This is an original story that I wrote several years ago.  It is similar to Janette Oke's love and daily life novels.  I posted it here quite by accident.  I got sidetracked, and when I came back, Ithought I was posting it at FictionPress.com.  But since it was already here, I left it.

Copyright 2003 Bo N. Arro.  This story may not be copied without the express written permission of Bo N. Arro.

Melinda Warren sat sipping tea and reading one of last week's newspapers from the city.  "Texas Ranger, Michael Lexington, was shot by an alleged cattle rustler late Wednesday evening," she read aloud.  "Paxton Zimmermann was apprehended and will stand trial in Huntsville Monday afternoon."  She shook her head, her late husband's memory forcing her heart to her throat.  But then she heard her son, Joey, humming to himself, and she lowered the paper.  She swallowed hard and smiled at him as she watched him pull his sleep shirt over his wet head.

He clapped his hands and skipped to the kitchen table.  "Mama, I'm finished," he said.

Melinda set her teacup on its saucer.  "Did you wash behind your ears?" she asked.

Joey nodded wildly.  "Yes'm."

"And your neck?"

"Yep."

"Okay then."  She stood to her feet.  "Let's get those prayers said."

Joey grinned and darted upstairs toward his bedroom.  His tiny bare feet pitter-pattered on the wooden floor.  He was on his knees, eyes closed, before his mother entered the room.  Melinda sat down on the edge of the bed and smoothed the small boy's damp hair.  Joey mumbled and whispered.  His mother caught a few words here and there as she silently said her own prayer for her little Joey.

"Name of Jesus, amen," he said as he lifted himself into the bed.  Melinda tucked the light blanket around him.  "Mama."  He squinted against the light of the near lamp.

"Yes, Joey."

He wrinkled his nose.   "God and Jesus—they really answer our prayers, right?"

"Yes.  Yes, they do."  She paused and smiled.  "God answers our prayers the way He best sees fit."

The boy breathed in deeply.  "Good," he said.  "I can't wait to see how He sees best-like to answer my prayer."

"What are you praying for?"

Joey grinned.  "Can't tell.  It's a s'prise."

"Oh, really?"

"Yep.  You'll find out when God sends me the answer."

"Sounds like a deal."  Melinda kissed him on the forehead and blew out the lamp.  She stepped toward the door.

"Mama?"

"Yes, Joey."

"You'll like my s'prise."

"I'm sure I will, Joey."

"Night, Mama."

"Good night, big boy.  I love you."

"Love you, too."

Melinda brought her wagon to a stop outside Point Blank's general store.  Bobby Lester walked by, noted the young woman and her son, and nodded with a touch of his hat brim.

Melinda smiled.

Joey raised his hand and waved.  "Hi, Mr. Lester!"

Bobby waved back and then proceeded to the livery.

"You sure like that Bobby Lester, don't you?" Melinda asked her son as she helped him from the wagon.

"Yep.  He learned me how to rope a calf last week when I's at Aunt Birdie's house.  Mama, are we goin' to Aunt Birdie's house agin today?"

Melinda pushed open the store's heavy door.  "Don't you mean that he taught you how to rope a calf?"

Joey wrinkled his nose and narrowed his eyes.  "Oh.  Yep, he taught me how ta rope a calf."

"I suppose we could go to Aunt Birdie's today," Melinda said.  "Do you want to buy her a present?  Next week is her birthday."

Joey bobbed his head with excitement.  "Can I git her a pocketknife?"

"A pocketknife?"

"Yeah."  He pointed to the glass display case.  "I heard her tell Uncle Red that she needed a new knife."

Melinda smiled.  "I bet that's not the kind of knife she was talking about."

Joey's eyes grew wide.  "A huntin' knife?"

"No, probably not a hunting knife either.  I bet she needs a new kitchen knife."   

The boy's look of surprise faded.  "Oh."

Melinda reached for a bag of flour.  "Why don't you go look at the candies.  I bet Aunt Birdie would love some candy for her birthday."

"Okay."  He turned around.  "An' can I git me some too?"

