This is the standard disclaimer. They don't belong to me. This story is not intended to violate any copyrights held by Paramount, UPN, or Pet Fly Productions.

Author’s Notes: Thank you to Spacepixell and Loopy for beta-ing.

This story contains corporal punishment. Be warned.

~*~*~

Jim pushed back from the dining table and patted his stomach. Since Blair moved in, the quality of the home cooked meals eaten at the loft had improved drastically.

Jim chuckled; both the quality and number of home cooked meals had increased drastically.

“That was great, kiddo. Thanks. What did you say those were again?”

Blair’s head popped up from behind the open refrigerator door. “Quesadillas. Was there enough cheese?” Before Jim could answer, the mop-topped youngster’s head once again disappeared as Blair shoved the leftovers onto the bottom shelf.

“Plenty.” Jim spoke at Blair’s backside, which was swaying back and forth as the bent-over youngster re-positioned several items displaced by the leftovers.

Blair found room for everything and stood up. He nudged the door shut with one hip and smiled at Jim. Then he began a quickstep around the kitchen, alternately waving his hands in the air and plucking meal remnants and dirty dishes from the island as he spoke.

“Great! I learned how to make ‘em from this crazy teacher friend of Naomi’s. We stayed with her for a couple of weeks two years ago on our way down to Mexico. She said you can never have too much cheese, ‘specially in quesadillas. What about the onions and spices? Too much? ‘Cos I tried to be careful. Don’t wanna mess with your taste buds, man. And I wasn’t sure about the guacamole; not everyone likes guacamole. And…”

“Whoah, there, Speedy.”

Jim smiled suspiciously at the teenager. Blair tended to ramble on about the most unusual subjects, but Jim was beginning to distinguish the subtle differences in the Blair Sandburg Ramble-O-Meter. The timing, subject and speed of the ramble-du-jour led Jim to believe Blair was building up the nerve to broach a tricky topic.

Blair froze in mid gesture; letting his next words drift off into the air, unspoken. He let his hands fall to his sides and began tapping the outsides of his thighs with balled up fists.

Jim fortified himself with deep breath. He patted his lips with a napkin, wadded it up and threw it onto the table.

“Just spill it, kiddo.” He looked at Blair with what he hoped was a neutral expression.

“It’s Friday night,” Blair started.

“Yes?’ Jim encouraged.

“I was wondering if, well, I know it’s short notice, but I only found out today, and, well, I was wondering, if maybe, I could get an extension on my curfew?” Blair blurted out in one breath.

“How much of an extension?” Jim inquired warily.

“1:00AM?” Blair asked cautiously.

“No way. 11:30.” Jim countered.

“12:30?” Blair asked hopefully.

“Midnight.” Jim offered guardedly.

“Midnight.” Blair accepted happily.

“That means both feet inside the loft, door closed and locked, no last minute calls or excuses.” Jim emphasized.

“Midnight.” Blair repeated. “Thanks, Jim.”

“You’re welcome,” Jim answered suspiciously. The little song and dance routine they’d just executed didn’t seem to come into synch with the meter. Jim quickly went over the negotiations in his head, looking for what he’d missed. It came to him just as Blair bounced into his room.

“Where’re you going that you need the extra time?” Jim called out.

Blair’s heart rate sent the meter’s dial into the red zone for a moment but it quickly leveled off.

“Just a party.” Blair stated nonchalantly.

Jim frowned; those were the exact words and tone of voice he’d used as a teenager anytime he’d tried to connive his way to a party he had no business being at. He got up and ambled quietly over to Blair’s room. He leaned up against the doorframe and watched Blair as he scurried about, tossing things out of his way as he searched for a clean shirt.

“Where?” Jim inquired.

Blair jumped and spun around. “Jeezuz, Jim, clear your throat or something next time so I know you’re there. Hello? You’re not in covert ops anymore. No need to sneak up on anyone here.”

Jim chuckled and shook his head. “Sorry, kiddo. Old habits.” He took a half step into the room and repositioned himself against the wall, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “Now answer the question. Where is this party?”

Blair hesitated for a few minutes before answering. Jim could hear the wheels turning; he could feel Blair’s indecision about how to answer the question. He was really beginning to think he should have asked this particular question a lot sooner. Maybe it was time to drill Simon on Parenting 101 again.

