I : TEQUILA DREAMS

It was the whistling that finally got to him. Johnny never whistled, mainly because he was so bad at it, and with each stroke of the dandy brush on Barranca's glossy coat the shrill, sour notes caused Scott to wince. The next unidentifiable note caused him to lurch and drop Charlemagne's hoof.

Scott decided to implement a distraction. "You seem awfully cheery this morning." His voice was artificially pleasant, but his musical brother didn't seem to notice.

"I am, ain't I?" Speaking, thankfully, put an end to the shrieking noise. Johnny tossed the brush to the opposite hand and began working on the palomino's mane. "I had a good night!"

"Really?" Scott said flatly as he bent down to retrieve his horse's hoof. He began to clean around the shoe with his pocket knife. "With the amount of tequila you drank last night, I'm surprised you're even upright this morning."

Johnny chuckled. "Takes more 'n that to lay me low, brother. Tequila is mother's milk to me." Curious, the dark haired brother glanced at his Boston-bred brethren. "You stopped after two shots, I noticed. You can't be feeling that this mornin', could ya?"

Scott felt the smile he knew was plastered all over his brother's face. "Glad to see you can count." A flick of his wrist finally loosened the small stone from beneath the shoe, and the lanky Lancer let the hoof drop. He stood straight and laid his arm over the tall bay's rump. "There's something funny about that stuff," he said thoughtfully and quickly, as he saw Johnny pucker his lips to begin the thing distantly related to whistling once again.

"Yeah?" Johnny turned to face his thoughtful brother. "Like what?"

Scott paused, cleaning his knife absently as he considered how to word his comment. "I, ah, I've noticed that, after I've had some of your mother's milk, I have very vivid dreams." He glanced up at Johnny, expecting a hearty laugh at his expense, but was surprised to see his brother nod and go back to brushing his horse.

"Yeah, that happens. I think it may be what it's made from." Johnny was silent for second. "I guess I'm used to it now, but when I started drinkin' the stuff, I had some wild dreams, too." He chuckled again.

"So, you don't anymore?" Scott slipped the knife away and grabbed the saddle pad from the stall door.

"Didn't say that." Johnny's voice was light. Scott glanced at him and noticed a sparkle in his brother's azure eyes. "In fact, I had a real god one last night. Guess that's why I'm in a good mood."

"You don't say. Tell me, what's a good dream to Johnny Lancer?"

They both went through the motions of saddling their mounts as Johnny spoke.

"Well, there was this girl. She was beautiful! Long blonde hair that she wore loose and moved back and forth as she walked; soft skin and delicate arms." Lost in the dream, Johnny paused, leaned against the palomino and tilted his head as he described his dream girl. "She wore this long, yellow dress that fit her very nicely across here," he made a motion across his chest.

Scott stopped what he was doing to watch his generally quiet brother. The dream must have been quite vivid.

"And she had . . . well, let's just say that she had an impressive chest." Johnny grinned, and then turned back to saddling Barranca. "She was walking toward me in this field, smiling with these perfect teeth, but what was truly amazing was her eyes."

"Her eyes?" Scott was now caught up in this vision.

"Yeah, they were brown, but not dark brown. They were like . . . well, the best I can describe them is burnt honey."

"Burnt honey." For a reason he couldn't comprehend, the woman Johnny described was changing shape in Scott's mind.

Johnny continued, oblivious to Scott's odd expression. "She was almost to me when he grabbed her dress and raised it just enough to see some leg. She had on these white stockings that matched her hair perfectly."

That did it for Scott, and he began to chuckle, which soon grew into uncontrollable laughter.

Johnny turned and scowled at him, confused. "What? What's so funny?"

Scott was bent over at the waist now, wiping his eyes and trying to catch his breath from laughing. It took him a few tries to get the words out. "You . . . you just described your horse!"

"What? No, it wasn't . . ." Johnny went over the picture in his mind, and then turned to look at his favorite mount. "But it was a girl!"

"No, you described Barranca as a girl! I knew you were close, but - " Another fit of laughing rendered the older brother unable to continue.

Johnny began to sputter a rebuttal, but as he looked at Barranca, he grew still. "Well, I'll be damned," he managed to mumble just before starting to chuckle himself. "Her dress was that color!"

Scott finally got himself under control he and finished saddling with a final tug on the cinch, still laughing. "I'd say you weren't over the effects of tequila, brother. Remind me to keep you away from my horse the next time we go to town."

"Very funny, Scott," Johnny said lightly, the gleam in his eyes back again. "Guess we'd best hit the trail, huh? It's nearly and hour's ride to the far pasture ain't it?"

The brothers lead their horses from the barn and mounted just outside.

"I guess," Scott said with a final guffaw. "So?"