"Sure," she said as she noticed a large group of people enter the store.  They were decked in colorful clothing and gold and silver jewelry.  She peered out the mercantile door and saw their covered wagons parked outside.  Gypsies, she thought, and she tried not to let her already established bad impressions cloud her mind.  Surely not all gypsies were like those with whom she had come in contact earlier in the month.

Mr. Hudson was busy trying to help the crowd of people, only pausing long enough to write Melinda's purchases in his ledger, so she stacked her parcels and attempted to carry them to her wagon herself.  As she approached the mercantile door, it swung open.  The bells jingled loudly.

"Let me help ya with these," a deep voice said.  Someone lifted several packages from her arms.  Melinda's view was cleared, and her eyes fell upon Bobby Lester.  She smiled faintly and then bit her lip.  Instead she nodded kindly.  He held the door open for her and then walked quickly to the wagon.

"Thank you, Mr. Lester," she told him when she finally caught up with him.

"You're quite welcome."  He lifted the boxes inside.  "And it's Bobby," he added.  "Mr. Lester was my father, and it makes me sound old."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"No, no, yer fine.  I just prefer Bobby."  He turned to Joey.  "Hey, buddy.  Whatcha got there?"

Joey held up a bag.  "We got some candies fer me an' Aunt Birdie.  Her birfday's next week."

"Oh, really?  That was nice of ya ta get her a present."

The boy grinned, but then he frowned suddenly.  "Mr. Lester, yer not married, are you?"

Bobby looked at Melinda who blushed and then shrugged.  "No, Joey," he said, "I'm not married.  Why d'ya ask?"

Joey thought for a moment.  "Oh, nothin' really.  I just see a lot of men here in town on Saturdays with their wifes.  I thought maybe you kept yers at home or somethin'."

"Nope, no wife at home."

"Okay, but if ya did, I wanted ta meet her."

Bobby chuckled and squatted down next to him.  "You got a wife at home?"

Joey's mouth popped open in shock.  "No!  No!  I'm not old enough ta have a wife!"

Bobby grinned at Melinda and then turned back to the little boy.  "Well, iffen ya did, I wanted to meet yers."

Joey snickered and punched Bobby on the shoulder.  "Yer funny, Mr. Lester."

Melinda gasped.  "Joseph Dean!  You mind your manners!  You do not hit Mr. Lester."

Joey frowned.  "I was just kid…"  His voice trailed off.

Bobby held up a hand to the small boy.  "It's okay, Miss Melinda.  Mr. Lester…"  He cleared his throat.  "Bobby knows his buddy's just playin' with him.  You are still my buddy, ain't ya, Joe?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Well, then," said Bobby.  "I guess that settles it."  He turned toward the livery.  "I best go get my horse an' git over to Red an' Birdie's house.  Red an' me's got some brandin' ta do."

"We're goin' over there too!" Joey exclaimed.

"Great!  I'll see ya there."

Melinda slowed the wagon near a patch of wild blackberries.  "Do you want to pick some berries?" she asked Joey.

He turned toward the green leaved bushes and squinted against the late morning sun.  He shrugged.  "I don't know."

"Aunt Birdie would love to have some," Melinda said.  "But it's your decision.  We won't stop if you don't want to."

"I like them too," the boy said.  "But the stickers hurt my fingers, an' my han's turn all red from the juice."

"Yes or no?" his mother asked again.  "We could be careful of the thorns."

He thought momentarily.  "Okay," he finally said.  "But let's make them part of Aunt Birdie's birfday present.  'Kay?"

Melinda pulled on the reigns to stop the team.  "Alright."  She hopped from the wagon and reached for her son.  When he was firmly on the ground, she snatched a basket from under the seat.  "We'll just fill this little basket up, and then we'll be on our way."

Joey nodded and walked toward the bushes.  "Mama, can we go swimmin' today?"

"Oh, I guess we could.  Would you like to ask Birdie to go with us?"

"Sure!"  Joey's eyes sparkled in the midmorning sun.  "Know what?  I thought of somethin' last night when I was takin' my bath."

"What's that?"

"I was thinkin'," he said as he pushed a blackberry into his mouth, "that Uncle Red must've got his name from the Indians."

