by Gayle Eden
Finn had been giving it much thought since Andrea died and Lucas returned. He had observed enough to see that Lucas, Morgan, and Jordan, even Alex could be close, and were. He couldn’t expect them to feel that toward himself, particularly not Lucas who bore the brunt of his blind pride. And Jordan. He could be content, he told himself, if his children, his family, found a bond and closeness with each other.
A year ago, he couldn’t picture himself walking away from that ranch. He had used it for everything absent in his life, and everything he wanted to happen. And, where he had thought it would hold them—it only drove them away. He had done so, by withholding things, even his emotions. Affection and approval. Finn realized that where he may have needed that in the ranching business, the outside world, he should have been different with his own blood. He was caught in that cycle with Andrea without ever consciously realizing it.
The only thing he would regret when he did leave, and he’d already made that decision, was that he couldn’t undo, do over, or give them back, what he’d unintentionally taken away.
* * * *
The doc came by at week’s end to check on Morgan. Finn was out on the porch with Sara and Ryder. They had morning coffee and were talking of ranch work, the coming winter, while the exam was going on.
Rose was doing breakfast dishes. Corey had gone into town with Noah, to get supplies.
When the doctor came out and into the kitchen, Rose turned from the sudsy pan.
“I’ll remove those stitches today. Would you assist, please?”
“Yes. Of course.” She dried her hands and took off her apron, following him into the room, and trying to mask her emotions at the look of Morgan. His face was yellow and green, some places still blue, and she’d already figured out why he was strained and short with her.
He had gotten a hold of a mirror she hadn't known was in the side table, and he was sickened and horrified by what he saw. Deep down Rose knew that Morgan wasn’t a vain man, despite the fact he’d been handsome his whole life. It was a combination of the trauma of being attacked, of a physical and strong man being incapacitated by injuries and his having to have assistance just to move or feed himself.
It was, she decided, the shock of seeing himself altered by the gashes that though sewed, would scar him and forever alter his face.
She did as the doc directed and ignored the thought of the pain it caused even if everything was scabbed over. It was slow going and she dabbed behind each removed one, wanting to glance at Morgan to see if he was in pain, but afraid to. His occasional stiffening and soft grunts told her it certainly was.
When they were all removed, she set the pan aside and watched as the doctor checked his leg for swelling. He seemed satisfied it was healing okay. “You can walk on a crutch. Use the opposite side of those ribs, but not for long periods.” He looked at Morgan. “I want those ribs kept wrapped. In the morning, try to stand, and then walk a bit, a little more each day. Those bruises are deep and will take weeks to heal. It’s my hope the leg will knit well, but if you put too much pressure, it won’t and you’ll limp the rest of your life.”
“How bad is my back?” Morgan asked bluntly.
“Bruised and you’re covered in deep grazes. You have punctures along your upper hip and good-sized lumps everywhere. I think you hit more than a few rocks.”
“He was dragged through the creek,” Rose supplied softly.
The doctor shook his head. “You’re lucky. Just don’t be foolish now and make it worse. Let the healing go slow—so that you don’t end up worse.” He gathered his things and shook Morgan’s hand and left to go to the porch and talk with the others.
Rose stood alone in the room, with her hands folded at the front of her plum hued dress. Her hair was back in a twist with combs.
“Send Finn in, will you, Rose?”
She glanced at Morgan. “All right. I think you can have that bath you’ve been asking for today. I’ll show your father where everything is.” When he kept staring out the window Rose said, tense herself, “I’ll be gone most of the day but Mamma will be here.”
He nodded as if half-listening. Rose left and went out on the porch saying, “He wants you, Mr. McCabe—”
“Finn, call me Finn, Rose.” Finn got up from his chair.
After nodding Rose said to her mother, “I think it’s okay if he has a bath with his father’s help. Doc said he should get up a bit each day. I’m going out for the day…”
“You should. You’ve tirelessly looked after my son, and me.” Finn touched her shoulder as he passed her.
