Written by Desert Sun - First Published, December, 31 2002
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(Please note: the characters of the Lancer television series do not belong to me and were used without permission. This was written for fun, not profit.)
Major Characters: Johnny Lancer, Scott Lancer, and Murdoch Lancer
Summary: A short story about the Lancer's first New Year's Eve together.
"Ya think the old man'll go for it?"
"It's hard to say, Johnny. What you have in mind is risky, to say the least."
"Maybe," softly drawled the dark-haired young man leaning against the wall by the fireplace. "But it could work . . . right Scott?"
"Yes, there is a remote possibility; however, you do need to consider what we stand to lose." The older of the two men leaned forward in the chair a short distance away from his brother and spoke with an intensity that matched his steel-blue eyes. "The question is . . . are you willing to face the consequences if your plan fails?"
Johnny Lancer chewed at his lip then shrugged. "Well, you know what they say . . . if you wanna win the big pot, yuh gotta throw in all your chips." He chuckled softly and grinned at Scott. "Besides . . . didn't yuh tell me not too long ago, 'nothin' ventured, nothin' gained?' Wasn't that your exact words?"
"There is hardly any comparison. We were discussing something entirely different. Just because that was true of one situation scarcely justifies applying the same logic to what you are proposing."
"Then you don't think our old man's gunna go for it, and we'd just be wastin' our breath ta ask him?" Johnny looked down and studied the pattern the toe of his boot was tracing on the floor.
"Now wait a minute, Brother. You're putting words in my mouth. I didn't say Murdoch wouldn't listen to you . . . or that he wouldn't give your proposition some serious consideration. It's just that . . . he's always called the tune, as he puts it. You can't expect--"
"Hold it, Boston," Johnny butted in, raising his head to lock eyes with his brother. "Who says I'm gunna do the talkin'? Yer the one with the college degree. Most of the kids around Spanish Wells've got more education than I do."
Scott, hands on thighs and jaw firmly set, straightened his back. "This was your idea, so you should be the one to present it to Murdoch."
"But he's more apt to see it our way if you do the talkin'," Johnny shoved himself away from the wall then paced back and forth in front of fireplace before stopping next to his brother. "Scott, you know how he is. He'll listen to you; he always has. With me it's different. We'll just end up bumpin' heads; you know that." Johnny, hands moving restlessly at his sides, looked down at the floor again.
"If you used a little more tact, that wouldn't happen. There's an art to presenting a convincing argument. You can't go at it like a bull in a china shop. As you said, Murdoch likes to think he's in charge." Scott paused to get to his feet and stand next to his brother. He slipped an arm over the younger man's shoulder and continued, "What you have to do, Little Brother, is make him think it was his idea."
Slowly and deliberately drawing each word out, Johnny queried, "And just how am I supposed to do that?"
"I'd like to hear that, myself."
The brothers, Scott's arms sliding to his sides, abruptly spun in unison to face the owner of the deep voice that had broken into their private exchange. As Murdoch Lancer strode toward them from the direction of the kitchen, a tinge of red brightened Scott's cheeks.
"Well, Scott. Just how do you plan to make me think your idea is mine?"
"Uh . . . Sir . . . you see, uh . . . well, it was Johnny's idea. Really he should be the one to, um . . . tell you," Scott stammered, having focused on his father's briskly spoken words and missed the slight twitch at the corners of the man's mouth.
While his usually self-assured, older brother groped for words, Johnny stood by like a nervous colt getting ready to make a break for freedom. He kept his eyes on the floor and fiddled with the silver buttons on the outer seams of his pants.
As his younger son was contemplating the odds of being able to escape, Murdoch addressed his elder son, "First, Scott, I'd like to know how you would convince me that your scheme was my idea."
Johnny, seeing a chance to get out while he could, took a step backward and started to turn.
"Where do you think you're going?" demanded Murdoch, his attention quickly shifting from Scott to Johnny.
Halting abruptly then twisting back to face his father, Johnny muttered, "Uh . . . nowhere."
Murdoch once again focused on the older of the brothers. "I'm waiting," he said with a distinct note of impatience.
For a moment, silence filled the room. When Scott shifted from one foot to the other and glanced at his brother, Johnny let out an exasperated huff. "So much for your plan, Boston. We might as well forget the whole thing now," he said scornfully.
