“So that’s it,” Hank concluded.  “Ya know it all, now.”  His voice was ragged from his prolonged discourse.  “Damn, I got one hell of a thirst.”  Eying Sully severely he added, “You shouldn’t have pitched that whiskey.”

     “It wasn’t doin’ you no good,” Sully reminded him.  “And now that I know why you were drinkin’, I’m even more glad I got rid of it.”

     “Sully the Good rears his head again!” Hank jeered.  “Tryin’ to save me from myself.”

     “If that’s how you wanna see it.”

     “What I want is what ya owe me for a perfectly good bottle of Kentucky’s finest!”

     Sully shook his head.  “Fine.”  He dug in his coat pocket and extracted a couple of bills, then held them out to Hank.  “Does that cover it?” he asked dryly.

     Hank accepted the notes, then raised a smug face to Sully.  “Yeah, with some ta spare . . . which I’ll, uh, hold onto, for the aggravation.”

 “Do what you want.”

    “Thanks.  I will.”  Hank tucked the money inside his vest then peered out the window.  “Rainin’ again,” he said with a look of disgust.  “Prob’ly gonna slow us up even more.  We shoulda reached the way station by now,” he complained.  “Leastways we could get some water there—since you didn’t see fit to bring along so much as a canteen.”  He regarded Sully witheringly.

     Sully felt the familiar slow burn start inside him.  “Neither did you!”

     “I had other things on my mind,” Hank muttered.

     Chastened, Sully said, “Yeah, I know.  I’m sorry.”

     “Told ya—I don’t need yer pity!”

     “Damn it, Hank, it ain’t pity!  I feel for you.  You went through a rough time . . . and I think you got a raw deal from Zack,” he added.

     Hank’s eyes were suspicious.  “Really?”

     “Yeah, really.  Told you before.  I think you did the best you could by Zack—probably more than most folks woulda done in your place.  I know you love him and I know you’re proud of him.  Just like Clarice woulda wanted.”

     Hank’s expression had started to soften as Sully spoke.  But as soon as he mentioned Clarice, the other man’s eyes turned flat and hard.  Soulless, almost, like a snake’s eyes.

     It was Clarice, Sully intuited suddenly.  Hank was all torn up over Zack, of course—as any father would be, who felt he’d lost his son.  But what was eating away at him even more—relentlessly consuming him inside like a fox chewing at his vitals—was somehow connected to Clarice.

     But it was more than that, Sully realized, as the familiar chill returned to taunt him.  It glided insidiously up his spine, not so subtle anymore, but oppressive and sinister.  From the first time he had voiced Clarice’s name—had referred to Zack’s mother in any way, in fact—Hank had responded with extreme malice, his resentment out of all proportion to the cause.  But why?  Was it possible that the saloon owner could still be holding a grudge after all these years?  That Hank was still blaming him for that one mistake?  But they’d settled it . . . they’d put it behind them . . .  So what possible connection, real or imagined, did Hank perceive between the woman he’d loved and the man seated before him now?

     Sully felt as if he were back out on that fragile precipice, with nowhere to go but down.  Instinctively, in his mind if not in actual fact, he backed away.  It was cowardly, he knew, but something within him was not ready to face the subject of Clarice and its possible implications—either to Hank or to himself.

     And besides, there was still the question of Zack.  Hank had suffered a devastating experience, forced to endure the rejection of his only son.  Clearly, he’d had no time yet to even begin sorting out his feelings of pain and grief.  His defenses were stripped bare; his emotions raw and right at the surface.  Sully knew the saloon keeper was tough, and had weathered a variety of adversities in his life.  Surviving on the frontier wasn’t easy, no matter what one’s station in life.  But this was a different kind of pain—one that Hank had never faced before.  Who knew how it might affect him?  Or even if that cynical shell he’d so diligently cultivated over the years would be strong enough to withstand a loss that went right to a man’s soul?

     “Let’s get back to what happened after Zack left,” he suggested, trying to steer the conversation toward a less potentially explosive subject.  “Did you go after him?”

     Hank’s eyes were dull and without hope.  “What was the point?  He made his choice.  Nothin’ else I could say was gonna change his mind.”

        “You don’t know that,” Sully argued.  “It’s like what I told you before—‘bout folks sayin’ things in the heat of the moment.  I’m sure that after Zack has some time to think—“

    “What?  Ya think he’s gonna come knockin’ at my door, hat in hand, and beg my forgiveness?  Forget it—ain’t gonna happen.”

     “Hank, I sympathize with what you’re goin’ through.  Kids are our harshest critics.  And when it seems like they’ve turned against you, it’s the worst feelin’ in the world.”

     “What would you know about it?”

     “I’ve had my moments too,” Sully told him.  “Matthew and me have had our share of battles—“

     “But he never lost respect for ya!” Hank exclaimed.  “He never said he hated ya, and never wanted ta see ya again!”

     “Think back, Hank,” Sully pointed out.  “Accordin’ to what you told me, Zack never actually said that he hated you.”

