The Legacy of Copper Creek

by R. C. Ryan

  “Oh. You don’t like pie?” Cara produced a bowl of warm cinnamon-spiced apple slices topped with a mound of whipped cream. “Would you like to taste this instead?”

  Though he looked doubtful, he took a small taste before making a little hum of surprise. “Wow. That’s good.” He turned to his brother. “Efan, you gotta taste this.”

  The six-year-old looked about as happy as someone being punished, but knowing everyone was watching, he followed suit and gave a quick taste. And then another. And another.

  Both boys stopped running and settled down next to the hearth to empty their bowls, giving little Sammy time to jump up on Brenna’s lap and promptly fall asleep.

  When Casey and Ethan had finished their desserts, they looked over at the sleeping puppy.

  Casey crossed the room and tapped a chubby finger on the pup’s head. “Can Sammy wake up and play some more?”

  Brenna gave him a gentle smile. “I think you and Ethan have worn him out. Look at that. He’s sound asleep.”

  Casey looked so unhappy, everyone started grinning.

  “Maybe you ought to take your cue from Sammy and think about sleeping, too,” Juliet called.

  “Oh, Mama. Not yet. Please,” came the plaintive cry.

  Whit shot a glance at Cara. “Maybe this would be a good time to try out your story on some kids who look like they need to settle down.”

  At his suggestion, Cara climbed the stairs to her room, returning minutes later holding her notebook.

  She turned to Ethan and Casey. “How would you two like to hear the story I wrote?”

  “Oh boy.” Casey clapped his hands while his brother merely smiled.

  Cara settled herself in a big easy chair next to the fireplace. The two boys needed no coaxing as Casey settled himself on her lap, and Ethan climbed up beside her.

  She opened the notebook and pointed to the first picture. “This is a story about a girl named Arac, who lives with her grandmother on an isolated ranch in Montana, and her adventures with her magic horse, Peg.”

  As she turned each page, Cara read them the tale of a timid, shy little girl afraid of everything. Thunder. Lightning. Strangers. Talking in the front of a classroom. But whenever she became afraid of something, especially something she thought was dangerous, she and her magic horse would put aside their fear to fly into the thick of things, saving a boy trapped on a train track just as a train roars toward him, snatching a small child from the jaws of a mountain lion, and even dipping into a mountain stream swollen from spring runoff to save a brother and sister who had fallen in and were about to drown.

  By the time she’d read the last page, Casey and Ethan had gone very quiet.

  She closed the book and turned to Ethan. “Well? Did you like my story?”

  He nodded. “I hope there’s more. I want to be Arac and ride on the back of a flying horse.”

  “So did I when I was your age.”

  “Is that why you wrote it?”

  She smiled. “I guess that’s why. I used to think that if only I had a magic horse, I could do anything. And, like Arac, I was afraid of everything.”

  “So was Efan,” Casey said. “Until a bad man stole him away from us. Then he was so brave. Weren’t you, Efan?”

  The six-year-old shook his head. “I was still scared. But my dad told me it’s all right to be scared, as long as we do the right thing. Isn’t that right, Mom?”

  Juliet felt tears fill her eyes. “That’s right, Ethan. And I’m glad you can finally talk about it. I’ve been waiting a long time for this to happen.” She turned her gaze on Cara. “I think your book may give a lot of children ideas about facing their fears.”

  “I hope so.” Cara turned to Ethan. “Now you realize that we’re all afraid of something. But we all have some magic. It isn’t a flying horse. It’s the courage that lies inside us.”

  Seeing the way little Casey was fighting to stay awake, Juliet crossed the room and lifted him from Cara’s lap. Over his head she said, “If you can hold the interest of these two for an entire book, I’d say you’ve written something wonderful. I hope you’ll try to find a publisher, Cara.”

  And then her smile bloomed. “Cara. Arac is Cara backward, isn’t it?”

