WOMEN OF SURPRISE 03: Making Over Maggie

by Tracey J. Lyons

  "Well, she seemed mighty interested in your whereabouts"

  He'd just bet she did. One thing he'd learned in a hurry was that Maggie Monroe didn't like being left out. He imagined his leaving town under such secrecy bothered her a great deal. The thought left him smiling as he finished his breakfast.

  Grabbing his hat off the rack by the back door, Sam said, "Have a good day, Mrs. Bartholomew."

  "You too, Mr. Clay."

  Whistling, Sam fairly swaggered down the street to the dance hall. He was feeling like the world was his oyster this morning. And so it should be. His little trip out of town proved very fruitful and he couldn't wait to share his news with Maggie.

  Suddenly he stood still. With his mouth hanging open, he stared at the dance hall. What had she done?

  He was going to strangle her!

  The paint that he'd purchased for the stage now adorned the trim surrounding all of the windows. The bright green color shined like an unwelcome beacon against the white clapboards.

  "Maggie!" Anger pulsed through him as he raced through the swinging doors into the center of the hall. "Where is she?" he shouted.

  He saw her kneeling on the floor of the stage area. Her back was to him, affording him an unobstructed view of one very curvaceous rump. If the sight of her in such a pose hadn't stopped him dead in his tracks, rendering him speechless, Samuel would have let her have it. As it was he could barely speak. His next breath had caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat.

  Coughing and sputtering like an idiot, he made his way toward her. He found it hard to believe she hadn't heard him shouting. It was quite evident he was being ignored. Considering himself a man to be reckoned with, his stride lengthened, closing the distance between them to a few steps.

  "Maggie! I know you heard me shouting." He so wanted to reach out and swat her backside.

  Calmly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired, she turned, tucking her legs underneath her as she sat on the stage floor facing him. Blue eyes framed by long, blond lashes looked up at him.

  "Mr. Clay. You're back. I didn't hear you come in."

  Advancing on her, he said, "Don't get sarcastic with me, Missy."

  "Don't call me `Missy'."

  "Maggie" He amended. "Don't pretend like you didn't hear me yelling."

  "Oh, was that you? I didn't recognize the voice. So tell me, what has you so upset you had to yell?"

  "You know darn well why I was yelling!" Turning slightly, he pointed toward the doorway. "That paint, you put the paint which I had intended for the stage area on the outside of the building."

  "Yes. I did. Don't you think it looks lovely?"

  91"No.

  Getting to her feet, Maggie towered above him from the stage. "I distinctly remember what you said the day you came into town."

  Now that comment struck a cord in him. He'd said a lot of things his first day in Surprise. Placing his hands on his hips so he wasn't tempted to reach out and strangle her, he said, "Go on"

  "You were talking about the blandness of the sign and mentioned something about how I didn't have any taste when it came to colors." Sauntering across the stage, she continued her little speech. "You also said people would need to be attracted to the outside of the building if they were expected to patronize this establishment."

  He noticed for the first time that she was wearing her hair in a single braid that fell down her back, skimming her waist. Sam hadn't realized her hair was so long. He wondered what it would feel like sliding through his fingers.

  She turned and began pacing back across the stage. Her dark blue dress was buttoned right up to her neck despite the warm, humid air. He found himself wishing she would reach up and undo a few of the flat black buttons. He imagined the skin against her throat to be lily white and soft as a petal to the touch.

  "And it was you who stated the color had to be used because I was already over budget. So you see, Mr. Clay, I think it was thrifty of me and a bit creative to use the paint on the outside win dow trim. Don't you agree?" Kneeling in front of him so they were eye to eye, she smiled.

  Feeling a tad bit flustered under her careful scrutiny, he took a step back. Clearing his throat as well as his mind he said, "The paint was for the stage. It would have worked quite well there."

  "What's done is done, as they say" Slapping her hands together she stood up and came down the steps leading from the stage to the main floor.

