Four Weddings and a Kiss

by Margaret Brownley

  “Maizy,” Rylan began, his spirits rising at the thought of getting so much help, “I don’t expect you to clean up a mess I’ve spent a year ignoring. I just need someone to cook and wash up the dishes and help me out of bed a few times a day.”

  “I’ll do everything you need, and what spare time I have, I’ll use to clean. I’m not a girl to sit idle.”

  She tugged at the neck of her dress. “Let me cool this cloth off again.” She lifted it from his aching head, went back to the basin, wrung it out, then returned.

  “That really does feel better. Maizy, is—” He broke off, then asked, “why do you go by Maizy? Your pa called you Margaret.”

  “I was named Margaret after my mother. Pa got to calling me Crazy Maizy when I was a young’un. I guess I was running wild even back then. Maizy stuck.”

  “It’s hard to think of you as a Margaret. Maizy suits you.”

  “I doubt I’d answer to anything else.” Maizy smiled as she adjusted the cloth.

  “That really does feel good.” Rylan hadn’t slept much since his head had cleared yesterday. Everything hurt too much to fully relax and sleep. He realized, with that cloth soothing the worst pains, he was exhausted.

  “I think the cloth will stay on.” Maizy’s voice seemed to come from far away. It was as soothing as the cloth with none of her usual irritating sass. “I’m going to get some work done. But I’m just a step away.”

  Rylan wanted her to stay close. He tried to open his mouth and tell her not to go, but his eyelids were heavy and the cloth was staying put. It was too much effort to speak.

  CHAPTER SIX

  MAIZY WONDERED IF RYLAN EVEN HAD THE GUMPTION to chew, let alone handle a knife and fork.

  He stirred from a long afternoon of sleep and she quickly scooped mashed potatoes onto a tin plate. She slid on an elk steak she’d simmered to tenderness, then diced into bite-size pieces.

  This meal was going to be as easy on Rylan as she could make it.

  She reached Rylan’s side just as his eyes flickered open. His sleep-dazed, handsome blue eyes made her think of the river, the one beside her hidey-hole. It reflected a perfect New Mexico sky, the same color she saw in his eyes.

  He focused on her and seemed confused for just a bit, then he shifted his weight as if to sit up, and everything was driven out of his expression except pain.

  A gasp tore from his throat. “I forgot.” The words were barely above a whisper as he instantly lay still.

  Pain she’d caused.

  “I’ve got a meal for you, Rylan.” Except she was afraid to touch him, let alone have him sit up. Could a man eat flat on his back?

  Rylan’s eyes closed, and he breathed as if each breath had to be taken carefully. Finally he opened his eyes. “If you slide an arm behind my shoulders and slip a rolled-up blanket behind me, I can sit up enough to eat.”

  Each word echoed with pain as if he knew it was going to hurt. Then he added, “It smells good, Maizy. Thank you. Rawhide ain’t much of a cook.”

  A compliment and thanks. For some reason that touched Maizy’s heart in a way nothing ever had. Rylan was a brave, kind man. And here he was, battered and broken because he’d risked his life to save her. That only made the words mean more.

  Maizy got the blanket rolled up just right and laid it beside Rylan, then slid her left arm under him, just as he’d said. He didn’t make a sound, but she saw the way he clenched his jaw.

  An inch at a time, Maizy lifted. His head and wide shoulders were pressed against her. His soft dark hair rubbed against her neck. She was closer to him than she’d ever been to a man, not counting Pa—and she didn’t get overly close to him most times. It took all her strength to lift Rylan. She never could have done it on her own, but he helped. As soon as she could, she tucked the blanket behind him and eased him back. He took quick shallow breaths as he adjusted to the new position.

  Finally, through a weak smile, he said, “You’re a lot more careful of me than Rawhide.”

  Maizy quickly sat beside him on the bed. She was on his left side and his injured leg was on the right, so she didn’t have to contend with it.

  “I can manage.” He grasped the fork, but his hand trembled as he tried to stab a piece of elk.

