Maggie's Beau

by Carolyn Davidson

  “I can’t let you do that. Maggie would have my hide if she finds out you left because of her.”

  “I won’t have her shamed every time she looks at me, Beau.” It was personal now. Shay’s use of his given name brought Beau up sharply. “Remember? I found her there. I covered her with my coat, but she’ll always remember that I saw her and knew that Rad had torn her clothes off.”

  “You’re not thinking that he…” Beau could not speak the words, and Shay spared him the need.

  “No. He didn’t have time. Not that he wouldn’t have, given a couple more minutes. He didn’t even have his pants undone.” Shay looked at the ground and cleared his throat. “He touched her, Beau. That was enough to earn him a one-way ticket to hell.”

  And that was that, Beau realized. The anger drained from him, only a sense of sorrow remaining. Rad Bennett had stolen more than his money. He’d taken from him the man who’d proved himself to be a friend. That Shay would leave was a given.

  Maggie would recover. She was tough, too much woman to be laid low by this. With some care, and a lot of love, she’d be healed.

  And to that end he would devote himself, heart and soul.

  Chapter Fourteen

  She wore the nightgown. And that fact in itself was a message. The glowing bride of last night had become a woman he recognized all too well. He’d seen her first, barefoot and defiant, descending from his hayloft, weeks ago. Now, after lifting the bed coverings, he found her small, huddled form. Well-garbed in yards of white lawn, her feet hidden from view within the deep ruffle, she was as close to the far edge of his bed as she could get.

  Sheet in hand, he looked across the expanse of mattress and sighed. “Ah, Maggie.”

  “Cover me, please,” she asked politely, and he allowed the white sheet to billow like a sail caught in the wind, drifting to hide her from his sight. She tugged it up to her ear, only her long braided plait, spread across her pillow, exposed to his gaze. “Thank you.” Muffled in the bedding, her polite response was the spark that lit his fuse.

  Bending to the bed, he grasped the sheet, lifting it again. Flinging it over the footboard, he waited. The response was not long in coming.

  “I’m cold.”

  “Well, sweetheart,” he told her, in a voice that struggled to be gentle, “I’m more than willing to get you warm.” His fingers busy with the ritual of undressing, he watched her, and felt a twinge of remorse as she groped for the sheet he’d tossed aside.

  Stark naked, more than aware of her discomfort, he settled himself behind her, drawing up the bedding to cover them both. He slid his arm around her waist and tugged her across the bed, ignoring the stiffening of her body, the soft sounds of protest she uttered, and the stirring of arousal she must surely feel nudging her backside.

  “I want to look at you, Maggie.”

  “I’m not a pretty sight,” she told him. “You’ve already seen me lookin’ like this.”

  “Looking,” he reminded her. “And I think you’re pretty no matter how many bruises you wear.”

  “Don’t, Beau. I don’t want you touchin’ me.”

  Touching. The word remained unspoken on his tongue as he considered her request. More than anything on God’s green earth, he wanted his hands on her. Not with passion, for her condition tonight precluded that, no matter what his needy body proclaimed. He wanted, no, needed, to inspect her face. His hands yearned for the soft curves of her body, and his mouth was hungry for the taste of her skin, but for tonight he would put aside his needs, and play the part of comforter. As his mother had done, in those long ago years of his childhood, he wanted to kiss every inch of swollen flesh, touch his lips to the bruises and blow warmth against the hurts she’d received today.

  “Maggie…” He heard the echo of sadness as his voice spoke her name. “I only want to talk to you, and hold you, sweetheart.”

  She rolled to her back, and his arm lay loosely against her midriff. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her uninjured eye staring at the ceiling. “I thought if I scrubbed real good, I could wash away the feel of his hands on me.” The eye closed and a tear slipped from beneath its lid. “It didn’t work.”

  Beau lifted up on his elbow and leaned over her, his hand leaving her waist to cradle her cheek. “You look clean to me, honey,” he said softly. And then he bent to her, fulfilling the desire of his heart, his mouth blessing her wounds of battle. “You smell good, too.”