Johnny gathered up his reins. "Just enough time ta whistle a new tune I learned! It goes like this . . . "

Horrified, Scott kicked his bay into a lope in a vain attempt to keep out of ear distance with a gold and silver bullet on his heels. The pair of them shot from the yard and under the white Lancer arch.

Murdoch stepped from the house just in time to see his boys disappear over the horizon.  Teresa joined him, wiping her hands on a towel.

"It's amazing how they get along, isn't it?" The Lancer patriarch said with a happy smile.

"Yes, it is," she agreed. "All brothers should be so lucky to get along so well."

II : TEQUILA DREAMS, TOO

The day turned out to be hot and the fencing wire unruly. By noon the brothers Lancer were both stripped of their shirts and glossy with sweat. Johnny had abandoned his whistling endeavors long ago, his mouth too dry to pucker. Scott's mild headache had turned into a screamer, but by the time the sun tipped over the apex of the sky, it had reduced to a dull but constant throb.

When the boys finally got untangled enough from the wire to collapse for lunch, their conversation had been reduced to guttural grunts. The lone oak nearest by was fortunately large enough to cast a shadow big enough for the both of them, and they leaned against the rough trunk, tugging off their work gloves in silence.

Johnny passed his canteen after taking a long drink. He tossed it without really looking and it landed with a solid plop on Scott's lap.

"Hey!" the blond snapped irritably. "Watch it!"

After a moment of heavy silence, Johnny chuckled lowly in response. He ducked his head and sought the bandanna in his back pocket as Scott threw him a glance full of daggers.

"What's so funny?" Scott snarled as he uncapped the canteen and took a sip. The temptation to pour it over his head was great, but he resisted because then he knew he'd have to go fill it again. Next he contemplated heaving the heavy container at his brother's head so they could have matching headaches.

"What you need is a little hair of the dog, brother. It sure would make ya easier to work with."

Scott bit back the desire to fire back an angry retort with the realization that he had been rather difficult to work with so far. His black mood dissipated when he made the mental decision to switch tracks with an explosive sigh. "Yeah," he admitted, rubbing his eyes. "Guess you're right. I have been rather prickly, haven't I?"

" 'Prickly' ain't the word for it, Boston . Try downright contrary. Murdoch's startin' to look darn agreeable."

Scott tilted his head aside and caught the indigo sparkle of humor in his brother's eyes. He couldn't help but grin back. "Okay, you got me. I apologize. But it's your fault, you know."

"MY fault?" Mock horror crossed the younger brother's handsome features as a hand splayed out over his grimy chest. "Care to fill me in on some details I'm obviously missin'?"

"Your 'mother's milk'. I don't think it quite agrees with me."

Johnny snorted and wiped his face with a rumpled bandanna. "Don't feel picked on, brother. It don't agree with most folks."

The brothers relaxed on the ancient oak trunk for a few minutes, relishing the quietness of the remote pasture. Scott's headache reduced its intensity with the banishment of his black mood, and he found his mind wandering.

"Johnny?" he asked with a curious edge. He got a sleepy grunt in reply. "What you said earlier about dreams . . ."

The low chuckle he got in response confirmed that his brother wasn't entirely asleep. "You ain't bringin' up that filly again, are ya?"

Scott burst out a short laugh. "No, no. That's not what I was going to . . . "he chuckled. "But now that you brought it up . . "

"I ain't bringin' it up. What was your question?"

"It wasn't really a question . . ."

"Well, then what did you want to say?" Then Johnny's voice brightened. "What was your dream, anyway? Musta been somethin' good."

"Well," Scott hedged a moment, and he pursed his lips in thought. "It didn't involve women - I don't think."

"What do ya mean 'you don't think'?" Scott squirmed. Johnny had twisted around and was now sitting Indian style and facing him, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. "You tell me my woman was a horse, but you can't see any women in your dream?"

"It was just weird, Johnny. I don't know what to think of it."

"Go on, tell me."

"I don't know where to start."

"Well, the beginning would be a good place, don't cha think?"

"That's just it! There wasn't really a beginning! It just sort of - happened."

"Where?"

" 'Where' "?

"Yeah, where'd it happen? Where were ya in your dream?"

Scott regarded his brother a long second. "You aren't going to let go of this, are you?"

Johnny's grin was lopsided and his eyes sparkled even more. "You kin count on it. Now talk."

A snort escaped Scott's nose. "I was at a dance. I think."

"Music?"

"What?"

"Was there music?"

"Yeah . . . it was mariachi music."

Johnny's grin exploded into huge. "You don't say? Finally losin' that Bostonian edge, huh?"

"Oh, that's not the half of it. There was dancing, too."

"Lots a Mexican senoritas in colorful dresses?"

Scott hesitated, and his eyes dropped to his fidgeting fingers. "Well," he began.

