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CHAPTER NINETEEN Murdoch and Scott were both weary but neither would be the first to suggest stopping. They both felt they were too close; Johnny was just ahead, they were sure. "Sam and Teresa will probably be in Sonora by now if they caught the first stage out of Jackson." Scott shifted in the saddle and glanced at the moon rising behind a rocky ridge to their east. "With the way our luck has been, they probably missed the first stage." Murdoch stared straight ahead as they rode. They had just passed a dilapidated signpost for Sonora, and their hopes had been momentarily raised. They were sure to catch up to Johnny there. They both knew it was not the smartest thing to ride along a road like this at night, but neither felt they had any choice. "Well, we'll be in town within the hour. Our luck has to change, Murdoch. Johnny's life may depend on it." Without a word, they urged their mounts into a jog. Neither one saw the lone rider to the east, hugging the moon shadows and following the rocky ridgeline south.
After leaving the saloon, Johnny had made his way back to the livery knowing sleep was out of the question. He brushed Barranca, allowing the horse time to clean up his dinner and giving himself some time to think. Madrid. The word was connected to the black void, without question. And those two saddle tramps knew how it fit. Johnny also knew that those men were bad news, and he needed to be careful. But when would he have another chance like this? How did Madrid fit in with the Lancers? If they knew, why didn't they tell him? Did he run away too quickly? The contemplative man shook his head briskly at the last thought, clearly remembering the tension at the Arroyo farm. He didn't leave soon enough. It was time to handle things his way. Decision made, he quickly saddled the palomino and led him into the night. 'Red rocks to the north,' Johnny thought, recalling his ride into town. He did remember seeing a ridge line that looked rather red compared to the other rocks he'd seen on the trail. Even though the moon was waning full, there was more than enough light to guide him and he pushed his horse into a ground eating lope. It wasn't quite an hour until he saw the area he remembered and pulled up Barranca. Something inside was screaming to be careful, so he reined off the main road and worked his way to the ridge via a rabbit trail. The bare, worn path was silver in the moonlight and easily followed through the brush and rocks. The rocks made him uneasy for a reason he could not fathom, but he pressed onward until a low voice in the dark stopped him. "Hey, Madrid." Johnny found the source of the voice easily. It was the second saddle tramp from the saloon, the one that hadn't said anything. "I told Del you wouldn't come. Guess you proved me wrong." "That so?" The words were out of Johnny's mouth before he even thought, just like in the saloon. It was like someone else was speaking through his lips. "Yeah. Never heard 'o ya doin' this kinda thing." Johnny's body had instantly relaxed into a slump, his arms crossed on the saddle horn as he studied the man with a sideways look. His gut, however, was burning with warning. He said nothing, but held the man's stare. Finally, the other man dropped his eyes. "Well, I'd best tell Del you're here. He'll wanna place ya, but we'd better hurry." "Why?" Johnny straightened and picked up the reins. "We gotta mark almost in range. Comon." The nameless man nodded the direction for Johnny to take, and the palomino led the way. "I've gotta stay back here and watch for anyone comin' from town - like you - and head 'em off. Del and Stokes are in those rocks there," he pointed out a large clump just ahead, "and Pete's at the foot of the ridge over yonder." He pointed to the north, where the ridge began. "Morgan's over there somewhere to keep 'em from runnin' west." The fact that the road into Sonora ran down the middle of this set up did not escape Johnny's evaluation. "Bushwackers," he said as a lone cloud muted the moonlight. "Only until we get stake enough to go south. Ah here tell there's still some int'rest in hirin' guns down yonder. That's where you'd come in. Del's good, but your name'd surely get us work." As the man spoke, the waning moon broke through the solitary cloud and the main road again glowed in the night. Two riders were clear silhouettes against the silver road. And the leggy horse in the front looked very familiar to Johnny. Reining Barranca to a stop, Johnny twisted and pulled out the rifle in his scabbard. "I thought you preferred a pistol, Madrid." The outlaw rode up next to the stopped palomino. "You good with that, too?" Johnny held the rifle in both hands and looked at it for a second before turning to the rider. "Yup," he said shortly. Then, in a blinding motion, Johnny jammed the butt end of the rifle into the face of his escort, breaking his nose and knocking him clean out of the saddle. Silence followed the grunt and thud when he hit the ground. After a moment, Johnny leaned over the empty saddle and peered at the prone bushwacker on the ground. The motionless man's head was at an odd angle, and the