Lost

Disclaimer: I don't own the Magnificent Seven, not making any money, just cheap thrills.

Warnings: Angst, tissue warning

Rating: FRT

Lost
Chapter 13


In spite of a restless night and very little sleep, Vin was up early. While his coffee was making on the stove, he was in the bathroom, showering and shaving as he got ready for the day. By the time he was dressed, his coffee was ready and gratefully he poured himself a cup of the strong brew. "Whooo," he exclaimed as the hot liquid made its way down his throat, the caffeine providing a much needed jolt to his system. Popping the plate of leftovers, that Mrs. Rosario had handed him the day before, in the microwave, he sat down to make a list for the store. Washing breakfast down with a second cup of coffee, he poured the rest into a thermos and headed out the door.


Chris looked up from his breakfast as the sound of wheels on gravel reached him. Glancing at the clock, he was a little suprised to see it was already eight.

"Hey cowboy," Vin greeted as he stepped into the kitchen, a bag in one hand and a thermos in the other. "You're still eating?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yeah I'm still eating," Chris playfully growled. "We don't all get up before the chickens Tanner," he mumbled.

"Ya'd get a lot more done," Vin retorted, "early bird gets the worm ya know."

"I get plenty done. What ya got in the bag?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Buck said something about bringing spaghetti, thought I'd make some of my garlic bread to go with it."

Chris shot his friend a curious look, "When did you talk to Buck?"

"Yesterday," Vin absently replied as he set out the ingredients for his bread. "Brought some bread flour, didn't figure you had any," he commented as he worked.

"Wait a minute, you're making bread from scratch?"

"Always do," came the matter-of-fact answer.

"I never knew that, always thought you bought it at a bakery. Where'd you learn to make bread?"

"My Grandpa taught me, started with Indian fry bread and then he taught me how to make other kinds." Vin smiled softly as he thought back to those days with his grandfather, the last happy days he'd experienced until meeting the guys. "First thing I did when I got out of the army and got my own place, was bake loaves of bread for all the neighbors."

Chris chuckled, "Isn't that supposed to be the other way around?"

Vin grinned, "Guess so, but Grandpa always said that when ya move into a new place you should fill it with the smells of home and that's what bread is for me. Once I started, didn't want to stop, so I just decided I'd make enough for the building. Figured it was a good way to introduce myself to everybody."

"Cinnamon," Chris softly spoke, a small smile playing over his lips. Spotting Vin's quizzical look, he continued, "Mom used to make cinnamon rolls every Sunday morning and apple pie, smelling of cinnamon and nutmeg for dessert Sunday night. Never told anybody but Sarah, but cinnamon is the smell that makes me think of home."

"Sounds real nice," Vin smiled. "So you about ready to go riding, or we got chores to take care of?"

Chris mock scowled, tossing a kitchen towel at the younger man. "I did the chores, just waiting on you."

"Well lets get going then," he grinned, picking up his thermos and heading for the barn. It didn't take long to get the horses saddled and soon they were picking their way along the trail, men and beasts both enjoying the early morning excursion.

As they rode, Chris watched Vin carefully. He hadn't missed the tired look in his eyes and even a stop at the store shouldn't have left him pulling up at eight o'clock. "Everything okay Vin?" he finally asked.

"Sure, why wouldn't it be?" Vin asked, recapping the thermos for the third time that morning.

"You tell me."

"Don't know what you're talking about cowboy."

"Okay, how about you coming out at eight for an early morning ride. Usually you say early morning ride and I figure on seeing you while I'm still taking care of chores. Add to that the way you been swilling coffee all day and the tired look in your eyes, I'd say something's up."

Vin sighed, damned cowboy didn't miss a thing. "Guess I didn't sleep much last night," he reluctantly admitted.

"Nightmares?" Chris guessed.

"No, not exactly."

Chris narrowed his eyes, "What do ya mean not exactly? Either you had nightmares, or you didn't."

"Had dreams," Vin softly began, "kind of disturbing, but not nightmares exactly."

