Harry on the Prairie

Chapter 1

Hiii....two things real quick! If you were sent to me via Hazza Boyfriend Bot, thank you for taking a look. :)

1. If you're gonna read, please go back and read the prologue cause it is critical to the entire story. It is very short.

2. If historical fiction isn't your thing, please check out my other Harry fic, STRONG ENOUGH.

Thank you all & happy reading! xo

*****
I hear the train a comin',
rollin' round the bend.
I ain't seen the sunshine
since I don't know when.
        -- Johnny Cash
*****

I crunch the letter up into a tight ball in my fist. I open it back up and smooth it out on the dinner table so that I could read it again. There must be some mistake.

Goddammit. I crumble the letter up and throw it into the stove's fire beneath my simmering stew. I run my hands through my hair and pace around hither and yon inside my cabin.

I remember Mrs. Tomlinson from when I was a kid. She and my mom would quilt and do ladylike things together, and me and Louis would run down to the fishing hole. We'd catch fish, frogs, and sometimes shoot squirrels with slingshots. I was a far better shot than Louis, although he'd never admit it. I noticed Mrs. Tomlinson didn't mention him in the letters. Why couldn't he take care of the little runt cousin? Surely if something had happened to Louis, she would have mentioned it?

She didn't even say how old this Frankie kid was. He better have enough meat on his bones to pull his own weight around this place and at least earn his keep. I'm not going to be doing all the work and having a little moocher stay here. I don't even have a second bedroom in this cabin, there's never been a need for one. He'll have to stay either with me, or out in the barn. I hope he chooses the barn. I'm used to being by myself and having things the way I like them, when I like them. I don't need to be pussyfooting around anybody else, much less a...

Did that letter say 2:00 Saturday? I wish I hadn't burned it like an idiot so I could look at it again. Saturday was today. Sonofabitch.

I might be a lot of things, but an asshole who'd abandon a kid at a train station wasn't one of them. I extinguish the stove's fire, put on my hat, grab my rifle, and am off like a whore's knickers.

*******

I arrive at the depot with a few minutes to spare, so I water the horses so they'll be ready for the return trip. Just a couple blinks after that I hear the train approaching in the distance, and I walk across the platform, knocking some dried mud off my boots here and there as I go. Looking down at myself, I notice a tomato stain on my shirt from the stew I'd made while ago. Good thing I'm not trying to impress anyone, I chuckle to myself.

The brakes on the train screech as the engine pulls to a stop. People come pouring out, looking for their relatives on the platform, hugging and crying and whatnot. I watch and wait, and it looks like pretty much everyone has gotten off. I don't see an orphaned kid anywhere. I knew I shouldn't have burned that letter. I stomp my boot at myself in disgust.

"Excuse me, are you Mr. Styles?"

I look to my left, and there is a young girl. Woman. Young woman. She is the prettiest thing I've ever seen in my life. She looks to be about 17 years old. Short, but strong.  Wearing a blue dress with a pattern of little pink rosebuds all over it, and a bonnet to match. A few tendrils of blonde hair escape the edges of her bonnet, framing a tan face, and eyes a vibrant green. She blinks once. Twice.

"Sir?"

"What?" I almost stutter.

"Do you know a Mr. Harry Styles?" She asks.

"Umm....that would be me, miss," I reply, trying to figure out who this girl is and why my new farmhand isn't here.

"Good afternoon, Mr . Styles," she smiles and curtsies, "I'm Frankie. Frankie Tomlinson. Aunt Jo said..."

I pull off my hat, throw my head back and let out a wild knee-slapping laugh. This reminds me of some pranks Louis and I pulled as kids.

I laugh long and hard, while "Frankie" just stands there, quiet. A little too quiet. In fact, she might look a little upset, but what do I know about women?

I pull myself together, "You mean - this isn't a joke?"

"I don't see what there is to joke about, sir," Frankie wipes a small tear from the corner of her eye, "I can just get on the next train and go back..."

Sometimes I am so stupid I could just shit and fall back in it. Now she's crying. If there is one thing that makes me nervous, it's women crying.

"Shh...no, no," I take one of her bags. "I apologize. I just assumed from the letter that Frankie was going to be a little boy." I offer a small smile.

"My birth name's Frances, only nobody calls me that," she looks to the ground and back up at me with those blazing eyes, "I'm sorry to disappoint you."

"Believe me, disappointed is the last thing I am right now." I grab her other bag as well, and walk Frankie over to the wagon.