Rising to the Challenge (by the Tahoe Ladies)

Summary:  There’s a fight, but which brother wins?

Rating:  T  (785 words)

 

                                                               Rising to the Challenge

 

I am a peaceful man by nature, preferring to settle disagreements with words, not fisticuffs nor guns. But I am also a realist: I live in a violent land, in a violent era, when many men prefer the bullet or a fist to do their talking for them. So while I straddle the fence between these two diverse ways of life, I have taught my sons that the man who throws the first punch has truly lost but also taught them to defend themselves if need be. As I stood on the boardwalk outside the Bucket of Blood that afternoon listening to a brawl in progress and spying a familiar figure in its midst, I shook my head sadly. I had to teach those lessons of peace over again, I saw.

I took a deep breath and sidestepping a flying body, entered the fray within. A miner, too drunk to stand was my first target. He swung mightily at my jaw but I threw an arm up and deflected the blow. When he fell at my feet, I stepped over him and kept going, trying to keep on a straight heading for the center of the room. The next man who crossed my path was a little harder to put down. He had fists the size of Hoss’ and knew how to use them as he connected just once with my side. It was enough that I felt the air rush from my lungs and I staggered back. Shifting to the balls of my feet, I used an uppercut and caught my opponent on the chin. He stumbled and I hit him again, this time with the other fist and I landed it cleanly in his soft gut. With him doubled over, I could see the fight, although now with fewer participants, was still going full throttle. Hastily, I closed both hands into one fist and hit my last opponent between the shoulder blades. I didn’t waste a moment watching where he fell. I just knew that he did. Then a chair caught me about knee-high, throwing me off balance and before I could regain my ground, a cowboy with a pox marked face that I had fired for drinking loomed in my line of sight. He grinned at me and proceeded to shove his fist into my face, my jaw taking most of the brunt. I felt my lip split but came at him with a right cross and thought I was getting somewhere when he rounded on me, catching me right smack dab in the center of my chest. I fell backwards and would have hit the ground, but a table held me up. When the cowboy came at me again, I used both feet and pushed him into the stairs. And prayed that he stayed down. He did.

I never saw the chair that crashed over my head. I never truly felt it until much later. It was as if one moment I was standing there, half-way delighted in my progress then the next moment I was on my hands and knees amid the broken furniture, whiskey bottles and beer mugs. A hand, the knuckles scraped and bloody that I saw from the corner of one eye, latched onto my shoulder, tugging at me. I came up to my feet and rounded on my new opponent, one fist held shoulder high and ready to send him into the next room if not the next world. But I stayed my punch in time. Looking back at me were familiar blue eyes, granted one was closing fast and a large bruise was quickly forming around it.

And we stood in absolute silence.

I had to know. “What, pray tell, started this?” The fist I had raised dropped, open-palmed onto the shoulder before me. I would have laughed out loud at the sight before me but my side stitched on me so I merely chuckled and shook my head. A long strand of red hair called to my fingers and I brushed it back from her face. There I saw the split lip, the darkening along one jawline but the brazen, impish smile that I had come to love on the woman the whole world knew as “Irish” but I knew as my love.

“Well,” the languid lilt drew the word out. “I told them that the last one standin’ got a kiss! And I guess that would be you, m’darlin’, but may I suggest that you get it quick. I think my lip is swellin’ somethin’ fierce.”

I angled her towards the door, one arm carefully placed around her shoulders. “At least this time it wasn’t a spilled beer,” I sighed.

The End

Loading

Bookmark (0)
ClosePlease login

No account yet? Register

Author: Tahoe Ladies

Many of you may remember a group of writers called the Tahoe Ladies who wrote some of the most emotive Cartwright related fan-fiction to date. Unfortunately for a number of reasons, their site containing all their work was lost a couple of years ago, leaving the bulk of their stories, as far as we know, only on one other Bonanza site. Sadly two of these ladies are also no longer with us, but one of the remaining Tahoe Ladies has kindly granted us permission and given us her blessing to add over 60 of their stories to our Fan Fiction Library. For those of you not familiar with the stories by the Tahoe Ladies…their fan fiction was sometimes heart-breaking, sometimes heart-warming. In other words you won’t be disappointed. The Brandsters are honoured and proud to be able to share the work of these extraordinary women with you in the Bonanza Brand Fan Fiction Library.

3 thoughts on “Rising to the Challenge (by the Tahoe Ladies)

  1. I was going to say yay Ben but now I’m not sure it is Ben. If it is Ben – I was so sure he was headed toward Joe but the person he reached was definitely not Joe. Interesting.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.