Even so, she was not prepared when the end came. Jack awoke her from an exhausted sleep at three in the morning to warn her that it was time, and together they alerted the rest of the household. When her father slipped away at twenty past three, they were all there with him.
Afterwards, Abby refused to leave, needing to be alone with her father. She sat numbly with him, holding his hand until the sun came up. When she finally emerged, having said her goodbyes, Mac was waiting for her.
He put his arm around her cold shoulders, and led her into the kitchen. Calla was there, making breakfasts. Without a word, she put a large mug of tea and a bacon sandwich in front of Abby.
Abby picked up the big mug, thankful for the warmth in her cold hands, but looked in revulsion at the sandwich.
“Please, Abby,” Mac coaxed. “Try to eat something. You need to keep your strength up.”
To please him, she took a few bites, forcing them down with gulps of tea. She was vaguely aware of the anxious looks Mac and Calla were sharing, but she felt so detached from everything, it didn’t seem to matter.
Finally, she said, “I think I’ll go to bed.”
Mac nodded. “You do that, honey. A good sleep will help.”
She dropped into a dreamless, exhausted sleep, and awoke hours later. For a moment, she lay looking at the ceiling, feeling rested and at ease, thinking it was morning.
But then she noticed the quality of light in the room, and realized it was not morning. Moreover she could hear movement in the house, distant voices from outside. And then suddenly, it all came crashing back, the events of the night, and the loss of her father.
On a strangled sob, she rolled over burying her head in the pillow. He had gone. She was alone in the world. Curling into a tight ball, she cried so hard that she could barely breathe, her distress a knot of pain in her chest.
Finally, exhausted, the storm passed. With hiccupping sobs, she got up and walked on automatic pilot into the shower. As she stood under the stream of hot water, she thought about what to do.
Now that her father had gone, there was no reason to stay. Mac was no blood relative; he shouldn’t be burdened with looking after her. Oh, they had been close, but it wasn’t as if any real commitment had been made between them. And most of all, she wanted to be alone, in the house where she had grown up with her father, to be where he had been, to see if his spirit still lingered somewhere in the old homestead.
She dressed, and then headed downstairs, not questioning why the ranch was so quiet. Unnoticed, she went out to the trucks. Mac wouldn’t mind if she borrowed one.
The journey home was uneventful. She arrived at the homestead and noticed absently that the animals were missing. Vaguely, she recalled Mac saying that he’d send people over to look after them, but there was no sign of anyone. It didn’t matter. She was glad the place was empty.
She walked inside. The place was clean and tidy, ordinary. It felt as if her father might walk through the door any minute now, as he had done countless times before. She swallowed back a sob as she realized that he would never walk through that door again.
Slowly, she climbed the stairs and went into his bedroom. It still smelled of him. Unhooking his bathrobe from the back of the door, she sat on the edge of his bed and breathed in his scent. Instantly, she was transported back to her childhood, to her father cuddling her on his lap in the evenings, whilst her mother made dinner. Anguished, she held the robe tight against her as the tears flowed.
Finally, she went downstairs and put the kettle on. As she looked out of the window, she recalled Mac sitting in the kitchen with her. She should probably call him to let him know where she was, she thought absently.
Suddenly her attention was caught by a movement behind the barn. For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw a man. With a sickening lurch, she remembered that cattle rustlers were in the area.
Meanwhile, news had reached the ranch that the rustlers were close, and were likely to strike that night. Teams of cowboys and deputies were deployed, and now hid in barns across the property.
Mac, in his study, was coordinating the operation. He was just checking in with each group when Calla burst in.
“Mac!”
“Calla, what is it?”
“It’s Abby. She’s gone.”
“Gone! Gone where?”
“I don’t know. I went to take her a drink, and she wasn’t there. One of the trucks is gone.”
