Then Came You: A Prequel to The McPhee Clan

by Jillian Hart

  She fell silent as the kitchen doors swung open again and a regal, handsome woman sashayed in, draped in a flawless ruby-colored gown. Her blond hair was so light, it shone platinum in the sunlight streaming through the many windows. Her face carried middle-aged hints of a greater beauty she must have had in her prime. Her gaze narrowed as she scanned the room. She zeroed in on Maebry. "You, there. Come with me."

  Maebry gulped, set down her knife, felt Missy's silent sympathy as she stepped away. Her hands were stained orange from the carrot peeling, so she swiped them the best she could on her apron. From years with Maureen, she was afraid to address Mrs. Montgomery, although she wondered what the woman wanted. Surely it was too much to hope she would be sent home, no longer needed.

  "The stable boy and driver are not making adequate progress with the snow shoveling." The fine lady waltzed down the hallway, through an exquisite dining room where a pair of maids were setting out linens and china, and heading in the direction of the front door. Quality and elegance were everywhere—the graceful line of an imported sofa, the arches of the intimately coved ceilings, the glint off the tasteful crystal chandeliers. Mrs. Montgomery frowned at her. "You look sturdy enough, and I can't count all the times Maureen has told me you can work like a horse and not feel it. Work is what you're good for."

  Mrs. Montgomery paused, looked Maebry up and down and frowned again, as if unsure of that statement. Maebry stared at her shoes, feeling inadequate, feeling every inch of her shabby clothes and her station in life.

  "Go on with you now. Don't stop until the work is done." The regal lady gestured with a wave of one soft hand in the direction of the entrance.

  She bobbed the required curtsey at the lofty Mrs. Montgomery. Sure enough, a shovel was waiting for her, leaning against the wall by the front door.

  Woodenly, she went in search of her coat and returned, buttoned up and ready to face the chill. The late morning sun angled across the yard, casting small shadows on decorative trees and precious bushes and flowers mantled by a foot and a half of white. The rhythmic scrapes of shovels against bricks drown out the usual sounds of wind and merry birds.

  An older man looked up from his shoveling, his forehead furrowing as if puzzled. "I asked the Missus for another hand, and she sends you? You're just a bit of a thing."

  "But I'm strong." She didn't mention all the times she'd filled in at the barn, mucking out stall after stall. Very physical work. It wasn't much different here. "Where would you like me?"

  "Inside, with the other maids." The man shook his head, giving her a sympathetic look. "But I suppose that won't go over with the Missus. Better clear the stairs, then, and the porch. That's the lightest work I have out here."

  "Thank you, sir." Relieved at his kindness, she gripped the shovel's handle tightly, sized up the problems of the drifted snow on the porch, and got to work.

  As she scooped up her first shovel full of white stuff, she heard the clomp of a horse in the drive and the squeak of sled runners on the snow. Something clicked in her heart, like a key turning in a lock, opening that door within, the one needing to stay closed. If she was going to fight her feelings for Gil, that is.

  She didn't need to turn around to know who'd arrived. She felt his nearness as surely as the porch boards at her feet. His presence seemed to fill her like a new sun, threatening to light up the dark. Tender emotions she had to resist flickered to life, affection and caring that could never be expressed or realized. She tossed a load of the snow over the rail and hunkered down for another shovelful.

  "Casey, you nut." Gil's voice drifted on the wind. "Go with Agnew. He's got grain. Yeah, I thought you'd like that."

  "He's a handsome fellow," a man's voice answered, presumably Agnew. A set of boots and horse hooves sounded in the snow, traveling around the far side of the house.

  The silence she felt within as she waited for Gil to come closer ached like an old wound. Maebry stiffened, fighting the pull of him on her heart, both dreading the moment when she looked up into his familiar gaze and wanting it so much. Needing to see him, hungering for the sight of his smile, the feel of his substantial, dependable presence. The spot on her forehead tingled in memory of his last kiss, the one that had felt like resignation. How could she look at him the same now, when they couldn’t be together?

  His boots crunched in the snow. His voice rumbled low and deep, friendly, as he chatted with one of the other shovelers. Maebry dumped a load of snow over the porch railing, feeling the icy wind and the heat of his gaze. She didn't want to look at him. She didn't think she could bear to.

