Maggie's Beau

by Carolyn Davidson

  “Just hang on there,” he said, and his mouth twisted in a smile that sent hot shards of fire to the center of her belly. “I want to show you something.”

  Her fingers gripped tightly, and she smothered a rush of apprehension. “I’m all naked, Beau. All but my arms.” And even as the words were whispered, his head lowered and his lips formed against the crest of her breast.

  “So you are,” he murmured, his teeth and tongue once more rendering her helpless, suckling that tiny bit of flesh he held captive.

  “I guess I know why you were wigglin’ to beat the band.” Her words sounded hoarse and her fingers curled against themselves around the metal bars, anchoring her to the bed.

  “I like it when you wiggle,” he murmured against her breast. “Do it again, honey.”

  She obliged him. Indeed, she could not have resisted the movement that sent her hips into motion, lifting against him, shifting, then settling once more against the mattress, only to rise again, to rub against the delicious friction of his body. A heated core deep inside her body demanded her attention, and her hips thrust again, her movements rapid and erratic.

  “Let me help you,” he said softly. His hands firm against her soft flesh, he touched her carefully, and she could not capture the small whimpers that surged from her throat. All else fled from her mind as he prepared her for his taking. And when she thought she could endure no more, that the pleasure he brought her would surely cause her heart to beat beyond bearing, he hesitated. She sobbed aloud, her cry a plea she could not stifle.

  “Beau…” Her hands clenched tightly to the bars he bade her hold fast in her grip. Her hair was a heavy mass she’d tangled beneath her head, damp strands clinging to her forehead and cheeks.

  “Shh…” As if he comforted her for what pain he might cause, he hushed her sharp cry, then easing carefully he pressed his way into her tender flesh. She rose to meet him, welcoming the thrust he could not halt. “Maggie, Maggie girl.” Head bent, he rose from her and she whimpered, some instinct tightening her muscles.

  And then he surged against her again, and she lifted her legs, enclosing him, lest he leave her bereft, with her need not met. For even now there was a promise of pleasure, foretold in each penetrating thrust, each anguished breath he drew, every shifting of his hips against her body. There—a shiver of delight pierced her to the core of her being, and she cried aloud. His mouth smothered the half-uttered sound and his tongue pressed for entry, imitating the movement of that male member deep within her.

  How could it be? How could her body withstand the swirling, aching pleasure he gave? She formed her lips around his tongue, drawing it deeper still. Her hips heaved upward from the bed and his hands were harsh against her bottom, holding her fast for his own use. She ached for a breath, and as if he sensed her need, he released her mouth and her head whirled as she gasped wildly for air.

  “Beau…” High and thin, her cry was desperate now, and as his fingers found her once more, she was engulfed by a madness that knew no name. Complete. She was complete, and the bliss of that single thought vibrated in the whispered syllable of his name.

  He lay against her, heavy and replete, his breathing harsh. “Maggie…Maggie mine.” He inhaled deeply, as if his lungs were starving for the scent of her, and his nose burrowed against her throat. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, his lips blessing her skin, his mouth open and damp, his harsh breathing eased, his sigh a whisper.

  Her womb knew his presence, felt the depth of his penetration, absorbed his seed, and welcomed it. Her grip on the bed loosened and he lifted his head, then leaned upward on his elbows, one hand reaching to release her from the bonds of her nightgown. Her arms slid readily from the sleeves and he murmured an apology.

  “I shouldn’t have done that to you.” Taking her hand, he brought it to his lips. “I wouldn’t have kept you captive for the wrong reasons, Maggie.”

  “I know that,” she told him with a laugh. “You don’t have it in you to cause me hurt.” She flexed her fingers and spread them wide against his cheek. “I didn’t know a body could feel such things as you did to me. It was a wonderment, all the aching and burning…and then when you were inside me—I felt so full, Beau, and so complete. It was like when you fold your fingers together to pray and they’re all tangled up and nothing can make them come apart unless you want it to happen.”

  She laughed, feeling sheepish as she considered the words she’d allowed to pour forth. “You’ll think I’m daft, saying all that foolishness in your ear.”

