Maggie's Beau

by Carolyn Davidson

  “Did he lose it all?” Maggie couldn’t imagine placing such a sum of money on a gambling table, then walking away and leaving it there.

  “I don’t know,” Beau said harshly. “Maybe he set some aside to line his pockets with. All I know is that they came home empty-handed. And that bas—” He halted, the word unspoken. “He was lying to me. As sure as I’m standing here, that man lied to my face, and was madder than hell when I wouldn’t believe him.”

  “Do you think he’ll steal your horse?” Rad might have called the gelding he rode a nag, but Maggie knew better. Every cow pony on the place was hand-picked by Beau for his string. They were the chosen ones, the cream of the crop, and not a second-rate animal among them.

  “If he does, he’s facing a hanging when he gets caught.” Beau’s jaw firmed. “And if I get my hands on him first, there won’t be enough left to tie a rope on.”

  Maggie shivered at the menace expressed by his chill tone, and she touched his arm. “Don’t dirty your hands, Beau. He’s not worth it.”

  He looked down at her slender fingers against the rough cotton of his shirt, then met her gaze again. His mouth curved with a humorless smile. “Come sit with me. I need some company.”

  She looked past him at the empty kitchen. “I thought I heard Sophie out here.”

  “I sent her to bed.” He turned his arm and clasped her fingers. “I owe you an apology.”

  Maggie shook her head. “No, you don’t. Telling me what to do is your right, Beau Jackson. I work here.”

  “I was madder than hell and I shouted at you, Maggie. You didn’t deserve that.”

  “My feelings aren’t that tender,” she told him. “I’ve been hollered at before.” She looked past him to where his plate waited his attention. “Your supper’s getting cold. Did Joe eat anything?”

  “He got a bite in town.” His eyes lit suddenly, chasing the gloom from his face. “I almost forgot something. You wait right here,” he told her, grabbing his coat and shoving his arms into it quickly. She shivered as he opened the door, allowing a cold draft to envelope her. And then he was gone, the door closing behind him.

  Maggie walked to the window, watching him cross the yard, his form a dark shadow against the scattering of snow. He vanished inside the barn, where a lantern glowed, and then in only seconds reappeared, sliding the big door shut. His stride was long as he neared, and he looked up to where she watched, his face a pale blur, his grin allowing a slash of white teeth to gleam in the moonlight.

  She turned from the window as he stepped into the kitchen, shedding his coat quickly. A wrapped package in one hand, he approached her. “I got you something at the general store.” And hadn’t Conrad Carson had a grin a mile wide as Beau had counted out the cash for his purchase. “Cora wasn’t there,” he said. “So I couldn’t ask her which one you liked, and the store owner liked them all, so he wasn’t any help. Old Conrad was about to burst when I bought it. He had all he could do not to ask me who I was buying such a thing for.”

  Maggie eyed the paper-wrapped bundle he held, her heart beating double time. “It’s for me?” she asked, knowing even as he placed it in her hand that he’d kept his promise. What else would all his hemming and hawing be about? Her fingers fumbled with the string and Beau made an impatient sound in his throat, his hand slipping into his pocket to withdraw his knife.

  “Here, let me cut that for you,” he said, sliding the knife beneath the multiple strands, slicing through them firmly. “Now open it up.”

  Maggie unwrapped the parcel slowly, her cheeks burning as she envisioned the contents, recalling the fine fabric and lacy edges she’d seen in the glass case. The final wrapping fell away and she held a double handful of undergarments, the smooth material soft against her fingers.

  “Oh, my word, Beau!” Her whisper was almost reverent as she allowed one chemise to unfold.

  “Do you like them?” he asked, reaching to touch the bodice where small pearl buttons lay in a row.

  She felt her eyes burn with unshed tears and her lashes blinked rapidly. “You said you was gonna replace my shift, not buy me some kinda fancy stuff like this.”

  His long index finger lifted her chin and his dark eyes narrowed as tears slid down her cheeks. “When I saw these, I didn’t look any further, honey. Maybe Carson has some plain ones like your shift, but I wanted you to have lace and bitty little buttons.”

