Lifting his eyes from his tray, Micah gave her a sidelong perusal. “Somehow I just don’t think you are the pouting type.”
Blushing a bit, she shrugged. “I guess I’ve been known to use such methods to get my way. But in this case, I don’t have to. I hate to cook, but I like to bake pies and cookies and pastries. I suppose it is my sweet tooth that drives me.”
“Now, a sweet tooth, I can believe.” He picked up his fork and impaled the pie, bringing a chunk to his mouth. He ate the pie with a look of deep scrutiny on his face.
She watched with breath more bated than she cared to admit.
Swallowing, he finally said, “I’ve had pecan pie only one other time in my life. My neighbor up in Cooksburg made it, and I fell in love with pecan pie. I asked my ma to make it, but she never got around to it. Those days she was feeling so poorly that we were lucky to have the basics to eat.” He grew momentarily melancholy, then shaking it off, continued. “Well, I’m in love again! Lucie, this pie is even better than Mrs. Hunter’s.”
Lucie grinned. Micah liked pecan pie. He liked
her
pecan pie! There was something so wonderfully ordinary about it that it nearly made her weep.
Micah was attacking the rest of the pie.
“Micah,” she scolded halfheartedly, “you need to eat your stew first.”
“Who says?”
She screwed up her lips in thought about this. “It is just the right thing to do.”
“It was only yesterday you were telling me that some things were just opposite of what we think they should be,” he countered.
“We were talking about how the Bible says that with God our weaknesses can be our strengths, and how God’s ways are often the exact opposite of the way people think things should be.”
“Yes, and the order of my meal tonight is a perfect way to illustrate how I’ve learned that spiritual truth,” he replied smugly.
Lucie picked up the napkin lying next to his plate and tossed it into his face. With incredibly quick reflexes for a man recuperating from near mortal injuries, Micah snatched the napkin and tossed it back at her.
Giggling, she said, “I think you are much too strong to fully grasp that notion.”
“No,” he said more solemnly, “I’m not.” He lifted his gaze, smiling faintly. “When I was strong physically, I was very weak in my soul, my heart. Now I can’t even walk. I guess I am not much stronger spiritually or emotionally, but I can see it now. My eyes are so much more open.”
“That is a good place to be.” Tenderly, she laid the napkin across his shirtfront.
“I don’t know where I’m going,” he confessed.
“It will come to you, Micah,” she encouraged. “I’m sure it will.”
Not long after that, Lucie began helping Micah get up. His wounds, the loss of blood, and the fever had taken a hard toll on him. He became exhausted walking just a few steps to the chair next to his bed. But within a week he was strong enough to venture outside. He asked Lucie to take him to the stable to see Stew.
“I just gotta make sure he’s all right, with my own eyes, you know?” he said.
“I understand. But I have made sure that mule has been treated like a king. I personally give him a lump of sugar every day.” She took Micah’s arm as they walked outside. He probably did not need such assistance, but he didn’t protest.
“How do you do it all, Lucie? You’ve been caring for me day and night, but I know your father needs help also. Then you have your chores. And still you take time for my old mule. You amaze me!”
“I don’t consider a minute of it work,” she explained simply. How could she tell him that every moment caring for him was sheer pleasure?
He was out of breath when they reached the stable, but he doggedly continued to the stall Lucie indicated was Stew’s. He unlatched the door and went inside. Running a hand along the animal’s flanks, he murmured affectionate words to the mule.
“You know,” he said to Lucie, “I hate to admit it, but this ornery beast saved my life. It ain’t nothing short of a miracle that he showed up when he did out there.”
“I didn’t know you believed in miracles,” she said lightly.
“Don’t think it doesn’t make me angry that I just might have to change my perspective.” He spoke with mock affront, then grinned. “A man can change, you know.”
“I suppose anything is possible,” she replied noncommittally.
Micah was sure he’d never been happier in his life. Sometimes he felt a little guilty about this, considering the loss of his two dearest friends. But he also thought that perhaps they, more than anyone, would understand. This was the first time in years that Micah was so completely removed from violence and strife. He didn’t have to sleep lightly with a gun near at hand. He didn’t have to move through the day in a constant vigil for danger. When he dressed for the first time—in some spares of the ranch hands because his own clothes had been tattered to shreds during his trek—he had momentarily felt naked without pistols tucked into his belt.
