Maggie's Beau

by Carolyn Davidson

  Oliver Twist was the name of the book. And before the evening was over, Maggie was deeply involved in the story of the young boy who lived in an orphanage. She sighed as Beau closed the book, leaving a scrap of paper to mark the stopping place he’d chosen.

  “I never heard such a story before,” she said. “Do you really think I’ll be able to read such things someday?”

  Beau’s eyes rested on her eager face. Like a baby bird, she gobbled up the scraps of learning he fed, as eagerly as the fluffy robins who were hatched in the maple trees outside his kitchen took food from their parents’ beaks in the springtime. And like those same baby birds, she was ever ready for more, her thirst for knowledge urging him to provide the sustenance her eager mind demanded.

  “One of these days, you’ll be reading as well as any student in the schoolroom. Probably better,” he amended.

  Maggie looked doubtful, and he ached to banish her uncertainties. “I can’t even talk proper,” she said ruefully. “I keep thinkin’ I should say my words different, the way you do, and then I forget.”

  “Would you like me to teach you?” he asked, unwilling to be thought critical, and yet agreeable should she be serious in her endeavor.

  “Oh, yes,” she whispered. “I been tryin’ hard not to say ain’t anymore. You never say it, do you? And there’s some other things, like the cusswords Pa always said. I never hear you hollerin’ at the men or swearin’ with God’s name.” She nodded wisely, as if she considered such a thing to be beyond the pale. “My ma always said that there’s a place in the Bible that forbids men to say swearwords.” Her mouth twisted in a wry manner as she glanced up at him. “I don’t think my pa ever read a word of that book.”

  “Maggie, my mother had a Bible, and I’ve kept it since she died. It’s over there in the bookcase.” He glanced at the glass-fronted cabinet near the window. “Would you like to have it for your own?”

  “Oh, Beau,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I couldn’t take such a thing from you.” Her eyes cast a longing glance to where three rows of books resided, and her hands clenched in her lap. “That’s a treasure, to have something from your mother.”

  He stood, placing the book he held in her lap. The glass door lifted upward and he reached for the leather-bound Bible he’d found at his mother’s bedside. That his mother had been long dead made the book even more precious, and yet he’d not opened its pages since that day.

  “When I returned home from the war, my folks were dead, Maggie. My brothers lost their lives in battles right close to home, and my father died with a Southern bullet in his back. A nearby neighbor told me that my mother passed on the very next day. Her heart just quit beating. I think she couldn’t face life without my father.” He cleared his throat, aware of the lump he’d kept at bay for four years, refusing his grief to flow ever again, once that first torrent of tears had unmanned him.

  “For some reason, the soldiers left the house standing, just taken the horses and animals from the barn to feed the army and give the men new mounts. Most of the things in this room are from my mother’s parlor.” He looked around at the chairs he’d brought with him, the couch Maggie sat upon and the tables he’d loaded with care upon a farm wagon. “I think she’d like you to have this,” he said, holding the well-worn book in one hand as he lowered the glass door into place.

  Beside Maggie once more, he placed it in her hands, watching as she traced the gold lettering on the front. “This second word says Bible, don’t it?” she asked.

  “Doesn’t it,” he said, correcting her gently. “And yes, it does. The first word is Holy. I’m not really sure why they call it that, but I think it’s because it’s known as the word of God.”

  “Wouldn’t it be prime to go to a real church sometime?” she asked wistfully, her fingers carefully opening the cover to reveal the first page.

  That such a wish was within his power to grant humbled Beau. “We can do that if you want to,” he told her. “Maybe not right now, but soon.” And before that could come to pass, he would have to find a way to protect the girl from the threat of her father’s wrath, should the man realize she’d taken shelter here.

  “I’m gonna put this away,” Maggie said, rising with the Bible clutched to her breast. She turned at the doorway. “I can’t think of any words to tell you how beholden I am to you. This makes me feel like my Mama is close by.”

