The Bride Price

by Ginna Gray

  “Stop it, Maggie. Stop it right now.”

  She hadn’t realized that Wyatt had followed her until he grabbed her arm and spun her around. He grasped her shoulders and held her in place, and she found herself staring into a pair of silver eyes that glittered like hot ice. Her facade of amusement vanished in an instant.

  He stood before her naked and supremely unconcerned, a potent male in a towering rage. Anger blazed from him. His nostrils quivered with it and she could see a vein pulsing in his temple.

  “That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it?” he snarled. “Laugh it off, treat everything as a joke. That way you won’t have to deal with anything of substance. You talk about experiencing life and living it to the fullest, but that’s all a sham. You run around trying new things, meeting new people, taking chances, and you call it living, but what you’re really doing is running away.”

  “That’s not true!”

  “Oh, it’s true, all right. You take physical risks, but when it comes to emotions you’re a coward, Margaret Mary. You hide behind laughter and treat everything like a lark. It’s a way of holding other people at arm’s length so they never get too close. That way you never have to deal with true emotions.

  “Think about it, Maggie. You make hundreds of acquaintances but you never stick around long enough to become involved in anyone’s life, not even members of your family. That way you don’t take the chance of getting hurt.

  “Well, let me tell you something, sweetheart, that’s what living is all about. It’s not about jumping out of airplanes or riding wild bulls or facing down man-eating sharks. It’s about love and hate, and jealousy and anger and sorrow. It’s about opening your heart to someone. And yes, running the risk of getting it broken and experiencing pain. But at least if that happens you feel something. You know you’re alive.

  “You know what I think? I think you’re terrified because of what happened to your mother. You’re afraid if you allow yourself to care deeply—like your mother did—it might restrict your precious freedom and you might end up getting hurt.”

  “And so what if I am?” Maggie shouted, her brogue thickening with every word. “I’ve a right to be wary. I watched me mother pine away for a man who brought her shame and in return gave her the crumbs of his life. He broke her heart, he did, and ruined her life. I’ll not be lettin’ anyone do that to me.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way. Maggie, you can’t just turn your back on love because of what happened to someone else.”

  “I never said I loved you.”

  “But you do.”

  Her pixie face tightened and took on a mulish set. She fixed her gaze over his shoulder and refused to answer.

  “Dammit, Maggie! I know you love me. I see it in your eyes when we make love. Whether you know it or not it’s evident in everything you do, every touch, every look you give me. But you won’t admit it, not even to yourself, but not because you’ve gained some profound wisdom from your mother’s experience. You’re smart enough to know that not all relationships are like that. No, it’s because you’re afraid to really take a chance. You’re a coward, Margaret Mary.”

  “Oh, that’s what you think, is it?” she snapped, incensed. “Well, you don’t know what you’re talking about, you big loobie, you. I don’t love because I don’t choose to love. But I can tell you this. If I did choose to love a man it wouldn’t be an arrogant, overbearing, possessive, domineering lout the likes of you, Wyatt Sommersby. Now let me go!”

  Twisting free of his grip, she stalked into the bedroom and slammed the door so hard the RV rocked like a ship in stormy seas. Mere seconds later the door flew open again, and a barrage of Wyatt’s clothes and belongings came flying out. A shirt and a pair of jockey shorts hit him right in the face and clung. While he was still blinded he caught a pillow in the midsection.

  “I’ll be headin’ home at first light. I intend to drive straight through, so be ready to take your turn behind the wheel.”

  Wyatt peeled the articles of clothing off his face and threw them on the floor with the rest of his things. “Maggie, will you calm down and be reasonable. If you think you can just run back to Houston and pretend that none of this happened—that we never happened—you can forget it. I don’t give up that easily. Dammit, Maggie, we have to talk about this.”

  For an answer she slammed the door and locked it with a decisive click.

  * * *

  No amount of reason or anger or pleas budged Maggie. For hours Wyatt tried them all, but from the other side of the locked door came only stony silence. Around one in the morning he gave up in disgust and climbed into the high bunk above the cab. It was clear that, short of kicking the door down, he wasn’t going to see Maggie again that night.

