The Legacy of Copper Creek

by R. C. Ryan

  “Yeah. Figured I’d get an early start before lending a hand to Brady with that equipment.”

  Brady held the platter for Willow before filling his own plate. “No need, Whit. I thought the motor of the backhoe had seized up, but I just tried it and it started up without a problem. So I guess it was just a temporary thing.”

  “Good. Are we heading up to the herd today?”

  “I’d like to wait a day or so. For once, the calving is going smoothly without our help.”

  “Great. That’s all good news.” Whit devoured an omelet, two slices of ham, and three pieces of sourdough toast before sitting back and sipping coffee.

  He turned to Cara, seated beside him. “I think you’re spoiling us, Goldilocks.”

  Myrna looked over with an arched brow. “Why do you call her that?”

  Whit grinned. “When I found her in the range shack, she was sleeping in the lower bunk and using the upper bunk as a clothesline. I told her she was sleeping in my bed, and claimed the bottom bunk.”

  “Not a very friendly introduction,” Willow remarked.

  “Not at all friendly.” Cara sipped her orange juice. “Especially since he came in like a wounded bear, all bearded like some kind of mountain man and bristling with temper after a long, hard day on the trail.”

  “Weren’t you afraid?” Myrna asked.

  “Yes. But I certainly didn’t want him to know that.”

  “Which is why she told me she was armed. Only her weapon turned out to be a broom handle stuck against my back.”

  That had everyone’s attention.

  Mad was grinning. “Sounds like you two are evenly matched.”

  Whit returned his grandfather’s wicked smile. “I let her think so.”

  “Oh. Right. Don’t act all soft and weak on my account.” Cara slapped his arm before getting up and retrieving the coffee.

  While she circled the table filling their cups, Ash walked in.

  “I hope I’m not too late for breakfast.”

  “There’s plenty.” Cara hurried over to fetch a place setting before handing him a cup of coffee.

  Willow seemed disappointed. “Brenna isn’t with you?”

  “Not today. She’s out in her studio working on her latest project.”

  “Studio?” Intrigued, Cara’s head came up.

  “She’s a sculptor. Does beautiful work.” Ash’s tone was filled with pride as he stabbed at a slab of ham.

  Willow pointed to the sculpture of Bear astride a horse, waving his hat with one hand, holding the reins with the other. “That’s some of Brenna’s work.”

  “Oh. That’s just gorgeous.” Cara shook her head. “I’ve noticed it there, but I never dreamed Brenna made that.”

  Mad sat back, enjoying the last of his cinnamon roll and coffee. “The MacKenzie men pride themselves on marrying strong, talented women.”

  “And why not?” Willow smiled at her father-in-law. “You set the bar pretty high with your Maddie. She was unique.”

  “That she was, lass. One of a kind. And I was the lucky man to win her heart.”

  Ash dug into his breakfast. “You told me once, Mad, that her father made the two of you wait an entire year without seeing one another, hoping to discourage you from pursuing his daughter.”

  “He did. And then the old codger tried to add another year, but Madeline was having none of it. She told him he could either approve her choice of husband or miss watching his grandchildren grow up. In our day, it took real courage for a lass to stand up to her father like that.”

  Caught up in the tale, Cara rested her chin on her hands and regarded him across the table. “What did her father choose?”

  “He sent us away without his blessing. Months later he packed up all he could in a wagon and showed up at our cabin, where he promptly built his own place next door so he could be part of our lives.”

  “Did he ever fully accept you?”

  The old man gave a roar of laughter. “Not only accepted me, but also became a lifelong friend.”

  Ash polished off the last of his meal. “If we’re going to fly to Griff’s place, we’d better get moving, Mad. I promised Brenna I’d be back by supper time.”

  “I’m ready, lad.” The old man fixed Cara with a look. “Another fine meal, lass. But I’m not surprised. You do everything well.”

  He turned his scooter. As he passed Whit, he muttered, “You might want to check your pocket.”

