A week passed.  Sully’s pain lessened as he began to heal and grow steadily stronger.  After a few days Michaela allowed him to graduate from his sickbed at the clinic and return to the homestead, where friends and neighbors stopped in to bring food and lend a hand while she was occupied with Hank at the clinic—Colleen having finally been persuaded to return to college.

     Sully was reposing in one of the wing chairs by the fire, his feet propped on a small embroidered hassock, when she arrived home a couple of hours after supper one evening.

     “We expected you a while ago,” he said as she set down her bag and slipped off her coat, hanging it on a hook by the door.

     “I know—I’m sorry,” she apologized, crossing to his chair and bending over him for a kiss.  “I didn’t want to leave Hank until Andrew could arrive to spell me during the night.  Have you eaten?” she added anxiously.  “I hope you didn’t wait for me.”

     “We ate,” he said.  “When it started gettin’ late, I figured that you got held up at the clinic.  Brian warmed up the rest of that stew Colleen made, and we topped it off with some of Grace’s cobbler.  We left some stew warmin’ for you in the oven,” he added.

     “Thank you,” she said.  “I’ll have it in a little while.  And Katie?” she questioned.

     “Brian’s readin’ a bedtime story to her upstairs,” he replied.  “I was gonna go up in a little bit and say good-night.”

     She smiled.  “We’ll go together.”  But then her smile vanished, and he could see traces of weariness and worry in her face.

     “You look tired,” he commented.  “You all right?”  He swung his feet off the hassock, and patted it.  Michaela sank down gratefully, leaning against his knee as his fingers began to knead the knotted muscles in her shoulders.  She stretched luxuriously, feeling the tension drain out of her under his firm but tender ministrations.

     “Oh, that feels good,” she sighed.  “Thank you.”

     “My pleasure,” he said, lifting her hair to kiss the soft flesh at the nape of her neck.  “But you haven’t answered my question,” he added a moment later, ducking his head to look into her eyes.  “Are you all right?”

     “Yes, I’m fine—but I’m worried about Hank,” she answered.

     Sully immediately looked concerned.  “Why?  He take a turn for the worse?”
 
     Michaela shook her head.  “Not physically, no.  The concussion is gone, and his leg is coming along satisfactorily.  But I can’t be certain that his recovery will continue if he doesn’t start to show an interest soon in getting better.”

     “What do you mean?”

     Her expression was sober.  “He’s very depressed,” she said.  “I had anticipated that I would have my hands full keeping him quiet during the time it would take for his leg to heal.  But instead it’s been the opposite.  He barely speaks, shows no interest in food, and doesn’t want to see anyone.  All he does is lie there, staring out the window.  It’s as if he doesn’t care whether he ever gets out of bed again.  I’ve tried to talk to him, to reach him, but I’ve had no success at all.  Neither has anyone else.  Loren’s been to see him, and Jake—but they had no more luck than I did.”

     “Well, it’s only been a week,” Sully ventured.  “Maybe he’s still feelin’ the shock of what happened—how close he came to dyin’.  I know I still feel a little shaky when I think about it.  Could be he just needs more time.”

     “I thought that too, at first—or at least that’s what I hoped,” Michaela told him.  “But something happened today during Jake’s visit that made me change my opinion.  I’m convinced now that Hank’s melancholy is much more serious than I previously believed.”  Sully nodded to her slightly, indicating that she should continue.

     “Jake told Hank that Preston had approached him about buying his share of the Gold Nugget,” she explained.  “You know how competitive Preston’s always been with Hank and Jake.  I imagine nothing would give him more pleasure than to drive them out of business—or take over their business for himself.  And with Hank incapacitated, it seems that Preston saw a golden opportunity to take advantage of the situation.”

     Sully’s expression hardened.  “Yeah, that’s Preston, all right.  Like a jackal sensin’ weakness in his prey and movin’ in for the kill.  Is Jake gonna sell out to him?”

     Again she shook her head.  “No.  He told me privately afterward that he’s had thoughts from time to time about selling his share of the Nugget—perhaps because it’s too much a reminder of his father—but that he would never consider doing so under such circumstances—and certainly not to Preston.  He said it would be like kicking Hank when he was down.  But he chose to tell Hank about it anyway, in the hope that the news would shock Hank out of his melancholy.  But it didn’t.”

     “Did Hank say anythin’ at all?”

     Michaela sighed.  “Only that Jake should do whatever he wanted.  It’s as if he’s become a different person, Sully.  All the fight has gone out of him.”