  Angry and frustrated, Wyatt tossed and turned for over an hour before finally falling asleep. It seemed as though he’d barely closed his eyes when he awoke to the sound of the RV engine starting.

  “What the—” He raised his head and his bleary eyes darted around. It was still dark outside, for pity’s sake. He glanced at his watch and groaned. It wasn’t even four o’clock.

  “Maggie, for love of— It’s still the middle of the night. What’re— Ahhhhh!” He barely had time to brace his arms and legs and save himself from being tumbled to the floor before she drove the RV out of the campground.

  The camper’s sway reduced dramatically when she pulled out onto the highway. Wyatt felt like hell and could have slept for at least ten more hours, but he dragged himself out of bed. He pulled on a pair of jeans and raked both hands through his hair. He could’ve used a shave, he realized, pulling his palms down over his sandpapery face, but he didn’t want to wait that long to speak to Maggie.

  Slipping into a shirt, he pulled back the privacy curtain between the cab and the rest of the RV. “Good morning.”

  He stepped between the seats and sat down in the captain’s chair on the passenger’s side and swiveled it around to face her. Several seconds ticked by, but she remained mum, her gaze fixed on the road. She did not acknowledge his presence by so much as a blink.

  Wyatt sighed and rubbed his red-rimmed eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “C’mon, sweetheart, talk to me,” he exhorted in a weary voice.

  Silence.

  “Maggie, this is crazy. We’re not settling anything this way.”

  She cut him a sideways glance. “There’s nothing to settle.”

  Encouraged by the terse statement, Wyatt tried to draw her into a discussion, but she refused to say another word. Finally, exasperated, he gave up, shucked his jeans and shirt and crawled back into the upper bunk.

  So it went all the way to Texas. Except to toss him the keys and mutter a terse “You drive” now and then, she acted as though he weren’t there. Ignoring his offers to cook, she grabbed sandwiches and coffee from service stations when they stopped for gas and ate them alone. Wyatt began to despair of her ever speaking to him again. The closer they got to Houston, the more concerned he became.

  Around five the next morning Wyatt sat behind the wheel, cruising east out of Giddings on Highway 290, worrying over the problem in his mind. Ahead, the pale light of dawn edged the gently rolling hills along the horizon. A mile or so in the distance he could see an eighteen wheeler making the pull up a hill, but otherwise there wasn’t another vehicle in sight.

  Wyatt shifted in his seat and flexed his shoulders. He was in the middle of a stretch when, out of nowhere, a Texas Highway Patrol car came up behind the RV, red lights whirling. The officer gave his siren a tap, and it snarled like a dyspeptic electronic cat. Wyatt glanced at his speedometer and frowned. He was going exactly fifty-five.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Maggie demanded from the rear of the RV. Holding on to the furniture for balance, she staggered to the front and plopped down in the passenger chair beside him. Yawning, she looked all around at the fading darkness. Sleep marks creased her right cheek and her glorious mane of hair stuck out in all directions.

&
nbsp; “I don’t know,” Wyatt replied, pulling over to the shoulder of the highway. He brought the rig to a halt and switched off the engine. In the side mirror, he watched the patrolman get out of his car and walk toward them, carrying his clipboard. “It looks like we’re about to find out, though.”

  “Morning, sir. Ma’am.” The clean-cut young highway patrolman looked past Wyatt to Maggie. “Would you be Miss Margaret Mary Muldoon?”

  “Why...yes I am. How did you kno—”

  “We were given your license number and asked to be on the lookout for you, ma’am. There’s some sort of emergency in your family.”

  “Emergency?” She stared at him dumbstruck. “Who? What?”

  “I don’t know, ma’am. I’m just suppose to tell you to call home as soon as possible.”

  “Oh. Yes...of course...yes. I will, officer. Right away. Th-thank you.”