  Whit looked down to see a wispy lace strap poking out of his shirt pocket. He quickly pushed it down and out of sight.

  With a wink, his grandfather turned his scooter and followed Ash out the door and along the wooden walkway that had been built to accommodate his infirmity.

  Whit strolled into the kitchen, pleased to find Cara alone, polishing the counters and tabletop.

  He glanced around. “Where’s Myrna?”

  “Upstairs. She said since I have everything covered down here, she’ll catch up on some of the household chores.”

  “Do you have a lot to do?”

  “Not that much. Why?”

  “I’m planning on riding up in the hills. Not all the way to the highlands, but just around the northern perimeter, checking fences. Do you ride?”

  “I’m a Montana girl, remember? I didn’t grow up on a ranch, but all my friends had horses, so I had plenty of chances to ride.”

  “Good. Want to keep me company?”

  She couldn’t hide her surprise and delight at the chance to get away from the kitchen for a few hours. “I’d love it. But I don’t want some frisky mount that thinks it’s fun to toss his rider.”

  Whit chuckled. “I think I can come up with a horse that’s rider-friendly. Meet me in the barn.” He looked her up and down. “And you might want to exchange those sneakers for some leather boots.”

  She looked down at her feet. “I don’t have anything else.”

  “Check the mudroom. There are plenty of cowboy boots out there. Maybe something of Mom’s will fit you.”

  “She won’t mind?”

  He grinned. “Now that she has two daughters-in-law, she’s used to having her stuff borrowed. I’d say, from her reaction, she loves having some females around after a lifetime of all guys.”

  “Yeah. That would be a trial for any woman to bear.”

  “Hey. Watch it, Goldilocks.” He was grinning as he started out the door.

  Minutes later, Cara put away her cleaning supplies and made her way to the mudroom, where, just as Whit had predicted, there were shelves filled with all sizes of leather boots.

  After trying on a couple, she found a pair that fit her comfortably. As she was leaving, she spied a row of denim and leather jackets hanging on pegs. With a glance at the sunshine streaming in the windows, she helped herself to a denim jacket, in case the weather turned, before hurrying toward the barn.

  Whit was leading two horses into the sunlight.

  “This is Dumpling. Mom named her because she was so fat when she was born, and so pale, she said she looked like one of Myrna’s dumplings.”

  “Hello, Dumpling.” Cara ran a hand over the mare’s forelock. “You’re not going to toss me out of the saddle, are you, girl?”

  As if in reply, the mare gave a quick shake of her head, causing both Whit and Cara to laugh out loud.

  “See?” Whit held the bridle and gave Cara a boost into the saddle. “She outgrew her baby fat, and Dumpling is a perfect lady.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.” Cara watched as he climbed easily into the saddle and turned his mount toward the hills in the distance.

  Dumpling followed, without any direction from Cara, allowing her to release any tension she’d been feeling as she enjoyed the ride.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was one of those clear, cloudless spring days. With the snow gone, Cara found herself admiring the deep blue of the sky and the soft green of the grass beginning to sprout all around them.

  There was no trail, so the horses could
walk comfortably abreast as they began their trek up the hill.

  Whit pointed to a bird in the distance, circling overhead. “See that eagle? I’m betting he’s already spotted his lunch. Watch.”

  Just as he said that, the bird skyrocketed to earth with such speed, it looked as though it would crash headfirst into the ground. Instead it lifted high, holding a squealing little animal in its talons.

  Cara shuddered and looked away in horror. “That poor thing.”

  “That poor thing will probably feed two or three babies in Mama’s nest.”

  “I know. Still, it’s terrible to see.”

  “Nature isn’t always gentle breezes and pretty flowers.”

  She turned to him. “I suppose ranchers are more in tune with nature than most people.”

