The Deardons Complete Mini-Series

by Kelli Ann Morgan

  “I think we’re safe now,” she said, unable to keep the chuckle from her voice.

  Lucas released her hand to open the door. “After you,” he said with a wink.

  She stepped inside and showed him the bowl in the sink where he could put the eggs.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” Tillie marched from behind the counter and led Brewster back outside, then dusted off her hands and looked up at Lucy. “How many?” she asked as she broke off another section of dough and added the rolled ball to the pan without missing a beat.

  “Ten.”

  The plump cook grunted in satisfaction. “Now, I need those boxes.”

  “Oh, yes, we were just heading up for them.” Lucy untied her apron and returned it to the hook on the other side of the pantry, then looked up at him. “We have to go up into the attic.”

  She showed him through the house, smiling at how wide his eyes grew when he realized there was an indoor privy with an extensive adjoining room for bathing. They passed by the library, the formal dining area, and the staircase on the far side of the house.

  They climbed two flights of stairs before they reached the small door leading up to the attic.

  “They’re just in here.” She stepped into the garret and climbed the few steps that led up to the main floor. The musty smell of memories long forgotten welcomed them.

  Several boxes and dusty crates were stacked along the perimeter of the spacious room, offset only by a few pieces of old furniture and a child’s rocking horse.

  “Looks like a bunch of old junk. Why would Granddad keep it?” Lucas ran his finger across the top of the timeworn desk, leaving a trail where he’d wiped away the thick layer of dust.

  A large casement window, thick with dirt and cobwebs, caught Lucy’s attention. She trod across the creaky wooden floor and wiped a small section of grime from the glass. The view looked out over a far pasture where the horses could be seen running through and playing in the fresh snow. She jiggled the operator handle, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Let me try.”

  She turned and stood, nearly crashing into the broad expanse of Lucas’s chest. She looked up, her mouth suddenly dry.

  “I’m sorry, I…” she couldn’t finish her thought as her gaze turned to his mouth as it slowly descended toward her. She bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes. Waiting.

  “I think it just needed a little nudge.”

  A wisp of cool air rose up her back until it caressed the bare skin at her neck. Her lashes fluttered open and she found herself, back pressed against the inside window sill, mere inches from Lucas’s large form.

  “It’s a nice view.” He took a step backward, away from her, a grin spread across his face as he shoved his hands into his pockets, exhaling heavily. He locked eyes with her for a moment, then turned to glance over the rest of the attic.

  Lucy’s heart beat with incessant rhythm and she brought a hand to her throat, playing with the lined edge of her dress there. She managed to smile back at him, but could not force herself to move.

  He laughed as he strolled along the walls of boxes. “What’s this?” He pointed at one of the crates. It looked more like an old traveling case. ‘Gabe Deardon’ was clearly stenciled on the side. “I think it belonged to my father.”

  The air in the attic had grown nippy, so Lucy turned enough that she could crank the window shut.

  Lucas tried to pull the trunk out from beneath a few boxes that had been stacked on top, but when he yanked on the handle, it came apart and he flew backward into the old desk and knocked a stack of papers out of one of the cupboards. He shook his hand as if he’d hurt himself in the process.

  “Are you all right?” Lucy found her feet and made her way over to him, stopping to gather the stray papers and letters that had scattered on the floor. She quickly picked them up and shoved them into one of the slots on the desk.

  “Fine. It just smarted a little.” One by one, he took the boxes from on top and set them on the ground until the worn, brown trunk was exposed. He carefully pulled it from its resting spot and set it on a small end table next to a torn fainting couch and sat down.

  “I imagine there are a lot of things up here that belonged to your father,” Lucy said, scanning the rest of the items that had been stored. Several looked promising, but she feared her curiosity would get the better of her and they would spend the rest of the day looking through these old things.

  “What of your father? How did you come to be at Whisper Ridge?” Lucas asked as he fiddled with the latch on the trunk.

  “My father is a very busy businessman in New York, increasingly so since my mother passed a few years ago.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Me too. She was a wonderful, kind, and very beautiful woman.”

  “Like her daughter.” Lucas smiled and warmth spread throughout Lucy’s body.

  “Once my father remarried, I spent much of my time looking after his new wife’s three darling children.” She was careful to keep the sarcasm from seeping into her voice. Truth was, the children had been quite a challenge for her and while she’d yearned for her father’s affections, it had soon become apparent that what love he’d once had for her had died along with her mother. She’d become nothing more to him than a nanny for his new children.

  The latch gave way and Lucas carefully lifted the lid to the trunk.

  “And you decided the fresh Montana air would do you some good?” He pulled her from her unfortunate memories.

  “That’s a story for another day.” She didn’t want to tell him how she’d travelled across the country as a hopeful bride, only to be rejected and stranded in a new place at the mercy of his grandfather with nothing more than a trunk full of unrealized dreams. She nodded toward the open case.

  Lucas pulled out a small, cinched leather bag with an ‘L’ carved into one side. He ran his fingers over the engraving.

