A Lady For Lincoln Cade

“I got your name,” Cade piped up with a proud lift of his head. “When we lived in Oregon, some of the other kids thought it was funny. But Lucky said two last names is better than one old first name any day of the week.”

“Lucky said that?” Lincoln was so still, his gaze so intent on the child, even his breathing seemed to cease. His gaze drifted over the dark head, blazoning in his mind the curl a droplet of sweat encouraged at the boy’s nape. He considered the tilted chin that would be chiseled, once the gentling softness of youth gave way to maturity. “You call your dad Lucky, do you?”

Throughout the exchange, Linsey had stood like a pillar of stone. Nothing hinted at her tension. Nothing until her half-smothered cry in response to his question.

Lincoln didn’t notice, nor did Cade. Both man and boy were locked in a moment in which nothing beyond those steadily held gazes could exist or intrude.

Cade nodded his answer.

“Do you know why, boy?” For reasons he wouldn’t try to explain even to himself, he couldn’t call the child by the name he’d been given—his own name. At least not yet.

“Yes, sir.” For the first time, a worried expression marred Cade’s smooth and even features. Long dark lashes fluttered down to brush his cheeks. In the silence a cricket chirped, and from the depths of the barn a wild cat, likely the descendant of one of Frannie Stuart’s pets, growled its displeasure at this disturbance in its domain.

No one paid heed to the complaint. But as if the sound prodded him to answer, Cade drew a long, quiet breath, his frown fading. When the dark cloak of his lashes lifted and he looked at Lincoln, his gaze was calm and sure. In the brave angle of his head a promise of the strong, resolute chin was repeated.

“Yes, sir, I know. But it’s a secret. Something Lucky told me. Just me and no one else, man to man.”

“Telling would be breaking a promise?” Lincoln suggested, admiration for the boy moving to another level.

“No, sir.” The little chin jutted again, but only an increment. “Telling the wrong person at the wrong time would.”

Linsey caught back the sound of stifled grief, but Lincoln’s focus was riveted on the boy. “Knowing the right person, the right time, and making that decision? That’s a big burden for a young boy. Even one as brave as you.”

“That’s what Lucky said, at first. Then he told me the secret of how I would know.”

“This secret, that’s part of the promise, too?” Lincoln moved a step closer to the boy, drawn by the unique maturity born of courage. “Lucky taught you that?”

“Yes, sir.” Cade’s lips began to tremble. Grief crept over his face. “He taught me lots.”

Lincoln had struggled to hold himself aloof from this engaging boy who bore his name. Now, seeing stark grief in the trusting eyes, he bent to Cade, the brim of his hat shading them both. “Lucky was a special person. He taught me about courage, too. In fact, he and his mother taught me a lot of things.”

“They did?” Cade’s face brightened. “Lucky taught you?”

“Sure.” Lincoln’s hand closed over Cade’s shoulder. “What he taught me helped me be as brave as he thought I was. It will be the same for you, too.”

“It will?”

“Just wait, you’ll see.” Lincoln straightened but kept contact with Cade. “Think you could lend me a hand? I brought wood to repair the front steps. I could use your help with it.”

A smile chased grief from Cade’s face. “You could?”

“I can manage,” Lincoln replied. “But an extra pair of hands would be a great help.”

“Lincoln, no.” Linsey had stood aside, silently watching the first meeting of Lincoln Cade and his namesake. Now she felt compelled to speak out, to buffer the burgeoning camaraderie. “I’m perfectly capable of repairing the step.”

Lincoln didn’t turn to Linsey. His grip eased but didn’t move from Cade’s shoulder. “I know you can, Linsey. But the boy and I are here now.” A smile flickered over his face as he left the final choice to Cade. “Right, boy?”

Cade’s laugh trilled, his grief not forgotten but put aside in a time of healing, youthful glee. “Right, Mr. Cade.”

“Don’t, please.” Linsey moved closer to Lincoln yet dared not touch him. “This isn’t a good idea.”

He turned to her then, his gray gaze even colder now than she ever believed it could be. “It’s just steps, Linsey. From the look of this place there’s plenty more to occupy your time. The boy and I can make quick work of it.” With a finger he riffled the pages of the tablet she clutched at her breasts. A gesture that could have been intimate, even teasing, but was perfunctory instead. “Then you can get back to your inventory.”

