#bz fics

After about thirty seconds, a couple of patrons hurried out, slamming into the doors and nearly into Hoss, but he waved away their stumbled and frantic apologies, and they hurried off to wherever they’d put up their horses.

The singing halted and without a breath, the voice went into a rambling and raving diatribe. “The damn fool, I tell you- a fool! The contract is already established! Just because I bring it to town instead of- and he says he doesn’t want to sign it! Of all the damn foolish-”

Sam the barkeep nodded along at periodic intervals- likely a habit of his when men came in to cry into their beers, bemoaning the unfairness of the foreman at their ranch or the betrayals of their gal- probably a habit honed after rolling his eyes one too many times upon hearing another sad story.

The bartender kept on, wiping down the bar and cleaning out shot glasses with the same rag.

That alone was reason enough for it to be odd Adam was in there, never mind the fact he was supposed to be finalizing a timber contract with one of Pa’s business associates in from California- a Mr. Marston, Hoss thought. Hoss didn’t know the details; he and Joe were tasked to buy the new supplies they would need for the job, and Hoss kept his focus where it best suited him.

Hoss was quickly gleaning, however, that the contract had fallen through, and not because of a disagreement over terms or a dispute about the services and product- at least, that was what Adam had just bellowed into his still nearly full drink- but because Adam had brought it to town instead of Pa.

“Damn fool. Fool!” Adam let out a world weary sigh, all of the indignant offense coming out of him suddenly sputtering to a stop like a water pump gone dry. He tilted his hat back and put his head down on the bar. “No. I’m the damn fool. If anyone is a fool, it’s me.”

Hoss’ face twisted in concern.

Adam kept near everything to himself, layer after layer of him all a guise. It was easy to think it was all just a show to hide his insecurities- and he did weaponize it to hide some vulnerabilities- but when it came right down to it, he really was just that confident and assured. He was humble, too, though he often took great pleasure in pretending to be arrogant around some folk, especially Joe, who nearly always fell for it, hissing and clawing like a stray cat.

Hoss knew as much from their quiet conversations held in the night around a campfire. Adam was a bundle of contradictions, and he admitted to some soft spots and insecurities he held, but self-flagellation and putting himself down- Adam’s and Hoss’ words for it, respectively- was not his way.

Calling himself a damn fool into a puddle of spilled beer on a Tuesday at noon was not his way.

Adam was rightfully disappointed when he failed to succeed at some sort of task, feeling guilty if it seemed he let Pa or one of his brothers down, but he always maintained perspective, knowing such failures were as much a part of life as victories were. He went on to the next task with as much thought and hard work as he always did, not driving himself into the ground, because he knew that some failures simply had nothing to do with him; they just happened.

He’d clearly lost that perspective some time this morning, however.

Hoss squinted at Adam, worry coursing through his body.

Could- could he be sick? Or hurt, maybe, a wallop to the head or something- but there didn’t look to be a mark on him, and all of the saloon’s tables and chairs were still intact, still waiting for their destiny of being crushed under some sidewinder’s weight or smashed across a card sharp’s back.

Hoss entered the saloon, doors swinging behind him. The noise seemed to have alerted Adam, but not enough to turn Hoss’ way; only enough to return to singing Early One Morning, his head propped up in his hands, the words occasionally slurred because of how his palms squished his cheeks, a couple of fingers in the way of his mouth.

Hoss winced, half in sympathy and half at the high note Adam missed, wondering how on earth to be the big brother to Adam right now.

Adam didn’t give any credit to the whispering and gullible gossips in town, ignoring them with a stiff upper lip any time Cartwright affairs became the favored topic of discussion. He always put more value on what he believed was right than how it might affect his reputation.

Even so, Hoss knew his reserved and composed brother would not want this incident on the tongues of Virginia City’s townspeople.

If Hoss could collect him and then get him out the back door- and then collect their horses and get them to the alley behind the saloon- and then collect Joe and get him to come back with the buckboard- and keep Adam from wandering off- and especially keep him quiet, Hoss mentally added as Adam began to bellow about fresh roses and gay garlands-

“Hey, I near walked to the end of the boardwalk ‘fore I realized you weren’t following me anymore, why’d you take off?”

Joe apparently only had eyes for Hoss- and ears, too- waiting for his reply without granting consideration to the singing just down the bar.

Hoss vacillated, knowing that Joe’s perception mattered a lot more to Adam than any of Virginia City’s holier than thou types who would love nothing more than to discover a Cartwright with normal human foibles.

The words of a few high horsed individuals would garner an eye rolling or a shared look of annoyance with whichever family member was closest.

Joe’s reaction to the fact Adam could get sloppily drunk in the middle of the day, however-

It could be vindication, seeing that his perfectly responsible oldest brother was flawed and moreover a hypocrite, all of his lectures mere talk- it could be disappointment, seeing that the perfectly responsible oldest brother that he worshiped and put on a pedestal was indeed human- could be amusement, too, probably-

But it was too late now.

Adam slammed on the bar a few times, mimicking the tune he’d strum on his guitar.

Joe turned and his face went slack.

“Adam?” Hoss was quietly relieved that Joe’s question was directed at him rather than hollered across the saloon. “But he doesn’t- he doesn’t do this. Why-?”

Hoss wasn’t about to go into what he heard Adam ranting about earlier- for Adam, the only thing worse than Joe knowing would be Joe knowing why- and he merely shrugged, shaking his head.

It wasn’t at all hard to feign his incredulous confusion.

“I don’t know, but we gotta get him outta here.” Joe continued to stare, and Hoss grabbed his shoulder, giving it a shake. “You with me, brother?”

It was the wrong thing to say.

Adam, catching the voice or the words or the tone- perhaps all three- flung his head in their direction.

Quick on his feet as ever, Joe dropped down at the end of the bar, staying low but still in a prime spot for observation.

Hoss, meanwhile, was a sitting duck as Adam stumbled and barreled toward him, his arms out wide. “Hoss! My Hoss, Hoss, Hoss.”

The man in question quickly caught his brother. Adam went limp almost immediately, only held up by Hoss’ steadfast conviction to not let him fall.

“Hiya there, Adam.”

Adam grinned, blindingly bright and unabashed. “Hoss.” He reached up, putting his hands on Hoss’ cheeks. “Brother.”

“That’s right, Adam,” Hoss said easily as Adam patted at his face.

“Look at your rosy cheeks, Hoss. Rosy pink.”

A drunk Joe was easy- Hoss could pick him up like a sack of potatoes even as he continued to flail and scramble, indignantly demanding to be put down, that he could take care of himself.

Hoss could pick Adam up easily too- more like a sack and a half of potatoes, admittedly- but Adam didn’t seem at all inclined to fight, too enthralled at Hoss.

“You- you- you were a baby when we met, d’ya remember that? You- you were just a little baby- a big little baby- but you fit in my arms, and I held ya. I held ya even before Pa did, Hoss. Baby Hoss.”

Apparently inspired by his own ramblings, he ceased in the holding of Hoss’ face and the squishing of his cheeks, instead wrapping his arms around his torso and arms, squeezing him in a tight hug.

Hoss, relatively trapped at Adam’s almost surprising grip- apparently all of the strength in his body was going into hugging as opposed to standing- simply patted Adam on the back. “Yeah, you held me, Adam.”

Adam mumbled drunkenly into Hoss’ chest, his face hidden and burrowed in his vest.

“What’s that?”

“So adorable and pretty. So- so cute.”

Hoss huffed an embarrassed laugh. “Betcha wondered what happened when I grew up, huh?”

“No!” Adam looked up, still chest to chest, and cupped Hoss’ face again, his hands warm. “Beautiful. Beautiful Hoss.”

Hoss hadn’t even intended to put himself down, simply making conversation and trying to keep Adam placated, but it was pretty endearing to see the honest love in Adam’s eyes and hear the stubborn conviction in his voice.

“Say it,” Adam commanded. He held Hoss in place, staring him down. His eyebrows met in a concerned peak when Hoss didn’t reply; he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. “Say it,” Adam repeated, the words wavering with desperation.

“What?”

“You’re beautiful.”

Back to keeping Adam amused, Hoss nodded along. “Okay, sure, I’m beautiful.”

The grin Adam returned had Hoss truly believing it.

“Little baby Hoss. Baby Hoss. Baby brother.” Something cleared in his eyes, but he began to look confused. “Baby- baby-”

He turned around as much as he was able in Hoss’ arms- Hoss was concerned he’d fall without his support- searching the room with a furrow in his brow. “He’s- he’s- where’s baby?”

“Huh?”

Hoss didn’t think there had been a baby in the saloon- he certainly hoped not- and he was fairly confident he wouldn’t have missed as much, even with his attention elsewhere.

Adam squirmed, making a rather distressed sound. “He was here- I know it-”

“Okay, okay,” Hoss soothed. “Who are ya looking for? Was there a boy here too young ta be drinking?”

It sounded like something Adam would do, finding the little guy in the room and taking him under his wing, telling the teenager he was too young for saloons but not seeing him thrown out, asking why he wanted to drink anyway and helping him to work out whatever youthful insecurity he was facing.

“No- no- baby,” Adam reiterated, turning back to Hoss and looking at him like he expected it to make sense.

And suddenly, it did.

It was not baby. It was baby.

Adam and Hoss had gone from Baby, to Baby Joe, to Little Joe, and finally, to Joe. Of course, Hoss still often dropped a Little in at the beginning of his name, and Pa often used Joseph- both when he was gentle and fond, and when annoyed and scolding.

But such variations and levels of development seemed to be altogether lost on Adam, and he kept looking around the saloon for their baby brother.

Rather pragmatically, Hoss carefully shifted, hoping Adam wouldn’t notice- he did seem to be rather occupied with searching the room- and sent a kick toward the corner of the bar.

A squawking yelp sounded, and Joe popped up out of his crouch, rubbing where his thigh met his rear end.

The short noise of pain had Adam acting like a homing pigeon, and he immediately and instinctively turned in Hoss’ arms toward it.

“Baby!” he declared victorious, reaching over Hoss’ encircling arms and toward Joe.

Joe, half frightened and half amused, looked to Hoss for direction.

Just pretend it’s Pa, he mouthed.

Joe sent back a look that clearly said Pa doesn’t get drunk- Hoss would save the heaving sigh of relief over that for a later date- but he hesitantly inched forward into Adam’s grasping hands.

“You’re not hurt, are ya?” Adam asked, stroking back Joe’s hair to better examine his face. Joe’s mouth twisted in annoyance; he always took time and pride in how perfectly he styled his curls, and likely figured that they were now ruined.

“No,” Joe confirmed, shooting Hoss a confused glare. How he accomplished such an expression, Hoss didn’t know. “It was just Hoss and those boats he calls feet.”

“Aw, did mean ole Hoss kick you?” Adam’s voice was slowly starting to slide into baby talk, and Hoss gave him a little shake, hoping he would interpret it as the favor it was and thank him later.

Joe let out a quiet snort and then adopted a pathetic expression. “Uh huh,” he whined.

A sympathetic noise escaped Adam’s throat and he began to pet Joe’s hair. “Oh, poor little baby.”

Hoss, not knowing what the hell Joe was planning but knowing Adam didn’t have the wherewithal to recognize it now, decided it was time to put a stop to it.

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” he said, patting Adam’s chest from behind a couple of times. “He’s okay, I promise ya.”

Joe sent another look- this one Hoss interpreted as Oh, come on!- but he allowed it.

Adam leaned back comfortably against Hoss’ chest. “Babies. Baby brothers. Brother babies-”

Adam mumbled to himself more, slumping back into Hoss even further, his knees collapsing.

“Whoa there, now. We should be getting ya home.”

Adam didn’t seem to hear Hoss, but Joe, still wearing a smirk, accepted Hoss taking charge. “I’ll get the horses.”

“Bring them ta the back alley.”

Adam whined as Joe left but was too incoherent to offer proper protest.

Hoss manhandled Adam over to one of the tables and plopped him into a chair. There was a moment of struggle when Adam didn’t want to let go of Hoss’ hand- Adam’s grip wasn’t all that strong, but his eyes went wide and welled up with tears both times Hoss let go and he continually grabbed at it when Hoss tried to leave.

“I’ll be right back, I promise ya,” Hoss consoled, trying to pull away.

“Hafta hold your hand. Pa told me to not let you wander off and to not let go of your hand.”

“I’m not gonna wander off, I’m just goin’ over to Sam. Sam, remember? You know Sam. I won’t talk to any strangers. I’m not gonna leave your sight.”

Adam still fretted and frowned but eventually let him go.

“What do I owe ya, Sam?” Hoss asked, heading over to the bar and pulling out his wallet with a heavy sigh.

“Ten cents.”

Hoss’ head shot up. “But he musta had more than one drink! He’s as drunk as a skunk.”

Sam shook his head. “Only one. And a sip or two of a second, I suppose,” he said nodding down at the nearly full beer mug. “Couple of cowhands said first drink was on them.”

A surprised huff fell from Hoss’ lips, and he tossed a dime onto the bar. “Thanks for amusin’ him, Sam.”

“That’s my job,” he said, pouring Adam’s drink back into the keg.

Hoss turned back around to Adam, prepared to return to the hand holding and caregiving he’d done before, but apparently Joe was quicker with the horses than he expected.

Adam had somehow found the strength to get up- Hoss figured the reappearance of their baby brother was the likely motivator- and was standing behind Joe, arms wrapped around Joe’s chest. His chin was propped on top of Joe’s head, and he occasionally stuck his nose in Joe’s hair.

“Are you okay, baby? Can I get you anything? Are you hungry?” Adam would inquire at regular intervals.

Joe looked painfully embarrassed, nodding or shaking his head at each question, but a small smile seemed to be playing at his lips. It wasn’t a mischievous smile, either, like he was planning some sort of blackmail for later; it was simply a little puzzled but amused.

Adam was swaying slightly, Joe consequently rocking back and forth with him, and Hoss was taken back to a memory that had otherwise been long forgotten.

He was six years old and had been a big brother for only a few months. He was holding baby Joe and Adam sat close behind him on the settee, guiding his arms and showing him how to gently rock the baby to sleep, until the little panting breaths slowed and his eyes fluttered closed. Hoss remembered hearing a funny noise from the doorway and he’d instinctively shushed the offender; it was only now he realized it was their choked up father, moved to tears at the scene before him.

“I remember when you took your first steps, Joe,” Adam suddenly proclaimed, sounding close to tears. “You toddled right over on your chubby little legs- you walked straight to me- and then you fell right into my arms- you held on to me with your tiny little baby hands, and your grip was so strong-!”

Joe made eye contact with Hoss, and his expression quickly grew imploring, needing advice and direction. Hoss gestured toward the back door. Joe twisted around in Adam’s hold, pulling one of his arms around his shoulders, and they plodded their way to the back of the saloon like a clumsy three-legged black bear.

Hoss sighed again and returned his attention to the bar. “You mind keepin’ quiet about this?” he asked, pulling a silver dollar out of his wallet.

Sam waved it away. “No charge. I’d much rather serve a weepy older brother who had a bad day than an impulsive gunslinger that had a good one.”

Hoss chuckled, figuring Sam had a point. A question occurred to him, and though he didn’t quite know why he wanted it answered, he asked it anyway, a funny instinct telling him it was important. “Did Adam know them cowhands?”

Sam looked thoughtful. “I don’t think so. Seem to recall them sayin’ they was in from California. They ordered a pitcher of beer and poured one for your brother when he came in.”

“Huh. Well, thanks, Sam.”

He headed for the back, having no idea what to expect in the alley. He hesitated at the door, left propped open for him, and watched as Adam removed his tan jacket and wrapped it around a flushing Joe. He bundled him up tightly, doing the buttons for him, and brought the collar up around Joe’s ears before brushing imaginary lint off of his shoulders.

Joe nodded rapidly, hurriedly voicing his thanks, and then pointed at Cochise, voicing some concern to keep Adam occupied elsewhere for a while.

“What was that?” Hoss asked, coming up behind him.

Joe exhaled sharply through his teeth. “I made the mistake of trying to distract him by talking about the weather. I said it was a mite chilly and before I knew it, he was unbuttoning his coat and he wouldn’t take no for an answer, saying he didn’t want me catching cold.”

Hoss tried not to laugh at Joe’s affronted expression. “He’s lent you his jacket before.”

“Sure, but he always calls me a yahoo first and tells me off for not bringing my own.” The disgruntled air seemed to be fading, however, and he hummed thoughtfully. “He was like Pa when one of us has been sick.”

The declaration hung in the air as they watched Adam stumble around Cochise, checking each of her shoes. If he didn’t smell like Adam, allowing her to recognize him as Joe’s brother, Cochise likely wouldn’t have tolerated the drunken ministrations. It was lucky the mare had an easy temperament, too; Scout never would have allowed anyone but Adam to do such a thing, sober or roostered.

The fact that Adam was so drunk still didn’t set right with Hoss. It just didn’t make sense. He wasn’t the type to want to get drunk over a contract going sour; he may have a drink or two if he’d had a long and difficult day, but he wouldn’t have gone and done this.

And he certainly wouldn’t be this drunk after only one beer.

Unless he’d been drunk even before the Bucket of Blood?

No matter what was going on with Adam, Hoss knew he certainly wouldn’t have been drunk at the meeting.

Whatever happened, for whatever reason, it was worrying.

Sadness twisted in him, remembering how Adam called himself a damn fool, his head hanging low in shame.

Marston had wanted to see Pa, not Adam; that certainly wasn’t his brother’s fault. In fact, it was rather selfish and rude that Marston didn’t give Adam the respect and credit he was due.

Adam had moved on to Chubby instead of Cochise- apparently whatever excuse Joe gave him had him worried about both of their mounts. He stopped at Chub’s mane, petting the hair and stroking the ears as he whispered to the horse.

Hoss smiled a little, remembering how Adam used to do that when the whole family shared a sole mare, he and Adam riding double while Pa walked along beside with the lead rope. Adam would lean forward and pretend to listen to the horse and then sit back up and tell Hoss what stories she’d told.

“I left the buckboard and mares at the livery. I figure we can pick ‘em up tomorrow. I didn’t have the money to put them up for the night, so you’ll have to pay before we leave.”

Hoss nodded absently, figuring he ought to take care of it.

“You’ll keep an eye on him?” he asked Joe.

His little brother seemed rather miffed at the fact Hoss even asked. “I’ll be as gentle with him as I am with Pa when he’s worrying after me.”

Hoss looked at him doubtfully. “How ‘bout you just be as gentle as Pa is, huh? Don’t want ya getting riled at being treated like a baby ‘stead of a man.”

Joe assented to that with a nod and Hoss took off, wanting to pay the charge at the livery stable as quickly as possible.

Adam ought to be home, preferably in bed. Regardless of how much Adam drank, if his behavior was any indicator, he’d be feeling mighty bad later on.

And while he was resting, Hoss would think more, about Adam’s behavior and his words and the overall strangeness of the entire incident.

Hoss didn’t have any wild notions about his intelligence. He knew he wasn’t a smart man.

But he did know his brother, and he knew that something was wrong.

Maybe he’d ask Pa when they got back, and see if there were any details that stood out to him as important that Hoss had missed.

That was if Pa didn’t go through the roof at Adam being drunk. He wouldn’t have much of a right to scold his oldest son, but Hoss doubted that would stop their father. Getting drunk while he was supposed to be doing ranch business wasn’t good, and he’d get a scolding, regardless of whether he was thirty or fifteen, Pa’s son or just a cowhand hired on for the season.

Hoss hoped Pa’s anger would be tempered, if not because of Adam’s age, then at least by the sheer fact that this had never happened before, and that the out of the ordinary incident was in no way a habit of Adam’s.

Hopefully, Pa would be just as concerned and worried as Hoss. Maybe Adam was sick, and that was how he got drunk so fast? And calling himself a fool for not being Pa; Hoss hoped Pa would tell him what rot that was.

Hoss entered the livery and paid the stable boy, before hurrying back to the alley behind the saloon.

“I was supposed to be watching you,” came the teary bemoan, “but I wasn’t, I went downstairs to read, and when you came down, you stumbled on the stairs and fell, and oh, how you cried and cried, and-”

All Hoss could see as he came around the corner was Adam’s back, but it was evident he was worrying over Joe, asking for forgiveness for an accident nearly fifteen years ago.

“It’s fine, Adam, I don’t mind having the scar at all. It makes me look tough.”

“But I was supposed to be watching you! And now Hoss has disappeared too-” Adam fretted.

“Hey, I ain’t gone and disappeared.”

“Hoss!” Adam turned like a whirlwind, arms flailing as he flung them around Hoss. “You said you wouldn’t wander off! Pa told me to hold your hand.”

Hoss patted the back of Adam’s neck. “Don’t you fuss none, Adam, ya never did let Pa down, and you’ve never let me down, either.”

Adam snuggled closer. “Baby Hoss so pretty. Big Hoss is pretty too.”

“Thank you,” he replied, leveling Joe a glare, assuming he was about to laugh.

But instead, he was looking at them open-mouthed, something akin to awe or wonder in his eyes.

“You’re pretty too, Adam,” Hoss said, and he felt it when Adam smiled into his chest. “Can I ask a favor of ya, Adam?”

Adam straightened, still clinging to the collar of Hoss’ shirt but standing at attention. “Anything.”

“Now, I know ya told Pa you’d hold my hand, but-” Adam made an upset sound and Hoss brought up an appeasing hand. “I’ll let ya, I promise, but can ya do something for me first? You and I can’t hold hands on different horses, right? Would ya do me a favor and watch after Joe instead while we’re on our way home?”

Adam nodded as if granted a solemn and sacred duty.

Hoss began to guide Adam over to Cochise and started to lift him into the saddle, but he flailed in his arms, emitting inarticulate whines of protests.

“Adam, what’s wrong?” Hoss asked, lowering him immediately and holding him close.

“No, can’t-” he looked at Joe and reached for him. Joe seemed rather disconcerted at Adam’s wordless demand, but joined the two at the mare’s side.

“Hafta watch Joe- hafta hold onto him and get him home safe-”

“Sure, Adam, I’ll be fine- Adam?” Joe clenched his fists in impatience as Adam shook his head rapidly and patted at the saddle. “Yeah, we’ll ride double on Cochise.”

Understanding then seemed to dawn on Joe, but Hoss was still lost.

“Adam, you jest hafta get on, and then Little Joe’ll hop up behind ya-”

“No, no,” Adam argued vehemently, shaking his head. “Have to hold onto Joe, you said so.”

Finally, it made sense to Hoss.

“But Adam, you really oughta-” Joe stopped, wearing a frown. He flickered his eyes toward Hoss. They had yet to confront Adam about his state, and Hoss wasn’t inclined to do so; he doubted Joe was either. Telling him he was too intoxicated to simply sit on the back of a horse didn’t sound like an easy task- especially when Adam interpreted it as the best way of looking after Joe, holding their baby brother close to his chest.

If Hoss thought Adam was emotional before, it would be nothing in comparison to how Adam would act if told he was too drunk to be responsible for his brothers.

But Hoss’ initial plan was better. Joe would have to reach around Adam’s waist to lead Cochise, looking over his shoulder, but the hold would keep Adam safer and less likely to slip out of the saddle.

Besides, when riding double, it was better for the smaller man to be in back, anyway, as it was easier on the horse’s spine; the opposite was only done when the smaller man was wounded.

Adam ought to ride up front, but the prospect seemed to upset him tremendously, his lower lip wavering and his eyes brimming over. He whimpered and whined about needing to watch over his little baby brothers, and the imploring look he sent was so anguished and desperate that Hoss felt his resolve crumbling.

Hoss flashed his eyes at Joe, unsure, but his younger brother had apparently already made the decision, flinging himself onto the paint’s back. Adam let out a sigh of relief, and Hoss resignedly helped him up behind Joe.

“Alright, all settled?” Hoss asked as he situated Adam behind Joe on the saddle blanket.

Without being directed, Adam wrapped his arms tight around Joe’s waist.

Hoss patted his knee proudly.

“Now, you listen,” he began, serious. “You hold onto him and don’t let him fall. If he starts to slip or lose his balance, you don’t keep it to yourself.”

Though he was looking at Adam, the words were intended for Joe.

After Adam acknowledged his directions, Hoss shared a look with Joe. The boy looked a little bemused, but he nodded in understanding, accepting the responsibility of his task. He then sent Hoss a wink, also understanding the hoops that had to be jumped through with Adam as he was. Hoss heaved a resigned sigh, knowing they faced at least another hour of this, unless Adam lost consciousness before returning home.

He mounted Chubby and waved Joe on ahead, and they all came to an immediate halt when Adam didn’t like the formation, as he could not keep an eye on both Joe and Hoss if Hoss were to bring up the rear behind them.

Hoss would’ve much preferred being behind Adam, able to watch if he began to slip and able to race forward and catch him before he fell- and given their usual luck, he’d likely find a rock with his head. But after the great struggle of simply getting Adam on the horse, Hoss allowed the change.

They finally departed, remaining in the alley as long as they were able, before taking a back way out of town. Occasionally, Hoss overheard Adam mumbling into Joe’s shoulder or the back of his head, and their baby brother indulging him with Oh, really’s? and Is that so’s?

Part of him wanted to strain his ears, wondering what was being said, but he figured it was mostly nonsense, anyway; and if it wasn’t, Joe seemed to be handling it well enough.

As they began to make their way up into the foothills, Hoss slowed slightly, knowing that navigation was about to get a lot more difficult for Joe.

“How’s it goin’ back there?” he hollered.

“He keeps stickin’ his freezing cold nose against the back of my neck.”

Hoss snorted, assuming that if that was Joe’s biggest gripe, it was going fine.

“He also keeps calling me baby. Is that some nickname I had the good fortune to have forgotten about?”

“‘Fraid it was, buddy.”

Out of nowhere, Adam again broke into song, drunkenly but loudly stumbling through Early One Morning. Hoss halted Chubby and turned around to see Joe wincing as Adam bellowed into his ear.

“Early is right,” Joe said. “Too early for this.”

Adam seemingly didn’t hear him. He continued on without a care, clinging to Joe and belting out lyrics.

Joe shook his head at Hoss as if to tell him it wasn’t a problem and they continued onward, Hoss only marginally surprised when Adam switched over to the Swedish and French lullabies he sang to them as babies.

The singing petered out eventually, and Hoss figured it was a favor to Joe’s ears. Adam was normally a very beautiful singer, but apparently drunkenness led him to forget all of his voice training, especially volume control.

“Still alright?” he called back after a few minutes of only catching the occasional murmur of Adam’s voice.

“I think so.. He was talking about different kinds of bridges, but now he’s-” he heard Joe choke back a laugh “-he’s complaining about the architecture in Virginia City. He doesn’t like the facades on the buildings in town. It’s- what?”

Adam stubbornly reiterated his argument into Joe’s shoulder.

“False fronts give a false impression of prosperity,” Joe repeated, his voice shaking with suppressed laughter. “They’re a cheap way to give the illusion of success.”

Hoss snorted to himself. He never really considered what Adam would be like this drunk, but doting on him and Joe, constantly repeating his favorite songs, and critiquing the architectural designs in town were exactly like him.

Hoss pulled back slightly as they neared the property line; there was still plenty of their ride left, but he wanted to try to get a few answers before they arrived at the house.

“Hiya, Adam,” he said when he fell next to them. Adam ceased his mumbling of French terms of endearment into Joe’s neck. He turned to Hoss, and when his eyes cleared, his smile shone like the sun.

“Hoss,” he replied, trying to reach for him, and pouted when Joe pulled his arms back.

“You remember the favor you’re doing for Hossie? You’re holding onto me instead of him, right? And you can still keep an eye on him and see that he doesn’t wander off.”

Adam grumbled at Joe’s chiding, but was too happy at Hoss’ return to maintain his pout. Soon he was grinning. “Hoss. Little baby. You’d only fall asleep ‘cause of my Swedish lullaby, the one Ma sang to me.”

Perhaps it was the talk of lullabies, but Adam seemed to be getting sleepy. He was starting to slump against Joe’s back, his cheek smushed into his shoulder, all the while mumbling about them as babies.

“Baby brothers. Fell asleep right in my arms.”

“Adam, can ya answer a question for me?”

Adam nodded, but the liquor was clearly starting to take hold of him.

“The men who bought you the beer, what were they like?”

Adam’s face twisted, looking a little sad. “Mean.”

“They were mean to you?” Joe asked. His voice cracked with concern and he bristled, wearing a frown.

Joe, who hadn’t heard the barkeep’s story, was probably envisioning the cowhands bothering Adam when he was already drunk.

It was all well and good to share amused looks, to know he and Hoss would joke about some of Adam’s more ridiculous comments, but Hoss knew that anyone else teasing their brother would have Joe seeing red.

“Uh huh. Called me-” Adam stopped, apparently not so drunk he wouldn’t still want to keep such a thing to himself. He dropped his head back onto Joe’s shoulder, hiding his face. “They were mean to me. And their beer was nasty, too.”

“He’s asleep,” Joe whispered, which Hoss could glean himself, given the quiet snores.

They continued onward without a word, Hoss, and likely Joe, too, thinking about how a couple of mean cowhands got their brother drunk. Hoss stayed just a little behind and to the right, able to catch Adam if he started to slip, but it never happened.

Hoss was already plenty worried about Adam, but he was starting to worry about Pa too.

If Adam was still too out of it to explain himself, what would Hoss say to defend him? Would he need a defense, or would Pa merely accept it as an unfortunate happening but human mistake, being as reasonable with Adam as he would Joe if he came home drunk?

But the expectations and rules were different for Adam and Joe.

Joe was still young enough that grace was offered when expectations and rules were not met or followed.

Adam was an adult in his own right who shouldn’t have such things set upon him.

But even when he was younger, things were different for him.

Hoss knew it, and hoped Pa would be willing to offer a little belated leeway toward his oldest son.

Even if Pa had no right to grant leeway anymore- he didn’t control Adam, he couldn’t dole out punishments to an adult- Hoss knew Adam well enough to know his brother would need their father’s absolution.

Adam was still asleep when they rode into the yard.

Hoss dismounted first and then stared up at Adam and Joe.

“Should we wake him, or are ya thinking of carrying him in?” Joe asked.

Hoss bit his lip. “Hey. Hey, Adam.”

He shook Adam’s knee a little. Slowly, he started to wake up.

“Come on down, huh? We’re home. You saw us safely back to Pa just fine.”

Joe dismounted on Cochise’s left as Hoss pulled Adam down into his arms. He let Adam stand for a second, but his knees buckled immediately, and Hoss wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling Adam’s arm around his shoulders.

“He’s still completely gone,” Joe observed.

“I know.”

Adam yanked and pulled and keened, and Hoss lowered himself down to him. Adam nuzzled against him, nose at his temple, and kissed him on the cheek.

Joe snorted quietly and Hoss grit his teeth; he really didn’t mind the fussing and fawning, but he knew how humiliated Adam would feel when he found out about it later.

“Go on, we’ll be right behind ya,” Hoss commanded Joe. “Walk now, Adam, come on.”

It would be easier to just lift him up and carry him in, but it wouldn’t make the greatest impression on Pa if it seemed Adam was too drunk to stand, let alone walk.

They stumbled their way forward, following after Joe, Hoss guiding Adam’s attention back to the front door when he was momentarily distracted by the barn cat and her kittens running through the yard.

Joe left the door open for them, standing at the credenza as he removed his hat and gun belt. He took off Adam’s jacket, leaving it on its usual hook.

Hoss helped Adam up the step onto the porch and through the door. Immediately, they saw Pa pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, muttering to himself with a piece of paper in hand.

Adam strained in Hoss’ hold, quietly and repeatedly whining Pa’s name, seemingly wanting to run to him, but the under the breath grumbles coming from across the room were not a good sign.

Of course, there was no avoiding the confrontation. At Pa’s next turn of heel, he saw the three of them in the doorway.

“There you are. A messenger sent word of what happened; storming out mid-meeting with no explanation! You better have a dang good excuse, boy. Of all the foolhardy-!”

Hoss flinched backward- Pa could have no idea how much hurt was in his ill choice of words- and in that shortest moment when not focused on holding him back, Adam escaped Hoss’ hold.

He flung forward past Joe, his arms windmilling, and bounded over to Pa.

“Pa! I held Hoss’ hand like you told me to and I never let Baby Joe wander off, I swear! I took care of them, I promise,” he said, clinging to Pa’s vest. “I- I did good, didn’t I? Please tell me I did good.”

“Are you drunk?” Pa asked incredulously. “Walking out on a meeting to get drunk! You’ve been in a saloon while-!”

“Pa!” Joe broke in.

Pa was so startled at the interruption that he stopped and really looked at Adam.

“I- I admire you so much, do you know that? I- so much.. love and respect. You’re- you’re so brave. You knew what your dreams were and you crossed a nation to make them a reality. You weren’t a coward. I’m not like you. Me? I’m a coward.. a foolish coward. Damned foolish.. a cowardly, foolhardy.. No one would ever call you a glorified foreman.”

Hoss saw when Adam’s eyes rolled in back of his head, and Pa caught him before he hit the floor.

—

The room was stuffy. There was absolutely no air or circulation, as if the windows had been locked tight the first day of winter ten years ago and were never opened again.

It was oppressively warm, and the heavy layers of blankets tucked tight around his shoulders weren’t helping. He tried to move his arms, but he was too weak to fight against the covers.

He coughed, a stale sour taste in the back of his throat.

He soon felt a glass at his lips, and desperate to get the acidic taste from his mouth, he drank like a man lost in the desert, swilling down the water without a care of who was offering it.

“Easy, easy,” came a soothing voice. Pa. He held up the back of Adam’s head, supporting his neck. “Take it slow.”

When he had his fill, he fell back against his pillow, gasping, the exertion of merely drinking a cup of water leaving him spent. Pa wiped the water droplets away from Adam’s mouth with the cuff of his sleeve.

“Pa,” he panted. “Wha- what happened? Where- was I sick?”

He strained his memory, but all he could recall was heading into their lawyer’s office, ready to share the contract with Marston, Pa’s new business acquaintance.

After that, it blurred.

“You don’t recall?” Adam shook his head, wondering why Pa winced. “Doctor Martin said that was a possibility.”

“Doc Martin? Then I was sick.” Pa’s mouth twisted anxiously. “Or was I hurt?”

“That’s- that’s a mite difficult to explain.”

Adam stared at his father. “What happened? Why do you look so-?”

Adam wanted to know why he looked so guilty, but he didn’t know how to ask. He didn’t have to, apparently; Pa understood what he wanted to know.

“Hoss near brought dust down from the rafters, he was yelling at me so loud.” Pa brushed away the last of the water from Adam’s chin, and cupped his cheek for a short moment. He then suddenly brought it away as if it burned, almost like he thought he had no right to do such a thing. “It was nothing less than I deserve.”

Adam still had no idea what was going on. “Found out that he inherited your lungs today, huh?” he asked, the teasing an instinct to get his father to relax; if he could be cheeky, then he must be healthy.

Pa smiled wetly before sighing, running a hand down his face. “That was over two days ago, Adam. Almost three.”

Shock coursed through him and he struggled to rise. “Three days?”

But he found himself too weak to sit up.

“Here,” Pa said, a hand on Adam’s chest, adjusting the pillows behind him.

“Why is it so hot in here?” he asked, pushing his blankets down, trying to ignore the numb tingling in his arms.

“You- you were so cold the last time you woke, nothing was warming you up.”

“I’ve woken up already?”

But even as he asked it, Adam had the fuzzy recollection of Pa sitting behind him and holding him to his chest as he shivered and trembled and convulsed, absolutely freezing even as Pa bundled him in blankets and frantically rubbed circles into his back and arms and stomach.

And Adam remembered turning into his father when he was finally warm, practically curled up in his lap, pressing his face into Pa’s collar and falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

A flush rose on his cheeks, and he was relieved that Pa didn’t see it, busy across the room opening his window. The cool fresh air tore away at the rest of his drowsiness, a brisk breeze sobering him.

Sobering him..

“Was I drunk?” he asked.

Pa spun around sharply, looking at him with an unreadable expression. “No.”

“Well, then what-?” Adam halted mid-sentence. “I didn’t get the contract, did I? I’m-” he squinted, trying to force his brain into offering him the memory, but there was nothing. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember what I did to ruin it.”

Pa was immediately at the side of his bed, sitting before hesitantly putting a hand on his knee. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t ruin anything, and regardless, I’ll never do business with him again, not after he hurt my boy.”

His boy..

Pa had mentioned Hoss, but where was he? Where was Joe?

“Hoss- Baby Joe-” he scrambled, trying to get out from under his covers, his limbs as cooperative as spaghetti noodles. “They went into town with me- where are they, what happened-?”

Pa reached forward and caught his wrists. “They’re perfectly alright. If they’re doing as I said, they’re getting some rest.”

Adam relaxed, grounded by Pa’s thumbs repeatedly stroking the back of his hands. “Then who-? Oh. Me.”

Pa looked rather sick at the fact Adam took so long to realize it, and Adam regretted that he’d voiced his thinking aloud. He hadn’t meant to make Pa feel guilty- it was just a misunderstanding, his words coming faster than his thoughts- and speaking of that-

“Did I just say Baby Joe?”

Pa, albeit still looking quite distraught, chuckled. “You’ve said that pretty frequently these last couple of days. Baby Hoss, too.”

Adam furrowed his brow, utterly confused. “Pa, you best start at the beginning.”

Pa ran a hand through his silver hair. Just how disheveled he truly was finally hit Adam, seeing the dark bags under his eyes, the wrinkles and perspiration stains on his shirt.

If this case was anything like his prior illnesses, then Pa hadn’t left Adam’s side in three days, tending to his every need; holding his head up when sick and nauseous, walking him through each breath when wheezing and spasming through a cough, soothing him when caught in delirium, bundling him up when cold, and bathing the sweat from him when hot.

Pa probably hadn’t rested for more than a few minutes at a time, drifting off while still upright in the wooden high backed chair dragged over from his desk, not permitting himself a moment of relaxation at his son’s expense.

“There are some things that I just don’t know about, and if Doc Martin is right and you don’t get your memory back, we may never know. But there are also things I should have known- I should have known better- but I just didn’t see.”

Pa pressed a hand to his mouth.

“You were in town finalizing the contract, you remembered that correctly. And Hoss said that apparently, Marston wouldn’t sign it because I didn’t bring it to town, instead sending you.”

Adam frowned, trying to recall it. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility; plenty of business folks took it for granted that Ben Cartwright took care of all of the Ponderosa’s dealings, and sometimes took it as an insult when one of his sons was sent in his stead. They seemed to doubt that Pa truly believed there were areas his sons could better deal in than himself.

“Okay,” Adam accepted, nodding along despite being unable to remember.

“You recall that much?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Does that happen often?” Pa asked, sounding troubled.

“Not nearly as often as it used to.”

Pa stared. “You never said anything about it.”

Adam shrugged. “It’s frustrating. It especially bothered me after returning from college, but-”

Adam didn’t know what else to say. There were times it incensed him or shamed him, and there were other times it made him proud to hear how many people thought his father was a good man.

“If that ever happens again, you walk out, to hell with whatever contract is lost.” A surprised laugh escaped Adam against his will. Pa wasn’t deterred by it, stubbornness in his eyes. “I won’t do business with anyone who doesn’t respect my sons. I’ll tell Hoss and Joe the same.”

Adam tilted his head in acceptance, a little confused at his Pa’s sudden determination but rather touched by it.

“You seemingly left the meeting without gaining the signature. Marston sent a messenger claiming you stormed out without a word, but we’ll never know what really happened.”

“I- I think I called him a damned fool..”

The words seemed so familiar. No matter how he clawed away at his memory, it was like an itch that couldn’t be satisfied; there was no relief or appeasement.

“You called him that?” Pa clarified.

“I don’t know..” Adam grinned, a little sheepish. “If I did, I hope it wasn’t to his face.”

Pa grunted. “Either way, he deserves to be called a lot worse.”

Adam recalled that, whatever had happened to him, Marston had some role in it.

No wonder Pa looked so bitter.

“At some point, for some reason, you left. For all I know, Marston lied about the circumstances, telling me as much just to cause confusion, doubt, tension- I don’t-” Pa swallowed and didn’t finish his thought. “Hoss found you at the Bucket of Blood, very inebriated.”

Adam cringed. He liked being in control; he liked being abreast of a situation and aware of the details. Getting drunk made all of that impossible, or at least very difficult.

If it had to be in front of anyone, he supposed he was glad it was Hoss. Adam could trust Hoss- he was easygoing, and would understand without judgment; he would think about Adam’s comfort and try to see nothing too embarrassing happened to him.

Hoss wouldn’t be interrogative like Pa, or storing up fodder for later teasing like Joe. The few times he’d gotten squiffy- since college, at least- had been with his middle brother, able to relax and just be himself without worry.

But something didn’t make sense.

“I thought you said I wasn’t drunk.”

Pa nodded. “That’s right; you weren’t drunk. But at the time, it seemed you were. Although,” he admitted, contemplative, “I wouldn’t be surprised if Hoss already suspected something didn’t add up.”

“What didn’t add up?”

Pa grit his teeth, hesitating over something. “First, I want to say this. It would have been okay if you really had been drunk. If you’d been in that state willingly or accidentally, it would have been your own business as an adult, and-”

“What are you talking about? I was on ranch business! Do you know how mad I would be at Hoss or Joe if they got drunk when they were supposed to be finalizing a contract?”

Pa paused. “That’s a reasonable perspective. But I didn’t- I didn’t even pause to consider- I didn’t offer any grace to you or even allow you to explain before I began to scold you- and I shouldn’t have scolded you at all.”

Adam felt as if his thoughts were coming at a snail’s pace. “Because I wasn’t actually drunk?”

Pa tsked. “No, because you’re a grown man. I treated you like a rebellious teenage boy, and I’m sorry.”

Adam felt his face go slack and then did what he could to hide his surprise. “Oh. Well, uh. Apology accepted.”

“I knew I’d done you wrong even before Hoss took me to task- Joe got in a few good words about it, too, saying that I’ve always been gentle but firm during any of his drunken escapades- but I want you to know that Hoss taught me a good lesson. He reminded me that I need to tell you- rather than knowing it but keeping it to myself- that you can make choices I may raise my eyebrows at or that you can make disappointing mistakes, and it will never alter the pride I take in you or the affection I have for you.”

Adam stared at the patchwork pattern of his quilt, unable to meet his father’s eyes. “Okay. Thank you for telling me.” He cleared his throat. “So I wasn’t actually drunk then?”

“No. According to the bartender, you only had one drink.”

A scoff escaped him without his permission. “That wouldn’t make me drunk.”

Pa raised his eyebrows when Adam flushed. “Yes, I do recall a good variety of imported rums available in Boston when I lived there.”

