Daughter of Joy (21 page)

Abby smiled. Though she was none too keen about the pain he had caused Ella with his infidelity, Devlin MacKay had always seemed a pretty decent sort. “That was kind of you. The truth is, I don’t know how to milk. Could you teach me? You’ve got enough chores of your own, without adding more.”

“Sure, I’ll teach you. How about meeting me in the barn at five this evening? Ethel will need to be milked again by then.”

She nodded. “Five, then.”

The foreman hesitated, then stepped back inside and shut the door. “What do you think about Conor’s hands? Will he ever be able to use them again?”

Abby walked to the cookstove, took up the coffeepot, and carried it to the sink. “I don’t know,” she replied, as she worked the pump and filled the pot with water. “His burns are bad, but at least none of his skin was charred. I’m hoping he didn’t burn so deeply that there’ll be permanent damage. I’d like to get a doctor out here as soon as we can to look at him, though.”

“I was thinking the same thing. Once it warms up a bit this morning, I’ll send Wendell to Grand View to fetch Doc Childress.”

“Good.” Abby placed the coffeepot back on the stove, then squatted to stoke the firebox, and open the dampers to get the fire hot again. “Ella and I did the best we could last night, but I’ll feel better when Doc gives us the okay.”

Devlin eyed her, then bit his lower lip. “You mustn’t blame yourself for what happened to Conor, Abby. He did what he felt had to be done.”

She glanced away. “He wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t made such a fuss and begged him.”

“He knew it was important to you. And whatever’s important to you, is important to him.”

Abby closed her eyes for an instant, then looked at Devlin. “Thank you for trying to make me feel better.”

“It’s the truth, Abby. If I’m not too far off the mark, I think you’re beginning to realize it, too.” He sighed. “Maybe it’s not my place to say this, but I think my cousin’s falling in love with you.”

A strange mix of terror and wild joy filled Abby. She shoved to her feet. “Devlin, don’t,” she moaned.

Scowling in frustration, he took two steps toward her. “And why not? Conor’s been like a brother to me all these years. If you knew what the both of us have been through, growing up … Well, never mind. What matters is that I care about him and his happiness.”

“That’s enough, Devlin.”

Almost in unison, their heads swung toward the hallway door. At the sight of Conor standing there, a blanket wrapped about him, his hands swathed in bulky bandages, their eyes widened in surprise.

Devlin reddened. “Conor, I’m sorry, but—”

“What’s between Abby and me isn’t any of your business, and you know it,” Conor growled. “Now, before you sink even deeper into that hole you’re digging, why don’t you just hightail it out to your chores?”

Devlin grinned sheepishly. “Reckon I’d better.” He looked to Abby. “Still game for that milking lesson at five today?”

She nodded. “Sure.”

“No more lectures, I promise.” Devlin turned and left the kitchen.

Abby readjusted the cookstove dampers now that the fire was going strong, then straightened and walked over to Conor. “You shouldn’t have come down without help,” she half-scolded him. “You could’ve fallen.”

“I’m not some fool, crippled invalid.”

With exaggerated deliberation, she looked him up and down. Above the blanket he managed to barely clutch to him spread an impressive, if reddened, expanse of hair-roughened chest. Below its bottom edge, the elastic knit cuffs of his cotton, long underdrawers peeked out. “Unless I’m missing something,” she drawled, lifting her gaze to meet his, “you don’t look like you managed to dress yourself. That appears to me like a man who could use some help.”

“And I say, instead of berating me for coming downstairs, you should be thanking me for rescuing you from Devlin’s meddling. Or would you prefer,” he continued with a challenging lift of a brow, “that next time I just leave you to wriggle your way out all on your own?”

Abby couldn’t quite meet Conor’s piercing stare. “No, no,” she muttered. “I appreciate your intervention. But that still doesn’t change the fact that you’re standing here in basically nothing more than your underwear.”

Conor grinned. “And you’re not fainting dead away because of it, either. Now, I reckon that’s real progress.”

“And exactly what progress would
that
be?” Abby asked, cocking her head. Then, thinking better of her question, she hastily waved a dismissing hand at him. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Ask away, Abby. You know I’d tell you anything you want to know.”

“You need to get upstairs and get dressed.” She quietly changed the subject and took hold of his arm. “Come on.”

“And how do you suggest I dress myself?” He lifted his bandaged hands.

“I’m not suggesting you dress yourself. Considering your current limitations, I’m just saying I’m the most logical, and easily available person to help you.”

