Maggie's Beau

by Carolyn Davidson

  “Maybe we should keep two of them, Maggie. Having a guard dog for the house wouldn’t be a bad idea, now that I think of it.”

  “I’d take care of it,” she offered. “Maybe I could build a coop up by the porch. I’m pretty handy with nailin’ boards together.”

  The pup, feeling neglected by the looks of things, stood on his hind legs and pawed at Beau’s pant leg. “Down, boy,” Beau said firmly, and Maggie grinned as the pup sat abruptly and watched with hopeful eyes.

  “Pick out the one you want, Maggie,” Beau told her. “I’ll check around and see if anybody’s in need of a dog, and we’ll see if we can find homes for the rest.”

  She was overwhelmed with the simplicity of it all. There’d been no hassle or bargaining to be done, no need to worry about a man’s anger or moods. Life with Beau was a far cry from what she’d known over the past years. “Some days I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven,” she said quietly.

  Beau shot her a look that searched her face, and then softened as his eyes met hers. “This is a far cry from heaven, Maggie. The trouble with you is that you’ve never lived any place where folks liked each other, and tried to make life enjoyable.”

  “I just know that livin’ here is like being in a dream. I thank you for bein’ kind to me, and for doin’ all you do.” Emotion welled within her and words spurted forth. “I just feel like huggin’ you,” she blurted. And that was probably enough to scare him off if anything ever would, she thought.

  “You can if you want to,” he said, his grin wide. “I’ve thought about hugging you a few times myself. In fact,” he said, reaching to brush a strand of hair from her cheek, “I’d really like to kiss you, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “You want to kiss me?” she asked incredulously. And then laughed aloud. “Nobody ever kissed me in my life, excepting for my mama.”

  He leaned closer, bending his head and she felt her eyes widen as his face neared. His mouth was open just the slightest bit and then it touched hers, his lips moving, pressing gently. Her eyes closed and she inhaled deeply, her indrawn breath a sigh.

  “Maggie?” His hands clasped her shoulders and she opened her eyes to gaze at his face, barely able to contain herself. He’d kissed her, right on the mouth, and that such a thing could cause her heart to stammer and cut up the way hers was, was not to be believed. If this was a sample of what Emily and Roberta had been whispering about, it was no wonder they’d run off with those two fellas.

  “I think I like this kissin’ stuff,” she said, her tongue touching her upper lip.

  “I think I do, too.” He released her from his grip and stepped back. “I don’t believe we want the men to be watching though, do we?”

  Her head spun to the left and she scanned the open barn door. “They’ll think I’m carryin’ on with you,” she said. And then tilted her chin with a hint of defiance. “You can kiss me any time you want to. And if it pleasures you to be doin’ it, that’s just fine with me. I don’t know how it felt to you, but I thought it was about the warmest feeling I ever had.”

  “Is that so?” His eyes glittered and she thought he might speak, but, as if he changed his mind, he looked aside, then down at the pup. “Buster’s looking for some attention,” he said, bending to rub the dark head. The pup whined with delight, then pawed again at Beau’s boots, his mouth wide in a grin. “There’s only one thing about this dog,” Beau told her. “You can’t make a pet out of him. Choose the one you want for the house, and do all the pampering you want, but you have to leave Buster alone. If he’s going to be a cattle dog, he’s got to learn that he’s not a pet.”

  Maggie nodded. “I guess I understand that. He probably won’t care, will he? He’ll be happy doin’ what his kind does, workin’ with the men.” She bent over the barrier to where the rest of the litter romped and her hand fell unerringly on a brown female with white legs and chest. Her hand curved around the soft belly, and she lifted the wriggling creature to her breast.

  “I’ve kinda taken a fancy to this little one, anyway. I don’t know how good a guard dog she’ll be, but I’d like to have her for my own, if that’s all right with you.”

  Beau nodded. “I told you to take your choice. I’m going to have Joe put up a pen for the rest, so we can keep them corralled until we find places for them. You’ll need to get some wood from the barn. I’ll give you a hand with a dog coop.”

