Rating: (PG-13)
Description: I was messing around with Shakespeare's Twelfth Night and decided Adam would make a great Orsino.
Disclaimer: Except for Charlotte, Harry, Major MacTeague, and Olivia, none of these characters belong to or were created by me. I make no money from this.
Warnings: Um…some language and references. Nothing too serious.
Copyright © Wendybyrd
 
 
 

Charlotte had only taken one cautious step towards the open door when she heard the man begin shouting.

“Thief!” the shopkeeper hollered, brandishing a broom and calling for the sheriff. Charlotte didn’t stop to think, she just clutched the loaf of bread she had stuffed down her shirt tighter in her arms and ran outside. Once past the doorway, she glanced about wildly, unsure of what direction to take. She’d only arrived in this town less than an hour ago on foot. Hunger had driven her to the general store. Lack of funds had driven her out of it again.

Some men were beginning to respond to the store owner’s cries for help, running from all directions, and Charlotte wondered desperately how she was going to get out of this one. The men looked filthy, tough, and mean, reminding her that for all its grand name of Virginia City, this was really just a rough and tumble mining town.

She turned and ran blindly down the wooden sidewalk, her heart pounding. She was quite experienced at running now. She would bet that she was faster now than her brother had been when they’d raced each other as children. Her stolen prize shifted in its hiding place and she realized that the running had caused her shirt to come loose from the waistband of her pants. All this for a loaf of bread? The thought would have made her smile if she hadn’t been essentially running for her life. She couldn’t lose it; the bread would be her first real meal in two days. She glanced down at her shirt without slowing and so was running at full speed when she crashed into the wall.

Well, it felt like a wall. It was hard and immovable and it was definitely in her way. The wall laughed and grabbed her by the back of her shirt. Charlotte felt her feet leave the ground and realized dimly that the wall was in fact a rather large man and that he was now holding her aloft as easily as she would have held up a newborn kitten. She peered up at her captor carefully through the dirty curtain of her bangs. A giant with twinkling blue eyes smiled down at her.

“Well, what have we got here, Adam?” he addressed someone Charlotte couldn’t see, and turned her around so she was facing the opposite direction—and her approaching enemies.

“A thief!” The shopkeeper had finally reached them. He was wheezing and gasping for breath, which made her smile vengefully for a moment. Another man was close behind him, his tin star clearly naming him the sheriff.

“Well now, Hoss, looks like you caught yourself a thief,” he said with a smile to the big man.

“This little fellar?” The giant sounded unbelieving but she noticed that he didn’t put her down.

“What exactly did he steal, Mr. Wilson?” someone with a pleasantly deep voice asked from the sidelines. Charlotte tried to twist around to see who had spoken but the large hand at her neck didn’t exactly allow much movement.

“I saw the boy stuff something down his shirt before he ran out of my store.” The shopkeeper was smug as he reached out with a bony arm to unbutton her shirt and prove his word. Charlotte’s hand came up immediately to slap him away. The rest of her actions were just as desperate. Swinging around a little, she managed to kick him square in the chest with the heel of her foot. He fell backwards and landed on his backside. Safe from exposure for the moment she turned her attention to freeing herself.

She kicked out randomly, hitting the sheriff and someone else she couldn’t see. She only heard a grunt and a muffled curse. Ha! She thought with a rush of excitement and then yelped when her actions turned her about completely, twisting her shirt and nearly choking her.

Charlotte froze, gasping for air and heard a quiet thump, as if something had hit the ground. The angry men’s voices around her quieted. She sensed what had happened and reached down to feel her now untucked shirt with a little sigh. Her loaf of bread was lying forlornly on the sidewalk at her feet. She felt like crying.

“Just a loaf of bread” The big man whispered softly as he lowered her gently to the ground. His hand left her neck and moved to rest on her shoulder. Charlotte barely noticed; her eyes were on her lost meal.

Abruptly someone cleared his throat.

“I think this would about cover the cost of that bread, Mr. Wilson.” The owner of that nice voice spoke again and there was a rustle of paper. Charlotte looked up to search for whoever it was. She should not be beholden to a man without at least getting a good look at him first. Papa wouldn’t have liked her to be indebted to anybody, but he wasn’t here, and beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Then I guess there’s no problem now, is there?” The sheriff addressed the shopkeeper, who nodded and tucked his money in a pocket before wandering back to his store. He was rubbing his bottom, which made Charlotte smile again. “And as for you,” the sheriff looked her up and down, frowning. Her smile vanished. “I will have no more stealin’ in my town, son. You understand?”

“He understands.” Her as yet unseen benefactor answered before she could, and despite his actions she rather resented his high-handedness.

“I understand.” She answered the sheriff in a low voice anyway.

“Adam,” the big man said suddenly from behind her. “Adam, I’m awful hungry.” His comment seemed to amuse the sheriff.

“You’re always hungry, Hoss Cartwright.” He laughed.

“I reckon I am at that.” The giant, Hoss, did not seem offended, as Charlotte knew she would have been if someone had implied she was fat that way.

The hand on her shoulder relaxed and she edged away, thinking of escape.

“I think I’m hungry as well.” The answering agreement seemed a little too casual to Charlotte, as if these men were somehow plotting something between them. Then she realized who was speaking and spun around to get a look at the man who had saved her from an ugly situation.

He certainly wasn’t as tall as the other man, but he was large enough lounging against a hitching post he would have equaled most men. Maybe it was his superior attitude. He was dressed all in black, from his hat down to the rolled up cuffs of his pants. Even the holster for the gun resting at his hip was black leather. His hat brim was pulled low, hiding his face, but Charlotte could clearly see his self-satisfied smirk. She sniffed.

“I reckon the little fellar is ‘bout near to faintin’ away from hunger himself,” Hoss spoke again. The dark one, who must be the Adam they kept talking to, exchanged a quick look with Hoss and then looked back to her. His manner was so aloof, she thought as she stared back up at him, that she felt like the lowliest peon.

“There’s some good food on the Ponderosa.” His look was direct and she caught a glimpse of eyes the color of her father’s favorite Scots whiskey. “Good food for good workers. That was quite a fight you put up, boy. You seem strong enough, even as skinny as you are. Ever work on a ranch?”

At first the words made no sense. Then it sank in; he was offering her a job! Charlotte felt the urge to cry again, this time in happiness. A job meant a chance! It meant no more stealing. Her mouth was watering at the though of food and her head was beginning to swim just thinking of sleeping in a bed and not in the dirt. She would do nearly anything for these things, including working on a ranch and whatever that entailed. But the last month had been a hard one. She looked to the sheriff.

“The Cartwrights are good people, boy, well known and liked around these parts. I suggest you take the job.”

Charlotte looked down to her feet, at the loaf of bread.

“Room and board?” she asked, glancing at the dark…at Adam Cartwright. He nodded. Charlotte took a deep breath and stuck out her hand, to shake on the deal as men did. If it came to it, she had survived worse situations than this. His hand was warm and dry and engulfed hers completely for a moment before he took it back.

“What’s your name, boy?” It was less of a question and more of a command to speak. Charlotte’s chin came up at that, but she remembered just in time her precarious position and kept her temper in check.

“Charlie MacTeague, sir.”

“And how old are you? You look about sixteen.” He didn’t wait for her to answer. For which she was grateful as it meant she wouldn’t have to tell another lie. “I’ve got a brother about your age, Charlie. You two might become friends, but I’m warning you now, I don’t take any guff from Little Joe and I won’t take any form you. Are we clear?”

For some reason his words made both Hoss and the sheriff grin widely. She suspected that his statement wasn’t entirely true. Her brother Harry certainly had been eager enough to get into trouble at sixteen.

“Clear as crystal,” she answered, then, a second later, added, “Sir, “ with a slight smile.

“Doggonit, but ain’t he just like Joe? He ain’t scared of nuthin’” Hoss shook his head. Adam looked serious.

“Spirit. We’ll see how that lasts after a few day’s work on the Ponderosa.” There was a definite challenge in his brown eyes.

“Now, Adam, you can’t be expectin’ to work this boy right away. He’s skin and bones as it is.” The sheriff protested, gesturing to Charlotte’s thin arms and bony wrists. She flushed and moved her arms behind her back.

“I can do it.” She glared at him and then back at Adam. It would probably kill her, but she had to try. And anyway, she wasn’t about to let this man think ill of her. She remembered her history; Joan of Arc had had dressed as a boy and lead an army when she was younger than Charlotte was now; surely Charlotte could survive a few cows to teach this posing little lord a lesson.

“Well, all right then, Charlie,” Hoss took her arm and swung her around. “Let’s go home. I wasn’t lyin’. I’m starvin’ near to death.” His look was so pitiful that Charlotte found herself laughing for the first time in weeks.
 

There was a continuous, rapid spate of angry-sounding Chinese from behind the door the whole time he was speaking.

“I’m fine, really!” Charlotte tried to keep her voice from squeaking as she threw on her clothes. She ignored her damp skin as she carefully added the parts of her outfit that helped disguise her gender.

“He says he wanted to bring you some fresh towels and found the door locked. Then you wouldn’t let him in. Don’t you want towels? You know, so you can dry yourself?” He sounded like he was talking to an idiot and she almost didn’t blame him.

“Look, I’m fine!” she called out frantically. She unlocked and opened the door only to come face-to-chest with Adam Cartwright, who was lounging against the doorframe and blocking her exit with his body.

“You’re all wet.” His smirk had returned. Charlotte scowled at him and just managed not to snap something back in reply. She looked around him to his furious servant.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Sing,” she apologized to the man. “I’m just not used to other people being around when I’m bathing.”

“Or maybe you’re just not used to bathing.” Adam wrinkled his nose a little and she blushed, remembering how filthy she had been before. Of course, she had had a reason for that layer of dirt—it had lead more than one person into assuming she was a boy—but he didn’t need to hear this.

“No Mr. Just Hop Sing.” Hop Sing corrected her, quiet now after she’d apologized. He looked her up and down with shrewd eyes. Then without another word he vanished into the house, taking the unused towels with him. Adam watched the man go with the same look of detached observation and amusement with which he seemed to regard everything. Then he turned to her.

“Time to meet the family, young Charles.” He took her arm and began to steer her out of the room.

“Charlie!” she snapped at him and pulled her arm away. Adam just gestured her forward and said nothing.

