Calico

by Raine Cantrell

  Pamela busied herself rimming the edge of the cup, unable to look at Maggie. “I’m so ashamed of my father. I never knew he was involved with those men. The night before, Ryder came looking for him, but Pa was still in Clairmont. And … and … Oh, Maggie, I don’t know how to tell you what I’ve done.”

  For once Maggie was not annoyed with Pamela’s sniffling. She wished she could do a little of it herself. But she had shut down all thoughts about McCready and his betrayal. She closed her eyes for a moment, fighting to regain the wall she had painstakingly erected.

  Pamela sipped the hot coffee, hoping she would have the courage to tell Maggie the truth. But when she glanced up, Maggie had her eyes closed and she looked away.

  “Maggie,” she began softly, “have you ever in your life done something that you knew was wrong, but you did it anyway?”

  Wanting to be with McCready in spite of his lies was damn wrong to Maggie, but she couldn’t deny that right now it was what she wanted. Pamela’s expectant look forced her to answer.

  “Yeah, I guess I have.”

  “Oh, Maggie, you don’t know how much easier you’ve made this for me.” Almost shyly, Pamela reached for Maggie’s hand and held it. “I never really felt close to you, but I always liked you, Maggie. That’s what makes telling you this so hard.”

  “Maybe if you just get on with it, it won’t be so bad.”

  “It…” Pamela released Maggie’s hand and wrapped both of hers around the cup. “It’s Lars,” she finally whispered.

  Maggie recalled the instant when McCready’s gaze had led her to see Pamela cradled against Lars. “You’re not the kind of woman to carry on over a stranger, Pamela. Did you know him?”

  “Know him?” She couldn’t help her guilty start. Maggie couldn’t know the truth. And a look confirmed that. “I … I met him right after Ryder came looking for my father. Poor Lars,” she said, shaking her head. “I held a gun on him, but I was shaking so badly I think he knew it. But he didn’t make a move; just reassured me that he meant no harm. I was so relieved that I invited him to stay for coffee.”

  Biting her lip, Pamela sought encouragement from Maggie for her to continue. She had to make do with Maggie’s nod.

  “Pa usually comes back the same night, but this time he didn’t. Lars stayed to have supper with me.”

  Maggie read the growing shrillness of her voice as a sign that Pamela was upset and afraid to tell her the rest. “Havin’ him to supper wasn’t so bad.”

  “But there’s more,” she whispered, bending to set her cup on the floor. Clasping her hands together in her lap, Pamela stared at the wall. “I did more than have supper with him, Maggie. I seduced him into my bed.”

  Seeing her head bow, Maggie had the feeling Pamela was waiting for the kind of condemnation a preacher was best at giving. She had never shared talk with another woman, not like this, and didn’t quite know what to say. She certainly couldn’t blame Pamela for doing the same thing she herself had done. And Maggie knew she didn’t want to open the door and think about what happened with McCready. It hurt too much.

  She really felt uncomfortable saying anything, but when Pamela once more turned to her, her gaze pleading, she had to say something.

  “My pa always told me that if doin’ somethin’ made you happy an’ didn’t hurt no one—”

  “But it did hurt, Maggie.” Pamela clasped her hand over her mouth.

  “Then why did you do it?”

  Slowly Pamela lowered her hand. “The kissing part’s all right. And men seem to want to. It really wasn’t so bad the second time.”

  Maggie’s hand shook, and she handed Pamela the cup so as not to spill the coffee. Those few words triggered memories of McCready. The hungry kisses they had shared, the taking and the giving that went on and on, without pain, until Dutch had come and McCready had refused to talk to her.

  “Maggie, have you ever wanted a baby? I mean, you do think about getting married someday and having children, don’t you?”

  “No, can’t say as I have.”

  “Well, I did. And now with Lars married to you, and after what we did, I might be having a baby without being married.”

  “A baby?” Maggie couldn’t look at Pamela’s tear-filled eyes. She had never thought about babies. McCready didn’t, either. And now … She couldn’t help but look down at herself. She could be carrying McCready’s child and not even know it.

