The New Hand, Part Sixty-Seven

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13

LINK TO PART ONE

~

Joe woke up to a soft knock at his door—no, make that the door that separated the two suites. He muttered a ‘come in’ into his pillow.

He heard the door open. "Time to wake up," a voice informed him. It was David’s voice—not Adam’s.

Joe opened one eye and shifted his head enough to get a look at David, who was now standing
near the bed. The man was not only awake and alert; he was also washed up and dressed to the nines.

Joe swore under his breath. He hated early risers and decided to share that information with David.

"Get out," he mumbled. "I can’t stand people who are up and dressed at this hour."

David cocked his head at him. "Are you aware that ‘this hour’ is noon?"

He groaned in response—a long, agonizing groan that recognized all the cruelty and unfairness in the world. How could it possibly be noon already?

"No," Joe admitted at last. "I was not aware of that. Ok—give me two minutes and then I’ll get up."

David grinned. "Forgive me, but I think I’ll stay until I actually see you get out of bed. We’ve decided to take your advice, by the way. We’re going to go talk to Niles—all of us."

Joe actually raised his head at that. "Do you think it’s a good idea for you to go to Niles?"

"No," David answered, "but I’m coming anyway. Niles may already know that Adam and I came to San Francisco together, so there’s no point in being coy about it."

Joe considered that. "I suppose that’s true," he owned. "Where’s Adam?"

"He went to fetch Marty," David said as he took a seat on the edge of the bed. "Let me fill you in on what happened last night."

~

Marty worked slowly and methodically on her sketch, transforming rough shapes into recognizable forms as the picture evolved. She tended to go into a trance-like state when she worked on her sketches—it was almost a form of meditation for her.

This was the most important thing in the world to her. No attractive man, no husband, no child would ever come close to her art in her affection. Oh, she would love her child and she would care for it—but, like a favored first-born, her art would always come first.

Her butler startled her out of her reverie. He entered the parlor in a stately manner and announced Adam Cartwright.

Adam came in on the butler’s heels, giving Marty no chance to prepare herself or make her excuses. She smiled up at him and reluctantly set the sketch aside.

As soon as the butler left the room she stood up and clutched Adam’s hands. "I suppose David told you everything?"

Adam gave her a grim smile and nodded.

She blanched. "You’re furious with me, aren’t you?" she asked, slanting her eyes at him.

Adam leaned down and kissed her forehead. "More disappointed than furious," he informed her.
"You and I are going to have a long talk this evening, young lady."

She cocked her head at him. "But not now?" she inquired. "Why the reprieve?"

"We need to go talk to your father," Adam explained. "I’ll tell you the details along the way."

LINK TO PART SIXTY-EIGHT