"Oh, yeah. You said you didn't exactly recall girls. Then who?"

"Um, Murdoch and . . ."

Johnny reached over and punched Scott's shoulder. "And who?"

"Grandfather."

Johnny burst out laughing. "Murdoch and Harlan? Dancing?"

Scott's lips began to quiver as the humor of the sight rose in his mind. "Together, yet. They were dancing together."

The younger brother hooted and slapped his thigh just before he doubled over in laughter. "Just who was leadin' ?" Johnny choked as he wiped his eyes.

Scott's blond head began to nod a bit as his grin grew bigger. "Couldn't tell really. They weren't touching. But they were wearing kilts." He chuckling that began low in his throat started to grow.

"KILTS? Them Scottish dresses men wear?" Johnny could barely speak.

Scott was having difficulty at this point, too. "Not dresses, Johnny, skirts. You know, skirts . . ." He waggled his fingers down around his knees.

Johnny was incapacitated by laughter, and Scott was soon wiping his eyes and laughing loudly, too.

"I kin jus' see Harlan's skinny ol' bird legs hoppin' around!" Johnny finally managed to sputter.

"Murdoch's weren't much better," Scott added breathlessly. "He had these big, square knees . . . and his boots!" They both started howling again.

It took several minutes before they were able to breathe normally without chuckling. The brother's cheeks were streaked with dirty tracks from the tears they'd laughed into existence, and they both settled back against the oak tree once again.

"I don't think I want to touch tequila any more, brother," Scott finally admitted. "That's a sight I truly do not care to experience again. I'm sticking to Scotch."

"Can't say that I blame ya." Johnny rose to his feet and stretched, then absently examined the new nicks and cuts put upon his forearms by the fencing wire. "Well, come on, and let's get this job done." He offered a hand and helped Scott to his feet. "And may I say that I'm glad I wasn't in that nightmare."

"I didn't say that," Scott said with a light tone.

Johnny froze, and then turned slowly to face his brother. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I wasn't wearin' one of them skirt things . . .?"

"Nah, you were wearing normal clothes. Well, normal for you, that is."

The dark haired brother's face showed relief, and he cracked a grin. "That's good, I guess."

Scott's faced brightened as he pulled on his gloves. "But you were dancing with your horse." He slapped a surprised Johnny on the shoulder as he pushed by him. "And the horse was leading."

I I I : TEQUILA REALITIES

"It's . . . it's like dancin'. No, no, it's better 'n dancin'," Johnny corrected himself as he poked his brother in the shoulder with a finger. On his way to leaning back in his chair he grabbed a sliver of lime. "It 's talkin' without words. But you can use words if ya wanna." He tossed back the last of the clear liquid in his shot glass and returned the empty vessel to the table. Scott automatically filled it again as Johnny chewed the citrus slice.

The older Lancer brother was rather amused with the animation his usually stoic brother was exhibiting. Scott put the bottle down and propped his chin on his palm, feeling pretty good himself. A mug of beer - one more in a line of many - kept the other hand occupied. He watched Johnny's face in apparent rapt attention at the younger brother's words, but it was the enthusiasm that caught Scott's interest.

Johnny's face had taken on a distant quality as he spoke. His words were tequila slurred, but his point clear. He tossed the lime remains on the substantial pile other skinned, green peels.  "There's nothin' else like it in this world, Boston ." Johnny lifted his left hand like he was holding reins and pantomimed his words. "A tip of your wrist, a turn of the hip, even a dropped shoulder's enough to deliver th’ message. An’ it's answered without question."

Scott nodded, grinning. "Yeah, that is quite a horse you have, brother. You two are like the mythical centaur." He noted that his tongue felt unusually thick.

Johnny sat back and blinked, clearly puzzled. "A what?"

"Cen . . . taur," Scott said more slowly, carefully maneuvering his uncooperative tongue. "Part man, part horse. Greek mythology."

"Oh, yeah."

It was a rare night out for the Lancer boys, and even rarer that the younger of the two was in such a sharing mood. Perhaps it was the fact that they were the only two left in the bar except for the bartender and an older gentleman currently using a corner table as a bed. Johnny must have felt safe to let his guard down so far, and Scott took a little pride in the fact that his brother trusted him enough to watch his back in this situation. It also helped that they had hit on a favorite subject of the ex gunfighter: horses. Scott's keeping a continual flow of beer and tequila also may have had a little to do with the loosening of Johnny's tongue, and he heartily pressed the tactic.

The dark haired brother glanced behind him, and then leaned forward in a conspiratorial way, crooking his finger to draw his big brother in. "I tell ya, Scott,” he said in what he must have thought was a quiet voice. “That horse has saved my butt more times that I care to admit." He downed the next shot, plucked up the last citrus slice and leaned back so his chair balanced on the back two legs, sucking contentedly on the fruit.

