This story was written as a Hidden Words Challenge for CTReflections. Please contact us if you would like a list of the words and an answer key.

Give Me Park Avenue

By AJ & Nelson

"You're out of your mind," Mike told his partner frankly as they snuggled together on the couch, trying to decide on a vacation destination within their budget. It was going to be the first time the police detective and the ER physician had been away together in more than a year and they had narrowed it down to either a 4 day cruise or 6 days at a luxury resort when Tom dropped his bombshell. "Why would we want to spend our vacation playing pioneer?"

"It would be fun!" Tom insisted. "You're always saying how we should get away from it all!"

"I was thinking more along the lines of the Caribbean, not the Appalachians. Someplace with room service and indoor plumbing?" Mike, always the more grounded partner, raised an eyebrow as he spoke.

"They have indoor plumbing! Look at the brochure." He angled it so they could both see the glossy pamphlet. Bucolic pastoral scenes were interspersed with glowing descriptions extolling the virtues of the simple life and the joy to be found in pursuing it.

"They have a seminar where they teach you everything you need to know and then they send you out to your cabin, where you are totally alone. No radios, no cell phones, no tv—"

"No electric lights," Mike commented dryly.

"Romantic candlelight," Tom countered. "Peace, quiet, tranquility. Sex under the stars. Come on, Mike. It isn't roughing it as much as camping is and you know you like to go camping."

"This means a lot to you, doesn't it?" Mike asked.

"Yeah, it does," Tom admitted softly. "It's something I've always dreamed about."

"I know you love the history of Daniel Boone but living it is different from reading about it, you know. Are you prepared for possible disillusionment?"

"Yes," Tom replied bluntly. "But I still want to give it a try. I really think we can do this, Mike. I've done a lot of research and this company has an excellent reputation and they have a very high ratio of repeat business. They wouldn't if they made it so difficult that everyone felt like a miserable failure at the end."

"Point."

"And I also want us to have some time alone," Tom continued. "Time away from the ER calling you and Captain Sharpe calling me everytime someone has an emergency or doesn't show up. I’m sick of our plans getting interrupted or cancelled every time we try to plan something special. I want this time to be just for us. No phone calls, no interruptions, no outside interference."

"And you don't think we can have that on a cruise?" Mike asked, already knowing the answer.

"No." Tom replied obstinately.

"And you checked to be sure they don't have a problem with gay couples?"

"Yes."

"All right." Mike regretfully said good-bye to his fantasy of a cruise or a condominium on the beach. "If it means that much to you, go ahead and make the reservations."

"Thanks, Mike." Tom twisted in his arms to kiss him fervently. "We'll do the cruise next year, I promise."

Mike gave Tom his suitcase and locked the car, glancing around in admiration as he did so. They were at a 'living history museum', an authentic reproduction of a pioneer town in the mid-1800s, run by the company who offered their vacation package. "This is nice," he said as he pulled his sunglasses off. "I was expecting something more touristy."

"This is all historically accurate," Tom told him, reading from the information packet they had been provided with. "They do regular tours and hands-on demonstrations and it's a very popular field trip. Schools come from all over to participate and it's also open to the public. We need to check in at the hotel on Main Street. That's—" he consulted the map, "right over there."

Mike smiled at his lover's enthusiasm as Tom led the way to the two-story building and checked them at the high, wooden counter. "I'd be happy just spending the week here," he said as he allowed Tom to lead the way, giving him an excellent view of the other man's butt as they headed up the stairs.

"Don't get too attached to it," Tom warned him as he unlocked the door with the old-fashioned iron key he had been given.. "We spend one night here but then we're off to the cabin after the seminar."

They entered the room and Mike glanced around appraisingly as he slung his duffle bag onto the brass bed that took up most of the room. Queen-size, he noted approvingly. Apparently they knew how to meld comfort with historical accuracy, at least in the hotel.

"Where's the bathroom?"

"There's the washstand." Tom pointed out a small cupboard with a bowl and pitcher on top and towels on the shelf beneath. "The bathroom is down the hall."

Mike mentally revised his opinion of the melding.

"You want to go out and explore?" Tom asked eagerly. "We could do a little research, be more prepared for tomorrow."