He walked quickly, not bothering to look to see if she followed or not, and led her to a corral near the house where his brother Hoss stood with two other men. She corrected herself a moment later, a man and a boy. The man had silvery hair and fierce dark eyes. His sheer sense of presence marked him in her mind as being their father. The boy, who had to be the Little Joe that she was supposed to befriend, appeared to be taking no interest in her whatsoever. He was leaning over the corral fence, a few feet away from the others. She could hear them talking as she approached.

“About the same age as Joseph, you said?” Their father’s booming voice carried clearly.

“Near as we can reckon, Pa, bein’ as scrawny and little as he is,” Hoss answered, then saw her. His face lit up in a welcoming smile. “Here he is now, Pa.”

Charlotte stopped in front of Mr. Cartwright. She could see where Hoss got his build and the reason poor Joe had that nickname. They grew them big on ranches, it seemed.

“Welcome to the Ponderosa, Charles,” Mr. Cartwright greeted her heartily and shook her hand.

“Charlie,” Adam said and raised one eyebrow. He exchanged some sort of look with his father before leaning back to rest on his elbows against the fence. “He held out against an angry Hop Sing. I’ll bet he has a stubborn streak about the size of Little Joe’s.” He sighed as if there was nothing to be done with her. Little Joe perked up a bit, but otherwise gave no obvious sign that he had heard. Charlotte decided to follow his lead and ignore this comment.

“I am very grateful to be here, Mr. Cartwright. Thank you for my lunch.” Charlotte had eaten the better part a roasted chicken before Adam Cartwright’s watchful stare had reminded her of her manners. “Where would you like me to begin working?”

Mr. Cartwright looked startled and glanced from Hoss to Adam. She could feel Adam’s eyes on her, assessing, and couldn’t resist the urge to stare back at him for a moment.

 “Aw, we didn’t reckon on you workin’ right away, Charlie. You ain’t even met Little Joe yet.” Hoss gestured to the boy. “That there’s Little Joe,” he explained unnecessarily. “Don’t you mind him none, he’s just disappointed that he didn’t get to go into town today.”

“I’m pleased to meet you. Joe,” Charlotte responded automatically, then turned back to Mr. Cartwright when the boy nodded in her direction. “I won’t take charity, Mr. Cartwright. I will earn my keep,” she declared stiffly, remembering her father’s teachings. She had the opportunity to repay a debt now. Mr. Cartwright reared up magnificently, apparently taking offense at her words.

“I don’t give hand-outs here, young man! Neither do I expect exhausted and weak boys to kill themselves working on my ranch!” He barked in a tone so reminiscent of her father shouting to his troops that she actually responded by jumping into correct military formation without thinking. Her chin came up, her back straightened, and her hands went to her sides, the little finger on each hand perfectly aligned with the yellow stripe on her imaginary cavalry trousers. She was the image of a cadet receiving a dressing-down. The pose had never failed to amuse her father.

She relaxed the minute she noticed what she’d done. They were all staring at her like she was loony. She smiled self-consciously.

“Very well, Sir. I shall rest today. But I will work tomorrow?” She tried out one of Adam’s questions that weren’t really questions. She truly did intend to work tomorrow, whether they said yea or nay or it killed her. To her surprise however, her tactic worked.

“Hoss will you need help out at the north pasture tomorrow?” Adam spoke again and Charlotte realized that he hadn’t interfered for some time. He’d simply been observing. Was he always plotting something? She really wanted to know.

Hoss nodded and then clapped her on the back so hard she nearly fell over. He promptly apologized and helped her to stand upright again.

“You’ll stay in the house until there’s space in the bunkhouse.” Adam added. She wondered if she should protest, although she hardly wanted to sleep in the same room with twenty or so strange men. Before she could say anything though, Little Joe burst into the conversation.

“I thought I was workin’ the pasture with Hoss tomorrow,” Joe spoke with energy, directing an unfriendly look at her.

“I thought you and I could work together tomorrow, Little Brother,” Adam cut in. Charlotte watched curiously as Little Joe’s face seemed to brighten for a moment. Then he frowned again.

 “Not paperwork?” he groaned and looked anything but pleased when Adam nodded.

“And when we’ve finished, you can come into town with me, to collect some mail and to pay some bills.” Adam finished in an innocent tone, not looking at his brother. The boy’s eyes lit up at the mention of Virginia City and he seemed to forget his complaints once distracted by this promise.

Charlotte looked up at Adam Cartwright with narrowed eyes. No guff from Joe indeed! If that included bribery to avoid a fight then he’d spoken the truth to her earlier. Abruptly she remembered her inability to refuse her brother anything when he’d looked at her with those big pleading eyes of his. Adam caught her look and seemed to know what she was thinking and winked at her. If she hadn’t remembered just in time that it was a very unmanly response, she would have stuck her nose up in the air and sniffed to show her disapproval of his methods, and of that wink.

“Why don’t you get Charlie settled in, Joe?”

“Aw, but Adam, I was gonna…” Joe started to whine, but Adam looked at him sternly. “Come on, Charlie.”

Charlotte nodded to them all and followed Joe back to the house. Already the boy’s anger was forgotten as he began describing his horse, Cochise, and how fast it was. She grinned at his youthful enthusiasm, though to be truthful, he made her feel a little old, and she was only twenty-two.
 

 Charlotte sat on the edge of the bed in the room the Cartwrights had given her. It had been quite a day for her, even compared to the crazy events of the last month or so. Now she just wanted a quiet moment to think. She rubbed her stomach for a while, enjoying the pressure. It was sore, but it was also full for the first time in weeks. Then she studied her hands, which she had scrubbed and soaked until they were raw. Charlotte had nearly forgotten how it felt to be clean. But she had known that the layer of dirt had led as many people to assume she was male as her loose clothing.

Finally, she got up and went to check the door. The Cartwrights were downstairs; she could hear them laughing together even through the thick walls. Satisfied that no one would come up to visit her, she took off her borrowed shirt, loaned to her by Adam, though she suspected it was Little Joe’s, and began to slowly unravel the strip of cloth that kept her breasts down. The binding was uncomfortable, but not as painful as the tight corset she had worn before, though she wished, not for the first time, that she had a slighter figure.

There was a comb next to the basin on her nightstand. She slipped the shirt back over her head and stood in front of the looking glass while she combed out her hair. It took no time at all. She could remember when it had reached her lower back and had whipped wildly around her when she’d raced her horse across the prairie.  Her admirers had declared it to be the color of corn silk. True or not, they had said it. They had also praised the bright blue of her eyes and the few freckles sprinkled across her nose.

Charlotte had had many admirers.

Now a rather childish looking boy stared back at her in the mirror. She glared at her reflection for a moment, then stuck her tongue out at it like the child she was pretending to be. The action made her laugh. It must be this ranch and these people. She hadn’t laughed in far too long.

She peered at the reflected image of herself curiously. She really did look like a boy, though perhaps a very pretty one. She had looked more convincing covered in dirt. Luckily, her Papa had been right, people really did rely on their first impressions too much, and, at first glance, she had been a boy to the Cartwrights. Good. She wondered how long she could convince them. If she were to stay here for any length of time she would have to start becoming a boy in more than just looks. She had never stayed anywhere long enough for anyone to closely examine her disguise before.

Well, it should be easy enough; she would just do whatever they did. Although, from what she could gather from her limited experience with the opposite sex, this would involve a lot of very stupid behavior. She shrugged off the thoughts for now as a problem for another time and flopped backwards onto her bed.

A bed! She sighed in contentment and just laid there, letting all the ache in her tired body just seep out slowly. She sighed again and closed her eyes. A laugh from downstairs made her open them again. Somehow she knew that it was the oldest son, Adam, and that she was the topic of discussion. She sniffed disdainfully to herself. She had spent the evening in quiet, trying to study her new employers so she might better convince them. She had observed several things about that particular Cartwright.

He was dictatorial, and stubborn, and despite saving her earlier, didn’t seem to approve of her very much. Not like the big one, Hoss, who she had privately decided was a darling, or the youngest, Joe, who reminded her of her brother. They all reminded her of Harry. The thought sobered her. They had that often difficult but loving relationship that she had shared with Harry before…before everything.

She had only allowed herself to weep once since his death. Since that day the group of comancheros had robbed their wagon train and killed every last hopeful settler. Everyone but her. She’d been out alone, riding off her temper after another fight with Harry so she wouldn’t shoot the idiot for nearly getting them thrown out of the train for flirting with every available, and sometimes unavailable, woman. Miles away, she had still heard every gunshot, every scream. She had been too busy surviving after that to waste time with tears for the dead.

Now it all played back vividly in her mind. The bodies of her friends. The women…Charlotte choked back the rising vomit in her throat as she recalled what had obviously been done to them. And then, finally, the blood in the sand and Harry’s empty rifle next to their ransacked wagon. Tears filled her eyes and she fumbled blindly in her small bag that contained her few remaining belongings for the small photograph of him that had been left in their wagon.

A handsome young man stared back at her. Merry eyes that would have been blue had the picture had color peeked out from behind a wavy mop of hair that would have blonde, same as hers. Harry, her twin brother. Charlotte couldn’t help it, she burst into tears, barely remembering to hide her face in the pillow so the Cartwrights wouldn’t hear.

Little Joe and Hoss were the only ones already at the table waiting for dinner. Charlotte stopped on the stairs for a moment to make sure Adam and Mr. Cartwright weren’t there. Reassured that neither would witness her humiliation, she made her way slowly and painfully down the staircase and over to the table.

Hoss had decided that she hadn’t looked strong enough to do a lot of riding yet, so he’d taken her out in a wagon. A wagon that she would swear hit every single rock on this whole God-forsaken ranch. At first she’d been grateful that she hadn’t been forced to ride astride. Now, as she lowered her bottom onto the seat of the chair with an anticipatory grimace, she could only curse the Ponderosa, the wagon, and Adam Cartwright for hiring her.

The chair was unexpectedly soft and comfortable. She opened her eyes and saw Little Joe regarding her sympathetically. She looked down and saw that someone had put a cushion on her seat.

“How did you know?” She asked in amazement, touched by the thoughtfulness of the gesture. The boy shrugged and looked at his plate.

“Hoss said you had problems with the wagon. I just know what that can feel like is all.”

“Yea, I reckon he can.” Hoss began to laugh. Charlotte rather liked the way he laughed; he put his whole body into it. “Hey Joe, remember when you caught yourself that bitty little garter snake and let it loose in church under Betty Lou Tellford? Pa really laid into you that time!”