"Really?" Scott said, raising his eyebrows. "How?"

Johnny flicked the emaciated slice onto the pile, clunked the chair back down and poured himself another helping of what he called 'mother's milk'. He spilled a little, but didn't seem to notice. Then he raised the glass to his lips and paused. Confusion crossed his face, and he tried to focus his eyes on his brother. "What?"

"I asked how," Scott repeated, trying not to laugh.

"How what?"

The blond head dropped to hide his chuckle. "How . . . did . . . Barranca . . . save . . .your . . . butt?" he enunciated slowly and clearly with a  little more difficulty than he cared to admit to himself.

"Oh! Right. Well, lessee . . ." Johnny held up a hand with fingers spread wide, and somehow managed to connect one index finger with another as he began to count. "First, there's the time he jumped that fence runnin' from Pardee. If I had ta go around, ya know," he stopped and looked at Scott knowingly, then broke into a grin. "You taught him that! Thanks, big brother!" He reached over and slapped Scott's shoulder.

"You're welcome, little brother," Scott said, grinning back.

Johnny resumed his count, hitting the next finger with a little less accuracy. " 'an two, he kept us from goin' rump over cabesa into a big, old hole once."

Scott frowned. "When was that?"

"Lessee." Johnny's forehead creased as he thought. "Coupla months ago. We were brush poppin' in the east pasture - you know, the foothills – an’ I saw a couple of cows down in this narrow valley. We were on a hilltop, ya see, lookin' down on 'em . . ."

"We?"

"Yeah. Me 'n Barranca. Ain't that who we was talkin' about?" Johnny sounded a little miffed.

"Right. Sorry. Just thought I might have been there."

"Nah." Johnny flipped his wrist, dismissing that idea. "You were doin' somethin' else somewhere else with someone else. Don't recollect what it was . . ." He blinked to get his mind back on track. Scott had to bite his lip to keep quiet. "Anyway, I point Barranca's nose down the hill to go get 'em and we git about halfway down, hip deep in heavy brush, and he comes to a dead stop. Won't take another step." He sat back and laid his hand flat on his chest, then said slowly and sadly, "I'm ‘mbarrassed to say I yelled at him pretty good, but he still wouldn't budge." Returning his hand to his shot glass, he continued. "Turns out the hillside had collapsed right there and there was a big ol’ pit. The brush hid it, but ol’ Barranca knew it was there."

"Good thing," Scott agreed, filling the shot glass once more.

"Then's the time he saved me from sliding over a cliff," Johnny said proudly.

"What cliff?" Scott asked dubiously.

Johnny tilted his head to the south. "Ya know where those mudslides were? Where the hillside's all bare 'n rocky?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah. That slide area above the rocky gorge? You almost fell off that cliff? Johnny, that's a 100 foot fall onto rocks!"

"I know!" Johnny bobbed his head in agreement. "Told ya he saved my life!"

"What did he do?" Scott was now thoroughly interested.

"Well, we decided to cut across the slide area to save a couple of hours. . . "

"'We' ?"

Johnny stopped talking and turned his bleary eyes on his brother, frowning. "I thought I 'splained that already."

"Oh, right. I was somewhere else."

Johnny rolled his eyes. "Stay with me, will ya?" he said patiently.

"Sorry," Scott said contritely. "Go on."

Johnny cleared his throat. "Well, we were half way 'cross when I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my bandanna. I forgot my watch was in there, too, and it fell out." Johnny turned and looked to the floor on his right side, pointing at the imaginary watch. "It hit the ground on the uphill side of us, then slid under Barranca's belly and came to a stop on the left side."  As he spoke he slowly turned his head and moved his finger as if trailing the wayward watch. He stared at the floor on the left side for a few seconds then turned back to Scott with a very somber expression on his face. "That watch means a lot ta me, ya know."

"I know," Scott said impatiently. "What happened next?"

"Well, I had to get it!" Johnny explained, swaying slightly in his chair.

"I know!" Scott agreed impatiently. "What happened, Johnny?"

"I got off, an’ as soon as my feet hit the ground, they both slipped out from under me," on the word 'slipped', Johnny brushed his hands together with a clapping noise. "Landed right on my backside and started to slide. There's nothing to hang on to, ya see, and I'm slidin' down the hill so I lay back and try so use my arms ta stop." Johnny waved his arms at his side like flapping wings.

Scott, however, was too entranced with the story to laugh. "Go on," he encouraged, pouring another shot.

"Then I stopped," Johnny said shortly. He leaned on the table, picked up the glass and took a thoughtful sip.

Scott stared at his brother for a moment, feeling a little cheated on the storyline. Did he miss something? "That's it? You just stopped? What's that got to do with your horse?"

