by Dinah McLeod
Chapter Three
Maggie
Trent and Abby had hardly gone before I regretted my decision. My stomach had started to rumble, but I couldn’t go to the hotel and tell them that I’d changed my mind. I wanted to give them privacy. I’d seen the way they looked at each other, and it had taken my breath away. I’d never seen my brother look at anyone like that before, and it was a shocking thing to behold. His whole body seemed to change when he looked at his new wife—all the tension left his shoulders, and he seemed to glow from the inside out.
It was a way that no one had ever looked at me—I knew that. It was times like these that I missed my mother more than I could ever express. Only she never pushed me to marry. My father had tried to find me a proper husband years ago, but mother had stepped in and put an end to it. How she’d managed was a mystery to me—my father was accustomed to getting his way, a trait that he’d passed down to his pair of stubborn, commanding sons. Yet, she’d gotten him to back off, and my brothers had fallen suit, refusing to comment on my lack of a husband.
Though I knew if I’d been pushed into marriage with one of the sons of my father’s friends I’d have been miserable, there were times I was unmistakably lonely. It was true, I’d given Trent a hard time about how he’d found Abigail, but if all my cards were laid out, they would reek of my jealousy. I’d held on to a foolish hope that Trent would never marry, knowing that if and when he did, I would be the odd one out. Two men sharing a family home with their wives and eventually their children was normal. But their old maid sister? Everyone knew I stayed on because I had nowhere else to go, no one who wanted me.
I was lost in my own thoughts and didn’t realize that I’d begun walking, careless of where my feet took me. I stopped now and peered at the building in front of me—a hastily built saloon with loud, ringing laugher pouring from the open doors. It was in such contrast with my own mood that I felt pain bloom in my heart, as sharp as a blow.
“Are you alright, ma’am?”
I turned to see a man sitting astride a horse, his face partially hidden by his hat. All I could make out was a full mustache about his lips and a strong, determined chin. As I looked up at him, bathed in sunlight, I felt my heart catch. He seemed almost ethereal, sitting high on his stallion. Suddenly, I felt a bit dizzy.
It’s the heat, I told myself, my hand holding my hat in place. “I am fine, thank you.”
“Where you headed?”
If anyone else had asked it, I would have balked at the question. There were so many busybodies in town, but his voice was deep and rich all at once. Somehow, each note seemed to warm me from the chill in the air. “I’m just walking,” I replied, finding myself a bit breathless. It wasn’t a sensation I was at all used to.
“Might I walk with you?”
I was startled by the question, but I nodded despite myself. At my signal, he dismounted, and I came face-to-face with the man who was making my heart rate speed up. He was tall, I could tell in an instant that he would tower over me. He was muscular, with long legs and a chest that drove me to distraction; I couldn’t help but wonder what it would look like underneath his plaid shirt.
I felt my cheeks heat for daring to think such things, but I couldn’t help it. This stranger seemed to make me think forbidden, improper things.
In one quick motion, he doffed his hat and smiled at me. I was instantly unnerved by that smile. His teeth were perfectly white and evenly spaced, but it was more of what I saw in the smile that mattered. He had the easy grin of a man who was used to giving orders and having them obeyed. It gave me pause.
His next words only proved my assumption. “I’m not used to seeing women outside saloons,” he remarked mildly. “What brought you to town today?”
“I saw my brother marry today,” I said, forcing my voice to be even.
“I would offer him my congratulations,” he replied courteously. “But that doesn’t explain why you were headed into a saloon.”
I took in his face, clean-shaven but for a neat, long mustache. His eyes were a clear, twinkling green. His nose was a bit long, perhaps his dark brown hair a bit thin. I could tell that he was older than me by probably a decade, and yet…
“I wasn’t aware that I had to explain myself to you.” I didn’t know what made me say it, except perhaps an inability to hold my tongue, but once the words were out, they hung in the air between us. I held my breath, my chest tightening as I waited to see what he would say. Perhaps he would don his hat again, mount his horse, and be gone. It was what most of the men I met seemed to do—they were all eager to be away from my sharp tongue, on to find a more biddable woman to keep at their side.