     “Yeah,” he said.  “You’re right, that ain’t Hank.  If he was in his right mind, he’d never let Preston get away with this—even if he had to crawl on his hands and knees to stop him.”

     It was Michaela’s turn to nod.  “So you see what I’m up against.  I even considered wiring Myra and asking her to come out here again.  I thought that perhaps she could reach something inside Hank that the rest of us can’t.  The only thing that stopped me was my concern about how her presence might affect Horace.  I wouldn’t want to be guilty of causing one man pain, in my efforts to help another.  Especially in view of the complicated relationship between them all.”

     “Yeah, Horace is finally startin’ to get over his own trouble.  Wouldn’t want to risk settin’ him back any,” Sully agreed.  “But puttin’ Horace aside for the moment—even if Myra did come, it might do Hank good to see her, but I don’t think it would fix things.”

     “Why?”

     Sully regarded her soberly.  “’Cause she ain’t the one he needs to hear from.”

     Comprehension dawned in Michaela’s eyes.  “You’re speaking of Zack.”

     He nodded again.  “Yeah.  The concussion, the busted leg—those are just on the outside.  What’s troublin’ Hank goes a whole lot deeper.  He’s sick in his heart, and his spirit—“

     “—because he still believes he’s lost his son,” Michaela finished.

     “Right.  I think Hank and me finally managed to make peace between us—leastways I hope so,” Sully went on.  “But the pain that’s eatin’ Hank the most is still there—still fresh.  And he’s probably feelin’ like there’s nothin’ he can do to make it go away.”

     “What frightens me is that he may be right,” Michaela said gravely.  “I can treat his physical symptoms, but as far as his mental state . . .  We can’t force Zack to love his father, or alter his feelings about the past.  And if Hank remains depressed for much longer, I truly don’t know what will happen.  I’m genuinely worried, Sully.”

     “I know,” he said softly, easing himself out of his chair and drawing her to her feet.  He slipped his arms around her and kissed her tenderly.  “You wouldn’t be my Michaela if you didn’t wear your heart on your sleeve and worry about each patient in your care—no matter how ornery he might be.”  He smiled briefly.  “But there’s nothin’ we can do about it tonight.  You need to eat and you need your rest—and I think I’m gonna turn in, too.”

     She looked surprised, and then concerned.  “But it’s early yet—are you feeling all right?”

     He stroked a lock of hair back from her face.  “I’m fine.  But I got an early day tomorrow.”

     “What do you mean?”

     “Got a train to catch.”

     “But Sully, you’re still recovering yourself—you’re in no condition to travel yet,” she protested.

     “I can handle a few hours sittin’ on a train,” he said mildly.

     “But why?  Why are you suddenly talking about taking a trip?”

     “Got somethin’ to do,” he replied.

     “But I don’t understand,” she said.  “What can be so important that it can’t wait until you’re stronger?”

     “I’d rather not say just yet.  Not ‘fore I know if it’s gonna work.  But if you can just be patient with me, I promise you’ll know everythin’ when I come back.”

     “If that’s what you want,” she acquiesced.  “But I wish that I knew what you had in mind.”

     “Let’s just say that I’m doin’ what you told me—tryin’ to be a friend,” he said, and she had to be content with that.

* * * * * * * * * *

    Now that he was here, he was having second thoughts.  It had seemed like a viable plan last night—the only option, really, that they had.  Hank needed help.  That much was clear.  But was he the right person to offer it?  Hank might not look at his actions as “helping”.  Hank might call it something else:  interfering.  And hadn’t he meddled in Hank’s personal affairs enough for one lifetime?

    At the very least, maybe he should have told Michaela his intentions, and asked for her opinion.  She could have counseled him—advised him what to say, how to handle it . . .  But just as likely, she might have tried to talk him out of it—to stop him from being so rash and taking matters into his own hands.

    But something had to be done.  Hank was giving up, slipping away.  And nobody seemed able to stop it.  He couldn’t just stand back and let it happen.  If there was even a chance that he could make a difference . . .  well, he had to try—didn’t he?

    Sully turned away from the windows and restlessly paced the length of the room.  A grandfather clock in the corner struck the hour, doling out the time in measured tones.  Was it really only twelve o’clock?  It seemed as if he’d been waiting much longer.

