Not So Earyl One Mornign (K.K. Shaulis)

Summary:  {Title intentionally misspelled.)
Category:  Bonanza
Genre:  Western
Rated:  G
Word Count:  1100


 

Adam Cartwright usually was the first, if not the second person, up in the Cartwright household. This morning, however, he definitely was running a little late. The evening before he…ah…shall we say…had a very fulfilling evening with Debbie, the new girl in town. He smiled remembering their good night kiss. There was just something about her that…well…  He had to finish shaving and get down to breakfast now before breakfast was gone. He swiped his razor through the water in the basin, dried it off and set it down on the table. He then snatched his shirt off the bed and, buttoning it, hurried out of his room, down the hall and down the stairs to where his father and brother Hoss were eating.

Adam frowned as he looked at the big nearly empty platter that sat in the middle of the table. It looked like toast and jam and one lonely slice of ham was all he was going to get this morning. Sighing, he plunked himself down in his usual chair and reached for the piece of meat with his fork before it disappeared.

Before he could say “good morning” or complain about the lack of food, his father chuckled and said, “Josehp wants to take a job as …sheriff …of Rubicon, Adma.” He chuckled again and took a bite of his breakfast.

Adam gaped at Ben. What did he say? “Are you sure, Pa? I thought he already did that last year.”

“No.” Ben shook his head and took another bite of food. “I would rememreb that, nos.”

Hmmmmm, Adam thought eyeing his father suspiciously. He couldn’t be drinking this early in the morning, could he? He cautiously asked his father this question and his father replied, “Nothing yet except this coeeff.” Ben took a big sip and set the cup on its saucer.

Before Adam could ask another question like what was in “this coeeff,” the youngest member of the family strolled in from the kitchen and sat down at the table opposite him and Hoss.

“A tib late, ain’t you, gib brother?” Little Joe or “Josehp” as their Pa seemed to be calling him this morning, smirked at him.

Adam turned his attention immediately to Joe. What was happening here?

“Amad here thinks you were the sheriff for Rucibon last year, Josphe.” Ben waved his fork at Adam and chuckled again.

“That’s crazy, Ap,” Joe giggled taking a bite of the toast. “That Debbie gril has you all confused, Dama. What do you say, Ossh?”

Adam looked at his middle brother Hoss who was contently chewing on his last bite of ham and then looked down at Hoss’ plate. What he saw caused him to gasp. “Did you have any of those yet?” Adam motioned with his head toward a glop of pale yellow that was heaped on the far side of the red and white china.

“No, but I was about to…” Hoss had his fork ready to attack his plate.

“I wouldn’t if I were you” Adam shook his head and picked up the plate before Hoss’ eating utensil hit it.

“Come on, Adam,” Hoss snatched the plate back from his older brother and shoved a huge forkful into mouth.

Adam held his breath and waited.

“That’s dadnurbed decilious.” Hoss smacked his lips and dug into the food with gusto.

“I don’t suppose you both already ate some of this, too?” Adam looked at Ben and Joe and pointed toward the yellow stuff on Hoss’ plate again.

“Sure did, gib brother,” Joe poured himself some coffee. “Why do you sak?”

Adam sighed deeply. Then he turned in his chair and yelled, “Hop Sing!!!”

“Is something wrong, Mistah Adam?” Hop Sing, wooden spoon in hand, appeared from the kitchen.

Before Adam could respond, his father answered the question more or less in English.

“It was a very godo brekafats, Sop Hing.” Ben smiled up at the Chinese cook.

Hop Sing stared at his employer quizzically. What language is this now? “Mistah Ben okay?”

“Mishat Ebn is kayo, Ops Ghin,” Joe drawled smiling at Hop Sing. “Pass the toats, pealse, Adma.”

Hop Sing was stunned. “Mis-tah Adam…?” He looked helplessly at the oldest Cartwright son for a translation.

“Um,” Adam cleared his throat, “Hop Sing, why did you make these?”  He grabbed Hoss’ plate before he could eat any more — Hey!!” Hoss protested. “Them’s mine” — and handed it to the Chinese cook.

“Missy Robin sent these over. Said I could only fix them that way…”

“I should have known…” Adam scowled, thinking about the fanfiction writer with the outrageous sense of humor who, in many ways, caused havoc in the Cartwrights’ very ordered masculine world. “No doubt one of her little tricks…”

“I like Smis Ronib.” Joe grinned broadly at his oldest brother. “She’s really nufny in a twisted orts of way. Really!!!!!!!!”

“Twisted sure is right,” Adam mumbled, trying to think of how he could counteract the effect of the scrambled eggs on his family. Suddenly it dawned on him. “Quick, Hop Sing. Do we have any dessert left over from last night?”

The Chinese cook’s face lit up, knowing exactly what Adam was referring to. “I go get,” he turned and left taking Hoss’ plate and remaining scrambled eggs with him.

“I’d like more coeeff, Poh Sign!” Ben called after him.

Adam gave his father a worried look, wondering if his plan would work.  It just had to. He just couldn’t take much more of this.

“Here, you go.” Hop Sing set the remaining dessert, three plates and a knife in front of Adam. Adam quickly divvied up what was left into three portions, handed one plate each to his father and brothers, and told them not to say another word until they finished it. It turned out to be magic.

“That was absolutely wonderful, Hop Sing,” Ben smiled, wiping his mouth on his napkin.

“Dadburned delicious.” Hoss said it right this time.

“How did you ever figure out that us eating dessert would fix us, big brother?” Joe looked at him in amazement.

“Well, kid,” Adam smirked and adopted a superior attitude, “how else was I going to get you back in ‘apple pie’ order?”

The moral of the story for the Cartwrights is two-fold: Be careful what you eat and don’t trust every fan-fiction writer that writes about you, even yours truly.

***The End***

P.S. Sometimes I have trouble spelling/typing, too. 

 P.P.S. Thanks to Robin for being a good sport about me using her as a character in this story.

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