  “Let me.” Without asking permission, she plucked the fork away and offered him a bite of meat. He opened his mouth, most likely to say he could do it himself. Before he could fuss, she stuck the food in. He chewed, then his mutinous expression changed.

  “This is delicious.”

  Maizy smiled. “I made plenty for your cowpoke too. When he comes in, there’ll be a hot meal ready.”

  “He’ll be late. He’s working all the hours God made trying to keep up with a job that was too much for the two of us to begin with.”

  Because of Maizy.

  Rylan didn’t say it, but Maizy knew.

  She had a tin cup of milk and she gave him sips now and then. She’d baked biscuits and fed him those too. When the plate was clean, Rylan sighed in contentment.

  Maizy picked up the bowl of peaches. She’d found a can, sugared some of her biscuits, then poured the peaches over them and added a bit of sweetened cream.

  By the time they’d finished, Rylan was eating with enthusiasm, and he’d even adjusted the position of his broken leg a couple of times with minimal groans of pain.

  There was little time for talk between bites, and Maizy discovered she enjoyed this quiet caring for a man. Meals were no-nonsense back at home.

  She set the bowl aside.

  “Thank you. I haven’t been able to eat much. Rawhide’s meals lean toward tough, mostly burned meat. Maybe a good meal will help me regain some strength and knit these bones a bit faster.”

  “I hope so.” Maizy reached for the dishes.

  She took them away, then wrung out a cool cloth and brought it back to rest on his brow. “Do you want to stay sitting up?”

  “Yes, awhile longer.”

  Maizy went to work. Knowing Rylan was watching her made her conscious of every move. She tried to stand in a more ladylike way, though heaven only knew exactly what that was. Her dress choked her a bit less when she stood straight, so she tried to think of being ladylike as a way not to strangle. It wasn’t surprising the dress was tight, since it was a fifteen-year-old hand-me-down from Ma. Pa said she’d been close in size to Maizy, but it was likely Ma was a wee bit smaller.

  Lighting the lanterns as dusk came, Maizy had the dishes clean. Rylan cleared his throat and drew her attention.

  He was looking at her in a markedly uncomfortable way.

  “What is it?”

  “I, um . . . think you’re going to have to . . . to . . . help me stand.”

  The very thought made her stomach swoop. She’d hurt him badly just sitting him up. “Why?”

  “I need the”—he cleared his throat—“the privy.” A tinge of pink showed on his cheeks, and Maizy knew that he would have preferred to have waited because Rawhide and Pa were due soon.

  Determined to be very matter-of-fact, she said, “We’ll get it done.”

  He was dressed in some sort of a nightshirt. He wore britches that’d been slit up past his knee on his right leg so the white plaster showed.

  “My ribs are the worst. The leg hurts but the cast keeps that from being so bad.”

  “How can I help?”

  “First, help me sit all the way up, then help me lift my broken leg and swing it off the bed.”

  “Let’s go slowly.” Maizy took up her spot on his side, arm under him, just like before. Only one gasp of pain escaped as he straightened.

  “All right.” His voice was hoarse as if he controlled the need to shout in pain. “Get my leg.”

  Maizy lifted as Rylan inched around.

  She lowered the cast to the floor. “Let me get on your left side.”

  Nodding, Rylan said, “My left leg can take my weight. And I can stand on my broken leg for a few seconds while I step forward. If you get under my left ar
m to help me balance, we can do this. It’s only a few steps outside the back door.”

  He made it sound easy. Maizy soon knew it was anything but. He had his left arm around her neck, and when he put weight on his broken leg, he so tensed from the pain he liked to choke her. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead and his jaw was a grim, tight line.

  She had her arm around his waist. As they stepped out the back door, which had two steps to contend with, she gripped his waist tighter, wringing a gasp out of him.

  “Your ribs,” she whispered as she realized what she’d just done. A wash of tears surprised her. She fought them back, but hurting him tore at her heart.

  “I’ve had busted ribs once before. They’ll start shaping up in another week or two. A bone takes six weeks to heal, the doc said. But ribs quit the worst of their hurting long before that . . . mostly.”

