No. He had to stop thinking that. Their actions had merely meant John and Susie would one day wed. His best friend and his sister. But oh, if only . . .
Some of the shutters on the house were crooked. He went into the faded red barn to see what he might find to repair them.
He worked for hours, hammering nails and replacing screws. Pounding nails actually helped his frustration. The work felt good. And helping Maddy made him feel needed. At the bank he'd always helped people. Or had until everyone's life savings disappeared in the blink of an eye. Since being home, he hadn't really felt necessary. The farm would thrive with just John and Susie working it—even though John certainly appreciated his help. But here . . . here he could make a difference. The house called to him, gave him a feeling of security. Oddly, he felt more at home here than in the house where he'd grown up. That was John and Susie's home now, no matter what they said.
The decision made, he vowed to come as often as possible to make repairs to the house and surrounding buildings. The farm would look just as he remembered it from his youth. He'd fix everything so she could live here.
With another man.
God, how that thought left an empty feeling in his heart.
* * * *
Maddy threw herself into John's arms after climbing out of her Model T Ford and retrieving a small overnight bag.
"That Tin Lizzie needs to be looked at, Sis. Engine's starting to sound rough. If I don't get to it this weekend, I'll make sure to make time for it next weekend."
"Oooooo, thank you, thank you, thank you."
John pulled back, laughing. “Well, I love you, too. But I haven't worked on your car yet."
"No. Not the car. The house. You must have spent hours there. Oh, John, thank you. It's looking so good."
Walking together, John gave her a side hug. “I'd love to claim the credit, but I'm not the one that did the work."
Maddy frowned. “You—"
"Mark's been over there all week working."
She stopped just before they reached the steps.
* * * *
The creak of the old swing was the only sound to break the stillness of the night. A light breeze wafted the scent of nearby lilacs over the porch. Maddy sat in the corner of the old swing with her feet tucked under her.
Her eyes locked with Mark's green ones. She'd remembered those eyes the entire time he'd been gone. Remembered her mother teasing her about them. “'That young man has nice green eyes. And when his moods change one almost turns hazel with green flecks in it. Never met a boy with two colors for eyes before.'” Maddy had thought them the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen.
"Why did you do it? Why have you spent so much time at the house this week?"
"I didn't—"
"Don't give me that, Mark Donovan. I'm not some dumb cluck still in diapers. You were at my house this week and I want to know why."
"Had some spare time. Thought I could help. John told me when I first got here that he was having problems time-wise trying to keep up both houses.” He shrugged. “Didn't mean to upset you."
He turned away, stared out across the yard.
"Upset me?” She placed her hand lightly on his arm. A shock shot up hers, making her pull her hand away. Had he felt it, too? His face swiveled toward her. “You didn't upset me. I'm beholden to you for all you've done. I never could have done all that on my own. But . . ."
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.
"But?” he said. “You don't want me doing anything else?"
She sighed. He was doing it again. Erecting walls. Trying to keep himself separate from everyone. Trying not to care.
"Actually, if you planned on going back at all, I'd like to help you. I could drive out from town after school's out for the day. I won't be able to be there as much as you've been, but there are things I could do to help."
A spark lit his eyes and a surge of joy spiraled through her. He liked the idea? Well, good. Because she planned to spend as much time with him as she could.
* * * *
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Chapter Three
* * * *
The warmth of summer started to fade. He'd helped John till, sow, and reap their summer crops. A feeling of pride at helping accomplish so much turned to a groan as they began the exact same process with the fall crop. Susie would be canning corn, tomatoes, okra, and beans for days. Cucumbers had done well this year. After Ma and Susie had finished with them, they probably had enough pickles to give some to everyone in town.
Hours of weariness that settled into his body after a long day working the field yielded to joy as he looked forward to spending a few hours with Maddy. Last week they'd scraped old paint off the outside of the house. Today they planned to start painting. To make the house look as good as it had in its heyday.
