Opening the blind, Molly checked the room with a critical eye. The cleaning crew had been told to give the room a serious going over and after her little tirade last week they had done a perks of having red hair and "Do you think they will all come?" she asked her boss as he came in with a stack of papers that he deposited with a thud on the desk. She looked at him sharply, open concern in her face. These last two weeks had worn on him, aged him. She and Evie had consulted with one another, seeking to find a way to ease the pain he was denying. She hadn't liked doing it and knew he would have a fit when he found out what she had done; but Evie was right, the judge was exhausted. So while she had cleared his schedule for all of next week, Evie had talked with a travel agent about a trip to New York.

He glanced up at his secretary, she and Evie thought they were so sneaky; he wouldn't let on that he knew, but on Sunday evening when Evie handed him his packed suitcase, he would only offer a token argument. Burying a friend hurt. "No. I don't think Standish will arrive. He hasn't bothered to call and he was the only one that Linc had been worried about not showing."

"Tell you what boss, I'll bet you five dollars that they all show."

"Only five? You don't sound to sure of yourself."

"Hey boss, I need a raise. The kids took almost all my cash this morning for the Book Fair."

"I'm sure you did nothing to encourage them to buy those books."

"What can I say? They have to read and be smart because they sure aren't going to make a name for themselves in sports or music."

Orrin chuckled at the image that mention of Molly's two boys, Evan and Nick, always brought to mind. Eight-year-old twins, the boys had inherited their mother's red hair and their father's myopic eyes. With reed thin bodies that looked as though they might snap if a strong wind came through, they lacked even the basic level of grace that most children possess. She had put them in ballet hoping that they could be taught some coordination but Evan's pulled groin muscle put an end to that and gymnastics had only taught her the value of good medical insurance as first Ethan tripped and broke an arm and then Nick mis-landed a vault making the boys a matched set. Martin had decided to get his boys out of that dangerous sissy stuff and so now the boys were contentedly sitting on the sidelines reading their books as their basketball team dominated the league.

"Those are great kids you've got Molly." He glanced at the stack of sealed envelopes. "You and Marty remember that. And as far as that bet, you are on."

Molly sorted through the files and pulled out the biographies she and a private investigator had worked up on each man. It had taken four months of hard work and though Linc had seen the files he had not lived to see his dream of having all seven of his boys living under the same roof. "You know, at first glance none of these boys look much like Linc and nothing like one another, but put their photos together and you see Linc. When Chris would come in here with Linc I thought that they looked so much like each other, but the resemblance is hard to see in this picture. I wonder why?"

Attitude, Chris isn't a womanizer like Linc and he certainly doesn't have Linc's temperament, but he fills a room just like Linc did." The judge pawed at the pictures, rearranging them before continuing, "Chris looks like his mother. Has Linc's build, thin and wiry, but he has Colleen's hair and her laugh. Now that was a woman to know. I swear most every boy in town would have been in love with her except she had a temper. A real temper not like someone who has to stand in front of a mirror to practice yelling at the cleaning crew."

"Saw that did you?"

"I might be getting old, but these eyes don't miss much. And thanks." He decided to let on that he knew.

"Pardon me?"

"I ran into Ross Watson last night, he asked me where I was planning on vacationing. Imagine my surprise when I found out that my schedule had been cleared for a whole week. So where am I going?"

She blushed at the thought of him knowing that she and Evie schemed behind his back. She always tried to be dignified and professional while on the job. "My lips are sealed. Just bring me back a t-shirt."

"I always do."

"Go on. About Colleen," she would never repeat anything she heard in these offices to anyone, not even Martin; that was one of the reasons Orrin paid her as well as he did. She had known Linc, you couldn't live in the area and not know the man and she knew the three sons he had raised; she had even dated Buck before she had decided that she preferred quiet Martin with the non-roving eyes. But what she knew of the family was recent history and the files she had helped prepare on the brothers left so many questions unanswered; if she was to deal with these men effectively over the next year she needed a better understanding of them. Orrin could give her that understanding. He had been there with Linc through most of it.

"Uh-mm-m-m Colleen." He smiled at the memory. "Beautiful girl. But, I think that her momma despaired of Colleen ever getting married. Then Lincoln showed up to call on her one day. And that was it. They were so well suited for each other, she'd get mad about something and he'd smile and she'd laugh. Linc was devoted to her. Then Chris came along and Lincoln was the proudest father in town. When Colleen was expecting, Linc went to his daddy and asked to buy some land from him. His daddy would have given him the land; Linc was going to inherit it all one day anyhow, but Linc insisted that he buy it. Said that he wanted something of his own, something that he had worked for and saved to buy. Linc and Mr. Sam, his father, would work the cattle during the day and in the evenings they'd be building the house. Six weeks after they moved in Colleen was in a wreck. That wreck took her life."

Orrin looked at the picture of Chris, the only Larabee boy to carry the Larabee name. A fine boy, though you couldn't tell it the way he'd been carrying on. Maybe this Will of Linc's would do the trick. Certainly, he had seen more of the old Chris since his father's death two weeks ago than he had seen in the last three years. No, that wasn't right either. Chris was sober, but he wasn't laughing. He was angry that his father was gone and angry with himself for the way he had acted towards his father. He never laughed.

He had discussed the fact that Linc wanted all of his sons there for the reading of the Will with Chris, Nathan and Buck. Of course they knew about Vin and Ezra, and seemed interested in meeting these two brothers, but Orrin knew that Josiah and John David would be a surprise. He shook his head in disbelief at Linc's audacity. Linc had thought that he would be able to heal the wounds of his children and maybe he could if he were still alive; there wasn't much that Linc was not capable of when he put his mind to it. To reach out from the grave and do this was another matter entirely. Chris would be the key. The old Chris would be able to make this work. Could the Chris that had spent the last three years not caring about anything other than his own anguish pull it off? Orrin suspected that if he could he would heal and Linc could rest easy.

"Shred their files before any of them get here, will you hon."

"Sure thing Boss," she answered as she gathered up the pictures and the extensive research done on each of Linc's sons.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Checking the name and address of the law firm on the envelope against the one neatly stenciled on the door, he slowed the car and began looking for a parking space. There was nothing near the office unless there was some tucked away behind one of the buildings, but he didn't have enough time to go exploring. He glanced at his watch, in a few minutes he would be late and what kind of omen was that anyway, late for the reading of the Will of the man who had fathered him. It was ludicrous, if a person bothered to stop and think, that he would even be here planning to attend the reading of this Will. The man had made it abundantly clear that he had not wanted to be burdened with yet another child. What did he expect to happen? Did he think his brothers would welcome him with open arms? Not likely. The rich stayed rich by not throwing their money away and by not sharing it with the never-before-seen bastard that just happens to show up for the reading of the Will.

Still, he argued with himself, Larabee's lawyer was the one that contacted him and not the other way around. Perhaps, he had been remembered in some way, some monetary way. Oh, how he would love to say 'fuck you' and walk away leaving a pile of money on the table untouched. If he was someone else he would do that, but he was Ezra P. Standish and P stood for prudent and a Prudent Standish took the money to pay off people with fists the size of Ohio.

Seeing nothing, he circled the block, he needed something close to the building or he would be limping before he got to the meeting. Damn Moore, anyway; at least his men hadn't touched his face. He poked gingerly at his side as he turned the corner; ribs healed he just needed to figure out a way to pay Moore before the goon decided that he needed a more lasting lesson. Couldn't the man have waited until after this meeting to find him?

Not that he expected any money, nothing to amount to much. There would be just enough to entice him to sign on the dotted line of the agreement saying that as the bastard son he would take this pittance, be grateful for it and never ever bother the rightful heirs. He would sign, after he got a good look at the men his father called sons. He had their names memorized and pulled them out of the little corner of his mind that he kept them tucked away in. Christopher and Nathan. What did they have that he was lacking? He really wanted to know and this would probably be his only chance to find out.

Alright, Ezra, once more around the block and then if there isn't a parking space then you know that God really didn't want you stopping just to satisfy your curiosity. Damn it all, he had really meant to arrive early, to sit in his car and watch as his 'brothers' walked in to get their share and then leave, never getting out of the car; well that had been his plan before Moore showed up, now he needed every dollar he could get his hands on.

His hand reached down to stroke the letterhead on the envelope. The letter, the summons, had contained a personal note from someone named Mrs. Kincaid. She had offered to get him a room, rent a car, answer any questions, and in short do anything to make this sad and tragic day less stressful. Answer questions? As though he would be so crass as to call to ask 'What did dear ole dad leave me?'

Now, Maude would have already called the lawyer up and sweet-talked him into giving her all the details of the Will. If Larabee had left him any money she would know about it and begin scheming on how to get control of it; she still insisted that she knew what was best for him and every move he made to gain financial independence she tried to counteract, like this business with Moore. He had his moments of freedom. She would go her way and he his, but whenever he had won big she would show up to remind him of all that she had sacrificed for him and as her obedient son he would help her out of any jam she had gotten herself into. Funny thing about Maude, with all her successful nights in the casinos, well-played cons, and numerous marriages to wealthy men, it would seem to reason that she should be rolling in loot. Hardly. Money slipped through her fingers as fast as she got it.

He had been very discreet in letting people know where he was heading for the weekend. If Maude got the scent of money she'd show up baying for her share of the loot. If there were no money to be had, she would take the opportunity to inform his 'brothers' of how their father had been such a cheap bastard, of how he had gotten her pregnant and refused any financial support. Her tone would be a careful mix of righteous indignation and long suffering piety. He'd heard that speech so many times before; every time he wanted something beyond what was strictly necessary she'd haul that speech out, dust it off and give it. She had it down pat and no doubt, if given the opportunity to deliver it to Lincoln Larabee's rightful heirs they, full of remorse over their father's scandalous behavior would hand over their inheritance to her eager, waiting paws. Sometimes he hated his mother, but she was all he had in the world and he had long since learned to live with her shortcomings. It was better than living alone.

He was here for one reason. He wanted to understand what was wrong with him. What there was about him that had pushed his father away and kept him away? Why had his father never cared enough about him to pick up the phone and call or to even write a postcard? Was it the circumstances of his birth?

His mother had once shown him a magazine article that showed a handsome man with hair so blonde that it was almost white, deeply tanned skin and intensely blue eyes. The man in the photograph had been smiling while hugging two boys. The article had named the green-eyed teenager as Chris and the boy with the dark skin and wide smile as Nathan. Chris and Nathan. His mother had told him there was a third son, but she was unsure of his name. He had committed the name of the ranch and the town in which it was located to memory and carefully cut out the pictures and article and hid them away in the Bible that one of his aunts had given him for Christmas.

He must have been seven the year he had decided to write. The kids at school had been joining teams that their dads coached; when they asked if he was planning on playing he had said that he didn't like baseball. He had wanted to play, but if he had he would then have to explain why his father never came to any of the games. Why he never signed a report card. Why the only picture he had of the man was cut out of a magazine. He hadn't played baseball, instead he had spent the summer practicing with the deck of cards his mother had given him, waiting each day for the postman's arrival.

He had hoped the address would be enough and after his momma had returned to the arms of her current beau he had carefully retrieved the article and pictures. He had spent one day writing a long letter telling Linc Larabee all about himself and about living with his great aunt Dorcas. He had worried about his handwriting and been upset that he had to guess at how some of the words were spelled, but his teacher had said to sound words out and so he had. He had even colored a picture of himself so that his father would know what he looked like. He had tried to keep the tone light, Mother always said folks don't like to be around whiners, but in the end he had asked why he didn't want him.

