Maggie's Beau

by Carolyn Davidson

  Sheriff Clemons shook his head. “Makes no matter, son. If she took the horse, she’s in trouble.” He walked to the side of the buggy, lifting his hand to Maggie. “I’m afraid I’ll have to arrest you, ma’am. Stealin’ horses is a serious offence.”

  She drew back from his big, callused hand, her eyes seeking Beau. “Can he do this?” she asked, her voice choking in her throat.

  Beau’s hands clenched at his sides as he nodded. “Afraid so, honey. We’ll have to go along to the jailhouse and get this straightened out.” His look was grim as he shook his head at Sheriff Clemons. “I’ll bring my wife over. There’s no need to arrest her here.”

  Tom Clemons looked relieved. “That’ll work fine. Bring your buggy along and we’ll tie it out back.” He stepped aside as Beau grasped his mare’s bridle, leading the horse across the street to where the curious townsfolk gathered. The cluster of men moved from the front of the jailhouse, and in their midst, Maggie caught sight of her father. His thumbs were caught up in his suspenders, and he shot her a look of pure hatred, his lips twisting in a sneer.

  “Beau.” It was a whisper, but his head nodded. “Don’t let him…” She could not speak further, only tremble as Edgar’s look of triumph sent her to the depths of despair.

  It was only the strength of Beau’s arm around her that allowed her to walk into the sheriff’s office. Tom drew a chair forward and she sank into it, her heart racing, perspiration dotting her forehead, and a violent need to vomit forcing her to seek a private corner. She put one hand over her mouth, and sought Beau’s attention, attempting to rise from the chair.

  “Whoa, there,” the sheriff said quickly. With a single, efficient move, he slid the wastebasket from beside his desk, directly in front of Maggie. “You just heave in there, young lady.”

  It was just in time, and within seconds Maggie’s dinner was deposited atop an assortment of trash in the metal basket. Her groan was muffled by Beau’s handkerchief as he thrust it against her mouth, and she held it there, embarrassed beyond measure.

  “I’ll take this out back and wash it under the pump,” Sheriff Clemons said, whisking away the evidence of Maggie’s distress. “You folks just sit tight.”

  Beau knelt beside her and Maggie’s head drooped, resting against his shoulder. “I can’t believe I did that,” she whispered.

  “I can,” Beau told her, his hands holding her close. He brushed stray locks of hair from her brow, and his hands were cool and welcome against her hot skin. “Take it easy, honey. It’s going to be all right. We’ll get this all straightened out.”

  “She’s gonna hang, is what’s gonna happen,” said Edgar, his body blocking the sunlight from the room as he stood in the doorway. “She’ll learn not to steal from her pa.”

  Beau growled, a feral, primitive sound, and in one sweeping movement, he put Maggie aside and rose to his feet. Edgar stepped back, stumbling over his boots as he attempted to escape the man who lunged at him.

  “I’ll have you put in jail, too,” Edgar yelled, spittle running from his mouth as he backed onto the sidewalk.

  “You just go right ahead,” Beau told him, reaching to lift the man from his feet. One hand buried in Edgar’s shirt-front, Beau had him dangling inches off the wooden walkway, and around them a group of men crowded closer. Edgar was big, but Beau’s anger seemed to lend strength to his muscular arms, and as Maggie watched, her father was pressed against an upright post, wide-eyed and sputtering.

  “Beau Jackson, you put that man down.” The sheriff’s boots thumped the floor loudly as he tore past Maggie.

  “He’s gonna kill me, Sheriff!” Edgar gasped, his eyes bulging from the pressure of Beau’s grasp knuckling into his throat.

  “I don’t think so.” The sheriff skidded to a stop behind Beau, and his hands gripped wide shoulders with punishing force. “Just lower him nice and easy, Jackson. We ain’t havin’ any mayhem takin’ place today.”

  Beau’s hands released Edgar’s shirt and the hapless, gasping man slid down the post to collapse at Beau’s feet. He stepped back, and the sheriff released him from his grip. Edgar coughed and choked and Maggie buried her face in her hands, unwilling to look upon her father’s face any longer.

