The Long Trail (The McCabes Book 1) by Brad Dennison (books that read to you .txt) 📕

with dust. Aunt Ginny had generously allowed him and Dusty to eat at the table without requiring them to wash up and put on fresh clothes. He was wearing leather chaps strapped on over his jeans, and his pistol was at his side.

He walked over, trying to look casual, and yet wanting to get to the porch before she went back inside.

But she saw him, and threw a smile his way.

He stopped below the porch. “I haven’t had much time to talk with you lately. Aunt Ginny keeps you busy, and there’s always folks around. Hard to get a moment alone.”

She nodded. Her hair was tied back in a bun, and she was wearing a blouse and a long, dark skirt. An apron was tied about her middle. She was now eating regular, well-balanced meals, and her color was good. She had been a little washed out looking when he had first met her. Now there was no sign of that. She looked like she belonged working on a ranch.

“I love it here,” she said. “I never thought I could have a life like this.”

“I’m glad,” he said.

“You’re family is so wonderful. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for bringing me here.”

He raised his brows and gave her a questioning look. “The way Aunt Ginny works you..,”

“The work is hard. But it’s good work. Honest work. At the end of the day, you feel like you’ve accomplished something.”

This drew a smile from him. It was what he liked about ranch work, too. At the end of the day, his butt might hurt from all of the hours in the saddle, his back might ache, but he had the feeling that he was building something.

“You know, there’s a creek out yonder. A couple miles that-a-way,” he nodded with his head in the general direction of northwest. “It’s in a little patch of woods. It’d be the perfect place to put a little house. Raise a family. With the right girl. Maybe I could show it to you sometime.”

“Josh,” she said, a little sadly, catching what he was hinting at. “I’m flattered. You need a good girl to build a life with. I’m just not worthy.”

“I think you are. I don’t think any of us should be judged by what we have to do to survive. We’re all human, Temperence. And we’re all damaged to some extent. But any man would be honored to have you at his side.”

She took a moment, letting his words sink in. No man had ever talked to her like this before.

Then she said, “I’m just not ready. Not to build a life with anyone. But,” she met his gaze with eyes as blue as the sky above, “when I am, if you still think you want me, I’d be honored.”

He nodded. “I can wait. When something’s worth it, I can wait a long time.”

She smiled. A big, beaming smile. A smile that warmed his heart like none other. She didn’t know what to say. Maybe there was nothing that could be said. She simply smiled at him, and he smiled back.

“I gotta be going,” he said. “Gotta join Dusty. Round up them strays.”

“I’ll be here when you get back.”

He nodded and turned toward where his horse waited for him by the corral.

“You know,” she called to him, and he turned back to her, “I think I’ll always be here when you get back.”

He turned and strode toward his horse. Nothing makes a man feel more alive than a woman he is in love with saying something like that. It makes you all warm inside. It makes you feel alive like nothing else.

His knee still hurt like hell. But it didn’t stop him from grabbing the saddle horn and leaping onto the animal’s back.

He looked back to the porch, and found Temperence was still there, watching him. He reared the horse back onto its hind legs, in a sort salute to her. She laughed, and waved back.

Josh turned the horse and rode off to catch up with his brother.

Temperence stood on the porch, watching him shrink with the distance. For the first time since she was a child, she felt like she was home.

*

Johnny stood on the porch, a half-full mug of coffee in his hand. Ginny stepped out onto the porch behind him, carrying a teacup and saucer, and noticed Johnny held his mug in his left hand so his right could be free should he need to reach for a gun. Living in a perpetual state of war. She figured he always would.

The sun had set and the valley before them was falling into shadows. The breeze was turning cool, but brought with it a hint of balsam.

“My favorite time of day,” he said. “When Zack, Josiah and I wintered here with the Shoshone, I would stand in front of the lodge we used and just watch night descend onto the valley. It always brought a sort of feeling to me like what my Ma used to describe feeling in church. A sort of hushed reverence.”

Ginny said, “To the Shoshone, the land itself is their church. The forests, the mountains. The sky is their cathedral.”

He nodded. “Not just to them. I guess it is to me.”

“Oh, John. I kid you a lot about your Indian beliefs. But I really think you’re more Shoshone than you realize. At least in your heart.”

He tossed a grin back at her. “Why, Ginny. I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t get used to it,” she said with a smirk, and lowered herself to her rocker, and took a sip of the steaming hot earl grey. Then she grew serious. “John, how are you feeling?”

“You ask me that three times a day.”

“Well, you get yourself shot and almost killed, and you have to expect people to ask you how you feel.”

“I’m feeling fine. Stronger every day.”

He still felt a twinge of pain when he exerted himself. Such as