number one. Linsey stopped by the porch, crossed her arms and leaned against a support.
Lincoln had moved to inspect the steps, all of which he and Cade had replaced. Sandpaper in hand, he looked up. “What?”
“You said…”
“I know what I said, tiger.” Lincoln guessed what had spurred the boy’s curiosity. “Actually, the horses pastured at Belle Reve now belong to my brother Jackson. But once Gus kept his own horses and rode them. Then a sickness left his arms and legs too weak to ride or walk. So he uses a wheelchair.”
“Where’s the trail?”
Lincoln crooked a finger toward the path that wound through scraggly live oaks and palmettos. “Right over there. Lucky and I used it to travel between our houses.”
“Between the Stuart farm and Belle Reve,” Cade supplied, drawing on the knowledge gleaned during the hours he’d listened to Lucky tell of the countryside, the houses, and his friends. Especially Lincoln. “Lucky never said Mr. Gus rode in a chair.”
“He didn’t know, Cade,” Linsey interjected, her tone as questioning as her son’s when her gaze met Lincoln’s. “I suppose it happened after Frannie died and we’d settled in Oregon.”
Lincoln looked up from sanding the rough edge of a step, his expression unreadable. “Lucky and I had lost touch by then. I knew he and your mom were in Oregon. Or I thought they were. But I didn’t know where, exactly.”
“You could have looked, couldn’t you?” Cade picked up the block of wood Lincoln had covered in sandpaper for him and scrubbed at an imaginary rough spot.
With the boy and the steps between them, Linsey waited for his answer. “Yes.” His expression was brooding, but Cade couldn’t see. “I could have looked, but I didn’t think he wanted me to.”
“I guess not,” the boy agreed. “He didn’t want anybody to know he was sick, too.”
“Lucky was sick?” Catching the busy hand, stopping it, Lincoln waited until Cade looked up at him. “For very long?”
Cade started his habitual nod, caught himself and the Stetson perched precariously over his forehead, then chose words instead. “A long, long, long time.”
“The letter said he fell.” Lincoln directed the oblique question toward Linsey.
Searching for the simplest way to describe a horrible and inexorably debilitating disease, she hesitated long enough that Cade answered in her stead.
“Being sick’s what made him fall. His arms and legs didn’t work too good no more, just like Mr. Gus.”
Cade picked up the sander, scrubbing too diligently over a step that was already smooth. Linsey stretched an arm across the staircase, and with her fingertips stroked the swirling hair on the back of his neck. A tender gesture that spoke more than words.
“How long is a long, long, long time, Linsey?” If Lincoln’s expression had been grim before, with this discovery his look took it ten times farther.
With her arms drawn tightly against her again, Linsey stifled a painful memory. “Two years for the worst of it. Longer for the less insidious progression. Before you ask why you weren’t told, remember how Lucky was. You were so strong, and he wanted to be like you, but he couldn’t. So he made up for what he lacked with pure courage. He didn’t want your help, Lincoln. Nor mine, until he had no choice. Even then, there were days…”
When she paused to gather her control, with new knowledge Lincoln saw beyond the surface fatigue of months to the deep, soul-searing weariness of years. Yet she could laugh and dance with her son on a ramshackle porch at sunset in a strange land.
With a toss of her head, Linsey gathered in her emotions, a gesture that sent her hair flying. As the morning sun struck a rainbow of shades of gold within its depths, Lincoln was reminded of a lioness. A proud lioness who fought for her mate and her cub.
An ache settled deep in his chest as he wondered if once she would have fought as courageously for him.
“There were days,” she began again, tentatively, unaware of the subtle shift in his regard. “Days when he was stronger, when he lived on determination alone, accomplishing amazing feats.” Throughout the revelation, Linsey’s stare was vague, unfocused. Now her head lifted, her gaze narrowed sharply on Lincoln. “If you remember any one thing about Lucky, remember his courage, and that he died as bravely as he lived.”
Lincoln found the blunt answer unsettling, too brief. He had a hundred questions, a thousand. But none for the boy’s ears. “All right.” Meaningless words. Nothing was all right. Nothing about this was clear. Nothing was resolved.
Casting a look at Linsey that promised there would be more, Lincoln turned to Cade. “Looks to me like you’ve finished that step. In fact, they all look good. Smooth and sturdy. No one’s going to fall through them or catch a splinter. Now we need to do something about the yard. What do you think?”
Cade squinted up at him, one sawdust-covered hand flattened over the crown of the hat. “We could mow it down.”
“Mow it down, huh?” Lincoln studied the yard as if considering the suggestion. “You mean with the tractor.”
“Yep.”
Lincoln almost smiled then, remembering the conversation between mother and son the night before. “Looks like a pretty big job. Think you could ride shotgun? A man never knows when he might need some help.”
“Could I?” Gray eyes that had grown brighter, gleamed like new silver. “Like on a stagecoach?”
“Will you promise to be very still and hold on?” Lincoln watched the little head bob. The hat toppled, and he scooped it from the ground. “Okay, partner. Now, if your mom will lend us a couple of sheets of paper from her tablet, I’ll fix your hat so it will stay on. Then we’ll get on with our work and she can see about her own chores. Deal?”
“Deal,” Cade said, and watched wide-eyed as Lincoln folded and refolded the papers Linsey supplied, tucked them inside the band of his hat, then set it firmly on Cade’s head.
“There.” With an expert touch he adjusted the hat at just the right angle. “How’s that?”
“My hat?” Cade whispered in wonder. “Is it really mine?”
“Sure. You don’t think I’m tricking you, do you?” With a hand curled around the boy’s neck, Lincoln led him to his mother. “Say goodbye and tell your mom not to worry, for we’re going to cut the trail as well and it will take some time. While we’re at the far end, we might as well stop over at Belle Reve. Maybe look at some horses, have some lunch. Would you like that?”
“Horses! Can I, Mom?” Cade practically danced in excitement. The hat didn’t budge. “Please, can I?”
Cade asked. Lincoln hadn’t. Linsey knew that if she was adamant, her refusal would be respected…and Cade would be heartbroken. “Okay, okay. But before you go, Cade should run inside and wash his hands.”
“His hands are fine, Linsey. If he washes them, they’ll just get dirty again. We do have water and soap at Belle Reve.”
