AN: Thank you so much for the feedbacks, the encouragement and the nice comments, all! I've got quite a few chapters "almost finished", but beeing a crazy stupid perfectionist, it takes quite some bravery to post them. So... reviews help and are much much much appreciated!

"Mr. McCain, would you show me how to set an edge to the scythe?"

"Why, Eirik, the field is hardly set and you want to go cut hay already?"

"No…" The young man blushed, pushing his hands into the pockets of his pants.

It was afternoon, Lucas had been sitting on the porch, his leg propped up, rubbing oil into the bridles and leather ribbons coiled in an orderly heap at his side.

"It's something I never learned."

The rifleman tilted his head. Mockery would have been too easy. "Sure. Get me the stone, a bucket of water and the sickle. We'll start small."

Eirik brought the oldest, rusted sickle that must have been hiding somewhere in the back of the barn. The younger man settled on the floor across from the rifleman.

"So you didn't grow up on a farm, then? Never helped with haying?"

"No, only ever with the gathering of the hay, never the cutting… just happened that way."

McCain demonstrated the fluid movements of whetstone against dull blade with thoughtless elegance.

"Will you tell me where you learned to set a dislocated shoulder?"

The dark eyes intent on every move, Donnelly answered absentmindedly. "I travelled with a field medic for a few months. He'd been in the army, and escorted a wagon train to the east coast."

Lucas held out stone and instrument for the young man to try. "A wagon train, eh? Bet you learned a lot then."

"Aye. We had at least two new and different ailments every day."

"No, change the angle of the stone a little… aye, that's it. Now smoothly… That's better."

The old sickle would not suffer under the young man's hands.

"This can't be difficult for you after working in the smithy…"

Eirik's answer was distracted, the tip of his tongue kept appearing between his teeth. "In theory I know how to apply the stone, but in reality I always end up notching the blade."

"Practice, youngster, practice… Same you keep telling Mark."

"Same you keep telling Mark!"

The green eyes flew up to his face in sudden uncertainty – had he been too forward? But Lucas grinned widely. It was nice to get the boy to lose the restraint.

…..

The sun was setting as Donelly swung himself over the fence, painting the feathery clouds with deep colours of purple and pink. The two McCains were sitting on the porch. Lucas leaned back in the chair, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, his leg resting on the footstool. Mark had carried a three-legged contraption to sit on outside and leaned against the wall.

"Beautiful sunset, isn't it?" Eirik smiled one of his rare, wide smiles that brightened his eyes and transformed his face.

Lucas lifted a hand in greeting. "Everything all right with the calves?"

"Yes. The little one was galloping around with the others. He's gonna be fine."

"Glad to hear it. Miss Hattie came by while you were gone, wanted to ask after those carvings."

"Did you show them to her?" Eirik's eyes fastened on Mark. The boy knew where he stored his little treasures. Lucas was still moving around on crutches.

"Yes. She was mighty pleased." The boy beamed. "She said if you could bring them down tomorrow when we come to church." The slight question in the light voice was not lost on the farmhand.

Eirik tilted his head, his smile still in place. "Guess I can't rightly get out of it this time."

"Why don't you like to go to church, Eirik?" Mark's question was innocent. He'd asked his father a few times, but Lucas was reticent in speaking for the other man. Now the older McCain half-closed his eyes in seeming tiredness, aware of the wary glance the farmhand sent his way.

Turning around to look out at the colourful display on the sky above them, Eirik sank down onto the porch steps. He leaned against the railing and stretched his long legs before him. "I don't agree with most things the men in these churches say. The Lord your pastor preaches about is not the one I learned about, or pray to, Mark."

Lucas had to give it to the young man, his words were such that Mark could understand and even he could concede.

"Why, how do you pray?" Eirik always joined in when they said grace or gave thanks before eating. Mark leaned forward.

"I grew up learning that praying is a private thing. And…" he tilted his head toward the dip in the horizon where the sun was fighting its losing battle. Lucas could see his profile clearly, the proud, aquiline nose, the elegant mouth, slightly pursed now. "A priest I once asked for support, for help… he betrayed my trust."

"How?"

Lucas bristled – the subject got dangerous.

But he should not have worried – Eirik was smart with words and always, always considerate of any children around, he had reason to remember.

"I told him a secret, something that was bothering me, and he tried to blackmail me."

"Oh." That was enough information for Mark. Secrets were secrets. Blackmail was simply not done. "Eirik, what does it look like where your home is?"

Lucas tensed inwardly.

But may it be the peace of the spring evening, the success with the sick calf, or the boy's innocently curious question, Eirik leaned his head against the crock and shrugged.

"The country is rough and wild where I grew up. The mountains reach much higher into the sky, the colours are colder, harder. There's a beauty to it that scares you as much as it pulls at you. You feel small in those forests, looking up at a peak covered in snow. Up on the top, you can't breathe because the air is so thin. There is the world at your feet in all its glory, its diversity."

Mark's mouth stood open, Lucas noted with a slight smile.

"What about the animals?"

Eirik smiled without turning his head. "Have you ever seen a desert fox? Or a coyote?"

"Oh, yes."

"Well, their cousins up north have shorter legs and smaller ears, because it is much colder. But the bears are much, much bigger, because the more mass they have the easier they stay warm. Same for the water birds – they are bigger in body, and very well adapted to their surroundings."

Lucas frowned a little – that was a lot of specific knowledge for a farmhand.

"But the bears… aren't they dangerous?"