  “No.” His head shook solemnly. “Not daft, never that. And it’s not foolishness. Never think so, Mag. It’s just another way of saying that you love me, and that you could tell how much I love you—when we were a part of each other.”

  “You make it sound real elegant,” she told him. “I don’t know the right words to say sometimes, but…”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” he said reprovingly, and then softened his words with kisses against her cheek. “You are elegant, Maggie. You carry yourself well. And sometimes you move like those pretty little weanlings out in the pasture, when they leap into the air and run the length of the fence line and you think that their feet aren’t even touching the ground.”

  “You think so, Beau? Truly?” She was awed by his description, that he should think her akin to those beauties he cherished.

  “Truly, Mrs. Jackson. Truly.” He eased from her and drew her into his arms, tossing the nightgown to the floor beside the bed.

  “Shouldn’t I put it back on?” she asked, even as she snuggled against him.

  “You want to?” His chuckle was lazy against her forehead.

  She shook her head. “I don’t believe I’ll wear it at all anymore. Maybe just while I brush my hair and tend to things.”

  “Things? I’ll agree to that,” he said, his words slurred, and she smiled, a secret, warm delight filling her to the brim. “Maggie?” She tilted her head, listening to the sound of his voice speaking her name. “I liked it when you tended to me. I liked it real well.”

  Tom Clemons’s big horse stood in front of the barn, the sheriff holding his reins. Maggie left the porch and walked across the yard, a sense of foreboding slowing her steps. Catching sight of Beau, inside the barn, her heart plummeted. He looked beyond serious, she thought, standing there in the shadows. Whatever the reason for the sheriff’s visit, Beau did not welcome it.

  He looked up, his gaze meeting hers, and she checked her pace. Perhaps this was none of her business. She drew to a stop next to the springhouse, glancing at the closed door. Distaste soured her throat, and she stepped closer, lifting the latch. It would get easier each time she entered the small shed. She’d already decided that. The milk from last evening’s milking would be ready to use, and that task gave good reason for staying clear of the barn.

  “Maggie?” Beau called her name and she halted, midway across the threshold. “Come on out here, honey. The sheriff wants to talk to you.”

  Surely Pa hadn’t caused another fuss over the horse. That was water under the bridge. Sheriff Clemons wasn’t the sort of man to allow Edgar’s nastiness to reopen that mess. Well, whatever the problem, there was no stepping aside. Somehow, she was in the midst of it. Pulling the door closed, she walked toward Beau. He held out his hand and she grasped it, then found herself hauled against his side.

  “There’s news from your folks’ farm,” he said quietly.

  Maggie’s throat tightened and her single thought was spoken aloud. “Mama? Is my mother all right?”

  Tom nodded. “She’ll be fine, Maggie.”

  The words sounded ominous, couched in tones that spoke of past danger, and Maggie’s head shot up, her eyes fixed on the sheriff’s face. “What’s happened to her?” And then she knew. Knew without a shadow of a doubt that Edgar had been at it again. “What did Pa do to her?” And wasn’t that a foolish question. She’d seen her mother too many times with bruises and cuts and scrapes to be unaware of the damage a man’s fis
ts could cause.

  Tom’s flat statement gave proof to that assumption. “Looks like he pounded on her, Maggie. I sent your sisters out there to get her. She wouldn’t leave with me.”

  Maggie’s heart raced at that thought. “If Pa sees them he’s liable to do his worst, Sheriff. You don’t know what he’s like.” And then another thought intruded. “They didn’t head out there without their husbands, did they?”

  The sheriff shook his head. “All four of them went out this morning. They’re probably on their way back to town now.” He shifted uncomfortably, for the first time allowing his gaze to focus on her eye, then slide to her still-swollen mouth. “What happened to you?” he asked.

  She cast a look at Beau, and found him to be no help whatsoever. If he was willing that she speak of Radley Bennett and Shay, she would do so. If Beau would rather she didn’t tell of Rad’s leaving, she’d keep quiet.

  “Maggie?” Her silence prompted a nudge from Tom. “Who hit you, girl?”

  “It wasn’t my pa,” she said defensively. “I haven’t seen him since you threw me in jail.”

  “Well,” Tom said slowly, “your pa’s the reason I’m here.”