“Aw, Hoss.” Little Joe looked uncomfortable at this mention of his punishment, but his green eyes were sparkling. He was the image of Harry with a secret at that age.

“What happened?” she couldn’t help asking. Joe immediately launched into his story.

“So Betty Lou was sitting there all stuck up in her new pink dress and white stockings. She looked so nice I just had to rile her up a bit. So I took Barney, that was the snake’s name you see, and I slipped him under her seat.” He leaned forward eagerly. “It was real quiet for about a minute and then all the sudden she jumps on the pew and starts screamin’ and cryin’. I laughed so hard I thought I’d bust.” His excited glow dimmed a bit and he frowned. “Then Pa started yellin’ and took me outside. I still don’t know how he knew it was me.”

“Maybe because you were the only one laughing.” Adam said from the doorway and all three of them turned to watch him enter. Joe looked considering, as if this idea had never occurred to him. Charlotte had to fight to hold back her smile. Unfortunately, Adam decided to continue the story. “So then Joe comes back in with Pa, so sore he can barely sit on the pew and the good reverend decided to give a sermon on the devil in paradise in the guise of a snake. Pa was not amused.”

Charlotte giggled, then coughed abruptly when she realize how girlish it sounded.

“Sorry, Joe.” She apologized for laughing, but he waved it off.

“You don’t know the worst of it.” He seemed almost proud.

“Worst of what?” Mr. Cartwright asked from the staircase. He had seated himself at the head of the table before Adam answered.

“The worst of Little Joe’s…escapades.”

Mr. Cartwright humphed and gave Joe a very fatherly look. It managed to be both stern and proud.

“I doubt we know the worst of them either.”

“I made it up to Betty Lou later,” Joe confided with a smirk identical to his older brother’s.

“You mean you…” She couldn’t finish the question.

“Yes, sir, our little brother’s got quite the reputation as a ladykiller. Snuck a kiss from most of the girls in town, haven’t you Joe?” Adam continued on in his musical voice. Charlotte could see why Joe would have such success. He was a good-looking boy. She personally had never been a fan of dimples, but those as well as his large green eyes, curly dark hair and the most engaging grin, would set girls to sighing anywhere.

Little Joe, quite sensibly, didn’t answer Adam’s question.

“Although I think you might have some competition from young Charlie here now, Joe. Women always did have soft spots for blue eyes, and I have to say that Charlie’s are just the color of Lake Tahoe in spring.”

Charlotte blushed to think of herself as a ladykiller and grew a little irritated with Adam for making her turn so red.

“Now my eyes are blue and I ain’t noticed any such thing.” Hoss started laughing again.

Just then their cook came in with a huge platter. Charlotte didn’t think Hop Sing approved of her any more than he had after their first meeting yesterday. She tried smiling at him as he put the plate down but he only stared at her.

“That smells plumb delicious, Hop Sing.”

“Mistah Hoss appreciate Hop Sing. No one else. All think Hop Sing stupid.” He ranted to no one in particular and stalked back into his domain.

The Cartwrights for the most part ignored this, Charlotte noticed. He was a good cook, so maybe they didn’t care. There were a few minutes of silence as everyone eased their hunger, then Adam opened the conversation.

“So Hoss, how did our new hand get along today?” The question was casual enough, but Charlotte tensed.

“Oh, he did just fine, Adam.” Hoss looked up from his steak to answer. He grinned at her before scooping out another helping of potatoes. “Reckon tomorrow we could get him on a horse and run him all over if you wanted.”

Charlotte was suddenly less hungry. She peeped over to Adam, who was regarding her thoughtfully.

“Tomorrow we’re repairing the mill. Feeling up to it, boy?” It was a test; she just knew it was.

“I could die trying.” How she wished that statement wasn’t all too true. It made Mr. Cartwright smile though.

“Good. All this extra help, we might actually get ahead of schedule for once.”

All the men grunted in reply to this and started eating again. Charlotte blinked at how quickly they had turned their complete attention from one thing to another. There was no interesting dinner conversation. Is this, Charlotte though with disappointment, how men were when no women were around? How did they stand it? All this silence would drive her crazy.

Only when Hop Sing brought in coffee did anyone start speaking again.

“Anything of interest happen while you two were in town today?” Mr. Cartwright asked as Hop Sing cleared away the dishes. The question reanimated Little Joe, who had been a little subdued after Adam had teased him about having competition.

“Olivia Dewitt was in town today, shopping. I talked to her.”

“We talked to her.” Adam corrected.

“She is one pretty gal, smart too.” Hoss smiled shyly and blushed bright red.

“Yea, I guess she’s smart.” Joe was unenthusiastic about this, but he quickly regained his enthusiasm as he continued. “But she has a real nice face and a sweet figure.” His eyes glazed over and his mouth dropped slightly open.

“Joe.” Adam scolded absently, but his eyes had the same far-away look as his brothers’. Charlotte was very curious to know what they were thinking about. Little Joe illuminated her.

“I’ll bet that without her corset she has the tiniest waist and the fullest breas…”

“Joseph!!” Mr. Cartwright boomed furiously. “Such talk at the dinner table!”

Joe’s grin remained in place, though he ducked his head. Mr. Cartwright’s gaze fell on her.

“There now. You’ve embarrassed young Charlie.”

Charlotte choked. There was simply no way for her to hide her obvious blushes. Had men thought that about her? The idea made her warm all over. The Cartwrights were all grinning at her.

“So you’re courting Miss Olivia?” she asked Adam to cover her embarrassment. He nodded after a moment.

“I wouldn’t exactly say courting…” he began.

“I’m courting her.” Little Joe piped in, glancing at Adam. Charlotte stared at him in amazement. He was sixteen! This girl had to be two years older than him at least to attract the interest of a man like Adam.

“And will she have you?” she asked quickly so they wouldn’t ask what she was thinking. Again, Adam nodded, as did Little Joe a second later. She gasped at their arrogance. “You’re so sure?”

“She is a woman, therefore may be woo’d. She is a woman, therefore may be won.” Adam leaned back in his chair and looked superior. Charlotte was so furious at this on behalf of all women that she forgot to watch her words.

“A wise man indeed, to quote the words of an attacker of women. ‘She is Lavinia, therefore must be loved’” she finished the quote from Titus Andronicus. “Demetrius was a villain, if not for his assault, then for the arrogance of that statement. Not all women are convinced by flattering words.”

The people at the table got quiet and Charlotte winced, convinced she’d revealed herself with her sentiments or had offended her employers.

“Well how ‘bout that?” Hoss seemed delighted. “Someone else who reads all them books.”

Joe was laughing.

“Finally someone who can get Adam back with all his book talk!”

Mr. Cartwright just look amused, watching this over the rim of his pink china cup.

“Yes.” Adam dismissed both of his brothers with that word and moved on, leaning forward with sudden interest. “You know Shakespeare?” Adam asked another one of his questions-that-was-not-a-question.

“Yes.” She agreed cautiously and his eyes narrowed.

“How very interesting,” was all he said.

 Everyone was already standing next to their horses, ready to go, by the time Charlie finished eating and came outside. She would have been out sooner, but with Hop Sing glaring at her, she’d felt the need to clear her plate of every last morsel of eggs and bacon.

They were all waiting for her, so she walked out quickly and slipped on her borrowed hat to shield her eyes from the morning sun. She heard Joe mutter something about her keeping them, right before he yawned sleepily, as if he had been up and ready for hours and hadn’t actually risen after her. She ignored him and went to Hoss, who was holding the reins of an extra horse, obviously meant for her. Aware of everyone’s eyes on her, she reached out a hand for the horse to inspect then patted its neck. It seemed like a nice horse; she hoped it wouldn’t step on her if she fell off that ridiculously large saddle.

“A nice gentle horse. Sweetheart.” Adam said as Hoss handed her the reins. Charlotte jumped.

“Excuse me?” The question slipped out. There was an almost non-existent pause.

“The horse’s name is Sweetheart.” Adam explained in a dry voice and Little Joe snickered. Hoss seemed startled for a minute, then laughed good-naturedly.

“I reckon you’re a pretty fellar, but you ain’t that pretty.”

Charlotte blushed furiously, to the Cartwright’s obvious amusement.

“Adam figured you might not be too used ta’ horses after the you rode when you doubled up with him the other day when we brung ya here, so I picked you out a real Sweetheart.” Hoss explained with a grin.

“Oh.” Charlotte felt like such an idiot. She didn’t think her face could get any hotter.

“All right, enough of this foolishness. Let’s get going!” Mr. Cartwright mounted swiftly and headed out without another word. Adam followed suit immediately and got on his horse as well, as did Joe and Hoss. Charlotte watched all their movements carefully and then, with a tiny prayer, threw herself at Sweetheart.

She put so much energy into her mount that she nearly fell over the other side. Luckily Sweetheart was obviously an old plug who had seen everything and who wasn’t scared by her rider’s foolishness. Charlotte scrambled to keep her balance and grabbed the horse’s mane in a death grip to keep from falling off.

Adam appeared to be having problems keeping a straight face and he wasn’t the only one. Charlotte felt her blushes return. Eventually, when they’d controlled themselves he rode over to her and indicated she should put both her feet in the stirrups. She would have been offended if she hadn’t known that their jokes meant that she was accepted.

“You’ve never ridden before, have you?” Adam was clearly trying to be gentle, but Hoss and Joe were both still laughing. Charlotte settled for a shrug to avoid a direct lie. She’d never ridden astride before. “Why don’t you ride alongside me, in case you have any problems?”

After a moment she nodded.

“Good,” he aid and swatted Sweetheart’s rear. The horse obediently took a few steps forward. Charlotte gasped at the sensation. This was wonderful; she actually felt secure on top of the horse, riding this way, instead of feeling as if she might fall off at any moment. No wonder men rode this way; she thought with a grin and urged Sweetheart to go faster, past Adam. He regarded her with a faint smile.

“A natural rider, it seems,” he commented to his brothers before catching up with her.

It took well over an hour to reach the mill if you took your time, Hoss informed her. Adam chose a steady pace, which seemed to Charlotte with her new way of riding to a be a frustratingly slow speed, though she suspected it was chosen out of consideration for her, so she remained silent.

The men were as quiet as they’d been the night before at dinner for most of the ride until Adam spoke unexpectedly.

“For someone who seems to dislike Titus Andronicus, you seem to be pretty familiar with the dialogue.”

