The Outcast by David Thompson Page A

ground for sign. “None that I can think of. And how many times have I told you not to call me that?”
    â€œNone at all?”
    â€œI expect my parents back in a week or two. And there were elk at the lake this morning.” Zach scratched his chin and pretended to ponder. “Oh, wait. Lou and I saw two squirrels the other day. She thought they were downright adorable.”
    â€œWhich is more than I can say about her husband.”
    Zach shifted in the saddle. “Pardon me?” he innocently asked.
    â€œ ‘You are a knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats,’ ” Shakespeare quoted. “ ‘A base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy worsted-stocking knave.’ ”
    â€œWhy, Uncle Shakespeare, whatever do you mean?”
    Shakespeare wasn’t done. “ ‘Thou cruel, ingrateful, savage and inhuman creature.’ To think I bobbed you on my knee and tickled you and let you pull on my whiskers, and this is how you treat me?”
    â€œYou’re not making any sense. Maybe Blue Water Woman is right. Maybe you do just talk to hear yourself speak.”
    Shakespeare puffed himself up like a riled rooster. “A pox on her and a pox on you. You know very well I wanted to hear about the baby.”
    â€œOh. You know about that? Then why should I need to tell you?” Zach couldn’t hold his laughter in any longer.
    â€œI am a cushion and everyone pricks me.” Shakespeare reined the mare to go around a boulder. They were in the middle of the valley; the scent of the grass was keen in his nostrils, the sun warm on his cheeks. He felt grand to be alive. “But enough tomfoolery. Be honest with me. How are you taking it?”
    Zach never held anything back from McNair. It wouldn’t do to try. The oldster had an uncanny knack for seeing right through him. “I made a mess of it at first. I got her all upset because I wasn’t sure I was ready to be a father.”
    â€œI can’t think of anyone more ready. Remember, you are the fruit of your father’s loins.”
    â€œThank you for reminding me of that.”
    â€œWhat I meant is that you have root in a fine tree. Your pa is the best man I know. That includes me. You take after him, whether you admit it or not, and you’ll be as good a pa as he is.”
    Zach hoped so. “What do you mean by best? ”
    â€œI should think it obvious. Not all men are as devoted husbands and fathers as your pa. White or red, a lot of them care more for their horses and their guns than they do for their wives. Or they can’t be bothered to spend time with their children because they’d rather be off hunting or fishing or just getting out of the cabin or the lodge.” Shakespeare paused. “The true measure of a man isn’t in how straight he shoots or how tough he is. The true measure of a man is in his capacity to love. In that regard, your pa beats every gent alive all hollow.”
    â€œCapacity to love?” Zach regarded that as an odd standard. But his uncle might have a point. Until he met Louisa, his whole purpose in life was to count coup. Now his purpose in life was her.
    â€œLove is the hardest thing in the world to do right. I’m not talking about giving someone a hug every blue moon and saying you love them. I’m talking about true love, real love. The kind of love you have to work at. The kind where you live for the person you love and not for yourself. The kind where making them happy matters more than your own happiness.”
    â€œAnd you think my pa is that way?”
    â€œThink back. Think of how devoted he is to your ma and your sister and you. Any time you’ve had a problem, he was right there helping you. He’s never set himself above you, never bossed you around like you were—”
    â€œHe made me keep my room clean,” Zach mentioned.
    â€œEven that was for your own good. Let a child be