McCabe's Pride

by Gayle Eden

  “I know. Me too.” She sniffed in more tears and pulled back. Swallowing, she murmured, “We’re not perfect, none of us. Maybe by the time you have your log home built and I have the academy, some high steppers running in the fields with McCabe quarter horses, we’ll have done better.”

  “I mean to.” He nodded, kissed her cheek, and then went inside.

  Finn found the library and poured a whiskey, sipping and setting heavily in a chair. Next, was Lucas—He felt the fire of the whiskey burn over the knot in his stomach. He didn’t kid himself. It was not going to be as easy to get things said, as it had been with Jordan.

  As it turned out, Lucas came knocking on Finn’s apartment door after he’d turned in. Finn opened it, having built a fire in the fireplace and had a lamp lit on the other side. A glass and half bottle of whiskey sat on the table, beside his chair, and an old beat up crate was on the floor. It had been between his feet while he looked through old pocketknives, watches and the like.

  Lucas looked like he’d just come in off the range. He removed his hat, appeared to have washed his face. His cuffs were rolled up and damp. The smell of night air and horse, tobacco, and hint of whiskey came through the doorway with him.

  “Have a seat.” Finn looked him over, and then walked back to his chair.

  Lucas went over and took another, angled toward the fire, on Finn’s right. Appearing relaxed, legs slightly wide, dusty and spurred boots on the braided rug, and his hat dangling from his fingers. His forearms rested on the leather arms of the chair. His amber eyes regarded Finn steady.

  Finn looked away first and down at the crate. “I’m sorting through what to take with me.” He grunted. “Should have thrown half this stuff out years ago.” He fingered a knife missing the fancy wood case. “This knife cost me two weeks of herding for one of the stingiest ranchers I ever met. He worked his hands in the ground. Almost made my pa look like a decent human being.”

  Lucas’s gaze flickered to the knife. “I believe yours is silver plated now.”

  Finn dropped the knife back in the crate. “Yes. Hard work and success brought me money enough to buy anything I wanted.”

  He sat back and took a sip from his glass. “I got most of what I dreamed of, but not the way I dreamed it.” He set the glass down and looked at Lucas. “I was mad at myself and miserable with Andrea—and didn’t have anything except pride to keep me smiling when folks slapped me on the back. To the outside, people looked and said; see there, a man can have everything. He can start with nothing, and build the best spread, have a beautiful heiress to wife, and have not one but two sons, to carry on the name.”

  “You seemed pretty ruthless in perpetuating that image.”

  “Yes. I was in competition and didn’t know it.” Finn laughed hard. “With your mother. In our way, Lucas, we made our whole lives about seeing who could win. I didn’t have a clue —because I was wrapped up in trying to make it mean something when it didn’t.”

  He said, “I can’t blame Andrea for the way I came down hard on you.”

  “No. You can’t.” A nerve ticked in Lucas’s jaw.

  “I don’t know what it was, maybe that I wanted to be you, start over. Maybe that I wanted to make her angry by turning you into a hard ass like me. Maybe—I just lived every day, feeling like I would explode inside. Andrea was unshakable, and when I came out on the range to get it out of me, you were always there. You gave me shit right back.” Finn laughed quietly and looked Lucas over. “I never saw you afraid of me or anything else. You didn’t have a fearing bone in your body—rode the wildest horses and risked your damn neck…”

  “I hated you,” Lucas admitted.

  Finn didn’t flinch. “I know.”

  The fire crackled as they held gazes and then Finn murmured, “But I loved you. I loved you more than my own soul. That morning you left, with everything I knew you carried on your shoulders—I wanted to go after you and…”

  Finn swallowed. “But your mother wanted you back here to wed you off to that Jewell girl. She wanted you here—so that she could silently notch her score up every time I lost my temper and every time you lashed right back. I’m not saying she didn’t love you, but when she insisted, I knew. And the hardest thing I ever did in my life,” Finn rasped roughly. “Was letting you go.”

  “You kept tabs on me.”

