Welcome back, everyone!

Right now, the ballpark for the end of this story is just about 20-22 chapters, depending on how the chips fall (and how wordy my muse decides to be). I know you're all patiently waiting for our boys to meet up again. We're almost there! Thanks again for everyone sticking with me as we get closer and closer to the end. All of you are so very appreciated.

Enjoy!

Chapter 16: Slim Comes Home

Stepping onto the platform in Cheyenne was a surreal experience for Slim. There had been several times over the past three years when he didn't know if he'd ever make it back to Wyoming territory. Now, so close to home, half of him wanted to turn tail and run back the way he'd come. Taking a deep breath, he hefted his pack. He forced his feet to move across the boards and down the steps, finally setting his boots down on the hard-packed Wyoming soil. There was no going back now.

While in the hospital in Chattanooga, Slim had finally received the letter confirming his father's death. His mother and Jonesy had both included messages in the envelope. His mother's message detailed how Matt had come home, injured, and the mystery surrounding it all. Slim still wasn't sure what to think about that. Jonesy, on the other hand, had written Slim several stories about his father. Slim appreciated those stories most of all, as they gave him something to hold on to while he healed. Eventually, Slim was reassigned to another cavalry unit and spent the rest of the war pushing southward. He knew from the letters that things at home were tough and getting tougher. Sometime the summer after his father had died, Mary had written to tell him how Jonesy's back had been giving him fits. She warned Slim not to believe Jonesy when he claimed the pain wasn't too bad. Sure enough, within the week, Slim had received the companion letter from Jonesy assuring him that his back was just fine and dandy. If the topic wasn't so serious, Slim would have laughed at their combined stubbornness.

Now, it was late June of 1865. The war had officially ended in the spring and Slim had finally been released from his duty. He was glad to let the regular army finish rounding up rebels; he'd had enough war to last a lifetime. Three years, Slim mused, as he walked toward the livery stable. Cheyenne was growing. It was only seven in the morning, but he could see the town already coming to life. As Slim looked around, he hardly recognized the names of the shops. Granted, he'd never spent much time in Cheyenne, but he could tell where some older buildings had been torn down and several more had been built to expand the main street. Luckily, the livery stable was in the same place it had always been.

No sooner than he'd walked through the door and into the gloom of the stable did he hear a familiar voice.

"Why, as I live and breathe, if it ain't Slim Sherman!"

Slim's eyes were still adjusting to the dimness, but there was no mistaking that voice. He grinned.

"Howdy, Mose," he said, turning to greet an old friend. Mose was on him in an instant, shaking his hand and slapping him on the back.

"Boy I'll tell ya, you're a sight for sore eyes. How's your mama? And Jonesy and little Andy, too, although I reckon Andy ain't really all that little anymore."

"Haven't even seen 'em yet, but the last letter I got said everyone was doing well," Slim replied. "I was hoping I could rent one of these here broom tails from ya. Got any that can get me home by dark?" he asked, glancing down the aisle at the horses.

"Oh, sure thing Slim, I shoulda knowed that's what you'd be after. I got a good one down there on the end. You go take a look at 'er and I'll get yer tack," Mose replied, finally dropping Slim's hand. He bustled off to the tack room while Slim strode over to the suggested horse.

"Whoa, girl," Slim said to the mare, not wanting to spook her. She brought her nose out of her morning oats to give his hand a sniff but was otherwise unconcerned. Slim ran his hands down her legs and over her back. He didn't really need to; Mose had been one of the best cowboys around in his prime and Slim trusted his judgement when it came to choosing a sound horse. Shoot, Slim thought, he's still one of the best around. Mose had to be pushing sixty years old, if not seventy, but you'd never know it watching him work. Mose had been a drover, a bronc buster, a trail cook, and nearly everything in between all across southern Wyoming and northern Colorado. Now, apparently he was trying out stable hand.

Mose lifted the saddle up onto the nearby rack. "Whatcha think, Slim?"

"She'll do," Slim said, nodding. Together, they got the mare saddled and ready. Slim tied his belongings on behind the saddle as best he could. When he tried to hand over his money, though, Mose batted it away.

"None of that, now," he said. "We're all just happy to see ya home in one piece. You just get her back to Laramie well fed and I'll sort it out."

Slim shook his head and smiled. "Well, there's just no arguin' with you, is there?" he asked, as Mose cheerily shook his head. "Alright, you win," Slim said with good humor, mounting up. "So long, Mose," he said, as he gently tapped the mare's sides with his spurs. She responded easily, trotting down the street into the morning sunlight. Slim rode out of town feeling much lighter than he had when he'd arrived.

