The usual disclaimers: All Characters from The Sentinel belong to Pet Fly and their associates. I only do this for fun, not money.

Rating: This is getting redundant. G, it's family stuff.

Again, I express my gratitude, and heart felt thanks, to BCW for being there. Without her support these stories wouldn't be here.

Also, a thank you to Sandra for reminding me of some basic writing rules I forgot. And to Cindy for reminding me about a little boy's education I forgot! My mind is a steel sieve.

Barefoot Boy
Part 1

Blessings on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!
With thy turned-up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistled tunes;
With thy red lip, redder still
Kissed by strawberries on the hill;
With the sunshine on thy face,
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace;
>From my heart I give thee joy, --
I was once a barefoot boy!
~~~John Greenleaf Whittier
***
March, 1874

Jim didn't flinch when the slush ball hit him in the back of the head. He'd heard his stalker's suppressed giggles as he approached, and the gales of laughter as the assailant attempted a futile hasty retreat through the melting snow and mud of the yard. He shivered when the wet,
muddy concoction began to drip under his collar. With a wicked grin, the rancher reached down to scoop up his own weapon and took the offensive.

Breathing heavily, Blair stopped his sludging through the mud to risk a look back at his father. He couldn't believe he'd been able to sneak up on Papa again. They had been ambushing each other all week, enjoying the last of the snow before it all vanished.

The wet ball of snowy mud that slapped up against his shoulder made the boy duck for cover behind the remains of his once proud snow fort. The melting mounds of icy snow provided little protection from the barrage of snowballs that rapidly followed.

"You had enough, Little Bit? Shall we talk terms of surrender?"

The boy smiled at the mirth in the questioning voice. He loved it when Papa played with him. A warm feeling overtook him while remembering the army of snowmen and countless snow angels they'd made during the past months.

"I give," Blair shouted back as he quickly assembled his counterattack. "What are your terms?"

"Surrender peacefully and you get a glass of warm milk after a hot bath when we go inside for supper."

Blair worked frantically to increase his arsenal as he heard his father move closer.

"Nope, your terms are unacceptable. No bath! I want hot chocolate...and some cookies."

He heard a low chuckle as his father neared the mound of icy snow that shielded him. "Hot chocolate and a bath. That's my final offer. Take it or prepare to--"

Blair opened fire when the voice sounded almost on top of him. He basked in the satisfaction of a successful surprise attack, watching his father attempt to dodge several slush balls headed toward his upper body. The elder Ellison's efforts were futile, he had quite an arm.

Blair peered over the wall of ice watching his papa wiped the wet snow from the side of his face, neck and shoulder while throwing a menacing glare in his direction. Blair gulped when Jim stalked towards the fort. With a squeal, Blair took off running toward the trees, his very wet, muddy father in hot pursuit.

Jim paced himself to let Blair run ahead a few strides out of reach. He had learned over the course of the long winter that these games helped release the pent-up energy from the restless and cabin-fever weary boy. The happiness that radiated from his son during these romps was well worth the work of cleaning mud soaked clothing and chilled mud-splotched child afterwards.

He scooped up another handful of dirty snow and lobbed it at his fleeing son, smiling broadly at the giggles it produced upon impact. Jim waited until the boy had reached the deeper snow banks under the trees before making his move. The rancher grabbed his shrieking son around the waist and pulled them into the deep mound of snow.

Blair laughed hysterically when Jim began tickling his rib cage after landing in the snowdrift. The boy tried to roll into a ball to escape the probing fingers. When Blair appeared breathless, Jim stopped and grinned at the heavily panting, but smiling child.

"Had enough, imp?"

"No!" Blair shouted before launching his own tickle attack against his father. Jim easily prevailed, once again leaving Blair collapsed in the snow in another giggle fit. Reading the signs that this time Blair had really had enough, Jim stopped leaving Blair hoarse from laughing. For
several minutes Blair breathed in deep pants trying to regain his composure.

"How 'bout now?"

"All right," Blair panted. "What are your terms?"

Jim smiled broadly. "Well, seeing's how I've caught you already...no
terms. Surrender or else."

Blair made to sprint away, but Jim easily caught him by the arm. Soon Jim had the squirming boy wrapped securely in his arms. Blair squealed when Jim gave him a raspberry on his right cheek.

Jim chuckled, "That's the 'else'."

"I surrender! I surrender!"

"All right, Little Bit. Let's get you inside. You're going to freeze unless we get you out of those wet clothes and into some dry ones." Jim dragged himself out of the drift and pulled Blair up with him. He stooped down, motioning for Blair to climb on. "Let's go, son, the cocoa won't fix itself."

Blair rode piggyback, arms clasped around his neck, as they headed towards their snug little cabin. Jim replayed their romp in his head to commit it to memory. These were the good times. Jim had no memories of fun filled afternoons with his own father. The closest his father had come to playing with his sons was the Sunday reading of Bible verses aloud to the two fidgeting boys.

"Papa?"

"What, Little Bit."

"Can I have a dog?"

Jim groaned as he reached the porch, not from the exertion of carrying the additional fifty pounds, but from hearing that tired question for the umpteenth time. He let Blair slide off his back and shooed him inside before answering.

"We'll see, son. We'll see."

End, part 1

****

on to part 2. . .