Maggie's Beau

by Carolyn Davidson

  Her lids were both open, the swelling so far gone that only a bit of puffiness remained beneath the damaged eye, and for the first time he gazed fully into the blue depths. He cringed at the bloodshot look of her, ached for the bruising that had faded over the past days to hues of yellow and pale green…yet at the same time admired the delicate lines of brow and cheek as she tilted her head to look at him.

  “I’ve been doin’ it for years. My fingers just know what to do, I guess.” She pulled the long braid over her shoulder and continued forming the three strands until there was only a short tail undone. “Tear me off a strip from this belt, will you?” she asked, lifting the makeshift sash she wore, extending it in his direction with two fingers.

  He took it from her hand and did as she asked, then handed her the piece of material. She wound it rapidly around the pigtail and tied it with a flourish, then bent in his direction. “I had a talk with your Sophie,” she whispered.

  He grinned in reply. “I know. She told me.”

  “Is it all right with her if I stay on here?” Her look toward the kitchen door was anxious. “She was real nice to me, Beau, but I don’t want to be in her way.”

  “You won’t.” He handed her the comb, recognizing it as his own. “Where’s the comb you used before?” he asked.

  “It wasn’t very good. It only had a few teeth in it, and Sophie threw it out,” she admitted. “She told me I could use yours. She didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “No, I don’t, but you need your own. I’ll get you a new one, and a brush, too, when I go to town tomorrow.” Something more feminine, he decided, than the plain black specimen he used. Perhaps a hand mirror, too, and some talcum powder in a tin. It gave him a jolt of pleasure to think of buying her such intimate items, envisioning the delight in her eyes when he presented his gifts.

  “I’ll earn them out,” she said quickly. “I need to be figuring up what all I owe you already.”

  Unwilling to injure her pride, he nodded agreement, then reached to tug teasingly at the end of her pigtail. Her wince did not escape him and he hesitated. “I won’t ever hurt you, Maggie. I’ve told you that before. When you gonna start believing it?”

  Her face was downcast and he fit his palm under her chin, lifting it to his view. She bit at her lip and he shook his head at the movement. “Don’t do that. You’ll make that lip sore again, and it’s just starting to heal up good.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Old habits die hard. My mama always used to say that and I guess I know now what she meant. I know you’re a good man, but whenever I see a hand come at me or someone movin’ quicklike, my heart pounds real funny and I want to run.”

  His own heart twinged with pain at her words and he nodded his understanding. “Let’s go in to supper, Maggie. The men are coming up from the barn, and Sophie’s got supper on the table.” His hand touched her shoulder and rested there. “I fed your dog in the barn when we brought the last load of hay in. Those pups look pretty healthy. They’re moving around real well.”

  She shifted and moved beneath his fingers and they tightened a bit, holding her in place. His voice was low, his words gentle. “I’m not going to stop touching you, honey. It’s like handling a skittish colt. They just have to get used to it, and I suspect it’s going to be the same way with you.”

  “Maybe,” she said quietly, turning from him and opening the screened door. “I thank you kindly for tending to Maisie,” she murmured.

  He bowed his head. “My pleasure, ma’am.”

  “How would you like to look at a couple of my books, Maggie?” Beau stood in the doorway and Maggie dried her hands on a towel, turning to face him. “Take them into the parlor,” he told her. “I’ll be out here in the bathtub and you’d best have something to do for a while.”

  “Do they have pictures in them?” she asked, laying the towel aside and eyeing his offering. Her heart beat rapidly as she considered his suggestion. No one had ever given her the chance to sit and spend time with a book. The thought of having nothing else to do but look at the pages of words she could not read, trying to decipher the letters she could not name was more than she could fathom.

  “Pictures?” He frowned and opened the volume he held. “A few,” he said. “There’s some maps and some pictures of towns in this one, mostly places in Europe.” He held out the slender volume, and she took it carefully, turning it over in her hands. “Now, this one…” he said, offering a second book, a soft-cover publication, larger than the first “…is a lady’s fashion book that was my mother’s. It’s been around awhile, but I thought you might like to see the pictures of clothing and jewelry in it.”