  Her spine shivered at the knell of his footsteps coming closer. Up the steps, across the porch. She stiffened, scooped up a shovelful of snow and swung away from him, sending it flying over the banister into the yard. It would be easier if he kept on walking, went inside without stopping to say hello. She didn't know where they went from here. She saw only her breaking heart. Gil was simply so easy to love, and she cared more than she could admit.

  Far too much.

  "Maebry." His words warmed the air, drove the chill from the wind, made the sun brighter. "Give me that shovel. You shouldn't be out here doing a man's work."

  "I don't mind." She hoped her forced smile would fool him. She spun toward him, pretending seeing him didn't break her apart. Oh, how good he looked standing there, limned by sunlight, substantial and masculine, dressed all in black. She ignored the squeeze of her chest, the kick of her pulse and the wishes rising. "I'll take working out in the fresh air any day so thanks, but I'll be keeping this shovel. What are you doing here? You've not come to do work, I bet."

  "I will be lending a hand with the horses. In weather like this, they'll need to be blanketed and stabled." Gil's knowing gaze searched hers, as if he wasn't fooled. "Not that I'm here of my own free will. Maureen ordered it when I spoke to her today."

  "You spoke to her about the ranch?" She scrunched up her forehead, wondering why. "Beckett's usually the one who has to deal with her. Let me think...it's not his day off."

  "No, I needed to talk to her about a different matter." He lowered his voice, wrapped his large hands around the shovel handle and tugged until he pulled it from her grip.

  She wanted to protest but he leaned in, his big body blocking the wind and sun until all she could see was him. The midnight blue flecks in his blue irises, the caring reflected there, the importance of what he was about to say. Easy to read the sadness in those bright blue depths, feel the weight of it in the air between them. His gloved hand brushed the curve of her face, as tenderly as a dream.

  "I asked Maureen if I could buy out your contract." He spoke quietly, so his words wouldn't carry, holding all the weight of his disappointment.

  "You what?" Her jaw dropped. Shock catapulted through her. Surely she'd heard him wrong. "What did you do?"

  "I asked to buy your freedom."

  "No. Tell me, you didn't." Panic jolted through her, so hard it rattled her teeth. She stared up at him, aghast, horrified. "Gil! Why would you do such a thing?"

  "Because it's what I want for you." His square jaw tensed, muscles bunching along the jawbone. The tenderness in his blue gaze disappeared, becoming shadowed with hurt. "I didn't think you'd react like this."

  "Clearly." She opened her mouth to say more, didn't know what on earth to say or where to start, so she pressed her hands to her face, felt the icy wool from her gloves against her cheeks, unworthy. She did not deserve this, it was too much to ask of the man she cared about. No, cared about was too small of a word for what she felt for her Gil. She felt as if her ribs were cracking too, spearing every internal organ. It took all her strength to pull her hands from her face, fighting down her emotions, and meet his troubled gaze.

  "I thought it would make you happy, that we could be together." Gil looked struck. His chiseled mouth swooped downward in the corners. Pain clouded his honest eyes. "I don't understand. I thought you cared about me. I thought—" He hesitated, as if he were about to say som
ething, perhaps bare his heart, but changed his mind.

  Great, now she'd gone and hurt him. She gritted her teeth, felt a deep rending in her heart. "You can't have had the time to save up that kind of money, Gil, which means you'd be the one in debt to Maureen. No, that's too much of a sacrifice. It's not what I would ever want for you."

  "I see." He said the words slowly, digesting them. Tendons corded in his neck as he thought things over. "Last night, I thought I made it clear how I felt."

  "You did." Tears stood in her eyes. She blinked, as if fighting to control them. Her lovely face crinkled up unhappily, leaving so much unspoken. "It's simply too much money, Gil. You need to talk to Maureen and take back your offer. Otherwise, I won't be able to live with myself."

  "I see." He rocked back on his heels, drew in a breath, let her words settle. That was Maebry, thinking of everyone before herself. He should have known. It only made him love her more. "Well, no worries. She said no."

