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The saloon was finally closed up for the night. Hank sat with a shot in hand, Emma a few tables over with a piece of paper and a pencil. Hank just sat thinking of what he could do to make amends with his kid and so she doesn't fear him. He didn't know what to do…
Emma, after putting down her pencil, sat and looked at her father. He looked like he was thinkin' hard about something but she had no idea what. He looked miserable. She wanted her father to be happy. She thought for a moment if she had done something to make him mad at her and she couldn't think of anything so she decided it was ok to approach him. She gathered all of her courage as she slipped down from her chair. It was now or never.
Hank felt a tiny tug on his sleeve and looked up from his shot to see Emma holdin' a piece of paper.
"What?" he asked with a tired voice. She took a step away from him, deciding she was too close for comfort. She needed to be far enough away in case she needed to get away quick. She had learned never to be too close to men; she had learned that the hard way too many times in her young life.
"I uh.." She was very nervous all of a sudden. "This is for you..uh, sir." She quickly handed him the paper and nearly ran to sit down in her chair. Did he like it?
Hank looked the picture over and was amazed at what he saw. It was him sketched out; it was almost life-like. She was amazing. Art was not something she could have got from him and he never really recalled Kara being too good at drawin' either. Where did she learn to do this? It looked almost exactly like him. He did, however, see that it was shaded very heavily almost giving him a mean look to him. Was this how she saw him? Dark and mean?
Emma waited for his reaction and she heard his sigh. Oh, no, he doesn't like it.
"Emma, come over here," Hank said without looking at her. She went cold at the thought of herself in trouble. He put the picture on the table as he waited for her. She got up and went over as she was told.
"I'm sorry," she said rushed as she stood in front of the still seated Hank. "I'm sorry you don't like it. I just...just wanted to do somethin' for you, sir… I'm sorry." Tears welled up in her eyes and she bit down on her lip.
"Emmalee Rose, what have I told you about biting on your lip?" her father questioned. She stifled a cry. He had said she would get a whoopin'. Could she do anything right?
"Not to…" she said lowly, waiting for punishment. Hank took her chin and made her release her lip from her teeth by using his thumb to softly pull it from her mouth. She released it and tears came from her eyes. Hank wiped them away with his thumb as well.
"Don't do it again," he said softly. "Now tell me, why are you cryin'?"
"I…you said if I kept biting my lip you would…I didn't want a whoopin' sir."
"I get that but you only bite your lip when you think you're in trouble and so why were you biting your lip in the first place? Did you do something to get yourself in trouble?"
"No, well, you don't like the picture. I made you mad by it and I'm sorry." Hank looked at her with the most confused look he could muster.
"You thought you were in trouble over a drawing?" That was ridiculous. Why would she even think that?
"Yes, sir," she said with her head down. "Mother never really liked my drawings either and she would get mad at them. I guess at the way I drew her and whenever she's mad I got punished by whoever she told me to call "papa" that week." She stopped at thought of what she had just admitted and looked for her father's reaction. She was told never to talk about what happened with her 'papas', ever.
"They punished you?" he said, his voice angry. Emma nodded.
"They told me I was bad and I wouldn't make mother angry."
"Well, I can promise you, Emma, you aren't in trouble, especially over a picture."
"I'm not?" she wondered, amazed at how he was talkin' to her. She was just expectin' a whippin' and told to get to her room, not being talked to without punishment.
"No," he said and lifted her up into his lap, setting her on his knee.
"Then why did you call me over?" she asked. She was shocked at her boldness. Hank chuckled.
"Your drawin' is really good darlin', that's all I wanted to tell you. You don't have to be afraid every time I'm near ya. I'm not like those men your ma was with. You understand?"
"Yes, sir, I understand," Emma said with a smile. Well, Sully and his sissy advice worked, although Hank would probably never admit it out loud. His little girl was smilin' at him. He couldn't help but smile at her as well. Something surprising happened next.
Emma turned toward her father some more and hugged him without cryin'. Hank hugged her back and stroked her blonde hair. They sat there for a while until Emma yawned, drifting in and out of sleep.
"Go on to bed Emma," Hank said and stood up, setting her on her feet. Emma took a couple steps before turning toward her father.
"Emma, go to bed now," Hank repeated.
"Can you carry me please, Hank?" Hank… well I guess that's better than Mr. Lawson.
"Alright," he said as he gathered the little girl into his arms and walked toward her room, "but don't get used to it, missy." Emma giggled.
"Yes, sir." She rested her head on his shoulder, content with her situation.
Hank laid the girl in her bed and she rolled over to her side.
"Goodnight Hank."
"Night Emma," he said as he walked away.
"I love you," she sighed, already asleep. Hank stopped dead in his tracks and turned towards her in shock. He walked back over to her and kissed her head lightly, surprising himself in the process.
"I love ya too," he whispered before leavin' the room.
Hank made his way down stairs again to clean up the tables. He downed his shot and wiped everything down. He picked up Emma's picture of him and made his way to his room. He put it on his bed side table as he readied himself for bed. He picked it up and looked at it some more before tacking it to the corner wall, where Emma had slept when she first arrived.
Maybe this father thing wasn't so hard after all.
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