  She felt a lump rise in her throat as she prepared to make the admission that would surely strip her of any respect she might have gained over the past days. “And that’s about all I can do, anyway. I can’t read, you know.” Her fingers tightened on the book she held, as if the contents might seep through the cover and into her mind. If only it was that easy. She closed her eyes against the quick tears that threatened to fall.

  Never had she felt so unworthy, so ignorant.

  And then his hands covered hers, enclosing her own fingers within his grasp. One broad palm lay atop hers, the other beneath, and between them the books were sandwiched. She stood stock-still, overwhelmed by the warmth of his skin, the silent understanding he offered, and finally by the words he spoke.

  “I know that, Maggie. I saw you looking at Sophie’s cookbook the other day. I don’t know why you never had any schooling, but maybe we can do something about it.” He waited and she opened her eyes, her gaze captured by the hands that enclosed hers with a firm touch.

  “I’m stupid, Beau. My pa said I’ll never amount to nothing.”

  He inhaled sharply and his grip on her tightened. “Don’t you ever say that again, girl. You’re a long way from stupid. You’ve just never had the opportunity to learn.”

  She chanced a glance at his face, finding there only the kindness she’d come to expect at his hand. “I’d like to look at the pictures, anyway, Beau. Even if I never learn to read the words.” Her voice faltered. “I’ve never had a real book to look at, only parts of my mama’s Bible that my pa tore up one day when he was mad at her.”

  “Could she read?”

  Maggie nodded. “She read to me and my sisters when Pa wasn’t around. That’s why he tore the Bible up, when he caught her one day. We found pages of it and Mama pressed them with the sadiron and hid them.” She smiled a bit at the memory. “We never did know which pages followed which, but there was some good stuff left, and Mama knew a lot of it by heart anyway.”

  Beau cleared his throat and Maggie frowned. “I’ll bet you’re tired of hearin’ my problems.” She tried to step back, but he held her fast.

  “No, you’re wrong there,” he said quietly. “For now, though, I want you to go into the parlor and settle down on the sofa. I’ve lit a lamp for you to see by and you need to stay there until I have my bath. All right?”

  All right? It couldn’t get much righter, she thought, than to have nothing else to do but sit in a fancy parlor and pretend she was a real lady. She nodded, more than willing to do as he said, and Beau released her hands, stepping aside to make way for her. She held the books to her breast and walked to the wide parlor doors, then into the cozy room where a lamp blazed beside the piece of furniture Beau called a sofa.

  She sat gingerly on the seat, sliding on the slippery fabric, then leaned back a bit and placed her feet side by side, books in her lap. The room was just as she’d seen it last, when she’d moved every last piece of furniture and swept with the carpet sweeper Beau had placed in her hands. Such luxury was not to be believed, she’d decided, using the tool carefully, amazed at the way it collected bits of dust and held them in a clever compartment until she tipped it to be emptied.

  She’d moved each small item on the table and desk, dusting carefully with a soft rag he’d provided her with, and now she took inventory of each pictu
re and object he treasured. To be given leave to just sit in such a place was beyond anything she’d ever heard of. Her fingers tested the fabric beside her, sliding over the sleek seat and then, with a sigh, she leaned against the high, curved back of the sofa. A foolish grin curved her lips and she shivered as she thought of what her pa would say if he could see her now.

  But, thanks to Beau Jackson, that wasn’t going to happen. Not right this minute, anyway, maybe not even tomorrow or the next day. Beyond that she could not imagine, for in the past days, she’d learned to only hope and plan for one day at a time, lest her happiness in this place come to a sudden, crashing stop—and she be thrown once more into the miserable hell she’d known for nineteen years.

  Chapter Five

  The window was high in the wall, with shutters that closed it from the inside. Maggie stood in the doorway of the storage room, wondering for a moment why Beau had placed the opening so close to the ceiling. The other windows in this house were only a foot or so above the floors, yet this one was so high she’d have to step up on her tiptoes to see outdoors.

