Buck had spent most of the night preparing for this morning, and perhaps the most important meeting of his life.  It was the day that he would meet his son.  His son.  The thought made him both giddy with excitement and nauseous with trepidation.  He’d carefully memorized exactly what he wanted to say to Jennifer.  It was a calm, measured and reasonable speech stressing his responsibilities as a father to Jack and his desire to be a good role model.  He'd scrupulously omitted all reference to his relationship, past or present, with Jennifer herself.  She had to be factored out of the equation -- she'd made that quite clear.  He had to focus on Jack now.

His son.

Then the door opened to reveal Rachel instead of Jennifer, and his painstakingly prepared speech drifted away on a whirlwind of confusion and bewilderment.

"Rachel... wh... um..." 

Buck tried desperately trying to formulate some sort of rational sentence while keeping his attention on Rachel, but his eyes kept drifting to the figure behind her.  Jennifer's cobalt skirt and pale blouse accentuated her bright blue eyes, while a dark ribbon held her straw-coloured hair back in a loose braid.  He knew his mouth was gaping open, but he couldn't seem to help it.  The overall effect was like sweet warm sunshine combined with cool cleansing ice.  He felt like he was being buffeted by a sunflower-scented breeze on a hot summer day.

Eyes sparkling, Rachel regarded the former rider with undisguised delight.  Buck might have raged against the Tompkins' yesterday, but the young Kiowa was clearly as smitten with Jennifer as ever.

"Buck, don't you look nice today," the schoolteacher remarked pleasantly.

Disconcerted, Buck glanced down at his outfit dubiously.  He had dressed as he always did -- blue striped shirt, dark vest, tan trousers.  His basic wardrobe had varied little since he was fifteen years old; once he found something that was both comfortable and durable, he stuck with it.  Granted, he had made sure that each item was neatly pressed.  The strictest Sister at the mission school could inspect him now: she'd find neither a dangling thread nor an askew button on his person.   Confused, he drew his eyes back to Rachel.  But she was already gliding smoothly around him, an explanation about being needed at the schoolhouse tripping easily past her lips.  In Rachel's wake, Jennifer stepped forward.  He was alone with the mother of his child.

Buck grasped helplessly for the tattered remains of his perfect speech, but those blustery winds had swept his flawless words beyond reach.  And if he continued to just stand there staring at the vision the spirits had sent, he'd soon lose the ability of speech altogether.  Then the mental image of a little boy playing alone on the porch stoop cleared his head.  Jack.  He had to concentrate on his son.

"I'm here to see Jack," he finally stated bluntly.

"JACK?"  Jennifer sounded calm, but inside she was reeling.  Finding Buck at the door had taken her breath away.  Seeing him like this, no longer viewed through a shroud of tears, forced the memories she had tried to bury to thrash their way to the surface.  His long brown hair shone; his dark eyes still burned with passion. But this was passion of a different sort.  This was a distinct kind of longing. 

He wanted Jack.  He wanted her son.

"But how did--"

"Teaspoon told me," Buck interrupted.  Though she made no move to protest, he continued quickly.  Time had not dimmed the memory of Jennifer's sharp tongue.  "I want to see him, Jenny.  He's my son."

Jen's hand clutched the doorjamb tightly, her fingers turning white with the effort to remain composed.  Buck looked and sounded so confident and assured, while she was only tenuously holding on to her own self-control.  "What about--"

"This had nothing to do with us.  You've made your position perfectly clear, and I have no intention of pursuing the matter any further."  Parts of his speech were coming back to him now, and Buck was able to make the statement boldly though inside he was quivering.  Not pursue the matter?  It took all his self-possession not to drop to his knees and bury his face in her skirts, pleading for a second chance.

The pressure of Jennifer's grip on the doorjamb increased until she was sure she must certainly tear it from its moorings. 

"I see," she finally said.  And with that -- two little words -- she knew that all hope for a future between them was gone.  Her fear and her anger of the day before had driven him away, just when he could have been returned to her. 

