Lucas (8 page)

The latch gave way and
Lucas carefully lifted the lid to the trunk.

“And you decided the
fresh Montana air would do you some good?” He pulled her from her unfortunate
memories.

“That’s a story for
another day.” She didn’t want to tell him how she’d travelled across the
country as a hopeful bride, only to be rejected and stranded in a new place at
the mercy of his grandfather with nothing more than a trunk full of unrealized
dreams. She nodded toward the open case.

Lucas pulled out a
small, cinched leather bag with an ‘L’ carved into one side. He ran his fingers
over the engraving.

“My marbles,” he
whispered, closing his fist over the pouch. He pulled out a slingshot, a wooden
stagecoach, and a bilbo catcher. “Granddad kept all of these things?” His voice
was quiet and a sense of nostalgia immediately filled every corner of the room.

“Who is this?” Lucy
reached into the trunk and pulled out a photograph. “She’s very pretty.”

“On the outside maybe,”
Lucas scoffed as he continued to dig through the other items in the trunk. “I
don’t believe it.”

Lucy returned the
photograph to the trunk, but couldn’t help wonder if it was his mother—the one
who’d abandoned her husband and small children.

“What?”

He held up an almost
new copy of Dumas’s
Count of Monte Cristo
.

“It was Henry’s,” his
said as he flipped through the pages. “Look, he’s even made notes in some of
the margins.” He opened to a page where pencil scribbles dictated the thoughts
of its reader. “Do you think Granddad would mind if I kept this?”

“I think Liam would be
happy you found it.”

He closed the trunk and
stood up.

“I hope so. Henry would
have liked that we found it.” He placed the book in the back band of his
trousers beneath his belt. “Now, I believe we had some boxes to collect.”

Lucy pointed to the
empty crates in the corner, but as she passed the desk, her eye was drawn to one
of the letters she had picked up from the ground, sitting cockeyed from the
rest. She reached out and pulled the yellowed envelope from the disheveled stack
and a photograph slipped out. As she bent down to pick it up, she turned the
envelope over to inspect the writing.

Whittemore

New York

Her family’s name, on
her mother’s side. She flipped the photograph over. There, staring back at her,
was the image of her grandparents, her mother with a fellow she didn’t
recognize, and a much younger Liam Deardon holding a little girl. Her. She
reached for the desk to support herself and felt around for the narrow chair,
unwilling to take her eyes from the photograph.

Impossible!

She quickly pulled the
letter from the envelope and scanned the contents.

March 7, 1843

Dear Mr. Liam Deardon,

Words cannot express
the deep gratitude and respect I have for you. For a man of your position and
power, it would have been easy to walk away after my wife’s father, Mr. Joseph
Whittemore, died unexpectedly, but you honored the promise you made to watch
over and keep his family safe. I know, firsthand, the great lengths you went to
in order to secure Claire a husband worthy of her. To this day, I am unsure
that I could ever be as much as she deserves, but I love her and have cherished
every moment we have spent together. I am forever grateful for the trust you
placed in me.

I regret to inform you
that I have taken ill and can no longer be the protector and provider I once
was. The doctors tell me I will not live to see our precious baby girl’s third
birthday. I ask in earnest that you continue to watch over my beloved Claire
and our little Lucy after I am gone. They mean more to me than life itself.
Please let them know how very much I loved them. I know it is unfair of me to
place this burden on your shoulders, but you are the only one I trust to see it
through. Thank you.

Sincerely,

Adam Prescott

Lucy reread a portion
of the letter over and over, unable to fathom the truth of its contents.

…our little Lucy

…our little Lucy

“…our little Lucy,” she
said aloud.

It can’t be.

“What was that?” Lucas
asked, coming to stand behind her. He pointed to the signature. “Do you know
him? Adam Prescott?”

“I think…” She shook
her head in disbelief. “I think he was my father.”

“But I thought—”

“I have to go.” She
jumped to her feet, the letter clutched to her chest, and picked up her skirt
as she ran down the attic steps and out the small door toward Liam’s quarters.

“Who is Adam Prescott?”
Lucy asked, gasping for air as she burst through the door to Liam’s room.

He sat in a chair at
the small table next to the hearth, overlooking the north pasture where the
horses still frolicked. He still looked weak, but she needed answers.

She tossed the letters
and the single photograph she’d discovered in the attic onto Liam’s lap. “Who
is Adam Prescott?” she asked again, more quietly this time.

He gave a resigned
chuckle. “Come sit, Lucy.” He pointed to a chair opposite him, picked up the
old photograph, and rested his wrists on the table, caressing the picture.

“Your grandfather,
Joseph, and I grew up in the same little town back East where we did everything
together. We were inseparable, Joe and I. Even as we got older, we worked the
same jobs, attended the same college, and courted the same girls.” Liam set the
photograph down on the table and looked at Lucy.

She leaned forward like
a child might upon hearing a tale of adventure being recounted in great detail.

Cough.

“One day, a little over
a year before you were born, a young painter by the name of Samuel Morse
approached us and told of an electrical instrument he was working on that could
transmit messages over a wire that would allow folks to communicate quickly
with others in distant towns.”