dark haired Lancer knew he was dead. The dark pit in his mind swirled in red once again. "I think I can shoot it, too." The persona's voice that seemed to have hijacked his body spoke in a cool, conversational tone that both surprised and pleased Johnny. Letting the persona lead the way, he tucked the gun under his arm and urged Barranca onward. For once, he felt calm and confidant, with no sign of headache to temper his actions. As he moved forward, Johnny found Scott and Murdoch again and did some quick mental calculations. He couldn't reach them in time, but he could warn them, and cut the numbers. Without a second thought, he pointed Barranca's nose downhill to the main road. CHAPTER TWENTY "Did you hear that?" Scott glanced quickly to the side as he spoke, keeping pace with Murdoch's sorrel, and kept his voice low. "Something's in the brush." "Yes. I'm hoping it's a coyote." Murdoch kept his eyes forward, but Scott saw his hand move to the sidearm on his hip. Scott followed suit. "The horses are tired. If it's anything else, we'll have to make for cover." Murdoch nodded. "There's some large rocks and a dry gully just up ahead. I remember them from my ride through here two weeks ago." "All right. Listen! Up ahead!" Both horses jerked their heads up, ears forward, and their pace faltered. The pair was just about to urge their mounts onward when the sound of galloping hooves ahead of them made them rein in instead. A gunshot pinged the road in front of Charlemagne's hooves and the horse spun around. The shot had come from somewhere along the ridge "Get to cover!" Johnny's shout came out from the direction of the galloping hooves, and suddenly a gold and silver specter erupted from the darkness ahead. As Barranca slid to a hard stop, Johnny raised the rifle and fired at the ridge. Scott and Murdoch spurred their horses ahead. "There's cover over here!" Murdoch lead the way. They made it to the rocks in a hail of bullets and drove the horses into the gully before leaping off. They hunkered down behind the boulders, panting in exertion as they checked their stock of ammunition. Murdoch was alone behind a huge boulder, whereas the brothers each had smaller rocks nearer to each other. "There's four of 'em," Johnny reported, fixing the rifle's sights on something on the road north. "Two up in the rocks, one behind ya on the road, and another somewhere to the west." The fact wasn't lost on Scott and Murdoch that Johnny's speech was unimpaired; they simply didn't have time to dwell on it. Realizing they could be attacked from the west, Scott placed his back to the rock and kept watch, glancing occasionally at his brother. The change from the last time they'd seen him was astonishing. Johnny squeezed off a shot. "Winged 'em," he snapped. "He's on foot now." "Give me the rifle. I'm better with it." Scott's comment caused the younger man to look him with a quizzical expression. Scott reached down beside him and held up a gun belt. "You're better with this." He tossed the belt over, and Johnny caught it with one hand. After a moment, he tossed the rifle over, and pulled the gun from the holster. As soon as it was in his hand, it felt like home. And then the bloody visions began to erupt from the black void in a parade of red and everything became clear. Johnny Madrid was a killer. A series of loud reports next to him jerked him into the here and now as bits of rock bit into his skin. On pure instinct, Johnny spun around, keeping low, and palmed the hammer in a quick two count A body slammed into the ground behind them. It was the man from the west - Morgan. "That leaves the two in the rocks, and possibly a walking wounded to the north," Scott barked. "Where in the rocks, Johnny?" The lack of response gave him pause, and he glanced at his brother. Johnny was frozen, staring at the dead body, gun still in hand. "Johnny!" Scott snapped. "Are you all right? Are you hit?" "N-no," the shocked young man responded. This was all happening so fast; the Madrid persona that had been taking the lead was now taking over. Johnny wasn't so sure it was a good thing for a fleeting second, and the hesitation nearly caused him his life. Shots fired from Murdoch's position snapped him into action. Johnny threw himself to the ground, reacting to movement perceived in the corner of his eye. Instantaneously, a flurry of shots powdered the rock where his head had just been. Without really aiming, he fired until his gun clicked empty and another body flopped to the ground near Murdoch. "I think it's the one you winged," Murdoch shouted. "That leaves two." Johnny pulled himself to his knees, his arms weak, and he looked at the dark lump of the second man with total surprise. His own reactions astounded him, and he felt his jaw sag with disbelief. "Johnny, reload!" Scott's voice didn't penetrate Johnny's mind at first. "Johnny! Snap out of it! You need to reload!" With a jerk, Johnny came around once again and crawled back to the rock where he began to reload. His hands were shaking so badly it was nearly an impossible task. Apparently, his condition very clear to Scott., who spoke sharply as he, too, reloaded. "Johnny, listen to me. Everything's all