He winked, and Adam was rather moved at the honest warmth and non-judgment Pa showed.

“After Hoss convinced you that he’d be alright alone for a moment, he went to pay whatever you owed. Sam said you only had one beer. That simply didn’t add up for Hoss.”

Adam was already rather perplexed, and unable to grasp the information, he found himself distracted by something else. “Convinced me he’d be alright alone?” he repeated weakly.

Pa’s eyes shone with a mix of pity and fondness. “Apparently, you were constantly citing an exchange you and I often had, in which I instructed you to hold Hoss’ hand and not let him wander off. You took that order very seriously, it seems. You also told Hoss he is still as pretty now as he was when he was a baby, and wouldn’t rest until he agreed with you.”

“Ugh.” Pa laughed as Adam hid his face in his hands. “I suppose my only saving grace is that he dealt with me instead of Joe.”

When there was only silence, he lowered his hands. Pa was looking at him regretfully.

“No,” Adam moaned.

“Him too. Apparently much of the time before your unconsciousness was spent fretting after your brothers. You gave Joe your coat because you were afraid of him catching cold. I am told there was some baby talk involved, and apparently there was an overall high amount of hugs and cuddling. Joe said you kissed Hoss on the cheek.”

Adam looked around for a pillow to smother himself with, but they were all propped under his back and he was too weak to pull one out from under him.

“So am I to assume I’m bed bound because I nearly died of shame?”

Ben made a chiding noise and patted his hand again. “Now, now. I find it very sweet, how much you care for your brothers, that I will admit. But we’ve not spent our time discussing everything that may cause you embarrassment. We’ve-”

He stopped to swallow, and then looked at Adam anxiously. “We’ve all been so worried. I’ve not left your side, and Hoss and Joseph were in the saddle nearly forty hours.”

“Why?” Adam asked, astonished.

Ben studied him, and then evenly said, “To find the men who poisoned your drink.”

Adam flinched. Poisoned-?

Like an avalanche, understanding and confusion came down upon him in equal measure. He sat there in a daze, shaking his head as if it would remove debris from his hair and rubbing his eyes as if to wipe away the dust.

“Adam?”

He felt he had every right for his state, but his father’s abject concern was strong motivation to force himself out of it.

“Poisoned?” he repeated, stunned.

He couldn’t remember. He was poisoned and couldn’t remember.

Pa exhaled sharply. “That’s the best word Doctor Martin has for it, though it seems the substance’s intent was not to kill you. The cowhands wanted you incapacitated, weak. Vulnerable,” he concluded, looking away.

Shame and embarrassment colored Adam’s cheeks, and he ducked his head, pulling at a loose thread on his quilt. “That part of their plan certainly seemed to work. Why didn’t they do anything with me after that?”

A gentle touch at his jaw had him turning back to Pa. “It was not your fault. Do you hear me? It was not your fault.”

Adam sniffled. “Then why do you sound so-?”

Disappointed, he couldn’t bring himself to say.

Pa cocked his head in sympathetic understanding. “I am not disappointed in you. It’s that I am distraught and saddened- I am horrified and disgusted- at the thought of those men taking advantage of you.”

Adam tried to turn away, but his father’s penetrating gaze was rather difficult to avoid.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of. Absolutely nothing.”

Pa cupped his cheek, and though Adam understood his words, even believed them, he still found himself needing and turning into his father’s touch.

When a minute or so passed, he reached up, pulling Pa’s hand down from his face, instead holding it in his lap. If Pa was surprised or otherwise affected by the gesture and Adam’s open need for comfort, he did not show it.

“Why?” Adam tried again. “Why-” he found himself unable to voice aloud the fact he’d been poisoned “-do this to me but then not-?” He shrugged, unable to articulate his confusion.

Pa squeezed his hand, silently telling him he understood. “They spoke of that after Hoss and Joe found them and brought them back to Roy. Apparently, they recognized Hoss by the entrance of the saloon, and knew they wouldn’t be able to continue with the kidnapping while he was watching over you.”

God bless Hoss. He was the family’s protector, and sometimes, Adam truly thought he ought to be considered the family’s voice of reason, too, his thoughtful, simple understanding sometimes far more revealing and profound than any pragmatic analysis or rational logic that Adam could supply.

And it certainly seemed that Hoss and Joe had done plenty of investigation and deduction of their own in the last couple of days, tracking down the cowhands and figuring out how they were involved.

A flash of memory suddenly made itself clear in his mind, sharp and distinct from the rest, still a hazy blur.

“They were-”

His tone must have meant something to Pa, as he straightened, looking at Adam seriously. “You remember something?”

Adam’s mouth twisted, suddenly doubting the memory for how out of character it seemed. “I think they were mean.”

He frowned, the words familiar on his tongue, almost like he’d spoken them before but with a sad and childish and confused whine, like he couldn’t understand the cruelties of a couple of strangers in a saloon.

“They- they called me a glorified foreman.”

Adam looked up when Pa made no reply. His face was grave.

“What?” he asked. When his father made no reply, instead turning away, Adam tightened the grip on his hand. “What?”

Still unable to face him, Pa pulled his hand away and shook his head. “I had hoped- I don’t know what I hoped.”

“What’s wrong?” Adam tried to rise again, frustrated at how horribly frail and incapable he felt.

“No, don’t,” came Pa’s protest. He pushed Adam back down to the pillows and moved closer to the head of the bed, stroking his brow. “I’m sorry. Here I am feeling guilty and making you think you have to tend to me.”

A small part of him- a large part- screamed that that was one of his jobs, making sure his father and his brothers, too, were alright. But Adam doubted his Pa would be comforted by such a claim.

“When you finally arrived home- when you were disoriented and exhausted and anxious and confusing reality with memories- all side effects that Doc Martin said you were likely to experience after drinking the poison- you said a few things.”

A chill went through Adam, and he found himself wishing the window was closed again. He fiddled with his blankets, pulling them up higher as if they might shield him from his father’s concerned looks and worried questions, because he knew where this was going; knew what he must have said to Pa; knew how the accusation of glorified foreman would have affected him in such a state.

He didn’t want to talk about this, not with Pa. The closest he’d ever come to speaking of it was with Hoss, a quiet exchange of insecurities while out of town and on the trail.

It was always easier to speak of such things then, especially in the middle of the night when stars were overhead and their bedrolls lay across from the fire and the very atmosphere promised discretion and trust.

Hoss could speak of how he never wanted anything but the Ponderosa and how that was probably for the best, not smart enough for anything else and not good for much other than lugging and hauling and mending, and Adam would tell Hoss what a gift it was to know exactly where his heart was at and be there, and that he understood more than Adam’s entire graduating class, and that his greatest strength was in how he supported the family and kept them together.

And Adam would speak of how he wondered if he ought to be more ambitious, worrying that he was wasting his potential and feeling like he was losing his chance at something, but he didn’t know what that something was, other than some vague, far off dream, and Hoss would tell him that was okay too, that he always knew Adam would want other things but that it was alright if he took time to sort them out, and there was nothing wrong with figuring out his priorities, reminding him that he could still be happy and was still loved in the meantime.

“You called yourself a damned fool and a coward for not following your dreams.”

Something Adam couldn’t put a name to settled low in his stomach; some of it regret, some of it embarrassment, and somewhere in there, inklings of relief.

“In the worst throes of your fever, you spoke of it even more.” Adam cringed and Pa rubbed the line of tension in his brow with his thumb. “There, now. You need not worry about it. I just thought I owed it to you to tell you what was said- to tell you that I know- and that if you ever want to speak of it when you’re more composed-”

Adam shook his head. He wanted to tell Pa that it wasn’t necessary, that whatever he rambled about was purely delirium; but it seemed that all of his behavior, exaggerated as it was, was at least based in truth.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Pa.”

There was a flickering in his father’s eyes, and it took Adam a moment to recognize it for what it was. Failure. Not that Adam had failed Pa, but that Pa thought he’d failed his son.

And unable to permit such a feeling to continue- it was why he had never spoken of it before, unable to bear the thought of hurting his Pa- Adam knew he had to speak.

“I admit there are times I doubt my decisions or doubt my desires, but I do not-” Adam winced, realizing he was about to lie. But he could not tell the truth, either; he could not tell his father how often he found himself feeling like he was running out of time and wasting his life.

But he also hadn’t felt like that, not truly- he didn’t think he had- since talking to Hoss about it, at least.

Hoss made him realize that simply living was never a waste of time.

“Adam, as I told you before, I do not want you feeling guilty for what you said. If you come to a point in which you want to speak of it, I am here. But you don’t owe me any explanations,” Pa said, shaking his head. “All I can say to you, is that you are not any of those things your insecurities claim. Whether you are here or are exploring the world, you always have my respect. You are my intelligent and courageous son, and no matter what you choose- and no matter when, because you have time to decide- I am proud of you.”

Clearing his throat, Adam shut his eyes, letting the feeling of relief wash over him and allowing himself to bathe in its comfort.

He must have been crying, as Pa was soon brushing tears from his eyes with immense tenderness.

“You sound like Hoss,” Adam told him wetly.

“You’ve spoken of this with him before?” Pa inquired diplomatically, though Adam could see just how glad the news made him, pleased Adam had not stored all of his grief inside.

“Yes. He’s- Hoss is easy to talk to, you know?”

For a moment, Adam regretted his phrasing, implying that his Pa was difficult to talk to- it was sometimes true, but he didn’t believe it fair to say as much- but his father merely hummed in understanding.

“Yes, I know.” Pa shook his head somewhat ruefully. “No wonder he was so righteously angry with me, knowing how much conflict you’ve been hiding. And for so many other reasons, too, all valid.”

“Was he really?” Adam asked.

Hoss’ anger was always something to see. Joe was impulsively short-tempered, and though they were more inclined to argue against the claim, so were Adam and Pa. Hoss’ rage was all the more extreme and profound, as he so rarely let it take hold of him. And the fact it was Pa, specifically, he was so upset with, that led him to the end of his tether; he always gave people the benefit of the doubt, offering grace and understanding to all he met, but did so in double measure with his family. For him to shout and thunder at Pa, he must’ve been well and truly furious.

The more Adam thought about it, the more profound it was for Hoss to defend him.

“He and Joe, they both were so protective of you,” Pa continued. “Protecting you from my judgment; from my selfish understanding of the situation.”

“Pa,” Adam said, almost bashful. “You responded exactly as I would’ve. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay. You’re my son and I should treat you better. I shouldn’t have needed Hoss and Joe to tell me as much, I should have just-”

Pa gestured absently, his demeanor full of self-recrimination.

Adam glanced furtively at his door, unsure of what to do. In the uncomfortable silence came the reliable sound of Hoss’ snores. It was a relief to hear it now, and to know he and Joe were getting some well deserved rest.

Adam remembered how, even when he was just a boy, Hoss had snored, sounding like a little bear cub.

Pa and Adam would lay awake in their old cabin, Hoss snuggled between them in the rickety bed they all shared, keeping them awake with his snores, and Pa would quietly whisper about how it reminded him so much of Inger, who snored when very tired and would often snuffle and snort into his shoulder.

“His snores are cute,” Adam used to say, watching his pink cheeked, open mouthed brother sleep. “I bet Ma’s were too.”

Pa had always smiled his sad little smile when he said that, nodding slightly and reaching over Hoss to gently pet Adam’s curls.

“You know,” Adam began slowly, an idea forming in his head, “there’s something Ma told me a long time ago that I’ve never forgotten. I don’t think I ever told you about it. I remind myself of it when I’ve made mistakes or bad decisions or even just when things end poorly, even if they were out of my control.”

Pa turned to Adam, looking almost hungry at the prospect of a story about his second wife that he’d never yet heard.

“She said someone may do a bad thing, but that doesn’t make them a bad person. Something may have gone badly, but it’s not a reflection on us; it’s just a reminder to try harder next time, or to think first the next time I’m angry, or even just to let go of that feeling of failure, knowing it had nothing to do with me.”

He leveled his father a look.

“I forgive you, Pa. You can let it go.”

Pa let out a hitching breath. “If I had let my anger rule me-”

“You didn’t. And even if you had,” Adam continued gently, grinning, “I know you. Sick sons are a soft spot for you. You could be spitting mad, and you’d still sit at our bedsides to nurse us back to health, with every bit of tenderness you could possibly muster. That’s tenfold the human average, you know.”

Pa smiled the same sad little smile that he wore all those years ago, when still mourning Inger and Elizabeth with every breath. Perhaps intuitively, he reached forward to pet Adam’s curls.

“Enough talk about me. How are you feeling?”

Adam took stock of himself. He was surprised at how very hungry he was, but mainly, he felt exhausted. His limbs were heavy, like he could sink through his mattress at any moment. He was sore and achy like he’d been on the trail for days, sleeping on the ground and in the saddle; he had the vague recollection of struggling and shuddering and seizing in his father’s arms, but that hardly accounted for the ongoing cramping in his muscles.

The giant gap in his memory was causing him immense frustration; how could it be that three entire days, save for a few words or comforting touches, were swept completely from his brain? And yet the more he strained himself to remember, the worse it was. It was like trying to pin down something intangible, a wisp or apparition always slipping through his fingers.

The harder he tried, the more his head hurt.

Through it all, however, was relief; a sweet, comforting knowledge that his family was always there for him.

“Weak,” he answered honestly, “but alright. What exactly did Paul do anyway?”

“Some of the poison had already gone into your system, but we had to keep you awake- as much as you were able- and moving, and vomiting the poison, expelling it from your body.”

Adam cringed at the picture, Pa and Doc Martin frogmarching him about the room, occasionally rushing him over to an unlucky wash basin, all while he mumbled and rambled about, if stories were to be believed, his adorable baby brothers.

A terrible possibility occurred to him. “Were Hoss and Joe there when-?”

Pa cocked his head in understanding, but he also wore a frown. “You don’t have anything to worry about, in regard to their presence. They were as steadfast in tending to you as Paul and I. After the worst of it passed, they left to track down the two hands.”

Regardless of Hoss and Joe’s no-nonsense but caring attitudes, it was still embarrassing. But rather than dwell on it, he decided to continue his interrogation.

“The two hands.. who were they?”

“They worked for Marston. He’s in jail now too, by the way.” Pa’s jaw hardened, his eyes coldly focused on the middle distance. “He tasked them with taking you as a hostage. Your life for the timber land.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “He would have gotten the timber on it, anyway, if he’d gone along with the contract. Why bother?”

Something funny happened to Pa’s expression, flickering a moment. His demeanor changed minutely, revealing something.. Maybe it was confusion, or perhaps anger; it was there and gone so fast, it was impossible to tell.

Adam scrutinized him, but he couldn’t figure out what had caused such a response.

“Sometimes,” Pa began slowly, “men get to thinking about business deals, or land, or reputations, or contracts, or power, and they lose sight of what’s important. Or rather, what ought to be important to us. I suppose Marston didn’t have anyone to remind him of what is important, or perhaps he didn’t have anyone important enough to him to want to conduct himself better.”

Adam sat with that declaration for a moment. It revealed much more about Pa than it did Marston.

He remembered the last time such a thing happened; or it was somewhat similar, at least, as the time previous was actually successful, Adam taken and held as a hostage in exchange for a huge swath of Ponderosa land.

Pa, don’t! 50,000 acres! It isn’t worth it!

Isn’t it?

Pa heaved a sigh and then pet Adam’s hair. “In a strange way, I owe a debt of gratitude to Marston.”

“If anyone is getting a medal of thanks,” Adam drolled, “I’d rather it be Hoss and Little Joe.”

Pa emitted a small huff of surprised laughter. “You know, me too. The award ceremony will have to wait until they wake up.”

Adam snorted at the image, but the smirk soon faded from his lips. “Forty hours in the saddle.. you’re sure they’re alright?”

Pa pursed his lips as if trying to hide a smile. “The substance is all out of your system and you’re still worrying after them.”

Adam shrugged, a little helplessly, but still stared intently at his father, waiting for an answer.

“Yes, they’re okay. When I checked on them, they were sleeping like babies.”

“Good,” Adam sighed in relief.

“And they did so without your lullabies to lull them to sleep,” Pa added, his eyes dancing.

Adam was confused at the teasing, but covered his face, groaning, when realization dawned on him. “I sang? I sang?”

“Does that surprise you?” Pa retorted. “Apparently it was your singing that drew Hoss’ attention to the saloon in the first place.”

“I was singing their lullabies in the saloon?”

Pa chuckled. “No, the lullabies started as you were on your way home. Both in Swedish and French, it seems.”

Adam’s relief was only temporary, as a strange curiosity soon replaced it. It was an out of the blue question, but he couldn’t help it.

“Pa, I sang songs I learned from Inger and Marie.” He tugged at his earlobe uncomfortably, feeling hesitant. “Did my mother sing?”

To his shock, Pa, after a short period of surprised silence, immediately began to laugh. “Oh, yes. Your mother sang all the time. There was always a song under her breath, she was always humming, but-”

He chuckled again, and Adam, with an insatiable need for more, demanded, “What?”

Pa shook his head, tears of fond mirth in his eyes. “Elizabeth couldn’t carry a tune. It was always so-” he shook his head for lack of proper words. “There were times I had no idea what song she was even attempting. It was so- so funny, and really beautiful- and not merely in retrospect,” he clarified, looking back at Adam. “It was such a beautiful thing to listen to, even then.”

The story- the gleam in Pa’s eyes- had moved Adam to tears. “She- I suppose she would’ve sung lullabies to me, regardless of whether she could’ve been at the opera house, had she- had she lived?”

Pa cocked his head. “Oh, yes. Yes. Lizzy, she- your mother would have sung to you all the time. In fact, she did sing to you, even before you were born.”

A warm, tingly feeling spread through Adam. “Yeah?”

Pa nodded. “She talked to you and hummed and sang- she was convinced you could hear her, and I didn’t argue with her. I figured if anyone could make her voice heard, it was her.”

Adam grinned, tears streaming down his face. “What did she sing to me?”

“No idea,” Pa said, smiling softly. “Like I said, she rarely could maintain any true melody. Lullabies were likely her main repertoire, but I’m sure she sang a few church hymns too.”

“Thanks, Pa,” Adam said, so grateful at the images the stories elicited, he leaned back with his eyes closed.

“Of course, I didn’t know many lullabies myself, anyway,” Pa admitted, contemplative. Adam raised an eyebrow in his direction. “I knew a few church hymns, a few folk songs, but-”

“What?” Adam inquired when Pa smiled, somewhat bashful but also impish.

“If you were colicky or crying or uninterested in taking your nap, I often found myself singing the only songs I really knew, and- well, those were shanties we sang on the ship. And sometimes you were rocked to sleep by lyrics that were rather bawdy.” Pa, even as he flushed in embarrassment, was looking at Adam with such affection. “I didn’t know any better, and they seemed to make you calm.”

And he likely wasn’t even embarrassed at the songs’ contents, feeling as if he exposed his small son to something inappropriate; he was embarrassed at the fact that he simply didn’t know what he was doing when Adam was a baby. He was doing his best but making it up as he went along, a widowed father who loved his baby more than anyone or anything in the world, but was going it alone.

“Teach me a couple?” Pa opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, looking at him in disbelief. “Think of my reputation! I need to reclaim something with Hoss and Joe. After all of the baby talk and kisses, something risqué may just do it.”

Pa quirked an eyebrow as if to say he didn’t follow Adam’s logic. But then he began to relay lyrics back to Adam, hushing and suppressing his own laughter when Adam teased and kidded about Pa’s blush.

Once Adam felt he’d added plenty of racy songs to his repertoire, he relaxed, sinking back into his pillow, the mirth fading into a comfortable silence.

“Adam,” Pa began, hesitant. “You know that I- well, I know I don’t say it often enough, and I know I sometimes do a rather poor job of showing it- but I- I really do-”

He stopped, swallowed, and looked away.

Adam raised his eyebrows, amused and more than a little surprised, but touched. “I know, Pa.” And recalling the miscommunication moments ago, he added, “I’m your boy after all, aren’t I?”

Pa turned back to him quickly, and there came a shuddering exhale; his eyes gleamed with unshed tears.

“That you are,” Pa confirmed warmly, sounding as proud as he did when Adam showed him his diploma the first time, declaring he’d graduated with honors. He squeezed Adam’s hand, and repeated again, “That you are.”

“And I hope you know that I do too,” Adam continued. “Even if I don’t say it often or show it very well, either.”

Pa grinned. “You show it just fine, Adam.” It made his careworn face look years younger.

“Now, Pa, did the Doc limit me to broth during recovery? Because I gotta tell ya, I’m about ready to eat you outta house and home.”

Pa let out a burst of laughter. “I’m glad to hear you’re hungry, Doc Martin said that would be a good sign.”

“A more apt description would be utterly ravenous,” Adam admitted.

Still chuckling, Pa placed a hand on Adam’s stomach. “Come on; if you’re up to heading downstairs, we’ll see to filling that cavity,” he said, repeating the old phrase that reminded Adam so much of his childhood; Pa working at strangers’ farms in exchange for bread and milk, and giving it to Adam while he himself went without.

Adam nodded and Pa helped him up and out of bed. He hadn’t realized it before, but he was already bundled into his robe. “Warm enough?” Pa asked, rubbing his hands up and down Adam’s arms.

Adam hummed in affirmation, and they moved together toward the door and down the hall; he could feel Pa hovering closer than normal, a hand inches from his back in case he lost his balance.

Adam smiled upon passing Hoss and Joe’s rooms- snoring heard through the door of the former, incoherent mumbling and sleep talk coming from the latter.

Nearing the landing at the middle of the stairs, Pa suddenly halted. Adam turned around slightly, wondering at the cause of his stop.

“Adam. I love you, son.”

Adam turned pink and tugged at his ear. “I love you too, Pa,” he replied, a shy smile playing at his lips. He coughed. “I hope there’s cheese biscuits.”

Adam’s hope was not unwarranted, and the two sat at the settee with a large tray of them. His Pa asked him about what he’d been reading lately, and feeling much more comfortable discussing civil engineering than his emotions, Adam immediately began a description of the newest feats in suspension bridges.

“It’s over eight hundred and fifty feet long, nearly two hundred and fifty feet above the water, and it carries traffic, too, even more than predicted by it’s original design loading,” he explained. He caught his Pa’s eyes sparkling fondly, a little amused, and Adam grinned, not the slightest bit embarrassed. “I hope I get to see it someday.”

His excitement faded as soon as he realized the implications of his statement, which flirted with that which he protested so vehemently against sharing with his father.

He didn’t want to remind Pa- or himself- of the occasional discontent he felt, feeling that he was a coward or a fool, a glorified foreman and nothing more, that he was wasting his time and would never become the engineer or architect he knew himself capable of being.

But Pa still gleamed, expression unchanged. “You will see it,” he confirmed easily, perfectly confident in his claim. “I know you will. And you’ll design one even better, too. Now, tell me more about those suspension aqueducts,” he requested, passing Adam another biscuit.

Adam, only caught flat-footed for a moment, smiled again, taking a bite and leaning back into the settee. “Well, Roebling,” he continued, wiping crumbs from his chin, “he’s worked in Pennsylvania, too, and he..”

Hoss was right.

“Hey!” Joe protested. “You know that ain’t so, Pa doesn’t have favorites!”

Adam’s smirk turned into a laugh. “I know that, Joe, I’m sorry for joshing ya.” He sat up, cross-legged with his feet beneath him, pulling his blanket around his shoulders. “That’s a good thought, Hoss, we haven’t played that in years.”

Joe sat up too, hugging his knees to his chest. “How do we play?”

“It really has been a long time,” Hoss realized. If Joe didn’t remember the game, it must have been- what, twenty years?- since they last played. He remembered Ma joining them once, rocking a baby Joe to sleep as she offered her answers. “It’s pretty simple, you’ll figure it out quick enough. You go first, Adam.”

Adam frowned thoughtfully, bringing a hand to his mouth. “Favorite birthday.”

Hoss grinned when Joe straightened to attention and seemed to bob excitedly. He looked to Hoss and then to Adam. Hoss gestured for him to go ahead. “If you already know yours, then go ahead.”

Hoss often thought about his answers before sharing them, perhaps because that was how Adam taught him to do it. The game itself was invented when Hoss was still learning to talk, and Adam was helping him to discover new words, explaining the names of things and what they were. His earliest memory of the game was Adam asking Hoss what his favorite color was- brown like the horse or white like the canvas wagon cover or orange like the campfire flames.

Adam always told him to think about each word he was going to use; if he didn’t know the word, to use other smaller words to explain the big ones, and then Adam would tell him what the big words were that he’d yet to learn.

Hoss rather thought that contributed to his way of thinking and speaking quite a bit. He still had a tendency to keep his thoughts to himself, especially when the family was facing some sort of big problem or an argument. He liked to keep quiet until he reached an understanding that could be put into a few simple words.

“My eleventh birthday,” Joe rushed out. “When it was so hot for some reason, even though it was October, and I convinced Pa that I could have my party outside- but of course it wasn’t my begging that convinced him, ‘cause Hoss had already planned it that way- and right in the middle of cake I was wonderin’ where Hoss had gotten too, ‘cause, y’know-”

“Birthday cake,” Adam said in understanding.

“And just as I was about to ask Pa where you’d gone to,” Joe said, turning to Hoss, “you came out of the barn carrying Cochise, still just a foal, but you said she was mine.”

Hoss smiled a little, remembering how as soon as Joe’s friends from school left, he’d rushed to Hoss, leaping up and kissing his cheek repeatedly in between thank yous and then jumping down again and pulling him by the hand toward the barn to see the horse again.

“Yeah,” Hoss said fondly. “That’s a good one, Little Joe. You were sure cute that day.”

“I’ll tell you something you missed out on, Joe, given that it was a surprise to you, and that was watching Hoss petition to Pa to let him give you Cochise.”

Hoss felt a warmth on his cheeks. “Aw, Adam.”

“No, it was really something to behold. Pa was caught completely unaware, because Hoss just came to him with this five point argument one night after you had gone to bed, and Pa and I sat there dumbfounded as Hoss made an argument worthy of a defense lawyer’s final statement, trying to keep their client from hanging. Pa wasn’t even against the idea- he and I had been talking about Joe having his own mount for a few months- but we were so enthralled watching you make your case, we just let you talk.”

Hoss rolled his eyes, a little embarrassed. “It weren’t all that good, Adam.”

“Oh, yes, it was Hoss.” There was a certain gleam about Adam then, the one Joe said always made him look like Pa. “All of the sudden, I realized you had become your own man.”

Hoss shrugged bashfully. “Just seemed right, what with Joe helpin’ me when Cochise’s mama was foaling.”

“That was real grand. Cooch stood up and took to walkin’ so fast,” Joe said proudly. Joe had been present for plenty of other births and had helped plenty of other mares through foalings, and had certainly seen other newborn horses take their first steps; but he was understandably biased about his  horse, she particularly special.

Adam’s mouth turned up at Joe’s words. “Your turn, Hoss,” he then encouraged.

Hoss had been so busy reminiscing about Joe’s birthday, he’d hardly considered his own answer. “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “probably my birthday that same year. I can’t even rightly remember any of my gifts, but I remember, Joe, you wakin’ me up that morn, jumping on my bed and dropping down a’top of me, yellin’ happy birthday loud as humanly possible, and that night, Adam, ya took me ta the saloon in town and bought me my first ever beer. Pretty simple day, I s’pose, but..” he shrugged, but he needn’t have been hesitant; both Joe and Adam were nodding along like he had made a good choice.

“Wait a minute, you had your first beer when you were seventeen?” Joe asked agog. Hoss shifted awkwardly, Joe’s observation making him a little uncomfortable; he always felt that way whenever his brother, six years his junior, spoke of certain coming of age rituals or rites of passage that Hoss never had, or at least did not experience until later than his brothers or the rest of his peers.

“Yes, Joe,” Adam broke in teasingly, “he waited for it to be special, rather than sneaking into Pa’s liquor cabinet at fifteen.”

Joe had the decency to look sheepish. “My way was special enough. You both helped me hide my hangover.”

“It’s still a miracle Pa never found out,” Adam griped, and then threw a wink in Hoss’ direction. Somehow, Hoss’ older brother could always sense when he was insecure and knew just how to step in, saying just the right thing. “That was a good birthday, Hoss. I remember how excited I was to take you with me that evening.” He then snorted, and added, “There was also your last birthday, when Sport got spooked by heaven knows what, and I was thrown, and then he slammed into you and Chubby, and you fell, consequently breaking your collar bone and separating your shoulder.”

Hoss winced at the memory and rubbed his arm and chest, just the mention of the injury reminding him of the pain. “I didn’t have the heart to tell Pa what really happened night of. It was clear he’d spent the entire evening frettin’ over us being late, and I didn’t want him to worry any more’n he had already.”

Adam nodded at the recollection. “You always surprise me at how well you can lie when you really need to.”

Joe leapt in. “Hoss can lie real good when he wants to, it’s just that he don’t often want to.”

Adam nodded in agreement, half impressed. “Boy, Pa was upset when the truth and the full extent of your injuries came out the next morning. He was fretting and fussing over you like a baby. He was so concerned that I don’t think he fully realized you successfully lied to his face.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hoss said. “Your turn, Adam.”

The man hummed. “Well, you two know I don’t love my birthday.”

They nodded; Hoss had been surprised Adam even picked the topic, as he must’ve known he’d eventually be discussing it too. Hoss understood that it was hard to feel like celebrating when it was also the anniversary of something so painful.

“First few birthdays, we didn’t celebrate, really. We couldn’t do much, as we had no money to spare. From what I can recall, Pa would give me an extra kiss and tell an extra story, but we didn’t celebrate it. The first time we did anything was when Ma Inger was with us.”

“That was your favorite?” Joe asked, sounding rather endeared at the thought.

But Adam shook his head. “It was a great day,” he verified. “A little party with cake and singing and all. They told me I was going to be a big brother, and I was over the moon,” he said, sending Hoss a smile. “But it was the birthday after that that was my favorite. Pa-”

Adam stopped and tugged at his ear.

“He partook in my sixth birthday party, of course, but it was that next birthday that he really, really put an effort into celebrating. He’d been without Mother for years, and Ma Inger for a few months- he was grieving a lot- but he didn’t want to let it pass. I think the fact that I could have so easily not made it to my seventh year hit him, and.. anyway, he made tall stacks of flapjacks and frosted them like little tiered cakes, and then we did gifts. There were one or two things bought at a trading post, yet those weren’t the best. Pa could sew, mainly darning or repairs, but that birthday, he sewed me a little bear. The stitching looked like those of patches on ship sails, and I adored the thing. I still adore it; I still have it, worn and well loved as it is.” He finished with an uncomfortable clearing of his throat. “Anyway, that’s my best birthday. Joe, come up with a question.”

Joe, who’d been staring at Adam wide-eyed and open mouthed- Hoss knew he looked much the same, as Adam was rarely so honest or vulnerable- shook himself. “Why me?”

“You answered first last time, them’s the rules,” Hoss told him.

“Well, I didn’t know that, if I did, I wouldn’ta jumped in first.” He scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know, all I can think of are boring ones like favorite book or favorite color.”

“Paradise Lost and black. Ah, I’m gonna have to go first again now,” Adam realized with annoyance.

Hoss snorted, and Joe asked, “Why do you like black so much? I remember ya didn’t always wear it.”

A somewhat sad smile played at Adam’s lips. “Back east, there’s a slew of traditions about mourning and how you dress; Widows Weeds and all. As I seemed to lose more and more people, I wanted a way to pay respect to those I lost, and a black armband seemed paltry, unable to encompass the amount of people or the amount of grief I had for each.”

Joe looked at him with a mix of pity and horror. “Are all your answers going to be sad?”

“Joe!”

Hoss’ scolding was overpowered by Adam’s loud belly laugh. “They aren’t sad to me, but I’ll endeavor to brighten up my future responses.”

Joe still looked doubtful, but he looked to Hoss, waiting for his answer.

“I dunno that I got a favorite book.. Even though I like reading, I ain’t too good at it,” Hoss said.

“That isn’t so,” Adam gentled, both he and Joe looking disappointed at Hoss’ assessment of himself.

Hoss shook his head doubtfully. “I dunno. Sometimes just picking up a book has me rememberin’ how Miss Jones would make me read aloud and how the other kids would laugh when I stuttered or said the words wrong.”

When his brothers continued to stare at him in concern, he desperately wracked his brain for an answer.

“But I suppose I liked that Walden book ya were talkin’ about last year, it was pretty good.”

Adam stared. “You read Walden?”

“You were goin’ on and on about how good it was and how much ya liked it.”

“You never told me.” Adam mouthed a few helpless words, looking at Hoss inquisitively. “Why?”

“I dunno, sorta silly, me readin’ it.” Hoss thought Adam shook his head in protest, but looking down as he was, he couldn’t be sure. “And I know ya wouldn’ta been disappointed if I came ta ya with questions from my not understandin’ it, but I figured if ya never knew, there’d be no harm if I wasn’t smart enough for it or didn’t like it. I did, though,” he quickly confirmed again. “I dunno that I understood it all, or even agreed with it all, but some of it made an awful lotta sense.”

Adam continued to stare at him with a funny expression, almost like he was about to cry. His voice somewhat brittle, he said, “Fishermen, hunters, woodchoppers, and others, spending their lives in the fields and woods, in a peculiar sense a part of Nature themselves, are often in a more favorable mood for observing her, in the intervals of their pursuits, than philosophers or poets even, who approach her with expectation.”

Hoss nodded, not remembering the quote- he’d never be able to recall and recite things the way Adam could- but remembering the idea.

“What does that mean?” Joe asked, looking at them curiously.

“It means that Hoss has a better understanding of nature than most of the people who write about it.” Hoss didn’t know about that, but he was too embarrassed to argue. Adam continued to stare at him. “You really liked it? It’s okay if you didn’t, don’t feel that you have to for me.”

Hoss shrugged shyly. “From what I could understand, I did. I liked his more simple stuff. Like how every child makes the world new again.”

Adam’s mouth twitched and wavered and eventually turned into a smile. “Yeah. That is a good part. It’s true, too.”

Hoss cleared his throat, and said, “And my favorite color is green. Ponderosa pine green. Go ahead, Joe.”

Joe looked back and forth between them. “Well, now my favorite book is gonna sound silly, you two bein’ all intellectual.”

“I’m sure it ain’t silly,” Hoss protested. “C’mon, punkin, what is it?”

Joe glanced furtively at Adam. “I liked that book about Camelot you would read to me when I was a kid. All that stuff about chivalry and all, I thought it was the greatest. I always figured you and Hoss and Pa were just like knights, I could close my eyes and see you in the armor and everything.”

Adam beamed as Joe spoke, his eyes close to watering. “You really liked that?”

“Of course,” Joe confirmed, half indignant. “I wanted to be one’a them knights more’n anything.”

“Whadya say, Adam, can we dub him Sir Joseph, Knight of the Ponderosa?”

“I think he’s worthy of the title,” he replied softly.

Joe squinted at them, scrutinizing their expressions. “Are you two teasing me?”

“No,” Adam said simply, completely serious. His eyes sparkled. “So what color is your armor going to be? White knight?”

Joe shook his head. “I don’t know what it would be called.. but kinda a light bluish purple.”

“Periwinkle?” Adam’s eyebrows danced in surprise.

“I guess so, if that’s its name.” He bit his lip. “Y’know-” he gestured awkwardly “-like the shirts Pa wears so often. And when I envision Mama- it’s not a specific memory or anything, more just like an image of her- she’s wearing a dress that color.”

Hoss knew exactly what dress Joe was talking about. He remembered the long wide skirt that she picked up when she needed to run and the bow at the back that Pa always tied for her.

“I dunno, maybe I made up the memory.”

Hoss quickly corrected him. “Nah, I remember it too. I remember her wearing it to church a lot, and at church socials, when she and Pa would dance, she’d twirl and her skirt would flare out and she’d giggle like a little girl. It was why it was her favorite dress.”

Joe looked awed at the story. “Yeah. Periwinkle,” he said, while glancing at Adam for confirmation, who nodded. “Because it reminds me of Pa and Mama.”

Hoss and Adam shared a soft fond look at Joe’s earnest words. Hoss was confident his older brother was thinking of the same thing as he; of how Pa started to wear the color after Marie died, it reminding him of her. And beyond that, because just days before her death, she’d ordered an entire bolt of fabric that shade; when it arrived in her name at the general store, no one had the heart to send it back. Pa had a new shirt made from it every couple of years.

There were only a few yards left on the bolt.

Adam eventually sighed, pulling at his ear and squinting thoughtfully. “Back to me already, isn’t it? Let’s see.. favorite meal.”

“Oh come on, Adam, it’ll be ten years before Hoss finishes his answer,” Joe laughed. “Anything is his favorite.”

“Don’t start teasing him about that again,” Adam groused, coming to his defense. Hoss always appreciated it, despite his tendency to laugh off such comments.

Unfortunately, however, Adam’s protest made his answer feel all the more awkward.

“Heh. Actually, Adam, he’s not all that far off,” Hoss admitted embarrassed. “I ain’t gonna be ten years listin’ ‘em all off,” he said rolling his eyes in Joe’s direction, who put his hands up apologetically, “but y’know how it is after a long drive or even just a few days away to check line shacks and you’re eating beans and jerky and cold coffee, and sure, long as you ain’t goin’ hungry, you’re content. But when ya get back and it smells so good and ya see everything Hop Sing has prepared and the whole family is around the table and you’re home again.. well, my favorite meal is anything we have our first meal back home. It don’t matter what it is.”

Joe grinned. “That’s fair enough.”

“Better than fair,” Adam assessed. He had that Pa-like gleam about him again. Pa loved it when all of them were around the table, breaking bread together. He loved having guests for supper, too; he never turned anyone away from his table and he never let anyone leave hungry. “Joe?”

Joe looked thoughtful a moment, looking up at the stars with a slight knit to his brow. “I dunno if mine actually counts.”

Dryly, Adam told him, “I don’t know how it’s continued to escape your notice, but there really aren’t any rules to this game. If it’s your favorite, it counts.”

“Well, I don’t know why it’s my favorite, ‘cause I don’t really remember them all too well, but Mama’s beignets.”

Both Hoss and Adam made noises of unmitigated pleasure and agreement. “Good answer, Joe-”

“Oh, those were the best; remember, Hoss, how she’d add-?”

“The powdered sugar? Those were amazin’!”

“I could eat a dozen at least,” Adam laughed.

“They were good?” Joe asked. Hoss and Adam’s reminiscing screeched to a halt. “I know when I was little that I was always so excited for them, I remember how they looked, I remember watching her make them, but how they tasted?” He offered a shrug. “I’ve forgotten that part.”

Joe’s quiet helpless voice was deeply sobering.

“I think Hoss’ answer proved that a good meal isn’t reliant on the taste or the food itself. You don’t have to remember the flavor for the memory to be good. You can remember how fun it was to watch the dough fry or how we’d laugh when we’d get powdered sugar all over our faces, Pa and your Mama included.”

Joe giggled a little. “I remember that! I’d nearly forgotten it.”

“Pa would run his finger across the plate to get every bit of sugar and honey and then lick his fingers,” Adam said happily, much to Joe’s delight.

“And Joe, your beignets taste just like your Mama’s,” Hoss affirmed. “They got the same fluffy crispiness, and they’re just as buttery and sweet. You got her recipe down pretty darn perfect. Iffen ya want to know what her’s tasted like, you just gotta make your own.”

Joe blushed at the praise, looking pleased. “I’ll have to make some when we get back. Good first meal for getting home, Hossie?” he asked, looking to him for approval.

Hoss nodded with a wide grin, and then looked at Adam expectantly.

“I was all fire ready to expound on the many virtues of Hop Sing’s cheese biscuits, but the more I thought about it.. it’s not often a meal changes your life.. so I suppose I ought to talk about that one. Even if it didn’t consist of my favorite foods.. well, it’s the most important supper I’ve ever had.”

Hoss raised his eyebrows at Adam’s faraway tone. It was rare he was so caught up in a memory, in anything, to the point of trailing off or not knowing what to say next. Adam, who loved words, always liked to be exact and accurate when speaking; he never started a sentence unless he knew how he was going to finish it.

“We were in Illinois,” he began, glancing at Hoss. “So I was about five. We’d met Ma, but she was still just the nice tall lady at the general store, and she and Pa hadn’t grown close yet. We were staying at a boarding house, and I was getting over an illness, and even then- perhaps especially then- Pa was his usual self when any of us is sick, sitting at our bedside and feeding us and bathing the sweat from our brow. But he had to work, so after he finished giving me my bread and milk, he left. Not long after, I had a bad dream- can’t remember what about- and I wanted Pa, and- I don’t know what my plan was. I guess running out into the street in my nightshirt and socks and over to Pa in the saloon he was working in. But I barely got out of our room and there Pa was, down the hall and sitting on the floor with a needle and thread, letting out the hems of my trousers.”

Joe’s jaw fell open, and Hoss knew his face reflected that same surprise. “He didn’t have the job like he said?” Joe questioned.

“No, he had the job, cleaning up in the tavern. As he was telling me goodbye that night, I asked him if he was going to have supper, and he said he would eat when he got to work. They gave him a dollar a night and whatever they had on hand that could pass for an evening meal.” Adam’s mouth twitched slightly into something vaguely akin to a smile. “That evening, all they could scrounge up was milk and bread.”

“He was-” The words were heavy in Hoss’ mouth. “He was giving you all his food?”

Adam nodded. “He would fetch the meal from the saloon and sit with me while I ate it, and then pretend to leave early so he could have supper before his shift. Instead, that time was used sitting on the floor altering the clothes I was growing out of.”

Hoss felt a lump rising in his throat. “Did Pa see ya?”

“No, I ducked back into our room. I was so taken by surprise I wasn’t scared anymore, and I somehow knew Pa wouldn’t have wanted me to see him.” Adam fidgeted absently, tugging at his earlobe. “And I don’t know how quickly I put it together, if it was immediate or if it took a few more nights of peeking out the door and seeing him sewing or making other repairs- because I did do that, just to ensure he was there- but I eventually realized that, uh.”

He stopped, cleared his throat, offering an embarrassed smile when he suddenly couldn’t seem to speak. He forged onward, the lump in his throat evident.

“That he did that a lot. There were plenty of other times that I remembered him taking jobs where all he’d get in exchange was food, and he’d feed me but not eat himself, and then go back to work a couple hours, and at the next meal, same thing; he’d spoon soup into me and wipe my chin, but he never ate anything.”

“How did he-?” Joe sounded close to tears himself. “How did he not.. starve?”

“It wasn’t like that all the time,” Adam clarified. “Sometimes we could trap game or fish or gather, and we were fine. But there were periods in which.. well, when Pa went without. And it got better after Ma Inger was with us, it was never like that again.”

