by Gayle Eden
Shaking by the time he jumped off the horse, and ran into the house, Finn entered the nightmare the moment he spied his always seemingly strong son, laying with a white sheet half folded from his bandaged ribs to his thighs. The body lying there was ravaged and battered, turning bruised and swelled. Morgan moaned constantly in agony—his eyes were swelled shut.
Finn didn’t recall what time Lucas entered, or when Rose Landry asked him to hold Morgan’s scraped hand while she straightened his leg, which was apparently broken. Looking at that hand in his palm, a hand that mirrored his own, Finn remembered it at four whirling a rope expertly, at six wielding a hammer and mending fence, and at ten stroking a newborn calf. Images went through his head as he spoke words to ease his son’s suffering, and pain, anything to take that agonized moaning away.
At some point, Sara, damp hared, washed, and clean, came in. As if from a great distance Finn looked up hearing her say, “I’ve some laudanum to give him. Finn, will you help me?” He had stood and had gone to kneel by the bed, helping to part those bloody lips while Sara put drops inside.
“It will be all right, son,” Finn spoke gruff, hurting in his body for every pain Morgan had. “You’re going to be okay.” Having said that, Finn knew like any rancher who had dealt with bulls, and the one Morgan tangled with being one of the worst temperament and precarious natured, that having been no witnesses—they didn’t know if the bull stomped and pounded Morgan’s insides along with dragging, and goring him, tossing him around. The Landry daughters had done their best, but no one would breathe until Noah returned with the doctor.
It was full sun up, the windows of the room were opened, to ease the heat, and Finn counted moments that Morgan rested now instead of moaning in pain. The silence was heavy and tense.
“Here, Mr. McCabe.”
He glanced over and automatically took the cup of coffee Rose handed him. Looking at her a moment, as if without sight, as if he forgot anyone else was there, he noted her hair was the color of Sara’s, and it was in a snug French braid. She wore a half sleeve blouse and some light cotton skirt in lavender. Finn had thought before she looked like Sara, in build and in hair and skin tone, but her eyes were a dove gray.
Blinking he looked back at Morgan. Having been intimate with Sara recently, he saw that Rose was more distinct in her looks, had a more classic shape to her face and eyes.
A shift and scrape during mid-sip of the coffee had him glancing over at Lucas, who sat forward in the ladder-back chair. His elbows on his thighs, hands clasp, while he stared at Morgan—watching the rise and fall of his chest—Finn thought—like himself, willed it to keep doing so.
Lucas looked strained, tired, and as lost to all else, as he was.
“Will you see to the ranch?”
Lucas nodded but didn’t look at him yet. “Soon as the doc is here, and tells us something. I’ll head that way.”
“Thanks.”
“He’s my brother.” Lucas rasped still staring at Morgan.
And you are my sons, Finn thought, seeing emotions of apprehension, love and concern that reflected his own unspoken ones, in Lucas. That lanky son was dressed in well-worn boots, denims, and a black shirt with black bandanna. His wavy hair mussed and jaw beard-roughened. The star was no longer pinned his vest, but his gun and holster was strapped on. He looked, Finn thought, like the seasoned man he was. , for all of that, Finn realized what it meant to him that Lucas was here with him, watching over Morgan.
There were sounds inside the house as Finn sipped his coffee and stared out the window, smells of coffee and food amid Sara’s voice and Falon’s. He remembered Alex coming into the room for a spell, grim faced and simply touching Morgan’s hand, before he’d retreated to let the Landry women work. He supposed Alex was still there. Jordan, he remembered them saying, was helping at the ranch, along with Landry hands that had caught the bull and roped it, and took it back to McCabe’s spread.
“He’s here.”
Finn looked over sharply as Sara appeared in the doorway.
“The Doc. Noah just turned into the yard. I’ve told the girls to stay out until he’s done.”
Finn nodded and stood, watching Lucas do the same, leaning against the wall as they heard Sara greeting the man.