right, you hear me? We need you now. Stay with us!" A shot over their heads made Scott duck and bring the rifle around. "Where are they, Johnny?" It took a lot of concentrated effort for Johnny to drag his attention up to the hills. His body felt like lead, and his brain like soaked cotton. The black and red void was all gone now, bridged by the realization of who he was. His throat felt scratched and dry, and he swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. "We have you covered !" A voice roared from across the road. "You can't get away! Where's Madrid?" Murdoch's voice was low, for Lancer ears only. "They're right across the road, in that clump of boulders. They have us pinned." "Can you see them?" Scott asked. "I saw the one talking. Johnny, you sure there's two left?" Johnny nodded, but then realized Murdoch couldn't see him. "Yeah," he managed to choke. "Yeah, I'm sure." "Hey Madrid! I'm callin' ya out!" The voice yelled. "You 'n me, Madrid! We can stop this right now!" Johnny felt his heart quicken, but then a strange blanket of calm enveloped him as the Madrid persona again took over. Slowly, he strapped on the worn gun belt and slipped the weapon into his holster where it nestled as a perfect fit. Then, slowly, he stood. As he did so, all that was left was Madrid, standing alone as usual. He straightened his shoulders, flexed his fingers, and then let his arms hang loose at his side as he turned away from the protection of rock to face his challenger. "What are you doing? Don't go out there! Johnny!" Scott started to rise to his feet in alarm, but the look his brother gave him stopped him cold just before the voice from the rocks shouted a warning. "Stokes has you in his sights, blondie! Leave him be! This is between Madrid an' me!" "You can't," Scott started. "Johnny, don't," Murdoch ordered simultaneously. Madrid ignored them both and stepped to the middle of the moonlit road. A slight breeze rustled the brush and lifted his hair from his forehead, but Madrid's gaze was fixed on his challenger. He adjusted his stance so his feet were shoulder width and hooked his thumbs on his belt. A slow grin shaped his mouth as a form materialized in front of him about twenty feet away. "Del Sebastian." Madrid remembered everything at that moment - everything about Sebastian, and everything about every gunfight he'd ever been in. It was as clear as the shock on Scott's face, and deep inside Johnny felt sorrow. He'd hoped to find himself to be a better man than this when his memories returned. But he also knew there was no better man for this particular job, and he intended to finish it and make sure his family was safe. "Tell Stokes to back off. They won't interfere." Johnny nodded to his brother and father next to him. "It's just you 'n me, Del." "Let's just call it insurance, Madrid." Del mirrored Johnny's stance in the road while Stokes kept his rifle leveled on Scott.. "'Scuse me for not takin' the word of a gunslinger." "Fine. I'll just take care a him myself." Johnny's voice was firm and unwavering. Del laughed. "You shore are sure of yourself, ain't ya? This could have been a good partnership, Madrid. Too bad you never gave it a go." "Got other plans. Let's get this dance started, shall we?" Those words brought serious silence as the two men regarded each other. Johnny looked relaxed with his arms hanging loosely and his knees slightly bent. Del looked tense but his face showed no fear. The moment seemed to stretch on, and then everything exploded at once. Stokes flew backward as Johnny took him out with a shot between the eyes a split second before Del fired. Del's muzzle flash was simultaneous with Johnny's second shot, and Del Sebastian toppled backward over the body of his partner, his gun firing a wild second shot into the air as he went down. Johnny stood for a second, his left hand poised over the hammer of his smoking pistol. Then, both hands dropped to his side and his head bowed limply. He took a wobbly step backward. "Johnny!" Scott shouted as he leaped from behind the rock with Murdoch at his heels. "Are you all right?" Johnny stumbled backward and was abruptly stopped by a large rock. Slowly, he slid to the ground, leaving a smear of shiny blood, black in the moonlight. His brother and father were at his side in an instant. Scott ripped open the bolero jacket and frantically felt for the wound as blood pooled in Johnny's lap. Dazed, the injured man didn't seem to notice the ministrations. Murdoch realized the serious nature of the wound and struggled to his feet. "I'm getting a doctor and a wagon. Sam and Teresa should be in town. Here." The big man wrenched off his jacket and laid it gently on his son's lap. "Use this for bandages. I'll be back." Scott barely heard Murdoch catch a horse and ride out at a gallop. He wondered what his father would find on his return. A short moan made Scott glance up to Johnny's eyes, and he was glad to see they were open and clear. "I remember everything now." Johnny's voice was low and breathy, the words slightly slurred. "You're bleeding, brother. We have to get you home." Blood seeped between Scott's fingers as he desperately adjusted the placement over the