  Beau followed her down the hallway to the kitchen, then watched as she crossed to the storeroom. The light from the kitchen lantern spread past her threshold and as he paused in the doorway, she bent to strike a match, lighting her candle. It flared, and she was illuminated in its glow, her hair gleaming darkly, her face lit from within with a joy he felt somewhat responsible for.

  “I’m gonna keep it right here on my table,” she announced, placing it just so, then moving it a bit, so that it was catercorner. Her fingers brushed a stray bit of dust from the leather cover and she looked up at him, her eagerness a boon to his spirit.

  “Now can I do something for you?” she asked, an impish grin lighting her face. “Just to thank you properly?” And before he could reply, she stepped forward and tilted her head, pressing her mouth against his. “Is that all right?” She blinked, and an anxious look flooded her expressive features.

  Was that all right? His heart beat in his throat as he looked down at her. The yearning to lift her in his arms and carry her up to his bedroom was strong. And only the presence of Sophie overhead offered the deterrent keeping him from such folly. He’d never known such a flood of love could fill him for another human being. The year he’d yearned over the fickle Sally Hudson was in the past. That his childhood sweetheart could so casually marry another even as Beau fought in a war not of his choosing, had been a blow he’d thought never to recover from.

  Yet he had, although he’d not allowed his wary heart to fasten affection elsewhere until now. There’d been that fleeting attraction to Rachel McPherson, but he’d rapidly quashed that emotion, lest it develop into a heartache he might not recover from. Now there was Maggie, and his yearning for the waif he’d taken under his wing was almost more than his masculine self could keep in check.

  He found himself wanting her, not only in his arms, but in his bed, and that could not be. Not until the girl knew her own worth and was able to recognize the growing attraction between them. He’d seen hints of it in her gaze, in the sidelong glances she cast in his direction, in the look of pleasure she’d made no attempt to conceal as she accepted his gift just moments ago.

  Now, she’d kissed him. Unbidden, she’d pressed her mouth against his, and he’d ached to deepen the caress. “It’s all right for you to kiss me any time you want to,” he said, his hands at her waist. “But only if it gives you pleasure, Maggie.”

  Her eyes sparkled and she nodded her head. “Just lookin’ at you gives me pleasure.” A blush rose from her throat to tinge her cheeks, and she lifted her palms to press them against the heat. “I shouldn’t say that, should I?”

  Beau kissed the backs of her hands, one after the other, then pressed his mouth against her forehead. “You bring me joy,” he said quietly. “One of these days, you’ll know just how much.” He watched as her hands fell to her sides, then clasped at her waist. Her eyes questioned him, seeking enlightenment.

  “I need you here, in my home, Maggie,” he said. “I need your smile and your help, and your company.” But, most of all, I need you to love me.

  Chapter Eight

  Being shorthanded meant more work for Shay and Beau, and Maggie did her best to hide her glee as Beau drafted her to help. “I hate to leave you with all the work in the house,” she told Sophie, dragging on her boots as she readied for the outdoors.

  Sophie cast her a speaking glance. “Don’t give me that stuff, child. Your heart’s out there with those horses. You can’t fool an old lady like me.”

  Maggie hid her grin, bending her head as she tied her boot laces. “Sure beats dustin’ all those knickknacks i
n the parlor. And I’ve got the pen to build for Rascal today. Beau said maybe we’d go to town and see about selling the others.” She paused, her hands tangled in the laces. “Do you think my pa will find out if I show up in Green Rapids?”

  “That’s something none of us knows the answer to,” Sophie said. “You won’t find out till you get there, and maybe not even then. Was your pa a one for runnin’ to town all the time?”

  Maggie considered that, then shook her head. “Only once every couple of weeks or so.” A weight lifted from her shoulders. “Chances are he’ll never find out. Besides, Beau will know what to do, won’t he? Even if Pa should be there and see me.” Her confidence bolstered by her own words, she double knotted her laces and stood, reaching for her coat.

  “I made you some mittens, the last couple of evenings,” Sophie said gruffly, reaching into her enormous apron pocket. “Thought you’d better keep your hands warm, lest you get frostbite.”