“My father loved reading Shakespeare’s plays to us.” Charlotte dragged her eyes from the beautiful scenery of the Sierra foothills to answer.

“Who is ‘us’?” Adam asked softly. She changed the subject.

“Anyway, I’ve never like that play, it’s too violent.”

“Good triumphs at the end,” he argued calmly.

“Except for those who are powerless. They just lose.” She answered sadly. “Poor Lavinia only suffers. Her husband and brothers are killed, then she’s attacked and is killed by the end.”

Adam got a considering look, but Charlotte was too preoccupied with her memories to really notice.

“I understand,” he said at last in a polite tone.

“No you don’t!” she snapped angrily and glared at him from under the brim of her oversized hat. “I doubt you’ve ever been powerless in your life. You’ve got this ranch to reign over and you’ve got your family. And you’re a man, so you’ll never…” she stopped abruptly. Adam was silent. For once the lazy expression had left his face; he looked taken aback. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” She choked on the apology. She had meant each and every word, but she probably should not have voiced them.

“Don’t be sorry.” Adam tipped his hat up to look deep into her eyes. “What you said is true. I’ve been overwhelmed before perhaps, but I’ve never truly been powerless.”

Charlotte was startled. For a while she couldn’t say anything.

“I was somehow under the impression that you did not apologize,” she said finally.

“I don’t.”

She couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. His smile could have meant anything. Before she had a chance to ask he changed the subject.

“So, I suppose you prefer Shakespeare’s comedies?”

“Oh yes,” she nodded, “Twelfth Night is my favorite.” She gulped as she admitted this, but he continued smoothly on.

“Finally I’ll have someone to discuss them with.”

“You want to discuss Shakespeare? With me?” Charlotte squeaked at the idea of a man actually seeking her opinion on serious matters, even if she was disguised as a boy when he did it. They came to the river, and the mill, and the building distracted her.

“Ingenious,” she commented, noting how the stream had been diverted to power it.

“Thank you.” Adam gave a half-bow from atop Sport.

“You built this?” She couldn’t keep the amazement from her voice and he apparently noticed.

“I designed it, yes.” His voice had lost some of its warmth.

“It reminds me of this bridge my father’s men had to build once at Fort Washington. The terrain was tricky but they needed it. So my father got together with this bright young officer that no one else would listen to and pieced together the idea for the bridge. It was a clever solution to a difficult problem, like this.” She gestured to the mill. A smile of appreciation crossed Adam’s face.

“You’ve got a discerning eye, Charlie. You’re a lot like your father, I imagine.”

She ducked her head at the remark, though she noticed that he’d accepted her compliment without any trace of modesty.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“Now, we should get to work.” He changed the subject briskly, so like Mr. Cartwright in his manner that she grinned. They both dismounted and walked toward the spot where his father was waiting impatiently. “So, what else have you read?” he asked as they neared the site. Charlotte, with a wicked smile, decided to test his knowledge of history.

Later that day, Charlotte was wondering if would it be all right if she just fell out of her saddle and then laid on the ground for awhile. She wasn’t sure if she could lift her arms to remove her hat, much less get down from her horse gracefully. She settled for a combination of working to dismount and just plain falling off. In the middle of her struggling, a pair of hands suddenly grabbed her waist and set her on the ground. She spun around and saw Adam’s back as he strolled away, still wearing his chaps for riding. She was still warm where his hands had touched her through her shirt.

Charlotte shook her head to clear it, then took an unsteady step towards the bathhouse so she could wash up. Her legs failed her. Oh dear, she thought with alarm. She was so sore from that saddle she couldn’t seem to get her legs together. Is this why women have to ride sidesaddle? She worried, biting her lip.

She looked around a little desperately and her gaze fell on Tony and Sebastian, two hands she recognized by name, walking together. Both had the same almost bowlegged, rolling gait, like men who spent most of their time on horseback. She thought back to Adam’s slow way of walking and laughed at her foolishness. So this is what they meant when they said walking like a man. She would just take up as much space as possible. Though she couldn’t really see why. She had gotten just as much attention with a graceful sway. But it was worth it if it meant she didn’t have to ride sidesaddle anymore.

Charlotte puffed up her chest, raised her head, and tried to favor one leg a little and sort of strut like some of the hands did. She smiled; after a while she got into a kind of rhythm. Painfully, but with more confidence, she headed to the bathhouse to clean up.

There were a few men in there washing their hands so Hop Sing would allow them to eat. He insisted the men at least attempt cleanliness, something Charlotte was very grateful for, since she was sure most of them would have avoided water at all costs otherwise. Most of them greeted her as she came in and then continued their rather loud conversation. She went to a basin filled with clean water and began to carefully scrub the dirt out of her fingernails. Scraps of the men’s conversation drifted over to her.

It was about a woman. A remarkably limber one. Charlotte gasped and quickly began to wash her face to hide her blushes. These men were much more descriptive than Little Joe had been the night before. One even had a few gestures to go along with his story. She knew she should feel privileged to be hearing something it was unlikely they ever would have discussed around Miss Charlotte MacTeague, though just plain Charlie was another matter. It was amusing she supposed, but disheartening. Was that all they thought of? All men, good or bad, had but one thing on their minds it seemed. She realized again what a good idea her disguise had been.

A hand appeared in front of her, offering her a towel. She took it and looked up into Hop Sing’s knowing eyes. She had that sinking feeling again. Had she revealed herself? She glanced around nervously. The men had stopped their talk when the cook had entered the room. Though just the thought of what they had said was enough to make her turn red again. Had he seen her blushes and guessed?

But young boys often blushed. She had seen Hoss blush for goodness’ sake and he was older than she was supposed to be. That wasn’t it. One of the men threw down his dirty towel as he walked out and she wondered if perhaps she had cleaned herself wrong. Dammit! She thought and pressed a shocked hand to her cheek at even thinking the swear word. She threw down her towel too, though she still felt dirty. Harry had hated bathing with a passion until he’d realized that girls generally preferred a man who didn’t reek of horse. Goodness but men were disgusting creatures, yet they didn’t have to wear corsets or ride sidesaddle. It was so horribly unfair!

“Time for eat.” Hop Sing announced quietly and led the way to the dining room. If he had guessed, he said nothing of his suspicions and after a while she relaxed.

The door to Adam’s room wasn’t locked, but Charlotte entered tentatively just the same. She’d never been in a man’s room before, aside from Harry’s. And though she was eager to view this previously forbidden part of the male domain, the knowledge that this was Adam Cartwright’s room caused her to hesitate.

But her instructions from Mr. Cartwright had been quite clear, so she opened the door a fraction and slipped inside. The light was dim, due to the drawn curtains but she had no problem seeing. She barely glanced over at Adam; he was snoring softly. Charlotte stifled a giggle and walked over quickly to a small desk covered in loose sheets of paper and few obviously well read books.

She quietly looked through the papers; architectural sketches mostly, and a few drawings of his family. He was good. No Michelangelo of course, but he did capture Hoss’ grin and the light in Little Joe’s eyes perfectly. There was an incomplete sketch of her as well. She studied it curiously, wondering how he’d seen her when he’d drawn it. She looked…sad. Charlotte hurriedly put the picture down and moved on to the books on his desk. Poetry mostly, the English Romantics, Keats, Shelley, Byron, as well as some engineering texts, and some Greek and Roman histories. She was impressed. A large volume lay open on another table, next to a small portrait of a woman. Charlotte peered down at the book and then smiled, feeling pleased with herself.

It was a collection of Shakespeare’s plays, opened to Titus Andronicus. He’d been rereading it. Ha, she thought. Lord Adam wasn’t sure he’d been right in their discussion the other day. She knew enough of him now to know that he’d never admit it though, so she settled for one last quiet chuckle and looked at the portrait.

The woman in it was lovely and judging from its age, must have been his mother. From Boston or someplace back East, which would explain his aristocratic airs. The Cartwrights hadn’t talked much about the women they’d lost, but she learned that much when she’d asked Hoss why him and his brothers were so different. Three wives, it was rather remarkable.

Charlotte took her eyes from the portrait in its delicate silver frame and glanced quickly around the rest of the room, noting the painting on the wall of a Yankee clipper ship, the guitar resting on a chair, and the articles of clothing strewn about the floor, all in the same shade of midnight black. Then she turned her gaze to Adam.

He was lying on his stomach, his face turned into a pillow, but the blankets weren’t pulled up all the way, exposing his neck and shoulders. Charlotte stopped to consider him. His face was relaxed in sleep; the lazy expression and superior smile were gone. He looked boyish, almost like his much more mischievous youngest brother. Which might have something to do with the reason he had slept so late this morning that Mr. Cartwright had sent Charlie to wake him. Adam had gone to town the night before for a drink with some friends and hadn’t returned until the early hours of the morning. Perhaps there was a Cartwright tendency toward such things. She sniffed the air and picked up the definite odor of whiskey. Her lips thinned in disapproval.

Staying out all night! Drinking! And the Lord only knew who he had been with. That thought in particular made her reach out to push him roughly to wake him up. His snores just got louder, irritating her further. She glanced around the room and noticed the tightly shut curtains. A little light ought to do it, she reckoned evilly, remembering the few instances when Harry had been hungover. She couldn’t understand why in the world men would want to punish themselves this way, but, she thought as she drew open the curtains, they were men after all, and therefore subject to strange notions.

“Rise and shine, Adam!” she called out cheerfully, humming Reveille to herself. The snoring was replaced by one long drawn out groan of suffering.

“Joe, I’m going to kill you.” He pronounced each word slowly into his pillow.

“Better people than you have tried.” Charlotte answered gaily. At her words he raised his head and opened his eyes cautiously.

“Charlie?”

Charlotte just stood there staring at him, her arms crossed over her chest and foot tapping irritably on the floor.

“Enjoy yourself last night?” she asked sweetly. Adam groaned again and rolled over, draping an arm over his eyes. He yawned.

“Close the curtains, will you?”

“He must be feeling bad. He’s asking me.” She widened her eyes dramatically and addressed an imaginary audience. Adam removed his arm to look at her miserably.

“Just close the damn curtains! What’s the matter with you?”

She ignored this, full of a sense of self-righteousness; she would never be so foolish as to drink too much. She knew better.

“No. Mr. Cartwright told me to wake you.” Her voice was cold.

“You are more ruthless than Little Joe out for revenge,” he told her, as if that would bother her.

