Murdoch or Johnny? Which one would be waiting at the Stockton train station?
Perhaps Murdoch.
Maybe Johnny.
If asked, Scott would prefer a third choice.
Neither.
It wasn’t the initial greetings which demanded contemplation. Scott felt fairly confident his father or brother would be courteous enough in the presence of Seth Westcott.
Courteous?
No, diplomatic would be a better word describing Johnny’s welcoming. Truth be told, the real concern rested on their ride back to Lancer - a journey that could prove tiresome for a captive audience.
Disembarking from the Pullman, Scott reached to snag the travel bags Westcott handed down. Seth thumbed over his shoulder. “I’ll go gather up the little lady and her hat boxes.” With a wink, he disappeared back into the train car.
Under the sun’s glare, Scott squinted toward the station where the answer to his earlier speculating stood.
Maybe Johnny.
His little brother leaned against a post with his thumbs tucked in the waist of his concho pants while his hat angled to shade cautious eyes. A familiar stance that Scott found somewhat contradictory - a relaxed pose which anxiously waited for something to happen. But that was Johnny - somewhat of a contradiction. His brother’s one hand rose to assist in dipping the angled hat each time a pretty face passed by. Scott smiled. A predictable contradiction.
A shout, followed by Johnny’s lopsided grin, traveled across the distance to the train. Scott acknowledged his brother with a nod, picked up the bags and spoke to no one in particular. “The game’s afoot.”
“Let me take a look at you, stranger.” Johnny circled around Scott while eyeballing him from head to toe. “I had a big brother once. Tall, lanky fella. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Pretty and talked kinda funny.” The scrutiny continued. “Not sure if you’ll do. Tell me, can you quote Emerson to further confuse a situation?”
“To be great is to be misunderstood.”
“Hot damn, Boston.” Johnny slapped Scott’s upper arm as though he was a long lost relative. “It’s you!”
“Indeed it is. Now remind me why I missed my little brother.” Scott set the travel bags down and closed his eyes. “Wait.” Placing a thumb and index finger to his forehead, the pose of a great oraclar was struck. “Yes.” The foreseer’s other hand raised to the heavens before landing on Johnny’s shoulder. “I have it. He wasn’t around to carry my bags.” His eyes opened and mouth spread in a devilish grin. “It’s good to see you, brother.”
Johnny’s line of sight shifted to Scott’s distant left. The hint of sarkiness narrowing his brother’s eyes signaled he’d spotted the other two travelers. “Half-pint enjoy Sacramento?”
Tempting as it was, Scott refrained from fishing for details on the role Johnny had played in getting Kinsey to Sacramento. That line could be cast once they got home. For now, Scott settled for the quick and easy. “Yes she did.”
“Is the kid coming home with us?” Before a response could be formulated to the puzzling question, a Cheshire grin connected Johnny’s one ear to the other as he cocked his head. “Well now, what have we got here?”
Scott assumed the young lady was his brother’s intended target. Turning around proved otherwise. The luggage-laden Westcott donned the imaginary bull’s eye.
“Grape Crusher, why I do believe we need to change your name to pack mule.”
“Hello, John.” Seth readjusted the held bags. “A rather accurate description. It sounds as if you speak from experience.” His casual response hid any possible annoyance.
“I spent a few days in San Francisco keeping an eye on this little girl.”
Scott noted Kinsey, who once held the title of an independent young woman in his brother’s world, had experienced a swift demotion. Half-pint. Kid. Little girl. A possible introduction to what was waiting back at the ranch.
“An experienced man. Good to know.” Westcott dropped the bags at Johnny’s feet. “I certainly appreciate your assistance.” Seth extended his hand. “Scott. Great progress this week. Glad you could come along.”
Scott accepted the handshake. “Agreed. I’ll file the paperwork with the bank so those renovations can begin. We’re on a tight schedule.”
“Johnny.” Seth offered his hand. “Let’s crack a bottle of your tequila on my next visit. Give my regards to your pa.”
A reluctant handshake and nod were returned by the younger Lancer.
