Chapter 8
Morning sounds filtered through the open window, along with the cool air. Birdsong replaced the sound of the rooster, waking Rance. He lay still, not daring to move his hurt and aching body. He listened in the half-light as the day began. A soft whimper from across the room drew his eyes to Maggie, curled up in the old chair.
Rance would not have believed it was possible for as much of him to ache as did at that moment. His ribs were still hot and sore, and most of his muscles cried in protest if he tried to move. So he didn’t. He was content to lie as still as possible in his big, lonely bed and gaze across the short distance, which might as well have been a mile-wide chasm.
Vague recollections of his lips on Maggie’s, of holding her soft white hand, played havoc with his conscious mind. Had he really told her that he wanted to make love with her? Had he dreamed of her writhing and arching in the throes of ecstasy? He focused on Maggie’s sleeping face, beautiful in the soft light. If her passionate response hadn’t been real, it was something to look forward to. If he hadn’t told her of his desire for her, he should have. But for now he would be content with the memory—if it was a memory and not the fevered imaginings of delirium. If it had happened, he would only mention it when Maggie gave him some clue that it was all right.
The sun climbed above the trees and streamed in through the open window. It crept across the floor to the chair, caressing Maggie’s delicate skin as intimately as Rance wanted to. He couldn’t help envying the sunbeam as it had its way with her.
A mourning dove lit on a branch outside the window and crooned its sad lament. Had the morning symphony always been so loud? As much as Rance had enjoyed listening to those sounds each day in the past week, he didn’t want them to wake Maggie now. After tending him all night, she deserved to sleep.
And if she woke, she might leave.
Had it been only one week since she stepped out onto her porch and stole his heart? Had it been just five days since she walked so lightly into his life, carrying a picnic basket? He chuckled as he remembered the way that Jennifer had let out the information that her mother was free. That day had been the beginning of the rest of his life.
He’d thought he would find all the answers to the questions that haunted him in back issues of the local newspaper, but he hadn’t. If anything, the paper had just shown him how much he didn’t know.
And the Chevrolet in the creek! Instinctively Rance knew that the car was a major piece in the puzzle that was his family’s history. How could he prove it? With no identifying tags and with only a vague boyhood memory, there was no way to prove ownership. And years of being submerged had left its paint nothing but rust. Yet there had to be some way to identify the car.
Maggie stirred and murmured something in her sleep, distracting Rance from his confused thoughts. The sun had touched its fingers to Maggie’s tousled hair, setting it aflame. He focused on one tight ringlet that caressed her cheek and envied it the privilege.
She shifted, as if trying to avoid the sun’s probing fingers. Reaching up as if to thrust the sun away from her porcelain cheek, Maggie dislodged the curl that had so entranced him as he watched her sleep. Slowly, Maggie’s eyes opened. Her eyelashes fluttered and fell back against her creamy cheeks. She wasn’t ready to greet the day, for she squeezed her lids tight. A morning bird called, insisting that she listen, and Maggie opened her eyes again, presenting their startling turquoise to the day.
“Good morning,” Rance whispered, his voice husky from sleep and pent-up emotion.
Maggie’s eyes opened wider, and color came into her cheeks as she looked across the room into Rance’s watchful gaze. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the bright morning light.
“Hi,” she responded softly. “How are you feeling this morning?”
Rance shifted and grimaced as his muscles protested the slight movement. “Like a tractor rolled over on top of me.” He grinned, his face being the only part of him that didn’t feel the results of yesterday. “I ache, but I think I’ll live.”
Maggie crossed the room and stood over him. Was she going to feel his head again? He wanted to feel her cool hand against him, yet he wasn’t sure he could control his body’s reaction to her touch.
She didn’t. “Do you want me to get you anything?”
You, he wanted to say. Not that he would be able to do anything with her if he had her. Last night had proved that. Discretion kept his mouth shut. A noise from the drive outside, and Rusty’s bark of greeting, changed the subject altogether.
“What was that?” Rance’s languid posture stiffened to coiled tension.