"Later," Mike told him firmly, shoving their bags to the floor, toeing off his shoes and unbuckling his belt. "The only thing I want to research right now is this bed. And you."

"Great idea," Tom readily agreed as he took off his own pants. "I think the first thing you should do when you get to a new hotel is check out the bed."

"What time do we have to be there in the morning?" Mike asked sometime later, temporarily sated, running his hand down Tom's naked back and across his buttocks, enjoying the feel of his damp, sweaty skin.

Tom draped limply over him, took a minute to re-engage his brain before answering the question. "6:00."

"Six? We have to be in the classroom at SIX?"

"You have to get up early on a farm, you know."

"Small room for training," Mike commented as they entered their seminar the next morning, held, appropriately enough, in the old one-room schoolhouse. Perhaps a dozen people were already there, many of them dressed in period clothing. He glanced down at the worn jeans, plaid flannel shirt and lace-up work boots that Tom had insisted he wear, feeling like he fit in without being too outlandishly dressed. He pitied the poor women who would be wearing those long dresses and multiple petticoats all week. "Where is everyone?" he asked as they helped themselves to the buffet set up on one side of the room.

"This is probably it," Tom pointed out. "They only have eight cabins. You figure one couple or family per cabin, that’s not a lot of people."

They filled their plates and then found a place at one of the old schoolroom desks, complete with built-in inkwells.

"I guess not. God, is that for us?" Mike asked incredulously. He picked up the three-ring binder lying on the desk in front of him. "We’re going to learn all of this today?"

"I’d rather have more information than not enough," Tom said. "The most exotic animal I’ve ever had was a hamster."

"Chickens?" Mike chuckled as he flipped through the binder. "Do they peck?"

"Only the chicken feed, I hope," Tom replied. "You take the chickens. I want to milk the cow."

"*We* take the chickens and we share the cow. Wonder if they lay eggs, too?"

"The cows?" Tom asked in mock surprise. "Boy, you really don't know much about farming, do you?"

"The chickens, smart ass", Mike said with a laugh. "Looks like they're ready to start," he added as a woman costumed as a school marm stepped to the front of the room.

"I hope they teach us how to make coffee without a coffee machine," Tom whispered as he took a sip from his cup. "I don't think I can go a week without it."

"I think I saw a tab on cooking in this book," Mike answered quietly.

"Hello, my name is Tanya Monroe," the teacher began. "We’d like to welcome you all here today."We're very proud of our work here at Pioneer Village and we're pleased to be able to take you back in time. This morning you will learn all you need to know about pioneer living, from cooking on a woodstove to milking a cow or goat to using oil lamps to getting water from a pump."

A rumble of excited amusement rippled through the small room. "You should all have received a list of what to pack. Did anyone not get that list?" she paused to scan the room. "Great. Then what I’m about to say will be a repeat. To make it simple, nothing goes with you that has a plug."

"That makes it pretty simple," Mike whispered to Tom. "I’m frankly looking forward to no shaving."

"You could take a razor, just not an electric one."

"I *could*." Mike grinned.

"We tell you not to take anything electric to save you some trouble. There’s no electrical wiring where you’re going, no batteries, no water heaters or microwaves or tv's or any of the other modern-day conveniences we take for granted," the teacher continued with a smile. "First we're going to show a video on what your typical day will be like, then we'll take you on a tour of the village. You'll get a real feel for what life was like 150 years ago and you'll have hands-on demonstrations of everything you'll need to know to make it through your vacation."

"The binders go with you as reference material and you'll also have someone stop by each day to see how you're doing and give you advice if you need it. This week," she paused to check her notes, "that will be Bob Andil. Does anyone have any questions so far?"

Mike's primary question was raised by someone in the front row. "What if we have an emergency? What if we can't wait for him to come by?"

"Don't worry," she replied soothingly. "You'll also receive what we call the "I've fallen and can't get up' button for emergency communication. Just push the bright red 'X' and someone will be with you within about 20 minutes. Any other questions?"

There were several good ones and Mike took out a notebook and started jotting down the answers.

"Anal," Tom whispered.

"Prepared," Mike countered.

"Shh," Tom scolded as the teacher continued her lecture.

"After the tour we'll return here for lunch and you'll be given your maps, supplies and transportation."