  “Now, you know why I had to talk to you, Maggie. You’ve got to give up Lars. He’s got to marry me.”

  “Yeah, Pamela, he’s got to marry you.” But she wasn’t prepared for Pamela flinging herself against her for a quick hard hug. “Oh, Maggie, I just knew once I explained that, you would understand. With goodness knows what’s going to happen to my father, I’ll be alone. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

  Maggie untangled herself from Pamela and slipped off the bed. She had to think. With Lars and Mike both claiming her as a wife, she couldn’t tell McCready he had to marry her. She wouldn’t do it anyway. The man had lied to her. Her trust had been betrayed.

  Pacing, ignoring the other woman, Maggie knew she should figure out a way for revenge, but she hurt so much.

  Watching her wrap her arms around her waist, Pamela began to realize that Maggie had troubles of her own. “What’s wrong, Maggie? Can’t you share with me? I know I’m not as strong as you, but sometimes just talking will help.”

  There was warmth and sympathy in Pam’s eyes, and it reached down into the raw place inside Maggie. And she found herself saying, “You’re not the only one that got fooled by a man and needs to think about babies.”

  “You?”

  “Yeah. Me.”

  “It was McCready, of course,” Pamela stated, instantly setting aside her problem for Maggie. “What are you planning to do? I know you’d like to skin him alive, but Maggie, that wouldn’t make sense now.”

  “Nothin’ much makes any sense. Look at what Pete did to me. Marryin’ me off to two men. An’ you’re welcome to Lars. The man doesn’t want me. I saw that right off,” Pamela’s hurt expression had her adding, “Not that he isn’t a fine-lookin’ man, but I’m all wrong for the likes of him. He needs someone like you. Someone soft and pretty who’ll know how to do for him.”

  “Well, what about the rancher? He seemed mighty taken with you just as you are, Maggie.”

  “What do I know about ranchin’? The only way I like beef is on me plate. An’ I don’t want to be married to a man who calls me darlin’.”

  She turned her back toward Pamela, thinking of McCready’s voice whispering Maggie mine just before they joined together. Or the teasing way he called her … No, she wasn’t going to drag up any more. She was only hurting herself.

  “And McCready? How do you feel about him?” Pamela asked in a timid voice.

  Maggie wished she knew. She wished she could summon up anger at him. She wished she could rid herself of the ache that was growing inside her. Why did he lie to her? Pressing her fingers against her forehead, she rubbed hard. Did he want the mines so badly that he would pretend to care for her? Did he have to trick her? There was more than that, and you know it, a voice whispered.

  “Maggie, did you hear that?” Pamela ran to douse the lantern. “There’s someone outside.”

  Satin was whining at the door, scraping it with her paw.

  “Stay, girl. I’ll not have you outside to get shot at again.” The darkness was no hindrance to Maggie. She found the shelf that held her cartridges, took her rifle, and went to the table to load it. Just goes to show how much McCready hurt me. She hadn’t even loaded her rifle when she came home.

  “You’re not planning to go out there,” Pamela whispered at her back, startling Maggie. “For one thing, you’re not dressed. For another, you don’t know how many are out there. It’s all my fault. I never should’ve told everyone to stay away.”

  In a surprising gesture for Maggie, she reached out
and patted Pamela’s hand. “That’s who it might be. Someone comin’ to see if we’re all right.”

  “Maggie, please be careful. I heard my father talking with those men. They were set on making you tell where that claim is. And they talked about someone else … a…”

  “Berger,” Maggie supplied. “We got his name from Cora Ann. Don’t worry. I’m always careful.”

  Not so. You didn’t do so well protectin’ yourself against McCready.

  That was the past.

  Maggie swore it would be when she lifted the bar to the door. She had to order Satin to stay again, for the dog was nosing her aside, trying to get out.

  McCready left the tar and feathering to the miners. They were none too pleased not to be having a necktie party, but when he told them that was what Maggie wanted, no one argued. None of the three wounds were serious; still, McCready warned Slick to make sure the tar and feathers were kept away from the bandages. He had even supplied Cora Ann’s feather tick and watched Burton, Quincy, and Ryder taken outside with a flood of relief. By the time the miners got done with them, those three men wouldn’t be able to show themselves in the territory, for nothing spread faster than miners’ gossip.