gushing wound. He barely managed to keep the panic from his voice. "Murdoch's caught a horse and gone to town. Sam's there," he added a mental 'I hope' to that comment. Johnny winced as he shifted his position against the boulder. His arms hung limp by his sides, his gun lying forgotten in the dirt. "So much blood." His voice sounded dreamy, which alerted a warning in Scott's gut. The older brother fastened his stormy blue eyes on Johnny's peaceful face, and the alarms shrilled louder. "Johnny, that's over and done. You aren’t that person anymore and haven't been for a long while! You hear me? I need you to hang on. Johnny?" As he spoke, Johnny's eyes glazed and lost focus. "Damn it, little brother! Don't you give up, you hear me? Don't make me lose you again! You're part of a family now, a family that loves you! Johnny!" A glimmer of life animated the indigo eyes as they sought out the speaker. "I've caused so much pain," he whispered. "And you saved a lot of people from pain! Johnny, you're a good man. You always have been. And you're an even better brother, and I don't want to lose that! Johnny, do you hear me?" Scott's voice rose to a determined shout, demanding obedience. He could feel his throat begin to clench as his vision blurred, but he couldn't risk moving his hands to wipe his eyes. Scott ground his teeth in an effort to control his growing panic; his voice dropped as he fought to make his point clear. "Johnny, we love you. We all love you. Murdoch, Teresa, Jelly . . . me. Please. Please don’t give up." The solemn eyes watching him filled with confusion as Johnny frowned slightly. "How can anyone love a gunfighter?" he mused softly. "When the gunfighter is only part of the man we know. You were Johnny Madrid, that's true. Part of you still is and always will be. That's what makes you Johnny Lancer, don't you see? You've always been the same man inside." Scott felt hot tears tracing his cheek but ignored them as he concentrated on his brother's wound. When it looked like he'd finally stemmed the red tide, he found his brother looking at him with a curious expression. "Johnny? You hear me little brother?" He yelled desperately. "You give up now and I'll kick your butt all the way to Mexico!" That comment brought a short chuckle from the injured man, who then winced in pain and allowed his eyes to drift shut. "Johnny?" Scott's yelled hoarsely. "JOHNNY!" In a voice so quiet Scott could barely hear it over his own wildly thumping heart, Johnny said, "I'll see ya again, Boston." After a terrifying shudder, his body relaxed into itself as he exhaled and slumped slightly sideways; then he was still. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE Voices drifted in and out and sounded like they were underwater - not quite clear, not yet identifiable. The curiousness of the whole thing caught his attention and he decided to simply absorb it all without trying to decipher it. He was too tired to do anything else - he was simply aware that he was aware.. Occasionally, he was distracted from the voices by the coolness of - something - on his forehead. I should know what that is, he thought muzzily. Sometimes it was hard to breathe and he felt his chest spasm and gasp automatically. Occasionally, something else - a feeling - would coalesce as a knot in his gut. It made him feel cold, and he would be afraid. 'Hacer no déjeme solo de nuevo!' was all he could think; don't leave me alone again! Then, he would always feel arms surround him and low murmurs would melt the icy fear away. Eventually, there came a smell. The discovery of the new sense drew his thoughts together clearly in what seemed to be the first time. It was a struggle, but he felt his eyelids finally win the battle to open and he was blinded by brilliant white. He heard a groan and realized it came from his own throat which felt like sandpaper, so he tried to swallow the dryness away. The bright white made his eyes burn as his eyes fluttered; then a wave of pain rolled over him from all quarters. "Johnny?" A cool hand was on his forehead. "Don't move, Johnny, you're hurt. Murdoch!" The voice was light. A woman's. "T'resa?" he croaked, the word sounding more like a gasp. He still tried to get his quivering eyelids under control so he could stop the burning in his eyes. He felt and heard the motion of more people around him, and, gratefully, the bright light was put out. He relaxed into the mattress with a weak sigh. "We've shut the curtains, Johnny, so your eyes won't hurt." The flash of a pretty face crossed his mind when he heard the voice, and then he felt a gentle hand dab the light-induced tears from the corner of his eyes. Again, he forced his eyes to open. "Son? Can you see me?" Murdoch. The vision of the big man in his mind's eye was very clear. It almost matched the fuzzy blob in front of his face. "Bacon," Johnny croaked, his brain finally identifying the smell that had brought him around. "Bacon?" another voice piped in. "I should have known the first thing you'd think about would be your stomach!" Although the words were teasing, Scott's voice was thick with relief. A second dark blob entered his sight field and Johnny concentrated on getting