Johnny rolled his eyes again and patiently explained, "Barranca stopped me! Why do ya think I said he saved my life? Sheesh!" The rest if the fiery liquid in the glass disappeared in the blink of an eye. Johnny poked at the pile of peels.

"How did Barranca stop you? You forgot that part!" Scott said a little more loudly than he intended.

"He stepped on my jacket!" Johnny answered hotly. Then a funny expression crossed his face and he smiled lopsidedly. "Guess I didn't say that part, did I?"

"No," Scott said shortly. "You didn't!" He downed the rest of his beer and realized he had quite a buzz going himself. "What time is it anyway? We should be getting back."

Two chairs scraped the floor in unison as the brothers stood. Johnny hitched up his belt, then wobbled around to his brother and threw his arm around Scott's shoulders. "Yeah, guess we'd best not wake up the old man, huh?"

"Guess not."

They waved at the bartender and helped each other to the door. When they burst outside, the street was empty except for their waiting horses at the hitching rail. Both horses were standing with a hind leg cocked, relaxing, and both sets of ears swiveled in their direction at the noise. As the brothers stepped down to the street they had the undivided attention of two curious horses.

Barranca was the closer of the two. When Johnny was a few feet away, he suddenly stopped. Scott's arm slipped off, and the taller brother stumbled to a stop. "What?" he asked, noting Johnny's contrite expression.

"Barranca don't like it when I've been drinkin'," he explained in a drunken whisper.

"Oh." Scott looked from one to the other. "He'll take care of you, though, won't he? I mean, he always takes care of you. You just told me . . ."

"Yeah, I just gotta be nice, that's all.” Johnny’s voice rose to a somewhat normal tone. “Right, Barranca?" He stepped up to the strong, golden neck and patted it affectionately. "Let's get home, boy." He fumbled with untying the rein as Scott rounded the rail and did the same.

It took Scott two tries to hit the stirrup with his foot, but Johnny somehow managed to look a little more graceful as he swung up. Scott took a moment to settle in the saddle, but Barranca didn't allow Johnny that courtesy and began moving off before his rider was fully seated.

"Whoa, there!" Johnny yelped, scrambling to gather up the reins. The palomino ignored him and kept walking.

Scott clucked once and jogged to his brother's side, well aware that he had to concentrate if he wanted to stay aboard all the way home. One glance at his swaying brother told him that Johnny would have to concentrate even more. Scott laughed. "Who's in charge over there, anyway?"

"I told ya he don't like it when I've been drinkin'. Look at him!" Johnny wisely held on to the saddle horn with one hand as he motioned with the other, flapping the reins as he pointed at his mount's head.

Scott couldn't help but notice that the palomino did carry his head much higher than normal and that his ears were pinned back. "I believe you're right, Johnny. He does look mad."

"Told ya." Johnny's face had taken on a serious expression as he dropped his hand clutching the reins, obviously making an effort to mentally overcome the effects of his mother's milk. The effort lasted less than a minute before he cracked a grin and turned to his brother, nearly tipping out of the saddle with the motion. Barranca danced sideways to keep balance. "Hang on, horse. Don't run into ol' Charlie! Hey, Scott!"

"What?" Scott didn't take his bouncing eyes off the road in front of him for fear of toppling over.

"D'ya think Teresa left us some biscuits? I really think I need some food in my stomach."

"Don't know, but I think we'd both better drink a bucket of water each before we go to bed."

"Water! We forgot!" Johnny let go of the saddle horn and clamped his palm on his forehead, nearly toppling himself over. Barranca adjusted his balance once again "We didn't let our buddies here get a drink before we left." He slapped the golden neck. "No wonder they're mad at us. Come on; let's water 'em at the river." He nudged his horse into a jog off the main road. Scott glanced over and saw that the palomino's head was still up high and his ears still pinned. He also wondered how his brother managed to stay in the saddle with such an alarming sway; or were his own eyeballs just bouncing that much?

"I don't think they're thirsty, Johnny," Scott reasoned, following at a stomach-churning trot. He fell in next to his brother. "I don't think Charlie's mad, but Barranca doesn't look happy at all."

"Yeah, he is kinda peeved, but prob'ly cos he's thirsty. Right, boy?" Barranca's ears remained tightly tucked back.

They trotted a weaving path to the river, the moon nearly full up above them and shining off the water. Every ripple and rock in the road and river were clearly visible. The brothers pulled up next to a tree.

"Hey," Johnny laughed giddily. "This is the spot where ya decked me!"

Scott looked blearily around. "Yeah, it sure is." He shook a finger at the wavering figure next to him. "And you really deserved it." He began to laugh, mostly at how silly his brother looked at the moment teetering on a clearly annoyed horse. "And you're really drunk, brother."

