Total pages in book: 17
Estimated words: 15007 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 75(@200wpm)___ 60(@250wpm)___ 50(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15007 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 75(@200wpm)___ 60(@250wpm)___ 50(@300wpm)
Now we have all these people, my brothers in arms, life long friends, some new, some who’ve been here from the get. All of them willing to lay down their lives for me and mine, just as I’d lay mine down for them and theirs, I feel a little bit more of the stress I’ve been laboring under dissipate even further.
* * *
Lawton Daniels the third started fussing in his crib breaking me out of my reverie and I went to get him before he woke his mother, who, if I didn’t see her chest rising and falling I would’ve sworn was dead.
I lifted him, checked his diaper, changed him, and then put him on the tit without missing a step. I had to do a lot of maneuvering to achieve that last one without waking her up but in the end my boy and I got it right.
I stared at him in amazement, still not quite believing that he was mine, that the little being feeding at his mother’s breast was part of me. How the fuck does that work? I never gave much thought to the shit before but if he’s not a miracle I don’t know what is.
Not even on my best day could I imagine making something as perfect as him. As I watched mother and son I felt the loss of my family once more and as if sensing the change in his father, my son looked away from his food and right into my eyes. Damn!
I cupped his little head in my hand amazed that his mother didn’t even twitch with all the pulling and sucking he was doing. He went back to feeding and I went back to thinking; it seems that’s all I’ve been doing since he came into the world.
I wondered about stupid shit, like if he’d have the same happy childhood I’d enjoyed here on the ranch. If he’d grow into the kind of man I could be proud of, the way I’d always strived my whole life to make my own father proud.
I worried about my own fuck-ups and how I could protect him from making the same mistakes, all things I’m sure my own father must’ve felt when my siblings and I were born into the world. There was a sense of fear of the unknown, but more than that was the joy that he was here; I have a son.
He wasn’t ready to go back to sleep when he was done so I wrapped him up tight and took him outside to see what would one day be his. All while his mother slept like the dead. She didn’t even feel me put her breasts back into her nightgown after tidying her up.
Outside the early morning air was still, calm, even the birds hadn’t left their nests yet. It had cooled down considerably since the time he came into the world but not enough to lend a chill to the air. The sun was just barely peeping through the clouds on the horizon, casting a pinkish hue to the sky as a new day was born. I’ve missed moments like this.
Growing up on the ranch there was no shortage of natural wonders to enjoy, but I haven’t had the time or the inclination since coming home to deal with the injustice that was done to my family.
Now, with my new son in my arms, a new life that was dependent on me, I find myself revisiting such things, things that I’ve long been taking for granted. Looking down at his little face, his eyes dark like mine, it seemed like he was waiting.
His stare; was almost knowing, and I had a quick thought of Catalina Lyon. A child that intelligent gives one ideas. Of course I would want my son to be just as smart, but from all the shit Lyon’s shared about living with his little girl that shit sounds almost scary.
I lifted him higher against my chest and kissed his forehead, feeling a warmth that infused my whole body. It was almost the same as what I feel for his mother, but there was a difference. I can’t explain it, but it’s almost as if some secret place in my heart had opened up for him, only him.
I walked further into the yard and away from the main house, taking in the scenery for the first time in way too long. Those eyes of his stayed on me the whole time, steady, unblinking, questioning.
“Your great-great-great grandfather built this place. When he first came here this was nothing but barren land for miles around, so he carved out a place for him and his young wife.”
“Years later your grandfather, my father, built it up to what you see today.” I told my son about my childhood growing up here and the life I’d led with a loving mother and father, and the siblings that came after me. About his aunt that he’d never get the chance to meet.