McCabe's Pride

by Gayle Eden

  “Falon, I don’t have a problem with it.”

  “Fine.”

  He cupped her face and kissed her, then held that way a moment before murmuring; “From the moment we kissed I knew I’d never been with someone like you. I have never been with a woman more than I’d walked in and paid for. Do you know what I’m saying?”

  She nodded searching his face.

  Nevertheless, Lucas couldn’t put it all into words yet—because his mind and body were filled with her. “I’ve never done that either, what we’ve done. And I damn sure never was torn between wanting to stay inside and…well, let’s just say, it’s you. I’ve never talked to woman, been close to her, like this, never cared to.”

  She opened her eyes after he had kissed her lips. “I understand what you’re saying, Lucas.”

  He dropped his hands and raked them through his hair. She tore him up, burned him, and filled his mind in ways he never thought she would. She didn’t, couldn’t understand—but it was enough that he made the point, why would he look at another woman when she was more than he ever expected?

  As he watched her go, back toward the house, Lucas lingered and smoked. It looked like he was stuck owning half the ranch, and stuck with that house. He’d talk to Jordan about doing something to make it at least feel like a home. She had taste, but had worked on the range and understood what was needed. In general, he didn’t care, but looking ahead, he realized he couldn’t walk away this time.

  There was Morgan, who let him know from the start he needed him helping to run a spread this size. There was Jordan who they both knew needed to find some kind of life for herself here—Already he and Morgan decided she had a right to be here. And there was Alex who they considered more friend than uncle, and who they felt all the blood ties with.

  Tossing out the cigarette, watching it arc into the creek, Lucas tried to think of Finn— but still didn’t know if it was Andrea’s death, his coming home, Morgan’s accident— or what— that seemed to have changed him. He was still surprised the old man was going to walk away from everything, just like that. Nevertheless, Finn seemed determined. He supposed that “we’ll talk” might clear it up for him.

  Talking was something he and his father had never been good at. In fact, it was something they had never done.

  Later, bathed and having cleaned up, he went back to the main house. He looked in on Asher, finding the boy sleeping like a log. Grinning softly, Lucas turned the knob to Falon’s door, leaning his shoulder on the jamb, and eyeing her on her stomach in that big bed, a prim white flannel gown covering her body. Closing the door, he shook his head, it was like knowing six different women all rolled into one, and every one of them fascinating.

  Chapter Eight

  Two picnic tables in the back yard were covered with a checkered spread. It was mild enough to eat outside, and since Morgan was up, walking slow and careful, but up—that’s where Sara and Rose prepared to serve the meal.

  Falon, Jordan and Alex were there, along with Asher. Early that morning Finn had fetched crutches for Morgan, and they had done a careful walk around the house. After a noon nap, Morgan insisted he could make it to the barn and back. Finn went with him, but he’d only leaned on his father on the way back, the broken leg giving him more trouble than anything else.

  Sara left Rose with Corey’s help, and went to fetch Asher, to spend their special time together. The Landry house was full, including Ryder, who sat on the side porch talking to Alex. It was clear Alex was intrigued by him, seeing a man with a past—but one who while alert and observant, didn’t say a whole lot.

  When everyone was called to the long tables, jugs of milk and cider passed around, along with beef, vegetables, cornbread, and sweet butter, a chair was positioned at the foot for Morgan who couldn’t sit comfortable on the bench.

  His face still bearing the traces of healing bruises and marred by the scars, he nonetheless talked with everyone, seemed to eat better than he had all week. He talked about the attack, everyone seeing Asher’s eyes rounded, and his face enraptured with the retelling.

  Corey, who listened to all the conversations that were going back and forth between company, elbowed Falon. “You look happy.”

  Falon glanced at her with a small smile. “I am.”

  “How’s it been staying in that big house—staying around Lucas McCabe.”

  Falon glanced at the plate. They were finished eating. She touched Corey’s shoulder. “Come on. You and I will take a walk and talk.”

