Family on the Range

“I ain’t drivin’ your fancy Ford.” James’s whiskers bunched in a scowl, but his eyes were keen.

James seemed to know what was going on but wanted to stop Lou anyhow. Odd. “I need to telegraph the Portland office and arrange for travel.”

“Can you stand yet?”

“I can.” He’d tried last night and succeeded, if only for a few seconds. Not James’s business, though. “In a few days’ time I’ll be ready for the trip. My vitals are fine, and I’m going stir-crazy in this house.”

James nodded at the telegram, which he’d propped on the side table. “That the reason?”

“They have a lead on my shooter.”

“What about Mary? The girl?”

“Mary stays here. I’ll take the girl—” A crash interrupted him, shaking the house with its force.

James jumped up. “Hoo boy, that girl is in some trouble.”

“Where’s Mary?” His pulse notched up. Crazy child causing all sorts of trouble.

“She went to town. Stay in bed.” On that command, James shuffled out of the bedroom as fast as an old man could hobble.

Determination filled Lou. Mary was in town, leaving the child here? With little protection? No, sir. Not on his watch. He might be have difficulty being around kids, but that didn’t mean he’d ever let something bad happen to one. He swung his legs across the mattress. They felt heavy and unnatural; his vision swam, but he pushed through until his legs hung over the side of the bed and his hands were planted against the edge of the mattress. Head hanging, he closed his eyes and fought dizziness.

He could do this. Although his stomach bucked against the movement, he waited the feeling out, allowing his body to readjust to his change in position. The wound in his chest throbbed dully, but the pain wasn’t incapacitating.

Hadn’t he made it through the war? Memories crashed through him: the noise and the smoke, the gut-searing terror of knowing tomorrow might never come for him. And yet he’d completed various espionage activities, shadowed criminals, hunted killers. Only to come home and get gunned down at a low-level speakeasy. The irony was ridiculous.

Very slowly he opened his eyes. The first item he focused on happened to be Mary’s Bible, resting on a folded blanket near the door. Groaning, he looked away.

God and Lou hadn’t been on speaking terms in a long, long time. Not since God had failed him, taking his child and his wife. Leaving him alone. Unaccountably, his gaze flitted back to that silent black book. Its pages had once been a lifeline for Lou.

No longer. Now they dredged up a past he resisted, a past he thought he’d buried.

Years-old grief clogged his throat.

As his eyes stung, little feet pattered into view, stopping right next to the Bible.

“Mister Lou, I brought you something.”

He lifted his head. Josie looked a mess this morning, her hair a frightful nest of twigs, snarls and... Was that paint clinging to her forehead?

“Leave me,” he said, but when the little girl’s face crumpled, he immediately felt regret churning his stomach. Or maybe it was the swaying floor. “What do you want?” he managed to say.

“I brought you cookies. Sweets make me feel better, and you’re looking awful peaked. Sometimes I hear you yelling, but you don’t sound mean, just sad.”

Lou eyed her, noting the brightness of her eyes beneath the clumps of goo and mess straggling around her face.

“Here.” She stepped forward, thrusting a cookie beneath his nose.

The scent rose to greet him, a thick mix of chocolate and some kind of nut. Praline, maybe? He took the cookie, watching Josie as he did so. “Mary’s a good cook, isn’t she?”

“Yeppers. Much better than Doris.”

“Who’s she?”

“My old cook.”

Maybe sensing Lou’s change in mood, the little girl hopped around his room, her dress flouncing. It was a mass of pink ruffles and ribbons, a frothy creation that under normal circumstances should give anyone a toothache.

Munching on the cookie, he slowly straightened and was relieved when the room didn’t shift around him. Maybe a little sugar did the trick. Could be a trip into town would happen after all.

“Where’d you leave James?” he asked, watching as Josie twirled in front of his bed.

“He ran outside yelling. His face was purple, like a flower. He needs cookies, too.” She cocked her head, fingers trailing over the silk of her dress. “Do you think I look like a princess?”

Lou choked on his cookie.

Hacking and coughing, he brushed the crumbs off his knees while he tried to regain his senses. He’d never heard something so preposterous. A princess? Yet, as he studied her, with the morning light streaming in ribbons across her features, highlighting her hair, making her eyes twinkle with hope, a strange emotion clutched at him.

He cleared his throat. “You’re the prettiest princess I’ve ever seen.”

A grin wider than the desert outside his window spread across Josie’s face. Before he knew what to expect, she launched herself at him. Pain radiated through his upper body, and he felt useless as she entrapped him. His hands rested on his knees while she hugged him, her little-girl arms feeling impossibly frail as they wrapped around his neck.

Before he could stop himself, he realized his hands were patting her back. Hugging her back. He dropped them to his legs.

“Josie,” he said, spitting a wayward hair from his mouth and pulling away, “you stink.”

She stepped back and, folding her arms, pouted at him. “Princesses don’t smell.”

“They do when they mess with things. What’d you do downstairs?”

“She knocked over a can of paint from that big case I’m trying to move.” James stood in the door, glowering at Josie. “You’d best come clean up before—”

“Do I have to?” She wheedled a pretty smile toward Lou.

The stinker. Unbidden affection surged through him. “A princess always takes responsibility for her mistakes.”

“Oh, fine.” She stomped out the door, her little shoulders ramrod straight.

James chuckled. “You need anything before I follow that whippersnapper?”

“When is Mary returning?”

“Soon.”

“Send her up. We’ve things to discuss.”

James nodded and left. Lou stared at the door, hating how the empty feeling in his stomach got worse when everyone was gone. He rubbed at his neck, almost feeling the imprint of Josie’s arms around him. Would his little Abby have been so affectionate? Yes, because hugs had been common in their home.