She stroked his shoulder, her finger brushing over a puckered scar. “I like it when you call me darling.”
“I shouldn’t call you that, you being a fine, cultured lady and all.”
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She and Boone had married knowing next to nothing about each other, and three days of marriage hadn’t altered that any, as they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other. “I’m not cultured. My mama’s folks were poor sodbusters.”
He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “But your dress and hair are just as fancy as the cattle baron’s wives.”
She hid from the past behind her stylish hair and clothes. “I never met my father, Wendell Donovan. A want-to-be cardsharp, ‘Lucky’ Donovan drank himself to death before I turned two. Mama went on to marry a string of fools and losers, always believing the next man would rescue her and provide her with a nice house and pretty dresses. Mama died before I married Frank Reed Jr., but she would have been tickled pink if she’d seen me acting as hostess in the Reeds’ gaudy mansion or seen my dressing room stuffed with glittery shoes, purses, and gowns.”
Boone’s brow knotted. “Was Frank Reed Jr. as big a braggart as his father?”
A wave of sadness struck. “I promised myself I would do better than Mama, but Frank Jr. was a reckless gambler who wanted his picture taken with glamorous women and famous outlaws. When he got himself shot, I vowed I would start on a new path and planned to apply to Pennsylvania’s Women’s College.”
Boone sat up and scrubbed his face. “But then you met me.”
She curled in on herself, poor protection against the cold whiskers of night air. “I wouldn’t change anything, because I wouldn’t have Colt.”
“But you blame yourself for marrying another worthless man.”
She pushed herself to a sitting position. “You’re a good man. And I never felt for Frank Jr. what I feel for you.”
Boone wrapped a soft blanket around her shoulders. “You may have married a gambler and a gunslinger, but you aren’t weak. You’ve raised Colt by yourself.”
Suddenly self-conscious, she studied the nail she’d broken while digging a shiny speckled rock from the ground for Colt. “Bri helped.”
He gently tipped her chin. “Your strength humbles me. You got your teaching degree, cared for Colt, and made a good life for yourself.”
“You make me sound like a noble saint.”
His mouth nipped hers and he laughed huskily. “Believe me, darling, saint was not the word that came to mind when I spied you in that lovely white nightgown.”
Lone gunslinger. Wild lover. Family man. Boone was an intoxicating mix of light and darkness that she couldn’t get enough of. Angels save her! Her plight was worse than she thought. Her feelings ran deeper than desire. She was in love. She loved Boone Haven. Her breath was strangled. “Where do we go from here?”
He studied her for a long moment, his face giving nothing away. “I can’t promise you anything, except that what happened tonight will happen again if you stay at the ranch.”
A delicious thrill rushed through her. Staying would be a giant mistake. “Do you want me to leave?”
“What I want doesn’t matter.”
Her spine stiffened. “Of course it matters.”
Was that vulnerability flashing through his eyes? “We both know I’m no good for you.”
She wanted to run away from him and this. She never wanted to leave. One word from him would sway her. Mama’s last husband, Joe the Junk Man, accused Maggie of always grasping at straws. Right now, she’d have to agree with Joe. “Do you want me to leave?”
Boone’s self-control disintegrated. He cupped her face and kissed her until they were both gasping for breath. “Blast it, no! I want to stay at Sweet Creek with you forever.”
She touched her swollen lips. Forever. As husband and wife. She tried to imagine herself living on a homestead ranch, like the pioneers’ wives from the newspaper stories. Maggie Reed Haven, ranch wife. The notion was shocking. “I’ll stay for now.”
“Are you okay?” Boone asked, his voice troubled. “Things are moving too fast, aren’t they? Do you want me to walk you back to your bedroom?”
Though confused by the strength of what she felt for him, she was certain of one thing. A few hours in Boone’s arms was not enough. She reclined, and the fragrant hay pillowing her head and prickling her back, she beckoned him. “I want you. I want this.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Dawn blazing the horizon, Boone guided Lightning toward the summit of Jackrabbit Butte. The rugged, quiet landscape was the perfect antidote to the night of passion with Maggie, Holy Heaven, what a woman. His muscles tightened, already anticipating holding her again. Before parting, they’d exchanged more electrifying kisses on the porch outside the front door and she’d promised to come to him tonight.