Her chin lifted and her eyes were clear.  She was strong.  It was for the best.  Buck had given up searching... searching for her.  If he had truly loved her, he would have never given up.  She should be thankful that he saw things her way; the way she felt before doubt about her decision crept its way into her heart.  Because he would have only broken that heart again.

"I'd like to see him NOW, Jen."

"I was going to tell you, you know," she answered quietly.  "This afternoon, in fact.  But telling Jack... it's a delicate matter.  He's never had a father.  He thinks you're dead.  He--"

"All the more reason to tell him right away," said Buck firmly.  "Look, too much time has gone by already."

The third interruption in as many minutes finally pushed Jen past the breaking point.  That, and the fact that nobody had told her what to do since she was fifteen.  Not that she had listened then.  "Through no fault of ours!" she spat out.

"I'm not here to discuss our past, I'm here to see Jack!"

"You have no right to come barging in here and demand ANYTHING!"

"Hey mama, wanna see what I found?"  The enthusiastic voice preceded the small boy, as Jack came racing through the sitting room, skidding to a halt when he reached the door.  The usually exuberant child pressed against his mother's skirt bashfully, staring up at the newcomer in the doorway with wide and wondering eyes.

It was an Indian.   A real Indian, just like him.  He'd never seen an Indian before, less you counted the ones on the plains.  The ones that hurt them yesterday.  This one -- he wore clothes just like the white people in town wore... just like he wore.  But he had a bag around his neck, and a big ol' dangling earring, and white men sure didn't wear those.  His eyes wandered to the gun around the stranger's waist -- well, THAT was no surprise -- and then to the big long knife at his ankle -- and THAT sure was.   His first impression of warm eyes gave way to darker fears.

Jack tugged on Jennifer's skirt tentatively and whispered, "He ain't gonna shoot at us, is he Mama?"

"Of course not, Jack," Jennifer soothed, crouching beside her son.  "This is a good man."  She glanced at Buck.  He stood silently in the doorway, mouth agape, staring at her child with amazement and delight.  The small boy at her side held his entire attention.  With a start of recognition, Jennifer realized that she had once regarded Jack in the same fashion. It had happened when the doctor in Syracuse had placed him in her arms for the first time.  Now Buck's eyes shone with adoration for a boy he didn't know.  For a boy he wanted to know.  For a boy he wanted to love. 

She made a decision.

Placing an arm comfortingly around Jack's shoulder, she asked, "You remember the story I told you about your father?"

Jack nodded solemnly.  "'Course I do, Mama.  Black Wolf was bad and he was gonna hurt you and Gramma but Daddy jumped in front and got hit with a bullet and saved you and was a hero and then he got killed and you cried." The little boy paused to take a breath before adding, "Why doesn't Gramma live with Grandpa?"

Jen again cast a brief look at Buck, who shifted uncomfortably.  A hero?  Had she really told their child that he was a hero? He could feel the bloom of embarrassment flooding his face, and hoped that the glare of the sun behind him blocked the flush from her view.  He was thankful when she turned back to Jack, who watched his mother expectantly.

"We'll discuss that another day, Jack," she deflected the boy's question easily. "The thing is, honey, I made a mistake when I told you that story."

"You mean my daddy wasn't a hero?" Jack enquired innocently.

"Of course he was!" Jen reassured quickly.  "And I thought that Black Wolf killed your daddy.  Turns out I was wrong.  I'm sorry Jack, but I was wrong."  Hugging her son to her side briefly, she continued, "You see Jack... this is... this is Buck, your daddy."

Stiffening, Jack turned wide eyes to the newcomer looming menacingly in the open doorway.  Even squinting, he couldn't make out anything but dark features... and the glint of refracted sunlight on the stranger's intimidating weapon.  He glanced questioningly at Jennifer.  "That ain't true."

"Jack, I know it's confusing--"

With a wrench Jack pulled free of Jennifer's gentle grasp and back away.  "That's ain't true.  It ain't.  He ain't my daddy!"  He pointed a shaking hand at Buck.  "YOU AIN'T MY DADDY!"

Jack fled from the room, and moments later the sound of the kitchen door slamming echoed in the sudden silence. 
 

