CHAPTER FOUR

The dog days of summer still had their hackles raised as the official start of fall loomed near. The room held the heat of the day far into the night, the open window giving little relief and no chance of a restful sleep. He was trapped in this bed, in this room and with his increasingly dark thoughts.

Johnny's days and nights were a fuzzy gray blur of sameness laced with constant fear and gut-churning anxiety. It had been a week now since he'd stopped the pain medications entirely. Every morning the first person in the room announced the day and time; Johnny only noted it because it told him another day had passed with no change in his vision. On the other side of the coin, each passing day also brought him closer to the moment that he would be removed from traction.

Johnny had mixed feelings about that; why was he overwhelmed with fear at the thought of leaving this cursed bed? Not used to being conflicted about his freedom combined with the fear and anxiety made Johnny Lancer downright unbearable to be around. He realized how difficult he was being; he heard the things he said and wouldn't want to be around him, either, but for some reason the horrible things still spilled from his mouth. Even Scott had become distant, but none of that really mattered to Johnny right now.

All he could think of was the fear that was constantly trying to overwhelm him at the thought of being finally free from the bed. What good was it if he never saw again?

For awhile the pain of his leg and the constant, throbbing headache were distractions from the depressing thoughts, but as these distractions faded, so did his focal points. Johnny found he missed the pain desperately.

What was he going to do? His stomach turned with the thought.

Now, on this day, things were going to shift a tiny bit. Once out of traction, he could move around. Part of him thought that it didn't really matter because everything would be the same no matter where he went, but another part of him couldn't wait to escape this room. He hoped that a different location would help him to accept his final fear - that Johnny Madrid wasn't long for this world.

And that's what scared him the most. Madrid had kept him alive all these years. Now he was starting over, and, as Johnny Lancer, he had to figure out how he was going to survive. At that unbidden thought, the zing of fear caught his breath.

Then he heard the shout outside and the sound of Sam's buggy and he knew the time had come to find his way. In reality and in essence, he was unarmed and Johnny wasn't sure he was up to the challenge. With the now familiar squeak, Johnny's door was opened and the rustle of skirts told him it was Teresa.

"Johnny, Dr. Jenkins is here," she said. "Let me help you sit up."

"I can do it," he growled automatically, working his way up with his arms. Ignoring him, Teresa stuffed pillows behind his back. He could see her in his mind's eye, standing back and looking for a way to help with hurt in her eyes. Johnny consciously fought down the growing anger, knowing she only wanted to help. If he drove her away, it was going to be an even more difficult recovery, and that wasn't a thought he formed lightly. "I'm sorry, Teresa," he said quietly after he was settled. "I know it's been hard."

He heard her sniff and felt like a heel. The anger disappeared, but the stirrings of fear and panic simmered just under his thoughts. He briefly thought of Mattie, and how depending on her had been so easy. And Teresa wouldn't leave.

Even with his eyes still bandaged, she managed to read him. "You're scared, aren't you? Like last time?"

He felt his resolve crack, and he finally reached out with his voice as if she were a life preserver, "Yeah."

He felt her soft hand in his, and he gave it a squeeze. Footsteps and murmured words made their way up the stairs and down the hall. Teresa gave his hand another squeeze just before Sam and Murdoch entered the room. They were easily identified by their voices.

"Well, Johnny, looks like it's time to keep my promise, isn't it?"

Johnny sighed shakily and noticed his mouth was suddenly dry. "Let 'er buck, doc."

He heard Sam's bag thud on the table. The awkward silence told him they were waiting for the usual snide remarks and surly attitude, but at this moment the fear had stolen his voice. All he could think was that with the removal of the dreaded traction, he had no reason not to leave this room. That thought grew like a nor’easterner and chilled him even in the heat of the day; if he couldn't see, did he want to leave? He shook off Teresa's hand before she noticed the nervous sweat of his palms.

"I've told you all along, John, that I'm putting a hard cast on this leg. You won't be able to bend your knee or ankle. And you are to stay in this bed another week. You hear me?"

Johnny nodded shortly, not trusting his voice. The doctor continued to talk as Johnny heard people moving around to the foot of his bed, then he felt a hand on his leg. He inadvertently jumped at the touch.

"Where's Scott?" Sam asked conversationally.

Johnny knew the doctor noticed his tenseness, and the astute man also knew that Scott was the one that could usually get Johnny to settle down. He felt his face grow hot at being so easily read, and clamped his mouth shut against the retort he nearly shot back in response.

"Getting supplies in town for the drive. I thought he'd be back by now." Murdoch's voice came from near Johnny's feet.

"Murdoch, release the weight and take off the straps and rope. Teresa, help me remove these pillows."

Johnny felt the ever present pillows under his legs pulled away. Sam's hands supported his leg and splint as he was freed from the weight. Someone - he assumed Teresa - began to unbuckle the waist strap, and in a moment he was free of the device.

"How's the leg, Johnny? Any pain in the thigh?"

"No," Johnny croaked. There was a dull ache, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. In fact, the distraction was welcomed and he turned his attention to mastering it. Finally, something familiar he could do for himself.

Heavy footsteps in the hall announced the arrival of Jelly. "How much a this stuff you gonna use, doc? It's heavy!" That statement was followed by a heavy thump. "The water's on the way up."

"Thanks, Jelly. Yes, plaster is heavy stuff." Johnny could feel the doctor and Murdoch working the laces that kept his leg in the wooden splint. In a few minutes, he felt the cool sheets under his calf. Sam began to remove the wrappings on his thigh. "Well, the drain opening is nicely healed, just like the surgery site. Now, let's get this leg wrapped and get that cast on. Teresa, you may want towels on the bed and floor. This is going to get messy."

The light peck to Johnny's cheek just under the bandages was a surprise and he jumped again, his concentration on the ache momentarily broken. Quickly, he gathered his scattered thoughts together again, slightly alarmed that this seemed so hard to do. He missed the sound of Teresa's retreating feet amidst the arrival of whoever was dragging up the buckets of water. The busyness in the room made regaining his concentration nearly impossible.

Murdoch held Johnny's leg aloft by the foot as the doctor wrapped the leg from hip to heel. Even though he'd been told the extent of the cast, the feel of the wrappings brought it to life and Johnny could feel his panic growing. 'How can I move with this thing on?' he thought, horrified at the visual picture in his mind. Johnny tried to squelch the anxiety by concentrating on the ache in his leg.

His inner battle for emotional control was becoming problematic. Bit by bit, his concentration dwindled away. There was too much noise and to much distraction in the room. Jelly was clanking buckets and apparently mixing the plaster, Sam was wrapping his leg and he could hear someone else moving around the room doing something he couldn't identify. For once he was grateful for the wrappings around his head making his face unreadable, save the painful twitch he felt in his jaw from his clenched teeth.

The desire to flee was becoming overwhelming but he was physically trapped.

“I’ll get to your eyes as soon as I’m done here,” Sam said lightly, more to warn the others than inform his patient. “Jelly, you can start cleaning up.”

“The cast is already hard down here,” Murdoch commented, tapping by Johnny’s ankle.

“It dries quickly, but it won’t be completely dry for a few days. You need to lie still until then.” There was no response. “And you’re to stay in bed for one more week. I think the bone can handle some movement after that. Understand, Johnny?” Finished, Sam held his arms aloft to avoid touching anything with his plaster-laden hands.

“Johnny, answer Sam,” Murdoch ordered, albeit with a soft tone.

“I heard ‘em!” Johnny yelled, making everyone flinch. The narrow strip of skin between bandages and hairline was shiny with sweat, and his breathing rapidly increased. He struggled to sit up, and when finally upright, put both hands flat on the thigh area of the damp cast. “You might as well tie me to the bed again! I can’t move in this thing!” He began to tear at the damp plaster, but was pushed back into the pillows by Murdoch's big hand on his chest.

Pinning Johnny to the bed, Murdoch barked, “Stop it, Johnny. Calm down.”

“Calm down? You’re joking!” Johnny was now taking in gasps of air, attempting to control himself. In apparent desperation, he grabbed his father's forearms with both hands to move it aside, but Murdoch's arm was like a tree trunk. “Calm down? Why don’t you just shoot me instead, Murdoch? That would solve all our problems!"

A tiny gasp from Teresa brought a glance from the senior Lancer. He threw a look at Jelly, and after a moment, said lowly. "Take Teresa out of here. Now."

Jelly, standing in shock next to the bed snapped into alertness and nodded quickly. Teresa tried to protest, but tears made it hard to catch her voice. Jelly hauled her from the room with the feeling that things were going to get nothing but ugly.

"How dare you!" Murdoch practically yelled, leaning into his son with determination. "We've been tip-toeing around you all week because of your nasty mood, but I've had it! Are you proud that you've hurt Teresa? Or any of us? Do you think we have no idea what you're going through?"