Murdoch stifled a chuckle, moved closer to his younger son, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Since Scott seems to have lost his ability to speak, why don't you tell me what you're wanting me to agree to?"
"Me?" Johnny replied with a gulp.
"Yes, you."
"Um . . . it was nothin'," Johnny evaded, shrugging from under his father's hand and moving just out of reach.
"Coward," challenged Murdoch, flatly.
"We were just discussing the fact that it was time we were allowed to take on a little more of the responsibility of running the ranch," Scott quickly interjected before Johnny had a chance to make the retort that was on the tip of his tongue.
Murdoch returned his gaze to his older son. "You don't think I give you enough to do, is that it? Well, I can rectify that easily enough. In fact, I have a job right now that the two of you can take care of."
"Thanks a lot, Mister Tactful," growled Johnny, his eyes shooting daggers at his brother.
Scott ignored Johnny's snide remark and addressed their father instead. "That's not quite what I meant, Sir."
"I tell you what, boys. You take care of this little job for me, and I'll consider what you have in mind. Deal?"
"Deal," Scott replied hastily with a slight smile and a nod.
"What about you?"
Johnny, scowling at his brother, muttered an inarticulate reply. He knew from experience that his father's and his definitions of little weren't always the same.
"Good," said Murdoch. "If you two get going right away, you should be back tonight."
"I thought you said this was a little job?" Johnny grumbled, rolling his eyes.
"It shouldn't take long once you get to the Johnson place."
"Johnson's?" Johnny blew a puff of air out his mouth. "That's a good four-hour ride from here. What d'we hafta go all the way over there for?"
"A while back, Ike asked me if I'd sell him some breeding stock after the first of year. I told him I'd get back to him. It looks like we have about a hundred head of prime heifers we won't need, so I want the two of you to ride over and make a deal with him."
"Are you saying that you want us to negotiate the terms of the sale?" Scott gazed speculatively at his father.
"Yes. You need to set the price, method of payment, date and location the exchange will take place, as well as who will cover the cost of delivery."
"Yuh mean me an' Scott get to decide how much Old Man Johnson's gunna pay us?" Johnny crossed his arms and eyed his father. "How come you're havin' us do it?"
"You said you wanted to take on some of the responsibility of running the ranch. I thought I'd give you a chance to prove you're capable of it. Of course, if you think I'm asking too much of you, I could . . .." Murdoch's voice faded out as he looked from one son to the other.
"We can handle it," Scott interjected. He lightly flicked the back of his fingers against his brother's arm. "Come on Johnny. If we're going to make it back tonight, we need to be on our way."
A short while later Johnny mounted his palomino, Barranca, and headed for Ike Johnson's ranch, eighteen miles to the southwest. As he settled his horse into a steady pace that matched the long stride of Scott's sorrel, he wondered if having a voice in the running of the ranch was really worth it. Somehow, he had a feeling he was just setting himself up for more work.
The grandfather clock near the French doors ticked away the time. As the two hands drew closer to converging on the twelve, Teresa laid her needlework to one side then went to the fireplace and knelt down on one knee. She picked up the poker stick and jabbed at the chunks of wood until flames rose once more to lick hungrily at their edges. Glancing over her shoulder at her guardian who was staring distractedly into the fire, she said, "The boys should have been back by now." Her brow wrinkled slightly. "You don't suppose they ran into trouble, do you?"
"Stop worrying, Teresa. They're big boys. They can take care of themselves." Murdoch Lancer picked up the book in his lap and opened it once again. He too was a little concerned about his sons being late in returning from their ride to the Johnson Ranch; however, he didn't want to add to his ward's distress, so he kept his voice calm and put on an outward show of indifference.
"But it's almost midnight. What could be keeping them?"
Murdoch peered over the top of the book he was pretending to read. "They'll be along anytime now. Why don't you heat up some of the leftovers from supper and have it ready for them. If I don't miss my guess, those two will be hungry when they get in."
"If I know Johnny, he'll claim he's starving." She chuckled softly, then got up and headed for the kitchen.
Murdoch leaned his head back and sighed. The weather was clear and there was a nearly full moon out. His sons shouldn't have had any trouble making the ride to and from the Johnson place. He also couldn't see any reason for the negotiations for the sale of the heifers to have taken any great length of time. Ike Johnson, a man known for his honesty and fairness, had always been easy to deal with. That was one of the reasons that Murdoch, instead of going himself in a day or two, had sent Scott and Johnny to make the sale when he had overheard them talking earlier in the day.