For a long moment he didn’t respond. “Abby,” Conor finally ground out, “I can’t ask that of you. Call back Devlin or get one of the hands to come over.”

“For heaven’s sake, Conor MacKay,” Abby exclaimed, leading him toward the stairs. She knew it would be difficult for the both of them, but after what he had done for her last night, she could overlook propriety this once. “It’s not like I haven’t seen a man in drawers before! Besides, I’m helping you because it’s the most practical way to handle the situation, and not for any other reason whatsoever!”

At that, Conor threw back his head and laughed. “My deepest apologies. How could I have possibly misunderstood?”

“It must be the laudanum muddying your mind,” she muttered as they climbed the stairs.

“To be sure. Except that it wore off hours ago.”

Abby glanced sharply at him. “Are you in pain? We could go back to the kitchen, and I could give you another dose.”

“No.” Conor shook his head. “I can bear it a while longer. Besides, I don’t like how fuzzy-headed it makes me.”

Twenty minutes later, Conor was shaved, dressed, and back downstairs, sitting at the kitchen table. Abby shoved a half-filled mug of coffee over to him. “Can you manage it while I cook breakfast, or do you need help?”

Ever so carefully, Conor grasped the mug between his two bandaged hands and brought it to his lips. He took a deep swallow, then set the mug back down, sighing in satisfaction. “Never thought coffee could taste so good.”

Abby smiled, then turned back to the bowl of baking powder biscuits she was mixing. “Glad you like it.” Conor didn’t say anything and, after a time, Abby glanced up. He was staring at her, a look of undisguised yearning in his eyes. Her heart plummeted to her belly. Her pulse quickened, and her throat went dry.

“Abby, come here.”

Panic seized her. She looked away. “In a minute. I’ve got to get the biscuits in the oven.”

Once more, silence settled over the room. Then Conor sighed. “Forget it. I was out of line even to ask.”

Abby closed her eyes, struggling mightily against the urge to throw down her spoon and run to him. The last thing she wanted was to hurt Conor, or be the reason for such an edge of defeat in his voice. But she feared … she feared …

With sharp, jerky motions, Abby ladled the biscuit batter into the baking tin, opened the cookstove oven, and shoved the pan inside. She stood there for what seemed an eternity, before she finally turned back to face Conor. He sat at the table, head down, staring into his coffee.

Abby poured herself a mug. Then, squaring her shoulders, she marched to the table and sat in the chair closest to his. “I’m here now, Conor,” she said softly. “What do you want?”

He didn’t look up. “Nothing. Forget it.”

She laid her hand on his forearm. “Then if you don’t want to talk, I will.” She swallowed hard, then forged on. “First, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for what you did last night. It was the sweetest, most gallant thing any man has ever done for me. I’ll never forget it.”

Conor continued to avoid her gaze. “You’d lost so much. I couldn’t bear to see you lose the pictures of your family, too.”

“You sacrificed so much to help me. I’ll do what I can to ease the time for you until your hands are healed.”

He looked up, a faint smile on his lips. “Like milk Ethel?”

“Yes,” Abby agreed with a nod. “And keep up your ledgers if you wish, and shave you, and help you with your clothes, and shovel snow off the porch when it snows, and—”

“Hold up, hold up,” Conor said, now chuckling. “I think I get the picture.” His smile faded. “I appreciate your offer, Abby, and I may take you up on some of them. But you needn’t feel bad because of what happened.”

She clasped her hands tightly about her mug. “I should never have asked you to do what you did,” she whispered. “You could’ve been killed.”

“While you were upstairs changing last night, Ella told me you were frantic when I didn’t come out of the bunkhouse, that you broke away from her, and were running to get to me when I finally came out. Not very many people would’ve been willing to do that, especially not for me.”

“Then they’re stupid, blind fools.” She choked out the words, her sudden surge of emotions tightening her throat. “You’re the bravest, kindest, most wonderful man I’ve ever known.”

“Am I, Abby?” He brushed her cheek with the back of his bandaged hand. “Just not so wonderful that you want more from me than friendship. And not so special that you’ll ever wish to kiss me again?”

She took his hand and kissed his fingertips. “What I want, and what I dare risk, are two entirely different things, Conor.”

“Abby …”

Anguish burned in his eyes and tautened his mouth. His jaw went hard, and a muscle twitched furiously there. Then, in an explosion of frustration, he pounded his fist on the table.