"You have no idea, old man! None!" Johnny yelled right back. He again tried in vain to push Murdoch's hand from his chest. Neither Sam nor Murdoch could believe it when Johnny's flailing arms redirected and he began a search for the holster hanging by his head. His hands got on it at the same time Sam's did, and the old doctor showed a flash of youthful dexterity when he snatched the whole rig away. "Give it to me!" Johnny tried to sound demanding, but there was a trembling edge to his words that suggested desperation.

"To do what? Shoot me?" Murdoch snapped.

"Give it to me, old man!" Johnny turned his attention to pushing off the mattress, using his good leg for traction.

"Murdoch," Sam warned, earning a glance from his old friend. The doctor shook his head, trying to convey the seriousness of the situation. The change in Murdoch's expression indicated he got the message, and the eldest Lancer changed his tune.

"Johnny, stop." The big man was calmness personified even though the implications of the demand terrified him. "Let Sam check your eyes, son. Come on, let's go one step at a time here."

For the first time since he was a two-year-old toddler, his father's voice actually calmed Johnny. Murdoch's heart felt like it was going to break from despair - his normally self-reliant, independent, vibrant son, now deep in a pit of depression, needed another person to take care of him and tell him what to do. This was a corner the older man had difficulty turning; how many times had he cursed his son's independent streak? 'Be careful what you wish for,' ran bitterly through Murdoch's mind as he felt Johnny's struggles pause. Johnny was panting roughly, but he was still, clutching Murdoch's arm in obvious terror.

Sam hung the rig on the door knob and stepped up. "Let's take off the wraps. I know you're scared, but you have your family here. I want you to remember that." Breathing heavily, Johnny didn't give any indication of hearing him. Sam took scissors from his bag and began to clip the bandages. "Almost done." The doctor tried to sound upbeat, but he knew it was useless; they all knew it.

The bandages fell away and Johnny blinked. From his posture and blank expression, it was evident that nothing had changed. Sam waved his hand in front of Johnny's eyes without a reaction. The doctor glanced at Murdoch and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, John," Sam said quietly.

Johnny swallowed hard and pushed Murdoch's hand away. " 's okay," he said softly after a moment, barely audible. "Ain't no surprise." He put his hands over his eyes and lay back with a shuddering sigh, completely spent.

"I've already spoken to Murdoch about the next step. It's still early, John. You can't give up hope. Not yet."

Johnny didn't reply.

Grim faced, Murdoch looked as lost as his son. "Thanks, Sam. Stay for dinner?"

Sam wasn't even sure Murdoch realized he'd asked the question. "No, thank you. I have some things to do in town. I'll check with you tomorrow. Good bye now, Johnny."

Neither man moved as Sam left the room, the pair of them a study in misery.

It was nearly an hour before Murdoch came down, carrying the gun belt. He'd seen Scott's returning with the loaded wagon, and stiffly made his way down the stairs where he was met by a very worried Teresa and equally agitated Jelly. 

"How's the boy? ’Twarnt any yellin' after that first bit and that kinda worries me, to tell ya the truth. Doc tole us 'bout his eyes," Jelly hooked his fingers in the waistband of his pants nervously.

"How is he?" Teresa asked, here eyes wide.

A shout outside and a returned greeting along with the rumbling of wagon wheels marked the arrival of his elder son. "Honestly? I don't know how he is. Depressed. Upset. I don't know. Hopefully, he'll talk to Scott," he said. Murdoch took the gun belt and hung it by the front door. Then, he entered the great room and began to set up his first drink of the day with trembling hands.

When Scott entered the great room he could feel the emotional heaviness in the air. He paused, hat in hand, and fingered the rim as his eyes went from Jelly to Teresa, settling on Murdoch. He didn't miss the glass in his father's hands.

"I passed Sam on the way in," he started, hanging his hat on the back of a chair. "He told me."

Teresa looked up at the lean blond, her eyes worried and wide, and then she glanced at her guardian, a picture of sorrow. Scott spoke again. "I think none of us are surprised that the treatment didn't work."

Jelly snorted. "Kin say that agin. What about that teacher? He still comin'?"

"He'll be here in six days," Murdoch said, studying his glass.

"We leave in seven," Scott stated, still waiting to meet his father's eyes. "He needs to know, sir. We have no reason to put it off any longer."

The other three dropped their eyes knowing Scott was right but not wanting to be the one to face Johnny. After an awkward silence Scott turned to the stairs, overcome with the feeling of dire inevitability. It was time to place the burden aside to be dealt with later. Priorities.

"I'm telling him now."

No one stopped him.

Scott was taken aback for a second when he saw the mass of plaster on Johnny's leg and hesitated when he stepped in the room. His brother was lying uncharacteristically still, staring at the ceiling, his face blankly neutral with his hands resting on his abdomen. Scott took a fortifying breath and closed the door behind him.

"I talked to Sam," he started, moving to the bed as he spoke. "I'm sorry, Johnny." Scott pulled a chair next to his brother and sank into it.

"What do you want?" Johnny said flatly, his eyes cast toward the ceiling.

The older brother studied his toes. "We've contacted someone to come and help you while we're on the drive."

Johnny frowned, and his finger began to tap his stomach. "I don't need no help."

"Yes, you do. We all do. This is new to us, too."

The injured man's lips pressed tightly together. His finger kept tapping, tapping, tapping, drawing Scott's attention until he found himself staring at the action as he spoke; it was better than looking at Johnny's unfocused eyes.

"He's a teacher for the blind." Tapping broke cadence for a pair of beats. Scott continued. "There are things you need to learn that we can't teach you. Things we just don't know."

"Then how come you're so damn knowledgeable about it?" Johnny snapped, his fingers breaking their song to focus on picking at the bandage on his hand instead.

"Because I know there's a special school in Boston. I've seen it. They train teachers there."

"Well good for them! Tell 'em to keep 'em there!" Johnny abandoned bandage demolition and struggled to sit up. Scott automatically reached over to help, but his hand was slapped away as soon as it touched Johnny's shoulder. "I can do it myself!"

Scott sat back in the chair and scrubbed his cheeks with his hands. This was going exactly as he expected, he was sorry to note. "Well, it's too late. He's on his way already. Maria and Teresa need the help. And when we get back from the drive, I’ll be going with the two of you back to Boston to see some doctors that are specialists."

"Don't I get any say in this?" Johnny snapped, his anger growing stronger with each word. "It's my life! It may be a pretty pathetic one at this point, but it's mine and I say I don't need it!" Unkempt hair fell over his forehead as he shouted, his bright, blue eyes staring sightlessly in the direction of his brother and glistening with emotion.

Johnny looked frayed. Even blind, the depth of sadness there was startling and Scott had to hold his breath for moment as the shock of seeing it passed. He kept his own voice even. "It's a done deal, brother. I'm sorry you don't think it will help, but I know it will. You just have to trust me on this."

Scott braced for a bitter comeback, but instead watched as his little brother's forehead furrowed and his eyes take on a dark hue of despair. Johnny dropped his chin, staring sightlessly at his hands, clenched as fists in his lap. His jaw muscles worked furiously, lips clamped tightly shut. He looked like a completely lost and angry boy; Scott's heart broke at the sight.

Feeling his resolve crack, Scott shot to his feet before he promised not to leave his little brother's side. "It's for the best, Johnny," he said firmly. “In Boston, they can help you a lot more than we can here.” He paused a moment and then practically ran to the door. Scott Lancer had seen despair like that in the mirror too recently, and he couldn't bear to see it again on the face of his only brother.

When Scott went upstairs Teresa found she couldn’t simply sit. The butterflies in her stomach wouldn’t allow it. Instead, she collected what glasses she could and excused herself to the kitchen to help Maria.

The small woman was just scrubbing furiously at the pantry floor when Teresa came in. The real reason Maria’s vigorous physical work wasn’t lost on the younger woman; the events surrounding Johnny were affecting her as much as anyone. Maria’s maternal-like relationship with Johnny was obvious to all, and she had respectfully stood back during this most recent rehabilitation to allow Johnny’s family to rightfully deal with it the way they saw fit. Teresa wondered what the woman was really thinking at the moment.

Carefully setting the crystal glasses next to a large bowl of soapy water, Teresa toyed momentarily with bringing up the subject of Johnny. She heard herself speaking without thought.

“He’s so different,” she said. Surprised at what came from her mouth. Maria paused in her motions and glanced up curiously. Teresa continued. “Johnny was so sure of himself when I was in trouble and before. Now he’s so . . . I don’t know . . . different. I can’t imagine what he’s thinking.”

Maria sat back on her heels and after a moment, and then rinsed her rag in the container of water beside her. “Si,” she nodded slowly. “I think there will still be trouble. Juanito has not found his place.”

She then rattled off a Spanish phrase that Teresa didn’t entirely catch, but did recognize the word ‘powder keg’ and understood the gist of the phrase. It was only a matter of time before sparks flew. Maria struggled to her feet as Teresa dropped her head and said sadly, “I miss him.” The burn of pooling tears made her turn to wash the glasses.

