Boone leaned a hip on the trough-sink, the blue vein under his left eye vivid against his pale complexion. “Maggie, this here is Wyatt. He’s to blame for putting my picture in the Marriage Gazette. Wyatt, meet Margaret Reed Haven.”
Wyatt removed his tan Stetson, his sweet smile making him look like an angel who had dressed in cowboy clothes instead of heavenly robes. “You are pretty as a picture, ma’am. Boone broke my nose when I showed him your telegram, but I knew he wanted a wife no matter the squawk he made.”
Boone’s dark, deadly scowl didn’t faze Wyatt.
She wanted to cry. Boone was finally calling her Maggie, but she didn’t miss the resentment in his voice. He’d accepted Colt, but viewed her and his desire for her as a burden. She bit her lip against the hurt. Thank goodness the visit to the ranch would be cut short. The quicker she returned to her stable life in St. Louis the better. She refused to be his or anyone’s burden.
She was done with Boone.
Her hand found her cheek, still tingling from his whisker burn. Who was she kidding? She and Boone always ended up in the same place anytime they found themselves alone—mad for each other’s touch and unable to keep their hands off each other.
And, angels save her, she was already anticipating his next touch and next kisses.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
His body still on fire from kissing Maggie, Boone pushed away from the trough-sink. Blast it! That was no simple kiss. He’d been close to ravaging a woman on Ma’s polished-pine table. Tempted to punch the grin off Wyatt’s face, he extended a hand. “Did you quit Texas for good, Wy, or are you just home for a visit?”
Boone, Ty, Wyatt, and White Wolf were among the six original second-chance boys adopted by Malcolm and Viola Haven. But Pa and Ma’s dream of providing a sanctuary for homeless boys had almost died during the winter of ‘87. The year of the Great Die-Up, when freezing temperatures and record snow had decimated the longhorn herds and bankrupted most cattle operations. The Haven brothers had been scattered to the four winds.
Wyatt had spent the last four years in Texas working as a ranch hand, sending back what money he could. The last they’d heard, Levi and Ace were working on a big ranch out of Montana. A mountain man and fur trader, White Wolf made irregular visits to the ranch to check on the family. Through hard work and dogged determination, Ty and Ella had managed to hang on and save the ranch. Pa and Ma would be proud.
Wyatt smiled a mile wide. “Texas has massive ranches, gorgeous women, and chili so spicy it will burn a hole in your tongue, but if you ask me, it can’t shine a light on Wyoming and Sweet Creek Ranch. Four years was too gosh-darn long to be away.” Wyatt pulled Boone in for a brotherly hug. “If Ty and Ella can put up with another Haven brother returning home, I’m staying.”
Boone envied Wyatt and his carefree, happy nature. “I’ll only be here for a few days.”
“Ty’s going to send word to White Wolf,” Wyatt said. “Tell him you and I are home.”
Boone’s visits to the ranch were always short. Why was he getting all sloppy with emotion this time? He clapped Wyatt’s back and broke free. “I missed White Wolf by a few days the last time I was home. I’d sure like for him to meet Colt. Did you make my son’s acquaintance yet?”
“You mean the friendly little fellow who is the spitting image of you?” Wyatt stuffed his hands in his pockets and smiled in Maggie’s direction. “It’s just like Boone to keep secrets. How long you two been married?”
Aside from the red splotches blooming on her elegant neck, Maggie remained the picture of composure. “Boone didn’t know you placed the advertisement in the Marriage Gazette?”
“Boone would have remained a bachelor forever without a push from someone.” Wyatt stroked the small bump on his nose. “Not that he thanked me for interfering.”
“I was wrong to reply to the advertisement,” Maggie said, and her gaze cut to Boone, an unspoken question in her eyes. Why did you respond to my telegram?
Boone wanted to clobber Wyatt again. For all the fuss Boone had made over the advertisement, he’d seen the Lady Lily Margaret’s telegram as a breath of hope. Back then he wasn’t the calloused shell of a man he was now. He’d been ready to give up his gunslinger ways and take a stab at living a real life. He’d accused Maggie of luring him into a trap, but nothing would have come of Wyatt’s foolishness if Boone had simply torn up her telegram.
Anger draining away, Boone stared into Maggie’s regret-filled eyes. “If there’s any blame it rests with me.”
