by Barbara Mack
Nick made a growling reply under his breath, and Maggie was sure that she did not want to know what he had just said. He hauled back on the reins, and Jet stopped obediently. The rain was a thick, cold curtain around them now, and the previously warm blanket wrapped around Maggie was now soggy and cold. The only part of her that was warm rested against Nick, and his heat seemed to burn her through the thick wool.
“We are going to have to find someplace to shelter for a while,” he said grimly. “I can barely see a foot in front of my face, and this rain is cold as a witch’s . . . well, anyway it is cold. I do not want you coming down with an inflammation of the lungs. There is an old cabin about a mile from here, and if we are lucky, the walls are still standing.”
“But we cannot be that far from the house,” Maggie said, her teeth chattering together. “How long could it take to get there?”
“We are at least five n miles from the farm, through heavy forest,” he informed her coldly. “I do not know how you got so far off track, but I for one do not intend to suffer any more than is necessary. We are stopping until the rain quits. The others who are searching will have sense enough to go home out of this weather, and when I do not show up soon they will be smart enough to figure out that I found you.”
His voice left no room for argument, and Maggie said not another word, though words of
protest rose to her lips. The thought of being trapped with Nick in some crude cabin sent her
pulse fluttering and her heart pounding, and not necessarily with fear.
The cabin did indeed have walls and a roof, and that was about the best thing that could be said about it. It was filled with dust and cobwebs, and precious little else. After seeing the inside of the one-room shack, Nick brought Jet right into the cabin with them. He shrugged when Maggie looked at him skeptically.
“Why should he suffer?” he said, throwing the wet saddle over a three-legged table propped against the grimy wall. “It is not going to hurt the inside of this building, that is for sure.” He wrinkled his nose. “Or make it smell any worse.”
The cabin did have a strong smell of old sweat and mildew, but it was dry, and Maggie was determined to make the best of this situation. She wiped down the two rickety chairs with her wet blanket, then held the blanket out the window in the rain to rinse it. Then she wrung the water out of it. Since the window did not even possess a piece of oilcloth to cover it, that was not hard to do.
Nick peered up the chimney and pronounced it clean enough to use without setting the building on fire, and proceeded to rummage through the pack he’d had tied on behind the saddle. Maggie looked at the contents of the pack in astonishment. It was an assortment of bandages, medicines, foods, and blankets. Nick looked up and caught her looking. He shrugged his shoulders, and then turned his head away.
“I did not know what condition you would be in when I found you. We all thought you might have had an accident,” he said, and Maggie felt a burst of guilt as she realized they had probably all been envisioning her dead or hurt badly at the very least. “You should not have bothered cleaning those chairs,” he told her. “I am just going to bust them up and use them for
firewood.”
“Use the table,” she protested. “I do not want to sit on this filthy floor.”
“I will burn the table, too,” he said. “Spread out one of these blankets, or sit on the saddle. I will pull it over in front of the fire after I get it started.”
Maggie gave up the chair without a struggle, for she was getting awfully chilled in her sodden clothes. A fire did sound good, and when Nick broke up the chair and thrust it into the merrily blazing flames, she was not sorry a bit. She held out her hands to the blaze from her perch on the saddle, and soaked up the warmth like a flower soaks up sun.
“You are going to have to get out of those wet clothes and wrap yourself in a blanket if you want to get warm,” Nick said. He held up a hand to forestall any opposition Maggie had, before she had even opened her mouth. “I am not trying to seduce you, Maggie,” he said harshly. “It is the very last thing on my mind right now. I do not want you getting sick, and there is something to cover you up with. It is not like you will be sitting here naked with me.”
Maggie blushed a fiery red at his words but gave in quietly, and Nick turned and stared down into the fire, and marveled at what a convincing liar he could be sometimes. He did have seduction on his mind because the thought never left his mind when Maggie was around. He could hear Maggie undressing behind him right now, and his ever-ready body was springing to life at the rustling sounds. He clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, but all that did was bring up a picture of the way Maggie had been in the library, sprawled wantonly across the table with her clothing in disarray and her eyes begging him to take her. Lord, but he wanted her that way again!