  Her scent of lilacs floated around him. If he didn't know any better, he'd think she was deliberately trying to distract him by using her feminine wiles. But this was, after all, Maggie Monroe, stiff, staid, and almost prudish in her demeanor. A woman who, he was quickly learning, didn't waste time on idle flirtations and was all business and no fun.

  Turning, he followed her with his gaze. In his haste to find her, he hadn't even noticed that the room was set up. Small, intimate, round tables edged the dance floor with four white, wrought iron chairs encircling each one.

  Soft yellow cloths covered each tabletop and in the center was a miniature kerosene lantern. His gaze continued around the hall as he took note of the filmy white curtains that had been hung from each of the tall windows flanking the entryway. The material fluttered as a breeze waft ed through, bringing with it the tangy scent of freshly cut hay.

  All in all, the place was shaping up better than he'd hoped. They would be ready for the grand opening two nights from now. His trip to Albany had proven more fruitful than he could have hoped for. The surprise he had planned for Miss Maggie was set to arrive late Friday afternoon.

  Right now his only thought was to get back in the good graces of Maggie. Strolling over to where she stood behind the oak bar, he leaned an elbow on the polished slab. "I like what you've done with the place."

  Her back still to him, she replied, her tone matter of fact, "Thank you. I found putting everything in place went much easier without any distractions."

  "You think I'm a distraction?"

  Turning around, she looked at him. He had to squash a grin when he detected the hint of a blush across her cheeks. Obviously he'd hit a nerve with the question.

  Rolling back her shoulders, she sighed. "Well, I must admit, you really are a bit of one, always looking over my shoulder, double-checking my work."

  He shrugged. "Tell you what just for you I will try to amend my ways."

  Nibbling on her lower lip, she appeared to be mulling this over. "You could start by telling me where you were for the past two days"

  Finding it interesting that she cared at all about his whereabouts, Sam answered, "I had some business to take care of."

  "Did it have to do with the hall? Because if it did I need to know what it was."

  Pulling up a stool, he sat. "You need to know?"

  "Yes" Perching on a stool behind the bar, she sat across from him with her bent elbows on the surface, resting her chin on top of her folded hands. "Look, Mr. Clay, whether we like it or not, we're partners in this venture. I think it's high time we got to know each other a little better, don't you?"

  A tingle of trepidation skittered down his spine. It was never good when a woman wanted to get to know you better. "All right, what would you like to know about me?"

  "First off, where did you go the day before yesterday?"

  "I went to Albany" Keep the answers as simple as possible, he thought. With time running out on the agreement he'd made with his father, Sam had booked the act which would be sure to bring fast revenue to their business.

  "I see. And what did you do while you were there?"

  "I checked on some of the entertainment." A little white lie never hurt anyone.

  "You could have discussed this with me before leaving town in such a hurry."

  Her tone was accusatory, and this time he allowed her those feelings. She was right; he should have spoken to her before he left, but the fact was he'd been disturbed by his reaction to her when they were dancing. He needed to put some distance between them. Lining up the
entertainment she wasn't going to approve of anytime soon had done the trick.

  "I'm sorry for not telling you what I was doing."

  "Apology accepted."

  Hang on a minute, a little voice inside his head warned, she's giving in much too easily.

  "I'll make a deal with you, Mr. Clay. You get over being angry about my having the trim painted the hideous green color and I'll forgive you for going off to Albany without discussing it with me first."

  He looked at her like she'd lost her mind. It wasn't any kind of a deal, leastwise not one he wanted to be making. The trim looked horrible and he wasn't about to give her all the details of his trip. Looking into her blue eyes, though, he could see from the cool gaze being returned there was no negotiating to be had.

  For Maggie Monroe it was all or nothing.

  Like in a poker game, Sam knew when the deck was stacked against him. And like any true gentleman, he knew when to fold. Extending his hand to her, he said, "You have a deal, Miss Monroe."