  Maizy was afraid he’d fall as he hopped down the steps on his left leg. The hopping jostled his ribs. He groaned every time he landed and had to gather himself for the next step.

  At last they made it. He closed the outhouse door, and she retreated to the back stoop and nearly collapsed on it. Her knees trembled more from worry than effort.

  Maizy sat on that step, her knees primly together, her back straight. While she waited, she prayed.

  For Rylan to heal straight and strong.

  That he wouldn’t lose his ranch over her foolishness.

  That God would forgive her.

  She wanted Rylan’s forgiveness, too, and he’d given it. But how could he mean it when she couldn’t forgive herself?

  She’d do whatever Rylan asked. And if her collar strangled her, or if it was awkward scrubbing floors in a dress, then she’d remember Jesus on the cross and how He’d suffered. Then she’d compare her own meager pain and endure it quietly.

  A trace of peace crept through her as she prayed and thought on sacrifice, and when Rylan swung the door open, her knees were steady and her shoulders bore his weight as they limped back to the bed.

  As slowly as he’d risen, Rylan lay down. She could see that his face had gone gray from the effort of moving.

  Once he was back in bed, she rushed for a cool cloth and laid it on his forehead. Flickering his eyes open, he whispered, “Thank you.”

  Then his eyes fell shut.

  She stayed close and watched the tension ease from his face, hoping that meant the pain was going too.

  At last his breathing deepened and became steady. A tiny, soft snore told her he’d fallen asleep. She sat by his side for an hour before she heard hoofbeats outside. Quickly, quietly, she rushed out to see Rawhide Engler riding up. She hurried to him and waited as he reined his horse.

  The man looked exhausted and none too happy. He glared at her in a way that said he clearly knew his long hours were her fault.

  “Rylan is asleep. I’ll bring you out a meal so we don’t wake him.” She didn’t wait for a response. She was pretty certain she didn’t want to hear what he had to say.

  Rawhide would take care of his boss until Maizy came back in the morning—though from Rylan’s enjoyment of her food and other things she’d done, Maizy could see Rawhide’s help was uncertain at best.

  As she headed back toward the house and Rawhide reined his horse toward the barn, Maizy saw Pa driving up. She told Pa to please wait outside.

  Then she got Rawhide his meal, checked sleeping Rylan one more time, and climbed aboard the buckboard, already wishing she was back with Rylan. He needed her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  RYLAN WATCHED MAIZY SET TO WORK TRANSFORMING his cluttered cabin into a tidy home. She’d been at it for two weeks now, and she’d worked hard every day, and still there was more to do. With a back entry room that was cluttered with junk and two bedrooms—one stacked with abandoned boxes Rylan had never even looked through—Maizy might be able to clean for months.

  Now that she was here working on it, he was ashamed of himself for neglecting his home to this extent.

  He’d have allowed himself to enjoy watching her work if each passing moment didn’t bring him closer to the day he was going to lose his ranch.

  Every time he thought of it, he veered his mind away. He tried prayer, knowing God said not to worry.

  Consider the lilies of the field.

  Rylan pictured his big black cattle grazing on lilies when they should be grazing on lush grass. Rylan hoped Rawhide was saving the good grass close to the ranch house for the last week.

  Cast your cares upon the Lord.

  When Rylan thought of the word cast, he only thought of the one on his leg.

  Let not your heart be troubled.

  Oh, he was in big trouble. No doubt about it. That loan would be called in the day after his sale, and if there wasn’t money to pay it, the ranch was lost.

  Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself.

  Rawhide needed to move the big beeves tomorrow. Rylan was sure they’d discussed that, but Rawhide wasn’t a hardworking man—at least not as hardworking as Rylan needed him to be.

  I will lift mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.

  Rylan’s ranch had some grassy hills. He couldn’t remember if he’d told Rawhide about all the highland pastures or not.

  Praying should help, remembering Bible verses should help. Rylan figured he must be doing it wrong because it was only making him worry more.

  So he forced his thoughts from those worries and found himself watching every move Maizy made. That was another kind of madness.