“Welcome to the family, Miss Maggie,” Wyatt said, enthusiastically.
Maggie wet her lips. “The marriage was a mistake. Boone and I are on our way to Buffalo to seek a divorce.”
“Gosh, dang. You two sure looked taken up with each other when I walked in.” Wyatt never did know when to shut up. “Aren’t you going to try to make a go of it? For Colt’s sake.”
Calm air slipping, Maggie smoothed back a gold strand of flyaway hair. “You caught us in the middle of a simple…ah, misunderstanding.”
Boone’s internal temperature soared faster than Death Valley on a scorching day. Misunderstanding his foot. Maggie was as hungry for him as he was for her. Maybe he could convince Maggie to give their marriage another chance.
Wyatt sniffed the air. “Is something burning?”
Boone cursed and scrambled for the oven and the biscuit pan. The blackened bottoms of the biscuits were the least of his worries. Why did mention of the divorce leave a bad taste in his mouth?
Blast it! He was crazy as a cactus. What other explanation could there be for thinking, even for one moment, he and Maggie could give marriage a real go?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
After spending the rest of the day avoiding Maggie and convincing himself he’d gone temporarily mad, Boone took a seat in his usual spot on the bench around the long pine table.
Colt climbed onto the pillow between Boone and Maggie. “Your house is nice, Daddy. Uncle Ty says I can sleep in the bunk room with Tucker and Malcolm.”
Boone took pride in few things, and his reputation as the quick-drawing Cowboy Assassin wasn’t one of them. If he was to brag, he’d brag on his dog, his guns, and the beautiful ranch house he’d helped his Pa and Ma build. Much as he admired the craftsmanship of the open post and beam room, with the floor-to-ceiling, stone fireplace, they paled compared to what he felt for his son. Colt was all smiles and not a bit shy among the noisy Haven clan. A trait he hadn't inherited from Boone.
Colt was a happy, confident child. No matter what happened between him and Maggie, Colt would be well cared for and well loved. As for the firestorm that consumed him and Maggie each time they kissed—he doubted another woman would ever have the same power over him. There was an explosive tie between him and Maggie that he couldn’t deny or explain.
Dwelling on Maggie’s many allures was not wise, especially when he needed all his wits to deal with the danger posed by the Arkansas Kid and Beau Blackwell.
The babies began to cry in earnest. At the far end of the table, Billy, Juan, and Tucker were arguing over who could spit the farthest. Colt was negotiating with Maggie over the number of bedtime stories they would read, and a spirited Brigetta was rebuffing Wyatt’s teasing.
Seth plopped a plate of biscuits on the table. “Miss Ella said she’d shoot you with her Colt Walker if you insist on taking Jack with you when you go.”
Jack left behind the bed of blankets he was sharing with Ella’s red and white spotted dog Millie in front of the fireplace, and limped to Boone’s side. The journey from Aurora to Sweet Creek had taken an undeniable toll.
Boone scratched Jack’s ears. “How are you, boy?”
Ella, a tornado of a woman who could outwork a house of cowboys, gave Seth a scolding look. “What were you doing listening in on my conversation with Mr. Ty?”
Seth ducked his head. “Sorry, ma’am. I’m worried about Jack, same as you.”
Ella rubbed Seth’s arm in passing, sat on the bench b
eside Ty and, taking one of the babies from his arms, turned her light blue eyes on Boone. “We’d be glad to have Jack stay at the ranch.”
Eaten up at the thought of leaving Jack behind, he stroked the dog’s soft yellow fur. “Go rest, boy. I’ll bring your supper when we’re through.”
Jack limped back to the blankets.
Colt circled his arm around Boone’s back. “Don’t be sad, Daddy. You and Jack can come live with us. Jack likes riding on trains.”
Boone found Colt’s words strangely comforting. “That’s a mighty nice offer, Son. But your mother might have something different to say.”
“Ja,” Brigetta said, ruffled. “Your mother can’t be bringing home a gunslinger. The gossips would shake their tongues over the kindergarten teacher and her gunslinger husband.”
“Wag their tongues, Bri,” Maggie corrected, blushing bright as a summer sunset.
Brigetta’s words made a bushel of sense, but witnessing Ty and Ella’s joyful marriage and pleasant home life, Boone could envision a similar life with Maggie and Colt.