Teresa felt a comforting squeeze on her elbow, and Maria said lowly. “We will be just fine soon enough. I have faith.”

Grateful, but unable to speak, Teresa nodded, intent on her chore. Maria retrieved her dirty water bucket from the floor and shuffled to the door.

“Buenas noches,” Maria said lowly. “I will see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Maria.” Teresa heard the door shut, and then the muffled sound of water being dumped in the courtyard. She finished the glasses, dried them then wandered the kitchen aimlessly for a few minutes before settling on rearranging the pantry while she tried to pull herself together emotionally.

So intent on her work, Teresa didn’t hear Scott when he came up behind her. “Teresa?”

She startled, but managed to keep her grip on the jar of peppers in her hand as she turned. “Scott, you surprised me.”

The lean young man gave her a weak smile. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to let you know that I told Johnny I would go with him and the teacher to Boston.”

Teresa frowned. “Wasn’t the idea to give him a choice?”

“He didn’t seem inclined to make a decision. There’s still time; he can change things if he wants.” Scott sounded as depressed as Johnny.

Nodding in resignation, Teresa turned back to arranging jars. “I just hope he becomes receptive to anything in the next couple of weeks.”

Scott turned to go. “I can’t say I’m envious that you’re staying. I’m sorry.”

Teresa recalled Maria’s comforting words as she replied. “It’s all right. We’ll be just fine.” In her heart, however, she wondered if that would ever be true again.

Preparing for the drive was excuse enough for the two Lancer men to avoid Johnny's room for the next several days. Teresa suspected they were avoiding him; Murdoch would look in on Johnny when he was asleep and Scott would take his normal post in the armchair late at night and instantly fall asleep for a few hours before rising and getting back to work.

Maria and Teresa prepared the guest room on the first floor for the teacher, Mr. Llewellyn, but otherwise kept busy by preparing foods for the drive. The women managed to keep the house in formidable shape even with the hectic comings and goings of the two older Lancer men.

Both women knew that none of this hustle and bustle was lost on the youngest Lancer. They couldn't tell by looking at him, however. With forced cheerfulness, they kept Johnny informed of the goings on and looked for any kind of response. As night after night fell, his continued listlessness began to put them on edge. Knowing their Johnny, the quietness was not a good thing.

A couple of days before the drive would start, Murdoch and Scott tramped in the kitchen and informed Teresa that they had to go to the south pasture to check the herd just as lunch was ready. They grabbed quick plates of food and were out the door as Teresa fixed Johnny's tray. Maria clucked as she worked in the kitchen, murmuring words about proper mealtimes.

Teresa smiled a small, tired smile as she picked up the tray. "You know how it gets around here this time of year. We're lucky if they eat at all!"

Carefully carrying the tray to avoid spilling the cool glass of milk Teresa knew her brother-by-heart should enjoy, she made her way up the stairs. When she reached his door, she hitched the tray on her hip and rapped sharply just before pushing the door open. "Johnny, I have your lu . . ." Shocked, she jerked to a stop, sloshing the milk onto the tray. "What are you doing?" she choked in surprise.

Johnny was standing next to the bed, pale and shaking, the cast leg protruding awkwardly forward. One hand on the mattress propped him up while the other waved slightly at his side and maintained his balance.

Teresa dropped the tray on the wardrobe top and strode to his side, but didn't dare touch him. "You're going to fall!" she chastised sharply.

"Well if I do, it's my business," Johnny growled between clenched teeth. "I've gotta get out of this room." Putting both hands on the edge of the mattress, he moved them hand over hand as he worked his way to the foot of the bed. He used a hopping gait and put very little weight on the broken leg, but Teresa knew that any weight wasn't a good thing.

"Johnny, Sam's going to knock you out for a month if he finds out about this!" She put her hands on his forearm, but he shook her off.

"Fine! Then I won't have to deal with that teacher!" Another hop revealed his draining strength as his exposed leg began to tremble. Johnny gripped the mattress with both hands and teetered precariously.

Teresa again grabbed his arm, and this time his motion to brush her off caused him to sink to the floor. Only part of the Spanish terms that left his lips were understood by the girl, and she knew any lady shouldn't know any of them. Growing up on a working ranch, however, had exposed her to many things; stubborn men being one of them.

"Let me help you up," she grunted, pushing her fear aside for the moment and pulling on his arm.

"Let go of me!"

She threw her hands up in exasperation. "Johnny, it's either me or one of the men. Which do you prefer?" She was momentarily taken aback by the firmness of her demand. It was at that point she realized she was mad, and it was both refreshing and empowering.

Johnny must have been surprised, too, because it took him a moment to respond. He was actually thinking about the choice. "The chair. I've had it with that bed."

"Fine." The compromise worked for her. Teresa moved the armchair from the head of the bed to behind Johnny. He hooked an elbow on the seat, and with Teresa pulling on the other arm, he was able to maneuver into the chair. She fought the urge to brush his hair back into place with her fingers, and instead, turned away to allow him time to control his trembling and catch his breath. It was unnerving that his eyes were unfocused; she missed the former depth of his gaze. With a shaky voice that belied the sternness of her words, she said, "I have dinner here. Are you going to eat it or throw it on the floor?"

Johnny had the decency to duck his head. After a moment he sighed, and when he spoke, he voice was soft and calm. "Just leave it on the table over here. I'll get to it sometime. Sorry to be so much trouble." The sharp tone of the past several days was gone and replaced with tired resignation. Teresa wondered what that meant, but decided to take Johnny's lead and run with it.

"It's all right, Johnny. That's what families are for, you know." She arranged the tray on a small table within his reach. "There's a glass of milk there . . . oh darn it, it spilled!"

Johnny chuckled. It was the first time she'd heard that in weeks, and the milk was forgotten. "What's so funny?" She tried to sound upset, but knew she'd failed miserably.

"Nothin'. It's just that . . ." His voice softened, and he cleared his throat. "Everyone seems to be so careful when they talk around me. So serious. Guess I haven't made it any easier, though."

"That's a fact," Teresa said lightly, the small smile evident in her tone. Was he coming to terms with his situation?

"Teresa," Johnny started. The young girl could tell he was deciding what to say by the slight furrow between his eyebrows. "Teresa, are you all right? I . . . I haven't talked to you since . . ."

She knelt by his side and took his hands in hers. "I'm fine, Johnny, thanks to you and Scott. It was horrible," she took a breath to steady herself, "but I'm fine, really. And you will be, too."

There was an extended pause. "Remember when you asked me earlier if I was scared? When the bandages were comin’ off?"

"Yes," she said softly. "You were scared that last time. When Mattie left."

"Yeah. Well, I'm still scared, honey, and I don't know what to do about it."

The confession was a huge revelation, and Teresa knew it. Was it a step toward acceptance? She bit her lower lip to keep from crying and gripped his hand a bit tighter. "I'm scared, too, Johnny, but if we stand together we can work through it. Let's help each other, all right?"

A ghost of a smile shadowed his wan face. "I'll try. Really."

"But that doesn't mean I approve of you being out of bed. Murdoch and Scott will have your hide if . . ."

"Let's keep it our little secret, okay? They have too much on their minds lately, anyway. We still have those crutches in the barn, right?"

"Johnny," Teresa said warily, wondering if he'd intentionally maneuvered her into a position of willing partner in crime.

"I promise I won't overdo it. I'll just move around the room until doc says otherwise. Come on, Teresa, I need to move a bit more. My backside's gettin' sore!" A hint of the Johnny she remembered showed in his smile.

"I'll think about it." Not about to be maneuvered so easily, she avoided answering. "Since you're out of the bed, I'll change the linens. Meanwhile, you stay there and eat."

Teresa knew Johnny and his subtle ways. She wasn't about to be sucked into his game, whatever it was, but for now, the closeness was something she craved and she latched onto it. For now, she would hold his secret, and prayed that he was on his way to acceptance.

CHAPTER FIVE

It was the evening before Llewellyn’s arrival. Scott, Murdoch and Jelly were splayed around the great room after dinner in various positions of repose, tired from the preparations of the day and together in a rare-of-late gathering. They would be leaving in less than two days.

Scott eyed Teresa when she swayed into the room with a tray of coffee and noticed a certain sort of bounce to her step and movements. "You seem in a good mood, Teresa," Scott noted out loud. He was sitting on the sofa, leg across knee, rubbing his foot. "Are you happy to see us go or something?"

She threw him a scowl that didn't stick long. "Of course not, Scott. It's just that today was a good day for me, that's all. Johnny was pleasant all afternoon.

Murdoch raised his head at that remark. "He was?"

Teresa couldn't tell if it was surprise or suspicion that edged her guardian's tone. "Yes, he was. I'm not saying he's happy about the tutor arriving tomorrow - in fact, he's not - but he was nice to me. Has been for the past couple of days, actually. He even apologized for being sharp."