The rest of the morning was filled with a flurry of information that left Tom's head spinning. They toured several types of housing, including a one-room log cabin similar to the one they would be occupying, fed pigs and chickens, bottle-fed a calf, gathered eggs, learned the proper way to start a fire in a woodstove and prime a pump and had their first encounter with milking a goat.

"God, I feel naked," Mike said later that afternoon as he stowed his keys, cell phone and Blackberry in the tiny locker provided for them. "I'm so used to having this stuff on me."

"I know," Tom said with a grin. "Isn't it great? If anyone calls, we won't be any the wiser."

"Why did you bring your handcuffs?" Mike asked curiously as Tom began stacking his belongings in the locker.

Tom shrugged. "Habit. Do you think I should leave them here or take them with us? They aren't electronic but I doubt if I'll need to arrest any wildlife while we're up there."

"Bring them along," Mike advised. "We might want to play a little 'warden/trustee' while we're there."

Tom grinned. "Dibs on warden this time."

"Just make sure you bring the keys," Mike warned. "It could be a little embarrassing otherwise."

As Tom checked to be sure he had the keys, Mike inspected at the little gizmo to be used for emergencies. "I hope nothing happens to us while we're up there. This thing doesn't seem like much."

"No, but you saw how it works. They can be up there in no time if we need them outside of their regular visits," Tom replied absently as he finished shoving everything in the locker and got out the map. "You ready to find our transportation and head up to the cabin?"

Mike took a deep breath and tucked the emergency device in his pocket. "Sure. It says our vehicle is in parking space B16."

"Wonder what they're giving us to use?"

"Just be glad it isn't a covered wagon," Mike advised.

The vehicle, when they found it, proved to be a black Model T pickup truck.

"Where'd they get all these old trucks?" Mike wondered aloud. "Looks like something from Walton's mountain. Do you think they're real or replicas?"

"I don't know," Tom said, admiring the design of the old machine. If it was an original, it had been kept in pristine condition. "Wonder if the horn sounds like the truck on 'The Waltons'?"

Mike groaned, "Please don't– "

"Ah-OO-ga," Tom said laughing.

"He did it anyway," Mike said, laughing himself.

Tom tossed their bags into the bed of the truck, already loaded with a couple of wooden crates, burlap bags of animal feed, the plants they were supposed to set out in the garden and a bale of hay. "That is hay, isn't it?" he asked Mike, already having trouble remembering the difference between it and straw.

"I think so," Mike said, checking to be sure they had the precious binder. "Probably to feed our goat."

"I can't believe we got a goat instead of a cow," Tom grouched. "I thought we were pretty good at milking."

Mike cast him a disbelieving glance. "We're lucky they gave us the goat."

"Come on, we didn't do *that* bad!" Tom protested. "We got milk."

"Eventually. And you know they said the cows are for the experienced people and the families on the bigger farms. "What would we do with ten gallons of milk every day?"

"Feed it to the calf instead of the milk substitute they gave us?"

"Drop it, Tom," Mike ordered. "End of discussion. I'm sure they have their reasons and we need to follow their rules."

They opened the truck doors, glanced at each other and hesitated. "Ready?" Mike asked.

Tom took a deep breath. "Let's go. I'll navigate."

"I hope there are street signs on dirt roads," Mike said, starting the engine. "I'd hate to get lost and have to call for help before we even get to the cabin."

"We'll be fine. They'll have it marked."

They left the parking lot, Mike taking each corner as Tom commanded, following a dusty road that led them deeper into the woods and ever farther from electricity and cell phones.

"There, turn right there," Tom told him after about 15 minutes.

"This isn't a road, it's barely a path," Mike protested. "Are you sure this is right?"

Yeah, there's a sign, see?" Tom said, pointing toward a rustic wooden arrow half-hidden in the weeds.

Tom continued to navigate as they jounced down the narrow dirt trail, struggling to keep his eyes focused on the bouncing map as Mike struggled to keep the truck on the deeply rutted track. "Rough road," he commented.

"I know. Wonder what they do in the winter."

"Ok, slow down. We should have our last turn up ahead on the right. That's it," Tom directed. "Meadowbrook Farm."

A quarter mile later they came to a shuddering halt and stared at their new home away from home.

"Looks—primitive," Mike commented as they stopped in front of the log cabin.

