Maggie's Beau

by Carolyn Davidson

  He pulled her closer, and she did as he directed, stepping from her clothing without a second look. His hands were firm against her waist as he lifted her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his hips.

  It was almost his undoing. Beneath the trousers, his arousal was firm and throbbing and the soft pressure of her against that rigid member brought a groan from his throat. He bent his head, muffling the sound in her shoulder, turning to kiss the edge of her ear, and then carried her to his bed.

  She was deposited in the center and he followed her down, his mouth hot against her skin. Her hands moved to his head, and she whimpered, twisting beneath him as he kissed his way from throat to mouth, and from there to her cheeks and forehead. “Ah, Maggie girl, I’ve got to slow down. I’ll not be able to get my clothes off if I don’t take a few deep breaths.”

  “I’ll help you,” she offered eagerly, her hands finding the buttons on his undershirt, swiftly moving to loosen them, then working at his belt buckle. A sound of frustration emerged as she tussled with the buttons on his trousers, and he swallowed a laugh, leaning upward to allow her room.

  Then the trousers were open and she nudged them down his hips. “Wait, I’ll do that,” he said, rising from the bed to strip with ease from the constricting garments. His drawers were the last to go, and then he turned back to her. She was flushed, her mouth damp from his kisses, and one knee was lifted as if to protect her female parts. He began there, his fingers working the pink garters down the length of her calf, then returning to roll the white stockings into pale circles. They filled one hand and he leaned to deposit them on the table, beside the garters. He touched the tiny flowers with his index finger, wondering at the delicate stitchery.

  “I’ve never seen such pretty little things,” Maggie said, her gaze following each move he made. “I know they cost you dearly.”

  “And worth every cent if they please you.” Her head turned from the distraction and she focused on the evidence of his desire. Reacting as he’d known it would, his arousal increased, and he grinned ruefully, making no attempt to shield her from it.

  “You might as well see what you got, too, Maggie,” he told her, hoping beyond hope that he hadn’t frightened her with the unveiling. She shook her head, almost in wonder, reaching to touch him with her index finger.

  “I don’t think this is gonna work, Beau,” she said softly. “Emily and Roberta told me it would, but I kinda have my doubts.”

  “I promise you it will, honey,” he told her, tensing as she rubbed that inquisitive finger up and down the length of his male organ, which had grown even more at her prompting, and begun to twitch in response to her touch.

  “You want to do it now?” she asked, her voice subdued as she lifted her gaze to his.

  “In a little while,” he told her, lifting the sheet from the foot of the bed and sliding beneath it, pulling it up to his waist. Perhaps if he covered himself, she would lose that fearful look.

  “Are you gonna turn out the lamp?”

  “Not unless you make me,” he said.

  She looked doubtful at that, but her chin firmed and she nodded. “If you want the lamp lit, far be it from me to try to change your mind.” She stretched out full length and took a deep breath. “I’m ready, Beau. Whenever you’re ready, just go on ahead.”

  The temptation to smile was strong, but he swallowed the chuckle her words prompted, turning to his side, lifting on his elbow. His hand brushed against her breast and he coaxed the peak to form, aware of the soft hitch in her breathing and the muscles that rippled across her belly at his touch.

  He bent to the tiny piece of flesh and took it carefully between his teeth. “You gonna bite me?” she asked, peering down at him.

  “Uh-huh,” he murmured beneath his breath, bringing his tongue into play and then suckling with gentle tugging movement of lips and tongue.

  “I sure do like that, Beau,” she whispered, holding his head in place, lest he move from the site he’d chosen, and her bottom lifted from the mattress in a slow, sensuous rhythm, causing her hip to brush against him.

  “You’ll like this, too, sweetheart,” he said, shifting to pay closer attention to her stomach and belly, his hands caressing as he traveled the length of her body. Her legs were strong, well formed and pale, her feet high-arched and narrow. Muscle shaped her hips and bottom, and he explored the crease he’d admired in the mirror, with each movement of his hands and fingers paying heed to the soft sounds of approval she breathed.