Maggie laughed. “I imagine it’s the cavalry to the rescue.”
“Cavalry?”
“Yup. You know, the day shift.” Maggie stretched and yawned. “I have been here all night.” She pointed. “In that chair. I’m long overdue a break.”
Daisy Popwell’s voice yoo-hooed from the front of the house.
“It’s my mom.” Maggie’s stomach rumbled, reminding her how long it had been since she ate. “I hope she has breakfast.”
“Breakfast. Oh, no, I was supposed to cook dinner for you last night.”
“Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. I’m holding you to that invitation, but it won’t hurt me to miss one meal.” For the first time since the whole drama unfolded yesterday, Maggie remembered that she had skipped lunch the day before in anticipation of Rance’s promised Tex-Mex dinner.
Maggie’s mother appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray. The warm aroma of coffee came with her.
“Coffee,” Maggie murmured appreciatively. “I could use some to jump-start my battery this morning.” She reached for a cup.
Her mother jerked the tray away. “None for you,” she told her daughter sternly. “You’re going straight home and take a nap.” Instead of coffee, she handed Maggie a tall glass of cold orange juice.
“Mom,” Maggie protested. How could her mother still order her around as if she were six instead of thirty-six?
“Your mother’s right, Maggie. You were up most of the night with me. You need more sleep than those few catnaps you got in the chair.” Rance’s eyes were direct and insistent.
Realizing that it was hopeless to argue with both of them, Maggie reluctantly gave in. “All right. You win, Mom. But can I have breakfast first?”
Chuckling, her mom nodded. She handed Rance the cup she’d kept from Maggie. “I’ll go rustle up some eggs and grits.” She turned to Rance. “How hungry are you?”
“I think I could do justice to whatever you fix, Mrs. Popwell.”
“Call me Daisy.” She grinned. “Mrs. Popwell makes me feel as old as I look.” She handed Rance the other glass of juice and left.
“You will go home and get some rest, won’t you, Maggie?”
Maggie yawned, finally realizing how tired she was. Belatedly she tried to cover her weariness. “I’ll try. I’ve never been good at sleeping in the daytime.”
“You’ll sleep. You look tired enough.”
Maggie didn’t know whether to accept that remark at face value, but gave Rance the benefit of the doubt. He was in no shape to be gallant, and she had spent all night in the chair and the clothes she was still wearing. “What about you?”
“I’ll survive. It’ll take more than one tractor to keep Rance Montoya down.” Rance turned his attention to his coffee.
Maggie looked at him and remembered what she’d discovered at the library the day before. It had only been yesterday, but it seemed as if forever had passed since then. She wondered if she should ask him about his connection to the Hightowers. Would he tell her the truth if she did?
She gnawed her lip as indecision changed to resolve. She would ask. If he said yes, then she would know. If he didn’t...then what?
The coffee must have revived him, for his eyes seemed brighter. “Do you need another pain pill?” Why was she stalling? That wasn’t the question she wanted to ask.
“I don’t think so. I do
n’t like what they did to me last night.”
Last night! Did he remember what he’d said? What they’d done? Maggie felt a flush creep over her face. She turned away. As she reached the door, courage met resolve. “Rance?”
“Yes.”
“Luther Hightower had a son named Rance who’d be about your age now.”
The silence in the room was deafening.
“You’re Rance Hightower, aren’t you?”
The silence got louder as Maggie waited for Rance to reply, and she was sure she could hear her heart thumping against the walls of her chest. Maybe she was wrong about her assumption and she had shocked Rance with her question. Unable to face him, she stepped out of the room.
“Maggie.”
She stopped.
“Come back. I need to see your face.”
Maggie turned and walked slowly back into the room.
Though it must have been painful, Rance stretched his hand to her. “Come here.”
She did, stopping beside the bed and taking Rance’s hand. His warm fingers wrapped around hers and made it difficult for her to think clearly.
Rance didn’t have to tell her the answer. His reaction already had.