Hoss sat with a numb kind of horror. All his life, there had always been enough, but what if there hadn’t? What if Pa had needed to work twice as much to feed two growing children? How many more sacrifices would Pa have needed to make?

Ever since they were boys, Pa had always said that food was fuel for the body, had always smiled when Adam and Hoss came rushing into the cabin loudly proclaiming their hunger, had always been pleased when any of them reached for seconds or thirds.

The work they did required energy, and food gave them that energy.

How had Pa functioned without it? What would he have done if it had gotten worse after they lost Hoss’ Mamma?

Pa never, ever teased Hoss for being hungry- not like so many peers did, or even his brothers occasionally, though without the cruelty of his classmates- nor did Pa ever make him feel wrong or bad for being naturally bigger and stronger, thus needing more food to fuel him.

Perhaps the fact Pa had gone hungry before contributed to that, never wanting Hoss to go through what he did.

But- but-

The what ifs and could have beens were horrendous to think about.

“I remember when we were on the train, and our wagon had hundreds of pounds of flour and sugar and bacon. Ma was an amazing cook. And at some point..” Adam smiled a little, shaking his head, “I realized Pa was sorta different. His cheeks weren’t hollow, his hugs were softer, uh- he was fatter, y’know? He wasn’t starving anymore. He was actually healthy for the first time in- well, years, probably. I don’t know if I understood that it was because- well, that Ma knew he’d been going without for a long time, and she was worried about him, and every day he was getting three good meals from her. I remember telling her that Pa looked prettier lately.”

Joe laughed a little, even as it was evident he’d been moved to tears by the story.

“I remember-” There came a short guffaw before Adam continued, “I remember some man on the train made a theoretically inane joke about how Pa was eating like an expectant father who needed to keep his strength up, and as soon as Pa and Ma weren’t around, I kicked him in the shins repeatedly until someone pulled me off of him, and even then I tried to fight and spit at him, because how dare he try to be mean to my Pa about that. I was glad Pa was eating more and I liked him much better fat.”

Joe grinned. “Did you get in trouble with Pa and Inger?”

“I think they were both pretty appalled, but I clammed up about why I committed the attack and I just hugged Pa and didn’t let go, utterly relieved I couldn’t feel his individual ribs anymore, and he was so concerned and confused he just let it pass without any questions or punishment.” Adam’s eyes slid over to Hoss. “Okay, pal? You’re quiet.”

“What-?” The word died in his throat, and Hoss coughed, embarrassed. “What would he have done if it got bad again?”

Adam grew serious. “It didn’t, Hoss. You don’t have to think about how it might have been.”

“But would he have-?”

“Of course, Hoss. And it wouldn’t have been any different than why he did it for me,” he vowed earnestly, somehow sensing the extra element of Hoss’ worry.

He was likely remembering what Hoss was remembering; how some folks looked at Hoss like there was something wrong with him for being a fat little boy, or like there was something wrong with Pa or his parenting for loving him that way rather than trying to change him.

“He would do it for both of us; and for both of us, it would be out of love.”

Hoss nodded, mollified but still uncomfortable; the reactions of such cruel people hearing about such a thing, theoretical as it all was, played in his head, folks acting like he wasn’t worthy of the same kind of sacrifice because he was already a chubby baby, treating him like he could stand to go without; like if Pa had given him his food, Hoss would somehow be taking something away from his father that he was unworthy of-

Not that Hoss would have wanted Pa to do that for him, he didn’t want his Pa going hungry-

“I kept an eye on him for a long time after,” Adam continued, apparently able to see that Hoss was still not relaxed. “In case he tried to avoid taking his meals with us or anything like that. He never did.”

Hoss nodded again. He was still shaken, but Adam’s words granted some peace.

“I guess that’s why us all eating together is so important to him,” Joe said, his eyes on Hoss, looking equally worried and loving, “and actually seein’ that we have more’n enough and sharin’ what we got with each other.”

Adam hummed in agreement. “You’re probably right. Anyway, that’s my favorite meal, because it made me realize just how much love Pa had- still has- for me. And as important as that meal of bread and milk was to me, I am glad it was just about the last one of its kind. Within days, Ma was bringing meals over to us, and a few days later, Pa and I started having our suppers with her.”

He stared at Hoss another moment. “Joe or I can come up with the next question, or we can stop for a while if you like.”

“No- no,” Hoss said, holding up a hand, trying to not think about his Pa going hungry to ensure Adam had enough to eat, about his Mamma cooking for the family and seeing that Pa became fat and healthy again, about how his Pa would have starved all over again for both his sons had he needed to. He tilted his head back and looked up at the stars and the wispy clouds streaking across the night sky. Impulsively, he said, “Favorite weather.”

Nearly simultaneous, both Joe and Adam began to speak; Adam held up a hand in forfeit, letting Joe go first.

“When it’s so hot you can’t help but just wanna jump into the lake. Remember, Hoss, that summer that was just day after day of ninety, hundred degree heat, and it was so dry, and the sun was sweltering, and you and I would go to the lake every day? And it was still just as oppressively hot but you’re in the water and it’s so cool and refreshing that it makes the heat not so bad anymore.”

“When was that?” Adam asked.  “Was I away for school?”

Joe frowned in consideration. “Yeah, hadta been. Your first or second summer away maybe? I was still pretty little.”

“Second summer,” Hoss broke in, his voice still somewhat small. He cleared his throat and spoke louder. “I taught ya to swim the first summer.”

He remembered taking Joe to the lake and teaching him how to swim, trying to be as gentle and patient as possible because Joe was terrified of the water. Hoss held onto him by the waist and spun him around in a circle, explaining how to paddle and kick and tread water, and eventually Joe was swimming all on his own and having the most fun he’d ever had in his life. Hoss threw him up into the air and Joe howled with laughter when he splashed back down, and when it seemed he was ready to graduate up to jumping off the large boulder just far enough away from shore, but even then a little fear still lingered, Hoss still caught him every time.

“Yeah!” Joe laughed, the memory coming back to him. “Gosh, we wouldn’ta made it through that heat if you hadn’t taught me to swim. That summer was like that trail drive a few years ago, Adam, that was so dry and scorching.”

Immediately, both of them made sounds of recognition, and Adam laughed some. “It was so hot that even with the money we earned selling the cattle, the whole ordeal hardly seemed worth it. We came across that river at just the right time. Pa can be so surprisingly funny sometimes.”

As they’d been stopped to water their horses and refill their canteens, Pa suddenly removed his hat and belt and boots, eventually stripping off all of his clothes save for his long johns, and then without a word, leapt into the river.

Hoss and his brothers had watched it all in open mouthed shock and confusion, wondering if the sun had gotten to their father- and in a way, it had- and then laughed uproariously, shucking their own clothes and jumping in after him when Pa questioned what they were waiting for and told them the water was fine.

“I still think you and Pa cheated somehow when we were playing chicken,” Joe said to Hoss, who couldn’t help but snort.

“How could we cheat? Pa wanted to win more than you did and pushed you off Adam’s shoulders.”

“I’m with Joe, I think you two cheated,” Adam said, feigning seriousness. Joe nodded, looking vindicated, then threw Hoss a wink. “My turn?”

“Go ahead, big brother.”

Adam leaned his head back, looking at the clouds and stars above them. “Best kind weather is a cloudy day. Not raining and still sunny, but clouds everywhere; the sky a vibrant blue, and the clouds so puffy, they practically look solid. And you just lay back in the grass and watch them float along above you, finding shapes, and then they change form and look like something new.”

“Your favorite weather is cloud watching weather?” Joe asked, his voice wavering slightly; he seemed to be suppressing laughter, but was also clearly endeared by the thought.

“I remember playin’ that when we were little shavers,” Hoss said. “After chores, we’d go up ta the roof of the cabin and lay there lookin’ for shapes.”

“Do you remember when we fell asleep up there?”

“No! Did we really?” Hoss laughed.

“Poor Pa near went crazy looking for us. Finally, he heard your snoring and he climbed up the side- you remember how the logs almost had handholds? And he was so mad for a second, but we were still so sleepy and he was relieved we were alright. He just kissed us both and told us to never, ever go up there without his permission again. I felt bad about causing him worry, but-” he shrugged. “Guess that’s part of growing up and part of having children.”

“Yeah,” Hoss started to slowly recall. “I don’t remember that, but I suppose I remember watching the clouds while out in fields a lot more often. Pa did it with us sometimes too, didn’t he?”

Adam sobered slightly. “Sometimes. He and Mother used to do it together. She loved the game. He passed it on to me, because it was a way for me to feel connected to her. But sometimes, the memories were too much for him, and he couldn’t bring himself to play.”

“He’d lay between us on the ground. He wouldn’t play, but he still wanted to listen to us,” Hoss remembered, and Adam hummed.

“Pa’s had a hard life, ain’t he?” Joe asked. “I mean, I know that he has, but-” his eyebrow met in a nervous peak. “Is it still hard for him?”

Hoss caught Adam’s eye. Minutely, Adam shook his head. “Nah, at least not in the same way it used ta be. I think havin’ us helps him when it gets hard.” He looked back at Adam again, hoping the words met his approval; his brother rewarded him with a nod.

“Favorite weather, Hoss.”

“Hmm.”

Hoss thought a moment. The Ponderosa was beautiful in all conditions and all seasons. Rain or shine, snowed in all winter or so hot the only option was to strip down to one’s skivvies to jump in the lake.

“I don’t know that it’s gotta name. But when winter’s turnin’ into spring. There’s still snow on the ground, there’s still that crunch when ya step into it, but it’s meltin’ fast, too, ‘cause it’s starting ta get warm. And it smells like mud and wet dirt, yet it smells clean somehow, y’know? Fresh, and- and new. And the grass is startin’ ta come up through the snow, so green and resilient, and you know it’ll be grown up into a whole meadow of sweet smellin’ flowers before long. And the Ponderosa’s right on this-” he gestured unknowingly with his hands, wishing he knew how to explain what he was thinking.

“Precipice.”

“Yeah,” he said, agreeing with Adam. “The Ponderosa’s balanced right between winter and spring, and there’s the sense it’s coming but not quite there yet. And you stand in the woods, and all the little birds, the wind in the pines, they kinda go silent- or it seems like they do- and you just think about God and marvel at everything the earth is doin’. Makes you feel big and small all at once.”

Hoss stopped when he realized Adam and Joe were staring at him. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly when they didn’t speak.

“I s’pose that ain’t exactly a weather, huh?”

Joe let out a huff of laughter. “Adam, I think that Walden fella was right.”

“I agree, but Walden is the title of the book, the author is Thoreau,” Adam said, the correction seemingly automatic. He continued to stare at Hoss.

“What?” Hoss asked, unsure what to do with the scrutiny.

“Nothing. Just thinking that the next time I want to order a book of poetry from somewhere back east, I ought to listen to you instead. Far more illuminating and far more beautiful.”

Hoss flushed. “Get outta here.”

Understanding filled Adam’s eyes. “Let’s get the attention off our bashful brother here, huh, Joe?”

“Sure, Adam. Favorite..” he sucked at his teeth. “Favorite place. Favorite place on the Ponderosa.”

“Our happy place,” Hoss said immediately.

Joe bobbed his head in agreement. “Yeah. I know I’m supposed to go last, but me too.”

“Your happy place?” Adam asked.

“Yeah. We went there when we were kids,” Joe explained. “We didn’t do anything special when we were there, but just being there was special.”

Hoss remembered his little brother sitting next to him at the ridge, the two of them side by side on a felled log, and Joe leaning his head against his arm, and talking with each other about the things they could talk about with no one else.

But even as Hoss watched Joe, touched at the warm, happy gleam about him, he found himself thinking of another place. Maybe it wasn’t his favorite- it certainly hadn’t been the first one he’d thought of- but..

A canyon full of blossoming dogwoods and gold-back ferns.

Only one other person in the entire world knew about it; at least, she had known before her passing.

She was there in the canyon, every spring.

The warm breeze would come up and it was like her hand on his cheek. The air would sparkle with gold dust just like the blonde of her hair, and flower petals, pink and cream like her complexion, would float down, and-

And she was there.

It was always a special place for him, a place he went to when he needed to see something pretty and good.

Since Emily’s death, he went there whenever he missed her. Even a few years on, he still ached for her.

It would forever be their canyon, unseen and unknown by anyone else. Somehow, safeguarding that place was like Hoss’ last way of showing he still loved her.

“Well, if we’ve got the same answer, do we both wanna come up with a second favorite?”

Hoss considered Joe’s offer. “I dunno. I stand by what I said, I don’t mind if we share an answer.”

Joe shrugged, apparently willing to accept that Hoss didn’t want to voice any other potential favorites.

Technically, Emily’s canyon was not Hoss’ favorite place; rather, it was the most special.

“Go ahead, Adam,” Hoss vaguely heard, Joe offering their older brother an encouraging smile.

“Favorite place on the Ponderosa.. there’s a rise, not unlike any of the other rises on the ranch. Can see the pines, the open space. Special in its own way, but no more special than any of the other views on the Ponderosa. But a few years ago, as Pa and I looked out upon it, he said-”

He spoke a little differently, then; he was not quite imitating Pa, but his voice was a little deeper, his tone reverent.

“He said, ‘Feast your eyes on a sight that approaches Heaven itself.’ I told him, y’know, for all he’s done and seen, he can’t really know if it compares to Heaven. And-” Adam chuckled, looking slightly incredulous, “-he replied with the most un-Pa-like answer. ‘Maybe I’ve never been to Heaven, maybe I’ll never get the chance, but it’ll take some doing for it to beat our Ponderosa.’”

Hoss and Joe immediately let out copies of Adam’s incredulous laugh. “That doesn’t sound like Pa a’tall,” Joe chuckled.

“I know,” Adam replied fondly. “At the time, we were worried about land grabbers, and I didn’t really think that much about it, but later on, I realized the full extent of what he said, how it revealed what this land really means to him. So that view is my favorite place on the Ponderosa.”

Hoss hummed, liking his brother’s answer. He, too, often thought of the Ponderosa as a little corner of heaven, and that they were acting as stewards to it; that caring for the land was the divine task God chose for them.

But as he was considering that, he caught Adam’s expression; Hoss frowned, recognizing the discontent Adam did not fully succeed in hiding.

“What?”

Adam’s eyes flickered awkwardly in Joe’s direction. Whatever was on his mind he would have no qualms about sharing with Hoss, but for some reason, he was hesitant to speak of it with Joe present.

“Before Joe clarified favorite place on the Ponderosa,” he began, slow and careful, “he simply said favorite place.”

Joe straightened angrily. “You mean your real favorite place ain’t even on the Ponderosa?”

Adam didn’t reply, which was damning enough, an unspoken confirmation to Joe’s question.

Despite all of the fury exuding from Joe, Hoss could see through it; he knew hurt was at the core of his response.

His little brother hated the thought of Adam leaving the Ponderosa, or that the family wasn’t enough to make Adam happy.

Hoss didn’t like the idea of Adam leaving them either, but he understood that if he ever did choose to go, it wouldn’t be because the family had failed him; it would be for that part deep down inside of him that yearned for more.

Hoss and Joe and Pa would always mean home to Adam, regardless of wherever he someday went and whatever new places he lived in. Hoss knew that without a doubt.

“What’s your favorite place, Adam?” Hoss asked gently, understanding.

“Is it back east?” Joe asked, bitter and hurt and scared all at once.

“Yes,” Adam replied, the word in and of itself sounding like an apology. But he continued on determined and confident, unwilling to lie about something so important to him. “When I lived with grandfather while going to school, the only extra room in his home was Mother’s bedroom.”

Hoss’ breath caught, as did Joe’s.

“It was still the same, unchanged even eighteen years later. It was the room of a new mother, unfinished booties in a knitting basket; the room of a young woman and wife, her bridal trousseau and hope chest at the foot of the bed; the room of a girl soon to become a lady, with books everywhere about the places she dreamed of seeing someday; the room of a little child, a trunk overloaded with dolls and stuffed toys.”

He exhaled, swallowing hard.

“It was like she was there with ya, huh?” Hoss asked.

Adam rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. “More than that. I’ve always felt like part of Pa- or, well, like I was half Pa. It’s a good feeling, don’t misunderstand; you know how it is with him. But my other half, the half from Mother.. when I was there, I finally knew what it was like to be her son, too, not just Pa’s son. And every item in that room,” he said, shaking his head fondly, “Every drawing or toy or book, Grandfather had a story to go with it. Pa told me stories about his wife, but Grandfather told stories about his daughter. It was an entirely new perspective.”

Joe, likely afraid of wiping the happy look off of Adam’s face, began hesitantly. “Wasn’t it.. strange? Being there, after everything that happened in that room?”

Adam looked at Joe, and then slowly shook his head. “No.”

“But she..”

“I know. She died there. But she grew up there, she loved Pa there, she brought me into the world there. The room saw far more life than death.”

Joe suddenly turned pink.

“What, Joe?” Hoss asked.

He shook his head, blushing harder.

“What?”

Embarrassed, every couple of words came out in a short burst. “She loved Pa there. They both lived there- it was their bedroom- when they got married. They were husband and wife in that room.”

“If you’re trying to express your realization that I was very likely conceived in that room, you don’t have to. Such a probability is not a new thought.”

Joe squeaked a yelp. “But wouldn’t that have been weird, being there and knowing..?”

“Hate to break it to you, buddy, but you’ve very frequently been in and even slept in the same room you were likely conceived in too.”

Joe’s face slackened as his eyes went wide. “Yech! Ack-!” he glared at their brother and held his head in his hands. “Why?”

Adam snorted. “Show a little maturity, huh? You must know by now that the story Hoss and I told you about a pack mule arriving with a baby in her pannier was a bunch of nonsense.”

“You’re a product of Pa and your Ma’s love, Joe, that ain’t nothing to be ashamed of,” Hoss told him honestly. He really did mean his words, but simultaneously, he was relieved the covered wagon he was likely conceived in was long gone.

Joe seemed slightly appeased at Hoss’ words, and tilted his head forward in understanding.

“Okay. That thought would take me some getting used to, but that don’t mean I can’t understand why you loved the place. Guess you felt like you were close to her there, huh?”

Adam sparkled, exuding joy. “I really did. And eventually my textbooks and drafting tools began to get mixed in with her things, and it was like we got to be the same person for a while.”

Joe nodded. “I can’t begrudge ya that, havin’ a favorite place that ain’t here, I mean. If Mama’s grave wasn’t on the Ponderosa, she’d be a favorite place too.”

“That’s your other favorite?” Hoss asked. “Other than our happy place?”

“Yeah. I go there sometimes and talk to her. Not like she can give me advice, but just feeling like she knows what’s going on makes me handle whatever it is that I’m facing better.” He smiled a little bashfully. “Hoss, sure you don’t wanna add a second place? We both did.”

Hoss shook his head, smiling slightly. Adam squinted at him, somewhat askance. Maybe he knew there was another place Hoss had in mind, another place that was special to him that he didn’t want to reveal. But Adam didn’t ask him, and so Hoss instead tried to think of a new question. “Hmm. I thought of favorite animal, but my answer would be all of them and you two would probably say horses.”

Joe laughed in agreement, while Adam hummed thoughtfully. “Yes, you’re probably right, my favorite would be horses.”

“Okay, gimme a sec.” Hoss scratched the side of his head. “Mite odd, maybe, but s’all I got. Favorite name.”

“Hey, that’s a good one,” Adam said.

“Ya mean in general, just names we like, or when we’re Pas and naming our babies?”

Hoss made a noncommittal sound. “Either way, up to you.”

Joe’s brow knit in consideration.

Adam waited, seemingly on the possibility Joe wanted to go first. When he didn’t speak, Adam began, “I have multiple favorites, actually.”

Hoss gestured for him to go ahead, and Joe agreed. “Yeah, you start, I need more time to think.”

“Elizabeth, Erica, Inger, Josephine, Marie, and Benicia.”

A hearty, bellowing guffaw burst from Hoss’ lips, overwhelmed with joy. “Oh, I love ya, Adam.”

Joe’s grin was blinding. “You were so ready with those answers!”

“I’ve given it a fair amount of thought.” His pleased smile was small, but wholly genuine. “I do, after all, want to be a father someday, and have plenty of children.”

“What makes you so sure you’re gonna have daughters? And six of them, at that?” Joe asked with a laugh.

“Oh, I don’t know. Just a sense I’ve got. Apparently, my mother knew without a doubt I’d be a boy. And it doesn’t have to be six, I’m willing to use some as middle names.”

“Very accommodating of you,” Joe teased.

Adam spoke of it with a certain amount of irreverence, knowing that he was not married and knowing that things such as children could not be planned in the manner he described.

And yet, there was still a yearning about him, a vacant dreaminess, as if wishing he truly had six daughters waiting for him back home, longing for them with every fiber of his being.

“What would you do if you had a son?”

Adam dimmed slightly at Hoss’ question. “I’ve given thought to that too. Ross and Gil.”

Hoss thought of Adam’s good friends, one who died by Adam’s hand- whose hand Adam held as his life slipped away- and the other who died in a mining accident Adam lived through- and from then on had to carry the guilt of that survival.

“Eight youngins, huh, Adam? I can see that easily,” Hoss told him.

Adam laughed gruffly. “Well, we’ll see, at least. Found any answers, Joe?”

The young man pulled at a snag on his bedroll. “I dunno. A couple of the ones you said I was halfway thinking of.”

“Well, as far as I know, neither of us is in the position to get a jump on the other as far as naming rights,” Adam declared dryly. He quirked an eyebrow. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling us.”

“No!” Joe squawked, before throwing Adam a glare. He softened before speaking again, voice quiet. “I like Ben and Marie. And I thought maybe- maybe-”

Joe bit at his thumbnail, a reoccurring nervous habit of his. Once or twice over the years, Pa had tried to deter him of it, but the move reminded him so much of Marie that he never put much effort into the attempt.

“Maybe Laura or Amy,” he admitted sadly, his head bowed.

Hoss was too far away to offer much tangible comfort, but, still stretched out and lying on his side, he nudged Joe’s boot with his own, giving him a small kick. It wasn’t much, but it was an acknowledgment; it was appreciated, at least, if the tiny smile on Joe’s face was anything to go by.

“What about you, Hoss?”

Hoss sighed. “I’ve thought about Inger. Ben and Gunnar, too. And I’ve always liked the name Addy.”

Hoss did not turn to look at his older brother, but he sensed it when Adam straightened, staring with wide eyes.

“Yeah?” Joe inquired. “Why Addy?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said lightly, delighting in Adam’s response.

Hoss was having entirely too much fun with this.

“Been attached to Addy ever since I was a little shaver. The name sounded right even then. Can’t remember why,” he lied with ease.

Why, so the story went, was because of the simple fact Hoss struggled with his m’s as a child, and he’d found it easier to say Addy than Adam. Even when Hoss could pronounce Adam correctly, the diminutive pet name persisted, used throughout their childhood- albeit rarely enough, it seemed, for Joe to have missed it.

Hoss had rendered Adam speechless. His mouth hung half parted; his jaw twitched occasionally but he did not speak. Hoss tried to study him further without making it obvious he was watching him, trying to be aloof and casual as Joe nodded along to his explanation.

“Addy’s pretty cute,” Joe concluded.

Adam’s mouth curled into a smile and he ducked his head.

“I sure think so,” Hoss said, making a concerted effort to hide the happy waver of his voice.

“It’s your turn, Adam,” Joe reminded him, the urging immediately followed by a look of confusion.

“Hmm?” Adam’s head popped up, revealing a wet smile. “Oh- yes. Uh-” he hummed contentedly.

Joe turned to Hoss, concerned and doubtful at Adam’s manner. Hoss shook his head slightly, and Joe shrugged away the behavior.

“Favorite song?”

Hoss nodded appreciatively, but held off on sharing his answer when he saw Joe twitch with excitement.

“Shenandoah,” he said immediately.

“Yeah?” Adam asked. “I didn’t know that was your favorite.”

Joe bit at his thumbnail. “I guess it ain’t really the song that’s my favorite,” he said slowly. “It’s one of Pa’s favorites, y’know,” he clarified unnecessarily.

Both Hoss and Adam nodded in acknowledgment.

“I guess what I like about it is that he asks me to sing it. Like at parties or when we’re just sitting around singing together. He asks me to sing it and then he thanks me once I have,” he repeated, voice small but pleased.

Hoss smiled at Joe’s reasoning.

There was a very specific sort of happiness that came with Pa’s appreciation and praise. It was incomparable to any other feeling, to be the cause of his pride or laughter or joy.

Joe was always the most obvious in how said feeling affected him; he always beamed and glowed at any of Pa’s compliments.

The mere memory of Pa’s contentment when he sang had Joe looking just as exultant now.

The happy feeling was not because Pa was miserly with his thanks or recognition, either, as they were always given freely and honestly. Anytime he was pleased with them, he said as much; or if too bashful for it to be put into words- as Adam and Hoss often were- Pa would instead offer a gleaming look, patting them on the back or wrapping an arm around their shoulders.

“And when I’m singing, his eyes dance and crinkle up with pride. He gets that content look. All that over somethin’ as simple as a song.” The corner of his mouth turned upward. “Yeah, that’s why it’s my favorite, ‘cause I get to make him happy by singing it.”

“You know, Joe, every once in a while,” Adam joked, mock serious, “you say something so sweet that it’s hard for me to keep on thinking of you as a brat.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Joe replied in same. “I’ll never deny you the chance to honestly call me that. I get far too much fun out of being a brat to quit the endeavor completely.”

Both laughed, and though Hoss rolled his eyes at his brothers’ strange sense of humor, he was glad they were having fun.

“Hoss, favorite song,” Joe requested when he and Adam finished giggling.

“Dunno that I got a favorite for singin’. Any that I don’t hafta sound too good at,” Hoss said, having a preference for easier numbers that he could half talk through. He wasn’t a bad singer, but he also knew he was by no means as good as his brothers or father, and he didn’t see the point in trying to be, preferring to sing for the fun of it. “Far as hearin’ and listenin’, I like that Swedish song from when we was little shavers, Adam.”

“Ma Inger’s lullaby,” he replied softly.

Hoss thought of the many times in recent years he’d heard it; just as important to him now as when Adam would sing it to him every night before falling asleep.

Sometimes it was as simple as hearing Adam absentmindedly hum it while working on some other task, going over the ledgers or shining his boots or braiding a lariat.

Other times it had been in situations more serious. There had been a couple times Adam sang it while Hoss lay wounded, like the time he was bushwhacked, or when a horse stumbled and then fell on his ribs.

Hoss wasn’t quite sure how he remembered it, as he was unconscious at the time- although Joe’s words had somehow gotten through to him, a fact he still thanked God for. Adam had simply been humming it to his recumbent form. At some point, he stopped, apologized, and admitted to Hoss in a worn out whisper that he knew it silly to sing a lullaby when his brother was in a coma, when they were all out of their minds with worry that he wouldn’t ever wake up again. But then Adam had continued after a short pause, singing and humming the same lullaby over and over again until his throat was raw. Hoss had asked him about it later; Adam’s eyes had widened at the fact Hoss heard him, and he simply explained that Hoss looked so small and helpless and young in the bed, he couldn’t help but remember how he tended to Hoss when he was a baby.

The other time, Hoss had asked for it directly. He was laid out flat in the bed of the buckboard and Adam and Joe were wedged in between him and the sideboards. Hoss only recalled the pain in an abstract way, one of his busted ribs having punctured a lung. What he really remembered was what a struggle it was to breathe, gasping and choking and coughing. He’d tried to control it a moment- only later did he realize and feel guilt at how Adam and Joe had straightened in horror, thinking the pause in his wheezing was indicative of something else- and then asked Adam if he would sing him their Swedish song. Physically incapable of denying him such a request, he’d begun the lullaby, and though it soon lulled him into a painless sleep, Hoss could still recall the lump in Adam’s throat and the sound of not only Joe, but also their Pa on the bench seat, weeping.

“Reminds me of all we came from and have gone through,” Hoss said.

Adam hummed. “I-” he stopped as if unsure he wanted to say what he’d set out to. He then shrugged and continued anyway, despite appearing like he felt what he had to say was silly. “I wish you could’ve heard Ma’s voice. She could have sung at the opera house.”

For the shortest second, Hoss was hurt; it was another thing he never had the chance to make memories about.

But he ignored that awkward, sad feeling, knowing that Adam only shared the memory because for him, it was a good one.

“You really remind me of her when you sing. Not so much in the songs themselves, as you two like completely different kinds of music, but anytime she’d finish a song and Pa and I would clap, she’d brush it off the same way you do, saying, ‘Ah, it was nothing,’” Adam said, concluding with the slight Swedish accent that he adopted when telling stories about her. “Real shy-like, the way you do.”

Hoss must have turned pink, embarrassed, as Adam immediately grinned, adding “Yeah, and the blush is the same too.”

Hoss flushed even more. “Hush up, Adam, and just tell us your favorite.”

Adam indulged him. “Not exactly a song, as there are no lyrics, but favorite composition, I suppose, would be the waltz on my Mother’s music box.”

“Oh, yeah,” Joe said, nodding. “That is a pretty little ditty. What song is it anyway?”

Adam shrugged matter of factly. “Never have known. I asked Pa about it when I was a boy, and he said he didn’t know.”

“What don’t I know?”

Hoss and his brothers flinched, instinctively reaching for the gun belts laid out beside their bedrolls; but just as Hoss’ hand landed on the cool leather, the words registered to him, and he turned to look at the shadowed figure that had approached their campsite.

“Hiya, Pa,” Hoss said, relaxing. Adam and Joe also calmed, letting go of their weapons.

“Hello,” he replied, guiding Buck beside him by the lead rope and walking over to the rest of the horses. “Why aren’t you boys asleep? It must be well past midnight,” he said, removing his mount’s tack and saddle.

“I think a better question is what you’re doing riding in here at midnight.”

Adam looked up at their Pa inquisitively and scooted over to one side of his bedroll, making room. Pa hunkered beside the fire a moment, warming his hands, and then joined Adam.

“You must each promise not to laugh.”

Automatically, each of them snorted a short, amused huff; their Pa raised a disparaging eyebrow. Adam raised his right hand in a silent vow, and Hoss and Joe imitated him.

“We do so solemnly swear,” Adam seriously told him.

Pa grumbled, but then began to speak. “There were rumors that the rabid wolf was seen closer to the west pasture and not just around here. A rumor about a coyote or a fox sick with it as well. I’ve heard multiple people speak of seeing stray dogs with strange behaviors. It could all be heresy or fear, of course.”

“But on the off chance it wasn’t,” Joe inferred, “you wanted us to know.”

None of them laughed, honoring their vow, but each smiled softly.

“Well, I don’t know if the disease has spread, but we at least got the wolf that was after the herd in the southern range,” Adam affirmed. “He won’t be hurting anymore.”

The line of tension in Pa’s shoulders visibly fell away, and he relaxed beside Adam. “I’m glad to hear that. Hopefully that’s the only animal we’ll have to worry about.”

“How’d ya find us, Pa?”

“Oh, I knew where you would be looking and I knew that you’d be on your way home by now, regardless of whether you’d found the wolf, so it wasn’t hard to guess which trail you’d be on. Now, what’s this that I never knew about?”

For the shortest moment, Hoss forgot what he and his brothers had been talking about, and wracked his brain, wondering what youthful indiscretion or rebellion they had been recalling, something they’d hidden from their father.

“My Mother’s music box,” Adam said, and the memory immediately returned to Hoss. “Joe asked what song it played, and I was telling him we never knew, that all you could tell me was that it was a waltz.”

If their Pa was confused or surprised at their topic of discussion- admittedly, a rather odd one, given the time and place- he did not show it. He simply made a noise of recognition. “Oh, yes. Perhaps I knew the song when I bought it, but it has been many years, and it’s such a small detail at that, that I’m afraid that if I ever did have the title, it is long forgotten.”

Adam shrugged off the apologetic tone.

“Probably a Dutch composer,” Pa mused. “You know, I suspect you could bring it with you on your next trip to San Francisco. I wouldn’t be surprised if you could find answers after making inquiries at a music school or the like.”

Adam made a contemplative sound, nodding.

Hoss wondered if he would actually do it. He happened to know that Adam was deeply protective over the music box, rarely moving it from the table beside his bed, not wanting to risk breaking or losing it. Occasionally, Hoss thought he heard it playing late at night, and he figured that Adam had opened it, unable to sleep. Every once in a while, he heard very quiet strumming following or on top of the notes, gradual but eventually successful attempts at imitating the melody on his guitar.

Hoss watched Pa for a moment, thinking of all his brothers shared about their father that night, all he himself had considered and revealed.

How he let Hoss give Joe a horse for his eleventh birthday; how he babied Hoss when he was injured; how he used his knowledge of sailor’s stitches to make Adam a stuffed bear; how he wore periwinkle so frequently it had become Joe’s favorite color; how he loved to have the entire family around the dining table; how he’d lick his plate clean after beignets; how he went without to ensure Adam never went hungry; how he stripped down to his skivvies on a hot day and jumped into the river and played chicken at his grown sons’ behest; how he laid in a field and listened to his two young boys point out shapes in the clouds; how he thought their home and the land it was on approached heaven itself; how all his sons wanted to name a child after him; how he always looked so proud to be their father, lucky and honored to call them his sons.

As different as every one of Hoss and Adam and Joe’s answers had been to each question, one thing was quite certain.

They all were in agreement on their favorite father.

“Hey, Pa,” Hoss said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He straightened, likely believing there was something wrong, though perhaps not with the rabid wolf, and wanting to help. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“Oh, no reason,” Hoss said simply before smiling earnestly. “Just glad you’re here.”

Pa was surprised a moment before his eyes twinkled fondly; and there was that happy, indescribable feeling they all loved so much, the innate understanding that Pa quite genuinely enjoyed each of them. “I’m glad too.”

“Pa, d’ya got a favorite flower?” Joe asked.

“A favorite flower?” His brow knit in confusion. “Not particularly. I remember a few fields of prairie flowers that were quite beautiful the summer we passed through Nebraska and Kansas.”

“I remember that,” Adam said. “Those little purple ones Ma liked so much, and all the sunflowers.”

Pa hummed in pleasure. “Yes. And Marie loved her rose garden so dearly, tending to it with such care.”

“What about Adam’s mama?” Joe asked.

Pa chuckled, quiet but hearty. “She loved all flowers. The wallpaper in our bedroom had.. peonies, I believe? Perhaps they were roses. They were pink, I remember.”

“The parlor, too,” Adam said quietly, and cleared his throat, speaking louder when Pa turned to him. “The parlor had wallpaper with pink flowers. On the wall closest to the street and then up the stairs.”

“Yes.. yes!” Pa said, excited at the recollection. “In a diamond pattern, I remember now. Funny to have forgotten such a thing. I remember the Captain telling me that pacing wouldn’t make you come any sooner, and when he dragged me over to the settee, I counted the flowers to distract myself from how impatient I was to meet you.”

That he so badly wanted to meet Adam was certainly not a lie- Hoss knew as much even without having been there or being born yet- but Hoss could guess that Pa’s pacing had much more to do with worry and fear than impatience.

But the recollection did not seem to darken Pa, his smile only slightly sad. He reached behind Adam and momentarily cupped the back of his neck.

“Why do you ask, Joe?”

“Because it was my turn to come up with a question.”

As understanding dawned in Pa’s eyes, Joe looked back and forth expectantly between Hoss and Adam.

The game continued until they were too tired to play anymore, each of them sharing and laughing and reminiscing; favorite sound, favorite holiday, favorite vacation, favorite smell.

At some point, Adam’s head bobbed and he popped right back up, trying to hide he’d been falling asleep, but they’d all caught him; Pa recommended they call it a night after they finished the final round of questions, their favorite gift.

“Each of your mothers- and the Lord, too, I suppose, as He willed it- gave me each of you. I cannot imagine a better gift to have been blessed with. Now,” he said, catching Adam yawning, “it really is time to rest.”

Hoss laid back on his bedroll as Pa situated his own to enclose the square around the campfire, and as Joe and Adam playfully kicked at each other, saying to the other to get his feet off of his bedroll.

“Oh, come now,” Ben argued, “it’s not the first time we’ve had to share, and we’re all family-”

“That’s not what we care about!” Adam protested. “And it’s because we’ve done it before that we know it’s not about the sharing, it’s who’s sharing with who! What if I get stuck with Joe?”

“Hey! Who says I want you anyway?”

Adam ignored Joe’s complaint as if the boy hadn’t even spoken. “Joe drools, Pa,” he announced dourly.

“I do not!”

“The last time we bunked together, he drooled all over my shoulder! I was looking around for Noah and his ark, I was so soaked!”

“That was years ago!”

“Well, in all those years, my nightshirt still hasn’t dried out!”

Hoss sat down on the bottom step of the staircase, propping his elbow on his knee and dropping his chin into his hand. He sighed, sharing a look with Ben.

Ben wasn’t going to take sides, but he understood how his middle son felt. The last few weeks would have been miserable enough on their own- the weather suddenly shifting from a muggy, humid heat to a chilled down to the bone downpour, half their cattle taking off in every cardinal direction when there was a stampede and adding a day and a half to the drive, twice as many tolls as they were informed of and getting swindled with ten cents a head at two different crossings-

It had been a long three weeks.

The last few days alone seemed longer than the entire drive, though, due to Adam and Joe’s constant needling and bristling. Ben couldn’t blame them for their exhaustion and impatience with how the drive had gone, but there had been more than one occasion in which he considered hiding under the chuck wagon just to escape their bickering.

The extra hands they brought with them to ride drag, a pair of brothers, got paid off early, cutting out to visit their Ma in a town a day’s ride away, and Hop Sing had continued onward by himself to visit family.

As the group dwindled down to just the sole four, Hoss and Ben had been exchanging many such looks and sighs.

Adam and Joe continued their sniping accusations.

“Now, boys-” Ben began.

“Yeah, well you’re no peach to sleep with either!” Joe said, completely ignoring Ben. “You’re all elbows and knees and- and kicking me, Pa! All the time, kicking me-”

“Oh, for pete’s sake.” Ben sat down on the step beside Hoss. His middle son turned to him, bobbed his head upward in acknowledgment, and then returned to his apparent analysis of the carpet.

“That’s not true, and even if it were, you would have it coming-!”

“Both of you relax, would ya? I’ll share with one of ya so’s you don’t have ta deal with the other.”

And so this argument doesn’t have to continue, Ben knew Hoss was thinking. It was really a commendable offer, one Ben wished he’d thought of earlier as to avoid the entire altercation.

But neither his oldest or youngest appreciated the proposition.

“With the way you snore? No way!”

“And have the Anvil Chorus playing in my ear all night? No, thank you.”

Adam’s reference confused Ben for a moment, but he turned to Hoss, who- clearly apathetic at whatever his older brother was alluding to- sighed and leaned against the railing of the stairs.

The argument continued above them.

Suddenly as short-tempered as his standing sons, Ben shot to his feet.

“I’ve just about had it. We’ve been sleeping in the saddle or on the ground in the mud for three weeks. A bed and a roof should have you all overjoyed!”

“I’d be clicking my heels if they’d just stop,” Hoss said, as near a whine Ben’s usually content and easygoing son could get.

“Boot-licker,” Joe grumbled, and in a show of solidarity rarely seen in the last week, Adam huffed his approval of the statement.

“That’s enough,” Ben said sharply. Joe had the decency to look ashamed, and Adam sent Hoss an apologetic frown. Hoss, looking far more tired than offended, waved both of their behaviors away.

But with that, Joe took it as permission to start off again. “But Pa, Adam-”

“Pa, I’d be fine if I could bunk with you,” Adam replied, interrupting and ignoring Joe’s newest complaint.

“Hey, wait a minute, I want Pa! Pa, please let me share with you!” Joe begged, grabbing his hand to advance his case.

“If he’s gonna pick anyone, it’s gonna be me, I’m the only one not yelling in his ear,” Hoss added dryly, words muffled with the banister against his cheek.

Ben would’ve chuckled if he didn’t already know that would immediately start a new, separate argument.

Instead, he announced, loud and commanding, “Each of you will flip a coin. Odd man out gets to pick first. Fair enough?”

There was a moment of silence- blessed, beautiful silence- as Ben’s plan sunk in. His sons exchanged nods and shrugs, and began to dig through their pockets for loose change. Ben offered a penny of his own when Joe came up empty.

“We could do matches instead,” Adam suddenly offered. Joe’s head popped up at that; his expression was so solidly set between skeptical and hopeful that it almost deterred Ben from ever using the method again. Hoss did usually lose with that method..

“No, flipping coins will do,” Ben asserted as Hoss stood up and joined them, penny in hand. “Now, regardless of whoever wins this, I don’t want a peep out of the other two, do I make myself clear?”

On his count, the three pennies went flying up into the air, spinning and twirling until they began their descent. Each young man slapped their coin down against the back of their hands, and after a few furtive looks, revealed their pennies.

—

“You want the left or right, Pa?” Hoss asked.

“Makes no difference to me, boy,” Ben said, finishing up at the wash basin. Joe shoved past him for his turn- the lineup for that necessitated a game of chance as well, and he’d ended up last; Adam’s crowing about getting it first hadn’t eased frustrations- and Ben dried his hands. “Think the bed will be tall enough for you?”

“I’ll probably have to scrunch a mite ta get down to your size, but by tomorrow morning, the soreness of that will blend in with everythin’ else,” Hoss easily rationalized, flashing a smile up at him before adding a piece of wood to the small stove in the corner.

Ben grinned softly at his son’s sense of humor, pulling back the blankets on the side closer to Adam and Joe’s bed. It wasn’t much of a barrier, but it made it seem as if he’d take the brunt of Hoss’ snoring, his other sons hearing even less of it across the room.

Adam was currently ignoring the situation, instead taking advantage of a change in the weather, clouds clearing and thus allowing him to read by the light of the moon shining through the window. Ever since Ben’s dour look and command that everyone get ready for bed, he hadn’t spoke; Ben liked to think some maturity and regret was beginning to sink in, and hoped that said feelings would rub off on his youngest.

Hoss finished tending to the fire, shutting the stove door, and then slipped into bed beside Ben. He pulled up the blankets as high as he was able without leaving their feet cold. They both shifted back and forth, occasionally bumping into each other and apologizing as they got settled.

Joe made his way back to the other bed, shaking the water off his hands, the only towel the hotel offered already used three times and long since made useless for drying. “Would you get up please?” he grit out politely at Adam. “I’d like to turn down the covers, and you’re in the way.”

In the dim light, Ben saw Adam’s mouth harden, twitching in annoyance, but then he stood, dramatically bowing and sweeping his hand through the air. “Oh, certainly, Joseph, I beg thee pardon for not doing it for you before. Please, allow me.”