Sara had risen also and offered, “Lord, yes. He is over the worst part, thanks much to you. Take one of the horses, and your books. Or better yet, take a ride into town and see Falon.”
But, Rose had her own plans. She merely nodded and went upstairs to change.
* * * *
Lucas had not had the chance to talk to Falon much. He had intended to stay at Morgan’s house, but after hearing she was going to stay in the main house, he talked himself into moving in there.
The rooms he took were one’s he used growing up; not much of that part of his life was evident. There were the same polished wood floors and big windows, the drapes matched the new cover on the bed, with a dark green stripe. Nevertheless, save for a wardrobe and fancy wood bench, there wasn’t much there.
It had its own small bathing room and a back exit. Falon was just down the hall, using a guestroom that probably never had a guest in it. He remembered vaguely that it had a backless stuffed bench of some gold and reddish orange stripe, and was all sunset hues. The bed was big, as they all were, and the furnishings expensive. There wasn’t much on the personal and inviting side anywhere on the bottom floor of the house.
Jordan had taken rooms on the second floor, down from Alex. There was a bigger bathroom between them, a full library, and all sorts of chambers. Finn’s was still on the main top.
Working at the ranch, he only saw her at breakfast, before she and Alex headed into town. The talk was of Morgan usually, and some cases Alex had taken—more to keep himself busy than a firm decision, Lucas gathered. Always Falon had on a nip waist suit and pretty blouse, her hair back in a twist, its straight silken strands gleaming.
Lucas would catch himself studying her as she read a paper or held her coffee cup, already judging her to be mature and poised. He had to wonder at the passion and fire under it. With Alex, she was relaxed, smiling, often joking, and with Jordan they had some kind of woman thing, an understanding or inside knowledge that often had them laughing or snorting over something in the papers or magazines. Jordan, he surmised, being poised and self-contained until that will was read, until she told Finn off, seemed to have a friendship with all the Landry women that was separate and unique.
The first two days after the accident, Lucas wasn’t in a good mood. He had taken it out on the ranch work, the greater part of that was done with the roundup. He had Morgan on his mind, and Finn—and that decision his father made about deeding the land. He had words with Alex, who shrugged and said, “It would have been deeded to you and Morgan eventually. Stop looking for an ulterior motive, Lucas. I think Finn has just come to a point of facing some demons is all.”
Shit. Lucas had thought. He had liked it better when the old man was predictable, and hell to get along with.
It was the end of the week, not a workday for Falon, when Lucas saw she’d left and fetched Asher for a visit. He had been out on the range and back already, and was walking and smoking. Most of the earth around him had been covered in amber, crimson, brown, and green leaves. Each breeze blew a trickle of them through the fall air.
She handed the buggy over at the stable, and had just gotten down, holding a carpetbag with Asher’s things.
The lad was in a light wool coat and trousers, white shirt and sported a smart felt hat. His white blond hair and flushed healthy face making Lucas smile as he reached them.
“Welcome to the McCabe spread, Asher.” He put
the cigarette out and got down to the boy’s level.
“Thank you, Lucas. It’s great here.” The lad looked around and up. “Mamma kept saying we’re there, and the ride just went on forever.” He blinked his sky blue eyes. “Horses were running along the fence with the buggy, too.”
Lucas peeked up at Falon who wore a half smile, holding that bag in both hands in front of her. She had on a casual buckskin skirt and oversized sweater, her boots. Her hair was down and lying like a curtain of sorrel silk.
“What’s your plans for today?”
She watched him rise to stand, not missing the hand he put on Asher’s shoulder affectionately. “I didn’t plan. Normally he’d have his riding lesson—”
“I can do that.” Lucas looked down at the boy. “How about you ride out with me today, check on the stock?”
“Oh, can I?” He craned his neck to look at Falon.
“Yes. But you’ve got to change.” She glanced at Lucas. “Let me change him and pack something from the kitchen.”
“You trust me, don’t you?” He stilled inside, waiting, because even though she’d taken him to meet Asher, even though they’d transcended the past— he still was Lucas McCabe.
