at his waist. His fingers immediately began tracing the strap that held his hips. “What’s this?” he snapped, his actions becoming a little more agitated.

Jelly was at his side immediately. “Just leave it be, Johnny, it’s to keep your leg from movin’. Come on, I’ll help you sit . . .”

Johnny’s hand grabbed Jelly’s arm and threw it back. “Don’t touch me!” His voice was becoming clearer and stronger with his awakening. He pressed his hands against the mattress and sat up. Immediately, his head ducked and he hissed in pain.

Teresa stepped closer. “Johnny, the doc says to give you laudanum again if you aren’t calm . . .”

“No!” His arms swung through the air to keep anyone away and connected with the tray on the table, sending both crashing to the floor. The motion caused the nasal tube to bounce, and his hands were instantly on it.

Teresa jumped back with a squeak, startled for a moment before dropping to the floor to push the mess aside.

Jelly grabbed Johnny’s hands as the angry young man began to tug on the offensive tube. “Leave it alone, Johnny,” the older man said between clenched teeth. Johnny wiggled his hands loose and shoved his friend hard enough that the older man had to dance for balance, arms wind milling. "Johnny, stop it!" he yelled as he fought to keep his feet.

Gagging forced Johnny to pause in his pulling the tube out. After a pair of hoarse coughs, the gag reflex was under control and he tugged some more. He’d managed to drag out several inches before the bedroom door flew open. It took Scott a second to see the problem and run forward, dodging Teresa and the mess on the floor.

Scott threw himself across his brother’s chest. With Jelly’s help, they forced both of Johnny’s arms down to the mattress. Scott’s voice was unnaturally calm and Jelly backed away, allowing Scott handle the situation. “Lay still, brother. Talk to me. What are you doing?”

“Get it out, Scott!” Without being able to see Johnny’s eyes, the older brother couldn’t quite tell if his bedridden brother was fully conscious yet. “Get off me!”

If it was the drug wearing off or his true state of mind, Scott couldn’t tell, so he kept talking. “I can’t do that yet, Johnny. You have to calm down. Now take it easy, brother.”

It took a pair of long minutes before Johnny stopped struggling and the only noises heard were the angry young man’s heavy breathing and the gentle squeak of the flour bag counterweight as it swung at the end of Johnny’s leg and. Eventually, his frame relaxed with Scott's quiet murmuring. Teresa and Jelly stood together, away from the bed, afraid to move and break the spell the older brother weaved with his voice.

After a time, Johnny turned his head away from them all and pushed his brother off. Scott allowed it and stood straight, but did not step back. The prone man’s chest rose and fell in a gasping rhythm as he obviously fought for a measure of control.

Scott asked a question. Johnny shook his head. The tube jiggled and he reached for it again. Scott’s hand was immediately on top of Johnny’s, stopping him. The lean blond turned to Teresa. “Send for Sam, will you?” he requested. “And Jelly, would you get Johnny a glass of water, please?”

The spectators of the drama finally moved, grateful for something to do. As Jelly stepped up with the glass he heard Scott firmly stating, “I’m not going anywhere, Johnny. Understand?”

The dark haired young man nodded once. His voice was raw. “Just you, Scott. No one else.”

Scott took the glass. “Jelly, would you leave us alone, please? And shut the door. I’ll stay until Sam gets here.”

He was obviously miffed, but he older man simply nodded and left the room. The door closed with a loud click. Scott sat on the edge of the bed and directed his brother’s trembling hands to the glass, making sure he had a good grip before letting go. “Need help sitting up?” the older brother asked brightly, bending to help before Johnny had a chance to reply. Scott arranged another pillow behind Johnny.

Johnny cautiously sipped the water and frowned. “How long’ve I been here?”

To Scott, Johnny sounded like a wounded, cornered and frightened animal. He could only imagine how disoriented Johnny must feel right now. The sympathetic older brother allowed the infirm man to finger the bandages around his eyes with a shaky free hand.

“It’s been seventeen days. How’s the leg feel?”

“Fine,” was the automatic response. Johnny's voice was thick and raspy from the tube.

“I doubt that very much,” Scott said in a disbelieving tone. “Truth, brother.”

There was a long pause then Johnny's voice whispered angrily, “It hurts. I can manage.” He handed the glass back. “How bad?” he asked quietly while his fingers moved to explore the nasal tube.

