Title: Choices
Author: Tecee
Fandom: Lancer
Pairing:
Status: New
Crit: Yes
Archive: Yes
E-mail: Teeceab@AOL.com
Series: Lancer
Disclaimers: The characters & setting are not mine, no copyright infringement intended. The story is an original work.
Summary: The arrival of Murdoch's goddaughter with his fugitive godson right on her heels disrupts the entire Lancer household.
Warnings: Graphic violence, Graphic sex, language
Johnny Lancer backhanded the sweat that had gathered beneath the shock of unruly dark hair that fell onto his forehead then swiped it on the thigh of his silver studded black twill pants before replacing his felt hat low, just over fathomless blue eyes. It was already hot, he'd had one long drive with another one to look forward to, the damned train was late, and God how he hated this waiting -- not that he couldn't be a patient man when he needed to be. Lord knows he'd had to learn patience the hard way, but still, if one more person asked him if he wasn't wishing this was already over with he didn't know if he'd be able to keep the anger tamped down any longer.
Shoulders bunching tiredly, he tried to unstick the salmon pink cotton shirt that had plastered itself to his back. Maybe Murdoch had been right to send him, after all. He'd forgotten how nervous of these people he'd been when Murdoch had brought him back here to live, not that any one of them had ever known it. Hell, when he'd shown up and been recognized as Johnny Madrid the majority of them had been scared of him, but he had been nervous nonetheless and he'd never told another living soul how he'd felt. And even now, one full year later, the feeling of being an outsider looking in was still strong. He smiled ruefully, realizing that Murdoch knew, and that was exactly why it was he, Johnny, here to meet the train and not Scott or Teresa or even himself, Murdoch, because the person getting off that train was bound to be feeling some of the exact same emotions Johnny had in his first days back here.
The weak vibration beneath his feet told him the train was getting near long before anyone else was aware of it. A quick survey of the crowd was enough to tell him no good was going to happen here today, but he was powerless to stop it, and again all he could do was wait. Most of the faces were familiar, most of these people were just a physically uncomfortable as he was and none of them had any real business with the train but he knew they wouldn't leave. How they'd learned about the new arrival he couldn't even be sure, but they believed they had a mission and so did he: to try to put a stop to theirs. He moved closer to the station steps, crossed his arms over his chest and continued to wait. "Here it comes!" He heard the cry and closed his eyes as he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Now it begins, he thought to himself. I've just gotten to a place here that I like: a little respect, a little fear, people actually seem to like me and in a matter of minutes, it's all going to go ass-up. Murdoch, just what were you thinking sending me out here like this? What have you let me in for?
He opened his eyes once again and looked around at the people that had come to stand with him, that believed that he, like they, were here to stop this menace. He kept his breathing nice and even, and even managed a tight smile at the shopkeeper, Mr. Abercrombie, who tipped his head toward him by way of greeting. The smile died on his lips though when he realized Mr. Abercrombie was also offering him one of the rocks he'd been holding in his palm. Well, that cinched it, this was ten times worse than he thought it could be and he whirled around to try to talk sense into these people but they were crowding in around him pretty tight and noisy to boot so that his words died in the air. His eyes searched the crowd for a sympathetic face, and he thought he saw one, a youngish man, maybe a couple of years younger than himself with light colored eyes, golden skin, and dark hair that together somehow just didn't seem quite right, but he only saw him for just a flash and the man was gone.
The train had slowed and a porter was standing on the step holding the rail with one hand to steady himself, and a small stool which would aid the only passenger disembarking at this stop as she stepped from the train, in the other. The noise of the crowd was lost in the screeching of the wheels as the train continued to slow, then stopped. A great noisy puff of gray smoke left the stack up top and the choking cloud blown by a small breeze descended on the crows but they didn't budge, just blinked away the sting of tears, some even coughed a little, but none left. Johnny had positioned himself so that he was in the front row, one of eight or ten that had vied for position, wanting to get a good close up look. An inner door was slowly opened, a small gloved hand was placed in the porters and then a young woman appeared. Johnny's attention was instantly riveted by -- the first thing that came to his mind was -- an angel. Slender and small, probably not quite five feet tall, he'd wager she couldn't tip a scale to one hundred soaking wet. She was wearing clothes that had seen better days on other more robust figures, and even then, probably had never been considered the height of fashion. Her skin was smooth and pale, her face heart shaped, her chin slightly pointed, her nose small and pert, her lips, well from where he was standing they looked just about perfect, all pink and pouty. High heekbones added to the ethereal picture she presented and silver blonde wisps of hair escaping their confines could almost have been said to resemble a halo. Her eyes though were striking, a startling contrast to the rest of her with thin dark brows arched above heavy black fringes, top and bottom, that did nothing to conceal the purple smudges beneath. Her free hand was up, trying to shield them from the bright sunlight as the small bonnet she wore couldn't and Johnny realized she had no idea what this was, she hadn't yet seen what the townspeople had in store for her. After a moment her hand came slowly down and the most startling emerald eyes he had ever seen beheld the crowd, focusing on him for only a moment before moving on to the others that, he figured, seemed to her more intimidating. He could see the quick telltale rise and fall of her chest through the drab gray-brown fabric of the dress, believed he could see a slight tremble in her hand when she let loose of the porter, just before she took ahold of the rail to step down.