He blinked back the tears that particular rejection still caused. He remembered the kid that he had been, the one that thought he was so grown up. That child had walked to the post office and shaking out the money he had won off his cousins onto the oak counter he had asked if he had enough money to send his letter so that his father would have to sign for it; he wanted to make sure that his father received it. He had.

He still carried the green signature card in his wallet. For long months he had been sure that his father would write back to him, he had included his mother's address as well as his aunt's, but as the months turned into years he realized that he would never hear from him. That card with his father's signature had been carefully tucked into his wallet, but he had quit looking at it and now he hardly saw the card when he pulled out money or showed his license. The only time he really thought about it was when it was time to replace his wallet. Each time he had almost unfolded the card and looked at the handwriting, supposedly you could tell a lot about a person from the way they dotted their i's and crossed their t's. He hadn't looked though, just as he hadn't thrown it away. He had just tucked it into his new billfold and forgotten its existence until the next time he needed to change wallets.

He pulled in front of the office, his last time around the block. He glanced at the clock. He did not have time to circle the block again. That was his omen, time to go, he'd figure something out about Moore. He looked over his left shoulder, waiting for an opening in the traffic-whoever would have thought that a town this little would have so much traffic. Who the hell had ever heard of Four Corners anyway? Just as he was to about to pull away the brake light of the car parked directly in front of the office flashed.

He stopped breathing and watched as the woman in the car looked over her shoulder asking with her smile if she could pull out in front of him. Remembering to check the traffic before indicating she could go, he let her out and pulled into the perfect parking spot. There was even thirty minutes left on the meter; he wouldn't put any more money in, he doubted he would be here that long.

Painfully, he pulled himself from his car. Really, if he was going to make it a practice of letting people hit him then he had best obtain a car that was easier to get in and out of, something large and American perhaps. His mother would die. 'Ezra, dear, appearances are everything and American cars just don't say money.'

Putting on his 'face', the one that would protect him, keep his enemies from seeing too much of his soul, he entered the building. A woman, not cute and perky like many receptionists nor cold and efficient like so many others, sat behind a large cherry desk, real wood he noted in amazement, not veneer that was so popular in offices. She smiled warmly, coming out from behind the desk to shake his hand.

"You must be Mr. Standish."

"Yes and you are?"

"Molly Kincaid, receptionist, law clerk and chief bottle washer for Judge Orrin Travis."

"The judge?" Ezra raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"He's not a Judge any more, he retired from public service years ago and now just handles the clients he likes." She smiled brightly at him, her brown eyes studying him as he pulled off his sunglasses and carefully put them in a case in his suit pocket. "I must say you certainly remind me of your father, maybe more than the others. Something about your smile."

"Indeed." He smiled wider exposing his dimples and his gold tooth. He hoped she could not hear the sudden thumping of his heart. "And Ah must thank you for your kind note."

"You never called," she gently admonished.

"Ah had no questions."

"Not curious?"

"Not in the least," he lied.

Tapping her pen against her chin she studied him, "You know none of you look like each other. No one would ever take you for brothers, but this morning after seeing you all walk through that door, it's amazing how much you all look like him."

"You knew him then."

"Of course. The Judge and Linc grew up together and he's handled Linc's business for the last several years and I, well I've been working here for about, uhm, thirteen of those years." She seemed lost in thought for a moment a sad little smile gracing her face, "I miss him already. You couldn't find a better man if you spent the rest of your life looking. But excuse me; I know you want to go on back. Everyone else is already in the Judge's office."

Ezra glanced over at the door she indicated. He shouldn't have come, just setting himself up to be hurt. He swallowed hard. "Perhaps you could direct me to your facilities before..." before Ah enter the lion's den.

"Oh, yes. Right down that hall, last door on the left. I'll just let the judge know you're here."

She watched as he headed down the hall and then she slipped into her boss's office. Smiling at the men who were sitting impatiently, she walked up to her boss and whispered in his ear that the last of the boys had arrived and held her hand out expectantly for the five dollars the judge had just happily lost. The one that they had all but given up on had shown. She hurried back to the front desk; Standish had looked as though he was ready to bolt and she had promised Linc, in her heart, that she'd make sure that all of his boys were there for the reading of his will.

Ezra splashed water onto his face and dug into his pocket for some Tums. He ate two, willing his stomach to settle then ate a couple extra tablets just to be on the safe side. He debated the sense of going ahead and throwing up before going in to meet them. His stomach was voting for that, but he wasn't sure how well his ribs could handle it. Though he hadn't bothered to see a doctor, they asked all sorts of embarrassing things, he was fairly certain that at least one of his ribs was broken. Damn mother for bringing Moore to the game. What the hell was she thinking? She knew his reputation. She had to have known there would be problems.

He looked in the mirror as he straightened his tie. Not too bad he decided, a little on the pale side, but he doubted if anyone would notice. Time to see what Larabee had wanted with him. Probably the old man had decided that he had better right wrongs if he was going to get into heaven. His voice from the past would say, 'My dear son, I am so sorry for not being in your life when you were a child, but now on my deathbed I want to rectify that error and to make amends. Here is some money, go buy a drink with it, toast my memory and have a great life.' So, the question became, if Larabee was doling out cash in order to grease St. Peter's palm, how would this last act of his translate into American dollars?

He squared his chin as he gazed into the mirror. Now remember, Ezra, whatever happens in there, it means nothing. He had his chance. You are here to satisfy your curiosity about your brothers and if a few dollars get tossed your way you take it and run.

___________________________________________________________________________

Nathan heard the door open and heard Orrin greet the man that they had been waiting for, but he didn't bother to look up from the floor. A blue stain adorned the carpet in front of the desk and he had spent the last several minutes trying to figure out what it was and why Orrin hadn't replaced the carpet. Orrin had money, he could get it cleaned or replaced, but the stain remained and its existence made Orrin appear cheap.

He wished that Orrin would get this show started. He listened as the latecomer was introduced to everyone and he even managed a handshake when it was his turn, but all he really heard was the grandfather clock in the hall as it chimed the hour. The appointment was for ten and it hadn't mattered at all to Orrin that he and the others had arrived early. The judge had insisted that they wait until the last brother showed up or until the hour. All right, he was here and the hour was at hand so, please, Orrin let's get this over with. It's tearing me up to be sitting here with these strangers calling themselves my brothers and my daddy lying dead, in a hole in the ground. I need to go somewhere where I won't have to be strong for Chris and Buck, somewhere I can take the smile off my face and throw things that break, somewhere I can grieve.

The last two weeks had been such a blur. Buck had called in the middle of a busy morning, words tumbling all over one another 'Dad had a heart attack. Come home now!' He remembered hanging up the phone and calling the hospital in Eagle Bend. He had talked to the cardiologist who had assured him that while the tests were not all back that it appeared that this was more an anxiety attack rather than a heart attack. They were going to admit him overnight for observation, but would probably release him in the morning. He had debated about not going; he had patients to see and it sounded as though nothing was seriously wrong, but this was his daddy and he, the son who never did anything impulsive, had begun making a series of phone calls starting with the airlines.

The last thing he clearly remembered was that after the plane landed on the small airstrip in Eagle Bend he had taken a cab to the hospital. He had smiled the whole ride over, he was going to ask his dad to forgive him and then he and Buck were going to sit down and talk some sense into Chris and everything would be good again. He had walked into hospital with the stench of disinfectants heavy in the air and the lights burning too brightly and Buck had turned to him, his eyes, red and puffy were leaking tears. It was like being on a roller coaster and he was in that little car that had slowly made its way up to impossible heights and just as it reached the top and he was happy to have his life going so well, the bottom dropped out from under him. He was falling and falling and even though he knew that he'd survive the landing he was screaming, begging for someone to take him off that horrible ride. Seeing Buck's eyes was like that and he knew that his brother was in the little car, screaming along with him.

The staff had packed away all the equipment and the doctor came out and said all the right things and all that he could do was to go in and say goodbye before they wheeled his daddy down to the morgue. He kept thinking this has got to be some joke, some bad dream, something cause his father wouldn't die, not with things between them like they were.

_______________________________________________________________________

Orrin Travis took his time studying the faces of the men sitting in front of him, trying to determine the strength of their character. Of course he knew Chris, Buck and Nathan. He'd been there pacing in the hall along side of Linc when Chris had been born, had bullied his way through child services to get Bucklyn turned over to Linc's care when his momma died, and had fought Clara's family tooth and nail when they wanted to take Nathan. Good boys all three of them. Linc had done well with them although it had all but fallen apart three years ago when Chris had lost Sarah and Adam to that fire. Chris had left and Nathan had left but for different reasons and only loyal Buck had remained to help keep the place running.

Linc had been a fine man, a shrewd businessman and a good friend, but when he screwed things up he did it in a mighty big way. For example that business with Nathan should never have happened. He loved that boy more than life itself and he had been so proud of his every accomplishment. Made sure that the whole town knew of each and every shining star the boy brought home. He had been so scared when the child was young and Clara's parents were trying to take him. That's why he never formally adopted the boy; he had been terrified that a judge would look at the color of the baby's skin and give his baby to Clara's parents. He did everything he could to keep them out of court, delaying tactics, threats and bribery were the things Orrin knew about and pretended he didn't. He suspected that there were other things done that he would rather not even think about.

In the end it had blown up in his face. Nathan had gone to medical school in Alabama and there he had met his mother's family. It hadn't been some great reunion full of weeping women sweeping Nathan into their family circle. That Linc could have combated. It was more insidious than that and the evil seed that they planted fed in Nathan's own insecurities; they had asked 'if your father loves you why didn't he give you his own name?' By the time Nathan got around to asking his father that question Linc's explanation of how ruthless his grandparents had been in trying to take him away conflicted with the sweet loving family he had met and grown to love.

There had been a shouting match, it took a lot to get Linc riled, but Nathan's questioning of his love had cut him to the bone. And when the shouting had ended Nathan had stormed off the ranch taking a job at University Hospital ignoring his promise to return to Four Corners and set up a clinic. Orrin was convinced that once the two stubborn men cooled off that they would find their ways back to each other. He had laughed when Linc had told him of the fight. It had been good to find out that Linc was having problems dealing with his sons, it made him more human. He had given them two months to work things out and it would have except for the fire.

Chris and Buck, you couldn't say one name without saying the other, as different from each other as night and day. After Colleen's death Linc would drop his son off with his mom and drive over to Eagle Bend. He'd have a few too many and end up at Rosie's apartment above her bar. One thing led to another and Bucklyn Reed Wilmington was born. Rosie had laughed at Linc when he offered to marry her and she had refused to let Linc adopt Buck.

About the time Buck was born Clara entered his life. A nurse hired to help with Linc's ailing mother, she and Linc began their relationship worrying about his mother's health. Gradually it developed into something more and Linc did not return to Rosie's bed. There had been some opposition to his and Clara's plans for marriage, mainly from her parents, but it had been the comments from otherwise fine upstanding citizens about the color of her skin that had finally made Clara leave town. Took him six months, but Linc brought her and their infant son home and they began to make wedding plans.

Determined that Linc have contact with all of his sons, Clara spoke with Rosie and while Rosie had always allowed Linc to visit his son, Clara convinced her to let the toddler visit them at the ranch. That was as far as it went though. Fiercely independent Rosie turned down any monetary aid Linc tried to give her. Clothes that he bought the boy were returned to the store and his money waiting on the counter on his next visit. She would give him her speech about how the two of them were just fine and that while he could visit Buck whenever he came to Eagle Bend that he was to remember that Buck was her boy. She did let Buck keep Birthday and Christmas presents as well as books that Linc would bring, but she did not let Linc dictate to her about how to rear Buck.

