McCabe's Pride

by Gayle Eden

  “For what?” He wasn’t sure he even voiced that, or that she heard it over the rain.

  “Sometimes I think, if I hadn’t loved him. If he had not loved me. He would have moved away, or not gone into town that morning.” She grasped Lucas’s forearms covered in his wet shirt. “It was a gift for me, you know. He was picking it up that morning—” She blinked and her gray eyes were darker. “And my son…Maybe this is my punishment. Maybe I’m not supposed to have anyone, love them, maybe—”

  “Shhhh.” Lucas shook his head and drew her to him impulsively. His own emotions raw, he held her tight. Wet, the both of them muddy, her arms slid around his waist in his gathering her. “It’s not your fault. It’s not punishment. I’m sorry, I’m the one…”

  Against his shoulder she rasped, “My son loves me now, but he’ll hate me someday. Maybe he’ll hate me, too.”

  “Don’t think that. “

  “I can’t help it.” She began to cry again.

  Lucas absorbed her sobs and felt the distinction between her warm tears and the chilly rain. He hadn’t known about a son, and now that he did— his gut felt even more raw.

  When she calmed somewhat, he held her back from him and looked into her face. “Asher, is that the child you had with Ashley?”

  “Yes. I put him with Dorothy’s cousins. I was taking care of them, I promised Ashley we would, and I couldn’t have a child here. And I…”

  “Shhhh.” He shook his head, and then probed gently. “You said he loves you?”

  “Yes. I go and see him. So does Mamma. The couple were childless, you see, and part of me letting them raise him was that he know I am his mother, and that I get to see him. They left everything to him, the Christie’s. But someday—”

  “Someday, he’ll understand everything,” Lucas cut in. “You should go and see them as soon as possible. I’ll go with you.”

  “No, Lucas….”

  He stiffened. “Because I killed his father—”

  Fresh tears began. “You didn’t mean to.” Her hand touched his cheek. “It’s not that. It’s that—people will talk…”

  “They’ll talk anyway, Falon.” He took her shoulders and helped her to stand, feeling when she leaned against him. Her legs were weak. Lucas kept an arm around her. He saw that she was about to remove the ring, and raised his hand to cover hers. “No. Wait, and give it to Asher, for his bride.”

  She nodded and turned to stare at him. “He’ll forgive you,”

  “I hope so.” Lucas husked and looked at the rain bathed white stone. “I hope so.”

  Falon turned. He helped her down the hill, handing her over to Sara, who rushed her inside to dry clothing.

  Rose handed him a towel and hot coffee. “Come up on the porch.”

  He went numbly; taking the side that looked up at the graves, and did so through a curtain of rain. His hair finger combed back, the towel on his shoulders, his clothing wet and chilly, he sipped, and half listened to Rose, talking to Alex or the preacher and Sheriff.

  The rain seemed loud and time was standing still. He looked up as Falon came out a side door in dry shoes and skirt, a different blouse. Her hair was dry and tied back. She laid his coat over his shoulders. “Mamma dried and warmed it by the stove.” She took the seat beside his.

  The warmed, dry, coat seeped in his skin, taking the chill off. He smelled the sharp scent of her coffee and earth.

  “I want him to see me. Someday you’ll tell him—and a boy should remember, see the face of the one who killed his father.”

  “You want him to hate you?” her tone was strained.

  He glanced at her profile. She was looking up at the graves. “I hope not, but I ran from it once, from coming here and telling the Christie’s myself. From telling you. I won’t run from him.”

  Pain rippled across her brow. “I don’t know when he’ll be old enough to hear it. But, I believe he will have enough love and security in his life to not misinterpret what happened. That he will believe it was an accident.”

  After a moment, she glanced at him. “Pick me up here in the morning. You can take me to see the Jamison’s, and meet him.”

  Lucas nodded, searching her eyes, wondering if she understood and figuring no one could, really, but him. He eventually stood, when Alex came round. He waited until Alex talked with her, and gave heartfelt condolences, then with a brief glance, he took his leave.

