Author's Notes

Hi everybody!

I apologize for keeping you waiting for so long. I've been struggling for a while and I just couldn't concentrate on my writing. But over the last few weeks I have received some sweet and heartwarming reviews—letting me know that there is still an interest in the story (in spite of this appallingly long wait). Thank you so very, very much, guys (Dear Reader, Jeanne, Ariel, guest and members - you are great!) You absolutely gave me the boost I needed to come back with another chapter. And a long one at that :)

Now, please bear in mind that I originally intended to post this much, much sooner. But it wasn't to be. So I regret that this long break affects the slow tension-building I wanted to create over the last three chapters (44-46).

A little recap: The Cartwrights have been out hunting for rustlers while Madeline and our favorite doctor have been waiting at home on the Ponderosa. While the last two chapters have focused on the Cartwrights pov's, this next one focuses on what happens meanwhile at the Ponderosa. We've also had this building Adam/Doc drama for a while now, especially since the incident at the river in chapter 42 where the good doctor flipped out on Adam and many you, dear readers, were confused by Doc's behavior. The chapter you are about to read will hopefully offer a new insight into the complex relationship between these two wonderful characters.

If you feel up to it, I really recommend doing a quick read-through of chap 44 because there will be many references to it.

Oh and, Jeanne asked an interesting question: which Doc Martin is being portrayed in my story? Let me know in your reviews who you picture while reading. I would love to know! I'll reveal my favorite Doc Martin in the next chapter :)

Right, grab a cup of tea, put your feet up and please enjoy this. I'll do my best to get another one up soon. I cannot thank you enough for your support. I've missed you all.

Becky

Chapter 47

In the late afternoon, the rain came bucketing down. It crashed onto the roof like a thousand little drumsticks drumming a relentless tune. It pelted the windowpanes and streamed down the glass in blurry sheets. It felt as though they were under bombardment from the Heavens; the rain fell and struck the house with such force, with such extraordinary sound, it seemed almost as if the translucent drops had been turned to solid lead by some infernal power, and a hail of bullets now rained down upon them.

Madeline was pacing the area between the front door and the alcove. She'd just completed the circuit for the nineteenth time when a cracking roar of thunder gave her a start. She jerked to a halt at the front door, placing her hands on the dresser by the wall to steady herself. A few seconds later, another rumbling boom exploded outside. She closed her eyes and listened. When she was a little girl, she used to think that storms were God's way of showing his disapproval and that thunder was his stern voice, scolding her when she'd behaved improperly. Of course, now, as a grown, learned woman, she knew better. Weather constantly changed, like the seasons did. No living being, including herself, could influence it. Therefore, the storm raging outside was clearly unrelated to her untoward behavior lately. And the thunder that currently threatened to numb her eardrums really had nothing to do with the indecent thoughts she'd been thinking last night. About Adam. The fact that she, a supposedly respectable lady, had lain awake for hours fantasizing about a man was certainly not connected to this demonstration of nature's wrath. Why, they were merely two separate events, happening within a remarkably short time of one another. Purely coincidence. With those not quite convincing words ringing in her mind, she let go of the dresser, turned and began her twentieth circuit.

It had been unnaturally dark for most of the day and she and Hop Sing had lit the lamps around the sitting room hours ago. Her uncle had started a fire in the hearth after she'd needed to get her cream-colored shawl from her room to ward off the autumn chill that permeated the air. He'd gotten up from his chair to stoke the flames higher a couple of times and now, a cozy warmth was finally starting to settle in the dimly lit sitting room. She appreciated his thought. But if the fire hadn't warmed her up, all her pacing probably would have done the job.

Turning on her heel by Ben's desk, she started back towards the front door, following along the red rug on the floor. The wind had picked up outside, rising to a howl. She could hear rainwater gushing off the porch roof and splashing onto the ground in the yard. In her humble opinion, this sort of weather called for steaming drinks and roaring fireplaces and peaceful indoor activities such as reading, chess games and pleasant conversation. It was not suitable weather conditions for riding around outside looking for cows. Most definitely not.

Twentieth lap completed, Madeline stopped and stared at the front door which remained frustratingly shut. She listened to the untamed powers raging outside, just a few feet away. She caught the dark rumble of thunder approaching, growing as it neared until it crescendoed and erupted violently as if the sky was splitting apart just above the house. The deafening crack was followed by a softer rumbling sound that reverberated through the whole house, rattling her to the core. She shuddered. Adam was out there somewhere. He must be terribly cold and wet. And tired. Her heart squeezed painfully and she wrapped her arms around her middle. Well, it would be fairly unwise for any person to be out in this weather but for someone who was already unwell as she knew he was, being out in a thunderstorm was more than unwise. Foolish, really seemed a more fitting description. She repressed a huff and turned away from the door. He should never have gone. And, quite frankly, Ben and her uncle should never have allowed him to. He clearly wasn't strong enough yet for this sort of cow-tracking-nonsense—in body or in mind. Oh, but he just had to go and be all stubborn about it. And now, he might very well end up ill and stuck in bed for Lord knows how long and he would have no one but his own silly self to thank for it!

This time, a displeased huff got out and Madeline immediately firmed her mouth to a tight frown. She stared hard at a painting of an idyllic landscape on the wall, her emotions churning furiously. Goodness, no one could create such chaos within her as Adam could! The man's stubbornness was absolute. It was unparalleled, a thing of its own. And, dear God . . . she loved him for it. At that thought, the frustration, which was really just a product of her frayed nerves, seeped out of her. A deeper, much more powerful emotion took over, hitting her with such force it left her breathless.

She loved him for his fierce determination, his strength of will, his manliness of heart. For his calm confidence in his own abilities, for his trust in his own body and what it could do. And she loved him for his pride. That unwavering, masculine pride that he carried about him so naturally, and not in an arrogant way, but in a confident way—in a manner that commanded respect and inspired trust and esteem. These were the traits she had admired so about him when they first met, and although those same traits sparked immense displeasure in her sometimes, she respected them. He was a man, with male stubbornness and male pride, and he needed to do things his way, and she loved him for that, too. But Lord knew, loving Adam Cartwright could be as frightening as it was thrilling. And at this moment, the feeling positively terrified her.

Madeline sighed out a trembling breath. Tugging at her lower lip with her teeth, she again looked at the front door, willing it to swing open and put an end to the tense wait. But the door stayed as it was, immovable as the gut-churning feeling of helplessness simmering within her. She turned around, rubbed her hands gently up and down her arms. Then she resumed pacing—her steps slower and subdued this time. Up until now, the activity hadn't helped calm her uneasiness. But anything was better than standing still.

She walked back towards the alcove and threw a glance at the grandfather clock as she passed it. Her heart stumbled over its own beat. Surely, they hadn't meant to be away for this long? They'd ridden out before breakfast and now it was more than six o'clock! Her stomach plummeted unhelpfully. Had something happened to them? What if they had run into some sort of trouble? What if they were caught up in this dreadful storm and in need of help? The worry-thoughts raced through her mind—each one more frightening than the last. She came to an unsteady stop by the big desk in the alcove and closed her eyes. Panicking won't help matters, Madeline," she chided herself. With a hand pressed to her breast, she fought her anxiety back down again. She tried to order her thoughts, think rationally. The fact that the men hadn't returned yet didn't mean that anything was wrong. They might simply be delayed due to the bad weather. They might even have decided to take shelter in a . . . well, she couldn't quite summon the name for it—but one of those charming little huts that were dotted around the different sections of the Ponderosa. Perhaps they had found themselves such a hut. Perhaps they were dry and warm there and simply waiting the storm out. Yes, that seemed a perfectly reasonable explanation for their delay. In which case, there really was no reason to worry. Opening her eyes, she drew her shawl tighter around herself. Despite the warmth in the house, a peculiar chill had settled within her. A chill of dread.