If Buck minded being a bastard and wearing stuff from the Good Will store he never let on. If he ever minded that first Chris and then Nathan got most of their father's attention he never showed that either. He followed Chris everywhere and Chris reveled in having a younger brother that he could actually play with. As tall as Chris, and then passing him, Buck looked older than he was and he had a raw edge that came from living over a bar and dealing with some of the scum that came through the bar on a nightly basis. It was hard for people to remember that he was the younger of the two boys.

He could tell stories that would make Chris's hair stand on end, of drug dealing, of pimps beating on whores and once of finding a dead woman in the dumpster. After hearing those stories Chris would go to Linc and beg him to get Buck out to the ranch where he would be safe, but Rosie wouldn't budge. One September afternoon, a man tried to rob her bar and shot Rosie to death. Buck came to stay with them; he was thirteen.

For years, Orrin teased Linc about his boys. At times they seemed joined at the hip, even little Nathan tagged along with his brothers and joined in some of their more hair-raising adventures. Chris played quarterback and during his senior year Buck was the wide receiver; they went to All State that year. On Saturday nights the boys could be seen cruising the town, Chris drove and Buck would talk the girls into joining them. Rosie had not been real big on book learning, so when Buck needed help catching up in school, Chris tutored him until he was making straight A's like his two brothers. They went to the same University and both excelled graduating the top of their classes. They began going to horse shows together and when Chris was twenty-eight he and Buck made an appointment with their father and Orrin outlining their proposal to begin breeding quarter horses.

Linc had been surprised, he had always figured that the boys would come and work with him. Orrin had seen it coming, Chris had needed to get out from under Linc's shadow and of course, where Chris went there went Buck.

Well, except to the altar. Chris ended up marrying the sweetest, most gentlewoman in the whole of Nevada. Daughter of a rancher she had been on a visit home from a woman's college back east when she had met Chris at a rodeo. Her father had objected not only to Chris, but also to her marrying before she completed college. His objections had fallen on deaf ears and so with Buck's help they had eloped.

Orrin's eyes fell on Chris. The man was sober, had been ever since he had come back. He was sober but the fire, the rage still smoldered in his eyes. Only the careful calming influences of his brothers kept the man still and in his seat. This meeting may be due to his father's death, but the anger in those eyes went back to the night three years ago when Chris's ranch burned.

It had been a long dry summer, not drought conditions, but a summer even more dry than usual, one that had everyone beginning to search the sky for signs of rain. Chris and Buck had gone to Mexico to look at a stallion they were considering for their breeding program. Originally Sarah had planned to go, but morning sickness was hitting her hard and so she and Adam had stayed behind. Linc was checking on them every day, mainly using Chris's instruction of watch out for them as an excuse to play with his grandson. Chris and Buck were supposed to return Thursday night but Buck had wanted to spend one more night with some senorita, and after calling Sarah, Chris had agreed. Linc had planned to ask them over for grilled steaks but he had gotten caught up in a letter to Nathan and had not gotten around to calling his daughter-in-law. That night, the incessant barking of his dog woke him. The smell of smoke was all in the air and with things being as dry as they had been alarm ran through him. Calling out for ranch hands to wake up they had jumped into pick ups armed with shovels and followed the smoke to its source. Chris's home lay in smoldering ruins.

Chris and Buck returned from their trip pulling a horse trailer. Buck later confessed that they knew something was wrong long before they pulled up over the rise. The sight that greeted them was grisly. The frame of the barn stood, the sides gone and the smell of burned horseflesh hung heavy in the air, which was good because it masked the smell of human flesh. The house was little more than ashes; Sarah's and little Adam's bodies were tucked in little bags waiting for an ambulance to take them to the morgue. People wearing white rubber gloves swarmed through the ashes searching for clues, sifting through the debris of Chris's life.

Chris had begun screaming then and he wouldn't quit. He said horrible things to his father and worse things to Buck. After the funeral he began drinking.

For three years Chris drank, taking small jobs to pay his bar tab when Linc, in desperation, cut off the money. At first, Buck tried to keep tabs on Chris, keep him from ending each day in a drunken stupor. After almost two years of Buck spending his weekdays helping Linc on the ranch and spending his weekends sobering Chris up, Buck came home with his lip split and one of his eyes swollen shut; he didn't say anything to Linc, but he didn't go back out after his brother again.

Orrin finished his reminiscing knowing that these men were waiting for some answers. "I've never been one to beat around the bush and my wife has frequently told me I need to learn tact. Figure she might be right." He glanced across the room, the eyes meeting his ranged from openly curious to disinterest. "You are all here, as sons of Lincoln Jefferson Larabee, to hear his last will and testament. Now rest assured I will read it all to you in its entirety, but it is a long dry document and so first I will tell you what he wants done and why." His eyes circled the room again; he had lost them already. The men were busy examining the other occupants of the room, some for the first time realizing that an enormous family had suddenly been thrust upon them. He gave them a moment to stare at each other and digest the news.

"Excuse me, Mr. Travis."

"Yes, Ezra isn't it?" he knew exactly with whom he was speaking. He just didn't want them to know of the extensive dossiers that he had on each of them.

"Yes suh, Ezra Standish." He wanted to look around the room, but the laughter that was building up in him would escape if he connected with any eyes that said they also saw the humor of the situation. "Am ah to understand that we aruh all sons of Mr. Larabee."

"Yes."

"And with the exception of Mr. Christopher Larabee," he nodded his head in Chris's direction "we aruh all, how shall Ah say it, born on the wrong side of the blanket."

Travis nodded, halfway angry at the amusement dancing in the young man's eyes and halfway grateful for it.

Ezra couldn't help it; he started laughing. Wiping at the tears that threatened, he struggled to compose himself and to answer the incredulous looks that were being tossed his way, "Ah know, Ah know. This is supposed to be a most solemn occasion and Ah am being extremely rude, mah mothuh would roll in her grave, but it just struck me that," he waved his hand around the room to include them all, "our fathuh collected bastards like other men collect stamps." He heard the growl and hastily apologized, "Ah am sorry if ah offended you Mr. Wilmington." The tall man sitting on the other side of Chris Larabee must be the other son that Linc raised. Chris, Buck and Nathan, he filed the names away for later, when he'd have the time to figure out what his father found in them, what he lacked.

"Are you ready to continue?" Orrin asked the chuckling man.

"Oh mah yes, please proceed."

Travis settled behind his desk and steepled his fingers. "Your father knew of each of you and prepared a personal letter for each of you. Suffice to say he recognizes each of you as one of his sons. Linc knew this might be hard for all of you to accept. He was not proud of his actions regarding his children and in your letters he explains said actions or in some cases inactions. He did not do this in the Will as wills become public domain. These letters are private communications between you and him. Each of you may decide on how much if any of your letter you wish to share with your brothers or with other people.

"Having said that, I must also say that he has stipulated in his will that if any son and I stress this, any son attempts to prove that another son is not the true son of Lincoln Larabee he will forfeit his entire claim to his share of the estate. Are there any questions?" He studied each face, not a one revealed the confusion that he must be feeling; in that they were all Lincoln's sons.

"It is my personal belief that Lincoln wanted each and everyone of you and that if certain circumstances had been different he would have raised each and every one of you," Travis smiled at Josiah Sanchez whose salt and pepper head almost rivaled his own, "Although I am not sure how good a father he would have been at sixteen."

Josiah broke into a large grin that threatened to split his face in half.

"Seven months ago Lincoln came to talk to me. He was extremely worried about his deteriorating relationship with his son Nathan and Chris's increasingly inappropriate behavior. He worried that Buck, in his roles of playing peacemaker and guardian angel as well as practically running the ranch himself and doing the work of three men would get hurt. He had done a lot of thinking and had decided that he had messed things up with all of you and was desperate to set it right." He stopped to take a sip of water, as seasoned as he was, having dealt with all sorts of people some of them less than savory; it was unnerving having those seven sets of eyes, so much like their father's, focused on him.

"Lincoln had been an extraordinarily successful rancher. Unfortunately that does not always translate into being wealthy. Up until about ten years ago Linc had little cash. He had enough to take care of his boys, enough to help Buck and Chris get their horse ranch started and enough to fund Nathan's schooling, but everything else he plowed back into the ranch. On my advice, ten years ago he began diversifying. He gambled in a big way in the stock market, he funded several small businesses around town and he bought and sold real estate across the state. Everything Linc did, he did well. He has left a sizeable estate to you boys. But as with all good things there is a catch."

"That catch being?" Chris's quiet voice almost echoed in the room. The Judge had told them about the brothers but had not discussed the terms of the Will; he had said that Linc wanted all of his sons together to hear that.

"Linc desperately wanted to get you all together. He had planned that after we found all of you that he would bring you all back to the ranch. He wanted to sit down and get to know each of you. This Will of his was a contingency plan. He never expected to die and thoroughly expected to mold you all into one big family. Frankly. I don't think that it can be done, but he was adamant that you were all Larabees and that blood would tell in the end."

"Chris," he used Chris's name, but he spoke to them all. "He has left each of you one million dollars provided," he paused; he knew it was a little too dramatic, but he wanted them all to hear and understand this provision. "Provided that you live together in the ranch house as brothers and run the ranch together as brothers. Linc made how he wanted things done very clear and I will give you his conditions in a moment. Assuming though, that you meet his requirements and live at the ranch and help run it, at the end of one year, one million dollars will be deposited in your bank account. One million dollars for each of you that stays for the entire year. If you leave before the year is up your million dollars will be given to the charity of your choice. In addition, if one of you leaves your brothers will each forfeit one hundred thousand of his million dollars to likewise be given to charity. At the end of the year, you may take your million and leave if you so desire. If you choose to leave you will always be welcomed back at the ranch, but you will not be entitled to share in the rest of the family holdings unless your brothers unanimously vote to allow you back into the business."

"Orrin, I worked right along side Pa for the past three years and there isn't seven million to be had unless you start selling off land and stock." Buck objected. When the second year of the drought hit he and Pa had stayed up many a night trying to make ends meet without having to dig into the reserve in the bank. If there was so much money to be had why hadn't they used it?

"You’re right and wrong, Buck. When your Pa began diversifying, he worried about losing the land. He could have handled losing the money, but he wanted the land always safe from any fluctuations in fortune that his investments might bring. The ranch and Larabee Holdings are two separate entities. None of you may touch any part of Larabee Holdings until this year is past and you have committed to working with your brothers in the running of the Holdings. Stocks, bonds and all investments are frozen for one year beginning in the morning. Nothing will be bought or sold."

"Is that prudent?" Ezra made himself mad by speaking again, but the thought of money, with no one to watch over it, subject to the vagaries of the economy made him nauseous and he was nauseous enough as it was without having to worry about that money.

"No, but it is the way your father set it up. He was confident that the lot of you could quickly reverse any reversal of fortune," Orrin answered. He had wondered which of them would bring that flaw in Linc's plan up. He had thought it might be John David, fresh out of Business School, but he wasn't surprised that the gambler had brought it up. He reached into his side drawer and pulled out copies of the conditions for getting the million dollars and began handing them out.

"Read this. This is not the letter he wrote you. These are his conditions for you to follow if you plan on inheriting. These are copies, the original is part of the Will and again, it will become part of public record.

How to Earn a Million Dollars in Seven Easy Steps

1. You will live on the ranch for one entire year, that year beginning the day following the reading of my will at ten in the morning. Some of you will have to contact employers and such and some leeway will be given at Orrin Travis's discretion as to how long this will entail.

2. Each of you will have your own room at the ranch. It is furnished. If you need more it comes out of your allowance. Yes, Bucklyn there was a reason for the remodeling I've had done, sorry I couldn't share those reasons with you.