Mac felt the blood drain from his face. Unless he missed his guess, Abby had gone home. She would expect to find his men there, not knowing that he’d brought them back to the ranch. And the rustlers were out there, too, trigger-happy and ruthless. He dreaded to think what would happen if they got hold of a lone woman.
Sweat beaded his brow as he called up the sheriff, who immediately agreed to send men to the homestead. But it would take them an hour to get there. Too long, thought Mac, desperately. Quickly, he told the sheriff that he would meet them there. The sheriff protested that it was too dangerous, but Mac wasn’t listening. It was his fault that Abby was out there unprotected. He’d known she was upset; he should have kept a better eye on her.
He left Jeb in charge of coordinating the men as he grabbed his rifle, leapt into a truck and set off. He had the most terrible feeling, and he hoped desperately that it was only his overactive imagination frightening him.
But he knew it wasn’t as he approached the long road to the homestead and heard gunfire. Slewing to a halt, he grabbed a gun and set off on foot. As he approached, he could see that someone was firing from the homestead upon men near the barn. His gut clenched as he realized it was Abby.
Keeping low, he edged towards the back of the house. Finally, he reached the back entrance and called out, “Abby, it’s me.”
“Mac!” Her heart lurched. What was he doing here? He could get hurt!
He threw himself into the house, staying low. Abby was crouched below the sink in the kitchen, a rifle in her hands.
“I’ve shot two of them,” she muttered, reloading. “They’re near the barn. I’m not sure how many–”
“Eight.”
“Eight!”
A burst of gunfire interrupted them. Abby spun around, returning fire. Mac moved into position beside her.
“Did you come on your own?” Abby breathed.
“Yes. The sheriff’s men are on the way, but I was closer.”
“Mac, I’m sorry–”
“It doesn’t matter.” He settled his rifle and took aim, waiting for someone to make a move.
It seemed like an eternity before the sheriff arrived. They did their best to keep the rustlers corralled near to the barn, not realizing they’d been unsuccessful until they heard a commotion on the back porch. A shot rang out, and a bullet hit the sink by Abby’s head. She flinched as a shard of porcelain cut her cheek, and Mac grabbed her and thrust her to the floor.
Then they heard shouting, and realized that, in the nick of time, the rustlers had been intercepted by the deputies.
They stayed low, guns aimed at the door, until the sheriff shouted that it was safe.
Slowly, they sat up. Mac pulled Abby into his arms, and kissed her with a ferocity that shocked her. She clung to him, kissing him back desperately, horrified that her own actions had put his life in danger, giving thanks that he was safe and unharmed. Helplessly, she ran her hands over his broad shoulders and muscular arms. It was unthinkable that this precious, wonderful man might have been injured because of her.
“You shouldn’t have come,” she whispered. “You might have been hurt.”
“My life wouldn’t have been worth living if anything had happened to you,” he said gruffly. “I should have taken more care of you.”
She stared at him. “You saved my life. I wouldn’t have been able to hold them off much longer.”
“If I’d been more careful, you wouldn’t have been here in danger at all.”
Abby looked away. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said. “I
was upset. I just wanted to come home, to be near him. I forgot about the rustlers, until I saw one by the barn.”
Mac sighed. “I know, sweetheart. Listen, will you come back to Lone Star with me? I’ll leave some men here to repair all the damage for you.”
Abby looked down at her hands. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to look after me. I’m a grown woman, and now that Dad’s gone–”
With a muffled curse, Mac pulled her into his arms. “I have never, will never, feel obligated to look after you. But I care about you. I want to be with you. Please. Give yourself a chance to recover.”
Abby hesitated, and then nodded. The shoot-out had made her feel fragile and vulnerable, and she just wanted safety and comfort. And nowhere felt more comforting than being at Mac’s side. “Okay. If you don’t mind. For a little while.”
He smiled. “‘For as long as you want, honey.”
