The door opened, slamming against the wall as Beau burst into the kitchen. “Are you all right?” His eyes were narrowed, dark with anger and focused on Maggie. He scanned her quickly, his gaze dropping to the floor around her, where sunlight glittered on the broken glass. “Step away from there, Maggie.”
She laughed, a brittle sound that held a trace of confusion. “Y’all need to decide between you what I’m supposed to do. Sophie wants me to take off my pants and you want me to…” She looked away from Beau, then back, her fright vanishing as relief swamped her senses. Tears threatened and she blinked them away.
“Maggie.” He could only speak her name, his heart racing as he thought of what might have been, as once more she was exposed to danger. “Sophie’s right. Undo your pants. I can see glass sticking to them. We’ll rinse them off in a bucket and hang them out to dry.”
“You want me to undress in front of you?” she asked unbelievingly.
“That’s what I said, and while you’re at it be careful where you walk. You don’t even have your boots on.” Beau turned his back on her, stepping into her room to snatch a quilt from the bed. She’d undone the pants and was lowering them gingerly down her legs, bending to step from them when he turned back to the kitchen.
With care, she moved to the table and Sophie pulled a chair out. “Let Beau wrap that quilt around you,” she said, and then lent a hand as he enveloped Maggie in the warmth of patchwork and flannel.
“I’ll clean up this mess,” Sophie told him. “You get this girl some coffee.” Reaching for her broom, Sophie made short work of the task, and Beau settled beside Maggie, helping her fit her hands around a thick china mug.
“I’m getting it all bloody,” she said, her voice sounding hollow. Her fingers gripped the cup and she lifted it to her mouth to sip at the hot brew. She settled it back on the table and turned her hands palm up for inspection. Sophie placed a clean, wet cloth across them and wiped at the small cuts. Fresh blood welled to the surface, but it was obvious that the cuts were minor.
“We’ll just wrap them for a while,” Sophie said, tearing a piece of worn sheet into long strips, then winding them over Maggie’s hands. Layers of soft fabric beneath the strips formed pressure against the wounds, and in moments Sophie had wiped off the soiled cup and pronounced Maggie a candidate for breakfast.
Pony was on the porch, pounding a piece of wood over the broken window, and Beau stood to light the lantern over the table. Except for the visible traces of her father’s madness, all was back to normal, and Maggie nestled deeper into the quilt. She was safe, and Beau knew a moment’s relief as color returned to her pale cheeks. She had to know that she was protected by those around her, who cared that she be secure within these walls. And yet, Beau sensed that she had succumbed to a sense of guilt that she had brought trouble to Beau’s ranch. That her presence here had put him and his household in danger.
“I’m sorry, Beau,” she said quietly, speaking the words he’d expected from her lips. “I should never have gone to see my mama. I might have known that Pa would make her tell where I was.” She met his gaze and her chin firmed. “I mentioned your name without even thinking, and I’m sure it didn’t take Pa long to find out everything Mama knew.”
His hand rose to caress her cheek. “It was going to happen sooner or later. It just makes our trip to town today more important than ever.”
“Town?” Maggie’s confusion was obvious. “Today?”
“We’re getting married this afternoon,” he told her. “Soon as we eat some breakfast, and you get dressed. I’ll get cleaned up, and then we’re taking the buggy to town to see the preacher.”
Chapter Eleven
The Reverend Bryant met them at the door to the parsonage, welcoming them warmly. “You must be Maggie O’Neill,” he said, taking Maggie’s hand in his. He held it with a firm grip, his eyes searching her face.
What he found there seemed to please him, for he smiled kindly upon her, calling over his shoulder to the woman who watched from the parlor doorway. “Willie, come and meet Miss O’Neill. She’s the young lady who’s been working at the Jackson ranch.”
“I’m Wilhelmina Bryant,” the preacher’s wife announced, casting a reproving glance at her husband. Apparently Willie was not a name to be used in public. “Won’t the two of you come on in?”
Beau swept his hat from his head and nodded, escorting Maggie through the small foyer to the doors of the parsonage parlor. Pictures and small mementos gave notice of long years of marriage, scattered over tables and on shelves. The mantel held a gilt-framed picture of two much younger people, resplendent in their wedding clothes, and recognizable as the Reverend and Mrs. Bryant. Maggie smiled as she scanned the room. Someone surely did a powerful amount of dusting to keep everything so shiny, she decided.
