The Texas Way

by Jan Freed

  “Stallion barn, José speaking.”

  “José, this is Mar…Maggie. Is Charlie still there working on the automatic waterers?”

  “Sí. You wish to speak with him, no?”

  “No. I mean, would you ask him to come to the feed storage shed? Mr. Webster’s here with the delivery.”

  “Sí, seorita. Right away.”

  She hung up and turned, jumping when the phone immediately jangled. “Maggie Winston,” she answered.

  “Miss Winston, glad I found you. This is Riley at the brood-mare barn. We’ve moved Aladdin’s Girl to the foaling stall. You said to let you know when her time came.”

  Maggie gripped the phone tighter. “How long now?”

  “Her teats have waxed. She’s having contractions. But it could be hours yet.”

  “Thanks for letting me know, Riley. When her water breaks, have someone find me, will you? I’d really like to be there.”

  “You got it, Miss Winston. She’ll be glad to have a friend with her.”

  Maggie hung up smiling. During her apprenticeship at Riverbend, she’d made many friends, both human and equine. Riley had helped deliver Twister and knew the fondness she felt for his dam, Aladdin’s Girl. Watching a new foal enter the world—especially one distantly related to Twister—would boost Maggie’s morale as nothing else could.

  Pudge had unlatched the trailer gate and begun hoisting bales to the ground. Already his face glistened with sweat. Margaret frowned.

  “Charlie will be here any minute, Martin. Why don’t you wait—” Maggie cocked her head at the sound of an engine. Its distinctive sputter and rattle accelerated her heartbeat.

  “You okay, Mar…Maggie?” Pudge watched her quizzically.

  “Mmm? Oh, yes, thank you.” Her leaden feet moved past his trailer toward the main driveway. “Stop by the office before you leave, Martin, and I’ll cut you a check,” she said over her shoulder, picking up speed.

  He might have answered, but she didn’t hear him. Her ears roared with the blood surging through her reawakened body. She broke into a trot. Spotting the battered pickup, she wondered how she’d functioned during the past week. The truck grew closer. She stopped in front of her office and shaded her eyes with one hand.

  Tall, broad-shouldered and handsome, the driver grinned and waved. Maggie felt the blood drain from her face and locked her knees to keep from swooning.

  Grant’s smile faded as he pulled to a stop in front of the office. He slammed out of the truck and rounded the front fender at a lope. Draping an arm around her shoulders, he guided her underneath the awning jutting above the office door.

  “Take a deep breath—that’s right. Aw, honey, I should’ve called first. I didn’t even consider you might think I was Scott.”

  Maggie laughed shakily. “That obvious, huh?”

  Grant made a wry face. “Let’s just say I’m glad my ego’s not fragile.” He stepped away, sliding his palm from her shoulder to her wrist.

  She clasped his hand gratefully. “I’m sorry, Grant. I really am glad to see you, it’s just…” To her horror, a single tear spilled free.

  Grant brushed it away, his expression a mixture of tenderness and frustration. “I swear I’m ready to take a belt to that son of mine. But he’s miserable enough as it is.”

  She studied the yellow marigolds planted beside the office entrance. “Miserable?”

  “He isn’t sleeping to speak of, and he growls at me and Pete like a bobcat in a cactus patch.”

  She sniffed, her spirits lifting a bit.

  “His appetite’s lousy, he’s lost interest in the herd and he looks like hell.”

  She forced a weak smile. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

  Grant’s chuckle was enough like Scott’s to pierce her heart. She blinked rapidly and turned her head toward the truck, her jaw slackening at what she’d failed to see before.

  “Orca?” She rushed back into the sunlight and gripped the sides of the truck bed, smiling genuinely for the first time in weeks. At two hundred pounds, the Hampshire hog was actually underweight for five months old, but his growth amazed Margaret. “Orca!”

  Grunting an excited hello, he lumbered over to be petted.

  “How are you, sweetie? I’ve missed you so much.” She scratched up his spine and beneath one drooping ear.

  He tilted his head and pressed against her fingers, his stubby lashes drifting shut, then plonked down as if unable to support his ecstasy.