  They excused themselves and Falon put her arm around Corey’s shoulder, steering her toward a path they had taken in younger years and one Rose still walked. With the fall, sun shining on them, she began to talk about Ashley, about her love and maturing with him, and about finding out she was pregnant only a week before he was killed.

  She confided her struggles over those next five years, letting Asher live with Lottie and Hank, taking care of the Christie’s—not knowing what her purpose would be when they passed.

  By the time she mentioned Lucas, starting with what he said at the funeral, progressing to him meeting her son—Falon debated and then said softly, “I can’t explain to you what happens between us in any real understandable way. In some ways, I don’t take it apart in my mind like I do most things, because it feels right, more than it sounds, like it makes sense.”

  They paused by a pair of stumps and sat, Falon brushing her hand over the dried flowers beside her. “I know he feels guilt, even though he’s come past it, I think he will until Asher forgives him too, someday. But for all that, all that I have found working with Alex, having Asher more in my life and feeling challenged—I need what he makes me feel.” Falon held Corey’s hazel eyes. “I need for him to touch that woman, and that part of me—needs to touch him.”

  Corey, dressed in trousers and boots, a denim shirt, smiled amusingly. “For someone not birthed by Mamma, you’re a lot like her.”

  “I love Sara, more than anything. I don’t think it’s that, Corey, so much as it is, all women are more than just a sex born to nurture and mother and serve. We think that when we’re young, and it’s fulfilling in an incredible way—but it takes some struggle and wrestling guilt—placed upon us unfairly I think, to let ourselves be selfish, be honest, with the naturally sensual part of us. I am sure there are women content in whatever role they choose. That word, choice, matters. I chose to fulfill a need in myself, that has nothing to do with anything—other than the innate hunger to feel it.”

  “Lordy.” Corey fanned her face and laughed. “I can imagine what Lucas does to feed that.”

  Falon laughed too, and then wiggled her brows. She snorted then and they stood to walk back.

  “What about babies, how are you—”

  “I use something Sara told me about, after I confided in her I was pregnant with Asher. It’s not full proof but so far…”

  “That’s a risk, Falon.”

  “Yes. But it’s worth it.” Falon stopped just shy of the tables.

  “Do you love him, Lucas?”

  “I do. But—” Falon shook her head. “I don’t dream of picket fences and pies baking, with Lucas. He is not Ashley, and though he’s taking his part at the ranch, he’s still not completely tamed. I like that about him. I don’t want Lucas to be anything, or anyone, other than who he is.”

  Corey’s eyes went to where Sara sat in the distance, beside Finn. “You should see him look at Mamma, when she ain’t looking.”

  “They had something strong between them, once. I think Finn was freed somehow, by Andrea’s death. But he made mistakes that hurt people.”

  “Yes, I know. Still, I think there is some kind of current that connects them. Like an energy, when they’re in the same room.”

  “I imagine so.”

  They began to walk again, and Corey noted with some interest that Jordan McCabe, dressed in a suede skirt, and vest, boots and a green blouse, was leaning against the porch brace beside where her Uncle Ryder had his chair rea
red back.

  “I’d pay a penny to hear that conversation.” She nodded in that direction, and told Falon, “I got the hint from Mamma that Uncle Ryder is a hard case where women are concerned.”

  “Jordan knows all about that type.” Falon laughed. “She was raised by one, and has a couple of brothers. For all her eastern education, you can’t fault her for common sense, and shrewdness.”

  Corey grunted. “Yep.” As they went to where the table was being cleared, family going to the porch with coffee—she sneaked a closer peek. Judging by Jordan’s posture, she would say her uncle Ryder was just about to get the hot side of that McCabe temper.

  “Come help with this,” Rose called her.

  “I miss everything,” Corey grumbled, but Falon had already left her side to play with Asher in the yard.

  “What’s got into you?” She grouched at Rose, who was slamming plates in the pan when they were in the kitchens.