Scott continued to rub his foot, but looked skeptical. Knowing his brother, there had to be a reason for this turn around; he just wasn't up to figuring it out right at the moment. He also knew there probably wouldn't be time to figure it out before they left, either. This made him all the more edgy about Llewellyn’s arrival. What was his little brother cooking up? He looked to his father and saw the same skeptical air to his expression.

"Why does that make me nervous?" Jelly finally said, verbalizing the men's concerns.

"Jelly!" Teresa scolded. "That's not fair!"

Jelly began to sputter an explanation to defend himself but Scott pulled on his boot and slowly stood. "Teresa, I have to agree with Jelly. This makes me nervous, too." He pulled the indignant young girl into a one armed hug, and kissed her on top of the head. "I'm going to miss your cooking on the trail, by the way. And now I'm going up to see if I can figure out what's up my conniving brother's sleeve. Then I'm going to bed."

He excused himself and headed up the stairs. Before knocking on Johnny's door he took a breath in an attempt to chase away some of the tiredness that had dogged him constantly for weeks now. Since Johnny's awakening, Scott had toyed with the idea of sleeping - or trying to sleep - in his own room but it still smelled of Alexandra, and pieces of her were still everywhere. As a result, sleeping there resulted in vivid dreams and not a lot of rest.

Scott lightly knocked on the door then opened it a bit. "Johnny?" he called before entering. Not getting an answer, he cracked the door and stuck his head in the room. What he saw shocked him speechless.

Johnny was standing next to the bed with crutches tucked snugly under his arms. His hair was a wild swirl as he swayed for balance, the heavy, thick cast sticking out in front of him at an awkward angle.

Not wanting to break Johnny’s concentration, but at the same time angry enough to strangle his little brother, Scott managed to keep his voice low and level. "Just what the hell do you think you're trying to prove?"

The dark head tipped in his direction, the unfocused eyes cast toward the floor. The smile that shaped his lips was almost - sickening. "I'm gettin' outta this room. Now move outta my way." He swung the crutches forward a little and managed a hop on his good leg.

Scott fought the urge to grab Johnny's arm and drag him back to the bed. Instead, he planted himself in front of the door and crossed his arms. "You are, are you? And just where were you planning on going?"

"Downstairs." Johnny took another crutch step, followed by another hop with a wobbly landing. The furrows etching his forehead told of the concentration this was taking.

"Downstairs." Scott's voice was still amazingly flat. "The rest of us are going to bed soon."

"So?" Another step/hop, this time with a longer stride. "I can take care of myself. Been doin' it for years."

"I don't think this is a good idea. You aren't ready . . ."

"I ain't ever gonna be ready, brother. It's just gotta get done." The next step brought him up to Scott's body. "You gonna move?"

"Why?"

Johnny was already breathing a little hard. "Why what?" he demanded as he started to push his way around Scott’s body.

"Why are you doing this, Johnny? Just tell me that, and maybe I'll help you."

"I don't need your help!" Johnny barked instantly. "Don't you see? You're gonna be gone, everybody's gonna be gone, and I'm gonna be here with some stranger. I can't be layin' in bed like some invalid when a total stranger's around the house! Now get outta my way!"

Scott thought for a second, and then stepped quietly aside. Johnny was right; they were going to be gone. It was better he pulled this stupid stunt now while they were around to pick him up. "Here, let me get the door."

Johnny waited for the door to open all the way and then slowly worked his way into the hall. Unable to just let him go, Scott began to follow.

"I know you're hoverin' like a mother hen, Scott. I can hear ya breathin'." Johnny's words had a gasping edge as he continued to exert himself.

"Sam's going to have your head, you know," Scott warned.

Johnny snorted and continued down the hall, knocking a small table with the crutches. Scott saved the vase perched on top, and by the time he'd reset the doily and the vase, he turned to see his brother approaching the stairs.

"Whoa! Wait a minute, Johnny; the stairs are right in front of you!"

"I know that!” Johnny puffed. “They’d have to be if I'm goin' down 'em!"

It was clear to Scott that Johnny was tiring and because of that, becoming a bit unraveled. "Then let me help you," he said in a calmer tone.

"I don't need your help!"

"Yes, you do. You're just too stubborn to realize it." By the time Scott placed himself by his brother, a small crowd had gathered at the bottom of the stairs. Their mouths were agape at the sight of the younger Lancer at the head of the stairs, wobbling on crutches in his nightshirt.

"What in God's name are you doing?" Murdoch bellowed. Scott, holding Johnny's arm in a firm grip, felt his little brother startle at the noise.

"What's it look like I'm doing?" Johnny yelled back.

"Where did you get those crutches?"

Scott motioned with his other hand for his father, Jelly and Teresa to be quiet and turned his attention back to his brother. Johnny's muscles were quivering with fatigue, and he was perched dangerously on the top step. Any other distractions could end up in a disaster.

"Calm down, Johnny. Let's get this done. I'm tired, too."

With a sharp nod that made him sway enough for Scott to audibly catch his breath, Johnny started down the stairs. After the first step, Johnny realized how difficult it was to keep his balance without his sight and was glad Scott had a grip on him. About half way down, his good leg began to quiver. Scott held his arm firmly, reassuring him that he was doing fine, and again was glad for his brother's help. Johnny could feel the sweat beginning to trickle down the side of his face and he felt his body's tremor of overexertion. 'Too late now, gotta finish it,' he thought. He began to feel a little nauseated.

"Almost there," his brother said calmly. "Two more steps."

'If goin' down is so hard, how am I ever gonna get up again?' Johnny thought miserably as his foot finally hit the floor. The admission was a very hard one to make and he began to wonder if he'd done the right thing after all. Too late now!

Johnny heard his family part in front of him while Scott gently guided him to the great room. Too tired now to resist the help, all Johnny could think about was getting to the couch. When he finally did, he gratefully sank onto it, letting the crutches drop to the floor next to him.

Scott finally released him. Johnny wanted to thank him, but was too tired to talk. A moment later, he both felt and heard Teresa's skirts as she threw a quilt over him. He sighed, exhausted, all ready giving in to sleep. As he dropped off, he felt hands readjusting the massive cast and heard murmured words he was sure weren't complimentary.

Murdoch stood next to the couch and gazed down at his sleeping son with a mixture of fury, sorrow and pride. How could one person be so stubborn? When Teresa took his arm, the guardian glanced at her with a weak smile.

"I think he'll stay put for the night. That took more out of him that he'll ever admit," Murdoch said softly. When he got no reply, he turned back to his ward and saw that she was on the verge of tears. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Teresa wiped away a tear threatening to fall. "I gave him the crutches."

He looked at her, slack jawed. "What? Why?"

"He asked for them. Like I said, he'd been so sweet lately. I wondered if he was up to something, but I didn't really care." She sniffed, and got control of her emotions. "He needs someone, Murdoch, and so do I."

With an amazing show of sympathy, the big man gently stroked her hand and nodded. "And I'm glad you've been there for him, Teresa. The rest of us certainly haven't. The next couple of weeks are going to be very hard for him and you're going to have your hands full. I wish I could stay . . ."

She smiled up at him. "I know, but we'll be all right. He can't go too far, too fast right now. I can catch him."

After a few moments of watching the sleeping man, Murdoch asked, "Has he said anything about the tutor? Any indication of how that's going to go?"

Teresa's face turned serious. "He's not happy with the idea, but he knows there's nothing he can do about it. I think that's what he hates the most - the feeling that everything is beyond his control. I think that's what this venture was all about. He had to prove something." She watched her brother-by-heart for a moment longer. "This Llewellyn better be able to stand up to Johnny or he isn't going to get far."

Murdoch chuckled lightly, and led her toward her room. "Ain’t that the truth," he sighed.

Johnny jerked abruptly awake and was instantaneously disoriented. In an effort to sit up, his cast leg slipped from the couch and he was, in essence, dragged to the floor with an undignified thump. Swearing softly and untangling himself from a quilt, he realized that he was not in his room but in the great room. Aching muscles helped to remind him how he got there.

Painfully maneuvering to a sitting position on the hard floor, he felt the texture of the floor's throw rug on his bare thigh, reminding him that he was still in his nightshirt. Softly cursing again, he wondered what time was as and paused to listen. The clock chimed half past the hour, not helping him in the least. There were no outside noises, or kitchen noises, and he was far enough from the window that he couldn't use heat to determine if the sun was up.

Suddenly, he missed the familiarity of his room. There, he could at least tell, generally, what time of day it was - morning from night, at least - due to the close-by window. Adjusting his nightshirt so he was sure he was covered, Johnny began to feel around for the crutches.

"You won't find them over there."

Scott's voice made him jump, his right hand automatically going to an empty thigh. "Damn it, Scott! Don't surprise me like that!" Johnny snapped, stopping his search with disgust. "Where are they, then? And what are you doing down here anyway?" Both furious and totally taken aback at being surprised, Johnny was beginning to feel like a sideshow act.