  * * * *

  Falon, Rose, and Sara, cleaned the house and the bedrooms. Falon packed things in trunks, and they stored much in wardrobes and the attic. After they were finished and in the kitchen, Rose and Sara intending to head back to the ranch in the morning Sara assured Falon the hands would help her see to the property, and keep weeds cut around the graves—and that they would all help her take care of the house, until Asher was old enough to take over.

  Somewhere in talking of him, Falon confessed what Lucas had said, and what he had asked.

  Sara’s hazel eyes were on her cup and the table. She murmured, “Some men have hard things to live with. Despite talk, I never thought for a moment Lucas was a bad seed, merely he was rebelling against his father’s iron hand. Most would keep running from guilt like that, but he seems to need to face it, I think that’s the braver choice.”

  “Me too.” Falon sighed and sat back, rubbing her neck. “He looks every bit as wild and tough as they say, and maybe he is, but not about this. I feel his need to deal with it.”

  Rose reached and took their hands, looking at Falon. “He’s just lost his Mamma, maybe that has something to do with it.”

  “Maybe,” Falon said, but didn’t think so. She thought maybe it had to do with that image he carried in his head, his grudge with his father, and the mistakes he could not undo. Perhaps that was naive of her, giving hard and wild Lucas McCabe that much credit. No matter what he had been before, what he was to his family and the town, he was different with her.

  It was near dawn when Sara and Rose left for the Ranch. Falon had a satchel packed, leaving some things there as she’d be coming by to clean and check on the place. She had bathed and coiled her hair up, donned a deep purple gown with small gold buttons up the front and wide lapels. The sun had just brought its full rays when Lucas tooled into the yard in a covered buggy.

  He stepped down, wearing a black shirt and trousers, black bandanna and boots. He had gotten someone to sheer his hair. It waved to the nape somewhat in layers. He took her bag and helped her up, then climbed up and took the reins.

  Falon’s heavy head cleared somewhat despite crying on and off through the night, and having very few hours of sleep. Their shoulders rubbed occasionally. She detected the scent of leather and tobacco, and clean rainy cologne heated by male skin and sun.

  “He’s five?”

  “Yes. Turns six, right after Christmas.” She glanced at his profile, then away, having felt that flutter of tension—and guilt—because from first meeting she couldn’t ignore his darkly handsome looks. Wickedly sensual, with that hard sinewy edge. His eyes, jasper were lighter when the sun hit them. In contrast, to the deep rim of black lashes. He was also honed and long, the kind of bone wrapped muscle that bespoke potency and virility. Vivid—in a dark way.

  “I brought him something.”

  “What?”

  He held the reins in one hand and reached under the seat, handing her a rosewood box.

  She opened it and saw a set of eight small globes, each depicting some famous landmark.

  “I got them one Christmas, never really did much with them, but put them on a shelf. Maybe if he dreams big enough, he’ll see some of those things—”

  “He loves ships and boats, maps…he’ll love this…” Falon was surprised at how apt his instincts were. “The people who raise, him collect post cards and old posters with steam ships and places around the world on them. He loves them.” She put it back under the seat.

  A nerve pulsed in Lucas’s jaw and he drew in a breath and let it out. “Didn’t sleep much last
night.” His smile was tight. “Tossed more over meeting a five year old kid than I did on the trail of the Granger Gang.”

  Falon touched his arm. “He’s very open to people.”

  His gaze went to it, and she saw he stared at the ring. She decided when she got home, she would put it on a chain and put it away for Asher.

  Removing her touch, Falon murmured, “It’s going to be hard on the Jamison’s, this death. They were a small but close family.”

  “It bothers you, the way they did it?”

  “It did. But, they were in pain, and had no quality of life, no joy. They couldn’t stand the trip out here to see Asher, and sometimes, the way their minds wondered—they would confuse his existence with Ashley. I am not their judge, and I won’t dwell on that part of their death. In my heart, I understand it.”

  They didn’t talk for miles while he got the buggy at a good clip, and it was well sprung enough to make it pleasant, and somewhat helpful in taking Falon’s mind off depressing things. By noon, they had turned off the main road, and down a drive to a two-story cottage.