  “Beau?” She looked at him and the pleading in that single word was almost his undoing. “I feel like I’m not the same person I was last night. Like Rad’s hands left big old black marks on me, and I’ll never get them off, no matter what I do.”

  “You’re still my wife, Maggie. I still love you. That hasn’t changed, not one little bit.” He brushed a gentle forefinger against her forehead. “It’s already scabbed over. In just a few days, that crusty old scab will fall off and you’ll have new, pink skin underneath.” His mouth touched like butterfly wings against her eye, and he winced inwardly at the purple lump that hid its beauty.

  “This is going to fade, Maggie. The bump on your head will go down, and the cuts inside your mouth will heal. It won’t hurt for me to kiss you after a few days.” He smiled, willing her to understand.

  “By the time all that happens, the memory of what happened today will begin to fade. You won’t forget it,” he went on, one finger touching her lips as she would have protested his words. “But it won’t hurt like it does tonight.”

  “How can you want to touch me?” she asked, tears clogging her voice. “He had his hands on me, Beau.”

  “I’ll never stop wanting to touch you,” he vowed, and knew in his heart that it was true. The love he felt for Maggie was deeply ingrained, far outweighing the affection he’d felt for any woman in his past. His lips pressed warmth against her forehead and he recalled the first night they’d been alone together, when he’d played his guitar.

  He’d known even then that he loved her and had soothed her apprehension, lest she be fearful of him. Those words returned to him now. “You’re my friend, remember? And you’re the girl who pitched in and helped when I needed someone to heal my cow. You were there when the colt stepped in the barbed wire.”

  “I was only trying to earn my keep,” she reminded him. “And I’m not real sure I ever did that, what with all the things you kept buying for me.”

  He kissed her gently. “Maggie, Maggie. You fill my life with joy. There’s no price can be put on that.” Leaning back, he took assessment of the nightgown she wore, his arousal demanding attention. “Are you determined to wear this thing all night? Or is there a chance I can persuade you to let me take it off.”

  “Shay saw me,” she said abruptly. “He didn’t really look, just put his coat over me.”

  “I know.” And that fact had sent Shay on his way.

  “He’s a kind man, isn’t he?” Maggie asked, her fingers clasping the front of her gown.

  If she’d seen Shay earlier, he thought…But she hadn’t, and that was a blessing. One day she’d realize Shay’s sacrifice on her behalf. For tonight, he would be the only one to mourn the man’s leaving. Tomorrow would be soon enough for Maggie to recognize Shay’s absence.

  “Do you want me to put more salve on your forehead?” he asked.

  She shook her head, a minute movement. “No, it hurts to touch it. Matter of fact, my whole head aches.”

  And he’d been trying to persuade her to—His pang of remorse forbade all but succor at his hands tonight. He slid his arm beneath her neck, easing down to rest against his own pillow. She turned her head away, allowing him only the sight of an unblemished cheek and the solitary teardrop that slid into her hair.

  “Aren’t you going to turn out the lamp?” Her words were whispered, her swollen lips barely moving.

  “Are you afraid I’ll see you cry?”

  “You feel bad enough without me blubbering all over you. I’m nothing but trouble, Beau. And now you’re stuck with me.�
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  “I’m not complaining.” He eased from her side and sat up on the edge of the bed. The lamp was a small matter, easily solved. What to do with Maggie was another story, he feared. In all the time she’d been with him, he’d never seen this degree of desolation. Even her father’s abuse had left her defiant and feisty.

  “Maggie? I need you,” he whispered. He dropped his head into his hands, his own soul sickened by the wedge driven between them. If they could not survive the events of this day, he would have lost a part of Maggie he cherished. That exuberant nature she possessed that allowed her to be ever hopeful.

  The mattress shifted and her hand touched his back. “I can’t deny you anything, Beau. You know that. I can’t kiss very good tonight. My mouth hurts too bad. But I can do the rest if you want to.” Her fingers applied pressure, and he closed his eyes.

