Windmills and Remembrances

Windmills & Remembrances

By Ginny & Robin

PROLOGUE

"Everyone remembers this photo, much like other iconic images," Diane Sawyer said to the camera. "It was called "Brothers: Portrait in Grief”. It has been almost two decades since this picture was on the front page of almost every news paper in the country.

A black and white photo filled the screen, a Pulitzer Prize winner that captured a poignant instant in time. A handsome, dark haired teenager, caught in that instant between boyhood and manhood was cradling a wailing, small boy in his arms. A husky blonde boy, somewhere between the two others in age and size, wept, his face pillowed in his older brother’s back. The teenager was wearing a high school letter jacket, white, with dark sleeves. The blonde boy was wearing an indistinguishable winter windbreaker. Despite the filth and blood on the smallest boy, he was remarkably beautiful, almost angelic. The child’s face was framed with tangled curls and was in the center of the photo, his eyes wide with terror. Faintly, in the back ground you could make out a husky, mustachioed highway patrol officer. His ham-like hand was over his eyes as he too wept.

The light was harsh, contrasted between the dark in the back ground and bright spots from the glare of headlights on the wet macadam road.

"This was the first time many of us became aware of your work, "Diane turned to an elegant, dark haired woman next to her. "And this was just the start of the career of Faye Franklin, award winning photographer.” The screen filled with flashes of images ranging from flower filled fields to an elderly man standing near the rubble of the World Trade Center and a supreme court justice patting a dog as the wind billowed up his gown, tour de France riders passing the Eiffel Tower and the a young marine sleeping peacefully on the hood of a Humvee in the middle of a desert.

Faye Franklin settled back into her chair, seeming at home in front of the camera. "Yes, I was just getting by on my dreams and working as a free lance photographer selling things to local papers. To be honest, I did mostly high school sports events, American Legion dinners and garden club luncheons. I had just gotten a job at the JC Penny’s doing baby photos to pay the rent. My parents kept urging me to come back home to Boston but I dug my heels in and refused.”

How did you get this shot?" Diane Sawyer asked.

It was just being in the right place at the right time and being ready. I had just finished shooting pictures of a cow.” Faye smiled at the memory.

Diane Sawyer raised her eyebrows inquisitively. "A cow?”

"That’s ranchland there and I had taken a picture of a prize winning cow for the owner’s wife to frame for her husband’s birthday. Like I said, I was doing any thing and everything to earn my way. It was during a late spring storms that had turned into freezing rain up in the mountains. As I came up the road, I saw the station wagon had just skidded off the road. I jumped out just and just started shooting film. A man pulled the little boy free but his mother was killed in the crash. The sheriff came. I just kept shooting.”

"Were the other boys in the crash?" the reporter asked. "This picture is so moving."

"No.” The photographer shook her head. “The two older brothers were heading home and came upon the accident that killed their mother. It was very sad.”

"But you kept shooting?"

"Yes, I still have all the negatives in my files but this was the first shot I printed; and the best." Franklin smiled proudly. "Even the shots of the man pulling the child free weren’t as special as this particular shot."

"Heartwrenching," Sawyer sighed. "Even all these years later, my heart breaks for these children who just lost their mother. What happened to that little fellow?"

"Oh physically he was basically fine, just bruised and dirty.” Franklin nodded. He was buckled up in the back seat, but the mother was not wearing her seatbelt. She was thrown from the station wagon in the accident and killed."

"But it was the beginning of your career." Diane Sawyer prompted. A moment frozen in time."

"Yes, sad that the mother was killed, but very fortunate for me and my career."

Andrew Lancer reached forward and snapped off the television. "Damn! Fortunate for your career? It could have been the ruin of mine and certainly if anyone gets wind of it now!”

**********

JR Ewing sat staring out his office window at the spectacular nighttime view of the Dallas skyline. With the downturn in the Texas oil industry, Ewing Oil needed to diversify. The three future energy alternatives were nuclear, wind power and solar energy. He had toured a wind farm in California and had his engineers prepare him reams of reports on wind power. It would be feasible in Texas. He had just secretly acquired, through one of his holding companies, a small company in El Paso that made storage batteries for the giant windmills. Secretly, because it wouldn’t be good for the cartel to find out that Ewing Oil was losing confidence in the oil industry.

His chief engineer, Peter Kane, had studied engineering at the University of Pennsylvania with a hotshot named Adam Cartwright. Kane just heard that Cartwright had hit upon a way to improve the efficiency of the storage batteries. JR didn’t understand the details; that’s what he paid his engineering staff for. The storage batteries currently in use could be rendered obsolete; including the ones made at JR's new factory. The prototype was stored someone on the family ranch in Nevada, the Ponderosa. So far JR’s spies hadn’t been able to locate where, but that little detail didn’t worry JR. Kane knew Cartwright’s best friend and assistant on the project, Ross Marquette. JR smirked wickedly at the thought of this ace in the hole. Kane had told him that Marquette was a gambler, and not a very good one. He was deeply in debt and could be persuaded to do almost anything for money. If JR's new company could build its own prototype, after an unfortunate accident put Cartwright's out of commission, JR could be a pioneer in the wind power industry, like his daddy had been in the oil industry.

Cartwright's father was Ben Cartwright, President and Chairman of the Board of Ponderosa Enterprises in Nevada. He was providing the financing for his son to build the prototype; and if a success, to start production. Success of the project could add to Cartwright's substantial fortune. Failure could mean the end of Ponderosa Enterprises. Kane's report contained another interesting little tidbit. Ponderosa Enterprises owned land in Clark County that Ben Cartwright was hoping to lease to Wind Power Ltd. for its proposed Desert Wind Ranch.

JR turned his head to look proudly at the silver framed photo of his daddy on the credenza beneath the wide window. His daddy, Jock, hated Ben Cartwright. Cartwright had worked on Southfork back in Granddaddy Southworth’s day when Mama was young. Ben Cartwright was her first love. Everybody thought it was that no-account Digger Barnes, but Ellie Southworth’s first love was Ben Cartwright, long before Barnes even came on the scene. Granddaddy Southworth would probably have let her marry him, but Mama’s feelings for Cartwright weren’t reciprocated. He was engaged to some fancy Radcliff girl who came from a wealthy shipping family back in Massachusetts. Mama still kept a photograph of Cartwright and her in the bottom of her jewelry box. Daddy knew it was there and claimed it didn’t bother him; Ellie was his. JR knew a picture of his wife with another man had to bother a husband, even a man as secure and powerful as Jock Ewing. There was a newspaper clipping there too about a woman being killed in a car wreck in Nevada; Cartwright’s wife, his third wife, and the third to die. Those wives might be worth looking into. After ruining Ben Cartwright, there would be no doubt who Jock Ewing’s favorite son was; and it wouldn’t be little brother Bobby.

After pouring another Bourbon and branch, JR punched a number into his telephone. The telephone on the other end was answered after only three rings. Not bothering with any niceties, JR barked his instruction into the receiver. “Harry, be in my office tomorrow morning, and pack a suitcase. You’re going to Nevada."

It would prove convenient to have a powerful state official in his pocket. Andrew Lancer was the head of the Nevada Office of Land Management. JR’s current lover, Laura Dayton Cartwright, had alerted him to Lancer’s secret. Her Aunt Lil had been Lancer’s mistress for years, hidden away in luxury in a condo at Lake Tahoe. There was another little secret that Laura had passed on to her lover. A secret concerning Andrew Lancer and a rain-slick Nevada highway.

“I’ll want you to start digging into Ben Cartwright’s life. He’s high and mighty in Nevada. There was talk one time of him running for governor. He even filed to be on the ballot in the primary, but pulled out all of a sudden. I want to know why. Does it have anything to do with having three dead wives? There has to be something behind that. It’s pretty suspicious, I’d say. You know how to reach me when you find out something”

After hanging up the phone, JR again turned to his contemplation of the Dallas skyline. Yes sir, his daddy was going to be pleased, mighty pleased.

JR took a sip from the glass of Bourbon and branch in his hand and chuckled out loud. Besides making his daddy happy when he destroyed the Cartwrights, there could be another dividend for himself. The Ponderosa was 1,000 square miles of prime Lake Tahoe real estate that could not be developed. Old man Cartwright and his sons were devout conservationists. That oldest son was president of some tree-hugger society he founded himself. JR’s smile widened at the thought of owning 1,000 square miles of prime Lake Tahoe real estate to sell to developers for multi-million-dollar houses and condos and maybe even a couple of hotel-casinos Yes sir, he might keep one of the best home sites for himself. Tahoe was a long ways from Dallas and his wife, Sue Ellen’s prying eyes.