“You know Travis? The kid I started a study group with for the basketball team?”

Jim nodded.

“It’s at his frat house.” Blair shrugged his shoulders dismissively, smiled charmingly and spun back around to finish his search.

“You’re not going.” Jim stated flatly. One hand was already in the air, in a pre-emptive don’t say a word position, as Blair immediately spun back around.

“I don’t even wanna hear it, Chief. You’re only sixteen; you have absolutely no business going to a frat party.”

“But Jiiiii-im,” Blair pleaded in a whiney tone Jim had never encountered before. “That’s not fair.”

Jim stuck a fingertip in his left ear and wiggled it gently, trying to find a way to filter the decibel range Blair had managed to achieve.

“You can go to the movies; go bowling; go to any one of the dozens of age appropriate activities listed in the Cascade Times Weekend On the Go section; but you’re not going to a frat party.” Jim kept his voice level and calm and he fixed Blair with a no-nonsense look he was sure could only be perceived as ‘the subject is closed’.

“Oh yes I am.” Blair’s voice was equally calm and the look he gave Jim was one Jim would never have dared give his father.

Jim’s mental fingers frantically began paging through his instruction manual in an attempt to find the chapter dealing with outright defiance. Having no luck, he skipped right to the final page.

“It’s not up for debate or discussion, kiddo. You’re not going. Deal with it,” Jim ordered in his best command voice.

“What?!” Blair demanded loudly. “What ever happened to that whole ‘I’m willing to talk things over’ spiel you gave me when I first moved in?”

Jim winced internally. Leave it to Blair to be able to drudge up any and every innocuous remark Jim may have uttered in a moment of naïve amateur parental weakness. Jim’s chin dropped toward his chest as he conceded that Blair was right; he had said that. He doubted there’d be anything the kid could say to convince him to let him go to this party, but he would at least live up to his word and let Blair have his say.

“All right, talk.” Jim said.

Blair eyed him dubiously for several seconds, then ran his hands through his curly mane and started shuffling his feet anxiously.

“These are my friends, Jim. I’ve been helping them out and now they just want me to have some fun with them. They’re a good bunch of guys. It’s nice to be included, ya know?”

“I know, kiddo,” Jim acknowledged. “But this isn’t the best way to be included. Will there be anyone else there your age?”

“No, but…”

“Will there be beer, booze?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“Pot, drugs?”

“I dunno, I suppose, maybe, but…”

“Then I don’t see what else there is to talk about. You’re not going.” Jim took a few steps, snagged the nape of Blair’s neck, reeled the kid in close and gave him an affectionate squeeze.

“Come on, Jim, this is the first time I’ve been included in something like this; I’m tired of the guys thinking of me as a kid.” Blair nudged his shoulder against Jim’s chest. He tilted his head and looked up at Jim through strands of curls with wide, pleading eyes…the whole effect making him look even younger than the kid he was trying so hard not to be.

Jim rolled his eyes heavenward and counted silently to three. “There’ll be other times, ki-, Chief. Don’t be in such a hurry.” Jim consoled.

The blue eyes narrowed slightly and the plaintive tone once again turned petulant. “Six months ago I wouldn’t have had to ask anybody.”

“A lot of things were different six months ago. For both of us,” Jim reasoned, refusing to rise to the bait. He tapped the back of Blair’s head affectionately. Then he dropped his arm, letting it fall across Blair’s shoulder and squeezed the boy’s upper arm snugly.

“Find something else to do tonight. I mean it, kiddo. Don’t even think about taking off for this party after I leave for my stakeout, or we’ll troubleshoot later. Got it?”

Blair hung his head in apparent capitulation. “Great. This whole sentinel thing is supposed to make you a better cop, a protector of the tribe. Instead, it’s just a way to keep me in line.”

Jim shook his head; he was sure none of this was covered in the instruction manual. Maybe there was an updated version somewhere he could get his hands on.

Blair pried himself from Jim’s grasp. He trudged to his futon, kicking wayward jeans, shoes and sweatshirts out of his way as he went. He flopped down onto the futon in a huff. He crossed his arms and drew a bead on Jim’s soft spot.

“Uncle Seth would’ve let me go.”

This time Jim winced visibly as Blair’s cheap shot found its mark. The tight rein he’d been keeping on his patience came to an abrupt halt.

