by Gayle Eden
His green eyes holding hers, Finn kissed her one last, knee-melting time, before he got on his horse and rode.
Sara, not realizing her legs gave out, sat on the ground weeping.
A sharp whistle had Finn coming to a halt, and turning.
It also startled Sara, and brought her to her feet again. Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she blinked, seeing Corey standing at the barn, with Sara’s horse saddled.
Sara ran toward her. “What on earth—”
Corey handed her the reins, a coat rolled up and tied behind the saddle and full saddlebags packed. “Go after him, Mamma. Go with him, and find your dreams again.”
Blinking more tears, Sara didn’t realize Finn had ridden back, because her brother and Rose came out of the barn, leading packhorses fully loaded. Rose kissed her cheek. “Go with him.”
Ryder secured the rope he held and then lifted his sister up and put her in the saddle. Putting the reins in her hands, he knew Rose had secured the other horse with Sara’s belongings. “I’ll watch over things for you, and you’ll write.” His brown eyes locked with hers. “You were born to dream, Sara, and Finn McCabe loves you for that.”
“Not just that…” Finn spoke, drawing their attention to him on his horse nearby. Finn’s eyes were on Sara. “I loved you the moment I saw you, and without you, I couldn’t dream at all.” His gloved hand came out and he smiled. “Come with me, Sara. Be my lover, and bride.”
Sara looked around at the smiling faces of her children. At Noah, who was grinning just beyond. She looked at Finn; the tears dry but the tracks remained. “I can still have babies.”
While the other’s chuckled, Finn’s brow rose and he rode over, cupping the back of her head, kissing her, before murmuring, “Then I guess we’d better work fast to get that cabin built.”
Taking a quick kiss and hug from Corey and Rose, Sara was soon riding off with Finn McCabe.
At the McCabe spread, she hugged Jordan and Alex, her eyes blinking at Falon— whom Lucas had an arm around. Sara said, after they were on the wagon, horses tied in back, and hands behind, who would take the journey with them, and tend the stock, “Keep an eye on my girls. Rose, and Corey. And—”
“Go, Sara.” Falon smiled at her.
Sara turned and looked at Finn, who put his arm around her and kissed her again, before clucking to the team. He didn’t mind the tears wetting his broad shoulder; he knew they were the right kind.
“I love you, Sara.”
She nuzzled her face into his arm. “I love you too. Finn McCabe.”
McCabe’s Pride
Part Two
One year later.
Corey smiled having unfolded the letter from Sara. The sketch of the log house had progressed with each letter. Finally it was done, rustic three stories, with wide porches, beautiful. Nestled among pine-topped hills, the family could read the wonder and love Sara felt for the place. It was almost akin to what she felt for Finn, although she seemed almost giddy sometimes talking about him. They worked hard in the winter, hiring a crew of men to help, and living in a tent until a pole barn was built. Sara spoke of riding through the snow and hunting, fishing in clear lakes, snuggling at night to stay warm. They had finally wed, the day the house was finished.
“Guess what they’ve called it?’ Corey laughed and looked at Rose.
“What?”
“McCabe’s pride.” She grinned and shook her head.
“That just about suits it.” Rose shared that smile.
Reading the last two pages, Corey folded them and tucked them in her pocket. In a month, Sara and Finn would come home to attend Falon and Lucas’s wedding. They had been the talk of PineFlatts, living together as they did. Anyone close to them knew they were as close friends, as they were lovers. Corey considered the gossip pure envy.
She glanced over at Rose in a dove gray dress with short jacket and jaunty hat atop her strawberry curls.
In the last year, Corey herself had come to enjoy a scented bath and a few feminine things. Nothing was like riding the range, but Corey found a balance she was happy with. Aside from that, it made Rose happy. For quite a while, Rose had not been her old self.
Oh, she wasn’t sad exactly, just…different…
This was a big day for Jordan. The whole county would probably be at the opening of the McCabe riding academy. Rose had helped her a lot with the decorating, while Jordan designed the barns for the “ladies’ mounts.”
The brick building was impressive, as was Jordan’s fine home—two acres away from it. It was two stories with an upper veranda and lower porch, done in brick and plaster. It reminded Corey of the drawings from back east, but had all the comfort and warm feel that those homes often lacked in their formality.
Corey had helped too, and she offered to assist at the academy with riding lessons or tending the stock, whatever Jordan needed. Jordan had told her if it took off and there were boarders, because dorms were built for that, then she’d hire a staff aside from the young lads she’d gotten from town. Two orphaned brothers eking out a living sweeping sidewalks.
Jordan made them grooms, bought them wool caps and new clothing, knee high polished boots. They were happy as could be working for a good wage, sleeping in the apartments. Both were hard working.
Corey took the letter to put away. She checked her appearance in the long mirror upstairs. They were waiting on Uncle Ryder to bring the buggy around. Rose had eventually stopped harping on her mode of dress. Nevertheless, she still rolled her eyes when Corey kept her hair short.
More for Rose than herself, today, Corey had chosen a split skirt with fancy embroidery and knee high riding boots, a white blouse with a vest that matched the purple skirt, edged in the same lavender cord.