This man, still a stranger to me, frowned deeply. At the sight of it, my heart caught in my throat. “You should answer my question because a lady would do so,” he pointed out, to my shame. “But failing that, I would say that a lady being seen by herself outside a saloon like this would cause gossip, and you don’t want that, do you?”
I looked up at him, wondering if he implied that the gossip about me was already too much. I felt the urge to defend myself, but caught in the trap of his powerful, no-nonsense gaze, my tongue managed to lie still.
“Shall we walk, ma’am? Or would you prefer a hot drink?”
I shook my head. “Thank you, no. Honestly, I only wish to go home.”
“Will your brother be out soon?”
I shrugged, pushing our earlier agreement to the back of my mind and turned to eye his horse. It had been a while since I’d ridden, since the farm kept me so busy. I walked to the horse, a dappled gray stallion who bent his head when I neared. I patted him, feeling his silky, soft hair and smiled as he nuzzled my hand. “What’s his name?”
“Sapphire.”
I turned to him, my lips curved in a smile. “That’s an unusual name for a horse.”
“What’s your name?”
His question caught me off guard, but I was so enamored with the beautiful, sweet-tempered creature that I let my guard down. “Maggie.”
“Hmm. Perhaps Sapphire thinks that’s an unusual name for a girl.”
I turned my head so quickly that I felt tendrils of hair loosen from the bun atop my head. “It is not!” I objected, surprised when he threw his head back and laughed at me. It was a deep, hearty laugh, and I felt the corners of my lips twitch despite myself.
“Do you want to ride?”
The offer was so unexpected, and I was sure my childlike delight was mirrored in my eyes and in my eager nod. “I would like that very much.”
“Where is your brother, so that I might ask for his permission?”
I snorted at the question, sending my bangs flying. “The only permission you need is my own.”
He arched a dark brow. “You’re sure of that? He won’t mind if he comes out and finds you gone?”
I knew I should have gone to find Trent, but the idea of him possibly saying no, of this handsome man seeing me beg for permission like a child, was unthinkable. I wanted so badly to ride, and yes, to spend a little more time with this mysterious stranger. “I can do as I like.”
“Alright then,” he said, speaking slowly. I could see that he had his doubts, but without another word, he helped me mount his horse. I’d just gotten ahold of the reigns when he mounted and took them from my hands. “How fast do you think?”
I laughed at his question, hearing the excitement in his voice. “Fast!” I urged.
He touched his knees to the stallion, and we set off at an immediate gallop, heads turned toward us before the townspeople turning into blurs before my eyes. I giggled in delight, leaning forward to get in rhythm with the horse.
I was so caught up in the exhilaration of the wind in my hair and the sun beaming down on me that I could almost forget the solid presence of him in the saddle with me. Almost—but my body seemed hyper-aware of every move he made, despite my attempts to ignore him. Almost without realizing it, I’d begun to lean into him until we were riding together as
one. I snuggled against the warmth of his chest, hoping he wouldn’t think me wanton. He could be no more critical than I was of myself, I decided. I felt like the lowest, grasping strumpet for how being near him set my pulse to racing.
Twice he suggested that we turn back for town, but I shook my head each time. “Just once more,” I pleaded, my voice as girlish as I’d ever heard it. With a nod, the stranger agreed and we went around again, and again. On the third time, we took a different route, and it took me a few minutes to realize that we were approaching my home. How did he know where I lived?
When we reached the drive, Sapphire slowed to a trot. Yanking on the reigns, my stranger—oh, goodness! When had I started thinking of him as mine?—slowed the horse to a full stop. With the wind no longer acting as a sound barrier, I could now hear my own heavy breathing.
He dismounted with ease and grace and reached toward me to help me down. When I put my hand in his, a spark raveled from the tips of my fingers to my spine, making me cry out. He studied me curiously, and I batted his hand away.
