And she had yet to see anyone Ethan couldn’t talk to. In that regard, as in so many others, the brothers were much alike.
“She’s a beauty, Mrs. McGrath.”
“Thank you. Yes, she is.”
Cullen hadn’t yet broached the subject of whether she was in favor of his brother living here indefinitely, and she hadn’t brought it up either. Her vote was the same as it had always been. At least on most days.
“I’m so glad she’s better,” he said softly, his voice tinged with emotion. He looked at Maggie. “I’m sorry for what I did. In London, I mean. It’s important to me that you know that.”
Maggie studied him. “Thank you, Mr. McGrath.”
He turned to leave, then paused. “Do you think—”
Maggie tensed, hoping he wouldn’t ask what she thought he was going to ask.
“—you might consider us goin’ by our Christian names with each other? Seein’ as we’re family and all?”
Witnessing his gentleness with Belle and the mare’s obvious calm with him, Maggie felt a slight softening toward him. “I believe we could do that . . . Ethan.”
The man beamed. “Thank you . . . Margaret.”
He took his leave, and a handful of minutes later, Maggie heard a distant hum outside. If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought it was street traffic. She strode to the door of the stable and saw a group of workers staring down the road. She spotted Cullen among them and moved closer to see what they were watching when a swell of cheers arose.
Coming up the drive was General William Giles Harding himself, followed by four . . . no, five . . . no, six wagons.
General Harding guided his black stallion to where Cullen stood. “Mr. McGrath, I hear you’re in need of wagons for harvest, sir. And though this doesn’t begin to settle the debt I owe you for Bonnie Scotland, it’s my hope that you’ll accept the loan of these wagons and consider them yours until such time as you can replace them.”
Maggie knew her husband well, and even though Cullen shook the general’s hand and expressed his hearty thanks, she knew the loan of these conveyances from General Harding of Belle Meade Plantation himself meant more to Cullen than he let on.
Because with them, Linden Downs had a fighting chance again.
“Mrs. McGrath.” General Harding directed his attention to her. “My daughter tells me that Bourbon Belle is doing much better now.”
“She is, sir.”
“Glad to hear it. By chance will you be running her in the Peyton Stakes? And before you answer, my hope is that you will. And I’m certain, if Fortune had a voice, she would say the same.”
Feeling Cullen’s gaze, Maggie smiled up at Mary’s father. “I’m afraid not, General. I’ve decided—” She caught herself. “My husband and I have decided not to race Bourbon Belle again.” Her smile faltered the tiniest bit. “I believe that’s for the best.”
General Harding eyed her, and though the man offered no verbal contradiction, she knew he did not agree.
Mid-September brought cooler mornings and the promise of approaching fall, even as a persistent summer still grappled to maintain its hold. But with onset of evening, when the light was nearly spent and a watermark of color framed the hills to the west, the northerly breeze tipped its hand to the coming victor.
Cullen stood on the front porch appreciating the night sky, hair still damp from washing, a satisfying fatigue in his back and shoulder muscles. He’d enjoyed what was likely his last trip to the creek, as the weather would soon be too cool for bathing there. He briefly leaned down and rubbed Bucket, the dog still panting from their game of fetch on the way back.
Gilbert Linden had sorely spoiled this dog, embarrassingly so. And Cullen was determined to follow in the man’s footsteps.
Thinking of Mr. Linden stirred a sense of gratitude inside him, and he closed his eyes for a moment, imagining the man still standing there beside him, staring out across the land he’d loved.
Thank you, sir . . .
The silent utterance left him and lifted upward. How far a journey it had, he didn’t know. Or when it would get there. Or if. But the magnitude of the gift he’d been given wouldn’t let him keep silent.
Cullen peered upward, the moon a pale thumbnail against the evening sky, and he thought of another gift, a far more precious one. One that Mr. Linden was also responsible for having given him. Or at least, for having made the introduction.
Thank you too . . . Sir.
Father God is how Mr. Linden had always addressed the Almighty in prayer, but the term father didn’t feel quite right to Cullen. So he hoped Sir was acceptable, at least for now.