"Looks great," Tom corrected. "And the bathroom is down that path," he anticipated Mike's next question. "Just keep thinking upscale camping and you'll be fine."

"Let's unload the truck and check out the place," Mike directed, resolutely banishing the image of deck chairs, mai tai's and all-you-can-eat buffets.

"Then we should get our chores done so we can relax," Tom suggested. "We have a lot to do."

"It won't take long to check out the cabin," Mike said as they carried their bags in and dropped them on the floor. "There's only one room."

"That's why they call it a one-room cabin," Tom pointed out and then laughed as Mike jokingly swatted his bottom. "And it's a decent size. Some of the ones in the village were tiny."

It was a decent size, Mike agreed, remembering some of the more primitive cabins with a shudder.

This one was big enough to have both a fireplace and a woodstove, situated at opposite ends of the cabin with an iron bedstead in between. There was a kitchen dresser near the stove filled with dishes and utensils, cast-iron pans and a blue-speckled wash bowl on the shelf beneath. Shelves to one side were evidently meant for the groceries they had brought a long and an ice box – an anchronistic touch of modern living – was tucked away in the corner. There was a small table covered with a red-and-white checked cloth and flanked by two straight-backed chairs, two rockers next to the fireplace and a chest at the end of the iron bedstead for their clothes. The mantel over the fireplace held two oil lamps and a row of old books.

Somehow, it appeared cheerful and welcoming in spite of its spartan furnishings, perhaps because of the cheerful wedding ring quilt on the bed, the bright calico curtains at the windows and the small rag rugs scattered about the floor.

"Check out these dishes." Tom pulled out a blue tin plate with white speckles flecked through it and flicked his fingernail against it. They're made of tin. And there's a coffee pot to match."

"So we'll make it," Mike teased. "We have caffeine."

"With goat's milk," Tom said with a grimace.

"It didn't taste that different from the cow's milk," Mike told him. "It's all psychological."

"I'm still drinking mine black."

"Chicken," Mike accused teasingly. "And speaking of chickens--"

"I know. We need to go feed them." Tom headed for the door "You'd be impossible to live with in the old days. We just got here and already you're thinking about chores."

"We have to do them before dark," Mike said, "and it will probably take longer the first time."

"I know. I'm excited, actually. Want to go meet Daisy?" he asked, rubbing his hands together.

At Mike's insistence, they unloaded the rest of the truck first, putting the various bags of feed and bale of hay into a spare stall in the small barn. In addition to Daisy, they were also the proud - if temporary - owners of five hens and a rooster, a spotted calf named Buster and a small, thoroughly muddy pig named Homer.

At last he looked at the sky and said, "Ok, let's go milk the goat."

Mike won the coin toss for the milking privilege. "We'll take turns," he assured the slightly downcast Tom. "We're supposed to milk her twice a day so you can have first turn tomorrow, all right?"

"Yeah," Tom agreed. "I guess I'll go feed Homer and the chickens."

"Start a fire in the woodstove, first," Mike directed as he confidently led Daisy to the milking stand. "It will probably take a while to get warm enough to cook on."

Mike waited until Tom had left to get the milking stool and the bucket. It wasn't that he was nervous about milking in front Tom but—

Daisy had trotted willing onto the stand and she stood patiently waiting, occasionally turning her head to stare at him as if she were urging him to get on with it. "Here goes," he muttered to himself. First, get the cloth and wipe down the bag… As he touched the taut, milk-filled udder Daisy stamped her foot and he jumped. "What?"

"What? What am I doing wrong?" He reached for the binder and realized Tom had taken it with him.

/Ok, I can do this,/ he told himself calmly. /People have been milking goats for thousands of years and they managed to figure it out without a damned instruction manual./ "It's all right, Daisy," he murmured soothingly in his best Alpha tone. "I'm not going to hurt you, I just want to- AGHH!" He jerked away as she lashed out with her foot. "What the hell is *wrong* with you?"

"You forgot to put feed in the bowl."

Mike jumped again before he realized that a female goat wouldn't have a deep baritone voice. "Jesus, I need more sleep," he muttered before turning to glower his partner.

"What? I started the fire," Tom said defensively. "I'm here for the chicken feed and the milk powder for Buster. Can you feed Homer?"

"Sure," Mike replied, getting up and leading the way to the stall where the feed was stored.