“Well I imagine Little Joe has often been in the same condition and sympathizes too readily.” she said with a smirk of her own. Adam didn’t appear to hear this.

“What time is it?”

“Half past ten,” she answered pertly. He sat up abruptly. The action caused his blankets to fall to his waist and Charlotte blushed, connecting for the first time what the clothes on the floor mean about the man in the bed. She gasped.

“Did Pa seem very angry?” Adam’s mind was clearly on different things. He sounded a little too casual as he asked and his expression seemed a little anxious. Unsure of himself like this, he looked…charming.

“Ummm, well he sent me all the way back here to fetch you, red in the face and yelling about how some of his sons obviously felt they no longer had to pull their own weight.”

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” Adam looked over at her with narrowed eyes. She just smiled widely.  He threw a pillow at her. It hit the door behind her and she grinned. The grin faded when she turned back around and saw that the throwing motion had disturbed Adam’s blankets. She hesitated a second before spinning around to face the door. Adam started chuckling.

“Boy, you blush more than Hoss.”

Charlotte sniffed.

“Such a pretty blush too. I’ll bet the girls love making you do that.”

If possible her face got even redder. A subject change was needed.

“Well, I guess you know a lot about girls, Old Man,” she said mockingly.

“I’m not yet thirty.” He seemed offended. She’d injured his pride apparently.

“Not quite yet,” she almost echoed him. He threw his other pillow. It hit her back and landed on the floor. “My, but you are spry for a man of your age.”

“I’m not…”he started angrily, then stopped and continued slyly. “Perhaps when you start shaving, boy, you can come back here and we’ll talk about age.”

Charlotte laughed out loud. For a boy, this was probably the biggest of insults.

“When I start to shave, Adam, we will definitely have a talk.” She moved to the door as she started speaking and was halfway in the hall when she added, “Hop Sing has coffee for you. I’ll be down stairs waiting.” She closed the door behind her and heard something, a boot? hit the door as she did.

Charlotte was walking to her room after another long day when she heard the hushed whispers. She looked down the hallway for the source and saw Little Joe and Hoss standing on either side of Adam’s door, both of them barely able to contain their mirth. Smiling slightly, she approached them. Joe saw her and put a finger to his lips, warning her to be silent.

Intrigued, she tiptoed closer and stood next to him and then had a hard time holding back her own giggles. Adam’s bedroom door wasn’t completely closed, and from inside they could hear him reciting poetry, to himself.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May…”

She looked to Hoss for an explanation, who shrugged. Little Joe’s face was turning red and he was holding his sides. Inside the room, Adam stopped and began again, louder, and with the emphasis on different words this time. She clamped a hand over her mouth to hold in her laughter.

“He’s practin’ or somethin’ for Olivia,” Hoss whispered. Charlotte had the image of Adam posing grandly like a courtly lover from days gone by in front of a mirror as he recited the sonnet and couldn’t prevent her laughter from escaping this time.

The door swung open immediately and Adam stared at the three of them from inside. He seemed to be waiting.

“Well? Nothing to say, children?” he asked mock-pleasantly, looking at them in his superior way. It didn’t have the effect he probably wished it had.

“Oh Adam! You speak so perdy…” Hoss said in a falsetto and batted his eyelashes. Charlotte laughed so hard her stomach hurt. Adam’s sour expression didn’t help. Then Little Joe decided to add something.

“I think I shall swoon,” he declared dramatically with a hand to his forehead. Adam raised his eyebrows and regarded Joe with condescending amusement. Then he turned to her with a resigned sigh.

“And you, Charlie? Nothing to add?”

She bit her lip to hide her smile and shook her head.

“What? No comment on my choice of poems or my reading?”

“I’m sure Charlie’s got plenty to say about your danged poem.” Hoss pushed her forward. She’d noticed over the last few days that Hoss and Joe seemed to regard her as the one to get revenge for them against Adam and all his literary allusions at their expense. Adam inclined his head and stepped aside.

“Enter my chamber, Noble Sir, and please share with me, your humble servant, some of the vast knowledge you’ve acquired during your many years on earth,” he announced grandly, if sarcastically, and bowed and gestured for her to come in. “You too,” he said to his brothers after she did.

They sat down next to her on the bed, watching Adam rather like spectators at a play. He pulled up a chair then turned it around in one movement to sit across from them.

“Come, Sir. Surely you have something to say,” he addressed her, still in that stage voice.

“Are you planning to say this to Miss Dewitt?” she asked.

“In a letter possibly, but if she wants me to read it to her…”

Charlotte shook her head and he stopped.

“Isn’t it a little…I don’t know…cliché, to woo a girl with Shakespeare?”

“Yeah, you don’t wanna be cliché, Adam” Little Joe agreed with a smile.

“And what does Charlie think would be more original?” Adam asked softly, crossing his arms. She blushed; she knew she shouldn’t have said anything.

“I don’t know. Something with humor maybe, or passion,” she mumbled.

“Passion?” Adam repeated. Charlotte noticed the word had made Hoss blush as well. She smiled and looked back at Adam. He was staring into her face. “ How about…I arise from dreams of thee, in the first sleep of night -the winds are breathing low, and the stars are burning bright. I arise from dreams of thee- and a spirit in my feet has borne me- who knows how? To thy chamber window, Sweet!”

Shivers ran up and down her spine and she felt an insane desire to giggle. He was still staring at her, waiting for her reaction. Luckily, Hoss saved her.

“Oh, that tweren’t passion, Adam. Charlie meant like…you know.” He ducked his head when Little Joe laughed.

“He’s right, Adam. That poem didn’t even mention a girl!” Joe said in the same way Harry once complained about books with no pictures.

“Ridiculous.” Adam agreed dryly, winking at her. She gulped. “How about this then, Joe?” He cleared his throat. “License my roving hands and let them go. Before, behind, between, above, below…Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee, as souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be, to taste whole joys.”

Charlotte’s toes curled and she had to bite her lip to keep from sighing foolishly. Oh my goodness. She knew her cheeks were red, but she just wanted him to say it again in that smooth voice.

“Well?” Adam looked expectantly at his audience. Little Joe was frowning.

“You ain’t gonna say that to Olivia, are you?” his voice cracked as he asked.

“Nekkidness.” Hoss repeated with a shy smile. Charlotte licked her lips.

“Who said that?” she whispered.

“You don’t know?” His eyes were dancing. He was probably pleased that he’d out-quoted her. “It’s by Donne, To His Mistress.”

“It might work.” She tried to be dismissive.

“I don’t want something that might work. So that won’t do.” Adam sighed dramatically. “I’ll just have to find something else, with your permission of course.” He nodded at her, almost as an afterthought. The action was irritating, though she could understand, after that recitation, why he would be annoyed at their interference. She had a feeling he could handle his relationships more than well enough on his own.

“Of course, all of this depends on whether or not your Olivia is the sort to appreciate such poetry. I’ve never met the lady, has she a mind behind the pretty face?”

All three Cartwrights frowned, evidently pondering this. Charlotte rolled her eyes. Men.

“You do know this girl?”

“Well, shucks, Charlie, how can you expect a fellar to be thinkin’ about a girl’s mind when she smiles at him just so?” Hoss argued, jutting out his chin.

“What do you want from us? We’re only human after all.” Little Joe shared a very male grin with Hoss. Adam interrupted.

“What my brothers are trying to say, in their clumsy, inept way, is that while we find women delightful to converse with, there are other, more pleasant things to be doing with a beautiful woman besides speaking.”

Charlotte’s face felt like it was sizzling, but she refused to back down.

“Supposing that’s true…”

Little Joe interrupted.

“Supposing?” His tone was doubtful.

“Supposing that’s true,” she insisted doggedly. “What do you suppose the women think of you?” She watched with some amusement as all three of them thought this over. They looked worried. “Or did you never think about it? Since it would imply that women have minds of their own?” Her voice was sharp. They all looked suitably chastened for about a minute, then Hoss frowned.

“Charlie, you sure are about the strangest boy I ever met.”

Charlotte glanced at Hoss anxiously.

“Am I?” she tried to stay calm.

“You don’t talk like no boy I know, and I don’t mean them quotes from books.” He explained. Charlotte looked around her while she tried to think of an explanation for this and noticed Adam watching carefully. Was he plotting again?

“I’ve been around,” she said at last, not taking her eyes from Adam’s face.

“Whereabouts?” Joe piped in curiously. Hoss leaned forward eagerly. They looked like two army wives waiting for gossip. She realized it was first time any of them had openly questioned her about her past.

“Midwest.” Her answer was deliberately vague. Their faces drooped. Adam started laughing.

“You two look like a pair of basset hounds with those hangdog expressions. Leave Charlie alone. He’ll tell us when he’s ready.”

“When not if?” she couldn’t help asking. Adam stood up and nodded down to her.

“When,” he said definitely. Charlotte tossed her head.

“Come on Charlie. Ain’t you got no interestin’ stories to tell us?” Hoss wheedled with a gap-toothed smile.

“You were with the army, weren’t you?” Little Joe wanted to know. She looked to Adam, who had lights in his brown eyes. She felt the corners of her mouth turn up.

“Well,” she began reluctantly. “There is the story of the prairie wolf that was as a tame as a dog.”

The boys’ eyes lit up like children at Christmas. They must have had visions of an adventurous army life.

“Which you will hear, downstairs.” Adam pointed to the door. “My room is not a stage or a concert hall.”

“I thought you thought it was.” Charlotte couldn’t help referring to his earlier reading. Joe snickered and Hoss grinned.

“Ha ha,” Adam muttered sarcastically. “Out, Children!”

They obediently got off the bed and went out the door.

“You comin’, Adam?” Joe looked up at his older brother eagerly. Adam looked down at Charlotte.

“I think I just might.” He followed them out and closed the door behind them.

“Do you really think I’ll tell you all my secrets, Adam Cartwright?” she asked him as they walked downstairs.

“Yes,” he responded softly.

“Why?” her voice was just as soft.

“Because we seem to have that affect on people.”

“And why do you care so much about me?” She hadn’t meant to ask that question.

“I don’t.” His smirking answer made her long to punch him, until, at the bottom of the stairs, he added for her ears alone, “but if you ever want to tell us, Charlie, or you need help, I’m here.”

Charlotte shook her head, not quite believing him. He grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop. His expression was anything but lazy or bored.

