The Legacy of Copper Creek (25 page)

Whit watched her leave before removing a small box from his pocket. Seeing it, a hush settled over the room.

Willow's eyes were bright. “Is that what I think it is?”

Whit nodded. “I bought a ring for Cara.”

There were whoops from his brothers and sighs of pleasure from their wives.

Willow was smiling. “When did you find time to shop?”

“Online. Kate let me use her computer at the clinic.” He tucked the silver box back into his pocket.

“When will you ask her, lad?” Mad rolled his scooter up beside his grandson.

Whit shrugged. “I guess I'll just see how the evening goes. But I thought maybe later tonight…”

They all looked up as Cara stepped into the room.

Her eyes were a little too bright. There were two spots of color high on her cheeks. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was strained, as though unsure of what she would say.

“I found a message on my phone from Fred Eberly, the agent who had asked to see my stories and illustrations. You remember, Willow. I asked to use your computer that day…” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, I just returned his call and he told me that he's been in contact with a publisher that is owned by a conglomerate that also produces animated films. They want to meet with me and discuss a deal that would include a series of children's books and a series of movies, and they want to talk about licensing a line of related toys and clothing.”

For the space of several seconds, there was silence as the family members looked from Cara to Whit and back again.

Whit crossed the room and gathered her close for a powerful embrace. “That's outstanding news. It's what you've been dreaming of your whole life.”

“Yes.” Her single word lacked conviction.

Willow walked over to take her hands. “Oh, Cara. Are you as dazed as you look?”

Cara blinked and forced a smile. “Yes, I guess I am feeling a little overwhelmed at the moment. I can't quite wrap my mind around this.”

The others gathered around to offer their congratulations.

It was Mad who finally asked what everyone was thinking. “You said they want to meet you. Will they be flying here to Montana?”

She shook her head, avoiding Whit's eyes. “They want me to…come to…New York.”

“How exciting. When will you go?” Willow glanced at her son, who was watching Cara with a look of such hunger it had her stomach clenching.

“Fred Eberly said if I agreed, they'll send a plane for me tomorrow.”

“So soon? Isn't this all happening too fast?” Despite the look in Whit's eyes, his tone was deliberately cool and unemotional. “Not that it isn't wonderful for you. After all, it's what you've dreamed of. But you'll need some experts to advise you.”

“That's what Mr. Eberly said. He wants me to meet with a law firm and an accounting firm. He said they could sit in on the meeting tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow. What did you tell him?”

“I…told him yes.”

“Well, then.” It was Myrna who spoke when the others couldn't find any words. “It's a lucky thing we'd planned a special supper. Now we have one more reason to celebrate.”

They all looked up at a loud knock on the door.

Ira Pettigrew paused in the doorway, hat in hand. “Am I in time for supper?”

“Just in time,” Myrna said.

He hung his hat on a hook and carefully wiped his boots on a mat before stepping into the kitchen. “I figured you folks would be happy to hear all the details, now that we're managing to put all the facts together.”

As the family gathered around the table and began passing platters of amazing food, they allowed the police chief to fill them in on all the information the state's attorney general had gathered from the various authorities.

“When the state police searched Lance's home, they found a stash of weapons. Among them was a Remington. The state lab tests prove it was the one used to kill Bear.” After long moments of silence, Ira said, “It was greed, plain and simple. An arrogant, educated fool who really began to believe he was smarter than most ordinary mortals, and because he was familiar with the law, he figured he knew how to use it to his advantage.”

“His poor father,” Willow remarked.

Ira nodded. “A good man who can't imagine how things went so very wrong.” He glanced at Cara, who had remained silent. “We have a signed statement from young Billingham about what he did and how he was coerced into giving false testimony against you. You'll be happy to know that your record is clear.”

“Thank you.” Cara ducked her head, ashamed to have Jared's name mentioned in this company.

Ira shook his head, still in disbelief over all he'd learned. “To think of the number of people who trusted that snake in the grass. As you folks can imagine, I'm relieved to have all of this resolved. It was weighing heavily on my mind, as it was on yours.” He glanced around. “I know this doesn't make your loss any less painful, but I hope it gives you some peace of mind to know that Bear's killer will pay for the rest of his life for his hideous crimes.”