Chapter 8

“I’m sorry.  I’m sorry, Buck.  He needs some time.  He just needs some time.”  Jen was rambling, and knew it, but couldn’t seem to help it.  Jack had never acted in such a manner before.

Buck shrugged easily, ignoring the pain from the fingernails that were digging into his palms.  The pain that would keep him focused.  “He’s just a kid.  It’s a lot to take in all at once.”

“I’ll talk to him.  I’ll let you know when to come by again.”

“No.”

“No?”  Jen paused in the act of closing the door, disbelief evident on her features. 

“No,” Buck repeated.  “I’ll talk to him right now.”

Jen’s mouth gaped open.  “What?” Jen asked incredulously.  “He’s in SHOCK, Buck.  He doesn’t know what to think.  He’s believed for his whole life that his father was DEAD!”

“Which is exactly the reason why I should talk to him right now!” Buck insisted vehemently.  He ran a hand through his long dark hair in frustration, taking a deep breath to calm his voice before continuing.  “Look, I know he’s been through a lot and he doesn’t really understand what’s going on right now.  But if we leave him be and let him keep pretending that I’m not his father, it’s just going to be harder on him.  He has to accept the truth, Jen.”

“He’s a four year old boy!”

“Almost five.  And he’s a boy that needs his father!  He’s waited too long already.”

Indecisive, Jennifer stood with the door half open, weighing her options.  Try as she might she could make out no sounds from the back of the house.  No weeping, no cries for “Mama”.  But… but Jack needed her!  He must need her.  Then she looked into Buck’s eyes and saw the desperate plea there, though he tried to mask it.  This wasn’t just for Jack’s own good.  Yes, Jack DID need to come to terms with the truth.  But this was also something that Buck needed to do.  He needed to be a father.  And as for her… well, she had to let her little boy go.  Just a little. 

She nodded, not ready to trust her voice just yet.  When relief flooded Buck’s features she cleared her throat.  “He’ll be around back,” she managed to croak out.  “I’ll be… I’ll be inside if you need me.”

The door was almost fully shut this time before a strong hand reached out to seize it tightly and prevent its closure.  The same hand – work hewn and rough, yet at the same time soft and gentle – grasped her arm lightly. 

“Thank you,” Buck said softly.

Jennifer closed the door.

Buck stood on the porch step and took another deep breath, his open hand still caressing the dark wood of the door.  He could keep his knees from knocking together by force of will alone, but he couldn’t stop the queasiness in his stomach.  Though he’d never been on a boat, Buck now knew with absolute certainty what seasickness must feel like.  His insides were being pummeled by gale-force winds while a parade of tiny creatures armed with razor sharp teeth and vicious attitudes appeared to be holding a convention in his abdomen.    They cavorted and capered with reckless abandon as he took one shaky step from the porch and began the walk to the backyard.

He tried to hold on to his resolve as each step brought him closer and closer to his son.  Was he doing the right thing?  Jack needed a father.  But more than that, Buck needed a son.  After the shock had dissipated and Teaspoon had left, Jack had never been out of his thoughts for more than a moment.  He’d missed so much.  Holding his newborn baby in his arms and singing him to sleep at night.  His first step.  His first word.  The first time he fell and scraped his knee.  It set off an ache somewhere deep within him whenever he thought about it. 

Being a father.  It wasn’t something he’d dwelled upon for a long time.  Once, when an abandoned baby had been left at the way station, he and Ike had discussed their own potential as fathers.  Ike’s own Pa had been a good man; a man of decency and honour.   Ike would have been the same – Buck just knew it.  Plus Ike had a way with babies.  It was almost like he could just sense what they needed, and knew just how to provide it.  His own father… Buck scowled unconsciously.  There had been a time when he’s sent a message nightly to the spirits, asking that whatever defect had been present in his father was not passed to the son.  Funny; he’d always thought that when the time came for him to be a dad, Ike would be there to help him through it.  Now he was alone.

And as Buck rounded the corner of the house and came upon his son, he remembered the conclusion that he and Ike had come to:  that unless he had a lot of help, he was bound to be clueless as a father.

