by Gayle Eden
As she walked out, Lucas laughed softly, bitterly, earning a glare from Finn and a headshake from Morgan.
Lucas muttered as the door closed. “She’s a McCabe to be proud of. Too bad she don’t give a good shit if you approve of her or not.”
Everyone had sat down but Finn. He held Lucas’s gaze. “It is the only way Andrea would take her in at all. You don’t like that excuse, too damn bad. You should have discovered by now that even when you own up to mistakes, it doesn’t change the outcome.”
They were holding gazes, green and jasper, hard as glass, when the lawyer cleared his throat.
Finn didn’t look at him, but still stared at Lucas when the man read, “Her personal possessions are to be packed up and shipped east, to a given address. She states: As Finn and my sons found no appreciation in the art and collections I acquired from my own monies, those may be given to the PineFlatts Ladies auxiliary for display in the new building Mrs. Greenfield, the banker’s wife is overseeing. To each of my sons, I leave a draft at the bank for seventy thousand each, assuring if they wish to choose their own future and profession, they have the means to do so.”
When the lawyer was finished, Finn walked to the bar against the wall and poured glasses of whiskey. He raised one and smiled grimly. “To Andrea Croft McCabe. A woman who knew how to play her cards to the very end.” He knocked it back and set the glass down with a smack. “Drink up boys. You’ve all just been given a free ride to anywhere you want.” He strode out the door, closing it with a slam.
Lucas watched the lawyer hurry to leave. He strode over as Alex drank, with Morgan, his uncle handing him the glass. Downing it, Lucas set it beside the others, meeting Alex’s gaze. “Did you know she’d do that?”
“I suspected,” his uncle confessed. Alex leaned his hips against the bar, including Morgan in his glance when he drawled, “To you, she was simply your beautiful, distant, mother. A woman of refined taste and social skills. But, I grew up a Croft, and Andrea learned from the best—our father. Where father was ruthless however, Andrea was patient and shrewd. She knew how to lose the battles gracefully, and to win the ultimate war.”
Morgan was shaking his head. “I never saw her like that.”
“That’s because her war was with your father, and in some ways, you two were the prize. In the end, she takes everything away from Finn—but the ranch he started with. Using her money, because she spent twenty some years watching him. It’s her punishment for him, and her victory, in a sense. Croft’s were never very good losers, they just hid it well.”
He looked at Lucas. “She loved you both, but in her skewed way of loving people. She loved me, yet used me to save her own rep. Not that claiming Jordan bothered me.” Alex laid a hand on both their shoulders. “Look at it this way, Andrea was a better match for Finn, power to power, than anyone realized. She stayed in the game, the marriage, and likely thrived on the challenge. Finn toasted her victory, despite his not figuring on her ace in the hole. “
His fingers flexed. His gaze touching them slower this time. “Sometime soon it has to stop, though. Lucas, you are lot like Finn, and Andrea. I doubt Morgan can be a pawn for either of them. He has always made peace with his choices. Nevertheless, don’t play her hand for her, Lucas. Give Finn a chance.”
“If I leave, it’s got nothing to do with her.”
“I know that.” Alex dropped his hands and nodded. “But you are Jordan’s brother. We can’t let her walk out of all our lives. She is your blood. Morgan is your brother. If you and Finn never stop setting sparks off each other, do not let that steal the bond. Hell, I don’t even know what I’m going to do with myself here, but you’re all the family I have.”
Lucas looked at Morgan, their eyes holding for long moments, each in thought, but each weeding the truths out of that. He considered Alex, always liking and trusting the man, not envying him the Croft name or the upbringing. Now he saw his mother in a different light—no fragile and gentle butterfly apparently—He didn’t hate or resent her. She was what she was, and he hadn’t made an effort to figure her out when she was living, too wrapped up as he was, in butting heads with Finn.
“I’ll be around. For a while anyway.” He glanced back to Alex. “Tell Jordan that I want to talk to her.” He turned and left the study, pausing abrupt in the front yard, seeing Finn take off on horseback from the barn.
