Page 23 of Westbound Awakening

"You don't mince words, do you Doc?" John winced at the medicine pushing into his muscle. "There is something I must take care of. It should only be a matter of days. And please call me John."

The doctor met his gaze with a scowl. "It's your life, your decision. It may already be too late. I will come back and see you tomorrow." He uncapped a bottle and held up a dropper. "Lift your tongue."

John swallowed the bitter medication. "I'll have a decision to you tomorrow then. Can I ride today?"

"You shouldn't have ridden as much as you already have. If you can walk down the stairs, which I doubt, then you can ride." The doctor smiled, his eyes full of kindness. "John, be reasonable, you can barely sit. I'll see you tomorrow."

He remained in bed and closed his eyes, hearing the doctor's footsteps move toward the doorway. "Thanks doc."

The door closed and opened again, followed by more shuffling. It didn't matter to him at this point who entered. He kept his eyes closed while attempting to absorb the fact that in a day or two his life would be altered forever.

"John." Carla's voice penetrated the fogginess the medication brought.

His eyes flew open, and he struggled to sit, biting back the searing pain shooting up to his hip. Carla stood beside the door. Just behind her a child peered at him, his body hidden by her skirts.

"I didn't expect you would really come." John pulled the blankets over his bare legs and waited for her to speak.

"After your visit yesterday, my husband and I had a long discussion. We decided our life was hard enough without a child along. We have plans, big plans. Like going further west…well, Bart wants a try at the gold you know?" She wringed her hands and wiped them on her skirt. "You see it's for the best if Wesley lives with you. Just don't call the law on us."

John looked to the boy who studied him with concentration far too intense for such a young child. "What are you saying Carla?"

"You're his father; you can raise him." She pulled the boy around to her front. Dark haired with serious eyes, the three year old held a small bundle and looked up at his mother with expectancy.

Oddly, Carla didn't look at the child, her unfocused eyes on him instead. "Wesley, this is your father. Stay and be a good boy." Chin jacked up, Carla rounded the boy and rushed out, the door closing firmly behind her.

The boy's bottom lip quivered, and John braced himself for the wailing that would surely follow. Instead the child took a shaky breath, scratched at his head and sat on the floor. With his elbow on his leg and chin cupped in his hand, the child sighed again. "I hungry." The boy's serious eyes shifted to him.

"Great," John groaned and looked up at the ceiling. "What am I going to do now?"

13

"Hello daughter," the voice sounded familiar, but Mae could barely make out the man's features in the darkened room.

"Would you like me to open the curtains?" She asked, not sure what to do and not comfortable enough to go near him yet.

"Sunlight would be most welcome," he replied and began to cough, his entire body shaking. She waited by the window until he finally took a deep breath and stopped. Her father motioned to a chair across from the bed.

Finally Mae was able to get a good look at him and studied the ailing man who was propped up in bed, surrounded by pillows, while watched her in return.

Elma hustled in with a cup of steaming liquid and placed it in on a tray that she placed over his legs.

Mae watched her father bring a cup to his lips with shaky hands and suppressed the need to offer help. He barely resembled the man she remembered from childhood. Although still a large man, he was gaunt and his skin was yellowed with sickness. The mostly gray, unkempt hair and drooping jowls overwhelmed what had once been a handsome face. Yet, his still clear intelligent green eyes commanded attention. They were the exact shade as hers.

When Joe Hawkins brought the cup back down to the saucer, he turned his attention back to her and began to speak without preamble, as if he'd been waiting for the opportunity to impart the information before it was too late. "The ranch is self-sufficient; the gardens produce potatoes, carrots, cabbage and other vegetables. Elma can fill you in on all the details. Our meat comes from the cattle, pigs and chickens. Of course milk and eggs are also plentiful, so there is no need of anything from town other than basic grains, fabric and such." He closed his eyes and groaned. "This damn pain won't go away. Would you please hand me the laudanum?"

She did as he asked and watched him place two drops into his tea. "If you are tired, we can continue this some other time…"

"I'm afraid I don't have the luxury of time. I don't have much left," his shrewd eyes took her in. "And don't think about arguing with me or saying you won't remain here young lady. This land is your birthright and your due. I owe you much more than I am giving you. What I owe you cannot be paid with land and money. Hate leaving you with all the work that comes with this place. Thankfully Alan Murphy, who you've met, is a good ranch hand. He's not been here long. However, in the short time he has shown himself to be a capable rancher. I suspect Joshua, my wife's nephew, will help you in spite of all the work he already has over at his place. He also is a good man."

Mae nodded, not wanting to upset him. The conversation about who'd get the property would be between her and Joshua. For now, she'd remain quiet about it to placate the ill man.

"You don't favor your mother much." The statement took her by surprise. "She was very attractive, but you are stunning my dear. Quiet too, she wasn't much for biting her tongue." He smiled at her.

"On most occasions neither am I." Mae couldn't help but smile back at him. "I believe I favor you physically; however am more of her temperament."

"Lord I hope not," he began to cough and waved her away with ill concealed impatience when she went to move closer. "I'm dying Mae, slapping my back only irritates me."

"Don't say that…"