by Jule McBride
“You will,” Claire assured him.
Luke hadn’t told her his intentions in coming here, but she’d asked on the drive over in the Cherokee, and now Luke figured she must have guessed. Right now, she was watching him, her eyes expectant. Drawing a deep, steadying breath, Luke ignored his nervousness and the urge to fetch a toothpick from his shirt pocket. “Mind if we sit down?” Luke asked.
Evander shook his head. “Go right ahead.”
Luke backed up, and he and Claire seated themselves on a small beige sofa. Neither took off their coats. Luke glanced around. It was a big homey room, with brick walls and polished hardwood floors covered with Mexican rugs. Eclectic furniture—both mission-style and claw-footed armchairs—were arranged in a casual way that gave the place a lived-in look. As Evander seated himself on a plump red-and-green-plaid sofa opposite, Luke took in a Christmas tree in the corner. Simple, hand-painted wooden ornaments hung from the thick branches, as did strung cranberries, popcorn and tinsel. From down a hallway, Luke could hear rough male voices and the occasional laughter of women and children. No doubt, some of Luke’s half brothers were married with kids. I might have nieces and nephews, Luke thought, surprise stealing over him.
A male voice rose above the others. “Pass the syrup.” So, Evander’s sons were eating breakfast. Strange, Luke thought now, to think that he, too, was one of Evander’s sons.
Evander was staring over a black, oblong coffee table between the two couches. “What can I do for you?”
Luke’s throat felt suddenly dry. His fingers tightened around Claire’s, and he was glad for the strength he felt in her slender fingers. Since Luke didn’t know where to begin, he simply said, “I think I found the son you had with Laura.”
“My son?” Evander gasped. For a moment he merely gaped at Luke, then he leaned forward. “Jenny! Boys! Get in here! Forget those flapjacks!”
“Luke,” Claire murmured. “I knew you were going to tell him.”
Turning and seeing the emotion in her eyes, Luke was sure that no matter what happened after this, he’d done the right thing. His gaze returned to Evander. “I figured you might want to keep this private.”
Evander still looked stunned. “I told you. My family knows everything.”
Only Evander’s immediate family appeared, and Luke watched as Jenny and three men he knew by sight—Bobby, Billy and Foster—crowded through a doorway and into the room, all of them tall and long-boned, wearing denim and flannel. Jenny seated herself on the couch next to Evander, while their sons found armchairs. Clive appeared in the doorway, then leaned against the jamb, eyeing Claire and Luke.
“What are you-all doing here?” Clive said.
Evander sent Clive a glance with a hint of chastisement, reminding Clive that he no longer had any claim to Claire’s affection. “Luke says he’s found my and Laura’s son.”
“He really found Laura’s boy, Evander?” Jenny echoed. She was a large, practical-looking woman, with iron gray hair that was swept into a bun. Scooting closer to her husband on the couch, she nervously wiped her hands on a dish towel she’d brought from the kitchen, then folded it in her lap.
Luke frowned. Evander had said he’d shared information about his previous love interest with his wife and sons, but it still seemed strange. As if reading Luke’s mind, Jenny prompted, “We’re a family. We share everything.”
Feeling unwanted emotion clogging his throat, Luke wished he were better at social graces. That Clive was in the room didn’t help, somehow. There was enough subtle tension between them without Luke’s announcing they were brothers.
“Well, tell me what you found out, son,” Evander urged.
Son. There was that word again. And Luke was still searching for what to say. Now his already-tight throat felt as if it were closing up entirely. The hell with feeling nervous, he suddenly thought. “It’s me,” he said simply. “I think it’s me.”
There was a shocked silence, then Evander said, “You? What are you talking about?”
“He’s saying it’s him, Pa,” said Bobby.
Evander stared. “You think you’re my son?”