He had told her again and again to find someone else, that he was off limits to her, but he had not meant it and had not actually thought that she would go out and do it. He could not sleep for remembering her with Duncan Murdoch, could not get the image of her passion-tousled hair and reddened lips out of his mind. No matter what he had told her, he did not want her to be with anyone else but him. He had been nearly incoherent with rage that night and it was a pure wonder that he had not shot the man. If he had been carrying a gun at the time, he probably would have. He had hated her in that moment, but that feeling had not lasted. He could not blame her for wanting somebody else–had he not known all along that all she felt for him was infatuation? Now he felt a sharp sorrow at losing Maggie, and he was afraid that his feelings for her went much deeper than lust. He was very much afraid that he felt more than infatuation, more than just wanting her in his bed. His mind shied away from that thought.
“You can turn around now,” said Maggie’s husky voice, and Nick turned slowly, sucking in his breath at the sight of her. She had taken off that rag of a dress and draped it over the chair he had not broken up into firewood yet. Wearing only a chemise, wrapped in a blanket, with her hair down around her shoulders, she was the loveliest thing that he had ever seen and all of a sudden, Nick had to tell her so.
“You are so beautiful, Maggie,” he said quietly, his eyes seeking hers. He wanted to touch her; his hands ached to fill themselves with her flesh.
“Stop it,” she said. “I am wet, and dirty, and disheveled. There is nothing beautiful about me right now.”
He smiled a crooked, tender smile at her. “I am not going to argue with you. Come sit by the fire and warm up.”
Maggie perched gingerly on the saddle, clutching the blanket around her, and Nick sat on
the floor right beside her. They stared into the crackling flames, with Nick throwing in an occasional piece of wood from the broken-up table, not saying a word.
“Martha Fawcett is very pretty,” Maggie said suddenly.
Nick shrugged. “I guess she is, if you like that type. She is always going on about how wonderful New York is, and I get tired of hearing that. To hear her tell it, it is the next best thing to Paradise. She is too fussy for me sometimes, will not ride because the wind musses up her hair, does not like to go fast in the buggy, does not like to be outside . . . She is pretty, but she is like a doll, one you have got to keep inside all the time so that you do not get it all dirty.”
“If you do not really like her, why is she your lover?” Maggie asked sharply.
Nick silently cursed Kathleen and her big mouth, because he just knew she was the one who had spilled it; Kathleen and Martha had hated one another for years, not that you would ever know it to be around either one of them. They did their best to out-sweet each other, and it was enough to give a man a stomach-ache when he was trapped in the same room with both of them.
“She is not my lover anymore,” he said, and then felt angry that he was explaining himself to her. "She has not been for a long time."
She had no right to question him, not anymore. He poked viciously at the fire, making sparks flare up and
rain out onto the floor beside them. Nick moved his boots out of the way hurriedly.
"Because she’s been gone for a year!" Maggie said sharply. "Do you plan to take up right where you left off?"
“No, I do not, and why would you even care?” He turned to her, his eyes glittering with suppressed emotion. “You have got a lover, why shouldn’t I have one?”
“You are such an idiot, Nick!” Maggie cried.
He turned to her, grabbed her shoulders fiercely and shook her until her hair flew wildly about her face. Maggie cried out, and he put his face down close to hers, almost touching, then, goaded beyond endurance, pulled her up to her knees to meet his impassioned kiss. He crushed her mouth beneath his, his hands hurtful as he tangled one in her hair and pulled her hard
against him with the other. Maggie gave a little whimper of mixed fear and desire. He let her go, his face horrified, and slumped to the ground in front of her with dejection in every curve of his body.