  “No problem. Burton is just a mile or so down the road. If you can’t find a telephone there I’m sure you can in Brenham.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Good luck, ma’am.”

  “Thanks, Officer,” Wyatt called as he started the RV. He glanced at Maggie and leaned over and patted her arm. “Hang on, sweetheart. I’ll get you to a telephone before you know it.”

  Whether she heard him or not he didn’t know. She sat like a ramrod in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

  Wyatt frowned and stepped on the gas. Dammit, if she hadn’t drowned his cellular phone she could make that call right now, without the delay of driving to the next town. Wisely, he kept that thought to himself.

  The air in the cab pulsed with a sense of urgency and dread. Gripping the steering wheel tight, he drove as fast as he dared. Maggie didn’t say a word, or even move, and her silence added to the invisible tension. He glanced her way.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she said too quickly. “I’m sure this is nothing. Probably just Daphne going to extremes over something, as usual. She gets hysterical over the least little thing. Or this could just be Asa’s way of getting my attention. It’s been a few days since I called him.”

  “You’re probably right. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” Wyatt reassured her, but he noticed how she twisted her fingers together in a ceaseless wringing motion. “We’ll call and probably find out that you’ve missed the Junior League Fashion Show or something equally earth-shattering.”

  She glanced his way and attempted a chuckle, but the sound came out rusty and strained. After that, neither spoke.

  Maggie spent the next ten minutes telling herself she wasn’t worried. It was probably just as she’d told Wyatt—no more than a tempest in a teacup.

  In Burton they located a bank of telephones outside a convenience store that hadn’t yet opened for the day. While Maggie made the call, Wyatt leaned against the wall beside her, trying to look unconcerned.

  Maggie’s independent spirit demanded that she tell him it wasn’t necessary for him to hover over her, that she wasn’t going to fall apart no matter what news she heard, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to shoo him away. His mere presence, so strong and stalwart and quietly capable, was somehow reassuring.

  Which made no sense at all, she silently scolded herself while she punched out Asa’s telephone number. If she received bad news what possible help could Wyatt be?

  The telephone rang seven times before it was picked up with a sleepy “Hightower residence.”

  “Mrs. O’Leary. It’s Maggie.”

  Every vestige of sleep fled the housekeeper’s voice. “Maggie Muldoon, you naughty girl, you. Where the devil have you been? We’ve had the constables out lookin’ for you these past three days.”

  “So I just learned. What is it? What’s the problem?”

  Wyatt’s gaze never left Maggie while she listened to Mrs. O’Leary’s reply. Within seconds he knew that something was terribly wrong. He watched the blood drain out of Maggie’s face, saw the shock flash in her eyes. He straightened away from the wall and stepped forward, putting his hand on her arm. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  He could tell that Maggie hadn’t heard him. “Asa?” she whispered.

  Faintly he could hear Mrs. O’Leary’s voice coming through the receiver, but he couldn’t quite make out her words. He didn’t have to. Maggie’s face told him that whatever had happened was bad.

  Her chin began to quiver and tears filled her eyes. Wyatt felt a fierce protectiveness well up inside him. He had an almost overpowering urge to jerk that receiver out of the telephone and snatch her close, shield her from whatever terrible news Mrs. O’Leary was passing on.

  Maggie nodded and choked out, “Yes. Yes of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  She started to hang up, but Mrs. O’Leary stopped her.

  “What?” Maggie snapped, frowning. She shifted from one foot to the other, impatient to be on her way.

  Wyatt watched another wave of shock wash over her face and ground his teeth. He’d never felt so helpless in his life.

  She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together tightly. Finally she exhaled a long sigh. “I see. Well...thank you for telling me, Mrs. O’Leary. Now, would you be a dear and call Daphne for me. Tell her I’m on my way.”

  Maggie hung up the receiver, but her hand remained on it. She stared blindly at the black box as though in a trance.

  “Maggie, talk to me.” Wyatt grasped her upper arms and turned her to face him. “What’s happened?”