Morgan stepped out. “He’ll be all right.”
“I wasn’t thinking he wouldn’t.”
They walked to Morgan’s house. “My eyes are opened a bit wider,” Morgan confessed, rolling a cigarette as they walked.
“Don’t feel sorry for Finn McCabe.” Lucas grunted. “He don’t stay down for long.”
Laughing, Morgan grunted. “It wasn’t pity I was feeling, rather amazement at how clueless we are about our parent’s relationship.”
“They didn’t have much of one that I could tell.” Lucas ended it there and they parted at the doorway. Lucas going up the stairs. “Wake me early. I’ll ride out with you.”
* * * *
Lucas rode out at sunup with Morgan, checking the herd, and riding fence line. It was barely light when they left, wearing their oldest boots, and faded denims, Lucas’s shirt, a thin butternut cotton that was comfortable and worn. A black hat to shade his eyes—and bandanna in that hue. He felt dressed as long as his colt was strapped on, but they both had rifles in the scabbard.
In a few hours, they worked repairing fence, speaking little but in sync with a task as natural to them as breathing. The new stock was looked over and at various sections, they ran into other hands, branding or moving pregnant cows to the near pasture.
Horses ran in the north hills, sleek and gleaming in a rising sun, several of the mares round and ready to foal.
“Check that section down by the creek,” Morgan took off his dun hat, wiping sweat already beaded on his brow. “We’ve some young steers that are full of sap and have been testing that fence line.” He jerked his head. “I’ll join you after I see if Salty has that bull moved. It takes four usually to get the ornery cuss away from those cows and high grasses.”
“Do you blame him?” Lucas grinned slightly.
“Hell, no.” Morgan chuckled. “A full belly of sweet grass and a harem of ladies—”
As he rode off, Lucas headed to the northern border. He admitted the work felt good, the ranch felt and looked like a piece of heaven on earth. Wildflowers grew amid the deep green grass, cattle lowered and stood under shade trees lazily. The sky was streaked with blue and yellow, with white clouds drifting. The sounds of the horses and cattle, nature, with scents that mingled earth and grass—life, even the sweat dewing the back of his shirt and the well trained mount under him, made his blood run just a bit quicker.
It had never been the ranch itself that he resisted. Wrangling, chasing down and taming wild horses, warding off predators, was enough of a challenge for any man. Even though Finn McCabe had a good hold on a rich and productive ranch, he still squeezed that fist where his sons were concerned. Mostly, over Lucas.
Lucas was distant enough from those days to consider it was partly Finn’s not recognizing Lucas’s need to be his own man. On his side, Lucas wanted to make his own decisions, have a choice. Hell, he was wild, restless, burning his edges off at the saloon and never having a shortage of females dropping their drawers in his path.
“Sonofa—” Lucas pulled the piebald up short, hearing a ruckus of bawling steers and sharp whistles and shouts. He listened only a second before riding hard toward the sound, seeing long before he came down the backside of the rise, that a dozen or so steers had trampled down the fence, and were headed to the creek.
He took in the scene with a grim eye, spotting one of them down, tangled in post and wire, the others jumping over. Bounding off the well-trained mount when he was close enough, Lucas noted the Landry women were doing the whistling and shouting.
Grabbing the cutters from his saddlebags, he yelled and pushed at the beasts, g
oing down by the pole to cut the bloody steer lose, getting the recoil of the barbs, his shirt ripping down the sleeve with a sting that he didn’t have time to examine.
“Let them on through!” Sara climbed up from the creek on her side, having shoved her hat back. “I’ve sent Corey for some nearby hands who can repair it.”
Nodding, he had no choice but to agree. They were crossing to her land, but until the bodies moved and he could see the damage, driving them back was purposeless.
“We, the girls, and I were picnicking, just down the stream,” she yelled above the din, holding the wire back for him to pass through once the last steer had crossed. “I heard the bawling when that one went down, and came up this way. “
Most of the steers were in the stream stretched out for a space, the wounded one Lucas noted, quivering, not going too far. “Give me your ropes.” He then took in Falon, and Rose, who stood with their horses on the other side of the bank. Both in trousers and cotton shirts, Rose in a vest too.