"You said you talked to Buck yesterday, that have something to do with your dreams?"

"Don't know, guess it might've."

Chris scowled, "He pushing you?"

"What?" Vin glanced at Chris, startled by the question. "No," he quickly denied.

"So what did he say to you that gave you disturbing dreams?"

"Nothing, don't look at me like that Chris. We had a good time, real relaxed, like it used to be."

Chris' eyebrows went up at that, "Had a good time where?"

"Neighborhood picnic," Vin quietly answered.

"You invite him, or he just show up?"

"What the hell? I ain't a suspect Larabee, stop with the interrogation," Vin growled.

Chris sighed, "I didn't mean it like that Vin, you know that."

"Yeah, reckon I do," Vin conceded.

"I just don't want Buck pushing you into something you're not ready for," Chris explained.

Vin nodded, "I know, but he's not and for the record, I did invite him."

"You think maybe you pushed yourself?"

"No, don't think so."

"Want to talk about these dreams?"

"Nothing to talk about," Vin replied with a shrug.

"If you change your mind..."

"Ain't that Chris," he interrupted. "I can't really remember them, just know that when I woke up I felt weird, but I ain't real sure why."

"That's what you meant by disturbing?"

"Yep, so now that you're done analyzing me can we move on to something else Dr. Phil?"

"Dr. Phil!" Chris' indignant cry echoed over through the trees as he took off in pursuit of the suddenly fleeing Texan.


Almost as if by consensus the others arrived at the ranch en masse, the sounds of their motors nearly deafening in the previously quiet surroundings. Calling out greetings, they all tromped inside the sprawling ranch house. After leaving chips and salad in the kitchen, J.D. and Nathan quickly stepped to the other side of the island that seperated the dining nook. Ezra soon joined them, after depositing the gourmet cheesecake, that was his offering, in the fridge.

"Mr. Tanner, do my eyes deceive me or are you attempting to make bread?"

"Ain't attempting Ez," Vin winked, "I am making bread. Where'd y'all think the bread I usually bring comes from?"

"Um, a bakery?" J.D. answered for them all.

"Been making my own bread since I got out of the army."

"You do a real good job too son," Josiah rumbled as he turned from plugging in his crockpot full of chili.

"Thanks Josiah."

"Where'd ya learn?" Buck asked curiously, as he chopped up garlic to add to his spaghetti sauce.

"Grandpa taught me," Vin smiled. "I love the smell of bread baking, smells like home," he softly added.

"Yeah?" Buck quietly mumbled. "For me it's popcorn."

"Popcorn," J.D. chuckled. "What?" he asked, rubbing his head as he glanced at Ezra.

"Why's that Bucklin?" Vin asked, frowning at J.D..

"My mom never had time to do much cooking," he began his explanation. "Oh she'd cook up a storm when she had the chance, but usually she was just too busy. Only thing she couldn't do in a kitchen was bake, not even sugar cookies." He chuckled as the memories of his mother's attempts at baking returned, "She tried, wanted me to have as close to a normal childhood as she could give me."

"Sounds like she was a good mom," Vin commented.

"She was a saint," Buck repeated his oft declared praise. "I was just a kid, didn't know at first why she kept trying to bake cookies, even though she kept burning them. Then one day Billy Jensen, he lived in the same building, started teasing me. Saying she wasn't a real mom cause she couldn't bake, that she probably stole me from some hospital. I didn't know it, but my mom was coming to get me and she heard everything he said. She didn't say anything, but I could see the hurt in her eyes, so while we were walking I told her I didn't like cookies anyway and I'd rather have popcorn. That's when she started fixing popcorn for me after school, she'd have it waiting when I came home. We'd sit at the table, drink chocolate milk, eat popcorn and just talk," as he finished speaking, Buck wiped a stray tear from his eye.

"That's a real nice story Buck," Josiah rumbled, ending the hushed silence that had fallen over the men.

"What makes you think of home Josiah?" J.D. asked in an effort to make up for his earlier behavior.

"Rosemary," Josiah replied with a smile.

"I said what, not who?"