**********

“Hey Joe! Damn cool place!” Clay Stafford looked around admiringly. Drapes made from burlap feed sacks covered the plate glass window of the Bucket of Blood, effectively cutting off the bright Nevada sun. Dim lighting was provided by yellow-bulbed light fixtures made to look like miners’ lanterns. The crack of pool cues on balls came from the pool tables in the far end of the large room. Over all was the din of voices talking, laughing, arguing, even singing along with the Toby Keith song now blaring from the jukebox. Ceiling fans fought a losing battle with the swirling cigarette and cigar smoke.

Joe stopped at a barrel by the bar and scooped a generous helping of peanuts into a small, red, galvanized bucket. He grinned and winked at the cute blond bartender in western garb. Joe then led Clay through the crowd, nodding and smiling at friends and acquaintances.

"Looks like everyone knows you," Clay observed.

Joe shrugged "Lived here my whole life."

"Guess everyone knows the Cartwrights," Clay said. "Must be nice."

”Not always. Everyone knows your business, too."

"What about when you were off in college? No one knew you there. How about hitting the road with me and go where no one has heard of the Cartwrights. We can go to Mexico and have a really fine time. You should see the babes in Acapulco"

The brothers settled themselves at a table and Joe signaled a passing waitress.

"Maybe." Joe nodded.

Like the bartender, the waitress was dressed western-style. A tight denim miniskirt was topped by a formfitting blue plaid shirt. Several top buttons of which were unbuttoned to reveal a tanned cleavage. A silver-studded belt encircled her tiny waist, and her long shapely legs were encased in white cowboy boots.

“Hi guys. I’m Jill. What can I get you?” She smiled brightly at her two customers and tossed her long black hair as she took their order of draft Coors.

“Mmmm-mmmm!” Joe murmured under his breath and rolled his eyes in an exaggerated display of admiration.

Clay admiring gaze never left the waitress as she made her way to the bar, hips swaying enticingly.

Joe snapped his fingers under his brother’s nose to get his attention, and laughed. “I thought you’d like it here.”

Clay put on his best lecherous look. “I like what I see very much, brother. Hey, she didn’t card you!”

“They usually don’t locals, just strangers. That’s why my friends and I hang out here.” Joe tossed a handful of peanuts into his mouth. “By the way, you can admire Jill but I wouldn’t advise any more than that. She’s engaged to a big jealous lumberjack with two brothers. Any one of them makes Hoss look puny.”

"So?" Clay shrugged. "Did you see how she smiled at me?"

So? Are you crazy? Those guys will pound you into the ground." Joe warned. “Anyway, she smiles like that at any new guy that comes in.”

"I like a challenge," Clay quickly drank down his beer and signaled Jill to come over to the table. "My brother and I would like another round and I want something special. Hope you can accommodate me."

Jill smiled warmly “Sure, I’ll try. What special thing do you want?”

”You,” Clay stared deeply into the pretty girls eyes.

**********

”This here is my girl,” the burly man confronted the handsome stranger on the dance floor. He pulled the raven-haired waitress away from Clay. “What’s your name, pal?”

“Stafford, Clay Stafford,” Clay smiled smoothly as he stepped away from the waitress.

“Your first name and your last are the same? I can see your tombstone now, pal. ‘Here lies Stafford Clay Stafford. It didn’t take long… he put his paws where they didn’t belong‘.” Lenny Turkow poured his beer over Clay’s head. “Now get away from my girl and keep away from her or I’ll kill you.” He gave the other man a hard shove.

Clay wiped the Coors out of his eyes and moved in fast, his fists swinging. Drunken, slow witted Leonard Turkow, Jr. knew, as the first punch hit him hard, that he didn’t stand a chance against the quicker man in terms of speed. He laughed anyway. Lenny out weighed Clay by close to a hundred pounds of pure beef and knew his brothers Denny and Kenny would back him up. Unless that pretty boy flirting with Lenny’s girl had a bazooka, he would be pounded into hamburger.

As they had since their days at the Tahoe Nursery School, the three thick necked Turkow brothers fought any opponent as one. The burly Turkow brothers, Leonard Junior, Dennis and Kenneth, were better known around Virginia City as Lenny, Denny and Killer Kenny. The gargantuan lumberjacks were only a year apart in age and totally inseparable. Mrs. Turkow had bragged that her baby boys were three peas in a pod and even she couldn’t even tell them apart.

Adam Cartwright cynically observed they were the damned ugliest peas in the ugliest pod he ever saw. He added that the only reason their mother couldn’t tell them apart was she was blinded by looking at her first born daughter, Jenny’s, ugliness. By comparison to hefty, slack jawed Jennifer, the bullet headed boys were angelically beautiful.

Each of the Turkow boys in turn was the full back on the high school foot ball team and as a senior, each won the state wrestling championship in their weight class, 275 and above. After graduation, they all followed their father, bull of the woods, Leonard Senior to work as lumber jacks.

Not caring that he was severely out-numbered, Clay wrenched his left arm free and threw another punch at Lenny Turkow. Len, off balanced and crashed into two tourists who were drinking at the ornate bar. The taller of the pair, wearing a Notre Dame tee shirt cursed Lenny for spilling his beer and then foolishly swung at him. It never connected.
Huge Lenny Turkow simply stepped back while his brother Denny took hold of Clay’s left arm. Kenny spun around and threw a chair in the direction of the tourists. It bounced off the end of the bar and ricocheted into the back wall. Cosmos brand new bar mirror exploded into sparkling shards.

Kenny hit Clay with a solid blow to his chest, and then leapt on hapless Mr. Notre Dame and his surprised companion. Clay stumbled backwards knocking over the cheerleader’s table.

The shapely girls screeched as their glasses spilled low carb beer and diet Coke all over their laps. Joe dropped Connie McKee’s hand and abandoned the idea of getting one of his old classmates to dance with Clay.

“Guess I better go, girls,” declared Joe as he planted a quick kiss on Jennifer Beal‘s cheek. The former cheerleaders scattered as Joe leaped into the battle.

There was a sudden cry and Clay felt his gut lurch from Kenny Turkow‘s solid punch.

“Leave my brother alone, Turkow!”demanded Little Joe fiercely.

“Your brother? Hell this guy ain’t no Cartwright!” Lenny countered hauling Clay up by the front of his new shirt. “I lived in this town my whole life and I know what Adam Cartwright and Hoss Cartwright look like, Joe. This dude ain‘t neither one. But he sure was messing with our brother’s girl. Weren’t he Denny?” said Kenny.

Denny landed heavily on Joe’s back, driving him face first to the floor. Glass shattered around them and the former cheerleaders scattered. Somehow Joe elbowed Denny Turkow off him and rolled away from the larger man.

Ignoring the mess around him, Joe scrambled to his feet and barreled head first into Lenny knocking him backwards into the bank of video games. Two of them overturned with loud electronic screeches, a flash of blue sparks and the acrid smell of burning plastic. Classic Pac Man blinked his last blink and shorted out.

Suddenly the place was filled with an out of control tornado of flying fists, chairs and pitched whisky bottles. Clay Stafford grabbed a bottle of Rolling Rock and smashed it over Denny Turkow’s bullet-shaped skull. Then he punched the helpless man in the stomach, laughing as the lumberjack involuntarily doubled over and fell face first into a turgid puddle of spilled beer and crushed cigarettes.

Enraged, a bystander gave Denny a shove and somehow was now included in the fight.

Clay staggered back and bounced off the pool table. Kenny grabbed a cue and charged at Clay. Clay gasped for air as Kenny pressed the cue across his throat.

“OK boys! Break it up!” Sheriff Roy Coffee ordered.

Deputy Clem Foster pulled Kenny Turkow off Clay and somehow got Stafford’s fist in his nose as his reward.

***********

"Here's a quarter, son. Go call your Pa and tell him where you are. Don't want him worrying about you two," Roy Coffee said as he wrote up the report. He didn't even look up at Joe and his companion. Both of them were sporting a variety of lumps and bruises. Clay's expensive new shirt was torn and stained beyond salvaging and Joe didn't look much better.

Joe resolutely refused to look at Clay and said not a word. He wondered if there was some way he could convince Roy to let him go with out Pa knowing about any of this. Otherwise, he might just be better off staying in jail. Some how sharing a small cell with all of the Turkows was a bit more appealing than facing an angry Ben Cartwright. If Joe had to hear his father say "I am so disappointed in you, son." one more time he would jump off of Eagle's nest.

