Rating: PG, yep, there's definite swearing in parts and some angst.

This one was a toughie for me. I think you'll see why. As always, many thanks to mia muy querida amiga, BCW, for her advice, beta-ing and support. These stories wouldn't be around without it.

Also, special thanks to Cindy for her critique.

Comments welcomed and will be forwarded to my by BCW.

Rude Awakening
by Klair

Wyoming Territory, June 1874

Jim Ellison squinted against the sun coming through the front window curtains and rolled over on his side. The chores could wait. This was Sunday, the Lord's day, and for once in the rancher's life, he'd sleep in. Jim pushed himself deeper into his pillow, trying to reclaim his dreams when something soft, warm and wet slid over his ankle. He grabbed his deeply sleeping son around the middle before bolting for the other side of the cabin. Holding the startled boy under one arm, he
reached for his Colt revolver on the dresser with the other. Taking aim at the moving mass under the covers near the foot of their bed, he pulled back the hammer.

He fired.

"Papa! No!" the bundle pinned to his side yelled while pushing his gun arm up so the shot discharged into the wall.

Before the rancher could get another shot off, the mass under the covers poked its head out.

"Nemo! What the blazes!!" Jim sputtered, beside himself in disbelief. He glared sharply at the boy still dangling under his arm. "Blair! What the Sam Hill is that dog doing in our bed?"

He watched surprise, fear, and apprehension play across his boy's open face.

"Well, my feet were cold...and I gave her a bath yesterday. Even you said you'd never seen a dog so clean."

Jim set his gun down on the mantle with deceptive calm. His anger gave way to exasperation as he reached around and gave his judgment impaired son a swat on the bottom.

"That doesn't mean I want to sleep with her!"

"But, she was cold, too!" Blair whined while trying to shield his bottom from any further parental feedback.

"She's going to be a lot colder outside because that's where she's going to be sleeping if I ever find her in my bed again." Jim once again punctuated his stance with a firm swat to his son's backside,
causing a small yelp.

"Ouch! But --"

"No buts, or yours will pay the price. Understand?" He delivered another swat with less force than before to the squirming boy's bottom.

"Yes, sir."

Jim set the pouting child down, not buying the production Blair made of rubbing his bottom through his nightshirt. The swats hadn't been that hard.

"Take your dog outside before she has an accident."

After the door closed behind boy and dog, Jim exhaled deeply and ran a shaky hand over his face.

Damn.