“Seth isn’t your father,” Jim stated in a deceptively calm voice.

“Neither are you!” Blair spit back at him before turning away and curling onto his side on the futon. “Leave me alone.”

Jim felt sucker-punched.

He stared at Blair’s back in disbelief, wondering where this particular side of Blair’s personality had been hiding all this time. He rubbed his eyes and forehead tiredly. Unfortunately, he really didn’t have time to deal with it at the moment.

“Fine. I have to leave for the stakeout. You’re restricted to the loft for the rest of the night.”

Jim waited for a response.

Blair’s steady heartbeat, echoing through an otherwise deafening silence, was all that met his ears.

~*~*~

Joel Taggart sat in the passenger seat of Jim’s truck and listened to his friend’s account of his early evening foray into ‘how to fail miserably at parenting an obnoxious, petulant brat of a teenage guide’. He occasionally nodded knowingly or offered a sympathetic shrug or an understanding grunt.

Jim gazed intently through the windshield during the entire account, sweeping the surveillance area while he spoke. When he finished talking, he remained quiet for several minutes, allowing his hearing to sweep the same area.

Joel sat calmly while Jim did his sentinel thing, watching his friend as Blair had explained…looking for any signs of a zone out.

Jim finally broke the silence. “He hates me, Joel.”

The surrogate guide snorted loudly. “Back up the bus, I must’ve missed that stop.”

“What?”

“Jim, Jim, Jim,” Joel said, shaking his head knowingly. “All he did was try and manipulate you. You can tell he’s a beginner, though, because he went at it all wrong.” Joel considered his own words momentarily as he popped a handful of peanuts into his mouth and began munching. “Once he realized it, he took advantage of the fact you’re a beginner too and went straight for your soft underbelly.”

Jim looked at his friend as if he were speaking Greek. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

“Uncle Seth.” Joel stated.

Jim just stared at him with a totally lost look.

“Did he say he hates you, Jim?” Joel asked.

“No, but he…” Jim floundered.

“He doesn’t hate you, Jim,” Joel explained. “He used Uncle Seth in an attempt to misdirect your attention from the fact that he still had every intention of going to that party. I’m guessing he’ll cut his losses and forego the extended curfew, though, so he can be back in the loft well before you get there later, all overcome with worry about him hating you.”

Jim reverted to silence once again as he let Joel’s words sink in.

“And it worked. You’re sitting here worried that he hates you and I’m guessing he’s been at that frat party…” Joel held his wrist up to the light coming in from the nearby streetlamp so he could see his watch. “For, oh, about an hour now I’d say.” He began chuckling softly and slapped Jim on the thigh.

Jim closed his eyes, laid his head against the seat back, and exhaled slowly.

The sentinel decided it might be time to add some ‘special handling’ instructions to the manual.

~*~*~

Blair happily chugged the third drink of whatever it was Travis shoved into his hands as his animated body bopped across the room in time to the ear-splitting music pouring out of the frat house’s sound system. He made his way to a couch and situated himself, cross-legged, on one end and settled in to watch the fun.

Everyone from the study group was at the party; they’d all greeted him with slaps on the backs and welcoming smiles. He’d been introduced around and no one called him a kid.

He felt great.

The argument with Jim had nagged at his conscience during the bus ride to the campus, but not enough to dissuade him from following through with his plans. Jim just wasn’t being fair; he was a college student, after all, on his own for months before he’d met Jim, perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

Still…Blair did value his butt. A couple of hours at the party would be more than enough to prove to his friends he wasn’t a kid. Buses ran all night on Friday, so he’d easily be able to get back to the loft before Jim returned from the stakeout. He’d have time to shower thoroughly, and brush his teeth repeatedly, and wash all the clothes he’d worn, in short…time to destroy all evidence of his attendance at the party.

Jim’s stupid troubleshooting cross-examination would be a little tricky to get around, but Blair was sure he could handle it. He’d maneuvered Jim right to where he wanted him with the dirty trick of bringing Jim’s insecurity about Uncle Seth into play.

As he sat on the couch, enjoying his illicit fun, Blair thought about the look on Jim’s face when he’d uttered the nasty remarks. A sense of self-reproach began to ease its way into the pit of his stomach.

It quickly dissipated, however, when Jackie Wagner leaned into his personal space, smiled sweetly at him, and asked him to dance.