He waited until Tom had measured out the milk substitute and chicken feed, then got the sweet feed - a mixture of oats, corn and molasses - and poured a scoop into the goat's feed bowl. Daisy immediately began eating and he was able to wipe down the udder before Tom appeared again.

"Mike, can you give me a hand?"

"Sure, what's wrong?" Mike asked as he rose from the milking stool.

"I was splitting kindling and--"

"You cut yourself," Mike immediately assumed. "Where? How bad? Let me see it."

"No, I didn't cut myself!" Tom denied. "I'm not *that* incompetent! I just got a splinter under my nail, I can't get it out and it hurts."

"Let's get out in the light where I can see it." Mike led the way out into the sunlight and inspected the throbbing finger. "It doesn't look too bad. Let me get my bag."

As he went into the cabin to get the first aid kit he never traveled without, Tom heard Daisy bleating and stamping her feet inside the barn. When he entered, she was licking at her empty dish and then maaah-ing plaintively.

"Poor thing! Hasn't he fed you yet?" He continued to sympathize with her as he got a scoop of sweet feed and poured it into her bowl. "There. That should hold you until he gets back."

"Tom, where are you?" Mike called.

"Coming! I was just checking on Daisy."

It didn't take long for Mike to get a grip on the splinter with his forceps and pull it free. He spent a moment longer probing to make sure he had gotten it all, then thrust Tom's hand under the spout of the pump. "Wash it with the anti-bacterial soap," he ordered as he pumped the handle and water gushed out over Tom's hands. "No telling what germs are lurking around here."

Finally, satisfied that the wound was clean, he put his bag away and got back to his milking. "You ate all your food already!" he told Daisy as she ran her tongue around th empty bowl and then bleated at him pathetically. "I guess it won't hurt you to have just a little more."

He refilled the food dish and Daisy seemed quite content to nibble at her feed and let him get on with the business of milking. It seemed to take him a lot longer than the experts, though; ten minutes later he was only halfway through milking and Daisy was growing restless. Surreptitiously, keeping one eye out for Tom, he got her another 1/2 scoop of feed. It wouldn't hurt if they returned her slightly fatter than they got her, he reasoned and he would get faster with practice.

Finally finished with the milking, he took a minute to massage his aching fingers before he put her into her stall, gave her a ration of hay and filled her water bucket from the pump in the yard.

Next he fed Homer and idly scratched the little pig around its ears while it gobbled down its dinner. He hadn't realized how rough and bristly they were, he thought, rubbing its neck and running his hand back and forth over the wiry hair. Brushing his own hair back, he stood up and dusted his palms together.

Tom was right, this farming stuff wasn't half bad. Tomorrow they would work in the garden and then take a picnic lunch down to the fishing hole marked on their map. Maybe they could even catch enough fish for dinner. Picking up the bucket brimming with milk, he started to the cabin to see what Tom had planned for supper.

"DAMN IT!"

He could hear Tom swearing before he got to the cabin. He set the bucket of milk on the porch and hurried into the cabin to find Tom standing next to the table, two quarts of lumpy milk flowing from an overturned calf bottle to pool on floor beneath. Before he could say anything, Tom turned and gave the cast iron woodstove a mighty kick, then leaned against it, swearing under his breath as he fought the pain of his injured toes.

"Tom!" Before he could say anything else his partner turned on him.

"Go ahead, say it! I was wrong to bring us up here! Stupid to think I could do this or that it would be a great vacation! Why do I always do this?" he castigated himself. "We should have gone on a cruise! At least you would have had fun on a cruise!"

"I'm having fun now." Mike said matter-of-factly, his calm tone a sharp contrast to Tom's angry one. "Why don't you slow down and tell me what's going on?"

"Can't you see?" Tom yelled, gesturing wildly around the room. "I can't do anything right! I fed the chickens but I can't get them into the chicken house! I chased them and chased them and they went seven different directions, none of them inside their house! They're probably going to be out all night and get eaten by wolves or foxes or something and we'll have to replace them and God knows what they cost! Then I tried to make the calf's bottle but the directions say to use warm water and we don't have any warm water because I've lit the stove three times and it keeps going out before it even gets lukewarm and when I tried to use cold water I couldn't get all the lumps out and when I tried to put the nipple on the bottle it wouldn't go on and then the bottle slipped and look at this mess! I can't believe this! I can investigate crime scenes and track down serial killers and defuse hostage situations but I can't catch a chicken or feed a stupid calf! What the hell is WRONG with me?"

