It Takes a Man

by Cheryl Pierson

  IT TAKES A MAN

  by

  Cheryl Pierson

  It Takes a Man by Cheryl Pierson

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright© 2013 Cheryl Pierson

  Cover Design Livia Reasoner

  Sundown Press

  www.sundownpress.com

  All rights reserved.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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  Derrick McCain let go a low curse as he finished saddling his horse, then turned toward the roan his mother would be riding.

  He should have gone back a long time ago, Derrick thought. Right after he found out whose son he truly was—not the man he’d always thought of as his father…and that was a blessing.

  The grim-faced Cherokee messenger, Austenaco Little Horse, stood stoically in the corner of the barn, watching. Derrick could feel his old childhood friend’s thrumming impatience from across the room.

  Austen had appeared on their doorstep in the middle of this November night, apparently expecting them to be ready to ride with no more than five minutes’ notice.

  Derrick’s father—his real father—was sick. He pressed his lips together as he remembered the words Austen had spoken.

  “Collin Ridge requests you come at once—with no further delay.” There’s been a slight emphasis on the word further, and Derrick knew it was aimed at him. Yet, his mother had looked down quickly when the words had been spoken—as if she felt their sting in her conscience, as well.

  “We must hurry,” Austen urged, and Derrick couldn’t help but wonder if things were even more dire than his friend had led them to believe. Of course, for him to knock on the door in the darkness of night, things had to be pretty bad from the outset, he reminded himself. He tried to put a lid on his temper, knowing that a big part of his short fuse was due to his own anger at himself—and in not having gone back to Indian Territory sooner, before his father had had to summon him to his sickbed.

  Derrick finished saddling the gentle roan in silence, not answering Austen’s prodding. It would take a few minutes to prepare everything they’d need to take—and everything that had to be left behind, as well, since there was no way of knowing how long they’d be away.

  “I’m ready,” Fiona McCain said from the doorway of the barn.

  In the dim light of the lanterns, Derrick saw she carried a small duffel bag of provisions and another containing what he could only surmise was clothing and personal items that a woman might need. Her eyes were anxious with a mixture of worry and anticipation. It had been over seventeen years since she’d seen Derrick’s father—the man who still held her heart.

  Yet, even though Derrick had tried to confront her with the knowledge of his parentage, she’d put him off, not wanting or allowing an honest conversation between them. Derrick had tried twice—the first time had been several months ago when he’d come home from chasing Jim Danby’s gang into the San Bois Mountains—just after he’d learned the truth.

  Fiona had pulled him to her and hugged him, saying simply, “I’m so glad you’re home safe, Derrick.” Then she’d gone to cook dinner, dodging the questions he put to her.

  A few months later, his sister Kathleen had been kidnapped by Danby’s surviving cutthroats who now followed Clark Davis. Again, he’d broached the subject, and again, Fiona had side-stepped the questions as elegantly as a dance master teaching a novice the steps to a waltz.

  No more than six weeks from that aborted conversation, here they were, preparing to travel several days of hard riding to get to a man that his mother refused to discuss.

  Why?

  “We can stop by Kathleen’s on the way out of town and let her know to come see to the livestock,” Fiona said calmly. “Give me a hand up, son. It’s been a while since I rode Betsy.”

  Derrick laced his fingers together and Fiona stepped into his palms, boosting herself up into the saddle. She looped the drawstrings of the bags securely around the saddle horn and rode out of the barn without looking back.

  Austen shook his head. “She’s just like I remembered, Derrick.” A faint grin touched his mouth. “She hasn’t changed. And neither have you.”

  Derrick blew out the lamps, leading his horse to the door. Austen walked beside Derrick into the darkness.

  “Yeah, Austen, I’ve changed.” He swung up into the saddle as Austen did. “Seventeen years—no way a man can stay the same that long.”

  “Not in the middle of a war,” Austen agreed.

  But there was more than the war, Derrick thought. And more than the passage of time. There was finding out you weren’t who you thought you were.

  Derrick remained silent, turning his horse southward, toward the outskirts of Wolf Creek, Kansas, toward what had once been his home…Indian Territory.

  ****

  Five days later, they rode into the small settlement of Porum, Indian Territory. The late afternoon sun colored the buildings like a painting, and Derrick was struck by the changes that had taken place in the years since his family had left there.

  Fiona had drawn Betsy up on the rise. Her gaze swept over the activity below, and even farther beyond, where she knew the Cherokee village of Briartown lay.

  Her breathing hitched and she squared her shoulders before starting forward once more. In that gesture, Derrick realized how uncertain his mother was about the wisdom of what she was about to do. Yet, there was no choice.

  Austen wisely said nothing, his dark stare penetrating, meeting Derrick’s own for a moment, then sliding away from scrutiny.

  They rode down from the top of the ridge into the settlement. Many of the original buildings were still here, Derrick noticed, as well as several new additions and expansions. Obviously, the community was thriving, though it looked to be smaller than Wolf Creek.

  No one spared them a second glance. Fiona rode slowly, and Derrick wondered if she was hoping to see a familiar face among the people on the streets.

