He sat in one of the big chairs on the far side of the fireplace. It was a good chair, the kind a man could melt into but he would have preferred to sit on the floor, tucked up as close to the hearth as he could get. Since he’d started to recover, he’d had a hard time getting warm, the extra heat would have been appreciated. It was the blood loss, he knew, and it would pass with time but right now, he just couldn’t seem to shake the chill.  Unfortunately, while the still healing hole in his back wouldn’t stop him from getting down, it would probably make getting back up a real problem and he didn’t want to ask one of them for help. Not on his first night downstairs.

So he sat in the chair and took another sip from the crystal goblet in his hand. Wine, bright red and warm as blood. Also not what he would have preferred but the doc had said no hard liquor and the Old Man had taken it to heart. He smirked to himself, probably just didn’t want the likes of me guzzling his good stock.

His gaze shifted to the man sitting across the room, relaxed in his big chair, one leg up on the ottoman and a newspaper in his hands. Murdoch Lancer, lord of all he surveyed, my father.

What the hell does that mean anyway? So he’s the big stud bull that got me on my mama. Johnny snorted. Hell, if screwing Mama was all it took to earn the title, he could call half the population of the border father.

A sour expression crossed his face. That’s what she used to say, he remembered. She’d drag an new one into their room and say “See, Johnny, this is your new papa.” That’s what she’d said for the first few years anyway. It’s what she said until he got too old to buy it. Then mostly what she said to him was, “Get lost.”

And he had. He’d learned the hard way that most of her men didn’t want him around and he finally came to accept that most of the time, neither did she.

It didn’t matter much by that point. By then her men had ceased to have names. They stayed for a few hours or maybe a night and then they were gone. If Mama was lucky they left behind a few pesos; if not, the bruises and beatings would remind her of them for a while.

It was a brutal way to live and they’d never had much but Johnny had always had one thing to hold onto. He’d always known who to blame, and what he was going to do about it – someday. 

Even sitting here, knowing what he now knew, he could feel the fingers on his right hand twitch. The impulse was old and deeply ingrained, a part of him since he could remember. He had always had his hatred. Now what did he have?

He had a father. And what the hell did he need a father for? He stared at Murdoch, in his big chair, by his comfortable fire.

Let’s see. He started a mental list.

A father takes care of his kids, makes sure they have food and clothes and someplace safe to sleep. Oops, he smirked, missed out on that one, didn’t you, Old Man? I’ve been doin’ that by myself for as long as I can remember, he thought. Took care of your wife too if it comes to that.

What else? Oh yeah, a father’s supposed to teach you right from wrong and paddle your ass when you get ‘em mixed up. Johnny twirled the wine in his glass and studied the patterns as the crimson drink swirled and eddied. Then he looked up at his father with a bitter smile. Could have used your help with that one, Old Man, but you weren’t around. So I did the best I could, and if you don’t like the result, well, that’s too bad, and way too late for you to take a hand now. He took a deep swallow of the wine.

He watched as Murdoch and Scott exchanged views on one of the articles in Murdoch’s newspaper. Something tightened up in his gut and he frowned. Books, they don’t teach you everything you need to know, especially out here.

Murdoch looked up. “Are you all right, John?”

“I’m fine,” he snapped.

Murdoch frowned. “Well, if you need anything. . .”

“I told you, I’m fine.” He looked down at his glass and said more softly, “I don’t need anything.”

I don’t need anything that you can give me, he thought. Not now. A father’s supposed to teach his kid what he needs to live right. You weren’t there to do that, Old Man. He glanced up to find Murdoch focusing on his paper again.  Don’t worry about it though, I managed to teach myself. You may not approve of the subject matter but I did the best with what I had, and by God, I came out on top. I’m the best there is at what I do, damn it. I know that doesn’t impress you none but it was something to be proud of when I didn’t have anything else. Anyway, I don’t need your approval. Nope, not a bit of it. 

He shifted in the chair and winced when the muscles in his back spasmed and twitched. There’s another one for you Murdoch. A father’s supposed to keep his children safe and make sure they don’t get hurt. That didn’t happen. This last wound was only the latest in a line of injuries stretching back as far as he could remember. Mama sure as hell hadn’t kept him safe. He’d learned to run early. When he wasn’t fast enough he just had to learn to take it. Yeah, he’d had to take it, right up until the day when he learned to dish it back. A small bitter smile crossed his lips. Nowadays, nobody came at him without thinking long and hard about the consequences. He damned well didn’t need any help in that department now.

He started to lift his glass when a thought crossed his mind and he almost laughed out loud. Well, he did suppose he had to give the old man a couple of points for the thing with the firing squad. He snorted quietly and took a drink.

“Something funny?” Scott asked.

Johnny smiled and shook his head. “Nah, just thinking.”

Murdoch and Scott exchanged a look and Johnny sighed.

Let’s see, what else? A father is the one that’s supposed to tell you about the birds and bees. Shit! He smiled to himself. He probably knew more about that by the time he was six years old than the Old Man knew yet. Living in a one-room shack with Mama didn’t leave much to the imagination.

Nope, he didn’t need a father. The ranch was beautiful and the land called out to him but there were way too many strings attached and way too many rules to follow. He’d be better off gone, just as soon as he could ride.

He shivered. He was suddenly cold again and empty and wished he had the energy to get up and put another log on the fire.

He stared down at the last of the wine in his glass.  One blood-red drop puddled at the bottom of the glass. Blood.  Blood calls to blood. He grimaced, where did that come from? The only blood he’d ever cared about was his own, and he’d spilled enough of that along the way. He’d even poured a pint or two on the grass here at Lancer. He shook his head. Well, at least that particular donation was maybe worth something. He sighed again and winced as another shiver tightened the muscles in his back.

Suddenly a shadow fell across his face. A large and remarkably warm hand planted itself on his shoulder.

“Johnny,” Murdoch said softly, “don’t you think you’ve done enough for one night? Let me help you upstairs. Please, son?”

Johnny looked up and their eyes locked for a long moment while something that he couldn’t name passed between them.

He didn’t need a father, not now. He didn’t need a father.

Did he?

 

6/09