  “My marbles,” he whispered, closing his fist over the pouch. He pulled out a slingshot, a wooden stagecoach, and a bilbo catcher. “Granddad kept all of these things?” His voice was quiet and a sense of nostalgia immediately filled every corner of the room.

  “Who is this?” Lucy reached into the trunk and pulled out a photograph. “She’s very pretty.”

  “On the outside maybe,” Lucas scoffed as he continued to dig through the other items in the trunk. “I don’t believe it.”

  Lucy returned the photograph to the trunk, but couldn’t help wonder if it was his mother—the one who’d abandoned her husband and small children.

  “What?”

  He held up an almost new copy of Dumas’s Count of Monte Cristo.

  “It was Henry’s,” his said as he flipped through the pages. “Look, he’s even made notes in some of the margins.” He opened to a page where pencil scribbles dictated the thoughts of its reader. “Do you think Granddad would mind if I kept this?”

  “I think Liam would be happy you found it.”

  He closed the trunk and stood up.

  “I hope so. Henry would have liked that we found it.” He placed the book in the back band of his trousers beneath his belt. “Now, I believe we had some boxes to collect.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Lucy pointed to the empty crates in the corner, but as she passed the desk, her eye was drawn to one of the letters she had picked up from the ground, sitting cockeyed from the rest. She reached out and pulled the yellowed envelope from the disheveled stack and a photograph slipped out. As she bent down to pick it up, she turned the envelope over to inspect the writing.

  Whittemore

  New York

  Her family’s name, on her mother’s side. She flipped the photograph over. There, staring back at her, was the image of her grandparents, her mother with a fellow she didn’t recognize, and a much younger Liam Deardon holding a little girl. Her. She reached for the desk to support herself and felt around for the narrow chair, unwilling to take her eyes from the photograph.

  Impossible
!

  She quickly pulled the letter from the envelope and scanned the contents.

  March 7, 1843

  Dear Mr. Liam Deardon,

  Words cannot express the deep gratitude and respect I have for you. For a man of your position and power, it would have been easy to walk away after my wife’s father, Mr. Joseph Whittemore, died unexpectedly, but you honored the promise you made to watch over and keep his family safe. I know, firsthand, the great lengths you went to in order to secure Claire a husband worthy of her. To this day, I am unsure that I could ever be as much as she deserves, but I love her and have cherished every moment we have spent together. I am forever grateful for the trust you placed in me.

  I regret to inform you that I have taken ill and can no longer be the protector and provider I once was. The doctors tell me I will not live to see our precious baby girl’s third birthday. I ask in earnest that you continue to watch over my beloved Claire and our little Lucy after I am gone. They mean more to me than life itself. Please let them know how very much I loved them. I know it is unfair of me to place this burden on your shoulders, but you are the only one I trust to see it through. Thank you.

  Sincerely,

  Adam Prescott

  Lucy reread a portion of the letter over and over, unable to fathom the truth of its contents.

  …our little Lucy

  …our little Lucy

  “…our little Lucy,” she said aloud.

  It can’t be.

  “What was that?” Lucas asked, coming to stand behind her. He pointed to the signature. “Do you know him? Adam Prescott?”

  “I think…” She shook her head in disbelief. “I think he was my father.”

  “But I thought—”

  “I have to go.” She jumped to her feet, the letter clutched to her chest, and picked up her skirt as she ran down the attic steps and out the small door toward Liam’s quarters.

  “Who is Adam Prescott?” Lucy asked, gasping for air as she burst through the door to Liam’s room.

  He sat in a chair at the small table next to the hearth, overlooking the north pasture where the horses still frolicked. He still looked weak, but she needed answers.

  She tossed the letters and the single photograph she’d discovered in the attic onto Liam’s lap. “Who is Adam Prescott?” she asked again, more quietly this time.

  He gave a resigned chuckle. “Come sit, Lucy.” He pointed to a chair opposite him, picked up the old photograph, and rested his wrists on the table, caressing the picture.

  “Your grandfather, Joseph, and I grew up in the same little town back East where we did everything together. We were inseparable, Joe and I. Even as we got older, we worked the same jobs, attended the same college, and courted the same girls.” Liam set the photograph down on the table and looked at Lucy.

  She leaned forward like a child might upon hearing a tale of adventure being recounted in great detail.

  Cough.

  “One day, a little over a year before you were born, a young painter by the name of Samuel Morse approached us and told of an electrical instrument he was working on that could transmit messages over a wire that would allow folks to communicate quickly with others in distant towns.”

  “The telegraph.” It would explain how Liam had his own personal telegraph in his study.

  “Yes. Joe and I were intrigued and pooled some of our substantial funds to invest in Morse’s vision. Well, your grandfather died before that dream was realized, but not before I promised him that I would always take care of his family.”

  “And Adam Prescott?” Lucy stood up, too anxious to sit, and moved over next to the window.

  “Adam was one of many prospective suitors who wanted Claire’s hand in marriage. He was educated and refined with a good standing in society, but it was not his wealth and status that impressed me, but his strong character and unfailing kindness toward others. I knew he would do right by your mother.”

  “So, Adam Prescott is…” She needed to hear him say it.

