"Conn, see all the horses!" Clara's eyes were like tin plates as they walked along the street.

"Aye, Clara. And you'll  be seeing lots more once your father starts his ranch." Conn grinned at  Amy, who smiled back and stroked Clara's hair. He reached over and  batted at the end of Amy's braid. She turned and swatted at his hand  with a smile.

"Conn, do you think Pa will buy me a horse?" Clara asked, swinging her sunbonnet by its strings.

"I'm sure Johnson knows  how much you're wanting one. If he doesn't, you can ride Brann." Brann  nickered behind Conn – even he was happy.

Johnson and his wife  were walking ahead of them. He turned to Conn when they reached the  hotel. "Sheridan, see to your horse, then come meet us here."

            "Aye, sir." Conn rode Brann to the livery and led him to a stall. A chestnut horse who  was passing by suddenly lunged at Brann, teeth bared and ears back.

            "Come here,  you divil!" The chestnut's owner had his animal under control in a  second.  Conn darted around to Brann's left side, keeping the reins  wrapped around his hand. Brann snorted nervously and sidestepped –  towards Conn.

            He hadn't  been paying attention to Brann, because the man's voice startled him.  Hadn't he heard that voice somewhere before?

Conn's eyes widened as he saw Brann's back coming towards him. Darn high-strung horses.

He twisted  his body, trying to squeeze past Brann to get at his head, but he wasn't  fast enough. Brann's side slammed into him, crushing him up against the  wall. There was a popping noise and his right arm felt like it was on  fire. Then Brann stepped on his right foot. Conn let go of the reins and  grabbed the side of the stall. Brann stood still, which was fortunate. Conn couldn't move his arm and his foot throbbed.

            God help me! Conn slid down onto his knees.

            Cursing, the  man shut his horse into a stall, then walked over to Conn. "I'm sorry  about that, lad," he said, taking off his hat.

Conn was already gasping – Brann had knocked the air out of him – but when he saw the man's face, he gasped again.

"Da?" Conn rasped, looking up at him.

The man stopped,  bent over, and peered at his face. "Conn?" His already gruff voice grew  hoarse as he got down on his knees in front of him. "Conn? What would  you be doing here?"

            "I...came  with a family." Even though Conn wanted to notice every detail about  this moment, Da's face was getting blurry.

            Was  he...crying? As Conn shifted, his arm throbbed and he winced, telling  himself it was the pain that was making him tear up, though he knew it  wasn't.

            "Are you hurt?" Da reached toward him and he pulled back.

            Shaking his head, Conn stammered, "It's not a bad hurt, I think."

Da dropped his hands and  they landed with a smack on his thighs. "You're still too stubborn for  your own good!" He ran his hands through his hair. "And it's a terrible  liar you are."

Conn snorted, running a  hand through his hair with his good arm. He stopped when he realized Da  had just done the same thing. He did inherit something from him besides his red hair. "I should be a great liar. I learned from the best," Conn said spitefully.

            With a  frown, Da leaned forward. Conn started to flinch and hide his face, but  then stopped and looked up slowly. Da hadn't moved.

            "Conn..." Da  said slowly, rubbing his beard, "it's a man you are now, and men don't  like to be asking for help. I know." Da paused and gave a short, rueful  laugh. "But there are times when we need help, even from those we hate."

Conn had never said he hated his father. "But men are stubborn, too," he returned. "It's near ten years you've been gone. I've learned not to take help from anyone."

"You're an eedjit, you know that?" Da sputtered. "You'd take help from your mother, wouldn't you?"

            "Of course," Conn replied without thinking. "She's family."

            "Am I not family, too?"

            "Well..."

            "If I'd like to be family again, would you let me?"

            Conn's lip curled and he drew back. "I don't think I could."

            Da nodded. "I don't blame you." He rose and held a hand out. "Will you let me look at your arm?"

            Conn  hesitated, then shook his head. "Johnson will look at it." He rose  slowly, cautiously putting weight on his foot.

            "Who's Johnson?" Da asked suspiciously.

            "The man I came with. He's been like a father to me."

            "I see." Da ran a hand through his hair again. "Let me put up your horse."

            "All right. I suppose I can trust you to take care of an animal, since that seems to be the only thing you can do." Conn took Brann's reigns and tossed them towards Da, who caught them deftly and stood, brow furrowed.

            "Conn!" He called. "Will I see you again?"