“Would you shut up? I can get it myself, you jack-”

“Boys,” Ben scolded mildly.

A struggle continued, the two practically in a tug of war over the quilts.

“Oh, criminently,” Hoss scowled, putting the back of his hand over his eyes. “I shoulda picked one’a them instead jest to avoid all this.”

“Adam, Joe, just get in bed, would you?” Ben implored, patience thin.

They both scowled, neither able to metaphorically return to their corners when they literally had to lay down eight inches apart from one another.

But both tamped down their anger and got under the covers, making a big scene and to-do with plenty of huffing and grunting as they lay as far apart from each other as the bed would allow, and facing away from one another, too, for good measure.

“Good. Each of you sleep well.”

“Good night, Pa.”

“Good night.”

“‘Night, Pa.”

Ben nodded resolutely and shut his eyes, the anger and annoyance of the day falling away like loose dirt in an avalanche, exhaustion easily taking their place.

He silently sent up a couple of quick prayers, offering thanks for a safe trip and asking for another safe trip back home; he also asked for guidance regarding his sons, and for forgiveness for the few unsavory moments in which he considered sneaking away during the drive, leaving them to handle it on their own.

That hardly would have been fair to Hoss, though.

The cattle his middle son could handle, but even with his usual position as a bridge between the fractious brothers, Hoss seemed to be nearing the end of his patience too.

His prayers completed, Ben forced his mind and worries to quiet, and internally humming the waltz from Liz’s music box, drifted off to sleep.

It was hard to say how long he’d been lost in the land of dreams- by now the street had quieted and the moon had shifted away from the window- but Ben hoped at least two or three hours had passed. He’d hate to think he’d already awakened and not even had a full hour’s sleep.

Hoss had shifted onto his back and began to snore.

Ben sighed, staring at the ceiling, feeling an absurd laugh bubbling up in his chest. His mirth felt safe, as he had the relief-inducing knowledge that Adam and Joe were still asleep, undisturbed by the noise; or at least, they hadn’t angrily risen, engaging in another tirade of complaints.

If they were keeping their grievances to themselves, that was a major improvement.

Hoss continued sawing logs, blissfully unaware of his wide awake bed partner, and Ben tried to silence his amusement.

He was truly exhausted if this had him hiding uncontrollable laughter.

But he didn’t want to risk Adam or Joe awakening, so he suppressed himself, reaching over toward his son. He carefully rotated Hoss back onto his side.

Hoss let out a sleepy grunt. “Was I-? Sorry, Pa.”

“‘S’alright, boy,” Ben replied; he didn’t think Hoss even heard him, his breathing falling back into the deep sighs of sleep before he’d even finished speaking. He loosely patted the man’s head, lightly stroking the fine, wispy hair, and then rotated himself, pulling the quilts tighter around him, hoping he would soon fall back asleep.

He’d almost made it when a disgusted yelp sounded from across the room.

“Pa, Joe drooled on my pillow!”

Ben jolted awake and sat up, instinctively reaching for his nonexistent holster before the words registered. Next to Ben, Hoss rose, propping himself up by his elbow.

Adam had leapt out of bed and was pointing at Joe accusingly. Joe’s head, rather incriminatingly, was quite close to Adam’s pillow.

“Pa, I told you he drooled, I told you- oh, ick, it’s soaked-!”

“Oh, shut up, would ya? It’s probably your own spit anyway!”

“Who are you to tell me to shut up? If you could learn to keep your damn mouth shut, I wouldn’t be in this situation!”

“Knock it off!” The two silenced at Ben’s shout. “Little Joe, stay on your pillow-”

“Hey, there’s no proof it was me-!”

“-and Adam, just flip the pillow over and go back to sleep.”

“No way!” both of them replied- and then each glared at the other for speaking over him.

“Pa- Pa, it’s fine- I’ll trade with one of ‘em, I don’t mind,” Hoss offered.

“Me, me!” Joe shouted, but Adam, already on his feet, stepped up onto the mattress and crossed the gap between the beds in a single bound and stood by Hoss’ feet. Joe scowled and turned away from them all, crossing his arms.

Hoss tiredly ran a hand through his hair and made his way around both beds as Adam crawled in beside Ben.

With the patience of a saint- patience he certainly didn’t inherit from Ben, he knew- Hoss flipped the wet pillow over and sunk into the bed. He faced Joe, putting one of his large hands on the side of the boy’s head.

Ben thought he heard Hoss whispering to Joe quietly; he thought he saw the line of tension in Joe’s shoulders disappear and he relaxed, eventually curling up against Hoss’ chest.

“Good night, Pa,” Adam said, sounding contrite. Ben turned to him as he laid back down. Adam furtively glanced at him, and then looked back up at the ceiling.

Ben, knowing his son was embarrassed at his behavior and regretted it, accepted the unspoken apology, appreciating the intent even if Adam couldn’t quite put it into words.

“Night, son,” he replied meaningfully, eyes permitting Adam to see he was forgiven. He lifted his head slightly and directed his voice to the other side of the room. “Night, boys.”

They replied in same, Joe adding a quiet “Pleasant dreams.”

Seeing this, too, as a peace offering, Ben hummed contentedly and closed his eyes, breathing slow and steady, and after a few moments, sleep overtook him.

In the midst of a dream- he could understand very little, except he recognized the lullaby Inger and Adam used to sing to Hoss when he was a baby, and he thought he may have been in the middle of the Bella Union Theater, in San Francisco of all places- he suddenly felt a sharp stabbing pain.

“Ow!”

He immediately clamped his mouth closed, exhaling hard through his nose and holding a hand to his ribs. They burned and throbbed, and he felt a rush of sympathy for every calf they’d ever given a Ponderosa brand to.

Ben groaned a little, rubbing the side of his waist, offering Adam a shocked look in the man’s direction. Adam suddenly flailed again, elbow nearing Ben’s chest this time. He caught it quickly, and gave Adam’s wrist a squeeze.

His eyes shot open. “Pa? What is it?” He straightened, sitting up and trying to see Ben in better lighting; Ben imitated him, and then immediately winced when his ribs protested at the movement, free hand moving to the inflicted area.

“Pa, are you hurting? Were you injured? Is- is it your heart?”

Ben, forgiving the fact that Adam thought he was old enough to have heart trouble- even if he were, that was between him and Doc Martin- and, more relevant, that he’d missed that the pain was on his right side rather than the left- Adam must have been tired if he were able to forget that- shook his head. “It’s nothing. Were you dreaming?”

Adam shook his head, confusion joining his concern. “I don’t think so.. was I talking?” Even in the dark, Ben could see the rush of blood to Adam’s cheeks, his son flushing with embarrassment. “Was I.. flailing around? Did I-?” he looked down at his wrist, still in Ben’s hand.

“It’s nothing,” Ben assuaged.

Adam looked horribly guilty. “I’m sorry, Pa, awful sorry. Is it just your ribs? Did I get you anywhere else? I didn’t mean to-”

“I know you didn’t,” Ben assured him. An unfortunate burst of pain coursed through him just then, and he unsuccessfully covered his grunting whimper with a cough. Adam’s eyebrows met in a nervous peak in the middle of his forehead, and Ben waved away Adam’s fluttering hands at his ribs.

It was more of a shock than anything else, that Adam had such focused strength in his sleep; at most, Ben would have a bruise the size of his oldest’s elbow, but it wasn’t anything to worry about.

But worry Adam did.

“I’m so sorry. I guess Joe was right, I didn’t know that I fought like that in my sleep; if I had, I never would have- but that’s no excuse,” he concluded, quite suddenly pulling away and grabbing his pillow, rising from the bed.

“What’re you doing?” Ben asked.

“I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Ben grabbed the back of Adam’s nightshirt; lurching forward to do so had the room spinning, but he hid that little detail. “Don’t be ridiculous. Just lay down and go back to sleep.”

“Are you sure, Pa? I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“You think I can’t handle those bony elbows of yours?” Ben countered, feigning offense. “Get back in bed.”

Adam frowned but followed the order, crossing his arms tightly over his chest as if shackling himself in place.

Ben pulled up their blankets and reached across the bed to Adam, giving his chest a pat and then offering his shoulder a squeeze. He ignored the sensation of burning that the stretch elicited, continuing to rub Adam’s arm and waiting for the tension to leave his son’s body. “I’m fine, alright? Just relax.”

Soon enough, Adam went limp, and grimacing, Ben shifted in the bed, taking pressure off his ribs and trying to stay out of his son’s wingspan.

To his immense shock, the pain faded long enough for him to fall asleep again.

“Ha. Haha. Hee hee.”

Ben furrowed his brow.

He didn’t want to open his eyes just yet.

There couldn’t be something else already. Not again.

Maybe he could fall back to sleep without confronting this.

More giggling.

Ben let out a slow, controlled sigh, and turned to the noise.

The moon was low enough again that the room was once again illuminated- signifying that at least a few hours had passed- and its beams of light revealed a tired but wide awake Hoss, sitting up in bed and leaning back against the headboard, wearing an expression of bored resignation.

At his waist was Joseph, arm around Hoss’ stomach, giggling into his belly.

Unable to believe his eyes, Ben blinked hard a couple times. He propped himself up on his elbow. Seeing the movement out of the corner of his eye, Hoss turned to look at him. He gave a nod of acknowledgment, and then a long suffering sigh passed his lips.

“Let me see the baby duckling again, Hossie,” Joe said, snuggling closer into him. Hoss tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling.

More delighted giggling.

Ben felt Adam shift behind him, rising to see past Ben’s shoulders. He glanced back at his oldest; he stared agog, open mouthed, struggling for words.

“It’s so fuzzy and feathery, Hoss,” Joe laughed, and then rubbed his cheek into Hoss’ nightshirt and stomach.

Hoss carefully pulled one of his trapped arms out of Joe’s hold and covered up a yawn.

“Why don’t you wake him?” Adam asked, incredulous.

“Hossie, can we see the bunnies too?”

Hoss put a finger to his lips. “‘S’okay. Half the time he used to sneak into my room, he’d end up like this. I’m used ta it, I don’t mind.”

Adam dramatically rolled his eyes. Ben could acquiesce that Hoss let Joe get away with a lot more than Adam or even he would permit. “Hoss, you need your sleep, too,” Ben reminded him gently.

“So fluffy ‘nd hoppy,” Joe mumbled, hugging Hoss tighter.

“I don’t mind,” Hoss reiterated, ignoring Joe’s decidedly unlucid ramblings. “He usually quits after a few minutes. And he’s embarrassed enough already, after earlier.”

Adam seemed to shrink slightly at that, before sharply countering, “Don’t tell me you’d be fine and dandy with him drooling on your pillow.”

Hoss sent Adam a look that Ben read as Are you stupid?

It was not at all a common exchange between the two, and it was especially uncommon in who sent and received the critique.

“Adam, right now, he’s using me as a pillow,” Hoss replied, letting that speak for itself.

Ben’s face twisted at that- as a father, he was desensitized to just about everything; there was nothing about his sons that could disgust him- but the fact Hoss hadn’t even complained was still shocking to him.

Adam, however, cringed, and made a noise of revulsion. “Good grief, Hoss.”

He lifted up his pillow and tossed it across the room. It just clipped the side of Joe’s shoulder.

“Hey! What- what-?” Joe realized that not only was he cuddled up in Hoss’ side, but also that everyone was staring at him. “What’s everyone lookin’ at?”

“Nothin’,” Hoss quickly said before Adam could interject, throwing him a glare. “You was just talking in your sleep, is all.”

“Oh.” Joe turned pink.

“It was just a surprise to us,” Ben confirmed.

“And laying across Hoss’ stomach and giggling and-”

“Adam, let it go,” Hoss argued.

“Were y’all talkin’ about me when I was asleep? That’s not fair! Pa, let me share with you!”

Hoss frowned, looking guilty. “Little Joe, ya don’t have to leave, I wasn’t complaining or nothin’.”

“Don’t feel bad, Hoss, it’s Pa’s shift to babysit him anyway.”

Hoss got to the pillow before Joe did, throwing it back at Adam with all the force he could muster.

Everyone in the room winced.

“Sorry, Pa,” Hoss whispered.

Ben’s face didn’t sting half as much as his sons likely believed it to; regardless, he exhaled sharply through his teeth and tossed the blankets off. “Get up, Hoss.”

“I’m really sorry, Pa, I didn’t mean it,” Hoss repeated, getting out of bed as he was commanded. “I’m sure sorry, I never meant ta-”

“Hoss, stop apologizing,” Ben ordered as he rounded the foot of Joe’s bed- it deserved such a title, as Joe was the only one who’d spent the whole night in it so far, not partaking in the delightful spin on musical chairs his sons had created.

“Yes, sir. Sorry,” Hoss said, repentant, looking at the floor as the two passed.

Ben sighed and reached out, stopping him to pat his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, hmm?” The corner of the young man’s mouth twitched up into a bashful smile.

“Yes, sir.”

Ben laid down, pulling the blankets up around his shoulders, the walk across the wood floor in stocking feet chilling him thoroughly.

He waited until Hoss settled. “Now, before I bid you boys good night for- what are we at? Three times now? I want a solemn vow that each of you will keep your complaints to yourself. I don’t care who is snoring or drooling or elbowing or giggling or talking, and I don’t want any of you waking me up with said things either, or any new problems you three may invent.”

“I told you Adam was an elbower,” Joe commented victoriously.

“Joseph!”

“Yes, sir, I promise. I won’t wake you again.”

“If there’s a fire, and it’s out of control, and you know with a hundred percent certainty that you can’t put it out yourselves, and that my help and my help alone will turn the tide, you can wake me. Otherwise, I want to sleep.”

“Yes, sir,” Hoss vowed, and Adam echoed him.

Ben nodded solidly and turned onto his side, away from his sons, pulling the blankets with him. As he drifted off, he found himself thinking of the Book of Job and the trials and challenges given to the man to test his faith and character.

Give me his strength, Lord, Ben mused, only half irreverent as he fell unconscious.

—

Adam awoke, not to the noise of Hoss’ snores, but to shivering. He furrowed his brow. The room was silent again. Maybe he’d dreamt it?

But then came a rustling, brushing sound, one that came with a series of quick repetitive actions, like one running their hands up and down their arms such as to generate warmth.

It wasn’t all that cold in there, though. The fire Hoss started in the small wood stove was still burning away, Adam adding a couple logs to the fire after the first few hours of the night. Beyond that, each bed had multiple layers of wool blankets and thick quilts.

There came another shiver, this time accompanied by a shudder, a chill coursing through them.

It wasn’t Hoss. He was sleeping peacefully beside Adam, and though the blankets were somewhat short, he didn’t seem disturbed by that lack of warmth, breathing deep and easy, occasional snores interspersed.

He supposed it was possible it was Pa, but-

Pa wasn’t the one who ran the coldest in the family.

“Joe?” Adam asked sleepily. Despite the deductions being made internally, exhaustion held him back and prevented him from fully joining the land of the living, one foot on either side of the door. “You’re shivering. What’s wrong, are you cold?”

“No, I’m chattering my teeth because it’s a fun lullaby.”

Adam inhaled deeply, forcing himself awake. He rose up in bed, looking past Hoss. “What happened to the blankets?”

For a moment, he wondered if he was not dreaming, or if his eyes were perhaps sending him false messages. He shook his head slightly in disbelief.

Their Pa had all of the quilts pulled tight around him, while Joe’s side had nearly nothing to offer, save for what remained solely because it was tucked in at the foot of the bed. His stocking feet were under those few inches of covering, but the rest of him was exposed, only his thin nightshirt and long johns protecting him.

Staring at them, Adam tried to hide a snort. “Pa hogged the blankets?”

He clearly didn’t do a well enough job hiding his amusement, as Joe rolled his eyes. “I’m glad you find this amusing.” Another shiver went through the boy. “How’d you even hear me shivering over Hoss anyways?”

As he spoke, a loud snore broke through the room. Adam didn’t know why that hadn’t woken him, but Joe’s shivering did.

Maybe it was because Hoss had always snored, even when he was a baby, and he was always right beside Adam or across the room or just down the hall or the other side of the campfire; he was as used to it as coyotes yipping, wind blowing through the pines, crickets chirping, calves and their mamas bawling when separated. It was just one of those noises in the night that made sense and felt right.

He remembered struggling to fall asleep his first few months in Boston; homesickness contributed, but he eventually realized it was because everything sounded wrong. It wasn’t just that the street outside was too crowded and too loud; it was also that there was no Hoss down the hall, snoring away and lulling him to sleep.

And beyond the fact he was accustomed to Hoss’ snores, maybe there was something else, some instinct that forced Adam awake, something within him that knew Joe needed help.

But instead of admitting or revealing as much, Adam made a noncommittal sound, not deigning to answer. He instead got up and went over to the small table where they deposited their saddlebags and day clothes. As he sifted through their things, searching for what would make do as blankets, it became apparent something was missing.

“Hoss,” he whispered loudly. “Hoss!” He reached over and grabbed the man’s foot through the covers, shaking him slightly.

Mid-snore, he quickly awakened and looked at Adam in confusion. His lips parted, likely to ask why he was again being disturbed in the middle of the night, but Adam spoke over him. “Where’s your vest?”

“I think I left it over by the wash basin.” He rubbed at his eyes with the backs of his hands. “Why?”

“Joe is cold.”

Suddenly sounding very awake, Hoss questioned, “He got a fever?”

Adam’s heart dropped to somewhere around his stomach, and though Hoss was closer, already rising to check on Joe, Adam crossed the room in four quick strides. He clumsily put his hand against the boy’s forehead, a couple fingers partially blocking Joe’s vision; still, he looked up at Adam with trust, depending on him and waiting for his diagnosis.

Adam’s blood had gone cold at the prospect Joe had caught something while on the trail, had maybe got some bad water, but he relaxed upon feeling Joe’s cool brow.

It was indeed rather cool, but not from a sickness that lowered body temperature; this was something they could handle easily.

“No fever,” he concluded, and he felt Joe collapse in relief under his hand. “Just colder than a-”

“Adam,” Hoss scolded.

“What? I was going to say widow’s kiss, if you must know. Even if I was going to say what you were thinking, Joe’s heard and said worse.” Adam patted his cheek and returned to their saddlebags.

“Why don’t you tug the blankets back over to your side?” he heard Hoss ask as Adam went about his collecting of flannel shirts.

“I tried, a little,” Joe defended, sounding rather meek. It was so out of character that Adam tilted his head slightly, watching them out of the corner of his eye. Hoss had risen and taken the top quilt of his and Adam’s bed with him, tucking it tightly around Joe. “I was afraid it’d wake him up.”

“Pa ain’t really mad, y’know,” Hoss said.

He was leaning down over Joe and had put a hand on the boy’s cheek. Adam found himself turning away, a strange feeling rising in his throat.

“He’s just tired, and that makes him blustery,” Hoss explained.

Adam tried to not think about a conversation a couple of days ago, after Joe had gotten him so mad he was about ready to throw the coffee pot at him. Joe had stomped off to be alone, and it was an awkward silence between Adam and Hoss as they sat around the campfire.

Once again, Hoss had been put in the middle, a bridge between the oldest and youngest, and once again, he’d felt he failed, because neither Adam or Joe were willing to meet him in the middle.

“He’s impossible,” Adam finally groused. “It’s like he deliberately-”

“Hey, now. It ain’t normally this bad between you two. It’s just the trail that’s got ya both with your feathers all ruffled.”

“The problem isn’t the trail, it’s that he just doesn’t listen to me. How do you always get through to him?”

“Well, I don’t always, ya know. But I just try to do for him what ya did for me when I was acting like he is.” And Hoss had risen to follow Joe, but not before putting a hand on his shoulder. “Just imitating the best big brother I know.”

After talking to Joe and making no progress, Hoss had determinedly stayed out of it, no longer putting his usual effort into being peacekeeper.

Adam nudged past Hoss with his bundle of makeshift blankets in hand, and put the extra layers over the boy, flannels first and then draping the longer and heavier coats along the length of his body.

“Thanks,” Joe said quietly, apparently realizing the olive branch Adam was also offering alongside the coats.

Adam swallowed hard, pushing down the emotions their silent reconciliation brought him. He instead sent Joe a wink, simply sitting down on the opposite bed, where Hoss soon joined him.

Joe filed through the layers of coats, pulling out Hoss’ vest and bundling it into a ball, hugging it to his chest. It reminded Adam so much of how he used to carry around his stuffed toy horse as a boy that he had to turn his head, hiding his smile in Hoss’ shoulder until Joe situated himself.

“And I know he wouldn’t be mad,” Joe suddenly said, continuing his conversation with Hoss. “I know he’d feel awful if he knew I was cold ‘cause of him. But it’s my fault he’s had such a horrible night’s sleep anyway.”

“How do you figure that?” Adam inquired.

“Every time he’s gotten up tonight, it’s been ‘cause of me bein’ annoying to somebody.”

“Hey now, I really never meant ta make ya feel bad earlier, I wasn’t bothered ya woke me up-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joe groaned quietly. “People still woke up ‘cause of me.”

His guilt and his pout were so pathetic that Adam found himself speaking.

“If you must know, Pa has an elbow sized bruise on his ribs, acquired when he and I were sharing earlier.”

Joe steadied Adam a look, trying to see if he was telling the truth. “Really?”

“It woke him up,” Adam admitted, “and I didn’t exactly endear myself to him when one of the first concerns I voiced, seeing him there with a pained look and a hand on his chest, was about heart trouble. He got that expression he gets when he thinks we’re calling him old.”

Both Hoss and Joe snorted, knowing exactly which expression Adam was referring to.

“And I woke him up with my snoring when we was in the same bed. Plus, it may’a not woken him up, but throwin’ a pillow right into his face ain’t exactly my most charmin’ of moves.”

“Not exactly a banner night for the Cartwright boys,” Adam chirped, and Joe chuckled.

Silence overtook them, Joe looking particularly thoughtful. “Adam.” He seemed to hold Hoss’ bundled up vest a little tighter. “Why have we been so annoyed with each other lately?”

Adam went completely still, the question repeating incessantly in his ears. There were so many replies he could offer, he knew, answers that considered his and Joe’s individual personalities, their dynamic, the stress and strain of the last few weeks. Adam could talk about how Hoss and Joe were different, but admit how his method of being an older brother was the same for each, not accommodating or willing to admit that Joe sometimes needed something else. But Hoss apparently was emulating Adam, basing all of his brotherly behaviors off of him, and that always seemed to be exactly what Joe needed.

It was too complicated to speak of, but Adam’s silence was no solution either. He looked to Hoss for help, wondering what to say.

Hoss stared at him, his expression the exact same as when he reminded him that Adam and Joe usually did much better, that it was just the weather and the cows and the lack of sleep that had them both madder than wet hens.

And it hit Adam, then, that he really was just overthinking the problem. He didn’t need to worry about it; Hoss was right.

It was just the cattle drive.

Adam hadn’t failed Joe, and Joe didn’t have any secret growing resentment.

Sure, their dynamic was different than either of their relationships with Hoss- oftentimes, Adam and Joe’s took much more work and effort- but that didn’t mean they were on their way to becoming Cain and Abel.

It was just one too many days of chafing wet leather and lost strays and weak coffee.

Adam and Joe would be fine.

Adam nodded at Hoss, expressing that he understood.

“Why have we been so annoying to each other lately? Probably because we’ve both been trying to make the other annoyed,” Adam finally replied, hoping that his admittance of partial guilt would keep Joe from feeling insulted. “I’ll try to stop if you will?”

Joe glanced at Hoss, almost as if seeking confirmation that that was all it was. It was true that if any true conflict still lingered, Hoss would have made Adam admit as much.

Very often, Hoss was the only one Adam could let his guard down around; perhaps not completely, still chafing at making himself vulnerable, but Hoss made it easy to confide in him.

If there was some problem Adam or Joe was facing and consequently taking it out on the other, Hoss would have known and knocked their skulls together until they talked and got along.

Although, it seemed like Hoss had reached their limit with them lately, going off on his own instead of playing peacemaker as he so often did.

“I’ll try too,” Joe replied, smiling slightly.

“And Hoss,” Adam began, “I’m sorry for making you put up with all of our fighting.”

Joe then added, “I’m sorry too, I’m sure it’s right difficult, bein’ in the middle.”

“Ah, the middle ain’t all bad.” He flashed a grin. “There’s no one I’d rather get elbowed by or drooled on than you two.”

Adam permitted a smile at that, and Joe only flushed with embarrassment for a short moment before grinning. But soon, his happiness disappeared as his face scrunched up in a yawn.

“Bedtime, buddy,” Adam advised, and to his surprise, Joe accepted the direction, nodding and curling up on his side. Adam elected to scooch across the mattress, crawling over to his side as opposed to getting up and walking around the bed again; as he did so, Hoss rose and straightened out the plethora of odd coverings all over Joe’s body.

“Warm enough?” he questioned while tousling Joe’s hair. Joe nodded in reply, snuggling down into his pillow, still holding tight to Hoss’ vest. Hoss gave him a final pet and then settled in beside Adam.

In the pure unadulterated silence of the room, Adam lay warmed by the kindness and heart of his brothers, kindness and heart they inherited from their father and Inger and Marie, but they simultaneously had a goodness that was all their own. And Adam, he didn’t think it boastful to say, could share in that claim, and say that he too had been granted such gifts from their shared father and his Mother.

He could no longer hear Joe’s shivers or chattering teeth, and Hoss had descended into a heavy breathing, sans snores, that implied he was near sleep. Adam was headed that way too, when quite suddenly, Hoss spoke.

“Little Joe, how much would it cost me ta get ya to shake Pa awake and tell him he was snorin’?”

Adam clenched his jaw, straining to not laugh. Voice trembling, he offered with total seriousness, “I’ll kick in half, Hoss. Come on, Joe, sky’s the limit.”

Joe sounded appalled. “What? I’m not gonna do that!”

Adam hid his laughter in Hoss’ shoulder, the effort to remain quiet making his stomach ache. He felt Hoss shaking and knew they were in the same predicament.

“Come on, Little Joe, you’ll never get that saddle in the window of the mercantile that you’ve been mooning over with an attitude like that,” Hoss added, his voice slightly raspy as he hid his amusement.

“Tell you what, buddy, you can double your money; name your price and we’ll each pay you it,” Adam bribed.

“I can’t wake Pa, he needs his rest!” Joe countered, sounding so affronted that Adam knew it was impossible for him to have realized Hoss and he were putting him on. “I couldn’t..” he trailed off. “Double, you say..?”

A deep belly laugh burst from Adam’s lips and Hoss soon followed him, with his hearty, bellowing guffaw. Joe’s giggling soon joined them, stifled as he tried to cover his mouth out of respect for Pa; Adam and Hoss no longer had such qualms.

“What in tarnation-?”

“Sorry to wake you, Pa, it’s just that- well, see, you woke us with your snoring, and-”

“No!” Adam laughed. “The deal is void now, you lost your chance!”

“Hey! Y’all are the ones that ruined it and woke him, you laughed first!”

Pa looked caught between bleary-eyed confusion and being madder than the displaced residents of a kicked hornet nest.

“How am I gonna get my saddle now?” Joe yowled.

“Not our problem, short shanks,” Hoss replied.

“Would someone explain to me just what is going on?” Pa demanded. “And Joseph, what on earth are you doing with all of our coats?”

Adam couldn’t help it, and began to sob with laughter, tears of mirth streaming down his face.

—

Ben scowled over his troublemaking, sneaky, tormenting sons and all the trials and challenges they’d caused him that night.

He was awake, again, for the fourth time in less than eight hours, and he never did receive any explanation as to why.

“Go to sleep,” one of his sons laughed.

A giggle escaped the boy next to him.

“Shh,” came from across the room.

A guffaw. Another snicker.

“Hush up,” one failed to say seriously, a laugh burbling through the words.

“No, don’t tickle me- no, stop-!” one yelped.

More laughter.

“Shh, shh!”

Warm fondness rose up in Ben’s chest and lodged itself in the back of his throat, listening as his boys played and teased and laughed and finally fell asleep.

Hoss’ snoring came to a sudden stop, shifting to peaceful breathing when Adam unintentionally elbowed him, and Joe wiggled closer to Ben, mumbling nonsense into the side of his chest.

Ben hummed and decided that if these were the trials he was destined to go through-

Hop Sing grumbled when he first found Adam and Joe with Hoss in the doctor’s office, still disappointed in them for how they initially disregarded the accident, but upon seeing them protectively worry over Hoss, his grudge seemed to fall away.

All three tended to him with a careful gentleness Hoss didn’t quite know what to do with. It caught him flat-footed. He was used to Hop Sing’s no-nonsense and practical care, but to receive looking after from all corners was strange to him; and he knew that care would only increase when they got inside and Pa saw him.

Hop Sing called for a couple ranch hands to unload the buckboard, and Adam and Joe asked if the hands minded taking care of their horses- they truly must’ve been worried about Hoss if they were willing to let someone else take on that task, all three of them taught to always tend to their mounts first and foremost.

Hop Sing stopped Hoss before his brothers helped him into the house. “I will prepare some light soup for you. The doctor said you should eat before taking your medicine.”

“Thank you, Hop Sing. I sure appreciate it.” Despite the pain in his head, Hoss threw the man a wink as an additional, special, private kind of thanks.

Hop Sing sparkled even as he brushed away his gratitude, telling Adam and Joe to get him inside before heading to the kitchen door.

Hoss’ brothers held close, moving as one, both trying to support him without brushing against his tender ribs.

“Listen, you two,” Hoss said, exhaling slowly. “I thank ya kindly for this, but it ain’t my legs that are damaged. I can walk in just fine.”

“You’ve been limping, I’ve seen it,” Joe argued.

“Maybe so, but I wanna walk through that front door on my own. No point in scarin’ Pa any more than we already know he will be.”

Adam softened at his words and pulled his hand away from Hoss’ back. Hoss noticed that he was still close enough to grab hold if he fell, but it felt slightly more dignified. Joe, however, stayed planted at his elbow. He clearly didn’t cotton to the idea.

Hoss sighed through his teeth and glanced back at Adam, about to make a silent request, and then winced at the pain it caused his neck.

“Stop trying to share your mind readin’ looks with Adam,” Joe scolded. “You’re hurtin’ and I’m stayin’ and there’s nothing you can say in one’a your unspoken conversations to make me change my mind.”

An amused noise emitted from Adam’s chest. “You heard him, Hoss. Sorry, but I’m on his side.”

“Pa’ll worry,” Hoss reiterated even as he gave in, letting Joe link elbows and guide him to the door, Adam hovering behind them like a guardian angel.

“Pa’ll always worry,” Joe countered. “Least this way, he’ll see you’re being looked after.”

Hoss doubted it would happen that way, but he was too tired to keep up his end of the argument.

Adam passed them and held open the door for them to pass through.

“Aren’t you boys back rather early? I wasn’t expecting any of you for at least a few hours. I’ve barely started my book work,” Pa said, standing at the front of his desk but not looking their way. “I was thinking of taking it outside and working it on the porch- such a nice day-”

“Pa.”

Adam’s interruption caused the man to finally turn his head. His fond smile disappeared as his face slackened, becoming grave. “What happened?”

Adam came around to Hoss’ other side.

“We won’t be attending the cattle drive,” he said, gesturing between Hoss and himself.

“What? Something happened with the roundup?”

Pa’s question was overlooked as Joe immediately protested. “What do you mean ‘we’? Maybe I want to stay!”

“No, I told him that I would stay and I will-”

“Well, I wanna take care of him too-”

“Stop arguing.” Pa didn’t even have to raise his voice to make the command clear; his tone alone silenced them. He stared at them, making quick work of his examination. “Hoss,” he breathed, eyes settling on him. “You’re sick?”

Hoss opened his mouth and faltered. He cleared his throat and winced when it pulled at his ribs, and Adam sidled closer.

“No,” Pa said, realization dawning on him without a reply. His face twisted into something desperate. “You lied when you were thrown yesterday, is that it? You were hurt in the fall,” he fretted, moving closer. “Are you alright?”

“He never lied,” Joe defended quickly. “It was my fault.”

“I’m to blame too,” Adam interjected.

Pa shook his head, looking between them. “I don’t understand. What happened?” he asked Hoss directly. “You know you can come to me if you’re hurt, don’t you?”

“That’s not it, Pa-” Joe started.

“We didn’t give him a chance-” Adam interjected.

“Enough. Hoss, what happened?”

The byplay between the three of them had Hoss’ head spinning. He pushed the heel of his palm against his left eye. Why did his concussion seem so much worse all of the sudden?

“Pa, I wanna help you understand, but I’m plumb swimmy-headed. I don’t know that I could make it make sense.”

Pa eliminated the last couple of feet between them, putting a hand on Hoss’ chest. It was so gentle that even with his palm flat against his heart, it did not hurt him. Pa hissed sympathetically, feeling the fever even though his shirt.

“You’re burning up, boy.” Pa’s voice had quieted, his tone softening. It was the voice he had reserved for sick sons and small children. “You must feel terrible. Explanations can wait, you should be in bed.”

He began to turn to guide Hoss toward the stairs, but Hoss grabbed his father’s wrist. “I can’t, Pa. I can’t face them stairs again. I near fell down ‘em this morn, the pain was so bad. The downstairs bedroom okay? Please?”

Pa paled slightly at his words, and after a strangled noise, he wordlessly gestured to the guest room just off the dining room. “Yes! Go, go, and be careful with him, boys.”

Hoss, ailing and exhausted as he was, almost grinned when Joe sniffed, offended, at Pa feeling the need to tell them to be careful. All four filed into the room, Adam throwing back the covers and Joe helping Hoss to sit on the side of the bed.

Joe knelt in front of him and began to remove his boots, batting away Hoss’ hands when he tried to help. “Don’t hunch forward like that! I know it hurts you.”

Hoss sat back, relieved he wouldn’t have to repeat the act that had very nearly made him sick last night.

“Thanks, punkin. Hey, Adam?” Hoss felt his brother sit down behind him, the mattress sinking, ready to listen. “I couldn’t hardly understand any of what the doc said. Ya got that paper on treatment still, dontcha?”

Adam pulled it out of his pocket, and so Hoss wouldn’t have to twist to see it, reached around to show it to him.

“Good. I don’t think I could read it now-”

“The doc said you shouldn’t read anything for the next few days-”

“Right,” Hoss said, although the memory of Paul saying as much couldn’t be grasped. “Maybe you and Pa can look it over and put it into words I can understand.”

Hoss had a few reasons for his request.

He knew Adam needed a task, work how he avoided anxiety; he’d be wringing his hands if he didn’t have something to occupy himself with. It was an additional benefit that Adam would be informing Pa of what was happening, a serious, weighty job; something purposeful, as opposed to mere busywork.

Hoss also requested it because he could see Pa was deeply worried, his demeanor one of dread. He gripped the foot board at the end of the bed, close as he could be without being in the way; because that’s exactly what he would be if he were any closer, given that he did not know what ailed Hoss, let alone how to help. He was so clearly frightened, and couldn’t do anything with that fear, because he didn’t know what they were facing.

And finally, Hoss wanted it for the simple, selfish reason that Adam and Pa would understand what Paul wanted and take care of it, and then Hoss wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore.

He’d been trying so hard to remember everything Paul had said, back before he’d been found out, thinking he’d have to hide the truth and lick his wounds all by himself. Now that he didn’t, it was a relief for that burden to no longer be on his shoulders.

“Sure,” Adam said warmly; there was something in his voice that almost made Hoss think his older brother realized what he was doing. “Come here, Pa, let me tell you what treatment will look like.”

“Treatment for what?” Pa nearly burst, but he did not sound angry, simply desperate for answers. He joined Adam, sitting in the bedside chair.

Joe stood up and fiddled with the buttons on Hoss’ shirt, beginning to peel it off. He paused at his shoulders, holding his collar. He looked at Hoss, and then over him toward Adam and Pa, presumably huddled over Paul’s note.

“He’s gonna see it,” he whispered. “The bruises. You’re black and blue all over your side and back.”

Hoss sucked at his teeth, considering it, and then shook his head minutely. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. He’ll have ta see ‘em eventually, so it may as well be now.”

Joe nodded, pulling his shirt away.

“My God,” came Pa’s voice.

Pa never used such expletives and always avoided taking the Lord’s name in vain.

Hoss shut his eyes, knowing it must be bad.

He heard Pa jerk up out of the chair and felt him sit on the bed behind him.

Pa’s touch was so gentle and butterfly light that Hoss did not even recognize it until his hand moved to his unbruised shoulder. “Oh, my poor boy. Why deal with this on your own?”

Hoss’ reasoning seemed so measly in the face of his family’s care, undeniable proof they would stand with him despite his weaknesses; but simultaneously, he still didn’t want to cause anyone any undue upset.

“I’m the strong one,” he said, the words so paltry. “I didn’t want to make anyone feel bad or scare them by..” He trailed off. “By not bein’ able to work, not strong enough to take it.”

“Have I been so callously demanding and unreasonable as to make you think your labor and your strength is all you’re worth?”

It was a legitimate question, rather than a criticism. Pa was almost certainly upset with Hoss for hiding it, but it was clear his first priority was amending what he perceived as a great personal failure.

His voice dripped with self-doubt and recrimination.

Hoss wished turning around didn’t hurt as much as it did.

“Oh, Pa, that ain’t it a’tall,” he protested, aware that the words he was about to speak would very likely hurt his brothers, but he had to confirm that his father never treated him in the manner he feared. “When I fell, I wanted ta bawl like a baby, and when ya came upon me after, I knew ya wouldn’ta blamed me iffen I had. It was just..”

There was silence behind him, and Hoss knew Pa was considering his words with a furrowed brow.

“It was our fault, Pa,” Joe said, and when Hoss looked up, there were tears on his cheeks. “Adam and me, we- we just assumed he was okay, because we saw he was sittin’ up- we were so happy about it, we got to joking around and-”

His lower lip began to quiver.

Adam broke in. “Our comments made Hoss feel he had no choice but to hide his injuries and his pain.”

Hoss heard Pa exhale, slow but sharp. “You said he was a tough lug I didn’t need to fret after.”

He wasn’t scolding, but he certainly didn’t sound proud.

“Don’t be mad at ‘em, Pa, they were all mixed up with worry and relief, and they already apologized, anyways-”

Pa must’ve held up a hand to halt his words- it left his place on Hoss’ shoulder- and then realized Hoss couldn’t see, or at least could not twist around to see it. He instead patted his arm again, a kind of comforting affirmation.

“Don’t worry, Hoss. I’m not really upset with them, not nearly as much as I am with myself, anyway. I should have-”

“Shoulda nothin’.” Hoss awkwardly reached up to pat his father’s hand. “I knew I coulda told you, it weren’t nothing like that. I just didn’t wanna worry ya.”

“You’re my son, I’m supposed to worry after you!”

Hoss smiled at that, sharing a look with Joe above him. His little brother was still weeping, but there was a small twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth, both amused at what a mother hen they had for a Pa, always clucking after his chicks.

“Pa, can we talk about it later? Could ya just help me lay down for now?”

Wordlessly, Pa moved to begin the task, and Adam and Joe moved with him, all of them working to carefully situate him. Adam read off the instructions on the note about pillows and support and blankets and fever, and Joe zipped around the room fetching things as commanded.

Hoss closed his eyes and tried to ignore it all; it meant so very much to him, but the noise and the movement was just too much for him to take in.

Hop Sing entered after a moment. Hoss didn’t know how long it had been; his shut eyes and the pain coursing through him made it hard to keep track of the time. He heard Hop Sing direct somebody to slowly feed him spoonfuls of soup until it was gone, and then he’d be back with his medicine; at that, Adam voiced that he had the dosage recorded in the note Paul wrote.

Hop Sing took the note, leaving to prepare it.

Somebody nudged Hoss’ lips with a spoon and he grimaced slightly but accepted it. He frowned again when they tried to spoon more broth into him.

He opened his eyes and gave them- Joe, he saw- a desperate look.

“C’mon, it’s just a little broth,” Joe pleaded. The room seemed to hold its breath.

“Ain’t hungry,” he said. “‘Sides, don’t wanna be sick again. ‘S hell on my ribs.”

Pa’s breath caught in a concerned gasp.

“C’mon,” Joe repeated. “Horsey into the stall. He’s been ridden all day and he’s awful tired, he wants to bed down. Ain’t ya gonna let the horsey in?”

Hoss shook his head in resigned amusement and finally permitted Joe a spoonful.

“You used to do this with me back when I was a little shaver,” Joe unnecessarily told him, looking relieved when Hoss acquiesced and began to accept the broth.

“I know, you was the stubbornest baby I ever met.”

Pa chuckled slightly, though it sounded wet. Hoss had not realized until then that Pa was holding his hand, thumb stroking the back of his palm. “Hoss did it for you, Joe, and Adam did it for Hoss.”

“Ya do it for Adam?” Joe asked.

“No, with him, I had to get creative. He liked it when steam ships needed cargo.” Hoss chuckled and then pressed a hand to his ribs. Pa winced apologetically and Hoss waved it away. “Adam changed it for you, Hoss, because you seemed to like animals more than machines.”

“You still do,” Adam observed. Perching at the head of the bed, he began to pet his hand across Hoss’ fine hair. “How’s your head, buddy? Doc said you could apply ice.”

Joe got in another spoonful before he could reply. He swallowed and then said, “Layin’ down helps. Maybe later on the ice.”

He was not so delirious as to let it slip that Adam’s petting helped too. He closed his eyes again, relaxing at the feeling.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” Joe teased. “C’mon, there’s just a little more. Don’t want the horsey to get back to the stable without its saddle. Gotta get all of it down.”

Hoss let Joe finish feeding him the soup, and when Hop Sing returned, permitted him to spoon the medicine into him too.

Within a few minutes, the medicine started to do its work, the pain dulling and becoming a vague numbness.

It was disconcerting to not be able to feel parts of his body.

It was more disconcerting, though, for him to feel incapable and feeble and powerless.

He frowned, not liking the reminder.

“What’s wrong?” Pa asked. “The medicine, it doesn’t work?”

Hoss barely shook his head. “Works fine. Don’t worry.”

Adam, still above him and still stroking his hair, said, “Don’t lie.”

Hoss felt his mouth twitch upward. “I ain’t. I promise from here on out, when I feel like bawlin’ like a sick calf, nothin’ you can say’ll stop me.”

“What’s wrong then?” Joe worried.

“Just ain’t used to it, I suppose. Feelin’ weak.”

“You’re allowed,” Pa said. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

Hoss was so exhausted, he didn’t even want to try to be strong. “Okay,” he sighed. “Adam, ya know that Swedish song from when we was little shavers?”

The hand on his head stilled a moment before picking up again. “Of course.”

“Sing it?”

