Disclaimer - as before, the character, Frank, is not my creation. I do not profit by writing this, except in finding people who also enjoyed the character and hoping to entertain them.

A/N Very sorry about the extended delay. Real life was a bit too real for a while there-- but things should improve now and I hope the next part will be posted soon.

Thanks so much for the kind reviews - when I couldn't write they helped to remind me to go back to Frank as soon as I could!

Lost chapter 14

He slept well, undisturbed, until he became aware that someone was wiping his forehead and gently brushing his hair from his face. He turned towards the hand then woke. It was so dark he could barely see her but he knew it was her immediately.

"Hello, cowboy," came her soft, happy voice. "Wondered if you was goin' to wake up. Seemed like you'd lost a lot of blood. Doc's happy with you, though."

"Lilian," he said sleepily, trying to find some words in the haze that was his brain. There was something very important he wanted to say to her.

"Yeah?" The soothing, cool cloth was back, and her voice was soothing, too.

"You want to – maybe we could – I could get you a ring. If I sell a coupla things, I could get you a real nice ring."

It had been on his mind to say this but maybe not just as soon as he'd woken up. He began to worry as soon as she went very quiet. He opened his eyes. She was kneeling on the floor and looking right at him. He had her full attention.

"Oh." She put her hand to her mouth. He was aware just how hard his heart was working even though he was lying still. "Yes. Yes – please. Oh, Frank." She put a hand out and caught hold of his. "I don't think I could leave you now. You'd only run into more trouble and then who would fix you up again?"

He shuffled back to the edge of the bed, leaving a space for her and she came to lie beside him, on top of the blankets but very close. They talked, very quietly, about small things, a few plans, a couple of ideas about the ring and how they might not be able to marry for quite a while. No pastor, she explained, not close, anyway. They'd have to travel. He nodded his agreement. When his arm was healed. When the weather was better. And how was she? Still coughing? She nodded. Better than it was, though. A couple of weeks would see her right.

And so they talked, sharing and planning and smiling at each other, until they both fell asleep.

She left him before dawn. His wife-to-be. He was scared and elated, feeling free and responsible, both at the same time. It was almost too much happiness to contain. He lay back and waited for light. He knew she was likely not to return until he'd spoken to Mr. Watson and he wanted to see Sheriff Fischer. He was sore but he felt as if he could face the world again, be part of it and take his full place in its life again.

One of the men came to help him get up. He had no sign of fever and only felt a little tired but he was not allowed to do more than dress and then move to a chair close to the fire. Someone gave him some coffee and a plate of eggs. He nodded his thanks and gave his attention to the good food.

Mr. Watson came in and pulled a chair close to the fire. Frank took little notice of him to start with, other than a quick handshake. He had no liking for what the man had done, but he wasn't about to dislike the man for his error of judgement. He was not expecting an apology and he didn't get one.

After a few moments, Mr. Watson cleared his throat. "Lilian tells me you're planning to marry."

"Yeah. Yeah – we are. Soon as we can get to somewhere that has a preacher." Frank knew he was grinning.

Watson nodded, having apparently ticked off the first item on his mental list. He moved quickly on to the next subject. "Sheriff Fischer did a good job. He's taking Eagleton for trial and some of my people are going with him, just to be sure," said Watson, leaning forward and lacing his hands together.

"He did a good job," Frank agreed, then drank the last of his coffee. "Eagleton did a bad one."

"Underestimated the situation, I guess."

"I guess," Frank agreed, still grinning. "Repairs going all right?" He settled back, easing his arm out of its sling and resting it on the arm of his chair.

"Should be there in a week. Taking the chance to fit the new heating system we've had in a barn for a month or so. Ill wind."

"Wood-fired?"

"Coal. Going to haul it in from the railhead. Should work out all right. Make a right smart house for the family."

"Yeah." Family. The word meant something new to Frank now.

"I was figurin', maybe, I need someone to be foreman on this ranch now. Had me a good man but he left to set up his own place." Watson at last looked at him. The corners of his mouth were turned up, but you couldn't exactly say he was smiling.

"Seems like a good idea. Someone who knows horses," Frank threw in.

"I thought so."

"Someone used to working with other men. Someone people could trust," Frank said, though he knew it was a slightly low blow.

"Yes. That'd be about it. Maybe a family man." Watson came closer to smiling. "You know someone like that?"

"I might."

Frank was hired. Foreman. To work with horses. And to have his own house. A fixer-upper, and enough money to make it his own place. Frank wondered whether his carpentry skills were up to the challenge.

He shook hands with Watson and stood, ready to go and look for the sheriff.

"Sit down, Frank," Watson said. "I'll ask Fischer to come and see you. You think you might like something of a celebration, you and Lilian? Maybe when we open up the house again?"

"Okay," Frank nodded. "Just so long as you don't ask me to do the cookin'."

Watson smiled at long last. "Welcome to the Watson Ranch, Frank T.Hopkins. Fischer tells me you're a cross-country man, won some big races? You gonna need time off to do that, then?"