  “Do I get to touch you, too?” she whispered, shivering as his long fingers slid between her thighs and found a dampness that pleased him.

  “Anything you want, Mag,” he told her, although if the truth was told, he wasn’t sure how much touching he’d be able to tolerate.

  She fingered his male nipples, tasted them and laughed with delight at his groaning response. “Hot patootie, Beau. You’re about as randy as Roberta said you’d be if I did that.”

  His laughter pealed out. There was no holding it back, and he rose over her with a smooth movement that placed her directly beneath him. “What else did Emily and Roberta tell you today?”

  “They said you’d hurt me a little, but it wouldn’t last long, and I’d like it later on.”

  Her words spoke of confidence in his ability, and he blessed the sisters who had done his work for him. “They’ve about got that right,” he said. “The thing is sweetheart, I don’t think I can wait much longer.” He nudged her legs apart and found room, there where her soft flesh awaited the hurt he would inflict.

  She accommodated him, rising to meet his manhood, her legs twining themselves around his. He met her gaze, saw the dark glimpse of fear she refused to speak aloud and closed his own eyes, dreading to see the tears she would shed. Maggie was small, a virgin, and the path he would take was guaranteed to be tight and unused.

  He touched her there, with swirling movements against the tender flesh, parting her gently and moving his fingers to test the taut opening. It was as he had feared, for the muscle that tightened at his touch would effectively bar his way unless he could better prepare her for his taking.

  His head bent and his mouth found her breast again, his tongue and cheeks holding her captive. Fingers that trembled caressed her, deftly seeking her pleasure, mindful of her halting breath as he stroked her plush folds. Her fingers clutched at him, her hips rotated against his hand and she whimpered, the sound a plea he recognized.

  “I love you, baby,” he whispered, his face against her breast, his own breathing harsh. “Let me love you, sweet,” he crooned, sensing the tension she sought to ease, and then was rewarded by her soft cry of surprise and pleasure as she shivered against his caresses.

  “Beau!” She relaxed and he shifted, his arms embracing her as he pushed gently within her depths. She trembled anew and moved to accommodate him, her pleasure seeming to transport her beyond the pain she’d anticipated. “Beau…” Again she whispered his name, and he groaned as the thin barrier gave way, his hips surging against her.

  There was no use for it. He could no longer resist the lure of her warmth, and the tight grip she unknowingly placed on his swollen manhood. He withdrew almost to the point of losing contact with her flesh, then moved again, losing the last vestige of control he possessed. His teeth ground together as he struggled to hold fast to that magic moment when the hot rush of his seed would explode from within him, to bathe his wife with the proof of his need for her.

  His arms trembled and he cast one last glance at the absorbed look she wore, this small, vital woman he’d taken as his own. Her eyes opened and she smiled, even as tears trembled on her eyelids.

  “I love you, Beau. I really do.”

  With cascading pleasure, he was transported beyond himself, and he groaned his satisfaction, covering her with his body, his face buried in her hair. Her arms tightened around him and she hugged him with wiry strength, her murmur whispering the words over and over again.

  “I
love you, Beau. I love you.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The sunshine cast a golden glow on the kitchen floor, and outside the snow reflected its brilliance. Maggie stood at the window, bathed in the warmth of the winter sun, even as the ice on the outside of the window pane chilled her fingers. Winter had started early and promised to be hard. And even that thought could not dim her joy. Nothing could touch the happiness filling her soul this morning.

  She was truly Mrs. Beau Jackson. The wonderful man had married her and brought her to his bed and given her a glimpse of what heaven must surely be like. She’d spent the whole night wrapped in his long arms and his hands had done beautiful things to her body even this morning. Deep inside, where her woman parts were buried, there was still a feeling of fullness, an awareness of never-forgotten pleasure.

  Mrs. Beau Jackson. She shivered and hugged herself, caught up in the delight of knowing she was loved. He’d said so, not just once, but over and over. Her forehead leaned on the window pane as she closed her eyes. Certainly this was one of those times when being thankful was in order. Mama’d always said that God gave us miracles when we least expected them—for sure, the love of a man like Beau Jackson was a genuine miracle.

