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Once again, time restrictions prevented him from taking that well desired bath. Wade thanked the inventor of this new shower contraption. It was freezing but did the job and the only one of its kind in the vicinity. Prescott had told him of a man in Europe who had built a new invention that would provide a hot water tank to go along with the waterfall-like device. It would eliminate these cold showers and, he figured, his days of using the tub. Though he enjoyed the leisurely baths, more and more his schedule prevented him from taking one.
Feeling fresher, he stepped outside of the clawed tub that housed the shower and thought back to the boy’s reaction when given the news of the loss of his family. It was startling to say the least. True, he looked hurt but not necessarily surprised and for a boy his age, had not shed a single tear. He wondered if he should be concerned. After all, he had no idea how a person should react to an event as horrific as the one he just witnessed.
He toweled his unruly hair dry and thought perhaps he should have gotten Carl to trim his hair as well. This train of thoughts had him thinking of the boy when he first turned around in the barber shop and Wade got a good look at him for the first time without grime or mud caked on his face. Admittedly, he was shocked. The boy was a great deal better looking than he would have guessed. If nothing else, the mountain people had good genes.
Something warm had stirred in his gut and had done the same tonight when he sat staring into the boy’s eyes. He had known they were a deep chocolate from the moment he laid eyes on him. After all, they were the only part of his facial features not covered in dirt. However, there was something else there tonight. More than likely gratitude, Wade conceded. From the sight on that mountain, whatever the boy had witnessed was horrendous. He couldn’t help but be grateful he couldn’t remember.
Whatever the reason, Wade knew something had crossed between them tonight while they sat staring at each other. A bond had formed. He had almost felt the connection when he first discovered the boy. Something about him Wade could identify with. He couldn’t rightly put his finger on just what, but there definitely was something that united them.
Changed into a clean set of clothing, his hair still damp from the shower, he went out into the main room where he had left the boy. The house was quiet and he wondered if perhaps he had wandered back to the bunkhouse. There was no sign of Prescott either, which meant he was exerting a great deal of effort to soothe over any ill feelings with the constable. Heaven forbid Prescott go against the law.
Next to the hearth cuddled against the bulky chair the boy had fallen asleep. Wade walked over and removed the whiskey glass from the table next to him and discovered he had barely touched the drink. He would have liked one himself, but desperately needed that shower first.
Looking down on the sleeping form, that same warm feeling washed over him. Admittedly, it surprised him considering the boy was virtually an unknown. But he didn’t feel like a stranger. His pale face looked clean and soft and Wade grinned with affection at the memory of the shave he received. He had an urge to reach out and stroke the soft skin. Out in the foyer, the front door opened and he took a step away from the boy.
“The constable is convinced the boy knows something about the fire.” Prescott hung his wool coat on the hook next to the door and entered the great room. “He even threatened to call in the North-West Mounted Police.”
Wade sighed wearily and rubbed his beard. “There will have to be a formal investigation.”
“I don’t understand,” Prescott said, coming to stand beside his brother overlooking the sleeping boy. “How can he believe Peter had anything to do with this? He was with you when the fire erupted.”
“Yes, but what about the night before?”
Prescott looked concerned. “You don’t seriously think he had anything to do with the massacre?”
Wade shook his head. “No, but that won’t stop others from thinking as much. If he’s from that village, why is he the lone survivor?”
“Do you think he is hiding something?”
With assurance, he shook his head. “He doesn’t remember anything. I’d like to keep it that way. At least until this mess is cleared up.”
“You do think he knows what happened.”
Wade looked down at the subject of their conversation and wondered for the umpteenth time since coming down from that mountain, what the boy had witnessed. “What I think is this kid has been through something no one in their lifetime should ever have to.”
“Amen,” Prescott said. He followed his brother’s gaze and asked, “Should we wake him?”
“No,” Wade said. “Let him sleep.”
Prescott cocked his head and examined the boy’s position. “He doesn’t look very comfortable. Why don’t we put him on the spare bed in the cook’s room?”
When their father had built the homestead nearly fifty years before, he had included in his floor plans a room off the kitchen for the cook. However, Kim Wong had never slept in it, preferring instead to sleep out in the bunkhouse with the wranglers.
Wade nodded, then bent down and scooped the boy up into his arms. Not surprising, he was small and light. He made a mental note to remind himself to stuff the boy’s mouth and put some meat on his bones.
He stirred slightly and Wade thought he had woken him. Instead the boy turned in Wade’s arms and cuddled into his chest. The act caught him off guard and caused an uncomfortable feeling to rise in the pit of his gut. Where he admittedly liked the boy and felt a kindred spirit, he was not the type to express physical affection.
Gentle as not to wake him, he laid him carefully on the bed and stepped back to look down at him. Not knowing why, a tiny frown danced between his brows.
As usual, Prescott came over to add his upbeat point of view. “I think someone has just adopted you, Dad.”
His brother left the two of them alone in the room, obviously having witnessed the boy’s act in Wade’s arms. He wasn’t happy about that, but his brother’s words did bring a sense of relief. Maybe the boy lacked love and affection in his life or had grown up without a father for whatever reason.
Wade had become the man of the household early on, Prescott and Kathleen had gone to live in England for a great number of years. When they returned, Prescott had become even more separate from Wade. They couldn’t have been more different. Where Prescott had taken on his mother’s personality, Wade was very much his father’s son. He was the person he was today because of that man.
If anything, he missed that most in life. The relationship he had with his father. If he thought about it, he probably would have liked that same relationship with a son of his own. However, he had just celebrated his forty-fourth birthday and his days of marriage and fatherhood had passed him by. Maybe that was his connection with the boy. He was the son he never had.
* * *
