The savings that she’d once expected to have to use when Daniel changed his mind about his marriage demand.
Daniel hadn’t changed his mind.
She stepped into the small church and felt breathless at the sight of Daniel standing in the chancel with the pastor.
She only hoped he felt the same after he learned what she’d done.
Daniel spotted Maggie hovering near the back pew and lifted his arm, waiting for her to join him. Rather than feeling the claustrophobia any self-respecting bachelor ought to feel at the onset of his wedding rehearsal, all he felt was relief.
Then Maggie joined him, slipping under his arm to stand close to his side.
And he knew a bone-deep satisfaction that in just a few days time she would finally be his. Midway through the rehearsal, however, he realized that Maggie wasn’t quite as relaxed as he.
She stumbled over the vows they rehearsed. And her smiles were just a little too quick. Her voice a little too high. And her relief a little too obvious when the pastor deemed them suitably rehearsed for the big event.
During the drive back to the Double-C, however, she seemed to be more herself, and he decided he was reading more into it. Maggie was going to be his wife. She loved him.
He might not be able to feel that particular emotion anymore, but what he felt for Maggie came as close to it as he was capable.
They were the last to arrive back at the Double-C, and they trooped in through the mudroom, adding their coats to the growing pile hanging from the hooks and laying across the washer and dryer. Then into the kitchen where it seemed Clay men and women took up every inch.
Squire sat at his favored chair at the oblong oak table, clearly in his element as he ordered people here and there. Then it was into the dining room where, miraculously, everyone had a seat around the gargantuan table, even the three little girls.
As Matthew said the blessing, Daniel squeezed her hand beneath the lace tablecloth. “Seats eighteen,” he murmured under his breath.
Maggie nearly laughed out loud. Right there in the middle of Matthew’s simple blessing. Daniel had a point. There were eleven sitting at the dining room table at that moment. Once Sawyer and Tristan arrived, it would be thirteen. With the arrival of their as-yet-unborn child, fourteen. And Emily’s and Jaimie’s, sixteen. “Okay,” she agreed just as softly.
The next morning Maggie took one of the Double-C trucks and drove over to Jefferson and Emily’s home. Daniel had left her bed in the wee hours that morning to return to their own place. She knew that he would use most of the morning putting the finishing touches on her workshop in the basement. So she had several hours to do some of her own investigating.
“You’re sure you want to see this?” Jefferson asked. They were seated at the kitchen table.
Maggie nodded, her fingers trembling as she drew a stack of papers toward her.
“Good thing I retired from HW,” Jefferson murmured to Emily who sat at his side, their hands folded together atop the table. “If they found out I was showing you this stuff, I’d be out on my can.”
Maggie hesitated. “You’re not going to get in any trouble are you?” She didn’t want that.
Jefferson shrugged. “There’s a map of the area where the village was located.” He waited while she unfolded it, then pointed. “Hollins canvased the area for information about Angeline. About any other survivors. They got back nothing.”
“Did these people know about the danger they were in from this Arturo guy?” She glanced up from the map to see Jefferson nod. “So they knew, but they wouldn’t leave, naturally. They were protecting their homes. Their land. But surely they’d want to protect their families, too?”
Emily shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense to me, either, Maggie. If I knew some madman was determined to have his way one way or the other, I’d certainly make sure that Leandra was safe first. Provided for.”
“Angeline was the youngest child in the village. The rest of them were sixteen and up,” Jefferson put in. “Considered adults, basically.”
“But not a four-year-old child. Are you sure there were no relatives her parents might have sent her to?”
“Daniel checked. Hell, a half dozen agents checked. There was no one. I seriously doubt the guy you sent will find out anything new.”
She’d thought she would never learn of Joe’s whereabouts, either. Yet she had, thanks to the investigator she’d hired then and had hired a few days ago. And look at the miracles in her life that had happened since.
She slowly flipped through the papers, most of which were photocopies of reports. A few fax pages of photos that, despite their grainy quality, made her stomach churn at the desolation that had hit the small village. Jefferson had already explained the chain of events that had occurred before and after Daniel’s arrival in Santo Marguerite. About Arturo Sandoval’s crazed obsession with taking over Santo Marguerite, and the villagers who were determined to save their homes and farmland no matter what. And Daniel, there to disarm Arturo’s army when they finally struck, and there long enough to catch the madman. Only somehow, Daniel had been discovered and in a fury, Arturo destroyed anything and everything in his path. Including the land he’d wanted so desperately. “Can I take these?”
Jefferson shrugged. “Don’t get your hopes up too high, Maggie.”
She slowly folded the map and stood, tucking the papers into her purse. “Too late, I’m afraid.” She left then, heading back to the big house, her thoughts busy.
By the time she pulled up outside the big house, she was thinking again about Emily’s comments. As a mother, she’d have done everything in her power to ensure her child’s safety. Why wouldn’t Angeline’s mother have done the same? “The problem with men,” she murmured as she hurried down to the guest suite and the telephone there, “is that they think like men.”
Two hours and dozens of phone calls later, she wished she’d worked harder at learning Spanish in school. The yellow pad in front of her was covered with phone numbers, reminding her painfully of the slips that had collected over and over again on Daniel’s nightstand and dresser.