“Blast it!” he cursed, grimacing with the pain the action caused. “I’ve never wanted a woman like I want you!”

At his words, a strange mixture of misery and desire stabbed through Abby. She buried her face in her hands, facing, at last, what she had fought so long to deny.

Dear Lord, what am I to do? I love him. I love him! But I love You even more, and I fear … I fear that my love for him will lead me into sin.

He spoke, after all, only of wanting her, not loving her. What Conor felt was desire … lust … passion, but not love. He had already told her he did not wish to wed. Yet because she had finally admitted to herself that she loved him, he could now slowly but surely begin to break her heart.

“I’m not as strong as you are, Conor,” Abby whispered through the sheltering barrier of her hands. “I don’t know how to fight these feelings I’m having. There’s even a part of me that doesn’t want to fight.” She looked up and met his gaze. “But I must, and I will. And you must help me. You must.”

His eyes narrowed. He leaned forward, his shoulders hunched, his body gone tense with wariness. “And exactly how, Abby? By denying my desire for you? By pretending that I don’t care? How do you expect me to do that?”

“I don’t know,” she wailed softly. “I’ve never felt like this before. God forgive me, but I never wanted my husband or felt about him the way I feel about you. These feelings … they’re all so new, so terrifying, yet so wonderful. But I don’t want to sin, Conor.”

Abby closed her eyes, suddenly so lost and confused she could barely stand it. “I always wondered what it could be like to desire a man the way he desired me. And now I know, Conor.” Her voice broke. “God forgive me, but now I know.”

15

Can any hide himself in secret places that I shall not see him? saith the L
ORD
. Do not I fill heaven and earth?

Jeremiah 23:24

Despair swamped Conor. Abby was asking—no, begging—for his help, and he didn’t know how to help her. She asked him to do the impossible, to help her fight what he now realized was a mutual and desperate need for the other. Yet how could he do such a thing, when every fiber of his being—body and soul—cried out for her?

“So where does that leave us, Abby?” he forced himself to ask, dreading the answer.

She sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“You’re going to leave Culdee Creek, aren’t you?”

“And leave you like this?” Abby gestured at his hands. “After what you did for me? You know I’d never do such a thing.”

“So you’ll stay out of pity and guilt,” he snarled, an inexplicable anger filling him, “until your debt is repaid. Is that it, Abby?”

“When that debt, as you call it, is repaid, then I’ll still stay on because I want to.”

“Why?” Conor’s voice went raw with his conflicted emotions. “Why would you stay on here, when you just finishing telling me I’ve become an occasion of sin? Doesn’t the Bible warn that if a man takes fire to himself, he risks being burned? Well, let me assure you you’re playing with fire here, even if of an entirely different kind.”

“For a man who has turned his back on God,” Abby observed, “you certainly have an extensive knowledge of His Word.”

“Don’t try to sidetrack me, Abby. My knowledge of the Bible isn’t the issue here, and you know it!”

“Yes,” she agreed softly, “I do. So I’ll just come out and say it. I’ve many reasons to stay on here.”

He leaned back in his chair. “We’ve got time. Why don’t you tell me what those reasons are?”

Abby sighed. “Well, I first wanted to come here and work for you because I saw this as a haven, a place where no one wanted much from me emotionally, and I could tend to my own needs. The Lord, however, quickly set those misconceptions straight. I was here because
He
wanted me here.”

Conor gave a disgusted snort. “There were lost souls here who needed salvation, after all.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps. It’s certainly what I thought, once I became convinced coming to Culdee Creek was His will.” She smiled sadly. “You can’t blame Him for wanting all of His children to be saved, can you?”

“If you really want to know the truth,” Conor muttered, “I haven’t given God or His desires a whole lot of thought for a long while now.”

“Yes, I know.” Abby took a sip of her coffee before continuing her story. “But then, over time, I began to realize that you and Beth weren’t the only ones lost and searching. I was, too, however hard I fought to deny it. Little by little, though, I discovered that, just as you seemed to need me, I needed you and Beth to help me find the way back.” She exhaled slowly. “That’s why I want to stay on, Conor. Even in the short time we’ve been together, you’ve given me so much. You’ve opened doors to my heart I thought forever closed, and I’ve grown.”

She laid her hand on his arm. “The risk of getting burned by your fire is far outweighed by what I stand to gain. And that is the Lord’s greatest gift of all to me. In coming to know you and Beth, I’ve rediscovered the joy, and challenge, and hunger for life again.”