“I am sorry, Maggie, I am so sorry,” he whispered stiffly. “I would not hurt you for the world. I do not know what happened.”
Tears splashed out of her eyes and Maggie put up a hand as if to try and hold them in.
“It is all right,” she said, but her voice quavered, and she did not resist when Nick drew her down onto his lap. She turned her face into his chest as he crooned to her, irrationally drawing comfort from the very one who had just hurt her. His big hand stroked her hair and cradled her against him.
“I do know what is wrong,” he said eventually, his voice not quite steady. “I want you to want only me.” When Maggie made some movement, some protest, he slid his hand over her mouth. “Please let me finish. I know I told you over and over that I did not want you, but I was wrong. I told you to go away, but I lied. I know it is my fault that I drove you away, but Maggie, I wish you would give me another chance. It will be different this time, I promise.”
He tilted back her chin and pressed his lips tenderly to hers, stroking and caressing, and Maggie felt a heat rise up in her that had nothing to do with the fire in front of them. She made an inarticulate noise of pleasure and felt him smile against her mouth before he pulled away.
“That was an apology for that last kiss,” he said.
“Oh, Nick,” Maggie breathed, putting both her hands around his face. “I do want you. Duncan and I . . . “
”You do not have to explain,” Nick said swiftly. “I forgive you, and I want you to be with only me. He is a good-looking, intelligent man, and I can understand you being tempted by him.”
Maggie went very still. “You forgive me?” she asked quietly.
He looked at her quizzically, picking up some nuance in her voice. “For being with Duncan, yes. I know that I drove you away from me. I thought that it was what I wanted. I told you again and again to find someone else”
Maggie pulled herself off his lap and stood up, drawing the blanket back tightly around her. She paced to the window and peered out. The rain showed no signs of letting up, and she bit her lip in vexation. If she had to stay in this room very much longer with him, she was going to beat him in his thick head with the wood from the fire.
“What is wrong?” Nick asked.
Maggie whirled around, fire in her eyes. “What is wrong? What is wrong?” She paced the length of the room, uncaring that her blanket flared open with each step and showed the long length of leg not covered by her chemise. She leaned forward to stab the startled Nick in the chest with a forefinger and took a deep breath.
“Not once, not one time, did you ask me about what happened that night. You never asked me for my version of events, never spoke another word about it. You just pretended that it never happened, froze me with your oh-so-polite conversation, and now, now, you so magnanimously forgive me. What a good man you are, Nick,” she finished derisively, flinging one last scornful look at him from over her shoulder as she went to stand at the window and look out at the driving rain. She kept her back to him to hide her look of pain from him; she did not want the man to see her cry ever again. She had already cried a river in front of him.
“So what happened that night, Maggie?” he asked softly from behind her.
“You are so smart,” she flung at him acidly, not moving from her position by the window,
clenching her trembling hands on the blanket. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“I am asking you, Maggie,” he said from a spot so close behind her that she could feel his breath on her neck. Maggie shuddered as craving for him lurched through her body.
“Maybe it is a few days too late, but I am asking, Maggie.” His voice was even. There were questions about that night he wanted answered. The distance of days had taken some of the blinding anger out of the way of his reasoning powers, and he wondered why Tommy had not been in his room when he had gone to check on him, afraid that the youngster might have been frightened by all of the noise. And he remembered, now that the flush of fury and hurt had passed and he could think about it a little more clearly, that he could swear that three of his horses had been missing from their stalls.
She whirled on him, lifting her chin pugnaciously. His eyes held a plea, and she hardened her heart against him. If she did not stand her ground on this, nothing would ever change between them. She would not settle for second-best, not this time. She had come much too far to let that happen ever again.
“And I am asking you to trust me,” she said levelly. “To trust me, Nick, when I say that I cannot give you any explanations, but it was not what you thought.”
“That is asking a lot from me, Maggie,” he said slowly, his brown velvet eyes never breaking away from hers.