Not to be distracted, Scott put the glass down without taking his eyes from his brother’s wandering hands. “You want to hear it from Sam?”

“Quit stallin’.”

Scott took a breath. “Okay, then. Your thigh is broken. It’s in traction to keep the bone from separating.”

“Traction?” Johnny’s hands dropped to the strap across his hips and Scott could see his shoulders tense up immediately. Investigating fingers trailed to the wooden splint and thick bandages. Johnny’s fingers lightly traced the upper part of his immobilized limb.

“It’s weight to keep your thigh muscles stretched and to keep pressure off the broken ends of the bone. You’ll be out of it as soon as the bone is stronger. Sam had to dig a bullet out of your thigh, too. That’s why there are bandages.” Johnny’s tight lips twitched with that bit of information. Scott let him puzzle everything together while his thoughts cleared. Johnny then leaned back and carefully rubbed his temples.

"Where's Murdoch?"

"At a meeting about the drive."

“Teresa? She all right?”

“She’s fine. Just a few bruises.”

“They dead?”

“Yes.”

With his fingertips, Johnny carefully rubbed small circles on his temples under the bandages that swathed his head. “No more medicine, Scott. I can’t think.” The tone was somewhere between begging and demanding.

“We’ll take it slow, Johnny. An hour at a time. But Sam calls the tune on that.”

The gunfighter’s long, graceful fingers again moved across the outside of the bandage around his head then dropped to the dreaded tube again. Johnny’s lips were still an unreadable straight line. After a moment, his hands collapsed to his lap and his head fell back deeper into the mattress, obviously spent. Scott felt his own body relax a bit. The next statement, though, surprised and unbalanced the stoic blond.

“I’m sorry about Alexandra.”

Scott ducked his head and took a moment to collect himself. “I know,” he finally replied in a bare whisper, not trusting his voice. He cleared his throat and stopped the burning tears from welling in his eyes. “I’m sorry about . . .”

“No need,” Johnny cut him off.

Scott nodded, realizing his brother couldn’t see him, but he dared not speak yet.

Johnny sighed, his fingers interlacing as they lay on his stomach. They both sat in silence for several minutes. Eventually, Scott pulled his emotions back into himself and he started again.

“Sam says your eyes . . .”

“I’m tired,” Johnny interrupted. There was no anger or urgency in his tone, but Scott knew the subject was closed. “Think I’ll sleep some.”

“You do that, brother,” Scott said, settling into the well-worn armchair next to the window. “I’ll be right here.” Wrestling with the grief Johnny had unexpectedly drawn out of him, Scott still had the presence of mind to realize the things his manipulative brother didn’t ask about. Johnny had given up a bit too easily on the nasal tube and too quickly dismissed any discussion about his eyes. Either he was afraid to know, or he had a plan of some kind. Scott bet on the latter. It was disconcerting not being able to read Johnny's normally expressive eyes - they were a gauge Scott sorely missed at this moment.

The suddenly awakened grief made itself known and Scott made his mind think of the priorities he'd laid out for himself. Scott rested his chin on steepled fingers as he studied his brother. Johnny’s body eventually relaxed and his breathing leveled out. The dark head slipped slightly to one side.

Scott felt himself being drawn into the lull of activity, suspended in the moment and hypnotized by the even breathing of his brother. He could hear the distant noises of the ranch drifting through the open window with the warm breeze. A horse whinnied and men’s voices sporadically chattered, words unclear. Wind rustled the leaves of a tree in the courtyard and a door closed somewhere downstairs. Time went by unmarked in his mind, and soon he was asleep.

Johnny could be as patient as he needed to be. As his head slowly cleared of the dreaded medicine, he lay quietly and took stock of his body. Various levels of pain emanated from every part of him, from the general soreness of inactivity to the sharp, unrelenting throb of his thigh and head.

The quiet of the room made it fairly simple to hear the eventual change in his brother’s breathing. He felt a momentary pang of guilt at his plan, realizing that his older brother was probably tired from staying at his side, but that couldn’t be helped. He had to get some rules straight right now, and the first one was that he would control what went in his body from now on. It was time to take control.

“Scott?” he called softly to confirm his suspicion. No reply. He almost smiled. Immediately, his hands were on the tube to finish what he had started. It was a painful endeavor and he could feel tears squeezing from his eyes and soaking the bandages as he completed the job. Stifling the gagging was the hardest thing; the incredible burning sensation in his throat hurt, but was eclipsed by the pain in his thigh and the increasing pain in his head. Grinding his teeth until they squeaked, he managed to silently extricate the offensive tube and moved to throw it across the room. Knowing it would wake Scott he caught himself and, instead, let it trail quietly to the floor like a dead snake.