Beau’s hand on her back applied pressure, and she glanced up at him. He looked more solemn than she’d ever seen him before. His fingers nudged her then and he nodded at the sofa. She obeyed, sitting gingerly on the edge of the cushion, as Wilhelmina lowered herself into a matching chair. Looking decidedly uncomfortable, Beau remained standing, hat in hand.
“Reverend Bryant, I told you last week that we were planning a wedding,” he began, and Maggie’s eyes widened at the words. When on earth he’d done that was a puzzlement to her. “We’ve decided to take the step today…if you have the time to perform the ceremony.”
Reverend Bryant nodded judiciously, his eyes twinkling. “Performing marriage ceremonies is the most enjoyable part of my ministry. I’d say you’ve found a fine young woman to be your bride, Mr. Jackson.”
“I think so,” Beau agreed. He glanced down at Maggie, then back at the preacher. “I have to tell you that we’ve got a reason to rush this along. Maggie’s father is a man of uncertain temperament.”
Uncertain temperament, indeed, Maggie thought.
“He’s decided that Maggie should return to the family farm, and I can’t allow that to happen,” Beau continued. “I’ve wanted to make her my bride for several weeks, so this isn’t a spur of the moment gesture. I’m determined to protect her and I can do that best if she’s my wife.”
“Well, I think we have good reason to perform a ceremony, then,” the Reverend Bryant said agreeably. He turned to Maggie and offered his hand. “Come along, young lady, and we’ll turn you into a married woman right here and now.” Wilhelmina rose and stepped to Maggie’s side. “Willie, here, will be your witness.”
Bemused by the course of events, Maggie did as she was directed, standing beside Beau, listening to the solemn words of the wedding ceremony. If her voice was less than firm, it seemed to make no matter, for Beau’s was both loud and clear as he spoke the words of the marriage service. He would not take his vows lightly. If she knew nothing else, Maggie was sure of that.
Then, at the minister’s urging, Maggie made promises to take care of the man beside her, and she repeated the words gladly. Tending to Beau’s needs would be a joy. Richer and poorer wasn’t a problem, either. She’d been as poor as she could imagine all of her life. Anything Beau had to offer was far and above what she was used to.
And then her voice faltered a bit as she vowed to love and obey. It seemed hardly right to speak about love when she wasn’t even sure what the word entailed, when it came to a marriage. But doing as Beau asked would certainly be small potatoes compared to the orders she’d taken from Edgar O’Neill all her livelong days.
There was a final, long pause as Wilhelmina blew her nose loudly into a lacy handkerchief. And then the Reverend Bryant gave Beau his final instruction, his words delivered with a wide smile. “You may kiss your bride.”
Maggie hadn’t been aware that getting married involved a kiss right in front of the preacher, but Beau seemed to find no fault with the idea. He bent to her, one hand at her waist, the other beneath her chin. His eyes met hers, and his look of solemnity became a tender smile, transforming him from sober bridegroom to the man she’d come to know over the pa
st weeks.
The kiss was perfect, a brush of lips, then a whisper of breath as he spoke her name, a wistful sound that tangled around her heart and warmed her insides like hot tea on a cold afternoon.
“Well, now,” the Reverend Bryant said, as proudly as if he’d instigated this whole procedure. “I’m sure my wife can find some refreshments in the kitchen. We’ll just sit down for a visit.”
The visit lasted longer than either Beau or Maggie had planned, and it was past dinnertime when they left the parsonage, Wilhelmina’s cooking too inviting to refuse and the minister’s stories too delightful to miss. “We need to stop by the general store,” Beau said as he helped Maggie into the buggy. Bemused by his assistance, she straightened her skirts, still unused to the courtesies he seemed to take for granted.
“Sophie gave me a list of things to get,” Beau said, lifting the reins. “Shouldn’t take long. And then, it’s time to carry you over the threshold, Mrs. Jackson.”
Maggie stifled a chuckle. “Why would you want to do that?” she asked. “I been walking for about eighteen years now. Seems like I can make it over your doorsill all by myself.”