"I couldn't sleep. I knew you'd do something stupid as soon as you woke up. Guess I wanted to watch."

The comment didn't help Johnny's mood. "Very funny!" he snarled. "Guess everyone needs some entertainment, huh? Let's watch the blind man fall around like a fool; you gonna charge admission?" Johnny managed to pull himself onto the couch during the tirade, and, spent, fought to both catch his breath and control his emotions. After a moment, he demanded, "Hand 'em over. Or do I have to perform some more?" The bitterness cut the air cleanly, his point crystal clear.

There was a long pause of silence before Johnny heard a clank of wood. Then a chair squeaked. Four steps brought his brother to him. "I'm sorry, Johnny. That was incredibly cruel, and I apologize. Here."

Johnny turned his head slightly in Scott's direction, the hurt still raw. He reached out, and when his hand bumped the familiar wood, he snared them with contempt and struggled to a stand. His brother's helping hand was shrugged away. "What time is it?"

"A bit after five." Scott took a breath. "Look, Johnny, I'm really sorry. I don't want to leave on the drive with that between us."

Johnny, his back to his brother, hesitated. The swing of emotions he felt at that moment were so alien to him, he didn't know what to think. He did know that at the base of things, he didn't want a schism between him and his brother, either. "Me neither," he whispered with a raw voice.

"How about I help you to your room to get cleaned up? Or are you going to eat with us dressed like that?" The forced lightness helped the air between them.

Before he could answer, a couple of other things occurred to the Johnny, the foremost being that he didn't want to eat in front of any of them - the idea embarrassed him. Eating was an ordeal he hadn't been able to master yet with any dignity, and he felt his face flush with the idea of sitting at the table with anyone.

The other thing he realized was that he wasn't about to change clothes here in the open. His room - which he was in such a hurry to leave yesterday - began to feel like the safest spot in the house; a place where he knew every intimate detail. A refuge. And he wanted to go back there immediately.

'Things will be different once I can walk again,' he hastily reasoned. Meanwhile, he acquiesced to his brother's request with a quick nod. "Fine. But I don't need no help."

"Of course you don't," Scott agreed quickly.

Johnny clumsily turned, and with the second step, caught the tip of one crutch in the edge of the rug and nearly fell. Scott's quick grab saved him. After setting his balance again, Johnny shook off the hand. "I can do it," he said as if he were trying to convince himself.

"I’m sure you will," Scott said with a short, resigned laugh.

It took longer than he thought it would, and when he reached his room he was a lot more tired than he expected to be or wanted to show. Knowing his brother was less than a step behind him the whole way both comforted and angered him. Johnny hated the polarization of his emotions - it made concentration impossible.

Finally, he sat on the edge of his bed panting, soaked with sweat, muscles trembling. He allowed Scott to take the crutches as he fell back on fresh linens. Unwilling to fight off the tiredness he knew would take him away from his conflicted thoughts, Johnny let his eyes slide shut to escape. He barely felt Scott lift his leg and cast to the mattress before he was asleep again.

Scott adjusted the curtains to stave off the morning light when it showed itself, and paused to watch his brother sleep for several minutes. "This will be for the best, brother," he said quietly. "We both have to believe that." Then he slipped from the room to clean up for breakfast and the arrival of the tutor.

Something inside told him to view this quiet time as a lull before the storm.

Scott joined Murdoch and Teresa at the breakfast table. He filled them in on the pre-dawn events, skimming over his embarrassing rudeness, and ending with an offer to take Johnny's breakfast up to him. Llewellyn was due to arrive early in the afternoon, and Scott wanted to be sure he and Johnny were all right before 'turning over' his brother to a stranger. A stranger that will help him, Scott reminded himself.

"We have some things to finish before our guest arrives," Murdoch said. "See me at my desk after you've taken Johnny's tray up."

Scott nodded. When he got to Johnny's room, his brother was still asleep. He left the tray, informed Teresa, and lost himself in chores for the drive.

It was nearly three in the afternoon before Jelly pulled up to the hacienda and hauled the team to a dusty stop. "Well, here we are," he said as he jumped down. "Let me help . . ."

"I've got it," Colin Llewellyn stated, carefully climbing from the buckboard seat. He paused when his feet hit the ground then straightened his coat sleeves. Once adjusted, he reached in and retrieved his valise and an intricately carved cane. "It feels good to stretch my legs," he said, settling the items in his hand. Then he cocked his head toward Jelly, who had circled around to the back and was in the process of removing a larger suitcase. "I'm not exactly in the proper dress for this part of the country, am I Mr. Hoskins?"

Jelly snorted. "Well, one does tend to get a tad dirtier here than in Boston," he stated.

"Welcome, Mr. Llewellyn," Murdoch greeted at he crossed under the arch from the courtyard with Teresa on his arm. "I hope your trip was uneventful."

The young man turned to the elder Lancer. "Yes, but I must admit, it is a long one. Colin Llewellyn, Mr. Lancer." He stuck his hand out and Murdoch shook it firmly.

"My ward Teresa O'Brien," Murdoch said after a moment, and the visitor shook her hand as well. "And my older son Scott should be here in a minute. You must forgive us if we seem rather hurried. We have a cattle drive coming up and . . ."

"Yes, Mr. Hoskins has told me all about it. Actually, that works out well for me. I've discovered the distraction of family sometimes is a hindrance to learning, especially in a home environment."

"I'll still be here," Teresa said, sounding somewhat put off. "As well as Maria, our housekeeper, who is like a mother to Johnny."

Llewellyn bowed shortly, "I apologize if I sounded trite," he said softly. "Of course family is always important, but in this matter I really should have the last word for now. I didn't mean to offend you."

Teresa's face reddened. "It's all right," she said. "We're just a little upset about all this."

"I understand."

Teresa studied the man in front of her, surprised by his youth. He wasn’t a big man by any means, and when he shook her hand she noticed the softness of his hands. It was obvious that he didn’t work outdoors, but as he spoke she marveled at the way he carried himself and the confidence of his speech. She wondered how this man would hold up against Johnny Madrid.

"Mr. Llewellyn!" Scott brushed the dust from his hands as he hurried over from the barn. "I'm Scott Lancer." He puffed, a little bit out of breath, and stopped short next to the visitor, a surprised smile frozen on his face. After a second, as the newcomer turned to him, Scott offered his hand.

"Colin Llewellyn." Scott’s eyes fell to the beautifully carved cane and noted the detailed metal dragon's head handle as Llewellyn switched it to his other hand to shake.

“That’s a beautifully carved cane,” Scott commented.

“Thank you. It was a gift from my wife,” Llewellyn replied, stroking the smoky grey creature with obvious affection.

“You’re married?” Teresa asked brightly.

“Yes. Sarah had to hold things down at the Institute, so I came out alone. I’ve always wanted to come west.”

"Shall we step into the house?" Murdoch offered.

Llewellyn accepted Scott's offer to carry the valise. As the teacher trailed Murdoch and Teresa toward the house relying heavily on his cane, Scott hesitated, his mind racing. The blond skeptically evaluated the slight teacher and wondered if he was physically capable to deal with his volatile brother. Chewing his lower lip as he mulled that over, he took several long strides to catch up and they entered the house.

The newcomer paused inside the door, cocking his head. "What a grand home you have, sir." Scott stopped behind him and watched as Llewellyn drank in the room.

"Jelly, could you take those bags to Mr. Llewellyn’s room? Would you care for something cool to drink, Mr. Llewellyn? Maria has made some lemonade."

Jelly, last in the door, took the valise from Scott, furtively glanced at the newcomer, and started down the hall.

"I would like to go to my room first, if you don't mind, Mr. Lancer. Then I would be pleased to join you." He began to follow Jelly, who was thumping his way down the hall. "I'll only be a moment. A cool drink sounds wonderful."

The three of them watched the young man move off, and then they all regarded each other wordlessly. After a moment, Murdoch moved to the great room and Scott followed.

"I'll help Maria with the drinks," Teresa said, a little flustered as she left.

A little while later, Llewellyn, moving easily even with the heavy cane, entered the great room behind Jelly. "I apologize for keeping Mr. Hoskins, but I was getting some information." He accepted a tall glass of lemonade from Maria with a nod of thanks and an easy smile. "I understand that my student has other injuries?"

Murdoch summarized Johnny's injuries and described the cast. Teresa let it slip about Johnny's ill humor and Llewellyn nodded knowingly. "That's not uncommon, Miss O'Brien. He's afraid, but probably won't ever say that. It is a scary prospect to deal with. I’m sure we'll have a fairly good working relationship by the time you get back from the drive. Then, I understand, one of you will be accompanying us to Boston?"

"That's the plan," Scott confirmed. "I'll be going back with you. Won't you have a seat so we can tell you some more?"