  She’d managed to get Beau in a peck of trouble, not to mention facing a hanging herself. There was no way in the world things could get any worse.

  “You men all head on out of here,” the sheriff shouted. “We don’t need all this commotion goin’ on. And you come on in my office, Beau.”

  The two men watched as the lingering crowd drifted away. Then the office door closed behind them as they joined Maggie once more. “What were you thinkin’ of, Beau?” Tom asked. “I don’t need you in a cell, too. It’s bad enough I have to hold your wife till I get to the bottom of this.”

  “Can you put her in my custody?” Beau asked, his gaze pinning Maggie to the chair. There goes my wedding night, he thought glumly.

  “Horse stealin’ is a mighty serious thing, you know that.”

  “Are you going to hang me?” Maggie asked. Beau muttered a word beneath his breath, and then crossed the floor, squatting beside her chair.

  “You’re not going to hang, sweetheart. I just barely got married to you. Do you think I’m ready to bury you?” It was an effort, but he managed a grin and was rewarded by her smile.

  “Can we pay for the horse?” she asked. “Would my pa leave us alone if I borrowed money to give him?”

  Beau snorted. “That pathetic creature isn’t worth two bits. And no, you’re not going to borrow money for anything.”

  “You might want to listen to her, Beau,” the sheriff advised. “If you pay for the horse, maybe we can have Edgar drop the charges.”

  The door burst open, banging against the wall and Maggie’s father stood on the threshold. He’d tucked his shirt haphazardly into his trousers, and his ruddy complexion no longer reflected the ordeal he’d gone through. Yet, there was an insane glow that warned Beau of more trouble to come. “If you think for one minute I’ll let her off the hook, you got another think comin’, Sheriff. I heard you from outside the window, and there ain’t any amount of money that’ll pay for my horse. She’s gonna pay for this.”

  Tom sent a disgusted look in Edgar’s direction. “Don’t be tellin’ me how to do my job, O’Neill. You and me are gonna take a look at your animal come tomorrow morning. I’ll meet you at Beau Jackson’s place right after breakfast. And in case you don’t get up early, I’m talkin’ about no later than nine o’clock.”

  “What are we goin’ there for?” Edgar sputtered. “I just want my horse back. I kin go out there today and get it.”

  “Not on your life,” Tom returned. “You’d better not set one foot on Jackson’s ranch until tomorrow morning.” When the door slammed shut behind Edgar, Tom turned to Beau. “I’m gonna put your wife in a cell, Beau. You might want to get her something to eat from the hotel restaurant. Supper’s not much. My wife does pretty well at dinnertime, but a piece of bread is about all she’ll get here this time of the day.”

  “I’m not leaving her,” Beau said staunchly. “If she goes in the cell, I go with her.”

  “Suit yourself,” Tom said genially. “I’ll find you some grub, and bring over an extra blanket.” Reaching into his desk drawer, he pulled out a ring and sorted through the dangling keys. “Either one of you need to use the necessary before I lock you up?”

  “You didn’t have to stay here, Beau.” Wrapped in a quilt, Maggie sat on the edge of a hard bench, watching as Beau looked out the window.

  “Tom needs to cover this,” he said absently. “The stove can’t put out enough heat to stave off the cold air from outdoors.” Beyond him, the sky was scattered with stars, and Maggie wished she were looking out her window in the store room, with her narrow bed waiting.

  But if she were at home tonight, she’d be on her way to Beau’s bed in the biggest bedroom in the house. In that room where a woman could find shelter in her husband’s arms. She
’d allowed that thought to bring her to a fine edge of anticipation all afternoon. Until she’d admitted to stealing her father’s horse. And for that act, she would not hang her head. Although if her father had his way, her feet would dangle while a rope tightened around her neck.

  She shivered at the gruesome thought and hugged herself, seeking warmth from the patchwork quilt. She probably ought to offer it to Beau, let him cover the window with it. But the thought of giving up its comfort didn’t appeal to her. Maybe if they put the lamp on the floor, it would shed some heat. Tom Clemons had brought a small table into the cell and placed the lamp there, where it shed a circle of light.

  They were isolated in the small room, barricaded by a wall of bars from the freedom beyond the jailhouse, and Beau had chosen this place to spend the night, when by all rights he should have been smack-dab in the middle of his big bed.

