The Return of Adams Cade

by BJ James

“Not when you’re the daughter of Vincente Alexandre. He believes all people should understand working for one’s opportunities. His daughter, especially, is no exception. It was only on the contingency that she make herself useful to Mistress Eden that he agreed to let her come to America and Belle Terre.”

  Cullen was becoming positively chatty. Which led Adams to be suspicious. “So, Merrie’s sent from Argentina to keep her away from horses and suddenly it’s all right that she comes to River Trace to work with Jackson’s herd?”

  “The situation has been cleared with her family. They have no objection to her having contact with horses, as long as she not eat and sleep with the horses and the gauchos as she was prone to do in Argentina.”

  Though Jackson knew Cullen meant it in a totally different context, the idea of an exuberant innocent like Merrie sleeping in the carnal sense with anyone made him smile.

  “If she truly knows her stuff, Merrie can help.” Jackson focused his attention on the girl as she concentrated on the stallion performing perfectly under Jefferson’s command. “I give you and Eden, and Mr. and Mrs. Alexandre, my personal guarantee that she won’t sleep with horses or gauchos. In fact, I don’t think the problem will ever come up. I noticed at the inn when Adams arrived that, beyond a look of appreciation, the little lady from Argentina is immune even to Jeffie. That’s gotta be a first.”

  “Then you won’t mind if she comes out most evenings to work, Mr. Jackson?”

  “It’s Jackson, Cullen, just plain Jackson.” With a grin Jackson lifted his hat to scrub a hand over his short auburn hair. “If she proves to be as good as you say, she’s welcome anytime. So long as it doesn’t interfere with school or her schedule at the inn.”

  “That won’t be a problem. Merrie’s young, but she’s quite intelligent. When it comes to horses, I think you’ll find her earnestly serious,” Cullen assured him. “So if that’s settled, we should be going. Mistress Eden will be expecting us. But before we go, there is one more thing.” The islander reached inside his jacket and drew out a stack of vellum envelopes. “These.”

  Curious, Adams took the envelope addressed to him. The handwriting wasn’t the one he expected. Eden had written him frequently, at first, when he was in prison. After months of stony silence from him, she’d finally stopped. He’d read those letters over and over, devouring them, memorizing them. Until, fearful they would become too tattered to read again in troubled times, he put them away. Leaving the rest to memory.

  Adams still had those sanity-preserving letters. He didn’t look at them or read them anymore. But he would know Eden’s hand anywhere, anytime. Even on his deathbed.

  “Ah, the invitation,” Jackson said as he took his. “We’ve been so busy I didn’t realize it was that time.”

  “Invitation? Time?” As the renegade of the Cade family—and, perhaps of the entire land— Adams wouldn’t have expected to be invited anywhere, anytime, by anyone.

  “It’s for Mistress’ birthday party.” Cullen offered Adams the invitations addressed, respectively, to Jefferson and Lincoln. “It’s always quite a lovely party. Guests who’ve stayed with us regularly come from all over the country and sometimes the world to be here for this night.”

  “Cullen, I can’t—”

  The islander stopped Adams protest with a hand raised palm out. “Don’t refuse yet. Give it a few days. Consider it. Weigh her disappointment against the minute chance that Junior Rabb would be so bold as to commit an act of violence in the presence of so many influential and important people.”

  When Adams still would have protested, Cullen bowed a goodbye and turned his back on him. Striding to the fence, where Merrie stood mesmerized by Jackson’s fabulous horse, he effectively negated any chance of argument.

  “Eden gives herself a birthday party?” Adams grimaced. The idea was totally out of character. “What’s worse, she sends her custodian to insure that I come? No. That makes no sense.”

  “Maybe because you have it all wrong, brother Adams.”

  Adams shot Jackson a skeptical look. “You heard him, same as I did. Eden’s having a party and we’re expected to appear.”

  “Eden isn’t having a party.” Jackson enunciated each word carefully, as if his brother was missing a screw, or deaf, or both. “You know as well as I that this is the last thing she would ever do. The lady has too much class for anything so self-serving. And—” he leaned hard on the word, nailing down attention already riveted on him “—you should know, she wouldn’t demand that anyone be present.”

  “No,” Adams agreed. “Especially not me.”

