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."
"Certainly, Mike, on one condition."
"And that is?"
"That you call me Louise."
"Louise. That's a pretty name."
She smiled at him. "Thank you, Mike. Come on through to the parlor for a while. I'll do the dishes later. Bring your coffee."
She had a fire burning against the cool of evening and two lamps lit the room. Mike's eye was caught by a shelf of books and he went across to them. Louise McLean had sat down in a rocker beside the fire and picked up some sewing. She nodded permission when he reached towards the books.
Being as how she'd been the school teacher before she married Tom McLean, he wasn't surprised to see a couple of McGuffey's Readers, but she had Shakespeare, some Charles Dickens' and Ralph Waldo Emerson's Essays. There were a couple with plain brown paper wrappers where he couldn't read the title. He picked one of them up and opened it. The title caught his eye; Aristotle's Masterpiece.
"Mrs McLean - sorry, Louise - I don't think I've heard of this one. What's it about?"
"Let me see."
He passed the book to her and she opened it. To his astonishment, she looked very uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry, Mike. This one shouldn't have been on the shelf. It belonged to Tom." She held the book to her chest, bottom lip caught between her teeth. She looked thoughtfully at him, then as if coming to a decision, held the book out.
"You're old enough to read this. Would you mind taking it out to the barn and reading it there? I think I'd be too embarrassed to be in the same room while you read it."
He was real keen to read that book, but he figured a little reluctance would do no harm.
"Louise, I don't want to read it if it's going to bother you."
"Mike, Tom used to read it sometimes. I'd appreciate your opinion. You always seem level-headed."
"If you're sure?"
"Go on. Take the spare lantern in the kitchen. I'll do the washing up and then I'm for bed."
"All right, Louise. Good night, and thank you."
"Good night, Mike. See you at breakfast."
He took the book and went out through the kitchen, collecting the lantern as he went. It was about nine o'clock and there was still quite a lot of light in the sky, but the barn was dim and he needed the lamp. He put the lantern on an upturned barrel and opened the book at random. An illustration caught his eye and his jaw fell. He looked closer and shook his head. A woodcut of a naked woman! And a man! He flicked the pages and found more, together with description of the way of a man with a woman. Jumpin' Jehosophat! He could feel his pecker getting hard and eased himself in his jeans, then decided that the way to be comfortable would be to undress and get into his bedroll.
It must have been well after midnight before he settled down to sleep and his prick was aching hard, aching hard for Louise McLean,
In the house Louise smiled when she saw the lamp go out. Seed sown! Now to cultivate it. She settled herself for sleep, her hand resting comfortably between her legs.
Next morning dawned bright and clear again, the sun soon warming the air. Mike tried hard not to look as tired as he felt and was out mending the roof as soon as he'd finished breakfast. He'd only been working a little while when Louise McLean came out into the yard.
"Mike? Is there any way I could help?"
He considered. "It would go quicker if there was some way you could pass the shingles to me. But that'd mean climbing the ladder, and you couldn't do that in a skirt. At least, not easily."
