Revealed (42 page)

To the west, prairie grass gleamed golden brown in the slant of the afternoon sun. A breeze from the north blew across the valley, and the grasses bowed in its wake, as though a giant hand were skimming the tips of their blades. Cattle dotted the landscape. Maybe as many as three hundred head, but it was hard to tell at a glance. A barn with two corrals was positioned off to the east. Ranch hands milled about.

Then her attention was drawn to a cabin, set back into a cove of the valley, with two floors—if the dormer windows atop were real. Tears rose to her eyes. Jonathan should have been there. He should be sitting beside her right now, sharing this. He had built it all, and it didn’t seem fair that he was gone while she, and their child, remained.

She felt a hand cover hers, and her eyes burned. Sadie’s fingers were cool to the touch.

‘‘All of this belonged to your Jonathan?’’

‘‘Your Jonathan.’’
She nodded, remembering when Patrick Carlson had used that same phrase. She looked past Sadie to see Matthew astride the gelding. As though sensing her attention, he turned. Her own bundle of emotions was mirrored in the tight set of his jaw. She detected sadness, regret, and unmistakable yearning in his expression. And she couldn’t help but wonder if part of his yearning was for
home
.

For what he couldn’t recall of his mother. For what he’d missed with his brother. And for what he’d never known with Haymen Taylor.

With a simple nod, Matthew encouraged her to precede him down the road.

Even from a distance, Annabelle spotted an occasional ranch hand looking up. A worker would pause, then return to his task. But as they drew closer, the men stopped what they were doing and followed the wagon’s progress toward the cabin. Annabelle nodded to them, feeling more than a little conspicuous. She brought the wagon to a halt in front of the cabin and set the brake. She moved to climb down, surprised to find Matthew already there, waiting to help her.

‘‘Thank you,’’ she whispered, wanting to say more about the moment but unable to find the words. She felt the same from him.

Sadie climbed down behind her, and Matthew caught the girl’s hand. Sadie moved to stand close beside them.

At the sound of a door opening, they all turned toward the cabin.

A young woman walked out onto the porch and to the edge of the stairs. ‘‘How might I help you fine people?’’

Annabelle took in the woman’s pleasing features and stepped forward. ‘‘Forgive me for asking like this, but is this Jonathan McCutchens’ place?’’

The woman studied the trio for a moment, and then her lips parted in a smile. ‘‘You must be Annabelle.’’ Spoken like a statement, a question shone in her sun-kissed complexion.

‘‘Yes, I am. I’m . . . Jonathan’s widow.’’

The woman descended the stairs with the grace that Annabelle would have expected, even without knowing her. ‘‘Welcome,’’ she said, taking both of Annabelle’s hands in hers. ‘‘We’ve been waiting for you. My name is Shannon.’’

Annabelle detected a hint of an Irish heritage in the faint lilt of her voice, which perfectly companioned her thick red curls. Movement in the doorway caught her eye, and Annabelle spotted an older gentleman toddling toward them, his gaze trained on the porch steps as though they were a thing of delight.

Shannon turned and raced back up the stairs. But Matthew beat her to it. He gained hold of the elderly gentleman just before he took that first step, which, from the relief showing in Shannon’s expression, would have been ill-fated at best.

‘‘Oh . . .’’ Shannon sighed. ‘‘Thank you. I can’t turn my back for a minute.’’ She lovingly brushed the thinning gray hair from the man’s temple. ‘‘I thought you were still napping.’’

‘‘I was. But then I woke up and couldn’t find you.’’

The old man’s voice was distinctive, deeply resonating, and seemed inconsistent coming from such a frail body.

Annabelle heard a gasp.

Matthew took a half step back, his face paling.

‘‘Matthew? What’s wrong?’’ she asked.

But he didn’t answer. He only stared at the elderly man still safe in his grip.

‘‘Matthew? Matthew
Taylor
?’’ Shannon’s eyes widened. ‘‘
You’re
Mr. McCutchens’ younger brother?’’

‘‘Yes, ma’am,’’ he whispered, his voice hoarse.

The young woman’s rosy complexion slowly lost a bit of its color as well.

Annabelle looked from Matthew to the man beside him and back again—and instinctively she knew. In Matthew’s expression was a pain so deep she felt the blade of it in her own chest.