Oh, she was worried. She couldn't help it. She needed to know that Adam was all right. And not just all right physically. Ever since he had left in the morning, she'd had this tight ache lodged in her chest. She'd gone over the awful moment countless times in her mind; the look on Adam's face when her uncle Paul had dropped that comment about their leaving tomorrow. The way he'd turned his back to her when she'd reached out to him. The way he'd stalked out of the house and ridden off without looking back at her even once. Without giving her a chance to explain why she needed to return to Virginia City with her uncle. She hadn't even had time to tell him that she would miss him as much as she believed he would her. The thought of him being upset with her was unbearable. But she understood his reaction—she realized that it was born out of pain, not anger. She knew him well enough to recognize when he used his temper to conceal his hurt, and that was what he'd done this morning. That temper of his, combined with his stubbornness and pride, made for a worrying, not to mention dangerous combination. Dangerous to himself more than anyone else . . .

Madeline frowned as she gently set her fingers down on the great mahogany desk in front of her. Not for the first time, she wondered if her decision to go back to Virginia City was the right one. Her doubts had been reinforced by Adam's reaction to the news. If only she could be in two places at once. Choosing between the two people who needed her most, was breaking her heart. Unfortunately, it seemed like everything she did—every decision she made lately—she always ended up disappointing or hurting one of the two men she loved so dearly. She just had no idea what to do about it. And she didn't know how much longer she could cope with the unhappy situation.

With a shake of her head, she forced her mind to a halt. Nothing would be helped by dwelling on the issues between her uncle and Adam now. There were more urgent matters. She walked around the big desk, her fingertips sliding along the smooth, wooden top as she went. Gazing up at the rain-blurred window behind the desk, she strained her ears, listening carefully. It would take hearing like a cat's to be able to detect the sound of horses through the thunder and rain. She went to the back wall and tiptoed up, but the window was too high for her to look out of. Or she was too short. She released a despairing breath, turned and walked away—on route to the front door for the twenty-first time. She'd just passed the grandfather clock when a voice called to her from across the room.

"Pacing back and forth won't help matters, you know. All you're doing is wearing out Ben's fine Indian carpet."

Madeline stopped and looked towards the hearth where her uncle stood stoking the fire again. He wasn't looking her way but focused on his task, poking and shoving the burning logs around. She dropped her eyes to the red carpet at her feet. "I'm sorry." She sighed and folded her arms around herself. "I just wish he hadn't gone . . ."

"He'll be fine," her uncle muttered.

He gave a log a particularly harsh shove, sending sparks flying about the hearth. Then he tapped the fire poker and settled it in its holder with a clatter. Madeline watched him as he stepped over to the red wing chair and folded himself comfortably into the seat, crossing his legs. He pulled his glasses from his vest pocket, settled them on his nose and leaned forwards to grab the book he'd been reading for most of the afternoon from the table. Without glancing at her once, he flipped it open to the right page and picked up where he'd left off. Madeline stood motionless, arms crossed, her hands cupping her elbows. After a moment, she walked across the floor and stopped behind the settee. She eyed the doctor intently. He harrumphed softly and turned a page.

"You are not even the slightest bit concerned?" she probed.

"No."

He didn't deign to look up from his book.

Tilting her face down, Madeline uncrossed her arms and placed her hands on the backrest of the settee. She smoothed her palms over the polished wood, then tapped it in quick succession with her fingers, almost in tune with the staccato beat of the rain rattling the windows. Restlessness was bubbling up inside her as if it was taking possession of her body, like some kind of madness. She looked back over her shoulder at the closed front door, heard the wind wailing on the other side of it. Her eyes lingered there for a second before she faced her uncle again. His face was half-lit by fire and his features were distant and unemotional as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"I don't understand how you can be so calm," she said, wonderment in her tone.

He merely adjusted his glasses and turned another page.

Her fingers gripped the backrest of the settee harder. Well, the least he could do was respond. Couldn't he hear the storm raging outside? Did he not realize that Adam and the others were out there somewhere? Here she was, worry clawing at her insides, and he was lounging and reading in his chair, looking like tranquility itself! Madeline shook her head in slow bafflement. Behind her, the grandfather clock ticked with a maddening constant, cadence.

Finally, she took a sharp intake of breath as her voice exploded out of her. "Oh, for Goodness' sake, Uncle Paul—it's storming terribly outside, they've been gone all day and they rode out with, with—" She flung a hand up and around in the air "—With half an armory!"

Her uncle planted a finger on the page to mark where he was and peered at her over the tops of his glasses. "The Cartwrights know how to handle themselves."

She bit her lip and lowered her hands do the front of her skirt. "But they have been away for such a long time . . . it's getting late."

His gaze fell to his book again. "They'll be back in time for supper, I'm sure."

"But suppose they have run into some sort of trouble, what if they—"

"Madeline, they're ranchers," he broke in, looking up at her as he emphasized the word. "They've dealt with bad weather, rustlers and God knows what else many times before. This is part of their way of life. A big part."

Amid the rain drumming on the roof, Madeline heard the sound of her own heartbeat hammering in her ears as she stared at her uncle. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned around, taking three steps away from the settee. He was right and she knew it. She was overreacting. The Cartwrights were probably very capable of handling whatever situation they were in just as they'd probably dealt with similar circumstances in the past. As her uncle said; they were ranchers, and ranch-life on the frontier came with certain stresses and risks. Heavens, it was a very different life to the one she had known before coming to the West. It would all take some getting used to. She fidgeted with the folds of her skirt. Oh, but how much longer would this dreadful waiting go on for?

"My Belle," her uncle called behind her, "won't you please sit own? Your tea is getting cold."

She turned around again, and saw the china cup standing on the table, its contents untouched. She'd completely forgotten about it. The beverage didn't appeal to her in the least. But it would be terribly impolite of her not to drink it when Hop Sing had made it. Her uncle had already had half of his own tea, she noted. In resigned acceptance, Madeline walked back to the settee and took a seat even though her nerves protested the move. Her uncle never looked up, seemingly too engrossed in his book. She reached for her cup and, holding its saucer in one hand, sipped delicately. The now lukewarm drink didn't have any of its usual calming effect on her. She lowered the cup and saucer to her lap, rubbing the white porcelain with her fingertips as she glanced about the darkened room, looking for something to occupy her mind. Her eyes landed on the pile of Cartwright shirts lying next to her on the settee, neatly folded once again after being tossed away in the midst of the commotion earlier. She extended a hand and gently touched the shirt at the top. The black one. Her lips curved wistfully as she smoothed her fingers over the soft cotton. There was something strangely comforting about touching something of his—a shirt he'd worn so much—one she could easily picture him in. A tight pressure formed in her chest as she did just that. Was it really possible that she missed him after less than a day without him? That growing pressure said it was. She dreaded to think how things would be once she was back in Virginia City. How often would she see him then?

Her uncle's voice lifted above the sound of the wailing wind, penetrating her troubled thoughts. "Did you finish packing for tomorrow?"