Around the table, their voices were muted.

And though Whit remained outwardly composed, his family was aware that he answered Ira's questions in a monotone, and he moved his food around his plate without really tasting any of it.

Cara was equally careful to smile and nod at all the right times. Her lack of appetite could have been blamed on her amazing news. Or it could indicate that she had already turned her attention away from the MacKenzie family and toward the shining dream that had once seemed as distant, and as impossible to reach, as the stars.

Or it could mean that she was as torn about this news as Whit.

How was it possible that this one day, which they had all been yearning for, had become, in a matter of hours, both the best and the worst day of their lives?

W
hit had been up since before dawn, mucking stalls in the barn. He was grateful for the release of hard, physical labor and the pain inflicted with each and every movement. He muttered under his breath with every stab of his pitchfork, every muscle-straining lift of the filthy dung-filled straw into the wagon.

When he was finished, he leaned into the wagon until he'd managed to shove it out the doorway of the barn and around to the back. There it would remain until its contents could be spread later over the fields for fertilizer.

He looked up at the sound of Mad's scooter.

“You'd best get a move on, lad, if you're going to get Cara to town on time.”

“I thought I'd let Mom and Brady drive her.”

“They're heading up to the hills as soon as they say their good-byes.”

He gritted his teeth. “Ash or Griff?”

“At their own places, lad. Don't you remember? They and their wives said good-bye to Cara last night.”

He remembered. Every word, every sad look, every awkward hug. The entire family had been subdued, the women practically in tears.

Mad held out a set of truck keys. “You can do this, lad. Drive her to town. Say good-bye and wish her luck. And mean it.”

“I can't, Mad.”

“You will, lad.” The old man's burr thickened. “You're a MacKenzie. It's what we do. Now get through this.”

“Yeah.” Whit flushed and looked away.

Feeling his grandfather watching him, he turned and headed toward the house.

Inside, he kicked off his dung-covered boots and hung his wide-brimmed hat before rolling his sleeves to wash at the big sink. While he slipped into fresh boots, he could hear voices in the kitchen as Myrna said a tearful good-bye to Cara.

“Remember what I told you, honey.” Myrna gathered Cara close. “Always follow your heart. It will never steer you wrong.”

Willow stepped close and gathered Cara into an embrace. “I hope you'll find time in your busy, successful new life to come back. You know you're always welcome here, Cara. We consider you one of the family.”

“Thank you. For everything.” Cara's voice was soft, breathless. “I love you all. And I'll”—she looked up to see Whit in the doorway—“I'll miss you all terribly.”

Whit jingled the keys. “If you're ready, we'd better get started.”

“Yes…I. Yes.” She picked up the small bag that held her meager belongings and followed him out the door and into the truck.

The drive to town was the longest Whit could ever remember. Except for the voices on the all-country radio station, there were awkward stretches of silence between him and his passenger.

Cara turned to stare out the side window. “Summer will be here soon. It's all so green and pretty.”

His eyes narrowed behind the mirrored sunglasses. “I'm sure it can't compete with the bright lights of New York.”

She turned to him. “I wish you were coming.”

He shook his head. “Not my style.”

“I understand. You have important things to do. I have no right to ask you to give up your work for me.”

“It's not that. You don't need me. I'd just be a fish out of water.”

“That's how I've always felt. Like I don't really belong anywhere.”

“You fit in just fine with all of us.”

She looked away. “I didn't give any of you a choice. There I was, a squatter in your range shack, and then I became the uninvited guest who never left.”

“We never wanted you to leave.”
Go ahead. Say it. I never wanted you to leave. And still don't. Please stay. I can't imagine my life without you.

But to say it, he would rob her of her joy in seeing her dream come true. If he loved her, truly loved her, he had to let her go without adding to her burden.

As they drove along the main street, past the medical clinic, past the police chief's office and jail, and pulled into the fairgrounds where a sleek company jet was idling, Whit felt his heart hitch.