  And then his reasoning for doing such a thing invaded her mind and she was swamped with a deep sense of appreciation for his thoughtfulness. For, if she couldn’t see out, then it made sense that no one from the outside could see into her room. She could leave it open at night for air if she wanted to, or during the day to provide light without fear of being watched.

  He’d known, he must have realized her need for privacy, and had acted accordingly. She smiled at this example of the man’s thoughtfulness and entered the small room. Reaching up, she pushed the shutters into place, then opened them wide, pleased at the difference.

  “Is it all right?” Beau asked from behind her, and she turned to face him.

  “It’s more than just all right,” she told him. She knew her smile gave away her pleasure, and no more was necessary, but somehow she had to touch him, had to reinforce her thankfulness for his work on her behalf. She crossed to where he stood, one hand resting against the doorjamb, the other shoved into his trouser’s pocket.

  Without thinking, she reached to touch him, her fingers resting on his chest. “I want to thank you, Beau. I’d never have thought of puttin’ it so high on the wall, and I was thinkin’ it would bother me to have it open at night. Now I don’t have to worry none that somebody could look in at me.”

  He grinned. “There’s bushes outside right up tight to the house, so unless someone wanted to get a ladder I figure you’re out of sight of anybody walking by.” He slid the hand from his pocket and captured her fingers in a movement so rapid she barely had time to squeak a protest. “Hush,” he told her quietly. “I’m not grabbing at you, Maggie. I just like it that you touched me all on your own.” His smile was quick. “I think I’m making progress with my skittish filly.”

  She felt a blush rise to cover her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to be forward,” she whispered. “I didn’t think.” Her fingers curled within his grasp and she felt the calluses that ridged his palm.

  “Now, Maggie,” he began, his eyes twinkling as though he enjoyed her embarrassment. “If you were to kiss me, that might be considered as being a bit forward. But certainly just touching my shirt doesn’t qualify.”

  Obviously the man didn’t know that she could feel the heat of his body through the shirt she’d grazed with her fingertips, nor did he understand that she’d never before laid her hand on a man. The thought of kissing him was so far beyond the meanderings she’d indulged in, it was nigh onto mind-boggling. Even the image of her lips touching any part of his skin brought fresh heat to the blush she knew was even now firmly in place.

  And then he lifted her hand from his shirtfront and raised it to his lips. They were warm and dry against her knuckles and his gaze met hers as he held her hand there, his mouth pressing against her flesh. His lips moved then, whispering words against her fingers, causing a tingle to rise from the bottom of her spine, bringing a soft shiver into being.

  “I’m pleased to do something for you, Maggie girl. I know you won’t give me a kiss in thanks, and I don’t expect you to.”

  She snatched her hand from his grasp and buried it within the folds of her skirt. “Then why did you…” She could not continue, could not speak the word he whispered so readily.

  “Why did I kiss your hand? Maybe to thank you for doing the cooking and cleaning and working in the garden and taking care of my cow.” As he spoke he held up one finger, then two, three, then four, until he’d enumerated the reasons he’d listed. “If I were paying you wages, I’d be deeply in your debt, you know.”

  “You don’t owe me nuthin’, Beau Jackson!” she declared. “That shoe’s on the other foot.”

  “Ah, but I disagree with you there,” he said solemnly. “So, when I went to town the other day I brought back some things for you to wear, instead of paying you cash money.”

  She was perplexed. “You already gave me the dress I’m supposed to wear at the table when we eat supper. What else are you talkin’ about?” For he’d indeed brought her a blue checked gingham dress, with buttons all down the front and a sash that tied in the back. She’d made a bow and then looked in the mirror he’d nailed into place on the wall for her benefit and her mouth had fallen open in shock. Never had a garment fit her before. Once she’d tied that sash, her waist was outlined and her top and bottom looked all curvy and she’d flushed bright red, her gaze taken with the sight of her own form.

  “I got you some pants that should fit better than those of Pony’s and some shirts. We’ll call the account square, seeing as I haven’t paid you for your work here.” He picked up a parcel from a nearby chair and handed it to her.