Jack was playing in the dirt.  Well, he had a stick and was poking around in the dirt.  Buck hoped this was some version of playing and not an indication of Jack’s aberrant gene pool.  The child glanced up at him once, regarded him with baleful eyes, and then dismissed him entirely.  Gulping nervously, Buck realized that despite having fought Jennifer for the right to talk to Jack on his own, he had absolutely no idea what to say.  Grimly, he took a seat cross-legged on the ground across from the boy, trying to keep a respectful distance.   The stick was sharp.

“Uh…” Oh, great start.  Buck cleared his throat and started again.  “Uh… what… whatcha—” 

“You ain’t my daddy,” Jack interrupted conversationally.  “My daddy got shot to save my Mama.  And then he died.  So you ain’t him.”

Okay, Buck mused, that’s a good a place to start as any.  “Well, I did get shot.  I couldn’t let Black Wolf hurt anybody.”  The child looked dubious, so he added, “Wanna see?”  When Jack still said nothing, Buck carefully began unbuttoning his shirt. 

Slowly the child’s inquisitiveness got the better of him.  He rose uncertainly but stood attentively at Buck’s side, watching closely as the newcomer’s long fingers deftly manipulated the buttons.  Every muscle in his small body was tensed to flee at the first sign of deceit or falsehood, yet he couldn’t help his curious fascination.  Noting the boy’s apprehension, Buck proceeded cautiously.  He slowly drew aside his shirt to reveal the pink puckered wound. 

“Wow,” Jack breathed, the novelty of the moment transcending his momentary unease with the situation.  “Is that really where you got shot, mister?”

“Yup.”

Jack pulled at the shirt and leaned forward to examine Buck’s back curiously.  “But where’d the bullet come out?”

“It didn’t.”

Jack’s eyes grew wide.  “You mean it’s still IN THERE?”

“Yup.”

Jack shook his head, clearly impressed.  “Why didn’t the doctor just take it out?”

“There wasn’t any doctor,” Buck explained, trying to make the account simple enough for a small boy to understand.  “After Black Wolf shot me, everybody thought I was dead.   Your mama left me with the Lakota so that I could have a proper funeral and join the spirit plain.”  When the little boy nodded solemnly, Buck smiled. Jen had been teaching him the ways of the Kiowa and Lakota, as befitted his blood.  “But the medicine man of the Lakota was a great and wise man.  He felt the breath of life still within me, and he worked to bring me back to this world.”

Squinting up at the newcomer, Jack asked innocently, “Then how come you didn’t come get us?”

How come everybody keeps asking that? Buck mused silently.  Aloud he said, “Well, I didn’t know there WAS a Jack—”

“That’s ‘cause I was in Mama’s tummy!” the little boy announced gleefully.

The Kiowa tried hard to suppress a smile.  “That’s right.  But I looked all over for your Mama.  I looked for a very long time.  But I couldn’t find her.”  Hesitantly, Buck raised a hand and put it gently on Jack’s shoulder.  “But it turns out that YOU found ME.”

“I guess,” mumbled Jack, his attention already diverted to something else.  “Hey, do you like trains, mister?”

Buck blinked, trying to follow this new discussion as well as process what had just happened in the past few minutes.  Was that it?  One moment the child screams, “you ain’t my daddy”, but show him a bullet hole and give him a little enlightenment and he…he just accepts it?  Maybe this fatherhood thing wouldn’t be as difficult as he thought!

“Trains?” 

Stepping away from Buck, Jack eagerly pulled his train from his pocket and held it up reverently.  “See?  This is mine.  You like ‘em?”

“Well…uh…”

“I’m gonna be a conductor when I grow up.  Or an engineer.  I’m gonna work on trains though, THAT’S for sure!”  He squinted up at Buck and repeated for the third time, “You like ‘em?” 

Buck wiped a hand across his brow.  He was sweating.  A four-year-old child had his heart palpitating and his mind racing.  A four-year-old child!  He had never been this nervous in his life.  Not when challenging Black Wolf; not when facing down the dark spirit that had inhabited Camille.  What was we supposed to say? Tell the truth and destroy any bond he and Jack had built up; or lie and be consumed by guilt?