Dismissing her objection, he turned to Cade. “Ready?”

“Yes, sir.” The dark head bobbed, the thatch of hair dipped. It was Lincoln who brushed it aside a second before he dropped his own Stetson on the boy’s head.

Leaving Linsey with no recourse but to keep silent, the two of them walked away. Lincoln altering his stride to Cade’s and Cade’s a conscious imitation of Lincoln’s. Twice the Stetson toppled. Twice Cade reset it with careful precision.

While a band of fear closed around her heart, Linsey knew Lincoln had done more than soothe Cade’s grief, more than bolster a small boy’s confidence by enlisting his aid. Whether he knew it or not, whether it was intentional or not, Lincoln Cade had made the first move toward becoming the hero Lucky Stuart had created for Cade. The first move toward making his son irrevocably his own.

“You knew, Linsey,” she berated herself bitterly as she watched from the barn door while the tall man from her past and the child of her heart worked together unloading lumber, tools, and even a small garden tractor from the bed of the truck. From the moment she’d promised an ailing, dying Lucky that she would bring her son to the Stuart farm, she knew that one day her path would cross Lincoln’s. Just as she’d known that in time the inevitable would happen. “And Lincoln will recognize Cade for who he is.”

But first she’d hoped she could… “Could what?” she wondered aloud. “Explain?”

An agitated hand raked through her hair, stripping away the band that held it. Distracted, Linsey let the tie lie unheeded at her feet. For once no impatient hand flung back the cloud of dark gold falling about her shoulders. “How can I explain?” she wondered as she forced herself back to the barn. Surrounded by cool shadows, the inventory forgotten and her mind filled with the vision of the man and boy, she turned away. Moving deeper into muted darkness, she cried softly, “God help me, how?”

It was Cade’s laughter that drew her out of her seclusion and back to the yard. On its heels, barely audible, she heard Lincoln’s chuckle. Both ending with the cacophony of a hammer wielded inexpertly. In different circumstances it should have been a pleasant scene. But this was Cade and Lincoln. Because of this day and this meeting, life as Linsey knew it would never be the same. And she was afraid. Very afraid.

Blinking back a rush of tears she dared not let fall, Linsey watched them openly. With the Stetson laid aside, one dark head bent to the other as they conferred, building a bond stronger than any step, leading where no physical structure could go.

Did Lincoln realize? Could he hear what was in Cade’s voice? See what was in his eyes and that young, fragile heart?

Did Lincoln care?

“Of course he does.” The sound of her own voice startled her. Only then did she realize how long she’d stood idle, her thoughts on the man and the boy and their labor. Lincoln called him “boy,” never Cade, but he cared. It was evident in his patience and underlay the impersonal way he spoke. His kindness was innate, unforced. Neither six years, a single, youthful indiscretion at an emotional time, nor the truth would change the man who had been her friend, her family, and, once, her lover.

“Watch, Mom.” Cade danced up the steps and down, jumping on each, testing their strength. Once on the ground he ran up again to the porch and launched himself into Lincoln’s arms.

Laughing, Lincoln set Cade on his feet. In the sound Linsey heard a sudden restraint. A shiver of caution reminded her Lincoln was ever the pragmatic one, who never rushed into anything. If he felt in his heart it was right, he could walk away from anything, anyone. He had from her. He would from his own son.

“Did you see, Mom? Did you see?”

“I’m sure she saw.” Lincoln scooped up the fallen Stetson and pulled it down over Cade’s forehead. “Half the county must have heard you. Gus Cade’s likely to come bumping down the trail in his wheelchair, yelling that you’re scaring his horses out of a year’s growth.”

Crossing the yard, Linsey saw Cade grow sober. Interpreting a common expression, she knew something Lincoln said sparked his curiosity. The unsuspecting man would be bombarded by the questions of a literal-minded child who took nothing for granted, never assumed. More traits he shared with his father.

“Mr. Gus has horses, but he rides a chair?”

Question number one. Linsey stopped by the porch, crossed her arms and leaned against a support.

Lincoln had moved to inspect the steps, all of which he and Cade had replaced. Sandpaper in hand, he looked up. “What?”

“You said…”

“I know what I said, tiger.” Lincoln guessed what had spurred the boy’s curiosity. “Actually, the horses pastured at Belle Reve now belong to my brother Jackson. But once Gus kept his own horses and rode them. Then a sickness left his arms and legs too weak to ride or walk. So he uses a wheelchair.”