Five days into harvest with an additional six wagons, and the future of Linden Downs looked considerably brighter. Between the rain-logged fields and beginning the reaping with only one wagon, they’d lost valuable time. But they would make it up in the next three weeks, Cullen was determined.
As was Ennis, as the foreman had told him during Cullen’s recent visit to check his progress. Cullen missed Ennis’s leadership in the fields, and their friendly banter in general.
Bourbon Belle’s future also appeared brighter. Each day the thoroughbred seemed to gain more strength and vitality, as did the mare’s lovely mistress.
Cullen scanned the cloudless purple gray overhead and exhaled a satisfied breath.
“That was a deep sigh.”
Surprised at the voice, Cullen felt Maggie’s arms come around his waist from behind.
He turned to face her and nuzzled her neck.
Chuckling, she playfully pushed him away. “Your hair is still wet!”
He laughed and pulled her to him again, the softness of her curves awakening his desire. He kissed her, and she tilted her head to better meet his mouth. Fatigue forgotten, Cullen lifted her by the waist and her arms came around his neck. She gave a soft murmur. Then the creak of the front door sounded.
Ethan stepped out and, seeing them, smiled. But Maggie stiffened and indicated for Cullen to set her down. He did so, and she hastily put distance between them. Cullen slipped her a wink, but her serious expression said she didn’t find it amusing.
He’d told her before that Ethan didn’t care, but that hadn’t altered her opinion. Miss Onnie occasionally catching them in a kiss was apparently one thing; Ethan seeing them was another.
But Cullen had a feeling that Maggie’s opinion of his brother went far deeper than mere self-consciousness.
Ethan shot him a look. “Miss Onnie has dinner ’bout ready.”
“Thank you, Ethan.” Maggie smoothed the front of her dress and went on inside.
“If you two have any appetite left,” Ethan finished beneath his breath.
Cullen smiled at his brother’s comment, even though he knew Maggie’s aloofness bothered Ethan.
Ethan nodded in the direction Maggie had gone. “I’m tellin’ you, Cullen, your wife just isn’t warmin’ up to me.”
“She will. Give her time.”
“Maybe I need to be movin’ on, like I told you before.”
Cullen gripped his older brother by the shoulder, feeling more like the elder lately than the younger. “No, Ethan. Your place is here with us, I know it. The Almighty led you here, don’t you see that?”
“The Almighty?” Ethan gave him a funny look. “The two of you are on regular speakin’ terms now, are you?”
Cullen laughed and held the door open, casting a last glance out across the fields. “Let’s just say I recently learned that there’s always a conversation goin’ on. It’s just me who’s sometimes stubborn of hearin’.”
That night Cullen awakened from a dream, the sounds still so vivid within him—the drum of rain on an angry ocean and the clap of waves as they beat against the ship’s hull.
He shook his head to clear the cobwebs of sleep, his mind willing but his body lagging behind. He looked beside him at Maggie, the echoing drumroll of rain from his dream drowning out her soft breaths. She began to stir, and he realized .
. .
He was either still in his dream, or—
Cullen bolted from bed and raced to the open window. The plank wood floor slippery beneath his bare feet, he pushed back the rain-soaked curtains as a flash of lightning inflicted a jagged scar across the night sky. Thunder rolled overhead—the clap of waves against the ship’s hull from his dream—and a torrent of hail beat down from the heavens like a drum.
Chapter
FORTY-THREE
Cullen reined Levi in at the crest of the hill and struggled to come to grips with the scene around him. Laid bare by morning light, the fields looked more like those belonging to winter than summer, and could almost be described as beautiful—if they didn’t hold such devastation.
Bruised, battered, and broken, crops that had rivaled his height yesterday were flattened. Once proud stalks of corn now bent and leaning, others snapped clean in two, dotted the landscape as far as he could see, the ears themselves buried in patchwork blankets of hail.
He dismounted and picked up a piece of ice the size of a hen’s egg. Two inches in circumference at least, and bitter cold when gripped tightly in his palm. A moment passed, and water leaked from his fist as his fingers and hand started to go numb.
