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

Dusty raised his brows with uncertainty. “I don’t know. I think if I sleep upstairs, things are really gonna heat up here tomorrow.”

“You let me take care of that.”

NINETEEN

Ginny’s room was not upstairs, but an addition to the first floor, off the parlor. She had always been a light sleeper, heard footsteps coming down the stairs shortly after the mantel clock chimed three times. She knew every sound in the house, and recognized the foot falls as belonging to John. It was not unusual for him to sleep but a few hours, then get up and pace about for a while. Smoke his pipe. Stand at the back porch, gazing off into the night. Zack Johnson had said once that Johnny’s light sleeping came from having been shot at once too often, but it had become worse after Lura was shot.

She heard the tapping of John’s riding boot heels on the pine wood floorboards as he crossed the parlor. She thought she heard a creak of leather, and figured he was probably wearing his guns. He did not even go to the outhouse without those things buckled about his hips. Again, from having been shot at once too often.

She heard the squeak of one hinge as he opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch. She remembered when the door first developed its squeak, and she had been about to ask one of the men to fetch a can of oil, but John dissuaded her. A squeaky door hinge tells you when the door is being opened, he said. Ginny wasn’t known for her patience, and little things like a squeaky door hinge can drive her to distraction, but she had to admit he had a point so she let it go. The door had now been squeaking for more than seven years.

She also had no doubt John now knew Dusty was sleeping in the guest room. To get to the stairs, John would have had to pass the doorway to the guest room. Oh, well. Now Ginny didn’t have to worry about how she would bring it to John’s attention at breakfast in the morning.

Bree was slipping a spatula under a slab of sirloin from a skillet and dropping it onto a plate when her Pa stepped into the kitchen. She scooped some scrambled eggs onto the plate also and set it in front of him as he took his customary chair at the head of the table.

“Good morning, Pa,” she said, and planted a quick kiss on his cheek.

“Good morning, Pumpkin,” he said. An old nickname he reserved for her, and only Pa could get away with it. Josh would call her that sometimes, just to get her dander up. Worked every time.

She poured a cup of steaming black trail coffee and set it by his plate. Ginny was sitting at her chair across the table from him, a cup of golden tea before her.

“Bree,” she said. “Could you please leave us?”

Bree looked at her curiously. Partly, she supposed from the odd request, but also because Ginny used the shortened version of her name. “But I haven’t had breakfast, yet.”

“You’ll have your chance to eat. But your father and I have something to discuss.”

She rolled her eyes, as if to say, okay, don’t tell me what’s going on. I don’t care, and she strode away into the parlor.

John said nothing as he took a sip of that vile muck he called coffee. His graying hair was tied back in a tail, and he was cleanly shaven. He wore a brown range shirt under a worn leather vest, and his pistols were in place.

Ginny waited for him to say what he had to say. She lifted her cup for a sip, then returned it to its saucer. A waiting game. She knew he could wait her out, but he also knew she was capable of the same. She hoped it didn’t go on too long, because Bree was hungry.

Finally he spoke. “You go too far some times, you know that?”

“I could say the same about you,” she said calmly. “Telling your own son to sleep out in the bunkhouse.”

Johnny sighed slowly, his gaze fixed on the plate before him. “I’m not in the mood for an argument. But we don’t know for sure he’s my son.”

“John, the truth is obvious. Just look at him. I mean, Zack sees it. And so does Mister Hunter.”

“Regardless, I’m not convinced. And I don’t want him sleeping in this house until I am. If I ever am.”

“And what are you looking for? Absolute, concrete proof?”

He looked up at her. His eyes were tired. He hadn’t slept much the night before. “A birth certificate would be nice. Or some sort of legal document.”

“Now, John. You know a child born like that would probably have no such record.”

“I’ve already made my decision. He can stay until we figure this out, but not in the house.”

“John, sometimes you just have to look into your heart, and see what your heart already knows.”

He shook his head. “Now is not the time.”

She was about to ask why now was not the time, but Josh stepped into the kitchen. “Mornin’, everyone.”

“Morning,” John said.

Ginny said nothing.

Josh shrugged, and went to the coffee pot. He didn’t know what the trouble was between Pa and Aunt Ginny. He had heard their voices as he came down the stairs but couldn’t make out the words. Bree was sitting in the parlor and said, “I don’t know what’s going on, but you might not want to go in there.” But Josh needed his first cup of coffee too badly too take her advice.

“Josh,” Pa said. “Get your coffee and breakfast, and get ready to ride. We’ve got a day ahead of us.”

Josh looked at him curiously. “We going to the line shack?”

“No.”

But before he could say further, Dusty stepped into the doorway. He was freshly bathed, his hair still wet from the