  Her firm grip startled him and feeling as if they'd come to an understanding of sorts, he was reluctant to let her hand go. The fact was, he'd never thought of her as a vain woman and found that her skin felt silky smooth under his. It was hard for him to imagine her taking the time to apply lotions, but running his thumb lightly over hers, he was glad she did.

  Seeing the blush creeping up over her face, he smiled. When she tried to pull her hand away, he couldn't resist toying with her. He held onto her hand for a moment longer before releasing her. "So, it looks like our little talk is finished."

  Tipping her head to one side and narrowing her eyes, she said, "No, we're far from finished." Reaching under the bar, she set two tall glasses in front of them. "Let me pour you a sarsaparilla."

  ignoring the unexpected sensation of awareness running from the tips of her fingers up along her arms, Maggie concentrated on pouring the sarsaparilla. The man sitting on the other side of the bar-as loathe as she was to admit, if even to no one other than herself-intrigued her.

  Placing the drink in front of him, she ran her finger around the rim of her glass. Deciding where to begin was posing quite the problem and he just sat there, staring at her. There was so much she wanted to find out about Samuel Clay. He was a fine dancer and had grown up on a farm, but she still didn't know much more about him than the day she'd first met him.

  Deciding to get right to the point, Maggie asked, "Where are you from, Mr. Clay?"

  "Excuse me?" He looked across the narrow bar at her, surprise at her question evident in his expression.

  "Tell me about the farm you grew up on and your family." Not one to beat around the bush, she forged ahead with her little inquisition.

  His Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped down a mouthful of drink. "You always need to know so much about a person?"

  Pulling her mouth into a straight line, she thought he was being evasive. Now she really wanted to know more about him. "I don't know anything at all about you and well, you know most everything there is to know about me"

  Winking at her, he said, "I hardly know everything about you, Miss Maggie."

  Shrugging off the discomfort brought on by his warm gaze, she tried again. "What of your family, Mr. Clay?"

  "There's my mother, father, and my one brother." As if anticipating what her next question would be, he added, "And they are all still living."

  "Where do they live now?"

  "They're still living on a farm in the northern part of the state"

  Studying him more closely, Maggie thought he certainly didn't look like any farmer she knew. His hands bore none of the hard calluses brought on by working long hours in the fields. Nor did his face bear any signs of wear from being outdoors day after day in all sorts of weather conditions.

  "Is something wrong?" The smile faded from his hazel eyes as Mr. Clay stared back at her.

  "Let's just say you don't bear the signs of having been a farmer."

  "I didn't say I was one. I said my family lives on a farm. They are the farmers"

  He looked annoyed now and she wondered why. Making a living from the land was what most people in these parts did. It was an honest way to make a living. If you didn't live in a town owning mercantile, lumberyards, and the like, then you provided for your family in the only other way available, which was farming.

  "You make it sound like being a farmer is something to be ashamed of."

  He squirmed on the stool. "Clearly you've never had to toil away hours on end in the rain, snow, and hot sun just to put food on the table. Not to mention the endless time spent planting a crop only to have it ruined by a hailstorm. You should be thankful you've been afforded the good life."

  The unmistakable sound of moodiness had crept into his voice making Maggie regret her persistence. She'd never meant to cause him hurt; she just wanted to know more about him. And looking at him now, she realized too late the mistake she'd made.

  Leaving his empty glass on the bar, he stood. Placing his hands on either side of hers, he leaned in close to her. "It's a hard way to live, Maggie. And if I can help it, I'm not going back there."

  Even though he'd whispered the words, the sound of them seemed to reverberate throughout the room. The stubbornness in his voice had worked its way up to his eyes. The man who stood before her looked at her with a hardened gaze, his determination at leaving his past life behind evident.

