Hi everyone! Welcome back!
We're making progress here. I'm borrowing some ideas from Ladies' Day in this one, but this story won't really follow the original storyline. All credit to the original writing team if anything is recognizable. As always, let me know what you think in the comments and enjoy!
**Don't forget, if you haven't read the new second half of chapter 6 (posted earlier today, 8/6/24) please do that before continuing on to this one :)
Chasing Strays Ch 7
Jess poured three glasses of whisky and passed two around, leaving the third resting on the overturned bucket to his right. The sun had set but the heat of the afternoon hadn't left the air, and the early summer night sounds were just starting. The lamp beside the door wrapped the porch in a warm glow, while the yard beyond was draped in the cool silver of a full moon. The scents of wood smoke, whiskey, and an impending rain floated on the breeze.
Jess leaned back his chair onto two legs and kicked his feet up on the porch railing before reaching for his glass. It was a cozy scene, a peaceful end to a productive day. He sipped the dark liquid and let the pleasant burn slide down to his chest. Slim, sitting quietly in the other chair and Mort, with one hip resting on the porch rail, did the same, each man alone with his thoughts. Inside the back bedroom, Jess could hear Mike's steady breathing as he slept.
What a difference a month can make, Jess thought to himself, taking another sip.
Life with Mike on the ranch had finally started to settle down. At first, Mike had fallen into two or three zones a day. Slim hadn't been able to go farther than the barn, in case Mike needed him, which left all the range and fencing chores to Jess. Jess had done his best to reassure Slim that none of the zones were his fault, but he could see the stress taking a toll on his partner. The extra labor had taken a toll on Jess's body and senses as well. He tried not to let it show. Lord knew, Slim didn't need anything else weighing on his mind. He was already hard pressed to keep up Mike's questions. Once the boy had started talking, he hadn't been inclined to stop:
"How come I can hear things so far away?"
"What's a zone?"
"Why can't you hear everything too?"
"What can a guide do?"
"Can Jess hear people all the way in town?"
"Why do clothes have to be so itchy all the time?"
"How come I never met a guide before?"
"Why's it called guides and sentinels?"
"How come the barn smells so bad?"
"Why's everything gotta be a secret?"
"Can I hear better than dogs?"
"How come not everyone is a sentinel?"
"Why's your heart change speed when there's a girl on the stage?"
It was a coin-toss as to who was most exhausted each night. After a few weeks and endless patience from Slim, though, Mike started to figure things out. His zones became less frequent and shallower. A few times, he'd even been able to pull himself out without any prompting, and he relied on Slim less and less. Now, with Mike having just one or two zones a week, Slim and Jess had enlisted Mort to babysit while they caught up on the two-man jobs out in the pastures. It had been a relief for both of them to work side-by-side again, and for once they'd finished more than originally planned. They'd made it home just as the sun was dipping below the horizon to find a warm supper and Mike already asleep in bed. All in all, Jess figured the day couldn't have gone smoother.
Slim cleared his throat, bringing Jess's attention back to the porch.
"Any news?" Slim asked. His voice was rough, either from exhaustion, the whiskey, or an emotion none of them were brave enough to name.
Mort sipped his drink and shrugged.
"None to speak of, really," he replied. "I finally did get a letter from a preacher in Parke County, and the church does have record of marriage between a Mr. Joshua Williams and a Miss Abigail Wright. He said the couple went west after their baby, a boy, was born and christened. That was before this man's time, though, so he didn't know the family personally."
"No doubt that it's them, then," Jess muttered, mostly to himself.
Mort pursed his lips. "Most likely, yes," he said, "but there was one detail that didn't quite match. The date the preacher listed for the marriage was November of '64, but I had '63 written down."
Silence settled in as Slim and Jess mulled over the implication.
"Wasn't Mike's birthday spring of '65?" Jess asked aloud, voicing what they were all thinking.
"February," Slim confirmed, "Only a few days off from mine."
Mort just hummed. "One of 'em must be a mistake, but I guess it don't make much difference which. Wouldn't be the first couple to get married quick," he shrugged. "Anyhow, the preacher confirmed that all four grandparents have passed. There was one uncle mentioned, a stepbrother to Joshua, but apparently no one's seen or heard of him since the war ended."
Jess glanced over at Slim, who suddenly seemed very interested in the board between his boots. His body was still, but Jess heard his heart rate kick up a notch as he came to the same conclusion Jess had: There was only one option left.
"We best start talkin' about adoption, boys, and what defines a suitable home," Mort said gently.
Slim looked over at Jess for just a moment before turning his attention back to Mort.
"Nothin' doin', sheriff," Slim stated clearly, his shoulders square and his head held high.
"What'd'ya mean, nothin' doin'?" Mort spluttered in response.
Jess let a smile slide across his face. "He means Mike's stayin' right here where he belongs," he said, downing the rest of his whiskey. "We've gotten plumb attached to him."
Mort just scoffed. "Of all the fool things… Of course he's stayin' here!" he exclaimed, only to be shushed by both Slim and Jess. Mike didn't need to be awake for the details of this conversation. Mort rolled his eyes but continued in a softer tone. "Of course he's gotta stay with you boys. Can't hardly have a new sentinel adopted by just anyone, now can we?"
"Kinda what we figured," Jess mused, while Slim nodded in agreement.
"Now that we have that settled," Mort continued, shaking his head, "we need to talk specifics. You own the ranch outright, which is in your favor, but unfortunately, not everyone would agree that two bachelors, living this far from town, are suitable guardians."
"Can't imagine why," Jess said blithely, pouring himself another whiskey. Slim shot him an exasperated glance and Mort rolled his eyes so hard Jess worried he might fall off the rail. At the very least, he figured, all that eyerolling had to be giving the sheriff a headache.
