This is a work of fiction, written for enjoyment and amusement; hopefully yours as well as mine. Comment and constructive criticism welcome.
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"Michael? Come on over here, there's something I want to ask you."
Michael Delaney looked over at his mother, then walked across to her as she stood at the doorway of their home. "Yeah, Ma? What is it?"
"You know Mrs McLean, down Atwater Creek? Used to be the school teacher?"
"Yeah. What about her?" Mike was curious. Louise McLean was one of the nicest looking women he had ever seen. Not that he'd seen many, for there weren't many around this part of the country. Ma, his sister Kate, two years younger than him, Mrs McLean, a couple or three ranchers' wives they sometimes saw in town, the doctor's wife and three, no four, store keeper's wives in town. Some of them had daughters, but they were just children, the oldest probably nine or ten. Oh, and the two "waitresses" at the saloon. The younger one had given him the glad-eye last time he was in town, but there was something about her he didn't cotton to, although he was polite to her.
"She wants the barn roof repaired before winter," said Ma, drawing his mind back to Mrs McLean. "It needs new shingles. And she wants the corral fence rebuilt. She says she'll give you ten dollars to do it."
"Ma, it's nigh on a two hour ride each way. It'd probably take me a week or more. Not that I couldn't use the ten dollars. Doesn't she want to hire one of the fellows in town?"
"Mike, it's a question of trust. She knows you and she reckons you're a sight more trustworthy than those saloon bums. You don't need to come home at night. Mrs McLean says you can bunk in the barn. The roof only leaks in a couple of places, she says. Your Pa says it's all right, you can take the job if you want. It's slack at the moment and he can manage with Tom and Jack Junior."
"Did she say when?"
"If you ride across tomorrow morning, after breakfast, she'll show you what needs doing. Take your bedroll, in case you stay and start the job. If you're not home for supper, I'll expect you when I see you." And I won't expect you back for days, she thought. Louise has got some plans for your continuing education and her empty bed both. Well, she thought, my friend was the schoolteacher before she married her two-years dead husband.
"Sure thing, Ma. I'll ride across in the morning." With that he got on with his chores, wondering idly how hard he'd have to work. He fell asleep that night thinking of Mrs McLean. That must have been what did it,
Mike took it easy riding to Mrs McLean's place, enjoying the summer sunshine. He'd brought his bedroll because he figured he'd probably take the job on. On impulse he turned Caesar, his bay gelding, and followed a faint game trail into the trees. After twisting through some underbrush he came out at a natural pool formed where the creek ran off over a rock shelf. He figured it was about fifty feet long and about half as far across. The only tracks were animal tracks. A good place for a swim. Even better with a girl along, he thought, feeling his prick twitch in his pants. Mike shrugged ruefully. No girls near old enough in these parts except his sister.
Another faint game trail brought him back on course. He didn't think he'd lost more than a half-hour or so and a glance at the sky suggested it was close to noon. He raised Caesar's pace to a trot and within the hour was stepping off him and hitching him to Mrs McLean's rail.
She came out on the stoop to greet him.
"Good morning, Michael. Come to fix my barn?"
"I guess so, Miz McLean. Ma give me an idea what you needed done, but iffen you could show me?"
"It'll keep a while longer, Michael. Coffee and some beef stew first?"
"That'd be great, Miz McLean. If you'd show me where I could clean up?"
"The pump's out back, Michael. There's soap and a towel under the lean-to."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"Come into the kitchen when you're done. Straight in through the back door."
He eased the saddle girth on Caesar and watered him, then hitched him to the rail again before going to the rear of the house and washing his face and hands.
The meal was first rate, simple and filling, the coffee delicious. He told Mrs McLean so and she refilled his cup with a smile.
"I'm trying to bribe you to do the work," she joked.
"No need, ma'am. If you show me what needs doing, I'll get on with it."
"I'll get my shawl."
The work wasn't hard, but there was plenty of it. The barn roof needed the shingles replacing over an area about fifteen feet by twelve, near one corner. The corral rails were rotted, and he told her so.
"What do you reckon, then, Michael? New rails?"
"Surely, Ma'am. If you'll lend me your buggy team, I'll cut some new poles and we can drag them down here with the team."
"And the shingles?"
"I think you got enough stored in the barn to fix the roof. I'll take the old ones off this afternoon. I guess that'll take me until near sundown. Tomorrow morning I'll start replacing them. I reckon that will take me most of the day. Thursday I'll cut the poles and Friday I'll do the corral."
"That would be wonderful, Michael. I'll help in any way I can."
"I'd prefer it if you stayed in the house while I'm ripping off the old shingles, Miz McLean. That way I can just throw them down without wondering if I'm going to hit you."
"Fine, Michael. I'll make us an apple pie for tonight's supper."
Mike unsaddled Caesar and parked his saddle and bedroll in the barn. He left his gunbelt there, too. He turned Caesar into the corral with Mrs McLean's three horses.
He spent the rest of the afternoon stripping off the old shingles. To do the job properly meant he had to take some good ones off, too, but he was finished before the sun hit the horizon. He went to wash up at the pump and stripped off his shirt. He wasn't wearing his long johns in the summer heat so his chest was bare. He washed up well and dunked his head to rinse the soap off. That way he could comb his hair so it'd behave itself. When he straightened up he had soap in his eyes and couldn't find the towel.
"Here, Michael, beside your left hand." Mrs McLean put the towel into his hand. He wiped his eyes and put the towel back on the hook.
"Have you a spare shirt with you, Michael."
He flushed and shook his head. "I never thought."
She smiled and held a shirt out to him. "Wear this. It was my husband's. I'll wash yours for when you go home."
"That's very good of you," he said awkwardly.
"Think nothing of it, Michael. Supper in ten minutes. Come in as soon as you're ready."
Supper was as good as the noon meal had been, simple and satisfying. The apple pie was marvellous, He'd never tasted one as good and told Mrs McLean so.
"Not even your mother's? I don't believe you. I used her recipe!"
"Well, maybe, but yours is as good as hers."
"Thank you, Michael, I take that as a compliment."
"Mrs McLean, would you call me Mike, like Ma does? Michael sounds kinda, well, formal."