There was silence above him. Just as Hoss was about to tell Adam to never mind his request, to say he didn’t have to- Hoss knew it was childish to want to hear it- he began to sing.

Through Adam’s smooth baritone came the occasional sniffling from Pa or a barely suppressed cry from Joe; even Adam’s voice caught once or twice, and he had to stop to swallow the lump in his throat.

Hoss did not remember as much even seconds later, already drifting off to sleep.

When he wakened, the ache had returned to his ribs and head, and Joe was staring at him.

“Hi,” his baby brother whispered, hoarse and quiet.

“Hey,” he replied, biting back a wince. “How we doin’?”

Joe looked close to bursting into tears. He shrugged and made a noncommittal sound. “You tell me.”

“How long’s it been?”

“Since we got back home, about six or seven hours.” Hoss shook his head, unable to remember. “Pa and Adam are just outside, Hop Sing convinced them to eat supper. Want me to fetch ‘em?”

“Why ain’t you eating?”

Joe sobbed a laugh and then hid his face in his hands. “Why are you worrying about me?”

Hoss’ face crumpled in concern. He had feared the guilt and regret Adam and Joe would feel when the truth came out, he knew they’d feel terrible, it was why he hadn’t wanted them to find out in the first place- but this-

Hoss recalled the moment in which his father came upon him after he was thrown and wishing that, for once, he could just be worried after like a little boy instead of having to be the strong one all the time.

Hoss wanted to be worried after, but he didn’t want Little Joe worrying like this, so guilty and concerned that Hoss’ kindness moved him to tears.

“Hey, Joe, s’okay,” he calmed. “I ain’t never gonna stop worryin’ about you, you know that.”

Agony blossomed in Hoss’ ribs when he tried to reach over and comfort Joe, and against his will, a moaning gasp escaped him.

“Hoss, no- be still-” Joe caught his hand and squeezed it. “I ain’t eating ‘cause we’re takin’ turns, that’s all. You shouldn’t be left alone, and I won the coin toss.”

“Won?” Hoss asked, the word an exhale as he tried to breathe through the pain. “Ya mean the winner stayed here?”

Joe nodded, and then looked down at their clasped hands.

“I’m so sorry, Hoss. All the things I said, all the times I laughed, all the signs that were right there in front of me- signs that there was something wrong with ya- and I just missed ‘em-”

He dropped his head to their hands, his forehead lolling against the back of Hoss’ palm.

“And y’know why I missed ‘em? You know what makes it all worse? It’s that you are the strong one to me,” Joe said, looking up at him guiltily. “You’re- you’re- I always think of you as indestructible and- and you’re not, and it’s so scary-”

He bowed his head again, his lips landing on Hoss’ knuckles. “But- but ya ain’t the strong one because you’re big, Hoss, it ain’t got nothing to do with your size. It’s ‘cause you’re my brother. You’re my hero. I can’t help but look at you that way-”

Joe suddenly let go of their hands and got up, stalking around the room, so much emotion coursing through him it was impossible for him to sit still.

“I couldn’t see that you were hurt, it was impossible, unfathomable,” he explained as he paced around the room. He was going so fast, Hoss could hardly keep his eyes on him. “And it’s all the worse, ‘cause I still feel that way, it hurtin’ me to realize you’re not invincible, and I know it’s selfish-”

“Joe,” Hoss interrupted, sighing, unable to keep up with him anymore. He shut his eyes, hoping his vision would be normal soon. “Can ya stop moving around? You’re justa green blur.”

Joe whimpered, a regretful but pathetic little noise, and returned to his chair.

“Now, listen, punkin. Ya ain’t selfish for being upset. No one likes bein’ forced to see their loved ones in pain, or bein’ forced to realize the folks they care about are- well, mortal. Older or younger, big or little- that don’t matter when it comes ta this. No one likes confrontin’ it.”

Joe snuffled and ran a sleeve across his mouth and nose.

“Okay,” he said, voice thick. “But- but next time, will ya tell me? I know I was a damn fool out there, callin’ you what I did and acting like that, but- but not knowin’ what’s going on is the worst. I was so scared when Adam and I were riding into town, not knowing if you were okay.”

Hoss sighed, part tired and part amused. “Sure, Little Joe, next time you’ll be first to know.”

Joe caught the exhaustion in his sigh. “You wanna go back to sleep?”

“Dunno. Don’t think I could if I tried,” Hoss replied. “When can I take more of that medicine?”

With clumsy hands, Joe pushed around the small bottles and jars on the nightstand and pulled up the instructions from Paul. “Not for a couple hours, yet.”

Hoss’ face twisted in disappointment at the reply.

“It hurts? Bad?”

Hoss bit back his instinctive denial, and instead looked at Joe. He deserved to hear the truth. “Yeah. Awful bad.”

Joe grimaced and read the paper again, and his face suddenly brightened with tentative hope. “He does say you can use liniment as needed, though, would that help?”

“Yeah, I’d sure ‘preciate that, iffen Hop Sing ain’t too busy.”

Joe was quiet for a second, and then somewhat shyly offered, “I could do it.”

Hoss stared at him. “Ya don’t have to.” He had seen how pale and sickly looking Joe became any time he saw Hoss’ back.

“I wanna.” Without waiting for Hoss’ permission, he gently pulled back the blankets. “C’mon, I’ll help you- here-”

Slow and easy, making careful movements and Joe adjusting him, Hoss was soon situated on his right side, his injured ribs exposed.

“I just- I just rub it in, huh?” Soon came Joe’s small gentle hands, rubbing circles of the burning warmth into Hoss’ skin and muscles. “I ain’t hurtin’ ya, am I?” Joe asked, massaging it into his waist.

“You’re doin’ fine, Joe,” Hoss affirmed shakily, not lying in the slightest; there was pain, true enough, but Joe was doing just fine. “Real good.”

Joe sniffled behind him but continued without another word, seeming to grow more confident with the task.

Soon, however, he spoke again. “You’re tough, and you’re strong, and I can’t help but think of ya that way, ‘cause you’re my big brother, but- but you’re never gonna stop being my hero, just ‘cause you get hurt. When you’re hurt, I don’t think any less of ya, I just wanna take care of ya.”

Hoss swallowed the lump in his throat. “I know that, Joe. You’re showin’ me right now just how good you are at it.”

Joe moved up along his back and spine before branching out to his arm and shoulder.

“I shouldn’ta called you a lug or a lummox. I’m sorry,” Joe said.

“That was you? I couldn’t figure iffen it was you or Adam talkin’. My head was playin’ tricks on me. Couldn’t see your mouths movin’ or distinguish your voices.”

Joe’s hands stilled a moment as if Hoss’ words had truly shaken him, and then continued to massage his shoulder blade.

“Hoss, the next time ya hit your head so hard you can’t distinguish Adam and I, tell us, would ya? That’s a scary state of affairs.”

Hoss snorted with laughter and then groaned. “Stop bein’ cute, huh? Just be dull.”

“It’ll be tough, but for you, I’ll try,” Joe said. “I mean it, though. That’s scary. I know we shouldn’ta ever said those things or taken it that far but- tell us ta shut the hell up if you’re hurt, alright?”

“Sir, yes, sir, Joe,” Hoss sighed into his pillow. “Like I said, I’ll bawl like a baby next time. Gosh, I was jealous of you when I first fell.”

“Huh?”

“I knew it weren’t fair, ‘cause it ain’t your doing, but-”

“But what?”

“Ah, it ain’t fair of me.”

“Come on, what do you mean?”

Hoss contemplated it in silence as Joe finished up his neck. Gently, with multiple interspersed and fretful warnings for Hoss to take it slow- easy now- be careful- Joe turned him onto his back again, adjusting the pillows and pulling up the blankets.

“Now, what did you mean, Hossie?”

Hoss did not huff as he would’ve liked- even with the liniment doing its job, it was still likely to hurt- instead swallowing it down along with regret and embarrassment at even bringing it up.

“I didn’t want to stand up when I was thrown, but I got up. I didn’t want Pa to leave my side, but I let him leave. It ain’t fair to you, ta be jealous over somethin’ ya don’t even like, but-”

Joe still looked at him in confusion, wiping the excess liniment from his hands on a nearby hand towel.

“I dunno. As I was standin’ there trying to find the strength ta move, I thought of how it’d be if you was the one thrown. And I know ya don’t like babyin’, and I understand why it upsets you that it happens with you most, just ‘cause you’re the youngest and smallest, but-”

Hoss couldn’t imagine receiving the same treatment. Not because his family didn’t care- they hadn’t needed to prove as much to him, but even if they had, any doubts would have been squelched today. But because- well, wouldn’t it have looked silly, a man like him being babied and doted on and fussed over?

Hoss’ shoulders couldn’t fit easily in Pa’s lap like Joe’s could, or even Adam’s could; Pa’s hand on his large forehead and gently petting his hair would only look comical; Adam and Joe wouldn’t look right hovering over him and arguing over who would stay with him and who would go for the doctor.

“I dunno,” Hoss repeated, feeling dumb for even wanting it, let alone speaking of it. “I know ya ain’t a little boy and ya ain’t weak, Joe, but for a second I wondered what it was like ta- ta not be strong. I was jealous, for only a second, ‘cause I wanted to be worried after like a little boy. Pretty silly, huh? I mean- even when I was a little boy, I wasn’t.”

Hoss realized that the trembling lip he’d seen in Doc Paul’s waiting room had returned, Joe trying not to cry.

“Sorry,” Hoss apologized. “I shouldn’ta- I’m sorry.”

Joe ducked his head. “Don’t- don’t apologize. It’s- it’s how ya feel, you don’t gotta be sorry.” He reached for Hoss’ hand again. “I’ll be the strong one, okay? You can- you can be weak and I’ll look after ya. I’ll be big brother to ya as long as ya need it.”

“Okay,” Hoss said, crying, his tears not from the pain.

“Try- try to go back to sleep, huh? I don’t sound as good as Adam, and I can’t remember too much French, but I can try one of Mama’s old lullabies, if ya don’t mind some occasional humming.”

Joe began as soon as Hoss closed his eyes, little broken phrases following a slight rhythm, periods of humming every other line.

At some point, Joe put his small hand on Hoss’ large forehead, running a thumb along his brow.

When he was very nearly asleep, he felt the hand pull away.

A few seconds later, a small kiss landed at Hoss’ temple.

—

Hop Sing slipped into the guest room, and hid a smile when he saw the youngest Cartwright asleep, curled up at Hoss’ knees. The family patriarch snored quietly in the rocking chair beside the bed. Adam sat perched at Hoss’ head.

The eldest son looked up from his slumbering brother at Hop Sing’s arrival. Adam’s eyes were glassy with unshed tears, but he smiled at him.

“That second dose of medicine was much appreciated,” he whispered. “Hoss told me to pass on his gratitude to you for preparing it.”

Hop Sing automatically waved away the thanks. “He is a good boy and easy to want to take care of.”

Adam’s gaze returned to the recumbent form beside him. “He is at that. Always so loving.” He frowned, guilty. “I’m glad he went to you. And you were right to be upset with Joe and I. The way we acted after the accident was inexcusable.”

“Yes,” Hop Sing agreed, honest but gentle. “But not so much amends cannot be made.”

“He’ll forgive us, I know. It’s how he is. He’s the loving one.” The man shook his head ruefully. “I wouldn’t change him for anything, and certainly not his kindness, but.. well, I suppose Joe and I will have to hold ourselves accountable.”

“Your father and I will, too.”

Ben Cartwright had not yelled at the young men, but he had pulled every single detail about the accident out of them, everything they noticed but ignored, every word uttered and every time Hoss remained silent. He wanted to know everything Doc Martin said, every risk Hoss faced, every part of the convalescence he would soon endure.

He had not yelled, but his fear and disappointment was so evident- so excruciating and scathing- when they themselves were already scared and ashamed-

It was reproach enough.

And Ben was already wracked with his own guilt, wishing he had seen his son’s pain immediately, that he had really looked at Hoss instead of disregarding the accident.

He had a private conversation with Hop Sing after the talk, too, asking about Hoss’ secret trip down to the kitchen the night before, inquiring about what was said and thanking Hop Sing for being there.

“Call for me if he wakes and needs more liniment,” Hop Sing told Adam. “There is ginger tea on the stove, and broth, too, if he is able.”

“I hope he’s hungry when he wakes up,” Adam said, and then stared meaningfully at Hop Sing. “Thank you.”

Hop Sing nodded, his smile small, and gave Hoss’ cheek a goodbye pat.

—

Pa wrung his hands after he put down the emptied bowl of soup. “You’re sure that’s enough? Hop Sing said there’s more on the stove.”

“I’m sure, Pa.”

“Are you feeling alright? Are you nauseous? There’s ginger tea instead if-”

“I’m okay.”

He smiled a little when Pa frowned, still wanting to fuss over him. No longer able to spoon broth into him, he instead shifted around Hoss’ pillows, hoping to alleviate the pressure on his ribs.

Pa smoothed his blankets unnecessarily a couple times, and eventually running out of tasks, he acquiesced. He gave the bottom of Hoss’ chin a pat before sitting in his rocking chair. He gripped the arms of the rocker tightly, his knuckles white.

“It’s alright, Pa, really. I’ll sleep a mite and have some more soup in a couple hours. I’m okay. Promise.”

He meant it. Only four days after the accident, he already felt reams better. True, he couldn’t move around too much or too fast without his ribs protesting, and occasionally his head still ached, and he wasn’t hardly able to get out of bed without someone at his arm, but the dizziness was gone, as was most of the nausea, and he could laugh and sigh without feeling like his side had been lit afire.

There was still an ongoing argument between Adam and Joe as to who would stay and help care for Hoss, both of them wanting what they perceived to be a great honor. Pa, too, seemed to want to stay, but did not partake in such arguments. Likely, he did not bother because he knew he was the arbiter of such things anyway.

He needn’t argue, because if he wanted to send Adam and Joe on the drive while he stayed, that was the way it would be.

Of course, it seemed to Hoss that with all the worrying and fretting his brothers and father were doing, it seemed unlikely the person who stayed would be able to care for him and the ranch; there was still stock that needed to be tended to daily, repairs made, trips into town.

How would just a single person be able to do that when none of them seemed willing to even leave his bedside, save for when they absolutely had to?

It had occurred to him that it would perhaps be easier if two people stayed, able to share the tasks, but he wasn’t inclined to voice the idea.

He didn’t want a new argument to start about who would be the sole person forced to attend the drive.

Beyond that, he was already guilty that he himself wouldn’t be in attendance; already felt bad that his injury was taking away another set of hands.

He wouldn’t suggest the drive lose a third man.

Hoss felt a hand running across the side of his head, petting his hair.

“You’re very quiet. What’s on your mind, son?” Pa was looking at him in concern. “Are you in pain?”

“Nah,” Hoss confirmed. “Only a twinge here and there. Medicine is doin’ its work. I was just thinkin’ about the drive.”

Pa’s face transformed into something slightly chiding. “You oughtn’t be thinking about that. What’s done is done, and you should be relaxing, not worrying.”

Hoss grumbled, knowing his father was right. “Don’t like it,” he said under his breath. Pa smoothed back his hair again. “Not helpin’ y’all.”

“The best way for you to help us is by getting to be your usual, healthy, happy self. We miss you at the dining table and caring for the young animals in the barn and playing chess with Adam and tussling with Joe in the yard.” He raised an eyebrow at him imperiously. “Do you think you can get better hurrahing cattle and riding drag?”

“No,” Hoss said with the smallest of chuckles.

“Exactly,” Pa said with warmth. He gave Hoss a final pat and leaned back in his rocker. The wood creaked every time he pushed off against the floor. “Just rest easy, boy, and let us take care of you.”

“That’s just it, Pa,” Hoss protested, twisting slightly in an attempt to turn to him. He winced when his ribs protested.

Pa straightened and sat on the edge of his seat, reaching forward and placing a hand on Hoss’ bare chest.

“Hush, now. Be still.”

Pa stared at him, and visibly weakened.

“I can see it’s causing you more strain to keep all your thoughts inside. If you promise to take it easy.. well, what’s on your mind?”

“Let y’all take care of me; that’s what ya said, Pa. You’ve lost me on the drive. The doc says I’ll need someone ta stay with me and do anything physical, so’s I don’t hurt myself any more than I already have. But the everyday ranch things need tendin’ to, too, so he’ll be splittin’ his time between me and all the chores it usually takes three or four folks to do-”

“Easy now,” Pa reminded. “You’re breathing is alright?” Only upon Hoss’ verifying nod did he continue. “I must confess I’ve been worried about much the same thing. I’ve struggled with what conclusion I ought to reach. But I believe I’ve arrived at a decision that will appease everyone. I’ve spoken with a couple of the other ranchers driving their cattle soon, as well as the ranch hands who would have ridden with us. I’ve worked out a deal with the Lazy K and the Diamond X as well as our hands; they will drive the cattle for us while we all remain here.”

Hoss stared at his father in incredulous amazement. All of them? But that was so- so-

He had felt guilty that he alone could not partake, but now he was keeping his whole family away?

“But- but the cattle- price per head- the market this year is bad, I remember you sayin’- well, don’t ya hafta be there?”

Pa’s hand flattened against his chest, his thumb moving along his collar bone in a repetitive, almost absentminded fashion.

“I would rather give away the entire herd than leave you here, feeling as if you’ve somehow let me down.” Pa’s expression gentled, eyes soft. “You never have or could, and certainly never by being injured. We will all stay, making amends for causing you to feel as we did. For more than that,” he clarified, “as we do not show this care for you in order to pay off a debt. We do so out of love.”

“Pa. Pa, I ain’t-” Hoss faltered. Maybe it was his own ignorance of words, or maybe it was the concussion, but he had no idea what to say. “I know I been actin’ and talkin’ real different lately, but that ain’t how I’ve secretly always felt suddenly comin’ out. It’s just my head and ribs and the hurt of it all that’s got me short tempered and mixed up and not thinkin’ afore I speak.”

Pa’s brow was furrowed in confusion, but he did not ask for Hoss to elaborate further, apparently seeing how difficult it was to come up with all he had already said. “You are not usually so hard on yourself about this, that is what you mean?” Hoss nodded, but Pa continued anyway. “You normally pay little attention to what others define as weak or strong, simply feeling what you feel and doing what needs done?”

Hoss made a noncommittal sound. “I s’pose that’s right. Sometimes I do feel like nothing more’n a lumbering ox or like I can’t be much more than a strong back-” Pa’s face tightened as if holding back tears. “But it ain’t common, Pa, and- and-”

The lump in his throat was making his ribs act up.

“Ya wanna know why I don’t pay that stuff no mind? ‘Cause of you. Ya taught me it’s okay to ask for help, that there ain’t nothing shameful about lookin’ or feelin’ weak. I feel safe going to you more’n anybody when I feel that way. I don’t hafta be strong for nobody, but especially not for you, not when I’m with you. There just- there ain’t that pressure to endure.”

Pa’s hand moved to his cheek, the back of his fingers offering a light caress. “I’m glad of that, boy, as I hate to think of you-” he stopped, mouth twisting, and decided to not finish his thought. “Why hide your accident, then? Hop Sing told me what you spoke of that first night, about you thinking it would be easier on us if we didn’t know. Why worry about easy? Don’t you think you’re worth the effort?”

He lightly shook Hoss for emphasis, the movement gentle and wary of injuries.

“I didn’t wanna scare ya.”

Pa laughed, but he sounded almost sad. “I am always scared for you. I always worry. I’m going to fret and fuss after all of you ‘til the end of my days. Maybe Adam has a point in reminding me that you’re of age and old enough to take care of yourself, but I can’t help it. You’re a sweet boy to want to save me from that fear, but Hoss,” he said tearing up, cupping Hoss’ cheek, “suffering in silence does you no good, and finding out about it later does my heart very few favors.”

“Oh, Pa.” Hoss shut his eyes and turned into his father’s hand. “I knew it was only gonna get worse, keepin’ it a secret, but it was such a mess I got myself into. And I knew Adam and Joe would feel plumb terrible when it came out what happened- not that it was their fault, a’course, but- but-”

“I know,” Pa soothed. “I don’t mean to make you feel bad by telling you this, I truly don’t. I just want you to know if something like this happens again, that you are worth the worry and the effort.”

Hoss already knew- had known it even as he was hiding his injuries- but he also knew his father needed to say this, even if Hoss didn’t particularly need to hear it.

“I sure hope there ain’t a next time,” Hoss said, and Pa hummed in agreement. “Don’t ever wanna feel like this again.”

“Nor do I want you to.”

Pa stroked his cheek a final time and then sat back in the rocking chair.

“Ya ain’t mad at Adam and Joe, are ya?”

“Are you?” Pa asked, turning the question back on him.

Hoss shook his head. “Nah. For a minute there, I blamed them. I yelled at ‘em like I was mad; silly, given that I coulda admitted what happened to me any time, no matter what they called me. It was my choice ta not say anything.”

Hoss then smiled a little guiltily, and Pa recognized the expression for what it was.

“What?”

“Oh-” Hoss lightly shrugged with his good shoulder, embarrassed to admit his words. “Much as I never blamed ‘em, it was- it was awful nice for Hop Sing to sorta stand up to ‘em. I dunno if it was necessary- like I said, hidin’ it was my decision- but..” Hoss shrugged again. “Nice to feel looked out for, s’pose. Maybe it ain’t fair to Adam and Joe, but I kinda take a little pleasure in the memory of Hop Sing glarin’ at ‘em.”

Pa hummed in acknowledgment.

His eyes were perhaps somewhat sad- thinking of how Hoss had secretly gone to Hop Sing for looking after as opposed to him? Worried that Hoss thought he would not have received that same care had he gone to his father? Still regretting that he suppressed his instinct to look after Hoss after hearing Adam and Joe’s talk?

“Hop Sing is a good man,” Pa simply confirmed.

“Seems I gotta family full of ‘em,” Hoss said. “Four folks that’ll always look out for me.”

Pa’s mouth twitched upward in an almost knowing manner, before he nodded in agreement. “I asked Hop Sing to stay during the drive, too. He organized for a cousin to go in his stead, one who’s worked a chuck wagon before. So Hop Sing will be with us too.”

Hoss grinned. “That’ll be nice.” He shut his eyes, leaning back in his pillows. Pa’s adjustments had helped ease the pressure on his ribs, as had the liniment he’d applied a few hours ago, helping to alleviate the ache.

Even so, however, he found himself dreaming of when he was properly healed- when he could turn or shift without it feeling like a knife blade had been stuck between his ribs, and when he could hold and follow a conversation without sleep trying to drag him down into its clutches.

“Eric.”

Hoss immediately opened his eyes, wide in surprise. Paul was just about the only one who called him that with any regularity, and even then, it was only when the matter was serious. Had Doc Martin called him that when he’d been in town a few days ago? He couldn’t remember.

“About the words Adam and Joe used.. the names, that is-”

“Pa, I already done told you-”

His father hummed a halting sound, his hand barely rising in protest, and instinctively, instantly, Hoss stopped.

“I know, I know, you’ve forgiven them.” Pa stopped and exhaled sharply. “But this is something else.”

Hoss drew up his eyebrows in concern when his father began to fidget, his finger following along the wood grain on the arm of his chair.

“Adam and Joe, they called you a big ox and a lummox and a tough lug.”

For half a moment, Hoss wondered how Pa knew all that his brothers had said; he must’ve learned at some point, Adam and Joe regretfully telling him their reaction to the accident.

“Sure, Pa, but they’ve more’n made up for that. Though I may not tell ‘em as much just yet,” he added mischievously. He wouldn’t do so, take advantage of his brothers’ guilt in such a way, but the comment was worth it, as it made Pa’s eyes twinkle in fond amusement.

“They have been quite worried,” Pa admitted. “Every time they’re needed elsewhere on the ranch, I near have to drag them out of here and kick ‘em out the front door.”

Hoss, having seen a little of what Pa was describing, smirked.

“Yeah.” Hoss hesitated a moment, and then continued. “They really have been proving to me that- well, I don’t know what, ‘cause I never doubted they cared, but.. Adam’s fallen right back into old habits, just like when we was little.”

Adam’s voice had not once altered from that small gentle tone Hoss had gone so long since hearing directed at him.

“And Joe is so cute playin’ as big brother, Pa,” Hoss continued. “He keeps imitating things Adam or I would do or say.”

Pa’s mouth twitched upward. “I am pleased to hear that.” His expression, however, quickly returned to a frown. “But.. you have said you did not reveal your injuries because you did not want to frighten me, while with your brothers, on the other hand, it was to not cause them guilt.”

Hoss nodded slowly, unsure of what his father was getting at.

“I did not use any such names at that time, but I-” He sighed gustily. “I have committed such cruelties as well, calling you a big moose or a big ox, and- and the guilt therefore belongs to me, as well, by partaking and thus setting an example that permits such unkindness-”

Pa stopped, sounding too choked up to continue.

Hoss stared at him in wide eyed disbelief, his jaw slack. “Pa, it ain’t cruelties. I know you’re only teasin’-”

“It is clearly not only teasing if our behavior- my behavior- has led you to believe it is better to hide injuries and cope by yourself, rather than risk our upset. Not if you have decided it is easier to be a- a strong back and nothing more, easier to not confront us on our mistakes,” he said, tearfully using Hoss’ own words for his argument. “The harm clearly goes farther than mere teasing.”

Hoss swallowed, knowing his father was right, but unsure of how to accept such a different outlook. Meekly, he began, “We do it ta you too, y’know, Adam and Joe and I. Behind your back. We call you a mother hen and an ole mama bear.”

Pa laughed, wet and choking, and covered his eyes with his hand. After a few seconds, he brushed away his tears and looked back up at Hoss, expression full of love. “Don’t permit us to get away with it again, alright?”

Instead of responding, Hoss continued on with the sentiment. “An ox or a moose is a big strong critter, and I know there ain’t nothin’ wrong with me bein’ big and strong.”

“Nor is there with being weak.”

“Nor weak,” Hoss acknowledged. “And hens and bears are always lookin’ after their chicks and cubs real close, and there ain’t nothin’ wrong with you bein’ protective.”

Pa offered a tight lipped smile and reached for Hoss’ hand, giving it a small squeeze. “I could have afforded a little more protective instinct a few days ago.”

Hoss cocked his head in understanding. “S’alright, Pa. You’re doin’ fine now,” he said. Then, feeling safe admitting it, as his brothers were partaking in roundup miles away and had no chance of overhearing, he added, “Good as Adam and Joe have been, I want you here especially. Maybe it’s silly, but when I’m hurt or injured, it’s you I want the most.”

New tears brimmed and fell from Pa’s eyes. He gently ran his hand up and down Hoss’ arm. “It puts my mind at ease to hear that, boy, it truly does. You promise you will no longer permit such behavior from us?”

Knowing that this, too, was something his Pa needed to hear if he was to ever be at peace with himself, Hoss nodded. “I promise, Pappa.”

Pa grinned and ducked his head. “Good.” Hoss could hear the smile in his father’s voice even as he continued to hide his face. “Would you like to go back to sleep?”

Hoss was feeling rather tired, but he was also enjoying the soft rumble of his father’s voice, the way it softened and deepened and rose and fell as he spoke.

“I’m gonna try to. But could ya keep talkin’? Don’t even need to be a story, neither.”

Without a word, Pa began to speak, warm and gentle, about nothing in particular; simple, basic boring things, about the book work and ledgers he’d reviewed the night before, or the list of goods he and Hop Sing had prepared for who’d be on chuck wagon during the drive.

Hoss fell asleep within minutes, his father’s mere voice as much a lullaby as those in Swedish and French and sung by his brothers.

—

“Here we are,” Ben said, lowering Hoss into one of the porch’s chairs.

It was the first time in nearly two weeks his son was outside, the doctor’s visit that day offering up the announcement that Hoss could be up and about, even take a walk in the yard, as long as someone stayed with him and he took it slow.

Ben had been pleased at the news, and he trusted Paul’s prognosis, but found himself continually caught on the instruction to take it easy; after a few minutes of them walking arm in arm, Ben found his son’s shaky breathing and occasional grunt or wince too much to ignore, and he guided Hoss back over to a chair.

“The corral isn’t going anywhere. We’ll give it another try tomorrow,” Ben told him. He pulled a blanket away from where it was draped across the back of a bench, an old worn-out quilt that had been moved outside to be used when evenings on the porch turned cold.

“Oh- Pa-” Hoss frowned bashfully as Ben drew the blanket up to Hoss’ neck. “Doc said I’m on the mend,” his middle son reminded him.

“Your head is, maybe, but your ribs still have plenty of healing to do.”

Ben could acknowledge and was glad that his son was on the mend, but there was no purpose in unduly agitating his ribs. If Hoss was to continue healing, he needed to continue to accept his family’s help, even if it did make him bashful.

“Pa,” Hoss said, swallowing uncomfortably. Ben crouched beside him, still in the middle of tucking the quilt tight around him. “Ya don’t hafta go on babyin’ me.”

Ben sighed even as he smiled. He paused in his ministrations, hand landing on Hoss’ stomach. “I’m afraid I can’t help it. You’re still my baby.”

Hoss turned pink but chuckled. “Ain’t I a little big for that?”

“No,” Ben replied simply, smiling while also pursing his lips in an attempt to hold back tears.

He said it apologetically, but at the same time, not.

He was helplessly succumbed to the reality and had no interest in changing it.

It was like a daguerreotype photograph with double exposure. When Ben saw Hoss, he saw the big, tall son he’d grown into, a man for which he had such pride; simultaneously, however, Ben also saw his little boy, his and Inger’s baby, once small enough to fit in the length of his arm.

“It-” The words seemed to catch in his son’s throat, and Ben tilted his head in concern, looking up at Hoss. He avoided Ben’s eyes. “It really don’t make you feel silly? Babyin’ me like this?”

“Silly?” Ben repeated, such a thought utterly incomprehensible to him. “Why would it? Let me assure you that taking care of you never makes me feel silly. And you should never feel that way for needing care or accepting it.”

“Well- well, if you’re sure,” Hoss said shyly, sounding rather unsure and doubtful himself.

“I certainly am,” Ben replied, just as Adam and Joe rode in, returning after clearing a muddy creek of brush and dead leaves.

They immediately laughed and whooped with excitement upon seeing Hoss, leaping down from their mounts. Their elation was temporary, however, for as soon as they reached Hoss, they hit him with a barrage of concerned questions, hovering around him in a nervous huddle.

“Paul said you could go outside?”

“It’s sorta chilly, ain’t it? Are you sure you’re warm enough?”

“You didn’t walk around too much and overexert yourself, did you, buddy?”

“Are ya hungry? Do you want some soup or tea?”

“Do you want any ice for your head?”

Under Ben’s hand, he felt Hoss chuckle slightly, a small shake as he suppressed his laughter. He glanced toward Ben, no longer looking as he did before; no remnants of embarrassment or shame or doubt remained.

A feeling of relief and contentment washed over Ben as his oldest and youngest fretted over Hoss, their protective questions answered genially and patiently even after an entire day of Ben and Hop Sing’s fussing.

Ben would not give up his endeavor yet, still determined to prove to Hoss that there was nothing silly about his weakness. True, maybe Hoss already knew it instinctively, but there was nothing wrong with the occasional reminder.

Ben stood and smoothed the blanket at Hoss’ shoulders. His middle son glanced up, gleaming, and threw Ben a wink. “Pa, ain’t it funny how I got a mama bear and a mother hen for a couple a brothers?”

Adam and Joe protested jovially, sitting on the arm of Hoss’ chair and at his feet. “Oh, we ruffled the swan’s feathers, is that how it is?” Adam laughed.

Ben wondered what private joke was being referenced; whatever it was had Hoss shaking his head and offering up a tentative grin.

“C’mon, Hoss,” Joe said, running his hand along his brother’s blanketed forearm a few times. “It’s a brother’s right to be protective.”

A rush of deep affection went through Ben, affection for all his sons, and his heart ached with the amount of love he had for them. He slipped a hand over to the nape of Hoss’ neck, thumb repeatedly stroking an arc along the line of his hair.

They were fine men; good men.

His babies, too, yes-

But he couldn’t be any prouder of the men they’d grown up to be.

That wasn’t necessarily so; he grew prouder of them every day.

Ben leaned over and dropped a kiss to Hoss’ soft, downy hair. Hoss started to twist, turning around to look up at Ben.

A small groan escaped him when the act pulled at his ribs- both Adam and Joe emitted winces of sympathy- and Ben patted Hoss, silently reminding him to keep still.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to surprise you. Just an old man’s doting, is all.”

—

Hoss ducked his head, a smile playing at his lips.

Big and strong and occasionally weak.

Pa planted another kiss on his head, and Adam and Joe began to relay their day to him, sharing every detail.

Hoss had always known there was nothing wrong with weakness.

One of them clapped him on the shoulder, proud-like, as if impressed he took the fall so easily. It didn’t jolt him, but it did make his head spin, fire shooting up his neck and across his back and down to his hips.

A sick, queasy feeling percolated in his gut. Every breath was dizzying.

But Adam and Joe were looking at him expectantly, grins on their faces, so he swallowed hard and forced a chuckle and said something dumb about it taking a lot more than a little thing like a fall to take him down.

The next realistic move for him to make was to stand, but he somehow knew with complete confidence that he’d be sick immediately if he were to try. But Adam and Joe were joking about Hoss being able to come up swinging even after a stampede and saying it was a good thing he had the thick Cartwright skull.

“Come on, you lummox, back on your horse. No more lazing around,” he heard, and he was slapped on the back again before both departed, heading back to their mounts, leaving Hoss no choice but to force himself onto his feet.

He stood shakily, feeling like all the ribs on his left side had been taken out, had barbed wire wrapped around them, and were then shoved back in. He squeezed his eyes tight and grit his teeth, waiting and hoping the sensation would fade.

“Hoss!” he heard from far away; he couldn’t figure out where. Boy, he sure hoped it wasn’t his brothers telling him to hurry it up. But he soon felt a hand on his elbow- thankfully, not on the side he’d come down on- and somebody giving his arm a pat.

Pa, it was Pa who’d come up behind him. “That was a bad fall, son. Are you alright?”

Quite frankly, Hoss wanted to cry like a baby. He wanted to tell his Pa he felt awful. He wanted to tell him to get the doc because there was no way he could get back on his horse, let alone continue to round up strays.

“Come on, Pa, you know what a tough lug we got for a brother.” Adam and Joe laughed as they came by on their horses.

Hoss looked up at them, and sure, they were up high on their mounts, but they seemed to tower over him, spinning around miles above him.

“He ain’t a little boy, Pa, you don’t have to fret over him,” one of them continued.

Hoss couldn’t tell which of them said it.

He couldn’t tell if it was his eyes or his ears that weren’t working.

If Joe had been the one thrown and taken the same blows, he’d still be curled up on the ground, head in Pa’s lap, Adam and Hoss anxiously hovering around him.

Hoss didn’t know if that was wrong. Joe wasn’t a little boy anymore- Hoss could admit that, all the while knowing he’d worry after his baby brother until the end of his days, and he knew it wasn’t fair to treat Joe like he was weak just because he was the smallest and youngest-

But if it were Joe- even if it were Adam- they’d still be down. They’d still be getting asked if they were alright, their responses getting overlooked and ignored as everyone else worried over them, sending for the doc even if they protested it as unnecessary.

But Hoss, because he was the big, strong one, he didn’t even get asked.

When Pa did ask, when concern was shown over him, he wasn’t even given the chance to respond, his brothers claiming that he was a tough lug.

Maybe Hoss didn’t feel like being the big, strong brother. Maybe he didn’t want to be tough. Maybe he wanted to be fussed over like a little boy, even if only for a moment.

Pa squeezed his elbow again, looking at him bashfully. “Sorry, boy. I know you can take care of yourself.”

Hoss wanted to protest that he couldn’t, that he would need his father’s help to even mount his horse-

But he saw the worry that persisted in Pa’s eyes even as he apologized to Hoss, the concern and the anxiety-

He glanced at Adam and Joe, laughing free and easy, so confident that everything was fine, believing in their brother completely-

Hoss didn’t want to put Pa through any further scares. He didn’t want to make Adam and Joe feel guilty, to have that horrifying moment of regret and remorse-

Hoss figured he could pretend to be strong for a couple hours more.

And he had, ignoring the burning in ribs and throbbing of his head, and he grit his teeth through the extra hour they had to stay out, rounding up the cattle that had found themselves in a box canyon, and then there’d been the long ride home, shifting and straining in the saddle, and then supper and pretending he was hungry for potatoes and roast beef when every bite made his stomach flip, and finally, finally, after what seemed like a decade of politely chatting by the fire, passing up Pa’s offer of a drink, instead offering a wave to his family and wishing them pleasant dreams, hiding a grimace as he went up the stairs to bed.

He nearly made himself sick leaning down to remove his boots. Every movement of his upper body was agonizing. The thought of changing into his nightshirt intimidated him so badly that he merely shrugged off his vest and considered that enough.

It was an utter relief to lay down, to finally take the pressure off his ribs, to sink into the mattress and let his body go limp, but they still hurt regardless, and his head still pounded, his shoulder and back still ached, his stomach still churned.

If he could just get to sleep, at least then he wouldn’t have to feel any of it- but it hurt too much to relax- if the pain would just ease, even just a little bit-

Maybe he could ask Hop Sing for some liniment. But Hoss didn’t want to have to wake his friend, and he especially didn’t want to go down before the rest of the family was upstairs and asleep, either.

Which meant waiting.

He tried to shut his eyes and breathe through the pain, and when that didn’t work, he tried to distract himself, mentally listing off all he had to do the next day.

They had a roundup and cattle drive coming up they needed to prepare for, which meant more riding; the mere thought of what it’d do to his ribs made him want to cry. There were also the regular chores to be done, tending to the animals and feeding them and cleaning out their stalls, plus there was a lot of blacksmithing that needed to be done, and some of the horses in the remuda needed new shoes before the drive, and the loft in the barn was getting low on hay..

Hoss wasn’t distracted. Everything still hurt.

He shut his eyes and prayed, hoping for mercy, both from the pain and in his family making it an early night.

His prayers were answered, though not quite in full and not as timely as he liked; regardless, he sent up a quiet and grateful thanks when Adam’s door shut with a small click, biting back a groan as he rose and slowly headed for the kitchen.

He wasn’t sure where Hop Sing kept the liniment. Hoss knew there were a couple of drawers with bandages and alcohol and other medical related supplies, but perhaps Hop Sing kept it elsewhere, maybe even his room.

He could hardly even see, but lighting an oil lamp would only bring unnecessary attention. Beyond that, he doubted it would do the sharp pulsing behind his left eye any favors.

He stumbled around, trying to find the right drawers, and even once he did, squinted at their contents as he dug around, at a loss to what he even ought to be looking for.

His vision blurring every few seconds didn’t help.

“Hoss?” Light filled the room, and he turned, seeing Hop Sing in the doorway to his bedroom in a nightshirt and undrawn robe, holding a candle. “What is it? You want me to make you something?”

“No.” Hoss grit his teeth; he’d twisted around too fast, and it just about set his ribs on fire. He held a hand to them, hissing at how tender they were. “Sorry. I didn’t mean ta wake ya.”

“You’re hurt,” Hop Sing observed. He came closer to Hoss, leaving the candle on the island in the middle of the room. “Your father, he does not know?”

Hoss shrugged and immediately regretted it. “He saw my horse throw me. I didn’t tell him how I felt after.”

Hop Sing frowned at him doubtfully. “Why not?”

“Long story. Ya got any liniment I can borrow?”

The disapproval didn’t leave Hop Sing’s face, but he pulled a chair over to the center of the room. “Sit. I’ll be back.”

Hoss straddled the chair, sitting in it backwards and leaning his forearms against its back. Hop Sing returned, a jar in hand. “Why do you not take off your shirt?”

“Tried ta earlier. Hurt too much,” he admitted.

Hoss was too embarrassed to meet his eyes. Hop Sing gently pulled him upright and worked at the buttons of his shirt. “Make your arms straight,” he commanded softly, and then pulled the shirt down over his shoulders, letting it fall to his waist. Hop Sing uncuffed the sleeves at his wrists, and then fetched the candle, holding it above Hoss’ back. He muttered something in Cantonese, sounding shocked.

“‘S’bad?” Hoss asked. It certainly felt as much.

Hop Sing made a noise of confirmation. “Bruises everywhere.”

Hop Sing organized his things and began to apply the liniment. Hoss shuddered at the first touch, apologized to the man, and then stiffly allowed him to continue. Hoss had mainly fallen on the left of his back, but his shoulder had taken a pretty good hit too. Hop Sing applied the lotion to his arm and across the stretch of his shoulders and finally down the length of his back, all the way to his left hip. He lightly rubbed it into Hoss’ skin, and Hoss was torn between wincing in pain and sighing in utter relief.

“Why have you not told your family?”

Hoss chewed on his lower lip, knowing he was being foolish but having a stubborn commitment towards his decision regardless.

“When the horse threw me, Adam and Joe joked that I was a big tough ox that could take something like that easily, and Pa was scared and worried I was hurt, but Adam and Joe said not to fret over me, ‘cause I’m a tough lug. Just seemed easier for everybody to pretend I was fine. To go along with being the strong one.”

“Easier for them, maybe,” Hop Sing grumbled.

“They’d feel bad if they knew the truth,” Hoss argued weakly.

“What about you? You feel bad now.” Hop Sing said it so simply, so no-nonsense. It almost made Hoss regretful, because he understood Hop Sing’s concern, really he did-

But his family would feel so guilty and they would worry; if he’d said from the beginning that he was hurt bad, maybe they could’ve handled it together, but now, after he had lied all afternoon and evening, after he’d hid things and tricked them-

He turned a little, trying to look at Hop Sing over his good shoulder. It hurt his neck and he gave up. Inferring that his attempt caused him pain, Hop Sing applied some of the liniment to his neck.

“I ain’t feeling so bad,” Hoss said, hoping his gratitude could be heard, wishing he could face Hop Sing eye to eye. “You’re fixin’ me up right better. I’m beholden to ya.”

Hop Sing finished with his neck and came around to face him. He dried his hands on a nearby towel, still looking disappointed in Hoss’ decision, but he soon chucked him on the cheek lightly. “You do not have to be the strong one all the time,” he scolded.

Hoss knew that.

There were times he had no problem with that, times his weakness was inevitable and he had no insecurity about showing as much, and he knew said weaknesses were no reflection on him.

But this was not one of those times.

If he admitted to how weak he felt- how weak he wanted to be- his family-

That just wasn’t who he was with them. Maybe it wasn’t fair or easy for it to be that way, but that was how it was. He had to be strong; it kept people from worrying and it was just simpler that way.

It was too hard to explain to Hop Sing- maybe he was too tired, too distracted, but he just couldn’t put what made sense in his head into words. All Hoss could offer was a shrug and noncommittal shake of the head.

