by Cat Cahill
He climbed the steps to the porch. It was no use worrying about when Sebastian would show up. He’d deal with it when it happened. But today, he’d take Maggie out and show her the land, then he’d eat whatever terrible food she cooked, and he’d wake again tomorrow, ready to move forward with his new life.
Once inside the house, Isaac strode to the parlor fireplace and tossed the telegram into the flames. The page curled and blackened at the edges before it was consumed whole, Isaac’s old life forever gone.
Chapter Eleven
Maggie could hardly remain still on the seat of the buckboard. She’d whiled away the morning attempting to bake bread again and drifting out to the porch to look for Isaac. This was exactly the sort of adventure she’d craved when she thought of coming out West—exploring empty, untamed land and gazing upon sights very few people had seen before.
It didn’t hurt that a handsome, dark-haired man sat on the wagon seat beside her. After their conversation this morning, he’d been ever-present in her mind. She’d seen something inside him she hadn’t expected. It took her all morning to figure out what it was, but finally, just a few minutes before he’d entered the house, she understood.
He acted as if he were a hardened man, unlikely to ever truly feel anything, but that was a facade. The careful way in which he’d apologized to her and admitted some wrongdoing in his advertisement, the way in which he’d spoken of his parents, the clipped mention of his brother . . . those were only hints at what she suspected lay inside him. And then when he’d asked her if she wanted to see the ranch—and promptly ran off—her heart had nearly burst open right there on the front porch.
Isaac Trenton was an intriguing man, and she wanted to know more.
Of course, she had only four days left to find out.
Her looming departure left a strange, empty feeling inside her when she thought about it, so she resolved not to ponder it at all for the rest of the day. For now, she’d place all her attention on memorizing every detail of the hills, the trees, the wide-open sky, and the towering mountains around her. That was, if she could pull her gaze away from the man sitting next to her long enough.
The buckboard rolled over the spring grasses, bumping and shaking with each rise and fall of the ground. The house was so far behind them now that if Maggie turned back, all she’d see would be more grass, more trees here and there, and a sky the size of the ocean.
A breeze kicked up, and she grabbed on to her hat. Why she hadn’t pulled out a more sensible hat with a ribbon to secure it, she didn’t know. All she’d thought about when she’d put this one on was how the blue brought out her eyes. It was foolish, but a part of her hoped Isaac would notice.
He pulled up the horses near a lone pine and the wagon came rattling to a stop. “What do you think so far?”
Maggie couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “It’s beautiful. I knew it had to be a large piece of land, but I don’t believe I truly understood how expansive it is.”
Isaac laughed as he transferred the lines to one hand. “Cattle need a lot of room to graze.”
“When do you expect to have cattle?”
“Within the month. As soon as we hire some men to help out.” Isaac’s gaze roamed the land like a proud father. “Sometimes I can hardly believe it’s finally happening.”
“Have you always wanted to be a rancher?” Maggie clapped a hand to her hat again as the wind blew another light gust.
“I have. I always thought I’d inherit my father’s place. But when the time came, it couldn’t happen.”
“Because of your brother?”
He nodded, but didn’t offer any further explanation. Maggie was desperate to know more, but she bit her tongue. Instead she followed his gaze to a line of trees that sat off in the distance, toward the west and the towering, snow-dusted Sangre de Cristos. “What is that?” she asked, pointing.
“Silver Creek. It runs most of the length of the valley. Would you like to see it?”
Maggie nodded eagerly. “Could we?”
He jumped down from the wagon and made his way around to Maggie’s side. He held out a hand.
Maggie placed her gloved hand in his and let him help her down. She landed as gracefully as possible, which wasn’t easy. Isaac kept hold of her hand a beat too long before dropping it. Maggie told herself he only wanted to ensure she had her balance, but her heart flitted wildly with possibilities she didn’t dare entertain.
After he unhitched and staked the horses, they began the walk across the acreage toward the line of trees that bordered the creek. Isaac pointed out the direction of Crest Stone to the south, and a small grouping of mule deer in the distance to the north. A jackrabbit scampered across the grass in front of them, making Maggie jump back and giggle when she realized it was but a harmless little creature. It reminded her of going out onto the empty plains at home, between towns, but this all felt so much bigger. Perhaps it was the mountains, ever-present and nearly touching the sky. Or perhaps it was only because she was unfamiliar with the land and the creatures that lived upon it.
She was keenly aware of Isaac’s gaze on her. He seemed to be watching her every reaction, a light smile playing on his face from time to time.
“Have you ever gone up into the mountains?” she asked, unable to tear her eyes away from the peaks that roared up from behind the trees.
Isaac glanced in the same direction. “Once or twice.”
“To hunt? Or simply to explore?” Maggie tried to imagine what it might be like, up there among the jagged rocks and the snow.
“Neither.” His voice had taken on a dark tone.
Curious, she turned to look at him. His eyes were unreadable and he seemed far away. A cold sensation snaked through her as she began to contemplate some of the things he must have seen—some of the things he must have done—in his life as an outlaw. Her heart beat faster and she was torn between asking more and attempting to change the subject.
“Isaac?” she asked in a small voice as they approached the tree line.