  Cara chuckled. “I wondered when someone would figure that out. Don’t forget, I started writing this when I was just a kid. And since Arac was really me, I figured I’d just use my name, only backward.”

  Willow clapped her hands together. “What a clever little girl you were. Where did the horse’s name come from?”

  “Gram used to love it when I’d read her stories from Greek mythology. Pegasus was a winged horse. So my own flying horse became Peg.”

  “You should really try to get it published,” Willow said emphatically.

  Cara hung her head. “That was my idea. But now I think I need to face some hard truths. Dreams don’t always have to come true.”

  “What nonsense.” Mad gave a quick shake of his head. “I enjoyed your story every bit as much as the lads. And I agree with Willow. You should at least try to get it published.”

  Cara gave him a sad little smile. “Thank you, Mad. Even if it never happens, just hearing you say that has made my day.”

  “I’m glad, lass. And now I’m heading off to my bed.” The old man turned his scooter while calling over his shoulder, “If anyone can spare the time, I’d like to fly over to Hope Ranch again tomorrow. I have a lot to catch up on.”

  Ash stood and caught Ethan’s hand. “I’ll be here bright and early to fly over with you, Mad.”

  “Bless you, lad.” The old man gave a wave of his hand as he scooted through the doorway.

  The others followed, calling out their good nights. While Juliet carried Casey and Brenna carried the sleeping Sammy, Ash and Griff had their heads together, discussing how soon they thought Mad might be able to pass his test and reclaim his pilot’s license.

  Willow got to her feet. “I think my own bed will feel very welcome tonight.”

  She climbed the stairs, while Brady bid good night and made his way in the opposite direction.

  Myrna stifled a yawn as she padded off to her room, leaving Whit and Cara alone.

  When Cara began loading the trolley with dishes, Whit stopped her. “You’ve done enough.”

  As he began pushing the cart toward the kitchen, she trailed behind. “And you haven’t?”

  “I’m used to hard work. I’m afraid this is all going to catch up with you.”

  “Whit.” She put a hand over his, stilling his movements.

  When he paused to look at her, she said, “You’re not obligated to help me. This is your home. I’m just working here.”

  “What if I wanted more than that for you?”

  She took a step back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He kept his gaze steady on hers. “I know you have dreams. And I don’t want to step on them. But what if…” He chose his words carefully. “What if you had the chance to stay here? Would you?”

  “Stay here? As the ranch cook?”

  “Maybe more than the cook.” Seeing the confusion in her eyes, he shoved the trolley roughly into the kitchen and waited for her to follow.

  When she did, he turned to her. “Look, I know that you were hurt by your shabby treatment at the hands of Jared Billing—”

  She lifted a hand to his mouth to halt his words. “I don’t want to talk about him again. Not ever. He’s a mean, cruel, selfish jerk, and I’ve given him way too much power over my thoughts.”

  “All right.” He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Then let’s talk about us.”

  “Us? There is no us, Whit.”

  “What if I want there to be?”

  “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I want to. I want to know that scared little girl, and that talented artist, and the gifted chef who came along just at the right time in our lives, when we were about to lose our ranch cook. I want to
know the compassionate woman who puts a glow on Myrna’s face with every generous act. And most of all, I want to know the first woman ever to have me waking early every morning just so I can see her gorgeous face.”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it.

  He gave her one of those heart-stopping smiles. “What’s this? Is Cara Walton actually speechless?”

  “I…” She blinked furiously to hide the tears that had sprung to her eyes. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “Obviously. I’d better take advantage of the moment while I can.” He reached out and gathered her close.

  Against her mouth he whispered, “More than anything else, Cara Walton, I want to kiss you. I have to. Right this minute.”

  His lips moved over hers with a hunger that caught them both by surprise.

  He lifted his head and stared down at her, all the while framing her face with his big hands and skimming his mouth over her eyes, her cheeks, the corners of her mouth, before kissing her again until they were both struggling for breath.

  “Cara Walton.” He whispered her name like a prayer. “What am I going to do about you?”