“I can do it myself,” I said reproachfully.
“Maybe you can, but you won’t.” Without waiting for my reply, he put his strong hands around my waist and lifted me from the saddle.
I pulled away from him the moment my feet hit the soft ground, turning away with an indignant stamp of my foot. “I do not even know your name!” I exclaimed. “You don’t have the right to touch me.” I marveled at my petulant words the moment they left my lips. Was I protesting so much because my unladylike desires would have him keep touching me?
“I was only helping you down,” he replied, gruffly. “And as for the name, you didn’t inquire. Perhaps if you were to ask sweetly…”
I whirled to face him. How dare he mock me? “I don’t give a fig what your name is!”
In two long strides he closed the distance between us. “I don’t appreciate that tone,” he said, the lines of his face creasing as he frowned. “Nor being lied to.”
I flushed brightly, faced with his obvious displeasure. I was working up the courage to reply—what could I possibly say to take that fearsome anger out of his eyes?—when I heard wheels crunching down on the dirt road. I turned my head toward the noise and saw our buggy bouncing toward the pair of us. As soon as it had stopped, Trent jumped down.
“Where in all hells have you been?” he growled at me.
I heard a gasp and saw Abigail staring after us, her eyes wide. Perhaps she’d never heard a man cuss before. “I went for a ride.” I tried to keep my voice calm, even as my hands began to shake. I’d been so foolish to think… but of course, I hadn’t been thinking at all. Not since I laid eyes on the man beside me.
Trent turned his fierce gaze on my companion. “I thank you for bringing my sister home, sir.”
“Name’s Clayborn.” He stepped forward, offering his hand, which my brother eyed suspiciously before he took it.
“Do you often give rides to ladies without consent?”
“Beg your pardon, sir. She assured me that she would not be missed.” The look he gave me was sharp. “Which I should have known for a lie.”
Trent shook his head scuffing the toe of his boot in the dirt. “Alright. Well, thank you for bringing her home.”
“Would you like to come in for some sweet tea?” Abigail invited. Trent turned to her, as if just remembering she was there and stepped toward her to help her down from the buggy.
I stared at her, agog. How could she have such composure, such sweet manners, that she could invite a stranger into a home that was as unfamiliar to her as it would be to him? Part of me admired her for it, yet I didn’t want him to come in. I wanted him to be gone, so that this unfortunate situation might be put behind us.
Unfortunately for me, after looking at Trent to gauge his expression, Clayborn nodded at Abigail. “That would be appreciated, ma’am. Thank you kindly.”
Libby looked up from her sewing as we walked into the house. She seemed surprised at having a visitor along with a new sister-in-law but didn’t comment.
“Libby, why don’t you go help Abby with fixin’ some tea?” Trent suggested. She seemed ready to protest—Trent rarely asked her to do anything—but one look at the hard mask of his face and she stood, setting her sewing aside, and showed Abigail into the kitchen.
“Why don’t you have a seat, Clayborn.”
He did just that, saying, “Call me Clay.”
I was vexed at having him here, staring at me like I was some wayward child. I was vexed at myself for wanting to look at him longer. The fine bones of his face, the span of his large, strong hands. There was a scar on his left wrist, and I longed to run my fingers over it in a caress, to hear how he’d come by it. I blushed at the thought, which did nothing to help me appear more innocent under the heavy scrutiny of the two men.
Just then, I heard the back door rattle open—it really did need to be replaced, but like so many things, had to go on the waiting list until we had the money, or the boys had the time to do it—and Wes bid my sisters-in-law hello.
“Wesley,” Trent called. “Come join us for a moment.”
Uh-oh. I clenched my hands into fists, my fingernails biting deeply into the flesh of my palms. I knew that if Trent was involving Wesley, I was in for it big time. Suddenly, the little white lie seemed so stupid. Why had it been so important to me to seem unattached? It certainly hadn’t done a thing to raise me in his esteem.