his eyes to focus. Maybe if I sit up, he told himself. He tried to get his arms to cooperate. "Whoa, son, hold on there. You'll need some help for awhile." Strong arms helped him sit up, much to his chagrin, and a new wave of pain enveloped him momentarily. By the time the wave dissipated, the faces regarding him were fairly clear. Teresa's soft hand on his chin was followed by the cool press of glass on his lower lip, and he sipped gratefully at the water. "That's enough for now. Oh, Johnny, it's so good to see you sitting up!" "Y'all look tired," Johnny said in a hoarse whisper; the statement exhausted him. "You have no idea, brother." Scott laughed as he set his lean body down on the edge of the bed. "You were shot almost two weeks ago. Do you remember?" Murdoch's voice was amazingly tender. Johnny frowned. Things weren't real clear in his head yet - so many images that didn't make sense. "So much blood," he whispered from a half-memory. Looking down at his body, though, all he saw were clean sheets and equally clean nightshirt. The feel of tight bandages around his chest was very apparent. "You said that before," Scott whispered, all levity gone from his voice. Johnny looked up and met his eyes, confused. His big brother looked so worried. "I did?" he replied in a questioning tone. A look of relief washed over the long, fair features when, after a few seconds of study, none of the despair Scott had heard from his little brother before seemed to be present. He cracked a smile. "Yeah, you did. But we cleaned you up real good, Johnny." The older brother playfully ruffled his younger brother's hair. "You should be up and around in, oh, how long you think, Murdoch?" Murdoch snorted. "Not soon enough for him, I'm sure. Johnny, Sam says you'll need lots of rest, so we'll leave you be for now. It's good to see you awake, son." "I'll get you some tea and honey, Johnny. It'll help your throat." Teresa gave him a quick peck on the forehead before she turned to go. "I'll be right back!" Murdoch followed his ward out of the room and was bellowing orders before he was halfway down the stairs. It made Johnny smile, and he leaned back his head and closed his eyes with a sigh. "What's so funny?" Scott asked. "At least the old man won't be yellin' at me for awhile," he answered softly. He heard Scott chuckle, and some of the things in his mind seemed to fall into place. "Scott?" he asked, puzzled and trying to fight off the overwhelming weariness that was taking over his body. As he struggled to keep alert, his eyes slipped closed. "Yeah?" "I've been gone, haven't I?" His voice was fading. "I was on a farm . . ." his brows knit together in thought, but the lines relaxed as sleep took him quickly away. Johnny didn't feel Scott's fingers brush his hair from his face or hear him say softly, "Yeah, little brother, you were gone for awhile. But you're home again, and that's all that matters." EPILOGUE Johnny Lancer stretched his legs in front of him, enjoying the comfort of the padded train seat. The last time he'd traveled by rail, he and Scott had been relegated to the wooden bench seats in one of the older cars. How long ago was that? Two years? Completely relaxed and unusually mellow, Johnny allowed a grin and a short chuckle at the memory. There was a trip that wound up more complicated than expected. The railroad sure didn't take to bulls tearing up the shipping cars. He became aware that the woman across the aisle was staring at him with a scowl. "Uh, sorry. Didn't mean to disturb ya." The apology seemed to satisfy the woman and she turned back to her book. Johnny shifted and tugged his gun belt a little lower. The scar was still tender, even after a year and several months. Sam had said he was lucky to be alive. Johnny smirked again, wondering how many times he'd been told that. He pulled out the timepiece his father had given him his first year at the ranch, and calculated he had hours to go until the first stop. With a resigned sigh, he tucked the watch back in his pocket and decided to do his own reading to pass the time. He pulled out a wad of letters from the inside of his jacket. They were worn and torn, well read and very familiar to him. Putting the letters in order by date, he began with the oldest. Rose Alvarado had been pleased to hear from him, and agreed with his reasons for contacting her. There were weekly letters at first, written in Spanish with a delicate and flowing hand that told of life in Jackson and on the Arroyo farm starting from when Johnny left. The letters helped to alleviate a lot of guilt that Johnny had heaped upon himself. It was a long while before he truly believed he'd done the right by the Arroyos in leaving. After several months of reports by Rose, the letters fell to monthly intervals. Johnny felt it was time to contact Caesar, and another series of letters intertwined with Rose's. Johnny still choked up at the compassion shown by the farmer; never once did he blame Johnny or chastise him for his decision to leave. He only offered support and understanding, even through the very difficult times he was having on the farm. Working the farm alone was difficult at best, and the winter had been