Luke nodded, knowing he needed to better explain. He felt the couch cushion shift as Claire edged closer, offering support by slipping a hand around his upper arm. The touch wasn’t anything so physical that Clive might take offense, but right now, it meant everything to Luke. “I was found on the front porch of Lost Springs,” he began. “Wrapped in a blanket that was once used by Luke Lydell, the cowboy who worked here. His name was sewn on the label.” Luke’s eyes met Evander’s, which were so like his own. “I recognized the picture you showed me, too.”
“You recognized Laura?” Evander asked.
Luke nodded again. “Years ago, I remember coming here with her to look at the Lazy Four, the same Christmas morning she left me at Lost Springs.”
“You didn’t remember until now?” Jenny said.
“Until yesterday. I was young. I guess the trauma of her leaving made me forget. But I know she called me Justin. I figure it’s too late to change my name back, though, so I figure Luke’ll do.”
“Justin,” Evander said.
Luke continued, “The way I figure it, I turned up here long after your investigators quit looking. You’d had feelers out, but by the time I got here, no one knew to look right under their noses. If the authorities had any questions, they asked them in the bunkhouse.”
“Meantime,” Evander said, rising from the couch and slowly circling the coffee table on his too-frail legs, “You were being raised an orphan, when your family was right here.”
“It was a good upbringing,” Luke said generously, feeling unaccountably awkward as the man he knew was his pa came to a standstill in front of him. Somehow, Luke felt he was just too damn old and had too much testosterone to feel this uncertain and vulnerable.
“You were raised without your mama,” Jenny said softly, rising from the couch.
Disengaging his hand from Claire’s, Luke forced himself to stand. He felt embarrassed, but he was tired of backing away from love, and Claire had to see that. That was the most important thing. Since Luke was taller than Evander, he stared down, and his eyes met his father’s.
“Only a blood test will really tell the truth, Pa,” warned Bobby, the oldest son. “Don’t get me wrong,” he added, glancing between his father and Luke. “We’ve...looked a long time, and we need to make sure.”
“I understand,” said Luke. He glanced assurance at Bobby, then turned his eyes to Evander’s. Yesterday Luke had felt he needed more proof before confronting the Stoddards, but not now. His gut feeling was enough.
“I don’t need any more proof than you.” A soft light came into Evander’s eyes. “You said you recognized Laura. And remember when I said something niggled at me when I heard your name?”
Luke nodded.
“It’s more than the name, or your having my same eyes,” said Evander. “You’ve got the shape of Laura’s face, a similar smile. Son...” Despite his stoical expression, Evander’s old eyes suddenly looked watery. “I’m a sick old man, so we’d better not waste more time. Let’s just go ahead and get this over with.” Closing the distance, Evander stretched his thin arms around Luke’s waist, embracing him, while the remaining Stoddards got over their stupefaction and drew closer.
“C’mon, boy,” urged Evander. “Just call me Pa.”
It was a word Luke never thought he’d have occasion to say. “Pa,” he said simply, giving Evander’s frail back a pawlike pat. An awkward moment passed when Evander stepped back, then Jenny said, “I hope you’ll want to get to know me some.”
Luke said, “I’d like that.”
Then Bobby, Billy and Foster edged closer, shaking hands. Luke glanced at Clive. Even though he’d called off the wedding, there were egos involved here, Luke’s own i
ncluded. For a lifetime, he’d have to deal with knowing Clive had laid hands on a woman Luke wanted to make his wife. He met Clive’s eyes dead on. Without further adieu, he said, “I’ll put this simply. I want to marry her, Clive.”
There was another stunned silence.
“Claire.” Before Clive could respond, Luke turned away, his gaze drifting possessively over her. He wanted her so much, and since Luke was sure she loved him, he was also sure it wasn’t too late. “I could never let another man have you. Not without a fight. Ever since the day before the bachelor auction last summer, when you announced the engagement, I’ve been going crazy.”
Claire sighed. “You mean it, Luke?”
“Sure do.” His eyes narrowed, and he studied her more carefully. “I’ve got a lot to learn from you, but I think we can make it.”
