McCabe's Pride

by Gayle Eden

  “Yes,” Morgan’s voice sounded tight.

  “There, okay. Can you see my hand?” She waved it.

  “I…see…Rose.”

  He heard the slight laugh in the woman’s voice. “Great. You are not blind or deaf. That’s two parts of your body you managed to keep intact.”

  “Thirsty.”

  Finn watched her reach for a pitcher of iced water and then cup Morgan’s head. His son drank the whole glass.

  “Careful, you’ve stitches in your lip.”

  “What day is it?”

  “The fourth since your accident.”

  Morgan lifted his hand and tried to touch his battered face. “Cut up?”

  Rose listed his injuries.

  “I want to sit up.”

  “Your ribs are broken—”

  “I want to sit up,” Morgan’s normally calm voice was insistent.

  “I’ll help him.” Finn stood and padded to the other side of the bed. He told Rose, “Find some pillows to put behind him.”

  She left to do so, and while she did, Finn gazed into his son’s eyes. They were open, sore looking, bloodshot, and all around them black. He still felt relieved to see those green eyes again.

  “I’ve got to piss.”

  Finn nodded. “When she brings the pillows I’ll run her out and help you.” He took his son’s hand. “I’m damn sure glad to see you awake and talking.” His own eyes were a bit misted.

  “Got…tired... Of your stories.”

  Finn laughed hard at that, and said as Rose entered, “Hold onto my arms, and I’ll pull you forward while she puts them behind you. And don’t breathe in, those ribs are bad.”

  Morgan did some sweating and cussing as he grasped Finn and let him pull him up to sit slightly, Rose fixing the pillows so that he could. A hand to his wrapped ribs, Morgan was a little while catching his breath again.

  “We’d like some privacy, Rose.” Finn glanced at her.

  She nodded. “I’m making breakfast if you need me.” Discreetly she slid the enamel chamber pot from under the bed, and then left.

  Finn looked at the pot, and then his son’s battered and sweat beaded face. “I’ll fix you up, hang in there.” He left and came back with a glass milk bottle, rolling the covers down and helping Morgan do the thing with a few jokes and male foolishness.

  When he was done and covered, Finn put another glass of water in his hand, hearing Morgan mutter about helplessness and his body hurting all over. Sitting on the side of the bed, while they could both hear the women rouse in the house, and breakfast cooking, Finn asked him what he remembered about the accident.

  “Not much.” Morgan spoke mostly through his teeth because of the stitches in his mouth. “I remember going to the pasture to get him, and finding him crazily ramming that fence, I tried to distract him, got off my horse like a fool, and I saw him turn, come at me, then the impact…everything after that was colors and pain, just red hot pain.”

  Finn looked over him. “I don’t know how you survived but I’m glad you did.”

  Morgan touched his face again, looked down at his legs, and having seen himself when Finn worked the sheet down, he said, “He left his mark on me, alright.”

  “Lucas wants to shoot him.”

  Morgan grunted and shook his head. “I’ll deal with him, when I’m better.”

  “I want you to stay away from—”

  “I know you do.” Morgan said abrupt. “But me and that sonofabitch have an understanding. I’ll deal with him myself.”

  Shoving his hand through his hair, Finn stood and walked to the window.

  “Old Man?” Morgan murmured.

  Finn looked over his shoulder.

  “You look tired and I know you’ve been here round the clock. Get some sleep, and get outside today.”

  Finn nodded, but hands on his hips he stared out as the sun rose.

  Rose knocked softly before bringing a pot of coffee, thick cream and cups on a tray. She left and brought two plates of food, and then glanced at Morgan before leaving. “The medicine might make you sick to eat much, but try.”

  When the door closed Finn said, “She’s taken good care of you.”

  “Pity…” Morgan’s voice sounded strange. “I must look bad, for all the pity I saw in her eyes.”

  Finn turned frowning at him.

  Morgan was lying with his eyes closed, his fingers tracing the puffed skin amid the stitches.

  “You’re lucky to be alive, anyone would—”

  “My head is pounding. Let’s see if I can drink some of that coffee.”