The painful rawness of cleared throat pushed him to explore around with his hands. Johnny hoped to find the glass of water to put out the fire left behind by the tube. Scott’s breathing made it easy to locate the bedside chair; from there, Johnny figured the table to be next to it. He couldn’t quite reach. The restraint across his hips made moving closer to the edge of the bed difficult, and he felt for a way to loosen it without luck. All the adjustments were out of his reach. Still, he managed to move a few inches to one side. The pull on his leg increased as a result, and he bit his lip with the flare of pain.

Johnny was hot and sweaty by the time he located the table and the half-full glass. As hoped, the water soothed his throat and he felt the tension in his shoulders relax a little. He pressed the empty, cool glass against one cheek and caught his breath.

The idea came quickly, and he acted without thinking. Mindful not to disturb his brother, Johnny carefully pulled the pillow from behind his head to his stomach and bent it in half. He made sure the glass was sandwiched inside, and then, using the pillow like a giant mitten, squeezed the glass with his fingers until he heard it break. He froze, waiting to see if Scott heard.

Satisfied with no response, Johnny carefully felt the broken pieces. Finding the two biggest, he put them aside and silently dropped the pillow and remaining glass to the floor on top of the nasal tube. Examining fingers found the longest, sharpest edge between the two pieces and he took it in a firm grip with his right hand. With his left hand acting as a guide, he began to saw on the leather strap holding him down.

It wasn’t long before he felt his strength waning. Johnny cursed his weakness mentally but kept working. He could feel the piece of glass becoming sticky with blood, but didn’t care. As his body cleared of the hated medicine, pain increased, but he fought to ignore it. He whispered a curse blaming the laudanum for his inability to control the sharpness of the pain.

As he wearied, his attention focused on the width of leather holding him down and the constant throbbing of his wounds. He could feel the ragged cut was nearly half way through, and he dug in harder. He'd convinced himself that when the strap was gone, his mental control would return.

Johnny’s world was narrowed to a four inch wide area of leather that was sticky with sweat and blood. As the glass became slippery and more difficult to grasp, his movements became more frantic. Both time and energy were running out. He bore down harder, his shoulders hunched in effort.

Then a hand clenched his wrist like a vice.

“Drop it, Johnny!” Scott ordered through clenched teeth.

“Let go of me!” Johnny gasped frantically, his hand a fist around the glass. Struggling uselessly, his arms were easily forced to the mattress on either side of him. Scott's grip was tight on each wrist, and Johnny was too weak to break free. “Scott, let go!”

“Not on your life, brother.” Johnny felt the press of his brother’s upper body on his, holding him fast to the bed. “What were you thinking? Look at your hand!” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Scott wished he could call them back.

Exhausted, Johnny stopped struggling and lay quiet, sweat making his skin slick and shiny. The wounds on his hands bled freely from between his fingers. He laughed shortly. “Look at my hand, huh?” He laughed again, and Scott felt sick. “Sorry, can’t oblige ya, Boston. Now let me go.” At the last word, the anguish was plain in his voice. He swallowed hard and clamped his mouth shut. Breathing heavily through his nose, his tightly pressed lips twitched as he fought for control.

Scott managed to push his initial anger aside, but didn’t lessen his grip. He knew he had to diffuse this situation right now; his only hope was complete honesty. “I can’t let you go, Johnny,” he said evenly. “I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

Hesitation showed with Johnny’s lack of response. They were both suspended in time waiting for Johnny to make a decision. Scott realized his brother’s judgment was greatly impaired by pain and residual medications, but he also knew Johnny’s penchant for rash, emotional action. Before he let go, he had to know what was going on in that dark-haired head.

“Johnny, I can’t read your mind. You have to talk to me. What were you thinking? What was your plan, here? Talk to me. I don’t think you meant to hurt yourself, but . . .”

One short, explosive laugh came from Johnny's mouth and Scott felt his brother’s body suddenly relax. Frowning – and cursing the fact that he couldn’t read Johnny’s normally expressive eyes – Scott did not back down as his brother spoke.