Mark was amazed at how much work she had done helping him around the house. Nothing daunted her. She'd willingly done everything—from cleaning out the barn to pounding in nails as they replaced old, worn out boards.
He laughed about the time she'd hit her thumb with the hammer. Although he hadn't been laughing then. He'd held her until the pain subsided. And hadn't wanted to quit holding her. Had wanted to keep her soft, lush body close to his. Had wanted to do lots of things.
But he'd finally let her go. Only to wonder what emotion shone in her eyes besides tears. Love? It appeared to be a look of love. Like Mama had always given Daddy. And like Susie gave John. Walls he'd built around his heart started crumbling.
For the first time in a long time, it felt really good being home.
* * * *
While he set everything up to begin painting, the sound of Maddy's Tin Lizzy engine grew closer.
She was here.
His heart thumped hard in his chest.
"Hi, Mark. Everything ready to start painting?” She jumped out of her truck and reached behind her to pull her hair into a ponytail. Old frayed jeans clung to her legs. What had to be one of her father's old flannel shirts bagged on her, but did nothing to hide her curves. She stood there and rolled up the sleeves waiting for him to answer.
Oh, yeah. She was waiting for him to answer. What had she asked? He couldn't get his brain to focus on anything but the tight jeans. They looked well worn and a few sizes too small. Like they'd been hers before she left for school. Before they caressed her rounded bottom so lovingly.
Oh! Thoughts like that would drive him crackers. He had to stop thinking that if they were going to get any painting done.
Paint!
He handed her a brush. “You start painting up from the lower plank and I'll grab the ladder and start painting down from the top."
* * * *
"Would you like to drive into the city tomorrow night to see a movie?” Other than the money he'd spent fixing up Maddy's house—and he'd insisted he was paying for any repairs he made—he'd squirreled away the money John had given him from farm profits. It felt good to earn money again. He'd taken it for granted while he'd lived in Chicago. He wouldn't make that mistake again.
Although, right now Chicago seemed a lifetime away.
"You want to take me to see a weepie?"
Mark guffawed. “Not likely! But the day we drove over for lunch last week when we picked up items Ma needed for the tablecloth she's tatting for Thanksgiving, I noticed All Quiet on the Western Front was playing."
"I saw that billboard. At Last . . . The Motion Picture."
Mark shook his head. “Only a woman would remember a billboard tagline. I remember Lew Ayres is in it and it's about a young soldier in World War I."
Her eyes lit up with a smile.
"Just like a man."
He frowned, not understanding her words. “So you don't want to see it?"
"I do,” she rushed to assure him. “I just thought it funny you left out the part that would probably tug at a woman's heartstrings."
"A war movie?"
"No, silly. The part of the promo t
hat says the movie is about a soldier who faces ‘profound disillusionment in the soul-destroying horror of World War I.’”
"Oh, yeah. I can hear me talking like that."
She punched him lightly on the arm.
"Actually, I can see you doing a lot of things you don't think you can do right now."
* * * *
Ma sat in her rocker reading the new Saturday Evening Post magazine Mark and Maddy had brought her from town.
"I can't believe you bought this for me. You need to save your money.” The delight in her eyes belied her words.
"I'd buy you anything you wanted, Ma, if I had the money.” Shame pierced his heart. Too bad he hadn't thought of doing that while he still had money. When had he become so selfish? “Regrettably, about the best I can do now is a magazine."
"Nothing to feel sorry about. I'm thrilled you thought about getting this.” She patted her lap. “And a Tribune from Claremont City. I don't get to read Buck Rogers in the newspaper very often.” A twinkle lit her eyes. “Bet Maddy had something to do with that."
Mark nodded. “She did. She always thinks of others. I wanted to buy her a new ribbon to hold her ponytail, but she insisted we look for a magazine for you. I grabbed the newspaper from one of the young boys hawking it on the street."
"That young woman has a heart of gold."
That was one comment Mark wouldn't disagree with. There wasn't much at all he didn't like about Maddy. In fact, the only thing he didn't like was that she wasn't his.