“Joe? Did you hear what I said? You better go call your Pa to come bail you out. If you ask real polite I am sure Cosmo will let you boys settle up the damages and not press charges. Especially since it was the Turkows who started the fight and busted the mirror."

"And permanently ruined Ms Pacman," Clem said with a sigh. He was more upset about his favorite video game being destroyed than his broken nose.

**********

Clay's father, Jean DeMarigny had been the only son of a wealthy New Orleans family. DeMarignys had been in Louisiana for generations. Marie DuBey's parents had owned a tavern on the waterfront. Julia Demarigny had used lies and innuendo to break up her son's marriage. Thinking his wife unfaithful, Jean had left New Orleans and his pregnant wife. A few months later, Jean’s mother received word that he had been killed in a hunting accident in Nevada. The old lady took the baby from the hospital after he was born. The DeMarigny family had contributed a wing to the St. Catherine's Hospital, and old Mrs. DeMarigny was related to the head of the obstetrics department of the hospital. She had no trouble persuading the doctor to let her take the baby home and telling Marie that he had died. Clay had been told by his grandmother that his parents had been killed in an automobile wreck right after he was born.

When the old lady died unexpectedly when Clay was nine years old, he was left with a complicatedly tied-up trust fund, but no living relatives. According to his grandmother's wishes, he was raised by her attorney, Cyrus Stafford, whose last name Clay used.

Feeling alone in the world, he searched the New Orleans Parish records for information on where they were buried. He found no evidence of their deaths, but found instead the marriage records of a woman with his mother's name

Taking his entire allowance for the year from his trust fund, Clay took a trip to Nevada and hired a private investigator. The investigator finally reported to Clay that his mother had indeed been killed in a car wreck, but a dozen years after the date he had been told, and thousands of miles from Louisiana. His father had been killed the year of Clay's birth, by a bear during a hunting trip, also in Nevada, That was not the only information the investigator had for his young client. Clay had a stepfather, two step-brothers and a half-brother not far away from the hotel where he was staying in Reno.

Not one for timidity, a few days later Clay presented himself at the Cartwrights' home, and told his story, not expecting to be believed. Due to his resemblance to his father, Jean DeMarigny, who Ben Cartwright had known well, his story was believed. After having his attorney check Clay out, Ben was convinced that the young man was who he claimed to be. Ben invited him to stay and get acquainted with his new family.

Joe was thrilled, but the rest of the family was a little uneasy. Clay could be a likable young man, but in Ben's opinion was rather wild and undependable. Clay had wanted to take Joe to Acapulco to celebrate finding each other. Just the thought of Joe loose in Mexico with Clay was enough to give Ben a headache for a week. Of course, Ben had wanted to forbid it, but Joe was past eighteen, an adult. He pushed his luck, and forbad it anyway, resulting in quite an argument with the son in question.

**********

“I thought sure your dad would send me packing after that fight.” Clay lounged in the passenger seat of his step-father’s new Buick Rainier beside Joe at the wheel. They were delivering the SUV to Ben after taking it for servicing at Reno-Carson Buick.

“Yeah, well he was going to. Adam was all for it. We have Hoss to thank that he didn’t. He convinced Pa that it would be a good idea for you to stay and work off your share of the bail and damages. Maybe try to get some sense of responsibility into your head. Adam insisted it’s too late for that, but Hoss threw a load of that psychology gobblygook at Pa and overwhelmed him with it. It didn’t hurt that Pa kind of feels that he owes it to Mom to try to straighten you out. She always treated Adam and Hoss like they were her own sons. Pa feels he ought to do the same by you. Course, treating you the same as he does me isn’t always doing you a favor," Joe laughed.

Clay laughed in agreement. “You got that right! Hey, how about letting me drive? I’ve been wanting to try out one of these.”

Joe quickly shook his head. “Oh, no! This is Pa’s pride and joy. He’d have my hide. Besides, the insurance for this car wouldn’t cover you. Pa’s a stickler for being covered by insurance.”

“Just for a few miles. Nothing’s going to happen in that short a distance,” Clay argued.

Joe gave in. “OK, when we stop at Captain Dick’s to buy the beer, you can take over til we get to the ranch road. Then it’s back to me. I don’t want to chance anyone seeing you at the wheel of Pa’s new SUV.”

*************

“Ye-haw!” Now this is driving”, Clay shouted. “I’m going to get myself one of these when I get control of my trust fund.”

“A Buick? You already said you were going to get a BMW, a Ferrari, and an Aston-Martin”. You’re going to blow your whole trust fund on cars. Anyway, a Buicks are for middle-aged people." Joe laughed.

“Hey, I got a CD you should hear. I brought it with us. I just remembered it. It's old time disco. I found some old disco records of Mom's stored in the attic. The same songs are on this CD I saw at the music store at the Washoe Valley Mall, so I bought it. Damn, it's under the seat."

Joe glanced at the speedometer. “Hey, better slow down. There are a lot of deer wondering onto the roads. One jumped right over the hood of Bessie Sue’s Tracker last week before she realized it was there. Lots of smaller critters in a hurry to become road kill too. Anyway, the ranch road is right up ahead.”

“You worry too much, brother.” Clay grinned at Joe, but eased up on the accelerator.

Joe bent down and reached under the car seat, searching for the elusive CD. "Damn, can't reach it." Joe grumbled as he unlatched his seat belt.

“What’s that?” A swift-moving shape darted into Clay’s vision. Distracted, he glanced at it, then back to the road; but not back to the road quickly enough. He heard Joe yell “Oh, shit!” just as he felt the left front tire leave the pavement.

Trees and bushes rushed by as the Buick rolled down the slope that boarded the road. As the SUV picked up momentum, small tree branches cracked and glass broke. Clay's seat belt tightened around him as the vehicle gave a final lurch and came to rest.

Clay felt like he had forgotten to breath. He took a deep breath, shook his head, and turned to the passenger seat to check on Joe. "Hey! You ok, brother? Oh, God!"

Joe sat there, a dazed look on his stark white face while blood poured from a nasty looking gash on his forehead. Clay extricated the two of them from the deployed air bags and staggered up the slope, half carrying and half dragging his brother.

“Oh no, no, no!” Clay moaned. He sat on a log staring unbelievably, wishing fervently that what he was seeing was part of a bad dream. His step-father's new Buick had come to rest half-way down a slope that led to a small creek. It’s flawless, highly-polished dark blue body was covered with scratches, scrapes, and dents. The left side- view mirror hung by its wires. A small tree branch protruded from the left rear passenger window. The SUV was canted to the left side, its right side hung up on a large pile of rocks, right wheels still spinning. The front end, smashed against the solid trunk of a Ponderosa pine, was a crumpled mess.

Joe sat on the ground propped against the log where his brother sat. Clay pressed a wad of cloth torn form his shirt to Joe's forehead. The gash was still bleeding heavily, the area around it swelling hideously.

"We have to get some help and get you to the hospital.” Clay continued to press the wad of cloth to Joe's bleeding forehead while he fumbled with one hand with his cell phone. He held it to his ear, then cursed and flung it to the ground. "Damn thing's dead! Where's yours?"

Joe pointed silently to the Buick at the bottom of the slope.

"Try to keep this pressed against your forehead." Clay tore off a fresh strip of cloth from his shirt and put it into Joe's hand. He made sure Joe was alert enough to follow his instruction, glanced ruefully down the slope, and with a resigned sigh made his way back down to the battered vehicle.

Clay pushed aside the airbags and squeezed his way into the car. He didn't see Joe's cell phone on the seat. Searching through the SUV, he finally found it wedged under the accelerator pedal.

"How the hell did it get under there? Oh, great!" Clay stared at the smashed phone he held in his hand.

"Now what do I do? Leave Joe here alone and walk to the house. We're at the ranch road, but the house is still a long way yet. He sure can't walk it. Probably should just stay put with him; somebody'll come along. The kid looks like he's about ready to pass out. Oh, God. My goose is cooked for sure. First I get Joe involved in a fight in the Bucket of Blood with those lumberjack jerks, then he has a humdinger of a quarrel with his dad about us going to Acapulco, now this. Not only is Ben going to kill me, Adam and Hoss will pound what's left of me. Hoss was even starting to like me a little."

Clay, still mumbling to himself, starting to panic, started to climb back up to the road. He was almost to the top of the slope before he looked up from the ground and saw Adam Cartwright's familiar black Jeep Grand Cherokee parked beside where he left Joe.

