by R. C. Ryan
Brady started for the door. “Come on, boys. It’s time I drove you home.”
The three of them followed.
As they settled into the ranch truck for the long drive back, the three kept up a rambling conversation about the punches they’d thrown, the cowboys who were considered stand-up guys for fighting alongside them, and those who had sided with Luther.
When they’d talked themselves out, Brady was grinning.
“What’s so funny?” Whit demanded.
“The three of you. If I didn’t know that you and Ash had been apart for the past nine years, and that neither of you had met Griff until this morning, I’d think you’d been loyal brothers for a lifetime.”
The three men fell silent, each lost in thought.
It occurred to Ash that Brady was right. He and Whit and Griff had forged a bond tonight. A bond that might not be the same as having spent the last years together under one roof, but a bond nevertheless.
Then, as Brady fiddled with the radio, and Patsy Cline sang about being crazy, his thoughts drifted to Brenna. The press of her body beneath his. The dazed look in her eyes when she’d realized how recklessly she’d behaved.
To save his hide.
The thought had him grinning through his pain like a lovesick fool.
She might have already agreed to marry someone else, but she still had some feelings for him.
Old feelings, as he well knew, could run deep and true.
Mad rolled himself into the kitchen and poured three fingers of Scotch. Sometimes, when the pain in his old bones woke him from a sound sleep, his only relief was a stiff drink.
He sat in front of the wall of windows and stared out at the starlit sky. Maybe he should have gone to town with the lads. Hell, he’d wanted to. But he hated leaving Willow alone here. It was too soon. He needed to be here for her, just in case. Besides, he reminded himself, it was a chore for the lads to take him anywhere these days. The lifting, hauling, more lifting weren’t only an effort on them but a constant humiliation for him, as well. How he hated being cared for by others. For a man who’d prided himself on his physical prowess, these paralyzed limbs were a painful reminder of how quickly life could change.
He heard the low rumble of a truck’s engine, and the crunch of tires on gravel, and glanced at the clock. The lads were home earlier than he’d expected.
He turned as the door opened. Seeing Ash, his hand holding the tumbler halted halfway to his mouth. Then he spotted Whit, Griff, and Brady, and a half grin tugged at the corners of his lips.
“Should I ask to see the other lads? I hope they look worse than the lot of you.”
Ash shot him a grin. “Much worse, Mad. You would’ve had a grand time watching from the sidelines.”
“From the looks of you, I think I’d have had to step in to save your hides.”
Whit chuckled. “No need. Brenna Crane did that for you.”
“Brenna?” Willow’s voice from the hallway had them looking over. As she stepped into the kitchen, tying the sash of her robe, she studied their battered faces. Except for raising a brow, she made no comment.
“Sweet Brenna decided to warn Ash about Luther Culkin, who was sneaking up from behind with a broken bottle. And for her effort, she nearly got clobbered by a flying chair.”
Ash rubbed his tender shoulder. “It missed her and hit me, instead.”
“Sounds like a barrel of laughs.” Willow turned to Brady, her eyes stormy. “I thought you were going along to see to their safety.”
He merely smiled, though even that small movement had his jaw protesting. That cowboy from the Lazy J packed a punch. “I said I’d go along to drive them home. You know that once a MacKenzie feels insulted, there’s no stopping the fireworks.”
“Which of you was insulted this time?” Willow demanded.
Whit glanced at Griff. “Luther called him a bastard, and then had a few things to say about Pop. You wouldn’t expect me to allow that to go unchallenged, would you?”
Mad caught Willow’s eye and winked, defusing the charged atmosphere in the room. “I’d say you lads handled it exactly the way your father would have. I hope you reimbursed Wylie for any damage.”
“We did. And even covered any beer sales he may have lost during the brawl.”
“And Brenna?” Willow asked. “Did you see that she got home safely?”
“Her fiancé hustled her out of there so fast, we didn’t have time to thank her,” Whit said with a grin. “And from the look on his face, he wasn’t happy to see his future bride lying on the floor under my big brother.”
