AMOS thanked Fort for offering to help Rosie Ward around her place tomorrow and—
“We’ll go, Pa!” Ember and Lee called in unison.
Amos gave Fort a wink, which made Fort all but crack up as he took himself to bed. Turning from that son, Amos stepped into the room Emberlee shared and addressed himself to those sons. They beamed up at him from their bed in obvious anticipation of changing his mind.
“Have you finished with the small meadow?” Had Amos not already known the answer, their deflated looks would have been all he required. “I know it is not your favorite task, however we do need that hay.”
“Fort could do the meadow,” Lee suggested.
“That’s true, and he would probably be done by now,” Amos taunted, since they would rise to that challenge better than any fatherly admonishment he cared to give. “Tell me, Emberlee, between you and Fort, who is more experienced with sick animals?”
“Fort,” they replied, with measured reluctance.
“So who would you send to see to Mrs. Ward’s milk cow?”
“Fort,” Lee sighed.
Predictably, Ember gave it one more try. “We got those two hands working that meadow, Pa.”
“‘We ‘got’? That is not how I taught you to speak, or to act. A man does not lead by saying ‘Do this’. He leads by saying ‘Follow me’. The hands will be there and so will you. And before you ask, Ember, what Aspen will be doing or not doing has no bearing on what I expect from you. I have complete faith you two will do your best because, if you don’t, both of your big brothers will give you a hard time and I will be the last one to stop them.”
Ember looked away, trying to hide his grimace. Last time Pa let Fort and Aspen have their way, Ember had been tied to the big pine tree. He snuck a peek at his father relieved, and a little embarrassed, to see amusement in those light green eyes.
“Any other plots, ploys, or tricks you boys would like to try? No? You must be exhausted to have reached such an uncommon state. Tomorrow's a busy day, get some sleep.”
Ember hugged his father goodnight, as did Lee, who then blew out the lamp. This was their ritual, done every night from the time they were born. Not doing so would have been a glaring indication of a household unsettled. They did not lie awake wondering if other people did the same or if anyone else might find it peculiar.
DON’T even think about,” said Fort, plucking Gideon along by the sleeve.
“We’re a-goin’, ain’t we?”
Fort led his own gelding out of its stall. The big sorrel looked as if more than one of its ancestors had frequented the Brawny Boy’s Club For The Athletically Minded.
“If you think I’m going to let you climb on a horse,” said Fort, “you’re nuts.”
“Well, I ain’t a-walkin’ to no sick cow.”
“Nope. You’ll ride behind me.”
Gideon's response to this was both clear and sharp.
“Watch your mouth,” Fort cautioned.
He saddled up, mounted up and offered a hand to Gideon, who gave the ground a kick with his toe, let out a burst of breath, and swung up.
“Just to be clear,” Fort tapped the sorrel forward, “try to run and I will do everything to you that Aspen did not.”
Fort was a big boy; he could probably step on Gideon without half trying. Then again, the last big man Gideon encountered had been left in the care of well-meaning friends, half a bottle of cheap whiskey, and a mostly clean sewing needle. Gideon wasn’t entirely sure about Fort yet, but he suspected the feeling was mutual, which suited just fine.
They rode east across the long valley. Fort said they wouldn’t go as far as the flatlands, only to the other side of the Fire Mountains where Rosie Ward and her needy cow lived. Gideon surveyed the passing trees, rocks and gullies. Surely somewhere he would find a place to cut loose. Of course, that meant he would be afoot whilst Fort was mounted, but that could be dealt with. The important thing—
“You want to lose your hide, you just keep thinking like that,” said Fort.
How’d he know?
Beats the bejazers outta me. Ya reckon he could do nothin’?
Ya wanna find out?
Gideon measured the broad shoulders in front of him along with their respective muscular arms.
Sort-a, yeah.
Whenall did you sign on for a death wish?
Ain’t nobody as lives forever.
How ‘bout we just live to see tomorrow?
Chicken.
At a modest, clapboard house they drew up and Gideon slid down. He noticed a step on the porch crumbling with rot and the picket fence needed to be repaired. The weeds had been pulled though, no tools were left about to rust or trip over, and the house had a respectable pile of firewood. A wide garden boasted a tall fence to keep the deer out. All things being equal, the place wasn’t in such bad shape.
“Tie him up and take the saddle off, will you?” Fort asked, handing over the reins.
“What for?” Gideon demanded.
“Because I’m telling you,” Fort replied, because with Gideon everything was ‘why’ and not much was ‘yes, sir’.
“I’m just askin’.”
“And I’m telling,” Fort repeated.
“So, you’re a-tellin’. Who’s arguin’?”
“Is this is you not arguing?”
“Yeah!”
“You could do with practice.” Fort smiled and tipped Gideon’s hat playfully. “Just take care of the horse, alright? Then get a hammer and start on the fence.”
Ain’t we here for a cow?
“Why should—” Gideon started.
Fort grabbed two handfuls of shirtfront and lifted Gideon to his toes. “‘Cause I’m bigger.”
There were definite advantages to having a brother as big as Fort. He came in handy and he knew it. On the other side of the coin, the same qualities that made him useful also required a little brother to be sure of his convictions. Fort was quite generous where his siblings were concerned and had no problem waiting for them to fetch provisions. Anyone attempting to climb his frame would need them.
Gideon shrank back as much as possible. He hadn’t been trying to provoke Fort, but everything he said seemed to do just that.
“I was only askin’, honest.”
“And I’m telling, understand?” Fort eyeballed Gideon like a giant at the top of a beanstalk about to bellow he had seen an Englishman.
“Yeah, we done covered that,” Gideon agreed, feet dangling. “I only meant what’re we a-doin’ here?”
“You’re fixing the fence.”
“What for?”
“‘Cause I’m bigger.”
They were interrupted from going yet another round by the bang of a door and the arrival of a middle aged woman. She had a hammer in her slim hand and a streak of paint across one cheek. Her blond hair, pulled back against her neck, showed no gray to betray her age. Her clothes were that of a man— from red flannel shirt to scuffed up work boots. And she gave the definite impression that anyone who took offense was welcome to keep their opinion to themselves. She didn’t miss how Gideon flinched at the banging door, nor that he instinctively reached for a gun he did not wear.
“Who’s this?” she asked, with no preamble and abundant curiosity. “Another of your nurselings?”
“Ma’am, this here is Gideon Fletcher. He’s staying on with us at the ranch. Gov, this is Mrs. Ward.”
“Ma’am,” Gideon tipped his head in lieu of his hat.
“Come to help?” she asked him.
“Yes’m.”
“Fort bully you into it?”
“Yes’m.”
“You know which end of a paintbrush is up?”
“Yes’m.”
Rosie Ward’s gruff features cracked slightly. “You ever say more than one word?”
“‘Casional,” Gideon replied.
“Ma’am,” Fort suggested, “I wouldn’t let Gov anywhere near that paint. He’d likely wear more than he put on the house.”
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br /> “That true, young man?”
Gideon shrugged one shoulder and grinned like a cat caught stealing the milk— and would boldly do so again.
“Next time bring some extra clothes,” Mrs. Ward instructed. “Well, don’t just stand there, Fort Rivers, put him down and let him get to work.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Fort obeyed, and gave Gideon a look that promised dire consequences to come should he decide to be clever.
Gideon accepted Rosie Ward’s hammer and addressed himself to improving the state of her fence. The thinnest of clouds rode the breeze and he wondered what a woman was doing out here all alone. The work already finished, was it Fort’s doing or hers? Gideon looked over his shoulder. Mrs. Ward was fifteen feet up a ladder, hard at work. Gideon decided she probably did all right for herself.