“Hurt myself? You think I’m tryin’ to hurt myself?” Johnny’s voice was rough with emotion, but became stronger as his anger grew. “I just can’t stand this, Scott! Look at me! I can’t do anything . . .” his voice hitched and he clamped his mouth shut again to gather himself. His voice dropped to a desperate tone. “It makes me crazy, being tied down. You know that. I can take care of myself.”

“You can’t be alone right now, Johnny, and you can’t take care of yourself. You can’t walk and you can’t see. Broken legs heal and your blindness is probably temporary. You just have to be patient and wait it out.”

“What if it’s not?” Johnny said in a tight voice. “What if it’s not temporary? What then?”

“Then we’ll handle it as a family, like we always do. Now can I look at your hand?” Scott backed off a little and twisted Johnny’s right hand until the palm faced up. Johnny relaxed his fist and his fingers slowly uncurled. Scott plucked away the chunk of glass and dropped it on the small table, trading it for the damp washcloth from a small bowl. He began cleaning away the blood, his eyes scanning his brother for other injuries when he saw the spot of blood drying on the edge of the nostril that once held the dreaded tube. “Sam’s not going to be very happy about the tube, you know.”

“It ain’t goin’ back.”

“Okay with me,” Scott said agreeably, continuing to clean Johnny’s hand. “I’ll be on your side to convince him if you agree to one thing.”

There was a slight hesitation before Johnny asked suspiciously, “What?”

“You have to tell me when the pain is too much. We've had this conversation a hundred times in the years past, Johnny, it shouldn’t be a surprise. I’m serious.” Scott looked at the cleaned palm. It was still bleeding, but it had slowed considerably. “Here, press your hands together on this cloth. I need to get some bandages.” He stood. “Well?” he asked, poised to go. “Deal? Or do you want to continue to have laudanum force fed through a tube? Your choice, Johnny.”

“All right.”

“All right, what? I want you to tell me exactly what you’re agreeing to do. I’ve seen you slither your way around too many deals, brother.”

“I agree to tell you if the pain is too much.”

“And take medication to stop it?”

“That wasn’t part of the deal!”

“Johnny,” Scott warned.

"Scott, I can't think with that stuff. You know that. It makes me feel so . . ." he stopped suddenly and dropped his head as if to study his hands. The washcloth became the object of picking fingers.

"Out of control?" Scott offered softly. After a few seconds, Johnny nodded sharply. Scott pulled out lengths of cloth and laid them on the bed.

"I don't like that feeling," Johnny breathed barely above a whisper. Then his head snapped up and he began feeling around the bed, leaving trails of blood everywhere he touched with the injured hand. "My gun! Where is it?"

Expecting that question, Scott grabbed the holster in question from the bedpost and put it in his brother's lap. "There. It was on the bedpost."

Johnny calmed visibly and fingered the belt. After a long moment, he snorted a short laugh. "Lot a good it's doin' me now, huh? I've already learned that aiming by sound don't work too good." Long, bloody fingers traced the line of bullets adorning the rig then he hefted the holster up again. "Put it back, Scott. Blood rusts the metal." Wordlessly, Scott re-hung the belt and finished wrapping the cut hand.

The sound of greetings from outside caught Scott's ear. "Sam's here," he said softly. "And there's blood all over the bed. Between that and the tube on the floor, I don't know how much I can help you, brother."

Johnny smiled wanly, which make him look very young and defeated. "Time to reap what I've sown, huh? An' Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"My leg's startin' to hurt." Johnny lay back, looking decidedly paler and suddenly very fragile.

Scott lifted a brown bottle from the dresser and brought it over, pressing the item into Johnny's palm. "Here. Take some." Johnny wrinkled his nose at the offering, and jerked his hand away. "Look at it this way - if you take the laudanum now, Sam may be easier on you about the tube." The hardening of Johnny’s mouth told Scott that the suggestion was not welcome, so he replaced the bottle on the dresser.

“I’ll be the one sayin’ what’s goin’ inside me from now on,” Johnny stated flatly. He crossed his arms over his chest and in essence, shut down.

“I’ll take that as a no, then,” Scott replied shortly. He was already deeply tired, and the road ahead did not look promising. The swing of emotions Johnny was showing was disconcerting. Scott figured it was from exhaustion and the remnants of medication and would make a tough situation even more difficult. The older man rubbed his eyes and moved to the window so he’d be out of the doctor’s way.