long and hard. For awhile, Caesar wasn't sure Maria would ever recover. As he read that letter again, Johnny automatically reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the worn rosary beads. He'd considered returning them at that point, but something made him hold them back. A slow smile crept to one corner of his mouth when he finally figured out how to return them. The letters seemed to be cathartic for Caesar. The two men now held a level of respect and understanding for each other that Johnny admitted he'd never experienced before. The realization of their relationship had also helped Johnny with his relationship with Murdoch. Both father figures had a lot in common, and Johnny felt humbled that he was privileged enough to know them both. The last interwoven threads of letters consisted of contributions from the Arroyo's priest and, finally, Maria herself. Whereas Johnny's journey of the past year had been mostly physical, Maria Arroyo's had been emotional. Time healed them, but they still had scars, and sometimes the rawness became difficult, but they both persevered. Johnny couldn't help but feel proud of her. The final letter was the one Johnny held onto as he tucked the stack away again. It was less worn, being the most recent of the bunch, and the one that was the reason he was on this southbound train. It was fat with recommendations and testimony. He tucked the envelope in an outer jacket pocket as the train rumbled to a stop in Santa Ana. From here to Mexico would be on a stage.
The orphanage hadn't changed much since Johnny had last seen it. He'd been a boy of twelve at the time, fighting to make his way in a world that didn't seem to want him. Children were playing in the dusty yard without shoes, even in the coolness of the spring air, and Johnny had to smile. It was amazing to him what these children had been through, yet they still seemed to be happy. Armed with the letter, he entered the orphanage office and greeted the scowling, prim nuns with a respectful yet charming grin - the one that came so naturally for him, and always got him what he wanted.
With a child on either side of him, Johnny felt trapped. Miguel sat with his arms crossed over his eight-year-old chest, miffed at the fact that Johnny wouldn't let him hold the reins. Angelina, on the other hand, was delighted to count ground squirrels, starting over each time she reached ten because it was as high as the four-year-old could count. It had been a long, long trip from Mexico, and the night in Jackson had been an excellent idea. Senora Rose was delighted to have children in the house again, and hovered over the tykes until they were scrubbed clean and well fed. Rose put Angelina to bed with a new doll Maria had made, and Miguel refused to let Caesar's carved, wooden horse out of his sight. It slept under the boy's pillow. Now they were going to meet the rest of their new family. They already considered Johnny their older brother, and were eager to meet their parents. Brother Johnny told them over and over how lucky they were, and the children wholeheartedly agreed. A farm like the Arroyo's was all they dreamed about in the orphanage; well, second to a real mother and father. When he turned the wagon down the familiar drive, the trio couldn’t help but notice the spring flowers lining the drive and urging them onward. Angelina squealed with delight at the various colors and Johnny caught a smile on Miguel's mouth before the young boy returned to his pouting. As the children enjoyed the flowers, Johnny scanned the farm that had been home to him. The fields were green and lush with new growth. The familiar Conejo was at the water trough, huge ears turned in their direction as water dribbled from his lips. He watched with interest as the wagon approached the house. Johnny smiled when his eyes found the two figures standing in front of the house; he felt a rush of warmth when they waved at him. Caesar looked the same, but Maria looked more relaxed and content than Johnny remembered. He was glad she'd found peace. With Caesar, Rose and the priest, Maria Arroyo had all the support she needed to make it through the grieving process. Right now, she looked wonderful - there was a healthy glow to her cheeks that he couldn't recall seeing before. "Allí mamá y papá," Johnny said to the excited pair. "Lata nosotros en realidad vivo aquí?" Angelina said in awe. "Si," Johnny said. "This will be home." The children were stunned by the farm. Johnny knew that to them, this was like the first time he'd seen Lancer. He couldn't help but grin. "Oh, I almost forgot!" Johnny reached into his pocket, and turned to Miguel. "Dar esto a su nuevo mamá. It's a present for her." He pressed the rosary into the small boy's hand, and closed the small fingers over them. The boy nodded solemnly. He pulled up the horse and jumped down, then helped the children down. They hesitated for a moment, then Johnny reminded them to thank Caesar and Maria for the presents. That was all it took for the children to fly down the rest of the drive into their waiting arms. Then he stood back and watched as the shadows of yesterday were driven away by the light of love. THE END |