“Where do we go from here?” she’d asked. Sneaking around was for sissies, but he’d chop off his trigger finger rather than do anything to hurt Colt.
Lightning halted at the crest of the Butte. Boone breathed in the reviving spring air. Everything seemed right with the world up here, with the Big Horn Mountains guarding the ranch. The green plains stretching into the distance. Sunlight sparkling off the rushing waters of Sweet Creek.
Pa Malcolm had ridden up here with him and Ty when they’d first arrived in Wyoming Territory with the dream of carving a home and cattle ranch out of the wilderness. Just last year, Wyoming had become a state. Times were changing. Easterners, used to law and order, were flooding the West. Gunslingers like him would soon be a part of the past.
Ty loved cattle ranching and held out hope Boone would return and claim his share of the ranch, but Boone wasn’t cut out for remote farm life and neither was Maggie.
Boone dug her flowered hankie from his breast pocket and fingered the lace edge. Maggie was an educated woman, used to refined living. He put the handkerchief away and patted Lightning’s neck. “I doubt you’ll like the move to a big city any more than I will.”
He wouldn’t do anything to stand in the way of Maggie becoming a schoolteacher. “A big city like New York or San Francisco ought to have use for a lawman who’s good with a gun.”
Listen to him, getting ahead of himself. First he needed to find out if Maggie wanted to make a real go at marriage. If not, he’d find a way to change her mind. He wasn’t ready to ride away from Maggie and Colt. Not by a long shot.
Lightning’s ears perked, and the horse shifted nervously. “Steady, boy,” Boone said, reaching for his Peacemaker at the sound of horse hooves scrambling up the Butte.
Seth came into view a moment later, atop his gray appaloosa. “Knew you’d be here.”
Boone frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Seth said, defensively. “You always visit Jackrabbit Butte before vanishing.”
“What of it?” Boone didn’t like saying good-bye, so he usually just slipped away.
Seth picked at his frayed saddle horn. “I’m going with you when you leave.”
“Who says I’m leaving?”
Seth rolled his eyes. “Ranching ain't in my blood either. I could watch your back and you could watch mine.”
“Killing for a living won’t ease the hate and hurt.”
“I don’t want to hear no more of your crybaby stories,” Seth spit back, bristling like a cornered alley cat.
Four years ago Boone had taken Seth aside and dragged all the gory details from him about growing up with a mean-mouthed father who beat and cussed him.
The conversation had cooled Seth’s discontent for a short time, but setting aside the past was easier said than done. Boone exhaled a resigned breath. “Gunslinging is a lonely life, kid.”
Seth sat taller in the saddle. “When do we leave?”
Boone’s gaze shifted to the ranch house sheltering Maggie and Colt. “I’m done running.”
“Sure,” Seth said, shaking his head and smiling derisively. “I
’ll believe that when I see it.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Exhausted and exhilarated after spending a second night in Boone’s arms, Maggie’s relief at finding the front door of the ranch house unbarred vanished upon encountering Ty and Ella enjoying an early morning cup of coffee at the dining table.
Glad she’d worn a long shawl over her nightgown, she hoped the dimness covered her blush. “Please don’t—”
“We don’t think badly about you or Boone,” Ella rushed to assure her.
“You’re just what Boone needs,” Ty added. “And I hope he sticks around long enough to see that.”
Maggie didn’t miss the mix of warning and kindness in Ty’s voice. “Stick around?”
“Boone is a peach, Ella said, “He wouldn’t hurt you on purpose, but he’s been on the move so long he might have forgotten how to live a settled life.”
Maggie wrapped the shawl tighter around her shoulders. There was still so much about Boone she didn’t know. “Why did he become a gunslinger?”
Ty turned somber. “You best ask Boone that.”