“The telegraph.” It
would explain how Liam had his own personal telegraph in his study.

“Yes. Joe and I were
intrigued and pooled some of our substantial funds to invest in Morse’s vision.
Well, your grandfather died before that dream was realized, but not before I
promised him that I would always take care of his family.”

“And Adam Prescott?” Lucy
stood up, too anxious to sit, and moved over next to the window.

“Adam was one of many
prospective suitors who wanted Claire’s hand in marriage. He was educated and
refined with a good standing in society, but it was not his wealth and status
that impressed me, but his strong character and unfailing kindness toward
others. I knew he would do right by your mother.”

“So, Adam Prescott is…”
She needed to hear him say it.

“Your father.”

Lucy closed her eyes. A
weight lifted from her chest and she knew that it was true. She’d had a father
who’d loved her ‘more than life itself.’ She just believed it about the wrong
man.

“And Gerald Russell?”

Lucy’d had a pleasant
childhood. The man she’d grown up knowing as her father had never been cruel or
harsh in any way, and had always provided for her needs, but there had always
been some intangible thing standing in the way of the relationship she’d hoped
they would have.

“By the time Aaron’s
letter reached me, more than a month’s time had come and gone.” Liam got to his
feet, and joined her at the window.

Cough. Cough.

“I sent an immediate
response by courier, requesting to have Claire come here, to Whisper Ridge, but
never heard a word.”

Lucy turned to look up
at Liam. Dark circles draped his eyes.

“You invited us to come
live with you?”

“Yes. I had a promise
to keep.”

She turned back to look
out the window. Lucas had captured the attention of his horse in the pasture below
and proceeded to saddle him. He led the unique chestnut gelding into the corral
and mounted. He trotted around the perimeter of the enclosure for a bit, then the
rider disappeared from view. She scanned the corral, but there was no sign of
him on the ground and instinctively she moved closer to the pane of glass.
Seconds passed and he was again astride his horse. She watched more closely as
he rode a short spurt, and then dismounted at a run. He’d repeated his exercise
a few times, adding a new little trick with each stint, before she realized
Liam was watching her, not his grandson.

“He’s a good man, you
know.”

Lucy glanced over her
shoulder at him. She knew she should let him rest, but it was as if her whole
life was being unfolded before her eyes and for the first time, she had a place
where she felt like she belonged.

Cough. Cough.

“You should rest. Build
up your strength so that you can watch the tournament tomorrow.” Lucy guided
him back to the large, four poster bed and pulled back the bedcoverings. She
stoked the fire in the hearth and then leaned over and kissed her benefactor on
the forehead. “
You
are a good man, Liam Deardon.”

“I never stopped
trying, you know.” He grabbed ahold of her hand. “For years, I sent out
letters, hoping to find what may have happened to young Claire and her child,
but it wasn’t until I received a short post from your stepfather that I learned
of your whereabouts.”

“He told you about my
advertisement.”

“Yes. And I knew I had
to do for you what I’d done for your mother all those years ago.”

“You’ve done more for
me than you will ever know. And I will find my true love. I don’t need your
meddling to do it.”

“Lucas is the man for
you, Lucy girl. I know it.”

Heat rushed to her
cheeks and she smiled at the thought of him.

“Maybe, but—”

“You know it too.” Liam
shot up, looking more spry than she’d seen him since he’d returned. “You love
him.”

“How can I love a man
I’ve only just met?” She crossed the room, picked up the pitcher of water, and
poured him a glass.

“When it’s right, you
just know, lass.”

“Shhh…” she glanced at
the open door to make sure no one was listening. “Don’t you try your brogue on
me. It won’t work. And you just keep those fancy notions to yourself, Mr.
Deardon.”

“Aye, lassie, but take
my word, there’ll be a weddin’ here before spring.” His impersonation of the accent
was as good as any Scot’s she’d ever heard.

She glanced out the
window again.

Not if Lucas has
anything to say about it.

A good ride was just
what Lucas needed to get the charming Lucy Russell out of his mind. He pulled
his tack down off the hook in the barn and carried it out to the pasture gate
where he’d let Adonis out to run with the other horses this morning.

If he wasn’t careful,
he just might find himself falling for the light-haired beauty. There was
something about her that threatened everything he believed about not being
ready to get married and if he didn’t stop thinking about her…well, he was
playing a very dangerous game. It had taken everything he had to keep himself
from going after her when she’d bolted from the attic. Something she’d found
had upset her, but he was the last person who should comfort her. Instead, he’d
just grabbed the empty crates and delivered them downstairs to Tillie in the
kitchen.

Lucas climbed up onto
the bottom rung of the gate, whistled loudly, and waited, scanning the immense pasture
for any sign of the chestnut Quarter Horse with his exceptional cream-colored
mane.

Brewster sprang from
his hiding place under the porch and happily joined Lucas at the gate, his tail
wagging happily.

“Good boy,” Lucas said,
vigorously rubbing the dog behind the ears. “Where’d he go, Brew, huh?” His
brother’s would poke fun if they heard how he spoke to the pup.