“Where’s the trail?”

Lincoln crooked a finger toward the path that wound through scraggly live oaks and palmettos. “Right over there. Lucky and I used it to travel between our houses.”

“Between the Stuart farm and Belle Reve,” Cade supplied, drawing on the knowledge gleaned during the hours he’d listened to Lucky tell of the countryside, the houses, and his friends. Especially Lincoln. “Lucky never said Mr. Gus rode in a chair.”

“He didn’t know, Cade,” Linsey interjected, her tone as questioning as her son’s when her gaze met Lincoln’s. “I suppose it happened after Frannie died and we’d settled in Oregon.”

Lincoln looked up from sanding the rough edge of a step, his expression unreadable. “Lucky and I had lost touch by then. I knew he and your mom were in Oregon. Or I thought they were. But I didn’t know where, exactly.”

“You could have looked, couldn’t you?” Cade picked up the block of wood Lincoln had covered in sandpaper for him and scrubbed at an imaginary rough spot.

With the boy and the steps between them, Linsey waited for his answer. “Yes.” His expression was brooding, but Cade couldn’t see. “I could have looked, but I didn’t think he wanted me to.”

“I guess not,” the boy agreed. “He didn’t want anybody to know he was sick, too.”

“Lucky was sick?” Catching the busy hand, stopping it, Lincoln waited until Cade looked up at him. “For very long?”

Cade started his habitual nod, caught himself and the Stetson perched precariously over his forehead, then chose words instead. “A long, long, long time.”

“The letter said he fell.” Lincoln directed the oblique question toward Linsey.

Searching for the simplest way to describe a horrible and inexorably debilitating disease, she hesitated long enough that Cade answered in her stead.

“Being sick’s what made him fall. His arms and legs didn’t work too good no more, just like Mr. Gus.”

Cade picked up the sander, scrubbing too diligently over a step that was already smooth. Linsey stretched an arm across the staircase, and with her fingertips stroked the swirling hair on the back of his neck. A tender gesture that spoke more than words.

“How long is a long, long, long time, Linsey?” If Lincoln’s expression had been grim before, with this discovery his look took it ten times farther.

With her arms drawn tightly against her again, Linsey stifled a painful memory. “Two years for the worst of it. Longer for the less insidious progression. Before you ask why you weren’t told, remember how Lucky was. You were so strong, and he wanted to be like you, but he couldn’t. So he made up for what he lacked with pure courage. He didn’t want your help, Lincoln. Nor mine, until he had no choice. Even then, there were days…”

When she paused to gather her control, with new knowledge Lincoln saw beyond the surface fatigue of months to the deep, soul-searing weariness of years. Yet she could laugh and dance with her son on a ramshackle porch at sunset in a strange land.

With a toss of her head, Linsey gathered in her emotions, a gesture that sent her hair flying. As the morning sun struck a rainbow of shades of gold within its depths, Lincoln was reminded of a lioness. A proud lioness who fought for her mate and her cub.

An ache settled deep in his chest as he wondered if once she would have fought as courageously for him.

“There were days,” she began again, tentatively, unaware of the subtle shift in his regard. “Days when he was stronger, when he lived on determination alone, accomplishing amazing feats.” Throughout the revelation, Linsey’s stare was vague, unfocused. Now her head lifted, her gaze narrowed sharply on Lincoln. “If you remember any one thing about Lucky, remember his courage, and that he died as bravely as he lived.”

Lincoln found the blunt answer unsettling, too brief. He had a hundred questions, a thousand. But none for the boy’s ears. “All right.” Meaningless words. Nothing was all right. Nothing about this was clear. Nothing was resolved.

Casting a look at Linsey that promised there would be more, Lincoln turned to Cade. “Looks to me like you’ve finished that step. In fact, they all look good. Smooth and sturdy. No one’s going to fall through them or catch a splinter. Now we need to do something about the yard. What do you think?”

Cade squinted up at him, one sawdust-covered hand flattened over the crown of the hat. “We could mow it down.”

“Mow it down, huh?” Lincoln studied the yard as if considering the suggestion. “You mean with the tractor.”

“Yep.”

Lincoln almost smiled then, remembering the conversation between mother and son the night before. “Looks like a pretty big job. Think you could ride shotgun? A man never knows when he might need some help.”

