he could help her down, letting out a tiny squeal of surprise when he simply lifted her and set her on her feet on the snowy pebbled driveway. Her cheeks grew warm when she noticed surprise on the housekeeper’s face where she stood in the open doorway. His father was there now, too, his usual scowl deepening in disapproval.
Cade’s fingers curved around Abby’s arm. He knew she could feel the tension rippling through his body. Absently he noticed that his boots crunching on the stones made the only sound in the crisp winter air.
“Come in, the pair of you.” Mrs. Swanson’s round face beamed. She pulled his father’s wheelchair backward. Cade urged Abby forward so he could close the door behind them.
“Mrs. Swanson, Dad, this is Abby McDonald. She’s my friend Max’s wife. You remember Max? He used to visit when we had leave.” Cade’s voice tightened. He paused, then resumed speaking, this time in a firmer tone. “Abby’s going to be staying with us for a while.”
“It’s very nice to meet you.” Abby stepped forward, hand outstretched. It was obvious that she remembered too late that Cade had said his father was partially paralyzed. Both his hands lay in his lap. Abby bent, covered his fingers with hers and gently squeezed, smiling in spite of his fierce glare. Then she moved to the woman who stood next to Mr. Lebret’s chair. “Finally I meet the legendary Mrs. Swanson. Max talked a lot about your amazing apple pies.”
“Ah, the dear, dear lad.” Mrs. Swanson’s faint Scottish brogue died away as she sniffed. “’Tis sorry for your loss I am. Max was a good man. He’d wrap me in those gigantic arms of his and swing me around till I was dizzy.”
“Me, too,” Abby whispered with a watery smile.
“I think Cade brought him here to fatten him up. Never saw a man who could eat like your Max did and not gain an ounce.” She slid an arm around Abby’s waist and urged her forward. “Come, my dear. You’ve had a long drive. It’s tea you’ll be wanting to revive you.”
“Tea would be lovely. Thank you.”
Cade almost laughed aloud at the expression on Abby’s face. She looked as though she was being swept along by a tidal wave.
“But I can make tea myself,” Abby protested. “I don’t want to be a bother. You don’t have to wait on me.”
“’Twould be my pleasure to care for Mr. Max’s wife and her wee bairn,” Mrs. Swanson assured her, patting Abby’s stomach gently.
“Bairns,” she corrected. “I’m having twins.”
“Well, glory be!” Mrs. Swanson chuckled again, then urged her forward.
Abby glanced back once, just in time, Cade knew, to see the word his father scrawled with a fat felt marker across a pad of paper lying on his lap.
No!
There was no subtlety in the stark, one-word comment. Cade met Abby’s gaze, saw the question in her eyes. He shook his head once firmly, then smiled, a tight, controlled twist of his lips. Anger tightened his shoulders. He spoke in a careful tone.
“You go with Mrs. Swanson, Abby. Dad and I will join you in the kitchen for tea in a minute.” When she hesitated, he nodded at her as if to reassure her.
After a second check of Cade’s face, Abby gave in. Judging by her expression, she understood he didn’t want her to overhear his discussion with his father. A wave of sympathy rolled through her vivid green eyes before she walked back to him, stood on her tiptoes and murmured for his ears alone, “Max always said you were the most caring man he’d ever known. He told me stories of how you encouraged and praised the men in your unit.” She touched his arm, squeezed. “Now I’ve witnessed your kindness for myself. You don’t have to shield me, Cade. I’m tough. I’ll be fine.”
“Thank you for understanding.” Cade felt the warmth of her smile touch his cold heart, but as she and Mrs. Swanson left the room, the warmth faded. He chose his words carefully, using a measured voice to explain Abby’s situation to his father, leaving out the worst details and making generalizations that would save her embarrassment.
“She will stay for as long as she needs to. I owe Max that.”
His father glared at him, then shoved his pen in his shirt pocket.
Cade pushed his dad’s chair into the kitchen. As they drank Mrs. Swanson’s tea he thought how perfectly Abby fit in. It would be nice to have a friend like her. But when Abby teared up as she answered Mrs. Swanson’s questions about Max, Cade snapped back to reality. It was clear Abby wasn’t nearly over mourning his death.
Cade was pretty sure Abby wouldn’t want a friendship with him, not when he should have been there to protect her husband.
* * *
Nothing was going the way Cade hoped. As they sat around the dinner table, he appreciated Abby’s valiant efforts to make the meal enjoyable. She told them amusing stories, complimented Mrs. Swanson on everything she served and asked him questions about the ranch.
But through it all, his father sat at the head of the table, grim-faced, his fists clumping on the table when he was displeased, fingers clenching around his black felt marker to scroll a series of angry commands across his writing pad.
Cade was utterly embarrassed and deeply ashamed of his parent by the time the meal was finished. He could hardly wait for Mrs. Swanson to push his father’s chair to the television room so he could apologize to Abby for his father’s behavior.
“I’m so sorry,” he said when they were alone in the dining room. “I expected him to fuss about having you here, but—” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen him as full of rage as he seemed tonight. I apologize for his making you feel unwelcome. If you’d rather leave—”
“Stop apologizing for something you can’t change, Cade.” The twinkle in Abby’s green eyes surprised him as much as the smile twitching at the corner of her lips. “Anyway, I think tonight was good for him.”
“Good for—” He gaped at her. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Did you see the way he kept grabbing that pen and writing on the paper?” She spread her small, delicate hands wide. “You told me he hasn’t been doing his physiotherapy. But he was sure giving those fingers a workout tonight.” She rose, walked to the end of the table where his father had been sitting and gathered the scrunched-up pieces of paper from the floor. Then she laid them on the table, one by one on top of each other, looked at him and grinned. “See?”
Cade moved to stand beside her. He sifted through the sheets of paper, each with an angry word scrawled across it.
No! Won’t have it! Quiet! Stop. Some of the words were repeated. There were fourteen sheets in all. It was the biggest effort Cade had seen his father make since his stroke.
He lifted his head to stare at her, confused but somehow more lighthearted than he’d been in years.
“Maybe my being here isn’t so bad after all,” Abby said timidly, “if it forces your father to fight, and by that I mean put out some effort. Isn’t that good for him?”
“Abby, your being here isn’t bad at all. You bring lightness that’s been missing from this