Madeline glanced over at him, but his attention was still on his book. The question, coming from him, sparked a peculiar sensation in her. A decidedly disagreeable sensation. She breathed in and modulated her voice to its usual pleasant, soft tone. "Yes, Uncle."

"Good." He lifted his hand to his mouth, moistened his finger and turned another page. "We'll be leaving early. With any luck, we'll be able to slip through town and make it home while most folks are still at church for the Sunday service."

She gave a timid nod.

"Do you think Adam will be accompanying us on the ride?" he asked casually. A little too casually.

Madeline raised her head and regarded him for a drawn-out moment. "I really couldn't say. As I am sure you noticed, I didn't have the chance to discuss our departure with him before he left this morning."

The change in her uncle's bearing was immediate, though indefinable. She watched his gaze still on some particular spot on the page he was at. A second later, his eyes began moving again, sliding over the words without further pause. This conversation should end here. She should say nothing more of the matter. But what had started as a peculiar sensation within her, had now grown to a painful feeling, a building sort of feeling—as if something powerful were brewing inside of her.

"Uncle Paul," she said, her quiet voice almost drowning out in the sounds of the rain. "You knew that I intended to speak with Adam in private about the matter of our leaving."

"Yes, and I can well imagine how that might have gone," he replied, surprisingly quickly, giving the impression he hadn't been concentrating on his reading at all.

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

He finally looked up at her, brows arching high as if the answer was obvious. "Why, he would've tried to talk you into staying here, of course."

Madeline's gaze dropped to the cup in her hands. "I don't believe he would have done that . . ."

"Oh, I do."

His scoffing tone made her eyes shoot back up to him, sharply. Again, he was focused on his book. Her grip tightened around the delicate porcelain.

"Regardless of that," she said, working to keep her voice even, "I must say that your handling of the matter seemed rather insensitive." She leveled him a serious look. "You deliberately provoked him this morning."

"Pffft, that was nothing." With a careless wave of his hand, the doctor sat forwards to take his cup from the coffee table. "Just a little friendly ribbing, that's all."

Madeline took a long breath and held it. Her uncle's off-hand manner was grating precariously on her overstretched nerves. Doing her best to keep a calm appearance, she asked, "What about yesterday, Uncle?"

A crash of thunder ruptured and rumbled outside.

Without looking at her, he took a sip of tea. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

The muscles in her back tensed. She felt a very rare heat rise up from her chest and stain her face that, for once, had nothing to do with embarrassment or blushing. "In my view, there was nothing friendly about the manner in which you treated Adam yesterday on the picnic," she said and set her saucer and cup down on the coffee table. A little too forcefully as it happened; the porcelain rattled, and drips of tea almost went sloshing over the rim of the cup.

Her uncle's gaze went first to the dishware, then traveled up to her face. Whatever her expression was at that moment, he appeared mildly surprised at it. "So, I lost my temper a little bit. Adam didn't take it seriously."

Her eyes sharpened on him. "Are you certain of that?"

"Of course, I am," he grunted, the first brink of irritation entering his voice as he replaced his own teacup on the table. "I've known the lad since he was fourteen years old—I'd say I know him quite well by now."

She held onto her patience with an effort. "I realize that you have known him for a long time. Much longer than I. But while I didn't know him before he went to war, I'd wager that he is not the same man now as he was before."

She stopped there, wanting him to think about her words. The doctor's only response was a long, unreadable stare over the tops of his glasses perched on the end of his nose. Then, as if he were quite finished with their discussion, he looked down at his book again, his expression smoothing out and returning to its habitual unconcerned state. Madeline forced out a noisy sigh. What had she expected? An open, honest conversation and effective emotional communication? Really, her uncle could be almost as bad as Adam. Why must men be so bothersome? She, on the other hand, was quite the opposite in this regard. She had always been highly sensitive and vulnerable by nature and she wore her emotions close to the surface because she wasn't capable of anything else. They were as uncontrollable to her as the storm currently rampaging outside. Even now, she felt them rising within, causing her throat to burn. When her vision began to blur, she shifted her eyes away from her uncle and focused instead on the fireplace behind him. For a while, the sound of the rain pelting the roof and windows filled her ears as she struggled to regain control of herself. She rubbed the soft silk of her shawl, watching the flames flickering and casting dancing, golden light onto the walls and furniture around the hearth. The trance-like state the fire produced gradually relaxed her enough that the sting in her throat abated. Then, strangely, she heard herself speak, though she hadn't intended to—as if the thought in her heart somehow found its way to her lips.

"He isn't well, Uncle Paul . . ."

She looked at her uncle again, focusing on the visible side of his face, lit by the fire. A nerve spasmed in his cheek, the only indication he had heard her.

Even more softly, she said, "I am worried about what might happen if you keep pushing him."

"I'm not the only one doing the pushing, Madeline," he replied with something of a bite to his tone. Suddenly, his eyes speared up at her.

She met his flinty look with a respectable imitation of calm. "I know that Adam has his own share of the blame for this conflict that has developed between the two of you." The words had barely left her mouth before she realized that this was the first time she had addressed the issue directly. The realization brought with it an odd sense of relief. Stiffening her shoulders, she continued, "This last week I have watched the two of you become increasingly unpleasant with each other. Your nearly constant bickering and uncivil behavior has put a strain on everyone in this house." A fresh wave of hot emotion welled up her throat as the stress of it all came rushing over her. She had to pause and glance away for a moment. Gathering up her resolve, she faced him again, her eyes locking directly onto his. "And I must tell you that I was greatly disturbed by your display of ill temper yesterday on the picnic."

"How unfortunate," he said, tone blatantly uninterested in more of this conversation as he shifted his focus to his book once more.

Madeline stared at him, frustration flaring in her chest. She opened her mouth, about to speak her most dissatisfied mind, then snapped it shut. The risk of her saying something unbecoming was far too great at that second. That hot feeling tightened to a knot as quiet anger boiled inside her. She should be appalled at herself, but her usually mild temper was strained to its limits. She should take herself to her room, compose herself, but she didn't move a fraction on the settee. No, instead, a rare case of defiance took hold of her. This was one instance where she couldn't—where she wouldn't back down.

"Why Uncle Paul?" she breathed. "Why would you behave in such a way toward him?"

A tell-tale quiver had found its way into her voice, but she was helpless against it. It got her uncle's attention—his eyes swept up swiftly to take in her expression. A moment later he looked away again, his face turning stony as he retreated behind his indifferent manner again.

Madeline clutched her shawl tightly. "I insist that you answer my question."

Without warning, he snapped his book shut with a smack, making her startle in her seat. "All right, I'll answer it. The lad was in a bad mood all day yesterday and he took it out on everybody else." He jerked his spectacles off his nose and pointed them at her. "Especially you."

Reflexively, her hand had shot up to her breast and now covered her thumping heart. "He . . . he was having a difficult day, he didn't—"

"Every day is a difficult day for him." Her uncle dealt her an unforgiving look.

Her face grew hot. "He isn't well, he—"

"Should that be an excuse for him to act bad-mannered?"

"Excuse?" She felt her lips vibrating with indignation. "Surely you know that it isn't his intention to act that way!"

He gave a haughty toss of his head, throwing his book onto the coffee table. "It's never Adam's intention to act any way that causes people grief, yet it appears to happen frequently, doesn't it?"