He said nothing as he led the way between two fat pine trees. Maggie took that as an invitation to continue.
“I’d like to know . . . Well, as your wife . . .” She trailed off, uncertain how to ask what weighed on her mind.
He paused next to a stand of aspen, their leaves a vivid, newborn green. “Go on,” he said carefully.
She swallowed and pursed her lips. Perhaps she’d ask another question first. “If you didn’t use the money you . . . Well, what did you do with it?”
Isaac picked at the white-green bark of one of the aspens. He was quiet for a moment before speaking. “I gave it away.”
Maggie didn’t know what she expected him to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. But still another question demanded an answer. There was no nice way to ask it; she’d have to be straightforward. “Have you ever killed a man?”
The words rushed out as fast as the creek water spilled across the rocks and sand somewhere ahead. She hated asking, and yet she had to know. She couldn’t fathom remaining in the same house with Isaac if she didn’t have an answer.
If he said yes, she didn’t know what she’d do.
She didn’t quite know what she’d do if he said no either.
He dropped his hand from the tree and watched her for a moment, dark eyes roaming across her face. He cut an imposing figure against the trees, tall and lean, a light blue shirt under a worn vest, hat tilted just so, and the ever-present gun belt he wore around his hips when he left the house.
Maggie felt the urge to squirm under his perusal, and yet she remained as still as possible, waiting for his answer.
Finally, when she began to suspect he could hear the increasing rhythm of her heartbeat, he spoke. “I have not. And I thank God for that daily.”
Maggie let out a breath, relief pouring through her like flood after a drought.
“Would you have thought differently of me had I answered yes?” he asked.
“I . . . I’m
not certain,” she stammered. Then, “Yes. Yes, I would have.”
“I wouldn’t blame you.” Isaac held out a hand and jerked his head toward the creek. “It’s rough terrain through here.”
Maggie cautiously placed her hand in his. His fingers, encased in gloves, closed around hers, steady and secure. He led her through the remaining trees until they emerged on the banks of Silver Creek.
Maggie gasped when the scenery opened up around her. The water raced across pebbles and around boulders, as fast as it could, toward the south. Bright green leaves rose from aspen and cottonwoods across the other side, and behind it all, the mountains rose toward the bright blue sky.
“It’s all so . . . vivid,” Maggie said. “I never knew such colors existed in the world.”
Isaac stood beside her, her hand still in his. Maggie wondered what to make of that. She supposed she should pull away, and yet, she didn’t want to. She didn’t care to think about why. Instead, she stood still, admiring the beauty of God’s creation around her.
“It’s quite something, isn’t it?” Isaac said. “The water is from the spring melt up in the mountains. Later in the year, it’ll slow to a trickle. Or it may dry up completely.”
Maggie stared at the rushing water. “I wouldn’t dare cross that.”
“And you shouldn’t,” Isaac said with a laugh.
They stood there a while longer. Maggie began to lose track of time, but she didn’t much care. Here, by this creek, nothing else mattered. Not Isaac’s past, not her own precarious position, not the pretenses they’d put up for one another.
Maggie could have remained there forever, her hand in Isaac’s, marveling at the world around them. But the wind whipped up, pulling her coat against her skirts and tugging the hat from her head.
Too late, she went to grab for it with her free hand. It skittered away, sailing to the ground in front of them, landing on the edge of the bank. Another gust immediately sent it skittering along the muddy ground, dangerously close to falling into the creek and being whisked away to the south.
Isaac dropped her hand and raced after the bright blue hat, attempting to scoop it up. But the moment he’d reach for it, the wind would push it along even further. It happened again, and then again.
Maggie covered her mouth with her hand. It was downright comical, the way the wind seemed to conspire against Isaac. Finally, he dove for it, landing knees first on the muddy bank but flattening the hat beneath his hand.
He rose, mud-covered, with her dirty, smashed hat in his hand.
And then Maggie couldn’t contain it any longer. She burst into laughter as he stood there, looking every inch the overgrown boy caught playing in the mud wearing his Sunday best.
“I’m glad to provide you some entertainment,” he said with a slight scowl.
That only made Maggie laugh even harder, and soon, the irritation left his face as he looked down at himself. He began to chuckle, and together, their laughter nearly drowned out the sound of the rushing creek.
“I thank you for retrieving my hat,” Maggie finally said when she could catch her breath.
“I’ll have you know I’ve never taken a dive into the mud for anyone else’s hat.” He attempted to brush some of the dirt from himself, but succeeded only in spreading it out further.
“Come, I’ll wash those for you once we return,” Maggie said. “And you needn’t fear me shrinking your clothing. I’ve had plenty of practice in washing my own over the years.”
They returned to the wagon, chatting aimlessly about the creek and childhood scrapes and misdeeds. Maggie even shared her attempt to bring a toad into church, while Isaac confessed to hiding his brother Sebastian’s clothes, so that Sebastian was forced to wear a shirt and trousers that were covered in cattle dung to school one day. “I was repaying his pushing me into the horse trough,” Isaac said when Maggie looked appalled.