  “You all right?” Sophie spoke from behind her and Maggie whirled.

  “I’m more than fine, Sophie,” she said. “I feel all brand-new.”

  A wide smile was Sophie’s response to that revelation. She dropped the armload of sheets she carried, stepping over them to meet Maggie in the middle of the kitchen floor. She opened her arms wide and Maggie stepped into her embrace.

  Sophie’s hug was manna to a hungry soul, multiplying the generosity of her praise. “You’re a good girl, Maggie. You deserve Beau, and he’s sure a sight happier than I’ve ever seen him.”

  “Really? You really think so?” Maggie rejoiced, hope rising that she had brought Beau more than a passel of trouble.

  “I know so,” Sophie assured her, grasping her hands and holding her at arm’s length. “I wondered if you were ever gonna get up this mornin’. Beau’s been out and about for two hours and better.” Her look was teasing, and Maggie accepted the thrust with good will.

  “He didn’t wake me up,” she admitted. “I must’ve slept like a dead man.”

  “Well, get some food in your stomach,” Sophie advised. “We’ve got sheets to wash and it’s no fun hangin’ them in this weather, but with a sky full of sunshine, we’d better get at it.”

  Even scrubbing sheets on the ridged board was not enough to dim her spirits and when noontime approached, Maggie was hanging the last of the wash, the sheets from her narrow cot in the storeroom. Pinning them in place, she whispered a farewell to her days of sleeping alone. Beside her hung Beau’s long drawers and undershirts, and her own clothing, from petticoat to chemise and even her blue dress.

  “I feel like a real wife,” she announced to the cat that watched from the roof of the doghouse. “And why aren’t you in the barn, where it’s warmer?” The cat bent her head to swipe her tongue across her chest, and Maggie laughed aloud. “You’re ignoring me, aren’t you?” Stepping in the narrow path she’d cleared beneath the clothesline, she scooped the cat up into her arms.

  “Why don’t you come on in the kitchen?” she asked, nuzzling the furry head with her nose. “You can sleep in the sunshine, right in front of the door. Or maybe in the parlor window.” The cat obligingly purred her response and Maggie chuckled, draping her pet over one shoulder as she bent to pick up the clothes basket. She walked back to the porch, the stiff sheets she’d unpinned from the line folded loosely in the basket. At the door, she bent to undo her heavy boots, and the cat scrambled awkwardly to the porch, her three-legged stance toppling her to one side.

  As if embarrassed, she rolled to her feet and sat primly, regarding the door. “You gonna accept the invite?” Maggie asked, edging through the doorway, clothes basket in hand. The cat limped regally behind her and eyed the warm kitchen. The side window received her approval and she made her way there, curling up on a small rug.

  “She’s too good for the barn?” Sophie asked. “I’ve never cottoned to havin’ animals in the house.”

  “Just for a while,” Maggie answered. “It’s cold out there.”

  Sophie softened her stance. “Probably won’t hurt anything. Poor crippled thing can’t fend for herself anyway.” She lifted a sheet from the basket and shook it, then placed it over a rack behind the stove. “This’ll warm up quick, once the heat takes the damp out of it,” she said. A second sheet was hung beside the first, then the pillowcases. Maggie’s dress was shaken, then rolled tightly, to hold the dampness until it was ironed. Sophie repeated the process with petticoat and drawers, finishing with three big aprons.

  “I’ll iron after dinner, while you start something for supper,” she said, then cast Maggie a quick look. “Here I am tellin’ you what to do, and you’re the woman of the house now. I’d better mind my step, or I’ll be lookin’ for a new place to live.”

  “Oh, Sophie, don’t even think that.” Maggie’s spirits drooped for the first time since she’d put her feet on the floor this morning. “I couldn’t get along without you. And Beau…you know, I think he loves you like he would his mama.” And that revelation, although new, made sense to her. “His mother died during the war, you know, and he was left without any family at all. Don’t you think he figures you’re the nearest thing to a mama he’ll ever have?”

  “He’s got a mother-in-law now,” Sophie reminded her. “She might not be livin’ in his house, but when he married you, he picked up a whole family along with you.”