The crisp whinny of his
horse pulled Lucas back into a standing position and he smiled as Adonis
cantered toward him. They’d worked on several tricks before they’d left home,
but it had been a while and with the unfamiliar surroundings, he had been
unsure whether or not the gelding would recognize the call.

After saddling his
horse, Lucas led Adonis into the empty corral and mounted. His shoulder was a
little stiff, but felt strong enough to practice a few tricks. He kissed the
air, nudging the horse from a walk, to a trot, and then a light canter. They
circled the corral a few times before he slid off the saddle to one side,
holding himself tight against the side of the horse. A few seconds later, he
pulled himself back up into the seat and continued at an even pace. The
unusually warm sun peeked out from behind a billowing streak of cotton in an
otherwise cloudless sky, but the melting snow didn’t seem to bother the gelding
in the slightest.

Lucas took a deep
breath and dismounted, the horse still at a full gait. As Adonis rounded the
corral again, he stepped in sync with the horse, grabbed ahold of the reins and
pulled himself back up into the saddle. He drew back on the reins and stopped.

Several large targets
made of round coiled straw mats sat perched on wooden easels at various
distances. The painted cloths had yet to be strung over them for the
tournament.

He dismounted, pulling
a handful of dried apple slices he’d swiped from the kitchen while Tillie
wasn’t looking, and fed them to Adonis. “Good practice, Donnie,” he said,
rubbing his neck. He led the horse from the corral, removed the saddle, and
released him back out into the pasture again with the other horses.

If tomorrow was this
Deardon Thanksgiving tournament, he figured he’d probably best not do anything
that could reinjure the shoulder. He carried the saddle, blanket, and tack back
to the barn and strung it up on the hook he’d been given.

“I’m sorry I left you
alone in the attic.”

Lucas whipped around to
see Lucy leaning against the barn door. A halo of light shone round her face as
the sun lit the edges of her hair. She was striking.

“Is everything all
right?” he asked hesitantly.

“Better than all
right,” she said with a smile. “Let’s just say I got a lot of answers to
questions I didn’t know I had.”

“Okay.”

“Come on. Liam said I
need to show you around the place. We can do that while we check that
everything is in place for tomorrow.”

“So, a log toss, an
archery match, a stick pull, leg wrestling, and a riding course.”

“Yes.”

“How many are coming?”
he asked as they reached the stables, his boots crunching the ground beneath
him.

“Nine Deardon
competitors, if you take Liam’s place, and then a few of the hands are also
given the opportunity to compete. Only those over sixteen are allowed to
participate—which Sam’s youngest is still bitter about—he’s only fourteen—and
the winner gets a hefty prize.”

Sam was his father’s
youngest brother. Back home, Lucas had nearly forgotten he had a whole family
outside of Oregon—except for Aunt Leah and her family in Kansas. None of them
could forget her. He liked the idea of having a big family.

“Granddad still
participates in these events?”

“Not this year, for
obvious reasons.” Lucy swung open the doors and stepped inside of the stable.
“We’ll need the sleigh hitched please, Jake,” she told the stable hand, who
placed his shovel against the wall, nodded, and disappeared around the corner
of an empty stall.

“Who are the others?”

“You know Hank and
Sam.” She stopped and turned to look at him. “You
do
know Hank and Sam,
right?”

“I know they’re my
uncles, but I haven’t seen them in years.”

Lucy’s eyes closed into
discerning slits and she shook her head. “Their ranches aren’t too far from
here. They are each bringing their families. Your Aunt Leah sent her regrets
for this year. It’s just too long of a trek from Kansas to Montana with her
little ones. Did you know she’s got eight children? Eight! You Deardons
certainly don’t do anything small.”

Lucas laughed. “How do
you know so much about my family?”

“I’m sorry. You must
think me entirely improper. I’ve only been here a month, but Liam likes to talk
and I listen. When you’re helping to plan an event as big as the Deardon
tournament, you learn a few things.”

Wait, did she said nine
competitors?

Her words just hit him
and s
uddenly,
he wasn’t at all sure he was prepared to meet so many new relatives who might
not hold his father in the highest esteem. When he’d thought about coming out
to see his granddad, he’d tried to remember anything he could about Uncle Hank
and Uncle Samuel. Jonah and Noah had had a few stories, but he’d been so young
when they’d left that he didn’t remember anything about them or their children.
Aunt Leah, however, had made a point to write often and he and his brothers had
spent time at Redbourne Ranch after their mama left. Aunt Leah had wanted to
make sure they’d had some female influence in their lives so they didn’t turn
into a bunch of scroungy backwoodsmen in the wilds of Oregon.

“Ready?” Lucy looked up
at Lucas expectantly.

He wasn’t sure where
they were headed. How big could Whisper Ridge possibly be? But, he wanted to
learn as much as he could about the tournament tomorrow. That way he would be
prepared for what awaited him. So, if accompanying Miss Russell for an early
afternoon ride was going to provide that, who was he to argue?

“Mr. Deardon,” she
said, pulling him from his thoughts. “Are you ready?” she repeated.

“When you are.”