"We don't want you here!" an angry voice shouted, and within seconds the rest of the crowd joined in until the din of their voices surged, crashing oppressively down around her. Johnny stayed where he was a moment longer, suddenly glad that Murdoch had sent him on this errand. He glanced back over his shoulder at the people behind him, noticed for the first time that there were signs being carried by some that said things like 'go away' and 'you have no business here.' One simply said 'jailbird' and he thought that when she read it, that would probably be the one that hurt the most. He looked back at her again, and was taken aback at the unexpected expression on her face. No fear there, not even a teensy tiny little bit as she looked right back at the crowd -- her back straight, her head held high, he imagined he could almost see her mind working as her eyes ran over them, then come to rest on what she must have deemed the most threatening of this, her welcoming committee. This sudden turn of events had become quite interesting so he decided to stay where he was a while, watch, maybe learn a thing or two about her in the process, and if things turned ugly, he'd do whatever it took to get her away safely, but for now...
Her expression didn't change and she didn't say a word, only looked at the man Johnny recognized as a big bag of wind that ran a small property just the other side of the railroad tracks. She hardly blinked as she dared him to meet her challenging gaze and then an amazing thing happened -- he blushed, his entire face turning a bright shade of red before he dropped his eyes then backed up, quickly disappearing into the crowd. Once more her eyes scanned the crowd, this time coming to rest on Mr. Abercrombie, who had so generously offered Johnny one of his rocks a little earlier, and once again she made a grown man blush before he turned, heading back for the store. Johnny couldn't help but grin, quickly bringing his hand up over his jaw to hide it.
He'd heard stories about people, charismatic he'd heard them called once, that could quiet a room with a smile, calm a mob with a softly spoken word, unite a nation by shedding a single tear, but he'd never seen such a thing happen himself. In amazement he watched as, one by one, the crowd disbursed, most of the men looking embarrassed, the women ashamed as they tried to melt back into those around them. Soon there was nothing left that told of their even being there except a few rocks strewn here and there. Finally her eyes came to rest on him. "Now wait a minute," he began as he held one hand out toward her as though to ward off the evil eye.
"Mr. Lancer." It was the first time he'd heard her voice and it stunned him. Not the high pitched fair/angel voice he expected, no, it was all smoke and whisky, like the kind men talk about when they're out on the trail, telling the kinds of stories that are only told among men when they haven't seen a woman for days. He nodded, bringing his arm back down to his side. "I'm sure you've figured out by now who I am." Once again he nodded, ready to ask her if he could get her things, when she reached behind her and took the one bag the porter still held in his hand. Johnny hadn't even noticed the man was still there, his attention had been all for this little wisp of a woman that had just stood up to an entire town. The porter was still standing there, looking stupefied at what had just occurred, but at her words of thanks he smiled, tilted his cap, and went back inside.
"Can I take that for you?" Johnny asked.
"What, afraid I might strain myself? Afraid I packed a couple of weapons or a few bars of gold away inside here somewhere?" she asked, waving the faded, moth-eaten bag in the air toward him, the bitterness of her words twisting her mouth as though she could taste it.
Johnny smiled in sympathy. "Nope, I was just askin' a lady if I could do the gentlemanly thing and help her with her luggage."
"Luggage!" And even though he knew the discordant laugh that followed was the product of nerves strained beyond what they should be, he liked it.
