A Lady For Lincoln Cade

“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.”

“I want him to wash up now, Lincoln.” She’d kept virtually silent and had held her temper all day. Now her voice was harsh, her challenging stare unwavering.

“Do as your mother says, champ.” Lincoln didn’t look away from Linsey as they faced each other like prizefighters. “Make it quick—we’ve a lot of grass to cut.”

With an exuberant cry and a hug for his mother, Cade rushed up the stairs and over the porch. The door banged shut before Linsey spoke. “What do you think you’re doing, Lincoln Cade? Waltzing in here like you own the place. Enticing Cade with horses. Courting him like—”

“Like a friend who promised his father he would take care of you? Which, in my estimation, means the boy, as well.” Cade moved closer, watching the kaleidoscopic shades of gold shimmering in her hair, filling his lungs with the fragrance of Frannie Stuart’s wild rose concoction. The scent that still lingered in the house. Linsey’s life paralleled Frannie’s, and she was as strong. Wild roses seemed right for her.

“I won’t hurt him, Linsey,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper. “Whatever happens here, I won’t hurt him.”

“Whatever happens?” He was so close, if she caught a deep breath the tips of her breasts would touch his chest. If he leaned down only a little, she could run her fingers through the wealth of his hair and perhaps draw his lips down to hers.

But she didn’t catch a long breath, and his rigid posture didn’t bend. Her fingers were curled in tight fists by her side. Instead of softening in a kiss, her lips were clenched. Lincoln might be a friend, he might be her benevolent enemy. In either case, she must hold herself aloof, turning blind eyes to the mystique that had already enchanted her son.

“Why are you really here? What do you want, Lincoln?”

His gaze was as silver as Cade’s, and it was riveted on her. “I don’t know, Linsey. But I’ll be back tomorrow and the next day and the next. And every other day, until I do.”

“No.”

“Yes.” His gloved fingers circled the wrist of the hand she’d raised, not to strike him, but to ward him off. Linsey didn’t struggle, nor did he relent. “I love this place, it was more home to me than Belle Reve. Lucky was like a brother, and Frannie was the mother I never had. For them, for the boy, I’m going to put it back in shape. Make it a home he can be proud of.”

“Your practice…”

Keeping hold of her wrist, his fingertips measuring her racing pulse, he quirked his lips in a caricature of a smile. “That won’t work, sugar. My partner’s been trying to persuade me to take time off for months. Now I have. I’ll be here every day, all day, for as long as it takes. Just like I said.”

“I don’t need you,” Linsey cried in desperation, not really sure what frightened her most about Lincoln’s plan. “What’s needed here, I can do.”

“Can you?” Releasing her, Lincoln stepped back, his look harsh as it traveled the same path with the same thoroughness as it had when he first arrived. A look that tarried long on her lips and the straining of her breasts against a shirt worn as thin as gauze. “With what? You’re broke, Linsey. Every sign is there.”

“So what if I am? Until I find work, what I can’t afford we’ll do without. I will not take your charity, Lincoln Cade.”

“It won’t be charity.”

“What name would you give it?” she flung at him.

“Call it my gift to Lucky for—” Lincoln faltered.

“For what?” Linsey taunted. “What should I call it?”

“Try my thanks to the Stuarts for my life.”

The door banged, breaking the tension but not ending it. “I’m ready,” Cade called out. “I washed my face, too, Mom.”

Linsey turned toward Cade. “That’s good, tiger.”

It was Lincoln who ended the standoff by moving to the steps and catching Cade in the midst of another flying leap. Without an added word, he offered the boy’s cheek for his mother’s kiss, and as quickly as that, Linsey had a day alone.

As she watched their retreat, Cade’s arms locked firmly around Lincoln’s neck, she knew it would be a day of worry.

Four

Cade’s giggle drew Linsey to the kitchen window. A familiar sound since Lincoln had walked into his life weeks before.

Smiling in spite of nagging worries, she stood on tiptoe, leaning over the sink to get a better view beyond the sparkling window. For her effort, she was bemused as always by the powerful presence of the quintessential male. But not just any man or just one. Though she was reminded constantly that Lincoln’s unfailing presence was disturbing enough, life on the Stuart farm was not meant to be even that simple.

Instead, the power was fourfold and daunting, for her backyard was filled with Cades—with Lincoln and his brothers. Men who had been only familiar names in the years she and Lucky and Lincoln had been close. Now all four Cades were here, as they had been for days, each filling his own space with his own particular charisma. Each contributing some area of skill and expertise.

Adams, the oldest of the four, in response to Lincoln’s call for help, had drawn his crews from an antebellum town house he was restoring on the outskirts of Belle Terre. Under his direction a number of skilled artisans—carpenters, plumbers, electricians, and painters—had made quick work of what they did best. Restoring yet another pair of historic derelicts fallen victim to time and circumstance.

Of the house and barn, the house had been the first order of business. Anything broken, loose, rotted or just plain cranky had been repaired, replaced or soothed. The ancient exterior gleamed with a fresh layer of paint and the tin roof with its first. Stylish, historically correct shutters replaced the sagging boards that had served originally. Cobblestone walks and borders, and fences to keep deer from flower and vegetable gardens had been resurrected.

But it was the interior that astonished Linsey. With a small knowledge of furnishings gleaned from her travels in her lonely, footloose days, she had recognized that there had been good pieces left to time and chance in the old house. Abandoned yet protected, she believed strongly, by its proximity to Belle Reve and by fear of the wrath of the Cades. All of whom seemed to revere the farm for the woman who had lived there.

Once Frannie Stuart’s unsuspected treasures were refurbished by Adams’s skilled crews, she realized they were more than a reflection of Frannie’s taste, more than merely valuable. Many were antiques of the first quality. A part of Lucky’s heritage. His legacy to the child he’d loved and made his own.

Inspired by the discovery of marvelous family treasures, the artisans’ work had become equally more meticulous. As a fitting backdrop for this bounty, fresh coats of paint had been applied to every wall, countertops were replaced, and floors repaired and refurbished with such speed, it made her breathless remembering. There was more to do. But, wisely, Adams had suggested Linsey should make the more personal choices, then had left them to her.

Jackson, the fiery one, third in birth order and noted horse breeder, had seen to the land. Drafting Lincoln, along with his own people, he worked with fences enclosing more than a hundred acres of pasture and timber. Though appreciative, Linsey wondered what use she would make of those acres. Jackson offered the solution. By mutual agreement she would have an unexpected source of income from fees he would pay for grazing rights.

Jefferson, the youngest, whose quiet ways and gentle smile had set her more at ease than any of the Cades, had taken an old orchard and the landscaping as his project. Peach, apple, and pear trees were pruned. Pecan trees were squirrelproofed. A small vineyard became less like a jungle. Jefferson had even offered suggestions and help for plants for the house and gardens.

Miss Corey had been an absentee contributor to the cause. The housekeeper of Belle Reve, a woman Linsey knew only by reputation, dispatched her kitchen staff regularly with three hot meals each day. Morning, noon, and evening in a splendid, rainless period, Miss Corey’s fare was served on tables made of boards and sawhorses set beneath centuries-old live oak.