In moments a man of about thirty entered, white shirtsleeves rolled up, and black vest matching his trousers. “I’m doctor Kenner.” He nodded to each of them; his brown hair combed back neatly. He had a mustache and short goatee, dark, almost black, intelligent eyes. Setting down his bag, eyes on Morgan as he then washed his hands from a pan on the bedside table, he asked Finn, “This is your son?”
“My youngest son, yes. That’s Lucas, my oldest.”
The doctor nodded to Lucas, looked him up and down, probably because of his lean either outlaw or lawman looks, and then asked Finn, “Tell me about Morgan. Age, health, things of that nature.” He began to examine his patient.
Finn told him, giving age, and Morgan’s hardworking nature. He was not a man who abused his body with drink or whores, but liked beer and whiskey on occasion. “He was rarely sick, though he had his share of getting kicked, by a horse or two, and normal accidents. Sharp, intelligent, impressed his tutors even if he cared more about cows than anything else.”
The doc looked up from examining the stitches the ladies had put in Morgan’s face and mouth. “Neatly done, I couldn’t have done better.”
“The Landry women are ranchers; they’ve seen their share of accidents.”
“Yes well,” the doc said after listening to Morgan’s heart, “It’s what we can’t see with this kind of accident I’m more worried about.” With that, he looked at Finn and said, “Shut the door, please.”
Finn shut it and was standing on the same side as Lucas when the doc removed the folded sheet. Hearing a sound from Lucas that echoed his own gut cinching reaction, Finn knew the doc was oblivious to them while he prodded and pushed, felt and tested. Morgan moaned again, regaining lucidity. From the ridged muscled ribs and lower stomach and over his inner thighs, there were hoof prints from the bull.
“I’ll need the both of you.” The doc had them roll Morgan to his side. His right, because he said, “I think three of those ribs there are broken.”
Lucas took Morgan’s hips and Finn his chest and shoulders.
“Jesus…Jesus, no…don’t.” Morgan pleaded through cinched teeth and swollen lips.
“I’m sorry, son. The doc has to look at your back.” Finn rested his forehead against Morgan’s arm, sounding strained with the fact he had to bring him more pain.
“All right.” The doctor let them roll him back, and then checked Morgan’s leg. “Broken, here.” He touched just below the knee on the right. “I’ll need a splint.”
“I’ll get something,” Lucas offered.
The doc nodded, “And something to bind his ribs.”
While Lucas was gone, the doc took scissors out of his bag and a bottle of strong smelling solution. He gave another to Finn and directed him, “Give him a few drops, I don’t want him too far under though.”
Finn gave the medicine, smelling the other potent stuff the doc went over the wounds with. By the time Lucas came back, with short smooth boards, they were ready to help wrap Morgan’s ribs and help set the leg—a task that broke sweat on Finn’s brow, and caused his son to cry out before he lost consciousness.
There were a few bandages applied, some examining Morgan’s nails and such before the doc covered him. He went out and brought Sara and Rose back, saying in general, as he packed his bag, “Keep the wounds clean, the stitches supple but dry. Watch for pneumonia. Although laudanum helps the pain, I would rather he endure some, and not depend upon it. I will come back at the end of the week, unless something changes. If anything does, coughing up blood or passing it, send for me.”
“We will.” Sara nodded then looked at Finn. “There are two spare rooms above, Frank’s room and a guestroom. Which shall we put your bags in?” She had obviously sent
to the ranch for them.
“Either.” He shook his head and walked out with the doc, Lucas with him.
Out in the yard, as Noah had fresh horses hitched to the open buggy, Finn shook the man’s hand and assured him any amount would be paid for his coming so far to treat Morgan.
“Keep a close eye on him these first few days.” The doctor nodded and shook both their hands. “He won’t move much, because of those ribs and the pain, but that could set up other problems.” He took out a paper and wrote something down. “Take this into town, and follow directions I’ve written.”
When Noah pulled the wagon out, Lucas said, “I’ll head to the ranch. I can send in for that.” He took the list. “Have it brought here before nightfall.” He looked Finn in the eye. “I’m going to kill that bull.”
