Prequel to "I Cross My Heart"

And if along the way we find the day

It starts to storm

You've got the promise of my love

To keep you warm….

From the song "I Cross My Heart"

George Strait

She was dancing.  Floating.  One, two, three.  Turn, two, three.  It was her birthday.  No, that wasn't right.  It was Scott's graduation party.  Harvard College, class of '63.  Father would be infuriated when he returned from his business trip and learned that she had slipped out to dance with Harlan Garrett's grandson.  But she was in love with Scott and he with her.  And nothing else mattered.  Her chestnut hair gleamed in the candlelight.  She was wearing the ball gown that was Scott's favorite--pale yellow organza embroidered with tiny pink roses, its hoop skirt enormous.  Scott had never looked more handsome in his tie and tails, the highlights in his blonde hair reflecting the candles' glow.  One, two, three.  Turn, two, three.  The waltz had always been their dance, a chance to bask in each other's arms.  They turned and swirled as one, the faces of the other dancers blurring into a mosaic of color.  One, two, three.  Step, two, three.  Close your eyes, tilt your head, and listen to the violins.  But why was Scott holding her so closely?  She felt as though she couldn't breathe.  "Please, Scott, not so tightly.  Let go a little," she whispered.  She tried to push against his shoulder with her left hand.  Oh, God, it hurt.  Why couldn't she move her arm?  Why wouldn't Scott listen to her?  Why was she suddenly so mind-numbingly cold?  Laura Lancer opened her eyes – and found herself lying face down on a muddy, rock-strewn hillside.

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She and Johnny had argued at breakfast that morning about her riding into Morro Coyo alone.

"Oh, by the way, Johnny," Laura commented as she poured him another cup of coffee, "I ran into Miss Porter, the new school teacher, when Walt took me into town to church yesterday.  Her mother is ill, and she asked me to substitute for her this week while she visits with her in Green River.  I can ride in by myself so you don't have to pull anyone off their jobs."   

"You are NOT riding inta town by yourself, Laura," Johnny insisted, shaking his head emphatically.  "It's too dangerous."

"Then what would you have me do, Johnny?" Laura protested.  She had known Johnny would most likely object, so she had already prepared her justification for this eventuality.  "I promised Miss Porter that I would teach for her.  She told me she would leave the lesson plans on her desk.  Scott and Murdoch won't be back from Sacramento until tonight.  The hands are tied up mending fences and the bridge that washed out on South Creek.  You've a million and one chores to do, and Teresa's gone visiting in Stockton. The roads are nearly impassable from the rain, so it seems the only way I can reasonably get there is to ride.  Alone."

Johnny sighed.  He might have known his strong-willed sister-in-law would have already come up with a counter to his objection.  "Maybe Jelly can go with you?"

"Did I hear my name?"  Jelly shuffled into the kitchen, stroking his beard. 

"Would you like some breakfast, Jelly?"  Laura motioned for him to sit down.

"Don't mind if I do.  My knee's painin' me somethin' awful this mornin'.  Must be more rain a'comin'.  What're you two fussin' at each other about?"

"Laura's got the brilliant idea ta ride by herself inta Morro Coyo," Johnny replied, unable to conceal the sarcasm in his voice.  "I was thinkin' maybe you could go with her?"

"Naw, I really can't Johnny.  If'n I don't get those horses shod before Murdoch gets back tanight, he'll rip my head off.  I gotta put a new wheel on that buckboard, too.  Wish I could help ya out, Laura, but it's just a busy time," Jelly finished, helping himself to coffee, bacon and eggs.

"So, Johnny, Jelly can't go with me, the hands are stretched thin, and you're too busy.  Exactly what other option does that leave me?"  Laura sat down and picked up her cup of coffee, unable to disguise the hint of triumph in her voice. 

"You could just stay home."  And behave yourself  Johnny thought to himself.  "Sometimes I think you're just as stubborn as that husband of yours, Laura.  And why didn't you say anything about this last night?"  Johnny glared at his sister-in-law, wishing that she hadn't added yet another thing to the growing list of things he had to worry about. 

Returning him stare for stare, she retorted, "It's not a matter of being 'stubborn', Johnny.   I promised I'd be there for the children, and be there I will.  Besides, I'm a good rider, and it's not that far.  You should see some of the countryside Scott and I used to foxhunt around Boston.  Trappy doesn't even begin to describe it.  At least there's a ROAD here."  She chose to ignore his question as to why she hadn't told him about her plans at Sunday dinner.  She suspected he already realized that she hadn't told him because she knew what his response would be.  She really didn't want to argue with him. 

"This ain't BOSTON, Laura," Johnny retorted, his frustration mounting.  And the roads are washin' out with all the rain.  Just how'm I gonna explain it ta Scott if I let you go and you get yourself hurt?  I promised him I’d look out for you while he’s gone."

"I won't get hurt, Johnny," she assured him.  "I'm not as fragile as you all seem to think I am.  I'll be home in time to help Maria with dinner.  Maybe Scott and Murdoch will even be home by then?"

"If you're so all-fired set on goin'," Johnny replied, feeling increasingly provoked, "then at least use your sidesaddle.  You're more used to it."

"After the hard time you and Jelly have given me about riding sidesaddle?"   Laura shook her head.  "Oh no… I'll use the saddle Murdoch gave me for Christmas.  I'll ride just like Jelly said with 'one leg facing east and one leg facing west'.  You know I've been practicing.  I'm getting better all the time."

Emerald eyes met sapphire blue ones, each refusing to blink.  Johnny slammed his hand down on the table, causing the teacups to rattle in their saucers.  Standing up and running his hand through his hair, he practically yelled.  "You're impossible – ya know that?"  He waved his arm toward the door, hating the way she seemed to bring out the petulant child in him.  "So go on….you're gonna do what you want anyway!"

Jelly had wisely given his food his full attention.  Turning to him with more calm than she felt, Laura quietly asked, "Would you please be so kind as to saddle my mare, Jelly?"

"With tha sidesaddle?" Jelly looked sideways at Johnny who had started pacing.   The fingers on Johnny's left hand were twitching the way they did when he was agitated.

"No, with the regular saddle, like I said, Jelly," Laura responded softly. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go get ready."