**********

“Hey Joe, I thought you were going to lay down after supper like Dr. Martin told you to, and watch the ball game in your room? The only reason he didn’t keep you at the hospital longer than a couple days was because you promised to take it easy. A concussion isn’t nothing to fool with.” Hoss Cartwright looked from the large screen TV in the corner of the great room to his little brother who was slowly making his way down the staircase. Joe was dressed in his most comfortable old cut-off-sweat pants and t-shirt, a bandage covering the stitches in his forehead.

Joe rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at his family arrayed around the large, masculine room. His father, as usual was seated in his well-worn maroon leather recliner beside the fireplace, the newspaper in his lap. His oldest brother Adam lounged in the blue easy chair on the opposite side of the fireplace, his feet propped on a hassock. He had turned the chair to face the TV, instead of having his nose stuck in a book, as was customary.

Hoss, seated on the maroon striped sofa, his arm around Bessie Sue Hightower, his colleague and on-again-off-again fiancée. He moved closer to her to make room on the sofa for Joe. Hoss longed to set a wedding date, but Bessie Sue got skittish when he tried to pin her down. They were both completing their PhDs in child and adolescent psychology and working part-time at a local clinic. She wanted to wait until they both earned their degrees and at least one of them had a full-time position. At least, this was her most recent excuse.

Joe resisted the urge to plop down between them. There was no reason to yank his brother's chain tonight. Hoss had been the only one in the family not to get on his back about dropping out of college. He was, also, the one who had protected Clay from their father's wrath after the wreck.

“San Diego is playing in Atlanta and they got rained out. They’re having bad storms down there. That was the only good game on tonight. I’m all slept out from sleeping all afternoon. What’s the difference if I’m taking it easy upstairs or down here? What are you guys watching?” Joe settled himself on the sofa beside Hoss and plopped his bare feet onto the rustic plank coffee table.

Ben glanced over the top of his newspaper at his youngest son. “Hoss is right about a concussion being nothing to fool with. But you’ve been lying down all day. Joseph! Feet off the table please.”

Joe grinned at the familiar reprove from his father, but hastily dropped his feet to the floor.

Here little brother. Put your feet up on this.” Adam slid the hassock he was using over to his brother. “But don’t get too used to it,” he laughed. “I’m only being nice to you because you’re banged up.”

Joe stretched his achy legs out and leaned comfortably back into his corner of the sofa. “Thanks Adam. I’m not sure what banged me up the most. The wreck or Pa’s lecture after you and Hoss brought me home, and Pa decided I was in good enough shape to listen to it.” Joe sneaked a side-long glance at his father, who “humphed”, and snapped the newspaper he was holding in front of his nose.

Joe didn't think it prudent to mention that Clay had called him from Los Angeles that afternoon.

Bessie Sue leaned across Hoss to smile at Joe. “You look better than I expected from what Hoss told me”.

Joe smiled back weakly, but couldn’t help bragging, “Because even with stitches in my head, I’m still the best looking Cartwright.”

Bessie Sue laughed and snuggled into Hoss. “Not in my opinion.”

“Faye Franklin is being interviewed by Diane Sawyer,” Adam answered. “Since we’re going to that party for her in Dallas in a couple of weeks, we thought it would be a good idea to watch the interview. Be quiet, everyone. It’s starting.”

**********

"'Divas' has always been one of my favorites. You totally captured the glamour of the women in the shot," Dianne Sawyer said to Faye.

"Boy, did she. Now those are lovely ladies. I once saw Lotta Crabtree perform in college," Hoss said as the picture of Lotta Crabtree, Ada Mencken, Julia Grant, Liza Minelli and Barbara Streisand. "She put on a fundraiser for the Big Brothers.”

"This picture was used on the cover of Vanity Fair. I was quite honored that all of them agreed to the portrait and gave me free rein on the wardrobe and lighting,” Faye said. "And they were all so cooperative."

“Even Barbara Streisand?" Dianne Sawyer asked.

"Oh yes. She was the one who suggested the entire thing as a tribute to Adah Mencken winning the Oscar for "Mazeppa”.

**********

"Marie and I saw Barbara Streisand in concert on our first anniversary. She loved to hear her sing ‘The Way We Were’," Ben added.

”I remember that," Hoss smiled. "Marie would sing while she did chores and made supper. And in the car."

Joe nodded. He had vague memories of his mother singing along with the radio in the station wagon. She had a pretty voice.

Adam remembered coming in tired from basket ball practice, doing chores on a cold, damp evening. They must have just turned back the clock and it was pitch dark outside. He was hungry and chilled, and still had a pile of homework to do.

His step-mother was putting the last touches on supper before Pa came home. She had just fixed her hair and was wearing form fitting Calvin Klein jeans and a soft green cowl neck sweater that matched her eyes. She always wanted to look her best when her husband came home.

Marie’s small television set on the kitchen counter. Pa thought Marie watched too much TV, but she would say that living on the ranch, she missed the company of crowds and parties and close neighbors. Maybe, he had teased, she has a new friend named Oprah to keep her company in the afternoons while he worked and the two older boys were in school. Pa had warned her not to fall for Phil Donahue or that slick good looking guy on the evening news as she belonged to him alone. All the boys laughed at Ben‘s joke, even Joe who had no clue what they were laughing at.

Little Joe was very small, sitting in on the kitchen stool singing with her. Hoss played with his new Gameboy and was standing so Little Joe could look over his shoulder at the screen but keep his grubby hands off the precious toy. Marie was singing and finishing the salad. Some old black and white sit com was on the television, The Dick Van Dyke Show. Adam leaned on the door frame and watched. Mary Tyler Moore was wearing tight black toreador pants and pertly pouring coffee for her husband. She was the cordial hostess to their friends at some sort of lively, sophisticated New York gathering. Adam was suddenly warmed to his core and wished he was Rob Petrie with such a smart, pretty wife. He would love to be the Ponderosa Matador to a wife in tight toreador pants. He could be El Toro Grande. He had no idea what Rob and Laura did in their twin bedded bedroom but he had his fantasies.

**********

"Who is this? He looks awfully demonic." Diane Sawyer asked Faye Franklin. The back ground of the scene was filled with orange, swirling hellfire. In the center was a husky man with intense black eyes glaring straight at the camera. He looked both seductive and viciously deadly at the same time.

"He is the Thunderman".

"Thunderman?" He looks quite frightening."

Faye avoided saying how really alarming the man was. She had avoided being alone with him even though he had only acted in the most polite and gracious way. There was something about how he whistled and spoke in a phony, countrified accent that chilled her blood. "Thunderman is a demolition expert named William Poole. He specializes in fighting oil well fires all over the world. He was in the military during the first Gulf War."

"Desert Storm?" Sawyer asked.

Faye nodded, her smooth dark hair bouncing gracefully. "The army trained him in ordinance and explosives and he now travels around the world putting out oil well fires for the petroleum industry. It is quite a high risk vocation.”

"And I am sure it pays quite well too." Diane prompted.

"Very well. But the interesting thing is Poole said he would do it for nothing. He claims he loves blowing things up and the million dollar fees just make it more fun. He claims women love men who know how to.”

"He looks awfully demonic,” the blonde haired reporter said once again. It took a lot to frighten the veteran reporter but there was something about the look in William Poole’s piercing eyes that made Diane Sawyer shudder.

**********

“I called this picture ‘Taken to the cleaners’. It was from a series of photos I did in the San Francisco courts.”

"That is a very unusual title. Tell me more about it," prompted Diane Sawyer.

"Well, the man on the right told me that he stole his cousin’s fiancée. Now she was divorcing him.”

A very beautiful, well-dressed blonde woman sat on one side of the courtroom weeping dramatically into her manicured hands while a round cheeked blonde little girl attended to her. The girl’s sad eyes were not on her mother. They looked longingly at her former step- father on the other side of the court room.

On the other side of the courtroom, the dark haired, mustached man sat clenching a pen in his fist. His mouth was pressed in an angry straight line as the court officer showed him where to sign the papers ending his marriage. The community property laws of the state of California, dictated that half of what he owned now belonged to a woman he had known less than two years

“I don’t believe it!”

“Oh my gosh!”

“Look at that!”

“Well, doggone!”

All four Cartwrights spoke at once as they realized who the couple in the photograph was. It was Ben’s nephew, Will Cartwright and his wife Laura.

Bessie Sue turned to Hoss with an inquisitive look. “Isn’t that your cousin?”

Hoss chuckled and bent towards her ear, whispering, “Yep! I’ll tell you all about it later”.