“I was Rance Hightower, but that was a lifetime ago. I’m not hiding anything.” He paused. “I took my grandfather’s name when he became my guardian. It seemed right at the time.”
The explanation seemed logical enough. An olive-skinned boy with an Anglo name would want to fit in with his grandfather’s people. But why hide it now?
Rance brought her hand to his lips. “Just as I remembered,” he murmured.
He hadn’t forgotten last night! He kissed each finger and made Maggie’s legs even weaker than they already were. Oh, God, I don’t think I can deal with this. If he admits he remembers everything that happened last night, I’ll just die.
“Wh-why didn’t you tell anyone?” Maggie managed to stammer, before Rance’s warm lips on her hand drove all rational thought away. I can deal with this, she reprimanded herself. As long as he doesn’t say anything.
Rance took his lips away from Maggie’s hand. He looked into her eyes with an expression that she couldn’t read. “It’s a long story.”
Reluctantly removing her fingers from Rance’s strong, warm hand, Maggie replied, “I have plenty of time.”
“No, you don’t, Margaret Rose.” Daisy had returned to the room, unnoticed. “You’re going to eat and then go home to bed.”
Maggie sighed, defeated. “Yes, ma’am.” She was too weary to argue, and she had the answer she needed. At least part of it. She could wait a little while for the rest of Rance’s explanation.
“I promise, I’ll finish this,” Rance told her huskily.
Maggie was well aware that the promise bore a double meaning. She hoped her mother had missed it. Had she seen Rance kissing her? Somehow his lips on her hands had seemed ever more intimate than on her mouth.
“I’ll hold you to that.” Maggie adjusted Rance’s pillow and helped her mother set up the breakfast tray. Then she followed Daisy out to the kitchen.
How long had Maggie suspected his true identity? Rance wondered as he watched Maggie and her mother disappear down the hall. It could have been as early as Tuesday, when they dug through stacks of newspapers at the library, he supposed, but he didn’t think so. It seemed very unlikely that the open, friendly Maggie would have been able to sit on something like that for very long.
She had probably only figured it out yesterday. Yet she had kept her questions quiet all through his long ordeal and the even longer night. Why had she waited to ask him when she was ready to leave?
The smell of country ham and eggs reached Rance’s nose and reminded him that he was hungry. With some food in his belly, he would be able to get on with his life. The sooner he got back on his feet, the quicker he would be able to move on. Or so he hoped.
Rance dug into a mound of fluffy scrambled eggs and scooped up a forkful of grits dripping with melted butter and chewed. He momentarily forgot his questions about Maggie as he savored Daisy’s homemade buttermilk biscuits, slathered with creamy butter and peach preserves. Yes, he would have to get up to work off this meal. If he ate like this and didn’t move, he would never be able to get out of bed again. But then, if Maggie was there with him, he wouldn’t care.
In short order, he was finished, full and satisfied. He leaned back on his pillows and thought about what he was going to tell Maggie. There wasn’t a hell of a lot to tell, he realized. He still didn’t have all the answers. He still hadn’t found Drake. He still didn’t know why his mother had left him. Where she had gone. Or why she hadn’t come back.
Rance shook away his questions, and his thoughts turned to Maggie’s face. A smile crept over his face as he closed his eyes and remembered the feel of her lying beside him in the dark of night.
“That’s what I like to see—a clean plate and a happy man,” Daisy Popwell announced as she bustled in to clear away the breakfast tray.
Opening his eyes with a guilty jerk, Rance realized Daisy was scrutinizing him with her clear, blue gaze. He felt like a teenager caught kissing on his first date. “I... You startled me.”
“Sorry about that. I’m going to run back over to my place. Do you need anything else before I go?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Pop—I mean, Daisy. Thank you for breakfast. It was delicious.”
“I can see that,” Daisy replied, chuckling. “I may not have to wash the plate.”
Rance grinned. “It was good, and I was hungry.”
“Well, thanks. I guess I’ll leave you alone.”
“Daisy, is Buddy around?”
“No. Why?”