Llewellyn finished the lemonade and shook his head. "I was hoping to meet my charge, Mr. Lancer . . ."

"Just call me Scott. There are too many Mr. Lancers around here."

"Scott. Thank you; that will make it easier. You're Mr. Garrett's grandson?"

"Yes."

"Maybe we'll get a chance to talk a little more before you leave. I know you are very busy, so I don't want to keep you. Miss O'Brien? Perhaps you can show me Johnny's room?"

"Certainly," Teresa said, taking the offered elbow and walking him to the stairs.

As the two departed, Scott turned to Murdoch, two sets of question-filled eyes regarding each other. "Well. He's not what I expected at all," the younger said. Then he cleared his throat. "It's not too early for a Scotch, is it?"

Murdoch wordlessly retrieved the decanter.

"Here's his room," Teresa said, releasing Llewellyn’s arm. "Um, he may not be too receptive when I introduce you."

"If you don't mind, I'd rather introduce myself. Thank you, Miss O'Brien." Llewellyn took a step to the door. "I'll be fine."

Teresa was taken aback. "Oh. Certainly. I guess I'll just go back downstairs, then."

"I'll be down shortly." He smiled, then turned his back on the stunned girl and opened the door to the lion's den.

Well aware that a wagon had arrived, Johnny, now dressed and ready to face the newcomer, sat in the armchair facing the door. Faint sounds of footsteps on the stairs and in the hall announced the arrival of someone – two people, actually. Johnny heard the door open and the sound of one person entering. The door closed again. Then he heard a voice he didn't recognize.

"My name is Colin Llewellyn, Mr. Lancer."

Johnny tilted his head in the newcomer's direction. "Where's Teresa? I heard her voice."

"She went back downstairs. Your hearing is good. That's a heavy door."

Johnny snorted.

"Have you noticed that your hearing has gotten better since your accident?"

"All I noticed is a whole lotta hurt, Mr. Llewellyn." The snideness of the remark was thick. "I suppose you have a lot more words of wisdom for me along those lines, don't ya?"

"You can live without your eyes. You just have to be man enough to try."

"You have no idea what I'm man enough to do," Johnny snapped. "Unless ol' Harlan filled you in on my sordid past."

"Mr. Garrett has told me nothing about you other than you may be difficult to work with. I understand you're an independent sort."

Johnny laughed sharply. "Nice way of sayin' stubborn. Ol' Harlan does have manners."

"You can still be independent when you know how, Mr. Lancer. I'm not going to lie and say things are going to be the same as before."

"What do you know about it, anyway?" Johnny spat bitterly.

"I know a lot about it. I wouldn't have graduated from the Institute if I didn't. The first thing we're going to cover is personal care - shaving and dressing to be exact. Your injured leg will make things difficult, but not impossible."

"I can shave myself just fine!"

"According to Mr. Hoskins, he has been shaving you, and not on a regular basis. When was the last time you washed your hair? A man should think about his family and what they see, Mr. Lancer."

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Johnny yelled, rising anger making him struggle to his feet. "Get outta my room! I don't need you taking care of me!"

Llewellyn’s level tone didn't change. "If I wanted to be a nurse, I would have gone to nursing school. Your family hired me to teach you to take care of yourself."

Johnny felt for his crutches leaning against the chair once he was upright. Zeroing in on the intruder's location as he spoke, Johnny managed to hobble his way in that direction and stopped when a crutch tip bumped what he figured was Llewellyn’s foot. He set his face in his best Madrid expression and centered his eyes on where he estimated the Bostonian's face would be. Johnny leaned in and spoke in a menacingly low tone. "You've wasted your time comin' here. Get your money and get out."

Tension thickened the air. It was instantly dissipated when, to his total surprise, Johnny felt something metallic and hard push on his chest. In a fleeting second, he was falling backward, crutches flailing, and landed hard on the floor with a grunt. Quickly, he scrambled to a sitting position, swearing angrily.

The intruder’s voice was nonplussed. "I'm staying. Get used to it."

Johnny heard footsteps turn and retreat to the door. Before he could regain any kind of composure, the door firmly closed, leaving him alone, furious and deeply frightened.

Jelly and the rest of the Lancers were in the great room when Llewellyn carefully descended the stairs with his cane. All eyes were on the slight man as he joined them. He appeared to be in one piece and unruffled.

"What was that noise?" Murdoch queried. “Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Mr. Lancer. And I must say that Mr. Garrett rather underestimated your son's . . . spirit."

Scott snorted through a quick smile. Murdoch found he couldn't think of a response while Jelly and Teresa looked warily at each other.

"If you don't mind, I think I'll rest in my room for a while before dinner," their guest said. "The stage ride was rather tiring."

"Dinner is at six, Mr. Llewellyn," Teresa offered, finding her voice.

"I'll be eating upstairs with my charge, if you don't mind. Now if you'll excuse me." The young man turned and made his way easily toward his room, greeting a surprised Maria as she passed him in the hall.

Jelly glanced at the ceiling in the general area of Johnny's room. "Wonder what went on in there," he mused, brows knit together. "That was a loud thump after all that yellin'."

Scott tossed back the rest of his drink in one swallow, set the glass down and waved a hand in the direction of Llewellyn’s retreat. "He sure does get around well for a blind man."

"He's amazing," Teresa said in awe. "I only hope Johnny lets him help."

"Well, I feel better about leaving tomorrow. It's obvious Mr. Llewellyn can handle himself, sighted or not," Murdoch said with satisfaction. "I guess I'll have to thank your grandfather after all."

Scott felt a bit of trepidation at that statement, remembering the disasters surrounding Harlan Garrett and other trips to Lancer. Although he couldn't pin anything on his grandfather for his last trip here - the one where Teresa was kidnapped and Johnny injured - something inside Scott couldn't shake the notion of some kind of complicity. He stared momentarily down the hall where Llewellyn disappeared. "You may want to wait on that, sir. Who knows what'll happen while we're gone."

CHAPTER SIX

Dinner that night gave the household a brief insight of what the following weeks would be like. Llewellyn insisted the family stop doing everything for Johnny. In fact, the blind teacher reiterated that everyone should stay away to give the Bostonian time to prove himself to his surly student. The meal in Johnny’s room was unnervingly quiet, his tray of food barely touched hours later.

Everyone else had plenty to do in preparation for a dawn departure. After dinner, both Scott and Murdoch made a point of visiting Johnny to say their good byes knowing how hectic the predawn hours would be. Slumped in the arm chair, the dark-haired Lancer’s responses were short and his expression unreadable. Neither father nor brother could pinpoint his mood but his whole demeanor was disturbing. The depression in the room was undeniable.

It was late when Murdoch and Scott finally stopped for a brief moment of quiet in the great room prior to going to bed where they knew they wouldn’t sleep. Maria and Teresa were already in bed, knowing they would be up well before dawn to get the men off on the trail with full stomachs.

Scott plopped into one of the chairs with a sigh. “Still seems odd that Johnny’s not going,” he mused.

The big man rolled amber liquid in his glass, gazing at it like a crystal ball. “Yes,” he said softly. “It does.”

Quiet within each of their own thoughts for a few minutes, Scott finally broached the silence. “I wonder how mealtime went in his room,” he said. “I understand why Colin went to bed so soon after. It must have been tiring for both of them.”

Murdoch looked thoughtful. “You know, Llewellyn’s rule about no one in the room except him didn’t set well with me, but now I’m beginning to see his point. Do you think your brother can be forced into a working relationship?”

Scott laughed shortly. “He can’t be forced into anything. I see him digging in like a mule and refusing to move.”

The elder shook his head as he swallowed a sip of Scotch. “No, your brother is way too active to use that tactic for very long. I do want to send a wire from Stockton when we do the turn around to see how things are going, but I’m sure he’ll survive.”

“It’s not Johnny I’m worried about,” Scott said with a yawn. “Well, I’m going to try and get some sleep. Good night.”

“Night, son. See you in a few hours.”

With a little wave, Scott went upstairs in search of elusive sleep.

Scott dragged himself from his bed figuring he’d gotten about two hours of sleep. When the grandfather clock struck for the fourth time, his feet were on the cool floor and moving to the washstand. In automatic motions he shaved, dressed and put the last of his things in his saddle bags. With a tired sigh, he threw the bags over his shoulder and turned to go, but the spark of a memory made him pause.

From out of nowhere he imagined the warm, velvety brush of lips along his jaw line. Scott, instantly paralyzed, shut his eyes while his fingers lightly traced the path. When the sensation dissipated, he slowly opened his eyes and surveyed the room with sadness. As he did so, the heavy drapes rippled with the hot night wind, and he was sure he heard Alexandra’s whispers.

Reining in his emotions, Scott turned his back and walked from the room.

Once in the hall he paused at Johnny’s door feeling like a raw, open wound. His hand was opening the door before he even thought about it. A motion in the darkness caught his attention – Johnny was sitting up in bed.