***********

Diane Sawyer’s voiceover continued. "This picture is called ‘Un-Natural Selection’. It was shot at that tragic fire at the Kapusta Nature preserve, the one that burned 10,000 acres of wet lands about ten years ago.”

The picture on the screen showed a young forest ranger and a vet attempting to bandage the burned paw of a singed bear.

"The fire was started by a young, emotionally disturbed arsonist.” Faye explained. "The bear recovered and was released back into the wild. His name was Peanut."

"The ranger or the bear?" Sawyer laughed.

"The bear. He loved peanut butter and the rangers gave it to him to keep him calm while they tended to his injuries.”

********

Hoss Cartwright’s thoughts drifted back to an encounter with a young boy during his freshman year in college at the University of Nevada at Reno:

Hoss had initially gone along with the Big Brother Group not thinking much about it, his first year of college. Hoss never would have imagined this involvement would impact him so deeply. As a result of the first camping trip and meeting warm-hearted Professor Harrison, the husky football player changed him major from sports management to psychology. He wanted to learn more about troubled youngsters, and to do everything he could do to help as many as he could. It also helped that Bessie Sue Hightower was majoring in psychology and he could spend time with his girl studying.

"Two years ago the sweet darlings caused a landslide and last year one of them started a fire in a nature preserve. You’ll pull your whole grade point up and not worry about your eligibility if you go with the team and take charge," Coach Ciampi urged. Hoss Cartwright amazingly had the best grades on the team and was basically carrying all their eligibilities on his broad shoulders. The coach also knew the good-natured Cartwright boy was one of the few on the team who could be counted on to have some sense in a tight situation. Hoss Cartwright also knew how to make a campfire and cook a hot dog with out setting a forest fire or take a keg of beer with him.

It was the final night of the annual Big Brother/ Football team camping trip. One of the major goals of the camping trip was for the youngsters to learn teamwork and share chores and responsibilities as well as fun with the athletes.

The group was scrambling to make camp before dark and start supper. All but one was attending to their assigned task to some fashion. The boys were even getting fairly adept at putting up the tents, chopping the fire wood and starting dinner.

Each football player worked with a few of the youngsters doing the chore Hoss had shown them. It was working quite well and they all were having a fine time.

All except one boy -- Chucky.

The sullen twelve year old boy was still hanging on the edge of the group, avoiding all his chores and even doing sneaky spiteful things to disrupt the others. His father, a notorious drug dealer, was killed when his crystal meth lab exploded. The boy was shifted from relative to foster home and had failed to fit in at any of them. He had come along on the camping trip and caused trouble for everyone.

"Chucky, come here a minute," Hoss called to the boy. He was sure he could break through to the youngster by imitating some of his father’s parenting techniques. Ben Cartwright was a great role model and Hoss was going to use one of his Pa’s best strategies to get a boy to shape up.

"What do you want, Horsie," the boy purposely mispronounced the football player’s nickname just to be obnoxious. He skulked over to the football player as he sat near the camp fire watching the dutch oven apple pie.

"Hoss. Just call me Hoss," young Cartwright said patiently. "You need to be pitching in for your share of the chores, Chucky."

"What for? You gonna make me? I’m going to do what I want on my own!"

"Let me show you something," Hoss picked up four slender, dry twigs. Then, like his father had demonstrated to each of his sons at various times, Hoss handed Chucky a twig. "Can you break this?"

"Sure I can!" The boy easily snapped the twig. "Horsie. If I sharpen it, I can poke out your eye."

Hoss swallowed hard and tried not to show the boy how spooked he felt. He just continued on with his story. "Each of us is like that twig, easily broken alone," Hoss said, trying to say it as well as Ben had.

"So?" Chucky sneered. His blue eyes glared at Hoss with a frightening anger.

"Well, son…" Hoss started. He smiled and put his huge hand on the boy’s narrow shoulder.

"I ain’t your son, fat boy," Chucky spat out and pulled away from Hoss.

Hoss was taken aback by the boy‘s venomous tone but he persevered. "Well , Chucky, look at this. This is like a team, like friends or family hanging together," Hoss bundled the twigs together.

"So? Who needs friends?" the boy sneered.

"Try to break this, now," Hoss handed the boy the bundle. He was going to teach Chucky just like Pa had taught his boys. This was going to be just perfect. Chucky would get the point just as each of the Cartwright boys had and be transformed.

Chucky clutched the twigs in his dirty hands and tried to snap the bunch. "I can’t!"

”See what I mean?" Hoss smiled hoping he sounded as wise as his father. "Each of us is easily broken alone but if we stick together…"

Chucky flung the twigs into the campfire. "We burn up together!" The boy threw his head back and laughed maniacally. Then he grabbed more firewood and tossed it into the flames. Hoss was so shocked at the boy's reaction that he froze for a minute. The angry boy grabbed the cooler and almost tossed it in too before Hoss grabbed him and restrained him.

**********

The still beautiful woman sat in the middle of the outdoor family portrait. Her blond hair in a casual but smooth flattering comb, a minimum of make up or jewelry was needed to enhance her natural beauty and healthy coloring. Her clear eyed gaze was unwavering and directly at the camera. Laugh lines crinkled in the corner of her twinkling eyes.

Swirling around her, their positions frozen by the quick shutter of Faye Franklin was her family:

Bracketing the family group like book ends were her handsome adult sons, dressed in expensive, custom made suits. The youngest son, Bobby, his hand affectionately and protectively on his mother's shoulder. The extremely attractive wives of these sons stood decoratively next to their respective husbands. In clear contrast to their lovely mother in law, the two younger women looked more artificial, like perfectly groomed life sized Barbie dolls, appendages to their husbands.

The older son, his father's namesake, had a wide, false smile on his slightly puffy face. His hand posed on his father's broad shoulder almost as if he was trying to gain the broad shouldered man's attention.

The father of the family, still ruggedly handsome, was wearing a western cut suit and a bolo tie. Despite his age, Jock Ewing looked like a force to reckon with both in the board room and in a barroom brawl.

Between her grandparents sat a voluptuous young woman. Her ripe sexuality in contrast with the artificial perfection of her uncle's wives. A gust of wind rippled sensuously through her long overly-blonded hair. She was only fourteen but was clearly hoping to appear older. She had her orthodontist remove her braces for the portrait despite her grandmother's protests.

“Now that’s what I call a gorgeous girl!” Joe whistled appreciatively, which earned him a glare from Adam.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” Joe glared back at his oldest brother. “You admire what you like about the photographs, and I’ll admire what I like about them. Anyway, look at the way Pa is staring at the photo,” Joe giggled. “He must see something he likes too.”

When Ben Cartwright glanced up from his newspaper to the TV screen, the last thing he had expected to see was those two faces from his past: Ellie Southworth Ewing and her husband Jock. Neither would he be expecting the trouble that their eldest son would bring to his family in the near future.

**********

"Everyone remembers this photo, much like other iconic images," Diane Sawyer said to the camera. "It was called "Brothers: Portrait in Grief" and it has been almost two decades since this picture was on the front page of almost every news paper in the country.

A black and white photo filled the screen, a Pulitzer Prize winner that captured a poignant instant in time. A handsome, dark haired teenager, caught in that instant between boyhood and manhood was cradling a wailing, small boy in his arms. A husky blonde boy, somewhere between the two others in age and size, wept, his face pillowed in his older brother’s back. The teenager was wearing a high school letter jacket, white with dark sleeves. The blonde boy was wearing an indistinguishable winter windbreaker. Despite the filth and blood on the smallest boy, he was remarkably beautiful, almost angelic. The child’s face was framed with tangled curls and was in the center of the photo, his eyes wide with terror. Faintly, in the back ground you could make out a husky, mustachioed highway patrol officer. His ham-like hand was over his eyes as he too wept.
The light was harsh, contrasted between the dark in the back ground and bright spots from the glare of headlights on the wet macadam road.

**********

“Joe! Little brother! What’s wrong?” Hoss had been half dozing on Bessie Sue’s shoulder and had been startled awake when Joe, who had been slouching beside him on the sofa, suddenly sat bolt upright and grabbed his arm.

Joe gestured towards the TV screen. “The photo of the wreck. I didn’t know that they were going to show the photos during her interview. “

Adam quickly grabbed the remote off the coffee table and switched the TV off. “I never thought of that either. I wouldn’t have insisted we watch it if I had known that.” He looked at the stricken expressions on his father’s and brothers’ faces and his mind reeled back to that long ago evening:

He had reluctantly left basketball practice early because he had to pick up Hoss. Bessie Sue's mother, a former school teacher, made extra money by tutoring. She was tutoring Hoss in math. He hadn’t wanted to ask the coach to leave practice early and had argued with his step-mother that morning about it. She insisted it couldn’t be helped; she had an appointment with Joe at the pediatrician and Adam had to help out.