3. During this year each of you will receive an allowance of $600.00 per month for personal use, payable out of the ranch coffers. You will receive this money on the first day of each month.

4. The estate has two pickups, both in good repair and a four-door sedan. The ranch funds repairs, insurance and upkeep for these vehicles as it does for the tractor and other equipment. However, your own cars are your own and are to be taken care of by you not by the ranch even if you use it for ranch business. Deal with it.

5. There will be no hiring of housekeepers, cooks or groundskeepers. Calvin Yosemite will help with the ranch if he is needed. His involvement does not relieve any of you of your responsibility to do your share in the running of things. If circumstances dictate the hiring of additional people, you may collectively decide to do so, provided the ranch accounts are in such a state that allows you to pay for said hiring.

6. None of you are chained to the ranch, provided your work is done. I encourage you to go out, meet your neighbors, date and so forth.

7. The ranch is to show a profit at the end of one year's time.

There is one exemption to these rules and that is you Nathan. I know son that you have been resistant to starting a practice in this town. I know that decision is most probably due to our argument. Please read the letter I wrote you as I hope it will explain my actions to your satisfaction and that you will consider opening a practice here. You are needed here. Doctor Griggs is getting old and cannot handle things alone. If you choose to work with him I relieve you of the day-to-day ranch work provided you are spending your time at the clinic. I do not relieve you of the burden of living with your brothers and I am smiling here as I remember how much you loved living on the ranch and I do not believe your brothers will prove to be too great a burden. I also do not relieve you of your responsibilities in participating in making decisions concerning the ranch.

To all of my sons, I am sorry for my mistakes I can only hope that by giving you each other I can help rectify those mistakes. Even if at the end of this year you find you cannot live with each other and want no part in the operations of the Ranch or of Larabee Holdings, I hope you leave with some measure of love for your brothers and for me. If you do leave, take your money, live as well as you can and never hesitate to ask your brothers for help-that is what families are for.

With all my love,

Your Father,

Lincoln Jefferson Larabee

Orrin leaned against the window, watching as the men read. Nathan brushed tears off his face and sat motionless, lost in thought. He felt reassured by Nathan's reaction; he knew the man would read the instructions and think not only of the words but also of the love he and his father had for one another.

Josiah fingered his ornate cross as he read. When he finished the note he carefully folded it and put it in his breast pocket. He bowed his head and either prayed or fell asleep. Orrin decided the man was praying; he looked as though he would be the type to snore when he slept.

Orrin could read each and every emotion as it raced across Buck's face. Yes Pa, so they are why you added on. Yes of course, I will stay the year and I will help the others out and we will be a family. This will be good for Chris give him something to focus on other than Sarah and Adam. Yes, I will make sure Nathan comes home. I will take care of things until Chris can. Love you too Pa.

It was harder to figure out what Vin Tanner was thinking. His long curling brown hair fell into his face as he read, but Orrin could tell by the way he was mouthing the words and the length of time he took to complete the letter that he was having some trouble deciphering it all. He didn't think the man was slow, yes he had made only average grades in school, but he and Linc had talked about his school transcript and both of them had figured his lackluster grades were more a result of moving in and out of foster homes rather than in any lack of intelligence. Besides his brilliant blue eyes had been too observant for him not to be intelligent.

Ezra had been smiling slightly as he read then had paled at the last bit. Now, he sat stiff and erect in the blue leather chair. He looked as though he might be ill, but Orrin wasn't sure. He didn't look long at the face; it was so devoid of emotion that he could easily have passed for a department store mannequin and it was painful to see.

Orrin glanced over at John David Dunne. He had missed seeing him read, so he settled for watching him trying to get better looks at his brothers without them catching him at it. Buck had caught him and winked and you could see the tension melt away from the young man. He'd stay; he was desperate for a family after having just lost his mother. He would heal here.

Orrin hadn't bothered to look at Chris's face as he read. That face etched in anger and pain revealed little. His actions would reveal more. He could be the glue to bind them together or... Or he would take his brothers with him on his own little path of self-destruction.

"Before we make any decisions regarding this, Orrin. I think you need to tell us why you had the police and the FBI talking with us these past two weeks," Chris challenged Orrin.

"That's fair." Orrin pulled his chair out and sat back down. "Two months ago Lincoln got a call in the middle of the night from a voice he did not recognize. The man told Lincoln that he ought to look at Colleen's and Clara's deaths and see how they were related." Orrin looked at the men and saw that he had their attention.

"Colleen, Chris's mother, died in a car wreck. Clara, Nathan's mother died from a gunshot wound obtained when she was driving home from the hospital. Both deaths were fully investigated. It was determined that Colleen lost control of her car after hitting an icy patch on the road. There has never been any evidence to suggest that Colleen's death was more than an accident. Clara's death was attributed to hunters. No one was ever charged in her death, but like Colleen’s it was judged to be an accidental death."

"The call could have been a prank, but Linc took it very seriously. He got police reports, talked to witnesses and then hired an investigator to look into Cady Tanner's death. He called me the morning he had the heart attack; Fred Holland, his investigator had committed suicide that morning. He was very agitated and wanted to see me. When he got to my office, he said that he needed for me to help sort it all out and then he started having chest pains and Molly called the ambulance. Thirty-eight minutes. It took thirty-eight minutes to get him to the hospital," Orrin spoke almost to himself. Those thirty-eight minutes had been an eternity.

"Buck made it there before us and was calling Nathan and Chris. After a while the doctors came out and told us that it wasn't a severe heart attack. More of a panic attack they said, but they decided to keep him over night for observation. They gave him something to make him sleep," Orrin's voice faltered and he took a couple of deep breaths. "Chris had shown up by then and we were sitting in the lobby waiting for Nathan to get there, he'd said that he'd catch a cab as soon as the plane landed. We were talking when people started running around. He died, had another heart attack and died. They held the body until the results of the autopsy were in. They said he'd had a massive heart attack. The doctors had said his heart was fine." Orrin quit speaking; he turned away and looked out the room's lone window waiting until he could get the trembling in his voice under control.

"In short, Dad got a phone call saying 'look at the deaths of two of the women you loved'. He did and whatever he found led him to hire an investigator to look into the death of another of his ... loves and that investigator committed suicide after making an appointment to see Dad. Then on that same day Dad gets admitted to the hospital and dies." Chris ticked off his points in a quiet voice that carried throughout the room.

"This is true. We have no reason to believe that you, any of you are in danger, but we also can't be sure of your safety either." He waited for someone to say something, but they all sat still, digesting the information. He wanted to guide them back to the matters at hand. "Do you, any of you, have any questions regarding the Will?"

"So all we have to do is live and work at the ranch for a year to get all that money?" John David did not want to think on any more deaths; he was still reeling from his mother's death last June. He could think of the Will without hurting. Lincoln Larabee was just a name, the name of a man that had left him a million dollars. A million dollars! He had never dreamed of that much money. He and his mother had scraped by on her job cleaning houses. It covered the bills, but had left no room for luxuries and she had insisted that his money from afternoon and summer jobs go into the bank to help when he went to college. With a million dollars he could have bought a house for her, a new car, good clothes. She wouldn't have had to work so hard. She would have had time to date. He sighed; he had had those dreams for years; now he wouldn't be buying her any of those things, he'd be buying her a tombstone. "Who's doing this? Staying for the year I mean?"

"I reckon I’m in. A million dollars is a lot of money for ranch work." Vin answered. This stuff about his Mother he would definitely look into and the best place to do it would be at the ranch. The other stuff about family he'd wait and see how that sorted out. He'd been introduced into too many homes, each calling themselves his new family, over the years to get excited about this new promise of kinship.

"Might be interesting having a family," Josiah boomed. Orrin glanced at the man. Not really extraordinarily tall or big, he had an aura of strength, both physical and mental. He seemed like he was a man that had seen a lot of things in his life. He'd be an interesting man to get to know.

"The ranch is my home, "Chris glanced over at Buck and then at Nathan. He owed it to his father to get this brother stuff settled and especially to find out how and why his father had died. Then he'd leave, with a million dollars he could drink until the pain went away.

"I'm staying," Buck answered. He loved the land, but more importantly he loved Nathan and Chris and maybe he'd give these others a chance. And if someone had killed their mothers and their father, were either Chris or Nathan next in line to die? His brothers needed him to watch over them.

"Orrin, I'm going to need help getting out of my contract," Nathan said. He loved Birmingham, working at University Hospital and his mother's family. This was home, though, and until he had returned he had not known how much it meant to him. Even without his brothers at his side, even without the ranch and most importantly without the lure of the money he would stay. The people in these parts needed a doctor; Doctor Griggs was getting too old to handle things by himself and the nearest hospital was in Eagle Bend a good forty-five minutes away.

"I'll put you down for an appointment at 9:00 tomorrow morning," he scribbled himself a note and then looked up at the other one. "Ezra? You in?"

"A year is a lot of time. No, Ah think not."

"A million is a lot of money," Chris replied irritated that the man was not doing as their father asked.

Ezra checked his mask making sure none of his thoughts were leaking out through the eyes and looked around the room trying to find a way to fit in. Maybe, if the offer had been made just to the other forgotten sons and to Buck, that easy smile of his was infectious; maybe then he could do it. But he couldn't do it with Chris and Nathan there; he would spend each and every day looking at them searching for what his father saw in them. He'd wake up each and every day knowing he wasn't quite up to grade. At the end of the year he would have the million dollars, but there wouldn't be any of him left. His mother would kill him if she ever found out that he threw away money, but he couldn't do it.

"Before you decide to forfeit the million dollars, let me give you the personal letters your father wrote." Orrin reached into his drawer and pulled out white envelopes thick with pages of love stuffed into them. "I don't know what is in these letters. His instructions were for me to give you them and for you to read them at your earliest convenience. There are no copies of these letters and they will not appear, in any form, in the Will; there is not even a mention of them in the Will. Linc realized that the Will would be open to public perusal and these letters are intensely personal. He did not want you to read each other's letters, nor did he want you to ask each other about the contents of the letters. If at some time one or more of you decide to discuss your letters that is fine, but there is to be no pressure on any one to do so."

Orrin gather the thick envelopes up. These letters had been his suggestion. He had not expected to ever have to pass them out and had only suggested Linc writing them as a prudent move, as protection against unforeseen tragedy.

He thumbed trough the envelopes finding the one marked Ezra. Holding the letter out he tried to lock eyes with the one brother ready to leave. The one not willing to give the plan of Linc's a chance. "This one is yours," he said.

Ezra took the letter because he could not think of a gracious way to not do so, but he felt as though he had just placed a rattler in his pocket and was waiting for it to strike. 'I wrote him once and he is just now getting around to writing me back. No and Hell no. I will not read this missive.' "Ah think it is best if Ah leave." Ezra stood up, his ribs protesting the movement and as the room blackened all that he could see were tiny points of light. He knew they were talking, protesting his leaving. He could hear Chris speaking angrily, but could not make out the words. He waited and his vision cleared and his hearing returned.

"You ok?" Nathan asked knowing the answer was no.

"Of course Dr. Jackson. Ah merely stood up too fast." He pasted his smile on making sure it reached his eyes and held out a hand, "It's been a privilege to meet you Dr. Jackson."

Absently Nathan shook Ezra's hand, noting the sweaty palm and the thin bead of sweat across the man's upper lip. "I don't think you should be leaving right now."

"Nonsense Dr. Jackson, Ah must be on mah way." Ezra turned to shake hands with Vin Tanner only to find Chris standing there. "Mr. Larabee, mah condolences on your loss." He was smiling as brightly as he could, but the man didn't return it.

"We are all going to get something to eat over at Inez's. Even if you don't want to spend a year with us you can find the time for lunch," Chris ordered.