  “Your father.”

  Lucy closed her eyes. A weight lifted from her chest and she knew that it was true. She’d had a father who’d loved her ‘more than life itself.’ She just believed it about the wrong man.

  “And Gerald Russell?”

  Lucy’d had a pleasant childhood. The man she’d grown up knowing as her father had never been cruel or harsh in any way, and had always provided for her needs, but there had always been some intangible thing standing in the way of the relationship she’d hoped they would have.

  “By the time Aaron’s letter reached me, more than a month’s time had come and gone.” Liam got to his feet, and joined her at the window.

  Cough. Cough.

  “I sent an immediate response by courier, requesting to have Claire come here, to Whisper Ridge, but never heard a word.”

  Lucy turned to look up at Liam. Dark circles draped his eyes.

  “You invited us to come live with you?”

  “Yes. I had a promise to keep.”

  She turned back to look out the window. Lucas had captured the attention of his horse in the pasture below and proceeded to saddle him. He led the unique chestnut gelding into the corral and mounted. He trotted around the perimeter of the enclosure for a bit, then the rider disappeared from view. She scanned the corral, but there was no sign of him on the ground and instinctively she moved closer to the pane of glass. Seconds passed and he was again astride his horse. She watched more closely as he rode a short spurt, and then dismounted at a run. He’d repeated his exercise a few times, adding a new little trick with each stint, before she realized Liam was watching her, not his grandson.

  “He’s a good man, you know.”

  Lucy glanced over her shoulder at him. She knew she should let him rest, but it was as if her whole life was being unfolded before her eyes and for the first time, she had a place where she felt like she belonged.

  Cough. Cough.

  “You should rest. Build up your strength so that you can watch the tournament tomorrow.” Lucy guided him back to the large, four poster bed and pulled back the bedcoverings. She stoked the fire in the hearth and then leaned over and kissed her benefactor on the forehead. “You are a good man, Liam Deardon.”

  “I never stopped trying, you know.” He grabbed ahold of her hand. “For years, I sent out letters, hoping to find what may have happened to young Claire and her child, but it wasn’t until I received a short post from your stepfather that I learned of your whereabouts.”

  “He told you about my advertisement.”

  “Yes. And I knew I had to do for you what I’d done for your mother all those years ago.”

  “You’ve done more for me than you will ever know. And I will find my true love. I don’t need your meddling to do it.”

  “Lucas is the man for you, Lucy girl. I know it.”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks and she smiled at the thought of him.

  “Maybe, but—”

  “You know it too.” Liam shot up, looking more spry than she’d seen him since he’d returned. “You love him.”

  “How can I love a man I’ve only just met?” She crossed the room, picked up the pitcher of water, and poured him a glass.

  “When it’s right, you just know, lass.”

  “Shhh…” she glanced at the open door to make sure no one was listening. “Don’t you try your brogue on me. It won’t work. And you just keep those fancy notions to yourself, Mr. Deardon.”

  “Aye, lassie, but take my word, there’ll be a weddin’ here before spring.” His impersonation of the accent was as good as any Scot’s she’d ever heard.

  She glanced out the window again.

  Not if Lucas has anything to say about it.

  Chapter Twelve

  A good ride was just what Lucas needed to get the charming Lucy Russell out of his mind. He pulled his tack down off the hook in the barn and carried it out to the pasture gate where he’d let Adonis out to run with the other horses this mo
rning.

  If he wasn’t careful, he just might find himself falling for the light-haired beauty. There was something about her that threatened everything he believed about not being ready to get married and if he didn’t stop thinking about her…well, he was playing a very dangerous game. It had taken everything he had to keep himself from going after her when she’d bolted from the attic. Something she’d found had upset her, but he was the last person who should comfort her. Instead, he’d just grabbed the empty crates and delivered them downstairs to Tillie in the kitchen.

  Lucas climbed up onto the bottom rung of the gate, whistled loudly, and waited, scanning the immense pasture for any sign of the chestnut Quarter Horse with his exceptional cream-colored mane.

  Brewster sprang from his hiding place under the porch and happily joined Lucas at the gate, his tail wagging happily.

  “Good boy,” Lucas said, vigorously rubbing the dog behind the ears. “Where’d he go, Brew, huh?” His brother’s would poke fun if they heard how he spoke to the pup.

  The crisp whinny of his horse pulled Lucas back into a standing position and he smiled as Adonis cantered toward him. They’d worked on several tricks before they’d left home, but it had been a while and with the unfamiliar surroundings, he had been unsure whether or not the gelding would recognize the call.

  After saddling his horse, Lucas led Adonis into the empty corral and mounted. His shoulder was a little stiff, but felt strong enough to practice a few tricks. He kissed the air, nudging the horse from a walk, to a trot, and then a light canter. They circled the corral a few times before he slid off the saddle to one side, holding himself tight against the side of the horse. A few seconds later, he pulled himself back up into the seat and continued at an even pace. The unusually warm sun peeked out from behind a billowing streak of cotton in an otherwise cloudless sky, but the melting snow didn’t seem to bother the gelding in the slightest.