  He could, after Finn prepared it. He ate a bit of the breakfast before lying back, his eyes closed again.

  “Go outside for a walk, pa.”

  “If you need me.”

  “I’ll be okay.” Morgan’s eyes opened and stared at the ceiling.

  Worried about that odd tone in his voice, Finn sighed but left him, carrying the trays into the kitchen.

  He saw Sara was in a robe. Corey dressed for the range and murmured, “He’s doing better today. I’m going to take a walk.”

  Sara, who leaned against the heavy iron sink told him, “You need some air, and sleep. You can ride one of the mounts if you want. We’ll make sure he’s looked after.” She left and fetched his boots and set them by the door.

  Finn nodded and put them on, his knees weak from relief that Morgan was awake, but his body so tired he felt outside of it. Eventually, he stepped out the back door and just started walking in the crisp morning air. He passed over the side yard, and headed for the corral and barns, seeing the bunkhouse on the right with smoke puffing out of the chimney.

  Hands were already spread out and working, some quietly tending horses in the barn.

  When he reached the outer edge, Finn leaned against a partial section of fence just before the view of the undulating pastures. It was likely used as a hitching rail and various other things. His elbows and forearms along the top rail, boot on the last one, he watched the saffron of sunrise light on the fall foliage and swaying grasses—the distant shapes of cattle and horses, in certain directions. It was prime land with those ribbons of creeks and streams running through it.

  Finn smelled the scent of a cheroot and looked over his shoulder. He turned slowly; leaning against the rail with his shoulder blades, and mused, he would have known Ryder Douglas anywhere, even though they had never met. The man, for all he wore a flat crowned hat, colorful poncho tossed back over his shoulder, and had a certain south of the boarder look to his dress and skin, was near a mirror image of their father, Jim. Six foot six with a rawboned frame and thick chestnut hair. That cheroot was in his teeth, as he stood at the head of a fresh-saddled mount, spurs on his Spanish leather boots, leather pants with conchos down the side. A shirt under that poncho with slight billowed sleeves—dark, and wearing snug fitted gloves. He also had a well-used, strapped down, six-shooter, turned stock out, and gun belt riding low on his lean hips.

  As if aware of his scrutiny, Ryder turned his head and Finn saw polished brown eyes sun glinted in a swarthy face. There were lines there, uncommon for a man under thirty, squint lines and tough living ones. Nevertheless, there was also a kind of quiet threat that Finn knew some men wouldn’t be able to read.

  “I’m Finn McCabe.”

  “I know,” that deep, slightly flavored, voice, spoke around the cheroot.

  Finn also read that those words meant, he knew everything. He supposed he wasn’t surprised that Sara had shared things with her brother after their father died. He had hurt her, and she’d been pretty much alone before Frank. He’d put money in the bank for her that was still there to this day.

  Pushing away from the rails, Finn walked over and lightly stroked the stud’s neck, but his green eyes were locked with brown. “I loved your father, respected him. I have never seen a man work harder. I loved Sara…for all I hurt her, and made a mistake. I never stopped.”

  That expression never changed, nor did the steady
stare. Ryder reached up and drew the cheroot from his teeth, releasing smoke. “Whatever my sister has, she worked for herself. She’s no man’s fool, least of all yours, McCabe.”

  “I agree.”

  One sable brow arched slightly. “She asked me to help out here at the ranch, not run her life. This time, you don’t get anything for free. You understand me?”

  “Yes.” Finn understood him. He knew about the tryst, of course, most the ranch probably did too. Even though Finn was aware that Sara was her own woman, he understood her brother’s message.

  He said, “I didn’t deserve her the first time, and I damn sure don’t now. But whatever else it looks like, she’s the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

  “You tell her that?

  “No.” Finn laughed slightly. “Sara, as you say, is a grown woman, a strong one. I doubt I’ll ever be able to convince her of my feelings, and frankly, now’s not the time to try.” Finn sighed and stepped tucking his hands into his pockets and standing with one foot slightly out. “I’ve learned, only recently, to take nothing for granted.”

  After a few drags off the cheroot Ryder asked, “How’s Morgan?”