“You’re awake,” Scott said, relieved for the distraction from his ghostly encounter.

“Yeah,” Johnny said lowly. He managed to twist around and slide his feet to the floor. “Chair,” he said abruptly, indicating the straight back chair against the wall by his dresser.

Scott took a moment to light the lamp, realizing, oddly, he was the only one that would benefit from the weak, yellow light before sliding the chair back under Johnny’s hand. He noticed clothes stacked on the seat as his brother reached for them.

“You’re getting dressed?” Scott felt silly stating the obvious, but he didn’t want to say the first thing that had come to mind, which was ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’ He wanted to leave on a good note.

“Yup,” Johnny said, balancing precariously on his good leg while he started to remove the night shirt.

“Let me help you,” Scott said, putting his saddle bags down as he reached out.

“I can do it,” Johnny snapped, shrugging off the helping hand.

“Okay,” Scott said, biting back a sharp comeback. Instead, he stood back and watched Johnny struggle out of the sleeping garment and into the shirt. “We’ll wire you from Stockton on the turn around,” he said. Johnny, fumbling with the small number of buttons, didn’t reply. “We don’t want to go, you know,” he ended softly.

“I’d be out of here in a heartbeat.” Bitterness filled Johnny’s words. Finished with the shirt, he started untangling the pants.

Scott watched from a short distance, glad for the meager lamp light so he couldn’t see his brother’s eyes. He knew there would be sorrow, anger and desperation all rolled up in one, unfocused gaze, and Scott didn’t want to carry the memory of that look on this trip. “I finally see a use for those buttons down the side,” he said conversationally.

With a pair of tiny hops, Johnny maneuvered to the chair and sat, where he began working his good leg into the pants.

Scott raised his eyebrows. “Skipping long johns today?” he asked lightly.

“Yup.” Johnny writhed around to pull the pants up over his hip, the left side unbuttoned from top to bottom.

“Good thing they're lined, I suppose.” The idea of wearing that particular pair of pants like that in Boston crossed his mind and resulted in an amused smile. Johnny buttoned the top button on the left side, then after shoving to his feet, buttoned down a couple more, ensuring some modicum of decency. “Won’t the rest flap around?” Scott could see that his brother was puffing from the exertion.

“Gonna lace the rest with rawhide strips.”

“Good idea,” Scott nodded. “I’ll help you downstairs and get it for you.”

“Teresa can get it,” Johnny said shortly. “You need to go.”

“Then let me help you downstairs . . .”

“Just go,” Johnny cut in, sounding more tired than angry.

“Johnny,” Scott started, exasperated. “I need to know you’re all right before we leave.”

“Ain’t that what that teacher’s for?” his brother snapped. “Just go, Scott. I’ll survive.”

The comment stung, but Scott took a mental step back and regrouped. This is what he’d asked for – a lightening of the duties. Later, he thought. 'We’ll work this out later.' Without another word, he picked up his saddle bags and left his brother behind.

Murdoch entered the hall just in time to see the blond head of his son disappear down the stairs. He started to follow but noticed that his younger son’s door was ajar, so instead, he stuck his head in. The lamp light surprised him, but not as much as the sight of Johnny, dressed, sitting in a chair and struggling to get his crutches from the floor.

Without a word, Murdoch entered and picked up the items, holding them out to Johnny’s searching hands. The word ‘thanks’ was barely heard. Ignoring the attempt to shrug off his helping hand, the big man assisted his son to his feet and let the boy adjust the crutches.

“I'm glad to see you up, Johnny,” Murdoch said softly. In reality, he wanted to tell the hard-headed young man that there was no reason to go through so much effort, but his heart guessed that Johnny needed to do this. “Let’s get downstairs, then.”

Johnny’s head was bowed down from the moment Murdoch had entered the room, and he held the pose for the entire trip to the stairs.

“I’ll go first and be right in front of you,” Murdoch told his son.

Johnny hesitated at the top step and then Llewellyn’s voice carried from the bottom of the staircase. “There are 12 steps. Feel for the edge of the step with the left crutch and put your weight on the right.”

“I can do it!” Johnny snapped. Murdoch couldn’t help but notice a line of sweat beginning to gather on his son’s temple.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t,” Llewellyn said calmly.

“Come on son, I’m right here,” Murdoch urged in an effort to defuse the hostility. Johnny started down the stairs – using Llewellyn’s method - and made it to the bottom on pure determination, Murdoch surmised. The big man paused at Llewellyn’s side, but Johnny brushed by and headed to the front door. Managing to stop a direct order to come back, Murdoch, instead, asked, “Where are you going?”

“It’s hot. I’m sittin’ outside.” Johnny started to grapple with the door knob, but the door opened on its own. Johnny staggered back a few steps, and Murdoch felt his heart jump into his throat.

“Oh!” Jelly said as he stepped in, “Johnny! I’m sorry; I didn’t know you were. . .”

“Watch it, will ya? Get outta my way.” Johnny, panting heavily, managed to recover his balance and skirt around the sputtering handyman.

Jelly watched the young man’s back disappear with an astonished expression. “Well, I never!” he sputtered. “Just excuse me for livin’!” he stormed into the kitchen and Murdoch sighed.

“He’ll be fine with me, sir. I can tell you not to worry, but I don’t think that will help.” Llewellyn leaned on the heavy cane with both hands atop the metallic dragon’s head.

Murdoch gripped the man’s shoulder with one hand for a second. “I don’t know which of us has the most work ahead. All I can say is good luck and keep the guns locked up.” He dropped his hand and gave the front door a final glance. “I need to eat. Are you coming?”

“I’ll be along.”

Murdoch strode to the kitchen, but hesitated in the doorway. Turning, he saw the enigmatic tutor make his way to the open front door, stand in the frame for a moment as if listening to something outside, and then back into the house and shut the door.

Wondering what this house would be like for the next weeks, Murdoch sadly shook his head and continued to the breakfast table.

Pots clanged and pans banged as the whirlwind that was Maria and Teresa worked in a well rehearsed dance to get their men off on the trail. Knowing about the quiet weeks that would follow, the women relished the activity for the time being and made sure the send off was both substantial and fondly remembered. There would be plenty of time to clean up after the men departed.

When the last hand mumbled his thanks and disappeared into the receding darkness, the two women finally paused. They had served from tables in the courtyard just outside the kitchen door. Teresa stood with her hands on her hips and surveyed the area around her with a sigh. Then, she glanced over the wall and noticed that in the growing dawn she could see the assembly of man and beast preparing to leave. She also noticed a dark form within the still shadowed arch of the wall. With a small smile, she wiped her hands and walked to Llewellyn. He turned an ear at her approach.

“This is quite an undertaking,” he commented lightly.

“Yes,” Teresa agreed. “It is pretty hectic. After a few days I miss it, though.” She stopped at his side and watched groups of hands move off under the Lancer arch. Then she glanced around the inner courtyard. “I guess I’d better find Johnny,” she said quietly. “He hasn’t eaten.”

“He’s on a bench by the front door,” Llewellyn said.

“I’m surprised he’s not in the barn trying to sneak out on his horse.” After saying that, Teresa ducked her head and her voice dropped. “Actually, I wish he’d try it. Then I’d know he was still Johnny.” A sympathetic hand on her forearm surprised her, and she looked up to see a hint of a smile on the slight man.

“He’ll get there,” Llewellyn assured her. “I don’t think he can be anything else.”

“I hope you’re right. I miss him.” Teresa reached behind to untie her apron. “I’ll stay with him until they leave.” She threw the material over her arm and left to find Johnny.

He was right where Llewellyn said he’d be, the unwieldy cast projecting forward from the bench and bright in the breaking dawn. The crutches were across his lap, blocking anyone from sitting next to him. Dark hair fell forward over a forehead creased with concentration, his head bowed as he listened with obvious intent to the preparations on the other side of the wall. Teresa thought he looked incredibly lonely.

Johnny’s head tilted slightly with her approach. “I, um, I’ll fix you a plate, if you want,” she hesitatingly asked, arms crossed in front of her. What she wanted to do was sit next to him to show support, but his body language screamed ‘stay away’.

“Not hungry,” he snapped.

Anger flared momentarily at the rudeness, but Teresa clamped her mouth shut against it. Instead, she turned her back on him and watched the hands depart. They were down to the last group, which included Scott and Murdoch. Both men were walking under the arch toward them. Scott altered his stride to allow Llewellyn to follow.

“Well, that’s it,” Murdoch announced as he gave his ward a hug. “We’re off.”

Teresa hugged him back. “Be careful, Murdoch.”

Scott took his hug and kissed her on top of the head. “We’ll see you in about two weeks.” He kept an arm around Teresa’s shoulders as he faced his brother. “Good bye, Johnny.”

Johnny seemed to be staring at the ground under his feet the entire time, his body rocking slightly with some kind of unspent energy. Something akin to anger emanated from him in waves, keeping his brother away. When he didn’t get a response, Scott turned away.