  “That’s him…” She smiled pointing at the white-blond boy running around the house, behind a dog nearly as big as he. When the buggy stopped, she called out, “Asher!”

  He appeared again, wide-eyed, sky blue eyes, and grinning, racing to jump into her arms.

  Falon was aware of Lucas climbing down; nodding to the Jamison’s who had come out the front doors. Carrying her son, she smiled at the couple, Lottie with her short black curls and petite frame in a pretty flowered apron, and blue dress, Hank in his black pressed trousers, white shirt, and suspenders.

  “It’s Dorothy and Tobias?” Lottie guessed before she could speak, her dark eyes damp.

  “Yes.” Falon set her son down and waved, “This is our neighbor at the ranch, Lucas McCabe.”

  They came to shake his hand. As Lucas did so, the look he cast Falon was surprised —she supposed he was, to discover these people didn’t know the talk about him, or that he had accidentally shot Ashley. She smiled short and introduced her son to him, saying, “Can you keep Mr. McCabe company on the porch while I speak to Lottie and Hank?”

  “Oh, sure.” Her son grinned, his round cheeks pulling upwards adorably. “I’ll show him my pet rabbit, if he wants.” He looked at Lucas. “It’s out back.”

  “I’d be pleased to see it.” Lucas handed him the box. “This is for you. You can open it later. I think rabbits are more important.”

  Tucking the box under his arm, Asher took his hand. “Come on, then. “

  Standing on the porch, watching them walk around the house, her blond and sturdy son, and the dark and lean ex Marshal, Falon mentally shook her head and then took Lottie’s hand. Hank followed, and fixed tea as she broke the news and explained the last requests.

  “Can’t say as I blame them.” Lottie nodded wiping her eyes.

  “When it’s time, we’ll explain everything to Asher together.” Falon took their hands.

  “You’re going to let us keep him?”

  Falon blinked. “Oh, Lottie. Of course I am. Nothing changes. Someday— sometime if my life changes too, I may want to keep him with me awhile. Or if he ever wa—”

  “Yes. Absolutely, we wouldn’t ever make him stay if he wanted to be with you more.”

  Falon got up and hugged them both. “He’s got all of us loving him. We will always do what is best. He loves you both, and he is happy. I would have rather everything be different, but it would be selfish and hurt him, for me to rip him away from you.”

  “He loves it when you come, and when Mrs. Sara does. He knows she’s his grandma. We have been talking about him coming to the ranch, learning to ride. We would bring him, visit a spell. Mrs. Sara says we’d like it there—”

  “You would. Do come and bring him sometimes. I don’t want to make your plans for you. I’ve seen how you love him, and in five years, I have never lost sleep worrying about him in your care. It’s not perfect, this way of raising him, but it’s better than some kids have with two parents.”

  “Thank you.”

  Eventually they went outside. Falon walked around back. She found Lucas, with his shirtsleeves rolled up, playing ball with Asher—and the dog, which barked and chased it around. She leaned against the back porch brace as they covered the small green lawn, romping, her son’s peals of laughter mingling with the bark of the dog and Lucas’s occasional chuckles.

  It was interesting, extraordinary, and she smiled seeing a playful side to Lucas McCabe. He was not self-conscious or stiff, simply natural. More than once, he threw his head back and laughed fully when the dog tripped Asher up, and stole the ball from him. When he did that, the hard sinew of his face eased, and she wondered, yet knew from the way her own father was, and the way McCabe was reputed to be, if he’d ever been carefree. Falon sighed inwardly. Restless was what most folks said of him, rebellious, in his own private war with old Finn.

  They’d had their own tensions and strains when Frank was alive, so she’d been a little oblivious to other folk’s problems, except for hearing occasional talk. In addition, they’d had Sara, who was loving, down to earth, and in some ways, she taught them to ignore Frank’s thinly hid opinions of them— defiantly teaching them, in her own way, that they were worthy and wanted.

  She didn’t know if their own Mamma had been that way, but somehow, given the contrast to Sara, she doubted it. Shame—it could have been a buffer between Lucas and his father, maybe.