  “Everything we do is at the mercy of nature. Helpless calves are born just when hungry wolves are fighting to feed their own young. A baby eagle has lunch, at the expense of a mother rabbit’s newborn. But somehow, it all evens out. Sometimes we just have to step back and let Mother Nature have her way. An extended bitter winter could decimate a wolf pack, allowing more time for our calves to survive those first hours after birth. A long, wet summer can grow lush grass that will fatten our herds and our profits at the end of a season.”

  As they came over a ridge, he pointed to the creek, its banks filled to overflowing with rushing water. “There’s Copper Creek.”

  “So that’s how the town got its name.”

  He nodded. “In spring, the runoff from the surrounding mountains causes it to overflow. By late summer, unless we get more than an average rainfall, it will be little more than a muddy creek.”

  As they neared the banks, Whit dismounted and Cara followed suit.

  She caught a glimpse of his face and was startled by the change in him. His sunny smile had been replaced by a dark, tormented look.

  His tone became hushed, almost reverent. “This is where a cowardly gunman killed my father.”

  “Oh, Whit.” Stunned, Cara laid a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it had happened right here.”

  There was a bleak look in his eyes as he led his horse along the grassy banks.

  Cara fell back, keeping her silence, allowing him his space. The reverence she sensed in Whit had her feeling as though she were in a great cathedral.

  “This is the spot.” Whit dropped to one knee to study the crude, weathered cross he and his brothers had made just weeks after the funeral.

  Beside him, Cara tethered her horse in the shade of a giant oak, allowing him to grieve in private.

  He buried his face in his hands and for long minutes his shoulders shook, revealing the depth of his pain.

  It was a shock seeing a strong man like Whit reduced to tears. Tears that were torn from his throat as he gave a low moan of pain.

  The sight of him, torn and broken, and the sound of his torment, pulled at Cara’s tender heart.

  The longer he remained on his knees, flattened by his grief, the more desperate she became to comfort him.

  She understood the grief of loss. And knew what it was to have no one to turn to.

  When she could no longer stand by, feeling helpless, she dropped down beside him. His eyes, when he looked at her, were filled with such sorrow, all she could do was wrap her arms around his neck.

  “We shouldn’t have come here, Whit. I had no idea how deeply you’re still grieving.”

  “I’m not sure it will ever end.” He took a deep, shuddering breath, taking comfort from the feel of her arms around him. “What hurts the most is not knowing who killed Pop. I want the cowardly bastard who did this to pay for the pain he caused our family.”

  She drew him closer. “The authorities will find him, Whit. You have to trust that good always wins out over evil.”

  He got slowly to his feet before helping Cara to stand beside him.

  A single tear shimmered at the corner of his eye.

  With great tenderness, she stood on tiptoe and touched her mouth to the spot. “Oh, Whit. I hate that you and your family have to suffer like this.”

  He went very still.

  Misreading his silence, she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder to offer him comfort. “I know how devastated I was when Gram passed away.” Her words were spoken against the tender flesh of his throat. “But at least she died peacefully, of old age. But to be forced to deal with not only the loss of your father, but also to have him taken so violently, just breaks my heart for you.”

  “Cara…” He took a step back and put his hands on her shoulders as though to hold her at arm’s length. “I know you mean well, but my feelings are too raw. I think…” He tried again, his tone gruff with emotion. “I think you’d better move away from me. You don’t want to be around me when I’m in a mood like this.”

  She looked up, meeting his smoldering gaze. “You’re wrong, Whit. Don’t send me away. I sense your pain. I want to share it.” She lifted both hands to his frame his face and took in a breath for courage. “Let me comfort you.”

  “You don’t understand.” Now his words were low with temper. He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his hot, fierce look. “My mood is all tangled right now. I’m sad and I’m furious. And yes, maybe I’m hungry for comfort, and I’m grateful for your offer. But you need to get away from me. Now. My mood is too dark. There would be no giving on my part. Only taking. Right now, I’m not capable of tenderness. And once I start down this road, there won’t be time for second thoughts. And afterward, with all you’ve been through, you could hate yourself and hate me as well.”

