Second Harvest

Abe sat up and gave Roy a resolute expression. "Roy Folsom, you get downstairs this instant. Me and Billy are okay. Go take care of Maw."

Roy tousled Abe's hair and then Abe pushed Roy away.

"Go, now, or I'm gonna drag you downstairs myself."

Sara started to get out of bed to find Roy when she heard steps outside the door. She quickly jumped back into the bed, pulling her feet under the covers while sitting in bed. Roy walked in hesitantly and set his things on a table, never once looking at Sara. After kicking his boots off, Roy removed his socks and his shirt then stood looking down at Sara in the bed.

"You sure look pretty tonight Sara."

Sara instantly knew that Abe must have coached Roy.

"Abe is a terrific son. I'm lucky to have him. Come, sit on the bed." Sara patted the edge of the bed.

Roy shuffled over and sat on the very edge.

"You can move closer Roy, I won't bite."

"Funny, Abe said the same thing."

Sara burst out laughing.

"Mr. Roy Folsom, my husband, my hero, please give me one of your terrific passionate kisses."

Roy embraced Sara and started kissing his new wife. In no time, natural instincts kicked in and the two lovers consummated their marriage. The two newlyweds didn't get much sleep that night and Roy experienced new and exciting things. Sometime around three in the morning, they fell asleep in each other's arms, exhausted but satisfied.

A week later, Roy and Sara were working in the garden when a new Ford truck drove up to the property. Sara was in her usual attire of jeans and boots, but now she was wearing one of Roy's work shirts. Two gentlemen in suits wearing Federal Marshal's badges got out and walked over to Roy. A large circled star was painted on the side door of their vehicle.

Abe and Billy inspected the truck and started climbing inside to look around.

Sara yelled at her sons, "Abe, Billy, you get out of there this instant. Go play somewhere else."

A man with graying hair and long mustache removed his cowboy hat and smiled.

"They're fine ma'am. Boys have a natural curiosity and I doubt they can hurt anything. My name is William Brown and this is David Hunter. We're with the Federal Marshals office in Washington D.C." The gentleman had a soft, raspy, baritone southern accent like the sound one might hear from a bass fiddle.

Everyone shook hands.

"Would you like some fresh water gentlemen? Please, come inside and sit."

"Thank you, ma'am; we would enjoy both." His words were thoughtful, spoken in tempo and with purpose.