“I mean it, Charlie,” he whispered intently and then gave her a gentle half-smile, completely unlike his normal smirk. Shyly, she smiled back. “Now lets hear this story.”
 

“Your move,” Adam reminded her after he’d pushed a pawn forward. Charlotte came back to the present with a start. She’d been reviewing the last few weeks in her head and had been unable to believe her good fortune in being befriended by the Cartwrights. She no longer thought of them as strictly her employers but more like friends. Especially Adam, who despite his biting sarcasm actually did the most to make her feel comfortable. They worked her hard, it was true, but it was nothing the daughter of Major William MacTeague couldn’t handle. In fact, at first she’d suspected they were going easy on her. Then she’d noticed that Little Joe did as much as she did, well, he did when he wasn’t sneaking out of his chores. He was fun to watch in action that one.

It was another surprise to Charlotte to discover that hard work was strangely satisfying. She went to bed tired, but happy more often than not. She yawned, thinking of how hard that day had been in particular. She should have been in bed hours ago but Adam had offered a game of chess and she had been unable to resist.

She took her feet off the coffee table where they’d been resting since Mr. Cartwright had gone to bed, to lean forward and squint at the board. It was dark in the front room. They were playing by the light of a dying fire and one flickering oil lamp.

She deftly moved her rook to take his pawn and added it to her growing collection of his men. She smirked in an exact imitation of him before picking up her crystal brandy glass and leaning back in her chair. Once again she propped her feet on the table in the most unladylike manner. Remarkable stuff, brandy, she thought and took a sip. It made her feel all sleepy and relaxed. It burned a little too, but it was a pleasant burn and had such wonderful results. She took another sip and noticed that only a few drops of this wonderful potion remained in her glass.

Adam was staring in concentration at the board. Charlotte, who had often played with her father, knew she’d already won the game, but was content to watch him squirm. At least, she thought she had won, for some reason her thinking was a little fuzzy tonight. She watched Adam roll her captured knight around in his hand while he thought.

Adam always looks so serious, she sighed to herself, especially now. The wavering light from the fire partially cast his face in shadows, making him look brooding and, she fancied, rather devilish. His black shirt only added to the effect. She sighed again.

“Are you alright? You must be tired. You’ve been working hard lately,” he asked, taking his attention from the board to look at her for a moment in concern.

“Oh no, I mean I’m fine.” She was quick to assure him. He looked doubtful, then snapped his fingers.

“I know what we’re missing.” He got up and went over to the big desk and pulled out two fat cigars. Charlotte’s eyes widened. He neatly snipped the end off of each one and lit a stick of kindling in the fire. Cautiously, she took what he offered and dutifully breathed in when he lit the end.

She tried to hold in all that hideous smoke, but it scorched her throat horribly. With one hacking cough she expelled it all and then stared with loathing at the evil thing in her hand.  Adam laughed then neatly tipped over his king, acknowledging defeat without actually having to say anything.

“Why don’t you let Joe smoke or drink?” she wheezed.

“Joe’s too young,” he answered immediately. Charlotte raised an eyebrow and to her surprise he flushed. “Well, you seem older.”

“I’m gratified to hear it,” she answered sleepily.

“In fact you remind me of myself at your age.”

That surprised her, but she hardly in the mood to debate.

“And what were you like at my age?” Charlotte had to ask. Adam seemed to be lost in thought. “Adam?” she reminded him when he didn’t answer right away.

“Tired,” he said at last. “I was very tired at your age.”

 “At twen…at sixteen?” she hoped he wouldn’t notice her slip. He nodded and turned back to the chessboard. Charlotte had the feeling he wasn’t seeing the little wooden pieces at all, but was remembering something else.

She guessed that Hoss and Joe would have been just kids when Adam was around sixteen or seventeen. And from what little they had dropped about Mr. Cartwright’s marriages, Little Joe would have just lost his mother. Mr. Cartwright would have been a grief-stricken widower and young Adam, she frowned, Adam would have had to shoulder a lot of responsibility at that young age. Such a young age to be expected to act like a man. Her heart went out to the boy he had been. It hadn’t been easy for her when her mother had died and her father had been there to take care Harry and her. Then when her father had died…

“So that’s why you don’t allow Joseph to drink? You feel you have the right to decide when he should become a man? Why do brothers always feel they can order you around?” she asked the last question absently. Adam froze momentarily and then answered smoothly,

“Perhaps because we know better.”

Charlotte snorted inelegantly.

“His lordship has spoken,” she sneered half-heartedly. “You’re just like Harry and he hadn’t a lick of sense to do the right thing unless I told him to. He was always getting into trouble I had to get him out of, and would have been in a lot more if I hadn’t prevented it. And then he would try to tell me when he thought I was being too rigid and uncompromising. I think it was because men think they own everything.” She raised her empty glass in a toast to nothing in particular. Adam refilled it and topped off his own. He was silent for a few seconds. When he spoke again he sounded like he had something stuck in his throat.

“Brandy and a cigar. Now all you need is one more thing and you’ll be a man too.”

“What’s left?” Charlotte was mystified. Adam smirked and stared at her with those knowing eyes. Perhaps it was the liquor, but she squeaked.

“Oh.”

“’Oh’ is right,” he commented and lazily puffed away on his cigar. Charlotte had forgotten about hers. She sighed and tried again. This time she managed not to cough, but the taste did not improve. Her mind went back to his remark and despite her supposed feminine modesty, she was curious.

“So you’ve…before?” she blushed. “I mean you are not inexperienced.”

Adam didn’t answer, but his smirk definitely got bigger.

“Oh.” She squeaked again, and thought randomly that this was unfair since girls were supposed to be. “And Olivia?”

“Olivia is simply one of the more remarkable women I’ve ever met. She’s beautiful and intelligent. She’s run her father’s ranch since his death and still manages to look flawless every time I see her.”

“I see,” said Charlotte, already quite hating such an ideal woman. “Are you in love with her?”

“Love?” Adam seemed astonished by the question. “She is everything a man could want.” His eyes had almost reached that level of dullness that indicated a man was thinking those things about a woman. Charlotte knew that look well by now; men seemed to get it several times a day at least. Somehow this didn’t seem like love to her, or at least, it wasn’t how it was in the stories.

“Damn I forgot.” Adam swore suddenly in the growing darkness.

“What?” Her eyelids were getting so heavy. She put her brandy glass down and noticed that it had emptied itself again.

“I’m supposed to meet Olivia tomorrow, but I promised Pa I’d travel to Carson City with Hoss to pick up a late shipment of supplies. I was going to read her a poem I’d written.”

“You write?” Charlotte hadn’t known that, even after their many talks together.

“I dabble,” he answered shortly. “But what good will it be when no one’s there to read it?” he wondered to himself.

“Absence makes a heart grow fonder.” she quoted hopefully. His eyes lit up and she smiled in return before she remembered that usually meant he was plotting.

“You’re pretty well spoken for such a callow youth.” He smiled to let her know he was kidding. “Would you go for me?”

Charlotte sat up and shook her head.

“What?”

“Go and deliver it to Olivia and convey my regrets, perhaps put in a good word…”

“You want me to woo your lady for you?” she pronounced each word slowly.

“No, of course not.” Adam laughed at the idea while she glowered at him. “I just want you to deliver the message to the lady in question.”

“Doesn’t it bother you that Joe likes the same girl?” she asked, trying to forestall the agreement she almost felt was inevitable.

“No.” He paused as if considering then shook his head and continued, “It might if Joe loved her.” Then he dismissed the subject. “You’ll get to go into town.” He added, as if that would persuade her, more people to lie to. “For me, Charlie, please?” he stared her in the eyes and for some reason, her resistance to something that would undoubtedly only be embarrassing for her melted away. If this was Adam trying to be convincing, she couldn’t imagine him actually wooing anyone.

“Oh all right, you heartless bastard,” she agreed, startling them both with her swearing, though for different reasons. Suddenly she giggled. “Thanks for the brandy, Adam.” She said very politely, barely slurring her words at all. “It was good.” She stood up too fast and stared at the staircase with apprehension. “Adam,” she asked faintly as her world started to spin around, “could you possibly help me up the stairs?” The last thing she heard was Adam’s rueful sigh as he carried her upstairs.

To say that Little Joe looked angry would be an understatement. The boy had glared at her without saying one word from the moment they’d left the house, and had continued to glare for the full half hour it taken them to reach one of the main roads leading into Virginia City. He’d obviously meant to look fierce, but his lower lip was sticking out petulantly and was ruining the effect. Charlotte figured he was angry that Adam was sending her to visit with Miss Dewitt, so she ignored him as best she could. She couldn’t understand why he’d offered to ride into town with her and then frowned at her whenever she tried to speak. After awhile, she decided that no matter their age, men were just irrational creatures.

After glancing quickly at Joe, who pretended not to notice, she leaned forward to pat Sweetheart’s neck. She was almost sure she could handle a more spirited mount now riding astride, but Sweetheart was a dear. All of the sudden Little Joe spoke.

“I don’t see what’s so great about you that Adam would want to spend so much time with you,” he said, jutting his chin out in challenge. Charlotte blinked. She had no idea what to say to that. Luckily the temper seemed to melt out of Little Joe once he’d said the words. He really was a nice boy once he stopped trying to act grown up. She studied him carefully and wondered at what he’d said. She and Adam had been spending a lot of time together, maybe he felt neglected. She decided to try to make him laugh.

“Well, I don’t see what’s so special about Adam that I’d want to spend all my time with him,” she said with a grin. He smiled, his bad mood apparently forgotten in a way that only adolescents can forget.

“What does he ever talk about besides work? Or books?” This was obviously ridiculous to Joe. Charlotte hid a smile.

“Some girls like a man who can talk about poetry. Perhaps that’s why,” she suggested, remembering how Adam despaired of Joe ever getting a full education. Joe appeared to think this over, then shook his head.

“Girls don’t like that” he said knowingly. Charlotte blushed again and decided not to argue with him.

They were reaching the outskirts of the city now and she stopped to say goodbye to Little Joe; she had to ride in a different direction to reach the Dewitt ranch. Joe frowned.

“You won’t tell Pa what I said, will you, Charlie?” His voice cracked ever so slightly as he asked.

“Nothing to tell,” she assured him with a soft smile. He nodded, grateful, and said goodbye. They way he rode that horse; you’d think the hounds of Hell were riding after him. She shook her head and started east, towards the house where the fair Olivia waited.