He'd nearly shot the dog.

~~~

Blair's brow furrowed, and he pressed his tongue over his top lip, as he concentrated on writing row after row of the most perfect letters he could make. While praised by both Miss Erwin, Cascade's school teacher, and his father for the creativity and detail, in his writing, they both
admonished him for his careless hand.

"How will anybody know how wonderful your ideas are if they can't read your writing?" Miss Erwin had reasoned with the stubborn child the last time they went to town.

Blair conceded to his elders' wishes and tried to buckle down. He put his pen back in the ink well before looking over his work. He smiled at the best "B's" he'd ever made. He had to show Papa right away. Blair carefully picked up his paper to proudly show his father, called Nemo
out of her nap by his feet, and headed to the barn.

Reaching the barn's threshold, he halted at the sight before him. He heaved a small sigh. It had happened again. His father stood absolutely still in the middle of the barn staring off into nothing.

Another spell.

Blair went to his father's side and firmly took hold of the large hand. "Papa, come back now," he quietly asked in the well practiced voice that always put an end to the spell before.

Blair smiled and rolled on the balls of his feet waiting as his father came around.

"It happened again?" his father said, frowning down at him.

"Uh huh. See my letters?" Blair asked, unruffled by events, as he shoved his paper into his father's hands. "I'm getting better. Can I go play now? My chores are done."

"Sure, son, go play until supper time."

Jim scrubbed his face with his free hand as Blair scampered from the barn. How long this time? Last thing he remembered was watching tiny pieces of hay floating in the air as he filled the stalls with fresh hay. The little golden pieces of straw glittered in a stray beam of sunlight. It mesmerized him.

So far neither he nor Blair had come to harm because of these "spells," as his precocious son had termed them. But who knew what would happen next? He didn't want to find out.

Jim noticed the paper in his left hand for the first time. Giving it his full attention, he smiled proudly. The simple, well formed, but still childish, writing on the page took his mind off his problems. The boy had improved a great deal.

Lost in admiring his son's hard work, a wail of shear panic, followed by a terror filled, "Papa!" made him jump, a shiver of cold fear running down his spine. The paper in his hand fell forgotten to the dirt floor. Jim ran.

The smell of blood hit the worried father as soon as he exited the barn. The sight of Blair standing by the corral, holding his left hand in front of him with his right, staring at it in horror and pain, caused the ex-soldier's command training to kick in. Jim remained calm. His son needed reassurances.

"Blair, what happened?"

Jim's question provoked more loud crying, and Blair thrust his injured hand toward his father.

Kneeling in the dirt in front of his sobbing child, Jim began making comforting noises as he gently took the bloodied hand. Several large, and many small, splinters were imbedded in the little palm amidst small scrapes, blood and dirt.

Blair sniffled loudly and wiped his free arm across his nose, finally beginning to compose himself.

"I fell off the corral fence...I tried to catch myself on the post, but I couldn't...and my hand slided down the side," Blair explained between ragged breaths. "It hurts, Papa."

The watery, pain filled eyes of his son turned up to Jim looking for comfort caused his chest to tighten.

"I know, Blair. Let's get it washed up so I can get those splinters out."

"NO!!" Blair wailed, pulling back his hand to cradle against his chest. "That'll hurt more!"

Jim winced and pulled back a bit at the unexpected volume of the response. His eardrums pounded. He took a deep breath, and put his pain away to remain calm for the miserable little boy in front of him.

"Blair, it needs to be cleaned up or it will get infected. I'll be as gentle as I can, Little Bit, but it's got to be done."

Jim smiled reassuringly when Blair nodded. He picked up his teary-eyed boy and carried him to the cabin.

After setting Blair down at the table in the chair closest to the window, Jim assembled his medical supplies. He carefully poured water from the pitcher over the injured hand while Blair, whimpering, held it steady over the basin. With most of the dirt and blood washed away, Jim
began pulling out splinters with his tweezers, murmuring encouraging words to the sobbing and frightened child.

"That's good, Blair. Keep your hand real still....I know it hurts, Little Bit...You're being very brave, just a couple more." And so it went for the next agonizing twenty minutes.

Jim put the supplies away, keeping his hands busy so their shaking wouldn't be noticeable. He'd removed every splinter. No matter how small. The whorls of Blair's finger tips and lines on his palms seemed like canyons to Jim's eyes. The tiny slivers of wood were like large sticks. Jim found that unnerving. How could he see that close? Why did he smell the blood of Blair's bleeding hand from almost 60 feet away?

"Are you all right, Papa?" The teary voice roused the shaken man. He pushed his questions from his mind. Blair needed him now.

"Just fine, Little Bit," he replied with a painted on smile. Jim reached out and gently tousled the sniffling boy's hair. He pointed to the freshly bandaged hand. "How you feeling?"

"Okay." Blair turned big sorrowful eyes upon his father. "Sorry I was such a baby."

Jim knelt down next to Blair's chair so they were at eye level. "Son, you never have to feel ashamed to cry in front of me. . .Unless they're crocodile tears to get you out of trouble." Jim tapped the end of Blair's red nose and smiled, trying to lift the boy's spirits, but Blair wasn't buying in.

"I thought men weren't suppose to cry."

Jim stood up, wiping his face with a hand as he did so, trying to organize his thoughts. He coaxed Blair from the chair, sat down himself and pulled Blair back between his legs to lean against his chest.

"Men cry, Blair. It's just not real common because. . .well, just because. We don't cry over little things, and your getting hurt was no little thing. We wait for really sad times or really joyous ones. You were very brave while I cleaned up your hand." When Blair looked skeptical, Jim continued. "Really, you kept your hand perfectly still so I could get those splinters out. I'm proud of you."

That seemed to satisfy the boy because he smiled shyly. Jim gave him a small hug.

"We'll go in to town tomorrow and have the doctor check it out, just to be sure." At Blair's horror stricken face, Jim offered, "And when we're done, I'll bet Darryl will want to help you pick out a penny's worth of candy for the two of you to share." That brought a smile tenfold the previous one.

~~~

"Well everything looks fine here, Mr. Ellison. You did an excellent job of cleaning out the wounds," Dr. McKay said while putting the finishing touches on Blair's fresh bandage. "There's no sign of infection. Keep it cleaned and bandaged for a week and then let it get some air. He'll
be climbing fences again before you know it."

Blair blushed at the doctor's statement and hopped off the examining table.

Jim fished in his pocket and handed Blair a coin. "Son, here's that penny I promised you. I need to talk to the doctor a minute. You go ahead to Mr. Taggart's store with Darryl and I'll meet you at the Banks' house."

Blair took the coin and ran for the store, throwing a, "thank you, Papa," over his shoulder before slamming the door.

"Mr. Ellison, is there something else I can do for you?"

"Yes, doctor, there is. . .I've been having these spells for the last few months. . ."

Thirty minutes later a fuming James Ellison stormed down the boardwalk towards Sheriff Banks' house.

Sawbones! All a bunch of quacks! All in my head! It is not all in my head! Jim ranted to himself. He'd gotten his courage up to ask the doctor about his troubles. He'd given the rancher a full examination and found nothing wrong. Then the man had the audacity to imply that Jim was mad! Crazy! Well, those weren't his exact words, but that's what he meant.

I am not insane. Am I? Why do I hear things no one else does? See what no one else sees? Feel textures where I once felt smoothness? What's happening to me? How can I protect Blair if I keep having these spells?

end pt. 1 ***

on to part 2. . .