Corey had dresses in her closet now, and she went to a few barn dances and socials. She would never be a frills and bows woman, but she understood the appeal of the feminine side.
“Corey! Come on.”
“On my way,” Corey yelled back, doing an unladylike jog down the steps and out to the buggy. She settled on the end of the driving bench beside her uncle with Rose riding actually in the buggy seat.
“I see you didn’t dress up for the occasion,” Corey elbowed her uncle, who as usual had on his leather boots, snug buckskin breeches and embroidered shirt under his colorful poncho—also as usual, he wore his flat crowned hat, and held a cheroot in his teeth.
“Not my occasion,” he said flatly.
“What is?” Corey snorted that because it was not a question. Her uncle wasn’t much for socializing of any sort.
“Mind your own business, Corey.”
“Of course.” She sighed. “I’ve heard that all my life.”
He grunted.
Corey laughed. She liked her uncle despite his hardness.
They arrived at the clearing along with several other buggies. It looked like the whole town turned out. Once they exited the buggy, Corey was excited to see Jordan and excited for her friend, knowing how much this meant to her.
She found her. She and Rose offered a quick hug before Jordan became the center of attention.
* * * *
Jordan dressed in a neat green skirt and jacket with nip waist, her cinnamon hair half up and a jaunty hat on her head, her English boots were polished. She greeted her guests and potential students with a composed smile, having hired waiters to serve drinks to sip on the tour.
There was a full band playing from the wrought iron balcony, just off from the top floor living quarters. Tables were dressed out and loaded down with food. The fillies and high steppers romped in a corral for folks to hang by the fence and watch. Her two stable grooms, nicely dressed in white shirts, black trousers and boots, took them by the halter, showing them off a bit to the guests.
Jordan took folks on the tour, sounding confident as she explained everything from the design of the stalls, to the workmanship on the saddles, and other tack. There were two fancy buggies she would teach the ladies to drive, a shay th
at drew sounds of pleasure from many females for its fringe and frills.
The dorm had a communal kitchen and bath, pictures of ladies riding, fox hunting, that sort of theme, gracing the walls. In addition, there was a mini library—and a very genteel feel to the space.
Corey hung back simply observing and smiling, remembering Jordan and Rose designing the Academy stationary and spending hours picking out everything from rugs to coverlets. Small wardrobes held eastern habits, hats, and whips, ready to be altered. Jordan had thought of everything. Corey could tell from the townsfolk’s faces they were impressed.
Later—seated at the long tables, where all the buzz and conversation was about the riding Academy, Corey was so busy watching to see if Morgan McCabe was going to speak to Rose, she didn’t notice Alex Croft sitting across from her. Rose still held whatever she felt toward the big rancher close to her chest, but personally, Corey thought Morgan was a big ole idiot for holding a grudge over a bull that nearly killed him, that long.
She turned and smiled at Alex. “Morgan needs his ass kicked.”
He laughed. “There’s not many men big enough to do it.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not a man, not his size, but given the chance I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.”
“That should be interesting.” He handed her an apple.
“We’ll see.” She bit into it and smiled at his snort and shake of his head.
* * * *
Morgan watched Rose as she talked easily with those on her left and right. She even spoke to youngsters. She had a way of smiling, listening to the girls, particularly, that reminded him she’d had few friends growing up aside from her sisters.
He had gotten over his rage at her. It took a month or two. He couldn’t believe that he had manhandled her. Not Rose. Every time he compared his large build and height, the rage he felt that day, the way he came at her—he felt a little queasy. Albeit, over the winter he’d lain in bed and thought of her taking his punishing kiss, kissing him back, too. It set his blood on fire in a whole nother way.
He had always seen more, sensed more, in Rose. Nevertheless, her shooting that bull changed his “ideal” of her. Rose was still beautiful in that feminine and lovely way. Even now, strands of her long strawberry hair fluttered loose. He liked the way her pink lips pulled into a kindly grin talking to the half-deaf Mr. Jones. Rose to him, had been poetry and books, sad tears, and brave fronts, a kind of self-contained flower in front of people, but with deep waters underneath. Morgan had felt that gentleman’s kind of protective of Rose. Courtly admiration of all those softer aspects.
Her actions and that angry kiss shouldn’t have thrown him. He had known she could shoot, ride, and work on the range. Even if she preferred to do other things. He had sensed there was real steel in Rose Landry, but he guessed he never thought of it coming out like that.
All right. Morgan admitted that he had noticed more men looked Rose in the eye these days. They saw more since word of what she’d done got around. She had nursed him, ignored his curses and fractiousness, at both being in pain, and being bed bound. She’d nursed him, all the while planning to shoot that crazy bull. It still amazed him.
Most of the folks had finished eating and were walking, strolling around. Morgan stood and picked up his black hat, settling it on his head while seeing Rose get up too, and walk toward the corral. He was a few steps behind her, trying to form what he would, say since he hadn’t spoken to her in a year.
He had seen her riding on the Landry place and they had passed on the road to town. He tipped his hat. Still, Morgan knew that before, he’d openly shown her difference. He’d been a horse’s ass over his pride this past year.