Yes, he had grieved the death of Tom, but it had simply not wrenched at the core of him as Jed’s death had. Lucie said it was God’s peace. Maybe so. Or maybe he just did not want to face the questions and deep down anger Tom’s death would surely bring if he thought too intensely about it. Maybe it was hard to accept Tom being dead because he hadn’t seen it for himself. That’s what Reid Maccallum thought.
Micah smiled as he sat in the chair by the window in what had once been Juana’s room. The housekeeper had vacated and was now sharing Lucie’s room. Anyway, the thought of Reid was a pleasant one. The two men suddenly had much in common. Both were once strapping, strong men who were now invalids. Once Reid realized he was welcome, he often came and passed the time with Micah. And Micah enjoyed the visits almost as much as he enjoyed Lucie’s visits.
Not a naturally verbose man, Reid could talk at great length if given encouragement. And he was knowledgeable about many varied subjects. Not a formally educated man, he still was well-read, interesting, and wise. It wasn’t long before they became comfortable enough to talk about personal things. Reid talked about his son one day. This was another area Micah and Reid had in common, but from different perspectives.
“It wasn’t easy for the boy,” Reid said, “growing up as he did caught between two cultures. Unfortunately, I didn’t see the depth of the problem until it was too late.”
“Lucie doesn’t seem to have problems in that area,” Micah said.
“I can’t exactly say why that is.” Reid gazed a moment out the window. Lucie had moved another chair into Micah’s room and placed it adjacent to Micah’s. There was even a small table between the two chairs so the two convalescents could take refreshment together. “Maybe it was my doing. Fathers are different with sons than they are with daughters. I love them both to the depths of my soul, but I think a man expects more of a son. A son is an extension of a man far more than a daughter is. He has the potential to be everything the father could not be. It is a heavy burden to be laid on a boy. On the other hand, a son expects more from a father than a daughter does.”
“A son wants to worship his father,” interjected Micah. “I guess a daughter does, too, but only a son can hope to take that worship to the obvious conclusion of true imitation.”
“Is that what you wanted to do? Imitate your father?”
Micah laughed dryly. “If I did, I failed miserably!”
“I guess that’s really what I’m trying to say. All those high expectations fathers and sons have for one another—well, we are all doomed to fail. And it’s probably just as well that we do!” He shook his head and, steepling his fingers, tapped them thoughtfully against his lips. “Joaquin did not feel he could ever be a respectable rancher, so he did just the opposite—became an outlaw, and worse, a bandit politically opposed to all I and the other ranchers stood for. I know it isn’t quite that simple, and there were other factors involved, but the end was the same. My son and I were driven further and further apart. We, who loved each other very deeply, became enemies of a sort. It tears me apart inside. I don’t doubt it has been part of the cause of my heart going bad.”
“Do you . . .” Micah paused, his eyes flickering to the window. Outside, the sky was a clean blue and the sun was glaring. The stableboy was chasing a couple of dogs around in the yard. Again, Micah felt life was too sweet now to sully with deep introspection, especially of painful topics. Yet he was curious about Reid and his son. Clearly there were many parallels between them and Micah and his father. Micah knew that sooner or later he must confront his own difficulties in this area or relinquish all the peace he was now experiencing.
He took a breath and went on. “Mr. Maccallum, do you still love Joaquin?”
“Of course!” the man said simply without hesitation.
“Why? He defied you during the war by fighting on the other side. He defies you every day by harassing the borders of your land. Surely his actions are a shame to both you and Lucie.”
“I love him because he is part of me, Micah. Just as I am sure he loves me for the same reason. That kind of love does not die easily. It would be like hating yourself.”
“Sometimes I do hate myself,” Micah said flatly.
“And sometimes you love yourself. Life is not black and white.”
“I’ve often wondered if my father loves me,” Micah mused, only realizing he said the words out loud when they were spoken.
“I’m sure he loves you.”
“How can you know that?”
“It was clear when I met him.”