“No.” Finn sighed. “That’s Morgan’s bull. As much as I hated the sonofabitch on sight, he wouldn’t let me get rid of him. Keep him locked up, away from the men, and the stock, until your brother decides.”
Lucas’s jaw flexed but he nodded abrupt.
When he started to leave, Finn caught his arm. “The ranch is yours, yours and Morgan’s, and Jordan’s home, as long as she wants. I have had Alex make it legal. You don’t have to report to me, Lucas. You and Morgan know ranching well, if not better, than I do.”
“You staying here?”
“For now. I have to…”
Lucas glanced over Finn’s shoulder where Sara stood on the porch, then back to Finn. “Stay for Morgan. I understand that, but don’t bring Sara Landry troubles she can do without. I know where you were, and that she was with you; I know what you said before. But—”
Finn sighed tiredly and rubbed the back of his neck. “We’ll talk, when Morgan is better. I’ve been thinking of heading north…”
When Lucas opened his mouth, Finn shook his head, touched his arm again, and then walked back to the house.
Sara glanced at him before she met Lucas’s gaze with a nod. Shaking his head; Lucas turned and headed for the stable and his horse.
“Come into the kitchen and eat.” Sara touched Finn’s hand, as he would have gone to Morgan’s room. “Rose is sitting with him.”
Finn went to the small kitchen. He sat at a scrubbed table with a jar of fall flowers in the center, and though he didn’t much attend what he ate, he had a sense of ease with Sara, cradling her cup, staring out the window, and listening to the sounds of the cowboys at work.
She got up and poured him coffee, took his plate, and washed it, and then said, “Your room’s at the top of the stairs on the other side of the bathing room. It’s Frank’s old one, but I cleaned it out last year.” He stood at the backdoor and smoked. “Sit with Morgan as long as you like. And Finn?”
He looked over his shoulder; his eyes troubled and face weary with it.
“We’ll take care of him.”
“I know.” He rolled on his shoulder and reached for her hand, holding it, squeezing lightly, before letting it go.
Sara left him and went to do some cleaning; expecting Falon would stay at the McCabe spread, since Alex and Jordan invited her. It made more sense with her going into town with Alex, and the Landry’s smaller house being full—that one nearly empty and huge, by Alex and Jordan’s account.
Sara gathered up linens, and did some sweeping, dusting in the parlor, and then swept the porches. She saw the questions every time Corey looked at her, and she’d simply shook her head. It felt like her own son lying in there, even though Morgan and she hadn’t had cozy chats. He looked so much like Finn, and he had a way about him that was solid and true.
For Finn and his family’s sake, she was worried and prayed, but for Morgan too, she hated the accident. The young man was bruised and swollen scraped raw and had deeply bruised what he hadn’t broken or sprained. It was one of the worst she’d ever seen.
Rose, Sara thought, Rose always surprised her, although she knew her middle child was more than Corey assumed, more than just a homebody who read too much and liked pretty clothing. Rose always seemed the more sensitive and shy, but there was pure steel in her when it counted.
Just like the Christie’s death, Rose had, according to Falon, taken charge and handled everything from the time Morgan was brought in with calm purpose. She had known what to do and went about it, just as she did when a hand or animal was hurt here at Landry ranch.
When Sara looked in on her after going in, she found Rose leaning over the bed, stroking Morgan’s raven hair, murmuring soothing words, as he moaned in pain. When he quieted, Rose walked to the window and half sat there with the fall sun bathing her face and hair. Sara had to wonder at the unguarded expression on her face and whether or not it was a trick of the light or real tears that shimmered in Rose’s eyes.
Rose liked poetry, stories, but Sara knew how Rose felt about her fully curved body—or at least how other people made her feel, so Rose never mentioned beaus or things young women normally thought about. She supposed Rose was sensitive and cared enough that Morgan’s pain touched her. But the expression…
She never found out, because Finn came to the door and Sara left quietly, hearing Rose leave too, sometime later, and tell Finn that she’d check every hour on Morgan. She went to the stables and did the evening feeding, got her bath, and was sitting on the end of her bed when a dusty and mussed Corey opened the door.