Colt frowned. “What’s a gunslinger?”
“Folks pay your daddy to protect them and their property,” Maggie said, shifting on the bench, clearly uncomfortable.
Colt’s eyes lit with admiration. “I want to be a gunslinger when I grow up.”
Maggie’s brow furrowed. “You need to eat so you grow up to be strong and healthy.”
Chest uncomfortably tight, Boone spooned potatoes sprinkled with herbs onto Colt’s plate. “Gunslinging isn’t respectable.” He glanced at Maggie. “Listen to your mother. She knows best.”
Ella rocked baby Viola. “Did Buck and Ugly Sally speak to you about being sheriff?”
“Have you ever heard a more foolish suggestion?” Boone spit out, the turn of conversation as comfortable as staring down the working end of a six-shooter.
Baby Vivien fussed, and Ty moved the baby to his shoulder and patted her back. “All the other small ranching outfits and homesteaders are hoping you’ll say yes.”
“Sheriff?” Wyatt crowed.
Boone rolled his shoulders against the tight fit of his shirt. Gunslinging had its advantages. He didn’t have to worry about others depending on him. If he was slow on the draw he’d be dead. End of story. As a sheriff he’d be holding other people’s lives in his hands. “Beau Blackwell and the other cattle barons would make a fuss over the idea me being sheriff.”
Baby Vivien burped loudly. Ty smiled, then sobered. “Darn right they would. But that’s okay, because me and Buck and Garrett ain’t been too happy with them.”
Wyatt leaned forward. “What kind of trouble is Blackwell giving you now?”
“The cattle barons got together and formed what they call a stock growers association,” Ty replied. “But it’s really an exclusive rich man’s club designed to cut us small nesters out from the spring roundup. Two years ago saw twenty-two wagon teams at the Sweet Creek roundup. Last year there were four wagon teams, all from the big outfits. And they branded every last maverick calf they could get their hands on. I must have lost at least thirty-five calves to Blackwell alone.”
“Do you want me to steal ‘em back?” Wyatt asked, eyes widening like an eager puppy.
“Stay clear of trouble, Wy,” Ty shot back. “Blackwell and the other cattle barons are riled, claiming small nesters are rustling their cattle and selling them to the railroad contractors. He’s brought in a cattle detective”
Wyatt took offense. “I ain’t afraid of no cattle detective.”
Ty frowned. “That’s because you don’t use the good sense you were born with. Blackwell’s been looking for years for an excuse to hang you.”
Pa and Ma had rescued Wyatt from running with a gang of rustlers when he was sixteen years old. Blackwell had taken a special dislike to Wyatt on account of his skill for rustling mavericks out from under the cattle barons’ noses. But this type of cattle rustling was more of an argument between ranchers. Boone had seen longhorns with half a dozen different brands, which made for plenty of confusion come time to drive the herds to market.
Wyatt slathered butter on a roll and stuffed a chunk into his mouth. “He won’t dare hang me if Boone is sheriff.”
“I ain’t said yes,” Boone growled.
Wyatt wagged his brows. “You haven’t said no either.”
Boone felt the weight of everyone’s stares, especially Maggie’s. He itched to retreat to the solitude of the barn. “I’ll go have a word with Blackwell before leaving for Buffalo.”
Maggie’s brow furrowed. “Do you have to?”
Boone was torn between being pleased and insulted by her concern. “I can handle Blackwell and the Arkansas Kid.”
Colt clapped. “My daddy is going to be a sheriff and wear a badge with a star.”
“Eat your food, dumpling,” Brigetta admonished.
Billy, Juan, and Tucker voiced encouragement. Seth wore an insufferable smirk.
“What do you say about being sheriff?” Ty asked with a direct look.
Ella hugged baby Viola close. “Ty won’t beg, but I’m not above pleading. Aurora and Sweet Creek need a lawman. Use that reputation of yours for good.”
Boone gulped down the stale air as the room shrank around him. He extricated himself from the narrow confines of the bench and headed for the door. “I gotta think some more on it.”
“Daddy, where are you going?” Colt asked.
“He’s leaving, kid,” Seth said, his disdainful voice chasing Boone out the door. “Running is what the Cowboy Assassin does best.”