She swept out of the room with all the dignity and grace she could muster, wishing she had handled the situation better.  She hadn't intended to provoke Johnny into an argument.   He had been in a foul mood with Murdoch and Scott gone, his temper short, and the stress etched deeply on his face.  Everyone on the ranch had been tiptoeing around him for days.  He probably was right about her riding alone, even though she didn't want to admit it.  The road to Morro Coyo was treacherous in January weather like this.  But she was an experienced rider with a lovely mare that Scott had given to her just before their wedding.  Riding astride had proven to be a new, though not always comfortable, experience, but she was slowly beginning to master it.  Sitting astride the animal without all the voluminous skirts required for a lady back East had actually created in her a sense of amazing freedom.  What Scott would have to say tonight, she mused, might determine just how free she would remain.  She had been able to out-stare Johnny; Scott would have very calmly, but emphatically, put his foot down before he had let her make a promise that would prove so difficult to keep.  No, she probably shouldn't go, but a promise was a promise, and she couldn't, in all good conscience, renege on it. 

The ride from the ranch into Morro Coyo was uneventful, despite several minor mudslides and washed-out sections of road.  The road didn't seem any worse than it had the day before when she and Walt had ridden in for church.  At least it wasn't raining, Laura thought gratefully.  The little schoolroom was warm with the woodstove burning gaily and the children packed in.  It took a while to get them calmed down and into their seats, but soon they were all settled and looking at her expectantly.  She felt as though she had to explain to each of them individually why she was there and, no, she wasn't coming back to be their teacher again.  Miss Porter would be back soon.  Laura was thankful that at least part of the lesson plan for the morning covered the years of the Revolutionary War.  Growing up in Boston, it had seemed as though the war had only just been fought and won rather than the 94 years or so that had passed.  Her family history was filled with stories of her ancestors' involvement in the young country's fight for independence; various family members on her mother's side had been present from the Boston Tea Party, as it was called, to Cornwallis' surrender at Yorktown. 

The afternoon lessons in science and math, however, were not as easy to deliver, with Laura wishing that she had had more time to prepare.  If only Scott had been there to teach, she was confident he would have sailed through those lessons.  As she listened to little Sammy Jenkins, Doc Jenkins' grandson, recite his sums, she fingered the tiny Lancer “L” that she wore on a delicate chain around her neck, and allowed her thoughts to drift.  Scott had ordered the necklace from the silversmith for her for Christmas, delighted that it matched both of her initials.  She missed him dreadfully.

***************************************************************

Johnny rode back toward the house, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion.  God, he was bone-weary.  Scott and Murdoch had been gone for over a week now, leaving him alone to deal with the constant challenge of running the ranch.  It was (what was that word Scott had used?) "ironic"  that they were in Sacramento dealing with water rights.  Water rights when the ranch  was overwhelmed with water right now.  Checking on the progress of the South Creek bridge repair, he had learned that the entire bridge would have to be rebuilt.  The footers were gone, washed away in the raging stream.  The engineering of a new bridge would have to wait for Scott and his fancy Harvard education. 

The disagreement with Laura that morning had been an unpleasant start to a miserable day.  What was he supposed to do?  Hogtie her to keep her home?   He sensed that he had overreacted to her decision to ride into town alone, just as she had overreacted to his attempt to stop her, but he felt responsible for her in Scott's absence.  Besides, sometimes she was just too doggedly independent, too headstrong in his opinion.  But they had shared a special bond since the first day they met; the Boston lady and the former gunslinger, as unlikely a combination as anyone could imagine.  Their mutual passion for horses had provided a starting point.   Their mutual love for Scott had deepened their relationship.   Laura had accepted Johnny for who he was, and she didn't condemn him for what he had been.  She had never tried to come between the two brothers, realizing how desperately each needed the other.  She made Scott happy.  That alone was enough.

Pulling his hat low over his face to block the wind, Johnny felt the first few drops of rain pelt his hand.   The clouds, lowering and thickening, were ominous, a gunmetal gray.  Feeling increasingly uneasy, he urged Barranca forward and headed toward the road to Morro Coyo.  As he did so, he ran into Frank coming in from riding fences on the east range.  As they reined their horses in to speak to each other, Johnny saw the horse barreling down the road toward the hacienda.   There was no rider.  Frank and Johnny watched in horror as the chestnut galloped panic-stricken back toward the barn.

Johnny swallowed against the bile rising in his throat.  "Frank, go get Cipriano.  Bring blankets, lanterns, and the buckboard.  Tell Jelly to take care of that mare."  Before he had finished barking out the order, Johnny wheeled and spurred Barranca toward the mountains.  Please God, let her be walking back toward home.  Let it be a bad dream.  Hoping for the best, he expected the worst.  Somehow he knew he wouldn't find her walking.

******************************************************************* 

Leaving the school in mid-afternoon, Laura had thought that the wind felt colder and wetter than it had that morning.  She had retrieved her chestnut mare, Celeste, from the livery and started home.  Part of her had felt somewhat apprehensive – nothing she could really define – just a sense that maybe she should have waited in town for Scott and Murdoch to arrive on the stage.  But she hadn't wanted Scott to find her shivering on a muddy, wind-blown street.  She wanted to greet him at the front door of the hacienda, wrap her arms around him and feel his lips on hers.  She wanted to look into his eyes as he told her how much he loved her and how badly he had missed her.  It was the first time they had been apart for any length of time since their wedding in December.   And, besides, there was no one to send out to the ranch with a message should she wait in town for a stage that might very well be delayed, if it arrived at all.  It wouldn't be fair, she had reasoned, to ask someone else to leave the warmth of their fire so that she could get a message to Johnny.   No, her only choice was to pull her jacket collar up around her neck and ride on.  She wished that she hadn't forgotten her oilskin poncho in her haste to leave the ranch. 

She was well into the mountains just north of the hacienda when the rainstorm struck.  It was raining and blowing so hard that Laura couldn't see the road clearly and could barely stay on the horse.  The rain quickly soaked her to the skin, plastering her clothes to her body.  She feared her new hat, given to her by Johnny for Christmas, would be ruined.  She thought, however, with a wry smile, that a ruined hat was the least of her worries.  She and the little mare tucked their heads down and kept going.  They had gone too far to turn back now.  Visibility was so bad, and the wind howling so fiercely, that it all happened before she had time to react.  At some point, without realizing it, the pair had strayed off the edge of the road.  She thought she heard the crack of a tree falling to her left, its roots giving themselves up in the face of the wind and the saturated ground.  Celeste spun and spooked at the same time, leaping sideways.  And then they were falling.  It seemed unreal; her body falling through the air, the world eerily quiet, the only sound a strange buzzing in her ears.  Then excruciating pain as something hit her head hard. 

