"Mark looks a lot like his mother." Eirik was looking at a picture on the McCain's cupboard.
"Aye, he does."
"But he hardly talks about her."
"He was only six when she died, he hardly remembers her."
"That must hurt." The young man's words were so matter-of-fact, so quiet and thoughtful, Lucas glanced over at him. Alerted by the movement, the other lifted his head, shrugged, and would have drawn back. But Lucas held his gaze. It wasn't often somebody understood this particular part of missing Margaret.
"Yes, it does," he admitted quietly. "He's like the living remainder of what he doesn't know."
"Oh, but you must be aware that she lives on in every move, every action you take for both of you."
"What are you saying?" Was the cognac obscuring his thoughts?
"That you'd be a different man – if you didn't have Mark, and the picture of 'what could have been' had you not lost her."
Lucas grimaced involuntarily. "The things falling in love do with us men, eh?"
"Don't you think it does the same to women, to a woman who falls in love with you?" there was a curious intensity to the deep voice.
He shrugged. "Maybe."
"What was she like?"
Lucas took a long sip from his glass. The two men had played a game of chess after Mark had gone to bed. Only Lucas was drinking alone, not even his good cognac could entice the young man to join him.
"She was beautiful. Had a lovely smile. Mark's smile. Mark's hair and eyes. She grounded me, from the wild boar to… well…"
Eirik hid his face. "To the refined gentleman sitting here today?"
Lucas choked on the liquid still in his mouth. "She'd have liked you."
That made the younger man pause. Then: "I think you're doing a wonderful job with Mark."
"I sometimes wonder how much of it is my doing." The tall man moved his shoulders.
Donnelly leaned forward, eyes intent in the lamplight. "Everything, Lucas, never doubt that. She would tell you so if she could, trust me."
"Ever even been with a woman?"
The young man shrugged, amusement curling his lips. "Yes."
"Ever been married, Donnelly?"
"Me? No."
"Then what would you know about parenting?"
Eirik pulled back visibly. "I had a wonderful mother, and a very smart and… forward thinking… father." His voice was hoarse.
"You too lost them at an early age?"
"Yes." Every inch of the slender man, expressive despite the loose clothes, projected indecision and tension.
"Eirik?"
"Forgive me, I can't speak about them… yet."
Lucas nodded slowly, content with burying his curiosity once more. The young man was unhappy with himself.
"There were others, who lost both child and spouse. I can't understand how they went on. Mark was everything that kept me on the righteous path… without him…"
Eirik was watching him with serious, sad eyes.
"… I'd have had no faith to cling to, no reason to stand straight, to think one step further than myself."
The youngster shook his head minutely. "I don't believe that for a moment. It may seem like that to you, but the seed of who you are for your son is in you, will always be there. It might get buried for a bit, but it would surface – always."
That was kind of uplifting to hear with such conviction.
"But I agree on one point – the boy brings out the best in all but the most jaded people."
It must be the alcohol that made Lucas speak the next words. "Sometimes I get scared that I didn't prepare him rightly for all the bad things – bad people out there."
"Isn't the most basic right of every child to trust in the world and to believe in the good? Sure, he'll have bitter experiences to gain, but he'll make them on his own turf."
Hell, the boy had a way with words. "What do you mean?"
"He'll have something – you – to put everything he sees into perspective. A fair and solid ground to start from. And that's what counts."
"You have too good an opinion of me, young man."
"Respectfully, I disagree, refined rifleman and all…"
Lucas snorted.
"Why is it you don't drink? At all?"
The young man turned his face away. "I've seen what alcohol does to people, and I didn't like what it did with me… tried it once."
"The lowering of your defences?" McCain tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Eirik was slowly opening up, he should respect the boy's reticence.
The lines around the green eyes spoke of sudden sadness, of a raw disappointment and world-wariness. No answer came.
"You're too young to look like that, farmhand. I wanted to ask you something else." He was slurring the words slightly, overplaying his tiredness and inebriation. Hold on to the moment. "That harmonica… d' you think Mark would like to learn a proper instrument?"
Eirik took a breath and held it, taken by surprise at the change of subject. "I'm of a mind to say yes?"
"I've heard one of the saloon girls is moving – getting married out east. She's looking to sell her guitar."
"Fair offer?"
"I have no idea whatsoever."
Eirik grinned widely. The green eyes held warmth, but Lucas turned, staring in the near distance in front of him, unseeing.
"You know something about guitars?"
"A little. I can have a look at the instrument. Who's the girl?"
"Sarah, the blonde one. Have you ever even been inside the saloon?"
The young man threw him an unreadable glance and ignored the question. "Right. How much would you be willing to pay?"
"Ye know how tight finances are until we sell the stock…" Lucas shrugged uncomfortably.
"I'll talk to her, see if we can figure something out."
Comfortable silence settled between the two men. Lucas smoked silently, Eirik stretched out his legs beside the table.
"Ever thought of remarrying?"
Lucas glanced over at his companion, aware instinctively that the question had not consciously been asked out loud. His own thoughts had returned to their first subject, too.
"I'm sorry, it's none of my…"
The rifleman lifted a hand, silencing the young man.
"There was a girl, a friend of Margaret's. She lost husband and boy when we lost Margaret. She came here, two years and a bit ago. I thought… I may have hoped… but she was…" He shrugged heavily. It didn't hurt any more, though it chafed a bit. "She was scared of Margaret's shadow."
"But…" A frown creased Eirik's forehead.
"Spit it out, boy."
"Would she have expected you to ignore the fact that she had loved before?"
"We never got that far. I guess Mark would always be a living reminder – for me and for her. She didn't have anyone to hold her ghosts…" Lucas shook himself. "She was scared of getting hurt." This conversation was getting mighty deep.
The young man stretched out his arms over his head, yawning.
"It's impossible to find somebody who'll never hurt you… just gotta find somebody who's worth the pain."
"That's a bit dark, youngster… But I guess loosing somebody is different for everyone."
"You mean how you deal with missing somebody?"
"Aye…" Did he have a few smart words here, too?
Eirik was staring into the fire, lids heavy. "Missing somebody has nothing to do with how long gone they are, but how much of your heart they held."
"I knew it!" Lucas let a fist fall lightly onto the table top and grinned widely at his baffled companion. "You're a romantic, a dreamer! No wonder those girls are all making moon-eyes at you!" The rifleman sneered good-naturedly at the embarrassment he caused his farmhand and refused to let him answer. It fit too well with their conversation about the dark depths of humanity. "You're mighty eloquent considering the fact I'm the drunk one. Not much left of the 'mysterious whittler' they called you in the beginning."
The young man chuckled at that, and sat up laboriously. "They did? Then I'd rather leave you to the last dregs and find myself a bedpost to talk to… can't give all my secrets away."
Lucas' face was still contorting in mirth. "I never noticed you talking in your sleep, boy. Go, have a good night's rest."
Lips twisting, Eirik answered with a quiet: "G' night, big guy."
…