  Maggie took the gift, speechless at such generosity. “I thought the scarf was a fine present,” she said, drawing on the dark blue mitts. “This is way beyond, Sophie.” She held them up before her, examining the stitches, and her mouth drew down in a doubtful grimace. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to knit so well.”

  “If you get a chance today, go on in the store and pick out a color yarn for a scarf for Beau,” Sophie told her. “We’ll get you started on it. Don’t worry about the money. Just tell Conrad Carson I said to put it on my bill. You can pay me after you sell those pups and I’ll take care of it.”

  “Are you sure?” She stood in front of the door, not liking to be so indebted, but the prospect of actually beginning a scarf for Beau weighed heavily, and she nodded as Sophie waved away her query.

  Rascal met her at the steps, tail wagging, tongue lolling as she scampered about. A new piece of rope attached to a length of leather adorned her neck, and Maggie bent to examine the arrangement. Someone had pierced the leather strap to the proper length, then set a brad in place, before tying the pup to the porch railing. Maggie rubbed at the shiny head. “You better stay here and guard the house for now. I’ve got a heap of work to do in the barn.”

  Mournful howls followed her as she turned away, and she grinned as the pup expressed her displeasure. “That dog’s not happy without you,” Beau said from inside the barn. Pitchfork heaped high, he paused to glance past Maggie to where the pup lifted her head to the sky, and let her disappointment be known. The straw, heavily weighted with manure landed in the wheelbarrow, and Beau bent to his task.

  “You want me to do that?” Maggie asked, even as her heart yearned toward the corral where the yearlings awaited attention.

  Beau grinned. “You don’t really want to, do you?”

  “I will,” she said stubbornly. “You only have to tell me.”

  “Go on out back. There’s five horses out there waiting for you.” He bent low, lifting another forkful, then aimed it at the barrow. “Get out of my way,” he scolded.

  She turned away, aware of his teasing, then looked back over her shoulder to see him watching her. “Thank you for the collar you put on Rascal,” she said. “And the piece of new rope.”

  Beau shrugged. “It wasn’t me. Must have been Shay.”

  Shay? Maggie considered that thought as she walked the length of the barn and out into the sunshine. Enough snow to cover the ground had fallen yesterday. This morning the sun was making inroads on it, but the dirt in the corral was firm enough. Working in the mud would not have been her first choice. Beyond the fence, the mares fed, some of them gathered around the trough Shay and Beau had built for them. They’d forsaken the lean-to once the sun rose and the wind died down. Now they wandered between patches of grass sticking up through the snow and the hay provided for them.

  Carrying the lead line and currycomb, Maggie stepped over the corral fence, speaking softly to the young horses who watched her. “Come on over here,” she coaxed, reaching for the halter of the nearest animal. He whinnied and tossed his head, kicking up his heels, as if to thwart her plans. She hung on, lifted from her feet for a moment as the colt’s mane flew through the air, and his front feet left the ground.

  “Now that’s about enough, you rascal,” she said firmly, holding the halter next to his jaw and tugging his head down. With sudden acquiescence, he lowered his nose to her chest, nudging in a playful manner. Maggie laughed aloud, her knuckles rubbing against his head. She whispered in his ear, foolishness that pleased the young animal. Perhaps it was just the tone of her voice that had the effect. She knew only that soft whispers and a gentle touch had more value than the whipping into shape her pa had been so fond of.

  The thought of the horse she’d tended to back home gave her pause, and her mouth drew tight as she considered the abuse that patient animal lived with. Her shoulders straightened and she held the halter firmly as she began the task of cleaning and grooming. A long shiver traveled the length of the yearling’s back, and Maggie laughed aloud, her strokes long and firm as she worked.

  “You like that, don’t you?” she murmured, bending to work at the sleek sides and down the horse’s flank. A velvet nose nudged her and she turned back, wrapping an arm around his neck, rubbing her face against the coarse hair. “Well, I surely like you, too,” she said, making her way around to the other side.