Blair danced with Jackie, and Amanda, and Patti. He laughed along with the older guys as they teased and ribbed him about being a babe magnet. He had a few more drinks and was sure the cherry flavored concoction they kept handing him had little or no alcoholic content. A warm, pleasant buzz filled his head. When 10:00PM rolled around, he decided he was having way too good a time to leave. Jim could just take his old fashioned, outdated notions and stuff ‘em.

Blair meandered over to one of the food tables and tried to find something that had at least some nutritional value. He looked past all the fat-and-empty-calorie-laden chips and finally spotted a bowl of what looked like spinach dip nestled in one corner. He grabbed the dish, along with a roll of crackers and began greedily dipping and chomping. The dip tasted a little funny; it was warm and left a weird aftertaste on his tongue. Blair shrugged it off, assuming it was the drinks he’d had that adulterated the flavor.

Twenty minutes later, Blair clutched his midsection and dropped to his knees, moaning. He began retching and several nearby girls shrieked in disgust. Travis showed up at his side a few minutes later and soon realized the greenness around Blair’s gills and the clamminess of his skin wasn’t due to drunkenness alone.

“Blair? Buddy?” Travis slapped his cheeks lightly. “What’d you take? Who’d you get it from?”

“Didn’t take nuthin,” Blair moaned as he tried to curl in on himself. “Dip tasted funny.”

“Shit!” Travis hissed as he looked around for the dip. “Someone call 911.” He spotted the small bowl on its side a few feet away. He grabbed it and sniffed at it. “Whew, this smells off. Did anyone else eat any?” He looked up at the small crowd of onlookers and was relieved when all the heads were shaking in a negative manner.

He turned his attention back to Blair and shoved matted curls out of his friend’s eyes. He rubbed Blair’s back soothingly. “Hang in there, buddy. Help is on the way.”

~*~*~

At 10:45PM Jim’s cell phone rang.

“Ellison.”

Jim straightened and his body tensed.

“Is he all right?…What happened?…When?…How bad is it?…I’ll be right there.”

“Jim?” Joel asked worriedly.

“That was Cascade General. Paramedics just brought Blair in. They think its food poisoning, or a possible drug reaction. He’s definitely been drinking.”

“Damn,” Joel said as he reached for his seatbelt. “I’m going with you. I’ll call in.” Joel grabbed the mike from the dash and notified dispatch.

As they pulled into the ED parking area, Joel reached over and grabbed Jim’s arm. He cast a troubled look at his friend. “I’m here, Jim. It might be a zoo in there, so dial it down, okay?

Jim gave Joel a grateful nod of the head. As they walked through the automatic doors, Jim heaved a sigh of relief and chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” Joel asked.

“I can already hear his heartbeat. He’s moaning and complaining about not wanting to be here and he’s giving someone a hard time about bringing him here instead of the loft.”

Jim suddenly stopped walking. He stood, frozen to the spot, as a strange look came over his face.

“Jim? What is it? Is he okay? What’s going on?” Joel was right in front of Jim, worried brown eyes darting back and forth questioningly.

“He’s asking for me, Joel.” Jim whispered. A sappy smile eased its way onto Jim’s face. “He’s saying he doesn’t care how much trouble he’s in, he wants me here.”

Joel clipped Jim’s upper arm. “Of course he wants you, Jim.”

The two men hurried to the nurses’ station where Jim filled out the necessary paperwork and his favorite ED nurse, Laura, filled him in on Blair’s condition. Blair was slightly inebriated, she explained, but no drugs. He’d eaten some dip made with mayonnaise that had been left out in a warm room for too long. Blair had a mild case of food poisoning. The ED doctor had started an IV with medication to ease the nausea. They wanted to keep him overnight for observation, which Blair had already objected to strongly.

Laura teasingly admonished Jim to keep a closer eye on the youngster before offering him the solace of some of her own experiences with teenage sons and sending the anxious detective off to be with his charge.

The two men then proceeded to the curtained off area. Jim swept the curtain aside and came up to Blair’s side just as the youngster’s stomach rebelled once more. Jim deftly snagged the emesis basin and seated himself on the edge of the bed. He held Blair in a strong, comforting hug as he vomited and then he uttered nonsense words of comfort into his ear.