As he leaned against the window sill to wait for the doctor, Scott realized that his conniving brother had done it again - he hadn't agreed to take medicine if the pain got too bad. He sighed, and threw in a mental towel, too weary to argue anymore and almost to the point of being too tired to care. He shut his eyes and let his head droop. 'Tomorrow,' he thought, going back to his plan of priorities. 'I'll deal with him tomorrow.'

CHAPTER THREE

Sam mounted the stairs of the hacienda with Murdoch on his heels, thinking he should simply move his office to Lancer. His buggy horse now made the trip with little direction. He thought about making the joke out loud, but figured it would fall flat.

He'd crossed paths with his old friend on the road from town. Murdoch filled in the family doctor on Johnny's condition up until he'd left, and Sam told him about being called to the hacienda because Johnny was apparently fully awake. The big rancher had nodded silently at that information and hadn’t offered anything more. Learning to read his friend over time, Sam could tell that Murdoch was not looking forward to this moment. Things were going to change, and if Johnny stayed true to form, it wouldn't be a quiet change.

The experienced doctor could also read the atmosphere of a room within a few seconds, and when he opened Johnny’s door the sense of emotion was instant and hostile. Dr. Jenkins immediately clamped his mouth shut as he visually took in the setting.

Scott stood with his back to the window, his arms crossed stiffly across his chest. Johnny's head had turned slightly at the noise of the opening door, his arms also crossed over his chest. The clearly stubborn set of brothers helped the doctor to hold his tongue, even when he noticed the bloodstained sheets and the curl of tubing on the floor under a discarded pillow.

Murdoch, however, was another matter. “What the Sam hill is going on in here?” the big man bellowed. Much to their credit, neither boy twitched at the loud and sudden statement. “Scott?”

When the blond opened his mouth to reply, his younger brother spoke up instead. “I hear ya, old man!” Johnny snapped, his voice raspy. “I ain’t deaf or dumb the last time I checked!”

Sam put a restraining hand on his friend’s arm knowing the attitude thrown at him by his younger son would fire Murdoch up in a heartbeat. After a furious glance at the doctor, the patriarch managed to grind his jaws together and keep silent.

“Well, well. I see you’re awake,” Sam said with strained patience. He walked to the bed and set his bag down on the table with a resounding thud. "And I see that someone has replaced me as the attending physician and removed the nasal tube." He noted the dried blood in Johnny's nostril as he snatched up his patient's wrist to check his racing pulse. "Sloppy job, I must say."

Scott's posture didn't change. Johnny faced straight ahead, lips pressed tightly together.

Sam shoved the pile at his feet aside with his foot and glass shards tinkled to the floor.

"What the hell?" Murdoch snapped, bending to retrieve a piece.

As he noted Johnny's pulse and the fresh bandages swaddling his hand, Sam twisted the hand until it was palm up. Bright red blood spotted the wrappings.

"What went on here?" Murdoch demanded before Sam could stop him.

"I don't like bein' trussed up!" Johnny yelled right back, jerking his arm from Sam's grip.

That's when the doctor noticed the roughly cut strap and pointed it out to Murdoch. Sam noticed immediately that the big man’s eyes were wide and touched with something he rarely saw there: Fear. When Murdoch spoke again several seconds later, his voice was much quieter.

"So you tried to cut yourself out," he said. He sounded relieved.

The way the eldest Lancer said that statement gave Sam pause. What else had the big rancher thought? That Johnny would try suicide? Were things that bad and he hadn't noticed? The doctor quickly gave his patient a visual inspection and didn't pick up anything other than Johnny's normal anger. The boy had been in a drugged sleep for days; had something happened? Sam made a mental note to question Murdoch later.

"Murdoch, would you bring up some warm water?" Sam asked, tilting his head to the door to allow his friend to pull himself together. Murdoch nodded absently and left the room. Yes, he was rather shook up, Sam noted. He turned his attention to his patient, his own anger gone.

"You scared him, you know," Sam said calmly as he began to unwrap the hand. Johnny didn't reply. His head was bowed down and his muscles tense under the doctor's hand. "Hm. You need some stitches."

"The tube ain't goin' back." Johnny stated pointedly.

Sam's eyes glanced to Scott, who shrugged and shook his head. The blond looked tired.

"We'll see about that," Sam said, turning back to Johnny. "I am the only doctor here that I know of."

Murdoch returned with the warm water and they both cleaned the wound with soap and water.