  She stared up at him with eyes that had gone all soft with wonder. “You might try kissing me again.”

  “I will.” His mouth roamed her face before dipping lower, to the little hollow of her throat, where her pulse was beating furiously. “But I’m not sure kissing you will be enough.”

  “Whit.” She could barely get the words out over the feelings that were clogging her throat, making her voice a hoarse whisper.

  “Shhh.” He pressed a kiss to her pursed lips. “Let’s not waste our time talking when we could be doing things that are much more fun.”

  He reached for the buttons of her shirt and opened the first, and then the second, all the while keeping his gaze fastened on her.

  “Do you know that you have the most expressive eyes?” He undid the last button of her shirt and began sliding it from her. “And, I might add, the most gorgeous body.”

  His lips burned a trail of fire down the long, smooth column of her throat, and then lower, across her collarbone, before dipping lower.

  His voice was warm with humor. “What’s this? Why, Goldilocks, you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you? Who would have believed that beneath that very modest shirt you wear lace?”

  He reached up to unfasten the little wisp of nude lace that barely covered her breasts, freeing them for his touch.

  For a moment he merely stared at her. Then, with a sigh of pure pleasure, his hands were on her, touching, tasting, until she leaned her head back, giving him easier access.

  In a haze of passion, they were nearly crawling inside one another, wanting more.

  Her arms were wrapped around his waist, as though to keep from sliding helplessly to the floor. He gathered her close, his mouth on hers, his big, work-worn hands moving along her back, igniting fires wherever they touched. And they touched her everywhere.

  They were so lost in their own pleasure they barely heard the sound of Mad’s scooter heading directly toward the kitchen.

  At the last moment Whit lifted his head.

  Dazed, Cara looked confused as Whit bent and scooped up her shirt.

  Without a word, he eased her arms into the plaid shirt and managed two buttons before the door opened.

  Both of them turned toward the sound.

  Mad was smiling. “Thought I’d have the place to myself.” He touched a control and rolled across the floor, reaching into a cabinet and removing the bottle of scotch.

  He turned to the two, who were gaping at him in complete silence. “Going to enjoy a nightcap. Care to join me?”

  Whit regained his composure first. “Thanks, Mad. I think I’ll just go on up to bed now.”

  “Cara?” Mad held up a tumbler. “A nightcap before bed?”

  She swallowed. “No, thank you, Mad. I’ll just clean up here and then get out of your way.”

  “You’re not in my way, lass. If I can’t talk either of you into joining me, I’ll just take this to my room.”

  Whit caught Cara’s hand. “There’s no need to clean these dishes now. Why not leave all this until morning?”

  “I…suppose I could.”

  Whit turned to his grandfather. “Good night, Mad.”

  He waited until Cara followed and then closed the door behind both of them.

  In the kitchen, the old man poured himself a tumbler of whiskey and took a small sip, and then another, before allowing the laughter to bubble up and spill over in a warm growl.

  Oh, the sight of the two of them had told such a story. Guilt. Frustration. Humiliation.

  And on the face of his grandson, a teeth-gritting determination to make the fastest getaway in history so he could continue what had been so thoroughly interrupted by a meddling old man.

  He thought he’d detected a bit too much embarrassment on the face of young Cara. The lass would no doubt take a great deal of persuasion to pick up where she’d left off. His poor grandson might just have to bide his time and look for another opportunity.

  And then he caught sight of a bit of lace lying on the floor where only minutes ago Whit and Cara had been standing.

  He rolled closer and picked it up before setting it on the table, where Cara would be sure to find it before the others were awake in the morning. There was no point in having anyone else spot it before the lass could claim it.

  His laughter rumbled up again, just thinking about what he’d interrupted.

  Oh, to be that young and that caught up in the whirlwind, the chaos, the wonder and the misery of the first throes of love.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Long before dawn, Whit was up and dressed for chores. After the long night he’d put in, there was no point in trying to stay in bed. He needed the release of hard work.