            "I don't know," he said shortly as he walked away, favoring his right foot.

            When he got  back to the hotel, Amy was  sitting in the lobby waiting for him. She  rose as he entered. "Conn, are  you all right?" She asked, surveying his  face as she walked toward him.

            "I don't know," he said gruffly, taking a step backward. "Amy, where is your father?"

             "He's in  the dining room," Amy answered, a frown marring her  face. "Is something  wrong, Conn?" She reached for his arm.

             "I said I  don't know!" Conn snapped, shaking her off and  stalking towards the  dining room. Amy blinked as though he'd slapped  her, and Conn felt like  he had. He wondered if Da had ever felt this way.

            Conn found Johnson drinking something and sat down across from him. "I...I met my father today."

            "You did?" Johnson set down his cup. "What did you say to him?

            "A lot of things."

            "And you two are reconciled?"

            "No, sir. My pride got in the way. I hurt my arm and...wouldn't let him fix it."

            Johnson eyed him. "What happened?"

            "Da's horse lunged at Brann, who shoved me up against a wall."

             Johnson  frowned. "Let me feel your arm." Conn extended his  arm painfully and  Johnson ran his fingers over it, stopping when he  reached Conn's  shoulder. "It's dislocated, Conn. Not broken."

            Conn stiffened at the pain in his arm. "I told him you'd be fixing it."

            He inclined his head. "I can," he said slowly. "It'll hurt, though."

Conn scoffed. "It already hurts, it can't be getting much worse." Johnson raised an eyebrow as if he were skeptical. "Should I do it right here?"

            "Why not?"

Rising,  Johnson walked  around to him and put a hand on his shoulder. Just that  hurt. "Ready?"  Conn nodded, taking a deep breath. Johnson jerked his  shoulder  backwards.

Conn bit back a   curse. Confound it, that hurt! But all of a sudden he could move his   arm. He stared up at Johnson. "You did that like it was nothing!"

"It wasn't anything," Johnson said simply, sitting back down. "I heard what you said to Amy when you came in."

Conn dropped  his gaze to the table, following the grain of the  wood with his eyes.  "I didn't know what to tell her. I was confused."

            "Now she's probably confused. You've never acted like that towards her before, Conn."

Conn            grimaced. "I know. I'll go talk to her."

             Johnson  took another drink. "I was hoping you'd say that.  She values your  friendship." He gave Conn a small smile as he left to  find Amy.

            She was  sitting in the  lobby still, a book laying upside down in her lap. She  looked up as he  approached and then looked down. Conn sighed and fiddled  with his  suspenders.

            "Amy?" He sat down beside her and ran his fingers through his hair, then frowned. I've got to stop doing that! "I...I'm sorry for the way I spoke to you."

            She smiled. "I'm sorry I was so nosy."

            Conn grinned. "You weren't being nosy. I was being prickly." He took her hand and wrapped his fingers around it.

            Amy leaned closer. "You must have a reason for being prickly," she murmured.

            He snorted. "I have a very good reason!"

            "Oh?" Amy tilted her head to one side. "What happened? And don't you dare get mad at me again!"

             He grinned  and stroked her braid, then froze. Did he really  want to tell her?  "I..." He closed his eyes in trepidation.

            "Yes?" Amy's voice rose and he could picture her eyebrows rising along with it.

            "My da's in Oklahoma City." He opened his eyes to find her staring at him.

            "He is? Oh, Conn, that's wonderful!" When Conn didn't say anything, Amy frowned. "Isn't it?"

"I  don't know!" He  burst out, then took a deep breath. "I told you he left  us, but I  didn't say why. Da drank. He would come home with money one  day, then  leave and come back drunk without work the next." Amy made a   sympathetic noise in her throat. "There's an Irish saying that goes, 'to   know somebody, one must live in the same house with him.' That wasn't   true for Da. Anyone could tell what kind of man he was. When he found   out that Pat was coming, he just left. After that, I had to work."

"Wouldn't you be glad to have him back?" Amy asked, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

"We'd be at each other's throats all the time!"

"So you don't get along."

He  barked a laugh. "No,  we don't. And our horses don't, either. I hurt my  arm because of it.  Da wanted to help me, but I came to Johnson instead."

            Amy made an "Ooh" noise like a dove. "I'm sorry. Did Pa help you?"

            He nodded. "Now Da wants to see me again. He seems as if he's changed, but..." He shrugged and exhaled forcefully.

