Lucas Read Online Free PDF Page A

night on the cold,
hard ground.
    As requested, he met
Denver out at the stables and spent the next hour securing shutters, hauling
wood into the homestead and bunkhouse, and feeding the horses in the biggest
stable Lucas had ever seen. The stalls had already been mucked and the horses
groomed, he just needed to make sure they had plenty of food and water until
their next feeding.
    There was something
cathartic about working on his grandfather’s ranch. Some of the dread that he’d
experienced garnering the courage to knock on that front door seemed to
dissipate with each new task he accomplished.
    “Lucas.”
    He pricked his ears,
unsure whether or not he’d heard the faint sound of his name carried on the
breeze. When he didn’t hear it again, he returned to his work, tossing the last
barrow full of hay into the stall.
    “Lucas!”
    It was louder this
time, clear as day. Someone had called his name. He scraped the
pitchfork clean of debris, set it in the wheelbarrow, and headed for the front
of the stables with an empty feed bucket and a tool crate.
    As he rounded the edge
of the long string of stalls, an older, gruff looking man, his stature nearly
filling the door, stepped into the stable, clutching onto the top boards of the
first stall.
    “Lucas!” A crack broke
in the man’s voice as he called out his name again. “You made it.”
    Lucas set down his
cargo and stared at him, eyes narrowed, hoping for some sense of recognition.
    Granddad? He didn’t trust
himself to speak the name aloud.
    “Lucas, is that really
you?” the older man’s whispered voice broke with emotion and he rushed forward,
throwing his arms around his grandson and squeezing hard before pushing him
away far enough to see his face. “Let me look at ya.”
    “Hello, Granddad. I’m
Lucas.” He’d prepared what he was going to say over and over again during his
weeks on the trail, but at this moment, his mind was nothing more than a blank
slate. He didn’t trust himself to say anything else at that moment, for fear
his voice would crack too.
    “Of course you are. And
you’re a right grown man.”
    Lucas cleared his
throat. “Yes, sir.”
    Granddad draped his arm
around him and walked with him to the edge of the barn. “Lucy said you’ve holed
up in the bunkhouse. But, I’ve got her seeing to it now that you have a nice
room of your own inside the main house.” He turned away and coughed into his
shoulder, then squeezed Lucas’s arm.
    Arggg! Sharp pains shot up
his shoulder and into his back. He bit his lip and tensed his hands. Breathe,
Deardon! He would stand here for an eternity, pain and all, if it meant
having his grandfather welcome him with open arms.
    “My grandson. Here. And
in time for the holiday feast.” He coughed again. “I never would have believed
it. It’s been so long.” Granddad clasped Lucas hard on the shoulder again, then
released him.
    Lucas grunted inwardly,
flexing his jaw against the pain. Relief mixed with regret as the ache from his
grandfather’s grip subsided as did the welcoming feeling of his touch. The man’s
tenderness surprised him.
    “Supper is almost
ready. We’ve got a lot to catch up on. Go get your things and meet me inside.”
    “Yes, sir. Right after
I put blankets on all of the remaining horses.”
    Granddad stood still
for a moment, just staring at him. His chest puffed out slightly and he smiled
crookedly. Then, he nodded and ducked out into the increasingly cold storm
toward the house, lifting his arms to protect him from the onslaught of snow
that now fell in droves.
    Cough. Cough. The cough
could be heard above the rush of strong winds.
    That doesn’t sound
good.
    Lucas scrunched his
brows together. The man he’d just met, his grandfather, was not a man who never
wanted to see his grandchildren again.
    “Dad lied,” he
whispered to himself. To hear his father tell it, Liam Deardon was a hard
man—impossible even with nary an ounce of compassion. How many times had he