  “He’ll think I’m a kept woman,” Maggie whispered, and then wondered what else she could possibly be considered. Beau had indeed kept her for the past weeks, if that meant providing her with everything she ate and drank and wore on her back.

  “He doesn’t even know who I bought them for,” Beau told her.

  “Well, Cora saw me with you in the store.” Her fingers warmed by the delicate garments she held, she lifted them to brush her face against the white fabric.

  “I don’t care, Maggie.” Firm as the floor he stood upon, his words were a statement she could not mistake. Beau owed explanations to no one, and his intentions were honorable. “I’m planning on talking you into a wedding before long.”

  The memory of his hands on her skin and his mouth nuzzling her breast filled her mind. That he would unbutton those fine, dainty buttons she held in her grasp was almost a certainty. Heat such as she’d only experienced in the past few days enveloped her and she wondered that she could withstand such yearning. Beau had said he would not force her to sleep in his bed, and she believed him.

  But coax her, he would. Of that she had no doubt. And it would not be in her to refuse him whatever he asked. Not only because she owed him, but because her body hungered for him. Her skin tingled at his touch, her breasts were tight and aching even now, and heaven only knew what would happen once he tossed back the covers and invited her into that big bed on the second floor.

  If only she could talk to Roberta and Emily. Maybe they could tell her what she should know, once she was face-to-face with a man with needs, expecting her to do all the womanly things a wife was supposed to know about. But finding her way to wherever they lived in Green Rapids was beyond her. She wouldn’t even know who to ask, and besides, going into town alone was not to be considered.

  That left Mama, she decided. Not that she’d ever managed to do anything to keep Pa happy, Maggie thought glumly. But at least she could clear up some of the mystery attached to this man and woman thing. Asking Beau was out of the question. He already knew she was ignorant in more ways than one. No sense in spitting the words out, telling him she was dumb as a post about this.

  Tomorrow, she decided. Tomorrow she’d skin out of here after the morning chores were done and go take a look-see at her pa’s still, find out if he was there. And if he was, she’d high-tail it to the house and spend a few minutes with Mama. Her heart yearned for a glimpse of the woman who’d birthed her, and she felt a sudden pang of loneliness.

  “Maggie?” Beau’s voice brought her eyes open and she smiled at him. “Come sit with me.”

  “All right,” she agreed. “Just let me put these away first.” In moments she’d folded the two chemises with care, placing them on her bed until she could find a proper place for them to be stored. Her stockings and drawers were folded on the chair, and somehow the rough feed sack fabric looked even more faded and worn, compared to the dainty garments Beau had given her tonight.

  The nails she’d pounded into the wall held her pants and shirts. Now she’d have to put a shelf beside them, where her wealth of underwear could be stored. Never before had she been so rich, with changes of work clothes and even two dresses to her name.

  Looking back from the doorway, her gaze scanned the room, resting on the curtains Sophie had hung only yesterday, then dancing back to the bed where two lacy, feminine garments measured the kindness of Beau Jackson.

  Chapter Ten

  Never had the chores gone so slowly. And today of all days, Beau had asked her to milk the cow. Very kindly, to be sure, but it had taken all of her good manners to smile n
icely and agree. Sophie had even looked at her askance, no doubt wondering what was setting such fire under her this morning.

  If they only knew. Maggie leaned her forehead against the cow’s flank, her fingers nimble as they stripped the last of the milk from the animal’s udder. “There you go, Bess,” she murmured, dodging the creature’s long tail as it swished in her direction. The bucket was light as she swung it from the floor. Everything was lit with a shiny glow this morning, she decided.

  Strange that the prospect of a visit with her mother should bring about so much happiness in her soul. Especially considering that she’d left home determined never to darken that miserable doorway again.

  The door to the springhouse stood open and Maggie carried the milk inside. She placed it on the bench and reached for a clean cloth, covering the pail carefully, lest bugs or dust spoil the milk.

  “You all done with chores, Maggie?” Beau called from outside the door.