And never would be. She could do a lot better than him, a jaded, selfish failure from Chicago. A pain he couldn't explain squeezed his heart.
* * * *
"Ready to start painting again?” Mark reached out to remove a leaf from Maddy's hair.
"You don't think it's too windy?” Narrowing her eyes, she looked out over the horizon. Birds twittered in nearby treetops.
"Nah. Should make the paint dry quicker."
"Or, get a whole heap of things stuck to the paint that we don't want there.” She grinned.
He laughed. “Hope not.” He cupped her cheek with his hand. “But this time you might want to try putting more paint on the house instead of on you. You smelling like turpentine leaves something to be desired. Good thing Susie had baking soda to help get rid of the smell last weekend. Otherwise everyone in the movie theatre would have moved away from us."
God, it felt good to tease. Something about this woman brought out the best in him. A part that had been too long buried.
Whoosh!
Well, teasing felt good until she punched him in the gut. Man, she had a right hook.
Holding his stomach with one hand, he bent to pick something off the ground, then reached up and pulled it over her head. “I found this inside the house today. Guessing it was either your ma or grandma's apron. Right now it looks like it's falling to pieces. I think it will keep some of the paint off of you if you wear it."
He jumped back as she pulled her hand back to punch him again.
Not this time, sweetheart. Daring overtook common sense and he stepped forward and grabbed her arm before she could move away. He pulled her toward him.
Soft, warm lips against his almost brought him to his knees. Yes, this is where this woman needed to be. In his arms. In his arms forever.
He had no idea how or when, but Maddy Stepson was going to be his.
* * * *
"Caroline around?” Maggie Burstead called through the door. Susie opened the door and she entered the kitchen. “I know something's wrong when Caroline Donovan isn't in Sunday service.” She held a package out to Susie. “Homemade chicken soup. I hope it'll help with whatever ails her."
Susie put the container in the icebox. “Thanks, Mrs. Burstead. Ma just ate a light lunch and is resting in the living room. I'm sure she'd be right glad of your company. And you're right, there's not much that'll keep Ma away from church. She was feeling right poorly yesterday. Barely got out of bed all day."
Maggie entered the living room and went straight to her friend, putting her hand over Caroline's on the arm of the rocker. “You feeling any better today? Anything I can do?” She tilted her head toward Susie, who stood in the doorway between the two rooms. “I brought you some of my homemade chicken soup. You know I make the best in the county."
Caroline smiled and she placed a hand over her stomach. “Don't make me laugh, Maggie Burstead. You do no such thing. You can barely boil water."
Maggie laughed, the sound of happiness filling the room. “All right, you got me. Actually, Stuart made it yesterday. You know he makes good soup."
"Yes, he does. Please thank him for me.” Her eyes locked on Maggie's. “And thank you for bringing it. It's good to see a dear friend when I don't feel well."
"Don't make no whoop-de-do about me being here now. You'd be at my side in a heartbeat if I was feeling poorly."
She rose from the chair she'd sat in beside Caroline. “I don't want to tire you out now, so I'll just be on my way. But I'll be back to check on you tomorrow. And I want to hear you've eaten all of Stuart's soup.” She nodded once to emphasize her point.
Just as she started to turn, Caroline stretched out her hand. “Wait a minute, Maggie.” She turned to the doorway. “Susie, can you get that new Saturday Evening Post magazine Mark brought me last week? I think we're all finished reading it."
A tired smile crossed her face as Susie handed Maggie the magazine.
"My Mark bought me that."
The pride in her voice made it sound like he'd bought her a new truck.
Maggie had no doubt her dearest friend was just as proud as if it had been.
* * * *
"Uncle Mark, Uncle Mark. Come quick. Little Orphan Annie is going to start on the radio soon,” Kathie called from the living room.
"Be right out,” he shouted back. “Just helping your ma dry the last dish."
Entering the living room, he sat on the floor beside his mother's rocker. It's where he usually sat whenever she was in the room.