Slim made his way down the road and away from town. There was more traffic than he expected; further evidence that the territory was growing. By the time noon rolled around, Slim felt like the only soul around. He directed his horse off the trail to a little stand of trees. He dismounted and offered her a drink in his cupped hands.

It struck him that this was the first time he'd truly been on his own, without another person around, since the day he left the ranch. He shook his head. Three years. He could hardly believe it. Looking across the land to the horizon, Slim could have easily convinced himself he'd been gone for three minutes rather than three years. Towns changed much faster than the land did. After he decided they'd rested long enough he remounted and headed for home at a leisurely pace.

-Laramie-

Just… a little… more… he thought to himself, inching forward on his belly. He hoped the haybale would give him enough cover. The last thing he wanted was for his quarry to realize he was there. He squinted as he tried to judge the distance. He knew he'd only get one shot. Finally, he lunged.

His hands closed around empty air. The kitten scrambled back, knocking over a pail in the process, spitting and hissing all the way, until it was completely out of sight.

"Doggone it, Andy, how many times do I have ta tell you. Don't be chasin' them barn cats around!" Jonesy cried, exasperated.

Andy picked himself up off the barn floor and brushed the hay off his clothes, not looking up. Jonesy was right; he'd known better, but he'd done it anyway.

"Aw, shucks Andy, I didn't mean to yell at ya," Jonesy said, coming over to put his hand on the small boy's shoulder. "I just don't want to see you all scratched up." He ruffled his hair, making Andy smile again. "Why don't you go on over to the house and wash up? I reckon supper'll be ready any minute now. I'll be in just as soon as I get these chores finished up."

"Okay!" Andy said, running straight for the barn door. He raced over to the house and got a pan down off of its hook. He had to stand on a stool and use his whole body, but he was finally big enough to pump his own water. As he finished washing the dirt from his hands, a shadow fell across the pan. Andy looked up into the face of a scruffy stranger, covered in trail dust and sweat, all dressed in blue. Worst of all, the stranger was blocking Andy's path to the kitchen door. He made a dash for the barn.

"Jonesy! Jonesy!"

-Laramie-

Slim stood still in the yard, holding his reins, as he watched Andy disappear into the barn.

Three long, long years.

He heard the familiar creak of the side door being opened and turned back to the house. There was Mary, standing in the doorway with her apron and wooden spoon. Her hair had more gray in it than Slim remembered and she looked thinner, but the smile on her face was just the same.

"Hi, ma."

"Slim, honey," she said, rushing forward all at once. She wrapped her arms around his waist as he wrapped his own around her shoulders and held on tightly, dropping the reins he held. He could feel her shaking as the tears came, and for once he let his own fall without shame. He cried for his father, for the time lost, and for the hardships his family had faced without him. His mother held him through it.

He finally loosened his hold when he heard Andy's small voice again.

"Do you think we should put his horse in the barn? Is he stayin' for supper?"

Slim furtively wiped his face while Jonesy gave a watery chuckle of his own.

"He better be stayin' a lot longer than supper, or I'll be givin' him a piece a' my mind!" Jonesy declared, stepping forward. Slim grinned and turned his head to face his friend, unwilling to let go of Mary quite yet.

"Hiya, Jonesy," he said, as if it was just a regular day. Jonesy scoffed and walked straight up to him, slapping a hand on his back and demanding a firm handshake. He held Slim's outstretched hand in both of his own, while Slim's other hand remained tightly wound around Mary's waist.

"Welcome home, boy. We're mighty glad to see you," said the older man. Slim pretended not to notice the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. "Andy, get over here and say hello to your long-lost big brother."

"Slim?" Andy asked, still unsure of the whole situation.

"You bet, Andy," Slim said, detangling himself from his ma and Jonesy. He took off his cap and crouched down so he was eye level with his brother. Andy's eyes lit up. All of a sudden, those last three years fell away, and Slim found himself knocked clean over by a ball of five-year-old energy. The mare next to him side-stepped away, clearly unimpressed with this nonsense.

"You're home!" cried Andy, grinning from ear to ear from his spot on Slim's chest as he wrapped his arms around Slim's neck. Slim held him back tightly. "Slim, I can't believe it's you. You got such silly clothes on! And your hat's all wrong!" he said, giggling.

"I probably do look a mite different," Slim said, picking them both up off the ground. Andy climbed around him to cling on piggy-back style, just as he used to. Mary was crying again, overwhelmed by seeing her two children together. She covered her mouth and tried to pull herself together, trying to balance her joy at Slim's return with the grief that Matt was not here to see it.

"Now, you two!" she said, clearing her throat and trying to sound scolding. None of them were fooled. "Supper will be ready in just about ten minutes, and I expect you cleaned up and ready to go by then!"