"Oh, for the LOVE of—" Her voice broke off and she suddenly found herself jolting up from the settee. "He has been struggling terribly with everything that has happened these last weeks—with his concern for me, with his injury, with the loss of his friend—everything!" A clap of thunder exploded at the end of her outburst, echoing eerily in the following stillness. Her uncle sat as if frozen, his widened eyes looking her up and down.

"Now, Madeline—"

"No, Uncle Paul," she cut him off, surprising him, and indeed, herself. Even more surprisingly; she stepped around the coffee table and advanced on him. He quickly leaned back in his chair. "You know how he has suffered," she snapped. "He has so much pain and guilt tearing him up inside—of course his behavior is affected by it all. And, yes—he can be dreadfully troublesome when those brooding moods of his overcome him." Her voice sounded wrong to her own ears—it was sharp and brittle—but she went on regardless, powerless to stop, as if something wild had been unleashed inside her. "I realize that he hasn't behaved amiably towards you, but you knew of the intense pressure he was under and still, you added to that strain!"

Lightning flashed, filling the darkened room with blue light. She stopped directly in front of her uncle's chair, her chest heaving with emotion. He stared up at her, the surprise melting from his face as his mouth tightened and his eyes narrowed to slits.

"During our stay here, this, this thing between you and Adam has only gotten worse," she exclaimed. "And yesterday—for just a brief instant—I believed that you might actually be able to settle your differences." A touch of unaccustomed bitterness seeped into her tone. "But for some reason that is still baffling to me, you ended up flying off at him even after he attempted to mend the rift between the two of you!"

Something flashed in her uncle's eyes then and he thrust his head forward as if he hadn't heard right. "Say what now?"

Madeline sucked in a breath. "Adam went out to you when you were fishing by the river. For the first time in days, he approached you, wanting to spend time with you and you just—"

He halted her with a raised hand, his lips twisting sardonically. "I know exactly why he came to me and it damn sure as hell wasn't to spend time with me—I can tell you that much!"

Her mouth fell open with a gasp. She drew herself up, placing her hands on her hips. "Language, Uncle Paul!"

His expression faltered and he had the good grace to duck his head at her reprimand.

An abrupt silence fell between them. It was filled by more shattering thunder, more rain. Madeline closed her eyes, hard. Her head was pounding, her pulse hammering away in her neck. Good Gracious! How had everything about this day spiraled so wildly out of control? This horrible argument was really the last thing she'd wanted. It hadn't resolved anything, and she was no closer to understanding her uncle. She made a tremendous effort to gather her composure. Or, rather, the tattered remnants of it. Then she opened her eyes and fixed the frustrating man with an unyielding stare.

"I don't understand why you are behaving in this manner. But I do know that if you continue this way, one of these days you will push him too far . . ." Trembling warning etched her voice. "And I'm afraid you will come to regret it. Deeply."

His head remained bent, making it impossible for her to gauge his reaction to those grave words. She released a tremulous sigh. Suddenly exhausted both emotionally and physically, she let her hands fall from her hips and turned her face towards the glowing fireplace.

"Adam needs us now more than ever. He needs his family, he needs me . . ." She looked at her uncle again. "And he needs you, too."

His chin jerked up as if he'd been slapped. "Needs me?" Then, to her surprise, he laughed. The sound was bitter and harsh. "Adam Cartwright is generally not in the habit of needing other people, Madeline. In fact, he makes it a point to be unresponsive and hostile to any gesture of concern or practical care anybody offers him. You may be the one person in the world he doesn't have his guard up with aside from Ben—but make no mistake—that is a rare position." Turning away, he muttered under his breath. "Needs me. I've never heard anything so preposterous in all my days."

Madeline stilled completely. Where had that little outburst come from? A slow frown worked its way onto her face. "Of course he needs you . . ."

He huffed, but it sounded breathy and a little forced. Lacking any real frustration. Silently, he began fidgeting with his glasses in his lap. An odd feeling of discomfort invaded her body and Madeline instinctively wrapped her arms around herself. Her uncle's whole manner had changed, out of nowhere. She tilted her head, searching his down-turned face. "Uncle?"

He seemed to be giving his spectacles one thorough inspection. Watching him, she felt the last shreds of her anger trickle away. Just like that, her naturally sweet temper reasserted itself and her senses kicked in. Cautiously, she lowered herself to perch on the edge of the coffee table in front of him. She weighed her words, then she spoke, keeping her voice deliberately soft.

"You have been present in his life since he was a boy. You watched him grow into a man. You've supported him and his family through terrible trials." The doctor's jaw tightened but he didn't comment. After the slightest hesitation, she gently said, "When I first came here and Adam was still at war, you spoke of him often, and with fondness. I know you care for him like he was your own—"

"He isn't my son, Madeline," her uncle interjected, still avoiding her gaze. "And there might've been a time when he had a need for me but that certainly isn't the case anymore." His face contorted into something that started as a smile and ended up a grimace. "Now, I'm little more than an acquaintance to him."

Madeline stared at him for a stunned second. "That isn't true . . ."

"Oh, yes, it is." He nodded with a sort of quiet acceptance and turned towards the fireplace.

A sharp pang raced through her. She struggled for a response, but before she could tell him how terribly wrong he was, he began speaking again, staring into the flames. "When the lad stepped into my office all those years ago, I took to him straight away, you know. I knew he was a special boy. One who would do great things. There was a time when he would visit me every week. We'd play chess, discuss books . . . sometimes, he even came to me when he was at odds with Ben." His eyes had taken on a distant, glazed look as he recalled those faraway memories. "It was thanks to my close friendship with Ben that I had the pleasure of watching Adam grow up." With a twitch of his lips, he added, "Him and those two impish brothers of his. They were something of a handful." His smile faded before it could settle. "I suppose, being with the Cartwrights back then was the closest I've ever been to feeling like a real part of a family . . ."

Madeline clung to his every word, her heart thundering like a wild bird suddenly caged. She saw the exact moment he came back to himself; he blinked, glanced sideways at her and shifted uncomfortably, as if embarrassed he'd revealed so much.

"A foolish thought," he finished in a sudden cool tone. He settled his hands on the armrests of his chair and turned back towards the fire, carefully distancing himself again.

A rush of tender emotion flared in her chest. She longed to reach out to him, offer him comfort and acceptance for opening himself to her and for giving her this rare insight. But she knew he wouldn't welcome the gesture. She kept her arms folded around herself and said, "I don't find it foolish at all. In fact, I think it makes perfect sense that you would feel that way."

His hand gripped the armrest tightly, fingers clenching. "It's of no matter now. Those times are long gone. The boys are grown, and we've all changed. No one more so than Adam." He lifted his chin. "You were right about that. He's not the same as he was before the war."

She had no doubt about that. Although she'd only known Adam a few months, she had already seen the best and worst sides to him. Despite his serious nature, she'd also experienced his playful and witty side and, in those instances, she believed she saw glimpses of the man he was before he'd faced the horrors of war. Unfortunately, she had also come to know his dark moods well, and it pained her like nothing else to see him suffer so. But she had only known Adam this way. How must the change in him affect the people who had known him before the war? Until now, she hadn't truly considered that.

Her throat ached with suppressed feeling, but she somehow managed to speak around it. "He may not always behave the same way, but he is still the Adam you have known for seventeen years. He may not act like it, but he does still need people. The people who are most important to him . . ."