As Sam washed the cuts and stitched he deepest ones closed, he took the time to assess both boys and their father. Scott, he knew, had been bordering on collapse since Alexandra's death. Repeated orders for him to rest had been summarily ignored and he wondered when and where the inevitable breakdown would occur.

Murdoch seemed to be doing fine, physically, compared to the others. He now knew his friend was suffering more than he realized. Sam figured that as long as his family was together, everything would be all right. The man had been too long without his boys here, and since their return, the doctor had seen him become a true family man. Had he misjudged him? Was this situation with Johnny’s eyes affecting his friend more than he realized?

Johnny, on the other hand, was acting just as he had when he'd first arrived here years ago, which was, sadly, a giant step backward. The doctor knew this was going to be a difficult case, and he turned some ideas over in his mind on how to make things easier for this family and not jeopardize his stubborn patient's health. As he finished the last of the stitches, he gathered his thoughts.

"How's your leg feeling, Johnny?" A quick wrap of clean bandage, and the hand was done. The doctor moved to the leg as he spoke.

"Hurts a bit," the young man responded tensely. "I can deal with it."

Sam checked the sutures and the drain. "Looks like I can take this drain out. Let me guess: no drugs." Johnny didn't react, but Scott snorted a short laugh. "Here we go." He was as careful as he could possibly be, but the drain had adhered to some skin and was difficult to remove. Johnny hissed at one point, and his fists clenched the sheets in determination. Scott turned away while Murdoch studied the floor. Finally, with only a little blood, the drain was out and joined the nasal tube on the floor.

Sam quickly re-wrapped the leg. "I think we can remove the traction next week, John. It's looking pretty good. That doesn't mean you can walk around like normal, though. In fact, I still want you off of it for another week after the traction is removed." Johnny opened his mouth to protest, but Sam cut him off. "I'm willing keep the tube out in the meanwhile. But if you go against me, Johnny Lancer, if you put any weight at all on that leg in the next two weeks I'm putting that tube right back in and giving you enough morphine to keep you out until Christmas. You understand?"

Scott's smirk was squelched under his hand as he pressed it against his mouth and Murdoch's head jerked up, his mouth hanging open in surprise at the threat.

Johnny, on the other hand, didn't move. His lips, still tightly pressed together, worked furiously as he obviously tried to think of an out. Finally, he lay back with a resigned and weary sigh. "Fine," he snapped. "Didn't know docs bargained with their drugs like that. Somethin' new in one of your medical journals?" The snide edge to the comment wasn't missed by anyone.

Sam chose to let it pass. "I've learned some new tricks from dealing with you Lancers, yes," Sam conceded. "Let's check that eye treatment now. It's a bit early, but that's all right. Scott, close the drapes, please. You still have a headache?"

"A little."

Sam took that to mean a lot, and didn't ask any more questions. The rest of the examination was carried out in silence, and then he was ready to take his leave. Murdoch escorted him from the room, leaving Scott with his brother.

"Thanks for coming, Sam," the big man said as they descended the stairs. "I'm concerned about this cattle drive. Scott, Jelly and I have to go and only Teresa and Maria will be here in the house. How's Johnny going to handle it if he can't see, Sam? What if he's permanently blind this time?"

The doctor was pleased that he didn’t have to start the conversation about his friend’s worries. Then again, the fact that Murdoch Lancer was bringing up his feelings was disconcerting. The stress level here at Lancer must be much more than he anticipated. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, the doctor placed a comforting hand on Murdoch's shoulder. He considered his words carefully during a long pause, finally deciding it was time to voice his own concerns. "Murdoch, can I speak frankly?"

The big Scot threw him a surprised glance, and then motioned to step into the great room. Jelly and Teresa were already there and looked up when they entered the room. Jelly remained sitting on the couch, but the girl stood, wringing her hands nervously. Sam hesitated, looking to Murdoch.

"It's all right. They should hear what you have to say, too." Murdoch moved to stand next to his ward and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulder.

Sam took a deep breath of fortification. "Murdoch, I don't think this eye treatment is going to make any difference. There's always hope, but I think you need to make some plans, especially with the drive coming up." Teresa's eyes instantly pooled with tears as Jelly began to study a pattern in the rug. "Johnny is going to need some specialized help. There's a doctor in San Francisco he should see when you get back, but in the meanwhile, he has to learn to function without his sight."

Teresa began to quietly sob into her guardian's chest. Murdoch's jaw worked silently, his eyes fixed on something behind the doctor’s left shoulder.