  “Awake, better I think. But pretty busted up.” Finn stared at the horse. “He’s got a long way to go before he’s mended.”

  “He’s a good rancher.”

  “Yes.” Finn glanced at him. “Both my sons are.”

  Those brows came up and Ryder released smoke from his nostrils, squinting through it. “Seems I met a green eyed woman here, who did all right at it too.”

  “My daughter. Who, for now, hates me.” Finn shrugged. “With good reason.”

  “So Sara tells me.”

  “Tells you a lot apparently.” Finn had to smile.

  “She likes the girl.”

  “Yes. Jordan likes her too. And Sara’s daughters.”

  “Well,” Ryder moved and climbed into the saddle, settling that hat slightly down tilted before he gathered the reins. “I’d say you’ve got your plate full, McCabe, and by all accounts you served it up to yourself.” He backed the mount a few steps, his eyes meeting Finn’s again. “Sometimes you think you’ve played the winning hand for years, staked everything on it, sacrificed for the prize, only to find it’s fool’s gold.”

  “Yes,” Finn said it even though the man touched his hat brim and rode off. “Yes it is.”

  He walked another hour, spoke to the foreman, Noah, and some of the hands, who had rescued his son and carried him here. The more he heard, the sicker in his gut picturing it, the more Finn wanted to destroy that bull. Something deep down stopped him. That was a reckoning between Morgan and the beast. He had a feeling it was going to consume much of Morgan’s thoughts. The beast had marked him forever.

  Sara was dressed in trousers and shirt, her boots, when he stepped up on the back porch later. She had her hair tied back and was sitting on the porch edge, cleaning fall vegetables and putting the scraps in a pail between her feet.

  He sat beside her, smelling the smoke of the cook stove, fall, the stock, pungent pumpkin and squash. She was slightly bent over, elbows on her knees. Half leaning a shoulder on the near brace he watched the sun glint off her hair, and eyed the curve of her cheek and the way her teeth sank into her lip when she peeled.

  Without looking at him she murmured, “You’re staring at me.”

  “I’m looking at you,” he admitted. “I’m dead tired and need to hit that bed, but I was thinking how nice it would be to have you climb those stairs with me, lay down next to me—”

  She sat up and turned her eyes on him, the knife in her hand idle and seeds clinging to her fingers. “Rose and Corey—”

  “I know.” He searched her face. “I can think about it.”

  She flushed and stood, hefting her bucket. “Go, take a nap. Morgan will sleep past lunch, probably.”

  He stood up too, but carried the pumpkins and squash to the table for her. Before he left the kitchen, as she was standing at the sink washing up, he leaned, kissed the side of her neck, and murmured in her ear, “That night wasn’t enough, was it?”

  He was gone before she could answer.

  Upstairs, and lying on the bed after pulling off boots and shirt. Finn slept hard and past supper. He dreamed of that bull, of the things the hands told him, how they had been sure Morgan was dead, and he woke up after dark, sweating, and sitting up in bed.

  Coming to himself, he cussed and found his small satchel and went to the bathing room to wash up.

  Sara looked up startled as the door opened.

  Finn paused only a second, seeing her sitting on the stool in a towel, rubbing her hair between another one. He stepped in and softly closed the door behind him, locking it. She paused, dropping her hands and the towel to her lap, eyeing him cautiously. He walked over to the heavy sink and took out his things, cleaning his teeth and then shaving. Done, he was next to her as he opened the old taps and filled a tub he’d be hard pressed to fit in.

  In a whisper Sara said, “Get in, I’ll bathe you.”

  His blood warmed by the scent of her soap and the sight of her fresh face. Hair wet. He stripped down and climbed in, having to sit up with his knees bent some.

  She sat on the side of the tub, leaning down to kiss him supple and soft when he leaned his head back. Then she reached and took an earthen jug, washing his hair, which Finn found felt like heaven and hell. She rinsed it and he wiped his face, taking the towel she offered, slicking his hair back.