He couldn't do this. Couldn't calmly say good-bye and watch her walk out of his life. And yet, if he loved her, he had to. Didn't she have the right to chase her dreams?

As they drove closer, the door of the plane opened and a stairway was lowered to the tarmac. Two uniformed men descended the steps and waited until Whit brought the truck to a stop.

Before Whit could circle around to assist Cara, the pilot walked to the passenger door. “Miss Walton?”

“Yes.”

“Captain Mike Phelps. I'm your pilot today.” He held out a hand and she stepped out of the truck before turning to grab her small bag.

“I'll take that. We're ready to leave as soon as you're aboard. Copilot Will Swanson will assist.”

The pilot walked away and entered the plane, while a second uniformed man remained standing at the foot of the stairs.

She turned to Whit, who had circled around the front of the truck and stood, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses.

Ask me to stay, Whit.

Her heart was so heavy in her chest, she could barely breathe.

Just say the words, and I'll happily spend the rest of my life here with you.

“I guess…” She swallowed and stuck out her hand awkwardly. “Good-bye, Whit.”

He ignored her outstretched hand and put both hands on her shoulders, giving her a quick hug. “Bye, Cara. I want to…” He saw her eyes go wide and prayed he could get through this. “I want to wish you luck. Nobody deserves it more than you. And like my mom said, I hope you know you'll always have a home with us. We all love you. And I hope you never forget us.”

“I love you…all of you, too.”

The light seemed to go out of her eyes as she turned away and walked to the plane.

The copilot took her hand and guided her up the steps and inside. When she was settled in her seat, she peered out the window.

Whit was standing beside his truck.

As the plane made a slow arc before rushing along the runway and lifting into the air, Cara looked down below.

The man and the truck were still there.

She turned and buried her face in her hands, finally free to let the tears fall. Tears she'd been holding inside for so long, her throat burned with their bitter taste.

Mad's scooter was parked at the big kitchen table when Willow walked into the room. The sky outside the windows showed that it wasn't yet dawn.

“You're up early, lass.”

“I could say the same to you, Mad. Can't sleep?”

He shook his head. “There's coffee.”

“Thanks.” She filled a mug and sat across from him. “Ira was right. It helps to know that Bear's killer has been found. But it doesn't ease the pain of losing him.”

Mad nodded. “And to know that his killer was a young man we've known for a lifetime, and trusted like family. Our only consolation is knowing Lance will pay for the rest of his life.”

“My heart is so heavy.” She sighed. “And think of poor Mason's heart, knowing his only son is a murderer. I hope somehow he finds healing.”

“That's my hope, too. The heart is an amazing gift. It can swell with love, and you think you'll never love that much again. Take my Maddie. I'd have walked through fire for her. But when Bear was born, it was a different kind of love. And I thought my heart was too full. But then you and Bear gave me those wee lads, and my already full heart was bursting.” He fixed her with a look. “If there's one thing I've learned, it's that there's always room for one more.”

“I know that look, Mad. Is there something you want to say to me?”

“It's my way of telling you that I'll not be hurt if you find yourself ready to let someone else into your heart. I know Bear would want you to be happy, lass.”

For the longest time she merely sipped her coffee. She finally spoke haltingly. “I want you to know I never planned this.”

He smiled. “Love usually happens when we least expect it. Though I believe that for Brady it's been a long time coming.”

“How did you guess? About Brady and me?”

“I've known before either of you knew.”

She shook her head. “It's too soon. I've told Brady that.”

“I didn't know there was a timetable for love.”

“You know what I mean. Bear's only been gone a year.”

He sighed. “It seems like a lifetime.”

Willow nodded. “Some days. At other times it seems like just yesterday. I still expect to see him walk through the door.”

“I know the feeling.” He sipped in silence before closing a hand over hers. “Anyway, I want you to know I'm happy for you. For both of you.”

“Don't worry. We're going to take our time with this.”

Mad frowned. “It's Whit I'm worried about.”

Her head came up. “What did he tell you?”

“Nothing. He doesn't talk. But he works until he can't work anymore. And then he falls into bed and hours later he's up again, pushing himself to the limit.” He nodded toward the door. “He's out in the barn right now. Been out there for an hour or more. He can't keep this up, lass. Maybe you could talk to him.”