“Could I?” Gray eyes that had grown brighter, gleamed like new silver. “Like on a stagecoach?”

“Will you promise to be very still and hold on?” Lincoln watched the little head bob. The hat toppled, and he scooped it from the ground. “Okay, partner. Now, if your mom will lend us a couple of sheets of paper from her tablet, I’ll fix your hat so it will stay on. Then we’ll get on with our work and she can see about her own chores. Deal?”

“Deal,” Cade said, and watched wide-eyed as Lincoln folded and refolded the papers Linsey supplied, tucked them inside the band of his hat, then set it firmly on Cade’s head.

“There.” With an expert touch he adjusted the hat at just the right angle. “How’s that?”

“My hat?” Cade whispered in wonder. “Is it really mine?”

“Sure. You don’t think I’m tricking you, do you?” With a hand curled around the boy’s neck, Lincoln led him to his mother. “Say goodbye and tell your mom not to worry, for we’re going to cut the trail as well and it will take some time. While we’re at the far end, we might as well stop over at Belle Reve. Maybe look at some horses, have some lunch. Would you like that?”

“Horses! Can I, Mom?” Cade practically danced in excitement. The hat didn’t budge. “Please, can I?”

Cade asked. Lincoln hadn’t. Linsey knew that if she was adamant, her refusal would be respected…and Cade would be heartbroken. “Okay, okay. But before you go, Cade should run inside and wash his hands.”

“His hands are fine, Linsey. If he washes them, they’ll just get dirty again. We do have water and soap at Belle Reve.”

“I want him to wash up now, Lincoln.” She’d kept virtually silent and had held her temper all day. Now her voice was harsh, her challenging stare unwavering.

“Do as your mother says, champ.” Lincoln didn’t look away from Linsey as they faced each other like prizefighters. “Make it quick—we’ve a lot of grass to cut.”

With an exuberant cry and a hug for his mother, Cade rushed up the stairs and over the porch. The door banged shut before Linsey spoke. “What do you think you’re doing, Lincoln Cade? Waltzing in here like you own the place. Enticing Cade with horses. Courting him like—”

“Like a friend who promised his father he would take care of you? Which, in my estimation, means the boy, as well.” Cade moved closer, watching the kaleidoscopic shades of gold shimmering in her hair, filling his lungs with the fragrance of Frannie Stuart’s wild rose concoction. The scent that still lingered in the house. Linsey’s life paralleled Frannie’s, and she was as strong. Wild roses seemed right for her.

“I won’t hurt him, Linsey,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper. “Whatever happens here, I won’t hurt him.”

“Whatever happens?” He was so close, if she caught a deep breath the tips of her breasts would touch his chest. If he leaned down only a little, she could run her fingers through the wealth of his hair and perhaps draw his lips down to hers.

But she didn’t catch a long breath, and his rigid posture didn’t bend. Her fingers were curled in tight fists by her side. Instead of softening in a kiss, her lips were clenched. Lincoln might be a friend, he might be her benevolent enemy. In either case, she must hold herself aloof, turning blind eyes to the mystique that had already enchanted her son.

“Why are you really here? What do you want, Lincoln?”

His gaze was as silver as Cade’s, and it was riveted on her. “I don’t know, Linsey. But I’ll be back tomorrow and the next day and the next. And every other day, until I do.”

“No.”

“Yes.” His gloved fingers circled the wrist of the hand she’d raised, not to strike him, but to ward him off. Linsey didn’t struggle, nor did he relent. “I love this place, it was more home to me than Belle Reve. Lucky was like a brother, and Frannie was the mother I never had. For them, for the boy, I’m going to put it back in shape. Make it a home he can be proud of.”

“Your practice…”

Keeping hold of her wrist, his fingertips measuring her racing pulse, he quirked his lips in a caricature of a smile. “That won’t work, sugar. My partner’s been trying to persuade me to take time off for months. Now I have. I’ll be here every day, all day, for as long as it takes. Just like I said.”

“I don’t need you,” Linsey cried in desperation, not really sure what frightened her most about Lincoln’s plan. “What’s needed here, I can do.”

“Can you?” Releasing her, Lincoln stepped back, his look harsh as it traveled the same path with the same thoroughness as it had when he first arrived. A look that tarried long on her lips and the straining of her breasts against a shirt worn as thin as gauze. “With what? You’re broke, Linsey. Every sign is there.”