Absently, as they untied the wound ropes from their saddles and Falon brought them, he noticed her hair was braided lose like her mother’s, with strands floating around her face. Rose had hers tied back in a tail.
“Thanks.” He took them, bridging the gap in the fence temporarily, so no other steers could get out. “Morgan should be here soon.”
“The hands will bring what’s needed,” Falon said softly when he turned from his task. Her eyes were rising from his arm. “You’re bleeding.”
Lucas looked at the torn sleeve and gash, back to her eyes. “It’s nothing.”
She turned her head watching Sara reach the wounded steer, talking low to it while lopping a rein she’d freed from the bridle around it, she coaxed it in deep enough waters to wash the blood. It struggled but she soothed, checking to see how bad they were. Rose had the horses back a yard and hobbled them, then stood on the other bank watching.
Glancing back at Lucas, Falon simply reached for his cuff and undid it, then grasped the rip, and tore most of the sleeve off. Her hands gloveless, she wadded the material over a six inch gash and held it, her other hand inside his arm, fingers near his armpit. “Hold this snug.”
He did so, and was going to protest again, but she tore the other sleeve and dipped it in water. Moving his hand away, she let the bloody one drop and pressed hard, holding his arm again. “There’s dirt in it. The quicker you clean it, the better.”
Having smelled earthy scents all day, Lucas stared at the top of her sorrel hair, wisps catching sunlight and floating free, smelling of flowers and sun. She had a singular kind of soft and womanly scent.
His gaze moved as she rubbed the cloth and turned it, catching seeping blood. His eyes traced her forehead, and straight bridge of her nose, the curve of her cheek, finally the feminine curve of her lips.
Her skin was a warm hue, peach smooth, except for a line or two on her brow. When she turned her head again, distracted a moment by Sara telling Rose to bring something out of the saddlebags, he stole a glance at the length of her neck, the deep swath of skin where her shirt buttoning ended, skin a bit dewed, but softer looking than silk.
“I think it stopped.” He had taken off his glove and now covered her hand, loose enough for her to remove it.
She did so. Lucas caught a flash of the ring on her finger, a pretty pearl and diamond band.
“You need something cleaner than that.” She turned before he stopped her and headed across the creek.
He walked toward Sara, who had let the steer go. “How bad is he?”
“Weak, lost some blood in that gash. You’ll want to watch him awhile. He took quite a trampling.” She pushed a strand of strawberry hair back, and eyed the other steers strung out down the creek, sun sparking here and there on the pristine water. “Back in the fall there was a lot of rain.” She glanced back at Lucas. “That bank there washed off quite a bit. I think the soil gave way more than the fence.”
“Morgan and I will string it back a few feet.” He nodded.
She laughed softly as one of the steers started romping in the water, and then two of them began wondering back up stream. “They’re like kids, full of mischief, then after the fun is over, they want to go back home.” Her autumn eyes met his again.
Lucas knew she wasn’t Falon’s real mother. He thought Corey, that youngest one, favored Frank Landry, except for the eyes. Still, he noticed that Sara Landry was a handsome woman, healthy and fresh, in a resolute way. He supposed because of her youth that Rose’s curves drew more notice, although anyone could see she tried to hide as much as possible. Even well curved, which never lets a man forget he’s looking or talking to a woman, Sara was strong and carried herself in a proud manner.
“You’re a good rancher,” he murmured, noticing the way she’d handled the steer.
“Should be after all these years.” She flashed him a grin. “Corey should be here with the hands soon. I’ll ride down stream, circle around me and Rose.” She headed across stream and to the horses.
Falon came up to him, a folded white handkerchief in her hand. She didn’t ask, but took his elbow, then tied the bandage on his arm.
“What’s on it?” He felt something ease the sting.
“Honey.” Her smile was mostly in her eyes as she secured the knot. “It will do until you can get back and treat it.” Stepping back, her hand came up, trying to scoop all the silken strands of hair that were loosed from the braid, but only smoothing them. Letting her hand fall, that dove gray gaze went over his face.