Wyatt ambled into the kitchen. “Howdy, Miss Maggie. Is Boone on his way inside? Oh, you might want to pick that straw out of your hair.”
She should have known that keeping secrets would be impossible in the close confines of Sweet Creek Ranch. Unable to escape fast enough, she excused herself and hurried away.
A short time later, the delicious smell of cowboy coffee and toasting bread drifting under the bedroom door, Maggie smoothed her coiffured chignon and prayed Boone’s family wouldn’t ask more uncomfortable questions.
Brigetta captured her hand. “He’s your legal husband. What you and Boone do isn’t anyone else’s business.”
“If only I could blame my actions on my impetuous nature,” Maggie said, squeezing Bri’s fingers. “But I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“Your love for Boone is as plain as the nose on a donkey’s face.”
Maggie laughed shakily. “Oh, goodness, I hope not.”
Brigetta frowned. “What did I say wrong? Donkeys have big noses.”
“I was positive you would be unhappy with me,” Maggie said, hugging Bri. “What would I do without you?”
“The Havens are honest and hardworking.” Bri shrugged. “If you’re sure Boone is the man for you, who am I to say differently?”
Maggie’s stomach did an uneasy jig. She and Boone were supposed to discuss the future last night, but they were still too hungry with passion for talk.
Ty and Ella’s warnings gave her new reasons to proceed with caution. She couldn’t bear for Boone to make promises he wouldn’t keep. That went double for Colt. “I know I’m drawn to Boone, but that doesn’t mean we are right for each other.”
Brigetta shook her head. “Look who is as stubborn as a donkey now?”
“As a mule,” Maggie said, smiling despite herself.
“Mule. Donkey. How do you Americans expect others to keep track of your silly language?” Brigetta always looked prettiest when flustered. “You need to make up your mind before this goes any further.”
Torn between wanting to run far, far away and a desire to seek sanctuary and comfort in Boone’s arms, Maggie didn’t need Bri to tell her time wasn’t on her side.
Maggie pulled open the bedroom door. A happy buzz of voices spilled out of the main room.
Before the day ended she would find the courage to have a long talk with Boone. She wasn’t a coward. No, she was as brave as any gunslinger.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Moments later Maggie and Brigetta took their seats around the pine dining table, greeted by a platter of eggs and hashed potatoes fresh from a buttery cast-iron pan.
Her small kitchen and the quiet breakfasts she’d shared with Colt and Brigetta in their cozy home in St. Louis seemed a world away.
Boone, assisted by the youngest second-chance boy, Tucker, worked at the stove. The pair was responsible for cooking up the hearty spread of food. Ty and Ella each held a baby and smiled at Little Malcolm and Colt’s excited chatter over the hatching of some new chicks. Juan laughed at Seth and Billy boasting over who ran faster as they recalled a story of stepping in a yellow jacket nest. Wyatt took a special interest in Brigetta, who blushed prettily even as she determinedly ignored the charming young cowboy, which only encouraged him.
Maggie had attended fancy garden parties and grand state banquets with Frank Reed Jr. and Sr., but those glittery entertainments paled beside the pleasure she found in the Havens’ happy, noisy family gatherings.
Boone’s eyes met hers. Awareness worthy of Independence Day fireworks sparked between them.
She wiped her dampened palms on her rose silk skirt.
Boone strolled to the table with lethal grace, managing to look rough-and-tumble despite carrying a coffee pot. Leaning over her shoulder, smelling of the manly scents of hay and horse and hard work, his warm breath caressed her neck. “Good morning, Mrs. Haven.”
Her pulse quickening, she held up her pretty flowered cup, willing her jittery hand not to shake as Boone poured the aromatic black liquid to the brim. Mrs. Haven? If he was trying to unsettle her, he’d aimed true. But she couldn’t afford to walk around like a smitten girl with her head in the clouds. Choices needed to be made. Did she want to return to her safe life in St. Louis and the waiting kindergarten teacher job or risk a new start in the West with Boone? Under his cool-eyed exterior and black vest and hat, who was Boone Haven? Was he the Cowboy Assassin or one of Malcolm and Viola Haven’s second-chance boys finding his way back home?