  Maggie hefted it in her hands. “Feels pretty heavy for a pair of pants and a couple of shirts.”

  Beau had the grace to look sheepish. “I had the storekeeper put in a pair of boots for you, too. Those you’ve been wearing are too big. It’s a wonder they haven’t given you blisters already.”

  They had, Maggie wanted to say, but then thought better of it. Pony’s cast-offs had rubbed her heel raw the first day, and she’d been dabbing the spot with carbolic salve every night and putting bits of clean rag on it every day.

  “I thank you,” she said instead, trying to fathom the amount of money Beau had spent. Certainly more than she’d earned in her time here.

  He leaned forward and his lips were warm against her forehead. As though he’d branded her with a hot iron, she felt the skin tingle and as he stepped back, she was certain Sophie would notice the evidence of his impulsive behavior. Surely a mark must remain, so vivid was the memory of that masculine mouth against her skin.

  “That’s twice, Maggie.” His smile was crooked and his eyes crinkled at the corners.

  “Twice what?” Sophie’s voice from the kitchen doorway was enough to send Maggie’s heart into double time. What if the woman had seen Beau making monkeyshines with her? Sophie’d be thinking that Beau was going soft in the head, or maybe that Maggie had invited the kiss.

  “Twice that Maggie thanked me for cutting the window in the wall for her.” Beau turned smoothly and faced his housekeeper. His grin well in place, he protected Maggie with his bulk. The girl had looked thunderstruck at the sound of Sophie’s question, her hands rising to cover her cheeks, her eyes wide and startled.

  “Well, it was good of you, Beau. I thought she must be stifling in that little cubbyhole with no air comin’ in or out. Course the nights are gettin’ cool now with fall comin’ on, but a body still needs fresh air, I always say.” Sophie’s homily brought a grin to Beau’s lips.

  “I’ll get window glass in town and frame it in right,” he told Sophie. “I don’t want snow coming in through the cracks around the shutters next month.”

  “You think we’ll have snow so early on?” Sophie looked dubious.

  “Pony says the caterpillars are wearing heavy coats. Seems like we’ve had snow before the end of October some years.”

  “Well,
I hope you don’t believe everything Pony tells you,” Sophie retorted. “He’s tried to convince me that women actually dress up in spangles and show their legs and then stand up on the backs of horses while they’re goin’ full-tilt around in a circle.”

  “You didn’t believe him?” Beau asked, smothering a chuckle at Sophie’s look of horror.

  “Well, I wouldn’t, either,” Maggie said from behind him. “Why would anybody make such a fool of herself that way?”

  “Folks pay a bundle to see circus performers,” Beau said, moving to allow Maggie passage from her room. His sharp eye surveyed her quickly. She’d recovered from the blush and now stepped to Sophie’s side, clearly aligning herself with the other woman.

  “You’ve seen such a thing?” she asked Beau, her mouth pursing as if she judged his character by the forthcoming answer.

  “I’ve been to a circus,” he admitted, thinking privately that such an expedition was the least of his ventures into the world of pleasure.

  “Were the women wearin’—” Sophie broke off, shaking her head. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.” Her sniff was accompanied by a straightening of her spine and she turned to Maggie. “We’ve got better things to do than talk about such vulgarities, girl. There’s supper to put on the table.” She turned from Beau, but Maggie hesitated.

  Her gaze flirted with his for a moment as though memories barred her from such intimate contact. “Beau.” The single syllable was whispered almost beneath her breath, and he felt the vibration of its tone deep within his breast. Damn. The girl was getting to him in a way he hadn’t foreseen. And even as he hardened his heart against her appeal, that most vital of all organs betrayed him.

  “Thank you for…” Her hesitation was long, as if she enumerated the list in her mind, and then she clenched her jaw, allowing her blue eyes to clash with the depths of his own dark gaze. “I’d appreciate the window glass. I know it’ll cost you dear. Pa always said it wasn’t needful to cover windows so’s you could see out of them. We only had shutters in the house, and glass only in the kitchen, so Mama wouldn’t waste kerosene in the lanterns.”