             "But you're  worried he hasn't," Amy finished softly. "Don't  you think he's  worried, too?" She laid a hand on his shoulder and he  didn't shake her  off this time.

            "Da? No." He shook his head. "If I give him another chance, he might leave again."

            "That's a chance you'll have to take – a gamble."

"You'd think I would like gambling, being Irish," he grumbled. "Now I've got to go find him." He squeezed Amy's hand as he rose.

             He looked  for Da in the most logical place he could think of  – the saloon. He was  sitting at a table, a cup of whiskey in his hand  and a bottle by his  elbow.

"Sit down, Conn. A   drink is shorter than a story, so don't tell me a story. Tell me whether   you'll accept me or not." Da pushed a cup and the bottle towards me.

Conn eyed the bottle as  if it were a rattlesnake, then poured himself a  glass of whisky. He  sipped and suddenly understood why Da drank it. It  warmed his insides  and made him feel sure of himself. He set down the  glass. "Drunkenness  and anger is said to tell the truth. You said before  you left that you  weren't meant to be a father. Why should that have  changed?"

Da shrugged. "Out here,  I've learned  you can't survive without help. Fathers and sons have to  work together.  I'm willing to work with you - here or back in New  York."

Conn spread his hands and laughed stiffly. "I just got here. I'm not leaving."

            Johnson would give him a chance. Amy would, too. Conn hesitated, took a drink, then said slowly, "Come meet Johnson. He'll be able to suggest something."

            "I'm not needing his suggestions," Da said shortly, "and you shouldn't be, either. You're a grown man, aren't you?"

Crossing his arms, Conn glared at him. "You just said a man needs help to survive here. You called me an eedjit, but it's you who're the eedjit."

  Da sighed. "You're a  terrible liar, but you can call a bluff." He took  one last drink before  rising to follow Conn. They walked out onto the  darkened street  together, headed for the hotel.

             Johnson was  sitting in the lobby when they arrived. He stood  and approached Conn,  inspecting Da as though he were a threat.

            "This is my da, Casey," he said hesitantly. Da and Johnson shook hands. "Da, this is Joel Johnson."

            "Casey, are you good with animals like your son?" Johnson asked.

            Da shrugged. "Better than most. I know one end of a horse from another."

            Conn crossed his arms. "Don't listen to him. He taught me all I know."

            Johnson smiled. "Then he is   better than most. Casey, would you help me get my ranch up and  running?  I've a good head for business, but I don't know the first  thing about  what makes a fine horse."

            Da ran a  hand through his hair. "I...would be grateful for the work. And I know  where you can buy your first horses."

            "Thank you." Johnson glanced at Conn. "Will you be sleeping with us tonight?"

            Conn looked at Da, looked back at Johnson, and shook his head. "No, sir. Da and I have things to talk about."

            Johnson nodded. "Will you meet me here in the morning?" Both he and Da nodded. "All right. I'll see you then."

            They walked back outside. "Conn," Da asked hesitantly. "Would you write your mother for me?"

            "Yes, Da," he answered. "She'll be glad to hear from you."

***

            Dear Mother, Roy, and Pat,

             We made  it to Oklahoma City. Johnson bought me a horse and I  named him Brann.  He's spirited – the horse, not Johnson. Our first  night in the city, I  met Da. We talked, and he wanted to come home. I  was willing to forgive  him, but I didn't want to go all the way back to  New York. We talked  to Johnson, who is planning to breed horses. He  offered Da and me a  job. We want you to come live with us. Da is sending  money he saved for  you to make the journey. Mother, Da asked me to  write a letter to you  for him, so here it is.

            Love,

            Conn

            Dear Éabha,

             Conn has  grown into a fine man. I'm sorry I was not there to  see him grow up.  I'd like to be seeing  you again, and Roy and Pat,  too. (Conn told me  you named him after your brother.) I don't know if  you could stand to  live with me again, but I'm willing to try. I'm  sending you some money  I've saved, so if you want to come out to  Oklahoma City, I'd be glad to  have you. My father used to tell me, 'Woe  to him who does not  heed a good wife's counsel.' You were a good wife,  but I didn't heed  you, and I've caused you grief over the years, I know.  I haven't given  up drink, but it doesn't control me anymore. Please  write back with  your answer – whatever it is. Whatever you choose, I'll  send money as I  can.

            Still yours,

            Casey