Verna shook her head and shivered again. “You know yer Pa. Said the damn horse balked on him and he laid it low with an ax handle. Split it right to the bone across the withers. Now it’s infected and he’s afraid the critter’s gonna die on him.”
Maggie bundled her coat up to the throat and walked to the back door. “I want to take you home with me, Mama. If you’ll put some clothes on, I’ll come back in and get you. But I won’t be long. You’ll have to hurry.” She stepped out onto the porch and hastened across the yard to where the barn door stood partway open.
The gelding stood in the first stall, one hind foot lifted above the manure he stood in. The stench of fouled straw and unkempt animals assailed her nostrils and she made her way gingerly to the horse’s head, untying his halter from the stall. She backed with him into the aisle and then out the door, filling her lungs with fresh air as she passed through the portal.
“Come on, boy. We’ll take you home and get you fixed up,” she murmured to the horse, leading him across the yard and up to the back porch. Affixing his lead rope to the porch railing, she stepped inside the back door, only to halt as her mother turned her head.
“You’re not ready, Mama,” Maggie said quietly, knowing as she spoke that her mother would not leave this place.
“You go on, Mag.” Verna took the mittens from her hands and held them out to Maggie. “Take these with you. If your Pa sees them, he’ll know someone was here.” She looked at the blue wool and back up at her daughter. “Somebody must think a lot of you to make these for you.”
Maggie nodded, taking the mittens and sliding her own hands into their warmth. “I have to hurry, Mama. I don’t want to take a chance on seeing Pa.”
“Don’t come back, Mag,” her mother warned. “Don’t let him have another chance at you. He’ll kill you, girl. He means it.”
Maggie shuddered and backed from the house, then led the horse around to the front where the mare waited. She lifted herself into the saddle, and without a backward look, headed for the road, matching the mare’s pace to the slower gait of the abused animal who followed.
“Where the hell did that decrepit nag come from?” Beau burst in the back door, his gaze moving unerringly to Maggie. She squared her shoulders and faced him. “Tell me you didn’t bring that horse into my barn,” Beau thundered.
“I can’t tell you that,” she answered. “I did put him in the barn, and made a poultice for him and then put salve on his withers. On top of that,” she blurted, “I stole him.”
“You stole that pitiful bag of bones? Hell, girl, if you were going to steal a horse, you could at least have made it one worth dragging home. That miserable thing doesn’t look like he’ll make it till morning.”
Maggie’s eyes darted to the window and she hurried to gaze through the pane. “Is he down? He was on his feet when I left him.”
“He’s still up,” Beau told her. “But, probably not for long. Pony thinks he’s in a pretty bad way. You can’t see him from here. I had Pony put him in the back where it’s warmer.”
“Well, this girl’s not going back out there till she gets some food in her,” Sophie put in, from her spot in front of the stove. “She just dragged in here a few minutes ago, about poohed-out. And not a thing to eat since breakfast.”
“Well, there’s plenty of food in the house,” Beau blustered, stepping closer to Maggie. “There’s no excuse for not eating,” he said, his tone softer. “Where’d you get the horse?” And even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. “You went to see your mother, didn’t you? And the horse was in the barn, and you couldn’t stand the thought of your pa taking out his hatefulness on a dumb animal.”
Her eyes widened. “How did you know?” she whispered, tilting her head back to search his eyes. “Are you going to put him…” She shook her head. “No, of course you’re not. You wouldn’t have let Pony move him to a warmer spot if you were gonna put him out in the cold.” Her lips twitched and a sad smile came into being. “You’re not as tough as you’d like me to think, Beau Jackson.”
“I’ll be tougher than you could ever imagine if I have to face down your father over that pathetic excuse for a horse,” he told her firmly. And then, as she nodded her head in agreement, he wrapped his arms around her waist and tugged her closer. Across the room, Sophie snorted loudly, and Beau cast a warning look in her direction.
He felt chilled, overwhelmed with thoughts of what might have happened to this woman he loved had her father discovered her presence in his house. Anger threatened to overwhelm him, not only for Maggie and the danger she’d placed herself in today, but that there was any danger at all. A young woman should be able to visit her mother without fear of the consequences.