  Jackson’s blue-green gaze regarded him steadily. “What you mean is, especially not someone who walked out on her and didn’t look back a second time.”

  “I didn’t walk out.”

  “Didn’t you? Then tell me, Adams, what do you call waltzing back into her life, stirring up old feelings, then poof!” Jackson flipped his fingers against his thumb in a dramatic gesture. “Just like that, you’re gone.”

  “It isn’t like that,” Adams protested. “There are circumstances you don’t understand. Circumstances…”

  In a hand-out gesture mimicking Cullen, Jackson stopped the explanation. “Tell it to the one who needs to understand. Tell it to Eden at her birthday party. That should make her day.”

  “Dammit, Jackson, I won’t be seeing Eden. I won’t be making a command performance.”

  “Good.” Jackson crossed his arms over his chest, a gesture that had survived from childhood, signaling he’d chosen his side and dug in. Nothing would, or could, sway him now. No argument, no explanation. Not even, if this were a tavern and Adams not his brother, would a brawl. “While you’re explaining, big brother, take a minute to include how bad, bad Junior Rabb will keep you from attending the birthday party her employees and guests give her each year.”

  “Employees and guests.” Adams felt like an idiot. “I should have known. You’re right, throwing a party for herself is the last thing Eden would do.”

  “Maybe you would’ve known, if you weren’t trying so hard not to see the truth.” On that sage observation, Jackson spun on his boot heel and stalked away to join Cullen and Merrie by the paddock.

  Adams glared at his brother’s back, wondering why the world and his family had ganged up on him over an issue as straightforward as protecting Eden Claibourne.

  “I won’t go. Commanded presence or not.” Even to himself, he sounded like a broken record. But it didn’t keep him from adding, “Special night for Eden or not, I can’t go.”

  Leaving the drive, he returned to the barn to begin again the tedious chores he’d set for himself. The sedan was gone when a weary Lincoln slid onto the bench beside him.

  “Tough day?”

  “You could say so.” Lincoln leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed and a smile on his face. “If you call saving a prize mare and her twin colts hard, that is.”

  “Troubled delivery, huh?” Adams laid a frayed rope aside.

  “Touch and go, and long. The mare gave out.”

  “But you got ’em.”

  “Yeah.”

  Adams clapped Lincoln on the shoulder. “Congratulations. You sound like a proud papa.”

  “I feel like a proud papa.”

  “By the way, Cullen brought an invitation by for you.” Adams tried to keep his voice casual.

  Without opening his eyes, Lincoln said, “Ah, this will be an invitation to Eden’s birthday party.”

  “How did you know?”

  “It’s July, Adams.” Lincoln lifted a shoulder as if that statement alone were enough to explain. But he didn’t leave it there. “In two weeks it will be August. Eden’s birthday is the first of August, and her staff throws a bash in her honor on that day. They have for years. God willing, they will for many more.”

  Still leaning against the wall, Lincoln opened one eye and turned his head just enough to study Adams. “You are going, aren’t you? I know you’ve been acting like a jackas
s, but surely you won’t disappoint the lady on her special day.”

  Clapping his hands on his knees, Adams asked in disgust, “What is this—some sort of conspiracy? Are you all as obtuse as you’ve always seemed? Can’t you see? Don’t you know?”

  “What I see—” Lincoln still regarded him with one eye as he stemmed the flow “—is two people who love each other like crazy. Always have. Always will. Except one is too stubborn to just give in to it and be grateful.”

  “There’s one small detail you all keep overlooking.”

  “Junior Rabb,” Lincoln supplied. “I would say a lot of sound and fury, signifying nothing. Instead, I’ll tell it like it is. A cowardly windbag who wages war on smaller people and inanimate objects. And then, only in secret.”

  “You don’t think he will hurt Eden?”

  “Not if he’s sane.” Rolling his head back to a more comfortable position, Lincoln’s grin turned grim. “Too many of us badasses would skin him alive. Surely you know that, Adams. If you don’t, you should. Junior sure as hell does.”

  “I can’t take the chance.” Adams knew how every male within her circle felt about Eden. But it changed nothing.

