Summary: There are definite advantages to being the youngest Cartwright.  And who would know that better than Little Joe?

Rating: G   Word Count: 657

Little Joe Cartwright was the cutest little boy you ever saw. Just ask anyone. His Pa loved all of his three sons, but the youngest was hands down his favorite. Everyone knew that, even the other boys who oddly didn’t seem to mind. That was because they agreed with their Pa. Little Joe was indeed special and could do no wrong. At least before puberty.

Teenage Little Joe was quite a ladies man, but still little enough to be considered a boy when it was convenient. “That boy,” his Pa would chuckle. Such a mop top scamp to pull a gun on his father. (Of course, his brothers could never get away with something like that.) And he could cry on a dime which was a definite asset, because there was nothing more endearing or heart wrenching than a tear trickling from one of Little Joe Cartwright’s sparkling green eyes as his bottom lip quivered, unless it was the way he hugged it out with his Pa whenever he was sad or upset. Awww...

Trouble seemed to follow all the Cartwrights, but Little Joe most of all. Nearly every girl he loved met a tragic end. Someone was always after him, wanting revenge, trying to kill him or maim him or frame him or marry him or just misuse him for their own entertainment. But even though he was the littlest, he proved to be the toughest. Nothing could run him off the Ponderosa or keep him from his destiny. He always bounced back, no matter who or what came at him – guns, arrows, knives, wolves, explosions, fevers, broken bones, saddle sores, silver kings, cattle barons, thugs, robbers, revolutionaries, horse thieves, rustlers, outlaws, corrupt lawmen, politicos, syndicates, kidnappers, sheepherders, squatters, psychos, sadists, social climbers, designing women, mean girls, even an evil twin. They were no match for gritty, spunky, never-say-die Little Joe Cartwright with hair equally up to any challenge.

If his Pa or brothers were in trouble, that’s when Little Joe really shined, because they were his family, all for one and one for all just like the Musketeers. Every year for Pa’s birthday he’d proudly nearly get himself killed outdoing everyone else to give “the best gift” which always turned out to be himself. (Pa could afford to buy his own saddle and rifle and would never use up that much Old Spice in a lifetime anyway.) And though he wouldn’t admit it, sometimes he was late to his own birthday party just so he could make a grand entrance after everyone had been up half the night worrying. Pa didn’t really appreciate it, but that was Joseph, the little rascal, and how could he ever really get mad at someone who is just so darned cute? Now, who wants a hug?

His brothers are beginning to get a little suspicious…

Adam has a novel idea. “Let’s talk about our feelings, then maybe take a vote on the hug.”

Hoss has a better one. “Let’s eat first. Or we could talk about our feelings while we eat. Either way I’m too hangry right now to hug.”

Pa reminds them it’s not polite to talk with their mouths full. Food, then feelings, then hugs. “Is that all right with you, Little Joe?’

Little Joe’s lip quivers and a tear rolls down his cheek. Pa melts. He’s always ready for a hug. “There, there.” He strokes the tousled curly locks nestled against his chest. “My boy.”

Adam is not amused. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Hoss is getting hangrier by the second. “I need food!”

Pa glares at his less sensitive sons. “You two ought to be ashamed. You can eat anytime. And we can talk about feelings when you have children of your own. Now, go dig the new outhouse.”

Little Joe snug-huggles his Pa and grins, waggling his cute eyebrows ever so adorably. He’ll never be too old for this. Aw yeah, bring it in….

END