As she lay there, she struggled to open her eyes, to stay conscious.  Any attempt at movement was agony.  She didn't think it was possible to hurt so deeply, to have every breath take so much effort.  Moaning, she turned her throbbing head to the side and retched, the sour taste of vomit mixing with the metallic taste of blood in her mouth.   She was vaguely aware that she was lying on her stomach, her left arm twisted unnaturally beneath her body.  With no real sense of the passing of time, she knew only that darkness was beginning to fall and she was, for one of the few times in her life, afraid.  Then…there was nothing.

CHAPTER TWO

He hadn't wanted to go to Sacramento.  Only Murdoch's insistence that it was time for Scott to meet Governor Haight and various members of the legislature had persuaded him to leave his young wife.  He sat in interminable meetings all week in suffocating, smoke-filled rooms while politicians, ranchers, and miners debated the finer points of riparian and appropriative water rights.  The ranchers, including Murdoch, supported riparian rights wherein the landowner had the right to use water flowing on or by his property.   No one could interfere with or disrupt the landowner's ability to use that water.    The miners demanded appropriative rights.  Under their system, they could "state a claim" and simply take and use the water for "beneficial purposes".  So many disputes had arisen over the dual system of water allocation in California, that Scott was sure the courts would ultimately need to step in and settle the issue. 

Friday afternoon, and he was suffering through yet another deathly boring meeting.  His mind drifted away again as he played with the plain gold band on the ring finger of his left hand.  Laura.  Scott missed her laughter, the softness of her lips, the smell of her warm skin as he held her close.  He could almost feel the silkiness of her hair, see the way tendrils escaped from the pins she used to sweep it up.  Lately, growing more accustomed to the relaxed atmosphere at the ranch, she had taken to wearing her hair down like Teresa.  So much the better – he could run his fingers through it more easily.  Their wedding day, a mere two weeks before his birthday, had been the most blissful day of his life.  She had looked so enchanting, her chestnut hair woven with holly, the lace veil sweeping the floor.   They had waltzed again for the first time in years, turning around the dance floor with ease and grace, her head tilted back, and her eyes never leaving his.  Johnny had jokingly asked how they "did that so good."  He smiled inwardly, remembering Laura's laughing response – "the proper partner and years and years and YEARS of lessons!"  Their whirlwind honeymoon to San Francisco had been cut even shorter when Laura had insisted that they be home to celebrate his and Johnny's birthdays together.  She had said she couldn't stand the thought of the brothers being apart on their "special" days. She was adamant that she needed to be home to help Teresa with preparations for their party and with the Christmas decorations.   Besides, she had teased, she missed the cows.  Scott allowed himself a wry smile at the memory.  Laura loved to wake up in the morning listening to the cows bawling in the pasture; the smell, however, was something she had complained about since her first days at Lancer.  It had become a standing joke between them.  She wanted pretty, mooing cows without the odor.   His reverie was broken by a sharp tap to his shin under the table.  He looked up to see Murdoch's eyes fixed on him, the disapproval there evident. Scott sighed and stretched, trying to focus on the voices that droned on and on. 

That evening, as they shared a glass of brandy after dinner, Murdoch chided his son for his inattention.  "Scott, I know you really don't want to be here.  I can't blame you for that.  But you are my son, and someday Lancer will belong to you and Johnny.  The issues we're debating here this week will have lasting effects for years to come on your ability to hold the ranch together.  Water is our life's blood out here; we can't survive without it."

"I understand that, sir," Scott responded, taking another sip of his brandy.  "It's just very difficult to remain attentive when the same points are argued over and over again ad nauseum."

"And when you're missing a certain young lady?" Murdoch chuckled, lifting his glass in a small toast.

Scott blushed, holding his own glass up.  "Yes, there is definitely that, sir." 

By Saturday night, Scott felt like the trip would never end.  He and Murdoch had attended the Cattlemen's Association dinner, as they were expected to do as the owners of the largest ranch in the state.  He smiled at all the right times and made the appropriate responses, but his heart was at home with Laura.  Had he been there, they would most likely be curled up on the couch in front of the fire, his head in her lap as she read to him.  He could almost feel her fingers playing with his hair as she read aloud from Dickens, Poe, Hugo, or any number of their favorites.

Father and son left Sacramento on Sunday for the two-day journey back home.   Sunday night was spent in a dirty way station, the cold wind seeping through the cracks in the walls and tree branches slapping against the windowpanes.   Neither of them slept for more than a few minutes at a time.  Scott noted with concern on Monday morning that the weather looked as though it would turn nasty again.  The wind had picked up and he could see the gray storm clouds gathering to the west.  The last leg of the stagecoach ride into Morro Coyo that afternoon was harrowing as the skies seemed to open up, the clouds eager to relieve themselves of their burden.    The two men rode in silence toward home, the pouring rain and wind stifling any conversation.  The coach pitched and rolled like a ship on the open sea, forcing the men to cling to their seats with both hands.  The air in the coach was nearly unbreathable, the rain flaps tied down against the storm.  Scott thought, with a smile, how lovely it was going to be to be back home in his own bed, Laura's head resting on his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her.   

Arriving back in Morro Coyo later than expected in the afternoon, Scott suggested they hire horses from the livery to ride home and leave their luggage at the stage depot.  He feared the buggy they had left at the livery would mire on the muddy roads, forcing them to be even later, if they made it home at all.  They could send a hand out to retrieve the buggy and their bags the next day, weather and the condition of the road permitting.  Truth be told, he wanted to get home the quickest way possible.  He had been separated from his wife for about as long as he could tolerate.  Murdoch reluctantly agreed, not eager himself to be stranded in the road in the pouring rain.

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Johnny was finding it difficult to follow the tracks Celeste had left.  The roadbed was rutted with wagon tracks and pitted with hoof prints.  He figured that if he stuck to the road back toward town, he might find something, anything that would give him a clue as to where Laura had fallen.  He fought the knot in the pit of his stomach, trying to focus on the job at hand.  The darker the sky became, the more desperate he felt. 

Out of the rain and fog, two riders appeared like apparitions.  "Scott, Murdoch!"  Johnny yelled above the wind.

 "What are you doing out here?" Scott questioned his brother, riding up next to him.  "Not exactly an ideal time for you to decide to take a ride." Scott laughed.

Murdoch sensed something was wrong even before Johnny said anything.  Johnny could barely look his brother in the eye.  "Laura rode into Morro Coyo by herself this afternoon ta teach at the school.  Her mare came in without her.  I've been tryin' ta find her, Scott."  Johnny's voice broke as he watched the smile disappear from his brother's face, stark reality taking hold.  "I sent Frank ta get Cip and bring up the buckboard." 