  Grant leaned on the tailgate and snorted. “That hog has been meaner’n a two-headed rattler since you left. I could take him with me to Ada’s, but…well, I don’t really like pork all that much.” He averted his gaze, looking distinctly embarrassed.

  “You’re not going to slaughter him?” Maggie’s smile broadened. “Are you saying I can keep him?”

  “Only if you want to, Margaret. Scott thought maybe you’d like to have a killer pig to protect the place, since dogs upset the horses too much.”

  Scott had known she’d find comfort in Orca’s presence. It was a kind and thoughtful gift—but he’d sent his father to deliver it. She stroked the hog’s bristly black-and-white coat and looked up through her lashes.

  “I don’t go by the name Margaret anymore. I’d be honored if you’d call me Maggie.” She ignored his obvious surprise. “And I’d love to keep Orca, Grant. Thank you for bringing him. Be sure and tell Scott how much I appreciate it, would you?”

  Grant’s expression softened. “Sure, Maggie, I’ll tell him.”

  “And Grant?” She held his gaze a long moment. “Tell him something else for me, too. Tell him I said, don’t be chicken.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “DON’T BE CHICKEN?” Scott scraped back his chair and snatched up his dinner plate and glass. Stalking to the sink, he opened the cabinet door below and dumped his half-eaten turkey meatloaf into the trash.

  The last time he’d responded to those words, he’d found heaven in Maggie’s arms. But that was before his life had gone to hell.

  “That’s what she said, son.” Grant picked up his own dishes and carried them to the counter. “And I think it’s good advice.”

  Scott turned on the faucet with enough force to send water splashing over the front of his shirt. He didn’t need this.

  “She thought I was you at first—drivin’ the truck, that is. ‘Bout near broke my heart when she recognized my face. She looks tired and pale, like she hasn’t been sleepin’.”

  Reaching for a dishcloth, Scott scrubbed blindly at his plate. He really didn’t need this.

  “I think you should talk to her, son. You’re both makin’ yourselves sick—”

  “I think you should stay the hell out of my business! I am not gonna ride Maggie’s apron strings like you’re doin’ with Ada.” Scott stopped scrubbing, appalled at his cruel outburst.

  Grant reached over and turned off the faucet. “Is that how you see me, son? As a parasite livin’ off a woman’s charity?”

  Scott threw down the dishrag and rubbed his neck. He didn’t know what he felt anymore, his emotions were so tangled. All he knew was he’d done what he had to do—for Maggie and his self-respect. “No, Dad. I’m sorry I blew up. But you need to stop houndin’ me about Maggie. I have nothin’ to offer her, and that’s that.”

  “Sit down, son.”

  He didn’t need this now. He goddamn didn’t need this at all. “I’m goin’ out to the barn,” Scott said grimly, heading for the door.

  “Travis Scott Hayes, sit your tail down!”

  Shock as much as anything else dropped Scott into a chair. His dad hadn’t yelled his full name since he’d taken the pickup at age thirteen without permission and totaled it in a ditch. He watched warily as Grant pulled out another chair and slowly sat, his expression solemn.

  “I’ve stayed outta your business for eighteen years now, so you can just sit still and listen to me a minute. I…I know I failed you when your mother died—” he held up his pal
m as Scott started to protest “—and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. But you grew into a fine man without my help. A strong and honorable man. I’m damn proud to be your father.”

  Scott’s chest tightened until he couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but stare into the loving green gaze that seemed to understand his battered pride. He hadn’t realized how much he’d longed to know his father didn’t blame him for losing the ranch.

  “You know I’m moving in with Ada next week, but what you don’t know is she asked me to marry her. And I said yes.”

  At first Scott thought he’d heard wrong. He noted the mischief gleaming in Grant’s eyes and felt his own mouth twitch. “Th-that’s good, Dad. Really. Ada’s great.”

  “Yes, she is. But I had to nearly die in order to see it. To realize that God had put her under my nose and waited for me to gain the strength to love again, to risk breaking my heart again.” Grant reached out and twirled a glass pepper shaker on the Formica table. “It takes a lot of courage to give a woman that kind of power over you.”