     “Close enough,” Hank maintained.  “He said it in every way that counts, ‘cept straight out.”

     “He also said that he was sorry to hurt you.”

     “Yeah, and that’s the worst of it.  I’ve sunk so low that own kid feels sorry for me.”

     “That ain’t the way he meant it.”

     “How would you know what he meant?  Were ya there?”

     “No,” Sully conceded, keeping his voice level.  “But I can read between the lines.  Maybe better than you can, ‘cause I’m not so close.”

     “Ya might be surprised,” Hank mumbled under his breath, barely loud enough for Sully to hear.  In fact, he wasn’t even sure that Hank had intended him to hear it—but something in his gut told him otherwise.  Goosebumps erupted on his arms as he pondered the innocuous, yet troubling remark—then reflexively pushed it to the back of his mind.

     “I still believe that Zack said most of what he did ‘cause he was confused and upset,” he said, determined to focus on the issue at hand.  “Not ‘cause he hates you.  Fact is, I think he hates himself a lot more for doin’ this to you.”
 
    “Ya think so, huh?  If that’s the case, he did one hell of a job o’ hidin’ it.”

     “He was talkin’ tough ‘cause he’s scared,” Sully said.  “He’s scared of the future, and makin’ it on his own.  He’s scared that he ain’t as strong as you, and that he don’t measure up.  So he feels like he’s gotta put on this front, so that nobody can see how afraid he really is.

     “Matthew was the same way, back on that cattle drive, and later, when he was sheriff,” he went on, warming to his theme.  “He felt like he had to prove he was in charge, and nobody could tell him anythin’.  We even came to blows—“

     “You tryin’ to tell me that just ‘cause ya had a few run-ins with Matthew, ya think you know how I feel?” Hank criticized.  “You gonna sit there and claim ta know what it feels like to hear yer kid tell you ta get out of his life forever?!”

     “No, I ain’t tryin’ to suggest that.  I’m just sayin’ I think I understand Zack’s anger, ‘cause I’ve seen signs of it with Matthew.  There’s been plenty of times we ain’t seen eye to eye, and a few times when he was really angry with me.

     “And it wasn’t just Matthew,”  he said impulsively.  “There was this time—“  Abruptly he broke off, regretting that he’d spoken before he thought.

     But his slip hadn’t escaped Hank’s notice.  “What?”

     Sully sighed, realizing that he’d trapped himself.  “It’s just . . . there was this time that Brian saw me—well, doin’ somethin’ he didn’t understand.  And he misread the situation.  But the way he looked at me after . . .  Well, I never felt so low as I did then.”

     Hank’s curiosity was now fully aroused.  “What were you doin’?”

     “That ain’t important,” Sully said quickly.  “Point is—“

     “Real nice,” Hank taunted.  “Ya sit here and listen to me spill my guts, but ya ain’t willin’ to admit to one mistake.  What’s the matter, Sully—afraid of ruinin’ yer perfect reputation?”

     “’Course not.”

     “Then say it."

     “All right!” Sully capitulated, furious at himself for starting this but unable to see a way out of it.  “He saw me—kissin’ another woman . . . ‘sides Michaela.  I didn’t start it,” he added hastily.  “She kissed me.  But when Brian walked in on us, I guess it looked like . . .  Well, you can figure out for yourself what he thought.”

     “Who was the woman?”

    “It don’t matter.”  He was determined to salvage at least something from his mistake.

     “Bet it mattered to Michaela,” Hank observed craftily.

     The image of that night by the wagon rushed back at Sully, eclipsing even his residual shame at Brian witnessing him kiss Katharine.  The sense of unease he’d felt earlier was now overwhelming.  He still couldn’t discern a connection between his and Michaela’s long-ago conflict over Katharine, and whatever was behind Hank’s overly sensitive reaction concerning Clarice—but there was something somehow linking the two together, if only in his own mind.  He could sense it, lurking in the shadows of his subconscious.  And he could sense something else, as well.  That he and Hank were treading in dangerous waters . . .

     “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

     “C’mon,” Hank wheedled.  “Just the two of us here—nobody else listenin’.”

     “No.  Subject’s closed.”

     “Like I said before—ya can’t admit yer mistakes.”

     Sully stood firm.  “Think what you want—but I ain’t sayin’ no more about it.  ‘Sides,” he went on.  “I wanna get back to Zack.”

     “Nothin’ else ta say,” Hank stated, dismissing Sully now that it seemed he was going to provide no further distraction.

     “I think there is.  Hank—you ain’t gonna just leave things like that with Zack . . .  You can’t.”

     “Why? ‘Cause you say so?”

     Sully rolled his eyes.  “How ‘bout you finally drop the sarcasm?  It ain’t helpin’ things.  And you know what I meant.”

     “Fine!  I know what ya meant!  But it don’t matter.  Ain’t nothin’ else I can do!”