“Colin, good luck,” he said, shaking the teacher’s hand. Colin nodded in response, and Scott strode off.

Then it was Murdoch’s turn. Turning to the girl, he took both of her hands and kissed her cheek, smiling wanly. “See you soon, honey.” Then he released her hands and turned to his son. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. A look of sadness crossed the big man’s face as he closed his mouth and dropped his head for a moment. Teresa pressed her lips together and felt her eyes sting. Then, quietly, her guardian said, “Good bye, son,” and turned on his heel, leaving without a backward glance.

Teresa quickly wiped her eyes then turned to Johnny to say something, but instead, jumped back in surprise when he hefted a crutch and wound back to throw it after his departing father. The girl had just enough time to drag Llewellyn out of the way before the crutch arced through the air and clattered to the dusty ground. Neither Murdoch nor Scott acknowledged the action.

She started to go to his side when Colin’s surprisingly strong grip held her back. “Let’s go inside,” he said quietly as he pulled her toward the hacienda.

She dragged back a little, but when she looked at the forlorn figure of Johnny on the bench, she began to see that Llewellyn’s suggestion may be the right thing to do. The dark haired young man was in no mood to be coddled.

Maria, who had said her goodbyes outside the kitchen door, met Teresa just inside the front door where the girl directed the small woman to the den. From there, through the enormous picture window, they watched their men depart and eventually disappear over the most distant ridge.

Johnny sat on the bench long after the men left struggling with his thoughts. It wasn't easy listening to the departure. For the first time in a very long time, resentment had sneaked into his mind. A lot of bad things had happened in his lifetime and he'd learned early on that harboring resentment was a waste of time - it couldn't be fixed and fueled emotion-filled action that wasn't very wise most times. 'Why me?' was a useless term he'd banned from his dialogue long ago. Things in the past needed to stay there. 'Sounds familiar,' he thought snidely to himself. Then he wondered if anyone in his family carried guilt for his blindness.

Did he regret his actions that got him here? That question was answered with a quick, unchallenged 'No'. Regret was another sentiment that wasn't in the Madrid repertoire. Tired of this mental anguish, he turned his senses outward.

The ranch was too quiet. It had been nearly an hour since everyone had left on the drive and Johnny felt an odd sort of restlessness born from feelings of abandonment and uselessness.

"Estupido!" he growled to himself, stopping the tingle of fear that touched his gut. A flash of his mother's desertion and similar emotions he thought were long forgotten crossed his mind, pushing him into action.

Johnny grabbed his crutch and wobbled to his feet. He knew Colin, Maria and Teresa had eaten in the kitchen and were now in the process of cleaning up. He carefully moved in the direction of where he thought his crutch hit the earth and with barely controlled anger, began to feel for the errant device. He felt the sunrise on his cheek and was shortly thereafter greeted with a rush of warm air - a Santa Ana wind, which always gave him a feeling of foreboding. Combined with the restlessness, Johnny’s search almost became frantic before he finally reunited with the crutch. It took quite a bit of concentration, but the piece of wood was finally retrieved and again in place. Sweating and puffing slightly, he took a moment to catch his breath. The unfastened pant leg flapped against the cast with the irregular breeze, which dried his damp skin with prickly efficiency.

Heavy with the scents of dry grass and dusty earth, the air was dry and irritating and made Johnny feel edgy and trapped. Using the map in his head and the tips of his crutches as feelers, Johnny was able to escape from the courtyard to the openness of the barn yard.

Just outside the courtyard wall, he paused, using sounds to tell him who - or what - was watching. Chickens, a screeching hawk somewhere above and the nearly silent skitter of lizard feet gave him a good picture, but it was the welcome rumble of a horse's greeting that finally made his anger crumble and break a grin.

"Ah, Barranca, mi compadre," he murmured. Johnny made his way to the corral gate, pant leg flapping, and fumbled it open. It was awkward, but he managed to maneuver through and close it again. As he arranged his crutches and caught his wind, he heard approaching hooves. He stood still, and soon, warm breath and a soft nose found his cheek.

Angry at the tears he felt suddenly fill his eyes, Johnny raised a hand and laid it gently on Barranca's flat cheek. "Hey, there," he said lowly. Forehead to forehead, Johnny ran his hand from the horse’s wide cheek down the silky neck under the flowing mane, and back up to scratch behind a twitching ear. Barranca’s muzzle drifted down his master's neck before the horse settled his forehead against Johnny's chest, happy to drink in the voice and attention.

Johnny sniffed the horse’s scent. "Smells like breakfast. Timothy hay? And it sounds like you got some company out here," Johnny noted, hearing milling of feet at the other end of the corral. Then he recalled that there were several horses here he was supposed to have broken for the drive's remuda; a flash of shame washed over him. "I ain't much use out here, am I?" he whispered. He gently pushed the palomino back and adjusted the crutches. Suddenly, the heavy cast seemed like an intruder between them. "All I can do is check your water like some little kid," he said bitterly.

Circumventing a curious muzzle, Johnny got around Barranca and headed to the trough on the other side of the barn. He heard the plod of following hooves. The morning's heat and the dry wind caused a hot flush to his skin. He was disturbed by how unsettled he felt.

Bumping into the trough with his cast, Johnny sidled up to it and managed to keep his balance as he leaned over to feel the water level. "Could be higher," he mumbled, moving awkwardly to the pump. Setting the crutches aside, he grabbed the pump handle and began moving water.

The physical labor was an outlet for his frustration and he pumped heartily, even when he felt his arms tremble with fatigue and his body dripping with sweat. The whole time his faithful horse stood close; Johnny could feel the palomino's breath on his lower back.

Finally worn out, he stopped. Johnny could hear the water overflowing the edges of the trough and didn’t care. It wasn't until he'd controlled his labored breathing that he realized how silly this must look. With a disgusted snort, he hopped to the side of the trough and balanced on his good foot while he splashed the cool water on his face. It felt good.

Then an urge from out of nowhere struck him that that he simply couldn't ignore.

"Where'd Johnny go?" Teresa asked, poised in the doorway to the outside. Colin stopped beside her.

"I didn't hear him go upstairs," he said.

"Johnny?" the girl called. Getting no answer, she pulled back into the house and shut the front door. "I'll check his room."

Colin nodded and stood for a moment in the hall. There were no noises to suggest that Johnny had come inside. He opened the heavy door again and edged just outside where he stopped, listening. Other than the natural voice of the ranch, he heard nothing.

Employing the cane, Colin tapped his way across the courtyard, tilting his head one way and another for any clues. He heard Teresa's voice in various parts of the house, and then heard her rush outside to join him.

"He's not inside," she said worriedly.

"He can't have gone far," Colin assured her. "He's still pretty weak. Look around."

After a moment, he felt her hand on his forearm. "I think he's visiting his horse and he shouldn't be out there. All the other horses are at the other end of the corral eating hay except for Barranca. I can see his rump from behind the barn. I'll go check."

Colin heard her feet retreating, then, eventually, a gate unlatch. Both Scott and Jelly had mentioned his fondness for the horse and had warned him about how Johnny would probably get outside, somehow, to see him. That warning had amused him. There was a soft spot in Johnny Lancer after all.

"Johnny?" he heard her call from a distance. "Are you out here?" Then, abruptly, her tone changed to one of alarm. "What are you doing?"

Moving quickly, Colin found his way to the gate, hearing a hot exchange of words the whole way.

"Go away, Teresa!"

"Johnny Lancer, get out of there! What were you thinking?"

"Leave me alone!"

After fumbling with the gate latch, it was easy to follow the voices, but running feet came to meet him.

"He's taken off the cast," Teresa almost sobbed. "He soaked it in the trough with all his clothes on!"

Colin found one of her hands and gripped it to calm her. "I'll take care of him. Can you get the doctor?"

"I'll send Manuel. He’s in the hay field."

"Do that. And make sure the gate is latched. I'm not very good at rounding up horses."

The light humor helped and Teresa choked out a small laugh, followed by a sniff. "Okay. I'll be right back." With a swish of skirt and a click of latch, Colin was on his own to deal with the disturbed and angry young man.

He took a bracing breath, knowing exactly what Johnny was feeling. He even understood the drastic action, but would Johnny believe him or even care? Using the sound of splashing water to guide him, Colin rounded the corner of the barn and stopped to listen.

"I know you're there, Llewellyn,” Johnny growled.

"Teresa was a little upset. She went to get the doctor,” Colin calmly replied. "Isn't that water on the cold side?"

"Did the job," Johnny said flatly.

By the sound of grinding dirt and dripping water, Colin deduced Johnny was outside the trough. Then he also heard Johnny hop once and curse lowly.

"Problem?" Colin started forward, finding his way around the far side of the trough. He felt squishy clumps of what must have been the remains of the cast, surrounded by mud, at the tip of his cane.

"Crutches," Johnny grumbled. Colin could hear