“I trust you.” Her gaze met his, saying much more. “But he’s five, and full of questions and energy. He may well wear you out.”
“I’ll chance it,” Lucas said as her back turned, “Want to join us?”
“No. I’ll see you later this evening.” She looked over her shoulder. “If you’re… not busy.”
He felt his body tighten and his blood rush. “I won’t be, busy,” he drawled, watching her stride to the house, and hoping like hell she meant what he thought she meant.
Lucas wasn’t stupid. Falon was not some dollar a poke whore. He wanted her all day, waking, and sleep, and was more than a little obsessed thinking about her, about that body and face. But, he wanted her to want him. He didn’t want to push and treat her like… well, like she owed him, just because they had.
Truth be known, Lucas had no experience with women like her. They didn’t speak to him, and he hadn’t minded it one bit. He had a refined mother, knew all the right manners and things that more men like his Uncle Alex would do naturally. But, they didn’t stick in his mind when his blood ran hot. When he smelled woman. All right, when he smelled, looked and tasted Falon. He burned because she burned, and he sensed she wanted him to be elementally, a man.
There was the past and that connection. There was the fact she was a mother, a woman of independent mind, means, and thinking. So no, he didn’t know any women like her. Sexual chills went up his spine when she looked at him with those steady dove gray eyes like that. Because it was the woman under everything outward saying, strip me down, take me there, with you.
Shaking his head clear of his erotic thoughts, Lucas drew a deep mind cleansing breath and prepared for a day spent with Asher.
The open natured and curious boy had stolen a little piece of his tough heart upon first meeting. Lucas hated the thought of that someday he’d know the truth. For now, while he could, Lucas wanted to spend time with him. He remembered watching that carefree laugh and amusing and quirky wit, behind a smart kid who was sharper than most his age. In his world weary and harsh past, Lucas had forgotten what boyhood was, until then.
* * * *
Having dressed her son in a checked flannel shirt, denim coat and wool trousers, sturdy boots, and his favorite derby cap, Falon watched him ride off on a young filly, saddlebags bulging with food the cook prepared, riding alongside that lone wolf image—Lucas made.
She returned to the house, rubbing her arms at the coldness that had nothing to do with the weather. Great fireplaces glowed warmly in the main rooms and others, yet the lack of anything personal or comfortable was magnified in the hall and long parlor.
Falon had sensed Lucas’s discomfort the first day they’d breakfasted in the formal dining room, and he’d murmured something about Andrea making them dress for dinner, and how every meal was a lecture rather than allowing them to fill their bellies after a hard day on the range. She gathered however that Lucas respected her because she had birthed him, but that her reserved character affected both her sons.
Upstairs, she used the library, finding the law books and papers Alex wanted her to study. Relaxing at a big desk, her feet up, she read through them, making notes, but her mind was drifting now and then.
Alex and Jordan were going to the Landry spread, to see Morgan. Falon would take her son there the following evening to visit his grandma, and then back to Lottie’s the next day. He had a regular routine with his studying and Sunday Bible reading, though Lottie wasn’t big on church itself. Falon didn’t want to disrupt his routine too much. She had talked to Lottie about taking him to the Christie house in the spring, letting him see it, walk through it—and to Ashley’s and his grandparent’s grave. Hopefully by six, he would be able to understand in part, they were his family, and that was his land and someday home.
Idly fingering the edge of the page, she raised her eyes and stared at a wall of long uncovered windows. The room was paneled in cherry wood and a fire glowed to her right. A clock ticked somewhere amid the dozens of shelves.
She could not picture Lucas in this house, even though she’d seen a portrait of him done in a green suit and ruffled shirt, at about age 12, downstairs. The long, lean muscled, green-eyed man she observed in town, wearing that badge, didn’t fit. Nor, did the man she spied in the mornings with his wavy black hair and swarthy skin, wearing range gear, and his gun and spurs, carrying that hat—most of the time worn cocked down to shade his eyes.