“Hurt anywhere else?” Hop Sing asked.

“Hit my head, too. Aches pretty bad. Stomach ain’t too happy either, but I think that’s ‘cause of everything else.”

“That’s why you did not finish seconds?”

Hoss was embarrassed that Hop Sing even noticed. Hoss had been too nauseous for supper, but he knew if he didn’t eat, there would be no getting out of the consequential interrogation from his concerned father; if he hadn’t gotten seconds, that too would have elicited raised eyebrows and teasing and worried questions. He picked at his plate until he ate his limit and spent the next half hour carefully pushing the food around, hoping Adam or Joe continued to dominate the conversation and kept the attention off of him.

Hoss nodded.

“Tea will be good for your stomach. For your head too,” Hop Sing said, giving his cheek a final pat before departing.

Hoss stood and gripped the back of the chair until the circling stars and his dizziness faded. He shook his head, attempting to clear the fog, and leaned against the island. He took a few deep breaths, trying to reign himself in.

His head was killing him.

“Hoss? Hoss.” Hop Sing shook his good arm, suddenly at his side. How long had he been there? “You didn’t hear me.”

“Sorry.”

Hop Sing offered him a cup.

“What’s this?”

“Ginger tea. For your head and stomach.”

“Oh,” Hoss said, the memory coming back to him. “Right.”

He sipped it automatically, hardly even tasting it but appreciating its warmth.

Hop Sing tilted Hoss’ chin slightly, staring directly into his eyes. His eyebrows knit together in concern.

Hoss cleared his throat with a cough, uncomfortable; it caused a spark of pain in his chest. “Hop Sing, you can head ta bed. I know ya gotta head into town early tomorrow mornin.’”

The man frowned at him, but eventually nodded back at the stove and the kettle. “Drink another cup before you sleep.”

“Yessir, Hop Sing. I sure do thank ya.”

Hoss didn’t have to ask Hop Sing to not tell anyone about his injuries. Hop Sing had always kept his secrets for him, ever since he was a little boy, save for when it would do Hoss harm to remain tight lipped. Hoss hoped Hop Sing didn’t decide that this was one of those times. He was already hurt, and it wouldn’t make any difference now for his family to know.

Hop Sing pursed his lips. “I’ll take your shirt. The liniment will stain it otherwise.”

Carefully, Hoss untucked it, pulling it out of his belted trousers. Hop Sing gave him one last look of concern, folded garment in hand. Soon, however, he wished Hoss a good night and departed.

Hoss drank down the last few sips in his cup. He limped over to the stove and poured himself another, and then slowly made his way out to the dining room, catching himself on the doorframe when he stumbled, momentarily losing his balance.

He set his cup down at the head of the table, trying to get his bearings.

“You up bothering Hop Sing for a midnight snack?”

Though Hoss heard the words, it still took him a moment to understand them; once he did, he instinctively let out an amused huff, it being his usual response to such joking.

The short laugh felt like a kick to the ribs.

He searched for who said it, but the room seemed to be spinning.

Finally, his eyes fell upon Joe, a couple of books in his arms as if trawling Pa’s study for a good read before bedtime. He stood close to the wood stove, huddled next to it instead of continuing to go over the shelves.

“Nah, I got it myself,” Hoss lied, realizing Joe was watching him expectantly and waiting for a reply.

Joe laughed and shook his head as if Hoss had done something completely predictable- which sure, Hoss did sometimes get hungry in the middle of the night and get up to make himself a snack, something that was completely acceptable around the Ponderosa- but it still made Hoss feel funny.

The possibility that Hoss was facing a problem- that he was hurt- didn’t even occur to Joe.

“Ain’t you cold without a nightshirt?” Joe asked, warming his fingers at the wood stove. “Not exactly the right kinda weather for going around shirtless.”

Hoss hadn’t noticed the cold, actually feeling somewhat warm- maybe it was only the tea, or perhaps it was simply his embarrassment that had him flushed- and so he only shrugged at Joe’s comment. As he did so, he bit back a grimace, the movement disturbing his ribs.

He had to stop doing that..

Hop Sing’s words returned to him, and he remembered that his back and shoulder were covered with bruises. From across the room, with the only light coming from an oil lamp in Pa’s study, Joe couldn’t tell. If Hoss were to get closer, if he were to go up the stairs, where Joe could see him from behind-

Swallowing a moan and fighting the nausea jumping in his stomach, Hoss carefully sat down, acting like he was going to settle in at the dining table for a while.

Joe gave him a strange look, raising an eyebrow, and then shook his head. “Well, I’m gonna head up.” He lifted his small stack of books as if to show he’d finished his task downstairs, and then stared at Hoss skeptically. “You coming?”

“I will.”

Joe shrugged, turning down the lamp. “Okay. ‘Night.”

“‘Night.”

Hoss remained at the table a few more minutes, hoping Joe would get settled before he went back upstairs. He finished the tea, hoping it would settle his stomach and dull the pain in his head soon. He grit his teeth as he limped across the room and up the stairs, trying to not cry.

He was feeling more tired by the second, and the liniment seemed to be working, his ribs numb save for when he made sudden movements. Fatigued and drowsy, he laid down, praying the pain was gone by the next day.

It wasn’t. When he awoke, the light of dawn seeping through his curtains, it burnt at his eyes. His headache had worsened, permitting him to feel his pulse in his temple. The wrapped in barbed wire feeling had returned to his ribs; the liniment had done its job long enough to permit sleep, but now that he was conscious, the throbbing ache was all he knew.

Hoss sat up slowly, and his vision blurred. His stomach rolled, but he forced himself to his feet.

He made his way over to his dresser and clumsily searched around for a shirt, pulling out one comparable to the one he had yesterday. His right arm hurt far less to use, so he gently pulled the sleeve up his left, and then shoved his arm down the right. He numbly buttoned himself up one handed, and gave a halfhearted effort at tucking in his shirt.

A few tears escaped as he pulled on his boots, the pain of hunching over too much to handle.

There came a series of clomping thuds upon the stairs, eliciting a ringing in his ears, and they were followed by the loud observation, “I ain’t never known Hoss to be late to breakfast.”

“Well, I don’t know about that, but it is a rarity that Pa sends us up to wake him.”

Hoss stood quickly, ignored the shower of sparks that flashed before him, and opened up the door before his brothers could reach it. “Mornin’! I sure am hungry,” he lied, passing them in the hall. The mere seconds of feigned enthusiasm already had him struggling to catch his breath.

Hoss couldn’t bring himself to bound down the stairs as he usually did, excited to greet the day and join his family for breakfast. As it was, he nearly fell, stumbling on the landing, suddenly dizzy. He relied on the handrail, trying to act as normal as possible, knowing his brothers were behind him and that Joe was already snickering at his clumsiness.

“Morning, Pa,” he said, nodding at his father, sitting at the head of the dining table with a newspaper in hand.

Pa didn’t lower it upon his arrival, but he glanced up at Hoss, smiling at him. “Morning, boy,” he said, turning the page. “Sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” Hoss replied, holding his breath as he sat down as to not let out a pained whine.

It technically wasn’t even a lie.

Like plenty of infants, he’d cried himself to sleep.

“See ya found a shirt and shoes since last night, Hoss,” Joe said.

“Hmm?” Pa inquired, lowering his paper.

“He came down last night for a snack and he was in his stocking feet with no shirt on,” Joe explained with a laugh, sitting down across from Hoss.

Pa looked at Hoss disapprovingly. “I wish you hadn’t done that. You could catch cold going around with so little on.”

“Pa, he’s of age,” Adam chuckled as he took his seat. “I think he can dress himself.”

Adam clapped Hoss on the shoulder playfully- his left shoulder, the one that was covered with bruises. Hoss grit his teeth as a wave of pain rolled over him, exhaling slowly as he white knuckled his fork.

Pa rolled his eyes at Adam’s teasing, and then passed him the front page of the Territorial Enterprise.

Hoss squinted his eyes, keeping them low, the rising sun at the window and the candle chandelier overhead practically blinding.

The pain was excruciating.

Hop Sing entered with a large tray loaded with scrambled eggs and friend potatoes- what would normally smell delicious instead made Hoss’ stomach writhe- placing it in between two bowls of apples and slices of freshly baked bread.

He placed Pa and Hoss’ plates in front of them. Adam and Joe’s, on the other hand, landed rather forcibly on the table, not slammed, but quite visibly and audibly different than how Hop Sing offered Hoss and his Pa their dishes.

As Hop Sing returned to the kitchen, Hoss’ brothers looked after him in worried confusion.

“What’s got him so riled? Did we do something?”

Adam frowned, concerned. “I don’t think so.. Pa, Hoss, do you know what happened?”

Hoss’ thoughts, sluggish already, were even more mixed and confused as he tried to think up a reply. He saw out of the corner of his eye Pa shaking his head, brow furrowed in consideration.

“Maybe he’s buttering you two up for something,” Joe said.

Pa opened his mouth to speak- likely to say it wasn’t fair to voice such theories, to tell them they all ought to speak with their friend about it rather than talk about it behind his back- but Hop Sing had already returned. He had a coffee pot in hand, and he poured some into Hoss’ cup.

Instead of coffee, the smell of ginger tea hit Hoss’ nose.

“Thanks, Hop Sing,” Hoss said quietly, taking a sip. Hop Sing nodded, practical as ever, and then looked over at Adam and Joe. He was practically expressionless, but his upper lip twitched in annoyance.

Hoss’ brothers shared a glance. Adam’s lips parted, eyes deeply upset and ready to confront the problem, while Joe seemed to be at a loss for words.

Hoss had to dig away at his memories of the previous night, but he eventually figured out what he believed had Hop Sing so indignant.

Adam and Joe joked that I was a big tough ox that could take something like that easily, and Pa was scared and worried I was hurt, but Adam and Joe said not to fret over me, ‘cause I’m a tough lug.

Hoss could see how Hop Sing had come to the conclusion he did. It wasn’t even erroneous, necessarily; if Pa had found Hoss first after he’d been thrown, or even if his brothers had not interrupted Pa’s concerned questions-

Well, maybe Hoss could’ve gotten the care he needed immediately, instead of riding and roping and working another four hours and hiding his injuries and hindering their healing.

Hoss could still come clean- it was his choice not to- none of this was his brothers’ fault- but he supposed that upon reflection, the way he’d explained it to Hop Sing did put the blame on Adam and Joe.

“Mr. Cartwright, I’d like young Hoss to join me in town today. There will be many heavy purchases and I will need his assistance, if he can be spared.” As he spoke, Hop Sing put a gentle hand on Hoss’ shoulder.

Pa’s eyebrows rose, and Hoss knew that Joe’s theory had returned to his mind, despite not approving of such unsubstantiated guesses. If Joe’s theory was to be believed, that would be odd behavior for Hop Sing. It wouldn’t take any buttering up for Pa to shift around work schedules, unpredictability a part of ranch life, and Hoss was always so willing to help folks out or do them a favor that it never required convincing.

Hop Sing especially wouldn’t need to use such methods; he’d simply ask Hoss to accompany him, and that would be that.

Though, Hoss had to admit, he wasn’t overjoyed at the prospect of hauling heavy sacks and barrels into the buckboard.

In fact, it sounded absolutely hellish.

Maybe if Hoss could get more liniment first, he could persevere, or at least be numb enough to not know the difference.

But it didn’t make sense for Hop Sing to be asking this of him at all; he wouldn’t do anything to put Hoss at risk. So why..?

“That’s fine by me,” Pa confirmed, looking between them with curiosity. “It was only the blacksmithing duties that we especially needed him for. I can spread around the tasks he’ll leave behind, save for that, and he can work on it tomorrow.”

Hop Sing nodded resolutely and began to head back for the kitchen, before halting and turning back to Hoss. “I’d like to leave in the next few minutes, Hoss, if possible.”

“Sure, Hop Sing.”

Hoss sipped at his tea, it all that his stomach could handle at the moment.

“Did I miss something?” Joe asked.

“You can’t even stay for breakfast?” Adam wondered aloud, shocked, the skipping of meals in favor of work a thing never permitted by Hop Sing.

“I’m sure they’ll eat something hot at a friend’s or a restaurant,” Pa assured, even as he took a cloth napkin and began to fill it with bread and apples, passing the bundle to Hoss, worried over him missing breakfast regardless of the previous affirmation he offered to Adam and Joe.

Hoss appreciated the gesture, thinking of it fondly even after he said farewell to his family and headed outside, but he knew he wouldn’t do much more than nibble at one of the pieces of bread.

Being as nauseous for as long as he had, Hoss was wary of the possibility of getting sick.

Hoss waited in the barn, trying to not move too much, dreading the thought of climbing up onto the buckboard’s bench seat.

His poor ribs..

Hop Sing appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by the rising sun behind him, grocery list in hand. “Hey, Hop Sing,” Hoss said as he passed by, looking at the amounts of grain and oats and determining whether they needed to be restocked. “I’m pleased to help any way I can, but ya know, my back being the way it is-”

Hop Sing’s face shot up, appalled at the mere thought. “What? No, all that was a lie. I’m taking you to Doctor Martin.”

“What?”

“You sleep late, loud noises and bright lights hurt your head, you move slower, you can’t concentrate, breakfast smells bad to you-” Hoss was embarrassed he’d caught as much “-you flinch when Adam touches you, and even now, you hold your arms around your ribs like you’re protecting them.”

Hoss looked down bashfully at the ground, toeing at the dirt; when he looked up, it was like the barn and Hop Sing and the horses had gone all upside down for a second. He squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them, things were back to normal.

Hoss uncrossed his arms and shoved his hands in his pockets. “The tea and liniment helped,” he argued meekly.

“I know. But the doctor can give more help.” Hop Sing turned his attention back to his list. “I have to check the garden and then I’m ready.”

Hoss nodded, not even arguing. “Hop Sing.” The man, already on the move, turned around. “Thank you.”

The man flushed and waved Hoss’ gratitude away, hurrying onward. Hoss limped over by the buckboard, greeting the mares and giving them each a pet. “Hey there, ladies.”

One of them sniffed at his pocket.

“I know what ya want,” Hoss said to them, smiling as they bobbed their heads in excitement, pulling out the napkin.

“Here ya go, an apple for each of ya. Good, hmm?” He gave one a pet on the blaze of her nose. “I’m glad someone thinks they look good. Got no appeal to me. Not interested in the bread? Yeah, me neither,” he continued, shoving the bundle back in his pocket.

“Hoss?” Adam stood in the doorway to the barn, Hoss’ vest in his hands. “Forgot this. Pa had me fetch it. Still worrying about you catching cold,” he said, laughing slightly.

“Oh. Well, thanks,” Hoss said, making the long, painful walk across the barn, and simply holding it instead of putting it on. Its lack of sleeves would make it near impossible to put on himself, at least without pain, and he didn’t want Adam to see any of that.

Hoss gave Adam a small grateful nod, swaying and leaning against one of the stall dividers, tremendously weak but hoping it appeared casual.

“You’re not going to put it on?” Adam inquired.

“I can dress myself, Pa,” Hoss replied playfully, throwing Adam’s words back at him, the laugh bubbling up in his chest dying at the sharp, intense pain it sent through his ribs. Adam, missing Hoss’ grimace, lifted his hands in forfeit with a chuckle.

Hop Sing entered the barn and climbed up to the bench of the buckboard. Hoss returned to its side and followed the act as swiftly as he was able, swallowing a scream and nearly blacking out even after he sat.

“See ya, Adam,” he offered as Hop Sing flicked the reins. Adam returned the farewell, waving as they departed. Hoss closed his eyes, the banging around of the buckboard feeling like each one of his ribs was being individually twisted around back and forth. There was a dip in the road and he let out a hissing gasp. Almost immediately, they began to travel at an even more sedate pace. Without turning to look at him, Hoss reached over and thumped Hop Sing lightly on the arm. “Thanks, pal.”

Hop Sing hummed and continued to drive the team.

—

“Has Hoss been acting strange to you?”

“More strange than normal you mean?” Joe joked, but his eyes remained serious. “Yeah.”

“He gave the horses his breakfast before he left,” Adam informed him. “And yeah, we have to tell him picnics are for us, not any critter that happens to flock to him while we’re on our way to the lake, but-”

“It’s still strange?” Joe predicted, and Adam nodded.

“Told the horses he wasn’t hungry.”

Joe’s eyebrows peaked in concern.

“Last night he was acting strange too. He said he was up getting a snack, but he just had that funny smelling tea with him. And he acted like he didn’t want to get too close to me.”

Adam considered that thoughtfully. “Was it the same smell as his drink this morning? I noticed it wasn’t coffee.”

“You know, now that you say that, I think it was.”

Adam continued to think, before the truth dawned on him. “That was ginger tea Hop Sing brought him,” he said, a feeling of horror gnawing at his chest.

Joe stared. “Hop Sing only makes that when one of us is sick.”

In a single swift movement, the two leapt off the fence gate of the corral, running for their horses.

—

“It’s certainly swollen in some places.” Doctor Paul Martin palmed around his side and back, feeling his ribs. “Tender here too?”

Hoss winced, which the doctor took as confirmation.

Paul felt around more, and Hoss swallowed the sob rising in his throat.

“Sorry, I know it’s not the most gentle of examinations.”

Wasn’t that the truth.

“Well, there’s plenty of bruising on your shoulder and back, but much of the pain in your ribs is due to fracturing.”

“So what’s the problem, Doc?” Hoss asked as the man began to put his things away. “I’m just a little stove up?”

“I should say not!” the doctor protested. “You have five fractured ribs, Eric. They’re broken,” he emphasized. “You’re lucky that all your riding around yesterday didn’t exacerbate the problem, displacing the ribs and requiring surgery.”

A jolt of fear at what could’ve been went through Hoss. “But- but they’re not outta place or hurting my lungs, right? So it’s not that bad?”

“It’s bad enough,” Paul warned seriously. “Have you had any trouble breathing?”

“Got the wind knocked out of me when I first fell, but not really.” The doctor hummed. “Suppose I’m a little outta breath more often, but I been tellin’ myself ta just breathe through the pain pretty often, so..”

Frowning, Doc Martin reached for his stethoscope and put it on. “Breathe for me,” he ordered gently.

He listened, and then looked relieved. “No pneumothorax,” he said, and then clarified, “A collapsed lung. One of the broken ribs could have punctured it.” Hoss grimaced at the thought. “I’ll keep an eye on it, sometimes that can occur even days later. You’ll have an increased risk of pneumonia for a while.”

He helped Hoss get his shirt back on.

“And that blow to your head caused a concussion; that’s direct trauma to the brain. Come on,” he said, directing Hoss to follow. Hoss limped after him- the stiffness of his left hip would fade in a couple days, he’d been told- and Paul slowed so he could keep up.

Paul brought him out to the parlor that doubled as his waiting room. It was devoid of people, and he helped Hoss sit down on the hard settee.

Hoss internally wondered why there was only stiff, inhospitable furniture in the room, given that many of its patrons were likely already in pain and discomfort.

“You should avoid any strenuous behavior for the next couple of weeks, perhaps a month, and someone should stay with you, in case of a setback or further injury. As far as your concussion, someone should sit up with you the next few nights, observing your sleep and waking you regularly.” When Hoss looked up at him, likely appearing as dazed as he felt, Paul frowned apologetically. “I’ll write everything down for Hop Sing. I’ll write up the medicine you need to get too.”

“Hop Sing’s got some liniment that works mighty fine. And tea for when I’m feeling sick.”

Hoss wished he’d had time for a second cup of said tea this morning; maybe then, he wouldn’t have had to lean over the side of the buckboard and vomit up the drink and what little he’d had for supper the night previous. He’d hacked and gagged, Hop Sing’s hand on the back of his head, his ribs burning so bad it felt like they were going to be coughed up too.

“Well, good, you should use both. And I’ll come out every couple of days for the next few weeks to see how your ribs are doing.”

Hoss frowned at the prospect of a month-long recovery. They had Spring roundup later that week, after that, they had to drive the cattle to market; and sure, they often drew matches to see who would stay home and take care of the ranch, but Paul had even barred him from regular household chores- anything strenuous, he’d said- and he said someone would need to stay with him, too. Hop Sing already knew; he could stay to take care of Hoss, probably asking a cousin take over for him on chuck wagon, but there was a lot of ranch work Hop Sing had no experience in.

What was Hoss going to do?

How was he going to hide this?

He couldn’t.

How was he going to tell his family?

“You’re sure you won’t stay here or at the hotel a couple of days?”

Paul had tried to convince him of such, telling Hoss he’d like him to stay close for observation, explaining that the buckboard would likely jostle his ribs further, that it wouldn’t do his head or stomach any favors, that the light and the noise would certainly bother his concussion- but Hoss, stubborn Missouri Mule that he was, could not be swayed.

Hoss shook his head and Paul sighed, heading back to his office to write up a prescription and instructions.

Hoss leaned back into the settee, wondering what Hop Sing was doing. He’d told Hoss to stay where he was after the Doc’s exam was over, that he’d come pick Hoss up.

He jolted when the door burst open, straightening and twisting around in shock, biting back a scream at the havoc it played on his torso.

“Hoss!”

“What are you two doing here?” Hoss frowned as Adam and Joe stumbled into the waiting room, bumping into each other.

“We agreed that you were acting strange, so we followed you into town,” Joe said.

“The real question is what you’re doing here,” Adam told him. “Are you sick?”

Hoss clenched a hand into a fist and uncomfortably gave the arm of the settee a couple of thumps.

Better get it done as soon as possible, he figured.

It was easy to figure that; it was harder to actually do it.

“Are ya sick, Hoss?” Joe worried.

Hoss swallowed hard. “No.”

“Well, what happened?”

Hoss rolled his eyes- a mistake, as it made the room roll with them, Adam and Joe spinning like windmill blades.

“I busted my ribs and got my brain hit good yesterday.”

“What?” Adam asked, voice cracking.

“When I was thrown when we was out rounding up strays,” Hoss said, standing and trying to get past them, but a hand went up, forcing him back by pushing against his chest.

Hoss involuntarily let out a pained groan.

Joe drew in a shuddering gasp, immediately pulling back.

Adam’s eyebrows drew up in concern. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

His tone had gentled, softening into something small and worried and protective, like how he used to speak to Hoss a long time ago, back when he was still little; or little for him, anyway.

The emotion in Adam’s voice had Hoss conflicted too, and he worked around the lump growing in his throat. “I didn’t want to.”

“Hoss, come on!” Joe protested, upset. “You shoulda told us!”

Suddenly very frustrated, Hoss snapped. “Oh, I shoulda told you, huh?” he asked sarcastically. “When was I supposed to do that? When you didn’t ask?”

“Pa did,” Joe argued quietly, voice wavering. Adam watched Hoss, brow furrowed. “Pa asked, Pa was real worried.”

“Yeah, and the two of ya talked him outta that worry right good.”

Hoss caught Joe’s lower lip trembling and forced his eyes away.

“What are you two upset about? Ya thought I was the tough lug, is that it? The big ox that could take on a stampede, ain’t that what ya said? Well, I’m sorry ta have let you down.”

“Hoss, you know that’s not-” Adam audibly gulped, terror dripping from him. “You kept on working. You- you didn’t say anything-”

The implication of Adam’s words hit Joe. “You- you mighta hurt yourself even worse, Hossie, it coulda gotten real bad-”

“And what, then the drive would be delayed? I don’t need reminding I ain’t good for nothing but toting and lugging and hauling,” Hoss growled, not sure where all of his bitterness was coming from.

“Don’t say that,” Adam said breathlessly.

“Why not? I’m the big, strong one in this family, ain’t I? Ain’t worth nothing to us if I can’t be strong. Though I s’pose iffen I’m hurt, that’s always good for a laugh.”

“No,” Joe whimpered, and Hoss forced himself to ignore it, pushing past them and clumsily but determinedly making his way down the walk.

Hoss regretted every one of his words as soon as they passed his lips, and his regret increased tenfold with every step he took away from his brothers.

Hadn’t he been keeping his injuries to himself so he wouldn’t upset his family?

Hadn’t he been worried about Adam and Joe finding out, because he knew how guilty and mortified they would feel about their behavior if it became known he was truly hurt?

Hadn’t he decided to keep on being the strong one, because that was his role among the brothers, because it was easier to just accept the drudge work and the accompanying teasing about being an ox, rather than admit that he was hurt or that he wanted to cry or to be taken care of like a little boy?

Hoss’ breaths were coming fast and his vision blurred, and he didn’t even know if it was because of his distress or if it was because of his fractured ribs and concussion.

Hoss tried to swallow the lump rising in his throat.

“Hello, Hoss!”

Hoss turned and saw fifteen year old Mildred Agatha Williams- whom everyone simply called Billy- standing in the bed of her father’s buckboard.

Billy’s mama died of the fever when she was a little shaver, and her father had raised her on his lonesome ever since. About a month ago, Mr. Williams cut his leg while out plowing, and the wound had become infected. He was on the mend now, but Billy had been struggling to run the farm alone in the meantime, and multiple neighbors had stepped in to help her.

“Hiya, Billy. How’s that daddy of yours doin’?”

“An awful lot better,” she replied chirpily, hopping down from the buckboard. Hoss supposed it was a lot easier for her to do such things in the brown trousers she wore than in the skirts and dresses of her peers. She crossed the boardwalk to the front of the mercantile and began to drag a large sack of oats toward the buckboard.

“Here, darlin’, let me get that for ya,” Hoss offered instinctively.

“Oh, that’s okay, Hoss- well, maybe I can take one end,” she said, struggling.

“Sure, I’d appreciate your help,” Hoss said. As soon as he lifted his half, his ribs screamed in protest, and he felt a grinding sensation in his lower left side. It sent a shower of sparks across his eyes, but he gripped the heavy sack even tighter; he wasn’t going to let a hurt like that make him drop fifty pounds of oats on the girl.

Suddenly, the load lightened substantially, and despite his vision blurring and darkening at random, he could sense by instinct alone what happened.

Billy confirmed it when she said, “Thanks, Adam and Joe!”

The two had completely taken over Hoss’ task, his presence solely ornamental.

Adam brushed off his hands. “You’re welcome, Billy. Anything else you need help loading?”

“There’s a couple more sacks, but I don’t wanna hold y’all up.”

“Not a problem,” Joe replied easily. “Tell you what, Hoss’ll take you into the store and buy ya some hard candy. Adam and I can finish up here,” he said, tossing her a nickel.

“Gee, thanks! Let’s go, Hoss.”

Hoss limped after her, holding a hand protectively to his ribs, standing back as Billy considered the plethora of sweet offerings and grimacing a smile when she asked what kind he wanted.

“Oh, you don’t hafta..” Billy immediately protested that she wanted to, so Hoss accepted her offer. “I don’t much mind. Suppose something ginger, if they have it.”

Hoss sucked on the ginger candies as Billy updated him on her daddy and their farm and the mule of theirs. Soon enough, however, she decided she ought to be getting on home, returning to the buckboard and thanking them all again, waving as she took off.

“Sweet kid,” Hoss commented, hoping it may delay things.

He glanced furtively over at his brothers, staring up at him from where they leaned against the hitching rail.

They both looked terror-stricken.

“Suppose I owe you two an apology. Shouldn’ta talked to ya or about ya the way I did. Don’t know why I was so.. Maybe the concussion is messin’ with my head.”

“Concussion?” Joe asked meekly.

“A type of traumatic brain injury,” Adam explained dully without any intonation.

People who did not know him would think him uncaring or lacking concern, but Hoss understood his brother; he saw the frown that played at his lips and how his hands fluttered before he crossed his arms and the small crinkles around his eyes that only appeared when under strain.

Joe, on the other hand, was an open book, his mouth quivering and his eyes welling with tears and his brows meeting in an anxious peak at the middle of his forehead.

“I talked to Doc Martin, and he gave us his instructions and a prescription, Hoss.” Adam’s voice grew thicker as he continued. “We’ll be sure to take care of you really well.”

“Yeah,” Joe affirmed, cracking mid-word. “Really, we will.”

Hoss knew they wouldn’t do otherwise, but hearing them say as much- that he could be weak, and his brothers would take care of him- that it was okay if he wasn’t strong for a while, because they could handle it in the meantime-

A few stores down, a horse, spooked for reasons unclear, emitted a high pitched whinny, bucking and thrashing, immediately drawing the attention of everyone on the street.

Hoss grunted, the pain white-hot, wishing he hadn’t turned with the rest of them- what was there to see anyway? A couple cowboys soothing a mount?- but instinct was instinct.

He held his ribs as tears sprung to his eyes.

“Hey,” Adam quickly observed, stepping up onto the boardwalk and searching for something, and then gently backed Hoss toward a crate in front of the mercantile, having him sit down. “Are you alright? What is it?”

As he spoke, Adam crouched before Hoss, a hand on his knee.

“Seems like every way I move is wrong,” Hoss admitted weakly, almost a whine. Joe sidled up beside him on the crate, inching as close as he was able. “Just breathing wrong makes my ribs hurt. Cryin’, throwing up, even pretendin’ to laugh all make me see stars. But then the headache has things spinning, too, and it’s got me so dizzy..”

Joe’s hand landed on Hoss’ upper arm, thankfully on his right side.

“Take a minute,” Adam said, his thumb making little circles into his knee. “Take as long as you need, and then we’ll get you home safe.”

Joe reached over, feeling his brow. “Adam, his fever is bad.”

“I know, Paul told me.” The back of Adam’s hand fell upon Hoss’ cheek. “He’s sure warm.”

“No wonder he’s shucking his clothes left and right,” Joe observed.

Hoss snorted and then winced. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“I’m sorry,” Joe moaned.

“S’okay.” Hoss exhaled sharply through his teeth. “Adam, gettin’ home like you said sure sounds right nice. Hop Sing said he’d meet me at Doc’s with the buckboard when he was done at the general store. There ain’t no way I can ride.”

“We wouldn’t let you even if ya wanted to,” Joe said.

“Hey, Joe,” Adam said, reaching into his jacket and pulling a sheet of paper out of his breast pocket. “Do you mind getting his prescription?”

Joe’s mouth twisted and his face tightened. “But I don’t want- But Hoss..” He looked back and forth between them.

“It’ll be alright,” Adam said. He offered a steady gaze. “You can meet us at Paul’s, okay?”

Joe wavered, still hesitant, and Hoss, understanding Joe better than the boy did himself- and also a far better manipulator than he was ever given credit for- grit his teeth. “I was tellin’ the Doc about how bad the pain is,” he said, completely truthful, holding his ribs. “He said that medicine would help, that I wouldn’t hardly hurt no more, but I tell ya, that’ll take some doin’..”

Joe squeezed his arm and was then off like a shot.

“Smart,” Adam complimented, a proud gleam flickering behind his concern and guilt. Hoss shrugged bashfully; though he had the foresight to only lift his right shoulder, he still regretted it, pain coursing across his back. He frowned, and Adam immediately mirrored him. “Can I help you stand?” he asked as he rose from his crouch.

Hoss almost said no, about to tell him he didn’t need the help, but he was already holding himself differently in order to prepare for the pressure on his ribs, trying to stave off the pain. He scanned the street; most people were still occupied with the scared horse or were focused on their own business.

Wordlessly, he held out his right arm, and Adam helped him to his feet.

“Alright?” Adam questioned. Hoss hummed and began to limp back in the direction of the doctor’s office. At some point, Adam’s other hand fell to the small of his back, a light touch, barely noticeable but definitely there.

Adam would catch him if he fell.

“I was so scared when you were thrown yesterday.” Adam kept his eyes forward and didn’t slow. “You landed so hard, and that area is so rocky, and your head bounced when you landed.”

Adam seemed to shake slightly.

“Yeah? I don’t remember that.”

“I certainly won’t be forgetting it anytime soon. When we finally got to the ridge and saw you, and you were sitting up and awake- well, I had been afraid I would never see you move again. I was absolutely relieved, I was so happy. It’s no excuse, but those jokes- I was trying to confirm to myself that you were alright, that you’re tough, that you’re a strong boy-”

Hoss raised an eyebrow at the word, such a phrasing more likely to pass Pa’s lips than Adam’s.

“D’ya know what I was thinking of after you were thrown and we were racing toward you?”

Adam was mumbling- Hoss thought he was at least, but maybe his ears were playing tricks on him- making him difficult to hear. Hoss’ usual method of ducking his head or hunching down to hear somebody better now caused a wince. Adam’s hand flattened against his back, and perhaps instinctively, began to speak louder.

“I was thinking of when you were just a boy. When it was just me and you, and anytime we’d go anywhere, Pa would tell me to hold your hand.”

They reached a cross street in the boardwalk, and Adam, still holding Hoss by the elbow, helped him with the stairs. “Careful. Alright?”

“Yeah,” Hoss replied, ignoring how even just two steps down and two steps back up felt like a battering ram to his side. They passed two more store fronts and were then back at Paul’s office. They entered and Adam guided him back to the uncomfortable settee in the waiting room.

“Okay?” Adam asked as he lowered him, and then at Hoss’ hum of confirmation, scanned the room for something. He fetched a pillow from an arm chair and tucked it behind Hoss’ back. “Alright there, buddy?”

“Fine,” Hoss confirmed, closing his eyes. The waiting room’s sole window was at just such an angle that the sun rays shining through were like a lance to the brain.

“Hoss. About what you said when we were here earlier-”

“I’m sorry,” Hoss began again.

“No, you don’t have to be. It made me realize there’s something I need to tell you.”

Hoss turned his head limply and squinted at him. “What, Adam?”

“When you fell yesterday, I thought of when you were small. You know-” he put his hand out to indicate height, and then fidgeted slightly, tugging at his ear. He meandered about the room, finally stopping in front of the window. “Do you remember those watercolor storybooks of Marie’s?”

Hoss frowned in confusion. “Sure, I remember.”

Adam’s position by the window saved Hoss’ head from the pain-inducing light, but it also turned him into a mere silhouette, making it impossible for Hoss to read his expression.

“One of the stories was The Ugly Duckling. You picked that one every time I offered to read to you, and every time, you cried. Sometimes, you would get inconsolable. I would tell you that I wasn’t going to read it to you anymore, because I couldn’t understand why you always wanted to hear it if it made you upset. And when I asked you why, do you know what you said?”

Hoss did remember, but he didn’t speak, knowing that Adam’s words were leading up to something more than this test of Hoss’ memory.

“Because you felt sorry for the baby swan. No one in the story chose him or picked him, so you always did. You wanted him.”

Hoss remembered the illustration that always got to him, the fluffy, baby swan squeaking and honking and crying, his eyes welling with tears as everyone in the farmyard said he was too ugly and too big and too different.

“Funny thing to think of when you’re scared out of your mind,” Adam said idly; and yet, a waver in his voice broke through, belying his cool tone. “You went down from Chubby, and my very first thought- after a beseeching prayer, that is- was of you, so little, toddling around with me and holding my hand, and when you were a few years older, your tear-stricken cheeks as you hugged me on the settee and explained that you loved the little swan, especially when he was ugly, and that you’d care about him even if no one else did.”

Adam did not discuss how much Hoss had related to and empathized with the swan, something for which he was eternally grateful.

He instead returned to Hoss’ side and checked for fever again, feeling his forehead and neck.

Adam glanced over at the window as if searching for Joe, but then surprised Hoss by continuing. “You still do that now, Hoss, you know? You find people who’ve never had anybody and you care about them, you help them, you let them know they’re wanted.”

The back of Adam’s hand landed on Hoss’ cheek, and Hoss somehow knew it was not solely to feel for fever. “That’s who you are to me, Hoss. You’re certainly the biggest of us, sure, and I’ve always been proud of you for that, but you’re not The Strong One.” He said it with a certain emphasis as if a title, and then shook his head. “Not to me. You’re gentle and kindhearted, and.. You’re the little boy that cried because a baby swan wasn’t getting enough love. You’re the loving one, Hoss.”

Adam clumsily nudged and stroked Hoss’ cheek with his knuckles and departed, once again embarrassedly moving about the room.

“Addy?” His anxious gaze returned to Hoss. “What are we gonna do about the roundup and the drive?”

“You’re not going,” Adam immediately commanded. “You’re hurt and your only job is to get better.”

Hoss frowned. “But if y’all need me-”

“We need you for you, not for the work you’re capable of.”

Hoss swallowed, trying to not cry.

“How’s your head? Is it too bright in here?”

As he spoke, Adam again stood just so as to block Hoss’ eyes from the rays of the mid-morning sun.

“Thanks,” Hoss breathed. “But Addy, if ya talked ta Paul, then he musta told ya someone’s gonna have ta stay to take care of me-”

“I’ll stay with you,” Adam said immediately, as if it required no discussion or consideration. “I’ll take care of you.”

“You’ll have to fight me for it,” Joe said, entering the room, Paul following behind him. “Maybe I want that right.”

What could have been a standoff between the two stubborn personalities was delayed, attentions on Paul who immediately went to Hoss’ side.

“Eric,” he greeted thinly, lifting up Hoss’ wrist and counting his pulse as he pulled out his pocket watch. “How can it be that Joe saw you lifting fifty pound sacks of oats? That doesn’t make very much sense, given that you were told not to do anything strenuous.”

Hoss closed his eyes, abashed but resigned to having gotten caught. “It was only one sack, and I wasn’t liftin’ it on my lonesome, I was just helpin’ Billy-”

“Hoss.” Paul sighed, long suffering; whether over the multitude of folks out west who did not listen to doctors, the Cartwright family, or Hoss alone, Hoss wasn’t sure. “You could have caused even further damage, displacing the fractures, puncturing a lung, lacerating other organs-”

Joe wavered behind the settee and caught himself. “Hossie..”

“I’m alright, Little Joe. And Doc, just ‘cause I heard a little grinding in my ribs when I was lifting that sack-”

Paul’s eyes boggled. He sputtered a moment, and then ordered, “Boys, bring your brother back. Be as gentle as you can, we don’t want to risk those breaks moving any more than they already have.”

Hoss limply allowed Adam and Joe to pull him back to the exam room and lower him onto Paul’s couch.

“Get his shirt off. Carefully.”

Hoss’ shirt was unbuttoned and thrown aside. Hoss had still yet to see his back or the bruises- he hadn’t the time, and the prospect of trying to twist around in front of a mirror was absolutely horrendous-

But Adam and Joe sounded just as disturbed and shocked as Hop Sing had. Adam’s breathing stuttered as if struggling to get air, and Joe keened, a wounded cry of protest.

“Sorry,” Hoss felt the need to say.

“You’ve been dealing with this all night?” Adam rasped.

“This is why you didn’t get close last night?” Joe realized. “‘Cause you didn’t want me to see? Oh, Hossie..”

Joe, standing beside him as Paul examined his ribs, reached for his right hand.

“In what can be nothing except divine providence, you didn’t cause yourself any additional harm,” Paul said, slumping in relief and removing the stethoscope from his ears. “But I am serious, Hoss. With your ribs and your concussion, you can’t over exert yourself. Even mental overstimulation will be bad for your head. Your brain needs time to recover. If in the next couple of days your symptoms seem to improve, you can start reading and the like.”

“I thought you said the time span for treatment and healing was weeks to months,” Adam interjected.

Hoss was relieved someone else was there to listen to the doctor and ask questions. His thoughts were moving too slow to remember any of the instructions for longer than a few seconds, and it was much easier to lean into Joe.

“Oh, it is, it certainly is, but the concussion will clear up long before his ribs heal, in a couple of weeks as opposed to a month or two. I’ll be out every few days to observe his symptoms and progress,” Paul droned, his voice becoming a hum as Hoss shut his eyes. “Hoss is the type to grit his teeth and breathe through the pain, which is the last thing we want. Shallow breaths can lead to chest infections and pneumonia, or they can be a symptom of..”

Hoss felt so very weak. He breathed slow, trying to control the gnawing ache at his ribs.

The side of Hoss’ head fell against Joe’s stomach. If he were feeling inclined toward amusement, the arrangement would have made Hoss laugh, a reverse of how Joe used to huddle into him and cling to his side, the top of his curly head barely reaching Hoss’ chest.

Hoss sighed into Joe’s ribs- hale and unbroken- and the boy squeezed his hand. “We’re gonna take care of ya, Hoss. I promise,” he whispered.

And Hoss believed him.

—

Joe nearly gagged himself as he watched Hoss gag over the side of the buckboard. Hop Sing held onto him, keeping him from falling- and it seemed a distinct possibility, given how weak Hoss seemed, out of breath, every move wooden, wavering if he so much as shifted wrong.

Hoss hadn’t hardly eaten anything since yesterday evening- and even then, Joe realized, he had been so quiet and unenthusiastic during last night’s meal. Had he done anything but pick at his supper?

Why was he still so sick?

Why had it taken Joe so long to realize?

Adam reached over from his reins and grabbed Joe’s wrist.

Joe turned to tell his brother that he was okay- which wasn’t true, the instinctive reply would be an outright lie, as he’d never felt so low or guilty or scared in his entire life-

But upon looking at his brother, Joe realized the move was not for his benefit; Adam had reached out because he needed it.

The vomiting and coughing eventually halted, replaced by wheezing gasps and grunting noises of pain.

“Gimme- gimme a sec, Hop Sing, I’m tryin’-” he whispered, still hunched over.

“I can wait,” Hop Sing confirmed immediately. “Don’t get up if you’re not ready.”

Hoss leaned his head into their friend’s comforting hand.

“Thanks.”

Joe swallowed the horror rising up in his throat; it settled in his stomach like a rock.

“Roy came out to the house, he told us about someone taking a shot at you- why didn’t you say anything?”

“Pa..” Hoss sighed and shook his head. “I just didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Didn’t want to talk about it?” Pa repeated, incredulous. “If someone tries to kill you, I want to know!”

Hoss sighed again, looking upwards, not quite rolling his eyes- he respected Pa too much for that- but it was a near thing.

“We want you safe, boy! And what’s this action that happened out at Prescott’s, what happened?”

“Pa,” Adam interrupted.

Their father glanced Adam’s way before softening. His gaze returned to Hoss. “You’re alright?”

A nod.

“And Walter-?”

“We talked. I won’t have any more problems with him.”

Pa seemed to force down a protest. It was clear he wanted more, to know about the bounty, to ask how Hoss and Mr. Prescott resolved things, if they could be assured no one would try for the bounty again, if they were sure Hoss was safe- but he simply patted his son on the arm again.

Hoss glanced over at Adam and offered a small, grateful nod.

Joe still squirmed in his saddle; he wanted to hug his brother more than anything, but it was clear that Hoss didn’t want to dwell on the matter, wanting to move on from it altogether.

“Ready to go home?” Adam asked. Without offering a reply, Hoss mounted Chubby.

As Pa passed Joe, heading back to Buck as Adam and Hoss departed, Joe reached out, catching his father’s shoulder. Pa gripped his hand, and Joe took comfort in the familiar warmth and callouses.