“I thought I’d like to...clean up. Soak in a hot bath to loosen up some of these stiff muscles.” He shifted as she took the tray from his lap and grimaced with the movement. “I’m not sure how steady I’m going to be on my feet, so I might need some help.” Why did Rance feel so awkward? He was sure Daisy had seen a naked man before. Still, the thought of Maggie’s mother seeing certain parts of him didn’t set well.
“Say no more. Joe said he and Buddy’d be over directly to set your tractor right-side-up. I’ll tell ’em to stop in before they get started.”
Maggie put the clock down and groaned. She had only intended to lie down for a minute or two to rest her eyes. Now it was nearly noon. Half her day was gone, and she was still wearing the same clothes she’d put on almost twenty-four hours before. They were a wrinkled, rumpled mess, and a quick survey found a torn hem and a large, dark grease stain. Maggie wrinkled her nose as she reached behind her to undo the buttons.
The house was strangely quiet, the only sound the insistent hum of the air conditioner. It drowned out the sounds of the birds and the day. Maggie stretched languorously and reflected on how much she missed by having a modern home that kept the heat and cold at bay and the sounds of nature outside. Modern life had a lot to offer, but Maggie realized now what she missed by closing her doors and windows and shutting out the world.
She decided to allow herself another moment of peace and solitude before she headed for a shower, but the jangle of the telephone shattered the quiet.
It was her mother inviting her to Sunday dinner at Rance Montoya’s—make that Rance Hightower’s—house. Daisy had certainly wasted no time in adopting Rance. “Yes, I slept. I’m just getting up now,” Maggie assured her mother. “I have to shower and dress, then I’ll be over.”
Already Rance’s old clapboard house seemed like home to her, certainly more than this plastic-and-aluminum convenience. Maggie liked the big, airy rooms at Rance’s. The floor-to-ceiling windows let in air and light in the summer, and the fireplaces in every room would keep it warm in the winter.
She imagined how it would be to curl up in front of the big fireplace on a pallet of rugs and pillows. A feeling of warmth and urgency settled in the place between her thighs, and her face warmed as she envisioned herself and Rance making love by the crackling
fire. She recognized feelings that she had long since thought dormant. Forgotten... never to be experienced again.
Even though she was alone, Maggie’s face burned with embarrassment. She hardly knew Rance Montoya. How could she be fantasizing about a future with him?
After what had happened in the wee hours of the night in his bedroom, how could she not?
Rance gingerly flexed his tight muscles until they were working again. He wanted to go out into the yard to supervise the tractor-salvage operation, but Daisy had sternly forbidden him to go. So, fresh and dressed in a crisply ironed shirt, thanks to Daisy, he sat in the shade of the porch and swung in the old wooden glider.
Once the nighttime medication had worn off, he’d really begun to feel the results of his two hours trapped beneath the heavy farm machine. He’d be damned if he would take another one of those horse pills, but he had popped three aspirin tablets and washed them down with a tall, frosty glass of Daisy’s lemonade.
Before he settled in the swing, Rance had made sure that he had a full box of matches in his pocket ready for him. He took one out and rolled it between his fingers as he watched Joe work on the tractor, tolerating Buddy’s awkward attempts to help. Rusty strolled up onto the porch and permitted Rance to pet her, then ambled away to tend her litter. Everything seemed well with the world.
In spite of his sore and aching body, Rance felt truly contented. Daisy’s humming as she worked in the kitchen and Jennifer’s frequent trips outside to check on his progress seemed right. The Popwell family’s presence made his big, brooding house seem like a real home.
It didn’t take Joe and Buddy long to right the tractor. What Maggie hadn’t done with post and fulcrum, they accomplished in short order with an electric winch and Joe’s pickup truck. The tractor stood back on its wheels, looking none the worse for wear, from where Rance sat. He popped the match to his lips and chewed on it.
Buddy loped up and assured Rance that except for a few dents and scratches the body of the machine was fine. Joe had given it a quick once-over and declared it in remarkable condition. After some tinkering, he was going to try the engine.
Montoya's Heart Page 11