  Scott shifted in his chair, not liking where this was headed.

  The pepper shaker wobbled to a stop. “You’ve faced every problem alone since you were twelve, and it’s my fault you don’t know any different. But build-in’ a life with the right woman, trustin’ and respectin’ her enough to let her share the bad times, as well as the good, well, there’s no greater adventure in the world, Scott.”

  Grant’s gaze intensified. “I have a second chance with Ada, but you might not be so lucky. Don’t look back in eighteen years and regret what might’ve been.”

  Scott couldn’t think of a thing to say. Fortunately his dad didn’t seem to expect an answer.

  Grant rose, his expression sheepish. “I expect that’s about all the wisdom you can stomach for now. I think I’ll go do some packin’ and let you think in peace.”

  Scott didn’t notice his father leave. Arms folded, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, he was oblivious to everything but the memories surfacing in rapid succession.

  Maggie replacing a ruined skillet and struggling to expand his father’s diet. Maggie plunging her hand down a choking cow’s throat and stretching for a dangling rein as Twister galloped wildly. Maggie painting the kitchen and raising her awed, tear-streaked face from Twister’s still form. Maggie demanding everything he had to give before they made love and giving him her soul in return.

  Within her delicate body beat the heart of a lioness. He’d long ago stopped thinking her too frail to withstand honest, hard work. So why was he pushing her away? Why wasn’t he respecting her strength of spirit and giving her the option of forging a new life with him?

  Because I’m chicken.

  Maggie’d pegged him right. She had more guts in one painted pink toenail than he had in his whole sorry carcass. Letting her go hadn’t been a noble act of self-sacrifice; it had been a craven act of self-defense.

  What had his father said about loving a woman? Oh, yeah, that it takes a lot of courage to give a woman that kind of power over you.

  The alternative loomed before him, familiar and safe and terrifyingly lonely.

  Scott drew in his boots and straightened his spine. The butter yellow kitchen came slowly back into focus. For the first time in weeks, his world righted itself. Without knowing how he got there, he stood in the hallway.

  “I’m gonna take the truck for a little while, Dad,” he called loudly. “There’s somethin’ I need to do.” He turned and headed for the back door, his father’s “Hallelujah” echoing behind him.

  MAGGIE CLUTCHED the heavy wire mesh door and stared, mesmerized, into the stall. Aladdin’s Girl stood calmly munching hay as if she hadn’t given birth a mere four hours ago. Her sculptured gray head, a smaller replica of Twister’s, turned every few minutes to nuzzle the newborn at her side. Maggie’s heart contracted.

  The dark filly suckled greedily, her long spindly legs spread wide, her frizzy tail bobbing up and down with each tug on the teat. She was a beautiful foal, all the more so to Maggie because she’d witnessed the birth.

  Riley moved up beside her and admired his handiwork. “Glad to see her finally going at it. Another hour, and I would’ve started to worry.”

  If the filly hadn’t nursed within five hours, she could have weakened drastically. A mare’s first milky secretion, colostrum, was high in protein and filled with antibodies that protected a foal from serious infection. Maggie dragged her gaze away from the pair and slanted a teasing glance at Riverbend’s foaling man.

  “You were wonderful, Riley. So calm and efficient. If I ever remarry, will you promise to deliver my children?”

  He guffawed and pushed her shoulder, at ease with her after their shared experience. “Three’s my limit, missy. After that, you’ll have to get some quack obstetrician to help you.”

  Although Maggie laughed, the sound was strained. She wouldn’t remarry, wouldn’t bear the children she’d dreamed about raising. Tawny-eyed, chocolate-haired boys with lopsided grins to die for, who would love her because she would never give them reasons not to. No, she was destined always to stand at stall doors or hospital windows and coo at others’ babies.

  Sighing, she watched the filly release a teat and lower knobby knees to the straw. Within minutes, the newborn was stretched out and napping soundly.

  Riley scratched his silver head. Rolled one shoulder as if it ached. Yawned widely.

  He looked beat, poor man. Maggie had gone back to her office while he and an assistant dealt with the critical delivery of afterbirth and the cleanup of mother and baby. She checked her watch. The grooms had left for the day, and there was still another hour before Steve came on duty.