The world around him faded.  Scott fought to hold onto his saddle to stay upright on his horse.  Murdoch's voice brought him back as he took charge.  "Scott, I'll go down and meet Frank and Cip and help them bring up the wagon.  Frank can go into town for Doc Jenkins.  You ride back up the road, and Johnny can continue to search this section.  It'll be tough in this weather, but we're going to find her.  Let's get going before it gets any darker than it already is."  Unable to find his voice, Scott nodded and turned his horse around.

Moving slowly and carefully, afraid that he would miss something, Johnny chose to track just off the edge of the road.  He thought any tracks might be easier to follow out of the rutted and churned-up road. His hunch proved correct when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught the flutter of something flapping in the wind.  Barranca snorted and tried to bolt.  Patting the trembling horse on the neck, Johnny went to investigate further.  What he saw made him feel like he had been punched in the gut.  The hat he had given Laura for Christmas was dangling from the branch of a small tree.  It was mangled almost beyond recognition, soaked and covered in mud, but it was definitely her hat.  The hat with the little eagle feather that had delighted Laura and given Scott and him such a joyous laugh was right there in front of him. 

"Laura!" He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled.  There was no response, nothing but the sound of raindrops splattering.  Dismounting, he led Barranca down the hillside, angling off the road and facing into the wind.  Barranca snorted again and tried to shy away from him.  His stomach lurched as he saw the familiar form lying prone on the saturated ground.  Oh God, she was there.  Face down.  Not moving.   He knelt down beside her in the mud and touched her face gently.

"Laura, honey, can you hear me?"  No response.  Drawing his Colt from its holster, Johnny fired off the signal he and Scott had used with each other in the past.  Two shots.  Pause.  Another shot.  He only hoped that Scott would hear the gunfire over the wind and rain and come.   Taking off his own oilskin poncho, he laid it carefully over his sister-in-law.  "Hang on, Laura, we're gonna get you outta here."

It seemed like an eternity that he knelt next to the frighteningly still Laura in the mud.  He was afraid to try to move her by himself, concerned that he would hurt her even more. He took his bandana out of his jacket pocket and wiped some of the mud from her cheek.  Then, Scott's voice was calling, "Johnny, where are you?"

"Down here, Scott.  I found her.  Is Murdoch back with the wagon yet?"

"No, not yet."  Johnny could barely hear Scott's reply.  "I'm coming down, Johnny."

"Stay there, Scott," Johnny yelled.  "Wait for Murdoch."

As desperately as Scott wanted to be there with his wife, he realized that Johnny was right. Murdoch would have little chance of finding them in the storm if he wasn't there to show him the way.  After what seemed like a lifetime of waiting in the downpour in the fading light, he saw the glow of a lantern slowly coming up the road.

"He's here now, Johnny." Scott felt like he was screaming.  It was almost impossible to hear each other over the keening wind and the driving rain.

"Son," Murdoch climbed down off the buckboard and touched his stricken elder son on his arm.  "I'll go down there if…."

"No, Murdoch.  I need to take care of her," Scott affirmed emphatically.  He slipped his way down the hill, carrying several thick blankets and an extra oilskin, desperately needing to reach his bride, but knowing it wouldn't help her if he injured himself in the process.  As gently as he could and with Johnny's help, he turned Laura over.  He frantically felt for a pulse in her wrist, his relief palpable when he found a faint, but steady beat.  Her breathing was shallow, but not too irregular.   Just from a cursory examination, he was sure her left shoulder was dislocated.  He had seen far too many such injuries during the War, particularly among novice cavalrymen who fell off their horses on a regular basis.  Wrapping her carefully in the blankets, he slid his arms under her and picked her up. 

Gunshots, voices.  Laura tried to find her way out of the blackness.  Warmth. Pain. Nothing.

Scott crawled his way back up the hill carrying his wife while Johnny and Barranca steadied him from behind.  Cautiously, not wanting to injure her any further, he laid her in the back of the buckboard, climbed in himself, and cradled her in his arms.  The house had never seemed quite so far away.

Pained by the stricken expression on his elder son's face, Murdoch offered up a silent entreaty as he picked up the reins.  Dear God, don't let her die in the back of a wagon like Catherine did….Not like Catherine….

CHAPTER THREE

As Scott carried Laura into their bedroom, he was reminded of their wedding night such a short few weeks before when he had carried her over the threshold.  The joy and passion of that night was a stark contrast to the nightmare of this one.   Maria met him there and placed an oilskin over the bed to keep the linens dry.  They would remove it once Laura's wet clothes were disposed of.  Scott couldn't help thinking that, if it had been him or Johnny, they'd be lying on the kitchen table while their broken bones were set.  But this was very different.  It was Laura.  His bride.  His beautiful, radiant bride, lying there looking so deathly pale, so lifeless…

"Senor Scott, let me take care of her, por favor," Maria implored, seeing that the young man appeared to be nearly overwhelmed.   "You go dry off, get dry clothes on."

"No, Maria.  I need to stay with her," he murmured.  "Besides, you can't turn and lift her by yourself."  Scott's tone was adamant and, despite her concerns for the patron's son she had grown so fond of, the Lancer housekeeper reluctantly withdrew. 

Starting with her boots, Scott took out his knife and ripped the seams.  He thought distractedly that Laura would be really annoyed with him.  They were her favorite boots; a pair she'd had custom made when she was still living in London.  If she would just live, he'd buy her a hundred pairs of boots.  He noted with dismay that her left ankle lay at an unnatural angle, the swelling extending halfway up her calf.  Cutting her clothes off, Scott couldn't help pondering how utterly fragile his beautiful wife looked.  He nearly gagged when he saw the ugly bruises that covered her arms and chest.  Despite being bundled about, Laura didn't open her eyes; she only moaned as the pain penetrated the unconsciousness she resided in.  So consumed with worry for his wife, Scott was barely aware of Maria bringing extra blankets and stoking the fire in the hearth.  The room was stiflingly hot, and yet Scott couldn't stop shivering.  Changing into dry clothes, which he accomplished quickly once Maria left, didn't help.  There was nothing else to do then but to sit and wait for the doctor.  He had never felt so useless in all his life.

A soft tap sounded on the door, and Sam Jenkins pushed it open quietly.  The two men nodded to each other, the tension in the room palpable.

Recognizing that the young man was clearly in shock, Sam spoke first.  "Scott, do you want to go get something to drink?  Maria can stay with me while I examine Laura."

"No, Sam," Scott took a deep breath.  "I'm not leaving her."

"All right."  Sam sighed, suspecting beforehand what the young husband's answer would be.  He set his bag on the bedside table and removed his stethoscope.  "Has she woken up at all yet?  Has she been moving at all?"