  “Not a thing.” Rose’s face was set and she shoved a pail at her. “Fetch some.”

  Corey’s brow rose. “I will. And then you can finish the rest by your damn self.” She got the water and brought it back, sloshing some as she set it inside.

  She looked up to see Rose, hands deep in suds, and hot tears rolling down her face. “Rose! What’s wrong?” Her ire forgotten, Corey went to lay a hand on her back.

  “Nothing.” Rose swallowed and kept washing.

  “You’re crying.

  “I’m not.” Rose denied it even though the silent tears rolled, and her nose turned red. At some point, she jerked her hands free and managed, “Will you finish for me, Corey, please. I need to get out for a —” She dashed out the back door.

  Corey went to the doorway and saw Rose running, holding her skirts as she climbed the garden rise and went beyond.

  Rolling up her sleeves, Corey finished the dishes and cleaned up from the meal. “Women.” She snorted and then laughed, remembering she was one. “It’s going to be a hell of a long winter.”

  * * * *

  Sara was in the big barn with Finn, four days later, as he prepared one of the wagons for Morgan to go home.

  Since he had been taking sort walks, eating better, the man was restless in that small room, and he was not used to being taken care of, Sara knew. He was a big and brawny man, who worked in a hard profession, physically demanding, and challenging. She was familiar with that kind of character and wasn’t surprised, that though still hurting and sore, still looking worse for the wear, Morgan was ready to get back to his life and his house.

  It was their best wagon, with a well-sprung and padded bench, and the ride was only five miles, so if they took it slow, he wouldn’t be jarred much.

  In her soft shirt and dun trousers and boots, Sara wore a light wool coat with flannel lining she usually donned through the milder days of fall. Her hair braided, she leaned against the facing of the yawning doorway, admiring the masculine things about Finn, his movements, his muscle, and height, the way he looked in black trousers and boots, a green shirt and buckskin coat, his tan cowboy hat.

  He finished the task and backed the horse and wagon out. By then, Sara was leaning just under the overhang. Finn looked at her a long time, his hand idly patting the lead horse.

  “Are you going to come by before you leave?”

  “Yes.” His light green gaze went down and up her. They both knew there were hundreds of memories going through it...

  “Make it right with Jordan and Lucas…”

  “I intend to try.” His attention was drawn by Noah bringing their bags out. Ryder was helping Morgan not far behind.

  Before they came within earshot, Finn told Sara, “Two weeks. I’ll leave in two weeks.”

  Sara didn’t say anything, but neither could she move as the weight of that settled in her heart. The wagon loaded, Morgan settled on the seat. Finn climbed up to take the reins, with a word to Noah.

  She was still watching as he turned it and headed out.

  Coming to lean beside her, his boot sole against the slats, Ryder lit a cheroot; his gaze was on the departing guests too.

  “He’s leaving here, the ranch, everything, in two weeks,” Sara told him quietly. “Going up north, he said, where he’d bought some land. Crazy to start that way with winter coming on, and what the hell Is he trying to prove—wanting to build a log house he’ll probably never—”

  Blowing out a stream of smoke, Ryder eyed the tears raking his sister’s face.

  She turned her head and met his gaze, all the pain, and longing, all the love and fear there too.

  Ryder reached up and brushed a tear with his thumb. “Some say dreams are intertwined with the people who inspired them. When they are there no more, we only go through the motions.” He looked ahead again. “I’d say that Finn found that out the hard way. The question you got to answer for yourself, is—is there still enough there, for you to dream again?”

  “I love you.” Sara reached over and took his hand, squeezing it as they leaned there awhile. Though they spent their lives apart, took different trails, and made different choices, Sara saw their letters as a strong thread always binding them together. She sensed, knew, there were things Ryder was running from. His past maybe, his mistakes probably, which was why he was content for now helping on the spread.

  They were alike in some ways, keeping their feelings deep and getting on with living. She even understood his hardness and silence, recognized it for the wall of protection it was.