  Dutch brought the last of the glasses he had washed back to the bar. McCready looked up but didn’t say anything and went back to nursing his drink. He stood alone at the bar, but behind him, at the far table, Mike Grant sat with Lars Vladimir discussing their wife-in-common, Maggie. The Rose sat at the piano, picking out notes and softly humming.

  Pouring the last of the liquor from the bottle into his glass, McCready motioned for Dutch to bring him another.

  “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

  “Just bring me another bottle, and I’ll let you know when that happens, Dutch.”

  The whoops and hollers coming from outside had Dutch shaking his head. “Sounds like they’re having themselves a party out there.”

  “Slick’ll make sure it doesn’t get out of hand. You can’t be feeling sorry for those three after what they tried to do.”

  “Not me, boss. But you, you’re another matter.”

  “Nothing’s the matter with me.”

  “Hey, McCready,” Mike called out. “Come sit with us. We need you to settle something.”

  “Not now,” McCready whispered.

  But Dutch heard him. “What are you going to do about those two? Maggie don’t want either of them. Can’t figure Pete doing such a thing to her. When you told me that day that you lied and told Maggie she was married by proxy to you, I thought it sounded—”

  “You landed a fist or two in lieu of voicing an opinion, Dutch.” McCready rubbed his jaw. “My lie wasn’t as farfetched as you seemed to think at the time. I just never thought Pete would have done that to her. Neither marriage is legal. And I—”

  “McCready,” Mike called again. “You want we should join you?”

  “No. I’m coming.” McCready took his glass and the fresh bottle with him. If he drank enough, he would forget the look in Maggie’s eyes. If the burning in his gut didn’t force him to quit sloshing liquor down first.

  “Boss?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You come down with something? Long before now you should’ve been quoting from that fancy education of yours.”

  “Never fear. I’ve been repeating one to myself. ‘Alas, poor woodcock, dost thou go a birding? Thou hast even set a spring to catch thy own neck.’ ” McCready offered Dutch a grin.

  “That from the play you like so much?”

  “Shakespeare’s Hamlet?” McCready shook his head. “Not so. John Dryden’s Wild Gallant.”

  Shaking his head, Dutch muttered, “You sure do savor those fancy words. Figure you got caught in your own trap?”

  “I’ve got another one for you,” McCready said, waving the bottle. “When the Spartan commander, Lysander, was told that he could not wage war by deceit, he replied, ‘Where the lion’s skin will not reach, it must be patched with the fox’s.’ And that’s what I need to do. Patch things up.”

  “You think you can do that with Maggie?”

  “What I think is, if I don’t go over and have a few drinks with her two husbands, I’m gonna have a fight on my hands.” He glanced from the glass to the bottle he held. “Can’t. Got my hands full.”

  “What you’ve got is a belly full and don’t know it,” Dutch muttered to himself. He left the bar and went to the back door, satisfied that the job was almost done. By the torchlight he saw the three men were covered with pitch, and the last of the feathers were being tossed on them. Someone had used the tick’s covering and made cloth signs to hang around their necks, announcing these were “Cooney Camp Claim Jumpers.” “Nice,” he called out to Slick, who was already seated on the wagon that would haul the men out of there.

  “Figure I’ll take them up to Clairmont first. Boys up there ain’t had a good laugh.”

  “Whose wagon, Slick?” Dutch asked.

  “Burton’s. Fitting, too.”

  Dutch shook his head over that. Andrew Burton was a man he liked. Just went to show how one man could fool another. He turned and went back to the bar.

  “They almost finished, Dutch?” McCready called out from where he sat with Mike and Lars.

  “Just about. Slick’s going up to Clairmont first.”

  “One problem down and the biggest one to go,” McCready muttered, solemnly contemplating his fresh drink.

  “I’ve been trying to tell you, McCready,” Mike said, hunching himself over his glass. “We figured out between us what to do with Maggie.” He was a mite disappointed to see that McCready’s eyes didn’t hold a flicker of interest, but he told him what they decided anyway.

