“Like the sirens of old.”
He nodded. “But I wouldn’t call it love. And with Becky, we were kids. It seemed intense at times, but it was nothing like what I had with Lura, or what I have with Jessica.”
A nautical clock on a wooden base rested on the center of the mantel. It had belonged to Ginny’s father, and she had long ago sent to San Francisco for it. Even though she had moved into town, she left the clock here because she said the clock was made for this hearth.
It chimed seven times.
“Seven o’clock,” Johnny said. “The sun will be rising in half an hour, or so.”
Ginny nodded. “We’ve been talking all night. And even still, you’ve really told only half the story.”
“That I have. But the other half will have to wait for another time.”
She said, “When I think of those days, packing up and leaving that little ranch house you had in California, and the group of us making the trek all the way here by covered wagon. And that first winter in this valley. When I think of those times, I realize how far we’ve all come.”
Johnny nodded.
She said, “You have built quite a family, John. That’s the true legacy, you know. Not the larger-than-life legend of the gunfighter. The so-called Gunman of the Rio Grande. Your real legacy is right here.”
Those were good words. They settled easily on Johnny’s heart and he found himself smiling.
He took a sip of coffee and looked at the fire.
He said, “I think about what Matt said, all those years ago. Calling me morose.”
“And how do you feel now?”
He let the question hang there for a moment, while he considered it. How did he feel?
“Happy,” he said. “I feel truly happy.”
Ginny smiled. “I’ve longed to hear you say those words. They were a long time coming.”
They sat, Ginny with her glass of wine and Johnny with his cup of coffee, and they watched the fire as it crackled in the hearth.
Johnny McCabe (The McCabes Book 6) Page 44