  The chosen dog at his heels, Beau headed for the barn, and Maggie made a path to the coop where a flock of hens awaited their breakfast. The pup stood outside the chicken yard while Maggie scattered feed, then went inside to gather eggs. Her hat was called into service, and she filled it with the bounty from Beau’s flock.

  The dog waited by the gate as Maggie slipped through the opening, careful lest the adventuresome hens followed. “I think I’ll call you Rascal,” she said, glancing down at the pup romping around her feet. “You better stay out of the way, so I don’t trip over you.”

  “Looks like you got yourself a dog,” Sophie said from the open door.

  “Beau said I could keep her for my own,” Maggie told her, both hands holding the hat brim as she climbed the steps. “I forgot a basket for the eggs, and my hat’s full.” She looked back at the pup, whose front paws were propped on the bottom stair. “Stay right there, Rascal. I’ll be back.”

  “Rascal?” Sophie shook her head. “Give me those eggs, and pen that dog up before you go out to the barn. You don’t want her to get stepped on first thing.”

  Beau watched the small herd of horses set off, Joe, Rad and Pony riding on either side and at the rear of the procession. Loading the animals into box cars at the rail line might be costly, but the time saved, not to mention the fact that it only took two men to accomplish unloading and corralling them once they reached Dodge City, made it worthwhile. Pony would return to the ranch, once the horses were on their way, and Joe and Rad would handle the rest of the job.

  Selling his animals to the army made sense, Beau told Maggie. The colonel he’d served under during the war made every effort to put his soldiers on prime horseflesh, and Beau’s stock filled the bill. And with any luck, Joe and Rad would return in three days, bringing enough money to pay off the rest of the mortgage on Beau’s ranch.

  The dinner table held plates for four, and Maggie missed the hubbub of talk and laughter she’d become accustomed to. Shay, never much for speaking his mind, ate abundantly of Sophie’s cooking, murmured a word of thanks and left the house silently. Beau, preoccupied with the threat of snow, kept a weather eye out the window as he ate, and Maggie was left to clear the table as Sophie trotted out to the clotheslines, fearful of the clothes being blown away. The wind from the west almost snatched the sheets from her hands as she unpinned them, and Maggie ran out to help, setting the dishes aside.

  “Looks like Beau was right,” Sophie said breathlessly. “We’re gonna have a storm.”

  Both carrying armloads of clothing, they went back to the house. “You want me to put the irons on the stove?” Maggie asked, shaking the shirts and folding them. “The wrinkles are pretty near blown away. They just need some touch-up.”

  Sophie nodded. “They’re still damp enough to iron. We won’t need to sprinkle them, that’s for sure. You can do the sheets first, to get the chill off and dry the hems.”

  Between them, the two women made short work of the laundry and Maggie carried the results of their labor up the stairs. Beau’s room, at the far end of the house, was her first stop, and she placed sheets and pillowcases on his mattress. His shirts, folded and pressed went into his dresser, and she lingered there, taken with the sight of small clothes and neatly ironed kerchiefs. Her fingers smoothed their surfaces and she rearranged the contents, making room for the shirts she carried.

  And then turned to face the bed. The place where Beau slept every night, his head on the very pillow she lifted to press against her breasts. She held it beneath her chin, reaching for a pillowcase, then slid the plump pillow into place, rep
eating the action with the second of the pair. Placing them squarely on a straight chair, she turned again to the bed, snapping a sheet in the air, then watching it float to the mattress. Ma had taught her the trick of square corners, and Maggie pulled the sheet taut, then tucked it carefully. The top sheet followed and she viewed the results with a grin.

  Who’d have thought she’d be right here in a man’s bedroom, doing the chores a wife would do? And enjoying it, she reminded herself. When Beau Jackson finally found himself a woman to marry, she’d do well to appreciate the man, Maggie thought, fluffing the feather pillows before she put them into place. There weren’t many as good-hearted as the man who slept in this bed. She lifted his quilt and held it to her face, glancing at the door, lest Sophie catch her at her foolishness. Closing her eyes, she rubbed the fabric against her cheek and inhaled the faint scent he’d left behind.

  And then with a muffled chuckle, spread the coverlet over the bed and tucked it in place.