Her soft words were followed by the echo of retreating thunder. The rain had quieted to a light tapping on the roof.

"Important," her uncle murmured, staring sightlessly at the fireplace. The flames illuminated only one side of his face, light and shadows at play. After a long pause, he said, "I am not his father, but I was proud of that boy when he got accepted into West Point." His fingers rubbed absently along the arm of the chair. "I was there, standing right beside Ben, waving farewell as he rode off to pursue an education . . . and years later, we both waved him off when he left to join the war." His voice had taken on a terrible hollow quality. Madeline was unable to look away from him. She sat dead-still, not daring to speak. "I am not his father," he repeated, sharper this time, "but Lord knows, I spent countless sleepless nights worrying about him these last four years as if he were my own kin. And yet, I have no right to anything. Just as with you." A profound emptiness dulled his eyes. "I was a fool to believe otherwise."

Her stomach cramped. What did he mean by all this? She swallowed hard, struggling to make sense of his words. "Uncle Paul, please—"

"Remember that day when I heard Adam had returned home, and I went out to see him?" He spoke straight over her. "Do you know what the first thing he said to me was?"

Mutely, she closed her mouth and shook her head.

"He told me I shouldn't have gone to the trouble." A snort left him, harsh and abrupt. "After four years—that's what he said to me." His expression hardened. "The boy was obviously ill, yet he refused to let me tend to him. He was distant and reserved. More unapproachable than I've ever known him to be."

Slices of memories from that day flickered through Madeline's mind . . . her uncle's excitement at the news of Adam Cartwright's return and his keenness to visit the Ponderosa . . . his gloomy mood when he'd come home to her, his reluctance to speak about the reunion . . .

Coming back to the present, she focused on her uncle again, her heart going out to him.

"I do remember that you seemed troubled after you had been to see him," she said. "You seemed . . . disheartened. But Uncle Paul, this is exactly what I mean by Adam needing us." Taking a chance, she placed her hand over his arm and fixed her gaze to the side of his stern face. "Thousands of soldiers around the country are still suffering the consequences of this four-year nightmare. They are returning home changed men, wounded—not only in body—but in mind and spirit. They have experienced terrors that most of us cannot even begin to imagine. And what they have endured will continue to torment many of them, I believe, for a long time yet." She sighed with difficulty. "Although the war has ended, the suffering is far from over. Especially for the men who fought. Adam may not admit it to us or even to himself, but he needs help to heal." She gave her uncle's arm a squeeze. "He needs our help."

The doctor tensed under her hand. For suspended seconds, he sat rigidly, face directed at the fire. "And just how am I supposed to help him?" His voice had gone unnaturally slow and deep. Almost menacing.

Madeline hesitated, then carefully withdrew her hand. "As I said before, I know that Adam hasn't acted amiable towards you lately. His temper and bad moods are part of the reason why these problems have arisen between the two of you, I realize that." She bit down on her lip. "But if you could only find a way to show him a little more patience and understanding, I really do believe—"

"Patience and understanding?" Her uncle spat the words and snapped towards her. "Just imagine for one moment, Madeline, what it's like trying to be that man's doctor—let alone friend! Every time I show the slightest bit of concern he either dismisses me or throws it back in my face. He refuses any offer of help. He shuts me out—not to mention—I'm beginning to doubt he would even give me the time of day if not for the fact that you are my niece!" His shoulders heaved jerkily as though he were striving to suppress some powerful emotion. "It's really very difficult to care about a person who acts like that—don't you think?"

His frustration brought a pronounced glitter to his grey eyes as they burned into hers. Madeline fought to keep her gaze steady although the impact of his words struck her like a knife. For the first time, she set her concern for Adam aside and saw things from her uncle' perspective clearly. Understanding rippled through her as she saw his pain and the strain that he had been under. And it hurt more than she could have imagined. In spite of his hostility, there was just soft sympathy in her own tone as she replied, "Uncle . . . I know how much you care about him."

He released a scoff-ring breath. "Is that right?" She almost flinched at the derision in his voice. "Haven't you just informed me how horribly I treat the boy?"

Clutching at her shawl, she phrased her reply with great care. "I stand by my opinion that you are too harsh on him at times. That you provoke him unnecessarily, just as he does you on occasion." Her tone gentled. "But there is no doubt in my mind that the two of you care deeply for one another . . ."

He snorted, a sound that contradicted her words. Then he turned away from her and instinctively, she knew that he was also turning away from the conversation. Closing himself off because she was getting too close. Quiet fell as a heavy blanket around them. All of a sudden, the slowing rhythm of raindrops on the roof sounded unbearably loud. Madeline waited for a long while, her stomach in knots. She kept her eyes trained on the side of her uncle's face, clinging to the hope that he would say something more. Anything. He was suffering too—she was beginning to understand just how much now—and like Adam, he hid behind his temper and detached manner to conceal his emotions. Her heart swelled with affection at the thought. How alike they were in this respect. Both of them, so stubborn, so proud. And both such good men. The truth was that she had been so focused on Adam this last week, she hadn't been as attentive of her uncle's needs as usual. The guilt of it cut her deeply. Especially since this unexpected confrontation was making her see her uncle's recent behavior in a new light. As the silence stretched on, it became increasingly obvious that he wasn't going to pick up the conversation. But the thought of them leaving things like this, unresolved, was too much for her to bear.

"Uncle Paul?" she ventured, despair closing in on her.

He didn't acknowledge her in any way. She knew his silence didn't stem from stubbornness. He was struggling on the inside, she was painfully aware of that. Her thoughts turned over and over. How could she help him? How could she prevent him from shutting her out? And then, she realized, there was one thing she could say. Something she had witnessed and kept to herself until now—something she hadn't intended to ever mention to anyone. In her heart, she knew it would get a response from him. She decided to follow her instincts.

"I know how much you care for Adam," she repeated, trying to sound calm and not nearly as anxious as she felt. With a deep breath, she plunged ahead. "I have seen it with my own eyes. That night, when he got into a fight at the saloon and he showed up at the house drunk . . ." She halted there and her uncle still refused to look her way. But she could tell by his stiffened posture that she had his full attention. "He was in such a terrible state," she continued quietly. "You were so very confused by my behavior, by my leaving him after you had tended to his injury. You wanted me to stay with him but I—" Her voice broke and went away from her as the anguish of that horrible incident overcame her. Blinking hard, she pushed past it. "But I couldn't." She looked hesitantly at her uncle. "Later that night . . . I heard you."

In a split-second, his eyes collided with hers, widening just slightly. They quickly darted back to the hearth. "You heard what?" he asked warily.

Closing her eyes, Madeline relived the painful memory. "It was hours later. I couldn't sleep, I was so concerned about Adam. I thought you had gone to bed and left him to sleep in the examining room, so I went down to check on him." She swallowed down the mounting tightness in her throat and forced her eyes open. "And that was when I heard you. Both of you."

Her uncle held himself completely still—only his eyelid twitched. The air grew thick with tension between them, as if an emotional powder keg had been set and might go off at any second. All Madeline could hear was her own breathing, her own rapid heartbeat.

"He was having a nightmare . . . wasn't he?" she whispered.

A log popped in the fireplace. The doctor was quiet for a long time. So long, she wasn't sure he would even reply. He stared off into the fire and the flames reflected in his glazed, grey eyes like liquid silver. Then eventually he breathed out, the tension leaving his body as he spoke in a manner that sounded older and wearier than she had ever heard him. "It isn't my place to speak to you about this, Madeline."