"Ah the ignorance of youth," Josiah grinned. "Rosemay is an herb J.D., a very old herb, it goes all the way back to biblical times. Traditionally it stands for constancy, perhaps that's why my mother used it in so much of her cooking. She always kept a small plant on the kitchen window sill, no matter where my father's missionary work took us. Even when she wasn't cooking, you could smell the rosemary in the kitchen. It was the one thing, aside from my mother and Hannah, that I could always depend on being there. Then God took my mother from us and Hannah became ill, but the rosemary my mother loved is still available to me. So J.D.," Josiah smiled, "what smell says home to you?"

"Boiled cabbage," J.D. quickly supplied. He grinned at the various looks of distaste on the faces of his friends, "I know, it doesn't really smell appetizing, but it's a traditional Irish dish and it taste pretty good. Besides, my mother was only one generation removed from Ireland, she sometimes even spoke with a slight brogue, especially when she was angry. Anyway, she thought it was important that we keep the traditions alive, so every Sunday she would make boiled cabbage as part of our dinner."

"You know how to make it?" Buck asked.

"No, I wish I could. Mama never taught me though, and by the time I thought to ask she was too sick," J.D. regretfully replied.

"What about you Ezra?" Vin asked, sensing that J.D. could use the distraction and sure that Ezra would have a good story.

"Lemon Verbena," Ezra smiled softly.

"Isn't that a flower?" Nathan asked.

"Yes it is, but it also makes the most wonderful cookies you will ever taste."

"Flowers in a cookie? I never heard of that," J.D. questioned the southerner.

"I'm sure you haven't Mr. Dunne, not many have. Even in the south, where it is quite common to use such things in baking, it is becoming unusual. As you all know, my mother was," he paused as he searched for the right word, "unconventional when it came to parenting. Many of the places I stayed as a child were no more home to me than a hotel room is. However there were a few that were the very definition of what a home should be. One such place, was the home of my Aunt Katie. In fact, she always told me that no matter where life might take me I would always have a home with her. I have returned many times over the years to visit her, and each time, just as when I was a child, I am met at the door by the smell of her lemon verbena cookies."

"You know how to make 'em?" Vin asked as he set aside the bread to rise.

"Indeed I do," Ezra answered, a soft smile on his face.

"Well Nathan, that leaves you and Chris, which one of ya want to go first," Buck grinned.

"I already told Vin, guess I might as well tell you too," Chris spoke up. "Cinnamon, I don't have a real touching story to go with it though. Had a pretty normal childhood I guess, and every Sunday morning my mom would make cinnamon rolls. I'd wake up every week to that smell and every Sunday evening, she'd make apple pie for dessert with plenty of cinnamon and nutmeg. When I first moved away from home, I was pretty homesick, but I never said anything to my folks. Larabee men are supposed to be tough, didn't want them thinking I was some baby that couldn't handle being on my own. I told Sarah this story, told her I didn't know how mom knew but she did. Sarah said it's a mom thing, guess maybe she was right, she always knew when Adam needed her." As he spoke of his wife and son, his eyes had taken on a far away look, watching something only he could see. Giving himself a mental shake, he continued, "Anyway, mom started sending me cinnamon rolls every week. They always arrived on Saturday and I'd heat them up on Sunday morning, just like home."

"Damn cowboy," Vin whispered, wiping his eye, "we got to get you a dictionary."

"A dictionary?" Chris asked, looking at him in confusion.

"Yeah, so you can look up definitions Mr. I ain't got a touching story." Vin explained, bringing a chuckle from the others.

Chris shrugged, "Guess I was wrong. Alright Nathan, your turn."

Nathan swallowed, as always a bit uncomfortable when talking about his mother. His memories of her were so few, he tended to guard them jealously. Just as he was about to refuse, the smell of Josiah's chili wafted through the room, followed closely by the smell of lilacs, as though his mother were sending him a message. "Chili and lilacs," he smiled, the memories flashing across the pages of his mind.

"That's an unusual combination brother," Josiah commented.