He opened his fist again to find the ball of ice still hard as a rock, for the most part stubbornly unchanged.
From somewhere behind him came the telling plod of hooves. A moment later Ethan appeared beside him.
“I’m so sorry, Cullen. I-I’ve never seen anythin’ like this in my life.” Ethan placed a hand aside his head, as if viewing the aftermath was causing him a physical ache. “It’s like the hand o’ God reached down to smite the land.”
Cullen lifted his gaze from the fields and peered up into the azure blue stretching in all directions above him, and felt so small and insignificant by comparison. So much more so than he’d felt yesterday when the financial future of Linden Downs had been secure.
In a matter of minutes, what had taken weeks and months to nurture into growth had been snuffed out like a bothersome wick. He didn’t have to put pen to paper to know how damaging this would be to the farm.
And to his wife.
“Have you lost your mind, woman?”
Seeing how angry Cullen was, Maggie steeled herself, her rationale at the ready. “Cullen, listen to me.” Seated in the chair opposite his by the hearth, she leaned forward. “I’ve been thinking about this for several days now. Long before the hailstorm yesterday. I know I said I’d given up on the idea, and I truly thought I had. But . . . with everything that’s happened, it makes perfect sense.”
“Not to anyone with half a brain. Nay—” He shook his head. “I’ll not entertain this idea from you, Maggie. Not now. Not ever.”
“But, Cullen, you should see Belle run. She’s not as fast as she used to be yet, but she will be. I know it. Even Uncle Bob says that—”
He exhaled. “Please, Maggie, let’s not—”
“—he says he believes she’ll be running like the wind in no time.”
“Listen to me . . .” Cullen knelt by her chair and gripped her gently by the shoulders. “Don’t you understand . . . You mean the world to me, woman. And I cannot and will not allow you to race Belle yourself. The very idea of a grown woman bein’ out there—”
“But this is our chance, Cullen. Our crops are gone. You said yourself last night that you don’t know how we’ll be able to keep paying all the workers, much less keep the farm. If we race, and we win—”
He shook his head, and she cradled his face in her hands.
“—then we will have secured Linden Downs for years to come. And if we don’t win, then—” She shrugged. “We’re no worse off than we were before.”
“That’s not true, Maggie. And I’m not ever goin’ to say yes to this, so what I’m sayin’ now is just for the sake of argument. What if somethin’ were to happen to you as you raced? Accidents happen all the time on the track. What then?” He searched her eyes. “What would I do? I don’t think—” He took a breath, his grip tightening on her shoulders, but not enough to hurt, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t think I could handle losin’ everythin’ I hold dear a second time.”
Feeling a stinging behind her eyes, Maggie kissed him. “Nothing is going to happen to me, Cullen.”
“You’re right, love. Because you’re not racin’ Belle at the Peyton Stakes.”
A knock sounded on the front door, and Cullen went to answer it.
Maggie recognized Dr. Daniels’s voice and heard Cullen inviting him in. It had slipped her mind that he’d arranged for the physician to stop by and check on Ennis and the other two men who had been beaten. She rose to welcome the doctor, and her world swam. She quickly reached behind her for the chair and sat back down.
“Maggie?” Cullen was beside her in a heartbeat. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She attempted a lighthearted laugh, which would have sounded more convincing if the room had ceased its swirling.
Dr. Daniels knelt beside her and pressed two fingers against the underside of her wrist. “Your pulse is quite rapid, Mrs. McGrath.”
Maggie read concern in Cullen’s expression and attempted to give him a reassuring look.
“I assure you, Dr. Daniels. I’m quite well.”
“And I believe you’re well, too, Mrs. McGrath. But just the same, I’d like to make certain of it.” The doctor rose. “So if you’ll allow me to examine you, we can ascertain your wellness together.”
Chapter
FORTY-FOUR
Cullen paced outside the bedroom, all efforts to listen through the closed door having failed. Then he heard Dr. Daniels’s sober voice.
“You may come in now, Mr. McGrath.”