  “I had to.” Finn looked away and shoved his fingers through his hair, taking a long breath. “I could let you leave, but I kept hoping, pacing, praying, you’d live and come back and…forgive me. Forgive yourself for that Christie boy.” Finn admitted, “When you were missing, when you were on the trail, that Pinkerton sent daily telegrams and I’d feel like my guts were torn out until word came you were all right.”

  After staring at his profile long moments Lucas said, “You’re lucky I did, old man. I turned back on the trail twice.”

  “I am lucky.” Finn looked at him. “I know that, son. I’m not asking for forgiveness, Lucas. I’m telling you one truth, no matter what else, I love you more than my own soul.”

  Lucas held his gaze only for a second before glancing at the fire and then rising, walking around behind Finn’s chair he murmured, “You’d best take some of those steers and extra horses with you up North. No use starving to death before you fell the first tree.”

  Laughing, Finn agreed and then stood as Lucas reached the door. “What brought you up here—”

  “Someone—shot Morgan’s bull.” Lucas put on his hat and stepped out, leaving a stunned Finn staring at it.

  Chapter Nine

  Sara was in the front yard when Morgan came tearing across it in a buggy. The lathered horses barely stopped before he got down, limping and leaning against his crutch.

  “Where’s Rose?”

  “Cleaning the front room—” Sara took in the fury in his face and eyes, and was two steps behind him.

  He whirled at the door. “Stay out of this, Sara.”

  She opened her mouth but he went through and slammed the door behind him.

  When Morgan crossed the parlor, he saw that opened bedroom door and Rose at the other side with her arms full of linens. The bed was dismantled, mattress against the wall with the rails. In a cream flannel dress, her strawberry hair half-falling from its pens after vigorously cleaning all morning, his ire was blinding.

  He growled loud enough for the hands in the bunkhouse to hear, “You shot my bull!!!”

  Having dropped the linens, Rose took a step back, her shoulders against the wall while Morgan advanced—having slammed that door as well. She scarcely saw his healing face or noticed his limp—because of the fire in his light green eyes.

  “Goddamn you, Rose! You shot my bull!” He reached her, looming a foot taller. His palm smacked the wall above her head. His other hand grasped her chin hard and forced her face upwards. Her own palms were at her sides on the wall’s surface.

  Rose was breathing short and fast. Ignoring the pain of his big hand and strong fingers on her face, her gray eyes were like morning mists of calm, touching that green fire. “I shot it.”

  “Goddamn you, Rose!” His hold forced her head harder against the wall. “Damn you.” He said again and every time he said it over and over--his voice got lower and tighter.

  Rose reached up and with trembling fingers touched his face. Her own still in pain from his hand.

  Having been muttering, cursing, glaring down at her—Morgan suddenly moved his hold on her chin to her hair. Shaking half with fury, half with something else, his mouth came down, and took hers hard.

  The sound Rose made covered the one of Sara opening the door.

  But, Morgan had forced her teeth to part and thrust his tongue inside—, Rose lashed it with her own, not letting his strength, and height overpower her. In truth, by the time he had bruised both their lips, Rose had captured his tongue in her mouth and grabbed his shirt at the shoulders, prepared for anything.

  Morgan tore his mouth away, his breathing hard. She dropped her hands
. He turned and left with the same determined speed he’d entered. Sara winced, wondering if the front door was split in half when he slammed it again.

  Leaning against the doorjamb, she heard the horses and buggy pull out, but her gaze was on Rose—who was still against that wall, her hair mostly down and her lips swelling—a look in her gray eyes of defiance and arousal. Her palms were pressed against the wall as to anchor herself. Nevertheless, she didn’t hide from Sara’s stare.

  “Did you really… shoot that bull?” Sara was simply amazed.

  Rose nodded.

  Lips twitching, Sara shook her head, and then picturing the whole recent scene with Morgan she began to laugh. She laughed a good while, before crossing the room and regarding her middle child. “Rose Landry. You’re a woman to be reckoned with.”

  Rose licked her tingling and swelled lips, her gaze past Sara, and on the doorway. “All my life, I got mocked and called names, and never stood up for myself. But I knew someone did—I knew Morgan McCabe punched more men in the mouth for talking about me, than his brother Lucas ever fought.”