"I think I'll be stayin' close to home for a while, sir," Frank said. "See what she says after that. I don't think I'll want to be away from her."

Watson nodded. "I'll leave you to your coffee. Fischer was outside, takin' a look at the evidence. I'll ask him to come see you."

"Well now, Mr.Hopkins. I didn't see you as a rockin' chair man, somehow."

"I'm under strict orders. I'm doin' as I've been told."

Fischer settled in the chair Watson had been sitting in. "I hear I need to congratulate you. I have to say, I kinda overlooked her, or I'd have been there myself, knocking at her door. Glad to hear you're staying, too."

"I've fallen on my feet, that's for sure," Frank said, settling himself more comfortably in the chair. "Have you to thank for a lot of that. Seems like one step over the last few days, and Lilian and me, well, we wouldn't have made it."

"You're welcome. Without you made that play with your horse, I doubt I'd be here now settin' with you."

"Well, then, we're even. I'll buy you a drink next time I'm town, and you can buy me one when I'm wed."

Fischer nodded. He was twisting his hat in his hands. "Well now, I think I'd better be getting' Eagleton into that jail. I'll send you word about the trial. I reckon we might need you, and we might not. Up to the judge. I have all the relevant facts. A written statement could be enough."

"I'll dictate something to Lilian for ya. Can't do too much writin' just yet." Frank raised his arm.

"No, no, I guess not." Fischer stood. "Well, it's good to know ya, Frank. See you next week sometime. I'll drop by for that statement."

Frank nodded and watched the sheriff turn and walk away. It was done – he was here, and he was whole, pretty much. He drank the last of his coffee, settled himself in his chair and began to plan, until she came back to sit and plan with him.

Over the next two weeks, he was hardly away from her at all. There was a good deal to do while he continued his recovery from his hurts, but his heart was in his work and he relished the chance to walk a little further each day, see more of the place and the stock and discuss future plans with Mr. Watson. Through it all, Lilian was there, making notes for him, discussing details of management with him and, each evening, talking with him, playing cards, drinking coffee, getting settled and comfortable.

He followed Watson's map to their house sometime in the third week when he was exercising Hidalgo and himself. Lilian had gone into town to arrange for the sale of the hotel. Make a right smart piece of cash, too, she said, enough for the pretty things she wanted to make the place nice. Things he wouldn't know about, she'd said, smiling up at him.

Don't want the place cluttered up, that'd been his response. She had pouted and then he'd been forced, oh so reluctantly, to make up with her.

So he had saddled up Hidalgo with only a little help, and put on his coat, patched now with a couple of neatly sewn pieces of material across his shoulders. Watson had described the place to him, something about it being their old house, a couple of miles westward, in a shallow valley with good shelter and a view Frank'd like. He climbed on Hidalgo and kneed his little brother forward.

"You're rounder than you were, bronco. We got to work you some, I reckon. And don't go pullin' too hard – I need to get some work in my legs too."

Hidalgo trotted out, ears pricked, and it felt good to be out there in the wild plain, looking over land that was his responsibility now. He already knew where all the horses were, knew the stallions by name and some of the mares by their colours. The sky was blue, the sun was high and the only traces of snow were in the shadows, where the sun was slow to reach them or quick to leave them in the morning.

And then, over one more rise, and there it was – the house he could have if he wanted it. Just a little wooden house with a couple of outbuildings. But his imagination placed her on the porch, and his improvements all round. Even her curtains at the windows, he could see those.

Of course, it was nothing like that yet. He pushed open the door and inspected the inside. Good fireplace. Nice little kitchen – not much there but room for him to add what might be needed. A place to put the rocking chair that he had somehow made his own. He could see her there too, maybe a year or two down the line, and he had his own ideas about what she might be doing. A little one of their own. Maybe.

The bedroom just off the sitting room. Too small, he was thinking and he worked for a few minutes looking round to see where he could tear down a wall and add some more room with ruining the look of the place. Then he sat himself down on the porch and just looked.

Hidalgo had wandered a little way from the house to find some good grazing, and was cropping the fresh grass. Beyond him, a stream fed a tiny lake before it spilled on down over the grassland and into the river. It was quiet there, though not completely. As he sat there, he began to hear the wind stirring the grass and the call of a bird, disturbed by Hidalgo's movements. A few trees wouldn't go amiss. And a garden, near the stream so that it could be irrigated easily. There were already flowers, the pale, cupped blooms of pasque flowers, growing here and there. He'd pick a few for her, when he brought her here, after their marriage. Would the stream flow in the summer? Would there be enough breeze here to make the house comfortable then? Maybe he should build higher up? He paced around the property, thinking, thinking, dreaming, planning and then thinking again over his plans. It might be all right. The next step was to bring her here.

But he could not think of that, not until he had the place looking more homely. A bit a furniture. Cleaning it some. Checking the well water. But not too much, in case she didn't like it. She'd feel bad, turning it down, if he'd done too much. A couple of days with some help. She'd be gone that long. He'd do it.