“Daddy’s coffee is the best in the whole world,” Colt bragged, his adoration for his father steadily growing. “I’m going to drink tons and tons of cowboy coffee.”
Boone patted Colt’s head. “How about some milk instead? Milk always tastes better here at Sweet Creek Ranch.”
Colt thought about it for a moment. “Are you going to drink milk?”
Boone’s chagrined smile was that of a man who had been outmaneuvered by a three-year-old. “I think I will have myself a big mug of milk.”
Maggie dished eggs onto Colt’s plate, impressed again at how good Boone was with Colt.
“Mr. Boone, the oats are done,” announced Tucker, knocking a gooey spoon on the rim of the kettle.
Boone returned to the stove and examined the oats with the care of a jeweler appraising a diamond ring. Sweet-faced Tucker held his breath.
“The oats look near perfect,” Boone announced, squeezing Tucker’s small shoulder.
The boy’s face lit with a smile as big as Wyoming. “I stirred them just like you said.”
“I’ve never seen a man more serious about his coffee and oats,” Brigetta murmured.
Boone used meticulous care with Jack and Lightning and his guns. “He takes pride and cares for what’s his,” Maggie whispered back. Of course, after being on his own for his whole adult Boone might be inflexible. Making room for a wife, son, and Nanny Bri wouldn’t be a small adjustment.
Boone carried the steaming kettle to the table, ladle in hand. “Who wants oats?”
Colt eagerly raised his hand. “Me.”
“You never eat your oats at home, dumpling,” Brigetta said.
Colt pulled out the collar of his adorable new denim shirt and looked inside. “Daddy said eating oats grows beards.”
“That’s hair on your chest, Son,” Boone said proudly. “It might take a few years of eating oats for that to happen.”
Tucker sat between Wyatt and Seth. “Colt, you’re still a baby, Babies don’t have hairy chests.”
Colt’s face screwed with indignation. “I’m getting big, big.”
“He’s only teasing,” Maggie said consolingly, planning to take Colt aside and help him understand that Tucker’s unfriendliness stemmed from insecurity and jealousy. Not that a three-year-old could fathom the misery and terror Tucker and the other second-chance boys had suffered. Sweet Creek Ranch was clearly a work of love for Boone and the other
Haven brothers. A legacy she admired and envied, and one Colt could be proud of.
And for all his hardness, Boone had a soft spot in his heart for these boys. They sensed it and reciprocated the feeling. Especially cherub-cheeked Tucker who had spent several months in Boone’s care and had clearly become attached. Tucker viewing Colt as a threat was understandable.
Boone spooned oats into both boys’ bowls. “How about if I take you two for a horse ride later?”
Colt and Tucker stopped scowling at each other to cheer the suggestion.
Maggie wanted to hug Boone for finding a way to unite the boys.
Ella shushed them, then turned her brilliant blue eyes on Maggie. “Forgive me. Riding herd on the Haven men is second nature. But you must be an expert at dealing with noisy children, being a schoolteacher, and all.”
Maggie smiled. “I get real joy from introducing children to the wonders of books and learning, teaching them to write their letters and numbers.”
Brigetta made way for Boone.
His muscled thigh settled against Maggie’s leg. “Margaret is a bona-fide teacher.” Respect filled his voice and shone bright in his eyes. “Colt, I hope you’re proud of your mother. She is a remarkable woman.”
Cherishing Boone’s praise more highly than shiny diamond necklaces or chandelier-dripped mansions, Maggie hoped the others didn’t notice the tears filling her eyes.
Colt licked the apple jelly dripping from the side of his toast. “Mama says it’s not nice to boast.”
She laughed along with the others.
“You should be proud, Maggie,” Ella said. “Your arrival is providential. Aurora is growing. The town needs a school, but real teachers are difficult to come by.”
Gunslingers Don't Die: A Sweet Historical Western Romance (Brides of Sweet Creek Ranch Book 2) Page 8