  He blinked and when she looked at him again, whatever she thought she'd seen reflected in his eyes was gone. The first to look away, Maggie picked up a damp cloth and concentrated on cleaning the top of the bar. At least some of her questions had been answered and knowing just a little bit about his past helped to understand the man he was now.

  And just like the snap of fingers or the drop of a hat, he changed. Gone was the irritation and resentment, and in their place was the quickwitted man who'd come into town days ago.

  "Enough of this conversation, Maggie. We've a dance hall to open" Throwing his arms wide, he turned around in a circle. "And I've yet to teach you the reel"

  Amazed by how quickly he recovered, she had trouble keeping pace with him.

  "Have all of the refreshments been ordered?"

  "Yes. The kegs of root beer, and as you know, the sarsaparilla is here. The lemonade will be made fresh on Friday."

  "What about the cucumber sandwiches and tea biscuits you ladies are so fond of?"

  "I placed the order with the restaurant earlier this week"

  "Good. I wish we lived closer to the sea so we could serve some sort of shellfish. I suppose we'll have to be happy with our country offerings."

  Pulling off the apron she'd tied about her earlier, Maggie set it on a shelf. Coming around from behind the bar she said, "Maybe after we see how it goes this weekend we could look into serving a heartier menu."

  "Like mutton?"

  He was joking of course, but Maggie still felt alarm racing through her as visions of men with legs of lamb grasped in greasy hands came to mind-not at all what she wanted for her establishment.

  "I hear it's a good farmer's meal"

  Wondering why men had to be so exasperating, she said, "Mr. Clay, I'm sorry for bringing up your painful childhood memories."

  "Ah, but that's where you're wrong. My childhood wasn't painful, it's just one I choose not to dwell on. What about your childhood, Maggie? What was yours like?"

  Maggie looked at him. "I had a very nice childhood. My family comes from a small town downstate"

  "Brothers, sisters?"

  "I have one brother. I've always considered my cousins as my sisters. We gathered here at Aunt Margaret's for most of our summers. Unlike you seem to do, Mr. Clay, I hold my family very close to my heart" Wistfully she added, "They mean everything to me."

  Her clear gaze studied him and as she saw his doubt at this, Maggie wondered why this concept seemed so hard for him to fathom. Then it dawned on her that perhaps Mr. Clay wasn't so fond of his family after all. Maybe he was even ashamed of where he
came from. That thought horrified her.

  Maggie's family, as frustrating as they could be at times, meant the world to her. It was almost unthinkable to be ashamed of any one of them. No matter what any of them did, Maggie would still love them.

  Obviously Mr. Clay felt differently about his family.

  While she pondered those thoughts, Maggie walked around the hall fixing the tablecloths and moving the chairs into place. Slowly thoughts of Samuel Clay's family receded to the back of her mind.

  Excitement over the grand opening had been building in town all week long. Everywhere were signs of the big event. Posters had been hung on every storefront window. Aunt Margaret had had Mr. Wagner place advertisements in newspapers as far away as New York City.

  "Maggie, I need to go see about acquiring some extra rooms." Samuel interrupted her musings.

  "I don't think there are any left at Mrs. Bartholomew's. She mentioned to me this morning that all of her rooms were already taken." Following him out the door, she called after him. "Mr. Clay, did you hear what I said?"

  His answer was to give her a quick backwards wave over his shoulder. Men! she thought, always assuming they knew everything. He'd be back in a few minutes. Slowly it dawned on her. Why did he need to see about reserving rooms? The trio of musicians, who would be arriving on the 3 o'clock train today, already had rooms.

  As he hurried along the pebbled walkway, Sam heard Maggie call out to him. He knew the rooms were already reserved because he'd been the one doing the reserving. When the dance troupe arrived they would fill the boarding house. He just wanted to be sure everything was in order.

  Whistling, Sam felt the excitement brewing inside of him. This dance troupe was one that had been performing for six months now. They were young, but were already showing great potential to one day be the best in the business and he had booked them for the grand opening. And that had been no easy feat.