"Nothing," Mike told him firmly, crossing the room to rest both hands on his shoulders. "Nothing except that you're tired, you didn't get enough sleep and you're trying to do unfamiliar tasks without enough training."

"And I'm stupid," he repeated bitterly.

"Thomas, do not talk about yourself like that again!" Mike ordered. "If you do, you're going to get a strong taste of good old-fashioned soap. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, Mike."

"Ok." Mike pulled his lover into a deep hug. "Now. Do you want to quit? Do you want me to push the panic button and tell them we're going home?"

"No! We just got here!" Tom lifted his head from where he had rested it on Mike's shoulder. "Unless- do you want to go? I think they'll give us a partial refund if you want to put it toward a short cruise."

"No, it's too late for a cruise," Mike replied. "If we leave, we'll go home."

"No, I want to stay." Tom straightened his shoulders resolutely. "I made a commitment and I'm going to stick to it."

"Good," Mike praised. "Now I want you to go down to the creek, find a rock to sit on and stay there until I come for you. And think of 15 things that are good about yourself."

"Mike!"

"You know the consequences of losing your temper and calling yourself stupid. Go on now. I'll catch up with you in a few minutes."

He stood on the porch and watched Tom trudge away, unhappy that he had to discipline the other man on their first night but determined to head off trouble before it led to a spanking. It would be nice if they could just ignore that aspect of their relationship while they were on vacation but it was important that he be consistent and not send mixed messages. And maybe if he jumped on it now it wouldn't go any further. He hated the idea of using corporal punishment, especially when they were away from home, and letting Tom think he didn't need to control his temper now could only lead to trouble later on.. He sighed and went inside to deal with the fire.

It was actually closer to an hour before he joined Tom at the creek and the younger man had had plenty of time to calm down. The tranquil setting had helped and Tom was much more relaxed when Mike arrived carrying a warm bottle of milk for Buster.

Tom avoided Mike's eyes, idly tossing stones from the rugged bank into the creek. "I'm sorry I lost my temper and exploded like that," Tom said guiltily. "I didn't mean to have a tantrum."

"It's all right," Mike quietly accepted the apology. He put the bottle down and wrapped his arms around Tom. "It's been a tough day. For both of us."

"Yeah."

Holding Tom at arms' length, Mike asked, "You have that list ready for me?"

Tom nodded, reciting the 15 things from memory. He wasn't sure if it was harder coming up with them or memorizing the list.

"That's my favorite one," Mike commented as Tom listed the last one. "Your sense of humor."

"Thanks, Mike," Tom said. "I'll try to keep my humor about me the next time I get stressed and discouraged."

"I know you will." Mike sat down, keeping hold of Tom's hand, and pulled him down next to him. "It's beautiful up here."

Watching the sun going down behind the hills, with the brook babbling in the background, it was easy for Tom to forget about all the frustrations of the day. It really was beautiful. Movement near the edge of the creek caught his attention and he elbowed Mike.

"Look. A frog."

Mike smiled, awed at seeing something so simple but something he hadn't seen much of since his childhood. "I don't remember the last time I saw a frog."

"The city isn't too enticing for them, I guess."

"Guess not. Oh, I saw a canoe stored in the rafters of the barn. Maybe we can go for a paddle tomorrow if we get time."

"Great. I want to go fishing, too." They sat for a little longer before Mike added, "You know what? I don't even miss the TV or the cell phone."

"Especially the cell phone," Tom agreed. "No frantic call rushing me out the door on my day off. Nature isn't nearly as demanding."

"Oh, I nearly forgot." Mike reached down, picked up the milk-filled bottle and held it out to Tom. "I fixed Buster's milk for you."

Tom took the heavy plastic bottle from him. "Thanks. You got the stove lit?"

"No," Mike confessed. "I filled the cabin with smoke. But there's a fire pit behind the cabin so I built a fire in it, heated the water and put some potatoes in to bake. We can grill steaks on it later and worry about the woodstove tomorrow."

"At least Buster will get fed. Him and the fox."