  “You’re good at that,” Shay said from behind her.

  Maggie looked over her shoulder. “It’s easy enough to like animals,” she told him. “All you gotta do is treat them kindly and they’ll pretty much bend to your will.” She turned the currycomb, working at the yearling’s mane. “I thank you for the collar you made my pup. Do I owe you for the new piece of rope?”

  Shay was silent, and Maggie looked up, fearful that she’d made a misstep. His eyes were on her, and his usual somber look prevailed. “Some things in life come without a price tag, ma’am. I only thought to keep the pup away from the barn, lest he gets stepped on.”

  And that was the longest conversation she’d ever had with the man, Maggie thought, as Shay turned away and walked back into the barn. She lengthened the lead line a bit, and walked to the center of the corral, urging the colt to follow. Letting the rope run through her hand, she paced him, allowing him to trot, then as he broke into a gamboling canter, she tugged him into submission, easing him to the pace she had set. He followed her, traveling in a wide circle, his ears pricked forward, an urgency in his gait. Maggie gave him his head and he loped easily, circling the corral, his long legs reaching and stretching.

  “He’s coming right along, isn’t he?” From the top of the fence, Beau watched and Maggie’s mind was snatched from the colt to the man who spoke. Behind him, the sun shone brightly and she squinted as she met his gaze.

  “You gonna keep him? He’d make a dandy horse for you. He’s a tall one.”

  “I don’t know,” Beau said. “Cord McPherson’s on the lookout for a couple of yearlings for Rachel’s brothers. He’d like them to train their own horses. I thought this one might fit the bill. He seems smart and good-natured.”

  Maggie nodded. The horse was all of that and more. That was the trouble with animals. You got all attached and then had to give them up. And she’d sworn just days ago not to travel that road again.

  She tightened the lead rope, bringing the colt closer, halting his carefree pace. He lifted his head and whinnied, loudly and long, and she grinned at his exuberance. Easing to a walk, he nudged her and snorted, and she obliged, patting and praising him as she turned him into the pasture.

  “I reckon that one and the black would be good for a couple of young’uns,” she told Beau. “I’ll spend some time with both of them, get them tamed down good.”

  Beau nodded, sliding from the fence. “We’ll stop and tell Cord on the way to town afterwhile.”

  Clad in a pair of her new trousers, her head covered by the wide-brimmed hat he’d bought her and resplendent with her new scarf and mittens, Maggie climbed onto the wagon seat. Beau offered
his hand, but she waved it away, scorning the need for help. He’d have to talk to her one day about allowing men to be courteous, he decided, snapping the reins over the backs of his team.

  For now, he’d settle back and enjoy the sight of Maggie on her first outing since her arrival at his ranch. She glowed. There was no other word to describe the gleam of dark blue eyes as she scanned the road ahead. No other phrase could adequately define the bloom of rosy cheeks and lips that refused to be sober.

  Lips he’d kissed three times, he reminded himself. Even as he was sorely tempted to bend and taste their pink flesh at this moment. She was becoming more of a temptation with each day. There was no way around it. He’d become eager to woo this wary female to his will.

  “You got your gun with you?” she asked, peering behind her to the floor of the wagon.

  “I never leave home without my shotgun,” he told her. “You worried about something?”

  She turned to meet his gaze. “What if we come across my pa? Should I just skedaddle? I don’t want you gettin’ into a hassle for my sake.”

  “I promised to look after you,” he reminded her. “I told you I’d keep you safe, Maggie. Do you doubt me already, when we haven’t even seen hide nor hair of your father?”

  “No, I guess not.” She heaved a deep sigh and settled a bit closer to his side. “Maybe I just needed remindin’, is all.”

  “Let’s have a lesson while we’re riding,” he suggested. He’d keep her mind off the wretch who’d made her life miserable, one way or another. “I’ve wanted to give you a couple of pointers, just something to think about.”

  “Have at it,” she said. “I been tryin’ to remember everything you told me, but I know I forget sometimes.”