    He perched gingerly on the edge of a delicate chair upholstered in watered silk, but it seemed too fragile to support him, and after a moment he got up again and wandered back to the windows, staring out through the mullioned panes at the brisk noonday traffic.  There was still time to back out.  Still time to abandon this impulsive plan—and yes, it was feeling more impulsive and ill-advised by the moment—before he risked making a terrible mistake that he couldn’t take back.  Through the office door, down the stairs and out the foyer, and he could be one of that milling throng beyond the glass.

    It was tempting . . . no, it was almost a compulsion.  But if he gave in to it—then what would become of Hank?  What if the saloon owner just kept fading more, day by day, until there was nothing left?  And what if Zack never had the chance to make things right with his father?  Could he really live with himself if he took the coward’s way out and turned his back on not one, but two lives?

    He heard the sound of the door opening.  His heart skipped a beat as a young male voice said, “Miss Wellman told me that I had a visitor from home—“

    Sully slowly turned, and beheld the figure of a tall, dark-haired youth framed in the doorway.  His first instinct was amazement, mixed with a touch of sadness as he thought, “He’s the image of Clarice!”  But an instant later, he realized something else.  The boy also looked like Hank.  The contours of his face, softly rounded in childhood, had sharpened and assumed definition.  He had Hank’s cheekbones, and firm, square-cut chin.  Even his eyes—albeit brown, like his mother’s—had the look of Hank about them.  There was no question about it—the resemblance was unmistakable.

    But how could Hank have failed to see it?  Had he been so unsure of Clarice’s love for him, so wedded to the heartache of the past, that he had been unable to recognize himself in the face of the child he’d fathered?  It seemed all but impossible to believe—but the heart was a curious thing, and sometimes, it might even cause a man to deny the truth of his own senses.

    In some obscure part of his mind, Sully was conscious of relief that the question of Zack’s paternity was settled at last.  He supposed that he should be feeling bitterness toward Hank for putting them both through so much needless animosity.  But he didn’t have the heart for recriminations now.  Hank’s pain may have been self-inflicted, but he had been punished enough.  And Sully felt a fresh wave of sympathy for the man who had so recently been his enemy, and who was now . . . what?    He wasn’t sure that he could put a name to his and Hank’s altered relationship.  But there was one thing he did know.  For good or ill, he had made his decision.

    Zack’s eyes widened as he recognized him.  “Mr. Sully?” he said, startled.

    “Hey, Zack,” Sully greeted him with a smile.  “Been a long time.”

    Zack smiled back at him uncertainly.  “Yes, sir.”

    “I don’t blame you for bein’ surprised,” Sully said.  “I guess I’m about the last person you expected to see.”

    “I suppose that’s true, sir,” Zack admitted.  “But it’s very good to see you again,” he hastened to add.  “And how are Dr. Mike and Brian?”

    “They’re good, thanks.”  There was an awkward silence, and then Sully said, “I’m sure you’re wonderin’ why I’ve come.”

    “I guess I was, a little,” Zack confessed.  “Is there something I can do for you?”

    “As a matter of fact, there is,” Sully answered.  “Truth is, that’s why I’m here.  I need help, Zack,” he said bluntly.  “And you’re the only one that can give it.”  He gestured to the young man, ushering him into the headmistress’ office.  “Come and sit down with me for bit.  We gotta talk.”

* * * * * * * * * *
 
     “Sully!  I’m so glad you’re home!”  She rose and hurriedly circled the desk, moving into his embrace.  Their mouths met and fused in a passionate kiss that left them both breathless.

     “That’s the kind of welcome I like,” he said approvingly.  “But I’ve only been gone a day.  Not that I’m complainin’.”

     “Even an hour apart from you is too long,” she said.

     He smiled down at her again, more intimately this time.  “Good answer.”

     “All you all right?” the doctor within her spoke up.

     “None the worse for wear,” he said.  “A little tired, is all.”

     There was still a trace of anxiety in her eyes.  “You’re positive?”

     He regarded her indulgently.  “I love you for worryin’, Michaela.  But I’m fine, I swear.”

     Finally he saw her relax.  “That’s a relief.  It was really too soon for you to be exerting so much,” she said, unable to resist chiding him mildly.  “Not that I could have stopped you, I suppose.”

     “Well, no harm done,” he said.  “Fact is, it was good to get out after bein’ laid up for so long.”

     “Well, I’m glad if your adventure did you good,” she relented.  But then belatedly she remembered the mysterious purpose of his journey.  “I’m sorry, I haven’t even asked . . .  Was your trip successful?  Did you accomplish what you set out to do?”