She gave a faint nod of understanding. "I will not ask you to tell me about it. But I heard you, Uncle Paul. I heard you talking to him. Soothing him . . ." Her lips lifted tremulously. "Much like I imagine Ben would have done." Her uncle bowed his head and touched his forehead between his eyebrows. She went on, her chest contracting painfully. "You sat up with him the entire night, caring for him . . . refusing to leave him alone. And when he left the next day, you sent word for his family to make sure they would come for him and keep him safe." Her voice descended to a whisper. "How can you think that he does not need you?"

The doctor's eyes swooped shut at her question. He rubbed the spot between his brows, his profile silhouetted by the fire. She regarded him lovingly, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes "Adam may have been too out of sorts to realize what you did for him, but you were there when he needed you."

Weakly, his shoulders drooped. "It wasn't enough."

She reached for him. "Listen to me—"

"No, it wasn't enough!" he suddenly exclaimed and turned to her fiercely, his features charged with emotion. "Since the lad came back from this blasted war, I've watched him go from bad to worse and I have been unable to help him. Just two weeks ago, he was in the worst condition I've ever seen him and I couldn't get through to him. I was utterly useless!" He threw his arms up in a helpless gesture. "The best I could do was plead with you to go and see him—and I did that without even realizing the danger you were in!" His arms dropped heavily as he hung his head. "Whatever I do, I . . . it's no use. I was unable to help Adam just as I was unable to help you."

Madeline gaped at him. "Help me?" With shaking fingers, she grabbed at one of his hands. "Uncle, please, I don't—what do you mean?"

A tense moment passed before he finally raised his head, facing her directly. She was completely stunned by the turmoil she saw churning in his grey depths. He pulled his hand free of hers and pointed a finger at her. "I failed you . . ." His throat bobbed and his finger shook. "That . . . that despicable excuse of a man came into my own house and he . . . he hurt you. He hurt the most precious thing in the world to me and I just stood by and let it happen." He heaved a breath, his expression twisting in anguish. "He took you away right from under my nose . . . and I did nothing."

Cold realization slammed into Madeline like an iron fist. Her heart, sight, hearing—everything was suspended as her brain finally caught up and she understood what he was talking about.

"I did nothing," he repeated in a raspy whisper. "I was forced to rely on Adam and the rest of the Cartwrights to save you. And Lord knows what would have happened if they hadn't. Lord only knows . . ." he trailed off on a trembling note and looked away.

Her hands fell limply to her lap. She could only stare at him as her mind reeled in shock. He blamed himself! He blamed himself for what Ray had done to her! Her lips moved but she couldn't form words. She felt as though she was breaking apart on the inside.

Her uncle tipped his head back and looked up at the ceiling with misted eyes. "I failed you once before . . . when you were just a child. It was the biggest regret of my life." He released a wet snort. "Up until a week ago, that is. And this too, I shall carry with me until the day I die." The tiny tremors in his chin wrenched her heart. Abruptly, he wiped at his face with angry movements. "So, you see, just as Adam doesn't need me, it has become very clear that you have no need for me anymore either. Especially not while you have him. Clearly, he is much more capable of ensuring your safety and happiness than I."

Madeline's chest felt so tight, she could barely breathe. Like a crashing wave, her emotions welled up inside her and she pressed her palm to her mouth in a vague attempt to stem it. "Oh, Uncle Paul . . ."

"I don't want your pity, Madeline," he snapped, his gaze flashing briefly in her direction. His shoulders shook as he pushed an unsteady hand through the wisps of hair covering his scalp.

The world began to blur as tears filled her eyes. On impulse, she took hold of his hand laying on the armrest and held tight. "Do you really not see?" she choked out. "You are the only reason I am even sitting here now. You were the one who searched for me. It was you who found me in Georgia and brought me out here. Do you remember the first month I was here? I could barely even leave the house—I was in such an awful state. If not for you, I-I—" She blinked and slow tears escaped down her cheeks. "You opened your home to me. You provided for me. You gave me all your love and you made me feel safe and protected in a way that I had never known before. You offered me a chance at a new life." Her voice caught in her throat and it took all her strength to bring it back. "Uncle Paul . . . you saved me long before Adam did."

Those last words, barely above a whisper, hung in the air between them. She could only imagine what it must have taken of him to face her at that moment. But he did. He turned his head towards her, hesitantly, and regarded her with a searching expression. Raw emotion glimmered in his eyes. She looked straight into them, and despite her best effort, she felt her lip wobble. In response, his forehead creased and his mouth tightened in a harsh line. But to no avail; one glistening tear rolled its silent way down his face. Then, another. Madeline let her own tears fall unhindered. He bowed his head then, breaking the eye contact. She sat quietly, watching his expression change as he struggled with himself and with her words. Slowly but surely, relief started to settle in with her, easing the pain. Although the knowledge that her uncle had been suffering in silence with his guilt and doubts burned in her heart, at least now she knew about it. At least now, she had said what needed to be said. She only hoped it would be enough. When he took a series of deep breaths, she knew he was attempting to compose himself. She wiped her face and stroked his hand, giving him the time and the room he needed.

About a minute later, he seemed to have himself back under control. He sat slightly hunched over and stared down at his lap, his free hand fidgeting with the armrest of the chair. "I, erhh . . ." He cleared his throat and sat up straighter. "I really must apologize to you, my dear. For upsetting you and for not being there when you needed me." His eyes lifted to hers. "And for my . . . well, my less than becoming behavior this past week." He ducked his head again. "I, ah . . . well, in hindsight, I suppose I have been a tad hard on Adam. I probably could have handled our . . . disagreements in a more suitable manner." He shifted a little in his seat and Madeline's heart melted with affection. "And just so you know," he said, his voice turning gruff, "I may be old, but I am not stupid. I am quite aware that I have been intruding on the two of you. Although, I admit that it was a, uh, a deliberate act on my part." Those last few words were mumbled in a rush as he quickly looked down.

Madeline couldn't prevent the soft smile that came to her face. Oh, she knew her uncle well. Better than he realized. She rubbed his fingers gently. "Uncle Paul, I do love him, so very much. And I do need him . . ." She leaned closer to the doctor, placing her hand on his cheek. "But that does not mean that I love or need you any less."

There was a moment's hesitation before his eyes rolled upward, uncertainly. She made herself hold his gaze, unwaveringly, assuring him that she meant it. He gave the barest nod of his head. Then he harrumphed abruptly in that Uncle-Paul-way and muttered, "Yes, yes, ah, very good." He pulled her hand from his cheek and patted it brusquely while making a discreet attempt at flicking a last errant tear away. "I, errh . . ." he began. "Well, after this talk, I think it would be wise if you considered staying here with the Cartwrights a little while longer."

Madeline's smile instantly faded. "I am going home with you tomorrow, of course . . ."

She gave his fingers a firm squeeze to emphasize her intent.