As she rode, taking her time, she examined the scenery. She didn’t think she could ever get tired of it here. When she’d first entered Nevada it had seemed one horrible, endless desert; she’d considered heading back. Now she was glad she’d continued on. She’d found friends in this beautiful country. She inhaled deeply, loving both the fresh cool air from the lake and the scent of pine. She could see why Mr. Cartwright defended his land so passionately. It didn’t have the extreme temperatures like back east and it had all these gloriously tall trees. Looking at them made her feel quite insignificant, but it made her problems seem insignificant as well. She sighed, remembering at last her reason for being out in the woods today and urged Sweetheart to go faster. She should get this over with.

Taking the indirect route with Joe had taken longer than expected, so Charlotte arrived at the Dewitt place a little later than she should have. When an old man answered the door for her and gave a pointed look at an equally aged clock nearby she shrugged. It wasn’t her date. Perhaps Olivia would send her away, she thought hopefully. The old man led her swiftly into some sort of parlor and left. Charlotte barely had time to get her bearings when Miss Olivia Dewitt stepped forward to welcome her with a rustle of skirts.

Miss Dewitt stopped short when she appeared to realize it wasn’t Adam Cartwright standing there. It gave Charlotte ample opportunity to look at her. What she saw was depressing. Olivia Dewitt was stunning. She had long, jet-black hair, arranged in soft curls around her pale face and shoulders. Shoulders revealed by the delicate bodice of her emerald taffeta dress that exactly matched the green of her eyes. She would look perfect, standing next to Adam, all in black. Charlotte wondered waspishly how tightly she had tied her corset to get such a tiny waist.

“Who are you?” Olivia asked, eyes wide, and Charlotte recalled the reason for her visit.

“My name is Charlie. I work for the Cartwrights.”

“Has something happened?” She did seem truly concerned. Damn. Charlie had hoped she would be cold and uncaring.

“No” she answered shortly, “Ma’am.” And thought how odd to be addressing another woman that way. Olivia sighed and seemed to droop a little.

“Why are you here then?” She seated herself gracefully on the settee and gestured for Charlie to do the same.

“Adam couldn’t make it, and sent me with a message for you. Do you want the message now?” Charlotte said rather abruptly. She was eager to end this interview.

“Oh.” Olivia sounded disappointed.

“It’s a very lovely message. There’s a poem.”

“I’m sure it is, but I really have no wish to hear it.”

“I assure you, it’s lovely.” Charlotte said stiffly, offended.

“And did Master Adam put his heart into this message? For I have yet to see it in any of his actions.” Olivia’s voice was suddenly bitter. Charlotte was surprised into speaking.

“He is a little aristocratic, isn’t he?”

Olivia snorted in a very indelicate way that she probably wouldn’t have done had Adam been around.

“A little?” Her voice was bitter. Charlotte decided to continue cautiously.

“It speaks of your beauty, quite eloquently.”

“Psh. I am sick to death of hearing of that.” Olivia got up and went over to a small mirror hanging on the wall. “Do you not think I am lovely?” She asked archly, and tilted her head back to expose her neck. Charlotte had done that particular flirtatious move plenty of times, though never quite so spectacularly. Charlotte nearly hated her.

“You are perfect.” She sighed the word.

“Looking, I have been told that often enough. In fact, it’s all I hear.” Olivia sighed as well.

“Is it natural?” Charlotte found herself asking.

“I was born this way.” Olivia’s eyes flashed fire at her veiled insult.

“Then you’re proud. Too proud to see who might…” she paused, “who might truly love you.”

“Who? Adam Cartwright?” Olivia laughed and sat back down. “He’s a good friend, and a good looking man, I admit, but…he does not talk to me.”

“Well, have you ever talked to him without posing and preening?” Charlotte asked sharply. Olivia frowned prettily.

“I didn’t think he was interested in my conversation.” Her eyes dared Charlotte to deny that.

Charlotte felt an unexpected burst of sympathy. She had often wondered if Adam would have talked to her if she’d first met him in skirts. She suppressed the feeling. That’s not what she was here for. She got up and sat next to her rival.

“A hard-hearted woman indeed to reject a man for appreciating what it is only natural for him to appreciate, even as she dresses for him to look.” Charlotte gestured to the dress, “Especially such a worthy man as Adam Cartwright.” She added this softly.

“Is he so worthy man?” Olivia challenged, regarding Charlotte intently, her green eyes opened wide.

“He is the worthiest.” She answered immediately. “Educated, intelligent, clever, yet caring enough to help raise his brothers.” She was nearly whispering the words, they were so hard to say, and Olivia had to lean in to hear, “and he cares for you.”

“He has a strange way of expressing his love.” Olivia seemed a little breathless. “How would express yourself, if you were in love?” She glanced down to the floor and then back up into Charlotte’s face.

“If I was in love?” Charlotte stood up and paced back and forth, thinking about this unexpected question. “If I was in love, I would want to shout the name of my beloved from the hills.” She looked over to Olivia and stumbled. “If I were Adam, I would climb the Sierras and cry out, ‘Olivia!’ into the air so that all the world might hear me.” Charlotte was suddenly miserable. Olivia seemed unaware of the rather foolish smile on her face.

“What do you do for the Cartwrights?” The question seemed to come out of nowhere.

“Me? I’m just a hand out on the Ponderosa. Why?”

“You are quite well spoken for someone of your age and position.” Olivia answered in a laughing voice. She rose slowly to stand next to her. “I wish you’d convince Adam I don’t regard him in that way. Perhaps,” she placed a slim hand on Charlotte’s arm, “perhaps you could come again though, to tell me how he takes this.”

Charlotte looked down at the hand on her arm and then back up to the emerald eyes that were regarding her anxiously…and flirtatiously. She had a sudden horrible suspicion.

“Oh, I doubt Adam will send me again if you say will not love him.” She spat out the last few words.

“Tell him he is all a woman could want, but a girl cannot make herself love someone.”

Charlotte pulled her arm away.

“Maybe you’re being too rash. Maybe you will grow to love him in time?”

“Perhaps.” Olivia’s tone was doubtful. “You will come again?” she asked hopefully, batting her eyelashes. Charlotte wanted to say no, but she truly didn’t know how Adam would react to this news. She settled for a manly grunt and headed out of the room. She turned back in the doorway.

“How could you hurt him in this way?” she asked coldly before stalking out the door.

“Who’s out there?” His voice was muffled by the door, but she understood.

“Just me, Adam. Charlie.”

“Charlie, there don’t seem to be any clean towels in here. Could you get Hop Sing to bring me some?”

“Oh, uh, sure.” Grateful for anything that might delay their talk, she ran off immediately and returned a few minutes later. “Ummm, Adam? He was busy and sent me with some instead.”

“Whatever,” Adam seemed a little impatient. Charlotte bit her lip as she hesitated.

“I’ll just leave them by the door then.”

“What?” There was a splash from inside. “I can’t hear you. Bring them in here.”

Charlotte nearly fainted for the first time in her life at the idea. This was very different from her earlier, momentary glimpse of him.

“You want me to go in there?” she called out breathlessly.

“Just get in here will you?” He commanded irritably. “I’m turning into a raisin.”

She took three or four deep breaths and opened the door. At first steam blocked her vision. Adam apparently liked very hot baths, which reassured her. Cautiously, she took a few steps forward into the fog and promptly collided with Adam. He was warm and wet and very, very solid. Charlotte was so surprised she jumped backwards into a puddle of water, slipped, and fell on her backside.

“Oh, there you are.” Adam remarked calmly, apparently oblivious to her foolishness, as blinded by the steam as she had been. She stood up and thrust the towels out in front of her, ignoring her sore, and now wet, bottom.

“Here.” She said shortly and they were taken from her grasp. “I’m going now.” She needed air.

“Hey, leave the door open a little, will you?” Adam’s voice called out to her through the fog. “So we can talk while I get dressed.” These last four words were enough to send Charlotte scooting out of the room with a scarlet-hued face. “So, did you have fun in town today?”

She couldn’t believe he was holding a conversation with her now.

“It was fine,” she answered in a strangled voice. “I met Joe at the International House and he introduced me to some of his friends. They were nice.”

“Which friends?”

“Umm, Mitch Devlin was nice. We had a drink at the Silver Dollar and we had a long talk about all sorts of things. He is the most well spoken of Little Joe’s friends, I think. He’s funny too.” She was aware she was babbling but she couldn’t seem to control herself. Adam was getting dressed, which meant…

“Mitch Devlin?” Adam’s voice was sharp. There was a rustling sound. Then he spoke again. “And what else did you and little Mitchy do?”

“Oh, after the beers…”Charlotte suppressed a gag as she remembered the taste of those; she much preferred brandy, “we went to the outside of town and watched a horse race. Mitch and I bet on a stallion named Golden Nugget and won five dollars each. I’ve never bet before. It was exhilarating.”

“Well, wasn’t that fun for you and Mitch?” he sneered as he opened the door. She was going to ask what was wrong, but got sidetracked by his appearance. He was still damp and his half-buttoned shirt was clinging to his body. Little streams of water were running down his neck from his hair and Charlotte watched each and every one continue lazily on down over his chest and disappear under the black cloth of his shirt. “Did you and little Mitch make any more plans?” The question was casual enough, and Charlotte, distracted, didn’t take any notice of the odd light in his eyes. She shook her head, since at the moment she couldn’t seem to form any words. “So,” Adam began in a completely different tone, “how did your meeting with Olivia go?”

The question brought Charlotte back to earth with a thud.

“Oh, Adam,” she said softly, sadly. He froze. “Maybe she just didn’t like the messenger, but,” she paused, “she said that she felt you didn’t really love her and that she was very sorry. But she couldn’t love you.” Never mind that all of this was true, it still had to hurt to hear it. “I tried to persuade her, but she said…”

“That’s enough.” Adam stopped her. All the warmth in his face had disappeared. “Was it a ploy, do you think? One of those games women play.”

Any other time this would have infuriated her but she ignored it for the time being. She just shook her head and tentatively rested her hand on his arm.

“As I said, Adam. Maybe she was displeased that I wasn’t you. She did mention how she felt you weren’t truly interested in her.”

“And why did she feel that?” He asked the question abruptly, staring off into nothing.

“She said…she said you never talked with her. Perhaps she felt something was lacking from your relationship and she only wished to get your attention.” Charlotte didn’t think so, but it seemed to soothe him. “Then I’ll just pack my things to go. You won’t mind if I leave tomorrow?” She peeped up at him, hoping he wouldn’t send her away over this. Adam’s arm tensed under her hand.