A breath of cold air, just before he heard footsteps on the tile floor of the foyer, alerted Murdoch that someone had entered the house. Hearing the familiar voices of his boys, he quickly took on the appearance of being absorbed in his reading while listening to the conversation taking place in the next room.
"Whewie! Sure hope Teresa kept some supper hot. I'm starvin'."
"Little Brother, you're always close to expiring from lack of adequate nutrition," came Scott's sarcastic remark.
There was a slapping sound followed by a huff of indignation before Johnny's soft drawling voice replied, "Would ya stop tryin' to impress me with them fancy words. I've heard enough of 'em for one day."
"If you swat me one more time with that hat, I'm going to make you eat it."
Scott's raised voice and threatening tone brought a smile to Murdoch's lips. He barely restrained a laugh when Johnny's barely audible "Shhhh . . . ya wanna wake up the old man," reached his ears.
The soft footfalls that crossed the main living room suddenly halted halfway between the chair where Murdoch sat and the doorway that led to the kitchen. Strangled gasps broke the silence and revealed the extent to which his sons were startled by his presence.
Murdoch let the book drop into his lap and coughed against the edge of his hand, then said with a touch of disapproval to his tone, "I see you two finally made it home. Run into any trouble along the way?"
"No, no trouble," replied Scott.
"What took so long? You did come to an agreement with Ike, didn't you?" Murdoch locked eyes with first one son and then the other.
"We made a deal, all right. It just took a little time is all," replied Scott.
"It wouldn't a taken nearly so long if this Boston raised son of yours would've talked in plain English," Johnny said, giving his brother a poke in the ribs.
"I enticed him to pay eleven dollars more per head than he offered to begin with," Scott pointed with smug lift of his chin.
"How much did you get?" Murdoch inquired.
"Forty-five dollars each and he picks them up here," Scott replied triumphantly.
Murdoch shrugged his shoulders. "Not too bad for your first sale."
"Didn't I tell you we should've held out for more?" The hint of disgust in Johnny's tone had his father choking back a chuckle.
"Johnny, if we had tried to get even one more dollar per head out of Mister Johnson, we would still be there," Scott stated testily.
A touch of mischief danced in Murdoch's eyes despite his effort to keep a serious tone as he said, "Scott's right, Johnny. You have to use some finesse when selling cattle. You have to know just when to accept the other party's bid. As long as the buyer believes the final price was his idea, he'll be happy even if he ends up paying double what he set out to pay."
"Guess I'll go see if there's anything to eat and head to bed," Johnny said. "We gotta start roundin' up them heifers tomorrow. Mister Johnson wants to come by in a couple of days and look 'em over."
"Think I'll do the same, if you don't mind, Sir," Scott chimed in.
"Teresa just went to heat up some leftovers from supper. It'll take her a few minutes to get it ready," Murdoch stated as he rose to his feet. "In the meantime, I have something for you."
He motioned for Johnny and Scott to follow him then went to the desk in front of the large arched window across from the dining table. He unlocked the bottom drawer, reached in, and pulled out two envelopes. "One for each of you," he said as he held them out to his sons.
Johnny opened his and stared at the contents a moment before looking up at his father. "What's this for?"
"Your share of the profits from the ranch proceeds."
Scott ruffled through the green bills in his hand. "There's nearly a thousand dollars here. Are you sure you can spare this much? What about operating money?"
"I've kept back enough to pay wages and buy supplies for next year," Murdoch assured them.
"What about those new bulls you said you wanted to get? How do you plan to pay for them?" asked Johnny.
"They'll come out of my pocket. They're an experiment. May even be a total waste of money. I don't expect the two of you to share in the risk."
"Why not, Sir?" Scott queried. "We are partners, are we not? If there are risks to be made, shouldn't we all share in them equally?"
"How much was it you said those bulls were gunna run; three hundred or so a piece by the time you have 'em shipped out here?" Johnny cut in before Murdoch had a chance to answer. He separated several bills from his bundle and tossed them onto the desktop in front of his father. "Might as well get a couple for me. I don't need all of this. I'd just end up in some poker game and lose it."
Scott laid some of his money down, also. "Make that two more. I still have nearly half of the thousand you gave me when I first arrived here." He tapped the envelope against the palm of his other hand and then stuffed the packet of money into his shirt pocket. "With this, I'll do just fine."