  “I only need to hold you, sweetheart,” he said, ashamed of his lie, hoping against hope that his manhood would cooperate in this venture. Turning to her, he plumped his pillow and faced her. She waited, willing to do as he directed and he tugged at her pigtail. “Just let me take your hair down, all right?”

  The string she’d tied in place slid off easily and his fingers wove through the strands, loosening the silken bounty. “Now, just put your head on my arm, if it doesn’t make your headache worse.”

  She obeyed silently, forming herself against his long frame. One slender arm slid up to his neck and she sighed, nestling closer, until her breath warmed his throat. “I think it feels better, layin’ here,” she murmured. One long breath followed another, and her body softened, a soft sob escaping only once as she drifted into sleep.

  Beau circled her with his free arm, his hand at the small of her back, his fingers rubbing in circles, then moving upward to stroke the length of her spine. She murmured something, and he heard his name whispered softly. Inhaling the scent of her hair, he closed his eyes. She was safe, she was secure in his embrace and she would heal.

  And for all of that, he owed a debt to Shay, a debt he would never be able to repay.

  Daybreak brought more snow. Sophie cooked for all of them, and breakfast was a quiet meal, Pony and Joe talking quietly to Beau about the snow and the cattle they intended to check on later. Feeding the horses would come first, they decided and they left the table together, Beau donning his big coat while the men headed for the barn.

  “I’ll go with you,” Maggie said, and he only nodded when she stated her intentions. She watched as he set off, shoveling a wide path to the barn, then donned her boots and heavy coat, wrapping the long scarf around her head.

  “I wanted to tend to the horse,” she told him, catching up as he neared the barn door.

  “I figured as much.” Inside the barn the animal heat allowed Maggie to undo her coat and let her scarf fall around her neck. She found the small step stool and took it into the gelding’s stall, then fed him generously before she began the uncovering of his wound. Standing on the stool, she spoke softly to the horse, caressing its ears and neck. With gentle hands she changed the dressing on his withers, applying more salve to the healing laceration.

  “He’s gonna be fine,” she announced, draping a blanket over the animal’s back and stepping down to the floor to strap it into place. “He ate pretty good, Beau. I gave him an extra measure of grain.”

  “You feel like milking?” he asked. “Pony and Joe are heading out with hay for the stock.”

  She glanced at him quickly. “Will you go with them?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll be here. I’m going to clean up the tack room and spend some time in the corral. A few times around with those yearlings and they’ll have a track made in the snow.”

  “I’ll help after I milk,” she offered, and then looked beyond him where the back door of the barn stood open, Pony visible as he harnessed the workhorses to the wagon. “Shay wasn’t here for breakfast, Beau. Where is he?” she asked, and even as she spoke the words, she wished them back. Beau’s eyes darkened.

  “He decided to move on, Maggie. Left last night.” A smile curved his mouth and he shrugged. “He’s a wanderer, always has been, I guess. With winter here and all, he knew we could handle things with just Pony and Joe.”

  She picked up the three-legged stool and placed it beside the cow, settling in place with the pail between her feet. Her hands rubbed soothingly against the cow’s hind quarter, and then against her side, stroking with familiarity. Her hands grasped the two far teats and she began the ritual of filling the pail with foaming milk.

  Her head leaned against the warmth of the animal’s side. “He left because of me, didn’t he?” Sadness crept in, and her fingers tightened their grip a bit, even as she released her hold on the small bits of pleasure she’d accumulated since arising.

  Rad. “Where’s Rad?” she asked, a chill taking her as she spoke his name. And then a thought too enormous to speak aloud seized her. Had Shay sent Rad on his way? Or worse? The cow shifted and Maggie relaxed her grip, speaking soothing nonsense words to ease the animal’s uneasiness.

  “Rad’s gone,” Beau said quickly. “He got quite a send-off. Shay made sure he got the message that it wouldn’t be safe for him to ever come back here.”

  “We don’t have to tell anyone what happened, do we?” she asked, unwilling that her shame be a topic of conversation.

  “No, of course not. You know the men won’t say anything.” Beau stepped to the door of the tack room. “Let me know when you’ve finished and I’ll carry the milk to the springhouse.”