He harrumphed again like he had something stuck that wouldn't quite clear. "Now, I just think that with the lad and all, you know, it . . ." He stumbled over the words. "Well, we both know that Adam would much rather be rid of me and spend time with you in private. It's quite safe to say that I've overstayed my welcome, at least in his opinion." As if to ease the statement, he followed it with a short, nervous chuckle that caused a sting in her heart. She opened her mouth to object, but he held up his hands. "Now don't you deny it. It's the truth." His expression softened with a peculiar, almost wistful smile. "Besides, he needs you. You've changed everything for him . . . just as you did for me." He firmed his jaw. "So, I think you should stay here for a while. In fact, I insist on it. I do believe it would be best for you and, for the time being at least, I am still the one responsible for your welfare."

Just barely, Madeline resisted the urge to shake her head at him. She eyed him meaningfully, her exasperation warring with sympathy. "Uncle Paul," she said with quite a bit of steel in her voice. "I have absolutely no intention of letting you ride back into Virginia City by yourself after all that has happened. Now stop this nonsense immediately. We will face the town folk together as a family. And that"—she touched her forefinger to the tip of his nose—"is that."

For a split-second, her poor uncle looked rather cross-eyed and stunned. Then, the ghost of a smile crept across his face. His eyes sparkled as he raised a hand and pressed his own finger to her nose. "I used to do that with you when you were just a child . . ."

Suddenly overcome with the need, she leaned forwards and wrapped her arms around him, laying her chin on his shoulder. "That is why I did it."

She felt his arms settle around her, tightly, and heard him sigh out a breath. They sat like that for a few moments, simply holding one another. To her dismay, Madeline felt a fresh bout of tears spring to her eyes and she fought valiantly to keep them at bay. This really had to stop. Finally, her uncle gave her back three gentle pats and she drew back.

He harrumphed once more, bringing a fond, if trembling smile to her lips. "Very well, very well," he muttered, "we'll go back together." He studied her, an unsure look on his face. "But what about Adam?"

Madeline lowered her gaze. Yes, what about Adam? Would he be all right? Was she doing the right thing by leaving him now when he was struggling? Honestly, she didn't know. But she had made a decision now and she needed to stand by it.

"His father and brothers will be here to look after him," she said and raised her chin.

Her uncle's eyes traced over her, filled with concern. She offered him a smile of reassurance, hoping it looked more convincing than it felt. His mouth lifted a fraction. "All right. If you're sure that this is what you want."

"It is, Uncle."

He gave a slow nod and with a final pat to her hand, he released it.

Madeline folded her arms around herself, adjusting her shawl which had drooped from her shoulders. She knew her uncle wouldn't try to talk her out of leaving again, it was settled now. That, in itself, was a relief. She just hoped that Adam would understand her decision and that he wouldn't take it the wrong way. After all, even though she would be returning to Virginia City, her heart would remain here on the Ponderosa, with him . . .

"Well, this has rather lost its appeal, hasn't it?"

Her uncle's question interrupted her thoughts and she turned her attention back to him. He was holding up his teacup, eyeing the now cold contents with distaste.

"Goodness, I completely forgot," she said and turned on the coffee table to grab her own cup in the fleeting hope it would still be drinkable. Before she could attempt a sip, her uncle snatched the cup from her hand. "Don't you concern yourself with that. I'll go out and make us some nice, hot chocolate instead." He pulled himself out of his chair laboriously after sitting down for too long. Bending with a grunt, he picked up his own cup and added, "I'll pour this away without Hop Sing noticing, so don't you worry."

Her lips quirked faintly. "Thank you, Uncle . . ."

He flashed her a brief smile before heading towards the dining room. "I'll be right back," he said over his shoulder. "Meanwhile, prepare yourself for a crushing checkers-defeat."

Her eyes tracked him through the dining room until he disappeared around to the kitchen. As soon as he was out of sight, Madeline's smile disappeared. She bowed her head and tried to take a long breath, but to her surprise, she couldn't. The lingering pressure in her chest and throat wouldn't allow it. She was forced to let the air back out and take shallow breaths instead. Lord, what a day this had been. First, hours of worrying and then this distressing confrontation with her uncle. She was now left completely exhausted by it all. Her emotions had swung so rapidly, from one extreme to the other and the force of them had drained her—utterly drained her of energy. Resting her elbows on her knees, she cradled her face in her hands and pressed her palms against her eyes, sore now from her crying. She supposed they must look awfully red and swollen. Really, she ought to do something about that. She ought to go and get herself cleaned up. But even that seemed too big a task. Oh, she was so very, very tired now . . .

The hollow chime of the grandfather clock startled her. She spun around on the coffee table. Seven o'clock! It was seven o'clock and Adam and the others still weren't back. She listened carefully for a moment and realized the rain had picked up again. What had been a tranquil pitter-patter on the roof minutes ago was now becoming a harsh, heavy downpour. A fresh spike of worry shivered through her. Where were they?

She tore her sight from the grandfather clock and focused on the front door. That feeling of dark despair was creeping up on her all over again. And she knew that she would find no rest until the Cartwrights were home safe and sound.

xXXx

Half an hour and three lost checkers games later, Madeline was clinging to her composure by a thread. She could barely hear her own thoughts over the rain. She sat chewing the inside of her cheek, turning a white checker piece over and over in her hand. Her nerves were stretched almost to breaking point, and the glances that her uncle had started to shoot at the grandfather clock were by no means comforting her. It was fairly impossible to concentrate on a checkers game. Still, she decided on her next move and reached across the checkerboard when suddenly—a faint sound from outside penetrated the downpour. The sound of horses.

She dropped the checker onto the coffee table and jerked her head up. "Did you hear that?"

Her uncle looked towards the front door and opened his mouth, but before he could even reply, she leapt up from the settee. Her legs wobbled unnervingly under her as she lifted her skirts and rushed across the floor. Just as she made to grab the door latch, the front door opened and Hoss appeared before her with his ample frame filling out the entire doorway. He was soaking wet; water ran down his face in rivulets, and his wide-brimmed hat drooped over his ears like a sodden rag. In spite of all that, he shot her a particularly broad version of his trademark gap-toothed grin.

"Evenin' Miss Madeline!"

"Oh, my word, come in!" she cried and swiftly stood aside, holding the door open for him.

"Yes, Ma'am." He removed his hat with a grimace and stepped into the house. "Dadburnit—I tell ya—it's a right toad-strangler out there."

She blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

"It's raining heavily, my dear," Ben clarified as he came through the door behind Hoss.

Equally as sodden as his son, the oldest Cartwright sent her a tired smile before releasing a groan of relief as he too removed his soggy hat.

"Oh, I see," Madeline said absently.

Her uncle appeared beside her and moved towards Ben. "Heavens, let me help you out of that coat."

"Thank you, Paul. The storm caught us off guard a bit."

"I'll say!"

While the commotion went on around her, Madeline stood by anxiously, trying to see around Hoss who still blocked half the doorway as he began removing his gun-belt. Where was Adam?

Rushing into the house next was Joe, dripping wet like the other two. There were splotches of mud all over his green jacket and his hair lay clinging to his forehead, falling into his eyes beneath the sopped brim of his hat. He didn't even see Hoss and as a result, bumped into him.

"Ughh! What are you standing around here for—let me in!" He brushed past his big brother and jerked his hat off. With clattering teeth, he strode to the middle of the room, stopped and shook himself like a dog—sending a spray of droplets onto the carpet and floor.

"Joseph!" Ben admonished, "Tarnation, boy, don't do that . . ."