  “Well, he’s not claiming my pa as one of his kin, I’ll tell you that,” Maggie said bitterly.

  “I saw the sheriff and old Edgar go in the barn yesterday,” Sophie said. “And then they was back out, yammerin’ back and forth, and before I knew it, your pa was in his wagon and haulin’ buggy down the lane. He sure didn’t look happy, and neither did Sheriff Clemons, now that I think about it.”

  “Beau paid two dollars for the horse, left the money with the sheriff to give Pa.”

  “Well, he didn’t get any bargain, I’ll tell you that.” Sophie spoke firmly, and then sighed as her gaze traveled back to the cat, who dozed in comfort near the window. “You got a real yen for helpin’ them that can’t do much for themselves, don’t you?”

  “The horse will be good as new, come spring,” Maggie assured her. “He’s got a few years left yet.” She followed Sophie’s glance at the cat. “Now, that one. She’s about as useless as can be. But she gives me comfort, and that’s bound to be worth something I guess.”

  Voices from the yard signaled the approach of hungry men, and Maggie reached for the heavy china plates in the buffet. “We’re behind time, aren’t we? They’ll think we’ve been sitting on our hands all morning.”

  Sophie’s look was amused as she carried the stew pot to the table, placing it on a wooden board. “You think Beau cares one way or the other? He’s just tickled to death he finally got you out of the cot and up in his bed.”

  Maggie was blushing to beat the band, and Beau stopped in the doorway, enjoying the rosy hue of her cheeks. “Did I miss something?” At Sophie’s muffled chuckle, he pursed his lips and bent to step from his boots. “You ladies had a busy morning. I saw you out hanging sheets, Maggie. I should have cleared the ground for you.”

  She tilted her chin, feeling cocky-like as his gaze warmed her. “I can shovel as good as the next one, Beau. Me and Sophie make a good team.”

  That seemed to be making a statement, Beau thought as Sophie nodded agreement. The rest of the men trooped in and in moments they were gathered around the big table and Sophie was dishing up the beef stew and replenishing the bread plate. Pony teased Joe, telling at great length of the youth’s problems with feeding the stock, falling from the hay wagon and being surrounded by hungry steers in the far pasture.

  And yet, there was no malice intended, Maggie realized, as t
he men hooted with laughter, even Shay smiling from one side of his mouth. He’d given her one long, approving look upon entering the kitchen, nodding his head in greeting, and then finding his place at the table. The food disappeared rapidly, and then Joe, flushed and triumphant, made a final joke at Pony’s expense. In moments, the meal was over, and the kitchen empty as the men trooped out the door.

  Outside, the sun played tag with clouds that obscured its warmth, and Maggie stepped down from the porch to remove the last of the washing from the line. A chill gripped her, even through the heavy coat she wore. Snow was coming on again, if she knew anything about it. From the west, heavy, gray weather threatened. Snow before nightfall, she decided. And that would mean that the men would be feeding in the pastures again. There was more snow so far this winter than she’d ever seen in her life. But Beau was ready for it, his loft filled with hay, his silo with grain, and the slat-sided crib next to the springhouse holding bushels of husked corn.

  Tilting her head to the sky, she drank in the cold air. Then, mittens in place, she set out toward the clothesline. From her coop, Rascal barked a welcome, then bounded across to where Maggie worked. She dropped a clothespin, and the half-grown dog snatched it up and ran toward the house, turned to drop it and then yapped a challenge.

  She could not resist. Dropping the basket to the ground, she plunged after her, and Rascal promptly gripped the clothespin and spun back toward the springhouse, Maggie behind her. And there she halted. “Just keep the thing,” she called to the pup. “You got it all mucked up anyway. It won’t be fit to use by the time you get through with it.”

  The door was ajar, and Maggie eyed it curiously. Beau must not have latched it when he set the milk inside this morning. She might as well go on in and tip off the cream as long as she was here. Maybe there was time to churn before supper. She looked back at the clothesline and the waiting basket, and made a decision. The clothes could wait another few minutes.