  “Suit yourself.” Folding his hands over his middle, Lincoln gave himself up to weariness. He was so still Adams thought he slept. When he spoke, his deep voice was startling. “We need to consider bearding the lion.”

  “By that I assume you mean Gus,” Adams drawled.

  “Who else?” Lincoln was suddenly totally alert. “I was down by the walnut grove today. The trees should never have survived, but we have a good stand of timber there. Could run into millions when the time’s right. With the right choices.”

  “Such as?” Adams listened when Lincoln spoke of timber. The second Cade son had earned a degree in forestry before veterinary medicine. Because he loved trees almost as much as animals, he was a volunteer firefighter. A smoke jumper.

  “The last two years were dry. This year was drier. Next year is predicted to be the driest yet. The grove’s a tinderbox waiting for a match.” Lincoln’s gray, probing stare met Adams’. “With the first bolt of lightning, the trees will go up like they were soaked in gasoline.”

  “So what do we do?” Adams asked. “Toward what end do we beard the lion?”

  “A controlled burn.”

  “You want to convince Gus to set the walnut grove afire to save it from fire?” Adams knew of this method of burning away underbrush to save mature trees. But convincing Gus was another matter. “Lotsa luck, fella.”

  “Not me.” Lincoln wagged his head from side to side. “You, Adams Cade, the first son of Gus Cade.”

  “You’ve gotta be kidding.”

  “I never kid about fire, or trees, or Gus.” Rising from his seat, looking more weary than he would admit, Lincoln added, “You have Gus’ ear, at least for now. He’ll listen to you.”

  “Yeah, right,” Adams scoffed.

  “Yeah, right is right.” Squelching a yawn and stretching his rangy body, Lincoln grinned. “Since you guys seem to have everything here under control, I’m going home.”

  Pausing at the barn door, he tossed a parting shot. “You have to go to Eden’s party, Adams. You have no choice.”

  “Why?” Adams was immediately angry. Everyone seemed to know what should and must be done better than he.

  “Because that’s the night Jeffie will give her the portrait. You need to be there. If not for Eden’s sake, then for Jeffie’s. God knows, he’s been through enough and deprived himself of enough since you went to prison, without adding the feeling that he’s keeping you two apart.”

  Adams bolted from his seat, his expression contorted. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Exactly what I said.” Lincoln didn’t pause or turn around. “Be there, Adams. For Jeffie.”

  “No,” Adams shouted to no avail. He was speaking to an empty doorway. Even the paddock was deserted. Jefferson and Jackson were walking the stallion to the creek, cooling him down. Adams was alone with his thoughts. Alone to puzzle over Lincoln’s parting comment.

  The night of August first, the thud of a solidly delivered blow threatened his bedroom door. But when Adams opened it, he was met by Lincoln’s smiling face. The second son was dressed in a formal white shirt, with an untied cravat trailing down his chest. A ruby-red vest and black jacket were lying over one shoulder and anchored by the curl of two fingers. Straightening from the door-jamb, he inspected Adams critically.

  “Good,” he said, brushing past his older brother as if he’d been invited in. “You’re dressed for the occasion. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to thrash you first.”

  “In your dreams, brother.” Adams adjusted his black tie, then slipped into his vest and black jacket, which fit his shoulders perfectly.

  “I could try.” Lincoln advanced a step or two. “When I called your office, your girl Friday said she knew exactly what to send.”

  “My girl Friday may be yesterday’s girl after this stunt.” Adams raked a hand through his hair, disturbing the order he’d only recently restored.

  “Would you really have missed this, Adams?” Lincoln was as serious as only Lincoln could be. “This is Jeffie’s first real portrait. The first time he’s really shared with the world what he feels about anyone, and he chose Eden.” The piercing gray gaze bored into the depths of Adams’ eyes. “Could you miss this moment? If there were ten Junior Rabbs, could you?”

  Adams didn’t answer at first, then he murmured on a half breath, “No. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Lincoln’s only answer was to slip into his own vest and jacket, shrugging his broad shoulders to settle it properly. Drawing his sleeves over his wrists and adjusting his cuff links, he looked up with a grin. “Ready?”

  “Where’s Jackson?”