“He’s alright,” Pa said, giving Joe’s fingers a squeeze.

“You telling me that, or yourself?” Joe asked lightly, the inklings of a smile on his lips.

Pa gleamed, a little sad but fond. “Both,” he admitted seriously.

Pa patted his hand a final time and then returned to Buck. They rode beside each other, watching Hoss and Adam about a dozen yards ahead of them.

Joe and Pa rarely spoke; he didn’t know his father’s reasons for not talking, but Joe knew if he were to voice even a single one of his concerns or fears, he’d never be able to stop. As it was, various anxieties tormented him without voicing them aloud, each one racing through his head.

Had it truly only been that morning that Joe finished doing the dishes and overheard Adam and Hoss’ conversation?

His brother, ridiculed throughout his childhood, believing himself a stupid, ugly oaf-

His other brother, getting into fights to defend him, and learning that he hadn’t done enough-

The years upon years it had gone unspoken, Hoss suffering alone-

And yet Pa’s words rung in his ears, about how Hoss never let that suffering drive him to hate, instead making him more loving and accepting and supportive-

And how had Joe thanked Hoss for all of his wonderful kindness?

Teasing him about the same things his tormentors bullied him for.

And Pa’s frantic questioning of Hoss when they met on the hill; that opened up a whole new area of worry, one that Joe hadn’t even considered until it was put into words.

Why hadn’t Hoss told them what happened? How could they protect him if he didn’t tell them when he was in danger?

And maybe Joe was a little mad- he figured he had a right to some anger, some at Hoss for hiding it and tenfold more for Mr. Prescott- but he was mainly scared.

His heart raced, terrified at everything that had happened, could have happened, still could happen.

His fear must have shown on his face, because Pa led Buck a little closer to Joe’s side. “Alright, Joseph?”

“To be honest, Pa, I feel a mite sick.”

Joe wanted to get down from his horse and walk to the side of the trail and retch.

God, he loved Hoss so much.

How could anyone ever want to hurt him?

“Easy, boy.” Pa reached over, taking Joe’s reins in hand. “Do we need to stop?”

Joe looked up the road at Adam and Hoss, even further ahead of them now.

“No,” he said hesitantly, and then a little stronger, trying to convince himself, repeated “No, I’ll be fine. Just want to get home.”

Pa looked at him in understanding, allowing him to again take the reins.

They continued onward, Pa staying close by, and when they crossed onto the Ponderosa, it was like a tremendous weight had been lifted from Joe’s shoulders.

Yes, bad things had happened on their land- even inside their very own home- but just crossing the property line and simply being there made Joe feel comfortable and safe.

He hoped Hoss felt that way now too.

How much of his childhood had Hoss felt uncomfortable? Unsafe?

Any time he was at school? Any time he wasn’t with Adam or Pa? Any time he wasn’t home?

That horrifying prospect consumed Joe for the rest of their ride, and he dwelled on it miserably the whole way.

When they finally arrived home, Joe limply dismounted, watching Hoss through the open door of the barn. Adam coaxed a few words out of Hoss from across his horse and they bantered a moment. It was music to Joe’s ears when he heard Hoss let out a chuckle. Hoss replied in kind, and Adam’s shoulders shook with laughter.

So relieved he was nearly lightheaded, Joe turned to Pa, hoping to share in what he observed as a victory, but he appeared crestfallen, his gaze almost sad.

“Reminds me of when they were boys,” he explained quietly when Joe put a hand on his back and raised an eyebrow. “On bad days, Hoss couldn’t bring himself to go to school, and Adam would take him riding or fishing or swimming instead. I always used to worry on those days, and I’d often follow them from a distance, just in case, and.. well, they look the same, even now.”

Joe didn’t take his eyes off his brothers, trying to envision them almost twenty years younger and laughing, pretending to ready their horses for school, when they were really going to play hooky. “You knew they weren’t going to school? You didn’t stop them?”

Pa hummed in affirmation. “I’ve always valued education, you know that, but if he needed a day, just to be happy..” He shook his head, a sad smile playing at his lips. “Although, I actually did confront them once- just the once- only because they were swimming and wearing next to nothing in the middle of October- wet hair, wet long johns, practically asking to catch pneumonia.”

Joe snorted.

“I pretended I thought it was a sole occurrence, and let them off easy, because I didn’t want Hoss scared to do it again if that’s what he needed. I think it was good for him, to have that feeling of getting away with something and to bond over it with Adam. That was just a week before your second birthday,” he suddenly mused. “I remember because they both caught colds, and they had your mother’s chicken noodle soup while the three of us had birthday cake.”

Joe chuckled slightly, but straightened immediately when Adam appeared. “We’ll put up your horses if you’d like, Pa, baby brother.”

Joe looked in the barn again, watching as Hoss went over Chubby with a curry comb.

“Sure,” Pa replied for them both.

As Joe followed his father inside, he reasoned that it made sense for Hoss to want to be with Adam right now; their oldest brother was aloof, cool and composed, avoiding situations of vulnerability and emotion- though that resolution often crumbled if Hoss or Joe needed otherwise.

It was reasonable to conclude that Adam would be the last person to make Hoss talk about it.

But Joe also knew his eldest brother well enough to know there would be a tempest raging inside him, full of anxiety and questions just like Joe and Pa, all while doing everything he could to seem casual and unaffected.

Joe resolutely told himself that Adam was the best one to be with Hoss at the moment.

It didn’t stop him from pacing in front of the fireplace and bothering Pa so much that he eventually rose from his own chair and pushed Joe over to the settee and bodily forced him to sit down.

Of course, that may have been done for solely selfish reasons, as Pa then took up the responsibility of wearing a hole into the rug, and Joe watched as Pa paced instead.

Adam and Hoss timed their return just right, for as soon as they came in, Hop Sing announced that supper was ready and called them all to the table.

“Looks mighty tasty, Hop Sing,” Hoss said as he sat down, either ignoring or not catching how Joe and Pa stared at him with expectant, hungry eyes. “Thank you.”

Hop Sing lightly chucked him on the cheek before departing, and Joe had to wonder how much Hop Sing knew; about Hoss’ childhood bullies, but also the action and conflict that afternoon. Had one of the hands perhaps spread around what happened, overhearing something in town or out in the yard or barn, and passed it on to him?

Regardless, it sure seemed as if something extra was exchanged between the two before Hop Sing returned to the kitchen.

Hoss always made an effort to thank Hop Sing- Joe had always figured it was because he loved his cooking- but how much of it was related to what Pa had revealed earlier?

He always expressed his gratitude, because he didn’t want Hop Sing’s work and effort to be overlooked or taken for granted; he was especially respectful and kind, because he recognized that Hop Sing and other folks from his homeland were often ostracized in their new country.

And they all loved Hop Sing- he was an honorary Cartwright, one of the family- but Joe couldn’t help but wonder if it was a little different for Hoss, seeing someone else who was often treated as an outsider. Someone decided the norm was thin and lean or American-born and light skinned. Hoss saw someone else whose differences from the norm- or what people decided was normal- caused anger or upset.

Joe realized that while he was deep in thought, everyone else had started eating; he picked up his fork and mechanically scooped up some mashed potatoes.

Pa hesitantly engaged Hoss in conversation about the cattle deal they recently made, negotiated entirely by Hoss. They spoke back and forth awhile, Pa’s already proud gleam shining even brighter as Hoss began to open up, speaking of who he planned on making trail boss, who would be in charge of the remuda of horses, which of their ranch hands would ride with them.

“What route do you plan on taking?”

“Thinkin’ of takin’ Donner Pass, headin’ over to Placerville and down. Them buyers in Stockton, they..”

Some of the tension began to drain out of Joe just by listening to him, Hoss sounding confident and self-assured.

But was it an act?

His insecurity and self-loathing this morning was by no means exaggerated, not done for attention. It certainly wasn’t an act, but-

“What happened to your hand, short shanks?”

It took Joe longer than he’d like to admit to realize Hoss was talking to him. “Oh,” he said, embarrassed for more than one reason. “It’s nothing. When Adam and I were mending fences, I lifted an old post that was too heavy for me- slipped right out of my hand, save for a big splinter it left behind.”

Hoss snorted, amused albeit still appearing concerned. “Tough work for ya, huh, littl’un?”

Joe grinned playfully. “Should have had you out there haulin’ those fence posts, you big ox.”

Adam’s sharp kick to his shin was altogether unnecessary, Joe berating himself as soon as the words passed his lips.

What in the absolute hell was wrong with him?

Hoss let out a burst of laughter at his words, but as soon as his mirth faded, the warm and easy conversation immediately came to a halt, an awkward discomfort in the air, oppressive and cloying.

Joe’s stomach was in knots, leaving him with no desire to finish his meal. He stared at the tablecloth, his heart in his throat, feeling Adam’s glare and Pa’s disappointed gaze.

For a long moment, the only sounds were the clinks of silverware on plates and the dull thuds as water glasses were lowered to the table.

He glanced up at Hoss through the tops of his eyes; his big brother was focused on his plate, avoiding any instigation of a conversation.

But even so, Joe could still read him; Hoss looked like a lost little boy in need of directions, and no one was willing to help him.

Was that how he looked when the other children turned him away or made snide remarks about his presence?

Was he confused when he first realized what was happening?

Did he understand why they wouldn’t let him play with them? Did he understand- then and now- that those children were wrong to do that?

Joe couldn’t understand why anyone would do such a thing- to anybody, not just Hoss.

“Hoss, ya wanna play checkers after supper?” Joe improvised quickly, nearly in prayer over Hoss’ answer.

“Sure, Joe,” Hoss replied, and after a second, threw him a wink.

Joe grinned, relieved.

The supper continued, not silent or unpleasant, each contributing a few words or thoughts to each topic, but it was evident that all were dancing around what Hoss had gone through that day.

When they finished eating, Pa and Adam volunteered to help Hop Sing with the dishes- Joe was almost surprised they trusted him to be alone with Hoss after his foolish blunders that day, and he was almost a mite nervous about it himself-

But they left, and Joe and Hoss made their way over to the fireplace. Joe let Hoss pick his color, sitting cross-legged on the coffee table.

“No cheatin’, huh? I got my eye on you,” Hoss joked quietly.

“I don’t cheat,” Joe protested vehemently, plastering a look of offense on his face; but even as Hoss nodded, mock-serious, Joe kicked himself for all of the times he’d cheated in the past, all of the times he practically flouted the fact he was cheating; because he was convinced Hoss would never notice, that he was too good hearted to truly doubt Joe, because he always gullibly believed Joe’s protests that he’d won fair and square.

Joe knew Hoss was smart, but at the same time, he’d apparently- clearly- been operating on the assumption Hoss wasn’t observant enough to figure out what he was doing.

And maybe it wasn’t even a matter of him thinking of Hoss as unperceptive or unfocused; it had just been that Joe always took advantage of Hoss’ willingness to give him the benefit of doubt.

He was so busy berating himself that he forgot he was supposed to be paying attention to the game, pushing pieces forward at random.

He’d also missed Pa and Adam’s eventual return, and only recognized their presence when he heard a snort from the blue chair.

“Really playing to win, aren’t you, Joe?” Adam asked.

“Huh?” He looked down at the board; he wasn’t sure what Adam meant until he saw the multiple jumps he could have made in his last move. “Oh.”

Hoss chuckled at Joe’s numb realization and then made his move- not hindering the big play Joe had missed, even though he could have.

“Come on, Hoss, don’t go easy on him,” Adam scolded playfully.

“Ah, it’s no big deal,” Hoss deflected, looking away from the board a moment- purposefully looking away from the board.

And then his brows rose infinitesimally in surprise upon turning back to it and seeing all of the pieces in their proper places.

“You’ve been letting me cheat,” Joe realized dully.

“You haven’t cheated, I done been keepin’ my eye on you,” Hoss countered.

“No- not now- but-”

“You hardly seem invested in winning tonight, that hardly gives you reason to cheat,” Adam added to the conversation; Hoss frowned in his direction.

“He doesn’t cheat,” Hoss defended him tersely. There was a rather large hole in that claim, as almost every game they played together, Hoss treated Joe cheating as a distinct possibility and thus warned him against it.

Adam scoffed, and Hoss threw him an unreadable expression.

“But all the other games!” Joe continued, “All those other times I’ve- why-?”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Little Joe. I always warn ya of the consequences for cheatin’- why, that’d be like lettin’ you win-”

“You’ve been letting me win!” Joe ascertained, incredulous.

Hoss hemmed and hawed, denying it again.

“Hoss, boy, I warned you years ago this would happen eventually.”

Joe flung his head over to Pa. “You knew he was letting me cheat? You knew I was cheating?”

Pa leveled him one of his signature looks.

“Yes, I knew. I disapproved, but Hoss- somehow- convinced me it didn’t matter to him, the losing, and thus it shouldn’t matter to me.”

“How long have you been doing it? How long have y’all known?”

“Ever since you started playing,” Pa replied, a frown still on his lips.

For good measure, Joe put his feet on the floor.

“You were so little,” Hoss explained, finally breaking down, admitting that Joe’s accusations were true. “Ya weren’t good at it yet, and you were so sad when ya lost. So I let you win a couple times, and because ya didn’t know I woulda let ya win regardless, ya started cheatin’ too. You were so pleased and proud of yourself when ya thought you were gettin’ away with it, too, you were really adorable. And it just became habit to let ya do it.”

Joe sat back, struck dumb.

“He and I play chess together. Did you really think Hoss couldn’t keep track of where the pieces are on a checker board?” Adam asked testily as if he too had disapproved of Hoss’ permissive approach with Joe.

Joe swallowed, feeling guilty. He wanted to protest, to say that wasn’t what he thought, but shame built up in his throat, along with growing doubt: had he thought that Hoss wasn’t smart enough to notice?

Because he thought about things in a different way, people used him and took advantage of him..

“I recommend you both continue- no cheating, no overlooking of cheating, no letting the other win- and then making it an early night.” Pa looked at them sharply before returning to his book.

Hoss cleared his throat. “Actually, Joe, if ya don’t mind, I’m pretty tired. Could we finish our game tomorrow?”

“Tired? Are you feeling alright?” Pa asked, immediately lowering the book. There was a twitchiness about him, like a gunslinger who was trying to go straight but still flinched and reached for his gun at every unexpected sound; except in this case, it was a feeling a tiredness or a lack of hunger or a cough or a sniffle, and Pa, fastest in the West, would have a hand drawn and on his son’s forehead, checking for fever.

“Yeah. Long day, Pa.”

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, everyone knowing what still went unspoken.

“Of course, of- of course, I understand.”

Hoss turned back to Joe, and for a second, he was caught up in his brother’s bright blue eyes, and in his pink, rosy cheeks, and in his strong, fat shoulders and chest, and in the total confusion that Hoss could ever believe himself ugly.

He realized his brother was looking to him for permission.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Pleasant dreams, Hossie.”

Hoss lightly slapped the arm of the settee before rising. He stopped beside Adam’s chair, and perhaps took everyone by surprise when he offered out his hand to Adam to shake. Adam quickly hid his emotions, returning the gesture. “Night, Hoss.”

“See you in the mornin’, Pa,” he hollered as he went upstairs, throwing him a smile from the landing.

“Sleep well, boy.”

As soon as he disappeared, Joe found himself with his head in his hands. He felt more than saw Pa move from his regular armchair to across from him on the settee, in the space Hoss had just departed. Joe gripped at his hair, forcing his fingers through his curls.

Pa caught him by the wrists, gently pulling his hands back down to his lap. Joe kept his head bowed.

“What is it, Joseph?”

A mirthless laugh emitted from the back of his throat.

“I don’t know. I suppose I’m just learning a lot about Hoss today. I’m realizing there’s a lot I never knew.”

A shudder ran through him and it was silent a moment. Joe tried to focus on the small circles Pa was rubbing into the backs of his hands with his thumbs.

“Things we still don’t know!” His voice cracked, the words crumbling in emotion. “He was nearly killed twice today- maybe even more- and he ain’t told us nothing about it!”

Pa took a deep breath and then exhaled, long, slow, and stuttering. “I understand. The unknowns haunt me too.”

“And all the stuff when I was a baby that I never knew about, too, and all the stuff he feels now that he hides from us, Pa-” Joe whined rather than finish his thought.

“I know.”

He felt a hand on his back; he glanced over and saw Adam, wearing a consolatory expression.

Adam looked back and forth between him and Pa. “We talked some. He’s alright; truly. He’s feeling rather conflicted now, because he feels like he hurt Lotty, but it’s nothing he cannot face, especially if we help him.”

Pa sighed and leaned back, running a hand down his face.

“That boy,” he scolded without heat. “Ever since he was a baby, he always had more kindness than anybody else. Always trying to love people the way they needed, not thinking of himself.”

“Mama used to say he had more sweetness in his pinky nail than most folks did in their whole body.”

Adam offered a wet laugh at Joe’s comment. “She was right. Still true now.”

Part of Joe wondered if Hoss had too much sweetness; if he was too forgiving.

Hoss had said he wouldn’t have further problems with Mr. Prescott. Adam hadn’t clarified whether Hoss discussed the violence Prescott incited or whether he was still concerned about it.

Was that because Hoss had forgiven him? Or because he didn’t want his family becoming involved, angry on his behalf?

Why hadn’t he wanted to talk about it with them? He had confided in Adam- to an extent; what they knew still rather limited- but even then, it was after the fact.

Was he- the thought nearly made Joe dizzy with fear- was Hoss feeling so low about himself that he’d lost regard for his own safety?

Hoss barely escaped murder and he didn’t tell anyone, and then, right after he narrowly missed death, he went straight to the person who wanted him killed, no regard for his safety, not telling anyone about the risk he faced!

Had Hoss willingly-? Had he wanted-?

No. No, that was impossible- wasn’t it?

If it were true, Adam would have noticed, wouldn’t he? And then he’d tell Pa and Joe?

No, Joe was panicking- he’d had a long, stressful, terrifying day, and his brain was simply imagining the worst possible scenario-

What happened today was far bigger than a molehill, but that was no cause to turn it into the entire Sierra Nevada mountain range.

Everything would be fine; nothing to worry about.

They would spend the next few days- weeks, months, however long was necessary- being there for Hoss and doing what was needed for him to stop feeling guilty about Lotty and to feeling better about himself again.

Or not again; just in general.

Maybe Adam could offer to take Hoss fishing or swimming tomorrow. Sure, Hoss had the cattle drive coming up, but just a couple hours of playing hooky couldn’t hurt too much.

Pa had given the teacher and school board hell for not protecting the students; Joe could easily envision him doing the same to Mr. Prescott, but it would depend on whether Hoss approved of such an endeavor. It was no longer grade school, Pa protecting his little boy from the other children; they were all adults now.

Joe knew he ought to seek out Hoss’ permission, but he had to admit he was fantasizing about splitting his knuckles on Mr. Prescott’s jaw, and just pounding him into the dirt the way Adam did with Hoss’ bullies.

If he got to Prescott right now, it’d take an entire team of men to get Joe off of him; he’d only stop the beating if Hoss wanted him to.

And he probably would, Joe figured, somewhat disappointed.

He could still get a few good licks in though, he optimistically hoped.

“I think I’ll go to bed early too,” Joe said, surprising himself.

He wasn’t particularly sleepy, but there was a heaviness about him; an exhaustion that came from great emotion and upheaval.

Upon thinking about it, he had spent the entire day scared or guilty or sad or confused or angry.

He supposed he had a right to rest.

Joe didn’t know how easy that endeavor would be, various anxieties still battling for the forefront of his mind-

But he wanted to be under the warm covers of his soft bed, feeling utterly safe, the sound of Hoss’ snores just a room away like a lullaby as he drifted off to sleep.

“That’s a right good idea,” Pa approved. He reached up to grab Joe by the back of his neck and pulled him forward, planting a kiss on his forehead. “Pleasant dreams, son.”

“Good night, little buddy,” Adam said, patting his back.

Joe grinned softly, feeling warm despite all that preyed on his mind. “Night, Pa. Night, brother.”

—

Joe tiptoed into his room and quietly opened his dresser, reaching for his bundled up nightshirt. As he changed out of his clothes, his mind was on his last glance downstairs before heading up to bed.

Both Pa and Adam were settling in with a certain sort of solemnity about them, and it had been clear they were readying themselves for a long discussion. Neither were likely to turn in any time soon, each revealing important details, considering future plans, and offering comforting words.

Normally, Joe would chafe to be excluded from such a conversation, his father and eldest brother waiting until he made himself scarce to talk privately, as if he couldn’t handle what they were discussing.

But Joe wondered if that weren’t the case, because he was almost scared to hear any more about Hoss’ hurts today.

He brushed his teeth and splashed some water on his face before crawling into bed, snuggling under his blankets.

He lay there staring at the wall for an unknown- interminable- amount of time. After a while, he heard Adam’s quick and determined long strides and then the quiet click of his door. A few moments later came Pa’s heavier, lumbering steps, and Joe heard him pause outside Hoss’ room; he could easily envision his father debating with himself in the hall, a hand flat against the door. But soon, Pa continued onward to his own bedroom, and again the house was silent.

Silent, save for the occasional snores coming from Hoss’ room.

There had been a short moment in which Joe had started to drift off, but he jolted up immediately upon the image of a little Hoss entering his mind, fat tears running down his cheeks, looking so hurt and confused as the other children rejected and ridiculed him.

Joe didn’t know whether he’d fallen asleep and it was a dream, or if it was something he fabricated in the back of his mind- a terrible, haunting vision nonetheless- but either way, he was no longer able to sleep.

He shoved back his covers and scrambled out of bed, hurrying out to the hall and pushing open the door to Hoss’ room. He halted, feeling ridiculous, especially upon hearing Hoss’ snores; he needn’t have barged in for proof his brother was safe.

But Joe was there now, watching the steady rise and fall of his brother’s body, unable to tear his eyes away from the line of Hoss’ shoulder and waist and hip.

He’s okay, Joe told himself, he’s okay, he’s right there.

But of course, that only appeased one of his worries; the bushwhackers were unsuccessful and Hoss returned home safe.

How Hoss felt about himself, however-

What all had Joe teased him about lately? How had he doubted him; discredited him? Unknowingly affirmed to Hoss that he was-?

A big, ugly stupid oaf.

Calling him knight of the chuck wagon. Mocking the thought of a woman falling for him, of someone finding him charming or desirable. Laughing when Hoss started to voice his insecurities, instead of granting him the attention and respect he deserved. Taking advantage of what he’d figured was Hoss’ naivety and lack of observation skills- for years, Joe had been doing that- and floundering when it came out that Hoss had known and permitted it all that time.

He bit back a gasp when Hoss made a grunting, snuffling noise; and then went back to sleep.

Joe had made a lot of mistakes today, not being there for his brother or supporting him in the way he needed.

Joe wouldn’t fail Hoss again now.

Tiptoeing, Joe made his way over to the armchair by the foot of Hoss’ bed and sat. He brought his knees up to his chest, wiggling and then pulling his nightshirt over them and down to cover his cold feet. If he’d been smarter, he’d have grabbed his slippers or socks before leaving his warm, quilt laden bed, but then again, intelligence didn’t seem to be his lot today.

He hugged his knees, the occasional shiver that went through him an ongoing reminder of why he was there and what he owed Hoss. He could handle a little discomfort; watching out for his brother was more important than him being under a thick blanket. After the way he behaved today, perhaps he deserved a little discomfort.

Every once in a while, Hoss shifted a bit, or his breathing changed just slightly, and Joe was immediately on alert, fearing a nightmare or some such. But Hoss never cried out or seemed otherwise disturbed, and so Joe sat huddled on the chair in the corner, listening to his brother’s snores and watching his chest as it rose and fell.

At some point, Hoss turned onto his side, away from Joe, and the snoring stopped. Joe figured he’d simply strain his ears, listening for each breath.

“Joe? What is it, punkin, ya alright?”

Joe didn’t know how Hoss did it. How had his brother woken up? How’d he known someone was in the room, known specifically that it was Joe?

Hoss couldn’t even see Joe at the angle in which he was sitting.

“Joe?” Hoss asked again, turning over to look at him.

“I’m okay,” Joe said automatically, worried about his brother, not himself.

“Ya sure? What’re you doin’ here? Are you feelin’ poorly?”

Yes, but I ain’t sick, Joe thought.

“I’m okay,” he repeated.

Hoss ran a hand over his face. “Used to be that you’d come by every night, claimin’ that yarn and calico stuffed horse of yours wanted to see me.”

Unwittingly, Joe smiled, both at the memory and Hoss’ efforts to distract him from whatever he figured Joe was worrying about. “I’d forgotten about that. He’s displayed on my dresser now, you know.”

It sat in a place of honor, alongside other favorite mementos of his childhood; there was the horse his Mama sewed him, but there were also various wood critters Hoss carved for him, the model ship Pa got him while in Colorado on business, the yellow ribbon that Cochise had around her neck when she became his horse, and a drawing of his Mama that Adam did when he was young and afraid that he would someday forget what she looked like; Pa had given him a photograph since then, but the charcoal sketch still meant very much to him.

Hoss hummed in acknowledgment. “Yeah, I done seen Lambie up there.” There came a tired chuckle. “Boy, Pa grumbled when you named him that, a cattle rancher’s son naming a toy after a sheep- a cowman’s natural enemy, y’know. I remember Ma told him to hush up and let you enjoy the thing.”

“Really?” Joe laughed. “I didn’t know that. My thinking at the time was that you called me little lamb, so I wanted someone to be my little lamb too,” he explained, slightly embarrassed, but feeling as justified in his reasoning now as he did then.

Hoss chuckled, and then sat up, leaning against his headboard and turning up the light on the oil lamp on his bedside table. He looked at Joe, his expression serious. “What’s goin’ on, Joe? Ya have a nightmare?”

Joe remained silent, and then felt guilty as Hoss’ eyes grew concerned.

“Sorta,” he admitted. “I, uh.. I listened to you and Adam talking earlier.”

Hoss’ brow furrowed. “In the barn?”

Joe considered saying that he couldn’t have what with Pa being around, but he knew that wouldn’t come across well. “Nah, this morning, before you- before any of it happened.”

Hoss sighed slowly. “Alright. I didn’t want ya hearin’ that, but I suppose ya already did know about how it was. But what’s got you jumpy now?”

Joe was so incredulous at Hoss’ reasoning that he gave up on huddling for warmth in his nightshirt, dropping his feet to the floor and leaning forward. “Hoss, I heard what you said! You think I can sleep knowing that?”

“Joe..” Hoss squinted at him in confusion. “All that couldn’ta been news to ya. You knew how it was for me then. Why d’ya think I was always so worried about you when ya started school, holdin’ yer hand and stickin’ to you like a burr on a saddle blanket?”

“Well, that was-” Joe furrowed his brow, trying to remember. “Adam was taking care of us around when I started school, yeah? I figured it was just something he told us to do.”

“Well, he did,” Hoss admitted, “but I woulda done it anyway. But you were so good with the other shavers; ya took to it right off, making friends so quick. Everyone liked you. It was different for me.”

“They-” Tears brimming, Joe tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “They bullied you?”

Hoss’ mouth twisted. “Joe.. when you’re like me, ya gotta expect a little teasing and just learn how to put up with it.”

“No!” Hoss hushed him immediately, glancing at his door. Joe continued, quieter but with just as much fire, “No, you shouldn’t have to accept it, ‘cause you ain’t done nothin’ wrong! There’s nothing wrong about you. It’s them that needed to act different, ‘cause they’re to blame.”

Hoss shook his head. “Big fella like me shouldn’t lose his temper over a couple folks botherin’ him. Better ta just let ‘em say or do what they want and move on.”

Hundreds of arguments filled Joe’s head about Hoss’ inherent gentleness and patience- but how much of that had been drilled into Hoss because folks treated him like he was dangerous or a threat, and he thought he needed to prove himself harmless and safe, because they wouldn’t trust him by sight?

But all of his tenderness was so natural and easy; it wasn’t something he had to put effort into. How could that not be what people noticed first?

And Hoss had been a big fellow even when he was young- Joe could remember when it came to Adam’s attention that his eleven year old brother could just about look him in the eye- but still-

It probably started when he was six, Adam had said. It was at it’s worst two or three years after that.

He was just a baby, Joe had replied.

Hoss was only a child; he had to learn about his body and his own strength, just like everyone ought to, but he was still far too young to be thinking about himself like-

Because he was big, came Pa’s voice, other people thought him more animal than man… Hoss knows what it’s like to be treated that way.

Every protest died in Joe’s throat, and all he could conjure was to meekly ask, “They hurt you?”

Hoss didn’t respond immediately. “Not in any way that matters.”

“It all matters!” he argued in a whispered shout. “If they made you think that you’re not worthy of love-”

“I don’t think that-”

“You thought it was nonsense for Lotty to love you, that it was ridiculous she thought you handsome!”

Hoss grunted. “Adam mentioned that, did he?”

Joe turned pink. “I was pretty upset after hearing what I did. We talked some.”

“Great.”

Recalling how embarrassed Hoss had sounded when discussing the matter with Adam that morning, Joe felt rather ashamed.

“Hoss, Adam and I talked about how wrong your bullies were, in every way. They got you thinking you’re something you’re not, because you’re the most gentle person I’ve ever met, every bit of you tender, kind, and good. You’re so smart, because you always think so deeply, listening to folks and really, truly understanding them. And you are handsome, because you have baby blue eyes, and because your cheeks are always pink and rosy, and because you are fat and big,” he concluded, nervous. “You’re not an ugly, stupid oaf, Hoss. You’re smart and you’re beautiful.”

Hoss’ naturally rosy cheeks were bright red in embarrassment, his broad shoulders hunched up as he ducked his head, bashful. “You’re a right sweet little brother for sayin’ that, but-”

“No, Adam said you would say that, that we were just bein’ nice because we’re brothers, but I mean every bit of it!”

Hoss raised an eyebrow, looking amused. “You didn’t let me finish.” Joe clamped his mouth shut as Hoss smirked. “What I was gonna say was that as good as it was ta hear, I don’t think that bad about myself.”

“But I heard you,” Joe protested quietly.

“I know.” Hoss sighed. “There’s moments when- when it’s worse. Makes me shy, or feel low. I have bad days sometimes. This morning was- well, it was worse this morning. But,” he asserted, stronger and more confident, “I stopped caring a long time ago about what people said I should be or how I should act or think or look. The rules other folks have, their measure of what makes a fella or a gal or a’body nice lookin’ or smart- they made ‘em all up.”

“Eye of the beholder,” Joe said.

“That’s right. I may not be smart or handsome in the way they behold, and I won’t lie, sometimes that makes problems- even hurts a mite- but I still wouldn’t change a thing ‘bout myself. I know about plenty a’things that others don’t, and I know I’m smart enough ta learn somethin’ new iffen I a mind to. Far as looks, I don’t want ta constantly be strivin’ for some ideal that’s gonna change soon enough anyway. I don’t owe it ta anybody, and I like myself the way I am. I’d rather be happy.”

Joe considered Hoss’ words. He was tremendously glad that, most of the time, Hoss strove for positivity, happy as opposed to changing himself for a cruel idea; but was that enough?

Was acceptance and positivity enough in the face of whole swaths of folks- whether they went around bullying or not- who thought that which was different was bad?

Hoss had to decide to move on from what his bullies said; but wouldn’t it be better if no one thought like those bullies at all?

If having different shaped bodies, having different colors of skin, having different ways of thinking or believing or speaking- if they were simply differences, but not a sign somebody was bad?

But how could that be changed?

The breadth of the problem was too difficult for Joe to grasp, and he decided the problem at hand was the first thing he ought to consider.

“Hoss, if you don’t care about their rules, why was it such a surprise that Lotty liked ya? Loved ya?”

Hoss smiled, a little sadly. “It don’t happen all too often, Joe. It was more than a mite outta the ordinary.”

Joe sat back, the words crushing him. “Are gals- are they mean to you like the bullies were?”

“Oh, I suppose some of the time,” Hoss replied, practically brushing it off. “Most just overlook me; they ain’t been taught to see me as attractive.”

“Lotty saw beyond that. She wasn’t taught like all them other gals.”

“Don’t blame the ladies, Joe. Everybody everywhere has been taught bad things they gotta undo, biases they gotta correct in themselves and in others. ‘S only when people choose not to- ‘cause it’s easier or more comfortable ta not do it- that it’s bad. ‘Sides, when you’re different- when folks who claim to be normal say that you ain’t- ya find others who don’t belong too, and ya work together- as allies, like- and help each other get respect as we are.”

Joe sat in wonderment, awed and amazed. Hoss had a method, all his own- and he probably didn’t even think of it as such, it simply being how he lived his life- for confronting what in Joe’s mind seemed an insurmountable problem.

Hoss helped people confront the bigotries inside them, while ensuring that other folks who’d faced ostracism or exclusion never felt alone, offering friendship and support.

Joe shook himself. He still had things he needed clarified, anxieties appeased, ideas corrected- both his own, and Hoss’.

“I’m glad you’re as confident and assured as I always took ya for, and that it hasn’t been an act you been putting on to hide how you feel about yourself- but Hoss, that’s because I hate the idea of you going through all that on your lonesome. If you’re ever having a bad day or feelin’ low, you’ll tell me, right? And I’ll- I’ll show those bullies just how wrong they were.”

“Oh, yeah?” Hoss grinned at him as if looking at a particularly feisty kitten. “Gonna fight my bullies for me, littl’un?”

“I just might!” Joe defended. He knew Hoss was only playing with him; beyond that, he knew Hoss wouldn’t actually allow him to get into a physical altercation of any kind, especially if it were to defend him.

It was for that very reason that Joe knew Hoss would never tell him who his bullies were or if they were still around.

Still, it was fun to think about.

But he thought about Adam saying that beating up Hoss’ bullies didn’t really solve the problem and how sometimes Hoss needed something else; and how Pa spoke of the importance of doing your best by people, and the best you could do was listening if they needed a different kind of help.

“But I’d really just do whatever you needed,” Joe finally said.

Hoss softened, the shine about him shifting from mirth to fondness. “Thanks, Little Joe.”

“So you really don’t care what they think of you?” Hoss shook his head. “You really, really don’t?”

“Nope.”

“Then why-?” The horrifying concept caught in the back of his throat. “Were you feeling low this afternoon? Is that why you didn’t tell us you was almost bushwhacked, why you- you willingly went to see a man tryin’ ta have ya killed?”

Hoss leaned forward fast, his blankets pooling around his waist. “Little lamb, no. No, you hear me? Ya don’t never hafta worry about that. That’s not- not at all- what I was doin’, so just get that thought outta your mind.”

Caught between relief and continued fear, Joe struggled to reply. “Then- then why?” he asked, confused. “Why’d you not tell us, why’d you go ta Prescott’s without our help- why did ya go a’tall?”

“Joe-” Hoss grit his teeth and shook his head. “I love you, I love Pa and Adam, too, but this family has a tendency to get.. involved in each other’s business. And I know I ain’t any different, and I know that’s what family is, knowing about your loved ones and their business, caring ‘bout what’s going on with ‘em, but- well, it’s like I told Lotty, when we was first gettin’ to know each other; none of us ever lets any of us alone.”

Joe was a little embarrassed and a little hurt. He shifted in his chair awkwardly. “Do I annoy ya? You know- goin’ into your room and wakin’ ya up in the middle of the night, just ‘cause I been worrying?”

Hoss huffed a laugh. “Punkin, I’m not sayin’ I’d change ya. But you know how Pa gets when he’s worryin’ after ya?”

Joe considered it. “When he’s really babying me, you mean?”

“Well, all of us is the same about each other. We interfere and try ta fix things and have no boundaries about it.”

Joe thought about how he chafed when treated like a child just because he was the youngest; when Adam or Hoss called him baby brother in front of other folks; when Pa fussed and doted after him, not coddling him but still-

He remembered how proud he was when acting as Sheriff in the town of Rubicon, and how accomplished he felt when he foiled a murderous plot, all on his own.

But he also remembered the warmth and relief of seeing his family ride in, even if it was after the dust settled.

“Okay, I guess I understand. But worrying and comin’ in guns a’blazing is what we do.”

“Yeah, I can just picture you and Pa pacin’ in front of the fireplace when I was hidin’ out in the barn.” Joe smiled nervously, not wanting to admit that had been the exact case. “And as far as guns blazin’, that’s not what the situation called for. Prescott only needed a little understanding.”

Joe tried not to growl; how could Hoss expect him to extend understanding to someone who wanted his brother murdered?

Apparently, he didn’t do a well enough job of hiding his distaste, as Hoss smirked knowingly.

“Well, I know you’re forgiving, but I mean, really!” Hoss began to chuckle. “He’s been our friend for years, ain’t he? And that’s how he shows his friendship?”

“He was hurtin’ mighty bad, Joe, thinkin’ someone he trusted took advantage of not only his friendship, but also Lotty. He thought someone younger and more charming came along and- and seduced his gal,” he said, turning slightly pink at the thought. “And, well.. I know what it’s like to care for a lady, only for her to be swept off her feet by some other fella she thinks more romantic or better lookin’.”

Joe swallowed the rising lump in his throat. Margie Owens had been engaged to Hoss before having her heart stolen by another man and running away with him. Joe remembered how heartbroken his big brother had been. He knew how sad it still made Hoss when they saw Margie’s baby daughter in town, an orphan now.

But Hoss never tried to possess or lay claim to Margie; he let her go when she told him she was breaking their engagement. He never tried to have that no good con-man killed, sending bushwhackers after him to do his dirty work; though later on, the man certainly deserved some sort of consequences, hurting and abandoning Margie like he did. Hoss only raised a hand against the man after Margie died.

“You wouldn’ta done what Walter did, though,” Joe said, defending Hoss.

“I like ta think I wouldn’t, but I can’t know what I’d do ‘til I been in his shoes. He’s alright, now; he just needed a little understanding. The distance between he and I ain’t that great. Differences between folks don’t look so big when you got understanding. That’s all anyone needs.”

Joe was quietly astonished at the amount of kindness in his brother.

Joe remembered being very small and watching as his Mama hugged a giggling Hoss from behind and kissed the back of his hand, right on his pinky. “More sweetness in your little fingernail than anybody else in their whole body, mon petit ours!”

Like usual, his Mama had been right.

Hoss had so much kindness, and he offered it to everybody; granting to everyone his support and respect and forgiveness. It was little wonder Lotty thought of him as a knight; he didn’t need the armor, his ideals and strength protecting him, and he didn’t need it’s shine, because he shone on his own already, bright and glowing and warm.

With or without the shining armor, he was a hero of old all the same.

Of course Lotty figured Hoss to be the only true and real knight in shining armor there ever was.

Hoss was the only one Joe knew too.

Hoss was so good; and how had Joe repaid him all these years?

“Hoss, can I ask another question?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I ain’t going anywhere.”

“I know ya said it’s been a long time since you cared about what people said about ya.” Hoss hummed in confirmation, his eyes patient. “Well, what about me?”

His voice was quiet, a reflection of how small and mortified he felt.

Hoss’ face crumpled in confusion. “What d’ya mean?”

Joe squirmed guiltily, fiddling and pulling at the hem of his nightshirt.

“Y’know.. how I thought you would never catch on to me cheating at checkers. Or like- like when I call you a big ox,” Joe said, eyes closed eyes, unable to face Hoss. “Or- or knightest of the chuck wagonest,” he added, horrified at himself.

There was a short burst of laughter from the bed. Joe looked up in surprise; Hoss chuckled again, quieter, while shaking his head.

“Joe, I think you’re overestimatin’ the amount of power you got.”

“What?”

Hoss almost looked amused. “Sure, there’s times you behave like a jackass, but you ain’t cruel.”

“But I- but the things I said- the way I thought- and you knew how I was thinkin’ and just let me do it!”

Hoss rolled his eyes. “Joe, yer my little brother. Bein’ a nuisance is part of the job. ‘Sides, ya ever known me to not threaten ta throw you clear to the other side of the Ponderosa if ya take it too far?”

To his own surprise, Joe snorted. “You’re- you’re sure?” he questioned, growing serious again. “I don’t ever.. make ya feel low?”

Hoss shook his head earnestly. “Never low. Annoyed? Maybe,” he admitted, lifting his hand and making a so-so gesture, smirking. “But a lotta times, it’s you that brings me outta them bad spells. When you or Adam or Pa are there, it keeps me from havin’ bad days.”

He didn’t have to go through it alone. He had us to back him up.

A tingly feeling spread throughout Joe’s body. Euphoric, he grinned.

“Ya feelin’ better now? ‘Cause I wasn’t makin’ excuses to you and Pa earlier, I sure am tired.”

Joe had no doubt that Hoss would have stayed up with him had he needed it, regardless of how tired he was.

“Yeah, I’ll let ya get back to bed.”

Hoss nodded and turned down his lamp, laying back and punching his pillow back into shape.

Joe rose, keeping his bare feet light against the cold wood floor. But he halted just near the doorway as if a ball and chain had suddenly been shackled around his ankle.

Not in a burdensome or confining way.

Perhaps a more apt description was like a spooked horse instinctively returning home, or a homing pigeon intuitively returning to his nest.

“Hoss?”

A sigh came from under the layers of blankets. “What now?”

“I don’t rightly feel like goin’ to fetch Lambie to use him as an excuse. He looks cute as he is, in position on my dresser, and I’m already over here, after all.”

Wordlessly, Hoss threw back his covers and Joe hurried over, crawling in beside him and pulling up the blankets.

“Thanks, Hossie,” Joe said, snuggling into his brother’s strong shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah. Just keep your cold feet on your side, huh?”

Joe nodded into Hoss’ arm, a sense of relief and calm seeping through him, sinking down into the soft mattress.

“Hossie?” he began a few moments later. “I love you.”

Hoss sighed, but Joe could hear his smile as he spoke. “I love ya too. Now get to sleep, huh?”

“What is?”

“Well- well, what would she want with someone like me?”

“Like you?”

Hoss stopped fidgeting and looked down at his big hands. “She’s so smart and sweet and bright. She’s just so full of stories and dreams, you know? And me, just a big, ugly stupid oaf-”

“No,” Adam bleated out.

Joe ducked his head, trying to see the side of Adam’s face. Adam rarely let his feelings be seen on his face- he rarely let them be known in any manner- always as stoic and unaffected as a statue, but his disposition revealed clearly how the words affected him. His eyes were full of denial, and yet the way his brows scrunched together, the way the corner of his mouth turned down- hearing Hoss’ words hurt Adam as much as they had Joe.

Hoss was usually so easygoing and realistic about such things.

He was so casual about asking Adam if there was some concept he didn’t grasp in a book he was reading; he didn’t mind asking Pa to look over a few numbers from when counting cattle or review a paragraph he’d written for some sort of contract or business letter.