"Very well, Mr. Lancer, it would pleasure me greatly if you would be so kind as to help me with my 'luggage.'" Once again the bitterness was right out there for the viewing.
"Look, I'm not going to make you play any games with me." he said, and was stopped from saying more by the way she turned toward him, her eyes so fierce, her jaw set and her skin so pale he was worried she might faint. "What is it?" he asked, "Wha'd I say?" He knew that after what she'd been through, the kinds of people she'd probably had to associate with, that any little thing was apt to set her off for a while, and half the time she probably wouldn't even know why.
She closed her eyes tight for a second and took a deep breath before opening them again. "Nothing." she managed to say evenly. A slight self-deprecating laugh followed. "I'm sorry, it's just been too long since I've been with real people, I've forgotten how to act."
He shook his head as he took the proffered bag. "Then don't." He smiled at the puzzled expression that came into her face. "Don't act. Just be yourself." He held his arm out to her, letting her make the decision as to whether to take it so he could escort her to the wagon, or not. She chose not to, instead walking next to, but slightly behind him with her head swiveling first to one side, then to the other, looking for something. "They're all gone." he told her, thinking she was looking for the people that had come to send her away. "Probably climbing all over themselves and each other to look at us through any chinks or cracks in the walls though, yup, see there, in the saloon over across the street, you can just make out a boot by the door." He was trying to soothe her, to make her relax, but he could clearly see she was hardly paying any attention to him. They got to the wagon and he stowed her bag under the seat, then turned to her, letting her choose whether or not to let him help her up. She took the hand he offered in her right, and held the frame of the seat with her left as she climbed up. The top of her head barely brushed the height of his shoulder, he noted, and that was with her hat on. He walked around the buggy and climbed up into the seat beside, her, picked up the reins and was just about to get them started on their way when she opened her mouth, tilted her head back and yelled "I know you're here Den, and I want you to leave me alone! I don't want anything to do with you ever again, you hear me? Just leave me alone!"
It was difficult for Johnny to keep his surprise from showing; this being hardly what he'd expected her to do next and it took him a minute to understand. Den was her brother, Dennis Long, and she believed that he'd come here to see her get off the train, maybe even to try to take her with him. His mind raced as he tried to recall what her brother even looked like, it had been a long time since he'd seen a poster with his picture on it, and then there it was flashing across his mind's eye and with it the image of the man he'd noticed earlier, the friendly looking one with the gray eyes and golden skin of a redhead, but dark hair, brows and beard and he knew that she was right, her brother had been here, disguised, maybe still was here somewhere keeping watch, and she didn't want to see him. He looked over at her and wasn't too surprised to see the trembling of her hands had started up again. Best to just leave her be for a few minutes, to regain her composure, so he slapped the horses rumps with the reins and with a clumsy jerk they were off.
They hadn't gotten more than a few miles when out of the corner of his eye he saw her moisten her lips with the tip of her tongue. "They were going to stone me, weren't they?" she asked, showing him that she'd observed a sight more than he'd thought
"Get a bunch of self-righteous people together, let one of them get it into his head that something that's happening is bad, and they all get kind of stupid, you know, like turkeys."
She turned toward him, clearly puzzled. "Turkeys." she repeated. He nodded, never taking his eyes from the road. "I've never heard anyone use that analogy before, and I'm quite sure you're just dying for me to ask, so I will. Turkeys?" He could tell she had intentionally emphasized the word, playing along in the same vein that he was.
"I'll bet you didn't know that turkeys are just about the stupidest creatures God ever made."
"No, you're right. I''m afraid that as well educated as I was, that is one piece of knowledge I am shamefully unaware of. Please, enlighten me."
"You tryin' to shame me by throwin' your education in my face?' he asked, his face set in hard lines as he turned toward her. "'Cause if you are, you're a little off the mark. Murdoch filled me in about you before I came so I wouldn't be caught off guard, 'cause you see, you and me, we've both had a rough go of it. I don't begrudge you your education -- hell, my old man paid for it, didn't he? Just don't go throwin' it up in my face again." He was instantly sorry for the way he'd rounded on her, could see by the expression on her face that she hadn't meant him to take her words the way he had. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, choosing his next words carefully. "I lied just now, and I'm sorry. You didn't miss your mark, in fact you hit it pretty much right on. I missed out on a lot growing up, and not just the things that money can buy."