  She shook her head. “No, I’ll do it.” Better that she enter that place today, that room that held terror within its walls. She would never again cross the threshold of the springhouse without the knowledge of evil that would forever stain the memory of that small building.

  Her hands worked more slowly as the cow’s bag emptied. The milk splashed in the pail in smaller spurts and Maggie sighed. “There’s no putting it off,” she whispered, rising from the stool and backing from the stall. Beau watched from the doorway of the tack room, his gaze searching her.

  “Want me to go along?”

  “No.” She turned from him, fearful that he would notice the trembling of her mouth. The door slid open and she stepped into the cold, tiny snowflakes glittering in the crisp air. Reaching behind her, she closed the door.

  “Leave it open, Maggie,” Beau said sharply. She turned to him and he nodded encouragement. “I’ll be here.”

  “Yes.” He’d be there. She’d known it, yet how like him to want to watch as she made the trek to the springhouse, opened the door and carried the pail of milk inside. Her footsteps did not falter as she trudged across the yard, her hand barely trembled as she lifted the latch, and with firm movements she entered the dim interior. Her heart beat more rapidly, and she ignored it. Her eyes sought the corners, and she forced them back to the bench before her.

  And then she was done, finished with the task. A clean towel covered the pail, and she turned to leave. A leaf blew across the doorstep and she started, wide-eyed as it skittered across the floor. The rustle of its movement in the silence around her sent her pulse soaring, but then she smiled.

  “I’m not afraid of you, Radley,” she whispered. Wherever the man was, he was no threat to her, of that she was certain. And why that should be so was a mystery she had no chance of solving. She only knew that right now, in this moment, Radley Bennett was no longer a menace. He was a bad memory, one she would not allow to poison her mind.

  Beau watched as she left the building, visible through the open barn door, and he met her as she hurried to him, drawing her inside the doorway and holding her against himself. “Are you all right?” he asked, his mouth touching her forehead. His lips pressed warmth against her skin and she smiled, remembering his words from last night.

  The memory of what happened today will begin to fade…And it already had, she realized. She’d taken the first step and it had been difficult. The next would be easy. Maggie tilted her head,
then with one palm on Beau’s face, she drew him closer, until their lips met. It was a gentle kiss, with no other reason for being than to offer him her thanks for his kindness. For being her friend.

  And then he turned his head a bit, taking a new angle, a new approach, still gentle but easing his way past her tender lips to the hurt she’d suffered from teeth that cut into soft flesh. He touched her with care, murmuring sounds beneath his breath that brought a fluttering pulse beat to life. He left her mouth, left her still wanting, still hungry for his kiss, only to move to her throat, there where her heartbeat vibrated against the tender skin beneath her jaw.

  “You taste so sweet, Maggie, so good.”

  She embraced him, her body aching for a closer union, charmed by his wooing, beguiled by the soft phrases he whispered. “I love you, Beau.” It came unbidden, this declaration. And she repeated it, her heart giving voice to the deepest emotion it had ever known.

  He straightened and shook his head. “I’m not going to bed you in a stall, Maggie, and if I don’t behave myself, that’s what’s going to happen.” His grin was lopsided and he clasped her shoulders in his big hands. “You better just remember all this after dark, when I hide that nightgown of yours. You hear me?”

  She nodded, her vision blurred, cocking her head to one side, the better to see him from the undamaged eye. Tears threatened to overflow its lower lid and she blinked them back. “I’ll remember. I promise.”

  A horse neighed loudly from the corral and another answered the challenge from beyond the yard. “Sounds like company,” Beau said, releasing her and stepping back to open the big door. From the lane, a farm wagon approached, the driver lifting a hand in a casual salute. “Looks like Cord McPherson,” Beau announced. He shot Maggie an assessing look, and she winced.

  “He’ll see me, Beau. There’s no helping it.”

  “He’ll know something’s happened, honey. I’ll have to tell him. But, remember this. Cord’s no gossip. What I tell him won’t go any further.”