"Lilacs were Mama's favorite flower, she had this bush right by the front porch. She babied that thing like it was one of us kids, and when it wasn't in bloom she wore lilac perfume."

"What about the chili?" J.D. asked.

"She made the most wonderful chili in the world, closest I've ever gotten to it is Josiah's." Glancing around at the surprised faces, he couldn't resist teasing them a bit, "Y'all didn't think I was eating it for my health did ya?"

"Guess we didn't Nate," Vin replied. "Did kind of wonder about it, since you're always on us about eating right."

"Nothing wrong with a little indulgence Vin, but you all act like eating healthy is the indulgence when it ought to be the other way around," Nathan couldn't resist the admonishment. "We lost Mama when I was seven, I didn't know until then that she was home. It wasn't ever the same after that. The day of the service, Daddy dug that lilac bush up and burned it, was like losing her all over again. I resented him for years over that, it wasn't until I was older that I realized why he done it and forgave him. We never had chili again either, wasn't anybody could make it like Mama, now whenever I smell Josiah's chili or lilacs I think of her and home."

"That was beautiful brother," Josiah spoke, his voice thick with emotion.

"Gentlemen, for shame," Ezra drawled, "when did we turn into a group of weeping women? I believe we came out here to watch a game, now who would like to lay a wager on the outcome?" he asked as he led the way into the living room, breking the awkward moment.

"Give me ten on the Cowboys," Vin called out.

"Put me down for twenty on the Steelers, Buck countered.

"How can you support the Steelers Bucklin? They ain't had a decent team since the 80's," Vin teased.

"Look whose talking, the cowboys haven't had a winning team in years."

"Maybe not, but a man's got to be loyal to his home state don't he?" Vin defended.

As the seven settled in to watch the game, similar conversations were taking place around the room. Vin leaned back in his seat, a cold beer in his hand, ready to enjoy the day with his friends. As he watched the game, his mind wandered over the stories his friends had shared and a thought came to him. Mulling it over, he became so lost in thought that he jumped when the timer for his bread sounded. Pushing himself to his feet, he wandered to the kitchen to punch the bread down and let it rise again. "Hey Bucklin, how's the spaghetti sauce coming?" he asked, surprised that he hadn't noticed the large man's absence from the other room.

"It's coming along real good, how's the bread?"

"Needs to rise again, then one more time after that and it'll be ready to bake." Vin pushed the bowl of dough to the side and leaned against the counter.

"Something going on Vin?" Buck asked, noticing the younger man's stance.

"Got an idea, figured I should run it by you first."

"Shoot," Buck encouraged, putting the lid on his sauce and turning his full attention on Vin.

"You now them stories we were all telling?"

"Yeah, what about them?"

"Well I was thinking, your house ain't really a home yet, is it?"

"No, I don't guess it is," Buck admitted.

"What do you think of a house-warming? All the guys could bring that one dish that makes them think of home, whether they make it or buy it, kind of make your place smell like a home instead of just a house."

Buck smiled, touched that Vin would want to do this for him. "I like it, let's do it. Next week?"

"Can't next week, Chris has that conference to go to in Colorado Springs, remember?"

"Damn, that's right," Buck sighed. "When then?"

Vin thought about it for a minute, silently going over the schedule for the next few weeks in his head. "How about in three weeks? That way Nathan will have a chance to get Josiah to teach him how to make chili if he wants to."

"Alright, three weeks it is," Buck grinned. "Let's go see what the guys think," grabbing Vin's arm and hurrying him to the living room.

Vin grinned, nearly laughing aloud as Buck reacted like a kid who had just been told that Christmas was coming early this year. As they neared the living room, he pulled loose from Buck's grasp, moving back to his seat, he let Buck make the invitation.

Quickly, Buck outlined Vin's idea, grinning when the others agreed without hesitation. Although the team had forgiven him, some taking longer than others, this was the first time since that night that he truly felt like he had his family back.

TBC

Hope y'all liked it. If it's any consolation, I shed a few tears myself as I wrote this. Please feed the muse with reviews.