  “Just about,” she answered, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t come up with a whole slew of work for her to tackle this morning.

  “I just wanted to let you know we’re heading out to the far pastures to check on the rest of the cattle and make sure we’ve got all the yearlings and nursing mares up close to the barn.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. He’d be long gone when she set out for her visit with Mama. First she had to come up with a story for Sophie, and that would be tough. Telling tales went against the grain. But it couldn’t be helped. Not if she wanted to spend a few minutes with Mama today. And from the look on Beau’s face, she wouldn’t have many more days before he carried through on his threat.

  Or was it a promise? Either way, she was headed for a wedding. And for the life of her, she couldn’t find a thing to be mournful about when she considered the idea.

  “I’ll be going back to the house in a few minutes,” she told Beau. “I just want to spend a few minutes with the pups.” She left the springhouse, closing the door behind herself. “You got any place in mind for the last one?” she asked.

  “I was thinking about asking Cord McPherson if Rachel’s brothers would like to have him. They’ve got a cattle dog, but it’s getting on in age. Either way, they might be looking for a new dog.” He cast a glance at Maggie and grinned. “It wouldn’t be far away. You could check up on it every once in a while.”

  “Maybe when you deliver the yearlings to Cord, he could take a look at the pup. Kinda let them see how smart he is.”

  “You want to go along with me?” Beau asked, then grinned at her quick nod. “Maybe you’ll have news to tell Rachel by then.”

  “News? What news?”

  Beau sighed deeply. “We’re going to get married, Maggie. Surely you’ll want Rachel to know about it from you.”

  “She won’t care on my account,” Maggie told him. “She’ll probably think you got roped into it some way or another.”

  His hand swept up to cradle her cheek. “Don’t you understand anything at all, Maggie O’Neill? I’m marrying you because I want to, and don’t you forget that for one little skinny minute.”

  “Well, you’re not gonna do it today,” she replied smartly. “You’ve got stock to tend to before the snow blows in.”

  Beau looked at the western sky where gray clouds hung low. “And probably before the sun sets,” he agreed. He pulled his hat lower over his forehead, then reached for his gloves, tugging them from his back pocket. “Put your scarf on when you go out to the barn later,” he told her. “That wind’s coming up, and Sophie’ll skin you alive if you get a case of the quinsy.”

  “I wonder why she hasn’t made you one?” Maggie said.

  “Can’t figure that out,” he agreed. “It’s probably in the works though.” He bent to her and pressed his mouth against hers, his kiss brief, but thorough. “Stay close to the house today, Maggie. I don’t want to have to worry about you.”

  She smiled, hoping he’d be satisfied with that small assurance, unwilling to nod or agree in words with his edict. Not when she planned on skedaddling down the road just as soon as he was out of sight.

  “Mama?” The house was quiet, not even a whisper of smoke coming from the chimney as Maggie approached from the front. She slid from her mount and tied the mare to the front porch railing. Guilt had been her companion during the past hour. First because she’d borrowed a horse from Beau’s stable, and then because she’d snuck away without letting Sophie know where she was heading.

  With a vague wave of her hand, she’d gone out of the house, Sophie likely assuming she would be in the corral with the yearlings. The woman trusted her and though she hadn’t lied aloud, she’d let her actions speak for her. Then, saddling the mare, she’d whispered an apology to the absent Beau, her hands working quickly as she readied the animal for the trip.

  It had taken more than an hour to find the trail to her pa’s still, and she’d had to hide the mare while she crept closer afoot. The scent of his brew gave notice of his whereabouts and she’d hidden inside a grove of trees, until she was certain that Pa was there, and likely to be busy for a while longer. It was slow going, making her way back toward the mare, and then finally riding hell-bent for the farmhouse.

  Now, even though the day was cold and she knew from experience that the house was drafty, there seemed to be no fire lit in the kitchen stove. Maggie’s heart trembled in her chest as she considered what might be wrong. And then she threw caution to the winds, leaping onto the front porch, and opening the unlocked door with a twist of the handle.

  “Mama?” she called again, more loudly this time. “Where are you, Mama?”