“We’ll look after the horse,” Beau said, swallowing the hatred he felt for the miserable excuse for a man who’d so foully abused the animal sheltered even now in his barn.
“I had to bring him here,” Maggie whispered. “You can’t imagine the stall he was standing in, and the filth I washed off him before I put him out back.”
The presence of her wrapped in his arms brought calm to his storm-tossed emotions, reassuring him that she was safe here beneath his roof. “Do you think he’ll make it, Maggie?” Beau asked, bending to kiss her forehead. His goal was a bit lower, somewhere between her nose and chin, but the presence of Sophie in the room made him choose a safer target.
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Her fingers trailed across his coat, loosening his buttons and spreading wide the lapels. Then she nuzzled against the vee of his open-collared shirt. “I had to do it, Beau. I couldn’t make my mama come along, but that old gelding just followed right behind me, like he knew he was going to a better place.”
“You saw your mama.” Beau’s hand were moving gently across her back, measuring the narrow width, then clasping her tightly.
She nodded. “The house was cold and I built a fire and made her go into the kitchen to get warm. She said she had to stay and cook for him.” A hopeless note permeated her voice and Beau winced at the sorrow that filled her words. The urge to carry her from the kitchen, find a place of privacy and console her with whatever means available was powerful. Lifting her in his arms was tempting, the lure of his bed was almost more than he could resist. And yet he obeyed his better instincts.
“Sit down and eat something, Maggie,” he said, turning her to the table, shooting a glance at Sophie. She did as he asked, and he drew up a second chair beside her. A bowl appeared before her, and Sophie placed a spoon beside it.
“Good vegetable stew, all but the dumplings,” she said. “You can have some more of it in an hour, when supper’s ready. Eat that for now.”
Maggie picked up the spoon, a child obeying orders, Beau thought, as she obediently lifted steaming vegetables to her mouth. “Don’t burn yourself,” he warned. “It’s too hot.” And she was too tired to care, he decided, leaning closer to blow on the spoon.
She flushed, and he was relieved to see color on her cheeks. “Thank you,” she murmured, her smile lopsided as she tilted her head to watch him.
“Blow it yourself,” he told her, sitting back, his grin coming easier now. “Just eat it, one way or the other.” And then watched her as she devoured the bowlful of food.
The night was long, with Pony at her side, ministering with her to the horse she’d rescued. “He ain’t hardly worth the trouble,” Pony muttered, handing her a steaming poultice.
“I know it,” she admitted. “But what else can we do? Just let him die, without anybody caring?”
“Reckon not,” Pony said, his hands working slowly, brushing and grooming the animal’s hindquarters. “Don’t know how anyone can treat a horse so bad. Probably hasn’t been cleaned up in weeks.”
“More like months,” she admitted. “Knowing my pa the way I do, I’d say he just used and abused this poor thing. He’s real handy at doing that.” She lifted the poultice and turned it, then covered the horse’s withers with a blanket, holding in the h
eat.
“You might’s well sit down for a while,” Pony told her. “If this is gonna work, we’ll know pretty soon. Seems like that thing’s drained pretty good.”
“I’m afraid if we leave him, he’ll be down, and then we’ll never get him on his feet.” Maggie’s hands rubbed at the gelding’s head and she spoke softly into the twitching ears.
“It’s almost morning,” Beau said, from the aisle. “There’s new snow. We’ll need to feed horses, Pony.”
“What we need to do is get this girl to bed, boss,” Pony told him. “She’s about tuckered out.”
“You’ve been up all night, too,” Maggie said, as if determined not to be hustled off to the house. “I’m going in for breakfast pretty soon. Just another half hour or so, and I’ll put drawing salve on him and bandage it over.”
“What do you think?” Beau asked. The horse looked a little perkier, he decided, and he’d been eating some hay from Maggie’s hand the past little while. “Did you give him any oats or corn?”
“I thought we’d try some mash,” she said. “If you don’t mind.” She turned to face Beau, and the gelding’s head lifted, his nose nudging Maggie’s shoulder.