"When you put it like that, how can Ah refuse. If you could give me directions..."

"It's three blocks, we'll walk. Are you up to it?"

"Of course." Oh, damn it all. No. He wasn't up to it. He had broken ribs and he was seriously wondering if he was going to be able to walk out to his car. "Ah need to use the facilities first, if you don't mind."

"Molly will show you the way," Chris replied. He didn't like the way the man was looking. He'd ask Nathan about this brother's health. A man that was sick could not make good decisions. He could not make the decision to throw away money, to not get to know his brothers, to not do what their dad had wanted until he was feeling better.

"Thank you. Ah'm sure Ah can manage."

Chris watched him walk gingerly out to the hall before turning to Nathan. "Well?"

"He ain't gonna make it to Inez's."

"Five says he does." Tanner smiled as he opened his wallet.

"You go by Vincent or Vin?" Josiah asked as he pulled out his own wallet.

"My friends call me Vin." Vin leaned against the wall and brushed his hair out of his eyes. He'd had it pulled back with a rubber band but had broken the thing when he, sitting in his car and using the vanity mirror had tried to work in a loose strand. It had been irritating him as of late and he was considering cutting it, he just hadn't found the time yet. "You?"

"What's in a name? Joe, Josiah, Mr. Sanchez. On the other hand, a man once called me Little Joe, I didn't like it much."

"I'll remember not to call you Little Joe."

"Play it safe, call me Josiah." The man winked at his younger brother and they both broke into large grins.

Chris checked his watch, "I told Inez we'd be there 'bout noon. She's holding her back room for us. We better head on over. Judge, would it be all right if we came back...say about one to finish up?"

The judge nodded, feeling inordinately pleased with the way things had gone. Chris was doing his work for him and he'd hate to be in Standish's shoes right now because Chris was preparing to pressure the man into agreeing to follow the dictates of the will. Smiling to himself he left the room. He'd have Molly call his one o'clock and ask him to come in a few minutes late. He made his request and then exchanged grins with Molly as Buck's voice carried in from the street to fill the small lobby.

"Boys, you are in for a treat. Not only does Inez serve up the best steaks and ribs in the state, but she is the purtiest little spitfire and--"

"And she's one of the handful of ladies around these parts not at all interested in Buck."

"Chris, I tell you, she's playing hard to get."

"Well, Buck, can you tell me how long she's going to be playing this game?"

"She loves me Chris. Anyone with eyes can see that. Hey kid, you ready to put some meat on those bones?" he threw his arm over John David's shoulder. "Say, what kind of name is John David?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Don't get upset, kid. It's a fine name." Buck pushed the boy out the door. "Kind of long though don't you think?"

"My Momma called me John David." He scowled at Buck daring him to say one more thing about his name.

"It might of worked in a city like Boston. But kid, if you ain't noticed, you ain't in Boston. You see any pretty skyscrapers. Not around here you don't. Tomorrow I call you and yell 'Hey John David, shut the gate before the cows get out!' and by the time I've said your name half those boys are packed and are on their way to California."

"You want to call me John, that's fine."

Buck scrunched up his face thinking about it, "No, kid, I can name about half a dozen John's right off the top of my head and there ain't no call to go and make you one of that herd. Chris help me out here."

"JD." Chris obliged without hesitation or humor. If Buck was going to saddle the kid with a nickname, it had best be one that the kid could grow old with because it would stick.

"Chris...I better go and --" Nathan looked worriedly down the hall.

"Vin went to get him. If he needs you, he'll get you."

Nathan looked about surprised; he had not seen the man slip away from the group nor had he seen any sign that Chris had noticed and he had been keeping an eye on Chris. "But--"

"Nathan, let's say our goodbyes and get out of here so Orrin and Molly can have their office back."

_________________________________________________________________

"Ya all right in here!"

Ezra didn't startle, but it was more a matter of not doing so because his side couldn't take it rather than being aware that Vin Tanner had entered the room. "Ah'm sorry, Ah must be holding up things."

"Nervous stomach?"

"Ah must have caught a virus." Had the man heard him throwing up? Well, at least he hadn't cried out as his ribs protested the heaving of his stomach.

"Yep." His expression said he didn't believe the man, not for one minute. "If yer finished making the acquaintance of the toilet, let's get going before Nathan gets it into his head to join us."

"It would be rather cramped in here," Ezra let Vin hold the door open for him.

"I've got five bucks on you."

"You bet on me? What sort of bet?" his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Making it to this restaurant of theirs."

"There is a wager on whether Ah can walk three blocks?"

"Nathan doesn't think ya can do it. And him being a Doc, he thinks he knows."

"Ah told the man Ah was fine," Ezra said irritated.

"Yep, that's what I said. Josiah, Buck and the kid say you'll get about halfway there. Chris and me think you'll make it. You ain't gonna make me lose my money, are you?"

"Ah get half of the winnings."

"Nope. You didn't make a bet."

"Ah didn't realize that you all were the sort to make wagers of this type."

"A lot about us ya ain't realized."

"Haven't."

"Haven't what?"

"Realized."

"You've completely lost me."

"Don't use ain't. It sounds uncultured."

"I ain't cultured. "

"Perhaps not, but you are too intelligent to use such words."

"Habit."

"Break it."

"Make me."

"You'll have to do this on your own. Ah will not be staying."

"Even if we want ya to?"

"You don't know me."

"I know yer proud, stubborn and courageous."

"This is the first conversation we have ever had and you have learned this, how?"

"Yer too proud to read your letter; I picked it up out of the trash." Vin handed the letter, now torn in half, back to Ezra who sighed his displeasure at the letter's return, but put both halves in his suit's inner breast pocket. Vin continued when Ezra began walking again. They were moving slowly, but he noticed so were the others walking in front of them. "Yer too stubborn to lose the bet and yer courageous enough to try this for a year."

"Mr. Tanner, you are hard of hearing. Ah have definitely said that after this lunch Ah would be leaving."

"Best start calling me Vin."

For a moment there was quiet between them as Ezra battled the pain that the jolt of stepping off the curb caused him. Walking across the alley with their destination in sight, Ezra wondered how he was going to manage the step up, but a sudden hand under his elbow helped him maneuver the step. As suddenly as it appeared the hand withdrew and Ezra was allowed to walk up to the others under his own power.

________________________________________________________________

John David rolled his new nickname over his tongue again and again. Never in his life had anyone ever called him by anything but John David, except for college professors that called him Mr. Dunne and his boss who persisted in calling him John. It was nice having a nickname he decided as he sat between Buck and Josiah the two men dwarfing him. He glanced around the table his eyes settling on Chris.

He wondered how the man did it--make the room his home, make it appear that even though they sat at a large round table that he was at the head of that table. The man dressed in black from head to toe; black long sleeved shirt, sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbow, only slightly faded black jeans, and slightly scuffed black boots, a leather coat, duster Buck had called it, hung on the coat rack beside his own heavy brown wool winter coat that had been new when he started college.

He looked around at the others suddenly feeling horridly over dressed. He had worn his best suit, and a white dress shirt and tie. Other than Ezra in his grey suit with the soft green shirt, neither of which had been bought at Sears JD suspected, he was the only one wearing a suit. Although Nathan wore a sweater and dress slacks and Josiah wore a blazer and khakis, they were not nearly as formally dressed as he and he knew without a doubt that none of them had agonized over what to wear.

Clothes! What did he need to wear at the ranch? Jeans, he supposed, and boots and some sort of jacket and... and his bank account was low after buying plane fare. And he'd have to have money to go back to Boston and pack up his apartment and he'd have to quit and that would be fun going into his little box of an office, cubicle really, and typing up an 'I Quit' letter after clearing out his desk and deleting his mail. He'd say his goodbyes to a couple of the men working next to him and to Susan at the front desk; he'd never gotten the nerve to ask her out, but that was okay cause he figured that she'd be married and have five children before he'd find the courage to ask her out.

He was starting over. And he couldn't believe it. He had a new job working on a ranch and the thought didn't scare him. When his mother died three days after he graduated, he had taken the first job he was offered and he had been scared to death. Everyday, walking into that building he had been scared. At first he was scared that he couldn't do the work and that he'd get fired and then when he realized that he could do it and that he was bored most of the day, he grew scared that he'd grow old and die in that job without ever really living.

It wasn't just the new job, he had a new name and it didn't sound snobbish like John David. Bless mom, she hadn't realized what a burden she had given him saddling him with those names. Buck was right they were too long when said together like that. JD was the name of a man that could get things done. Dunne. He almost giggled. He glanced around to make sure he hadn't, but they were all too busy eating to notice. They weren't even talking to each other, just eating. He wondered if all the meals with his family were going to be like this.

He had a FAMILY. He'd always known he had brothers, Mom had told him about them, but they were unreal sort of like storybook characters. He knew their names: Chris, Buck and Nathan. He knew about Ezra and how his mom wouldn't let Linc see him and about how Vin's mother was a private eye looking for Ezra. His mother, Jenna, made sure that he understood that Lincoln Larabee had wanted him and did love him, but had stayed away for her sake. He hadn't understood why she had refused to marry his father, especially when she said that Lincoln Larabee was a good man. He hadn't understood when she refused to take any money from his father; there had been many times when they could have really used it. Once, when she was really tired and he'd found her crying because her back hurt so badly, he asked why they couldn't accept his father's offer of help. She had shaken her head and said that she'd explain later. She never had.

He tried to calm down and eat like they were, but it was all too much. When his Mom died, he had figured he'd be alone forever. He didn't have many friends and had only dated a few times because it seemed that spending money on himself just to have a few hours fun was wrong when there was so much they needed. He had spent his time divided between his school, his after school jobs and in the evening talking about his day with his Mom before hitting the books - he needed to get a scholarship she kept telling him. Then he had graduated and he had a job and his mother was dead and he had no clue as to how to go about making friends, getting a girl. Now, though, he had brothers and they were going to be a family and the loneliness that had been weighing down his heart was leaving him. They would think he was crazy if he burst into song, but that is what he felt like doing.

_______________________________________________________________

Vin thanked the waitress as she cleared away his plate. She and another girl made quick work of taking away their plates and empty beer mugs and putting coffee cups and a couple big heavy pots of coffee in front of them. The girls had flirted with all of them as they worked, even with the kid, to JD's obvious amazement, but as soon as they had cleared the table they disappeared.

Pouring some coffee for himself and then some for Ezra, the man, sitting stiffly in his chair, had touched little of his lunch, mostly toying with the food rather than eating any of it, Vin passed the pot to Chris. Couldn't say he blamed Ezra much. While the platter of ribs Inez had brought over to them was tender, spicy and messy, he couldn't see Ezra digging into those ribs and risk getting sauce on his fancy clothes and if he did have an upset stomach he definitely did not need to be eating the ribs.

"Ya think our Pa was murdered," Vin asked without preamble.

Nathan didn't bother to look up. "I took a look at the monitor strips, the one from when he was in the ambulance, the one from in the ER and the one that he was hooked up to until late that afternoon. They were right it wasn't serious. His heart looked strong on the strips. He should not have had a massive heart attack. I talked to a colleague in Birmingham and faxed him the strips. He agreed. There were no signs, no real signs that he was about to have a massive heart attack. He was a healthy man."

"Why did they take the...what is it called... heart monitor off him? I mean it seems to me that if they are thinking a man might have a heart attack that they'd keep watching him," JD asked.

"This is a small hospital and there was a bad wreck that evening. They needed it in the ER and Dad was doing fine so they took the one he was using."

"Aren't there drugs that can cause a heart attack?" Josiah's voice rumbled across the table.