  All her senses were heightened as she continued staring into those stormy eyes. “I understand, Whit. I know I’ve made wrong choices in the past. But I’ve learned from them. I’m not afraid. Please let me comfort you. It’s all I can give.”

  He swore. “Don’t you see? I have no tenderness in my heart right now. In this temper, there’s no going back when you have a change of heart. And believe me, you will change your mind when you see me in this kind of mood.”

  Instead of drawing away, she pressed her mouth to his. “I’m not going anywhere, Whit.”

  It was her goodness, her simple, generous spirit that was his undoing.

  “Oh God, Cara.”

  And then, without another word, he covered her mouth with his in a kiss that was all heat and flash and fury. A kiss so all-consuming, it rocked her back on her heels.

  His arms came around her, holding her when she would have surely swayed. And then his mouth was moving over hers with such hunger, she could feel herself wanting to give and give until they were both sated.

  It never occurred to her to resist or to ask for time to think through what she was doing. At this moment it all seemed so right. So good. It was all she could give him. And she wanted desperately to give him the comfort he craved.

  And then all thought was wiped from her mind as his hands, those wonderful, clever, work-roughened hands, were holding her with a possessiveness that stole her will. Hands that moved over her, while his mouth continued working its magic.

  She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. With the urgency of each kiss, her fingers curled into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. And then all she could do was cling.

  His hands were almost bruising as he dragged her against him and plundered her mouth.

  She absorbed the rush of heat, the quick, jittery charge to her system as his mouth moved almost savagely over hers, taking each kiss deeper, taking them both higher.

  She could feel the heat building with each kiss, each touch. For so long now she’d thought about this. Just this. The rush of pure adrenaline. The feel of his hard, muscled body teasing her. It was unbearably arousing. And yet, she’d resisted the very thing she’d wanted for so long.

  She moaned as he changed the angle of the kiss. Her blood heated and pulsed through her veins as his hands moved over her, touching her at will.

  She offere
d her lips, her body, even as she took from him. Her fingers tangled in his hair as she struggled to crawl inside his skin. His wildly beating heart had her own keeping time, while she fought for breath.

  “I warned you. I can’t be gentle.” The words were ground out inside her mouth.

  “I don’t need gentle, Whit. I just want to give. Take all you can from me, until your pain is gone. It’s what I want. What you need.”

  For the space of a heartbeat, he went very still, as though too touched by her admission to act on it. Then, very slowly, he framed her face with his hands and kissed her.

  This kiss was different from all the others. A kiss that conveyed, on the deepest level, a need like no other. She felt a sense of strength, a surge of power that had her pouring everything into her response. She drank in the dark, purely masculine taste of him. On his lips she could taste his sorrow, his passion, and more, his reckless abandon. It was his recklessness that excited her. It gave her a sense of freedom to release whatever last vestige of fear she’d been harboring. She had but one thought. She would give this man everything that was in her power to give and hope it was enough to fill the hole in his heart.

  With the passion unleashed, all she could do now was hold on as he took her on the ride of her life.

  “I remember that first night.” His words were a low growl as he reached for the buttons of her shirt, keeping his gaze steady on hers as he nearly ripped it aside in his haste.

  Beneath it she wore a pale pink silk bra that revealed more than it covered.

  He gave a dangerous smile as he unfastened her denim jeans and slid them down her thighs to reveal a matching pink thong. “I remember this even more, Goldilocks. Are you wearing this just to make things harder?” His smile widened. “Not that anything could make me harder than I am right now.”

  He gathered her against him and brushed slow, nibbling kisses down her neck, across her shoulder, before burrowing his mouth in the sensitive hollow of her throat.

  Before she could respond, he lowered his mouth to her breast. At his touch, her nipple beneath the silk hardened instantly.

  Annoyed with even that small barrier between them, he unhooked her bra and let it drift to the ground before he allowed his gaze to travel the length of her and back before lowering his head to her breast.