Beau grinned, his eyes narrowing as he swept her with an admiring look. “You’re going to be a bride today, Maggie. Carrying you over the threshold is a custom we’re not going to ignore. And then we’re going to move you and all your belongings upstairs to my room.”
“I’ll be sleeping in your bed?” And why that idea should send shivers of delight up her spine was something to consider. The thought of sharing a bedroom, let alone the bed itself, with a man, had never held any appeal for her. Yet, when Beau’s eyes warmed her with a look that promised much, she could not refuse him.
She only wished that Emily and Roberta were handy. There were a few things she’d sure like to ask them.
The general store was busy, with folks coming and going through the double, glass-pane doors. Cord McPherson stepped across the threshold as Beau lifted Maggie from the buggy, and he raised a hand in greeting.
“Beau. Good to see you. I’d heard you were in town.”
Beau’s brow lifted. “Word gets around fast. Anybody tell you why we spent an hour at the parsonage?”
Cord’s face brightened. “There’s some speculation goin’ on inside. Lorena said she saw you gettin’ out of your buggy with a pretty girl.” His gaze lit and lingered on Maggie. “She was right on the button there.” A glint of contemplation measured the couple before him. “Don’t tell me you got married.”
“All right, McPherson,” Beau answered. “I won’t tell you.” His hand rested firmly at Maggie’s waist and she was warmed by his support. Cord McPherson was enjoying this, she’d wager.
“Well, I’d offer to kiss the bride, but I doubt Rachel would like that idea,” Cord said. “She’ll sure be pleased as punch to hear the news though. You’ll have to bring Maggie back by to visit. Rachel took a real shine to her.” He glanced back at the doorway. “You’ll be exposin’ yourselves to a hive of busybodies in there, you know.”
“Might as well be now as later,” Beau said. “Thanks for the invitation. I’ll bring Maggie by before long.”
Cord stepped aside and then paused. “Introduce Maggie to Lorena. She’s buyin’ flannel for diapers.” He bent closer to Maggie. “My brother, Jake, is about to bust his buttons, with Lorena expecting most any day.”
Inside the Emporium, Maggie found herself the focus of attention, with several pairs of curious eyes turned in her direction. A tall, blond woman turned from the counter, her skirts covering an obvious pregnancy. She smiled broadly and stepped toward Maggie, hands outstretched.
“You must be Maggie. Rachel told me about you, and I’ve been wanted to see you for myself.” Looking ruefully down at her expanded waistline, she sighed. “I don’t seem to do much roaming around the countryside these days. Jake keeps me pretty close to home.”
“Are you Lorena?” It had to be, Maggie thought. Pregnant and apparently married to the man named Jake, it could be no other. The friendly smile was welcome and Maggie took Lorena’s hands. They were smooth to the touch, a direct contrast to her own callused fingers and palms.
And yet, Lorena took no apparent notice, drawing Maggie with her toward the counter where Cora was busily measuring flannel from a bolt. “I’m going to have a baby,” Lorena confided quietly.
Maggie nodded solemnly. “I noticed.” Try as she might, she couldn’t keep from smiling, and was pleased when Lorena laughed aloud.
“It’s hard to keep it a secret at this stage. But I really don’t care. Jake is so happy and I’m tickled to death.” Lorena glanced around and whispered, “Poor Beau. He’s wishing he could drag you out of here and head for home, I’ll warrant.”
Maggie peered past Lorena, her gaze settling on Beau who was looking more than a little uncomfortable. Three men were cutting up at his expense, and she felt a pang of sympathy as Beau dodged their remarks.
“Am I right? Did you just get married?” Lorena asked in a low tone. “I thought as much when I saw his buggy at the parsonage, and then Cord said Beau was really sweet on you.”
“How’d he know?” Maggie asked quickly. “I’ll bet Beau hasn’t been passing out that news to just anybody.”
Lorena shrugged. “Rachel told me the other day that she wouldn’t be surprised if Beau married you.” She pressed her lips together and then sighed. “I’ve heard about your daddy, Maggie. I know your sisters, and they haven’t been shy about letting folks know where they came from.”