Coming home with Hoss, they had rounded the corner at Jensen’s Dairy and had seen the red lights of Patrolman Coffee’s highway patrol car reflecting off the wet road.

Joe stood up abruptly and beat a hasty retreat up the stairs, not saying a word to anyone. Tempted to follow him, Ben got one foot on the staircase, but thought better of it. He decided to wait till Joe calmed down a bit. Shaking his head, he went back to his recliner and the rest of the family who were sitting silently just staring at each other.

Bessie Sue was shrugging into her jacket and gathering up her purse and briefcase. “You probably want to talk about what just happened, so I’ll be going. Thank Hop-Sing for me for such a good dinner, will you? I’ll see you tomorrow, Hoss.” Bessie Sue gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

“No, Bessie Sue, please don’t leave yet.” Ben gently took her arm. “You’re family. I wanted to talk to you about Joe’s behavior at college and since he came home. You’ve know Joe for years, since you babysat him when he was a child. He’s very fond of you, and I know you are of him. Please, stay awhile yet. Hop-Sing went to his cousin’s. It’s their ma-jong night. Why don’t we go out to the kitchen and have some of that cake while we talk. Hop-Sing always leaves us a full pot of coffee in the evenings.”

Hoss and Bessie Sue filed out to the kitchen and Ben turned to Adam who was standing gazing at the now blank TV screen. “Coming, Adam?”

“God, what a jerk I am, Pa!” Adam pinched the bridge of his nose and sank onto the coffee table. “I should have realized that photo would probably have been shown on Ms. Franklin’s interview. She won a Pulitzer Prize for it."

Ben put his arm across Adam’s shoulders. “Adam, to tell you the truth, when you said we should watch the interview, the thought of that photo never crossed my mind either. But maybe it was good this happened. Those photos are going to be on display at Ms. Franklin’s reception. It’s better this happened here than at the party, among a hundred strangers and all those photographers who will be there.

“Come on, let’s get some of that cake and coffee. I’ll go up in a little bit and check on Joe. I want to give him a chance to pull himself together first.” Ben steered his oldest out of the great room.

**********

“I brought you some things to amuse you," Bessie Sue said walking into Joe’s bedroom carrying a big cardboard carton.

The morning after watching the Diane Sawyer special with Faye Franklin, Joe had awakened with a splitting headache. Concerned because of the concussion that Joe had sustained in the wreck, Ben had phoned the family doctor, Paul Martin. Dr. Martin advised Ben that it probably wasn’t anything serious to be concerned about, but to make sure that Joe took it easy all day.

However, everyone had intractable commitments. Adam was driving out to check on his windmill project. Ben was scheduled to meet with his accountant to review his quarterly taxes. Hoss was meeting with Professor Harrison to review his dissertation on suppressed memory in traumatized children.

"Too bad Little Joe is your brother," Bessie Sue said to Hoss that morning when she called to wish him luck.

“Too bad? Thought you liked him," Hoss answered.

"I do. I love him I think of him as a brother. I just meant with the topic of your thesis and all that happened last night, Joe would be a perfect subject to study. It just wouldn’t be ethical to study your own brother," she explained.

"I know," Hoss sighed. “Pa and Adam have been awfully worried about Joe. He hasn’t been himself since he came home from college in San Diego."

"And you aren’t?" Bessie Sue asked, knowing how upset Hoss was at his bother’s unusual behavior.

“Guess I am. I sure hate to leave that boy alone all day. You know how Joe can get into trouble without him even putting his mind to it." Hoss sighed. Bessie Sue could sense his next thought would be to cancel his meeting with his thesis mentor. Hoss was so close to finishing and Bessie Sue was not going to allow him to be distracted when he was so close to the finish line.

"Why don’t I go over and keep Little Joe company. Then I can have dinner with all of you and hear how your meeting with Harrison went. I have a few hours between patients in the middle of the afternoon and would be glad to visit with him." Knowing that Joe would balk at the idea of a "baby sitter", Bessie Sue came up with the idea of bringing him some things from her mother’s cluttered basement.

"Got one of the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders in that box? Bring her here!” Joe let the book he was reading slide to the floor with a thud. He sat up in bed and grinned.

"Not quite Romeo," Hoss’s girl friend laughed. "Just a few tame amusements for you. "

"Great! I was getting really bored. Doc Martin told Pa I had to stay off my feet and not watch any more television. Besides, the only thing on right now is soap operas and junk on TVLand. Some old corny western."

"Gunsmoke?" Bessie Sue guessed. She didn’t have much time for television watching.

"I guess," Joe yawned. He stretched his arms over his head and flipped off the reading lamp.

She glanced around the large, airy room in the front of the house. It was filled with the clutter of a young man living in his boyhood bedroom. Shelves were filled with books, trophies and souvenirs. A crossed pair of epees hung on one wall over a surfing poster. The swords had been the late Marie Cartwright’s. She had been an amateur fencing champion and had even come close to getting a place on the Olympic team before she met Ben Cartwright.

On the wall opposite the bed was a strange portrait of an Indian chief. When he was about ten and playing hooky from Sunday School, Little Joe had found it in a dumpster behind a liquor store in Virginia City. He made Hoss help him haul it home and much to his father’s dismay insisted on hanging it in his bedroom.

"His eyes follow you no matter where you go in the room. How do you sleep with that thing on the wall?" Bessie Sue pointed to the Indian.

"Chief Winnemucca? Doesn’t bother me. I sleep with my eyes closed," Joe shrugged. He leaned forward and pulled the carton from Bessie Sue’s hands. "Come on now, what did you bring me? Just this old junk? Anything to eat?"

"Chocolate milk and ring dings. And some Pepperidge Farm cookies. I left them in the kitchen"

"Tahoes?" Joe asked hopefully.

"Lidos. And Geneva’s. And these things. Mom was clearing out for a garage sale. Check out some of these old things to see if I can bring them over to the clinic to use with my patients."

"Eight Tracks and romance novels? Old bowling shoes? Voodoo dolls for you head shrinkers?"

Bessie Sue laughed and pulled things out of the carton. She stacked items on the rumpled bed around Little Joe. "Fun things to amuse you while you heal up. Comics, a few little cars, a 500 piece jigsaw. I’m not sure all the pieces are here but you can find out. I also picked up some new car magazines and that skate board magazine that you like as well. You can read them and then I can put them in the waiting room. Do you think my teenaged boys would like those?"

Joe fanned out the magazines and winked playfully at his brother‘s girlfriend.. "Sure. They would like Sports Illustrated too, especially the swimsuit issue. And Playboy."

"Anatomy and physiology lessons?” Bessie Sue shook her head. "Think I’ll stick to these for now."

"Wow! Look at this! Legos!" Joe exclaimed pulling a red plastic container out of the carton. He rattled it loudly. Then he balanced the container on the edge of his nightstand next to a framed picture of his parents, a dirty glass and half filled cereal bowl left from his breakfast. "Adam had every Lego ever made. A big erector set too. He wouldn’t let me touch any of them. I remember that he made this huge, giant windmill for a science fair. I couldn't have been more than four or five. It was his idea to try to lease our Clark County land to Wind Power Ltd.”

”Adam is very smart and a terrific engineer. He is going to help revolutionize energy generation and dependence on oil."

”And just think, it all started with Legos. Pa wasn’t much in favor of getting involved with that windmill thing. Said even though Adam had a good education he couldn’t think very well. They shouted back and forth for a whole day like it was the Battle of Bunker Hill and the D Day Invasion combined."

"But Adam convinced your father. And his engineering degree gave him the credentials he needed to do the project in reality, not Legos," Bessie Sue said. She carefully avoided adding any more comments about Joe returning to college.

"Adam sure did, and Pa is mighty glad now," Joe said proudly. "What else did you bring me?"

"My goodness Joseph! Aren’t you the greedy one? How about this. I saved the best for last. Gameboy! "

"Wow! Hoss had one of those. I sure wanted one. I would sneak it out of his room whenever I had a chance. He would flip when he realize what I had done because he had bought it with his own money. I always ran down the batteries."

"The pain of being the baby brother. You want the big boy's toys and they won't share with the little guy."

"Did you bring any?" Joe asked.

"Batteries? Of course. They are in here some where," Bessie Sue dug into the bottom of the carton while Little Joe fiddled with the back of the electronic game.