Her voice caught. “I think so, too.” With the Stoddards looking on, she twined her arms around Luke’s neck, and he held her tight, loving the feel of her long-limbed, willowy body. Sliding his hands down her back, he urged her closer. “Marry me, Claire,” he whispered.
“When?” she whispered back.
“Now.” It only took a second for the idea to catch hold in Luke. “I mean, today.”
Leaning back in Luke’s embrace, Claire searched Clive’s eyes. For a moment, the man she’d almost married—Luke’s half brother—continued sizing up Luke, and Luke feared he wouldn’t offer a blessing. But suddenly, Clive shrugged, a slight smile curling the corners of his mustache upward. “Why not?” he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Hell, we’ve got a party planned.”
Luke’s voice lowered to a seductive drawl as he drew Claire to him again. “Guess we can wait a couple of hours.” Leaning down, Luke brushed his lips to hers, the chaste kiss nothing next to what he’d take from her if company wasn’t present.
“We’ll need blood tests,” Evander announced.
“On two counts,” said Bobby, still not convinced Luke was a blood relation.
“I’ll call up Doc,” said Jenny, taking charge. “If he can’t do the tests this morning, maybe Luke and Claire can have the ceremony and make it legal later.” Her voice softened. “You okay with this, Clive?”
“Fine,” Clive assured her.
Luke barely heard. He was too occupied, nuzzling his cheek against Claire’s, feeling an escaped strand of her braided hair teasing his cheek. “I’ve got one more thing to ask,” he murmured, so only she could hear. “Are you really interested in having kids?”
Excited color rose in her cheeks. “Sure. Maybe by next year...”
“I’m talking about now.” Luke’s expression was serious. “I’m asking if you’ll agree to adopt Brady with me, if we can.”
Tears sprung to Claire’s eyes, and her gaze softened with more love than Luke had ever seen. Before she even spoke, he knew her answer was yes.
“I want to make sure he gets folks for Christmas,” Luke added, resting his forehead against hers.
“We’ll be great folks,” Claire assured him with a tender smile.
“Yeah, we will.” Lowering his mouth again, Luke reveled in the loving warmth as he swept his lips across hers. “Claire,” he said with a sigh. “You’d better get ready, darlin’. Because I think we’re going to be perfect together.”
EPILOGUE
LUKE STRIPPED OFF his shirt, placed a new Stetson on his head, then he leaned lazily in the doorway of Claire’s studio, toying with the bandanna slung around his neck and sliding a hand down his bare, suntanned chest. More than anything, he loved watching his wife paint. She was standing in front of her easel, her head tilted so that it nearly touched the dollar she’d tacked on there years ago, after the sale of Love Warrior. Her eyebrows were knitted together, and she was so intent on the portrait of their son, Brady, that she didn’t even notice Luke watching her. He grinned, seeing a dab of blue paint smeared on her long, tawny braid. No doubt she didn’t even know it was there. Luke’s gaze drifted down to where her white blousy artist’s smock hung open over a T-shirt, and when he saw the growing curve of her belly, he felt his heart stretch. No matter how often he saw the evidence, he still could barely believe they’d be blessed with another child in just a few more months, and that Brady would have a brother or sister.
After a moment, Luke glanced away. Looking through a window of the A-frame, where Clive had insisted they live, Luke took in the Lazy Four’s green rolling hills and grasslands. It hadn’t taken long for Clive to get Sylvie to agree to move to Cheyenne, where Clive was now studying computer programming. The only hitch had been that Clive and Evander needed someone competent to run the ranch. As much as Luke missed Cross Creek, he’d been the most likely candidate, especially after the blood tests proved what Luke had been sure of, that Evander was his pa. Nowadays, a new metal rod—this one of silver steel—had been added to those twined together at the front gates of the ranch. Not only had the Lazy Four become the Lazy Five, but they’d legally merged with the Stop Awhile. Claire was glad not to lose her in-laws, though she still couldn’t believe Clive had never told her Evander’s secrets.