The next few days passed quietly. A doctor was called in to put a couple of stitches into Abby’s cheek, which he said cheerfully should heal without a scar. Mac was gentle and supportive, making arrangements for the funeral, whilst being careful to check they were exactly what Abby wanted. In private, he was kind but distant, and Abby thought he seemed unhappy.
A week later, Abby stood beside Mac at the funeral of her father. Jacob and Lucy were there, as well as quite a few of the townspeople and ranchers from all over the state. The ceremony was quiet and dignified, remembering a man who’d lived a long, honorable life. It did not escape anyone’s notice how Mac offered Abby his arm, or how she leaned on it as she cried quietly.
Afterwards, everyone met at the Lone Star for refreshments, and to give their condolences to Abby. It was a comfort, of sorts, to know how much people had respected and admired her father, and to hear them reminisce about his exploits as a younger man. But it was still difficult for Abby to contemplate life without her father, to know that for the first time in her life, she was truly alone.
Exhausted by the emotional trauma of the day, Abby went to bed early. For a while, she lay in the dark room, looking into the shadows, trying not to think. She felt alone and afraid, cold to her very depths. It was as if she had lost her emotional compass, and her sense of disorientation was acute.
Worse still, she was haunted by thoughts of what might have happened to Mac at the homestead. She had been criminally foolish and thoughtless to go out there when the rustlers were nearby, and none of Mac’s excuses about her being upset washed. By not thinking, she had put Mac’s life at risk.
She touched the small wound on her cheek, tight and itchy now as it healed, recalling how close the bullet had been to hitting her. But if it had been a fraction to the right, it would have hit Mac. Nausea churned in her stomach at the thought. If anything had happened to him, she would have wanted to die.
As it was, guilt burned inside her like acid, corrosive and agonizing. She didn’t know how to relieve the pain. Every time she closed her eyes, images of Mac, wounded or dead, confronted her. Her carelessness could have killed him.
She wondered if his distance was because he was angry with her. She had broken his cardinal rule spectacularly, putting both of them at extreme risk of harm. Perhaps she had messed up so badly that he no longer wanted her at all.
At the homestead, she had said she would stay for a little while. Maybe now that her father’s funeral was over, it was time to move back. She didn’t want to outstay her welcome, and she knew Mac was too much of a gentleman ever to ask her to go.
Biting her lip, she realized that she didn’t want to leave the Lone Star. Ever. She loved Mac so much that the thought of being parted from him was like a raw physical wound. But if he didn’t want her to stay, it might be better to make a clean break.
She said as much to Calla the next day as they peeled potatoes ready for dinner. “I… I was thinking I might make a move back to the homestead soon.”
Calla’s face fell. “Really? I thought you were happy here. And it’s been wonderful having another woman around.”
Abby laughed. “It’s been great for me, too.” She sobered. “I don’t want to be a burden. Mac’s been wonderful, but I think he’s fed up now.”
“Fed up, with you?”
Abby nodded, unhappily. “He’s been so kind, but he’s withdrawn and he feels so… closed. Maybe… he’s angry with me because I went to the homestead.”
Calla’s features softened in sympathy. “Honey, haven’t you noticed how protective Mac is of his people? How he looks after everyone? His parents were the same. When they died, he was only eighteen. He appointed Jeb to manage the ranch and joined the army. Went through the ranks rapidly, was in charge of men, saw combat. When he came back to us, he’d grown up, but it was as if his protective instincts had been honed. He looks after his own, honey.”
“But I’m not his–”
Calla chuckled. “In his head, you are. Haven’t you seen the way he looks at you? He’s a discreet man and I’ve never seen him with a woman, but he looks at you as if you’re the answer to all his prayers.”
Abby felt a warm glow steal over her. Was Calla right? Did he really want her, even now, after she’d let him down? “But… if you’re right, why is he so withdrawn?”
Calla sighed. “My bet is that he’s not angry with you for going to the homestead. You were in shock, and grieving. No, what’s eating away at him is that he didn’t protect you. He thinks he should have kept a better watch over you.”