"Damn!" Joe exclaimed as his finger painfully jammed on a sharp edge of battery compartment of the Gameboy. He yanked his hand free and the toy flew from his hands. Joe’s elbow collided with the precariously balanced box of Legos. The building set, the dirty dishes and the framed picture all cascaded to the floor with a loud crash of breaking glass.

"Little Joe? Are you ok?" Bessie Sue asked as the young man turned ghostly pale.

“Oh geez, Bessie Sue!” Joe got shakily out of bed and started pacing around the bedroom, running his fingers through his tangled curls.

Joe stopped pacing and sat abruptly on the edge of his bed. “There’s a lot of stuff I haven’t told Pa or even Hoss. When we had the wreck the other day, I swear I head a woman screaming as the car bounced down that slope. Last night, seeing that photo of us on TV, I heard the screaming again, and a crashing noise and glass breaking. Just now, when those dishes and the glass on the picture frame broke, I heard it again. I’m getting scared, really scared.” He clutched the pillow to his stomach and his voice dropped to a whisper as he looked forlornly at his friend and future sister-in-law. “You’re a shrink, Bessie Sue. What’s wrong with me?

Bessie Sue removed a pile of magazines from the chair in front of the desk and pulled it over to sit close to him. “Joe, as a friend and future in-law, I can’t treat you, anymore than your brother can. I shouldn’t be telling you this; your father was going to talk to you about it tonight. But, last night after you went upstairs, Hoss suggested to your father that you go see Dr. Sidney. It should be all right ethically, as long as she doesn’t discuss it with Hoss, and she won’t.

“Now don’t get on your high horse about it, Joseph Cartwright!” Her blue eyes flashing, Bessie Sue laid a restraining hand on Joe’s knee as he threw the pillow down and started to stand up. “You just now wanted me to tell you what’s wrong, but you get all huffy when I suggest that you get some serious counseling!”

Joe plopped back down, and giving Bessie Sue a sheepish grin, admitted, ”Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll go along with it. When Pa brings it up tonight, I’ll even act like it’s the first I’m hearing about it so Pa won’t be upset with you for saying anything about it.

“Hey, when is my brother going to get you down the aisle, anyway?’ Joe, ever adept at changing the subject, and eager to lighten the mood, questioned his brother’s reluctant fiancée.

Joe giggled as a well-aimed magazine bounced off his leg and Bessie Sue scurried out of the room.

***********

JR Ewing’s personal investigator, Harry McSween, sat on the opposite side of JR's desk and reported on his findings in Nevada. "The bad news first, JR. Cartwright is clean as a whistle. Not a thing to connect him to any foul play in his wives' deaths. Didn't even have much life insurance on any of them. The first one, Elizabeth Stoddard Cartwright, died of a heart attack right after giving birth to their first son, Adam. The autopsy report showed an unsuspected heart condition. The second wife, Inger Borgstrom Cartwright, was murdered, but nothing to tie Cartwright to it. According to the police report, she was helping a friend escape from a violent husband and the guy shot them both. The second son, Eric, was a baby. The third Mrs. Cartwright, Marie DeMarignay Cartwright, was killed in an auto accident.

"Was old man Cartwright driving?" JR said hopefully.

"No, she was. She was alone in the car with their kid. There were some questions about that, but nothing concerning her husband. It's common knowledge there that the reason he backed out of the governor's race was because his boys didn't like the idea of being in the limelight, and his youngest boy was just starting high school and didn't want his dad all wrapped up in politics and not have any time for him. Everybody I talked to said the same thing -- it was a family decision.”

“I checked out the boys too. Clean there too. The youngest boy has a history of speeding tickets, but no attempts by Cartwright to fix them. He dropped out of college after one year, and I had my hacker friend hack into the San Diego State computer. No drugs or booze problem, just bad grades. He was on academic probation. The kid could have come back the next semester and raised his grades, but quit school instead. The two older ones are so clean they squeak. You know about the oldest one. The other one is working on a PhD. The guy works with delinquents and coaches pee wee football and goes to church every Sunday."

"Now for the good news. Laura’s information about Andrew Lancer was right on the money. Twenty years ago the good judge bought a brand new luxury condo at Tahoe, but the deed says it's owned by a Lillian Smith."

JR nodded curtly. "That's Laura's Aunt Lil. She was a B-Movie starlet back in the 50s.

McSween leaned forward in the leather chair. "That's not all of it. Did you catch that Diane Sawyer special last night about that photographer?"

"Photographer? Oh, that gal that my mother hired for our family portrait. No. What's she got to do with anything?" JR looked puzzled.

"They had that interview on in the bar where I was having a drink. Some folks were complaining that they were missing the ball game, but the bar tender has a thing apparently for Diane Sawyer, and wouldn't change the channel." McSween laughed. "There was this photo of the aftermath of a car wreck that this Franklin woman won a Pulitzer Prize for. Guess who was skulking around the edge of the photo? None other than Andrew Lancer. I haven't been a cop all those years for nothing. Something just didn't feel right. They gave the date that picture was taken, so I did some investigating. A station wagon went off the road in a rainstorm and the woman driving was killed. A man pulled a little boy out of the wreck and then handed him over to some other people who had stopped to help and then he just seemed to disappear. I thought it was strange that he didn't stick around to see of the kid was ok or at least to be thanked. They found some black paint on that red station wagon. Lancer drove a black Buick. Just on a hunch I checked all the body shops in the area. Bingo! Two days after the wreck Lancer had a scrape on his car painted at a body shop in Reno. And it gets even better. The woman that was killed was Mrs. Ben Cartwright."

McSween settled back in his chair to watch his employer digest this information, and contemplated the bonus that he had just earned.

"Good work. That confirms the story Laura claims Lil told her." JR took his personal checkbook from a locked desk drawer. He handed McSween a check and glanced at his watch. “I have to meet some people at the Oil Barons Club for lunch.”

**********

“Hey, Joe, I’d have thought you’d be on the tennis court down at the country club on a nice day like this,” Hoss Cartwright remarked to his younger brother as he settled into the rocking chair that sat on the wide porch of the ranch house.

Ben and Adam were taking advantage of the beautiful, late Sunday morning, playing a round of golf at the Winnemucca Country Club with Roy Coffee and Dr. Paul Martin. Hoss was waiting for Bessie Sue to arrive for their horseback ride and picnic at the lake. He had come out to the porch and had been surprised to see Joe at home. The young man was sprawled listlessly on the chaise lounge, barefoot and dressed in an old pair of tennis shorts and a San Diego Padres tee shirt, an opened tennis magazine on his lap.

Joe looked over at his brother, startled. “What’s the big idea of sneaking up on me like that? If it’s any of your business, I’m still too sore to play tennis.”

“Sneaking up on you? With these boots on this plank floor? And there’s no call to bite my head off. I was just making conversation.” Hoss took a deep breath and tried again. “If you’re still that sore, why don’t you go to the club and use the sauna. It’ll be warm enough this afternoon that they’ll be some pretty nice scenery around the pool when those tennis playing girls change into their bikinis to cool off.”

“I’ll tell you what, big brother. You spend your Sunday the way you want to, and I’ll spend mine the way I want to.” Joe snapped at his well-meaning brother.

Hoss was just about to lose his patience with his grumpy brother when a dust cloud on the lane announced the arrival of Bessie Sue in her bright yellow Tracker.

“Ok, little brother, I’ll leave you alone, but you better have that attitude gone by the time Pa gets back this afternoon if you know what’s good for you. We’ll be leaving for Dallas in a couple of days and Pa won’t put up with any nonsense from you there.” Hoss shook his head in exasperation. “Darn it, Joe! We’re trying to help you. Well, see you later.”

**********

“I thought you said Joe told you he would see Dr. Sidney?” Bessie Sue Hightower and Hoss Cartwright had finished their picnic lunch and were lying on a blanket, watching the ever-changing shades of blue in Lake Tahoe.

Betsy Sue looked down at Hoss, who was lying with his head in her lap, and pursed her lips at the snappish tone of his voice. “Now just a minute, Eric Cartwright! He did tell me that! Can I help it if he hasn’t even called her yet? You know the old saying about leading a horse to water, but can’t make him drink.”

