“Ella will come get him as soon as she’s got Michael down for a nap,” she said. “Aaron isn’t ready to sleep yet. I’m sorry, but I’ve got to run.”
As far as Ben could tell, Mason was always pleased to hold his seven-month-old son, but time was passing and chores needed to be done. Ben had already found that he was just as inept at helping with the ranch work as he was at everything else these days. His first twenty-four hours at Crescent Hall had been a comedy of errors. He’d knocked over a dining room chair on his way to dinner last night, dropped a plate full of eggs and bacon this morning as he tried to carry it from the kitchen to the table, and had nearly taken a header on the uneven path between the house and the barn. He hoped like hell he could keep from dropping the baby. Ben propped Aaron against his shoulder awkwardly, unsure how to do it right. Aaron snuffled against his shoulder as if searching for something.
“I don’t have anything for you, little man,” Ben informed him. “You’ll have to wait for your mama. Or for Ella, at least.”
“Keep moving,” Mason instructed as he bent over the tractor’s engine again. “Babies are like sharks. They don’t like to sit still.”
Ben cocked his head and examined Aaron’s nearly toothless mouth. Some shark. But when Aaron let out an unhappy burble he took Mason’s advice and began to pace. Slowly. Holding the baby made him feel clumsier than ever, but he did his best to tamp down his self-pity. He was a warrior and he’d fought through lots of tough circumstances. Surely he could overcome this damn limp, too.
“When are you going to get started finding your date for the Harvest Dance?” Mason asked.
“You got some single women stashed around the ranch?”
“Afraid I don’t. If I ever get this tractor fixed, I’ll take you into town and introduce you around.”
“I could always skip the dance.”
Mason looked up. “And miss out on that revolver? Absolutely not. You’re here for a crash course on surviving civilian life. All of us men here at Crescent Hall have made the transition and you can too. Participation is the first step.”
“None of you came home injured.” Ben jiggled the baby, who was gnawing on his shoulder.
“Not in our bodies, maybe, but we carried some scars, believe me. And we had to marry before a deadline.”
Aaron waved a hand and smacked Ben in the face. His tiny fingers curled around Ben’s nose. Ben peeled the little hand away and blew a raspberry on Aaron’s round tummy. The baby squealed and laughed.
Mason smiled indulgently. “He likes that.”
Proud to have accomplished such a thing, Ben forgot his troubles for a moment. “I guess I’ll find me that date.” He could stand one evening with a stranger in order to earn that firearm. He might not be able to dance very well—and his partner had better understand that up front—but he could shoot. It was a connection to his military life he didn’t intend to give up.
“You’ve got three days.”
“If there’s one thing I know how to do,” Ben said, “it’s lay a trap. Right Aaron?” He blew another raspberry on the baby’s tummy. Aaron shrieked and laughed in agreement.
Dan walked into the barn, spotted them and made his way over. “Thought I might find you here. Can you help me out later today, Ben?”
“Sure. Don’t know what I can do that you couldn’t do better yourself, though.”
He didn’t like the look the other two men exchanged. He knew without being told his attitude sucked. SEALs didn’t whine and they didn’t put themselves down, either. Still, every time he opened his mouth negativity spilled out.
“No one beats you when it comes to shooting. I want you to help me design a program for the camp. Something that goes beyond target practice to really hone the participants’ skills. Let’s meet up after lunch.” He didn’t wait around for an answer.
Ben watched him stride out the door, envying him that freedom of movement. He wondered if he’d ever get used to his new limitations and for the twentieth time that day promised himself to stop obsessing about his injury.
“Set Aaron down for a second and help me with this, would you?” Mason said. He was elbow deep in the innards of the tractor. Ben shrugged off his light jacket, laid it out on the dirt floor and set Aaron down gently on it.
“Stay right there,” he warned the tiny boy. Aaron cooed at him and grabbed at the coat. Hurrying to Mason, Ben kept an eye on the baby. He’d seen Aaron crawl and knew the tot could move like lightning when he put his mind to it.
“Hold that,” Mason instructed.
Ben did what he was told and together they managed to undo a particularly stubborn bolt. Mason dug deeper into tractor’s movable parts while Ben straightened. He glanced over his shoulder at where he’d left the boy.