Lucas was aware her mother and Rose had ridden off. “You sit a horse well.”
“I wasn’t riding when you came up.”
“I know.” He captured her gaze. “It’s the way you move though. I’d wager you know as much about ranching as you do—doctoring.”
“How do you know that?”
“There’s a dozen steers milling around you and there were two coming right at you, and you didn’t panic.”
“I was ranch raised. Frank might not have liked daughters but we learned to ride early. As for the ranching, that’s Sara’s credit. She took us out every day with her. Even Rose, who likes her gowns and poetry, has herded, or doctored cattle and horses. Sara taught us everything, from how to cook and sew, to gardening and the rest—made living on the ranch as natural as sitting at the kitchen table snapping beans. She washed us in streams and woke us up on winter nights, bundled us, so we could all go to the stables to watch a foal being born.”
Lucas heard the admiration in that. “You’ve worked at the Christie’s a long time?”
“Yes. They had applied for a caretaker, and I wanted to do something outside the ranch.” She looked away. “There was too much tension when Frank was alive.”
He watched a strand of hair cling to her cheek and wanted to reach out and brush it away. Instead, he took a step back, turning toward the makeshift fence, to watch for Morgan. Inwardly he cursed the past, the guilt; the present —because he was stirred by Falon Landry in ways that had nothing to do with the past.
“You were a lawman?” She had turned too, and stood just behind his shoulder, a bit to the side, also looking toward that section of fence.
“U.S. Marshal. Eventually.” He felt in his pocket for his makings and took them out more for distraction than want.
“As dangerous as gun slinging.”
He rolled the cigarette, licked the paper, and put it in his lips, digging out a match and lighting it before he murmured, “Yep, if you’re chasing the right—or wrong— outlaws.”
Lucas blew a stream of smoke and glanced over his shoulder, finding her standing with her arms loosely folded, one booted foot slightly out, but having been looking at him.
The snug trousers she wore, along with the thin blouse, showed her figure to be lithe and willowy. He had glimpsed a shadow of palm fitting breasts. But, the color of her hair, her lips, her dove eyes, it was wholesome in a tempting way. Alluring, in that Lucas had never looked twice at anything other than
dollar a poke whores—he didn’t have to think about, beyond that. When he looked at Falon, there was the nectar and honey, but under it was something more…
Her cheekbones were slightly flushed from his regard by the time Morgan’s arrival came, as did Corey, and the Landry hands.
Lucas walked toward Morgan, who had dismounted at the roped section, and filled him in. By that time, the Landry hands, armed with wire and tools, joined them to wrestle the posts out, and in no time had them set back off the bank.
In the midst of cutting of the old wire away, Lucas saw Falon across the creek on the rise above it, observing.
Corey was helping the hands.
“I’ll go join Mamma and Rose. We’ll drive them this way.” Corey offered when they were ready.
Morgan nodded. “We’ll be ready.”
Lucas took up a position a ways down the creek, to make sure none veered off and further across the Landry side. When the sound of whistles and shouts came, they could see the three Landry females on horseback, hooves splashing up water behind the running steers. They impressed Lucas, moving, keeping the beasts in a line. With the help of Landry hands, they drove them back up the bank and through the opening. The hands were stringing the wire across fast after Morgan brought his and Lucas’s horse through.
There was some re-checking before he and Morgan shook hands with the men. Morgan winked at Corey who had been right there with them, working with the men and joking, cussing, in that natural way that showed she was used to the hands, and they her.
“Thank you, boys.” Sara smiled at the hands who doffed their hats before riding across and back to their jobs.
“We’ll double this section,” Morgan told her, pushing his sweat-stained hat back a bit. “I knew that run off was bad, but hadn’t thought it would erode and soften so much.”
“Happens sometimes.” She nodded and then as they squatted, removing gloves, washing their hands in the stream, said, “I don’t have all my girls out with me very often, and our picnic got interrupted. Join us.”