“He likes you petting on him,” Beau told her. And he couldn’t blame the animal. He’d give a lot to have Maggie’s hands work a little magic in his direction. “Why don’t you finish up here for a while, Maggie,” Beau urged her. “Get a blanket over him and come on up to the house.”
“Go on ahead,” Pony said. “Beau can bring me some grub, and I’ll pitch hay down to the wagon.”
Her feet dragged, shuffling through the snow, and Beau’s arm was welcome, gripping her waist through the folds of her coat. “I’m tired,” she admitted, yawning as she watched the pink shards of sunlight on the eastern sky.
“Sophie said she was going to heat water for a bath,” Beau told her. “You’ll feel better if you can soak those muscles.”
In minutes he’d stripped her of her coat, then aimed her at the sink, where Sophie had laid out soap and a clean washrag. Bending her head over the basin, Maggie washed slowly, and with obvious relish, cleaning the grime from hands and arms. Beau was reminded of the first time she’d been in this kitchen, scrubbing an accumulation of dirt and then turning to him defiantly, her small face bruised and battered, one eye shut and swollen and her lips and mouth damaged by a man’s fist.
He’d loved her then, he realized. He’d felt the need to cherish and protect her, his masculine urges centered on healing the fey creature who’d entered his life. And in the giving of what small gifts she would allow, he’d learned to appreciate the vibrant woman who inhabited the slender body of a girl. Not a taker, his Maggie. Used to hard work, she’d made a place for herself here, earned his respect that first day. And in the weeks following had filled the aching hollow in his heart.
Gone was the pain of love lost, in those long-ago days back home. Forever vanished was the attraction he’d felt for Rachel McPherson, leaving in its wake a friendship he valued. Here now was Maggie O’Neill.
“What’re you looking at?” she asked, her eyes seeking his as she turned from the sink. “Didn’t I get all the dirt off my face?”
“Yeah, you did. You look fine, sweetheart.” Bemused by the warmth her presence generated in his heart, he lifted a hand to brush damp hair from her forehead. And then, because he could not resist, he kissed the spot, ignoring the smell of horse and barn and medicine that permeated her clothing. His mouth cherished her, moving from forehead to cheek to lips, neither seeking a response nor expecting one, only enjoying the smooth, clear skin and the pink, soft lips of the woman he loved.
“You make me lose my breath sometimes,” she whispered, her eyes closing.
“I’m planning on doing a lot of that. Pretty soon, in fact.” His hands drew her closer and she leaned against him, limp with weariness after the long night. He’d give her today to recuperate and catch up on her sleep. By tomorrow, if he had his way, she’d be in his bed.
She’d lost a whole day, Maggie realized. Feet on the floor, she looked up at her window, amazed to find that the sun was well above the horizon, if the blazing warmth coming through the glass panes was anything to go by. The golden rays were focused on her bed and she stretched widely, yawning as she tested sore muscles in her arms and legs. Caring for sick animals always took a lot out of her, and adding cold weather and a night without sleep, she’d found herself too weary for words.
Beau had roused her at suppertime to make sure she ate, and then tucked her back into the narrow bed afterward. She closed her eyes, the memory of his hands against her body bringing a flush to her cheeks. He’d knelt there, right where her feet were even now resting on the braided rug, bending over her bed, kissing her with gentle care and whispering to her.
Her eyes popped open. What had he said? We’re getting married tomorrow, sweetheart.
Tomorrow? That meant today. And that thought brought her to her feet, only then noticing that her door stood open wide, allowing heat from the kitchen stove to warm her.
“About time you woke up,” Sophie said from across the kitchen. “Thought you were going to sleep another day away.”
“I’m up,” Maggie told her quickly. “Where’s Beau?”
“Gone out to the barn. He’ll be back shortly for breakfast. He was waitin’ for you to get up before he ate.”
Maggie pushed her legs into clean trousers and reached for a shirt. She’d slept in underwear, more of Pony’s cast-offs, long-legged, fleece-lined drawers, well worn, but warm. Her undershirt was new, and her own, softest cotton knit, eliminating the need for her new chemise beneath it. Her plaid flannel shirt buttoned, she sat to pull stockings in place. A quick once-over with her hairbrush took care of snarls, and she went into the kitchen with her long hair loose, a heavy, dark fall reaching below her waist.