  He couldn’t blame Cara for his frustration. No amount of charm could persuade her to continue what they’d begun in the kitchen. Poor Goldilocks was mortified to have been caught by Mad in such an awkward position.

  Whit grimaced as he stepped into the kitchen. Though he wasn’t happy about last night’s intrusion, he’d been caught by Mad in embarrassing situations before and was still standing. He’d long ago learned that his grandfather’s bark was worse than his bite. Besides, there had been a look in the old man’s eyes. As though he knew exactly what he’d interrupted and wasn’t a bit sorry for the intrusion.

  Whit spied something out of place on the table and walked closer.

  He stared at the lace bra, seeing in his mind the scene from the previous night. He’d barely managed to get Cara’s shirt around her before the door had opened. At the time, he’d thought how clever he’d been to cover their tracks. Apparently not nearly clever enough.

  He tucked the bra into his shirt pocket, to spare Cara any more embarrassment. If she knew that Mad had left this here for her, she’d be too humiliated to face him. Now, of course, he’d have to find a way to return this to her room. The perfect excuse to get her alone.

  This couldn’t have turned out any better if he’d planned it himself.

  Whistling a little tune, he sauntered out the back door toward the barn.

  As he began his chores, he found himself grinning. Last night he’d gone to bed thinking how clever he’d been to look cool and collected in front of his grandfather, and all along, Mad had known exactly what he’d interrupted.

  That sly old fox. There wasn’t much that got by the old man.

  Cara heard the door shut and sat up in alarm.

  She’d hoped to be up ahead of everyone, but after a night of tossing and turning, she’d finally fallen asleep, only to wake later than usual.

  After a quick shower, she dressed and hurried down the stairs to start breakfast.

  She set thick slabs of ham on the grill, along with sourdough bread, before slicing mushrooms, onions, tomatoes, and cheddar cheese for the omelets she was planning.

  Along with the freshly squeezed orange
juice, she set out tall, frothy glasses of milk and a carafe of coffee.

  By the time the others began gathering around the big harvest table, the room was perfumed with the wonderful fragrance of a hearty breakfast.

  “Well. Good morning, lass.” Mad steered his scooter through the doorway and reached for a mug of steaming coffee.

  “Morning, Mad.” Cara slipped her hands into oven mitts to remove fresh cinnamon rolls.

  “This place smells heavenly,” Willow called as she helped herself to a glass of orange juice.

  “It’s the cinnamon.” Cara drizzled a sweet glaze over the rolls before setting them on a plate.

  “It’s everything.” Willow put a hand on Cara’s shoulder as she moved to her place at the table. “You certainly know your way around a kitchen.”

  “Thanks.” For the first time, Cara looked up and caught Mad watching her.

  Taking a deep breath, she smiled and walked closer. “What can I get you, Mad?”

  “Nothing, lass.” He paused a beat, about to say more, when Whit stepped into the mudroom and began washing at the big sink.

  Cara turned, fascinated, as always, by the sight of all those muscles straining the sleeves of his shirt. She was reminded of last night and the way those arms had felt holding her close. What a temptation he was turning out to be.

  It wasn’t just that toned body. It was the whole package, she thought. The hair, in need of a trim, curled over the collar of his shirt, with an errant lock that spilled over his forehead as he bent his head. It was those long, lanky legs in faded denims. That hard, flat stomach under the plaid shirt that was never quite tucked in. And the quirky humor always there in his eyes.

  Whit strolled into the kitchen. Though he called out a greeting to all, his gaze never left Cara, causing her cheeks to burn. When Myrna started to pass through the room with an armload of laundry, Cara stopped her in midstride and relieved her of her burden, grateful for the distraction of Whit’s knowing look.

  When Myrna was seated at the table, Cara began passing around platters of food.

  “Did I hear you up early, lad?” Mad helped himself to an omelet and a thick slab of ham.