  “What did he do now?” Maggie blurted. “Besides pounding on my mother again.”

  Beau’s arm tightened around her waist and she glanced up. “Someone shot your father, Maggie. He’s dead.” His eyes narrowed, as if he sought her reaction. If Beau thought for one minute she was going to sob and carry on over the death of a reprobate like Edgar O’Neill, he had another think coming. Her jaw tightened as she thought of the man who’d made her life a misery for nineteen years.

  “I hope he died hard.” Through gritted teeth, she uttered words that would have shamed her, had they concerned anyone but Pa. With no sense of grief to bring tears, she lifted her head. “Who did it?”

  Tom shrugged, glancing at Beau before he answered. “Don’t know yet. A fella from west of here came into town last night and told me he’d stopped by your pa’s place to pick up a jug of whiskey. Found Edgar on the ground near the porch. A shotgun was next to him.”

  “Did the man see my mother?” The thought of Verna alone in the house with a body in the yard just outside the kitchen made Maggie’s stomach roil.

  “Nope, just came into town and let me know that Edgar was dead. I went on out and found him and trundled him back on a wagon. Your ma was in the house, but she wouldn’t let me in. I saw she was banged up pretty bad, but she was on her feet. So I told your sisters first thing this morning, and they went out to get her.”

  He shifted uncomfortably, allowing his gaze to return once more to Maggie’s face. “Who hit you, Maggie?”

  “If you’re thinking I went over there and shot him, you’re wrong, Sheriff. If I’d done that, I’d have brought my mother back here with me.”

  “I didn’t think you’d shot him,” Tom said. “How about you, Beau? Were you out to Edgar’s place yesterday?”

  “I had no reason to visit Edgar,” Beau told him. “What’ve you got in mind, Tom? You think—” He shook his head. “You’re wrong, you know. Maggie hasn’t been anywhere but right here for the past two days. Neither have I.”

  “You had good reason, Beau. If someone hurt my woman, he’d have me after him in a skinny minute.”

  And didn’t that sound reasonable? Maggie thought. Not true, but certainly worth a second thought. Especially if the sheriff was looking for a likely suspect. In this case, though, he was off the mark.

  “The man who hit me worked for Beau,” she said quietly. “Radley Bennett came around, looking to pick up his belongings, and he caught me in the springhouse.”

  “Rad Bennett? Thought he skipped town with your horse, Beau. I hadn’t heard that he came back.” A skeptical look slanted in Beau’s direction, Tom thrust his hands into his pockets. “And you let him waltz off after he gave Maggie here a black eye?”

  “He’s gone,” Beau said shortly. “Left in a big hurry a couple of days ago. Same day he hurt Maggie.”

  “You sent him on his way? Alive?” Tom repeated, his sober visage holding more than a mite of speculation.

  “He was alive when he left here.” Beau’s jaw was tight, and even the narrowing of his dark eyes could not diffuse the heated anger in their depths. “I saw him heading for the woods beyond the orchard.”

  But not under his own power. The words burned in Maggie’s mouth and she swallowed them.

  Tom looked incredulous. “Let me get this straight. After hitting your wife, you let him walk away.” He shook his head. “Somehow, I doubt that, Beau.”

  “Don’t call Beau a liar, Tom Clemons.” Anger blurred her vision as Maggie’s hand flew up to push against the sheriff’s chest. “Shay pounded the bejabbers out of the son of a pup. Rad left. If Beau says a thing is true, then you can bet your bottom dollar that it is.”

  “Maggie…” Beau’s eyes crinkled with laughter as he drew her back from the assault. One-sided, to be sure, but Maggie in a snit was a sight to behold. For the first time since her arrival, she’d sailed into someone. And for his benefit. She stood stiffly in his grasp, obviously unwilling to back from her stance.

  Tom eyed her askance, a crooked smile giving homage to her temper. “Sorry, Maggie. I didn’t mean to discredit your husband. But, you can see that I’m between a rock and a hard place here. We got a dead man waitin’ to be buried, and not much to go on. From the looks of you, Beau might have good reason to lose his temper with your pa.” He shrugged and glanced at Beau. “Can’t say that I’d blame you any.”