  He was a neat man, she decided, hesitating by his dresser to straighten the black comb and brush he used. His extra boots stood neatly, side by side against the wall, beneath hooks that held his trousers. A book lay open on the bedside table and Maggie bent low to examine it. A slender volume, it bore a name on its cover she had not seen before.

  “Char-less,” she murmured, her finger tracing the letters. “Dick-ens.” She placed it where she’d found it, repeating the words. “Sure is a funny name for a book,” she muttered. And then bent low to examine it again. Another pair of words beneath the first were even more difficult to make out, and she shook her head.

  It would not do to ask about it. Beau would think she’d been snooping. And so she had, she admitted, taking one last look around the room as she hesitated in the doorway.

  “You about done up there?” Sophie called from the foot of the stairs. “Never saw anybody make such a production out of puttin’ sheets on a bed.”

  Maggie’s feet skimmed the stairs as she heeded the words. “I’m not as good at it as you, probably,” she said jauntily. “But I’m learnin’.”

  Sophie waited, another load of clothing in her arms. “You can trot right back up there and leave this stuff in my room,” she told Maggie. “I’ll do my bed later. I think Beau wants you in the barn. He was headin’ this way a minute ago.”

  Maggie did as bidden, filled with the importance of being needed. Beau’s confidence in her had grown over the past weeks, and with three men gone, it was not surprising that her presence was required outdoors. Within minutes, she was donning her boots and coat. From the kitchen, Beau’s voice called her name.

  “I’m coming,” she answered. “Sophie said she thought you needed me.”

  “Shay’s building a lean-to for the mares in the pasture,” he told her. “There’s not much shelter out there, and not enough room in the barn for all of them. I want you to help me haul some hay for them. If it snows tonight, those horses’ll have a dickens of a time finding grass.”

  “Dickens.” Maggie halted in her tracks. “That’s the word on your book.” Pleased that she had recognized it, she grinned at Beau. “I saw it by your bed when I was puttin’ on your sheets.”

  He turned to her. “You made my bed?” His cheekbones wore a ruddy glow as he spoke, and Maggie could only nod in reply. Snatching her new blue scarf from the hook by the door, he held it in her direction and she reached for it, surprised when his fingers did not release their grip. Instead, he tugged her nearer and she did his silent bidding.

  “Wasn’t I supposed to?” she asked. “Sophie sent me up there.” Her fingers tangled in the scarf, and then they were covered by his hands. His were cold against her warm skin, and she shivered. “I won’t go in your room anymore if you don’t want me to.”

  He shook his head. “No, that’s fine. You do whatever Sophie tells you.” He lifted the scarf and her hands were released. The length of knitted wool was draped around her throat and she stood before him, mesmerized by the glow of his dark eyes.

  “What does Char-less mean?” she asked, searching for words to speak, aware of his hands against her skin as he arranged the blue scarf in place.

  He frowned, his fingers stilled by the word she spoke. “‘Char-less’?”

  “It was on the cover of your book,” she said. “Right above the Dickens part.”

  His mouth curved in a smile. “That’s the author’s name. Charles Dickens.” He cocked his head to one side. “You really recognized those words?”

  Maggie nodded. “I said the letters in my head, like you told me to. I just couldn’t figure out the first part.” She repeated the name he’d spoken. “Charles Dickens.”

  “Would you like to hear the story, Maggie?” he asked, turning her to the door, his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll read it to you, starting tonight, if you like. By the time the winter’s over, I’ll warrant you’ll be able to read it yourself, at the rate you’re going.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll never be that smart. I’m doin’ good to write my name and be makin’ all those rows of numbers.”

  He opened the door and waited for her to step out onto the porch. “Don’t put yourself down. You’re smart. The problem is you never had a chance to learn before.” They trudged to the barn, side by side and Beau stepped in front of her, to open the wide door.

  “Maggie.” His arm stretched before her, effectively halting her progress and she looked up into his face, where a smudge of whiskers told her he had not shaved since yesterday. “When I climb in my bed tonight, I’ll be thinking of you, and appreciating those nice clean sheets.”