“Seth, you best start showing more respect,” Boone heard Ty say as he fled outside.
Boone trotted down the stairs into the gathering dark, the gusting wind batting at his clothes and hair. Blast Seth! What did he know? None of them knew how much he hated his lonely life. He lengthened his steps, heading for the quiet of the barn hayloft and waiting bedroll, or maybe he’d take Lightning out for a moonlit ride.
“Boone, wait,” Maggie called.
He glanced over his shoulder.
Maggie hurried across the yard, wisps of honey-blond hair whipping across her face, his black Stetson clutched in her hands. “Your hat.”
He hesitated, his gut churning. If he turned his back on Maggie he’d be alone for the rest of his life. A certainty he knew, sure as he knew the sun would rise tomorrow over the Big Horn Mountains.
She rushed into the shadows of the barn. “Boone, what’s wrong?”
He cursed under his breath, and seized his Stetson. “Tell me you’ll come to me tonight, after you put Colt to bed.”
“We can talk now,” she said, breathless.
“Talk is not what I want.” He pulled her into his arms, kissed her long and hard, then released her and backed away. “Are we clear on that?”
Color high and eyes brilliant, she nodded.
He turned and strode to Lightning, praying she would come, even as he hoped she had better sense than to add fuel to the fire that might well consume them.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The ranch house had fallen silent and Brigetta’s breaths were soft and steady. Maggie wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and slowly opened the bedroom door. The pine floorboards creaked under her slippers. Glancing in the direction of the bunk room, where Colt was sleeping, another wave of guilt rushed in.
Her life revolved around her son, but tonight was wholly about her needs and wants. The rendezvous with Boone would be the first truly selfish decision she’d made since Colt was born.
She escaped into the cool arms of the mountain air. Guided by starlight, her white nightgown aglow against the black sky, she paused halfway to the barn. The wind that had been a constant companion for the five days they’d been in Wyoming had finally stilled. She marveled at the vastness of the heavens. The cares of her life back in St. Louis seemed a million miles away. For this one night she would set aside unsettling thoughts of the past and the future and give herself wholly over to the mom
ent.
A black figure stepped out of the shadow of the barn. “Maggie, I hope you’re not thinking about turning back.”
Boone’s sensuous voice raised the flesh on her arms. Where were the doubts over her decision to go to Boone? Why wasn’t she struggling against her desires or tied up in a knot over what was to come? Her clear-eyed anticipation of the hours ahead came as big of a surprise as the absence of the wind.
She moved to him, cupped his sharp-edged jaw. The stubble of his beard brushed her palm, sending a pulsing wave of pleasure straight to her core. “Kiss me.”
Doubt stormed with need in his black eyes. “I can’t promise you—”
“I don’t want your promises.” She skimmed her thumb over his weather-coarsened face. “I want you.”
Strong hands gripped her hips, pulling her against a hard chest, and his greedy mouth covered hers. And she reveled in this dark man and the dark night.
***
Hours later Maggie woke from a deep sleep. Disoriented for an instant, the fragrant smell of hay and Boone’s male scent was a lovely reminder of the pleasure she and Boone had taken in each other. Twinkling starlight streamed through the small hayloft door situated at the peak of the barn. She drank in the sight of Boone’s bare torso silhouetted against the golden straw and his long, lean arms and legs. “You are a beautiful man, Boone Haven,” she whispered.
He startled awake, propped himself on an elbow and, a revolver gripped at the ready, searched the dark.
She touched his rock-hard thigh. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He blew out a heavy breath and buried the revolver under the hay. Curling on his side, he pulled her close. “Sorry, darling. Too many years of watching my back for trouble has made me overly cautious.”
Wrapped tight in his strong arms, she felt safe and cherished. But it was the false calm found in the eye of a hurricane. The lashing storm of reality was barreling toward them with the coming of the dawn, ready to tear them apart and send them their separate ways again. Making love with Boone had thrilled and exhilarated and made her feel wholly alive. But he was still a gunslinger and she was still a mother and teacher. He wasn’t the putting-down-roots type of man and she wouldn’t subject Colt to the day-to-day uncertainty and turmoil that had been the staple of her childhood.
Gunslingers Don't Die: A Sweet Historical Western Romance (Brides of Sweet Creek Ranch Book 2) Page 7