Willow turned to Ash, who merely shrugged. “Don’t worry, Mom. There wasn’t time for any…hanky-panky. I was just shielding her from debris.”
Mad took a moment for a long, satisfying drink of his Scotch. “Not that hanky-panky would ever enter your pure mind, laddie.”
“She’s engaged to another guy, Mad.” Ash’s tone was angrier than he’d intended.
“And that’s got your temper up, has it, laddie?” Mad’s eyes danced with humor. “As far as I know they haven’t said ‘I do’ yet.”
Willow put her hands on her hips and speared her father-in-law with a look. “I think we’ve all had enough fun and excitement for one night. It looks as though all Bear’s sons will be sporting bruises at his funeral.” She turned on her heel. “Good night.”
“’Night,” they called.
When she was gone, they said their good nights to Mad and made their way to the stairs.
In the kitchen, Brady twirled his hat around and around in his hands until they were out of earshot.
The old man looked up expectantly. “Was it a good fight?”
Brady nodded. “You’d have been proud of them, Mad. Whit took on Luther for the things he suggested about Bear and Griff’s mother. When it got ugly, both Ash and Griff jumped in. I held back until I could see they needed a hand. But they were all capable of holding their own against a room full of angry cowboys.”
Mad’s eyes danced with unconcealed joy. “I wish I’d been there.”
Brady touched a hand to his tender jaw. “I know I’ll pay hell tomorrow. But for now, I have to say it was a satisfying end to the evening. And Mad, in case you haven’t noticed, you’ve got yourself a houseful of good men.”
After Brady let himself out, Mad sat alone, nursing his drink and thinking about the son he was about to bury.
Odd, he thought. Life was strange. He’d lost a son and gained a grandson. And from the looks of the other two, they were beginning to accept Griff as one of the family.
Nothing like a good knock-down, drag-out fight to bring out the best and worst in a man.
He drained his tumbler in one long swallow and rolled his wheelchair toward the suite of rooms that had been built for him on the main floor. Sleep, he knew, would be a long time coming. But at least everyone was home now. All his chicks home to roost.
All but one, who would never walk through that door again.
That knowledge was a blow to his heart, swift and terrible.
Chapter Eight
Every pew in the Copper Creek Church was filled to overflowing. The MacKenzie family was the closest thing to royalty in this part of Montana, and ranchers and their families had come from a hundred miles in every direction to bury their king.
Brenna sat next to Chris near the rear of the church and watched along with everyone else as the casket of Bear MacKenzie, flanked by Brady Storm and five wranglers, moved in solemn procession along the center aisle.
The stern image that Bear MacKenzie showed the world dissolved in Brenna’s mind, replaced by the kind, considerate man few had come to know as personally as she had. After Ash’s abrupt departure from Copper Creek and from their lives for all these years, she and Bear discovered that they shared a bond not shared by many. They both missed him and grieved deeply, and they had actually consoled each other. It wasn’t something she was comfortable sharing with Chris—or, for that matter, with anyone
.
Directly behind was Willow, walking between her sons, Whit and Ash, with Maddock’s wheelchair being pushed by Griff Warren.
Once Ash came into view, Brenna couldn’t look away. The sight of those broad shoulders, that thick, dark hair that curled slightly over the collar of his starched white shirt, had her riveted.
He glanced around, as though searching the crowd for someone. When his eyes met hers, he gave a brief nod of his head before moving on.
It was enough to have her shivering yet again, as she’d been for days now.
It had been bad enough when they’d met in the street on the day of his return. But the incident at Wylie’s was so deeply imprinted on her mind, she couldn’t shake it. The strength in those hands as they’d clutched her and taken her down in the blink of an eye, saving her from that chair tossed like a missile. The press of that hard, muscled body on hers as he’d shielded her from harm. The touch of his work-roughened hand moving along her spine, causing a rush of heat to spiral through her in a torrent of raging fire. Added to that was the wonderful feel of his calloused hand on her cheek, as gentle as a snowflake, when he’d looked down at her with such tenderness, such concern. And the deep timbre of his voice asking if she was truly all right.