"You feeling any better, Ma? You still look pale.” His gaze flew to meet Susie's as she entered the room. The look in hers gave him no sense of comfort.
Ma reached down and patted his hand. “I'm fine. Now don't you be worrying about me. You're home now, and that's all I need to get me better."
"Ma, you need to go to a doc."
She offered a humoring smile, as though he'd not said anything. But then she answered, “We'll see. If I'm still feeling poorly by the end of the week, maybe I will. Think I have enough chickens that I can give the doc one or two for treating me."
"Ma!” Susie said, clearly exasperated. “We don't have to give Doc Brown chickens. John and I have enough money set aside for any medical crisis."
"Crisis-schmisis,” their mother huffed. “I'll be fine in a few days. I just need to rest some. I'll probably go to bed right after Little Orphan Annie.” She looked at the clock on the mantel. “Now everyone hush. The show should be starting any minute."
* * * *
Mark pulled Maddy into his arms as they spun across the dance floor. His eyes swept the large room, completely decorated with fall colors. Townspeople must have spent all day decorating the hall. All around, two people were passing around each other and then returning to their places. How had he let her talk him in to coming here? He was plum worn out from the Do-se-do. He never had been good at square dancing.
He wanted to hold her in his arms like he'd held women while ballroom dancing in Chicago. He wanted to . . . He inhaled deeply. Actually, that was him just trying to catch his breath from the fast pace of the dance. Why think about what he wanted to do when surely it would never happen?
Even though they'd come as a couple, men had been cutting in all night. What had he expected? That she'd waited for him to come home and claim her? Heck, he'd never planned on coming home. Yet, now that he was here, he had to admit being here didn't seem so bad.
He just hated that other men were looking at his w
oman. But why wouldn't they? She was beautiful.
Whoa! What had he just thought? His woman?
They passed around each other for one last time and the smile she gave him took his breath away. Oh, yeah. No doubt about it.
She was his woman.
Maddy walked to the front of the hall where the musicians were playing and said something in the banjo player's ear. She came back to him grinning, twirling a piece of straw between two fingers.
Before he knew it, the band started playing ragtime jazz. And the woman he loved kicked her feet back and forth to the Charleston. He stood stock still, no doubt a look of shock on his face as she danced a perfect Charleston. Had she been anyone else, she would have fit right into any Speako in Chicago, or belonged to proper Cafe Society.
"Come on, pops,” she teased as she kicked her feet forward and back. Then, tapping her heels, she executed the bees knees—crossing her hands over her moving knees—better than any flapper he'd seen in Chicago. “What's the matter? Never learned how to dance? And here I thought you went out clubbing every night.” She stuck out her left hip and waved both hands head high, her index fingers sticking up in the air as she turned in a circle.
With the gauntlet tossed, and everyone around them clapping hands and stomping their feet, Mark showed her just how well he could dance. He twirled her, and lifted her, and planted a kiss on her lips as the music ended. They were both breathless and laughing as they collapsed in chairs along the sidelines.
"Do you know the Black Bottom, too?” He laughed.
"Yep. And the Lindy Hop. I'm no Ginger Rogers, but I bet I can do just about any dance you can."
"Honey, right now I'd bet there's not anything you can't do.” His Maddy had more moxie than any woman he could remember dating in Chicago. How many of them would have danced ‘scandalous’ dances in front of their prudish friends? And he had no doubt she'd done it just for him. Then again, the more he thought about it, he couldn't remember any of the many women he'd dated. The only face he saw in his dreams each night was Maddy's.
He wanted to kiss her. Wanted to head out the door to the truck and have a ‘good-time.’ But seeking pleasure with Maddy wasn't something he'd do—no matter how much he wanted to—before they got married. She wasn't that kind of girl, and he'd never disrespect her. But, oh, was he going to kiss her senseless before he took her home. He wanted her so bad, his blood warmed and he burned for her in his gut.
On A Cold Winter's Night Page 3