  “See, Lars here admitted that she’s too rough and independent for a woman. A mite too tall. Now, me,” he said, “I don’t mind in the least. I need a woman that can take care of herself. She’s a mite feisty, that’s true, but she’ll come to learn who’s boss in our outfit.”

  McCready lifted his glass to his lips and didn’t stop until he set it down empty. He smiled at Mike and poured out another drink for himself. The man thought Maggie was going to learn to call him boss? She’d hold an Irish wake like she did for Pete before she let that happen. And he knew he would be lifting the first glass.

  “I believe you have disabused me of the myth that men living in the territories cannot settle their differences without resorting to violence. No fists, knives, or guns. A toast, gentlemen, to the gentlemen’s way of fighting over the same bone. Good liquor, clear terms, and proper payment.”

  McCready didn’t wait to see if they would join him; he slugged his drink down. The liquor wasn’t gently blurring the edges tonight. His mind was sharp and clear, so he poured another one.

  “So tell me, Lars,” he intoned softly, meeting the man’s steady gaze, “how much did Grant pay you to back off?”

  “Five hundred dollars he offered.”

  McCready slouched back against the chair. “Only five hundred? Bad deal. Maggie’s worth more.” And to Grant he said, “She’s young, strong, and has all her teeth. She can hit anything she aims at, does her own hunting, and really, when you come down to it, doesn’t need anyone.” The bitterness of his own words forced the glass to his lips once more, and he drained the few drops.

  “Didn’t ask you to come over here to stir up trouble, McCready. We have this settled between us. The only thing Lars and me want from you, since you seem to know Maggie, is to go tell her what we decided. I want to get started for home in the morning.”

  Jealousy floated like a cork on the sloshing waves of liquor in McCready’s stomach. He reached for the bottle, eyeing its half-full contents, promising himself that he would drown the cork before the night was over no matter how much whiskey it took. But as he poured slowly, he saw Maggie’s hair lit by firelight in the amber depths. Maggie, dancing on the table, telling him of the wee ones. Maggie, answering his demand that
she give him her mouth with a dare of her own to take it. Maggie, giving and giving, filling the empty places.

  He set the bottle down with a controlled motion and very carefully raised his glass. “I’ve heard that messengers get shot.”

  “That little gal ain’t gonna shoot you.”

  “You, my friend,” McCready announced in a slow drawl, “do not know Maggie.”

  “Seems you’ve made it your business to tell me some bad and good points. The rest I’ll be pleasuring myself to find out.”

  Pleasuring himself? With his Maggie? McCready came out of his slouch and set his glass on the table beside the bottle. He turned in his chair just far enough to reach out and grab hold of Grant’s shirtfront, pulling the other man’s face close.

  “You, cowpoke, aren’t talking about buying a cow. Maggie, my Maggie, hasn’t any ‘points.’ She’s a flesh-and-blood woman who you’ll treat with respect or answer to me.”

  Mike Grant had faced his share of mean. But McCready’s eyes promised more than a good fight. There was death in his look. Since he was the stranger here, not McCready, Grant jerked free and slowly nodded. “I hear you.”

  Lars had sat quietly and watched the two men, but he had his own worries that needed his attention, and he wanted this settled.

  “Now, you will go to her and say this is the man she is married to, ja? You are to blame that she is so angry.”

  “Lars’s right. Just stop this hemmy-hawing and give us your answer, McCready. You gonna go tell her?”

  If Maggie hadn’t been barefoot, she would’ve never known that it was a body she stumbled over on the second wider circle she made around her cabin. By touch she knew it was a small man, still breathing but out cold judging by the lump behind his head.

  “Pamela, get the lantern. Someone’s hurt.” Maggie spared a quick look down below, where the bonfire raged high behind the Rawhider. She could hear shouts coming from the milling figures.

  Satin nearly made her fall when the dog rushed to her, licking her face and whining. Maggie pushed her down and ordered her to stay, but Satin sniffed and whined her way around the body. Before Pamela came with the lantern, Maggie knew the body was someone that Satin knew and no threat to them.