The phone rang the moment she hung it up after a particularly frustrating call and she snatched it back up. It was Daniel, and her shoulders tightened even more. She knew he wouldn’t condone the search she’d begun. But this was too important.
She focused on what he was saying—asking. As in whether she wanted him to take the latest package of catalog orders she’d prepared into Weaver to mail.
She’d forgotten all about the box she’d left in the kitchen at their house. She rubbed her temples. “That would be good. Thanks. Are...you still coming over for dinner?”
“And dessert.”
She felt her entire body flush at that.
“I was looking at the mailing label on the box. Do you get a lot of orders from other countries?”
Maggie tucked the phone between her shoulder and ear as she began tidying up her notes. “A few. There’s an orphanage in Costa Rica run by American nuns,” she said. “They order some of the toys pretty regularly. I send them at cost.”
She sat up straight. Orphanages. She fumbled through the notes she’d made, and the obscure reports that Jefferson had given her. “Daniel, did you check the orphanages?”
“What?”
“Orphanages. No, I’m sure I didn’t see anything about—”
“Maggie, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Angeline. Daniel, did you check the orphanages in the area?”
“Dammit, Maggie, why are you dragging this out again?” He made a rough noise and in her mind’s eye she saw him raking his fingers impatiently through his butterscotch hair. “It’s over. Let it lie. Look, I’ll drop this stuff off in Weaver, then see you at supper.”
“Okay. I love—”
He’d hung up.
“—you,” she finished softly.
Was she treading where she had no business? Was she adding to Daniel’s pain by pur
suing this? What if she found out nothing more than he had? If her actions only caused more pain?
“Oh, Daniel,” she murmured. Then she redialed the international operator.
By the time Daniel arrived just before supper, she was a bundle of anxiety awaiting the promised call from her investigator. She considered herself lucky that there were so many Clays in the house talking weddings and Thanksgiving turkeys and football games. If she’d been alone with Daniel for more than two minutes at a time, she knew she’d have been unable to hide her nervousness. As it was, he seemed to be over his earlier irritation as he teased her about wedding jitters, and tucked her into bed with a chaste kiss on the forehead, before joining his brothers upstairs for the poker game that Squire ordered his sons to join him for.
Thanksgiving Day dawned cold and clear.
Maggie spent most of the morning in the kitchen helping Jaimie prepare a traditional feast. Before long, Gloria, who was staying through the weekend before heading back to Casper and her nursing job there, joined them. The men were out taking care of the bare minimum of chores because horses and cattle and cats and dogs didn’t care about holidays. Emily and Jefferson and Leandra would be coming over later in the day.
Despite the fact that they were busy preparing a turkey feast, the general topic in the kitchen was weddings. Jaimie’s. Emily’s. Gloria’s to the husband she’d lost about five years earlier. Sitting at the table peeling apples for pie, Maggie let the cheerful chatter swirl around her. She glanced over at the phone hanging on the wall, willing it to ring. Of course, it didn’t. Sighing faintly, she reached for the next apple.
A few hours later, the delicious aroma of roasting turkey was filling the house. Jaimie had decided to follow Sarah and J.D.’s example by taking a nap before dinner. Gloria and Squire had gone out visiting for a while. So the big house was quiet when Matthew and Daniel returned. Matthew gave an appreciative sniff of the air and poured himself a mug of coffee before heading upstairs.
Which left Maggie and Daniel alone in the kitchen. She closed the small sketch pad she’d been working in and smiled when he hooked a chair and sank down on it, stretching his long legs across the floor. “I remember a time when we didn’t even celebrate Thanksgiving under this roof,” he commented.
“After your mother died?”
He nodded, and started to reach for her sketch pad. “Figuring out some new designs?”
She slapped his hand lightly and slipped the pad away from him. “Maybe.”
A slashing dimple came and went in his carved face. “I’ll show you my...drawings if you’ll show me yours.”
Maggie sputtered into laughter. He wasn’t talking about her scribbles and they both knew it. “Are you inviting me to see your etchings?”
He shrugged innocently.
“I’ve seen them.” Maggie rose and moved past him to check the turkey. “Have you had a lot of success with that line?”
“None this afternoon. So far, anyway. Maybe I’m losing my touch.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Now you’re asking for sympathy?”
“Is it working?”
She tossed the pot holder on the counter. “I do believe you’re flirting with me, Daniel Clay. I’m an engaged woman you know.”
“So there’s still time.” He caught her hand and tumbled her onto his lap.
Maggie’s pulse quickened. “For what?”
“This.” His lips met hers in a tantalizing, tempting kiss that liquefied her bones. “What time is turkey?”
Maggie marshaled her brain cells back to order. “Another hour or so.”
“Then we’ve got time—” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“Oh no you don’t,” Maggie said, laughing. She scrambled off his lap. “I swear, Daniel Clay, your mind never rises above your—”
“—for a walk.” His grin widened when her words died. “I hear walking is good for pregnant ladies. What did you think I was suggesting?” He laughed when she rolled her eyes. But she didn’t protest when he hustled her into a coat and they went out into the cold afternoon. They passed the barns and the buildings and still they walked, their linked hands tucked into Daniel’s coat pocket.