  "Oh, that doesn't really surprise me," Maebry said with a wry twist of a smile and a shrug of her slender shoulders. She looked small and vulnerable in her worn old coat and fraying mittens. "It would be a lot of trouble to find another indentured servant."

  "Right." The pain of his failure tore through him. He wanted to save her. He wanted to give her a better life, to make sure she was happy, his precious Maebry. The sadness wreathing her dear face tore him apart.

  Footsteps sounded on the steps behind him before he could draw her close. He glanced over his shoulder, grimaced at the sight of Agnew waiting for him.

  "Gil, I could use some help." The older gentleman hiked up a bushy silver eyebrow. "The first of the guests are starting up the drive."

  "Fine, I'll be right there." Wishing he could be everything Maebry needed, Gil retrieved the shovel and held it out to her, sorry he had no spare time to clear the porch for her. He felt like he was breaking apart when he took that first step away from her.

  "This isn't over," he warned her gently, because he'd figured out why she was so upset.

  The tears in her eyes brimmed, rolling down her cheeks.

  "It has to be." She took the shovel and turned away from him.

  No, he didn't want to accept that. He couldn't let this be over. She meant too much to him. Nothing hurt worse than walking away from her, fearing she was right. That their love was never meant to be.

  * * *

  Gil was not going to waste his life's savings on her, and that was that, or spend even one second working off a debt for years to come. No way, no how. It was too much of a sacrifice. Maebry thunked down the bowl next to the undecorated layer cake sitting on the Montgomery's kitchen counter. He'd worked too hard for his savings. He deserved his dreams, the very best future, which he would not have if he mortgaged it for her.

  No, she didn't want that for him. Which meant she would have to let him go. Her heart cracked apart at the thought. She reached for a clean spatula, blinking her blurry eyes. Concentrate on your work, Maebry, she told herself, focusing on the drone of the women's voices surrounding her, rising and falling as they scurried here and there in the crowded kitchen, frantic to finish their tasks. On the wall overhead, the clock ticked down the hour.

  "We've got twelve minutes!" Cook armed herself with oven mitts and banged open the door. "Missy, are the potatoes done? Check them for me, dear. Lucile, did you fetch the cream from the cellar?"

  Answers shouted out above the chaos, and Maebry tuned them out, dipped the spatula in the freshly whipped frosting and turned toward the cake. Her hand shook as she remembered the hurt and then the determination on Gil's sculpted face. The pinch of his mouth, the jut of his granite chin, the muscles bunching along his rock-hard jaw. He didn't look like a man who would let this go.

  "Good job." Lucile, second in command in the kitchen bopped over to inspect Maebry's work. "You have a flare. Be sure and layer it thickly. The Missus is particular about her cakes."

  "I'll do my best," she promised, plopping a dollop of frosting on top and spreading it around. Lucile rushed off, leaving her alone, and her gaze drifted to the window. She could see a distant corner of the barn, but not Gil, and she gave a troubled sigh. This isn't over, he'd said.

  Then she would have to end it. Because she loved him. She'd cut all ties to him, never speak to him again. That would do it. Satisfied, she swirled frosting, scrunching her face up in thought. It would make things awfully uncomfortable around the ranch. Imagine darting through doorways and lingering in empty rooms just to avoid him. But come mealtime, there would be no dodging him. When she set out the platters of food on the dinner table, she'd simply have to do her best to ignore him.

  Pain serrated her heart. She rubbed the heel of her hand against her sternum. Just think of her life without Gil in it—there would be no friendship, no laughter, no conversations between them. Just distance and uneasiness. She bit her bottom lip, deeply miserable. See what a mistake it had been to let her feelings get out of control? Now they were impossible to reel back in. Why had she done it?

  Because she'd been weak, unable to control her heart. She'd known all along she couldn't marry him, but now they couldn't even be friends. That loss struck hard, and she swallowed down the sob rising in her throat. Focusing on the last glop of frosting in the bowl, she swirled it onto her spatula and gave the cake a finishing touch.

  "It's time!" Cook clapped her hands above the frenetic noise in the kitchen. Chatter silenced, knives stilled, the staff paraded by the counters and like a well-disciplined army lifted platters and bowls, steaming with delicious food. "Lucile, you lead. Missy, get in the back. Don't spill a drop of that gravy. Maebry, carry the bowls of string beans and carrots, that's a love."