  “Sophie washed them,” she blurted, unwilling to take credit where it was not due her. “I only pressed out the hems and made the bed.”

  “You’re a big help here. I want you to know that,” he said quietly. “I think we overwork you some days, what with helping Sophie and doing barn work and taking care of the—”

  “Hush, Beau Jackson,” she said sharply. “You don’t ever need to thank me for anything. I’m so deep in your debt, I’ll never haul myself out. I’ve never had it so good in my whole life.” Flustered at his appreciation, she pushed past him and snatched up a pitchfork from the wall. “I’ll go up in the loft and pitch hay out the back window. You can pile it on the wagon.”

  He laughed aloud, following in her wake. “Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say.”

  Halfway up the ladder, she halted, closing her eyes as she considered the words she’d spoken with such haste. “I don’t mean to be tellin’ you what to do,” she said, backing down slowly. “I was just—”

  His hands were warm against her waist, his grip firm through the layers of clothing she wore. “Just stay put,” he said. “I know what you were just—” He allowed the pause to vibrate between them, and then he tugged her backward and she fell against him. His hands clutched her shoulders and he turned her, his arms enclosing her in a loose embrace. “I’m happy you’re here, Maggie.” His frown seemed at odds with his words, and she held her breath as his eyes met hers. “That’s not what I wanted to say,” he murmured, the frown lines smoothing as his head bent to her.

  “Are you gonna kiss me again?” she asked, her lips tingling at the prospect.

  “Is that all right?” he asked, his lips touching her mouth in the briefest of caresses.

  She nodded. Not for anything in the world would she deny him, and even as his mouth pressed against hers again, she lifted to her toes, the better to accomplish this kissing he’d begun. His hands slid to her waist and he held her more closely, his lips firm and warm, opening a bit as he brushed them across her mouth in a lazy, yet somehow eager touch. He turned his head a bit and she found her cheek pressed against his shoulder as he captured her against his body.

  And still those firm lips danced across her mouth, a series of tiny, nibbling kisses setting a flame burning deep within her body. She clung to him, her arms sliding up his chest, one wrapping around his back, the other clasping his neck. His mouth moved, pressing deliber
ate kisses against her cheeks, across her forehead and even on the tip of her nose.

  Maggie chuckled, the sound welling from her depths, unable to halt the expression of pure joy. “You’re makin’ me tingle all over,” she whispered, finding his ear nearby as she spoke. His cheek pressed hers and the whiskers he’d ignored this morning rubbed against her more tender skin. Yet even that was no deterrent, and she clung to him with a desperate need she could only express with kisses of her own. That they fell against his ear and the slope of his throat was accidental. Her mouth formed itself to his flesh and she took liberties such as she had only imagined.

  His indrawn breath signaled her, as did the release of his grip on her body. “Maggie, girl,” he whispered, his voice deep and resonant. “I’m sorry.”

  She tilted her head, searching for a glimpse of those dark eyes that held such mysteries. Even now, half open, they possessed a burning intensity that both urged her closer and at the same time warned her of an unknown danger.

  “Don’t be sorry, Beau. I told you I like your kissin’ me. If it pleasures you, I don’t mind.” And if the truth be known, she’d garnered more pleasure for herself than she’d expected. It wouldn’t do to blurt that out, she decided. He’d think she was wanton, a sin Pa had declared both Emily and Roberta guilty of. His rantings had included even more name-calling once he got to going at it, and those words stuck in her memory.

  “I’m not a slut, am I, Beau?” she asked, fetching one of Pa’s favorite expressions to mind.

  Beau’s hands latched onto her shoulders and he shook her in his grasp, only once but with a fierceness she had not expected of him. “Don’t you ever say that word again, Maggie,” he told her. “That word does not apply to you. Where did you hear it?”

  “My pa—” she began and he cut her explanation short.

  “Your pa was wrong to speak it in your presence,” Beau said sharply. His hands rubbed her shoulders as if he rued his roughness. “Forget all the things he ever said to you. You’re as innocent as the day you were born, and I’ve taken advantage of you.” He stepped back. “Now, go on up there and pitch down some hay. We’ll talk about this later.”