"Yes ma'am," Slim said with an easy smile. He craned his neck to glance back at Andy. "Wanna help me get my mare settled in the barn?"

"Yes please!"

Slim chucked. "I guess that settles it," he said. "Don't worry, ma, we'll be quick." He could tell by the look on her face that she was hesitant to let him out of her sight, even for a moment. Jonesy stepped in to help her settle down. He took Mary's elbow and guided her back toward the open door, offering to help her set the table. As Slim bent down to take his horse's reins again, he decided that maybe three years wasn't all that long after all.

-Laramie-

Dinner was a noisy affair, filled with story telling and singing. Andy took it upon himself to tell Slim all about the ranch and how he had been running things since Slim had been gone. Slim raised his eyebrows.

"Well now, Mr. Sherman, I didn't realize you had this place under such good control," Slim said, rolling his shoulders back and looking down his nose at his brother. Andy tried hard to copy his posture. "You reckon there's any jobs left for an out of work cavalryman like me?"

Andy considered the question seriously for a moment before nodding solemnly. "Yes, Mr. Sherman. You can fix the fences in the north pasture, on account of I'm not allowed to go that far on my own," he answered. Slim pulled his eyebrows down and frowned, nodding sagely.

"A wise choice," he said. The two of them shook hands across the table while Jonesy rolled his eyes and Mary laughed at their antics. It felt good to laugh again.

Through it all, Slim was acutely aware that his mother had set his plate at the head of the table. He only hoped he could live up to the position.

When the dinner had been cleared, the plates had been washed, and Andy had been sent to bed with no small protest, Slim found himself out on the porch. He had his right hip hitched up on the railing, his back against the support beam, and his opposite foot braced on the porch boards. He looked up at the stars. Although his body was firmly home and home to stay, he found it hard to keep his mind from drifting back to Georgia.

Mary stepped out to join him, softly closing the door behind her. He turned and smiled, holding his left arm out to make space for her. She leaned against him and he held her close.

"Jonesy suggested you might want a little medicine," she said, holding out a cup. "I keep forgetting you're all grown up," she mused, as Slim took it and sipped slowly. He felt the whisky burn all the way down to his belly as he gazed out across the moonlit yard

"If this is what passes for medicine out here, I think we should send for a new doc," he joked, but he was grateful for it. Today had been overwhelming, to say the least. Even though he couldn't see it in the dark, he knew there was a gravestone under the big tree at the top of the rise. He cleared his throat. "I wish I could have been here," he said, his voice soft. He felt his mother take a deep breath but couldn't bring himself to look at her.

"You're here now, honey, and that's all that matters. If you'd have been here, it wouldn't have changed anything. I might have even lost you both," she replied.

Slim knew she must have turned that thought over in her brain a lot since his father had passed. She'd found some sort of closure, and now it was Slim's turn. He only wished he knew where to start.

"You know, I was surprised I didn't sense you coming," Mary said, gently broaching the topic. She waited quietly.

"I, uh.. I guess I keep things a little close to my vest these days," Slim mumbled. He didn't know how to explain that it was just too hard to open his mind. He should have realized that he didn't need to explain. Mary, out of everyone in the world, understood him best.

She pulled away, just far enough that she should place her hand on her son's face. "Some things take longer to heal than others," she said with a sad smile. She lightly traced the scar on his cheek with her thumb. It had healed well and was only noticeable from certain angles. Slim saw it clearly every time he shaved.

"By some miracle," Slim whispered, "that's the only one I ended up with." The only one you can see, anyway. Mary kissed his cheek, right over the scar.

"I'm going to turn in, honey. Don't stay up all night now, alright?"

Slim smiled. "Alright, mama. I'll see you in the morning," he said. Mary slipped back into the house but left the lamp burning in the living room for him.

It sure is good to be home.

Slim knew that the morning would bring more hard work than he'd had in years. After morning chores, he figured he'd start with the books. Then he'd get a report from Jonesy and his ma over breakfast. Once he was up to speed, they'd make a list. Easy as pie, right? He smiled at his own optimism.

Tomorrow would be rough. There was no way around it. Until then, there was no point in worrying over it. Out on the porch, wrapped in the warm summer evening, Slim just sipped his whisky and watched the stars.

We'll make it.

-Laramie-

Slim closed the front door behind him and hung his coat and hat on their hook. Winter's grip was loosening on the territory, but mid-February was still felt a long way from spring. He sat down heavily on the couch under the windowsill. Jonesy and Andy would both be in bed already. Careful his spurs didn't nick the leather, he stretched out flat for the first time all day. He shucked off his gloves one finger at a time. He'd been working from sunup until well past dark for months, making little noticeable headway in catching up on either bills or chores. His birthday had come and gone but he'd barely noticed. He was well and truly exhausted. His eyes started to drift closed, the rest of his body sprawling limply across the couch. The warmth from the fireplace sure felt nice.

