A Lady For Lincoln Cade. Bj James
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nod and another touch at the brim of the Stetson accompanied a softly drawled recognition, “Boy.”
“Sir.” Cade smiled courteously, Linsey’s rigorous training not deserting him even in awe.
“Do you know who I am?” Lincoln addressed the spark of recognition in the boy’s face. To Linsey, who had never forgotten the cadence of his voice, it held the whet of strain.
“Yes, sir.” Cade’s head bobbed, confirming Lincoln’s speculation as dark hair fell over his eyes. With curled fingers, he brushed it back. “You’re Mr. Cade. Once upon a time, when trees burned, you and Lucky jumped out of planes with my mom.”
Lincoln visibly relaxed, but didn’t turn his attention from the child. “Yes, we did. Once upon a time—a long time.”
“I got your name,” Cade piped up with a proud lift of his head. “When we lived in Oregon, some of the other kids thought it was funny. But Lucky said two last names is better than one old first name any day of the week.”
“Lucky said that?” Lincoln was so still, his gaze so intent on the child, even his breathing seemed to cease. His gaze drifted over the dark head, blazoning in his mind the curl a droplet of sweat encouraged at the boy’s nape. He considered the tilted chin that would be chiseled, once the gentling softness of youth gave way to maturity. “You call your dad Lucky, do you?”
Throughout the exchange, Linsey had stood like a pillar of stone. Nothing hinted at her tension. Nothing until her half-smothered cry in response to his question.
Lincoln didn’t notice, nor did Cade. Both man and boy were locked in a moment in which nothing beyond those steadily held gazes could exist or intrude.
Cade nodded his answer.
“Do you know why, boy?” For reasons he wouldn’t try to explain even to himself, he couldn’t call the child by the name he’d been given—his own name. At least not yet.
“Yes, sir.” For the first time, a worried expression marred Cade’s smooth and even features. Long dark lashes fluttered down to brush his cheeks. In the silence a cricket chirped, and from the depths of the barn a wild cat, likely the descendant of one of Frannie Stuart’s pets, growled its displeasure at this disturbance in its domain.
No one paid heed to the complaint. But as if the sound prodded him to answer, Cade drew a long, quiet breath, his frown fading. When the dark cloak of his lashes lifted and he looked at Lincoln, his gaze was calm and sure. In the brave angle of his head a promise of the strong, resolute chin was repeated.
“Yes, sir, I know. But it’s a secret. Something Lucky told me. Just me and no one else, man to man.”
“Telling would be breaking a promise?” Lincoln suggested, admiration for the boy moving to another level.
“No, sir.” The little chin jutted again, but only an increment. “Telling the wrong person at the wrong time would.”
Linsey caught back the sound of stifled grief, but Lincoln’s focus was riveted on the boy. “Knowing the right person, the right time, and making that decision? That’s a big burden for a young boy. Even one as brave as you.”
“That’s what Lucky said, at first. Then he told me the secret of how I would know.”
“This secret, that’s part of the promise, too?” Lincoln moved a step closer to the boy, drawn by the unique maturity born of courage. “Lucky taught you that?”
“Yes, sir.” Cade’s lips began to tremble. Grief crept over his face. “He taught me lots.”
Lincoln had struggled to hold himself aloof from this engaging boy who bore his name. Now, seeing stark grief in the trusting eyes, he bent to Cade, the brim of his hat shading them both. “Lucky was a special person. He taught me about courage, too. In fact, he and his mother taught me a lot of things.”
“They did?” Cade’s face brightened. “Lucky taught you?”
“Sure.” Lincoln’s hand closed over Cade’s shoulder. “What he taught me helped me be as brave as he thought I was. It will be the same for you, too.”
“It will?”
“Just wait, you’ll see.” Lincoln straightened but kept contact with Cade. “Think you could lend me a hand? I brought wood to repair the front steps. I could use your help with it.”
A smile chased grief from Cade’s face. “You could?”
“I can manage,” Lincoln replied. “But an extra pair of hands would be a great help.”
“Lincoln, no.” Linsey had stood aside, silently watching the first meeting of Lincoln Cade and his namesake. Now she felt compelled to speak out, to buffer the burgeoning camaraderie. “I’m perfectly capable of repairing the step.”
Lincoln didn’t turn to Linsey. His grip eased but didn’t move from Cade’s shoulder. “I know you can, Linsey. But the boy and I are here now.” A smile flickered over his face as he left the final choice to Cade. “Right, boy?”
Cade’s laugh trilled, his grief not forgotten but put aside in a time of healing, youthful glee. “Right, Mr. Cade.”
“Don’t, please.” Linsey moved closer to Lincoln yet dared not touch him. “This isn’t a good idea.”
He turned to her then, his gray gaze even colder now than she ever believed it could be. “It’s just steps, Linsey. From the look of this place there’s plenty more to occupy your time. The boy and I can make quick work of it.” With a finger he riffled the pages of the tablet she clutched at her breasts. A gesture that could have been intimate, even teasing, but was perfunctory instead. “Then you can get back to your inventory.”
Dismissing her objection, he turned to Cade. “Ready?”
“Yes, sir.” The dark head bobbed, the thatch of hair dipped. It was Lincoln who brushed it aside a second before he dropped his own Stetson on the boy’s head.
Leaving Linsey with no recourse but to keep silent, the two of them walked away. Lincoln altering his stride to Cade’s and Cade’s a conscious imitation of Lincoln’s. Twice the Stetson toppled. Twice Cade reset it with careful precision.
While a band of fear closed around her heart, Linsey knew Lincoln had done more than soothe Cade’s grief, more than bolster a small boy’s confidence by enlisting his aid. Whether he knew it or not, whether it was intentional or not, Lincoln Cade had made the first move toward becoming the hero Lucky Stuart had created for Cade. The first move toward making his son irrevocably his own.
“You knew, Linsey,” she berated herself bitterly as she watched from the barn door while the tall man from her past and the child of her heart worked together unloading lumber, tools, and even a small garden tractor from the bed of the truck. From the moment she’d promised an ailing, dying Lucky that she would bring her son to the Stuart farm, she knew that one day her path would cross Lincoln’s. Just as she’d known that in time the inevitable would happen. “And Lincoln will recognize Cade for who he is.”
But first she’d hoped she could… “Could what?” she wondered aloud. “Explain?”
An agitated hand raked through her hair, stripping away the band that held it. Distracted, Linsey let the tie lie unheeded at her feet. For once no impatient hand flung back the cloud of dark gold falling about her shoulders. “How can I explain?” she wondered as she forced herself back to the barn. Surrounded by cool shadows, the inventory forgotten and her mind filled with the vision of the man and boy, she turned away. Moving deeper into muted darkness, she cried softly, “God help me, how?”
It was Cade’s laughter that drew her out of her seclusion and back to the yard. On its heels, barely audible, she heard Lincoln’s chuckle. Both ending with the cacophony of a hammer wielded inexpertly. In different circumstances it should have been a pleasant scene. But this was Cade and Lincoln. Because of this