“Shh, kiddo, it’s all right. I’m here. I’ve got you.” He rocked Blair slightly, and stroked sweat dampened curls. “It’s gonna be all right now. Shhhh, I’m here.”

“J-jim?” Blair asked. “You here?” He flopped back onto the pillow and ran his forearm across his mouth, wiping away vomit and drool. “I’m sho shorry, Jjjjj-im.”

“Yeah, Chief, I’m here.” Jim smiled at Blair and stroked his forehead and cheeks. “You just rest now and do what the nurses say. We’ll talk about it later.”

Joel wisely steered Travis out of the area at this point, before Jim took unwelcome note of his presence. The younger man tried to offer apologies and explanations, but Joel told him it’d be better if he just made himself scarce.

A crooked smile lit Blair’s face as his eyes drifted shut. One hand snaked out and grabbed onto Jim’s forearm and clutched it tightly. “It wash a grape pardy. Jackney Wag, um, Wagnum, Wagshumpin, asked me to dance.” Blair drifted off to sleep, but his hand never left Jim’s arm.

Joel came up next to Jim and handed him a warm, damp washcloth. Jim accepted it gratefully and gently cleaned Blair’s mouth, chin, and face as he surveyed the IV line and noted the medications dripping into the IV bag.

“Well I’m glad you had a good time, Junior,” Jim whispered. “Because it’s gonna be a loooong time before you’re gonna be able to sit comfortably and even longer until your little butt is ungrounded.”

~*~*~

Jim spent the night at Blair’s side. He sent Joel home with his truck and they arranged to have H follow Joel to the hospital in the morning in time for Blair’s release.

Blair woke to a raging headache, a queasy stomach and an unhappy sentinel. He was released mid-morning with strict orders to take it easy and get lots of rest and fluids over the next 24 hours.

Jim refused to discuss the matter of Blair’s disobedience at all on Saturday, explaining…once…to Blair that it would wait until Sunday when Blair would be recovered enough to face up to the consequences of his actions.

Blair had gulped nervously at that pronouncement and Saturday passed all too quickly for his liking. Jim ordered him to remain in bed for the day and an uneasy silence between them filled most of the day.

Blair had plenty of time to think about his actions; and this was no doubt Jim’s intention, he thought. He spent a good deal of the day and part of the night wondering what he could possibly say to Jim. And he’d finally realized there was nothing he could say. He’d been a manipulative brat, so intent on getting his way he hadn’t cared about Jim’s feelings or the agreed upon rules.

He eventually fell asleep, resigned to the fact that he was going to have a very painful morning ahead of him.

~*~*~

Blair awoke slowly. His head felt like it was filled with cotton and his stomach was rumbling. He giggled at that; after the last 24 hours of barely being able to stand soup and juice, he’d been sure he’d never want solid food again.

He dragged himself out of bed and rubbed his butt, as if he could relieve some of the upcoming discomfort beforehand. He trudged to the bathroom and grudgingly threw a shy wave at Jim as he passed the kitchen. He took his time showering, basking in the return to normal feeling the warm water produced as it sluiced over his body. He donned a clean pair of sweats and went out to face his guardian.

“I’m feeling much better today, Jim,” he ventured.

Jim looked up from the paper he’d been reading. He smiled warmly at Blair. “Good to hear it. You look a lot better. Sit down and eat while the eggs are still hot.”

Blair relaxed at hearing Jim’s easy tone. He crossed to the table and sat. After filling his plate and taking several bites he began pushing the food around his plate.

“I’m sorry, Jim,” he suddenly blurted. He kept his eyes fixed on his plate. “I know that doesn’t get me off the hook for anything. I was a brat and I know I think I had a good reason, but there’s really no excuse for my behavior.” He looked up at Jim then and took a deep breath before continuing. “What I said about Uncle Seth was just fucking cruel and I didn’t mean it. Really. I was just…It was…” Blair stopped rambling and looked Jim right in the eye. “I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Jim said and the twinkle in his eye confirmed it. “And as soon as you’re finished eating, I’m going to tan you to within about an inch of your life.” He raised both eyebrows, daring Blair to protest his statement. The youngster wrinkled his nose at the old fashioned description of what was to come. Jim definitely watched too many Bonanza reruns. He lowered his head and nodded with an involuntary shudder.

“And you’re grounded for two months.”

Blair’s head shot up and he opened his mouth. It moved, wordlessly, for half a minute and then snapped shut. He pulled a face, sighed wearily, and nodded again.

