They found Ruark reclining in his wing-backed chair, long legs crossed at the ankle, a glass of whiskey in one hand, a small cigar in the other; and he was weary, they could tell. While their mother sat at her piano nearby, playing just for him; this time Hector Berlioz's hauntingly beautiful "Le Spectre de la Rose." A familiar and, in truth, comforting scene: For the boys had seen them together like this countless times over the years, knowing their dynamic father sought a sense of peace through his stillness ... and a sense of rebirth from their mother's music.

Oliver's voice was quiet. "Dad, are you the richest man in the territory?"

"No, son," he said, sensing his intent. "The lawyers in Santa Fe, who arbitrate the land grants, are the richest men in the territory."

"You are the most powerful rancher," his brother insisted; "You control so much; yet still you are not content." His tone was low and facetious; wishing their mother not to hear. Again, his father had been on his back all day.

"I don't want it all, Calder." Ruark's tone was low and a challenge; for the boy was in a foul mood still: "Just my share of it."

His eldest son persisted. "We know how hard the three of you worked to develop the Metairie Cattle Company; to realize your dream and consolidate your Alteza Empire. But at what price, Father? For it seems to me, your creation is a living, breathing entity ... which completely occupies your mind and orders every hour of your day. So, in truth, what have you gained? Because ... now ... Alteza rules you.

But why, Father?" he demanded querulously; "Why this ceaseless striving? I feel in my gut it's not just about accumulating wealth; or even about achieving Power!" Calder gazed intently at this man whom he felt should be the model for his days; for the boys idolized their father. But how desperately Calder resented his self-imposed boundaries: His unwillingness ... or inability ... to share himself with his sons.

Bringing the slim cigar to his lips, Ruark Metairie sat back in the chair to contemplate his eldest. "I said enough, Calder," he stated coldly, for the boy was seeking a confrontation, not an answer. He'd already worried the meat off this bone when they were out working today; to the point that the rancher had actually lost his temper and said words he wished he had not. "Sacrifice my principles? Hell no! But a man who thinks he can create anything worthwhile without sacrificing a piece of himself is a damned fool, Calder!" he had exploded. "We ... Galen and me ... made our choices long time ago, son ... and we've got the scars to prove it! And now we're both too old and set in our ways to change. So quitcher bitchin' boy ... and get back ta work ... or else get outa my sight! I ain't gonna keep no slacker on my payroll ... much less under my roof!"

When Ruark ordered him to drop the subject then, he meant it. And now the rancher met his son's glare with a stony glance of his own. But impatience won out, and Calder turned to his brother, his foul mood growing fouler, and they walked away.

Ruark Metairie gazed at his son's back, holding the cigarillo in his lips. Yet he saw Calder glance at him one more time; heard his deep sigh. He knew damn well what triggered the boy's outburst today; that it was more than just his refusal once again to allow his son to study abroad with Basil. Troubled, Ruark Metairie scowled and slowly shook his head, placing his tobacco and whiskey glass aside.

‘Mariah is my heart: To her, I can bear my soul.

My brother needs no words; he knows he is part of me. But my sons?' contemplated Ruark. ‘I keep them close, thinking they will understand ... yet, are the words so difficult for me to say? You are my life. Everything I do today is for your tomorrow.'

Exhausted, yet abruptly rising, this bold rancher followed in his sons' path; though still unsure of his ability to convey ... in mere words ... what he knew in his heart he wished to say.