"She hasn't woken up, but she has been moving a little," Scott replied dully.  "She looks like she might be trying to open her eyes.  I, uh, left her clothes off – I didn't want to hurt her any more by trying to put a nightdress on her right now."

Trying to maintain a balance between respecting Laura's modesty in front of her husband, and conducting a thorough examination of his patient, Sam carefully pulled the blanket down and listened to Laura's chest with his stethoscope.  Her heartbeat was slow, but steady, her lungs sounded clear, at least for now.  He was troubled, though, at how cold she still felt to the touch.   Each minute that passed as Sam carried out his assessment seemed an eternity to Scott as he awaited the verdict, his anxiety growing as the frown deepened on the elderly doctor's face.   Finally, Sam rose from his ministrations and turned to Scott, grimfaced.

"Well, Scott," he said, "If she survives the night, she stands a pretty good chance of recovering from her injuries.  The real danger to her right now is the hypothermia from her prolonged exposure.  She's very cold, and we need to warm her up as quickly as possible.  That said, she does have a number of significant injuries.   Her left shoulder is dislocated, and we'll need to put it back in place.  She has several broken ribs, but they, fortunately, don't seem to have punctured a lung.  Her left ankle is broken and will have to be set."  Sam chose not to mention the possibility of internal injuries.  Right now, that was probably better left unsaid.  "Finally, she's badly concussed, and from the looks of that bump on her head, the horse may have accidentally kicked her when she fell.  I'd keep a basin handy for when she comes to; she's likely to be very dizzy and nauseated.  Do you think you can help me put that shoulder back into place?  I'll need you or Maria to help hold her down."

Scott felt his mouth go dry.  He had helped set broken bones on the battlefield, but this was his beloved Laura.  He knew that it would cause her a great deal of pain, and he felt sick to his stomach to have to be the one to do it.  Still, he knew there was no other choice.  He mutely nodded to Sam and took another deep breath.  Scott held Laura's right arm and shoulder down while Sam lifted her left arm up and rotated it back to force the shoulder joint back into place.  Tying a strip of cloth to her left wrist, he wrapped it around her back and tied her arm to her chest to keep her from moving the arm.  The ankle was easier – Sam was able to pull it back into place by himself, the bones realigning with a sickening crunch.   Glancing at Scott, Sam was concerned that the young man might pass out; his face was blanched whiter than the sheets on the bed. 

Oh, God!  What is happening to me?  Laura had never known such pain.  She thought she was screaming; what Sam and Scott heard was nothing more than a low moan. 

"Can't you give her anything for the pain?" Scott protested.  "I feel like we're killing her." 

"We can give her some laudanum eventually, Scott," Sam replied, "but right now I don't know how well she can swallow, and I don't want to drug her up yet either.  We need to see if she's going to wake up at all.   If I give her laudanum right now, it's going to cloud the issue.  I won't know if she's unconscious from being concussed or sleeping from the effects of the opium. There's nothing we can do but wait and keep her warm.  I'm going to go down and have a drink with Murdoch.  I'll be spending the night here.  You would do well to get yourself some dinner and a drink and let Maria stay with Laura for a while."

Scott shook his head vehemently.  "I can't leave her, Sam," he insisted as he sat down next to the bed.  "If she wakes up, I need to be the first person she sees."

Sam shook his head, as he squeezed the young man's shoulder and headed for the door.  He knew it was pointless to argue.  If it were his wife, he would be exactly the same.

******************************************************************************

Murdoch sat staring into the fire in the Great Room, nursing a glass of whiskey.  So many memories came flooding back -- the joy when Catherine had told him she was expecting, her untimely death, the boys' return to Lancer, Laura and Scott's lovely wedding.  The young woman fighting for her life upstairs had brought so much happiness to all of them with her quick smile and her generous spirit. Her determination to fit in, to learn her new role as the wife of a cattle rancher, had won all their hearts.  She had thrown herself into life on the ranch with a passion that impressed them all.  Laura and Teresa had become closer than most sisters, laughing together over the latest fashions in Godey's or at Laura's most recent disaster in the kitchen as she learned to cook.  Johnny could count on Laura's cooperation in pulling his practical jokes on Scott.  Just the other week, they had stolen Scott's clothes out of the bath house, forcing him to walk back upstairs wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.  Murdoch had dared to hope that he might finally become a grandfather with a grandchild to watch grow up and to spoil shamelessly.  Now it seemed his older son might join him as a widower.  It gnawed at him that he had insisted that Scott accompany him to Sacramento.  Perhaps none of this would have happened if Scott had stayed home as he had wanted to.  Murdoch wondered if he should write to Laura's father in Boston; if she died, she'd be buried before he could make it to California anyway.  He would never forgive Robert MacNeill for the pain he had caused Laura in refusing to acknowledge her marriage. 

Johnny paced back and forth, unable to sit still, his face pale and drawn, his eyes haunted.  They both looked up in unison as Sam stiffly walked in, moving to sit down on the couch.  Neither Murdoch nor Johnny spoke, both reluctant to ask the questions that they were afraid to have answered.   The grandfather clock ticked mercilessly on, inexorably counting the beats of their hearts.

Sam broke the excruciating silence, his voice seeming unnaturally loud in the somber air.  "I think I'd like a drink now, Murdoch."  He looked at the two expectant faces, and read the unspoken question in both their eyes.  "She's resting quietly at this point.  Scott could use some dinner and some sleep, but I don't expect he'll leave her side."  Glancing at Johnny, he suggested, "Maybe you could talk your brother into taking a break?  It's going to be a long night."   He leaned back and stretched his legs, trying to loosen the knots in his back as he accepted a glass of whiskey from Murdoch.  Johnny didn't need to be asked twice.  He was up the stairs, two at a time, before Sam had taken the first sip.

CHAPTER FOUR

Johnny knocked lightly on the partially open door.  "Mind if I come in?" he asked quietly.

Scott nodded almost imperceptibly, his eyes never leaving his wife's form on the bed.  Only her face was visible under the mounds of blankets.  Johnny sat on the blanket chest at the foot of the bed, not quite knowing what to say.  His mind raced, thoughts crowding in on each other, knowing how passionately his brother loved his wife, wondering if Scott held him responsible for her accident.  He wondered, if Laura died, if he and Scott would ever be able to bridge the gulf in their relationship that her death would undoubtedly create.  He couldn't help feeling that Scott had trusted him to look out for his wife while he was away, and that he had failed him miserably. 

"How's she doin', Scott?"  Johnny thought his sister-in-law looked half-dead already.  It shook him to his core that a woman who had been so vibrant, so full of life that morning, could look so waxen, so still, and yet be alive.  He shuddered to think how suddenly his brother's world had tilted on its edge. 