Five minutes later, Blair was face down over Jim’s lap, his sweatpants pooled at his ankles. Jim tucked Blair’s torso in close to his midsection and secured the boy tightly. He lifted one knee slightly, tilting Blair's butt a little higher, bringing the target into just the right alignment to get the full effect of the lesson Jim was about to impart. Jim settled in and rested his right hand on Blair’s butt.

Blair hadn’t exactly cooperated with being positioned over Jim’s knees, but he hadn’t exactly not cooperated either, instead he performed a sort of a ‘Blair-protest-shuffle’ as he was led to his fate. Now in position, head down and butt up, Blair tensed and tested his freedom. Realizing he had no maneuvering room at all under Jim’s tight hold, Blair drew in a sharp breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and prepared for the first swat.

“I’m not in the mood to lecture, and since we both know why you’re here, I’m not going to bother with one.” Jim raised his arm up and the first smack landed hard, heavy and right on target, covering both cheeks.

Blair jumped and yipped as the fiery sting of the first whack blossomed across his defenseless bottom.

Satisfied he’d found his mark, Jim settled in to a steady rhythm of well-placed smacks, each eliciting a healthy protest from his young charge. For the first part of this lesson, Jim wasn’t going to bother with distributing the wallops across the entire surface of his guide’s butt; instead he concentrated on just the one area and the target soon took on a deep red hue.

Not able to sway Jim from his task by yelps and protests, Blair changed tactics and began a concerted effort to malign Jim’s ancestry. Jim ignored most of the jibes, knowing it was no more than a reflexive response on Blair’s part. But when Blair uttered a particularly creative description of Jim’s great-grandfather’s fondness for goats, Jim began spanking even harder and the insults soon died on Blair’s lips.

Jim paused the spanking and appraised his handiwork. His chosen target area was a deep red and noticeably warm to the touch. Jim eased his knee back down a little and Blair’s backside showed plenty of untouched territory on which Jim could impart the remainder of the lesson.

Blair screeched as Jim began delivering a round of smacks with the spatula he’d threatened to make better use of during a spanking a few weeks earlier.

“Jim! Damn! Ow! Please! Please don’t! Ouch! Ouch! Oh, fuck!”

“I really think it’s time you choose your words a little more carefully, Junior,” Jim advised as he paddled a little harder. “I think the next thing on our agenda while you have time to think about it, is what we should do about that mouth of yours.”

The expletive on the tip of Blair’s tongue slid down his throat, unuttered, as Blair once again changed tactics. This time, a genuine, heartfelt apology was hissed out through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry Jim,” Blair sobbed. “I am. Please stop.”

Jim threw the spatula aside, and without missing a beat, delivered a final round of twenty swift, hard wallops to the trembling butt across his knees.

Jim began rubbing Blair’s back in an effort to calm the boy. Great, heaving sobs and quaking hiccups rocked the small frame. Jim stood, pulling Blair to his feet and helped the youngster pull his sweats back up. Blair tensed as the fabric brushed across his very tender bottom. When Jim eased him in toward his broad chest, Blair didn’t protest. He melted into the embrace and began to sniffle against the fabric of Jim’s shirt.

“I-I’m really, really s-sorry for th-that crack about you-your grandmother and the 7^th Fleet,” Blair whispered.

Jim chuckled and hugged Blair tighter. “Yes, that one was very…inventive.” He tousled Blair’s curls. “I’d better not ever hear anything like it again.”

Blair shuddered as he shook his head vigorously and Jim was sure he heard a muffled laugh.

Jim continued to rub Blair’s back soothingly until he felt Blair relax. He released his hold on the youngster and kissed his forehead before stepping out of the embrace.

Blair immediately began rubbing his butt frantically and bouncing in place. “Within an inch of my life, huh?” He asked playfully as his face screwed itself into a painful grimace.

Jim laughed and once again shook his head, amazed at Blair’s resilience.

“Yep. Learnt that thar from Pa Cartwright.” Jim’s blue eyes crinkled in amusement. “Let’s you and me mosey on into the living room and have a talk about this problem you have with being a kid, kiddo.”

Blair groaned at Jim’s corny attempt to lighten the mood.

But he followed his ‘pa’ into the other room with an enthusiastic bounce.

End