  She looked up into Wyatt’s anxious face. Gradually her shocked look cleared and her lower lip began to tremble. “It’s Asa. He’s...he’s had a heart attack.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  They burst through the front doors of St. Luke’s Hospital at a dead run. They would have been there sooner had they not hit the early-morning traffic rush on the edge of town. Wyatt had broken every speed law between Burton and Houston.

  As they dodged through the people and potted plants in the lobby, he cast anxious glances Maggie’s way. She was so pale the freckles across her nose stood out like splatters of paint.

  During the entire two hours it had taken to reach the hospital she had not said more than a half dozen words, and then only when he asked a direct question.

  After she had told him about Asa he had wrapped his arms around her and held her close. She had accepted the comfort for only a few moments before breaking away and attempting to slip back behind that facade of insouciance she used as a shield against the world.

  “Och, would you look at me. Gettin’ into a tizzie over what is probably nothing,” she’d said with a chuckle and an airy wave of her hand. “Asa’s healthy as a horse, for pity’s sake. He’ll pull through this with no problem a’tall. By now he’s no doubt bellowing the house down an’ harassin’ the poor nurses to bring him his cigars and brandy.”

  The fluttery, almost manic attempt at lighthearted unconcern had rung false, even to Maggie’s ears, and after that she had fallen into a stoic silence that worried Wyatt. It wasn’t natural or healthy to deny feelings the way Maggie did.

  A quick stop by the receptionist’s desk revealed that Asa was still in the ICU, a bit of news that caused Maggie’s face to whiten even more.

  Daphne, Eric and Corinne were standing in the hallway outside the ICU waiting room when they arrived on the floor. The minute Maggie and Wyatt stepped off the elevator her sister pounced.

  “It’s about time you got here. Where have you been? Granpère has been asking for you ever since he regained consciousness two days ago. While you were out running around, God knows where, our grandfather has been hovering between life and death. You haven’t even bothered to call in days. How could you be so thoughtless? So—”

  “I don’t think attacking Maggie is going to help the situation.”

  The warning in Wyatt’s voice was unmistakable. So was his cold look and the subtle move that simultaneously drew Maggie closer to his side and put him between the two women
. One glance into those icy eyes sent alarm flashing across Daphne’s face and silenced her tongue. Without realizing it, she took a quick step backward.

  “Where is Tyson?” Maggie asked, looking around.

  “He just went home to get some sleep,” Corinne replied. “We felt that at least one family member should be here at all times and the dear boy’s been taking the night shift.”

  Wyatt turned his attention to his brother. “How is Asa?”

  “Holding his own,” Eric replied solemnly. “Although the doctor has warned that he’s not out of the woods yet. I’m sure it will help his spirits to know that Maggie has arrived.” Eric shot back his cuff and checked his watch. “Visiting period starts any minute. They only let two in at a time. Daphne and Corinne were getting ready to go in, but now that Maggie’s here I’m sure it would be best if she went in with Daphne. You don’t mind, do you, Corinne?”

  “No. Of course not. Perhaps poor Asa will finally be able to rest once he sees Maggie.” Corinne’s voice oozed gentle concern, but beneath the distressed tones Maggie heard the subtle criticism aimed her way. The lump of suffocating guilt that had sat on her chest all morning grew heavier.

  “Maggie and I will go in together,” Wyatt stated.

  Daphne and her mother gasped at his audacity. Eric raised his eyebrows but remained silent.

  “Really, Mr. Sommersby.” Corinne gave a fluttery little laugh. “I appreciate that you want to see Asa. Really, I do. However, at a time like this I think he would want to see both of his granddaughters.”

  “Asa will be more than pleased to see me, I assure you.” His tone and his expression warned that the matter was not open for discussion.

  “Well...I...that is...uh...” Corinne wrung her hands and glanced at her daughter for support, but Daphne looked as uncomfortable as her mother.

  Wyatt was being deliberately highhanded and intimidating. Under normal circumstances Maggie would not have tolerated such behavior, but she was too grateful to him to object. She simply could not deal with Daphne and Corinne at the moment.