"Me? I ain't that drunk. Been drunker. And I got you to look after me now!" Johnny's teeth made his smile very visible in the darkness. "Part o' the big brother rule book, ya know."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Let's water these animals and get on the road before I throw the rule book at you."  Scott turned his bay to the water and dropped the reins. Charlemagne obligingly dipped his muzzled, causing silver rings to edge out into the current. Scott sighed, grateful for the pause to let his stomach settle. It took a few seconds to realize that Johnny hadn't joined him. He turned around carefully, well aware that his sense of balance was compromised. "What are you waiting for?"

"Nothin', nothin'. Come on, boy."

Scott sat completely relaxed as his horse drank and watched the glowing, moon-touched palomino approach the water. Barranca's head had finally dropped, but even with Scott's blurry, jumping vision, he could see the horse's ears were still flat against his crest. When he reached the water's edge, the gold nose dipped momentarily in the water without coming to a complete halt. Then, with head low, he waded right into the water.

He saw Johnny grab for the saddle horn, momentarily surprised as his mount plowed onward. "Hey," he heard his brother protest. Barranca paid no mind and continued on, his nose just skimming the top of the water as he moved to a deeper part of the river. Johnny relaxed and gave his horse his head. Scott couldn't see Johnny's face clearly, but could tell by the way he held on to the saddle that he wasn't expecting this little venture. Finally, in a quiet part of the current, the palomino stopped.

Charlie raised his muzzle from the water at that moment and watched curiously with both ears focused on his gold and silver friend. Scott saw Johnny relax and let go of the horn, and figured the picky palomino finally found a part of the river that suited him. Big brother opened his mouth to say some rude comment about the fussy horse when suddenly, Barranca's front legs buckled.

"Hey!" Johnny yelped again, this time much louder as his mount's back legs buckled and the horse lay down in the shallow river with a noisy splash.

Scott's mouth hung open in shock for about a second before he started to laugh with hysterical gusto. Using both hands to hold the saddle horn and barely keeping his seat, Scott watched as his brother scrambled in the cold water to separate himself from the saddle, and Scott laughed even harder when Barranca carefully got back to his feet once free of his human entanglement. The palomino shook briefly, turned around, and exited the river with a definite purpose of action. Once on the shore, went to the tree and turned to face his sputtering owner, with interested, forward pricked ears. Johnny dragged himself, swearing, from the water.

Spanish wasn't one of Scott Lancer's best languages, and he was sorry that he wouldn't remember any of the colorful, new words he was hearing at this moment. Right now, it was all he could do to stay aboard his mount and catch his breath from laughing so hard. He knew he would pay for this; he also knew that he had an excellent story to tell if the right time ever came. Right now, though, he had to keep his seat and keep himself out of the story. And get his brother home - it was obvious that the strong minded palomino had abdicated that job.

Just when Scott was able to get his breath back and control his laughter, it started all over again when Johnny tried to catch Barranca. Never completely abandoning his master, the horse managed to stay just out of his reach. If Johnny had been sober, it wouldn't have been an issue. Scott had to admire the horse; he had his own standards and was standing by them, but wasn't ditching his brother, either.  Eventually, the horse stood, with interested ears and nonchalantly swishing tail, just out of Johnny's stumbling reach.

"Oh, ta Hell with ya!" his younger brother finally sputtered as he turned his back on the horse and headed to Scott. "Comon, Scott, I need a ride."

Finally able to catch his breath, Scott wiped his eyes and asked, "Why should my horse suffer because your horse is so spoiled?"

"'cause it's in that big brother book! Come on, Scott, I want to get home! I'm freezin'!"

Pity made Scott give in. It took a few tries, and Charlemagne had to circle a few times, but Johnny finally got up behind his brother with a disgusted snort.

"Let's go home. And not a word to anyone, you hear me?"

Scott nudged Charlie and they started down the road to Lancer. Barranca fell in behind. "Well, I could say that Barranca would eventually stop because he'd be stepping on his reins, but I see that you thoughtfully knotted them so they wouldn't fall."

"Yeah. Figgered I was too drunk to hold 'em proper. Damn varmint is takin' advantage."

"That damn varmint is smarter than the two of us put together right now."

"Yeah, that too."

They rode on in silence for several minutes, Scott hanging on to the saddle horn with Johnny, shivering, hanging on to the cantle. Scott finally had to speak. "You don't really expect me to keep this to myself, do you?" he asked bluntly. "I mean, come on, Johnny . . . " he began to laugh again.

"Oh, shut up, will ya?" Johnny said, then after a time, he began to chortle himself. "I don't think anyone will believe ya, anyway, Boston ! And you know I'll deny it all!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know." He glanced back at the trailing palomino. "He doesn't look peeved anymore."