She had her gloved hands on the top rail, her smooth cheek and profile in his view. He reached the rail and pretended to observe the frolicking horses. Shoulders and head taller, feeling like a mountain any time he was around Rose, he forgot all about her steely side—the moment her subtle perfume wafted up his nose.
“Jordan has done well for herself,” he murmured.
“Yes,” her voice seemed tight.
He flickered his green eyes down to find her looking beyond, but for a split second she looked up and her soft gray gaze met his. That look said a lot. She was braced and reserved, being polite.
“She said you helped her a lot.”
“Not really.” Rose wet her lips. “She knows more about riding schools than I do.”
“With the decorating and details.”
“Yes. I enjoyed it.”
Morgan rested his forearms on the rail, having removed his black jacket and rolled up the sleeves to his white shirt. He slanted his head downward in an obvious motion to make her look him in the eye while they spoke. He was almost too distracted by her classical bones and soft mouth, the hint of skin exposed on her upper chest, to hold her gaze if she did.
“Falon says you’re doing all the details for her and Lucas’s wedding too?”
She did meet his gaze. “I’ve had a year to order everything. The staff at the McCabe house has been helpful, and will pull it all together.”
“Um.” He felt that familiar stir in his blood. Attraction that used to be tampered by the way he could tease her and play the gentlemen. Half of Morgan was angry he had destroyed that a year ago. Half of him—didn’t like feeling this unbalanced with Rose at all. He was a huge and tough rancher. He was a grown man. He was no longer handsome. The scars on his face were a constant reminder that he couldn’t be vain.
She looked away from him again and Morgan knew he’d stared too long, too silent. He said, “You still read down by the stream?”
“I’m still me,” she returned on a half-drawn breath. Her body stiff.
“Rose, I—”
“I’m still not sorry.” She pushed away and turned, walking toward the tables again.
He caught her before she reached them. His hand around her arm, halting them both, Morgan murmured, “I’m not angry at you, Rose.”
Her eyes were on his hand as she swallowed but she lifted her chin looking straight ahead. “You could have fooled me, Morgan.”
“The kiss—”
“I’m not talking about the kiss,” her voice was strained but hard. Her gaze then swung upwards and she ground with emotion, “I’m not talking about anything you did that day. But you’ve looked through me for a year.”
Yanking her arm free her eyes bore into his with a hurt and anger that floored Morgan. “Had it been a man who nearly killed you, I’d have done the same.” She shook her head, eyes filling with tears. “I thought you knew me. You, only you, knew me. I thought…” She turned this time and rushed away from him.
Morgan stood there, watching her pick up her skirts and dash inside the main entry of the academy.
“Shit. Damn it.” His guts hurt as bad as his chest.
“You’re an ass.”
Morgan spun round and found himself facing Corey Landry. She stood there with her arms crossed; her brow elevated, obviously having witnessed the whole thing.
“She can call me one,” he groused. “Not you.”
Her lips curved in a grin that told him she was not the least bit intimidated. “On the contrary. I say whatever I think needs saying. You hurt my sister. You’re a dense headed idiot if you haven’t figured out by now— why— she shot that dangerously crazy bull. You were her hero.”
Corey lost her grin, eyeing him straight. “Maybe everyone has finally seen that Rose is more than the shy dreamer. She is. But you personified everything Rose saw in the stories she read—and yes, the dreams women have. You were protective, and charming, and you were strong and indestructible… Until that bull nearly killed you. Can you imagine what Rose felt in those hours her hero moaned in torment and pain…”
A muscle ticked in Morgan’s jaw.
Corey finished softer, “For most of Rose’s life, you were the only one who saw her as real. Without saying it, Rose trusted you. She was okay with how people—men—
treated her, because she knew you were there, and that was all that mattered. It was okay to feel beautiful and womanly and not ashamed—”
“All right.” He had heard enough to twist his guts a little harder. “I—”
But, Corey was not done. She unfolded her arms and looked over his face in a way that Morgan knew she was taking in the scars. She said, “She cried and prayed for you, every night. This whole year, as you have looked through her, she kept doing so. She doesn’t see the scars and doesn’t care beyond the pain they caused you, Morgan McCabe. It’s too bad you gave her a few you can’t see. You broke her heart.”
Morgan’s nostrils flared but he deserved hearing it. He knew he did. While he had no idea that Rose felt anything more for him than a shy attraction, it did not excuse his ignoring her. He told Corey, before going to fetch his horse, “I’m sorry. You are right. But I didn’t know how she felt.”
“I didn’t know how you felt about her either,” Corey supplied, “Until just now.” Her eyes were on his face.
Morgan nodded and touched his hat brim and then headed for his horse. He had not known either—until that moment.
* * * *
Jordan McCabe paid the last of the servants and watched the wagon pull out with them. The young men, Mat and Eli had seen to the tables and put the stock in the stalls. By the end of the grand opening, her leather bound book had twelve names of new students who would start next week. If all went well, she would advertise in the spring, for young women who were interested in boarding and attending for three months.
For something that happened by sheer accident, in the process of designing and building, pulling everything together, she’d felt a sense of pride and accomplishment. She realized— she was excited and challenged by the venture.