A cup of coffee waited on the table and she murmured her thanks, lifting it to inhale the pungent aroma. “Thank you, Sophie.” The heat from the cookstove was welcome and Maggie backed close to bask in the warmth. This was about as close to heaven as she’d ever been. She’d thought before that Beau’s home was paradise to her needy soul, but now, with the memory of his kisses and the words he’d spoken, she had moved on to another realm.
She was going to be Mrs. Beau Jackson, a married lady.
From the yard, a shout shattered her reverie, and a gunshot blasted the window across the room. Sophie whirled, grabbing Maggie and hurling them both to the kitchen floor. Coffee cascaded across the stove, hissing as it splattered and bounced in droplets, evaporating on the hot iron surface.
“What happened?” Maggie whispered, edging beneath the heavy table. A blast of cold air from the broken windowpanes sent shivers through her, vibrating in her voice.
“Some idiot took a shot at the house,” Sophie answered angrily. “Can’t imagine that Rad would show his face here.” She lifted her head to peer across the room, just as another shot rang out and a man’s voice called a challenge.
“You got my girl in there, Jackson! I want her out here right now. I’m takin’ her home where she belongs.”
Maggie buried her face against the floor, a rush of fear flooding her body. “Beau!” Her throat constricted as she called his name, and the single syllable was a pleading whisper.
“Don’t worry none,” Sophie said staunchly. “Beau’s not about to give you over to that rotten piece of humanity, girl. I’m gettin’ the shotgun from the pantry.” On her haunches, Sophie made her way to the open doorway where the food was stored on wide shelves. She lifted herself inside the narrow room, and as Maggie watched, the woman’s capable hands opened the shotgun, then closed it with a harsh, metallic sound.
“It’s loaded,” Sophie said firmly. “And I know how to shoot the thing.”
From the yard, a commotion she could not decipher battered Maggie’s ears—the sounds of men’s voices raised in anger, two shots from handguns and the raging fury of a drunken man merged into a ruckus
the likes of which she’d never heard.
“Get your sorry butt off my property,” Beau called, his words harsh and penetrating.
“That’s Beau, out by the barn,” Sophie reported from her spot in the pantry. “He’s got a gun, must be Pony’s pistol.”
Edgar O’Neill shouted curses, the words familiar to Maggie, and she trembled anew.
“Your pa’s havin’ a fit out there,” Sophie said. “His poor horse is frantic, with the old man sawin’ at his mouth. He’ll be lucky if he don’t get dumped.”
“Come on out of there, girl,” Edgar called again. “I’ll shoot Beau Jackson where he stands if’n you don’t come on home with me.”
“You stay put, Maggie. You hear me?” Beau’s anger was apparent, his words steely with purpose. And beneath the table, Maggie trembled all the more.
If Beau took a bullet because of her, she’d never forgive herself. She rose to her hands and knees and crept carefully to the window, edging past broken shards of glass, ignoring the cuts she could not escape.
“You stay back,” Sophie ordered, moving from the shelter of the pantry to crouch near the window. “Don’t even think about goin’ out there, Maggie. Beau’ll handle this.”
And he did. Maggie lifted to her knees and watched as Beau leveled his gun at Edgar, then shot with precision, the first bullet claiming the drunken man’s hat, the second blasting the long gun from his hand. With a howl of pain, Edgar wheeled his horse in a half circle and bent low over the animal’s neck.
“I’ll be back,” he shouted, lurching in the saddle as the frightened horse galloped from the yard.
“And we’ll be ready for you,” Sophie muttered, rising to her feet. “Get off that floor,” she told Maggie. “You’re bleedin’ in half a dozen places. Don’t be brushin’ off your clothes, just slip those pants down your legs and step out of ’em.”
Maggie stood, eyeing her hands critically. Blood dripped from several cuts, but none of them seemed to have slivers of glass imbedded. “I’m fine,” she said. “I just need to wash good and get some salve on them.”
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