He figured that asking for help was often the smartest thing a fellow could do, not ashamed to admit it when he didn’t understand something.

And Hoss frequently spoke of how there were many kinds of intelligence, and how he figured that everybody had some sort of knowledge that was valuable and worth contributing.

As far as appearances went- well, now that he thought about it, Joe supposed Hoss did call himself ugly pretty often. Too often.

When he called himself ugly, it was almost like an acknowledgment, an awareness or admittance that he wasn’t-

Wasn’t what? Wasn’t handsome?

He said it like a fact of life; that he didn’t fit the mold of what a handsome man was expected to look like. He always seemed okay with it, that being ugly was just the poker hand he was dealt but that he didn’t mind it, because he wasn’t playing cards anyway.

Because he also said stuff about how beauty was in the eye of the beholder, and how looks didn’t mean anything because it was what was on the inside that really counted.

Hoss was the last person Joe would ever call a stupid, ugly oaf. And Hoss would never call somebody else such a cruel thing. Why did he now say it about himself?

As far as calling himself big, that was the only bit of truth to Hoss’ words. He was big; he was tall and fat and broad, and all of that contributed to how handsome he was, at least in Joe’s eyes.

The way Hoss spoke now, however-

“No,” Adam repeated, his voice still an octave or two off, the word coming out like a toad’s croak. “Hoss, don’t say such things, they aren’t true.”

“This ain’t like when we were children, you know that?” Hoss grit out, sounding uncharacteristically bitter. “You can’t just stand at my shoulder like some bird of prey, leering at anyone who laughs at me, fightin’ them and makin’ ‘em be kind, as if that’d make me forget everything they used ta say.”

Adam shriveled.

Joe bit back a cry, feeling his lower lip waver; he clenched his jaw, trying to not weep. It took a concerted effort to control his breathing. His pulse reminded him of the rabbit that Hoss found and adopted when they were boys, and he remembered Hoss teaching him how to hold it, and the racing frantic little heartbeats against his palm when he held the bunny the first time.

“I- I thought I was helping. I thought- I only wanted to help. You were so young..”

Hoss was silent for a second. “I was always grateful when you was protecting me. I felt safe, and- and loved. But beatin’ up my bullies didn’t make what they said any less true.”

“No, it was never true!” Adam winced at his own volume, his head turning marginally toward the kitchen, and Joe flinched backward, pulling himself out of sight. “They were wrong and I should’ve done more to make sure you knew that than just hitting them.”

Joe swallowed the lump in his throat. He knew Hoss had been teased, but he never knew how much- he never knew Adam got into fights to protect him. He never realized just how much that bullying stuck with him or how insecure his brother was or-

“I’m just-” Joe heard Hoss sniffle, and had to fight against the tears brimming and threatening to fall from his own eyes. “I know none of it matters. It usually doesn’t bother me, but I guess I-” Joe didn’t think he’d ever heard Hoss’ voice so small. “S’pose it’s still a surprise, sometimes, that people can like me for me, like every part of me, just as I am. Hard to believe that there’s folks other than my family that..”

Hoss trailed off, and a horrible, guilty feeling settled low in Joe’s stomach. He was ashamed of himself. Hoss’ demeanor, his shyness and his embarrassment: it was all a sign that this was hard for him to talk about. He was hardly able to share it with Adam. He wouldn’t have wanted Joe to hear it, and Joe regretted not making himself scarce as soon as he realized it was meant to be a private discussion.

Simultaneously, though, he was glad to have heard it.

It felt like something he needed to know.

He inched backward, tiptoeing back into the kitchen and taking the side door out to the front yard and barn, clattering and stumbling on the porch before opening the door with a bang.

“Joe! Watch the credenza!” Adam immediately scolded.

Hoss’ shoulders were still hunched, curled in on himself- and Joe never realized how much like a little child that could make someone seem- but he smirked at Adam’s reproof and Joe’s behavior. Hoss sent Joe a wink as if to say he wasn’t in that big of trouble, and that their brother was all bluster.

Joe nearly keeled over in relief at the fact that Hoss’ mood wasn’t so bad it didn’t allow for a little brotherly teasing or solidarity; not because Joe feared he’d be shorted of such moments, but because it signified that Hoss was still connected and could find some happiness despite the conflict he faced.

“Well, I been waiting since forever in the barn, Adam! Are we mending fences today or not?”

Adam seemed to be taking a quick moment to regulate his emotions, hiding them away and shoving those feelings down; both the concern he’d shown for Hoss, and his annoyance at Joe’s obnoxious entrance and completely intentional performance.

Adam did, however, glance Hoss’ way before responding to Joe’s whine; at Hoss’ infinitesimal nod, Adam stood up and made his way toward Joe at the credenza.

Adam slung his gun belt low around his hips, and Joe copied him, realizing he’d nearly forgotten his. They both snuck another look at Hoss. “Think you’ll head into town soon?” Adam inquired lightly.

Hoss seemed to shake himself a little. “Yeah. Best talk ta Lotty sooner rather than later, I s’pose.”

But he didn’t rise from the table, still looking like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

And if there was anyone Joe trusted with that weight, it was Hoss; he was the strongest person he knew, and not only physically. It was because he was the most reliable person Joe knew. Adam had used a word for Hoss once- stalwart, Joe recalled after a minute of thinking. He couldn’t remember exactly how Adam defined it, but it perfectly explained how unwavering Hoss was, a man who never faltered. He could be counted on, always; and in that moment, Joe realized there was no one in the world he trusted more than Hoss.

For all of the love he had for Pa and Adam, all of the admiration he had for each, all the times he looked to them for answers, all of the respect he had for both and the pride Joe took in his entire family; it was still Hoss he trusted the most.

Hoss had never ever left him. He’d never felt unwanted around him or unworthy or like he was a disappointment; not that Adam or Pa ever truly made him feel that way, but-

Hoss was different.

Mama died when he was a boy, and Pa had left for Colorado for a while after that, and a year later, Adam took off for college.

But Hoss was always there.

Hoss was Joe’s best pal.

Joe had never known a world without him.

And he looked so worried and sad, alone at the dining table while forlornly rotating his coffee cup between his hands.

“Come on,” Adam said, reaching over to Joe and dropping his hat onto his head. “You’re the one all in a lather about mending fences, let’s get going.”

But even as he settled his own black one on his head, adjusting the brim and pushing Joe back toward the open front door, he turned back to Hoss again.

He still sat at the table, staring down at his coffee.

“See ya later, Hossie,” Joe chirped, throwing him a waggish smile. Hoss’ eyes flickered up, and there was that old familiar sparkle to them, the one that was almost like seeing him grin. The two could be at some barn dance or church social or party, and Hoss could give Joe that look from across the room, and it’d already have Joe amused, and he’d scan Hoss’ area, knowing there was something there that Hoss knew would make him laugh, and they’d be sharing an inside joke from fifty feet apart, both of them barely able stand up right, shaking from suppressed guffaws.

Adam repeated Joe’s sentiments and Hoss offered a little wave, and then the two headed for the barn. If Adam was surprised Joe hadn’t readied the buckboard in all the time he’d supposedly been waiting around in the barn, he didn’t show it. They loaded the new fence posts into the back and hitched up the team, stopping at the ice house by the creek to retrieve the picnic basket Hop Sing prepared for them, and before long, found themselves down in the South pasture.

They worked in tandem for a few hours, digging and hauling and pounding, making their way down the stretch of fence damaged in the latest stampede. At some point, Joe got a splinter in the side of his hand and he prodded and pulled at it until it began to bleed, and he held out his hand to Adam, who wordlessly took it between his own, removing the offending sliver of old wood and carefully wrapping up the wound in one of his perfectly clean and never depleting in supply handkerchiefs.

“Adam,” he began hesitantly, his voice cracking a tad from disuse. He swallowed, working his jaw. His brother hummed in acknowledgment, tying the makeshift bandage off.

But even as the words rushed through Joe’s head, apologies and questions and protests, he found himself unable to speak, the lump in his throat as big and insurmountable as a mountain.

He ducked, trying to hide the tears escaping his eyes, and was mortified when he felt Adam cupping the back of his neck. “It’s alright, little buddy, it’ll stop hurting before you know it.”

He nodded rapidly in acknowledgment, embarrassed that Adam thought a little splinter would incapacitate him so, but he was also relieved at the excuse, and he found himself taking comfort in the words and the hand in his curls, accepting them in the spirit given.

“Come on,” Adam said easily, quiet, as he gently pulled Joe back to the fence, hand at the crook of his neck. “I’ll dig for a while, and you just hand me the new posts. Let me know if it seems to keep bleeding.”

Joe nodded helplessly, feeling laid low, not by the splinter but by his own shame.

How long had Hoss been bullied? How long had he kept it a secret; the harassment itself, when it was still happening, but also how much it still affected him? How long had Adam been ignorant- how long had Hoss suffered alone- before someone finally stood up for him? How long had the family remained ignorant even years later, naive to Hoss’ insecurities and doubts?

“Adam.” Joe snuffled, and forced himself to look into Adam’s eyes. His older brother halted, waiting with shovel in hand. “I heard you and Hoss talkin’ this morning,” he admitted, mumbling.

He was immediately hit with Adam’s carefully neutral scrutiny, his brow furrowed, studying Joe’s guilty face without revealing so much as a hint of emotion.

“I didn’t mean to,” Joe attempted to defend, wishing Adam would give him some clue as to what he was thinking. “But Hossie sounded so sad, and I was concerned, and.. I shouldn’t’ve done it, I know, but now that I- well, I gotta help him, now that I know.”

Adam sucked at his teeth and then tilted his hat further back on his head. “I figured you must have heard something. You’re never this quiet unless you’re thinking.”

He looked down the line of busted fence posts and trampled wire, and then in the opposite direction, where the buckboard sat in the shade under an old tree.

“Let’s take a break. We can have our sandwiches.”

Joe wasn’t particularly hungry, and he doubted Adam was either, but he accepted the excuse Adam presented him. It would at least allow them to have the inevitable conversation.

Joe plopped down underneath the oak and watched as Adam dug through the basket Hop Sing put together. “Beef or turkey?” Adam asked.

“Beef.”

Adam passed him the brown paper wrapped sandwich before settling down next to him, leaning back against the trunk. Joe picked at his sandwich, chewing mindlessly and wondering how Hoss was doing in town.

“Does Hoss really think it’s nonsense for Lotty to be in love with him?”

Adam took a swig from the canteen.

“You heard him this morning.”

“But that’s- that’s-!” Joe made a noise of discontent.

“You and I know that,” Adam said, understanding what Joe couldn’t put into words. “Pa too.”

“I thought Hoss did! He’s always so-”

Hoss was what? Confident and self-assured, but still grounded and humble and modest. He knew who he was and liked who he was, and was so giving, of himself and of his talents and his resources. He wasn’t self-conscious, doubting his ability or his place. Hoss knew his worth, and anyone who knew him recognized that value, too.

But was all of that a big show? Did he actually think that he was nothing more than ugly and stupid?

Joe felt his lower lip start to quiver, and took a bite of lunch to hide it.

“Do you remember how you used to follow Hoss around?” Adam asked. “And everything that he did, you wanted to be right there with him?”

“Sure,” Joe said around a bite of sandwich, swallowing and wiping his mouth with the back of his uninjured hand. “He used to say I was his little lamb, always trailing along behind him.”

The metaphor made Adam’s mouth twitch, and for a moment, his eyes danced. They soon became serious again, and he grunted in acknowledgment.

“He was the same with me,” Adam said, half sad and half fond. Adam was not often taken to nostalgia, reminiscences of his childhood few and far between. It wasn’t because such times were of little import to him; he simply had very little time for it. Beyond that, so much of his youth was difficult, full of struggle and grief; he kept many of the best parts to himself, the special memories only for him.

“He- he’d just follow right behind me, always asking questions and wanting to know what I was doing and if he could help.”

“Was that annoying?”

Joe had the sudden thought that maybe it would get redundant to always have a younger brother following you around, utterly fascinated by you and not offering a moment’s peace. And the amount of responsibility it entailed, too; always looking after him and answering his questions and being a good role model, never doing anything that may put the little fellow at risk.

“No, I loved it,” Adam responded, sounding uncharacteristically sentimental. “I felt so special when he was following me, and I wouldn’t play with anyone who wouldn’t accept him too.”

The reason for their discussion swept over Joe, dimming the smile that had developed at the thought of a little Adam and Hoss playing together.

“Other children didn’t wanna play with him?”

Joe’s heart felt like a piece of newspaper tossed in the fire, slowly burning itself apart and turning to ash section by section and dissolving into nothing.

Adam frowned, his eyes far away. He ground his teeth, his jaw twitching.

“It was more complex than that. I suppose that bullying always is.” Adam seemed to be considering his words, unsure of how to continue.

“Bullies latched onto what made him different, rejecting or ignoring him because-” Joe shrugged, not wanting to repeat Hoss’ words that morning. “And close as you two were, and as much as you protected him..”

“Some insecurities stay with us.”

“And that’s- that’s why he doesn’t think Lotty is in love with him? Is that really so impossible for him to believe, that someone could- y’know, want him?”

Adam didn’t respond, which Joe took as confirmation of what he so feared.

How could Hoss think he wasn’t capable of being loved?

Hoss was- Hoss was-

S’pose it’s still a surprise, Joe recalled Hoss saying, that people can like me for me, like every part of me, just as I am. Hard to believe that there’s folks other than my family that..

“We stuck close together. It didn’t matter if some of the children wouldn’t play with him, because we had each other. But I didn’t know that when they separated us, older students having different studies than the younger students, that it was worse than just ignoring him. They said things, and they- they..” Adam trailed off.

So caught up in his own horror at the words, Joe was surprised when Adam shoved his hand into his line of sight, holding it close to Joe’s face. Joe dropped his sandwich in his lap, using both of his hands to examine the back of his older brother’s palm.

“You-” Joe squinted and then his jaw hung slack. “You’ve got scars on your knuckles. You- you split your knuckles?”

Adam wore a look of grim pride. “Broke ‘em, too.” He seemed faraway, likely remembering Hoss’ words about how fighting his bullies wasn’t nearly the help Adam thought. “Hoss cried when he saw me fighting, and Pa just about went through the roof- for a whole passel of reasons, my injured hand and what Hoss had been hiding and the fact the teacher had to have known and did nothing, and as much as he understood why I did what I did, he still didn’t approve of fighting-”

“Yeah, I remember that talk. I remember getting that talk plenty a’times.”

Adam emitted a huff of not quite laughter.

“Pounding the ringleader stopped the more explicit harassment. But people still said things behind his back sometimes, or just didn’t accept him, and that’s often bad enough.”

Joe was slowly putting things together, but it still felt as if some of the pieces were missing; or more accurately, as if the entire jigsaw puzzle had been painted one solid color, the full picture kept hidden from him.

He wanted to somehow express his horror and disgust and anger at the news Hoss was bullied; his sadness and denial and upset at the fact his big brother was still affected and insecure all these years later.

How could anyone not love Hoss?

Hoss was so easy to love.

“Hoss told me that when they were on the trail, Lotty said she thinks he’s one of the nicest-looking men she’s ever seen. He brushed it off, because he didn’t believe her. All the signs are there, that she’s in love with him, but to him, that’s unbelievable.”

At that, new questions raced through Joe’s head. Did Hoss not love Lotty back? Or did he love her, but was so inclined to believe his love would be unrequited that he didn’t bother pursuing it? Or did he not pursue it solely because of Mr. Prescott?

Joe’d certainly had more experience in that area- he and other girls falling in and out of love with each other all the time, and somebody telling the other they were no longer interested- and Adam, too, had gone through such things more than once. Hoss, though- had he ever dealt with a woman fawning after him, and- whether he returned the affections or not- having to turn her away?

The Cartwrights seemed to have pretty bad luck with women- Pa sometimes argued the luck was good, knowing he would have been worse off had Elizabeth, Inger, and Joe’s Mama never entered his life at all- but so many relationships had ended poorly, or petered out, or- a wave of grief swept over Joe- had come to a violent end.

Sometimes, violent wasn’t the right word; sometimes, it was peaceful, easy, in her sleep. And she never woke up again.

Emily Pennington had passed that way. Margie Owens, though Hoss’ relationship with her had its struggles, passed that way too.

Hoss had mourned them both, in his own way. He spent a lot of time alone, volunteering for tasks that took him up into the mountains for weeks on end, disappearing until he came to terms with their loss, moving forward but never forgetting them.

And then there had been that Helen Layton a couple of years ago, too, who had only used Hoss; who saw his kindness and forgiveness and trusting nature, and instead of falling in love with him for those traits, took advantage of them.

Boy, just thinking about her made Joe mad.

There was Cameo Johnson for a while, and he courted Bessie Sue off and on, but-

For every half dozen of Joe’s girls, or indeed Adam’s girls, Hoss had maybe been with one.

Had girls ignored or rejected or overlooked Hoss for the same reasons bullies teased him as a child? Had they ever said as much to him, explicit in their reasons? Had Hoss ever hid such occasions from Joe or the rest of the family?

But Joe also had to wonder; how much of Hoss’ lack of experience was because of his own insecurities, simply not pursuing a relationship on the assumption no one would find him attractive or desirable?

Which was absolutely ridiculous.

And, sure, Hoss was his brother- he was the fella who came up with a name for every kitten in every litter of barn cats, the one who couldn’t have a doughnut without getting powdered sugar all over his vest, who could never keep a straight face when he had a good poker hand, who believed in any inventor who came to town-

He was Joe’s silly, gullible, sweet gentle big brother.

He’d never thought about Hoss the way a romantic suitor would, but..

Why wouldn’t someone want Hoss?

Hoss was a catch!

Anyone would be lucky to have him come calling, would be proud to have him for a husband.

But Hoss’ insecurities went deeper than romancing. The problem wasn’t just about whether he had someone to date, someone who was pleased to be on his arm.

S’pose it’s still a surprise that people can like me for me, like every part of me, just as I am. Hard to believe that there’s folks other than my family that..

“Eat your sandwich,” Adam commanded, breaking Joe out of his thoughts.

“Isn’t there anything we can do?” Joe asked around a bite of beef and bread. “How can we make him see that he’s- well, y’know- how can we make him see him as he really is, the way we see him?”

“He’ll think we’re biased because we’re family,” Adam warned, but still chewed thoughtfully, not doubtful. “He’ll think that because we’re brothers, we have to love him.”

“Anyone who meets him has to love him, you just can’t help but love him! He’s- he’s undeniable.”

Adam smiled at that. “I know.” His eyes clouded. “But there were some children who didn’t agree.”

“Well, doesn’t our opinion matter more than a buncha mean bullies from years ago?”

Adam slowly shook his head. “I don’t think it works like that. I thought I- when I was a teenager, I thought fighting his bullies, standing beside him like a sentinel- I thought that was enough to prove to Hoss they were wrong, but..”

“Well, then what do we do?” Joe said, chewing angrily.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Adam stared off in the distance at the unfinished task that lay before them, and Joe knew he was considering far more than fence posts and newly dug holes. “We do whatever he needs.”

“What does that mean?”

“The only thing that stopped the bullies, well and truly, was consequences. Sometimes that was me,” he said, lifting up his scarred hand, clenched in a fist, “but Pa really gave the teacher and school board hell for allowing an environment in which bullying was permissible. He joined the school board because of Hoss, actually, though I don’t think our brother knew as much at the time.”

“But there aren’t any bullies still around,” Joe said, and was immediately overwhelmed at a rush of anger, wondering if any of Hoss’ tormentors were still around, if there were any Hoss had to see on a regular basis, if he had to pretend to forget their past and act like it didn’t still hurt.

Joe’s stomach flipped. Had he ever palled around with or spoken highly of one of Hoss’ bullies? Did he court their younger sisters? Do business with them? Invite them to supper and force Hoss to share his home with those who hurt him so much?

“No, Hoss doesn’t need us to confront any bullies anymore. Sometimes, even then, that wasn’t what he needed. On bad days, he just needed to go fishing or riding instead of going to school; he just needed to be away from them for awhile.”

“Even back then, he went off alone when he was sad?”

“Maybe he would have tried, but-” Adam shook his head, a rueful smile on his lips “-I sure wasn’t going to let him go off alone.”

Joe felt his jaw drop. “You- you played hooky? You skipped school? You?”

Adam looked smug. He always exuded pompous satisfaction when he proved Joe wrong or subverted his expectations.

But the proud gleam about him had a different element to it.

He was proud of his rebellion because it meant more than simply disobeying Pa or the teacher’s rules; it was about being there for Hoss.

“Boy, Pa went through the roof when he caught us,” Adam reminisced fondly. “We were just walking along with our fishing poles and trout- and stripped down to our long johns, might I add, because we decided to go swimming too- and then there he appeared on the ridge, staring down at us, bigger than life, and y’know-”

He sat up straight, putting his hands on his hips and raising an eyebrow; his impression was so uncanny that Joe almost felt a chill, before devolving into laughter.

Adam smirked, and continued, “He knew how I felt about school- I loved it too much to skip- so he figured out pretty quickly that it was Hoss’ idea. He relaxed before too long, I guess because he knew Hoss needed that day off more than he needed whatever he may have been taught that day, had we gone to school.”

“And Pa just let it go?” Joe asked, eyes boggling.

“Sure. It probably helped that he thought it was only the time we did it,” he admitted with a chuckle. “I didn’t deign to mention the multitude of other days we’d done the same, and I did a better job of hiding our whereabouts every time after.”

Joe sat back, impressed at his oldest brother’s story. The amount of care and risk- everything Adam had done for Hoss- it was moving and touching.

“If you’re done with your sandwich and if your hand is feeling better, we ought to return to our work,” Adam said, brushing the crumbs off his hands as he stood.

Joe shoved the last bite into his mouth and licked the mustard off his thumb before following after Adam.

“Hey, Adam,” he began a few moments later, holding a fence post straight as his brother filled in the dirt around it. “How old was Hoss when all this was going on? I.. I don’t remember it at all.”

Adam wiped the sweat and dirt off his forehead with the back of his hand. He propped himself against the shovel’s handle, leaning forward and looking contemplative.

“It probably started when he was six. It was at it’s worst two or three years after that. It must’ve.. It got better after that; or at least I don’t remember it being among my concerns when I finished school. Leaving him alone there, that is.”

Joe, whose jaw had long gone slack, struggled for words. And it wasn’t for his usual reason, struggling to imagine Hoss as a little boy, because all he’d ever known was his big protective brother.

Six when the harassment started. Eight or nine when the cruelty reached its peak.

“He was just a baby,” Joe said quietly.

Adam sucked at his teeth and nodded stiffly. “Yeah. Yeah, he was.”

And with that, he straightened and returned to shoveling dirt around the fence post.

—

They spoke very little in the hours that followed, making repairs in rote and trying, at least in Joe’s case, to only think about the work before them.

He was rarely successful.

When they returned home, they put up the mares but left the buckboard unattended. It wasn’t good practice, but Joe’d had enough of work and wanted to sit by the fire and hear Pa’s fitting and insightful assessment on the current happenings- never explicit in their subject but always applicable to what the family was facing. Adam apparently sympathized with his unspoken desire, going inside with him instead of putting away their leftover supplies.

His eyes widened in surprise upon seeing Hoss standing there in the living room, leaning against an arm of the settee, his shoulders curled in. Pa sat in his usual armchair, brow furrowed in confusion.

When Pa heard Joe and Adam’s gun belts hit the credenza, his attention flickered over to them, eyes a mix of surprise and annoyance. It quickly became evident that Pa had been trying to get something out of Hoss, helping him to let down his walls, and Joe and Adam’s untimely entrance halted his endeavor.

But Pa softened, rising and heading over to the dining table. “Coffee, boys? How’s the fence coming along?”

Joe went to his father’s side, quietly offering thanks when Pa automatically started to add cream and sugar, while Adam declined the offer with a shake of his head.

“Good. As long as we don’t have any early storms and flooding, the posts should hold well.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Pa, actually, looked rather distracted, almost as if he hadn’t heard Adam at all, his eyes returning to Hoss and his crestfallen disposition. He fiddled restlessly with his big white hat, twisting it by the brim.

“Hoss was just beginning to tell me about his trip into town.”

Joe followed Pa back to his chair, hovering behind him, too anxious to sit. Adam made himself comfortable on the settee, moving Pa’s book to his lap; Joe could easily envision Pa tossing it there as he leapt up and hurried over to the door upon hearing Hoss’ return.

“It sounds like he didn’t achieve what he set out to,” Pa continued.

“You didn’t meet with her?” Adam asked in his usual way, blunt but still somehow gentle.

“No, I did.” He tossed his hat onto the coffee table.

Pa straightened as if even that was news to him. “Well, if you talked to her, why didn’t you tell her what you were supposed to?”

“Doggone it, Pa,” Hoss huffed, “I.. I just couldn’t. I couldn’t hurt that little gal, Pa. The poor little ol’ thing’s got a head chock-full of dreams.” He paused, the rush fizzling out of him, and then, as if it embarrassed him to admit it, said, “She’s got me pegged for one of them.. Knights of the Round Table.”

Joe huffed a delighted, amused laugh, the image of Hoss in shining armor both fitting and not- Hoss didn’t need the armor to shine, to show he was chivalrous and just, to protect him and his ideals- and yet every story about Camelot that Adam ever told him as a boy came back to him, and he could understand exactly why Lotty thought of Hoss as one of the heroes of old.

“And I don’t want any cracks,” Hoss continued, voice raised and pointing at Joe.

“Hey, did I say anything?” Joe tried to defend, knowing that the smile he still couldn’t wipe off his face was judgment enough, damning in that it could have so easily been misinterpreted. Trying to show he didn’t mean anything by it, he turned to his brother for help. “Adam, did I say anything at all?”

Adam rose his hand, eyes closed in a resigned manner, half absolving Joe and half ordering him to stop.

Pa sighed, his shoulders falling in disappointment.

Realizing he’d made it worse by trying to defend his actions, Joe stepped away and sat down by the fire, feeling rather small and ashamed of himself.

Hoss was like one of those Knights of the Round Table; brave, noble, chivalrous, gallant, honorable, courteous, charming, handsome.

And yet Hoss didn’t see that. He thought it ridiculous nonsense that anyone would see him that way, see him as anything other than-

And me, just a big, ugly stupid oaf..

Why had Joe gone and laughed? Even if he hadn’t meant it maliciously, even if he hadn’t been laughing at Hoss-

Had Hoss’ childhood bullies laughed at him?

Did they joke about the impossibility of anyone ever liking him?

Every joke, every instance of teasing- had Joe ever done or said the same as Hoss’ bullies?

He’d scoffed initially when Hoss talked about what he and Lotty spoke of on the trail, laughing and calling him Sir Hoss, but-

That had been because Hoss didn’t talk about ideals and heroes and chivalry; he just embodied those things, without words.

But Joe had laughed regardless; was it any surprise that Hoss doubted himself when his own family made jokes about him?

We ought to call him Sir Hoss. Sir Hoss, oh, knightest of the chuck wagonest!

Hoss had laughed too, accepting it easily with a little smile, but all that revealed was that he was used to Joe’s joshing, and had come to the conclusion that it was easier to not defend himself; that he’d rather have Joe make fun of him than stand up for himself.

Why would he do that? Because he thought he deserved it? Because he thought Joe’s dumb jokes were the truth?

Sir Hoss, thou good and noble knight, I didst not know thou possessed charms to melt the heart of yon fair damsel who did dwell in the wilderness.

And what had happened? Lotty had fallen for Hoss’ charms, but he doubted it, not believing himself worthy of love or capable of being desired.

Joe squirmed with guilt, but even as he spiraled in regret, the conversation continued.

“Hoss,” Pa began, folding the newspaper in his lap, “I can understand your not wanting to hurt the little girl’s feelings, but.. sooner or later you’re gonna have to tell her the truth. There’s no telling what Walter’ll do.”

“He’s already done it.”

“Hmm?” Pa inquired, curious, watching Hoss. “What’s he done?”

Hoss frowned. “Nothing.”

Joe lowered his coffee cup.

There was something wrong about the way Hoss had said that.

He glanced at Adam; he, too, had his brow furrowed in confusion.

“I can’t talk to that little gal, but dad-burnit, I can talk to Walter Prescott. I’m gonna go out there, and I’m gonna straighten this out with him once and for all.”

And without another word, he put on his hat and went out the door.

Joe stared at the door even long after it had slammed. All were silent a few minutes, until Pa heaved a long, slow sigh.

“Adam, have-?” Joe struggled against the emotion rising in his throat and solidifying like a rock. “Have I ever done anything that they did? Have I said anything that they-? Have- have I hurt him in the same way?”

“No,” Adam immediately said. Even as Joe bathed in the relief Adam’s confirmation gave him, he still berated himself for needing that comfort when he ought to have been worrying about Hoss; which in a way, perhaps he was, but..

“What do you mean?” Pa’s question came across more like a demand, and still struggling to speak, Joe gave Adam a helpless look. “Who’s they, what do you mean?”

Adam’s mouth twisted as if unsure of what to say. His words came slow, Joe figuring he wanted to articulate it properly. “Hoss was never comfortable with the idea of confronting Lotty; because he didn’t want to hurt her, yes, but also because he thought what I said- and all the town gossip that parroted the same- was nonsense. He thought it was ridiculous, Lotty being in love with him, and that he’d make a fool of himself by even bringing it up with her, and she’d laugh at the very idea of loving him.”

Pa frowned, his countenance grim. “I hadn’t known that some of our town members were saying such things. To gossip about it is bad enough, but to judge-”

Adam shook his head. “You misunderstood me. It wasn’t because of anything said in the last few days, Pa. Virginia City may take far too much pleasure in Cartwright affairs, but I never heard any rumors that passed that kind of judgment on Hoss.”

Part of Joe wondered how many of Virginia City’s townspeople, those Hoss had grown up with and gone to school with, had passed judgment on him; twenty years ago, they decided he was different and wrong and didn’t deserve to be played with, and they hurt him.

How many bullies were now the gasbags and biddies that loved nothing more than to talk about other folks’ private lives?

How many were still cruelly exerting their power over others? And how many seemed like normal and ordinary and everyday people?

Had any of them ever apologized?

“Then what did you mean by saying someone hurt Hoss?”

“The bullies, Pa,” Joe said, uncaring at how his voice cracked. “From when he was just a little boy. They- they convinced him that there’s nothing about him worthy of love and-”

“Now, we don’t know that exactly,” Adam interjected. “He did say that part of history usually doesn’t affect him. Perhaps this is a special case, causing him to remember certain interactions and-”

“No.” Pa didn’t look up as he spoke. “It always affects him. Always. It guides almost every one of his actions. Every person he meets, every conversation he has; that part of his history-”

Pa’s jaw shook and then clenched.

“The effects of growing up ridiculed and bullied do not always manifest solely into insecurity and self doubt and hurt- though it breaks my heart to know it did that, too,” Pa said, nearly trembling. “But it is not pain that informs Hoss’ behavior. Every time he’s welcomed someone, every person he’s taken under his wing and protected and believed in- he sees them and accepts them exactly as they are, unconditionally. Hoss knows what it is to be ostracized and ignored, and thus feels an obligation to see that nobody he ever meets feels the same way. That part of his childhood affects him still, in ways the three of us will never wholly comprehend.”

Joe swallowed, feeling tears run down his cheeks.

“I’m not sure if you recall Hoss’ friend Arnie from a few years back,” Pa suddenly brought up.

“That big fella we got into that brawl with? And then..” Joe swallowed, remembering very well how things ended. “I remember.”

Pa grunted. “Hoss told me he wanted to help Arnie because he knew how Arnie felt. He could relate to him and understand him. Because he was big, other people thought him more animal than man, and because he thought about things in a different way, people used him and took advantage of him. Well, you see, Hoss- Hoss knows what it’s like to be treated that way.”

Pa stood up and walked toward the fireplace, and Joe looked up at him, eyebrows lifted in a nervous peak. For a long moment, he said nothing, simply staring at the flames, before turning back towards the room. He glanced between Joe and Adam.

“You know what Hoss believes kept him from becoming caught up in anger and violence like Arnie? He told me it was because he didn’t have to go through it alone. He had us to back him up. But I..”

Joe gripped at his teacup, his knuckles white.

“Pa, did we do enough back then?”

Their father didn’t immediately grant Adam an answer. “I’ve often wondered that. It is a question that goes hand in hand with fatherhood- and brotherhood, it seems. We always wonder if we could have done better by them, what we might have done differently, but it’s a fruitless endeavor. All we can do is focus on the future, and vow to always do our best for them. And listen if or when they tell us how we can improve. He’s said we helped, but..”

As Joe chewed on that thought, a knock came at the door.

Adam frowned one final time before rising, heading for the door.

“What happened to your hand, boy?” came the silent inquiry.

“Only a splinter. Adam took care of it,” Joe replied, and Pa hummed, momentarily appeased.

“Roy!” Adam opened the door wider, welcoming the lawman in. “Can I get you some coffee, Sheriff?”

“No thanks. But I’d like to speak to Hoss if he’s available,” he replied. Pa met him by the settee, shaking his hand. Roy nodded in Joe’s direction.

“I’m afraid you missed the boy by about fifteen minutes,” Pa replied. “What do you need to see Hoss about, can we be of any assistance?”

Roy scowled. “What’s the point of being in a position of authority if people don’t respect your orders?”

“Come now, Roy, you know Hoss respects you and your work. And just what was it you expected Hoss to do?”

“I wanted him to stay put,” Roy groused, shaking his head. “If not for me, then at least for his own safety. I suppose I really don’t need a statement just yet, but-”

Joe leapt to his feet, dropping his thankfully empty cup and saucer onto the carpeted floor, shoving past Pa and grabbing Roy by the shoulders.

“What? What do you mean? Statement on what? Why wouldn’t he be safe? What happened to Hoss?”

Pa pulled Joe back, and he realized that as his desperation increased, as had his intensity, and he’d started to shake Roy with each question.

Pa passed Joe off to Adam; he gripped the back of Joe’s neck, standing quietly like a sentry just beside him.

Pa, meanwhile, took over the interrogation of Roy, albeit with far more refinement. “I am sorry for our behavior, but this comes as news to us, and we were already worried about Hoss today. He told us just enough of what happened in town as to keep us in want of more. What’s this about a statement?”

“Well, then you don’t know about the bounty?”

“What bounty?” Adam asked quickly, his grip on Joe tightening; what would have normally hurt was instead was a comfort, grounding Joe.

“The one the bushwhacker was after, the three thousand dollars,” Roy said.

“What?” Joe yelped shrilly. He was fairly confident Adam and Pa made their horror known as well, but he was too busy trying to not be sick to actually make out their words.

Someone wanted Hoss dead. Someone wanted his big brother dead.

Someone offered three thousand dollars to see him killed; someone took them up on that offer and tried to-

Hoss’ death, worth three thousand dollars to somebody.

Hoss’ life, invaluable to Joe.

“Easy now, if he left not too long ago, I’m sure I can catch up-”

“We, Roy,” Pa corrected, and Adam nodded solidly.

“We,” Roy accepted without argument. “Where was he headed?”

“Oh-” Pa frowned, not wanting to get distracted with explanations. “The bride Walter Prescott sent away for has got them all in a muddle- he went out there hoping to settle-”

“Ben, you’re not serious!” Roy gripped Pa’s arm. “Prescott is the one who hired the killer!”

Pa’s face slackened and he went pale. In what seemed like a single, synchronized act, all four rushed for the door. Roy rushed to his horse while they buckled their gun belts.

He hesitated only a moment before Pa, hurrying to the barn, hollered, “Go, Roy! We’ll catch up with you!”

As Joe threw a blanket and his saddle onto Cochise and pulled at the cinch, he knew his cheeks were wet with tears, but he did not slow to wipe his eyes.

What if they were already too late?

What if Hoss was already dead?

He hurried with the rest of the tack and mounted in a single swift move, the first one ready, and as desperate as he was to see Hoss, as much as he needed to see him standing tall and breathing, he couldn’t leave yet, he couldn’t go without Adam and Pa, because he couldn’t face it alone, not if Hoss was- if he really- if-

Joe drew his sleeve across his eyes and mouth.

Adam and Pa mounted and they all swept out the barn, hell for leather, leaving a trail of dust behind them.

As he hurried Cochise up to a run, all of the wonderful moments he’d had with Hoss- some of them the best moments of his life- played in his mind, and he saw them through new eyes because it was possible he and Hoss would never again be able to reminisce about them, to laugh together, to playfully bring up old arguments, to comfort and pat each other on the back.

Joe remembered- or at least he thought he could remember, but he may have just heard the story so often he created the memory- crawling out of his cradle in Pa and Mama’s room and toddling over to Hoss and Adam’s, and sneaking under the covers of Hoss’ bed to snuggle next to his brother, and doing it so often that Adam complained of it waking him up every time the door opened, and it motivated Pa and Adam to start building the new house, bigger with a bedroom for everyone. Even then, Joe and Hoss shared a room for a few years, and Joe remembered on nights when there were thunderstorms or he had a bad dream or Pa and Adam had an argument, he’d pad across the room so he could cuddle up next to Hoss.

And then there was the time when- just about a month before Adam left for college- Joe had gotten a baby goat from a friend’s farm after school one day, and knowing that he wouldn’t be allowed to keep it, had gone to Hoss for help. They hid the little thing, alternating between Joe’s closet and underneath Hoss’ bed for almost a week until they were found out, and Hoss had taken all the blame for the chewed up blankets and clothes and books, and when he was sent to his room- and the goat sent to the barn until a new owner could be found- Joe had gone to him, upset and guilty, but Hoss had winked, saying that it was better he get punished than both of them, and besides, that Pa would cave soon, having a soft spot for his tendency to pick up strays; and Hoss had been right, too, the punishment lifted by supper time.

He was ten going-on-eleven and a mare was foaling in the barn and he sat on a pile of hay beside his brother as Hoss pet the pinto’s neck and comforted it and walked her through the delivery, and when the time finally came, just after midnight, together they welcomed the little horse into the world and watched as she stood up so fast and took her first steps. And then a couple months later, Joe received the best birthday gift of his life- sort of from Pa, because Hoss had gotten his permission, but it was mainly from his big brother- when in the middle of his party in the front yard, Hoss emerged from the barn, carrying the black and white pinto foal, a big yellow ribbon around her neck, and said she was Joe’s very own horse.

He remembered being fifteen and Adam and Pa leaving for a business deal, and being ecstatic that he and Hoss would have the house to themselves for the week, and then being shocked and betrayed when Hoss was just as strict and responsible as he would have needed to be under such circumstances, in charge of a thousand square mile ranch and his wild younger brother. And Joe snuck out one night, tired of Hoss’ new personality, demanding and- in Joe’s point of view- tyrannical, only to break his wrist when Cochise was spooked by some nocturnal critter; he’d been crying in a ditch, too ashamed and embarrassed to return home, when Hoss found him, having tracked him after the horse returned home riderless, and then set his broken bone, put it in a sling, and took him home, all in his easy and forgiving way, and they sat down and had an honest conversation about rules and authority and how much Hoss believed in Joe, and wanted to see him capable of running the ranch someday too.

And there was the baby Hoss brought into the world a couple years ago that he let Joe hold; when their older brother and Pa were set to hang, and they had to find the evidence that would save their lives; when it seemed Joe had been killed by Hoss’ own uncle, and the utter relief when they saw each other again; the staged bank robbery they took part in, fleeing the law and eventually Pa and Adam, too; nearly getting carried off by a hot air balloon; nursing a shot Adam together, while Pa met and negotiated with the Apache leader Cochise.

There had been when Hoss lay unconscious after being bushwhacked, and Joe, full of rage and grief and fear, vowed to kill the man that hurt him. He’d fretted at Hoss’ bedside, bathing the sweat from his brow and tucking the quilts tighter around him, before kneeling down and whispering his promise of revenge. And Hoss somehow heard him; though it took him hours of effort, he drew himself out of his coma, so afraid and concerned that Joe would do something he’d regret, and he walked all the way out to the barn, a gunshot wound in his back, and gripped Joe’s hand in his own, his eyes full of relief and pride when Joe decided to turn the man over to the law.

They had almost lost Hoss to a bushwhacker, then.

What if they had, now, and were already too late?

What if he already lay face down in the dirt, bleeding and all alone and dying-?

The landscape beside him blurred in a mass of tan and brown and green and blue, and Joe, for reasons unknown to him, ridiculously found himself reminded of some of the paintings he once saw in an art museum Adam dragged him to in San Francisco. The colors and subject matter all sort of bled together into a blurred scene, pretty but indistinct.

It could have been the most beautiful landscape in the world beside Joe, and it still would have meant nothing to him; nothing meant anything until he knew and saw with his own eyes that Hoss was okay.

But something else appeared before them as they rode onward; not as satisfying as actually seeing Hoss, but still important.

“Woah!” Pa, in the lead, brought Buck to a halt, and Joe and Adam quickly imitated him. Joe knew his mouth hung open in shock, but he couldn’t help it. “Roy, what’s the meaning of this?”

Roy turned away from Lotty, who sat up on the bench seat of the buckboard, averting her eyes. “Seems there was some action out at Prescott’s,” Roy began. Lotty kept her head low. “Lotty here says it’s all settled now. She’s gonna be moving on, finding another town to live in.”

Joe saw out of the corner of his eye Adam reaching out to grab him and mouthing demands to stop, but he ignored him, continuing forward until he halted Cochise right beside Lotty. “Is my brother alright?”

She nodded tremulously. “Hoss is safe. Hoss is-” She let out a quiet sob. “Hoss is perfect.”

“What happened?”

“It was silly of me to ever dream that someone like him could ever love someone like me.”

That wasn’t what Joe had been wondering, but he still sat back in his saddle, limp in surprise.

“I used to dream of a knight in shining armor, walking right out of a storybook, and now I’ve lost the only real one there’ll ever be.” She cleared her throat and then put a great effort into composing herself. “Sheriff, does that offer still stand?”

“Certainly, Miss Lotty,” Roy said. He turned to Pa. “I told her I’d escort her back to town and see her to the stage, help her get a ticket somewhere. I ‘spect Hoss’ll be along shortly, though I s’pose it’s possible he decided to stay and speak with Walter.”

“Please, Sheriff, can’t we go?”

Roy pursed his lips and nodded, and Pa and Adam pulled up their horses until they were off the road, and Joe stared as the sheriff and Lotty departed for Virginia City.

A funny feeling of shock, confusion, and relief settled over Joe, resulting in a sensation of total numbness. He looked to Pa and Adam.

Adam spoke up first. “I say we keep going. I won’t be content until I see him for myself.”

Pa resolutely nodded his agreement and the three took off again, slower now, the desperation not quite the same as it was before.