  When they stopped playing, Lucas came to the porch. She went over and met her son, letting him show her his animals, and rock collection, seated on the grass, and listening as he made up a few stories—entertained her with a retelling of how a possum got in the smokehouse last week, and what a yell Hank let out, and how the dog saved them all and scared the animal away.

  After glancing at the sky, she assured Asher he would see his grandma that Sunday, and herself more often. Then, Lottie called him to wash up for dinner after they hugged and he’d shaken Lucas’s hand.

  “You should stay and eat,” the couple insisted.

  “Thank you, but we’ll be just missing nightfall if we leave now.” Falon smiled and waved, climbing into the buggy.

  This time, on the way back, Lucas’s scents were mingled with grass and earth, his shirt no longer perfectly pressed. His hair was ruffled, mussed, in that finger combed but wind-blown way.

  He seemed in deep thought, as she was, for the first half. Falon was still occupied with her own musings when he pulled off the road, and into a meadow that ran to some trees, they could see a brook through.

  He set the brake and climbed down. Thinking he needed privacy, she did so too, going down past the tree line and opposite his direction.

  The brook gurgled. The tall leafy trees not only shaded but scented the bank she strolled along. She went to the stream and washed her face, held a wet hand to her nape, and then rose and walked back along it, carrying her shoes and stockings, enjoying the cool water drying on her skin.

  Falon eventually spied him on his haunches at the edge of the brook, his hair damp and coal black from the small dapple of sun coming down on his image.

  Standing near him, her stomach tensed. She read his profile, noted how hard the sinew stretched over the bones of his face with emotion. Her hand came out in a comforting gesture. His frame unfolded fluidly, gracefully.

  Lucas was suddenly standing, his hands rising, cupping her face, and then water-cooled lips covered her own.

  Falon drew in one sharp, startled, breath. His own warm and desperate one stole it. His tongue filled her mouth like silk. As if some door inside her was breached, something that kept a wildfire contained, it suddenly swept her up amid the force. Her arms went round him, her tongue stealing inside his mouth.

  Lucas’s head was moving. His fingers unbound her hair. It was like two gathering storms meeting and combusting. Lifted emotionally up above and out of herself, she felt an unleashing, even as the soft textures an
d flavors, the hot fires in him burned and melted on her tongue.

  Falon didn’t recall moving, but at some point, the sweet grass was under her and the dress was undone, then the sheer linen and ribbed slip that was all she’d worn beneath.

  Breathing hard and choppy, scorching and diminutive, she felt his velvet lips and warm tongue on her cheek, then down her throat, over her chest. Her hands threaded in the cooled strands of his hair, aware of his dewed skin through the shirt, his heart pounding—the dark passion of his breathing.

  It was strangely baptismal, purging—and yet cleansing, when those lips wrapped on her nipples. His tongue rolled around each, mouth then scoring down between them while his hands kneaded.

  There were sounds, louder sounds than birds and water, ruffling leaves. She arched and moved as fiery chills blanked the trail he left. Falon moaned, eyes closed. She arched more when as bathed the hollow of her stomach and lower, inside each thigh, before flames scorched her sex. It was her voice crying out in some husky primal plea for the tongue bathing it, to keep laving, the lips suckling there, to do it harder.

  Distantly aware her hands held him to her, encouraged such explicit touching she’d never so much as thought of before. It seemed necessary, life or death. The wider he pushed her creamy thighs, the more he licked and laved and suckled, the more intense her need.

  At some helpless striving inside her, her sob was barely formed before he gave her deliverance. His teeth raked that high spot, tongue rasping hard, before Falon felt the fire explode and spark in a million directions inside her. She went willing, free—simply letting her mind and body go until the warm melting covered her inside and out.

  When Falon could lift her lashes, it was to find topaz eyes looking down at her face. Lucas, his shirt gone, his expression sensual, began to kiss her again, this time smooth and supple, tinged with a sexual scent, her scent. And this time her hands slid up a taut waist and fanned upper back, over shifting muscle that was animal sleek.

  Her senses fully open, Falon’s intoxication came from his scent, his feel, and his hard chest against her own. His breathing was different, measured; fiery in a deep way that had its own rhythm. His long body felt feline, all muscle and grace, tang and male.