Summary: Written for langstonlover's birthday. Prompt: Anne and Rafe go out for the night and leave J.T. and Rock to babysit their new baby. Post-movie, AU for the end of the film (thanks for reminding me that there's a difference between canon and my headcanon, Ultra!).

This story was originally posted on my LJ because there was no CT category before!

Ranch Lullaby

Rafe and Anne had ridden into town that day, leaving J.T. and Rock alone with their three-month-old son. This was the first time Anne had been out and about without the baby, and the first time the two men had been alone with him for more than a few minutes at a time.

They had been a bit apprehensive about that - a wee little babe is a mighty big responsibility, as Rock said - but Anne deserved a rest. She worked so hard on the ranch, cooking, sewing, washing, and cleaning, all with the baby on her hip, that the men folk had agreed that Anne simply must have a holiday away from the endless stream of work on the ranch.

So Rafe and Anne had ridden into town in the wagon for a full day of shopping, gossiping, and all-around relaxation.

"He won't be no trouble, will you, little man?" J.T. coos into the wooden cradle. Little John Charles Covington babbles at him and waves his fat little legs. "No, you won't. You won't."

"Of course he won't," Rock agrees, leaning over to look at the baby, "He's a good laddie, he is. Ach, I once knew a lass in Aghalee who had a babe..."

Johnny's darling little face scrunches up, and J.T. chuckles. "I don't think he likes that one."

There's a sound, a long sort of squashed, wet sound, a very distinctive flatulent sound.

J.T. and Rock exchange looks. "Crap."

Johnny giggles and waves chubby little fists.

The two men look down at the baby, at each other, and then back down at the baby. "You do it," they say simultaneously.

After a couple of minutes in which they attempt to glare each other into submission, Johnny begins to fuss and pretty soon, a distressed, plaintive wail rises out of the cradle.

"Ach," says Rock.

"Oh boy," says J.T.

They change the baby's diaper together. They manage it without too much trouble, except for when J.T. drops the soiled cloth, splattering its contents on the floor, and when Rock accidentally jabs the baby while trying to pin the diaper back together. Twice.

Having finally succeed in cleaning little Johnny up, they put him back into his cradle and sink into their chairs, heaving immense sighs and feeling a grand sense of accomplishment.

Then the crying starts again.

They look at each other in dismay. Now what?

They eventually figure out that little Johnny, now clean and dry, is hungry.

Rock picks up the baby and...rocks him, while J.T. clumsily prepares the milk. In the end, half of the milk ends up on the baby's clothes, one quarter ends up on the floor, and the rest makes it into Johnny's mouth. Then they burp him, and a wee bit more comes back up...on Rock's shirt.

J.T. washes and changes the baby, while Rock exchanges his milk-stained shirt for another.

"How can a baby be so damn slippery?" whines J.T. struggling to keep hold of the baby-fat limbs.

"Stop yer complaining," Rock grumbles, "At least your shirt's still dry."

A few minutes later, little Johnny babbles and burbles happily in his cradle.

"A baby's life is grand, eatin', sleeping, eating, sleeping," Rock says. "I'm purely knackered, I am."

The crying starts again.

The two men exchange looks of dismay. Again? Now what?

J.T. picks up the baby and rocks. "Aw, I think he's jus' bein' fussy, 's all. He's dry, he's full, and now he's prob'ly tired."

"You think?"

The boy shrugs. "Only one way ta find out. Go to sleep. Go to sleep," he says to the crying baby. Johnny only sobs harder.

"I don't much think that'll work," Rock says, peering into the blankets.

J.T. harrumphs. Then, an idea, or an old memory, flickers in his mind. "Baby, won't you go to sleep?" he sings softly, "The dark is on an' your pa's gone, Little one, go to sleep."

"What's that?"

"An old song my ma used to sing to me when I was a kid," J.T. replies. "Baby, baby, what would you do, If a coyote jes' stoled you? Dearie, won't you go to sleep? Baby, won't you go to sleep?"

The baby whimpers, then hiccups. The crying stops and the blue eyes droop closed.

"There, lad, it's working," Rock whispers.

"The pines do sing like everything, Little one, go to sleep," J.T. sings as he sits down carefully in Anne's rocking chair. He leans back and lets the motion carry him forward again, back and forth, back and forth.

"Baby, baby, jes' fly away, Into Dreamland's shinin' day, Dearie, won't you go to sleep? Baby, won't you go to sleep?"

When Rafe and Anne return an hour later, they find the two men sleeping, Rock almost falling out of his chair, and J.T. in the rocking chair with his little namesake settled safely in his arms, and drooling on his chest.

"There," Rafe says softly to Anne, "They're alright. All of them."

Anne smiles and leans against him. "Look at them. They're all worn out."

"Mm," Rafe says and bends down to kiss her. "Now they'll appreciate all the work you do."

"Oh, you," Anne giggles.

Hearing his mother, Johnny wakes and begins crying for her. Anne rushes over and picks him up out of the bleary-eyed J.T.'s arms.

"Oh, you're back. Thank God!" the boy exclaims.

"We thought ye'd gone off to California and left us poor buggers here with the baby," says Rock.

"Aw, it wasn't that bad, was it?" Rafe says.

Rock and J.T. look at each other.

"Never again," they say.

"Leastways," J.T. adds, "not until he's old enough to change his own diapers."

The laughter makes little Johnny begin crying all over again.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

AN: The song is from an old cowboy song called "Ranch Lullaby."