As they drove back to the house, Maggie felt more at ease than she had since that fateful day back home, when she’d spurned Mr. Etter and promptly lost her position in the store. But there was something else too, something she hadn’t felt at all since she’d met Isaac.
Hope.
Chapter Twelve
By midmorning the next day, the sun had warmed the air to a comfortable temperature. Isaac and Pete had spent a few hours assessing the fencing that stood in various places near the barn and the house, and fixing what they could. The work took his mind off Maggie leaving.
She seemed to have enjoyed herself yesterday, but she hadn’t said a word about changing her mind. He didn’t dare hope she might. In fact, he wasn’t certain if he should hope she might. As frustrating and outspoken as she could be, he’d seen so much more to her lately. She was strong, accepting of her own faults, sympathetic, and seemed to find humor easily.
She was also quick to learn. Her attempt at baking bread yesterday had been much better than the previous day’s. He’d left so early today that he’d skipped eating breakfast again. He wondered if she might have scared up something to cook, and so he and Pete had decided to take an early break in the day.
But when he entered the house, it was silent.
“Maggie?” he called as he moved from the parlor to the kitchen. Both fireplaces were extinguished. He made his way upstairs, calling her name again, but there was no reply.
Racing back downstairs, he tried to keep his mind from fearing the worst. He and Pete had been all about the property. Anyone could’ve ridden up to the house while they were gone.
It had been plenty of time for someone to arrive and leave again with Maggie.
Heart racing, Isaac ran to the back porch. Empty. Then back through the house, which was still silent.
Sebastian wouldn’t have come so soon. Unless he’d been nearby when he sent that telegram . . . Still, it was Isaac he wanted to speak with. Maggie couldn’t help him with anything he had planned. Unless he was taken with her . . .
No. Sebastian wasn’t that cold-hearted, especially not toward Isaac. But if he were still angry enough about Isaac leaving, then maybe—
All this worrying wouldn’t get him anywhere. He needed to search for her. He gathered a rifle from the parlor and found his saddlebags before striding to the barn. He was so intent on saddling his horse, he almost didn’t notice what was missing from the barn.
Stepping backward from his horse, he peered around to where the buckboard usually sat.
It was gone.
Isaac scanned the barn. The two wagon horses were also missing.
Maggie must have taken them while Isaac and Pete were down in the north fields. But where in the world would she have gone? And why? Maybe she’d decided that Saturday was too long to wait here and had taken it upon herself to drive to the Crest Stone depot.
He saddled up as quickly as possible and tried to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach. He had to find her, and soon. While the valley was relatively quiet, it wasn’t unheard of for desperate men to take what they needed from those who looked defenseless. Not to mention the mining camp off to the southeast that contained hundreds of men of all stripes.
What would have possessed Maggie to go out on her own? Had he been that terrible to her?
He led his horse out of the barn, just as Pete was making his way inside.
“Maggie’s left and taken the buckboard. I’m going out to search for her,” he said as he pulled himself into the saddle.
“I’ll ride north,” Pete said immediately. “Doubt she’d go that way, but I’ll make sure.”
“Thank you.” Pete was a good man, one Isaac was glad to have by his side.
At the entrance to the ranch, Isaac paused for just a moment, searching the ground. But it hadn’t rained recently, and he was no tracker. It was impossible to tell which way she’d gone. But if Pete went north and he went south, he hoped one of them would find her. He doubted she’d travel east without the railroad tracks to guide her.
He clucked to his horse, and together they trotted at a good pace s
outh. They were traveling faster than the wagon could go, so if she’d gone this way, he’d surely catch up to her.
Meanwhile, he repeated the same prayer over and over. He’d do anything to find her safe. He’d brought her out here, implying he was some sort of upstanding rancher, and then forced her to remain when she’d wanted to return home. And now she was in danger.
What kind of man was he?
Disgusted with himself, Isaac pushed the horse to go faster. If he didn’t find her, he’d never forgive himself. What did it matter that she wasn’t a good cook or the very ideal of the perfect wife? She didn’t deserve to be lost—or worse—out here, alone, in this valley.
An hour passed, although it felt like a day to Isaac, when he finally spotted something ahead of him along the tracks and telegraph lines.
He didn’t dare hope it was her, but he pressed his horse to close the distance. A wagon came into view, with a lone driver sitting up front. As he grew closer, it became clear the driver was a woman. One whose dark blonde hair had tumbled halfway down her back with her hat.
He pulled up alongside her, fighting six dozen feelings at once.
“Whoa!” She pulled the lines and the horses came to a stop. Then she turned to him, her blue-gray eyes sparkling, wearing a wide smile that almost disarmed him.
He blinked at her a moment, still catching his breath from the ride. His horse stamped his feet, breathing hard himself. “What . . .?” The words tumbled together, each fighting for precedence. “You had me worried sick. What in the name of heaven are you doing out here?”
Her smile faltered a bit as she took in his presence. He must look a sight, after that kind of ride. “There’s no need for cursing,” she said.
“I’m not cursing,” he said through gritted teeth. “Although you disappeared without a word from the house to ride out here—alone and unprotected—to who only knows where!”
She raised the lines, glared at him, then swung her head forward as if she were about to urge the horses forward again.