She watched him, seeing the way he wasn't even able to look at her when he spoke and decided she wanted to end the strain between them right then and there. This was a nice man, from all appearances, a good man and if she was honest with herself, she'd have to admit that she had been trying to raise her own self-esteem at his expense. She searched her mind for something to say. She'd never been very good at small talk and the last eighteen months had made it even worse. She looked at him again, watched the way he kept his attention fully on the horizon and racked her brain. "Turkeys?" she finally blurted out in the same way she had said it before, and was rewarded by him turning toward her, a slow smile lighting up his face.
"Yup. Stupidest creatures God ever made." he continued as though their earlier exchange had never taken place. "Did you know that they are so stupid that if they're outside during a rainstorm they all flock together, you know, squeeze in real tight, then look up at the sky as though they think they can see what the wet stuff falling down on them is. The rain gets into their nostrils, they begin to choke, but they're too stupid to put their heads down, and with all those other stupid turkeys wedged in tight around them they probably wouldn't have enough room to anyway, and they drown." His reward was a genuine smile from her and he actually thought he could feel his heart thump a couple of extra beats in his chest because when she smiled, she was downright beautiful.
"How much further, I mean, how long before we get there?" she asked, wanting time and not distance relayed.
"I thought you'd been there before."
"I have, but not since I was pretty young. I hardly remember it, and what I do remember, it's with a little girl's eyes so I'm pretty sure the reality is going to be slightly, well, altered."
"What do you remember?" he asked, glancing over at her again. She was one thing he didn't think he could ever get tired of looking at.
"Huge. I remember that the whole thing was huge, the house, barn, furniture, even Uncle Murdoch. Oh!" she seemed a bit embarrassed. "I don't call him that anymore. It's just that when I...when we" she amended "were young, my brother Dennis and me, our parents didn't let us call adults by their Christian names, and since your father was our godfather, calling him Mr. Lancer seemed a bit too formal, so we grew up calling him Uncle Murdoch."
"You mentioned your brother." Johnny said. She nodded, which he took as permission to continue. "Was he there to meet your train?"
"I don't know, I mean I didn't see him, but I have to assume that he was, either he or one of the men he has riding with him. He's the only one of my family that wrote to me in prison, under another name of course, always telling me how he was going to spirit me away and take care of me once I got out. Oh, your rather wrote too, regularly, and he even tried to visit me a couple of times in the beginning, but I never even knew about it until days later, after they'd sent him away." Her expression became pensive, her mood suddenly morose.
Johnny was sorry the conversation had taken the turn it had, but he pressed on, using a different tack. "Well, he's dying to see you, even though I don't think you're quite what he's got pictured." At her puzzled expression he continued. "When you see the room he's got fixed up for you, you'll understand. Even with Teresa there now, who has to be nearly your age, I don't think he's really expecting you to be a...a woman."
"What do you think he's expecting? I'm a nineteen year old ex-felon after all, surely he can't still be imagining me all ribbons and curls with my knees and elbows scraped up from my latest adventure wanting to sit in his lap while he reads me a story."
"Yup, that's pretty much how he painted you, and I must say, I was pleasantly surprised when you came through that door on the train." They had come to a place where a dead tree had fallen, narrowing the trail so only one wagon could pass through if it went carefully, so while he concentrated on making sure neither of the wheels came too close to anything, rocks on one side, a rotten old tree on the other, he missed the change in her demeanor. Her hand suddenly clutching a fistful of shirtsleeve brought his attention back around to her.
"I've changed my mind. I don't want to go to Lancer, it was all a huge mistake. If you'd stop the carriage so I can get down now, I'd be ever so grateful."
"No one's forcing you to go to Lancer." he told her. "Murdoch'll be disappointed, sure, he'll get over it, but I'm not going to just let you out here, in the middle of nowhere."
"Yes, that's exactly what I want you to do, leave me right here. You can go on your way, no looking back and I'll be free to do what I want."
"To be with your brother." Johnny said baldly.
"No! I never want to see him again. It's just...I don't know if I can face your father."
"Murdoch?" Johnny sounded completely baffled. "You're all he's talked about these last two days, ever since he found out they shaved that last half year off your sentence."
She nodded. "And that's exactly why I don't think this is a good idea. I'm not that little girl he remembers, she's dead; dead and buried somewhere back there in my past. Look Mr. Lancer-"
"Johnny." he corrected.