Melinda looked up at him.  "Why do you say that?" she asked.

"Well, Mr. Lester said that all the Indians have names that tell somethin' 'bout theirselfs.  He said he had a friend named Runnin' Deer, an' he could run real fast.  So, since Uncle Red has reddish colored hair, that must be why his folks named him Red."

"Sounds like you've got it all figured out," Melinda said.  "But Red is just his nickname.  His real name is Duncan, and um, his middle name's Reed, I think."

Joey nodded again.  "I 'member hearin' that once.  How come I don't have an Indian name?"

"We're not Indian," his mother told him.  "We are European.  English.  You are named after your daddy.  His middle name was Joseph.  And after my daddy.  His name was Dean."

"Who are you named after?" was Joey's next question.

"My mother's great aunt, I think.  Her name was Melinda."

"What about yer middle name?"

Melinda stopped picking berries and thought about the query.  "I don't really know.  I can't remember anyone in our family named Diane.  Maybe my momma and daddy just liked it."

Joey changed the subject.  "How tall was my daddy?"

"He was a tall man," she answered.  "Probably taller than most men in town."

"Taller than Uncle Red an' Mr. Lester?"

"I'd say he was quite a bit taller than Mr. Lester and probably just a little taller than Red."

Joey yelped and jerked his hand away from the bush.  "Oh, those stickers!"

"Are you okay?"

He nodded and resumed his tasks of filling the basket and asking questions.  "Did my daddy have muscles?"

Melinda smiled.  "Yes, he had muscles.  He was very strong."

"I wanna be like my daddy," the boy said.

"You already are," Melinda whispered.

Birdie O'Brien met the Warren's wagon near one of the corrals.  "Well, if it ain't my mean sister an' her mean little boy."  She directed a mock scowl toward Joey.

"I ain't mean!"  He jumped to the ground near his aunt.  "An' Mama's only mean part of the time."

Birdie giggled.  "Is that so?"

Joey shook his head in his customary wild nod.  "She let me buy ya a birfday present."  He handed her the bag of candy.  "An' we stopped an' picked ya some blackberries."  He pointed toward the basket on his mother's arm.

Birdie took the candy bag and tussled his hair.  "Well, thank you, li'l mister."  She held open the door for her family members.  "Can ya'll stay for lunch?  I'm makin' a peach cobbler with a jar of last year's preserves."

 "I don't see why not," Melinda replied.  "I don't have anything pressing to get finished.  I don't have to have Shalene's wedding dress done for another couple of weeks.  In fact we were going to ask you if you want to go swimming this afternoon.  Joey was wanting to go, and we thought you might want to tag along.  The lake looked clear this morning on the way into town."

Birdie pulled a loaf from the breadbox and began to cut slices.  "That'll be fun.  I need to clean out the chicken coop, but that can wait until tomorrow.  So is Shalene's weddin' dress the only thing you are workin' on right now?"

"That and some curtains for Mr. Morris.  But I'm glad for the break.  The spring had me so busy with Easter dresses and wedding gowns, I thought I was going to be sitting permanently at that sewing table."

"I'm so glad the seamstress business is goin' good for you," Birdie said.  "At first I wondered if you'd make enough money even to git by.  Well, I never would've dreamed that so many women don't know how to sew."

At that moment, the little boy jumped to his feet.  "Here comes Mr. Lester!  Mama, can I go an' help him an' Uncle Red bran' the calfs?"

"No, Joey, you'd be in the way," his mother answered.

Birdie looked up.  "Melinda, iffen ya don't mind, Red can sit him up on the fence," she said.  "I'm sure it'd be alright.  Red likes havin' 'im around."

"Please, Mama," Joey added.

"Oh, okay," Melinda consented.  "But you stay on the fence and out of their way.  Got it?"

He nodded, hair falling in his face, and he darted out the door.

"He's getting more and more like his daddy each day," Melinda said.  She sighed.  "My, I can't believe it's been a year since John died."

"Does Joey ask about him?" Birdie wondered.

"Sometimes.  He doesn't remember him much, though.  He was too young.  But he asks what his daddy was like."

The sisters heard footsteps at the front door, and then a knock.  "C'mon in," Birdie said.

