Page 41 of The Outlaw and the Heir

"Well, let's see if I can provide that," she said with a smile, waving at me to follow her.

"You made it sound like you're used to cooking around here," I said as I followed her, finding a topic that was hopefully safe in case other people were listening.

"Not as much as I used to," she said with a smile. "Ambrose used to live in this house, and that boy could eat like he was starving. When he was much younger, I wouldn't be surprised if I came to the kitchen to grab myself a muffin or a cup of tea and found him raiding the larder like some critter. I figured if he was going to eat in the middle of the night, he might as well eat well.I cooked for him as a boy too, so it worked out nicely for both of us."

"He didn't eat with his family?" I wondered as she pushed open a door, and I followed her in. The kitchen was as spacious as the last time, but it seemed bigger without everyone in it. Yet there were still signs, the nicked surface for cutting and preparing, the polish on the stove, the fading paint where things were constantly brushed against the walls. All showed the kitchen had been used for years, yet it was still clean and orderly, showing the love that went into it.

"He did, but...well," she said, a frown creasing her brow. "Lord above, he'd kill me if he knew I was going to tell you this, but he was...sensitive as a boy. A stern look from his father or his brother...well, his brother being his brother could be enough to put off his appetite. Sometimes, the only way to get him to eat was to pull him into another room and make him something he liked."

My knee-jerk reaction was to laugh, but something resonated with her words, and I let them settle for a moment before speaking. If Ireallythought about it, I could make sense of what she was saying. After all, Ambrose was fairly sensitive to what I said and did. It manifested as a bad attitude and a barely contained temper, but it was sensitivity all the same.

And then there was how he was around his father. Ambrose was grumpy, sure, but he was also confident, thoughtful, and steady. Yet all it took was a look from his father or just the man's presence, and Ambrose folded into himself, losing all confidence in his abilities or decisions. I had no idea what his father had done in the past, but it was obvious Ambrose looked to his father's word with the same intensity and reverence of a zealot toward their preacher.

"Come to think of it...I can see what you mean," I said with a snort, shaking my head. "He's learned to hide it, but...he's not very good at it, is he?"

She chuckled as she pulled out salted pork, eggs, and a loaf of bread. "No, but I won't be the one to tell him that. Most people think he's serious and grumpy like his daddy. But I'll always remember the sweet boy who tried to put on a brave face even though he'd come running to eat with me to get some peace."

To call that mental image endearing was an understatement. To say it still felt at odds with the man I knew despite believing it made sense was an even bigger one. "Do you miss it?"

"Him as a boy?"

"Just...that part of him."

"Back where I'm from, I usually took care of the little ones, and you learn a few things by doing that. They grow up, and they change, and sometimes they change into people you can be proud of, and sometimes...not. There's always going to be things you miss, no matter how much you know children will change as they grow. But you also learn that they don't changequiteas much as they'd like you to think they do. Deep down, he's still that sweet boy. It's just buried under a lot of other things."

"It seems to be buried deep enough that not even he seems to know it's there."

"Maybe so. I keep hopin' he'll find someone who will find a way to dig it back out. I know it ain't easy for you to see or believe, but there's a treasure locked in his heart that's waiting for someone to find. They'll just need to be patient...and as stubborn as him. He's more like his mama than his daddy, even if he tries to be like him. He's a good man, and I hope someday he'll realize it. But I can wait."

My ears perked at the mention of someone rather than specifying a woman. I wasn't so impulsive as to believe it had any deep meaning, but it was odd phrasing. I weighed the possibilityof probing a little deeper against her potentially figuring out I had a reason for being curious.

"So...he's never had someone come close to that?"

"Close to what?"

"Finding that treasure you're so sure is there."

She gave me a pointed look as she stirred a fire to life in the stove. “Iknowit's there, thank you very much."

"Fine, that you know is there."

She chuckled. “And no. He's never really shown any interest in findin' someone. His brother has been fond of pointing out that he hasn't got a wife, but it's one of those few things that he can't get a rise out of Ambrose over. His sister has tried, bless her heart, to find him a wife, but it's never worked out for anyone."

"And his dad?"

"He...has never said a word about it."

"I wonder why."

"Mr. Isaiah is...well, he's a man of few words, and what words he does speak are only about things he deems important. Maybe it would be different if it was only Ambrose, but his siblings have kids, and maybe that's enough for him. Or maybe he ain't too worried about blood when it comes to runnin' the ranch. Whatever he thinks, he keeps to himself."

It was curious, as most fathers I'd known were extremely concerned about their son's love life. Especially when they had something like a business or a ranch that needed someone to take over at some point. Maybe she was right, and he wasn't worried because he already had children and grandchildren who could step up when the time came.

Or maybe...the perceptive man had already figured out his youngest child's deepest secret. Which, again, was strange because that was something a father would typically try to head off at the pass. Then again, if he was hardest on Ambrose, perhaps that was the reason. Or maybe he was waiting to see ifthe secret was dragged into the light for him to deal with. I knew very little about the man, but he didn't strike me as particularly accepting of things that didn't fit into his narrow expectations.

As far as I know, my parents had been ignorant of my...predilections. Admittedly, there had been some evidence to the contrary, although it wasn't compelling. Mostly, it had been how my mother stopped suggesting girls in town after a while. Or the way I had been speaking with the blacksmith's son once, a normal conversation that was only slightly laden with innuendo. My father had been watching us for a little too long, and although I couldn't prove it then, I could have sworn there was a knowing glint in his eyes before he'd turned away.

I'd wondered and feared what my parents would say if they ever learned that particular fact about me, and after their deaths, I was left just wondering. Unless people were right about life after death, I would never find out what they had to say on the subject. Then again, it was probably for the best that they had never known, and I hadn't found out their views. My parents had been good, honest, hardworking people, but that didn't translate to something that fell so far outside their understanding and ran against how they thought a man should be.

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