Hand on the latch, Cullen hesitated, then gave it a push, his heart racing as if he’d run to the bluff and back. Maggie was seated on the edge of the bed, her head bowed, and Cullen’s heart went to his knees.
Then she looked up.
Her hand moved to her midsection and she smiled, and Cullen felt the dread that had tightened his chest fall away. He looked to the doctor to be sure, and when Daniels gave a single nod, Cullen went to Maggie, knelt beside the bed, and lifted her hand to his lips.
“Oh, love . . .” he whispered.
“I believe I’ll give you two a moment together, Mr. and Mrs. McGrath, and see you downstairs.”
Cullen smiled, his gaze locked with Maggie’s. “Thank you, Dr. Daniels. We’re much obliged to you, sir.”
The door creaked.
“And may I say,” the doctor added, “how very happy I am for you both.”
The latch clicked, and Maggie’s smile trembled. Cullen leaned in and kissed the place where her hand had just rested, the place where their precious child—he could scarcely believe it, even now—was safely nestled.
Maggie slipped her arms around his neck. He drew her up and held her, her head cradled against his chest, her arms tight around him, and he realized yet again that as long as he had those he loved, he had everything. All else could—and would—come and go. But this . . .
He kissed the crown of her head and felt her sigh against him. Thank you, Lord.
This was everything.
Two months. That’s how far along Dr. Daniels had estimated she was with the baby yesterday. Maggie paused just inside the stable and gently pressed her hand against her abdomen.
Cullen’s child.
Every time she thought about it, it felt as though someone had lit a match inside her. Even if it did mean surrendering any possibility of riding Belle in the Peyton Stakes. Dr. Daniels had been quite clear in his instructions as he’d left the house yesterday, and Cullen had been relieved to hear them.
“Mrs. McGrath, while I’m not an old-school physician who implores confinement and bed rest for a woman in your condition, I do urge you to use good sense. Continuing your riding lessons is fine. However, your riding is not.”
She continued on to Belle’s stall, surpris
ed when she saw Kizzy inside, standing on a stool, rubbing Belle down with the curry brush.
“Good morning.” Maggie let herself in.
“Mornin’, Missus McGrath.” The girl didn’t look up. In fact, she didn’t look in Maggie’s direction at all. She just kept brushing short, smooth strokes along Belle’s side.
What was the child up to?
Then Maggie saw it. The pile of pennies on the shelf. And her heart clenched tight.
“Kizzy,” she said softly, and tried to take the brush from her hand.
“No, ma’am!” The girl jerked back. “I wanna do it. I—” Her voice caught. She gave a little gasp as she turned. “I do whatever you say, ma’am. You just gotta keep teachin’ me. You done said you’d teach me.”
Seeing the girl’s tears encouraged Maggie’s own. “Kizzy, I wish I could. More than you realize. But—”
“I can get more money. I heard Papa say the boss done lost lots of it. I can find me a job, and then give you—”
“Oh sweetheart, it’s not about the money. You don’t have to pay me anything.”
Big tears rolled down the girl’s cheeks. “Then why ain’t you teachin’ me no more? I see Belle runnin’ in the fields again. I know she gettin’ better.” She paused. “Is you gonna be teachin’ them other girls still?”
Maggie hesitated, then nodded. “But that’s different, Kizzy.”
The girl’s eyes darkened. “I ain’t no different from them.”
“Oh yes you are, Kizzy. You’re a born rider. God gave you a gift. Those other girls could spend a lifetime learning how to ride, and they would never ride like you do.”
The child sniffed and said nothing. Then her tiny hand went to her hip. “I wanna ride Belle in that race comin’ up, ma’am. She and me can win. I know we can.”
Maggie shook her head. “There are people . . . bad people who might hurt you if you rode in that race.”
Kizzy hopped off the stool. “I ain’t afraid of ’em.”
Maggie touched the tip of the girl’s chin. “No,” she whispered, thinking about the scar on Ennis’s neck. “But I’m afraid for you. So there will be no race for you. Or Belle.”
To Win Her Favor Page 35