He had more reprimanding words in store for his youngest, but Madeline heard none of them. All other sounds faded from her hearing as the rapid thumping of boots on the porch seized her full attention. And then, finally, Adam appeared in the doorway. The breath seemed to squeeze out of her lungs and her heart skipped. Drenched from head to toe, rainwater dripping from the brim of his hat, he stepped inside the house and closed the door behind him. She drank up the sight of him—alive, safe and whole. He winced as he shrugged out of his jacket and some particular part of her took notice of how his clothes were plastered to his body—how his muscles flexed under the clinging fabric of his shirt. He took off his hat, wiped his forearm down his face and then, as he looked up, his eyes connected with hers. She regarded him with apprehension, allowing her gaze to caress his rugged features just as her fingers ached to do. There was nothing she wanted more than to go to him. Touch him. Be close to him. But after the way he had left in the morning, she was uncertain. If he was still upset with her, he probably wouldn't want her attention. Or her closeness.

Her worries were somewhat allayed when he placed his hat on the long dresser and spoke softly, never looking away from her. "We didn't find anything. There was no trouble."

Then he started towards her and she couldn't help but notice the fatigue in the way he moved, the level of weariness in his voice. As he approached, the relief of having him home safely overwhelmed her and she dropped her chin, breathing in deeply to steady herself. His hand appeared in front of her, extended and waiting for her to take. After wavering briefly, she did. His fingers were cold and wet, but they wrapped around hers strongly. She peered up at him when an alarming thought sprang to her mind, instantly chilling her relief. Without asking him for any sort of permission, she quickly undid the button at his left cuff and rolled the sodden sleeve up. And there—just as she'd feared—the gauze around his wound was soggy and cold and already starting to come undone.

"This bandage is completely soaked through!" Her widened eyes shot up to his. "Adam!"

"Madeline, it's—"

"No, it certainly isn't fine," she interrupted, somewhat squeakily. "You stubborn man!"

Of all the exasperating, willful . . . She began unwrapping the squishy gauze, vaguely aware of the tremor in her fingers.

"Are you all right?" he abruptly asked.

Taken off guard by his question, Madeline quickly looked up at him. At first, his eyes were narrowed and assessing as he studied her, but then he apparently saw something that made his expression change. His appraising look was replaced by a concerned one and there was something so soft, so tender in his hazel pools—it made her heart beat painfully out of rhythm. She swallowed convulsively, surprised to feel the tell-tale sting of tears building behind her eyes. At that second, the urge to cry was so strong that she had to press her lips firmly together to keep them from wobbling. Her hands fell away from his arm, but he caught her wrist with his fingers.

"You've been upset," he said quietly.

The words were so gentle, it felt as though the sound of his voice wrapped around her heart and squeezed. She dipped her chin, struggling mightily. No, she wouldn't cry again—not now—not in front of him. For Lord's sake, the man was soaking wet and exhausted, he didn't need to come home to such dramatics! It just wouldn't do. She fought with all her might to keep the impending tears back and pulled her hand free of his.

"N-no, I haven't . . ."

Her denial sounded pitiful even to her own ears. She dared a small glance up at him, but when his eyes gentled even more on her, it simply became too much. Some sort of odd whimper-huff burst out of her. Appalled at herself, Madeline quickly turned around, but she only managed a half-step away from him before his hand grasped her elbow, staying her.

"Sweetheart . . ." He tugged her towards him. "Come 'ere."

Too overwhelmed, too exhausted by emotion, she didn't struggle when he gathered her to him. It was the only place she wanted to be at that moment. Promptly, her body gave in and molded itself to the hard strength of his and she couldn't imagine being anywhere else. Finally wrapped in his arms, she was unable to hold back any longer and she buried her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the comforting scent of him. He smelled of leather, the freshness of rain and the lingering spice of his morning cologne—a blend so appealing and masculine, she wanted to breathe it in forever. Everything about him was comforting to her. The feel of his hard body pressed against hers, the way his arms locked around her protectively, the soothing circles his hands began rubbing over her back. Although he was cold, she felt the strong beat of his heart. She felt his cheek settle on the top of her head and the vibration in his chest of his voice as he said, "I'm sorry I left you like that earlier. I didn't know you'd be so worried . . ."

Madeline made herself pull back so she could look up at him. "It wasn't just that, Adam, I-I . . ." A single tear spilled over the lower edge of her eye and ran down her cheek. "I just—oh, this was just a . . . terribly difficult day."

"I know, honey," he murmured. "But everything's all right now."

She bowed her head. Oh, how she wanted to believe that. If only for a moment.

"Hey . . ." He put his hand under her chin, lifting her face up. "Everything is all right now."

She stared into his eyes as he gazed down at her with that look of infinite tenderness. With what she knew was love. The same aching love she felt for him, so powerful it still frightened her at times.

She nodded with a sniffle. Then she touched his damp shirt-collar, her concern returning. "You must change into some dry clothes. Or you might catch a cold . . ."

His half-smile played at his lips while he brushed something wet off her cheek with his thumb. "I will. But no more tears." He caressed the side of her face. "All right?"

Not trusting her voice to work, Madeline closed her eyes and leaned into his hand. As she focused on his touch, it was as if the strain of the day slowly began to ebb away. But before she'd had nearly enough, suddenly it was gone. His hand dropped away and she sensed his body tense up. Confused, she opened her eyes, but the sound of footsteps behind her alerted her to the cause of his sudden reaction. She turned around, already knowing who was approaching.

"Ahem. I think it might be a good idea if I checked on that," her uncle said in a subdued voice and gestured to Adam's arm. "If you wouldn't mind."

Hesitantly, Madeline turned back to Adam. A guarded expression had settled on his face and his compelling, hazel gaze had turned chilly as it aimed directly at the doctor.

She touched his arm carefully. "Please, Adam . . ."

His eyes flickered her way.

She gave him her softest look. "Please . . ."

He wavered, a muscle flicking in his jaw. Then he sighed out a long, relenting breath and his shoulders and back sank as the rigidness seemed to seep out of his body. She gave his arm a little rub and forced a smile of encouragement.

"Very good," her uncle said, stepping aside with an after-you motion towards the staircase. "It shouldn't take long."

Tiredly, Adam scrubbed a hand down his face and after giving Madeline one last look, he turned and began walking stiffly in the direction of the stairs. The doctor followed closely behind him.

Madeline watched the two with a mixture of relief and concern. However, she caught onto the quietness of the room and a brief glance around made her realize that the other three Cartwrights had witnessed and listened to the exchange. There were expressions of concern and blatant exasperation on both Hoss's and Joe's faces as they eyed their older brother. And—judging by the significant look that Ben speared Adam with as he passed him on the way to the stairs—the father had likely had every intention of intervening if his firstborn hadn't seen sense himself.

"WHERE YOU BEEN?! You all late, food get COLD!"

Everyone turned towards the dining room as Hop Sing came rushing forwards with an outraged look on his face, waving his arms about. No one got a word out before he switched over to a choppy, high-pitched stream of Cantonese as he began fretting over the soaked and grimacing Cartwrights who, by now, had caused numerous puddles on the floor. Madeline watched the chaos unfold; Ben trying to placate the little cook, though without much luck, Hoss and Joe making a swift escape to the washroom while Adam and her uncle picked up the pace up the stairs.

Her heart filled with affection for all these men, and for the wonderful, caring family they made. Obstinate and exasperating as they could all be, they were fine, decent men who would do anything for one another. And, she realized, if she were every so fortunate as to become a part of this family, she would be happier than she'd ever dreamed possible.