“Yes,” Maggie said. “It is. But that is what trust is all about, Nick. Not evidence. Faith in each other.” She did not back down, would not be the first one to look away. “I believe you when you say Martha Fawcett is not your lover. I do not ask you for proof, because I trust you. I have faith in you. Please do me the same courtesy, Nick." Her eyes pleaded with him, and looking at her, he was lost in their shimmering depths. "Trust me.”
And just like that, he did. He realized that he would believe whatever Maggie told him, no matter what evidence his eyes might have collected, because he did have faith in her. The revelation perplexed him. And because he could not think of anything else to do and because he so wanted to, he reached out and drew a sensuous line along the swell of breast revealed by the damp chemise and coarse blanket.
“You are the most honest woman I have ever met. It is hard going against what my experience has taught me, Maggie, but I have discovered that you are like no woman I ever met, and I cannot categorize you. You change like quicksilver in my hands,” he said hoarsely. “I feel like a green boy when you are around. With you, I feel as if this were all new to me, as if no woman ever came before you.” He cradled her soft cheek in his rough hand. “I do trust you, Maggie.”
Maggie felt a spurt of shame at his words. Her conscience smote her; she was entreating him to trust her when she did not trust all of her own secrets to him. He did not deserve that from her. She bit her lip. She would tell him, right now, she would tell him what had really happened with her husband and they would work it out together.
“Nick, I . . .”
His hand went to her mouth. “Ssshhh. No more words. No more explanations. Just you and me, together here and now.” His eyes were full of promise, of the words he could not bring himself to say.
He reached out for her, and the words that Maggie wanted to give him died in her throat. She could not think when he stroked her like this. He pulled her close, his arms clasping her gently. His hands slid down and cupped her buttocks in his hands, lifting her up, and she drew in her breath, her eyes flying to his, when she realized that he was already aroused and ready for her. He smiled wryly at her.
“Oh, yes, Maggie, I have been like that the whole time. Since I put you on the horse in front of me. I burn for you. Feel how I burn for you,” he whispered into her throat.
Maggie moaned and threw her head back, forgetting all about the confession that she wanted to make to him. Nick took full advantage of the position that exposed the long lines of her neck. He buried his face in the sensitive hollow there, biting and caressing as Maggie quivered in his arms.
“Lie down with me,” he beseeched her. “Let me love you.”
Maggie nodded, incapable of speech. She, too, was on fire for him, burned for him, ached for him to be inside her. She thought that she would die soon if she did not have him, thought that her soul would wither and perish in the fiery heat of her passion if she did not find an outlet for it. Her eyes clung to him, loving him, caressing him avidly when he spread out blankets in front of the fire to make a bed for them to lie upon.
When he pulled off his shirt to expose his muscular chest, her mouth fairly watered to touch him. The hair on his chest grew in a V and disappeared into his trousers, and her fingers itched to explore him. She went to him without protest when he held out his hand, and she did not demur when he pulled her chemise over her head and divested her of her drawers, leaving her naked to his view.
Nick trembled. He could not believe that she was here like this with him. He was afraid that he would wake up in his lonely bed and this would just be another dream, and he would be once again unfulfilled. He put out his hand and touched the warm silk of her skin. He felt almost reverential at this moment, and he wondered if she realized just how gorgeous that her body was. She was a tall, long-legged beauty, with curving hips and a tiny waist. She had the sleekest, smoothest skin that he had ever touched, and her breasts, ah, her breasts . . . he sucked in his breath as he looked at the coral tips of her beautiful bosom.
“You are so beautiful, Maggie,” he breathed, and cupped her breasts in his hands. “I have wanted to do that for so long,” he confessed. “Since I first met you. You have the most beautiful breasts that I have ever seen.”
Maggie’s hands went shyly to the opening of his pants. “You, too,” she said. “It is not fair that I am naked and you are not.”