He changed his mind.  Fatherhood was hard work!

He realized Jack was still watching him expectantly, and cleared his throat.  “Well… well… I think that trains are real good for getting people around,” he said hopefully. 

“Yup, they sure are!” 

Buck smiled and settled back on his haunches, relieved.  But as Jack continued to regard him alertly, the smile turned a little sickly.  Obviously something more was still required. 

He took a deep breath and decided to come clean.  “The thing is, Jack, trains are responsible for – are partly responsible for – destroying the Indian’s way of life.  They plow through the sacred lands of our ancestors, making it impossible for tribes to hunt—”

“Oh, THAT,” Jack waved away the moral culpability of the railroad with one small shrug of his shoulders.  “When I run the trains, I’m gonna make sure that none of them spoil the Indian’s land.  Mama already explained all about that!”

Buck let himself relax, and reminded himself that Jack was only a child.  If that explanation worked for Jack, it could work for him.   As Jack immersed himself in his train set, almost oblivious to Buck’s continued presence, Buck cleared his throat again.  “I’ll tell you what I do like.  Fishing.”

“Yeah?”  Jack again raised probing eyes to this new person in his life.

“Yeah,” Buck grinned.  “How about you?  Do you like fishing?”

Jack shrugged.  “I ain’t never been fishin’.”

“Never been fishing?”  Buck feigned staggered astonishment, eyes twinkling.  “Well, I’ll just have to fix that.  How would you like to go fishing with me?”

“REALLY, mister?  You’d take me fishin’?”

“There’s nothing I’d like more,” answered Buck sincerely.  “We could go this Saturday.”

“Oh boy!”  Jack jumped up and down with enthusiasm.  “I betcha I could catch a really big fish.  Bigger’n the bump on my head, even!  I betcha I could—” His excited banter came to an abrupt halt as a potential barrier to this day of merriment made its way to his senses.  “But we’d have to ask Mama,” he announced gravely. 

“Of course.”  Buck matched the little boy’s disposition exactly. 

“Maybe she wouldn’t want me to,” Jack worried aloud.  “’Cause of not going anywhere with strangers.”

The innocent comment sliced into Buck like a jagged blade, but long practice in masking his emotions during potentially hurtful discourse served him in good stead.   His expression didn’t change nor did his voice waver as he answered, “Well, we could invite her along then.  Maybe she’d make us a nice picnic lunch.”

Jack’s eyes lit up as soon as the suggestion was made.  “She would.  I KNOW she would!  And my mama makes the best chicken sandwich EVER!  Wait’ll you taste it!  When can we ask her, Buck?”

His body had tensed up unknowingly, and now Buck let himself relax with a sigh.  Crisis averted. Again.  And, wonder of wonders, Jack had called him “Buck”.  It wasn’t ‘Daddy’, but it sure as heck was a step up from ‘Mister’. 

“Well, I suppose we could ask her right now.”  Smiling, Buck swiveled in place and leaned toward the kitchen door, raising his voice.  “What do you say, Jennifer?  Picnic on Saturday?”

For a long moment there was silence. Then the back door opened silently and Jennifer stood upon the stoop.  To Buck’s great amusement, she looked supremely guilty.  “How long did you know I was standing there?” she asked awkwardly. 

“Oh, since about… forever.” 

Ignoring the adults, Jack bounced up to his mother and took her hand.  “Well, Mama?  Can we go?”

Tearing her gaze away from Buck, Jen smiled at her son.  How could she disappoint him?  How could she refuse to let him spend a day with the father he’d just discovered existed, even if it meant complete discomfort for herself?  A little voice in the back of Jen’s mind tried to speak up… to remind her that she didn’t have to go on this little fishing trip.  She DID trust Buck with her son, after all.  And her inclusion had been made only to ease Jack’s mind. 

Jen ignored the voice.  There was no other option.  Nope.  She had no choice.  Of course she HAD to go.

The matter was settled.  Buck would pick them up at 10am on Saturday. 

She only hoped she could sleep between now and then.