  “Why don’t you go home now and take it easy? I’ll stay here and fill Steve in on the birth. Doc Chalmers will be here at seven tomorrow to examine the filly. Everything’s under control.”

  Riley looked surprised. “I couldn’t let you do that, Miss Winston.”

  She made a face. “Call me Maggie, please. And why can’t you leave? I’ll just stand here and watch these two like TV even if you do stay. Take advantage of it.”

  “Well…” He looked down the corridor wistfully. “If you’re really sure…”

  “I’m really sure. Now go.” She pulled him away from the stall and gave him a light shove. “I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t be late.”

  “No, Miss…Maggie, I won’t. And thank you kindly.” The warmth of his gap-toothed smile stayed with her long after he’d left the barn. She breathed in deeply, savoring the varied smells she preferred over the two-hundred-dollar-an-ounce perfume Jim had given her every Valentine Day. Wheat straw. Healthy horses. Antiseptic. New-mown hay.

  Real smells, of an occupation she loved and felt competent handling. Thank God she had this to get her through the days ahead. The nights…well, she wouldn’t think about those now. Pushing away from the wire mesh, she strolled down the corridor and checked each stall, pausing several times to greet a favorite mare or admire a gangly foal. The tack-room door stood open. She walked forward to close it and stopped, riveted by the sight of someone rummaging through a large trunk in the corner.

  “Liz?” Maggie whispered.

  The woman went still, then straightened and spun around. Maggie controlled her shock with effort.

  Liz’s black trousers and red silk blouse looked as if they’d been worn round-the-clock for several days. Her normally glossy black hair hung dull and unkempt about her shoulders. The skin beneath her eyes looked sunken and bruised, as if she’d slept less than Maggie during the past week. Such disregard for appearance was disturbing. Liz was always impeccably groomed.

  After a tense moment, the woman turned back around and continued pawing frantically through the trunk.

  “Liz, what are you looking for?”

  Liniment, bandages, currycombs, brushes—all went flying one after the other over Liz’s shoulder. Maggie frowned and glanced at her watch. Steve wasn’t due for anothe
r thirty minutes. José was still on duty at the stallion barn. Maybe she should call him.

  Suddenly Liz froze. Reaching deep into the trunk, she lifted out something and pivoted on one foot. A crumpled and stained blue ribbon dangled from her fingers.

  “You remember when I won this, Margaret? It was one of the last classes I entered before the demands of Riverbend kept me from competing.”

  Maggie opened and closed her mouth. Liz had already divested Riverbend’s trophy case of her personal silver cups, huge rosette ribbons and Olympic gold medal. What could she possibly want with a scruffy ribbon from a minor horse show?

  “What are you staring at?” Liz asked.

  “I…nothing. You startled me, that’s all. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Liz’s upper lip curled. “I’m sure you didn’t. You expected to live happily ever after with my job and your daddy’s money. So are you Winstons happy now, Margaret? Now that you’ve made a public spectacle of me, now that you’ve stripped me of everything I own—including my dignity?”

  Maggie refrained from saying Liz had done that to herself.

  “Well, you can take everything else away, but this—” she lifted her chin and shook the ribbon “—belongs to me. Me, do you understand?”

  Pity swelled in Maggie’s chest. Liz would lose all her assets before the wheels of justice stopped turning. She was clinging to the only possessions that couldn’t be legally seized or sold. Maggie walked forward and gently touched the distraught woman’s shoulder.

  Liz flung up her arm and strode to the doorway. Pausing there, she spoke without turning. “You must be feeling pretty smug right now.”

  Seeing her idol crash down from the pedestal wrenched Maggie’s heart. “No. I don’t feel smug at all.”

  The older woman whirled, her dark blue gaze narrowing, then flashing with outrage. “Don’t you dare pity me, you stupid little moron. You won’t last two weeks as manager of this farm. God, do you know how much I despised standing in the ring hour after hour while you screwed up your left and right leads? I used to knock back two shots of bourbon before each of your lessons to get through them.”