‘‘This man . . .’’ he finally managed, his voice a harsh whisper, ‘‘is my father.’’ The muscles in his jaw clenched tight. ‘‘This is Haymen Taylor.’’

CHAPTER | THIRTY - FIVE

M
ATTHEW LOOKED DOWN AT THE
frail man in his grip, unable to quell the anger rising inside him. Haymen Taylor was supposed to be dead. He had gladly buried his father’s memory long ago—wishing he could have been there to bury the man physically.

Annabelle’s face reflected both shock and compassion. Sadie’s did too. But he only shared one of those emotions. He turned back to Shannon. ‘‘Johnny told me our father was gone.’’

‘‘Johnny. Johnny . . .’’ His father mumbled the name as though trying to place who Johnny was.

Haymen Taylor’s brown eyes were dimmer than Matthew remembered, and absent of their usual harshness. His father lifted his hand, and Matthew instinctively clenched his jaw. How many times had he cowered in fear when he’d seen this man’s hand coming at him?

The man ran a trembling hand over Matthew’s stubbled cheek.

‘‘Are you Johnny?’’

Matthew briefly looked to Shannon for explanation, but she only shook her head, unshed tears rimming her eyes.

He cleared his throat, his own eyes watering. ‘‘No, sir, I’m not.

I’m . . . I’m Matthew.’’

His father stared at him for the longest time, and Matthew waited for recognition to move into the man’s vague expression, dreading the moment it did, because he knew what he would see— familiar disappointment, and another reminder of what a failure he had been in his father’s eyes.

Haymen Taylor’s blank expression mellowed. He smiled pleasantly and patted Matthew’s chest. ‘‘Well . . . you look like a good boy.’’

Stunned, Matthew couldn’t think of a reply.

His father took a step back toward the door. At Shannon’s nod, Matthew let go of the feeble old man.

‘‘Why don’t we all go inside and see what—’’ His father paused, a frown creasing his forehead.

‘‘Shannon . . .’’ the woman supplied softly.

‘‘Ah yes. And we’ll see what Shannon is making for dinner.’’

He shuffled back inside, his steps slow and measured. He left the door standing wide open behind him.

Keeping close watch on his father as he went through the entryway, Shannon put her hand on Matthew’s arm. ‘‘Whatever Mr.

McCutchens told you, Mr. Taylor, he was right when he said that your father was gone. He didn’t die, but he finally left us, just the same, about two years ago. And when he did, this kind gentleman came to live with us in his stead.’’

Matthew listened, still trying to comprehend that his father was alive. And so drastically altered.

Annabelle climbed the porch stairs, bringing Sadie with her. ‘‘When did all of this start?’’

‘‘I began coming here to help take care of your father-in-law about five years ago. He was already suffering from some memory loss. Mr. Taylor would repeat himself. Ask the same questions over and over again. He couldn’t remember dates or people, and once he got lost on the property. Thankfully we found him down by the creek in the back, unharmed. Over time he became more agitated, suspicious. He started to see and hear things that weren’t real.’’ She checked on the man through the open doorway again. ‘‘He gradually worsened and could no longer feed or dress himself. Or take care of his other needs,’’ she added quietly. ‘‘It got to be more than your brother could handle during the hours I wasn’t here, so he asked that I move to the ranch and see to Mr. Taylor’s needs full time.’’

Matthew moved to see his father standing in the hallway, gazing at a picture on the wall. He couldn’t imagine Johnny having taken care of Haymen Taylor that way. Not after what the man had done to him. All they’d talked about as boys was the day they would take off and leave the old man behind.

But Johnny never had.

‘‘Your brother was a fine man, Mr. Taylor. I’ve not met a more kind or generous soul.’’ She paused. ‘‘Part of this . . . illness that your father has used to make him ramble. He’d talk for hours about the past, about your mother and both of you boys. Most of the time, none of it made much sense.’’ She looked down briefly, then back to him. ‘‘But at other times, a great deal of it did.’’

Understanding softened her expression, and a sense of shame moved through him. Not that this woman knew about his childhood but that he hadn’t been here to help Johnny bear this burden through the years. Johnny had suffered the greater abuse. He wasn’t even Haymen Taylor’s son, and yet he’d stayed. Matthew lowered his head, unable to bring himself to look at Annabelle, certain she was thinking the very same.