Sam continued. "There are schools back east who have tutors that specialize in teaching the blind how to function. I think it would be a good thing to start looking for one of them to stay here while you, Scott and Jelly are on the drive. Johnny's going to be out of that bed and moving around about that time and he needs to do that safely. I plan on putting a hard plaster cast on his injured leg, but you know your son. You have just enough time to arrange for help before you go." Getting no response, Sam picked up his bag and made his way to the door. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'll get you a list of schools to contact."

He turned and walked from the room with a heavy heart. Sam Jenkins felt like he'd let down everybody in the Lancer household.

Later that night, Murdoch brought his older son into the great room and told him Sam's prognosis and suggestion. Oddly, his older son showed no reaction. He simply stared at the dead coals in the fireplace as he sat on the couch, slowly turning the crystal glass in his hand. He appeared to be in thought. Finally, he threw the last of the Scotch down his throat and turned to his father.

"I agree with him, sir. We need some delegation of duties here." Scott rubbed his eyes and continued as Murdoch checked his surprise. "We can't continue like this. I can't continue like this, and Johnny's only going to get more difficult to handle. I think I should wire my grandfather."

That got Murdoch's attention. "Wait a minute . . ." he started.

Scott held up his hand. "Hear me out first." After a moment, the patriarch nodded tightly. "There are a lot of top doctors in the Boston area that specialize in head injuries and blindness. I heard of them after the war. I think it would be better if we took Johnny there for a second opinion."

"Sam said there was a doctor in San Francisco."

"Only one doctor, sir. We shouldn't ignore that fact. There's also the Perkins Institute for the Blind in South Boston. They train teachers for the blind there. I think the tutor should come out here with the understanding that he will escort Johnny to Boston when we get back. Grandfather can interview at the Institute immediately and send someone out."

Murdoch studied his elder son as he thought. It was apparent that Scott had already thought about this possibility. The pencil the big man held in his right hand tapped a steady rhythm on the desk where he sat. "You don't really think Johnny will go for that," he mused quietly.

Scott ducked his head. "We can't do a whole lot for him when he's finally able to get around. Have you thought about what it will be like around here if he doesn't ever get his sight back?"

Dropping the pencil with a woody clatter, Murdoch rubbed his big hands over his eyes in exhaustion and sighed. "Yes, especially since this afternoon," he admitted. "But, since when has Johnny done what's good for him? He's going to feel like a fish out of water in Boston."

"He's going to feel like a fish out of water where ever he is in this condition. And it would be temporary; just until he is cured or . . ." Scott guiltily looked aside as the sentence trailed to a stop. Murdoch knew he was going to say 'until he learns to live being blind.'

Being completely honest with himself, Murdoch had to admit that he too, was rather overwhelmed with everything at this moment. His own grief for the loss of his daughter-in-law and his grandchild had not been fully realized, either. And with the drive coming up, things seemed, at times, unmanageable.

Cipriano had been doing a fine job, but he couldn't be expected to take the place of the three Lancer men indefinitely. Scott certainly could use a break. And as far as Teresa . . . well, he hadn't even had the time to see how she was doing. They all could use a lightening of the duties. For Scott to be suggesting weaning themselves from Johnny's care said a lot about the wan-looking young man's state of mind. His firstborn must be suffering much more than he realized.

"I need to speak to Teresa and Jelly about this before we bring it up to Johnny. We need to be a united front to stand up to him," Murdoch said. "Agreed?"

"Agreed." Scott nodded.

"I'll speak to her when she comes down. Maybe you can tell Jelly when you two go to town for supplies tomorrow. Wire Harlan when you get there."

"Alone?" Teresa said, obviously alarmed. "Johnny can't travel to Boston alone!"

"He won't be, alone, honey, he'll have the tutor."

"A stranger is the same as being alone, Murdoch! Scott or I can go with him."

Murdoch had to smile at the defiant stance his ward assumed with her arms crossed stubbornly across her chest. She looked very much like a certain fiery-tempered son of his. Gently, he placed his big hands on each of her shoulders and spoke carefully.

"I do see your point, Teresa, but think about Johnny. He's going to be uncomfortable dealing with this whole situation anyway, and I think he'll be more uncomfortable - even embarrassed - in front of us. He doesn't need the distraction of worrying about what we're thinking or doing. He needs to learn how to handle himself from an experienced tutor."