And, of course, that almost-kiss. The moment his mouth brushed hers, she’d wanted him to crush her against him and take the kiss deeply, until they were both lost in it.
It shamed her to realize that even now, seated in a church, about to witness the burial of a man held in esteem by an entire town, she couldn’t stop thinking about Ash and the way she’d felt in his arms.
Chris had been furious at her involvement in the brawl. And still was. He’d gone on and on about the sort of crazy woman who would place herself in jeopardy when fists and even chairs were being thrown.
She knew she’d done a dangerous, foolish thing. But in truth, she would do it again.
Chris was an outsider. Maybe that was why he didn’t understand the sort of loyalty she felt for someone she’d once loved.
Once loved.
At least that was what she tried to tell herself. Ash MacKenzie had left her without a word of good-bye. There hadn’t been a single letter in all the years he’d been gone, proof of how little she’d really meant to him. She’d been cut to the depths of her soul by his callous behavior.
She felt a sense of pride that despite his ill treatment of her, she hadn’t died of a broken heart. Instead, she’d learned to live without Ash. Had made a good life for herself, despite all the obstacles in her way. It was natural to want to step in and help when he was threatened. It didn’t mean that she was willing to set herself up to be hurt again.
Or was there more going on than she was willing to admit?
She’d been having this argument with herself ever since Ash had returned to Copper Creek.
Had she been living a lie? She’d convinced herself that she was over Ash, but now, seeing him again, she was suffering terrible guilt. He’d used her badly. Had left her without a word, and though there must have been plenty of opportunities to contact her, he’d never even tried. What kind of fool would set herself up for even more abuse? Hadn’t there been enough in her life? And yet, seeing Ash again, and allowing that scene in Wylie’s to play through her mind again and again, she wondered about her very sanity.
As the eulogy was given, and the music soared, Brenna saw Ash whisper something to his mother. Saw Willow nod and wipe a tear with a lace handkerchief. Saw Ash’s strong arm around his mother’s shoulder. And deep inside, something twisted in Brenna’s midsection.
Chris idly caught her hand in his and looked over with a smile, and her feelings of guilt deepened.
She’d accepted a marriage proposal from a good man. And why not? She was twenty-six years old, and she had every right to find happiness where she could. But right now, right this minute, she was riddled with doubt. Though she’d convinced herself that she’d completely stopped loving that quick-tempered, hard-headed boy who had stolen her heart when she was just eight years old and he was ten, she wasn’t so sure anymore. How else to explain why, from the moment he’d returned to Copper Creek, he’d completely taken over her mind? If she wasn’t very careful, and very vigilant, she could very easily give him control over her heart and soul, as well.
The Copper Creek Cemetery stood on a windswept hill behind the church. It was a pretty place, with a wrought-iron fence and weathered monuments dating all the way back to the 1800s. Here and there ponderosa pine trees spread their branches, casting shadows on crosses and marble angels. An occasional granite bench offered rest for those who came to visit and leave flowers on the graves of loved ones. Every Memorial Day—which the folks in Copper Creek still called Decoration Day—the town showed up to mark the graves with flags and wreaths, and the high school’s lead trumpeter would play taps.
A small canopy had been erected at the gravesite to shield the family from the elements. But the weeklong rain had fled, leaving only a soft spring breeze and warm sunshine.
After the graveside ceremony was concluded, the townspeople left to conduct business, and the ranchers and wranglers returned to their never-ending chores.
As the MacKenzie family made their way down the hill, Ash spotted Brenna and Chris walking toward them. In Brenna’s hands was a large box.
Willow paused to embrace her. “Brenna. How nice of you to come.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Brenna greeted the others and introduced them to Chris before holding out the box to Willow. “I thought you might like to have this.”