  He turned to search the cell, his eyes measuring the meager furnishings. “I wonder if we pushed that table through the bars, maybe it would keep the wind from us,” he said. He placed the lamp on the floor, pushing it closer to Maggie and she opened the quilt a little, inviting the heat to warm her legs. The table was a bit bigger than the window, but the legs were inset and they fit with barely inches to spare in the barred space.

  “It would have been smarter to close the shutters from the outside before I let him lock us in here,” Beau muttered. “I just hated to be in the dark.”

  “Well, it’s bound to be a lot warmer now,” Maggie told him, pulling her skirts up to her shins.

  He lifted the second quilt from the bench and settled next to her, draping it over their shoulders, and tugging her close to his side. “I’ll get you warm, sweetheart,” he said. “It’s not what I had in mind for tonight, but we’ll get things straightened out tomorrow and before you know it, we’ll forget this whole thing. And if we bring it to mind, we’ll laugh about it.”

  Doubt edged her voice. “You really think so? I can’t find much to smile at right now, Beau. I just keep wondering if they can really hang me.”

  “Sure they can,” he said agreeably. “But they’re not going to. They haven’t hung a woman in this town since last week.” His words held subdued laughter and she responded in like fashion, choking back a giggle as her elbow poked his ribs. He gave a satisfying grumble and she looked up at his face.

  A grin stretched his mouth, and his eyes twinkled, glittering in the lamplight. “Now that I’ve got you in a better mood, why don’t you give me a kiss, Mrs. Jackson,” he murmured, turning her to face him. “In fact, why don’t I lie down here and you can cuddle up in front of me and between me and the quilts and that lamp, we’ll get you nice and warm.”

  “You want us both to lay down on this bench?”

  “Sure,” he agreed. “Just stand up for a minute, and I’ll wrap one quilt around me and then you can pull the other one over us both.”

  She rose. If Beau said it could be done, she’d give it a try. With the draft from the window blocked, the room was not nearly so cold now anyway. And no one could peer in from outside with the table in place. She watched as Beau draped himself in the quilt, then spread it beside him, his back against the wall. Only inches remained and she shook her head.

  “I don’t think there’s room for me,” she told him, even as he motioned her to sit beside him. She obeyed and he nudged her to a prone position, his arm beneath her head. Tucking the second quilt around her, she reached to drape it over his shoulder. If she were any bigger, she’d be on the floor, she decided, edging back until her bottom fit snugly against Beau’s front.

  He groaned, a muffled sound he buried in her hair and went rigid in his arms. “Beau? What did I do?”

  His reply was a grunt as he tightened his grip on her, one leg lifting to hold her in place. “You’re fine,” he said after a moment. “We’re neither one of us gonna be comfortable tonight, no matter how you slice it.”

  “So long as you hold on to me, I’ll be fine,” she assured him, nestling as close as the layers of clothing between them would allow.

  “You’ll have to lay still, honey,” he told her. “There’s a few things I’d just as soon you didn’t know about until tomorrow night, and I’m not sure you wiggling your bottom around against my…”

  “Against your—” She twisted from his hold and rolled to the floor, rescuing the lamp from disaster with one outstretched hand. And then looked up at him. “I was only getting comfortable, Beau. I didn’t mean to be too familiar.”

  “Come on, sugar,” he whispered, his lips curling in a half smile. “I’ll lean against the wall in the corner and you can sit on my lap.” Pushing his way upright, he scooted the length of the bench, until his back rested in the corner where the bars met the side of the cell.

  “You want me on your lap?” she asked, and then shivered again as a chill brought gooseflesh to her arms and legs. If Beau was willing to spend the night here with her, she would do as he asked. And somehow, sitting on his lap, enclosed in his embrace did not seem too great a sacrifice to make. Beneath the weight of two quilts, they snuggled warmly together and she nestled yet closer.

  Her face fit nicely in the crease of his shoulder and neck and she inhaled the male scent of his body. “You smell good,” she told him, and felt his laugh vibrate beneath her.