"As well as can be expected, I suppose," Scott sighed.  "She's pretty badly beat up, but Sam's hopeful that she'll be alright." 

Johnny wished his brother would look at him, even just for a second, but Scott's eyes remained focused on his wife.  "Scott," he whispered, "I tried ta talk her out of ridin' out by herself.  I couldn't get her ta listen.  I couldn't even get her ta use her sidesaddle so she'd be more sure of herself."   Johnny picked at the blanket covering the trunk. 

"It's not your fault she got hurt, Johnny," Scott replied quietly, still not looking up.  "If she had taken her sidesaddle, she'd likely be…."  He paused as the words caught in his throat.  "…dead right now.  Since she was riding astride, she was thrown clear when the mare went down.  With her sidesaddle, she'd most likely have been pinned under the horse.  It would've broken her back, her neck, or both.  She could've been crushed."  He shuddered at the implication, thanking God that Laura had chosen to take a western saddle.  "No, Johnny, you can't blame yourself for this any more than Murdoch can feel guilty for demanding that I accompany him to Sacramento.   As awful as it is, it's just something that happened.  And I know better than anyone how determined Laura can be.  Stubborn even.  A true Lancer."  Scott smiled wistfully, and Johnny saw his eyes light up with memories as he talked.  "Remember…I've known her all her life.  We were inseparable for years, at least until her father sent her away.  As a child, she'd try things that would drive him to distraction.  He tried so hard to turn her into a 'proper Boston lady.'   I don't know how many governesses he fired.  Laura would slide down the banisters, climb trees, ride the craziest of the ponies. She's always been fearless on a horse.  Maybe too fearless sometimes.  I saw her jump fences on the hunt field when she was a little girl that grown men wouldn't take.  You remember the first time I brought her out here, and she talked you into letting her ride Barranca?"

"Yeah," Johnny managed a weak smile.  "She was somethin'', Scott.  I still don't know how she sweet-talked me inta lettin' her get on 'im."

Scott chucked softly, almost to himself.  "She's always had a knack for getting her own way, Johnny. That's part of her charm."  Scott shifted in his chair, stretching his legs.  "She was so different from the other girls in Boston.  I think that's why I fell in love with her.  She wasn't interested in playing silly games to try to attract me. She could ride all day with the best of us and then dress up in the prettiest ball gowns for the evening.  She was so full of…..life."  Scott's eyes misted over with tears.  "I won't lose her again, Johnny.  I can't." 

Johnny got up and went to his brother.  They stood there with their arms around each other, each trying to console the other.  It was then that Laura started screaming.

************************************************************

She was in London.  Father had come to take her home to Boston.  It was May 1865, and the garden was in bloom.  She was sitting in the front parlor when he arrived.

"Father."  She rose from her chair to greet him. 

"Laura."  He moved to embrace her.  "I've come, as you know, to take you home.  The war is over.  It's time for you to come back."

"Yes, I received your letter, Father.  But why would you want me to come home?  You know that I'll only go back to find Scott."

"You haven't received any letters from him, have you?"  Her father queried.  She sensed, somehow, that he already knew the answer.

"No, but it doesn't matter.  Scott would never forget me—any more than I could forget him.  He loves me.  He'll be there waiting for me." Laura spoke through gritted teeth.

"Scott Lancer won't be waiting for anyone," her father retorted.

"What do you mean?"  Her knees grew weak when she saw the look on her father's face.  She gripped the back of the chair for support.

"Lieutenant Scott Garrett Lancer, US Army Cavalry, was shot during an escape attempt from Libby Prison in Richmond three months ago."  Her father paused ever so slightly. "He's dead, Laura."

**************************************************************

Scott moved quickly to Laura's side, reaching out to hold her face in his hands.  "Laura, darling, wake up!  Please wake up!"

Out of the darkness, she struggled to open her eyes.  His face was blurry, hidden in shadows.  But he was there – her precious Scott was really there.  "You're not dead?"  she whispered, her mouth so dry she could barely form the words.  She could still feel the muddy grit in her teeth.

He stroked her face ever so gently, a smile warming his face.  "No, I'm not dead.  I'm here…with you."  He found it strangely humorous that this was the second time in less than six months that she had questioned whether or not he was alive. 

"What happened to me?"  She struggled to talk.

"You don't remember anything?  Celeste fell with you.  Johnny found you lying on a hillside off the road about three miles from here."  Scott brushed her hair softly with his hand.

"Johnny?" His name was barely a whisper.

"I'm here, honey." Johnny moved next to Scott so Laura could see him.

She tried to sit up.  "Celeste?  Where's Celeste?" she pleaded, as Scott gently pushed her back against the pillows.   Her stomach churned with nausea as the room tilted sideways.  Leave it to Laura to ask about the horse when she was the one hurt, he thought.

"She's fine, Laura," Johnny quickly replied.  "Jelly cleaned her up and bedded her down.  She's scraped up, but she'll be fine."  Laura settled back against the pillows, relieved. 

"I remember leaving town," she started hesitantly.  "It started raining, and I could barely see the road.  Celeste bolted.  After that, everything went blank."  Spasms of pain caused her body to go rigid.

"Johnny, would you go down and ask Sam to come back up here," Scott requested.   And to Laura, he added, "Maybe we can give you a little laudanum now for the pain."  Johnny nodded as he turned on his heel and headed for the door.

"I guess that would be alright."  She nodded slightly, grimacing as she realized how badly she really did hurt.  "Could I have some water, Scott?  My mouth feels like it's full of mud."

"Do you think you can keep it down?" Scott moved to pour a glass of water from the pitcher on the table.

She nodded.  "I think so.  I'm so thirsty." 

Cradling her head in his arm, Scott held the glass of water to her lips.  She didn't think water had ever tasted that good.  She lay still in her husband's embrace.  As long as she didn't move too much, the room didn't spin too badly.

"Scott…I'm so sorry…" she started.  He kissed her lightly on the forehead, and, picking up her hand, cradled it against his lips.

"Shhh, don't talk right now."  He kissed the palm of her hand.  "We can talk about it later, when you're feeling better."

"But, Scott…it's all my fault….I didn't listen to Johnny…I…"  She was interrupted by Sam's brisk tap on the door.

"So, I see my patient's awake finally!  We'll give you a few drops of laudanum, Laura, so you can sleep for the rest of the night.  I asked Maria to bring you some tea to help wash it down." 