As Wesley walked toward us, boots jangling, I debated whether I should attempt to bolt or stay on the chance of a good outcome. If I ran, how far could I get before one of them caught up to me? Would anyone offer to hide me from the wrath of my brothers? It was possible that there was something else that Trent wanted to discuss. Possible, but not overly likely.
“Clayborn!” my brother exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. “How the devil have you been?”
Clay stepped forward, his hand outstretched, which my brother took and pumped with much enthusiasm. “Not bad, and how’s planting season working out for you?”
“Be a hell of a lot better if we could get some rain,” he commented, and all three sets of eyes turned toward the window.
Now was my chance. If I was going to go, I needed to go now. But just as I’d made up my mind to flee, I remembered Libby and Abigail in the kitchen. There was no way I’d get past those two quick enough to make a proper getaway.
“Damnable weather,” Clay agreed, then promptly blanched. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am.”
I nodded toward him, trying to be discreet, but his words only turned the three of them back to me.
“Funny thing happened today, Wes,” Trent began casually, rocking to and fro in the rocking chair. “Abby and I went to dinner at Ms. Watsons after getting married today. Invited Maggie to go along, ‘course, and she politely declined. Would you be surprised to learn that when we finished with dinner, Maggie was nowhere to be found?”
I was blushing furiously. I couldn’t believe he’d have this conversation where everyone could hear—especially this tall, fine-looking man.
“Is that so?” Wes replied, his voice edged with rigid disapproval. “What do you propose to do about it?”
Trent spared me a glance, and his face seemed almost apologetic as he said, “Well, seein’ as how she promised she’d stay put and then came riding home with a stranger, with no word to nobody…”
Wes’s mouth set in a hard line, and I felt my stomach flip. “You got lucky to be picked up by a man as good as Clay, here, Mags. If it had been someone else…”
I winced, my stomach beginning to churn. Though they hadn’t come out and promised a spanking, I could see that was what they were thinking about. The idea made me feel panicky. I hadn’t been spanked since Papa died, and the idea of Wesley or Trent giving me one, even if I deserved it, embarrassed me to no end. “But I can explain—”
Wes’s eyebrows shot up, and I looked from one man to another. All three of them were looking back at me impassively,
not a shred of sympathy to be found among them. I trailed off, trying to fight back a sob.
“You shouldn’t wander off without telling someone,” Trent said, a bit gentler. “What if something had happened to you? How could Wes and I stand it, after just losing Mama?”
At the mention of her name, tears filled my eyes. I looked at the Christmas tree in the corner, still only half decorated. It had been hard for any of us to find the desire to celebrate the holiday that had been our mother’s favorite.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice pleading.
Trent looked at me for a long, lingering moment before shaking his head with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Mags, but there’s nothing to be done for it. You deliberately misled Clayborn here, and you lied to me. I think—”
“I didn’t—” I could tell that my pleas were falling on deaf ears, so I stopped abruptly, turning on my heel. I was going to flee to my bedroom when Wes took my wrist in a firm grip.
“Wait just a minute, Mags.”
I swallowed hard. Being embarrassed in this way in front of a man that I had thought so fascinating was bad enough, but knowing that Libby was hearing every word and probably smirking over the thought of my bottom lined with welts was unbearable.
“Maybe I could make this a bit easier, Wes?”
I turned at the sound of Clay’s low, sexy drawl. My heart began to hammer in my throat. Might he yet save me? Would Wesley listen to him? They were old friends, it seemed, so maybe… I waited, struggling to breathe normally, my fate entirely in Clayborn’s large, sinewy hands.
He continued at a nod from my brother. “I thought I might be the one to spank her. She lied to me, and I can’t say I appreciate that.”
The minute the words left Clay’s mouth, Wes dropped my wrist. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he looked relieved at the suggestion. My heart stopped dead in my chest at not only his suggestion, but the way the word sounded on his lips. It came out sounding lazy and warm and inspired a different kind of churning in the tightness of my belly. Before I could get ahold of the feelings and put a name to them, I saw Trent shake his head.