“But… but that’s ridiculous. He was trying to deal with the rustlers.”
“Honey, you know that and I know that. But in here–” Calla put her fist over her heart, “he doesn’t know it. He’s blaming himself for you being in danger. I guess it’s what could have happened that’s killing him.”
The conversation gave Abby food for thought. Could it be that both of them were tortured by the same thing – the possibility that they could have lost each other because of their mistakes? There was only one way to find out.
That evening, after dinner, Abby gathered her courage and asked Mac if she could talk to him. His eyebrows rose. “Sure, sweetheart,” he said easily. “You can always talk to me. Let’s take our coffee into the den.”
As she followed him into the cozy room, her mind skittered back to the night of the spanking, on that very sofa. She recalled him bending her over his lap, and her stomach knotted at the memory. A wave of heat swept over her. The experience had been painful but cathartic. Afterwards, she had felt so liberated from her worries. That thought made her pause.
Mac sat on the sofa, and gestured for her to join him. “You wanted to talk?”
Abby hesitated. “Yes.” She swallowed. Now that she was on the spot, it was amazingly difficult to find the words. “First of all, I… wanted to talk to you about what happened at the homestead.”
Mac tensed. “What about it?”
“Since it happened, I haven’t been able to sleep. I keep seeing… you, what might have happened to you. You could have been killed!” Tears filled her eyes at the thought. “You could have been killed and it would have been my fault!”
For a moment, Mac looked stunned, and then he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as she cried. “It’s all right,” he soothed. “Nothing happened.”
Forcing herself to calm down, Abby pulled back. “Is that how you feel? That it’s okay, because nothing happened?”
A muscle clenched in Mac’s jaw, and his eyes wouldn’t meet hers.
“Well, is it?”
“No,” he said, and there was agony in his voice, his expression. “It’s not okay. I promised you I would be there for you, and I wasn’t. I should never have left you unsupervised when you were so distressed.”
“And I should never have put you in that position.”
“You couldn’t help it. Your father had just died, it was natural to want to go home.”
“Yes, but I should have thought–”
“No, I should have thought! It was my fault.”
/> “No, it was mine.”
They halted, staring at each other. He swallowed. “We both blame ourselves.”
“Yes.”
He raked a rough hand through his hair. “I feel as if I’ve let you down.”
Abby nodded. “I know you do. That’s why you’ve been so distant, isn’t it?”
He sighed. “I didn’t mean to be. But I guess so. I’m sorry.”
“I wondered if… perhaps… you would prefer it if I went back home? I know I broke your greatest rule, I let you down, too.”
“No!” He caught her hands in his. “Please, don’t go. You didn’t–”
“I did.” She swallowed. “I can’t go on like this. I feel so guilty. So angry with myself. I need… I need…”
She stumbled to a halt, and Mac felt her small hands clench in his. “What do you need?” he asked softly.
“I need… you … to spank me.”
There was a pregnant silence. Mac felt as if he had been punched in the solar plexus. Finally, he said, “You need to be spanked? For breaking our rule?”
“Yes!”
“But you did it under the worst of circumstances. I can’t–”
Abby looked him straight in the eye. “Yes, you can. You need it and I need it. We have to let all this guilt go. Help me. Teach me never to be so thoughtless again.”
Indecision flickered across his features.
“You told me that spanking was for my own good. Last time, you carried on to help me to release my feelings.”
He nodded.
“So help me again.”
He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, she could see that the decision had been made. His face hardened, and he got up and swiftly locked the door.
Abby quailed at his grim expression. This was not going to be a spanking like last time, when he had readied her for his hand, and soothed her fears. This time, she could see that it was going to be an expression of their mutual anguish and guilt.
He sat on the sofa. “Bend over, Abby.”
Trembling, she bent over his knee, squeezing her eyes shut as he raised her skirt. Her hands clenched. “Ready?”
Teaching Abby (Lone Star Family Values) Page 5
