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 day and this meeting, life as Linsey knew it would never be the same. And she was afraid. Very afraid.
Blinking back a rush of tears she dared not let fall, Linsey watched them openly. With the Stetson laid aside, one dark head bent to the other as they conferred, building a bond stronger than any step, leading where no physical structure could go.
Did Lincoln realize? Could he hear what was in Cade’s voice? See what was in his eyes and that young, fragile heart?
Did Lincoln care?
“Of course he does.” The sound of her own voice startled her. Only then did she realize how long she’d stood idle, her thoughts on the man and the boy and their labor. Lincoln called him “boy,” never Cade, but he cared. It was evident in his patience and underlay the impersonal way he spoke. His kindness was innate, unforced. Neither six years, a single, youthful indiscretion at an emotional time, nor the truth would change the man who had been her friend, her family, and, once, her lover.
“Watch, Mom.” Cade danced up the steps and down, jumping on each, testing their strength. Once on the ground he ran up again to the porch and launched himself into Lincoln’s arms.
Laughing, Lincoln set Cade on his feet. In the sound Linsey heard a sudden restraint. A shiver of caution reminded her Lincoln was ever the pragmatic one, who never rushed into anything. If he felt in his heart it was right, he could walk away from anything, anyone. He had from her. He would from his own son.
“Did you see, Mom? Did you see?”
“I’m sure she saw.” Lincoln scooped up the fallen Stetson and pulled it down over Cade’s forehead. “Half the county must have heard you. Gus Cade’s likely to come bumping down the trail in his wheelchair, yelling that you’re scaring his horses out of a year’s growth.”
Crossing the yard, Linsey saw Cade grow sober. Interpreting a common expression, she knew something Lincoln said sparked his curiosity. The unsuspecting man would be bombarded by the questions of a literal-minded child who took
