Summary: An incident in the saloon causes Buck to remember a similar occurrence from his childhood. This is a stand alone story. Warning: Will contain the disciplinary spanking of a minor.

Author's Note: This story was written for Sibylla27. Hope you enjoy it. As always, all comments, reviews, and constructive criticism are welcome.

To clear up any confusion, the text written in italics signifies memories.

CHILDHOOD MEMORIES

Buck Wilmington stretched his long legs out in front of him as he took a sip of his beer. He watched from his table in the corner of the saloon as young Jonas Martin slipped through the swinging doors. He would be willing to bet the twelve year old boy was acting on a dare from one of the other boys in town. Buck wondered how long it would take Inez to spot the boy and chase him out.

As it turned out, it didn't take very long at all. Inez spotted the boy and quickly came around the bar. "Jonas, you get out of here right now. You're too young to be in here, and you know it." Apparently the boy didn't move fast enough to suit her, because she grabbed him by the ear and pulled him toward the doors. "Don't ever let me catch you in here again, or I'll be talking with your father."

"Yes, Ma'am," the frightened boy quickly answered, trying to rub the pain out of his ear lobe.

Buck could hear the laughter drifting in from outside from the other boys who had been waiting to see what would happen. He settled more comfortably in his chair and took another drink of his beer as his mind wondered back to his childhood and one of the many times he'd gotten in trouble for mischief.

He'd been about Jonas' age when he and his mother were living in Dodge City. His mother was working in a saloon, and Gus Hargrove had given Buck a cot in the corner of the small storage room at the back of the saloon in exchange for doing odd jobs around the place. To this day, Buck still wasn't sure why, but old Mr. Hargrove had taken a fatherly interest in him.

On one particular occasion, Buck had helped himself to a bottle of whiskey from the bar. He'd just taken his first drink and was still trying to recover from the burning trail the liquor had left in his throat when Mr. Hargrove had found him. Buck never knew if the man had come looking for him because of the stolen bottle of whiskey or because there was a chore that needed to be done. But, whatever the reason, he had not been happy when he had spotted Buck with the bottle.

"What are you doing with that, young man?" he had demanded.

Buck couldn't remember exactly what his answer had been, but it had definitely been the wrong thing to say.

Mr. Hargrove jerked the bottle out of his hand and set it on a nearby table. Turning back to Buck, he demanded, "where did you get it?"

"I don't remember."

"Don't give me that line, son. Either someone gave it to you, you bought it, or you stole it. Which is it? And you'd best tell me the truth, 'cause I can tell if you're lying."

Buck swallowed hard. He'd taken the bottle from Mr. Hargrove and was afraid that if he admitted to that, Mr. Hargrove would fire his mother and kick both of them out. Although it had never happened to them before, Buck had witnessed just that event at another saloon where his mother had worked. "I can't tell you, sir."

"You can't, huh?" Gus supposed he knew what was going through Buck's mind. "If you took that bottle, that's between you and me. I ain't gonna fire your mother or make you leave because of it."

Buck had wondered if Gus Hargrove had read his mind or his concern was evident on his young face. Whatever it was, Mr. Hargrove had somehow seen right through him and knew exactly what to say.

"You and I will settle it between us. This is something you've done and you are the one who needs to accept the consequences." He sat down on the cot beside the young boy. "Now, where did you get that bottle?"

Buck turned to look into Mr. Hargove's eyes and saw honesty and concern reflected in them. "I took it from the bar." As soon as he said the words, Buck was too ashamed to continue meeting the man's gaze and hung his head.

"Thank you for tellin' me, son." Gus sighed and considered for a moment what he was about to do. He had to do something to teach the boy a lesson. He knew what he'd have done if it had been one of his children who'd done what Buck had, but he didn't know if he had that right. Hell with it, he finally decided. He was beginning to think of Buck as a son, so that's how he'd treat the boy.

He put an arm around the boy's shoulders. "Buck, you knew it was wrong to take that bottle, didn't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"You also know you're too young to drink."

This time Buck nodded.

"You want to tell me why you did it." He knew that Buck was being bullied by some of the other boys in town and figured that might just be why he'd found the boy trying to drown his sorrows. However, he wasn't all that surprised when Buck merely shrugged his shoulders in response. He really hadn't expected the boy to open up to him about that. They hadn't yet developed that kind of trust, and it was possible that they never would.

"Since you knew what you were doing was wrong, but did it any way, you also know you deserve to be punished."

Buck's answer was so soft Gus barely heard the muttered "yes, sir."

"Like I told you before, I'm going to keep this between us. Your mother had nothing to do with this, so it wouldn't be fair to punish her for your actions." Gus paused and considered his next words carefully. "You're going to stand up and give me your belt. Then you're going to drop your britches and lean over that table."

Buck did what he was told and found himself leaning over the table, staring at the bottle of whiskey he'd taken from the bar. He groaned with embarrassment when he felt the flap of his union suit being opened. The groan of embarrassment turned to one of pain when the first lick of the belt fell across his bare backside. Buck was determined that he would remain stoic during the punishment, but as the belt fell again and again, his resolved wavered. Soon he began crying out with each new lick of the belt, and by the time Mr. Hargrove tossed the belt on the table beside the whiskey bottle, tears were streaming down his face.

Buck winced at the memory and shifted in his chair as though trying to find a more comfortable position to sit in. His backside had been tender for a week after that licking. And his punishment hadn't ended there. Mr. Hargrove had pulled one of the chairs out from the table and ordered him to sit before walking away. That had been the last thing Buck had wanted to do, but he wasn't about to disobey the older man.

Mr. Hargrove had returned moments later with a shot glass in his hand. The glass and the bottle of whiskey were set in front of Buck, and Mr. Hargrove took the other chair. "You wanted to drink whiskey, so you're going to drink whiskey," the man had said. He poured shot after shot of whiskey and insisted that Buck drink each one until he was sick.

Buck chuckled quietly. After that day it had been a long time before he could even stomach the smell of whiskey, much less drink it. Although he occasionally drank whiskey now, he much preferred a glass of beer.

It was funny, he thought, what will bring a childhood memory to mind.

THE END