"Johnny then. My parents don't even want to have anything to do with me. Does Murdoch know, did he tell you that the day my parents found out where I was to spend the next two years of my life they had all my belongings boxed up and shipped to me there? Of course no one would let me have my things, but they sure got some pleasure out of rubbing my nose in it, and of course they'd all been through the boxes, all my personal, private belongings."
Johnny didn't have to ask her to be any more clear. Her parents had disowned her and even if they had know it, they probably wouldn't have cared that by sending all her things down to the prison they allowed any stranger who took the time to go through her stuff to discover things about her that they had no business knowing.
"He doesn't care about any of that. I've only known the man about a year, and I've never seen him so soft on anyone as he is on you. If fact, I probably shouldn't say this, but he's pretty much washed his hands of your parents."
"I wish he didn't feel that way." she said, completely taking him by surprise.
"Why not? Look what they did to you."
"But you don't understand. Den left home the summer I turned fourteen, he'd gotten himself into some trouble and papa wanted him to turn himself in because he was only seventeen and what he'd done could almost be seen as a boys prank gone bad, and papa said he'd do whatever it took to see fines were paid and property restored."
"Wha'd he do?"
"Stole a horse papa wouldn't buy him at an auction, then burned down the barn of the man that had purchased him to try to cover up what he'd done."
"Sounds like a bit more than a 'boys prank.'"
"Well, I can't say what Den did was right, but papa was almost as much to blame as him because papa had promised Den that for his birthday they would go shopping and papa would buy him any horse he wanted. Den's birthday came and went, papa took him to the auction -- what was Den supposed to think? Papa never took him to the auction before. Den had every right to think papa was going to keep his word, buy him any horse he wanted."
"What was your father's reason for not buying him the horse?"
"Well, I don't know really, all he said was that he couldn't remember saying such a thing. You have to realize, I was away at school for most of the year from the time I was twelve on. When I came home for visits, everything would be fine for a few days, then Den would do something, papa would start getting after him and off I'd go, back to school."
"Sounds like going back to school was probably kind of a relief for you."
"Oh, it was. I hated their fights, and to make it worse, mama would go off to her room with sick headaches that lasted for days, and there I'd be, stuck in the middle, both of them snapping at me because I couldn't take sides." She fell into a brown study.
"And then your brother left." Johnny prompted. She was telling him things Murdoch couldn't because he'd had no way of knowing himself.
"And when I came home that last summer, papa was beside himself with worry and guilt. Den had just robbed a bank up in San Jose and a man, a policeman, had been killed. We'd heard about other robberies he'd taken part in, but no one had ever been killed before. Then one afternoon a few days later papa came home early from work, he'd barely set foot in the yard when he grabbed his chest and fell over. One of his hands held something crumpled in a tight ball and when the doctor pried it open, we saw it was a wanted poster, ripped at the corners because papa had pulled it off of a lamppost right outside his office. Someone had drawn a pretty good likeness of Den, and above it were the words 'wanted dead or alive.' The reward wasn't very large yet, it was those words that had torn him apart." She turned toward Johnny. "Should I go on, or do you already know the rest?"
"I've heard some of the story, but with big holes here and there and no reasons for why some of the things happened. If you don't mind too much, I'd like you to go on."
She nodded, it was actually a relief to be able to tell someone what she knew. At her trial no one had wanted to hear it; not her parents, not her attorney, not even the judge.
"Well, papa had had a heart attack and no one knew if he was going to survive, so I decided Dennis needed to know, that someone had to talk to him, to try to get him to turn himself in so papa could stop his worrying. I waited a couple of nights, until papa was resting easier, then I put on some of Den's old clothes, snuck out my bedroom window, took one of our saddle horses and rode. I was so naive to think that if the law couldn't find him, I could. I was also pretty stupid not to realize that I was being watched, we all were, and it was so easy for them to follow me."
"Who? Your brother or the law?"
