Chapter 5

Abigail’s eyes opened with a start. A noise had awoken her. A bang.

He’s going to the barn, she thought in a panic and jumped out of bed. Abigail rushed to the bedroom door and flung it open. Wyatt, still in his long johns, was on his hands and knees washing the muddy boot prints he and she had left the night before. He had filled a bucket with water from the pump in the kitchen and, when he had moved it, he hadn’t been too quiet. He looked up at her in surprise.

“What’s the matter?” Wyatt asked.

“Oh, nothing. I overslept and wanted to know if you were awake. Thanks for cleaning the floor. I’ll make breakfast.”

Dressed as she was, wearing only the ankle-length chemise, Abigail walked into the front room to cook breakfast. Everything was back to normal. There was nothing wrong with them seeing each other in their undergarments. It’s not like they were showing skin or private areas. It would have embarrassed Abigail to be seen like that by another man, but Wyatt was her son. They had lived their whole lives like that.

After breakfast, they dressed. As Abigail sometimes did, especially after a rain, she wore a man’s shirt and trousers. Actually, she had to purchase them from the boy’s section at Baxter’s general store in order for it to fit. That was yet another thing that raised eyebrows from the townspeople. But Abigail didn’t care what they thought.

Wyatt rode one of the horses to bring the stray cows that had wandered off during the storm back to the ranch. It wasn’t that much work since they never strayed far from water, which was the lake and stream on the ranch. Abigail brought the other three horses to the corral and then gathered the eggs the hens had tried to hide from her. Next, she went into the barn and stood over the ewe with her feet shoulder width apart and her hands on her hips.

“I should slaughter you for what you did with my son,” Abigail said to the sheep.

Baa. Baa.

Abigail burst out laughing.

“What’s that? The ram’s been ignoring you?” she asked between chuckles. “I know what that’s like. I haven’t gotten any in years.”

Abigail, who had grown up in a brothel the daughter of a prostitute, ironically only had sex for a few months of her twenty-nine years of life. That’s how little time she had with her late husband. Her mother had taught her how to prepare herself when her husband wanted sex, but Abigail had never needed to do that. Her desire for him had been enough. But what her mother had taught her came in handy after her husband’s passing. The times she was in bed at night feeling lonely.

“Now get out of the barn and go find that ram if you need it,” she said to the sheep with a slap on its rump.

The ewe bleated once before trotting out of the barn.

Life on the ranch returned to normal. Almost normal for Abigail. She kept an eye on her son all the time, even peeking into his room at night to make sure he was in his bed. When he was out of sight and not off the ranch, Abigail would stop what she was doing to look for him. The first place being the barn. She was worried all the time.

One day as they were finishing lunch, Abigail asked, “Wyatt, what are you planning on doing after lunch?”

“Going hunting. Sure would like to eat rabbit for a change.”

Abigail smiled. “Yeah, me too. Just don’t go to the lake. I’m taking a bath.”

“Okay, Mama.”

Later, Abigail watched Wyatt walk into the forest with rifle in hand to search for their next meal. Rabbit was his goal, but she’d settle on squirrel. She glowed with a mother’s pride. Her son was becoming a man. Abigail then took the long walk to where they bathed in the lake. It was a distance from the house, but used for bathing because it was in a secluded area that was shielded on most sides by trees.

Abigail removed her bodice and skirt and was about to pull the thigh-length chemise over her head when she realized she had forgotten the soap. With the bottom of the chemise underneath her breasts and everything below it exposed, she hesitated. Did she want to get dressed, walk all the way to the house and back, and undress again? Or maybe a nice dip in the lake would suffice. Abigail dropped her chemise and reached for her skirt. She never felt as clean when she didn’t use soap so she’d go back and get it.

Abigail was approaching the end of the lake when she saw Wyatt. She was amazed that he was done so soon and wondered what they were having for dinner. Rabbit or squirrel. But she stopped dead in her tracks. He had a rope around a sheep’s neck and was leading it to the barn. About to scream, she stopped. What if what she was thinking was wrong? How would she explain her outburst? Her accusation?

She kept walking with an eye on her son the whole time. As he got closer to the barn, his back was more to her. She sped up. She was panting. Not from exertion, but from fear of what she might see. Wyatt was now inside the barn with the door closed. Abigail held her skirt up to her shins to keep it out of the way as she ran faster. She skidded to a stop at the barn door and took a few deep breaths. Then she opened the door quietly and went inside. Wyatt wasn’t in the barn. That was impossible. She had seen him go in.

Baa.

Abigail turned toward the sound, to a wall of hay in the far corner of the barn. She didn’t recall it being stacked like that. She walked toward the corner, holding her breath. Her heart pounded in her chest. It beat faster the closer she got. When she rounded the corner, Abigail gasped. The ewe was munching on some hay while Wyatt was dropping his trousers. He turned when Abigail gasped, froze a second, and then reached down and yanked his pants up.

Mother and son stared at each other for a few moments, both in shock, and then Wyatt bolted past her for the barn door. His trousers slipped from his grasp, slid down, and got tangled at his knees. As if someone had lassoed his legs, he flew forward, crashing on the floor on his belly.

Abigail snapped out of her stupor and ran after him. She caught up to him as he was standing back up.

“Stay right where you are!” Abigail shouted.

Wyatt stared up at her red, angry face. His was pale. He froze like a statue. And then he burst into tears. Abigail dropped to her knees next to him and hugged his head to her chest. She patted the back of his head.

“It’s all right,” Abigail said, “don’t cry.”

But Wyatt didn’t stop. If anything, he was now bawling hysterically.

Abigail continued to pat her son while rocking him in her arms. She spoke soothingly to him, telling him that everything was all right. But he kept crying. So she did what any mother would do. She kept on trying to calm him down. Which finally worked. Wyatt’s sobs turned to sniffles.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Abigail asked.

Wyatt shook his head.

“I think we better,” she said.

Wyatt pulled free of his mother’s hold and stared at her. She had never seen so much pain in his face. In his eyes.

“I can’t,” Wyatt said.

Abigail stood up and held her hand out. “Let’s go into the cabin.”

Wyatt stared at her for a while before relenting. He didn’t take her hand, but he stood. His trousers dropped to the tops of his boots. Abigail bit her tongue to hold back the laugh. The last thing her son needed was to be laughed at. Wyatt yanked his trousers up and fastened them.

Abigail held her hand out. Once again, Wyatt didn’t take it. He walked to the barn door with Abigail following. She remained a few steps behind Wyatt as they walked to the cabin. When they entered, Wyatt stood near his bed with his chin on his chest.

“Let’s sit by the fireplace,” Abigail said.

She went to one of the cushy chairs and stood at its side, waiting for her son. Wyatt didn’t move. Not at first. But the silence got to him so he went to the other chair and sat down. Abigail also sat, facing her son.

“Do you want to talk about anything?” Abigail asked.

Wyatt shook his head with his eyes downcast.