  Ready to help, she nodded in agreement, set aside the spatula and snatched up the designated bowls. Carrots in a butter glaze steamed up at her, emitted a delicious aroma, although when she breathed in the green beans with crumbled bacon, her stomach rumbled hungrily. Who wouldn't salivate, she thought as she slipped into the back of the line of servers. This was a feast fit for royalty.

  "I can't believe all this food," Missy turned around in line to whisper, then fell silent when Cook gave her a squinty eye. Deportment mattered in the Montgomery household.

  Maebry squared her shoulders, straightened her spine and did her best to look presentable as she paraded past Cook, through the doors and into the hallway. The conversations of the awaiting guests echoed in the coved ceiling overhead, and the beams of golden light from the chandeliers cast a heavenly glow over the luxurious room.

  Fine furniture gleamed, crystal glittered, real silver glinted in the light. The best linen money could buy draped the main dining table and several that had been brought in from other rooms. The seated guests all turned to comment in anticipation of the delicious food. Maebry kept her eyes on the ground, careful not to tread on the backs of Missy's shoes, feeling anonymous in her black maid's dress and white ruffled apron, borrowed from the uniform closet. The skirt was a tad shorter than she'd hoped, showing the upper portion of her shoe. She hoped no one noticed the twine holding it onto her foot.

  No one seemed to. Only one man watched her with a steady, claiming gaze. Gil shifted in his chair as she circled toward him. He stopped in mid-sentence, ignoring one of the Montgomery brothers he'd been speaking with. The corners of his mouth upturned, the intensity shadowing his bright blue eyes darkened. The noise in the room silenced, everything faded away as if it were only the two of them. Her breathing stilled, she wasn't even sure if her heart was beating as Gil's gaze sank into hers. Her skin tingled as she swept past him. Every hair on her arm stood at attention. Aware of him. Affected by him.

  "It's a shame Aumaleigh couldn't be here." A woman's voice came as if from a great distance. "The rumors about Maureen must be true. How is she doing, Maebry?"

  At the sound of her name she blinked, breaking the hold Gil had on her. The room around her rushed in—the bright lamplight, the many tables ringing with conversation, the guest
s merry. She set down the bowls of vegetables on the table next to Sarah Combs's dinner plate. The young woman, who was the local schoolteacher, looked up at her expectantly, auburn-brown curls framing her pretty face.

  "Uh, Maureen is struggling." She kept her voice low, so it wouldn’t carry. No doubt Mrs. Montgomery would not approve of her servants speaking with the guests. "We fear she had a small stroke last night, so Aumaleigh didn't want to leave her side."

  "Understandable." Sarah nodded in sympathy. "I'll try and stop by and see Aumaleigh. Maybe relieve her for a bit so she can get a little rest. I imagine you've tried."

  "Yes, but she refuses to budge." Maebry bit her lip, fighting sadness on so many levels. "The doctor says it won't be long now. In the meantime, I worry about Aumaleigh's health."

  "You're a good friend to her." Sarah patted Maebry's arm, a kind touch, meant to comfort. "You look like you've been carrying a hard workload too. I—"

  A sharp, scolding sound interrupted. Mrs. Montgomery cleared her throat, sending a pointed look Maebry's way. Caught, Maebry bowed her head, backed away, heart pounding. As she retraced her steps, hurrying to catch up with the other departing maids, she snared Gil's gaze. The arch of his brows, the tender look on his face, the determination in the set of his jaw. What was she going to do about that?

  "Save a dance for me, Sunshine," he murmured as she swept by.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, weak for just an instant, and kept on going. Why did he have to be so wonderful? It made it so much harder to do the right thing, to let him go. Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them away. She cared about Gil far too much to let him sacrifice his future for her. Then he would be the one indebted to Maureen or to her heirs (she knew for a fact Aumaleigh would not inherit, as everyone expected).

  Frustrated, miserable and hurting, she scurried into the kitchen to help with the clean up. At least kitchen work would keep her safe from Gil and out of his sight. Too bad it wouldn't keep him out of her heart.