Johnny spared his betrayer a glance. "No, he ain't. Looks kinda smug, if ya ask me."

"'Smug'? When have you ever used the word 'smug'?" Scott teased.

"Seems I've used it a lot since I met you, brother," Johnny replied instantly, and they both cracked up again.

"Look, we're almost home." Scott pointed out the white arch just within sight, glowing in the light of the moon.

Johnny was leaning heavily into his brother's back at this point, trying to absorb a bit of warmth. His voice was muffled. "Pull up, Scott. Maybe Barranca will let me keep my dignity and allow me to ride in. Damn horse." Scott pulled his leggy bay to a stop and the palomino followed suit. Gold ears tuned in the younger Lancer as he awkwardly slid from the tall bay. Barranca continued to watch with interest as Johnny slowly walked toward him.

Johnny stopped less than an arm's length from the horse's nose, and put his right hand dramatically over his heart. He swayed just a little bit as he spoke. "I apologize for embarrassin' you, amigo. I truly mean it when I say it won't happen again. Comprende?"

His brother was speaking so seriously and obviously from his heart that Scott found he could not laugh. He could clearly see the absurdity of the moment and the hilarity of the whole action, but the sincerity in his brother's tone sobered him. Amazed, he watched as Johnny first stroked the horse's nose, then face, then moved to his side and swung up without a hitch. Barranca's ears were relaxed, and his head at his regular position. It was as if the last three quarters of an hour never happened.

Side by side they trotted under the arch that marked home in silence. The brothers headed directly to the barn where they took care of the horses, still without a word to each other, making sure the animals had extra feed and clean bedding.

When they reached the kitchen door, Scott pulled Johnny to a stop. "Okay," he said, swaying drunkenly. "Did what I see happen actually happen?"

Johnny glared at him and pushed the door open. "I'm freezin' my cojones off. You figger out why." He pushed himself into the kitchen and went directly to the stove where the ashes of the day still held some warmth.

Scott dug up some biscuits from the dark pantry, left for them by Teresa. Several biscuits and several glasses of water later, both brothers felt stable enough to try the stairs. Leaning heavily on each other, they made it to the top where Johnny stopped and stared stupidly at his boots.

"Should take off my spurs," he mumbled.

"Too late," a deep voice rumbled from the darkness of the hall. Murdoch Lancer's massive frame emerged from the darkness and stopped in front of the entwined brothers. He eyed them curiously, eyes sparkling. "I could hear you in the kitchen and the spurs had nothing to do with it."

"Oh," Johnny said, squinting blurrily at the tall form. "Sorry." 

"Yes, we're sorry, sir," Scott slurred, trying to stand tall. All he managed to do was cause the two of them to lurch sideways and scramble for footing.

"You do realize it's two in the morning?" the big man inquired. The humor in his tone was lost on the brothers.

"Really?" Johnny said brightly. "Guess my watch keeps pretty good time after all! Time to call it a night, wouldn't ya say?" He detached himself from his brother and wobbly pushed his way around his father.

"Johnny, are you wet?" Murdoch asked curiously.

Murdoch's younger son paused, pulled himself up straight, and looked directly into his father's eyes. "Yes," he said shortly. "Yes, I am." With that, he moved on to his room and shut the door behind him.

Murdoch turned to his older son. "Why is he all wet?"

Scott swayed a moment as he thought, then shrugged. "I'm not sure. I'll think about it and tell you in the morning." He then walked around the other side of his father and entered his room. A quiet click noted when his door was closed.

Murdoch turned and regarded the closed doors with an amused smirk. Something told him he would never find out what happened, and for some reason, that comforted him. Maybe ignorance was bliss, after all. With a resigned shake of his head, the Lancer patriarch returned to his room in the now peacefully quiet hacienda, thankful for such interruptions of the night.

IV : TEQUILA SUNRISE

"I can't believe I let you do that to me," Scott moaned, dragging his hand shakily through his hair. Even though he'd shaved and had on clean clothes, he still looked like something the cat dragged in.

Always sympathetic in a little brother sort of way, Johnny slapped his distressed sibling on the back, pointedly ignoring the way it made Scott stumble down the hall. "I didn't make ya do anything! You were the one makin' the rules."

"Rules my foot. They were guidelines. We didn't have to follow them so closely. And you didn't have to keep forcing that foul poison down my throat!" At the top of the stairs, it took Scott two tries to find purchase on the railing. He hesitated, eyeing the steps like they would rise up and bite him.

"Aw Scott, don't be such a poor loser. It don't look good on ya." Johnny smiled perkily and slipped past the lean blond, headed for the kitchen. "Mmm, don't that sausage smell good?"

Turning a pale shade of green, Scott's foot never hit the first step as he quickly whirled and dashed back to his room. Johnny chuckled and fairly hopped to the bottom floor, then swept into the kitchen like a barely controlled dust devil.