     “You gonna just give up?  C’mon, Hank, this is your son.  You can’t just cut him out of your life and pretend like he never existed.”

     “I lived without him around all these years,” Hank claimed, his eyes hollow.  “Won’t be any different now.”

     “There will be a difference,” Sully said urgently.  “Before you had a connection, you had the chance to be together from time to time.  But if you throw all that away . . .  Hank, you and Zack are blood.  You can’t deny that.  Neither can he.”

     “He already did.”

     “He’s a kid.  He’s hurt and confused—he don’t know what he wants.  But he ain’t always gonna feel that way.  Someday he’s gonna realize what he lost, and he may never forgive himself for drivin’ you away.  But you got the chance to do somethin’ now to spare both of you from all that pain.

     “Hank, he’s your son . . . he’s your blood.  You can’t turn your back on him.  Not now, when he needs you most.”

     “But what if he wasn’t?” Hank said, an odd expression in his eyes.

     Sully regarded him uncertainly.  “What do you mean?”

     “I mean, what if he wasn’t ‘blood’?” Hank repeated, enunciating slowly and clearly, as if addressing a child.

     With an effort Sully contained his annoyance at Hank’s patronizing tone.  “You mean, like Brian, Matthew and Colleen not bein’ blood to Michaela and me?”  Hank didn’t confirm his assumption, but he also didn’t deny it.  “Well, you’re right—folks don’t gotta be blood relations to love each other or be a family.  Near as long as I’ve known the Cooper kids, I’ve felt like they was my own.  Michaela’s felt the same.  Adoptin’ Colleen and Brian made it official, but we didn’t need a piece of paper to love them, or feel like their ma and pa.  We didn’t adopt Matthew ‘cause he was of age, but we still think of him as our son, even if he ain’t in the eyes of the law.

     “But don’t you see?” he continued.  “That just proves my point.  We could never let Matthew or Colleen or Brian disappear from our lives, even if that’s what they thought they wanted.  And we ain’t even their real folks.  So how can you let go of Zack?”

     “Ya make it sound like I got a choice!  Like it was my decision!  It’s what he wants!  And no matter how much ya try ta tell me that he’ll change his mind someday, I don’t buy it.  And I sure as hell can’t count on it.  I gotta deal with the here and now.  And now, he don’t want me in his life.”

     “I know it hurts, Hank.  A lot.  Probably more than anythin’s ever hurt you before.”

     “Almost.”
 
     The word awakened Sully’s inner chill, but he resisted the sensation.  “Point is, it would hurt even worse if you lost him forever,” he said resolutely.  “Blood kin or not, a father and son got a bond that nobody can ever break.”

     “That what ya really think?” Hank asked after a long silence.

     “’Course.”

       “Then maybe ya wouldn’t mind answerin’ one more question.”  That peculiar expression was back in Hank’s eyes.

     “If I can.”

    “All right.  What if someday, down the line, ya found out that Katie weren’t yers?”

    Sully stared at him.  “Come again?”

    “Oh, Michaela would still be her ma, all right.  But . . . what if ya found out you weren’t her pa?”

    Sully paled as the chill blasted him inside.  “That’s crazy.  And it’s an insult to Michaela.”

    “Don’t get all twisted out o’ shape.  I ain’t castin’ slurs ‘gainst Michaela.  This is just a ‘what if’.”

    “Well, I don’t see the point,” Sully responded stiffly.

    “Oblige me, then.  Pretend.  What if ya found out you weren’t Katie’s real father?  Would ya still be so high and mighty?  Would ya still feel that connection ya keep talkin’ about?”

    “I’d always love Katie, heart and soul, no matter what,” Sully said firmly.

    “Even if ya learned she belonged to another man?”

    The chill consumed Sully now, turning his hands and feet to ice.  Alarm bells were clamoring inside him, and he had the sense of something dark and foreboding lurking behind Hank’s eyes.

    “What’s this all about, Hank?” he said, keeping his voice level with great difficulty.  “What are you gettin’ at?”

    “Ya still ain’t figured it out?”  The barkeep make no effort to disguise his contempt.  “I practically drew ya a map.  Maybe yer the one who’s slow.”

    “Just say it.”

    “All right,” Hank agreed.  “Ya need it spelled out?  Well here it is:  I ain’t Zack’s real pa.”

    “You can’t be serious.”

    Hank eyed him darkly.  “Do I look like I’m jokin’?”

    Sully’s thoughts were in turmoil.  After an awkward pause he said tentatively, “Did Clarice tell you that?”

    “No—but it’s the truth.”

    “But if Zack’s own mother led you to believe you were his father, then why in the world would you believe that you’re not?” Sully demanded.

    “’Cause I know who is.”

    The interior of the coach became very quiet.  The men’s eyes were locked upon one another.

    Sully’s mouth had gone dry.  For a long moment he thought he couldn’t ask the question.  But finally he said, “Who?”

    “You are,” Hank pronounced, as Sully felt all that was familiar, all that he thought he’d known, come crashing down around him.