Certainly, the man by the creek who had burned her to the bone with sex, wasn’t the stiff young boy sitting for that portrait. Falon surmised, from the house, but also from Alex and Jordan, that Lucas and Morgan had an impressive education. He was more the restless mustang who clashed with Finn. And, who had so much built up inside him—he’d gone looking for a fight in town most of the time—the one, whose leaving PineFlatts had him blazing his own trail and choosing a dangerous life and profession.
Whatever he had been here, he didn’t have any pretenses with her, Falon felt. Maybe because she took him as he was and had no expectations as others did. And he was—something. He was just raw and edgy, earthy enough, having that fire banked in him, to make her drop all pretenses too. What he evoked in her was not something anyone touched before. It was as if they knew each other at the core.
Sighing, she went back to her reading and finished around suppertime. Closing the books, she went down and ate in the kitchen, talking to the help, who seemed glad there was someone, anyone there to cook for. Afterwards, she took her coffee out and strolled to the edge of the yard, where she had a good view of the stables and land beyond.
Fall was beautiful on the earth, and the scents mingled with coffee soothed her, giving her ease to do much reflecting and comparing the years before. The many years she’d lost who she was, after Ashley died, because he’d been her entire focus. She’d always love him for that. For giving her a sense of herself. But, his death left a void and their plans could no more be.
Some of the hands came by, tipping hats and speaking as they did some on the grounds and in the back garden. Falon spoke to them, smiling to herself as a few eyed her loose hair a bit long, or stared at her in that—certain way. It assured her she was alive and healthy, that she was doing okay with her life. Whatever the town wanted to say about her single motherhood, she felt that with Alex giving her that job, and her taking her life in hand, she sent the message clearly, that she didn’t need their good graces to be happy.
She rose from the bench when she spied Lucas and her son returning. Taking her time walking, because she and Sara had taught him that he had to see to the horse he rode, feed and water it after a ride. She knew Lucas would help with the tack.
By the time she reached the stable, they were out washing their hands in a rain barrel. She could hear Asher saying, “I did
good with the rope, didn’t I Lucas?”
“Sure did. You got Lucy right by the foot.”
Asher chuckled. “I was aiming for the post and he walked by…”
Lucas laughed. “Sure was a sight. But you got a good eye and wrist. Next time you’ll get a calf instead of one of the hands.”
They laughed again and Lucas squatted, taking the wet bandanna and wiping his face. “Your Mamma will have my hide if I don’t scrape some of this supper off of you.”
“Best chili I ever ate. Cookie said it would put hair on my chest.”
“I hope not.” Lucas stood meeting Falon’s eyes with a smile still in his as she’d arrived. “Here’s your Ma. She’ll give you a proper washing.” To Falon he said, “He’ll sleep like a log tonight. I believe he not only wore me out, but cookie and the hands too.”
She drew Asher to her side. “He wasn’t much trouble?”
“No. They taught him to rope—sort of.” He winked at the lad. “And played ball with him. Romped like kids out there. I think he’s made a friend of Cook, and for certain he can spin a yarn. Lunch time he kept them round the fire, telling stories even I couldn’t make up.”
Asher looked up at her. “I told them about the steamboat Jon. You remember the magazine serial I have been reading? About the balloon over in England, they ride in. And they liked the story Hank told me—about the war and when he met that—”
“Yes. Well, I’m sure they’ll be hard pressed to come up with better yarn than you can tell.”
“Well, cookie did tell me about this man he shot in a whore—”
Lucas cleared his throat and winced. “That’s the one I told you not to mention.”
Falon’s eyes were huge on Lucas’s. “He told him—”
“No. He didn’t get it finished, he—”
Asher piped in, “Lucas smacked cookie in the back with a wooden spoon.” Asher chuckled quite a bit at that. “Swallowed his tobacco, he said.”
Lucas, still holding her gaze muttered, “Cookie hasn’t been around a boy this green since he was that age, and he’s nearing sixty.”