Maria bustled in behind him, bringing a steaming pot of tea, heavily sweetened to mask the bitter taste of the laudanum. "Senor Lancer is going to send to Stockton for Senorita Teresa tomorrow," Maria announced to Laura as she poured the tea and again stoked the fire.  "She will want to be here with you."  And to the men, "Senor Scott, you and Doctor Jenkins leave now.  I will dress Senora Laura so she can drink her tea."   Laura blushed at the thought that Sam Jenkins had seen her unclothed.  Scott started to protest, but, judging from the look in her eyes, Maria wouldn't take no for an answer this time, and he knew better than to argue with the Lancer housekeeper when her jaw was set that way.

"Come on, Scott."  Sam patted him on the back, urging him toward the door.  "Let's go get you that drink while Maria tends to Laura."  Reluctantly, Scott assented and allowed the kindly doctor to guide him away while Maria busied herself gathering clean clothes for his stricken wife.

Growing sleepy from the effects of the laudanum, Laura thought, "Just perfect.  I managed to ruin Teresa's visit…."   She barely noticed Maria choosing a nightdress from the dresser and easing it over her head.  Laura slept quietly through the rest of the night, not even awakening when Scott slipped back into the room.  He dozed in the chair next to her side, his long legs stretched out, and his boots propped on the frame of the bed. 

Early the next morning, Laura awoke feeling bruised and incredibly stiff.  Each breath, any minute movement of her body, produced paroxysms of pain that cut into her like a hot knife.  Maybe she should ask Scott to give her more laudanum, she thought, as much as she disliked feeling drugged.   She saw that he had fallen asleep in the chair; Murdoch would likely have Johnny pick up his chores for the day.  Laura lay there and watched her husband sleep, not wanting to disturb him quite yet.  She marveled at how handsome he really was and what a miracle it was that they were together again.  She loved him beyond all reason.  As she watched, his eyes fluttered open.  He stretched, and yawned. 

"Good morning," he yawned again through the words.  "How're you feeling?"

"Not so well right now," she frowned.  "I hate to take it, but I think maybe I need more pain medicine."  She hesitated, stretching her right leg and wiggling her toes, the movement bringing more spasms of pain.  "Umm, Scott?  What did you do with my boots?"  She had a feeling she knew what his answer would be.

"I had to cut them off – along with the rest of your clothes," he replied matter-of-factly. 

"You DID WHAT to my boots?" She almost choked.  "You CUT them off?  My BEST boots?"   The room started to spin again, and her stomach lurched, but Laura was almost too distracted to notice.  The clothes she didn't care about; the boots were like old friends, broken in and comfortable.

"Take it easy, Laura.  Be reasonable.  I can replace your boots or maybe have them repaired. Your ankle's broken.  I didn't have any other choice. That's not something you need to worry about right now." Scott's voice remained quiet and even as he tried to cajole her into calming down. 

She grimaced as sharp pains shot through her shoulder.   She leaned back against the pillows, waves of nausea continuing to course through her. 

"Your shoulder's hurting, isn't it?"  The concern was evident on Scott's face.  "And your ankle and ribs, too, I expect."  He bent over and kissed her on the lips. "I'll go ask Maria to make you some more tea.  That laudanum tastes nasty otherwise."

Sipping on the tea Scott brought up to her, and still feeling grit embedded in her teeth, Laura realized how dirty the rest of her body felt.  If only she could make it down to the bathhouse, she'd soak until the water turned cold and scrub herself with the fragrant milled soap Scott ordered from Boston to spoil her.  As it was, she could barely lift her uninjured arm off the bed.  "Scott, do you think you could ask Maria or Juanita to help me get washed up a little?" 

"Are you sure you're up to that, Laura?" Scott was hesitant to see her move too quickly.

"I think so, particularly since I've had the laudanum.   I can't stand being so grimy." 

She managed to smile as he left the room to find Maria, rubbing his tired face.  She knew he didn't like to be dirty any more than she did.  In short order, Maria returned to gently bathe her, change her linens and help her into a clean nightdress.  The laudanum and the warm bath worked wonders, the combination of the soothing hot water and the potent drug sending her into an opium-induced haze throughout the remainder of the day and into the evening. 

She awakened, once more, to the faint glow of the oil lamp, lit against the darkness.  She felt like she was lying back on that hillside, her body so cold that she couldn't stop shivering.  "Scott?" she whispered.  "Why is it so cold in here?  Could you put another log on the fire?"

"Laura."  He was at her side in an instant.  "It's not cold in here.  The fire's blazing."  He felt her forehead.  Dear God.  She was burning up. 

The fever consumed her, pain wracking her body until she moaned uncontrollably.  Even the laudanum Scott dripped between her cracked lips brought very little relief.  The pain in her chest worsened; she couldn't cough without feeling as though her lungs would explode.  Summoned back to the ranch in the middle of the night, Sam shook his head helplessly.  "I was afraid this would happen, Scott.  She was so hypothermic – so cold from exposure.  We knew that pneumonia was a very real possibility.   Quinine might help the fever and the muscle spasms.  Mostly, we'll just have to wait.  And pray."

"But she was doing all right," Scott insisted.  "She was in pain, but the laudanum seemed to relieve it. There must be something we could've done to prevent this.  She can't survive her injuries and then die of pneumonia. You need to do something!"  He almost screamed in despair.  But Sam didn't have any answers.  He understood the young husband's frustration, but there was nothing else anyone could do. 

Scott sat by her side for the rest of the night, his head on the bed next to her, his hand intertwined with hers.  Murdoch sat at his desk staring out into the black night.  Johnny paced endlessly back and forth in front of the fireplace until Murdoch was afraid he'd wear out his boots, the floor, or both.

Teresa arrived back at the hacienda during the morning on Wednesday, picked up by Frank from the stage in town.  She hurried straight upstairs to find her dear friend struggling to breathe.   "Isn't there something we can do, Scott?" she implored, already knowing the answer.

He turned a haggard face to the girl he considered to be his sister.  "No, Teresa, there's nothing we can do.  I wish to God there was.  Sam says we'll just have to wait it out.  Laura's strong.  She wouldn't have survived the fall she took if she wasn't."  This last was as much to reassure himself as Teresa, but as he watched his beloved wife fight for every breath it was getting harder and harder to remain positive.

***************************************************

Laura tossed and moaned on the bed, hearing their voices, but not being able to respond.  One minute she was freezing and the next minute she felt as though she was on fire.  She felt cool hands touching her face, cold cloths pressed to her forehead.  Her head throbbed with the fever, every inch of her body riddled with pain.  Her chest burned with every breath.  At times, she almost wished she would die so that she would stop hurting.