  “Well, you’ll have to look elsewhere, Tom. I didn’t shoot Edgar.” A thought entered his mind and he squeezed Maggie closer to his side. “Matter of fact, you might want to talk to Cord McPherson. He was here yesterday, and bought a couple of yearlings from me. I think he’ll tell you that I was at home and Maggie was already wearing the bruises she’s got today.”

  “You don’t say.” Tom rocked back on his heels. “Well, we’ll leave it at that for now, Beau. Probably the judge will hold a hearing next week, just to clear things up.”

  “We’re not going anywhere,” Beau told him. “We’ll do whatever you like.”

  Tom swung into his saddle and turned the horse with a movement of his reins. “I reckon I’d better start lookin’ further, hadn’t I? That gun’s got to belong to someone. I just can’t figure out why a man would walk off and leave his shotgun layin’ in the dirt.”

  Maggie slid her arm around his waist, fitting herself neatly against his side, and Beau held her snugly. “You all right, Mag?” She would not grieve, of that he was certain. Worrying about her mother would be enough to keep her occupied. And he’d guarantee that a trip to town was in the offing.

  “I hated him.”

  Forlorn didn’t begin to describe her words, Beau decided. He turned her, lifting her chin with his index finger. “Don’t let it be a canker inside you, honey. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

  Tears filled her eyes as he watched and her chin trembled against his touch. “Why couldn’t he have been like you, Beau? Even a little bit?” Jerking her head away, she swiped at the tears angrily. “It’s not fair that one man can make four lives so miserable. He didn’t do diddly squat for my mama, just acted mean as sin every livelong day.”

  “He’s gone now, Maggie. You need to think about your mother.”

  She spun back, tears forgotten. “Can we go see her? I’ll bet she’s with Emily. Em was always her favorite.”

  “She’d choose Emily over you?” Beau shook his head. “Can’t imagine such a thing.” His levity produced the desired effect, and Maggie smiled, fishing in her pocket for a handkerchief.

  “You been stealing my kerchiefs?” he asked, taking it from her hand and wiping gently at the mute evidence of her distress.

  She nodded. “I don’t have any.”

  “We’ll have to solve that problem today. We’ll stop at the store and buy some.”

  Her chin set and her glare was mutinous. �
�There you go again, Beau Jackson. Every time I open my mouth, you’re off buying me something else.”

  Making Maggie understand her position in his life would take more than a day or so, he decided. “You can earn it out.”

  “Doing what?” She glanced up at him. “How much do I have to do for you to buy me a couple of hankies?”

  “Come on,” he told her, hustling her toward the house. “Put on a dress and we’ll go to town to see your mother. I’ll think of a chore for you to do later on.”

  “Boss?” From within the barn, Pony caught his attention, and Beau turned. “Do you need the mare harnessed to the buggy?”

  Beau nodded. Pony was never far afield. “That’ll work,” he said. “We’ll be ready to leave in a few minutes.”

  “Miss Maggie?” Pony stepped across the threshold, removing his hat. “I know your pa wasn’t much good, but he was still your pa. It’s too bad, the way he died.”

  Maggie inclined her head. “Thank you, Pony. I reckon there wouldn’t have ever been a good way for him to kick the bucket. He was a hateful man from the word go. I’m just glad my mama doesn’t have to put up with him anymore.”

  “What will she do, Mag?” Beau asked. “It’s going to be hard on her. She must have known he was out there with a hole in him. No matter what, she’s got to be upset over things.”

  They turned to the house and Maggie leaned against him. “I wonder who did it?”

  “Did your pa have a shotgun?”

  She nodded. “He kept one in the barn and another in the house. Said that a man in his business had to be ready for trouble.” Her shoulders slumped beneath his arm. “I can’t believe it, Beau. That he’s dead, I mean. I wished him gone so many times, and now, I don’t have to worry about him anymore. I can go visit Mama without looking over my shoulder.”

  And that was another issue they needed to face, Beau thought. Apparently Maggie hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I doubt your mother will want to stay on the farm by herself,” he said. “She probably isn’t strong enough to do the barn work, let alone anything else.”