"Yes. And before you ask they found no trace of them when they did the autopsy."

"Would they necessarily show up?" Josiah persisted.

"Most would," Nathan sighed. They had gone all through this with the police and then with the FBI agents that had come by at Orrin's request.

"Did you find out anything about his investigator, the man that killed himself?" Vin asked.

"No sign of foul play. No suicide note, but the cops say that isn't as uncommon as you think. He had done several things that suicides frequently do. His bills were paid and were waiting in the mailbox. His keys were lying on the kitchen table, labeled; so that there is no question of which key opened what. The house was cleaned top to bottom. He had a suit, his sister says it was his best suit saved for special occasions only, and a white shirt both still hanging in the dry cleaner's bag on the doorknob. Shoes were on the floor by the bed and his belt, socks, and tie lying on the bed. The investigators say they think he was laying out what he wanted to wear for his funeral."

"How did he die?" Again Vin asked, his brow wrinkled in thought.

"Cut his wrists in the bathtub."

"Where was his underwear?"

"I don't know," said Chris before Nathan could answer, surprised at the question.

"Might be interesting to find out."

"Might be at that," Chris said. He looked at his brother with respect. That had been a damn fine question. He had missed that, hell the police and FBI had missed that and they were trained professionals; how did he know to ask it.

"I don't understand," JD said.

"Well, kid. The way I see it ya could look at this two ways," Vin answered after getting a nod from Chris. "First way, this is a suicide. Classic signs of a suicide and no sign of foul play. Second way, Mr. Holland has found some information for a very important client. He gets out his best suit hangs it up on the door along with a good shirt. Puts his socks and shoes where he can reach them easy, same with his tie and belt. He wants to look respectable for this meeting, might get more business swung his way if he comes across competent and professional. He strips and gets in the tub. He's soaking when someone comes in and kills him."

"No-o-o. I don't by that. No one is going to sit there and just let someone slash his wrists. He would have fought," John David protested.

"He was unconscious when he was cut."

"Still no. Someone comes up and knocks him unconscious, the autopsy will find it out."

Ezra shook his head, amused at the innocence of youth, "You make an assumption of competency on the part of the Medical Examiner. Dr Jackson, do you have any knowledge of the ME's skills in this case?" He told himself that he really didn't care how Linc Larabee died or whether his detective committed suicide. He was merely interested in getting the facts straight. Nothing could be figured out if the facts were not all in.

"Hold on Nathan. Before you answer let me finish this scenario. Holland is murdered and the killer begins looking for his notes, or his evidence, what ever. He does a thorough search, cleaning as he goes. This accomplishes two things he finds what he's looking for and the house gets cleaned getting rid of the evidence that he's been there and helping him set it up to look like a suicide."

"The underwear?" Chris asked, a slight smile on his lips; he liked the way this man thought.

"If it was in the bathroom, he was planning on living. If there wasn't any, then it was removed from the scene or he never got it out of the drawer. Both ways say he was murdered," He blushed slightly seeing all eyes on himself. He brushed the hair out of his eyes and continued. "No man that lays out everything for his funeral, a man that has made it easy for who ever has to come in and clean up after him, a man that has labeled all his keys for his family and paid the bills; no man that did those things would forget to put out nice clean briefs."

"Might Ah inquire if any notes on the case he was handling for Mr. Larabee were recovered?" He didn't care about the way they were looking at him; he was not ready and doubted if he ever would be ready to call that man father. Linc Larabee was just so damned predictable. Sure, he had handled the doling out of money in a unique manner and he must be given points for that, but he had ruined it all by tacking that saccharine spiel onto the letter. Now, he knew the price of getting into heaven - one million dollars per child. How the hell did that erase the debt of never being there? Someone explain that.

"No. No notes were recovered in Holland's office or in his house regarding the investigation he was doing for Dad," Chris decided not to call the man on his obvious decision to not acknowledge Linc Larabee as his father. It irritated him, but he could understand it. Respect was earned and just because he loved and respected his father, he was not blind; there was not a lot of evidence that he had done anything to earn his other sons allegiance and love.

"And ah suppose, you nor your brothuhs have uncovered any notes... your fathuh may have made regarding the investigation of his dead ...loves."

"We've been looking Ezra, but we haven't found them," Buck answered when he saw Chris clinch his jaw. Diplomacy was not Chris's strongest point and his brother had already decided that they were going to follow Dad's wishes. In his mind, Chris already had the others unpacked and working cattle. If any of them chose not to follow Dad's idea then Chris would hit the ceiling; Chris was pretty torn up about the way he had treated Dad and a body could tell by the way Chris was sitting, that like it or not he was going to make sure that each and every one of them followed Dad's wishes to the letter. Oh, he'd be fair and tell everyone the danger they were in, but then he'd hog tie them and keep them that way for the entire year if he needed to, just to make up for the way he had blamed Dad for his wife and son's deaths. Buck wondered if Chris was ever going to stop blaming him for making them stay that one extra night in Mexico? He wondered if he'd ever stop blaming himself for making them stay so that he could pursue that lovely senorita?

"So you think they were stolen, too?" Josiah asked pulling Buck back into the present.

Buck looked at Nathan and then they both looked at Chris. Their eyes met and held each other's; finally Chris broke the gaze and answered. "Anything that caught Dad's interest he kept a file on," humor evident in his voice, it softened his face some making him look more approachable.

"Lot's of things caught his interest," Buck interrupted shaking his head enjoying the first bit of mirth he had felt since Orrin had called saying to met him at the hospital. "Files and files and files and only Dad knew how he filed things."

"And he tucked things away, all over the house, in nooks and crannies and in books," Nathan added thinking of all the books in the library. The ranch house, although large, especially since the remodeling, was not truly that exceptional until you walked into the library. There was no organization to the library; it was divided into the books already read and the books unread and although Dad could always walk right to any given book, the library was chaos for everyone else. It would take forever and a day to find that file if he had stuck it in some book.

They all reached for their coffee at the same time though only JD noticed. The cups were drained and put back in their saucers when Chris nodded slightly as though he had just made up his mind about something. "Buck, go sweet talk Inez into giving you some paper and pens. I'm sure she has something laying about."

"And some real mugs these cups are too dainty. Feel like I'm going to crush this one every time I take a sip," Josiah added his big hand wrapped around the cup all but hid it from view.

"Inez got out her best cause she knew I was coming," Buck smirked as he left the room.

"Sounds a bit smitten."

"Wants to put another notch in his bedpost," Chris answered Josiah's observation.

"Now, I don't know about that Chris. A good chunk of every letter he's written me for the last couple of years is about her. Waxes poetic about her beauty and her virtues. He might really care for her," Nathan objected.

"Pardon me, if one of you gentlemen could direct me to the facilities."

"Ezra, why don't you let--"

Ezra abruptly cut off Nathan, "Ah must admit my stomach is bothering me a bit, but Ah'm sure that it is nothing for you to worry ovuh." He stood, and turned away, determined to leave the room while he could still manage a dignified exit. Every breath he was taking was sending blinding tendril of pain across his chest making him nauseous again. A hand clamped down on his shoulder. "Ah must insist you release me," he licked his lips, tasting the bile rising in his throat.

Nathan let his hand fall to his side. He didn't like how pale the man had gone nor the slight tremors he could feel under his hand. Still, he couldn't force his brother to accept help. Yes he could; he was a doctor.

"Ezra, stop," he grabbed him by the upper arm, jerking the man back, stopping him. He expected another demand for release or given the greenish tinge to the man's face he wouldn't have been surprised for him to throw up all over the place. Nathan didn't expect the cry of pain or the sudden leeching of color from his face or the way the green eyes rolled back as he collapsed.

"Nathan?" Chris asked.

"Chris, go call 911. Josiah, help me with his clothes. Vin, I need a couple chair cushions." With fingers experienced from numerous rotations through the Emergency Room he checked his brother's airway and pulse before he began loosening his tie and undoing shirt buttons. He peeled open the shirt, "Oh shit."

"Where ya want these?" Vin, holding two cushions, dropped beside Nathan. His face blanched at the bruising he saw.

"Under his feet." Long nimble fingers unfastened the belt, loosening the pants, "I want to see if your belly's soft or if you are bleeding inside," he told his brother as he gently palpitated the bruised abdomen.

"Stop." Ezra's eyes fluttered open and his hand reached to push Nathan's hand away.

"Shh. I'm stopping. No, don't try to get up. Chris has called for an ambulance. It will be here in a few minutes."

"Ah don't want to go to a hospital." He tried to push up onto his elbows. "Ah’m fine."

"No, you are not fine." Nathan's splayed his fingers across Ezra's chest preventing him from sitting up. "You try sitting up again you're probably going to pass out again."

"Ah just need to get to mah feet," he protested. He had driven from the hotel in Eli that morning without too much difficulty. He was fine. He just needed a day or two to recuperate.

"No. I want you to lie still and give me some history. Are you taking any medications?"

"If Ah tell you aruh you going to let me up?"

"No. Have you taken anything for the pain."

"You're the doctor, figure out things on your own," he retorted, pushing against the hand that restrained him.

"Ezra, I really need to know," asked Nathan concern coloring his voice; the heart beating under his fingertips was too fast.

"Let me up," Ezra said, scowling.

Chris came back in time to hear Ezra argue. He growled out Ezra's name, but at Nathan's shake of his head, did not advance. Nathan had the situation under control and did not need him. This was Nathan's realm of expertise and unless his brother indicated that he needed his help he would stay out of the way. Besides he had never really seen Nathan on the job. He was good and that was not just big brother saying that. The easy, confidant way Nathan took over; that was a man who knew his job.

Funny, how his brother, from as far back as he could remember, loved doctoring. The rest of them could doctor a horse or cow if they had to and when Buck had been thrown and broke his arm when they were kids he had handled things all right. But neither he nor Buck was like Nathan. It wasn't just that Nathan genuinely loved working on hurt folks it was he was curious about things. Medical school had given Nathan a chance to try and satisfy some of his curiosity. During vacations their father and Nathan would closet themselves in the library only to come out for meals, discussing the things that Nathan was doing and learning. The discussions had not stopped at the library door, but had been continued over the kitchen table. While Chris was not particularly squeamish some of Nathan's medical school tales about dissecting cadavers had been bordering on the gruesome and the worms stories should have remained in the library, but that was his dad and Nathan for you. Growing up, he had often wished that Nathan would get his head out of the books and help around the ranch. Now, watching Nathan work, he couldn't imagine the man doing anything else.

"There is supposed to be some give and take in negotiations, suh." Ezra panted as Nathan's hands ran up one side of his ribcage and down the other.

"We are not negotiating, Ezra. We are waiting for the ambulance." Nathan said, debating whether he should go ahead and cut the shirt and suit jacket off or wait until the paramedics arrived. He could tell that some ribs were broken, but he would be happier if he could get a better look at the rest of the injuries. He decided to wait, without a blanket the floor was too cool to start cutting his clothes off.

"Ah don't think you understand. As Ah have tried to explain..." Ezra struggled to catch a breath, the pain in his chest was making it difficult to breathe. He collapsed back to the floor; if he could take one deep breath he'd be all right and he could explain to them, convince them to let him up. He was Ezra P. Standish and P. was for Persuasive. He could talk anyone into anything; he just needed to catch his breath. Why was it so hard to breathe? One good breath, please, he needed to explain to someone why he couldn't go to the hospital. He looked around for someone that would listen as he explained. He couldn't see anyone other than Dr. Jackson and Mr. Sanchez and clearly they weren't listening to him.

The siren could be heard and he moved struggling to pull his shirt closed. "You must..." he tried, but he couldn't get the rest of the words out. He couldn’t catch his breath. Was the man leaning on him?