  My God, he thought of what he’d missed, this nurturing woman who managed to be sensual washing his hair. The strong hard working, tackle anything Sara, the passionate, fill me, give me hard, fast, sex, Sara—and even her bitter and angry side… Sara was all woman in all ways, and Finn realized what that word, woman, meant now more than ever. It was her sweat and tears, her laughter. When she cussed. My lord. He liked her in range wear, in a dress, in her towel, with that whispered, come here, I’ll bathe you. She took him to his knees in every way.

  He had seen parts of that in her when she was young and her pa was alive, the part that took on tasks as hard and determined as he did, and the dreamer who didn’t want it handed to her but wanted to work for it. He had seen glimpses of the depth of her love, and she loved passionately, with her whole self, even back then. No, he had not been enough for Sara then and probably wasn’t good enough now in the way that mattered. But, Finn was a man to his core and he wanted to give her what she needed.

  Head leaned back, as she soaped the cloth; he raised his hand and eased it under the towel between her legs.

  Sara parted them enough, though she gave every appearance of being focused on soaping his chest and shoulders. She was warm and wet. The small room closed in that intimate way, with water trickling when the tub was full. His finger gliding in and out of her sex, thumb teasing the bud, Finn managed to give her access to the rest of his body, which was aroused fully.

  He eased up and stood, watching her soap his hips, his sex, and his legs. When she stood too, he turned around, hands on the rough wall palm out, breathing bouncing off the walls at the sleek glide of her bathing him, touching him with soap slick hands.

  He rinsed and then stepped out, holding those hungry eyes as he pulled the towel from her body. Finn set her on the bench, parted her legs and let her lean against the wall as he brought those shapely limbs up over his arms. He lowered his head; tasting and pleasuring her, hearing her efforts to be silent dissipate as her climax was building.

  She brought her hand down, holding herself open to him, holding his head to her with the other hand. He suckled hard and held her steady. She gasped and shuddered. She flowed like honey over his tongue. Finn closed his eyes, drinking her like some healing nectar.

  Afterwards, he stood there, and while she cleaned, up and let the water out. He rinsed his mouth and dug out clean trousers, knowing he couldn’t tuck his shirt in for the full thrust of his sex was too obvious.

  “Supper is warm on the stove,” she said
as she passed him.

  He smiled in the mirror. “It won’t taste as good as you.”

  Her soft laugh sounded, sexy, feline, as she left the room.

  He made it down to the kitchen, finding a dusty, and half-asleep Corey there eating her own warmed plate of food.

  “Mind if I join you?” He took down a cup and filled it, then a plate.

  “No.” She had her cheek in her hand, elbow on the table as she chewed. “I’m usually full of talk, but I swear Uncle Ryder finds more work needed to be done, than Noah. And that’s saying a lot.”

  He smiled and glanced over her curly hair and men’s duds she wore. “Sounds like he’s preparing for winter. I think it will be a hard one.”

  “Most like.” She nodded and yawned, then got up and dumped her plate in the sink. She picked up her cup and walked to the back door, staring out as she drank. “We have a lot of younglings this year we’ll have to watch out for.”

  “Predators and the weather, too constant threats to ranching.”

  “Yep.”

  Finn was halfway finished when she said, “I don’t think Jordan hates you. I didn’t hate my, Papa, and he was much harder than you are.”

  “Yes, but you were here with him,” Finn said quietly. “I didn’t do well with Jordan.”

  “Nope. But—”

  He got up and cleaned up his plate and cup, joined her as he rolled a cigarette. “She’s owed her feelings toward me. I can try and change them, but that don’t mean she don’t deserve to feel them.”

  Corey glanced at him. “You’re not so bad.”

  He smiled slightly. “I was, and I can be…a hard ass.”

  She snorted on a laugh. “I believe that.”

  Finn looked at her as he released smoke. “I’m glad Jordan has you and Rose, as friends. I can see why she likes coming here.”

  “Your ranch is prime. I just think that Jordan never felt she belonged. Not to a family.”

  “We weren’t one.”

  Corey pulled away from the facing and tossed her coffee out. “Well, it’s not too late to change that.”

  “I’d hope not,” Finn said as she left. “I’m afraid it may be, though.”