By Thursday morning, the mood in the house was increasingly bleak.  Scott looked like a ghost, the stubble on his cheeks unshaved and the purple shadows under his eyes making his face appear as bruised as his wife's arms.  He steadfastly refused to come downstairs, ignoring the trays Maria or Teresa brought to him.  He thanked them politely, and he left them untouched. He hadn't had a full night's sleep since he and Murdoch left Sacramento on Sunday, and the strain was beginning to take its toll. 

Murdoch sent Johnny upstairs to beg Scott yet again to come down for dinner that evening, to allow someone else to sit with Laura.   His son needed to take a break from his vigil; Scott needed to take care of himself so that he could take care of his wife.  He didn't seem to understand that, though.  Murdoch could hardly bear to look at him. He, himself, had spent his days at his forge, pounding iron until his head and shoulders ached with the effort.  As guilty as he had felt about sending Catherine away, at least he hadn't had to sit and watch her die. 

"Scott, you need ta come down for dinner.  I'll sit with Laura for awhile.  You gotta get outta this room.  You're gonna end up sick too.  Laura wouldn't want that."  Johnny tried to reason with his brother.

Scott's only response was to shake his head in refusal.  As long as his wife was, in his mind, dying, he wasn't about to leave her. 

On Friday morning, Murdoch again sent Johnny upstairs, this time to drag Scott down, if necessary, to breakfast.  Johnny peered around the frame of the open door.  "Scott," he whispered.  His voice caught when his eyes took in the poignant scene.  Scott had fallen asleep on his side next to Laura.  His boots were still on, his right arm draped loosely across her stomach and his forehead resting against her right shoulder.  It was almost more than Johnny could stand.  The strain of the past few days was taking its toll on the entire family.  Johnny pulled a chair up on the opposite side of the bed from Scott, his fingers lightly brushing Laura's injured arm.  She seemed to be breathing a little more easily.

"Laura, honey, you gotta listen to me this time," Johnny whispered, not wanting to wake Scott up now that he was finally sleeping.  "I know, I know… you're not always good at listenin'." He smiled, knowing how she'd laugh at that now.   "But you gotta fight this.  Now's a good time for ya to be stubborn.  Scott loves you so much.  He needs you.  We all need you."  He paused, fighting the tears in his eyes.  Johnny Madrid didn't cry.  Johnny Lancer wasn't so sure of himself.  "I remember the first time Scott brought ya out here to the house, Laura.  You were so quiet at first, kinda pale and scared lookin'.  I think you were afraid we wouldn't like ya, that we'd think you were too fancy.  Then ya saw Barranca.  Remember?"  Johnny chuckled softly.  "You started talking about the horses in Boston and the horses in England.  You almost talked my ear off about the horses.  You said ya hadn't seen too many "golden" ones.  You wanted to ride Barranca, and he actually let ya.  Sidesaddle.  My crazy stallion actually let ya put a sidesaddle on 'im.   I knew right then that Scott had picked the right girl.  If Barranca liked ya enough ta let ya ride 'im sideways, ya had to be OK."  Johnny chuckled again, remembering that first visit, not so many months before.  "'Member how ya laughed when I called ya "Boston Two", Laura? Scott didn't like that too much at first, but you told 'im ya liked it just fine.  Then he told me that he'd let ya know some about my past."  Johnny's face took on a more somber expression.  "I figured that was it, that you'd be upset about me bein' a gunhawk an' all.  I didn't think ya'd wanna have anything to do with me.  But ya didn't care.  You loved Scott enough that my past didn't matter.  And now we're a family, Laura, and families take care of each other.  Scott and Murdoch've drilled that inta my head for the last year.  We're tryin' our best ta take care of ya, but ya gotta help us out here.  Ya gotta open your eyes. Ya gotta get well.  Please."

Johnny's voice.   He seemed so far away, like he was in another world.  She fought to open her eyes, to force her lids open against what felt like an unseen hand holding them down.  Laura looked into his sapphire eyes, into his face so creased with worry.

Johnny watched as she struggled to open her eyes, willing her to muster the strength to fight her way up through the fog that had encompassed her for the past days.  He smiled as her inherited Lancer stubbornness finally won out, and he saw that, for the first time in days, her eyes were clear. 

EPILOGUE

A week later, the young Lancers sat in the Great Room, enjoying the warmth of the fire and a sense of relief that they were all still there together.   Laura was bundled in the chair next to the fire, her left foot propped on a pillow.  The two brothers lounged on the sofa.  Teresa bustled around pouring coffee and generally fussing over her "sister."  Laura thought Johnny looked preoccupied, but she trusted him to tell her what was on his mind when he was ready.  Finally, when Teresa had left the room to make even more coffee and some sandwiches, he spoke up.

"Laura….I had somethin' I wanted ta ask ya."  He glanced at Scott, who seemed to be staring intently into his coffee cup. "Scott told me it was OK ta ask."  Laura wasn't sure if he was looking to Scott for support or ready to blame him if she didn't like the question.

"What is it, Johnny?" She responded.  Did she detect a blush on Johnny's face?  Could Johnny Madrid Lancer, seasoned ex-gunfighter, actually be BLUSHING?   Scott's face was also turning pink from his collar up to his hairline.

"Well, uhhhh…..I was wondrin'…..since you're not gonna be able to ride for quite a while….," Johnny started.

"Maybe never, if it's up to me," Scott commented dryly.  He ignored the glare Laura sent in his direction.

Johnny tried again.  "I was wondrin' if you'd be willin' ta…."  He took a deep breath, his words hurried. "…..willin' ta let me breed Barranca ta that pretty mare of yours….ta Celeste?  I had my eye on her when Boston bought her out from under me."

"So you think it'd be a good cross?"  Laura sipped her coffee, enjoying the boys' obvious discomfort in discussing such a delicate subject with her.  She thought maybe she should draw this out, make them blush a little longer.  She tilted her head and fixed her bright green eyes on her husband's face.  He still seemed to find the bottom of his teacup fascinating.

"Yeah, I think it'd be a good cross, Laura," Johnny grinned.  A big smile slowly crossed Scott's face, as he lifted his eyes to meet hers.

"The blond and the chestnut, huh, Johnny?"  She just couldn't help herself. 

"Somethin' like that," Johnny replied, winking at his brother.  The three of them would laugh about that for years to come.

Standing in the front hallway, having just come down the stairs, Murdoch smiled, relishing the sound of his children's laughter.  Joy instead of pain.  Life rather than death.  The tragedy he had experienced as a young groom had not been repeated in his son.  He turned and walked out the front door, closing it softly behind him. 

The End