     “Guess I’ll let you be the judge of that,” Sully replied.  He released her and moved to where the door stood half ajar.  Opening it wider, he gestured to someone outside.  “Look who’s here, Michaela,” he announced, as Zack Lawson shyly crossed the threshold.

* * * * * * * * * *

    She was happy to see Zack, and yet curiously unsurprised.  Perhaps a part of her had always known Sully’s intentions—because she knew him so well.  Regardless of the complexity of the relationship that he shared with Hank, and the bitterness that had existed between them over the years, she knew that Sully was no more capable of abandoning Hank now, than he had been when they were both facing death in the stagecoach.  But would Zack’s visit be Hank’s salvation?  That was the crucial question.

    “It’s wonderful to see you, Zack,” she said warmly.  “I can’t believe how you’ve grown and matured.”  And there was something else about him, she realized suddenly—but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was.

    A smile of genuine pleasure lit Zack’s face.  “It’s good to see you too, Dr. Mike.  I’ve missed everyone here in Colorado Springs.”

    “And we’ve missed you.  But I’ve heard glowing reports of your accomplishments at school,” she said.

    He blushed slightly, but looked pleased.  “Thank you.  But I owe you a debt of gratitude for encouraging my father to send me there.”

    “I only made the suggestion,” Michaela told him.  “It’s what you did with the opportunity once you were there, that counts.”

    “Still, I don’t think I would have had that opportunity if it hadn’t been for you,” he said.  “Attending the Wellman School changed my life.”
 

    “We’re all happy for that,” Sully said, resting a hand on Zack’s shoulder.

    “How long will you be in town?” Michaela asked.

    Zack hesitated.  “I’m not quite sure . . . that is, I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.”

    “I understand,” she said.  “Well, you’re welcome to stay with us at the homestead for as long as you’d like.”

    “Mr. Sully already invited me,” Zack replied.  “And thank you, Dr. Mike.  I’d like very much to stay.”

    “Good,” Michaela said.  “That’s settled then.  But as glad as I am for this reunion, I know that wasn’t your purpose in coming here,” she added gently.

    Zack’s expression changed, becoming sober.  “Yes, ma’am, that’s true.  May I . . . see my father?”

    “Of course,” she said.  “But before you do . . .  I don’t know how much Sully has told you about your father’s condition . . . his state of mind—“

    “He explained it to me,” Zack told her.  “Actually—“  He cast Sully a respectful glance.  “He explained a lot of things to me.”

    Sully’s eyes met Michaela’s and he gave her a barely perceptible nod.  Reassured, she said kindly, “Then I won’t keep you.  Your father’s room is through that door, and across the hall.  We’ll be here if you need us.”

    “I’m obliged to you, Dr. Mike—and to you, Mr. Sully,” Zack said.  “And now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”  He moved to the door leading to the recovery rooms, pausing once to look back at them.  Then he vanished into the hall.

    Michaela turned to her husband.  “Thank you, Sully, for bringing him.”

    “I wasn’t sure if I was doin’ the right thing or not,” Sully admitted.

    “It was a risk, that’s true—but I think this may be the medicine Hank needs,” she said.

    “I just hope it’s medicine that goes down easy.”

    She looked up into his eyes.  “What did you tell Zack?”

    “As much as he needed to know, so that he could judge his pa fairly.”

    Michaela hesitated a moment, and then said, “Did you say anything about—“

    “Me and Clarice?” he finished, reading her thoughts.  “No, I didn’t.  I promised Hank that Zack would never know about that part of it.  That I’d never try to make any claim on the boy, even if I believed he was mine.  But—as it turns out, none of that matters anymore,” he added significantly.

     “I don’t understand . . .”

     He gave her a penetrating look.  “Don’t you?’ he said.

     Instantly, the pieces fell into place for her.  That elusive something about Zack that she hadn’t been able to put a name to earlier . . .  “He resembles Hank!” she exclaimed softly.

     “You got it.”

     “He is Hank’s son,” Michaela breathed.

     “He’s Hank’s all right.  At least there’s no more question on that score.”

     Michaela took his hand.  “Are you all right with that?” she asked.

     He smiled and gave her fingers a grateful squeeze.  “Yeah, I am.  I just hope Hank can finally see the truth.”

 “Do you think that Zack can make a difference in Hank’s recovery?  But even more, do you think that they can find a way back to each other? ”

 Sully raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, then cradled it against his chest.  “Well, between the two of us, we’ve done about all that we can,” he said.  “Whatever else happens, is up to them.”