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No response.
“You’ll feel a lot stronger after you’ve had some supper.” Then on an afterthought, added with a smile, “Unless of course that chicken earlier filled you up.”
He was surprised to receive a response that time. The boy lifted his chin and looked straight across at him. Even in the darkness Wade could read the fear deep in his eyes. He silently cursed whoever had put it there. No one that young should look as tortured as he did.
“Don’t worry about it, kid. Everything will be okay. You’ll see.”
To his utter shock the boy began to tremble. At first it started low and Wade hadn’t even noticed, but then the collar around his neck started to shake. An awkward tightening in Wade’s chest made him squirm.
Then out of nowhere, he blurted, “Look, if you want, you’re welcome to stay here. I could always use an extra set of ranch hands.”
Just like that, the shaking stopped and the boy looked up at him with such huge innocent eyes, reminding Wade of the yearlings on his ranch after being separated from their mothers. Tinged with apprehension, yet needy and full of such sadness.
He reached down and lifted the boy’s small hands. They were rough and obviously not oblivious to hard work, yet the fingers were long and slender and he doubted their ability to actually help. “As long as you pull your share there will always be a bed and a meal here for you.”
The boy didn’t respond, he simply stared at Wade. It made him curious as to what was going through that young head of his. For a fleeting moment he wished the boy the ability to speak.
Something tugged at his hands. He looked down and realized the boy was trying to free himself from Wade’s hold. Confused, he instinctively let go, got to his feet and returned to the table to eat his cold stew.
* * *
Prescott looked up and beckoned for her to join him at his table. With caution she moved toward him. Pleased to see her head in his direction, Prescott took the liberty of getting up and filling a bowl of stew for her as she settled into a vacant chair. Thankfully, the wranglers at the table were more preoccupied with their dinner than they were with the new visitor.
She looked around her surroundings and felt the same sense of fear she had felt from the moment she woke in a strange place, hungry, dirty and alone. Not only was she horrified to discover the loss of her voice, but also the memory of how she got there. The last thing she recalled was sitting up on the hillside amongst a field of bluebells on an unusually warm fall evening, watching as usual the leisurely descent of the setting sun.
Yet, as she sat there trembling inside with fear, she glanced around at her unfamiliar surroundings and unfamiliar faces and somehow knew without a doubt her greatest fear did not arise from these nine rough and tough cowboys. It arose from the mere thought of going home. She just didn’t know why.
“So, we can’t go on calling you boy,” Prescott said as he placed a bowl in front of her and sat down beside her. “How about I try guessing your name. If I get it right, you nod your head in confirmation?”
She eyed the beaming man next to her, so different from the other man. She could tell they were brothers. The family resemblance was there. They shared the same piercing blue eyes. However, that was where it stopped. This man was clean cut and obviously a gentleman. He almost seemed out of place amongst the wranglers.
His brother, on the other hand, fitted in perfectly. Though his clothes were clean and well-kept, he had long shaggy brown hair that looked as if it hadn’t been cut in months and an untrimmed beard that hid a well-worn face. So too from the touch of his hands as he held her own, she could feel their strength and roughness from years of hard work.
As she studied the man next to her with his huge straight teeth sparkling at her, she noted where one brother glowed with joy from head to foot, the other was more solemn and subdue. As a matter-of-fact, when she thought she heard him crack a smile in reference to her eating a chicken raw, he caught her off guard. She hadn’t liked him from the moment he stuck a barrel in her face, but in that split second something stirred.
“All right.”
Prescott didn’t bother to wait for her concurrence. “Is it Peter?”
His friendly eyes turned and studied her closely, waiting for a reply.
She frowned, knowing he would never guess her name correctly, so gave a nod.
He looked taken aback. “Really? Your name is Peter?”
She watched pride light up the man’s face, believing he had accurately guessed her name. Even if she couldn’t remember the last twenty-four hours, she did remember her name. And it was not Peter.
Her memory had turned into one huge blur. Strange things were happening, not the least finding herself hiding out on an all-male ranch disguised as a teenage boy. But one thing was real and that was the fear and knowledge she must continue this charade. Her life depended on it.
“I think the boy is pulling a fast one over you, Prescott.” The brother spoke from across the room, obviously having listened.
The face of the man beside her fell, but just as swiftly returned to its usual jolly self. “No matter. We shall call you Peter.”
She couldn’t help but feel like that puppy his brother spoke of earlier. In a sense, she felt as if she was being claimed and, surprisingly, felt safe in that feeling.
“As I introduced myself earlier, you know who I am.” He gestured across the table. “This here is Neil, Frank, and Ed. They’re fairly new to the ranch as well and probably closer to you in age. I’m sure you’ll get along splendidly.”
She looked at the men, but they continued eating as if they hadn’t even heard Prescott. “You met Joe, the big scary fellow. But don’t let him fool you. Under that tough exterior is a real softy.”