"Sorry to bother y'all ladies," Bobby Lester said as he wiped his boots on the doormat.  "I was just wonderin', Miss Birdie, iffen ya had an old rag I could use for a bandage."  He momentarily held out his left hand.  "Got a little cut, an' my bandana's dirty."

"A little cut?  Looks big to me," Birdie said.  "Let's see that."  She reached for his arm.

"Aw, it's nothin'," he insisted.

"Bobby, let me see it," she repeated.

"Don't argue with her, Mr. Lest…"  Melinda stopped.  "Bobby, I mean.  She likes to have things her way."  She bit her lip, waiting for her sister's inevitable response.  However, Birdie simply cleared her throat.

"It's really nothin'," Bobby said again.  Both sisters looked at him seriously.  He breathed in deeply and held up his hand once more.  "Oh, alright."

Birdie intently examined the laceration.  "We'll need to wash it an' put some iodine on it.  It's pretty deep.  How'd ya cut it?"

"The wind stole my hat and sent it sailin' over the fence.  I caught my hand on a barb retrievin' the silly ol' thing."  He flipped his Stetson brim with his right forefinger.

After the wound was cleaned and dressed, Bobby started for outside.  "Thank you, Miss Birdie, for yer help.  An' you too, Miss Melinda, for yer concern."

"Oh, Bobby," Melinda called after him.

He stuck his head back inside.  "Yes, ma'am?"

"If Joey makes a nuisance of himself, just send him back in here," she told him.

"Oh, I'm sure he'll be fine, Miss Melinda.  He's a good li'l helper."  Bobby grinned.  "Like his Auntie an' his momma."  He shut the door behind him.

Melinda could not help smiling at the comment.  Bobby Lester was such a nice man.

Through the window, Birdie watched him walk across the yard to the barn.  "He's such a sweet man," she said, reflecting Melinda's thought.  "I wonder why he's not married."

Melinda's face solemned, and she shrugged.  "Maybe he's not the marrying type."

Birdie shook her head.  "I don't think that's the case.  An' he's awful good with kids."

"Speaking of children," the older sister said, "when are you and Red going to start a family?"

"We're tryin'," Birdie assured her.  "But it just ain't happened yet.  So we'll just have to borrow Joey once a week until it does."

"That's fine.  I'll share."

Birdie glanced out the window once more.  "What if…"  She chuckled mischievously.  "Suppose Bobby got to know the prettiest, sweetest girl, and just couldn't help fallin' for her?"

Melinda rolled her eyes.  "Sis, don't go poking your nose where it doesn't belong.  I'm sure Bobby doesn't need you to play cupid for him."

"Maybe not," she agreed.  "But someone else I know does."

"Who?"

"The prettiest, sweetest girl."

Melinda gave Birdie a confused look.  "And who might that be?"

"You."

"Me?  Oh, no you don't!"

"But, Melinda, you two are perfect for each other.  He's handsome and a hard worker an' a Christian and…"

"Birdie Sue!"

"What?"

Melinda sighed and bit her lip.  "Oh, nothing.  Just leave it alone."

"Well, you can't blame me for tryin'.  You've been alone too long.  An' you turn down every man who asks ta call.  I bet you don't even have an escort to the church picnic tomorrow."

She shrugged.  "No, I don't.  That Mr. Jacobs asked me.  But no thank you!  Every man who has asked to call has been… well… less than desirable.  They all acted as if I needed them, like I couldn't live without a husband.  I'll have you to know that I can manage fine on my own.  The only man I have ever needed was John, and he's gone now.  And besides, I've only been alone a year."  Melinda sighed.  "Though a year can seem like an eternity, I remember Red's words like it was yesterday.  I can almost hear him tell me about John."  Her voice cracked into a whisper.

"I'm sorry," Birdie apologized.  "I didn't mean to upset ya."

She shook her head.  "I'm fine.  But I don't think I'm ready to… to… for that."

Birdie arranged the bread slices on a plate and then went for the cobbler.  "Okay, then just help me set the table.  Can you handle that?"

Melinda threw her a look.  "Yes, I can handle that."