Hoss had the good grace to look sheepish. He knew Bessie Sue meant business when she called him Eric. They had known each other ever since elementary school, and she found out long ago that one way to get Hoss’s attention was to call him Eric. “Sorry, Honey. I should be thanking you for talking to him about it.” Hoss sighed. “That’s the way Joe is. He meant it at the time because he was scared. He feels better now, so he's putting it out of his mind. Or trying to. He’s still not himself this morning. It’s not like Joe to lie around the house by himself when there are pretty girls awaiting at the country club. Or awaiting anywhere. Well, we’ll be leaving for Dallas on Wednesday, so there isn’t any time now to do anything about it. There are some people there Adam wants to talk to about his storage battery, and Pa has some old friends there that won’t be at the gala, so he wants to go a few days early and see them. Joe wanted to wait till Friday and fly out with you, but Pa put his foot down and is making him go on Wednesday with the rest of us. I’ll talk to Pa and see if he thinks I should just go ahead and schedule something with Doctor Sidney for when we get back. He’ll make Joe go if he has to hogtie him and drag him there.”

“And speaking of pretty girls, you look mighty pretty today, Bessie Sue, with your hair down like that. I’m so used to seeing you in that bun you wear your hair in for the office that this sure is a treat.”

“Oh, so you think that is a treat, do you? Well, how about this?” Bessie Sue smiled into her on-again-off-again fiancé’s eyes as her head bent down and their lips met. Joe, Dallas, Lake Tahoe, and the vanilla cupcakes that they hadn’t eaten yet were all forgotten.

***********

The Cartwrights, along with the other guests at the annual Professional News Photographer Association Gala, were enjoying the lavish cocktail hour buffet. Faye Franklin was this year’s honoree, and the subjects of her photos had been invited to the event.

Diane Sawyer’s interview with the award-winning photographer was being shown on television screens scattered throughout the Turtle Creek Club, the Dallas area’s most exclusive hotel and country club.

It hadn’t escaped the notice of his father or brothers that Joe was sitting with his back to the TV.

"Fay Franklin is quite attractive," Adam observed. He hadn't realized the photographer was so lovely and not really much older than he. "Doesn't she remind you of Mary Tyler Moore?"

"Who?" Joe asked. "Mary who?"

"Yes, she does. I always liked Mary Tyler Moore," Ben agreed.

"She has spunk," Hoss chuckled.

"Mary, who?" Joe repeated.

"My mom loves that old show with Rhoda and Lou Grant," added Bessie Sue. "Faye Franklin really does look like Mary."

"Mary who?" Joe said louder and more insistently. Wasn’t anyone listening to him?

"Mary Tyler Moore. The actress," Bessie Sue finally answered.

"Faye Franklin really looks a lot like her," Adam said, not taking his eyes off of the attractive brunette. Bessie Sue noticed both Ben Cartwright and Adam had the same smile every time Faye Franklin was on the screen.

**********

"Look at little brother over there. Not here but ten minutes and he is already snuggling up to some pretty girl." Hoss chuckled. He stood on the iron railed balcony overlooking the patio where the party-goers were dancing. Candles were floating on surface of the reflecting pool and soft light washed the sculptures lining the courtyard.

"He's not exactly snuggling up, Hoss. They are dancing," Ben corrected. He watched Joe smoothly dancing with a voluptuous blonde in a form fitting, low cut purple gown. From the way Joe was moving with his usually smooth grace, the bruises from the wreck must have been fairly healed up.

"What ever you call it, Pa," Hoss chuckled and took a swallow from his beer. "Never had Chinese beer and it is pretty good. The country club sure went out of their way to serve some unusual food at this party."

"What happened to Sally or Brittany or what ever that girl's name was?" Ben asked. He finished his brandy squash and put the empty glass on the tray of the passing waiter. "The sorority girl from Texas. Or is that her?"

"Tiffany, Pa," Hoss recalled. "Maybe that fine filly is her friend or something. She's from Texas too and Joe zoomed right on over to her."

"Well you know Joe, Pa. If he isn't near the girl he loves, he loves the girl he's with," a familiar baritone quoted the old song. Adam approached with a plate of sushi and offered to share them with his father and bigger younger brother.

Hoss laughed and helped himself to a spicy tuna roll. "You need a score card for that boy, Pa."

"Score card?” Adam laughed at the unintended double meaning of Hoss's comment. "Or the ‘Idiots Guide to Joe's Women’,” Adam said as he took a sip from his very dry martini. "Think he's in love?"

Hoss looked at his watch, a Rolex his father had given him when he received his Masters Degree, "Give him ten minutes. The night is young."

"I figure Joseph will have at least proclaimed his endless adoration by the time we get called for dinner," their father added with a wink.

"Pa! I can't believe you said that!" Adam teased. "You are always telling us not to make disparaging remarks to our baby brother since the reluctant scholar came back from college."

"Well, Adam, Pa said "to" Little Joe. He didn't say "about” Little Joe when he isn't near us," Hoss explained.

"Well, boys, how many times has Joe told us that "this is the one" in the last year? Four? Five? And since he left college? At least three or four.” Ben shook his head.

”Six, not that I am counting." Adam offered the plate to Hoss again.

"That boy will be the death of me. First he leaves college and then he flits from woman to woman and now that car wreck,” Ben groused.

“Well, we all can't be the student that Hoss is," Adam smiled sipping his martini. While he had done fairly well as an engineering major at University of Pennsylvania, Hoss really was the most academically accomplished of the brothers. He was a clinical psychologist working with disturbed children with his PhD in reach

.
"If Joe had applied himself, and not spent so much of his time surfing…" Ben started.

"And comparing the relative merits of pulque and tequila while experiencing aerodynamic qualities of mountain bikes…" Adam interjected. "Purely for scientific purposes of course."

"Just what I want my son to be doing in college," Ben sighed.

“Don’t worry, Pa. He'll settle in once he gets to the bottom of whatever is making him so miserable. He's hardly twenty," Hoss reminded his father. "Give him time, Pa, give him time."

Hoss was the only one in the family who really had any suspicion on what might have caused Little Joe's academic career to crash and burn. It wasn't lack of intelligence or too much partying that brought his baby brother back home. Hoss suspected that Joe would prefer folks to think he messed up at college by being an irresponsibly wild party animal, not that he was too homesick to make a go of it. He knew that horrible feeling. Both he and Adam had been homesick when they first left home but they stuck it out. As the oldest, Adam was used to striking out on his own and being independent. He delighted in his new found freedom, and not having his little brothers underfoot. He reveled in the academic stimulation of an Eastern Ivy League college.

Hoss was part of the football team and had a built-in support system from the coach and being part of the Big Brothers. Even better, Bessie Sue was at the same college. She hadn't paid him much mind back home, thinking that he was a big, dumb jock. Hoss showed her otherwise. She immediately fell for him and encouraged him to change his major to psychology. The first year away from home, Hoss was too busy practicing, struggling with his studies and romancing his favorite girl to have time for missing home very much. Hoss also got to see his family that first fall when they all came to cheer him at football games.

Joe, on the other hand, was further away from the Ponderosa in San Diego. There were no family visits to see him play as Joe was a baseball player, a spring sport. As a freshman, he was competing with upper classmen for both the pool of available girls and the few open spots on the baseball team. Joe failed at both. The only weekend Joe was hoping to travel home for a visit that first semester coincided with Pa having to travel to Chicago for some business meeting. Homesick, Joe didn't see his father until Thanksgiving. Hoss was sure Joe just missed being on the Ponderosa and being with his family. It was far more manly to claim he had too much wine, women and surf than to admit he was too much of a pitiful homesick baby boy and just wanted to be back home.

"And speaking of misery and time, from what I understand, they won‘t be serving dinner until close to ten," Adam pointed out. "Thy have to do all the speeches first and introduce all the people who were in Faye‘s pictures.” None of them noticed that Adam was suddenly on a first name basis with the photographer.

“By the way,” Ben interjected, “Joe told me he would rather absent himself during that portion of the program. I agree that it would be an excellent idea. I’ve already had a word with Ms. Franklin and the Master of Ceremonies. Of course I didn’t say anything about Joe’s reaction during the television interview. I just told them that it could bring back painful memories for the boy, in fact, for all of us.”

Ben looked around the table at his family, and two heads nodded in agreement.

"Ten? I’m starving!" Hoss groaned. He snatched the last morsel off Adam’s plate and swallowed it in one gulp. Hoss hadn’t realized it was the extremely hot wasabee and started choking as the fiery condiment singed its way to his stomach. Bessie Sue pounded Hoss on the back as he attempted to pour the rest of his beer down his throat.

By the time the three Cartwrights looked back over the balcony to spot Little Joe, he and his lovely blonde dance partner had disappeared. The young man and the luscious blond had moved to a more secluded location.

&n