"Ezra, calm down." Nathan let Ezra pull his shirt back up and sat back on his heels, his hand hovering over Ezra's shoulder prepared to stop the man if he should try and get up. His breathing was too fast and Nathan began to worry that Ezra would hyperventilate. He watched with relief as the medics came in with their equipment. Now, if Ezra started going bad, he had equipment with which to work.

Chris stood along the wall and fidgeted as the two medics broke through the barrier of spectators and dropped to the floor to talk to Nathan. Never good at standing on the sidelines, he fought the urge to take over the situation and get that stubborn bastard in a stretcher and loaded onto the ambulance. He kept telling himself that Nathan was more than capable of handling the situation.

He knew his faith in his brother was well placed when the southerner lashed out at one of the medics, kicking the man in the hand and knocking the blunt nose scissors out of his hand. Holding up his hands, signaling the medics to back off for a moment, Nathan leaned forward and whispered something in Ezra’s ear. Whatever he said worked because with incredulous eyes set in a flushed face the southerner became still and allowed the medics to lift him and put him on the gurney.

While one of the medics strapped Ezra into stretcher and the other man nursed his wounded hand Nathan stood up and walked over to Chris. "I think I better ride with him, keep him in line," Nathan said with a self-satisfied grin.

"What did you say to him?" Chris had been impressed by Ezra’s sudden willingness to cooperate.

Nathan’s grin grew, "It’s a professional secret." He looked over his shoulders watching as the two medics headed out towards their ambulance with Ezra. "I’ve got to go."

Chris shared a look with Buck as they followed Nathan and watched the ambulance depart. "Remind me not to ever get hurt. I don’t believe Nathan is very nice at times."

"Pot talking about the kettle," Buck mumbled not quiet speaking under his breath.

Chris glanced over at him, but rather than comment on the that particular truth, he asked, "Did you settle the bill with Inez?"

"All taken care of," Buck answered handing Chris his duster.

Chris slipped the duster on and began heading to the car parked three blocks away. He didn’t bother looking behind him. He knew that his brothers were behind him, matching his hurried steps with their own.

Chris looked up as a nurse padded down the hall. Her sweater obscured her name badge and for the life of him he couldn't remember her name although her face looked so damn familiar.

"Hey Missy. You got some news for us?"

Thank God for Buck, Chris thought as he watched his brother wrap the diminutive nurse in a hug. He could never figure out how Buck remembered everyone. He'd tease him about knowing all the girls in town, but the truth was once Buck met anyone he never forgot their name. Years ago, Chris figured out he wasn't like that and that he'd never be any good with names. Nowadays, he settled for pretending he knew who he was talking to if he liked them or glaring until they reintroduced themselves if he didn't.

"Hey Buck, Chris," she gave Buck a peck on the cheek and then held his hand as she looked around at the others, "One of you boys needs to go settle Nate down. He's got his tail feathers in a ruffle because they are making him stand in a corner and observe."

"They're not letting him help?" Chris frowned.

"It's not a big deal, but he doesn't have privileges here. He does something then the hospital can get into big trouble. It's a formality but he can't touch a patient until he goes before the hospital board."

"Buck."

"Already on it," Buck dropped Missy's hand and the rest watched as his long legs ate up the distance and he disappeared behind the door to the ER's exam rooms.

"What can you tell us Missy?" Chris asked.

"Nathan said to tell you that Ezra is stable and that they will probably be moving him to a room depending on what Dr. Curtis says about his kidney." Dr. Curtis liked to be the one to talk to family; in fact he had chewed her out really bad after she told the parents of a little boy about his lacerated kidney. She didn't want to get chewed out again, but she had dated Buck and even though things hadn't worked out between them she really liked him and his brothers. Besides, they had just lost their father and didn't need to be doing any more worrying.

"He has extensive bruising along his side and hip and there is blood in his urine. It's not a lot of blood but it is worrisome. They did an ultra sound in the ER and although the kidney is bruised and swollen the ER team says they think its OK. But, Dr. Curtis is an urologist and they want him to examine Mr. Standish," she hoped that Chris or someone would explain who this Ezra Standish was, he looked familiar for some reason, but she couldn't put her finger on why?

"If he thinks it's not alright?"

"Then, Dr. Curtis will come out and talk to you," she liked the Larabee brothers and that's why she had come out and told Chris what she knew, but she was not going to get chewed out by Curtis again.

"Missy," Chris needed more information, but he felt Vin's hand on his arm and he let it pull him away. Vin was right she was doing them a favor, there was no need to try to intimidate her into giving what if answers.

_______________________________________________________________________

Nathan dropped the bag in a chair and draped his sweater across the back of the chair before snagging the coke out of Chris's hand. He drained it, crushed it, and tossed it over their heads into the waste can next to the TV.

"They're getting a room ready for him. He's not happy about being here, but he's medicated now and so he's not giving any one too much grief."

"Was it safe to leave him?" Vin asked, not sure of whether he was more worried that someone would harm Ezra or that Ezra would harm someone.

"Buck's with him," he swiped a hand across his face trying to wipe away the smile, attempting to look the cool professional. He gave up and explained, "Buck tried talking to Ezra but the meds hit him pretty hard and he can't keep his eyes open so Buck has a captive audience. The poor man is having to listen to Buck's Top Ten."

"Top ten what?" JD asked in all innocence.

"Buck likes women and he likes to tell about his," Nathan searched for a less crude word than the one that popped into his head and settled for, "adventures with the ladies in detail."

"Isn't that rather tacky?" Josiah asked with a hint of a smile.

"Buck changes the names and some of the details, but yeah it is tacky," Nathan answered.

"So what happened to Ezra?" Chris didn't know the man and wasn't prepared to emotionally acknowledge him as a brother, but Ezra was his father's son and that meant he was a Larabee and had suddenly became his responsibility.

"I asked him that in the ambulance and he said he had a collision. After we got the shirt off, which by the way he informed me when we tried to cut it off cost $180.00, I saw--"

"Damn," Vin interrupted in shock. That shirt cost more than what he was wearing including his boots and jacket. "I guess he doesn't shop at Wal-Mart," he quipped.

"I thought I was over-spending when I spent eighty-five on shirt a couple months ago," Nathan agreed. He ignored the incredulous look Chris was giving him. The shirt had been a necessary expense; he had been invited to a fundraiser and had been determined to dress as well as his counterparts.

"Pretty steep... what does he do for a living?" Josiah asked.

"Besides getting beat up?"

"I thought you said he was in a wreck," Chris spoke sharply. This new information sent alarm bells ringing all through him.

"He said he was in a collision. On further questioning and pointing out a few inconsistencies with his story that became obvious when we got his shirt off, he admitted that he had a collision with some fists," Nathan continued. He stole a glance at his watch. "Give them a few more minutes to get him settled and then you can go in and ask him the who, what and why. He graciously informed me that when a person says 'it's a long story' that they are trying to be well mannered enough not to say 'mind your own damned business'."

"Wears fancy clothes, gets beat up and won't talk about it. Does he deal drugs?" Chris asked. Brother or no brother he was not staying at the ranch if he was involved with drugs.

"Don't know if he deals them, but he doesn't use them. His blood work up didn't show any trace of drugs and he got really upset when Dr. Abernathy gave him morphine," Nathan cringed at the memory of the stricken look on the man's face. He had looked as though he felt betrayed when the needle slid into his hip. Didn't he understand that they were trying to help him? "He says that he can't think if he has pain medication on board."

"So how is he?" JD asked. He didn't think that Ezra sold drugs and wasn't interested in discussing that possibility; after all Ezra was his brother and surely someone that was related to him wouldn't be mixed up in anything criminal.

"He was beaten pretty badly. By the coloring of his bruises, I'd guess it happened late last night. On his left side he has two broken ribs, maybe one or two more that are cracked. He has bruises, handprints really, on both upper arms and on his forearms." Nathan flexed his right hand, holding it out for his brothers to see. "I wrapped my hand around Ezra's bicep, covering the bruises, if I had to guess, both men holding him were at least my size or rather they had hands that were as large as mine."

"Two men to hold him and one to hit, doesn't sound like a fair fight." Josiah observed.

"No it wasn't," Nathan agreed. "Ezra took several blows to the abdomen, but while he's black and blue ultrasound doesn't show damage to his spleen or liver and his belly is still soft. His back is another matter. He was kicked several times, once in the back, then along his left buttocks, thigh and hip," Nathan spoke calmly, but his hands clenched in impotent rage at the men who did the beating. He had seen so many acts of violence over the last few years that he should be immune to it, but he hadn't been able to achieve that level of detachment yet. He continued, "He was kicked five times. You can tell by the shoeprints. X-rays didn't show any breaks in his hip or leg, but sometimes breaks don't show up on X-ray for a few days. He needs to be reexamined in three days or so if he starts having difficulty walking. The biggest worry right now is his left kidney. The bruising on the kidney shows up on ultrasound and he's pissing blood. Dr. Curtis came over and took a look. He wants to keep him overnight and reevaluate him in the morning. Kidney's heal pretty good as long as the damage isn't too extensive and no one wants to open him unless he starts looking worse."

"Do you think we could go see him now?" Josiah asked.

"Yeah, but first, we have one more problem," Nathan opened up the plastic bag and after rustling through the clothes came up with Ezra's black wallet which he tossed at Chris.

Chris caught it one handed and flipped it open to reveal the South Carolina driver's license. "I'll bite, Nathan. What am I supposed to be seeing?"

"It's empty. No money, although I did find seventy-five dollars tucked up in his shoes. No money, no credit cards, no pictures and definitely no medical insurance card.

"Robbery?"

"The money, probably, but you won't get him to say. He did explain in detail, that since he doesn’t believe in using hospitals, he doesn't waste his money on medical insurance. Furthermore, since we brought him to the hospital despite his protests, when it is obvious to even the village idiot that all he has is a few bruises and since we are now holding him in said hospital against his will, then we can pay the bill," Nathan shook his head and chuckled. "The ladies in admitting are standing on their heads and having cows all at the same time because he doesn't have insurance."

"Thought you said that he said morphine kept him from thinking."

"Thinking maybe, talking no," Nathan smiled, "you could almost hear the morphine kicking in. It's a good thing I've spent the last few years in Alabama or I wouldn't have a clue as to what he's been saying."

Chris listened with one ear as he examined the wallet. All he could determine from the look of the wallet was that even if it had money, it would fold nice and flat; probably, judging by the way he was dressed Ezra was worried at the thought of a thick wallet wrinkling his suit. Black, expensive, empty wallet. He pulled a folded green card out of the wallet, "What's this?"

"I didn't look," Nathan answered and then nodded his agreement as Chris slid the card back into the wallet without opening it. When he had looked in the wallet he, too had left the card untouched; somehow it had seemed old and almost sacred. He didn't know the man well enough to examine something personal and if the torn in half letter he had found in the coat earlier was any indication, he was unlikely to ever get to know the man that well.

"All right, I'll go talk to admitting and have the bill sent to the ranch. You boys go over and get with Buck and make a shopping list. He said something about the cupboard being bare. Nathan, make a list of what Ezra will need when we take him home tomorrow; we can get it when we do our shopping."

"Chris, he doesn't want to come home with us."

"He's busted up. He needs a place to stay."

"Yes, he needs a place to stay, but I don't think he wants to stay at the ranch. Maybe we should call someone for him, his mother or maybe a girlfriend."

"Nathan, I said that he's coming home with us. Besides didn't he say something about his mother being dead?"

"In the ambulance he mumbled something about needing to talk to her. We should see if the Judge knows anything about how to reach her."

"He can call her from the ranch if he wants to."