  Derrick looked at the faces, too, but for a different reason. The unexpected appearance of Jim Danby’s gang in Wolf Creek had taught him a lesson he’d never forget. No matter where he went, now, he’d always look for faces from his past. Things had changed in his life, and he wasn’t about to let the man he’d once been catch up with the man he had become. It had taken too long to reconcile the two.

  Anxiety clawed at his insides. What would they find in Briartown? Would his true father already have died? He wanted badly for this reunion to take place, and selfishly, not because of what it might mean to his mother.

  He’d spent a lifetime knowing he was different and somehow, never fitting in with his family. Charley Blackfeather, the Seminole scout, had commented often on his “Cherokee face”—so often, in fact, that Charley called him Cherokee rather than by his given name.

  When they’d pursued Danby’s gang only a few months past, Derrick had run into someone who had solved the puzzle—an old childhood friend from his days in Indian Territory. Carson Ridge had told him the bittersweet truth—he and Derrick were half-brothers, both sons of the Cherokee statesman, Collin Ridge.

  Derrick glanced sideways at his mother. She was still a beautiful woman, despite the hardships she’d faced. Had she ever been in love with her husband, Andrew McCain? His sister, Kathleen, had spoken of a letter she’d found in Fiona’s jewelry casket—a letter that their mother had written to he
r husband. In it, she’d spoken of her love for Collin Ridge and the son that belonged to them—Derrick. She’d written of dreams that had never come true, and of her wish to go back to Briartown and re-establish a relationship with Ridge, the man she loved. But, she’d never done that—even after Andrew McCain’s death. Why not?

  She must have loved Collin beyond anything, to risk an illicit affair with him. She’d become pregnant with Derrick. He’d always felt the difference of his parentage, and had never been close to his brothers or the man he thought of as his father. What could his mother have done? She’d been trapped, just as he had been.

  As Derrick watched her, now, he sensed anticipation, along with the insecurity that anyone in her situation would feel. Still, Ridge wouldn’t have sent for her had he not wished to see her, to speak with her.

  And him, Derrick thought. What could a father say to a grown son? A flash of envy shot through Derrick as he thought of the conversations he and his half-brother, Carson, had had this past summer. So many misunderstandings and deceit had nearly burned a bridge that Derrick hadn’t even known existed.

  Why hadn’t he gone back sooner? Once he’d known, what had held him in Wolf Creek?

  Surely, his father must be wondering the same thing…

  His thoughts cleared as they neared the end of the Main Street shops and the horses and conveyances became easier to navigate. They headed out onto the open plains once more, toward Briartown. A small enough distance separated the Anglo settlement of Porum from the Cherokee one of Briartown; an ocean of distance—and difference— inside his own chest at the knowledge that he had a foot planted in both worlds, now.

  As they closed the gap, Derrick began to think of the things he wanted to say to Collin Ridge. For words of needing and hoping, the time was past. Regret for what he’d missed would always be with him. But now, there might be time to look toward a future, and a heritage he’d not claimed.

  If he dared.

  ****

  They rode into the village, Fiona’s head raised proudly as she met the eyes of some of the women she had known before, when her husband had been the headmaster at the Cherokee school.

  The three of them were an open curiosity. It was clear to Derrick that the entire population must know that Ridge had sent Austenaco for them. Again, that feeling of not belonging washed over him. He thought of his friend, Charley Blackfeather, a half-breed of a different sort. But where Charley had been raised, half-Black, half-Seminole had been accepted. In the white world, half-anything would never be more than tolerated.

  Derrick tried to settle into his own skin as well as he could under the circumstances. At least, he was not in any danger here.

  They stopped in front of Collin Ridge’s large wood cabin, where Austen and Derrick dismounted. Derrick helped Fiona down, her eyes meeting his. There was an awkward silence, and she started to speak, but then decided against it.

  “You will go in first, Mrs. McCain, and we will wait at my home,” Austen said, giving Derrick a quick look. “This, according to Mr. Ridge’s wishes.”

  “Certainly,” Fiona murmured. She started for the door, climbing the three steps to the veranda. Before she knocked, she turned back to look at Derrick. “Your questions will all be answered soon, Derrick.”

  At that moment, the door swung open, and Rella, Ridge’s youngest daughter, greeted Fiona somberly, her gaze taking Derrick and Austen in as they stood beside their mounts.

  “Father will see Mrs. McCain alone, first.”

  Fiona walked into the house, the door shutting behind her with a soft click. There was nothing to do now but wait.

  ****

  “Hungry?” Austen asked. There was amusement in his tone, and when Derrick turned to look at him, the warm light of laughter shone in his dark eyes. “If you’re not yet, you will be before Ridge will see you.”

  Derrick raised a brow, and Austen laughed. “You didn’t think they’d catch up on over seventeen years of separation in the blink of an eye, did you, Derrick? Ridge’s wife passed over two years ago. McCain has passed, as well. There is nothing standing in their way any longer.”

  Derrick bristled, stepping closer to his old friend. “What the hell does that mean?”

  Austen shook his head. “Come on. You can eat with us tonight. You and I haven’t talked much on this journey. You’ve been…preoccupied.”