Willow opened the box to reveal a sculpture of Bear waving his hat in the air while astride a bucking horse. “Oh, my.” She studied it carefully, noting the triumphant look in his eyes, the charming smile parting his lips.
She handed it to Maddock, who turned it this way and that in the sunlight in order to see all the finely sculpted details.
“Brenna, you’ve captured Bear so completely, it’s uncanny.” Willow smiled at the young woman. “When did you do this?”
“I photographed him last summer at the rodeo, and when I showed it to him, he asked me to make a sculpture of it as a birthday gift to you. I showed it to him last month, when it was nearly completed, and he was delighted.”
“So am I. Oh, Brenna.” At a loss for words, Willow gathered her close and pressed her lips to the young woman’s temple. “How can I possibly thank you? It had to take so much of your valuable time to make. Will you let me pay you for it?”
“Knowing you like it is all the payment I want.”
“Like it?” Willow’s voice rang with passion. “I absolutely love it. And to think that Bear had commissioned it as my birthday gift means the world to me.”
Brenna’s smile deepened. “I’m so glad now that I brought it.”
Chris added, “I told her not to bother you with it today. I said it was too soon, and might cause you pain.
“Pain?” Willow turned to study the sculpture, which Mad was still holding. “Just looking at it makes me smile.”
Willow put an arm around the young woman’s shoulders. “We’re going to the Boxcar Inn for lunch. Please join us.”
Chris shot a look at Brenna and was already shaking his head in refusal. It was obvious that they’d made plans of their own.
Brenna considered refusing. It was on the tip of her tongue to make her apology and leave with Chris, but one look at Ash, standing to one side, staring at her so intently, his sorrow a palpable thing, had her saying rashly, “We’d love to. Thank you.”
Their little party walked through the town until they came to the diner, which had been made from a train’s boxcar, complete with faded red paint and a Santa Fe logo on the side.
Inside it looked much like a train’s dining car, with booths along each side of the main aisle, and small windows above each booth.
The food was simple fare, featuring burgers, fried chicken, and homemade soup. Even the pies were baked fresh by the owners, Will
and Nell Campbell. Will had retired after thirty years with the railroad, and he boasted to everyone who would listen that instead of leaving the railroad, he’d brought it home with him.
After they had all given their orders, Brenna sat back and studied the MacKenzie family.
Willow looked as model-stylish as ever in a trim black suit, her hair straight and loose the way Bear always liked it. Maddock and his grandsons were dressed in dark suits and ties. Brady Storm wore a dark Western suit and string tie, his boots polished to a high shine. Myrna was dressed in a dark, shapeless dress with a pretty pearl brooch pinned to the lapel.
When Brenna spotted it she smiled. “What a pretty pin, Myrna.”
The old woman touched a hand to it. “Bear’s gift to me on my birthday last year. It’s my favorite. I thought I’d wear it in his honor. You know, I think Bear enjoyed everyone else’s birthdays more than his own.”
Willow ducked her head, but not before they could see the tears that sprang to her eyes.
“So, Chris.” Maddock looked at the young man beside Brenna. “You’ve decided to settle here in Copper Creek?”
“I won’t be settling anywhere for quite a while. This is just a temporary stop.” Chris accepted a glass of water from Nell Campbell.
Mad winked at the young man. “I see. You hoping to run the Farm Bureau one day?”
“Why not? Why settle for less than the top job?”
Maddock chuckled. “Why indeed?”
To change the subject, Brenna turned to Whit, hoping to keep the conversation light and impersonal. “I just found a book out in the barn I absolutely know you haven’t read. And since you like to have several in your saddlebags when you’re up in high country, I thought I’d save it for you.”
“Thanks, Bren. I appreciate that. I’ll stop by your place some day this week and pick it up.” Almost as an afterthought he asked, “What’s it about?”
“As if you care,” she smiled and they shared an easy laugh. “So far you’ve read my how-to manuals on sculpting, my biography on Abraham Lincoln, and even those dog-eared copies of my favorite historical romances.”