"Christopher," Nathan began in his most patient I- am-talking-to-an-imbecile voice. "If you take someone a place they do not want to be, it is considered kidnapping."

Chris dropped his hand on his too tall brother's shoulder and looked him square in the eye as best he could considering he lacked the 4 inches he needed to really look him square in the eye, "When he leaves the hospital, he's coming home with us."

"Chris."

"At least until his ribs are healed."

"Chris, he doesn't want to come. Haven't you heard anything he has said today?"

"I heard what he said, I just have been listening to what he hasn't said. He wants to do this. It just won't be easy getting him to admit he does."

"He's a royal pain," Nathan muttered to Chris's back, disgusted with Chris and the situation. Didn't he realize, hadn't Dad realized that you couldn't snap your fingers and make everyone one big happy family?

"I'm a bigger pain than he is," Chris retorted.

"I was talking about you."

Nathan chuckled when, halfway down the hall, Chris raised his arm saluting Nathan and Nathan's opinion with his extended finger.

________________________________________________________________________

Vin had to walk quickly to keep up with Nathan as he turned down corridors that led into other corridors. Vin Tanner, he chided himself, it's not that big of a hospital and if you lose Nathan I'm sure you could find your way to Ezra Standish's room just fine. It wasn't that he was worried about getting lost, he was worried about getting lost and opening a door and seeing something he really didn't want to see.

And why, while he was thinking about it, was Nathan moving at about 100 miles per hour? Weren't you supposed to walk through hospitals? Not that Nathan was running, part of the problem was the man' impossibly long legs, but he was moving as though... as though someone's life depended on it. Vin decided that he'd watch Nathan outside the hospital some and see if he moved like that all the time.

Vin whispered out of the side of his mouth to his younger brother as they hurried along, "Think we should suggest that it might be a good idea to install some traffic lights around here?"

"I think Nathan would just ignore them."

"Yep he looks like a man on a mission." Vin watched as Nathan and Josiah turned the corner. The fact that Josiah was talking with Nathan had not slowed either man down. "I ain't running in a hospital," Vin said to JD as it became apparent they were losing ground on their brothers.

The two, by mutual agreement, slowed down. It wasn't as though Ezra was going anywhere, anytime soon. Besides they had to slow down as the corridor suddenly turned into a nurses' desk complete with nurses, doctors, patients and whole bunch of other people milling about and the people didn't get out of their way as they had for Josiah and Nathan.

They kept their brothers in sight, but gave up any hope of catching up to them when a door opened and three women in scrub suits wheeled a gurney out of the room. The woman on the gurney, pain contorting her sweat streaked features reached for them as she was wheeled by. Vin and JD backed up against the wall as the nurses aimed the gurney down the hall, running alongside it at break neck speed, the woman's screams echoing behind them.

"Nathan's led us through the maternity ward," Vin's explanation was unnecessary and given merely as a way to break the tension that remained in the wake of the woman's cries. Times like this he was very happy to be born male.

JD gave his brother a look that said I'm not that stupid, but didn't make that comment aloud. "Do you think that she'll be alright? They all looked really worried."

"I don't know, JD," Vin suddenly smiled, but it wasn't a pleasant smile; it was a lopsided grin full of mischief. "There are windows in those doors, ya can go check," he challenged.

JD rolled his eyes, "Yeah right." He started walking in the general direction that Nathan and Josiah had taken.

"Wonder why they put those little windows in the doors, anyhow?" Vin asked JD's back. "Don't seem privacy is too important around here." He followed JD around the corner. Josiah and Nathan were waiting for them by a coke machine, drinks in hand.

"Thought we'd lost you," Josiah teased.

"Nah, we just had to stop and give some expert advice to some woman fixin' to have a baby," Vin retorted.

"Come on," Nathan said. "We are almost there. I want to make sure Ezra got settled without any problems and see how he's reacting to the morphine."

They turned one more corner and there was Buck leaning against the doorway chatting with a grey-haired nurse with a beautiful smile. Vin almost stopped in mid-step, did Buck know everyone? He certainly was on friendly terms with every woman they had met so far today. This one, though, was old enough to be his mother.

"Miss Angie, how are you?" Nathan enveloped the short buxom woman in a brief hug.

"Never better," she beamed up at Nathan. "Buck tells me that our Mr. Standish is one of your long lost brothers."

"Sure is. Hope he doesn't give you too much trouble."

"Don't worry about it, lot's of people don't want to be here. Are you going to introduce me?"

"Yes Ma'am. This here is JD Dunne, that one is Vin Tanner and this is Josiah Sanchez."

If the woman saw anything unusual about meeting all these grown up brothers with different last names she didn't show it. Instead she shook each man's hand, smiling up warmly at each man as she welcomed him to Eagle Bend.

"Where's Chris?" she asked, worry evident in her voice.

"He's trying to take care of the paperwork."

She wanted to ask how he was holding up, if he was still drinking, but she didn't; you didn't ask the Larabee boys things like that. They would just look you in the eye and smile and tell you everything was just fine. "I hope he doesn't get the ladies all in a tizzy pouring on the Larabee charm."

"Well Miss Angie maybe I should have gone down there, if they were needing charming." Miss Angie, the only person Chris has ever poured on the Larabee charm for is dead. His good mood at seeing the woman evaporated. As frustrated as he was by Chris's behavior he understood the depth of Chris's loss; he wished other people could.

"Bucklyn, you go down there and the ladies would never let you go," she reached up and patted his cheek. "You are just too cute for your own good."

Nathan cleared his throat a little embarrassed about his brother's reputation and turned to his new-found brothers, "Mrs. Angie Delaney, better known as Miss Angie worked with my Mother when my Mom worked here and then she went and joined Dr. Murdoch's staff. He was our pediatrician. She always made going to the doctors a little less scary."

"Tell the truth Nathan. You were never scared at the doctor's office. We all knew right then you were headed for medical school. Took after his mama," she patted his arm. "She was the loveliest woman, a good nurse and a really sweet soul. She would be so proud of you Nathan."

"I remember I liked to go because Miss Angie always gave us huge lollipops," Buck added with a huge grin. Going to the pediatrician and to the dentist had been secret trips that his dad insisted that they make. His mom had nothing against going to the doctor when a body was sick, but when it was healthy she always figured it was a waste of money. As far as he knew, she never realized that he was vaccinated against all the childhood diseases.

He tilted his head to the side and smiled, pretending he was listening to Miss Angie go on about Clara Jackson. Sometimes he wished people remembered his momma the way they did Colleen and Clara. Folks loved to talk about the beautiful, laughing Colleen and the sweet, caring Clara, but they never said much about his mother, not to him anyway. They never talked about how beautiful she was... and she was. They never talked how good she was... and she was. They certainly never thought she was a good mother and she was the best.

He knew how she came across to others, that his momma was horribly neglectful. They lived over her bar, she didn't take him to the doctor and she let him skip school more than he should. On the other hand, she always had time for him. Not just a pat on the back or a quick hug, but real time. They had real conversations and when they talked she listened with all of her attention and her heart and her soul. She burned almost every batch of cookies she baked, but she always let him help mix and let him lick the spoon. The house was a mess most of the time, but that was because she opened her doors to runaways who needed a place to stay. She shopped at second hand stores, but that was because she was always buying groceries for folks having a hard time of things.

He'd tell her how he loved talking to her because she listened so well. She'd joke and say a good bar tender needs to know how to listen. But she was more than a good bar tender. She was the kindest, bravest person he knew and she took real good care of him and not just him. Anyone that needed a champion and she was there. Like when DeeDee's pimp beat her black and blue his Momma had paid for her doctor's bill and then told Eddie that if he ever thought about hitting one of his girls again that she'd shoot his balls off-he'd been listening from the stairs and if his momma had known that he was up there she wouldn't have used that language. Or the time little Callie Davis found out she was pregnant and she went with her and held her hand when she told her folks. Or when Donnie Walters came in and said that he wanted to get clean and she had found a clinic and bullied the doctors into moving Donnie to the head of their waiting list.

Buck slipped back into the room to check on his brother, Ezra appeared to be sleeping so he pulled up the blanket and tucked it in covering the bruised flesh. You look as though you could use a friend, he thought. My mother, she always worried about folks. I bet she would have worried about you like she did Chris and Nathan. They never knew it, but she worried that they didn't have a mother and when she worried about my brothers I would realize how lucky I was.

Buck stepped back out into the hall, Nathan was reading Ezra's chart as Angie amiably chatted with his brothers. She turned to him and reaching up, patted him on the cheek, "You take care of these brothers of yours, Buck."

"I'll do my best," He wanted to pat the top of her head in retaliation, but restrained himself.

"I know. Listen, I have to get back to the desk and check on things. If you need anything just buzz me," she graced each man with her smile and walked down the hall, disappearing when she turned the corner.

"Nathan, is it just me or does this hospital have a lot of corners?" Vin asked as he watched the nurse disappear.

"Seems that way," Nathan answered. "History has it that there was a decision back in the 1920's to put a hospital in the area. Both Four Corners and Eagle Bend sent delegates to the legislature. See the state had grant money set aside for building the hospital and the two towns knew that having the hospital in their town meant their town would become important. The delegates from Four Corners took sick and the delegates from Eagle Bend took the grant money. Rumors flew that the Four Corners contingency had been poisoned. Nothing was ever proved. Anyway the hospital was built and built and built. Every few years another wing is tacked on or something is expanded. Thing is that there is no logic to it all. A person could get turned around in here real fast. I've done it more than once and I've been hanging out here pestering doctors for years. As soon as I got my license I started hanging out here after school," he smiled at the memory of the tall gangly boy who looked more like he belonged on the basketball court than in a hospital ward. Dr. Griggs had been the one to answer his questions, show him around the place and introduce him to other doctors. Not all of them had been interested in answering his questions, some had been too busy to worry with a kid, a few had made openly racist remarks that wounded his soul, but which he had never mentioned to his Dad or brothers. A few, though, had taken time with him, encouraging his questions and giving him things to read. Later those men had written recommendations for him, helping him to get in medical school.

"Is he sleeping?" Josiah asked Buck. Buck had continued during their conversation to block the doorway, sticking his head in every little bit to check on Ezra.

"He's acting like a two year old fighting sleep; he can't keep his eyes open and he can't keep them shut."

"When have you ever been around a two-year-old?" Nathan teased as he thrust the bag of clothes at Josiah and started to push pass Buck. He saw the flash of pain in his brother's eyes and answered his own question. Adam. Squeezing Buck's shoulder in mute apology he paused searching Buck's eyes for the forgiveness that he knew would be there. Sometimes, he said things without thinking. Buck nodded his head ever so slightly and moved out of the doorway letting Nathan go in.

"Is he worried about those men coming back and beating him again?" JD asked eyes large and round.

"No. I asked him about it and he said something about how it was done and over with. He'd been taught his lesson." Buck answered. He had tried talking with Ezra a few times in his more lucid moments, but the morphine had a strangle hold on Ezra and their conversations were short with Ezra offering little information about himself or how he had come to be in this state.

"Lesson in what?" Josiah grumbled. Last he'd looked hitting someone rarely taught them anything.

"Hey, that's all I got from him other than 'where's mah clothes,' " Buck glanced down at the bag that Josiah was holding. "You take those in there and he'll be gone. The only reason he's still in that bed is that he can't figure how to get back to his car without being arrested for indecent exposure."

"He'll stay. He needs the rest and Chris is taking care of the hospital bill so he has no reason to leave." Nathan said as he reappeared at the door. He grabbed the clothes from Josiah and carried them into the room.

"He doesn’t leave much room for argument, does he?" Josiah asked no one in particular.