“You know Emily and Roberta?” Maggie’s heart leaped with joy as she spoke her sisters’ names. “Can you tell me where they live? I haven’t seen either of them in…” She paused. “It’s been longer than forever, I swear,” she said sadly. And then in a rush, her questions flew fast and furiously. Lorena waved her hand, hushing the flood of words.
“They’re both living here in town, almost next door to each other. And they’re fine, truly they are. Just worried about you. They heard that you’d left home, but no one knew where you’d gone.” She grinned widely and bent closer to speak softly. “Do you think Beau would take you by to see them before you go back home? They’ll be so glad to hear that he married you.”
Maggie swallowed hard, fighting a sudden rush of tears. Seeing her sisters would be a dream come true. “I’ll ask Beau if we can stop. They’ll know how I feel, always looking over my shoulder lest Pa shows up, and now to know he can’t touch me. I think that’s why Beau married me.”
Lorena muffled a laugh behind her hand. “I think you’ve got a lot to learn. Beau had other reasons than that. A man doesn’t take wedding vows unless…”
“Maggie?” Beau was at her back, and Lorena’s words came to an abrupt halt.
Whatever Lorena thought would have to wait for another time, Maggie knew. For now she was anxious to coax Beau into finding directions to Emily’s and Roberta’s homes. “I’m ready,” she announced, turning to face him.
“Soon as Cora gets a chance to fill this order, we need to be on our way home,” he told her. “I have to stop at the livery stable to check on my horse.” His mouth firmed and a frown marred the fine lines of his brow. “Rad made the mistake of bragging around town that he’d made a fool of me. I doubt he had the decency to leave my horse behind, but I’ll give it a shot anyway.” He stepped closer to the counter, list in hand, waiting his turn.
“Then he did steal your money?” Maggie’s heart sank as Beau nodded.
“Looks that way, from what he said. He skinned out before the sheriff could get hold of him.”
Cora, her hands occupied with folding the enormous length of flannel she’d cut for Lorena, glanced up at Maggie, nodding efficiently. “I’m pretty near done with Miz McPherson here. I’ll get to you right away.”
Right away turned out to be almost half an hour, and Beau’s watch had been peered at several times before the busy clerk began adding up his purchases. “Lorena told me where your sisters live,” he told Maggie i
n a low tone. “We’ll make a quick stop.”
Maggie clenched his arm, the urge to hug him almost beyond belief. This had been a day she’d remember forever. Not only because she’d taken a husband, but because her sisters were nearby.
Beau placed his hand atop hers, his touch a caress, as though he cared little for the onlookers. “There’s not much room to put all this stuff in the front of the buggy. You’ll have to sit close to me,” he whispered in Maggie’s ear as Cora filled two boxes with tins of fruit and bags of dry goods.
With Conrad Carson lending a hand, the supplies were loaded and Beau lifted Maggie to the seat. Untying the lead line from the hitching post in front of the store, he caught sight of the sheriff marching across the street, his face set in a scowl.
“Beau Jackson! I need to talk to you.” Tom Clemons was a big man, well put together, and the frown he wore promised trouble.
“What can I do for you?” Beau asked, looking beyond the lawman, to where a small crowd gathered.
“Is the woman with you named Maggie O’Neill?”
“No, sir, she’s not. She’s my wife, Maggie Jackson.” A note of pride in his voice stiffened Maggie’s spine as she listened to the exchange.
“Well, if she’s the daughter of Edgar O’Neill, I’m afraid I’ve got bad news for her. Her pa’s in town, and he’s claimin’ she stole his horse.” His gaze was stern as he turned it on Maggie. “Is that true, young lady?”
“I reckon you could say so,” she agreed. “That poor creature was about half dead from him flogging it with an ax handle. He split it wide open across the withers and then let the open sore get all putrified.”
He winced and shook his head. “My sympathy is with the horse, ma’am, but it makes no matter what shape the animal was in. It was still his animal. And if you took it from his barn, I’d have to say you stole it.”
Beau cut in sharply. “Maybe if you took a look at the horse, you’d think differently, Sheriff. Maggie’s been knocking herself out, trying to keep the creature on his feet. He’d probably be dead by now if she’d left him where he was.”
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