Murdoch chewed at his lower lip and slowly shook his head. He stroked his jaw with the thumb of one hand as he regarded his sons. "Are you sure you want to do this? Those bulls may not pan out at all like I hope they will."
"If you're willing to take a chance on them, then so am I," Scott assured him.
"Goes for me, too," Johnny said as he pocketed the rest of his money.
Murdoch drew in a deep breath and swallowed to hide how pleased he was with with his sons' decision. "I don't know what to say."
"No need to say anything, Sir," Scott said, appearing a bit uncomfortable.
"Well, now we got that settled, I'm for seein' what Teresa's fixed up for us," Johnny drawled as he turned to leave.
"Just a minute, Johnny. I have something else for you."
Johnny halted mid-stride and faced his father once more. When a folded sheet of paper was held out to him, he accepted it hesitantly. "What's this?"
"Read it," suggested Murdoch, handing an identical item to his older son.
The brothers took a moment to study the documents in their hands then stood there in silence--eyes wide with unbelief.
Scott, the first to recover enough to speak, looked with pleased surprise at his father. "Thank you, Sir," he breathed.
"Hey, does this say what I think it says?" Johnny's eyes sparkled with amazement. "You're really gunna let us have a vote in what goes on around here?"
"You've earned it." There was a note of pride in Murdoch's voice. "Of course, this only applies to major decisions. For now, I think it's best if I call the shots on the day to day running of the ranch. After all, I do have considerably more experience than either one of you do."
"So just what would we be voting on, Sir?"
"Investments mostly," Murdoch replied to his older son.
"Ya mean like them bulls?" asked Johnny.
"Yes, like the bulls."
His expression turning thoughtful, Johnny fidgeted with the paper in his hands for a moment before asking, "What if Scott an' me had somethin' we wanted to invest in? You're sayin', we could put it up fer a vote; and even if yuh didn't agree, you'd let us do it anyway?"
Murdoch hesitated. He had a feeling Johnny's questions were loaded. Finally, deciding that he had no choice but to allow his son the benefit of the doubt, he said, "That's right. Of course, I would hope that you'd give any business venture a considerable amount of thought before jumping into anything too risky."
Johnny grinned over at Scott. "Yuh hear that? Now there's nothin' stoppin' us from makin' that deal with Reynolds."
Despite the fleeting thought that his son was setting him up, Murdoch couldn't stop from demanding, "What deal?" "Who is this Reynolds? I don't know any rancher around this area by that name?"
"Reynolds owns a gambling establishment over at Cutter's Crossing. He wants to sell out and go back east. When Johnny and I were there last week, we told him we'd like to buy it from him if we could come up with the necessary funds," Scott explained with the straight face of a poker player.
"You want to buy a saloon?" Murdoch looked from one son to the other, anger creeping into his tone. "And just who's going to run it?"
"Scott and me." With eyes sparkling, Johnny spoke with the excitement of a boy planning his first fishing trip. "We thought we could take turns. You know. He'd take care of it one week, and I'd go the next. That way, we wouldn't both be gone at the same time."
"And are you also planning to do each other's work here?"
"No," replied Scott. "We thought we could hire a couple of more men for that."
Murdoch was getting more exasperated by the minute. "Oh, you did, did you? I suppose that means you think you do the work of two men."
"Actually, Sir, one will be doing Johnny's work."
"And just what will Johnny be doing?"
"Doin' a lot a thinkin' on them new ventures me an' Scott'll be wantin' to get into. Wouldn't wanna get took on any of 'em." A grin spread across Johnny's face and a gleam lit up his eyes.
When a strangled snort came from Scott's direction, the anger building in Murdoch suddenly dissipated at the realization that his boys were putting him on. He rubbed a hand across his mouth and chuckled. Soon all three were laughing.
"I don't see anything funny in the least about Scott and Johnny running one of those . . . those . . . those houses of ill repute," sputtered Teresa, striding toward the men. "I heard what goes on in that place at Cutter's Crossing."
"Oh?" Johnny smiled at the angry girl. "Just what did you hear?"
"Never you mind," she snapped, her face turning a deep shade of pink. "I just know it's no fit place for the two of you. I can't believe you'd want to have the Lancer name linked with . . . with . . .."