Mike sighed. "Did you check the binder before you panicked, Tom? You don't have to chase them inside. They go to roost by themselves."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I read it while the water was heating."

"I hope you're right because they're fast. I think catching a greased pig would be easier."

"Are you ready to go back? I'll do the steaks while you feed Buster and then we can see if our chickens are ok. I doubt anything's had time to eat them even if it wanted to."

"Yeah."

Tom and Mike went back toward the cabin, Tom detouring off to feed Buster while Mike went inside to get the steaks from the icebox. Once he was finished caring for the calf, he went for a quick look at the chickens. All six were inside, the five hens perched on the lower roost with the cock just above them, sound asleep.

"I'll be damned," he told them. "You should be ashamed of yourselves, making me chase you like that."

A couple of them clucked sleepily at his chastisement but overall they seemed distinctly unimpressed. "No backtalk!" he told them before he left, closing and latching the door behind him. He started thoughtfully at the latch for a moment. Somehow that didn't seem like very much protection. Shouldn't the door have a lock or something? He knew foxes and bears didn't have opposable thumbs, but still-- After another moment's reflection, he got a heavy rock and propped it against the door. No sense in taking chances. Whistling cheerfully, he went to find Mike and dinner.

By the time he rounded the back side of the cabin, Mike was filling their plates. "Smells good," he said.

"Thanks," Mike replied. "You're just in time. Have a seat."

Tom sat down in the adirondack glider, stretching out his legs and resting his feet on the rocks piled around the fire pit as Mike passed him a plate with a half-inch cut of steak sizzling on it.

"How was Buster?" Mike asked as he sat next to Tom, balancing his own plate on his knees.

"Hungry. He was so cute, the way he kept butting it as he guzzled it down," Tom replied. He paused to slash through his steak and take a bite before adding, "He didn't give me any trouble at all. Oh, and the chickens were roosting, just like you said."

They finished their dinner but stayed out by the fire for a while, listening to its snap and crackle, watching little flecks of flame sparkling in the night.

"That was good," Tom complimented.

"Thanks," Mike said. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"At least we can build a fire out here since neither of us can seem to get a woodstove burning."

Mike laughed. "Yeah, we shouldn't starve. Maybe they can help us when they come by tomorrow."

"Maybe so. Look at all the lightning bugs."

Mike watched as tiny lights ignited, then dimmed in the trees. "It's nice out here," he said taking a deep cleansing breath. "Look at the sky. It's so clear."

"It's nice to take time to appreciate nature a bit, isn't it?" Tom asked, craning his neck to gaze at the twinkling stars.

"It is," Mike agreed. Mike could hear the chirping of nearby crickets, singing their night song to no one in particular.

At last Mike patted Tom's knee, then got up and started collecting the dirty dishes. "Are you ready to head inside? We can cuddle in bed and read for a while if you want."

"Yeah. Can we leave the dishes until morning, just this once?"

"I think so, just this once," Mike agreed, secretly relieved that Tom had suggested it and he didn't have to deal with heating water again.

They doused the outside fire and did one last check of the animals, securely fastening them in before going into the cabin.

"It's hot in here," Mike said as they stepped inside. "We should open the windows."

Tom went to the woodstove and peered inside. "It's burning!" he exclaimed.

"You're kidding! It must have kept smoldering after I left and then finally burst into flame."

"Yeah, kind of like a forest fire," Tom agreed. "It looks like it's almost burned out. Should I add more wood?"

Mike pursed his lips in indecision. "Not tonight," he decided at last. "Does the binder give instructions for banking it for the night?"

They stoked the fire, stripped off their clothes and climbed into bed. With Tom curled up next him, Mike said, "You know, we didn't do too badly for the first day."

"Not too bad," Tom agreed.

"We took care of all the animals and managed to make dinner."

"Didn't kill the chickens."

"Didn't burn the house down. It turned out to be a good day, not nearly as disastrous as it could have been."

"Not at all," Tom replied. "I'm glad we came. Are you?"

"Yeah." Mike agreed as he turned on his side and opened the book he had found on the shelf.

"What are you reading?" Tom asked curiously, levering himself up to look over Mike's side.

Mike held the book up. "Laura Ingalls Wilder. I think we're going to need all the help we can get."

The End