"Well, then, can we leave it up to him? Let Johnny decide? He needs family!" Sparking brown eyes refused to yield to the older man's blues. It was obvious she wasn't going to give in on this point.

"Fine. We'll let Johnny decide. It might be a good idea to let him have some measure of control in this whole situation, anyway." He drew the girl into an embrace and he felt her relax.

"Thank you, Murdoch. Johnny has to understand that he's still part of us, even if. . . “The young girl couldn't make herself say the words.

"Yes, you're right. Even if," Murdoch agreed. “I’ll discuss it with Johnny when the time is right. Not a word until then, all right? I still need to talk to Jelly, too.”

Teresa nodded in her guardian’s broad chest, reluctant to let go.

Late the next day, in the main office of Garrett Enterprises, the President and founder Harlan Garrett held a wire in his hand that sparked something inside. The telegram was short and to the point, but the fact that it was sent at all indicated to the Bostonian that they had hit a rough spot at Lancer. And always the businessman, rough spots meant opportunities and, once again, he would not ignore it.

Garrett’s mind immediately began calculating how to turn this to his favor. Laying the wire on the desk, the old man swiveled his chair around to look out the window. Boston harbor was thick with fog, the people below him hurrying along the sidewalk with upturned collars and blurred in grayness. Garrett considered for a moment the reduced visibility, and what it would be like if fog was all he could see. Then he considered this plight of the half-breed Madrid and he had to smile.

Since his attempt to split the family to bring Scott back to Boston didn’t work, maybe a reversal of thinking was in order. If they were as bonded as Scott insisted, it seemed to the elder Bostonian that maybe getting Madrid here would bring his grandson back. It was a novel approach, but definitely worth a try. Getting his heir to stay was something else to think about.

To make this kind of plan work he needed an accomplice, and Scott’s letter told him just where to find it. Whether it would be a knowing or unknowing accomplice was yet to be seen. Garrett knew he'd been lucky last time when Teresa's kidnappers had died; his tie to them was buried along with the bodies and no one was the wiser.

Encouraged by that good fortune, he began to plot and plan.

Murdoch had every intention of telling Johnny their plan of action, but with the dawning of each day came the hope that something would change for the better, be it his younger son's attitude or his sight.

So he waited, fragile hope tantalizing him into silence. At the end of each day, he could see Johnny's old, sunny nature spiraling further away from them, downward into a dark place no one wanted to acknowledge. It had been a week now, and still the big man didn't dare bring it up. Preparations for the drive kept them so busy it was an item that easily fell aside, or was put aside when brought up.

Johnny was never alone, but the subject of his sight was rarely brought up. They anticipated his needs and made everything as easy as possible for him. Johnny accepted the ministrations with growing hostility.

Harlan's wire of success came on the same day Johnny was scheduled to come out of traction, and the final day of Sam's eye treatment. Murdoch slipped the wire into his desk and mentally marked the day on the calendar when Colin Llewellyn would arrive; six days. It would be six days until Johnny was given an opportunity to learn to deal with being blind. Would he take advantage of it, or fight it? Murdoch closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose once he realized what he was thinking.

Johnny was blind.

It was pretty obvious to everyone that Sam's treatment for his younger son's sight was not working. The last time, there were subtle changes in Johnny’s vision each time the bandages were changed. This time, he only reported the same foggy grayness, and the defeat in his voice grew with each exam. After each visit, he seemed to draw a little further away from his family.

The patriarch sighed as he leaned back in his desk chair and thought about his family. Johnny had no idea the pressure he was inadvertently putting on all of them - especially Scott. If the younger man was able to read faces, he would be able to see how much Scott was suffering trying to deal with his grief, preparations for the drive and Johnny's curt demands to be left alone when that was not possible. How Scott managed to seem so collected in Johnny's presence constantly amazed Murdoch.

The knowledge of Llewellyn’s arrival gave Murdoch a small measure of relief. Before he could ponder why he felt that, a shout outside announced the arrival of Sam Jenkins. A new chapter in the Lancer household was about to begin and the big man was not looking forward to it. He only hoped that the promise of a bit more mobility with crutches in a week would be enough to turn Johnny’s sour disposition and hold off the growing depression.

There wasn’t much more of a future he could offer right now, and the relief he felt a moment ago evaporated.

On To Part 2   |  Back to the Great Room  |  Back To Part  4     

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