Willow sighed. “I can try.”

She topped off her coffee and filled a second mug before heading to the mudroom for a pair of sturdy boots and a frayed denim jacket.

Outside, a soft, misty rain was falling. She lifted her face, enjoying the feel of it on her skin.

Inside the barn, she breathed in the familiar scents of dung and earth and leather.

“Good morning.” She paused outside one of the stalls.

“Morning.” Whit didn't stop working.

Willow watched as her youngest son spread fresh straw before filling the trough with water. Though she saw the ripple of muscle and the scraggly growth of beard, indicating that he was now a man, she could still see, in her mind's eye, the chubby baby he'd once been, the gangly youth, the pride and joy of his father. The delight of his mother.

“You're up early.”

He glanced away, trying not to make eye contact.

“Have you heard from Cara?”

At the mention of that name, she saw him flinch before he moved on to the next stall.

She trailed behind him. “Got time for some coffee?”

He turned. Seeing the mug, he set aside his pitchfork and led the way toward a long bench.

The two of them sat and Willow handed him a steaming mug.

“Thanks.” He sipped his coffee.

She laid a hand on his arm. “I know how you feel, Whit.”

He looked over. “Yeah. I guess you do. In a way, it's like a death.”

“But not as permanent. She could decide to come back.”

“Would you? Would you give up a dream to live like this?”

She smiled at the irony of his words. “I did.”

That had his attention. “Yeah. Sorry. I guess I forgot about that fancy life as a model. But that was a lifetime ago. And it was different. You and Pop were already engaged. At least you knew how he felt. I…never got the chance to tell Cara.”

“She'll figure it out.”

He shook his head. “She's been chasing this dream since she was a scared, lonely little kid.” He drained his coffee and handed her the empty mug. “I had my chance with her and I blew it. Now I just have to figure out how to live without her.”

He picked up the pitchfork. “When I finish here, I think I'll head up to the highlands. Along the way, I want to stop at Copper Creek.”

She took in a breath. “Your dad will enjoy a visit.”

“Yeah.” He turned away.

Willow stood for long moments, watching him. He was solid like his father. And he felt things deeply. Like his father. And like his father, he was a one-woman man. After Cara Walton, no other woman would ever be good enough. He would wait, and suffer, and endure. Like his father.

The misty rain had blown away, leaving the land fresh and lush and green. Sunlight sparkled on the waters of Copper Creek. High in the branches of a dead pine a mother eagle returned to the nest to feed her pair of hungry fledglings.

Whit tethered his gelding and walked to the banks of the creek to study the faded wooden cross he and his brothers had fashioned shortly after their father had been killed. Maybe it was time for a more permanent marker. Something that would explain, to anyone who stopped here, the terrible, heart-wrenching loss of the man who had died here.

He knelt in the grass, feeling again the pain of that loss.

And then he was thrust back to the time he'd brought Cara here. Seeing his grief, that tenderhearted female, who had fought so hard to remain aloof, had done the only thing she could to ease his pain.

She'd been so loving. So generous. And in his misery he'd taken her like an animal.

He wanted her. Dear God, he wanted her with every fiber of his being. He didn't think he could stand living this way for the rest of his life.

He lowered his head, trying to think of something else. Anything that would distract him from this never-ending pain.

He looked up at the sound of muted hoofbeats drumming against the soft earth.

Cara slid from the saddle and held the reins of a pale gray mare. She was wearing some sort of floaty, pale yellow sundress with cap sleeves that fluttered at her shoulders and a long skirt that billowed around her ankles. Not at all what a woman would wear to ride a horse.

The fact that he could conjure such a vision only reminded Whit how much of a fool he'd become. He blinked, thinking the vision would disappear. Instead, she tethered her horse next to his and walked closer.

His voice caught in his throat. “Are you real?”

She smiled shyly. “I am.”

He shook his head. “If I'm dreaming, don't wake me.”

“You're not dreaming, Whit.” She touched a hand to his scratchy cheek. “You forgot to shave.”