  Derrick gave a low laugh. “Rude, you mean. I’m sorry, Austen.”

  Austen started walking, and Derrick fell into step with him.

  “I married Josie Martin—do you remember her?” He went on without waiting for a response. “We have three children, and a fourth on the way.”

  “Josie Martin…” Derrick mused. “Haven’t seen her since she was a kid. She was younger than Kathleen!”

  Austen gave him a wounded look. “Only by a year!”

  Derrick laughed again. “So you’re a family man, now, Austen?” Derrick couldn’t help but think of how wild Austenaco Little Horse had been as a young boy; a daredevil, willing to do just about anything.

  Austen smiled, leading his horse down the rough street toward his home. “Yes, I’m a family man, as you call it.” He fell silent a moment before he went on. “I had demons inside my soul, from the time I was very young. But somehow, Josie quiets them and eases my path in life. She’s younger in years than I am, but older in her wise way. It was she who came to me with a marriage proposal.”

  “She must’ve gotten tired of waiting,” Derrick said.

  Austen grinned. “That’s just what she said to me. She was in love with me and wanted a life together; that I needed to stop thinking of her as a child.”

  Derrick’s lips quirked. “And then?”

  “And then…” Austen stopped, turning to look at Derrick, “she showed me how much of a woman she was.” He started walking again. “We were married the next week.”

  “Congratulations. You seem…happy.”

  Austen stopped in front of a small house. “I am.” His eyes bored into Derrick’s. “Josie saved my life, in a way. There’s no telling what might have happened to me without her.”

  “And your children—”

  “Let me tell you something, Derrick. Each of my children is different. Each one is special. I love them all, but in ways that are different. Mary is the eldest. Her beauty shines in her eyes. Her spirit is steadfast and unwavering. Benjamin, my son, is two years younger. He’s much like I was—he reminds me of me.” He gave a wry laugh. “But I understand him. And I know how he thinks. He would give his life for his family. His loyalty knows no limits.”

  “Again, like you.” Derrick had not forgotten the way Austen had jumped to his defense on more than one occasion, even though he had been a couple of years older than Derrick.

  “Yes. It is a good quality—and one that is undervalued at times.”

  “What of your youngest?”

  Austen’s face sobered. “Sarah. She is the scholar in our family. As young as she is, she is learning the history of our people; the stories and customs that we must keep alive.” Austen glanced at the door. “Come. I’ll have Benjamin see to our horses. Josie will be glad to see you again.”

  The door opened as Austen and Derrick stepped forward, and there was an eruption of excitement as the house emptied. Austen’s three children raced out to greet him joyfully. Behind them, Josie stood on the porch, very pregnant, and Austen hurried toward her to keep her from coming down the steps.

  But it was the other woman who stood quietly behind Josie, to the left, that made Derrick’s heart race, his breathing all but stop.

  She was taller than Josie, but there was no doubt they were related. They had the same beautiful glow in their eyes, the same gentle smile.

  Derrick stood back, not wanting to intrude on Austen’s reunion with his family. Austen murmured something quietly to Josie and she glanced at Derrick, her smile widening.

  “Come here, Derrick McCain,” she called to him in Cherokee. “You’ve changed s
ince you’ve been gone from us.”

  Derrick smiled. “So have you, Josie.” He came forward slowly. “When I left, you were one of the pesky children we were always trying to dodge.”

  Josie pecked Austen on the cheek as he put an arm around her. “Yes. This one finally slowed down enough for me to catch up with him.”

  Austen sighed in mock resignation. “And look at me now, Derrick. Just miserable.”

  Josie laughed lightly, reaching to hug Derrick briefly as he came up onto the porch, then turned back to her husband. “I’ve got stew ready and I just made fresh fry bread. Maybe that will help you forget your misery, eh, Austen?”

  Austen laughed. “I’m sure it will.”

  As Derrick’s gaze went to the young woman behind Josie, Austen hurried to introduce them. “Derrick this is Josie’s cousin, Leah Martin. I’m…not sure you’ve met—”

  Derrick put out a hand to take hers. “No. I would’ve remembered.”

  “As would I,” she answered softly, with no hint of coyness.

  Her hand rested in Derrick’s for a moment longer than might have been proper, cool and soft. He had to stop himself from letting go abruptly when he recognized the playful reproach in her eyes. She subtly moved her fingers and he released them gradually.

  “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, Mr. McCain.”

  Austen held the door open for Josie and Leah. As Derrick walked through, he gave his old friend a sideways glance. Austen wore a slight smirk that Derrick recognized, but he said nothing. The two little girls clung to their father, and Austen spoke swiftly to Benjamin, instructing him to take care of their mounts before picking up his youngest and carrying her inside, his big hand on Mary’s shoulder.

  After the men washed up, they returned to the table to find large bowls of stew set out along with the fresh fry bread. Derrick sat across from Austen, the aroma of the stew so savory he wasn’t sure he could wait for it to cool.

  He hadn’t been this hungry in a long time, and he realized a big part of that was feeling so welcome—so at home. He was accepted here. Leah and Josie sat at the table, though they had already eaten.