"Oh, no you don't," Mary called from the kitchen. Slim groaned. "I've kept your plate warm, c'mon, up to the table you get," she said, brooking no argument. Slim swung his legs back down to the floor and gazed at the table. Right in that moment, Slim figured the dining room set might as well be all the way in Canada. He got up anyway.

"There, now, that's better," his mother said, setting his plate in front of him. "With all the work you've been doing, the last thing you need is to go to bed on an empty stomach. Go on, the last of the pie is warming for dessert." She smiled when Slim picked up his fork and tucked into the potatoes. She returned to the kitchen to finish the rest of the supper dishes.

While he ate, Slim considered their situation. Calves would be on the ground before too long, and the western fence was down thanks to their last ice storm. With Jonesy's back getting worse, he had been confined to barn and yard chores. Mary, of course, had kept the house running like clockwork, but Slim had noticed changes in her as well. The joy of Slim being home had brightened her spirits, but as the days wore on Slim could plainly see the grief she carried around. Mary wasn't nearly as strong as she had been when Matt was alive. Not for the first time, Slim found himself wishing Andy was old enough to help with the range work. He glanced over to the roll-top desk that held their financials. Lord knew they couldn't afford to hire on even a skeleton crew to help with branding. At this rate, Slim wasn't sure they'd even make it to round-up. The clatter of the pie plate on the table broke his concentration.

"Quit worrying about the books and eat your pie, honey," Mary admonished gently.

Slim shook his head and smiled. Even though he'd kept his mind firmly closed for two solid years, his ma was still able to read his thoughts. He truly didn't know how she did it.

"Sorry, mama," he said, as he took a bite of apple filling. He chewed slowly and Mary sat with him. When he was finished, he pushed the plate away but didn't stand. Instead, he looked down at the table.

"I've seen that look before, you know," Mary said, putting her hand on Slim's arm. With all that he'd accomplished, it was hard to remember he was only twenty-three. "Your father looked just like that on more than one occasion. Please don't lose hope. You've worked so hard, Slim, something will come along, you'll see."

Slim sighed. "I wish I shared you confidence, ma," he said, "but don't go worryin' about me. I'll keep going. You keep believin', I'll keep workin', and one of these days we might just make out alright." He smiled and reached over to squeeze her hand. Somehow, we'll make it.

-Laramie-

The next morning, Slim stumbled through the house to the kitchen. Thankfully, Jonesy was already working over the stove. He poured Slim a cup of coffee.

"Thanks, Jonesy," he said, taking a sip. He tried not to yawn again. A plate of eggs and bacon soon followed the coffee. Andy was also at the table, busy doing his best to butter a biscuit. Slim watched, still half asleep, as the little boy held the butter knife in his fist, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. Suddenly, hoofbeats sounded out in the yard. Slim watched Jonesy's face as the foreman looked out the window.

"Stranger," he commented, "dressed kinda fancy-like. Not a gambler, though, not that flashy."

Slim pursed his lips. "Businessman, then?"

"Something along those lines, most likely. Wearin' a gun but the belt's up plenty high."

"He must have gotten an early start, if he came from town," Slim mused. Jonesy hummed in agreement.

Finally, there was a knock on the front door.

"I'll get it!" Andy shouted. He raced for the door; his biscuit forgotten as the knife clattered to the floor. Slim turned in his chair so he could keep Andy in sight. Across the room, Mary stepped out of her bedroom and walked to stand by the dining room table.

Andy opened the door. "Howdy, mister!" he said, clearly excited to see a new face.

"Well, hello there young man. I'm looking for Mr. Sherman, is he here?"

Andy stood up to his full height and proudly declared, "That's me, sir!"

"Uh, I see," replied the stranger. "Is there a, uh, taller Mr. Sherman around?"

Slim chuckled as he stood up and made his way to the door. "You figure I'm tall enough, Mister… ?"

"Mr. Jeremiah Fletcher, at your service," he said, as Slim ushered him in and out of the frosty morning.

"I'm Slim Sherman, Mr. Fletcher, you already met my brother Andy. This here is my mother, Mary, and our foreman, Jonesy." They shook hands. "What can we do for you?"

"You see, Mr. Sherman, I work for the Overland Stage Company. With so many folks moving west, we're expanding. I'd like to talk over a business proposition with you, if you have the time?"

Slim raised his eyebrows and glanced back at his mother. He knew she'd be assessing the man for any signs of ill will or dishonesty. Seeing her little smile and nod, Slim's decision was made.

"C'mon over here to the table, Mr. Fletcher, and have a cup of coffee. I'm all ears."