“Now, gentlemen, with your permission -" Westcott placed Kinsey’s hand in the crook of his arm. “I’d like to steal this little lady from you all. I promise her return momentarily.”
Scott grinned. “Sir, permission granted. By all means, take your time.” He bent down and gathered luggage.
“Ya know what I don’t understand, brother?” Johnny, arms crossed, stared at the couple several yards away seeking a private goodby. Kinsey’s remaining travel cases sat where Seth had deposited them.
From his stooped position, Scott offered his thoughts. “Life is filled with mysteries. For example, why do bags remain on the ground instead of loaded on a wagon?”
Johnny’s arm swept out in front of him. “What the hell does she see in Westcott?”
Righting himself, Scott stated an opinion. “She sees a man who knows how to carry luggage.” Noting his little brother remained unmoved, the toe of Scott’s boot knocked on the door of Johnny’s silver-spurred heel. A head gesture towards their wagon ushered in a directive. “Come on. Obstinacy doesn’t change a damn thing.”
“Never said I needed a change.”
Scott rolled his eyes and headed off. If Johnny wanted to initiate a spitting match he could do so against the wind.
I had a big brother once.
The words stumbled through Scott’s mind as the travel bags tumbled into the back of the wagon.
I had a big brother once.
At first, the statement struck Scott as another jab at his absence with ranch responsibilities. The brothers had butted heads on this subject more than once since Kinsey’s arrival. He never denied Johnny’s jabs weren’t deserved, but Scott would’ve appreciated more understanding of the juggling act he’d been handed thanks to Murdoch’s letter to Melbourne.
A quick glance treated Scott with the vision of Johnny’s attention drifting from Kinsey to her bags.
I had a big brother once.
Scott frowned. What if it’s not my absence from ranch duties but my solid friendship with Seth Westcott that inspired Johnny’s words? The brain itch selected a brightly colored juggling ball and launched it into the air.
********
“I was in love the moment I laid eyes on her.”
“Is that a fact.” Scott tossed his words over his shoulder to the back of the wagon where his brother and several pieces of luggage bounced their way home. The ride had been quiet thus far - each of them lost in their own thoughts. A sideways glance at Kinsey to his left produced a smile on Scott’s face. At this moment his little cousin wasn’t riding down a dusty road but strolling through a fragrant vineyard.
“Boston, she’s beautiful. Moves with grace. Everything a man could want.”
Johnny’s statement, on the other hand, indicated his mind had wandered to the mission and Letitia Lopez. Scott grinned. Kinsey certainly pegged it correctly. His little brother had fallen victim to Cupid’s arrow. As tempting as it was to reference Leticia’s bread-making skills, Scott remained an attentive audience.
“She’s a high-spirited filly. Yep. Not gonna be easy to tame this one.”
Scott raised a quizzical eyebrow. Not the most romantic statement he’d ever heard.
“Once I get her corralled, breakin’ her should come easy.”
Quit poking the bee’s nest, brother. It was obvious Johnny’s insights were an attempt to get a rise out of Kinsey with her women’s rights view. Scott’s peripheral vision told him the young lady hadn’t heard a word.
The love-at-first-sight narrative continued. “Guess I’m gettin’ ahead of myself. Have yet to touch her with a rope let alone mount her, but I plan to soon.”
Scott brought the wagon to an abrupt halt, turned and addressed his brother. “Johnny, listen to what you’re saying. You best show some respect.”
“Respect? Mind tellin’ me how else’s a man supposed to do it?”
Scott flung his arm over the back of the wagon seat to lean in closer to his brother. “What in the hell are you talking about?”
“The brindle mare.” Johnny shifted forward to meet Scott nose to nose. “What the hell do you think I’m talkin’ about?”
“The brindle.” Scott blinked. “Right.”
As the wagon wheels resumed their creaking journey home, so did Johnny’s admiration. “Tawny coat. Chestnut streaks.” A pause of reflection. “Yep! Think I’ll call her… Letitia.”
Kinsey’s snorted laugh accompanied Scott’s heavy sigh.
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