“And here I thought it was my irresistible manliness and impressive land holdings. I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.”

“You could just say thank you, and let it go at that.”

Conor rocked forward on his chair until all four legs once more touched the floor. “Yes, I could, but I’m not used to accepting compliments like that anymore.”

“Especially from a woman.”

“Yes.” He nodded. “Especially from a woman.”

“There’s always a first time for everything.” Abby graced him with an arch smile.

He stared out the window. “I knew your coming here was going to set everything on its head. I sensed that from the first moment I met you.” Conor turned back to her. “And I almost fired you the day I came to the Springs to bring you back. I was that scared of you, though at the time I didn’t know why.”

“It’s understandable—your fear, I mean—considering the bad experiences you’d had with housekeepers.”

“But my fear wasn’t that kind of fear.” He shook his head. “No, not by a long shot. Then I remembered a favorite saying of my grandfather, Sean MacKay, about fear, and how it can betray you and weaken your judgment. It was like I heard him speaking to me that day when I thought about not bringing you to Culdee Creek. Speaking to me, warning me not to make the biggest mistake of my life.”

“He sounded like a very wise man,” Abby said. “Is he the man in the painting over the parlor mantel?”

Conor nodded. “One and the same. He’s also the man who led many of the clan MacKay from the Highland village of Culdee in the district of Strathnaver, to this country during the years of the Highland Clearances. Though he never saw Colorado himself, he made my father promise to name any land he ever claimed as his own after their home in Culdee, Scotland.”

“Hence the name of this ranch,” Abby finished for him. Admiration for Conor’s ancestors swelled in her breast. She’d heard of the terrible hardships the Scottish Highlanders had suffered during the Highland Clearance in the late 1700s through to the middle of this century. Thousands of peasants had been forcibly evicted from their ancestral lands to make way for more profitable undertakings such as sheep.

“The Culdees,” Conor continued to explain, “were members of an ancient ascetic religious movement in the eighth century Celtic Christian Church. The name comes from the Gaelic word,
Celi De
, and means something like ‘friends or family of God.’”

“So,” she murmured wonderingly, “you come from a long line of Christians, do you?”

“Roman Catholic Christians, to be exact,” he was quick to correct her. “My ancestors were staunch Catholics and Jacobites. They stood with Bonnie Prince Charlie, and suffered greatly when he was defeated at Culloden.”

“I’ve heard about the tragedy of the Scottish people after Culloden. It must have been hard on your family.”

“Yes, it was, yet they never lost hope, or dignity, or allowed it to embitter them.” Conor took a long draught of his coffee. “None of them turned mean, or sought the destructive solace of the bottle. Not, at least, until they came to America and a generation passed. Not until my pa and his brother, the two youngest sons of Sean MacKay.”

She looked at him and said nothing. Suddenly, Conor wanted to tell her all. Only then could he be absolutely certain that she harbored no illusions about him. Only then would he truly know the extent of her commitment to him.

“My pa’s name was Robert MacKay, though most folks called him Robbie,” Conor resumed his tale. “He, and his younger brother Angus—Devlin’s father—were born late in life to Sean MacKay, and his second wife, Rose. My grandfather only lived six years after Angus’s birth. My grandmother, burdened with the care and support of two young children, soon remarried. Her new husband, though, was as unlike my grandfather as any man could be.

“He was hard on the two boys. When he’d get liquored up, he’d beat them. Pa ran away from home at fifteen, hitched a ride with some settlers moving out here. Ten years later he bought this land. A few years after that, Angus joined him.”

“Their stepfather’s cruelty had left a permanent mark on them, though, hadn’t it?” Abby asked, her eyes glowing with sympathy and understanding.

Conor hung his head, then nodded. “Of the two, I reckon Pa escaped the worst of the abuse, if Devlin’s claims are even half of what really happened. But when I was growing up, you couldn’t have convinced me of that. Pa was an embittered, fatalistic man who, after my ma’s death, turned increasingly to the bottle. The last four or five years he was alive, we were constantly at each other’s throats. Sally and I lived in this house with him, and the ongoing animosity put a considerable strain on our marriage.”

“How did your father die?”

“He’d been drinking one night, late in January. We got into another argument about his management of the ranch. One thing led to another and he hit me. If it hadn’t been for Sally, I think I’d have killed him. As it was, she clung to me for dear life and screamed at him to get out.”

