The broken boy - healed by innocence

She Didn’t

*Cooper*

The road from town hasn't changed much. Barbed wire lines both sides of it, wire I have restrung and repaired countless times, wire that had changed the cattle industry. The days of the long cattle drives are behind us. We just have to get the cattle to a train. I wonder if a time will come when there won't be any cowboys at all. Sometimes I feel like a dying breed.

I turn the horses from the road onto a narrower path that passes beneath an archway bearing the two C’s that mark the brand Chase began using when he married Callista Windscar, known as Callie among her family and friends. Not that I have ever called her that. From the moment she made me hers, she's been Ma.

Eventually, the house comes into view. "Just as hideous as I remember," I say with fondness. It's a monstrosity, has the look of a castle on the prairie. Chase built the massive structure more than thirty years earlier in anticipation of the arrival of his mail-order bride. Only destiny had Briony Starweaver falling in love with Wade Moonshadow when he had been sent to Fort Worth to fetch her on Chase's behalf.

"When I was younger, I always felt like a princess living there," Faith says quietly.

"Chase sure spoiled you like you were one." I tell her.

She giggles softly, "You did your fair share of spoiling. It's a wonder I learned to walk the way you carried me everywhere."

Surprised, I glance over at her. "You remember that?"

She shakes her head. "No, but Ma told me often enough. ‘Cooper would never let you out of his sight.’ Apparently, I ensured it by constantly holding my arms up to you."

Her voice holds teasing, but my watching out for her had been a serious thing. I had been responsible for Callie losing her first baby… no matter that everyone said it wasn't my fault. I know the truth of it and had been determined that nothing was going to happen to take her beloved daughter from her.

As we near the house, I can see the outbuildings, all the activity going on. Work on the Moonshadow pack never seems to slow or stop. I imagine I'll be able to pick up the rhythm as though I've never been away.

Then I spot Chase and Ma sitting on the front porch on the bench swing, moving slowly, lazily, an unfamiliar scruffy hound resting nearby. I barely have time to realize that a coverall-clad little girl in boots is sitting between them before Ma has shoved herself to her feet. I bring the buggy to a halt.

Everything seems to happen at a speed that makes it impossible to comprehend.

The child is rushing down the steps. "Mama!"

Racing after her, the dog bounds off the porch.

Faith quickly clambers out of the buggy, dashes forward, snatches the girl up before she gets too close to the horses, and swings her around, their laughter echoing joyously on the air.

Setting the brake, I climb off the bench, my feet hitting the ground with a thud, stirring up the dust, my body no longer seeming connected to my brain, moving independently of any thoughts I might have.

Suddenly arms are around my back, squeezing tightly, holding me close. My ma. My ma is there, welcoming me home. Damn, but I have missed her, which I figure is probably obvious to her since my hug is a little too strong. I have always loved the fragrance of her, the warmth of her. She is all that is good and clean in my life.

Wrapping her hands around my upper arms, she leans back and smiles at me. Her face contains a few more wrinkles, her dark hair a few more strands of gray, but damn if she isn't a sight for sore eyes. "You're looking good," she says, so much tenderness woven into her voice that if I wasn't a grown man, I might have wept.

When she releases her hold on me and steps back, Chase moves in, his dark hair and beard sprinkled with white, but he still looks capable of commanding the world as he pumps my hand, slaps my shoulder. "Welcome home, son."

Son. Chase has called me that through the years more times than I can count, my throat always tightening as the truth bombards me: I'm not the man's son. Chase's son is lying in a grave beneath a nearby windmill because of my cowardice. Still, I respond with a brusque nod, grateful Chase appears more robust than I had expected.

A corner of Chase's mouth shifts up. "Faith give you that bruise coming up on your cheek?"

I had hoped her punch hadn't left a mark, but considering how tender my cheek feels, I figure it will look worse tomorrow. "Seems she took exception to the way I left."

"She did indeed." He grins.

"She told me about your ticker but, Chase, you're not that old." I tell him.

Chase laughs. "Son, I'm the oldest man I know."

He is sixty-three, which is fairly ancient for the life he has lived, but I can't help but hope he has a few more years, or a decade, left in him.

I might have offered more words but I'm distracted, my attention focused on Faith and the imp perched on her hip who reminds me of Faith when she had been about that size. The child is talking nonstop, words I can't hear, but Faith merely nods and smiles, her eyes occasionally widening as though she is impressed.

Faith must feel my gaze boring into her, because she finally looks over at me, and a deep scarlet blush creeps up her face, peaks at her cheeks. Her smile withers as she begins sauntering over, alerting me that I haven't seen a true grin from her since I had arrived, not that I had really expected one. The last time we were together I could have handled things better. I realize that now.

The dog sniffing my legs grows bored and wanders off. Her parents part like they're the Red Sea and she's Moses. She angles up that pert little chin of hers. Her brown eyes hold a challenge and a threat… as though she fears I might do something to harm the child she holds, the one who had called her Mama. When the hell had she gotten married, and why the hell hadn't anyone told me?

"Dee, this is your uncle Cooper."

Even knowing what the introduction would entail hadn't prepared me for the way the words batter me… a series of uppercuts to my heart. Then the sprite smiles at me and my chest threatens to implode, the tightness of it making it nearly impossible to draw in a breath. She is her mother all over again, sweet, innocent, pure. Waving her fingers at me, she nestles her head against Faith's shoulder.

"This is my daughter." Faith says.

"I gathered as much." I hadn't meant for the words to come out so terse, but a thousand questions bombard me. "Congratulations. I didn't realize you had gotten married."

She shakes her head, "I didn't."