  Truth was, the little woman worked mighty hard and got him everything he needed, often before he realized he wanted it.

  He watched Maizy, kneeling, sorting through a stack of who-knew-what, knowing he’d be better off going back to worrying than entertaining wild thoughts about the very pretty Miss MacGregor. They’d taken to talking as she worked. It occupied Rylan’s mind.

  She was full of stories of growing up like a cowhand. He talked about the upcoming sale, and sometimes that would lead him to talk of his childhood in Texas and how badly he wanted to make a go of ranching to make his father proud. Rylan tried not to share so many of his worries. She was so sympathetic it made him want to succeed all the more, and that made his fear of failing cut so deep he couldn’t stand it.

  Then the sound of a wagon distracted him, like a gift straight from a merciful God.

  And then he saw Parson Alden drive up in his buggy. God had sent a parson. Rylan must be more desperate than even he realized.

  Maizy jumped to her feet to look out. “We’re not ready for company.”

  It hit a chord deep in his chest to hear her say we. He shook off the strange feeling as he slowly eased himself to a sitting position. In the last few days his ribs had stopped the worst of their aching, but everything still hurt plenty.

  Maizy looked around frantically as if she wished she could hide the clutter in the cabin. It looked so much better than the parson had ever seen it that Rylan nearly laughed. Yes, there was still junk in the corners and plenty of stuff to clear out in the two small bedrooms. But she’d scrubbed every inch of floor as she uncovered it, and she’d gotten rid of all the cobwebs. It was a whole lot better than when she’d begun.

  With a helpless shrug, she muttered, “He’ll just have to take us as we are.” Rolling the sleeves of her dress down, she buttoned them at her wrists as she went to the door and swung it open.

  “Parson Alden.” None of her upset sounded in the friendly greeting.

  “Maizy,” Rylan could hear the older man say, “the doctor said you’d stepped in to care for Rylan. I thought I’d come out for a visit.”

  Rylan wasn’t good at church attendance. He was a believer, but he found Sundays to be as demanding on a ranch as every other day, and he’d let his worship time slip. He resolved to change that when he got well, if he didn’t lose his ranch and have to leave the area. Even if he did, he was sure he could find a church somewhere
to spend time with other believers.

  “It’s kind of you to come so far out to see us.” Maizy stepped back and waved him in. “Come out of the cold. The place is a mess. But I’ve baked cookies and I have coffee on.”

  The stout parson’s eyes lit up at the mention of cookies. Smiling, he stepped in, drawing his flat-topped black parson’s hat off of his mostly bald head.

  Maizy closed the door, then bustled about making the parson comfortable.

  Rylan slowly swung his legs around to sit on the edge of the bed. “Parson Alden, thanks for riding all this way out. I think I’m feeling up to joining you at the table.”

  Maizy frowned. “If you’re sure you’re up to it.”

  “I’m mighty tired of that bed.”

  “I imagine you are.” Her sympathy was genuine. Rylan felt it all the way to his bones.

  Maizy helped him to the table and eased him into a chair. Then she got them both coffee and a plate of sugar cookies.

  “Maizy is a godsend, isn’t she, Rylan?”

  “That she is, Parson Alden. And she’s doing her best to turn this neglected bachelor cabin into a tidy home. Caring for me slows her down, of course.”

  “But that’s my main job.” Maizy smiled.

  Rylan liked how it felt sitting there, talking to the parson, Maizy so generously pouring their coffee and serving the cookies she’d baked. It felt like a real home. It felt like a family.

  He pictured Maizy here, permanently. His. He liked the idea so much it shocked him. And then he pictured her at his side when they got thrown off the land.

  She’d stick by his side and he’d have to drag her off somewhere to find a new living, start all over again. Away from her pa. Possibly fail again. He felt himself frown. To get his mind off that disaster, he asked, “How are things in town?”

  Thankfully, the parson was a talker. He entertained them with the outrageous goings-on in the rugged frontier town of Saurita. It wasn’t a friendly place for a man of God, but the parson had found a place for himself preaching among heathens.