By the time Claire showed up with Steven’s small suitcase, Cal had come to a stop, and leaped out, the truck idling a gray churn of pale smoke from its tailpipe.
They put Steven in the car seat, put his suitcase in the truck bed, secure beneath a heavy tarp. Then, after shaking Claire’s hand in goodbye, he and Cal got in the warm truck. Cal was driving, which was good, because Zeke planned to make sure Steven was okay all the way home.
Cal drove sedately out of the parking lot, and down the snow flecked highway out of Cloudcroft.
All the way to the ranch, Zeke watched Steven, who watched him right back with solemn gray eyes. He didn’t seem as fearful as he had before, though he remained serious and watchful.
Zeke wanted to pick him up and hold him so badly, but he knew it was safer for Steven to be in the car seat.
“Shall we call him Stevie?” asked Cal.
Steven instantly focused on Cal, which did not go unnoticed by either of them.
“Maybe that’s what they called him,” said Zeke. “Is Stevie your name?”
Both of Steven’s eyebrows rose in his forehead, his eyes wide with surprise. Then his soft, raspberry colored mouth curved in a small smile, which was just about the most precious thing Zeke hadeverseen.
“Stevie,” said Zeke. He caressed Stevie’s soft cheek with the barest touch of a finger. Stevie’s eyes half closed, and his face had an expression Zeke couldn’t even begin to describe, except, perhaps, that Stevie seemed a little less wary, a little less on the verge of alarm.
“We’ll have scrambled eggs for lunch,” said Zeke. “And buttered toast. Do you think you’ll like that, Stevie?”
As Stevie’s eyes widened, his mouth moved a little, as if he was trying to echo Zeke’s words.
“I’m starving,” said Cal. “Can I have sausage with my egg? And cheese?”
“Of course you can.” Zeke had never been less hungry in his life, but he knew he couldn’t live on air. He needed to keep his strength up so he could be the best father to little Stevie.
“So,” said Cal, as they got close to their exit from the main highway and onto the little dirt road that led to the ranch. “Are you Daddy and I’m Papa? We never did decide.”
“We’ll let Stevie decide,” said Zeke, though secretly he relished being called Papa.
Cal pulled up to the farm house, and parked the truck, turning the engine off. It was midday, and the sun was shining brightly, sparkling on the snow that had yet to melt. The air was cold, though in spite of the sunshine, and Zeke did not want Stevie to feel that cold.
Sure, when Stevie was used to the two of them, and to the farmhouse, and to the mules, they could bundle him up and let him play outdoors in the cold. Then there would be hot chocolate after, and then they’d sit down, the three of them, to a hearty farm supper and talk about their day.
“Could you go open the door so I can carry him in?” asked Zeke.
He was totally willing to let Cal carry their child inside if he wanted, but Cal jumped out, grabbed Stevie’s suitcase, and raced to the front door. In a heartbeat, he’d unlocked the door and placed the suitcase inside the farmhouse.
Then he turned and stood inside the open doorway, with his arms wrapped around himself as if to ward off the cold air. And he waited for Zeke that way, the way he always did, creating an image that represented hearth and home to Zeke, looking exactly like he’d imagined it in his dreams.
As he walked close to the two wooden steps, his eyes felt hot and prickly, and while he’d never considered tears to be unmanly, he didn’t want his vision to be clouded by them, not when this moment was so precious to him and he wanted it emblazoned in his memories forever.
“Welcome home, Papa,” said Cal, because, as he usually did, he knew Zeke’s dreams just about as well as he did his own. “Now, both of you come on in before you catch a chill.”
“Yes, sir,” said Zeke.
He paused at the bottom of the two steps for one more look at Cal, then at Stevie, who looked as though he’d rather Zeke get a move on and pull him out of the car seat so he could take a good look around his new home.
“Up you get, little Stevie,” said Zeke as he handed the car seat to Cal.
Cal took it, a pleased flush to his cheeks, his smile wide. He dipped his head to smile at Stevie.
“Welcome home, little man,” he said. “Welcome to your new life.”
He placed the car seat on the floor, then bent to unbuckle Stevie from the car seat, pulling the little boy into his arms—doing all this in one smoothie motion, as if he’d been practicing for years, rather than watching it be demonstrated on a YouTube video by half a dozen people. Then, with a giddy laugh, he handed Stevie to Zeke.
“Shall we feed him first?” asked Cal. “Or get him out of those clothes that smell like they’ve just come out of a prison laundry?”