  “Fuming impatiently in the car.” Crossing the room, Lincoln waited in the doorway, aware that Adams was postponing the inevitable. “Before you ask,” he drawled, “Jefferson’s gone on ahead. He’s to meet Cullen, and together they’re going to set up the portrait in a private part of the garden. Where, hopefully, Eden won’t see it until time for the unveiling.”

  “Wait a minute.” Adams’ eyes narrowed as he wondered if the portrait was a hoax to get him to attend the celebration. “Eden doesn’t know about the portrait?”

  “Of course not.” Lincoln gave his brother the sort of long-suffering look one gives the village fool. “If she did, how could it be a surprise?”

  “Then how did Jeffie paint it? From photographs?”

  “Maybe some, but my guess would be that the better part of it he did from memory.” Realizing Adams hadn’t been privy to the quiet, introspective times that often held Jefferson in thrall, Lincoln explained, “Jeffie sees more with his mind’s eye than most of us see with binoculars.”

  “He’s that good?” Adams buttoned his vest and adjusted his tie. His gaze caught Lincoln’s in the mirror. “Truly?”

  “Better.” Lincoln grinned. “Truly. Now, are you coming?”

  “Aren’t you going to tie your tie?”

  Sighing, Lincoln rolled his eyes. “No, I’m going to find Lady Mary and let her do it. She likes scolding me and complaining that I never seemed to master the art.”

  “Like hell, you didn’t.” Adams finally moved to the door.

  “So.” Another shrug lifted the shoulders of Lincoln’s impeccable jacket. “It makes the old girl happy to think I need her. Where’s the harm?”

  “It’s no wonder you were her favorite.”

  “Was not.”

  “Was too.”

  With the resulting laughter still echoing through the rambling house, Lincoln sobered. “Did I tell you Jericho and his entire staff will be on guard? Actually,” he amended, “they all would’ve been there in any case. But this time they’re doing double duty as guests and protectors.”

  Adams stopped dead in his tracks, facing Lincoln. “Then Jericho’s as worried about this as I am.”

  “Jeri
cho’s cautious. Not worried. Because he’s cautious, he’s called in a team from the next county to help patrol the grounds.” Anticipating Adams’ next question, Lincoln said, “The river, too. Does that satisfy you?”

  Adams drew a long breath. “Yes.”

  “Good.” Linking his arm through Adams’ arm, Lincoln laughed. “Now, where were we?”

  “Was not, I think.”

  “Was too.”

  Laughing, the two brothers joined the third in the waiting car. Tonight the eldest of Gus Cade’s sons would pay tribute to the talent of the youngest of them.

  Nine

  The music reached out to them before they left Jackson’s car. Before the reserved young man dressed in proper livery greeted them courteously and took the keys.

  “Must be Cullen’s handiwork,” Lincoln declared as they stood at the entrance to River Walk. The scene before them could have been taken from the canvas of a perfect painting.

  “The house, the gardens, the music or the table of food half a mile long?” Jackson drawled.

  “All of it. Any takers?” Lincoln looked to either side, challenging his brothers.

  “I don’t bet against sure things.” Jackson grinned.

  “What about you, big brother?” Lincoln jostled Adams’ arm. When all he got was a blank look, he said, “Why don’t you cut to the chase and find Eden? Along the way, if you see Jeffie with his usual coterie of admirers, tell him we’ll gravitate to Cullen’s punch bowl in an hour or so.”

  “Yes. I think I will.” Without further comment, Adams wandered away, his gaze searching the distant garden, seeking one face among the few who were just beginning to gather there.

  “Do you think he heard a word of that?” Lincoln asked Jackson as the two of them watched Adams cross the lawn completely oblivious to the interested looks that followed him.

  “Nah. Not once you got past the part about finding Eden.” Jackson was already selecting the first of his dancing partners. “But Jeffie will find us. And I’m sure Lady Mary is waiting for you.” He left Lincoln to fend for himself as the first of his choices arrived.

  The gardens that segued one into another were separate sections of the same sprawling space, with every inch of each section groomed to picture-book perfection. But Adams was too preoccupied to notice the gardens. Nor did he notice the flirtatious sidelong glances the female half of the early arrivals cast his way, many turning for a longer second look as he passed by with only a pleasant greeting. It was Jericho who caught his attention with a long-held look, assuring him all was well. And well guarded.