  Her eyes came to rest on Sara. “That bull hated him. It had already tried to kill him twice, according to the hands. And no person or thing that cruel is ever going to hurt him, while I’m living.”

  Sara swallowed; hearing that fevered emotion and leaned to kiss Rose’s brow. She left and out on the porch saw Corey in the yard. Her youngest, eyes wide and brows raised, came to the top one.

  “I didn’t even think Rose liked guns.” Corey came up to stand beside her.

  Sara put an arm around her, looking over and seeing hands on the bunkhouse porch. Ryder, leaning on the rail, smoking a cheroot. “She don’t.” Her gaze touched spurs and strapped down colts, catching a glint of sun. Wind and sun marked faces, lean bodies, honed from work and seasoned by life. Sara knew they had heard, and she knew if she were close enough to see, those men would be smiling.

  Never again, would Rose Landry be thought of as a woman with a body just to lust for —or some shy and introverted young woman who read poetry and dressed up. There wasn’t a hand on this ranch, or McCabe’s who wouldn’t have put that animal down the first time—but bowed to Morgan’s wishes. As a McCabe, a man of solid strength, and skill, Morgan was respected because everyone witnessed his hard work and running of the ranch. A cowboy wouldn’t have done the thing, even if he thought it right, and knew it was only a matter of time before it did kill Morgan.

  Because Rose did it though, they knew it took more than just grit to go near that beast, let alone not even ask or tell Morgan what she would, and did do.

  Corey murmured, “I think Rose will be all right, too. Don’t you, Mamma.”

  “Yes. I think she will.” Sara smiled still amazed, and shook her head.

  * * * *

  Falon was surprised on her way to see Asher the next week to spy Lucas ahead on the road. She pulled the reins to a halt, and stared at him.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To see Asher.”

  “Not working on the range today?”

  “Finished up early.” He dismounted and tied his horse to the buggy and climbed up beside her. “Might as well ride together.”

  “Might as well.” She smiled and went the last mile, watching as her son ran out to greet them when they arrived, with a huge smile.

  During the visit, and dinner with Lottie and Hank, Falon watched Lucas and her son play out back, and then take a long stroll down the lane, the dog bounding after them.

  When they departed that evening, Lucas had his boot sole propped and his arm along the seat behind her. His fingers played with the ends of her hair, which she’d worn in a tail.

  “I’ve got to move the rest of my things from the house this evening. Now that Morgan is bett—”

  “—I was thinking about that,” Lucas pushed his hat brim up slightly but stared at the horses and road. “I’d asked Jordan to pick out something to put in that empty downstairs, do something with the room—so it looked more…well, better, than it does.” He was sifting more of her hair through his fingers. “She’s going to build her house, where she’s putting the riding school, and she’s busy, going to travel on buying trips and all. She asked me why didn’t I, just have you, do it.”

  Falon glanced at him. “Are you asking me to?”

  “Yes.” He met her gaze. “I think you know what it needs.”

  “I’ll try.” She blinked.

  He chewed the inside of his cheek a moment. “I figured, there should be one of those rooms for Asher.”

  Seeing something in his gaze, she pulled the buggy off the road, not noticing it was in the same spot they’d first been intimate. Falon sat back, the reins resting in her hands, while she kept eyeing him.

  “You want to keep him sometimes?”

  “I think we’re friends. For now.” He smiled poorly.

  “All right. A room for a little boy. And what else?”

  “Alex said he’d stay, take that second floor.” Lucas moved his gaze over her face. “I’d want you… to live there still, while you’re doing all the fixing up and decorating. Ordering things.”

  “I see.” She arched her brow again.

  His gaze held hers. “I’d want you to let me come to your bed and pleasure you, or on second thought, I don’t care if it’s a bed or not. I’d be wanting to touch and kiss you, and feel that fire we stir in each other.”

  Her body tingling and aroused Falon murmured, “And of course, you’d be at my disposal, letting me have my…. way with you?”

  “Anytime.” He smiled.