"Buenos dias, Juanito! My, you are certainly happy this morning!" Maria tilted her cheek to gladly accept the proffered kiss from her favorite Lancer as her hands continued to fly above the stove. Johnny snatched a tortilla from the skillet as she chastised him affectionately.

Johnny poured himself a cup of coffee and plopped into his chair as he attacked the warm tortilla.

"Can't you wait for the rest of us?" Teresa asked, appearing from the pantry with a bowl of spices. "Where's Scott?"

"Oh, he had to do something in his room," Johnny chuckled. "I don't suggest holding breakfast for him."

The young woman scowled as she handed off the spices to Maria, then she turned to her surrogate brother. "You are bad, you know that? What did you do to your poor brother?"

"Me?" Johnny protested, one hand flat on his chest. "I didn't do anything!"

"Oh, Johnny, you know Scott can't drink tequila. It's your job to take care of him!"

Putting on a properly insulted expression, Johnny accepted his plate, loaded to the edges, from Maria. "Scott's perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He don't need me bein' his mother hen." He dug into the food with relish.

"Couldn't wait for the rest of the family?" Murdoch Lancer's voice, even when spoken quietly, filled the kitchen.

Johnny paused, considering the statement, then dug back into his plate. "Figured I needed a head start. Lots to do, as usual."

Murdoch nodded and sat, his plate appearing on the table instantaneously. "Where's your brother?"

Teresa snorted as she poured her guardian's cup of coffee, causing Murdoch's brow to rise.  Johnny swallowed his mouthful before replying.

"Oh, he'll be down. He's movin' a bit slow this mornin'."

Murdoch cut off a bit of egg. "I guess I'm not surprised. I am surprised to see you here, however." He forked the egg into his mouth.

Johnny paused a second time, looking puzzled. "Why?" he finally asked.

It was Murdoch's turn to pause, his fork hovering over the remains of the egg. "You don't remember last night?"

Puzzlement turned to wariness on Johnny's face. "Last night?" he repeated as he toyed with his food.

"Yes, last night," Teresa said as she rolled her eyes. Replacing the coffee pot on the stove, she put together a small plate of food for herself and returned to the table.

Johnny's face had taken on a worried look, and his zesty attack on his plate had slowed considerably. "Oh. That. I can handle it," he finally said.

Murdoch and Teresa exchanged an amused look. It was clear to both of them that Johnny had no idea what they were talking about. Teresa picked up her fork and spoke brightly.

"Oh, I'm sure you can." She dropped her voice and glanced back at Maria before leaning forward toward Johnny, whispering in a conspiratal way, "I'm sure no one's told Maria."

Johnny froze a pair of seconds then continued to eat, this time at a much slower pace. His fingers were suddenly clumsy with the silverware.

Glancing surreptitiously at both Murdoch and Teresa, no clues could be found. Both of them continued to eat, unflustered. Just as he decided he could eat no more and started to rise to his feet, Murdoch stopped him with a raised hand.

"And I'd advise keeping away from Cipriano today, son. Just until it blows over." The patriarch calmly returned to his food.

Johnny carefully gathered his plate and handed it off to Maria with a big, but somewhat tentative, smile. The small woman gave the young man a puzzled look as she took the plate. Johnny backed slowly away, escaping to the hall. "Tell Scott there's no hurry! I can handle his work today!" The youngest Lancer's voice faded as he moved down the hall, the sound of him putting on his gunbelt clear in the back ground.

"All right," Murdoch called, his eyes sparkling at his ward. "That's probably a good idea. It'll keep you away from Jelly, too."

There was a long moment of silence before the front door opened and closed. Murdoch chuckled, and Teresa started to giggle.

"He has no idea that nothing really happened, does he?" she laughed.

"No, he doesn't. And that's the beauty of too much tequila," Murdoch said sagely. "You can never be sure what you're going to do, or what you did. That's why I stick to Scotch."

"Do you think we'll see him for lunch?"

"I'd be surprised if he was home before dark."

"Maybe that wasn't a very nice joke," Teresa said, wiping her eyes.

"Well, we'll ask Scott what he thinks when he comes down, which may not be until tomorrow since he was at the receiving end of Johnny's joke yesterday."

Teresa's giggles started all over again. "When are they going to learn?"

Murdoch shook his head. "I'm beginning to wonder myself," he said as he returned to his breakfast.

V : BEANS & THE BOSTON GENTLEMAN (AKA : TEQUILA BEANS)

Inspired by a most entertaining web article, the 2006 Boston Con and Rita Hazlett.
And thanks to beta Maureen, who always knows what I meant to say!

 Except for a link to the site that started it all: http://www.equusite.com/articles/health/healthSheathCleaning.shtml