  A faint sound from a bedroom at the back of the house was her answer, and Maggie ran from the parlor, through the cold kitchen and into the small bedroom her parents shared. On the bed, her mother’s frail form huddled beneath a quilt, one hand lifted to signal Maggie of her awareness.

  “What are you doin’ here, girl?” Verna O’Neill’s voice asked frantically. “Your pa will throttle you if he finds you here.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” Maggie cried, falling to her knees beside the bed. “Did he beat you again, Mama?” She reached for her mother’s outstretched hand, holding the chilled member between her own wool-covered fingers. Even through the heavy knitted mitts, Maggie sensed the cold that gripped her mother’s frame.

  “I’ll light the fire,” Maggie said quickly. “Is there wood in the kitchen?”

  Verna shook her head. “No, don’t do that, daughter. If your pa comes in…” As if the thought were too much to give voice to, she shook her head. “Go on back to wherever you’ve been, Mag. Don’t let him get you.”

  “He won’t find me, Mama. He’s out by the still. I checked first. He’s got a whole slew of jugs and he hasn’t even started filling them.” She rose and pulled her warm mittens off, slipping them over her mother’s fingers. “These’ll keep you warm, Mama,” she whispered, her eyes scanning the worn face, noting the dried blood that stained her mother’s mouth and cheek.

  “I’ll be right back,” she promised, backing from the tiny room. In the kitchen, she opened the stove and set kindling ablaze, then added small chunks of wood, until a fire warmed her hands. Placing the lid in place, she backed from the room, intent on getting her mother into the warmth.

  “Let me help you into the kitchen,” she said, approaching the bed. Her mother rose on one elbow, nodding agreement, then slid her bare feet onto the floor. Maggie helped her rise, unable to still her fears as she realized that the woman’s body had become even more frail in the past weeks.

  “Haven’t you been eating, Mama?” she asked, draping the quilt over her mother’s shoulders.

  “I’m not very hungry these days,” Verna answered, holding fast to Maggie’s hand. Together they walked into the kitchen, Maggie’s arm around her mother’s waist, until she could lower her into a chair near the stove. Verna huddled there, shivering, tucking her feet inside the folds of the quilt.

  “Let me heat up the
coffee for you,” Maggie said, sliding the coffeepot to the front of the stove.

  Verna shook her head. “It’s from yesterday. When your pa got up and found out I hadn’t cooked his breakfast, he just left without puttin’ wood in the stove.”

  “When did he do this to you?” Maggie asked, her fingers gentle as she touched her mother’s face.

  “Yesterday.” The word was mumbled as Verna drew the quilt up over the bottom of her face, as if she could hide the evidence of Edgar O’Neill’s abuse.

  “Will you come with me?” Maggie asked, already knowing the answer she would get. “I know a place you can stay, where Pa won’t be able to find you.”

  “Just get me a piece of bread to eat outta the cupboard and get yourself outta here,” Verna told her. “He’ll be back before long, and he’ll kill you if he sees you here.”

  “He’ll never touch me again,” Maggie vowed, her head erect as she glanced toward the barn. And then smothered the pain that rose within her as she recalled her last encounter with the man. “I just wanted to see you, Mama. I’m going to be married.”

  Verna’s eyes widened. “Who to? Somebody from hereabouts?” The quilt fell to her chin and she straightened in the chair. “Somebody got you in the family way, girl?”

  “No, Mama. He’s never touched me. Beau wouldn’t do that.” And then she covered her mouth with her hand as she realized she’d spoken the name she’d vowed not to say aloud in this house.

  “Beau?” Verna repeated it. “Beau Jackson? That fella that lives beyond the McPherson’s ranch? You’re gonna marry up with him?” Her eyes lit with satisfaction as she considered the idea. “Yer pa would have a screamin’ fit if he knew that. It ain’t bad enough that Emily and Roberta got away. He’s been hollerin’ for weeks about you skinnin’ out the way you did, and how he needs you here to take care of the horse.”

  “What’s wrong with the horse?” Maggie asked quickly. “What did Pa do to him?”