  “What else—do you want?” Her gaze went down his body and back up to those black green eyes.

  “I want a bedroom, with warmer colors, and a changing room and bathing tub big enough for two. I want furniture I can lay you on, bend you over, and sit you down on—and lick you until you scream for mercy.”

  Lids slightly lowered, breathing shallow, she managed, “I’ll keep that in mind while I’m making choices.”

  He shifted to sit a little facing her, his one hand gathering up her skirt enough to ease his hand under. When he found what he was aiming for, Lucas kissed her softly, and then pulled back to husk, “I want to be doing this,” His finger entered her slick and hot sex. “And hear you whisper my name, like you do when you’re feeling nothing but me.”

  Her legs parted more and she moved against his touch, her lips a whisper from his. “Lucas….”

  His tongue touched her lips, and then he nibbled back to her ear, his finger thrusting slow and deep. “I want you to love me, Falon.”

  “Oh. God.” She dropped the reins and put her arms around him. Moving his hands away, she climbed astride him, right on the buggy seat and moaned, “Inside me, now. Now, Lucas.”

  He eased her back enough to free his sex and pulled her hard onto it. Rising slightly as she undulated, hands full of her grinding backside, they kissed wild and hungry, breathing hot and fast, until he slumped his spine, held her hard to him and shuddered. He lost his hat somewhere when he pulled her atop him.

  They were down by the stream later, having refreshed; eyeing a sun that was setting, when Lucas lay her down gently and brought her to climax, then kissed sweetly over her face.

  “I want to marry you.” He looked down into her dreamy eyes. “If it’s all right, later on, I’m going to ask you to bear my children.” His hand covered her flat quivering stomach. “And as long as Asher lets me, I’ll be as good to him as his father would have been. I swear.”

  Tears pooled in her eyes and Falon sat up, touching her palm to his cheek. “I love you, Lucas.”

  He shook his head as if amazed and brought her other hand to his mouth. “The first time I saw you, my legs nearly buckled. I haven’t stopped thinking of you since.” He took that hand and laid it on his fast and deep beating heart. “I’ll love your body and soul, and I’ll love whatever you give me, because I feel you in my bones and blood. I never in my life felt like that before
.”

  She slid her arms around him, and they held each other tightly.

  After she dressed, he drove the buggy home. She sat against him, her head on his shoulder.

  “Lucas?”

  “Yes.” His arm went round her as they pulled into the ranch.

  “Can we live in sin until next spring? I want your father here for the wedding.”

  He laughed and then laughed harder. When they exited the buggy, he looked down cupping her face. “Yeah, sure. I’m more sinner than saint anyway.”

  She laughed and arched her brow. “I like you a bit on the wicked side.”

  “I like you that way too.” He winked.

  “That’s good to know.” She said as they held hands walking to the house, “I don’t give a damn if there’s a bed or not either.”

  Stopping short, he pulled her back to him and lifted her off her feet in a kiss.

  Watching them from the Porch, Finn smiled hearing Lucas’s deep laugh.

  When Falon put Lucas’s hat on her head and whispered something in his ear, Finn saw Lucas pick her up and carry her to the barn. He arose and tossed out his coffee. Grinning—all the way up to his rooms.

  * * * *

  Sara didn’t sleep the night before Finn was supposed to leave. She cried half of it and argued with herself for doing so the next. She got up early and took her bath; pulled on a wool shirt and trousers, braided her hair, and then grabbed her boots and hat to go do the feeding.

  By the time she was done and had breakfast, ranch life was in full swing. She was walking across the yard, pulling off her gloves, when Finn rode up on his big stud.

  He drew it to a halt and looked down at her, and Sara heard him say something about the wagon still being loaded at the ranch, and so on. However, her hungry eyes devoured him, and her heartbeat so loud she couldn’t hear herself muttering mentally that she was a strong and independent woman—a woman who’d made much on her own.

  Then he got down off the horse and took her in his arms, kissing her, and holding her so tightly. Tears streaked her face. They kissed again and again, a kind of didn’t need breath kissing, that held all of the emotion they evoked in each other years ago.