He released a ragged breath. “Reckon Pa wasn’t so drunk he didn’t realize the danger he was in. He grabbed a fresh bottle of whiskey, mounted up, and rode off into the dark. It was the last time I saw him alive. That night it snowed pretty heavily. A search party found him four days later, frozen to death in a dry creek bed five miles from here.”

“I’m so sorry, Conor.”

“Yeah, so am I. Sorry I didn’t have a better father.”

“What about your mother?”

A soft, sad smile touched his lips. “She was an angel from heaven, my ma was. She told me stories, taught me my lessons, and tried to shield me from my father’s wrath when he was drinking. Most of the time it worked.” His mouth twisted grimly. “Reckon that was the difference between Devlin and me as boys. His ma died bearing him. He never had anyone to stand between him and his father.”

“She’s the one who taught you your Bible verses, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah.” He gave a cynical laugh. “For all the good it did me.”

“She helped mold you into the man you are today, Conor MacKay,” Abby countered with ardent conviction. “That was her greatest victory and finest accomplishment.”

He shrugged. “Maybe so. There are times, though, when I wonder if all her efforts weren’t in vain.”

“They could well be if you let this bitterness toward your father, and mistrust of others, defeat you.”

Conor sighed. “I vowed never to let myself become like him. Even after my ma died, I clung to the religious faith she’d instilled in me. Once I wed Sally and Evan was born, I began to hope I’d finally overcome the taint of my pa’s blood. Then Sally left. Ran off with her music teacher—a teacher I paid for with the money I scratched out of this ranch in those early years. But I did it all because I loved her, and wanted to give her what she claimed to want more than anything else in the world.

“Even in the face of Sally’s betrayal, I clung to the conviction that life was good and ultimately fair. I didn’t give up hope, even then. Once I’d heard Sally had died in a Denver boardinghouse fire, I risked falling in love again with Squirrel Woman, the Indian girl I’d hired to care for Evan.”

“Yet then she died and left you, too.”

Conor shoved awkwardly to his feet, and walked to the back window. “Yeah,” he said, his voice gone low and husky, “then she died, and I just couldn’t keep up the pretense anymore. I drew into myself, angry at life, and at God. Little by little, my anger and bitterness visited itself even on my children, to the point that Evan finally balked. A year ago, when he turned seventeen, he cleaned out all the cash in my safe. All I got in return was a note assuring me that he’d taken nothing more than his rightful inheritance, and that we were now even.”

“Have you had any word from him since then?”

“No.” At the admission, anger filled Conor once more. “Can’t say as I care if I ever do, either. My own son robbed me. I hate to think what I’d do, if I ever saw him again.”

“So now Beth’s your one and only chance. The last opportunity you have to redeem yourself, and be the father you’ve always wanted to be.”

Conor turned from the window. “The father I wanted but never knew how to be. If it hadn’t been for you, Abby, I might have gone on and ruined my chances with Beth, too. Seems I’ve learned to be an excellent teacher, when it comes to showing a child how to mistrust, hate, and treat others discourteously. But you opened my eyes, and that was the best thing that could’ve happened to me.”

“It wasn’t me, Conor.” Abby smiled. “It was the Lord.”

A fierce, sweet tenderness welled within him. “All I see is you, Abby, and that’s God enough for me.”

“Don’t say that, Conor. There is only one God, and that’s the Lord Jesus Christ.”

His gaze caressed Abby’s downcast face, savoring her soft skin, the tender curve of her cheek, her full, ripe mouth. Suddenly, Conor was overcome with a need to take her into his arms and kiss her. He walked to the table to stand beside her.

“Abby?”

“Yes?” She lifted her gaze.

“I don’t ever want you to leave Culdee Creek.”

Her eyes widened, and she swallowed convulsively. “I don’t understand.”

He inhaled a deep breath. “I guess what I’m saying is that maybe the idea of us getting married isn’t quite as far-fetched as I first claimed. Maybe, if you’re willing, we could try on the idea for a while and see how it fits.” He managed a sheepish grin. “I’m sadly out of practice, but if you can put up with my bumbling efforts at courtship …”

Abby went silent, her face pale, her lips parted in surprise. “I-I don’t know if that would be wise,” she murmured, when she finally found her voice. “As I said before … I’m not so certain we’re suited.”

“Why?” He leaned forward, impaling her with a fierce stare. “Because I’m no longer a good Christian?”

“I won’t lie to you, Conor. It is a concern of mine,” she admitted. “The Bible warns that we’re not to be unequally yoked.”