"They're not worse than your mountain lions here, Mark. A grizzly will leave you in peace if you don't threaten him, similar to a wolf. They don't hunt for the fun of it, as the cats sometimes do. And they are magnificent animals – a young one, you'd immediately fall in love with. Nothing more adorable than a young bear."

"Is it true there are white bears, too?"

"You mean the polar bears?"

Mark shrugged expressively, eyes wide.

"There are both. Polar bears can get even bigger than grizzlies, and they really have white fur. But they live even further up north, where the snow is almost permanent. A white grizzly is about the rarest animal I know. The natives treat them as holy, and would never hunt them. White men do – for sport and the fur."

For a crazy moment the thought crossed Lucas' mind – which one did the young man consider himself – native or white?

"So what do people live on? How does one earn the money to buy things?"

"Life is different, but not too different from here, Mark. Just the winter is longer, so the summer months are busy, used for hard, fast work. Some families or communities specialize: wood, gold, ice, smoked meat… and fur trading."

Lucas could hear the change in the young man's intonation at the last words only because he was listening for it.

"What does your family do?"

Eirik hung his head. "We were fur traders, and had some smoking sheds."

"Why aren't they still? Where are they now?"

"Dead."

"Oh." Mark clasped his hand before his mouth and looked at his father in horror. His question had been unthinking, the answer too sudden. "I'm sorry."

Donnelly turned his head before Lucas could interfere. "Sorry if I startled you, Mark. It's not an easy subject."

"What happened?" Lucas asked measuredly.

A visible shiver ran over the young man, his countenance turned hard. Staring into the now completely dark near distance, he remained silent for a long while. Then…

"A fire."

"How old were you?" Mark wanted to know.

"Almost ten."

"I was six when my mother died." The boy had gotten up and sat down on the porch steps, hunching his shoulders against the cool wind. "But I had Pa. And we came here."

Eirik smiled a little, eyes still haunted. "You were very brave, starting fresh like that."

"It took us a while to find this place."

"I can imagine. But it is a special place, worth searching for."

Mark smiled widely. "You think so too?"

"Oh, absolutely." Eirik frowned with seriousness.

Lucas could not help but throw in leisurely: "Don't you have any plans to go back north? Pick up the profession of your father?"

The answer was very short for taking such a long time. "Not really."

But now McCain wanted to keep the young man talking. "Or try for another career?"

"Yes, your carving!" Mark helped his father unknowingly.

"Swenson the smith speaks highly of your work, too."

"And the Doc said if you ever wanted a change of scenery, you'd be welcome at his place! Remember?"

Eirik's reaction was evasive. "I'm a bit old for an apprentice…"

"Even better, then you can stay with us forever!" the boy threw in laughingly, eyes jumping between his father and the farmhand, aware of the tension.

Lucas grimaced, rubbing his hand over his face. "Mark, don't be hasty. It's time for bed anyway, young man."

Mark grimaced, but scampered off.

"Eirik, my question was serious. You must have plans for your future. I'd like to help in any way I can. You're not going to end as farmhand. I already owe you more than we can possibly earn."

The slender figure turned his head to face the large man. "You don't owe me anything beyond what we agreed on that first day, Mr. McCain."

"We're far beyond that, boy."

The young man stood suddenly, his move startling in its unconscious abruptness and grace. "I would not accept anything else."

Lucas frowned at the pale blob in the darkened night. "Eirik, these past weeks with me incapacitated, you kept the farm running. Plus tutoring Mark. I hope you earned some money with those carvings of yours, but…"

"Stop, Sir. You gave me work, shelter and a place at your table. Tutoring Mark was done freely in my own time." Eirik wiped his hand over his face, voice giving out.

"My name is Lucas, boy." The words were measured, but final. "Whatever your secrets, you will have to accept my gratitude. I owe you a life."

Eirik seemed to have stopped listening after the first words. "Lucas then." There was a curious intensity in his voice. He took a deep breath. "You've allowed me to call this place home. I am glad I was able to be of assistance … after your accident."

Lucas hid a grimace letting his head sink to his chest and broke into half-annoyed laughter. This half-grown kid and his formal demeanour… "Come here and assist me with getting out of this chair then, if you would."

The young man hesitated on the steps, uncertain. Then he squared his shoulders and pulled the taller man upright deliberately.

Lucas pushed Eirik's hat deep over his eyes, his grin turned mocking. The youngster tried to evade, but as he was steadying the rifleman with his arm, he had no way out. Chuckling melodically, he snatched the crutch from him and stepped back, all the while making sure he was not endangering the convalescent's balance. "Keep mocking me, and I'll take this away. Watch you hop around on one leg!"

Lucas enjoyed the laughter immensely. It was seldom enough the young man showed this playful side of him. "Only for two more days, Boy, then I can start walking around freely."

"The tyrant of the McCain farm awakens again."

Eirik's tone was of such dry, delighted evilness that Lucas almost doubled over with laughter. At once the farmhand's hand shot out, ready to support.

Lucas snorted, waving away the help. "I feel better than I've done in a while, Eirik. I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night, Lucas."

The curious intonation – this was the first time the young man had used his given name on purpose - sobered McCain. He turned in the door.

"Eirik."

The sheen from the lamp on the table put flecks of light into the young man's eyes.

"I've considered you a friend before this accident. You'll always have a place at our table." Without waiting for an answer, he hobbled inside and gently closed the door behind him. The expression on the young man's face would stay with him for a long time.

…