Micah blinked with surprise. “You met him?”
“He came last year after Lucie wrote to him about your being in prison in Mexico.”
“Lucie wrote him?”
Reid smiled. “What do you and my daughter talk about all those hours I’ve heard your voices from my room?”
“Everything and nothing,” Micah answered. “But that never came up.”
“I expect Lucie is reticent about broaching such a tender subject.”
“Probably.” Micah considered Reid’s astounding words again. “He came here?”
“Yes, and he spent time with President Houston as well, no doubt badgering the man about your disposition.”
“He did all that?”
“Sounds like a man who loves his son.”
Micah rose from his chair and walked around it so he could stand facing the window. It was hard to let Reid see the sudden quandary of emotion his statement had stirred in Micah. Though part of him wanted to believe Reid’s words, a part still sought to fight against them. Yet he knew that any peace he hoped to attain hinged on his coming to terms with both his father and his father’s God. Having had a small taste of peace, he now knew he desperately wanted it. But could he sacrifice the hate that had sustained him for so many years? It seemed a twisted question. Who would choose hate? Micah didn’t want it. But he feared the unknown more.
T
HREE WEEKS FROM THE DAY
Micah showed up half dead in San Antonio, Lucie deemed him fit enough to ride a bit. He still felt stiff and weak in the knees, but he was not going to argue. The restlessness that had been at bay during his recovery was beginning to creep up on him. This worried him a little, and he had confided it to Reid.
“I was beginning to think I was ready to settle down,” he said. He didn’t say that in his mind settling down almost certainly involved Lucie. Maybe Reid understood this, but nevertheless, Micah was not ready to approach the man about marrying his daughter no matter how congenial they had become. “I’m starting to feel itchy now—in my feet, you know.”
“I sometimes get mighty restless myself,” Reid said. “Might be you are just experiencing what is natural to most men. You’ve never had to lie on your back for long periods, have you?”
“In prison, but I guess that was different because I could still get around even if I was confined. But there were days when I wanted to scream from boredom.”
“A man can only take so much,” Reid agreed.
Micah hoped that was it. He hoped that the wild streak in him was finally getting tamed. He hoped so because Lucie Maccallum deserved a man at her side, not one roaming all over creation.
Regardless, he quickly dressed and met Lucie in the kitchen. She was placing some items in a basket. He peeked inside and found dishes of food—cold chicken left over from last night’s supper, a loaf of bread, apples, and two slabs of spice cake, which was another of Lucie’s specialties.
“What’s all this?” he asked.
“A picnic.”
“A real picnic?” He smiled. “I don’t think I have ever been on a picnic. Not that I can remember. My stepmother took the young kids on a picnic once, but I wouldn’t go. I was pretty ornery back then.”
“Well, I am honored, then, to take you on your first
real
picnic.” Lucie gave Micah a quick appraisal as she spoke. “But no guns on a picnic.” She reached to remove the pistol he had in his belt.
Captain Hays had come to visit him a few days before and had brought him his weapons, which Baker and Lowe had brought from the battle site. Good weapons were hard to come by, and Micah was glad to have his back. He hadn’t even thought about it when he had tucked the revolver into his belt upon dressing.
“But, Lucie, if we’re riding any distance from the ranch, we gotta have some protection,” he argued. “Against snakes or varmints, if nothing else.”
“I decree there will be no varmints on this outing!”
He shook his head. “Ya just can’t—”
“He’s right,” said Reid, who had just come into the kitchen. “That would be purely irresponsible, Lucie, and you well know it.”
“But I don’t want him troubled by such things today,” she said.
“He’ll be more troubled if you have no protection. As will I. One moment.” Reid left the kitchen and returned with a rifle in hand. “Leave the pistol, but take this,” he offered.
“That’s fine by me,” said Micah, looking to Lucie for final approval of the plan.
When she nodded reluctantly, Micah took the revolver from his belt and laid it on the table. It was with this very weapon that he had killed most of the Mexican bandits that awful day, the memory of which still burned painfully in his mind. He, more than anyone, wanted no reminders of that day just now. He was going on a picnic with Lucie. He wanted nothing to cloud the moment.