  Her hand slipped from his and Sara wiped her face, drew in a breath, and went to fetch her horse for a ride. She had some thinking to do, and she needed a quiet place to do that.

  * * * *

  After settling Morgan in his house, Finn went to his apartments and started opening trunks. Some he hadn’t unlocked in years. He sorted and filled another with warm winter clothing, long handles, and several pairs of gloves. Working through trunks, and the wardrobe, his personal bookshelf, he was satisfied the essentials for surviving the winter up north were there.

  He left the rooms and went to the lower floor, looking for Jordan, but found her out back, dressed in a soft wool gown with long sleeves and square neckline. For a moment he observed her unseen, noting her hair was up with combs, and there was a carriage coat over one of the courtyard chairs, as if she’d worn it out and discarded it.

  Her hands were busy with a mound of fall nuts and leaves she’d placed on the long table, wire and wax, some kind of cutting tool she was using as she worked.

  Finn walked quietly up to the table, feeling her stiffen when he stood by her elbow, watching her slim hands a moment he asked, “What’s this?”

  “A wreath. Alex asked me to make it for his office door.”

  “They teach this back east?”

  “Yes. How to make posies and candles, how to do scented sachets and the like, although, a lady never actually does the work, only oversees the servants.”

  He grunted and picked up one of the acorns. “I’m leaving in two weeks, heading north.”

  “I heard.”

  “This house is as much yours as it is Lucas and Morgan’s. They feel you share the ranch too. But is there something else you want to do?”

  She set her things down and stared at him.

  Finn looked up. “I probably never asked you anything before, did I?”

  “No.”

  “Well, it’s your business. I just want to say this, you’re mine. I made you. I didn’t do enough raising you, to deserve you giving a damn about me. But I care about you.” He cleared his throat and stepped from the table, walking a bit; aware she’d turned and was watching him. “McCabe’s dream big. I figured you might have some of that in you.”

  “I know about the birth record and the money.”

  He stiffened but didn’t turn. “I had to do it. It’s selfish, for my own reasons, but I had to.”

  After a stretch of silence, Jordan said, “I was actually approached in town, by the banker’s wife to start a “ladies
” riding academy. Although—she and the other good women who made up Andrea’s circle, represent what they call culture and whatever in PineFlatts, would like to forget who gave birth to me—I apparently have some refinement and set a horse well enough to inspire their admiration. They would, condescend, to send their daughters and granddaughters to me, for riding lessons.”

  At Finn’s snort, she said with a slight smile in her voice, “Yes. It’s quite amazing how benevolent they are. In any case, Lucas offered me that ten acres you’d never fenced, and I would use my money to build and buy stock. I have already made contacts in Kentucky and a young woman I went to school with, her family has an uncle in England who breeds prized mounts. It will take time, but—”

  Finn turned and regarded her. “But you can do it. You can show not only those so-called good women of PineFlatts you are a first-rate instructor, but a smart businesswoman. You are a McCabe, Jordan. You can do whatever you set your mind to.”

  Jordan’s stare remained on his. “You’ve changed.”

  “Thankfully.” He smiled. “I don’t think I’ve changed who I was. I believe I stopped letting my mistakes make me, who I wasn’t.” He walked close to her and reached out, touching her cheek. “Don’t hate me forever. Not for me, but for you.” His thumb brushed her cheek. “I didn’t make you strong and smart, you did that yourself. I am proud of you. Of that.”

  Her eyes watered and she blinked.

  Finn dropped his hand and turned to go inside.

  He had taken a few steps when she called softly, “Finn?”

  He looked over his shoulder.

  The tears clung to her lashes but didn’t spill. “How does McCabe’s riding academy sound?”

  He grinned hugely. “Fine. Just fine.”

  Finn didn’t dream of it, didn’t expect it, when Jordan came over and embraced him.

  He held her—not like a grown daughter, but tightly like a child in his brawny arms. Closing his eyes, Finn said gruffly, “I’m sorry. So sorry, Jordan.”