"Aw, c'mon fellas," Jess admonished, reaching out with the bottle and refilling their glasses. "I promise I'm takin' this seriously. Mike's well fed, clothed, cared for, and at least half-way clean half the time. That's more than I could say for a lot of kids his age, no matter who's raisin' 'em."
"I know, Jess, I know. You and Slim have done better than anyone could have hoped under the circumstances. No one's arguin' that," Mort conceded, "but some folks will still say a child needs a female in the home. That is one thing your ranch is undeniably lacking," he finished.
"Don't let Betsy here ya say that," Jess said, pointing an accusatory finger Mort's way.
Slim snorted into his glass. "Somehow, I don't think a milk cow counts, Jess."
"Be a lot simpler if she did," Jess mumbled. He went to take a sip of his drink but found his glass empty. Wonder how that happened?
"Look, all I'm sayin'," Mort said, trying to rein things in again, "is that a nanny, a housekeeper, hell, even a cook would go a long way in your favor. Just think about it, would ya?"
Jess raised his hands in surrender while Slim agreed on his behalf. They'd do whatever they needed to in order to make a permanent home for Mike, no question about it.
"There's one other matter we need to talk through," Mort said. "You two get anything more out of the boy about what actually happened?"
Jess's buzz vanished. He grimly shook his head.
"We tried a couple more times," Slim answered, "but he got so upset he nearly zoned. Didn't remember anything else."
"Nothing about the men, nothing about their horses," Jess added. "Just that he's sure they weren't Indians and he's sure there was more than one."
Mort was quiet as he turned the information over in his mind.
Slim spoke up again. "I think it's safe to assume no one in the group was a sentinel or a guide, if that matters at all," he said. "A sentinel would have heard him, and a guide would have felt him. Either way, they wouldn't have left him alone."
Jess nodded along as he tried to keep his stomach where it belonged. He refused to let himself think of what might have happened if Mike had been found before he and Slim had gotten there.
"Well," Mort said, rising from his place on the rail and setting his empty glass on their makeshift table, "Sometime in the next few days I'll bring round some wanted posters. We'll see if Mike recognizes or gets upset by any of 'em. Whoever it was is probably well out of the territory by now, but you boys keep your eyes peeled, hear?"
"Sure, Mort," Jess said, setting his own glass down and standing.
"You sure we can't convince you to stay?" Slim asked. "The bunk house is all ready to go," he continued, "no trouble at all."
"Naw, thanks all the same," Mort said, shaking hands with his hosts. "I better be gettin' back. No tellin' what those good-for-nothin' deputies got up to while I was away," he groused.
Slim and Jess just smiled as their friend mounted his horse. All of Mort's deputies were capable, trustworthy men, no matter how much Mort liked to pretend otherwise.
"Careful on your way back," Slim said, resting his elbows on the rail Mort had vacated.
"And watch out for snakes, especially the two-legged kind," Jess added.
Mort promised he that would, waved goodnight, and set off down the road toward town.
Jess returned to his chair once Mort was out of sight and tipped it back onto two legs. Slim stayed on his feet. Quiet descended on the porch, and Jess once more found himself listening to the gentle in-and-out of Mike's breathing. He slowly rocked the toe of his boot back and forth on the floorboards, unconsciously matching the rhythm.
"Funny how things go, isn't it," Jess said, still rocking, his voice a soft rumble in his chest. Slim turned his head just enough that Jess knew he was listening. "Funny how, just a month ago, you were wishin' Mike's kin would hurry up and get found. Now you're sorta glad they haven't."
Slim didn't answer right away. Instead, he stood tall and reached his arms overhead, turning side-to-side to stretch out his back and shoulders before turning to face Jess.
"He started to form a bond, you know," Slim admitted, slipping his hands in his pockets and ducking his head. Jess stilled. "Or at least I think it was him. I definitely didn't initiate anything on purpose. I'm not even sure when it happened. After he started talking, that much I know for sure. One day, this tiny thread was just there, and I wasn't sure if I should encourage it or not," he rambled, finally raising his eyes to meet Jess's astonished gaze. "I would have told you sooner, but, well…" he trailed off, apologetic, but Jess didn't need an explanation.
"You didn't know if he could stay," Jess finished in a whisper. "Slim, that's… Wow." He was truly dumbstruck. "Is it like our bond? Or more like yours and Andy's?" he asked.
Slim shrugged. "It's too early to tell," he said. "It feels like it might be something sorta in between. I don't have a ton of experience with this, you know."
Jess had never really understood what it must be like for Slim, to be able to visualize his bonds. Slim talked about them like they were physical connections. Theirs, a bond of choice made in adulthood, Slim described as a braided rope that got stronger with time. His bond with Andy, formed the day his brother was born, he described as a river. Jess himself wasn't really aware of their bond as a physical thing most of the time. Very rarely, when Slim was in danger or extremely upset, Jess would feel a sharp tug in the center of his chest that he figured must be the bond itself. Most days, though, he only felt the bond as the smooth ebb and flow of Slim's emotions and guidance. Seeing the bond, as a tangible thing, was a talent unique to guides.
"Guess that really settles it, then," Jess said, smiling at his partner. "We can't lose him now, not if he's already adopted you."
Jess was rewarded with a quiet chuckle. "'Spose you're right," Slim replied. "Now all we have to do is find a housekeeper and convince her to stay."
Jess stood up, clapped Slim on the arm and gave him a squeeze before picking up the glasses and the now mostly-empty bottle of whiskey. "We'll start lookin' first thing tomorrow. Afterall, how hard can it be to find one little 'ole housekeeper?"
Slim just shook his head, turned out the lamp, and followed Jess inside.