At the Lazy Five, Luke had already made his mark, and everywhere he could see the fruits of his labor. Finally, he’d found a place to call his own, and Luke was giving his all, for the kids he and Claire meant to raise here, and for those of his brothers who might someday decide to live their lives the old-fashioned way, from the land. Just glancing at the hills, Luke strongly felt a sense of belonging. His love of the ranch pulsed through his veins as surely as his blood. And each time Luke looked over the vast terrain, he felt blessed by the words his mama had given him. The spirits of the world love you.
He’d found Laura’s grave high on a mountain, on land belonging to their people, and he’d found folks who told him more about himself, and about the life of Laura Blackfeet. The day he, Claire and Brady had first visited the grave, they’d found a feather on it, too, and now Luke wore it in the brim of the new Stetson Claire had gotten for him, to replace the one Ham had ruined. Shortly after Claire had bought the hat, both she and Luke had testified in court and the two men, along with B. G. Boggs, had been locked away for a good long while.
“Mama!”
Claire turned toward Brady’s voice, and Luke smiled at her, sighing with satisfaction.
She smiled back, setting down a paintbrush and walking slowly toward him. “What, Brady?” she called, her eyes still on Luke.
“What’s Uncle Clive’s email address?”
For the umpteenth time that day, Claire rattled it off as she approached Luke, then she hesitated a moment.
“What?” Luke said with a soft chuckle. “You don’t love me anymore?”
She gave him a dubious glance. “You’re a little sweaty,” she admitted.
“I’m a cowboy,” he explained with a smile. “I’ve been herding cattle.”
“Oh.” She laughed. “Is that all it is?” And then she stretched her arms around his waist. His wrapped around her, and he turned with her, so they could both look at Brady, who was staring at a computer screen.
“Pa!” exclaimed Brady excitedly.
“Right here,” called Luke.
“Are you really taking us to the rodeo in Cheyenne?”
“Sure thing, pardner.” Luke chuckled. Brady knew the answer, but he was so excited he kept asking. The adoption had been thankfully quick, and while Brady loved his new home, he still spent time with his friends at Lost Springs. In addition to what Luke offered, he’d gotten donations from buddies he’d seen last summer at the bachelor auction to help fund a trip for the boys to Cheyenne. Really, Luke t
hought, things couldn’t be better. Evander was starting to respond to experimental treatments, and Luke was beginning to think his pa would outlive them all.
Luke’s eyes strayed to the window again, to where summer heat baked the land; long green grasses blew, waving in the wind. When his gaze returned to the living room, it landed on Claire’s painting of Lost Springs. For the first time in his life, Luke knew exactly what that wandering boy was searching for. As he took in the dusky twilight and the expansive sky, Luke thought, he’s reaching for this. For a life like mine. For love that’s already inside him, and that’s as close as the woman in my arms.
“It doesn’t get any better than this, does it?” Claire said simply.
“Oh—” Luke leaned to nuzzle her hair. “I think it could.”
Claire frowned up at him. “How?”
Luke chuckled softly. Tightening his hands on her growing waist, he drew her closer, brought his mouth to hers, and whispered, “Like this.” Then he claimed a deep, loving kiss.
* * * * *
HEART OF THE WEST
continues with
THE RANCHER AND THE RICH GIRL
By Heather MacAllister
After eight years of always doing the right thing, wealthy widow Jessica Fremont is ready to rebel. Her son Sam wants to be a cowboy—to his grandmother’s horror—and Jessica’s going to help him. So she bids on gorgeous rancher Matthew Winston, hoping he’ll show Sam the ropes. Only then she discovers that Sam’s not the only Fremont with a weakness for cowboys...
Here’s a preview!
“TEN FIVE,” Liz called out. “I want that cowboy.”
Jessica raised the bid to eleven. It was much easier to bid with zeros removed in her mind.
“Eleven five,” Liz promptly bid.
“Hey, Liz. Cut it out.” Tara nudged her sister. “Jessica is bidding against you.”