"You're quite right, Teresa," Scott interjected. "Perhaps, Johnny and I were a little hasty. We'll take some time to reconsider our decision."
"If you know what's good for you, you'll give the idea up entirely," Teresa retorted.
The stern look on the girl's face brought a burst of laughter from all three men. When she glared at them, Murdoch sobered enough to say, "They were joking, Teresa. They have no intention of buying a saloon."
"Well I don't think it's anything to be joking about." Her voice still reflected that she was piqued.
The first gong of the grandfather clock announced the approach of mid-night and all eyes in the room turned to watch the tall timepiece tick away the final seconds of the year. By the time the twelfth chime sounded, Murdoch noticed that Teresa, seeming to have forgotten her irritation with his sons, had joined the family in cheering in the new year.
Murdoch Lancer turned out the lamp and crawled into bed. Staring into the semi-darkness, he allowed his thoughts to drift back to the same time a year ago. He had just begun to recover from being wounded in the ambush that had left his friend and foreman, Paul O'Brien, lying dead in the street of Morro Coyo.
Many times in the past twelve months, Murdoch had regretted not taking more men with him to catch the two thieves who had stolen his prized palomino stallion. Even though he had made Paul's daughter, Teresa, his legal ward and treated her as though she were his own, he still felt that he owed a debt to O'Brien that he would never be able to pay.
The rancher sighed softly and reined his thoughts in another direction. His sons. A year ago he had believed that Scott had died during the war in the East and had lost hope of finding Johnny. In desperation, shortly after Paul O'Brien's death, Murdoch had sent a letter to an old friend and offered him a share in the ranch. He had needed someone he could trust to run things while he was laid up.
In desperation, Murdoch had decided to contact his elder son. Not trusting that a letter sent to the home of his son's grandfather would end up in Scott's hands; he had hired the Pinkerton Detective Agency to deliver the message instead. A little over a month later, the rancher had been surprised to receive a telegram stating that Scott was on his way.
The news that his older son had accepted his invitation had brought with it both a feeling of elation and a sense of dread. Murdoch still marveled that Scott had so willing come all the way from Boston, then after helping fight to save the ranch, had stayed on and given them a chance to get to know each other.
Murdoch's thoughts shifted from his older to his younger son. A few weeks before Scott's telegram had arrived, the Pinkertons had sent word that they might have located Johnny in a Mexican prison. The news that his son was using the name of Johnny Madrid had come as a shock. More than a year before that, Murdoch had heard stories about the young gunfighter who was gaining fame along the Mexican border. At the time, he and Paul had even discussed some of the boy's exploits.
Uncertain of what to expect, Murdoch had informed the agency to pay whatever was necessary to free his son and to offer him a thousand dollars to come to Lancer. He had never dreamed that Johnny and Scott would end up arriving on the same day.
Despite a very rocky beginning filled with doubts, hatred fueled by lies that Johnny apparently had been told while growing up, and mistrust on both of their parts, Murdoch was pleased that his younger son was at last taking an active interest in the operations of the ranch. When the boy had first agreed to stay after helping to fight the gang of land pirates, Murdoch had wondered if Johnny would ever be content with the day-to-day grind of ranch work.
The situation had come to a head when Johnny had taken off to catch some wild horses instead of completing a section of fence that would have prevented the loss of several head of cattle and two days of rescuing fifty more from a sand trap. Murdoch had to admit that he had been extra hard on his younger son. At the time, he had felt a necessity to force Johnny into choosing between two ways of life: ranching and all of the responsibilities that went with it or drifting from town to town, doing what he wanted when he wanted, and making a living by hiring out his gun. That decision had nearly driven Johnny away for good. Murdoch was just thankful that he had been wrong about what mattered to his son, and that Johnny had returned, willing to give his new a life another chance.
Murdoch smiled into the darkness. Taking the time to chase a small band of wild horses with his son had been one of the most worthwhile things he had done all year. It had been the turning point in his relationship with Johnny. From then on, he and his younger son had steadily put the past farther behind them and had come to share a mutual respect for one another.
The rancher grunted softly and rolled over. In a few hours, the dawn of a new year would arrive. He had no doubts about there being trials to overcome. Ranch life had never been easy and he didn't expect that to change; however, he felt more content than he ever had in his life. His sons were home. God willing, together they would face whatever challenges the days and months ahead brought their way. In the end, they would still be together, closer and stronger than ever--a family. His family.