After dinner that evening, Matthew stood at the large window in the main room on the cabin’s first floor and stared across the valley to the open plains. This was exactly the kind of ranch, and home, he and Johnny had talked about having when they were kids. It was as if his brother had traveled the West and finally found a setting that matched the wild-eyed dreams of those two young boys.

Why had Johnny not told him about all this when they saw each other last fall? He sighed. Thinking back over the conversation, he realized that Johnny had. He simply hadn’t been willing to listen.

‘‘Mind some company?’’ Annabelle asked, joining him at the window. For a moment, they said nothing. ‘‘It’s so much more than I imagined.’’

He nodded, watching the sun as it raced toward the western horizon. ‘‘It’s just like he described. I thought Johnny was exaggerating when he told me about this place, like he’d done with so many other things when we were kids.’’ He focused on a spot miles out on the prairie. ‘‘He always had that way about him, seeing things, and people, as they could be, not like they were.’’ And it was that very trait that had enabled Johnny and Annabelle to be together.

He heard Annabelle’s soft sigh.

Johnny had seen in her what no other man had looked deep enough to find. Johnny had taught him so much in life, and it seemed that Matthew was still learning from his older brother, even now.

She moved closer. ‘‘How are you doing?’’

He knew what she was asking and shrugged. ‘‘Just trying to make sense of it all. I can’t believe my father is still alive. He’s so different.’’ He struggled, not knowing what to do with the years of anger stored up inside him. Anger at a man who no longer existed. How did a person begin to forgive someone who had done them so much wrong? Especially when that someone had never asked for forgiveness in the first place?

He recalled watching Shannon with his father during dinner that night. She looked at Haymen Taylor with an affection that Matthew had never felt for the man in his entire life, and it left him strangely bereft inside.

‘‘What’s on your mind, Matthew?’’

Annabelle wove her fingers through his, and surprised by the gesture, Matthew tightened his hand around hers, thankful to have her beside him. He bowed his head, trying to put it into words. A part of him wished they were back on the prairie together, just the two of them, sitting by the fire with miles of nothing around them.

He looked down at her. ‘‘Would you like to take a walk?’’

‘‘I’d love to. Just let me tell Shannon and Sadie.’’

She returned a minute later. As they were leaving, Matthew reached for his rifle by the front door, and Annabelle gave him a pointed look.

‘‘I just thought it might be wise, since we’re not familiar with the countryside yet.’’ Before she could say more, he took hold of her elbow. They descended the porch stairs, and he offered her his arm. She tucked her hand through. ‘‘What are Shannon and Sadie doing?’’

‘‘Shannon was reading your father a story, and Sadie looked like she was enjoying it as much as he was.’’

He was torn between gratefulness that Sadie was finding some happiness and the continued anger and regret that churned inside him. He chose a path that led them past the barn and corrals and toward the western foothills. The murmur of cattle in the fields carried to them, and the scents of hay and manure mingling with the cool evening air reminded him of being on the Jennings’ ranch back in Colorado.

He estimated another half hour of daylight—and then a while longer before the low-hanging glow in the west would completely surrender to darkness. Not that he minded being in the dark with Annabelle. He was almost tempted to see if he could get them ‘‘lost’’ for a while just to spend more time with her.

‘‘Are you going to remember how to get back?’’ A soft gleam lit her eyes as though she had read his thoughts.

He feigned hurt at the comment. ‘‘In the last nine hundred miles, have I gotten us lost once?’’

She laughed. ‘‘No, you haven’t. But I’ve learned to read you pretty well in the last few weeks.

Smiling, he slowed his steps and then stopped. ‘‘Okay, why don’t you tell me what you read right now?’’

She reached up and brushed back the hair from his right temple. ‘‘I see a man who’s struggling with years of bitterness and hurt, who has unanswered questions that he knows might never be answered now. I see a man who’s made mistakes in his life—no greater than anyone else’s—and who wants to let go of all that far more than he wants to hold on to it. But he doesn’t know how.’’

Matthew let out the breath he’d been holding for the past few seconds. He’d expected a far less serious answer. ‘‘Next time could you be a little more honest with me? Don’t hold back so much.’’

Annabelle flashed him a knowing smile.

He motioned to a boulder jutting from the side of the mountain and jumped up first, then leaned down and pulled her up beside him.

She promptly sat down, stretched out her legs, arranging her skirt around her, and leaned back to enjoy the view. He joined her, and for several moments, they sat in silence.