“So what if I am? Until I find work, what I can’t afford we’ll do without. I will not take your charity, Lincoln Cade.”

“It won’t be charity.”

“What name would you give it?” she flung at him.

“Call it my gift to Lucky for—” Lincoln faltered.

“For what?” Linsey taunted. “What should I call it?”

“Try my thanks to the Stuarts for my life.”

The door banged, breaking the tension but not ending it. “I’m ready,” Cade called out. “I washed my face, too, Mom.”

Linsey turned toward Cade. “That’s good, tiger.”

It was Lincoln who ended the standoff by moving to the steps and catching Cade in the midst of another flying leap. Without an added word, he offered the boy’s cheek for his mother’s kiss, and as quickly as that, Linsey had a day alone.

As she watched their retreat, Cade’s arms locked firmly around Lincoln’s neck, she knew it would be a day of worry.

Four

Cade’s giggle drew Linsey to the kitchen window. A familiar sound since Lincoln had walked into his life weeks before.

Smiling in spite of nagging worries, she stood on tiptoe, leaning over the sink to get a better view beyond the sparkling window. For her effort, she was bemused as always by the powerful presence of the quintessential male. But not just any man or just one. Though she was reminded constantly that Lincoln’s unfailing presence was disturbing enough, life on the Stuart farm was not meant to be even that simple.

Instead, the power was fourfold and daunting, for her backyard was filled with Cades—with Lincoln and his brothers. Men who had been only familiar names in the years she and Lucky and Lincoln had been close. Now all four Cades were here, as they had been for days, each filling his own space with his own particular charisma. Each contributing some area of skill and expertise.

Adams, the oldest of the four, in response to Lincoln’s call for help, had drawn his crews from an antebellum town house he was restoring on the outskirts of Belle Terre. Under his direction a number of skilled artisans—carpenters, plumbers, electricians, and painters—had made quick work of what they did best. Restoring yet another pair of historic derelicts fallen victim to time and circumstance.

Of the house and barn, the house had been the first order of business. Anything broken, loose, rotted or just plain cranky had been repaired, replaced or soothed. The ancient exterior gleamed with a fresh layer of paint and the tin roof with its first. Stylish, historically correct shutters replaced the sagging boards that had served originally. Cobblestone walks and borders, and fences to keep deer from flower and vegetable gardens had been resurrected.

But it was the interior that astonished Linsey. With a small knowledge of furnishings gleaned from her travels in her lonely, footloose days, she had recognized that there had been good pieces left to time and chance in the old house. Abandoned yet protected, she believed strongly, by its proximity to Belle Reve and by fear of the wrath of the Cades. All of whom seemed to revere the farm for the woman who had lived there.

Once Frannie Stuart’s unsuspected treasures were refurbished by Adams’s skilled crews, she realized they were more than a reflection of Frannie’s taste, more than merely valuable. Many were antiques of the first quality. A part of Lucky’s heritage. His legacy to the child he’d loved and made his own.

Inspired by the discovery of marvelous family treasures, the artisans’ work had become equally more meticulous. As a fitting backdrop for this bounty, fresh coats of paint had been applied to every wall, countertops were replaced, and floors repaired and refurbished with such speed, it made her breathless remembering. There was more to do. But, wisely, Adams had suggested Linsey should make the more personal choices, then had left them to her.

Jackson, the fiery one, third in birth order and noted horse breeder, had seen to the land. Drafting Lincoln, along with his own people, he worked with fences enclosing more than a hundred acres of pasture and timber. Though appreciative, Linsey wondered what use she would make of those acres. Jackson offered the solution. By mutual agreement she would have an unexpected source of income from fees he would pay for grazing rights.

Jefferson, the youngest, whose quiet ways and gentle smile had set her more at ease than any of the Cades, had taken an old orchard and the landscaping as his project. Peach, apple, and pear trees were pruned. Pecan trees were squirrelproofed. A small vineyard became less like a jungle. Jefferson had even offered suggestions and help for plants for the house and gardens.

Miss Corey had been an absentee contributor to the cause. The housekeeper of Belle Reve, a woman Linsey knew only by reputation, dispatched her kitchen staff regularly with three hot meals each day. Morning, noon, and evening in a splendid, rainless period, Miss Corey’s fare was served on tables made of boards and sawhorses set beneath centuries-old live oak.