"Both. I bet I had at least two sets of eyes on me from the minute I opened that window. I never saw or heard them, but they had to be following me, I only wonder how they couldn't realize the others were there. I rode until the moon went down, making it so dark I was afraid to continue with the horse at a run. We rounded a bend in the road, well, more like a trail actually, and I was snatched off my horse by Den. He held me to him so tight I thought my ribs would crack. I began to tell him about papa, and he really did seem distressed, but he told me it was too late, that if he turned himself in he'd probably never even make it to trial, because earlier that day they'd ridden into a trap and been forced to shoot a lot of men. Right about then I realized my shoulder was getting wet, he'd been shot and his blood was soaking my clothes. I tried to talk some sense into him, but just about then one of his men came around the same bend I'd taken and told him the law was right behind him, that they had to get going. Den turned his horse as though he was going to ride off with me, but I stopped him and asked him to put me down, I told him that I couldn't go with him because it would kill papa. He tried to explain that I had no choice, that I had to go because I'd been watched and I'd probably be in some trouble, but I convinced him that I didn't want to be with him, that I couldn't be responsible for papa's condition getting any worse, I told him that if he made me go with him, I'd run away the first chance I got. I could tell by the way he looked at the others with him that he was a little relieved, I mean, he thought they were okay and he trusted them, but he was afraid all that would change if he suddenly had me along to worry about. So he gave me a fierce hug, kissed the top of my head, then slowly lowered me down the side of his horse. In a moment they were gone, and it was so dark you couldn't even see the dust their horses were kicking up behind them. Before I was even settled in my saddle I was surrounded by a posse, dragged not too kindly off my horse and told that my life depended on my telling them where my brother had gone. I pointed, but that wasn't what they wanted and they told me so. I kept telling them I didn't know anything, that I had just gone out to see if Dennis would turn himself in to so papa could begin to recover. I told them the truth and do you know what they did?" She turned to him, and not wanting to distract her into leaving anything out, he only shook his head. "They laughed at me, called me a liar. There was nothing I could say that would convince them I was telling the truth. They forced me back onto my horse and rode with me into town. God, what a sight we must have been, seven men who'd been in the saddle for nearly twenty-four hours and me -- in pants, my shirt half drenched in Den's blood, my face..." She stopped, gave her head a small shake, slanted a quick glance his way and picked up the story, only Johnny could tell she was leaving something out. "They put me in a little cell, told me I'd have to take care of my personal business in an enamel bowl that sat in the corner, left one of the men to watch me on the inside of the jail while another was posted to watch for Den outside and I sat there, so scared and confused and miserable that I thought I would die."
He hadn't missed how she'd changed what she'd been about to say, and he knew without her saying so that the men in the posse had slapped her around. It coincided with what Murdoch had told him, about how she had looked at the trial, protecting an arm that he guessed had been either broker or dislocated, her nose possibly broken and with two black eyes. Not a pretty thing to imagine.
"Mama and papa were devastated, papa's health was gone, he couldn't work any more, I got over blaming them a long time ago. It was Den's fault, and in a way, my own."
"Yeah, well, I know one old man that doesn't see it that way, and I can't say I disagree with him. There was no call sending you to prison other than to relieve their own frustration at not being able to catch your brother. We're almost there." he told her, changing the subject as the cart came to a stop. "You ready?"
He liked the way she met his eyes squarely with her own, no flitty female posturing here, she was open and honest and he was finding it harder and harder not to fall under her spell. "Let's go." she said, so down the road they went getting closer and closer to the house.
"I was wrong." Johnny turned toward her, wondering what she was referring to. "It wasn't just my childish imaginings, it is really huge."
It surprised her that no one came out of the house to meet them in the yard, she had supposed that the way Johnny talked, Murdoch would be eager to see her. He however, didn't seem to find anything unusual in this, simply handing the horse and carriage over to a young Mexican man who came walking out of one of the buildings, he then pulled her bag from under the seat, helped her down, then led her to the house. After opening the massive arched door he stood aside, allowing her to enter before him, then took the lead again, going through another arched entry into Murdoch's study. He could tell the old man had been waiting, and in a funny way, Johnny thought, he seemed a little ill at ease. Scott was sitting in a chair reading a newspaper but looked up at their entrance, and Teresa, always mindful about making sure everyone had whatever they might need, came into the room behind them with a tray of lemonade and teacakes she'd already had made up.
Murdoch smiled, not saying a word, his eyes intent on their visitor, taking in every detail about her appearance, then he stood, came around his desk opening his arms toward her. "Miranda." he finally said very softly.
"Uncle Murdoch." she replied, causing Johnny to smile. She moved quickly toward her godfather, then put her slender arms around his middle, laying her face against the starched white shirt on his chest. A moment later he felt the first convulsive sob and gently folded his arms around her, shielding her from the others curious stares, then with an imperious jerk of his head he directed them all to leave.