  “Not nearly as good as you, sweetheart,” he murmured. His hands were firm against her body, one holding her in place, fingers spread wide against her hips, the other on her shoulder blades. His head bent and he nudged her face upward. His lips were damp against her skin, and she turned just a bit, her mouth opening, inviting him to press those warm, wide, expressive lips against hers.

  He obliged, and she moaned, the sound held captive in her throat, as she sought comfort in his touch. Long fingers edged their way from her back to slide beneath her arm and then to where her breasts pressed against his chest. He eased her back, just enough to slide his hand between their bodies, his fingers undoing the buttons of her coat and then loosening the front of her dress.

  Within moments, he would hold the soft fabric of her chemise in his hand, and she caught her breath, her mouth moving against his. “Don’t tear my new chemise,” she warned him, even as one callused fingertip edged between two buttons. The rough skin pressed into the soft flesh, and she whimpered.

  “Undo it for me,” he told her, his voice roughened, as though he forced the words through gritted teeth.

  Sitting upright, she opened wide the bodice of her dress and released the dainty buttons of her chemise, working around the hand he refused to move from the place he had claimed. “You’re perfect,” he said, his fingertips exploring the tender skin, holding her cupped in his palm, then gently pinching the puckered crest between thumb and forefinger.

  She wiggled, unable to withstand the tingling urgency he set into motion with his caress. “I can’t hardly stand for you to do that to me, Beau.” Her words uttered on a gasping breath, she clamped her legs together, as that forbidden spot between her thighs seemed to swell and burn. “You’re making me all twitchy,” she wailed.

  “Let me touch you, Maggie,” he whispered, his hand moving from her breast to slide beneath the fullness of her skirts.

  “Not there, you can’t.” Her thighs tightened even more as his fingers coaxed for admittance, and she squealed as he reached the slit in her drawers. “Beau, don’t you be messing with me there. I won’t be able to look you in the eye ever again, if you keep on this way.”

  His hand stilled and then retreated, smoothing her skirts in place, covering her with the quilt. “Can I just touch your breast?” he asked meekly, seeking out the warmth he’d forsaken just moments past.

  She leaned back to look at his face, suspicious as she heard the amusement he could not hide. His eyes were dark, his mouth drawn taut as if he fought a smile that begged to be expressed. “Don’t you laugh at me, Beau Jackson,” she told him.

  “I’m not laughing, sweetheart. Just enjoying my wife. I’ll behave mysel
f, I promise.” He bent and kissed her loudly. “I’m just having a hard time.” His brow creased and a rueful expression crossed his features. “And you haven’t the faintest idea what I’m talking about, have you?”

  She snuggled against him, unwilling to admit that her limited knowledge hovered on the edge of ignorance. “I think I know why Emily and Roberta got married, Beau,” she said after a moment. His hand was gentle in its pursuit of her curves and he murmured encouragement beneath his breath, words she ignored, her own mind bent on the reason for her sisters’ elopement.

  “I’ll bet they liked this part of the being married thing. You know, the man and woman stuff we’ve been doing.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet they did,” he said, his teeth nibbling on the edge of her ear. “The question is, do you?”

  Her giggle was muffled against his mouth as she reached to caress his cheek. “I ain’t had this much fun since Pa got bogged down in the pig sty and the old sow went after him.”

  His laughter rang out, and Maggie placed her fingers over his lips. “Don’t be so loud, Beau,” she scolded. “Anybody’d think we were having a good time in here.”

  His words were low, dark and filled with promise. “And aren’t we? Aren’t we, Maggie mine?”

  Chapter Twelve

  “We want to see our sister, Sheriff.” Two voices, almost in unison, spoke the words and Maggie sat upright on Beau’s lap, eliciting a groan from the sleeping man. Her hands were frantic as she untangled the quilts that covered them both, stumbling as she slid to the floor, muttering as she straightened her skirts. The dress was hopelessly wrinkled, and the bodice hung unbuttoned.

  With fingers made clumsy by haste, she slid black buttons into buttonholes that had suddenly become too small to hold them, looking anxiously from between the bars of the cell toward the sheriff’s office. “Emily? Roberta?” Her voice husky with sleep, she shook the bars, her efforts futile against the solid iron framework.