“I just stopped in to tell you Uncle Ryder and the hands got that section repaired, and moved the stock to the eastern pasture.”
“Thank you, dear.”
Corey’s gaze was on Sara’s back, her mother apparently just sitting there staring at the floor. “Mamma?”
“Not now, Corey.” Sara shook her head without looking at her.
“I just wanted to say, it’s all right. I understand.”
“You don’t.” Sara laughed tiredly. “But thank you.”
Easing away from the facing, Corey came in and leaned down, kissing Sara’s brow. Hand on her back, she murmured, “You’re a grown woman, a good mother, and while I loved pa, I know he wasn’t good to you, or my sisters….”
“It’s nothing to do with Frank. Me and Finn.”
“Well, I figured there was always something there—”
“There was once, before Frank, but I didn’t speak, didn’t have anything to do with him, until yesterday.”
“I know, Mamma.” Corey straightened. “I just want you to be happy, and don’t worry. We are all grown, and you’ve done a lot by yourself, given us a lot and this place too. It’s okay to have something for yourself.”
Sara reached for her hand. “Oh, Corey.” She held it to her mouth and kissed it. “You’re the one I worry the most about, and yet for all you give me fits, you get to the heart of things. I used to envy Frank your adoration, and cuss him for trying to turn you into a son.”
“I never loved him more than you, Mamma. I just loved him, and wanted his attention.”
“I know. And, his praise.” Sara released her hand and looked up at her a long and steady time. “You’re going to do all right, aren’t you?” She smiled.
“Yep.” Corey grinned back. “I’m strong, like you, Mamma. We all are.”
Sara watched her leave, closing the door behind her. She lay back on the bed, thinking of Finn below, praying for his son, hurting for his hurts.
Laying her arm over her brow, Sara closed her eyes. She couldn’t have imagined they’d have yesterday, given how many years the hurt had put that wall between them. She could not have imagined Finn under her roof, either. But, life had a way of making old hurts insignificant— or maybe it was wisdom and age?
She prayed for Morgan, and for Finn. She prayed that Lucas and the whole McCabe family would somehow become that, instead of the fractured people sharing only the blood—and none of the love and joys. As sleep edged in, she pondered when Morgan recovered would Finn still head north, to lose or find himself, whatever his purpose in doing so? At the end of that thought, Sara realized she could not dwell on tha
t. They had their night, their one time, she’d promised. It wasn’t, would not ever be enough, but it was more than she could have hoped for.
Chapter Seven
The first three days were almost worse than the first. As bruises and cuts were sinking in, stitches drying and bones starting to feel impact, Finn thought he would lose his mind watching and listening to Morgan trying to endure.
He talked to his son, more than he ever had in his life; talked about things he never had, about Jim Douglas, and Sara, when they first started out. Tales of hard winters and long hot summers. He nearly lost his voice trying to distract Morgan with stories between the exhaustion that eventually let Morgan sleep.
By the fourth day, Rose came in the room early, Finn always there except an hour he stole to bathe, and two hours he slept one of the days that he could not remember. Nevertheless, half-dozing in the chair, he came alert to the sound of water pouring and saw Rose had turned up a lamp by the bedside.
Finn didn’t know if she was aware of him or simply speaking to Morgan as he had heard her do. She lifted the cool cloth off his face and said, “The ice helped. Most of the swelling is gone. Let’s let this cloth lay on your eyes a bit, then try and open them.”
Finn straightened in the chair, finger combing his hair, aware he had on his softest old shirt and Levis, was barefoot, because he had given up trying to sleep on the bed, and came back down after his bath the night before.
Rose was still in a gown and robe, some matching set that fluttered to her ankles, and she too was barefoot, her hair tied back.
Finn’s heart squeeze a bit watching the tender way the young woman touched Morgan’s face and smoothed his hair back. Even lying there battered, Morgan was a big man, and his body was carved out sinew and muscle. His normally bronze skin was black and blue.
“There now…Try to lift your lashes.” Rose straightened a little but was still leaning over him, thus Finn couldn’t see what she could. “Can you hear me, Morgan?”