“You can’t leave,” he said, commanding as usual, but this time she didn’t mind.

“Then I won’t.”

He looked down at her hand and then into her eyes. One hand came up to rest on hers.

“You’re a good man, Charlie,” he said and Charlotte’s heart sank. She felt a strong desire to scream.

“Adam?” Mr. Cartwright called from the porch. He looked at the two of them curiously, and, Charlotte imagined, with a touch of suspicion. “Are you coming in to dinner, Son?”

“I’m coming, Pa.” Adam answered a calm voice and moved his gaze to her. “We’ll talk more later?” he asked, then turned and walked proudly into the house. Charlotte watched him go with a sigh. Now, that was walking like man.

 Charlotte lay in bed later that night, unable to sleep. It could have been because the light from the full moon was streaming in through her window making the room nearly as bright as it was in the daytime, but it wasn’t. She was feeling guilty. Actually, she was feeling guilty because she didn’t feel guiltier. She sighed irritably and rolled onto her back to stare at the ceiling.

Adam was probably heartbroken and she was happy! Oh, she was sad that he was in pain, but what kept running through her heart was delight that he wouldn’t be with the fair Olivia. It was a cruel thought and she was supposed to be a better person than this, but the thought of Adam evens standing next to Olivia Dewitt made Charlotte want to scratch her eyes out, and then his as well!

She winced at her bloodlust. After all, it wasn’t Adam’s fault that men saw only pretty faces and figures. Or that they clearly couldn’t see when artifice was involved. She sniffed. As if anybody’s waist was that tiny naturally. She snorted. Although, the more she thought about the whole thing, the more she wanted to blame him. Men were only interested in appearances, the…the bastards! She was rather proud of her new vocabulary. Swearing could be so satisfying. Women weren’t like that. She had never thought of a man they way they thought of women, to make her mouth hang open and her skin get heated.

Unexpectedly, she remembered how Adam had looked earlier after his bath and how she had felt, looking at him. Her heart had started racing and she’d felt so, well, hot and slightly feverish. Kind of like when she’d drank the brandy, only without that horrible headache in the morning. The same strange excitement she’d felt when she’d doubled up with him the day they’d brought her to the Ponderosa. She’d sat there so stiffly he must have thought she couldn’t ride, but in truth she hadn’t wanted to touch him. It had felt so disturbing. Charlotte kicked off her blankets, suddenly much too warm. She’d had her suitors, but she’d never felt that before. How wonderful, she thought irrationally, and sighed.

Then she sat straight up in bed. How dare he think those things about that woman! It was so unfair when she could only think of him. She punched her pillow a few times then flung herself back down onto the bed to try, once again, to go to sleep. This got her nowhere. So after awhile she decided she was just going to have to accept things as they were, the way she’d realized they were when Olivia had asked her about love earlier. Since she had no hills to shout from, she tried whispering into her pillow.

“Adam Cartwright,” she said softly into the goose down, then said it again before a sound from down stairs caught her attention.

She got up and went to her door. She heard it again, the light strumming of a guitar. It had to be Adam; she’d seen the instrument in his room. She threw a blanket over her shoulders to hide her unbound state and slipped quietly out her door and stepped quietly over the spot in the hallway that Joseph had warned her about, the one that squeaked whenever he was sneaking out.

She paused at the top of the stairs when Adam started to sing. It was a song from Shakespeare, not a sad one, though he was singing it slowly and mournfully, making it a cross between a lament and a prayer.

“O mistress mine, where are you roaming? O, stay and hear; your true love’s coming. Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Journey’s end in lover’s meeting.” His voice was beautiful; deep and clear like the Scots whiskey she had compared his eyes to when she’d first met him. She crept quietly down the stairs and peered around for him in the darkness. “Then come and kiss me, sweet-and-twenty, Youth’s a stuff, will not endure,” he finished and the last chords echoed through the living room.

“Adam?” she asked uncertainly, worried that he hadn’t even made a fire for light.

“Yes, Charlie?” he responded politely from the shadows.

“Are you heartbroken?” she blurted out and cursed herself, but she needed to know. Maybe she could fix the situation. She didn’t want to, but she could try. He sighed and she heard him move around.

“No, I’m not heartbroken, boy.”

“Oh,” was all she said for a few minutes, then, “Why are you sitting down here in the dark?”

There was a sudden spark in the darkness as Adam struck flint to light the oil lamp. It flared up and seemed unnaturally bright. Once her eyes adjusted, Charlotte saw him sitting calmly on the settee, with his guitar on his lap and his feet on the low table, right next to a bottle of brandy.

“Why are women so foolish, Charlie?” he asked, staring into the cold fireplace. He put his guitar aside.

“Excuse me?” She could not have heard him right.

“Why are women so foolish? You heard me.” He squinted at her in the dim light.

“I hadn’t noticed them being foolish, Adam.” Charlotte managed to control her temper at this insult, though she was thinking women had never been as big of fools as men. That is, until she remembered her confessions into her pillow a few moments ago. “Well, no more so than men at least.”

“Men are logical.” Adam argued, sitting up to see her better. “We aren’t fickle with our emotions.”

“No men are not.” She sat down in the chair opposite him. “Men admire anything with a pretty face and call it love. That is hardly fickle.”

“Exactly,” he agreed, then stopped. “Wait, what did you say?”

“Did you ever talk to Olivia as you talk to me?” Charlotte asked, feeling that in this at least her rival had a legitimate complaint. “Or did you just admire her hair or daydream about the figure under the dress?” She was longing to knock some sense into his thick head.

“What’s wrong with admiring a woman?” He wanted to shout, she could tell by the way he tensed up. At the same time, she got the feeling that he was enjoying their debate; his eyes had lost the dullness she’s thought she’d seen when she’d first come downstairs.

“Nothing, if you admire all of her,” she snapped back. He shook his head.

“That isn’t what this is about. This is about a woman’s heart. Rejecting one day what she welcomed the day before. They are incapable of steadfast devotion.”

Oh, he was so sure of himself that now she to forcibly remind herself that it would get her nowhere to slap him. She settled for a furious whisper.

“A woman is capable of faithfulness.”

“You have proof of this?” he questioned unbelievingly.

 “Proof?” Her voice cracked. That he should question her devotion, even unknowing, hurt. “My father had a daughter that loved a man, but couldn’t tell him. Not wouldn’t, as you are probably thinking, she had almost no pride where this man was concerned, but couldn’t. He would never have accepted her as she was. So she loved him, and only him, in silence.” She was barely speaking in a whisper as she finished.

“I’ve respected your wishes, and never asked about your family, Charlie, but tell me, please, what happened to her?” His question was just as quiet. He seemed subdued, thinking over what she had said.

“I’m all that’s left of my family.” She avoided answering directly. Adam frowned to himself.

“Then you are saying I am too proud for any woman to love me?”

“Oh no,” she assured him immediately, then continued on more gently. “I am saying that perhaps you are too proud to love them in return. You concentrate too much on…”she paused to search for the right words, “on walking like a man, and not enough on the object of your affections, and how they might feel. You don’t even allow too much emotion to show with Little Joe.” This was not exactly the same thing, but Charlotte felt it was important. Adam was silent for a long time. When he spoke up, he sounded curious.

“Why I let you talk to me this way I’ll never know.” He shook his head. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe. You seem to be right most of the time, and you do seem to know what you’re talking about today.” Suddenly, he smiled. “Yes, you seem to know a lot all of the sudden. Has somebody caught your eye, young Charlie?”

Charlotte tried smiling back, but her smile was wobbly.

“Perhaps,” she answered. He glanced at her sharply.

“What is she like? What color is her hair?”

“Oh, about the color of yours,” she whispered, surprised at the questions and his intent expression.

“How old is she?”

“About your age.” She responded without thinking. He laughed and turned it into a cough.

“Just like Joe, aren’t you?” The tension seemed to leave him. He got up and ruffled her hair. She closed her eyes. “Coming up to bed?”

Her eyes shot open. Then she realized again what an idiot she was. She cleared her throat.

“Of course.” She stood up, but he didn’t move as she’d expected him to. She was standing in front of him with barely an inch between them.

“Good night.” Adam was so close she could hear the words rumbling in his chest. He was staring down into her eyes, and, perhaps it was the darkness or her wishful thinking, but she thought she saw a light in them.

Charlotte had been kissed before, by her eager beaux, and knew essentially how to indicate to a man that she wished his embrace. Acting only on her desires, she tilted her face up and opened her mouth, ever so slightly. Kiss me, Adam, she thought, and wondered if he could read this in her eyes.

After an endlessly long, tense moment, his head lowered towards hers fractionally. His lips were barely an inch from hers. Then, from upstairs came the sound of Hoss snoring. Adam moved away from her abruptly.

“You should get upstairs now, boy,” he said harshly and stepped back. Charlotte didn’t stop to think. She ran up the stairs to her room like she was running for her life.

Adam had been absent from the breakfast table that morning. But even without his presence it hadn’t been a peaceful meal. Charlotte couldn’t help but wonder if the tension that had developed between her and Adam had somehow become tangible and had remained downstairs all night only to stick in the throats of everyone in the household. Even Hoss had been unable to eat much, though to tell the truth, what Hoss had managed to get down would have fed Charlotte for a day and a half.

As no one had been inclined to linger at the table, she and Joe and Hoss had set out earlier than expected for Virginia City. The trip was supposed to be a day off for them. A reward, as they had finished the spring repairs a little early this year, partially due to Charlie’s help. She had been proud of her achievement, until last night, when she had been reminded of her lie. Now, whatever emotions she was feeling, pride wasn’t really one of them. She wasn’t sure if she could explain it to Adam, or even if there was anything to explain. How could she have been so stupid? She had lain in bed all night, mentally kicking herself.

Now, as she wandered alone aimlessly up and down the main street of town, she was thinking it was perhaps time she moved on. She had no idea where she would go, but she had some wages coming, and probably a reference as well. The only problem was, she didn’t want to leave the Ponderosa.

Charlotte suddenly realized she was standing in front of the general store where she had taken the bread that had led to her first meeting…the Cartwrights. She peered in through the window. The shopkeeper was occupied and wasn’t likely to make a scene if he saw her, so she looked at the window display. Some jars of calves’ foot jelly were on sale, and some candy as well, and a large floral prin