A lazy snowflake drifted from the gray laden sky, landing on her cheek and she smiled up at him, feeling content. “How many kids do you want?”
He shrugged. The snowy gravel under their boots crunched as they walked. “As many as you want.” He cast her a steady look. “I’m at your service.”
She laughed breathlessly. “I’m serious.”
He stopped walking and stepped around to face her. “Ten. Twelve,” he dropped a kiss on her lips and tugged off his gloves, unfastening her coat and pulling her to him before she could stop him. “Doesn’t matter, Maggie Mae.”
“But you’d like...oh my—”
He grinned and eased his hand over the curves he’d found.
“A...large...family?”
“I’ll practice making one with you as often as humanly possible,” he assured, his warm fingers busy.
“Daniel!”
“If you want to have a dozen kids, that’s okay with me. If you want just J.D. and this one,” his palm slid down to cover the barely noticeable swell where his child grew. “Then that’s okay, too.”
She brought his hand to her lips, kissing the callused fingers, the rough knuckles. “If...if you had been able to find Angeline, what would you have done?” He stiffened, but she kept hold. He shifted and Maggie knew he was waiting for her to drop it. But she wasn’t going to. Not this time.
“I would have had her buried with her parents,” he finally said impatiently.
“If you’d found she was alive.”
His jaw tightened into a hard angle. “Dammit, Maggie, how many times do I have to—”
“—but if you had found her safe and well somewhere—”
He swore angrily. “I didn’t. Do you honestly think I’d have stopped that fool’s chase if I’d believed she was still alive?”
“Of course not. But—”
“She’s dead. It’s my fault. I’ve accepted it. Why can’t you just leave it be?”
Her heart thudded. “Because I love you.”
Something came and went in his gray eyes. “I can’t stop you feeling what you do. And you can’t make me feel what I don’t. So stop trying to fix me, Maggie.”
She gasped. “That’s not what I’m—”
“I’m not one of your blocks of wood you can cut and chisel into a picture perfect Christmas ornament. If Angeline was alive, I’d have brought her here. She’s not. I didn’t. And this is the last I want to hear about it,” he gritted. “We’d better get back.” He started walking.
Maggie slowly picked up the gloves he’d left laying on the ground and followed him back to the house. This time they didn’t hold hands.
By the time the house was once again alive with people and food and laughter, Maggie wished she’d just left well enough alone. Daniel sat next to her at the big dining room table, loaded down with their Thanksgiving Day feast. But he didn’t slide her any quicksilver looks. And he didn’t hold her hand beneath the table where no one could see.
And the turkey that everyone else exclaimed over tasted like straw to her.
Chapter Seventeen
“It’s a beautiful gown.”
Maggie glanced over her shoulder to see Jaimie standing in the doorway to her bedroom. She turned back to the ivory gown and smoothed her fingertip along the heavy satin. “Yes.” She dropped her hand and folded her arms around herself, forcing a smile as Jaimie joined her.
“Nervous?”
“About the wedding?”
“Well, it is going to be in,” Jaimie glanced at her watch, “four hours. Give or take a few minutes.”
Maggie managed a smile. Daniel had barely said ten words to her since she’d broached his off-limit topic of Angeline. She wasn’t worried about the wedding. Or nervous about it.
She was worried about Da
niel.
“I had the standard wedding-day jitters,” Jaimie said easily. She picked up the small spray of roses that Maggie was going to wear in her hair. “As happy as I was to be marrying Matthew, I was still a bundle of nerves.”
“I remember.”
Jaimie set the roses down on the dresser, her eyes dreamy. “But as soon as I saw Matthew standing there with the minister, waiting for me, I was fine.” She blinked and smiled. “Your jitters will disappear, too, I’ll bet.”
Maggie didn’t bother to point out that Matthew had been thoroughly besotted with Jaimie on the day of their wedding. Three and a half years later, he still was besotted with his bride.
Daniel wasn’t in love with Maggie. He felt responsible for their child. He wanted her. He cared, in his way. But he wasn’t in love. And since the day before, Maggie knew he was thoroughly angry.
Could she blame him? He’d made his feelings about discussing Angeline crystal clear. Yet Maggie, thinking she knew better—
“Earth to Maggie.”
She realized Jaimie was talking to her. “What?”
Jaimie shook her head, smiling indulgently. “Your daughter and niece are waiting for you to join them for lunch. They think the sooner they shovel their food in their mouths, the sooner the wedding will be. J.D. wants to wear lipstick, you know. And Emily told me when she called a little while ago that Leandra now refuses to wear her dress shoes. Because if her daddy can wear his cowboy boots, then so can she.”
At that, Maggie smiled.
“That’s better,” Jaimie said. She tucked her arm through Maggie’s and drew her upstairs and into the kitchen.
Sure enough, two little girls were waiting impatiently. Maggie pulled out a chair and sat next to J.D. But the light lunch, while fixed to perfection by Jaimie, held little appeal to her knot-filled stomach, and she was grateful when everyone else was finished and she could busy herself cleaning up.
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