Maggie quickly shook her head. “I was scared out of my wits. I don’t think I could’ve done it without that person behind me urging me on.”
Cullen looked down at her then back at Ennis.
“’Bout my daughter, Kizzy, ridin’ for you, ma’am. I know how—”
“Why don’t we save that conversation for another day, Mr. Ennis,” she said quickly, rising from her seat. “For now, let’s focus on you getting well.”
By the time Cullen retired that night, Bucket barely making it up the stairs ahead of him, Maggie was already abed. Cullen was surprised to find her lamp still lit, and Maggie sitting up reading her father’s Bible.
His gaze was drawn to the woman like an ill-fated moth to flame, and he intentionally turned his back to her as he undressed. He gave the collie one last pat then climbed into bed, careful not to meet Maggie’s gaze.
He turned toward the wall.
Neither of them had slept since the night before, and he knew she was weary. So was he. Yet somehow he also knew sleep was a long way off.
She turned the page, the crinkle of the paper distinctive to him now, and he wished he’d thought to look at what part of the book she was reading. But he wasn’t about to turn over and look now.
After a few minutes she laid the book aside and blew out the lamp.
She settled beside him, not intentionally touching him, he didn’t think. But not going out of her way to avoid it either.
As they’d perfected through many a night, they lay in the darkness. Still. Silent. He still couldn’t believe she’d tried to go behind his back like that. After he’d expressly told her he—
“I’m sorry, Cullen.”
The direction of her voice told him she was lying on her back, probably staring at the ceiling he knew only too well.
“It was wrong of me to approach Odessia about Kizzy without speaking to you first. My thought was that if—”
“If they said yes, then I would have to do the same.”
Bucket’s soft snores from the corner of the room filled the brief silence.
“That was partly it,” she continued softly. “The other part being that I didn’t have a jockey yet. So why would I approach you again about something you’d already said no to, when I couldn’t have moved forward even if you had said yes.”
He followed her logic, but still didn’t like that she’d circumvented him. Or tried to. Even as the thought came, so did the unwelcome reminder that he wasn’t being completely truthful with her either.
Night sounds drifted in through the window. The spirited chirrup of crickets, the lonely coo of a mourning dove.
“I know you’re angry with me.” Her tone carried no blame. “But I want you to know how proud I was of you today. And also how”—she took a quick breath—“how proud I was to be there with you. As your wife.”
Cullen closed his eyes, her words like a balm. But her actions still a barb.
She shifted positions and he did the same, moving to his back since she was faced away from him. Another dance they were good at. Sadly so.
Scenes from last night kept returning, pushing away any chance of sleep, and he pictured again, in his mind’s eye, Maggie standing there, rifle gripped and aimed at the rope. Then he remembered . . .
“Are you still awake?” he asked softly, already knowing the answer.
“I am.”
“You told Ennis today that you couldn’t have done what you did without someone behind you urgin’ you on.”
“That’s right,” she said.
“Maggie . . . there was no one standin’ behind you. I saw you myself. You were all alone.”
She turned onto her back. “But I heard a voice. I know I did.”
“And . . . what did it say?”
“It said . . . do it,” she whispered with an intensity that sent a chill skittering up his spine.
The silence lengthened.
“Do you believe me?” she asked a moment later.
He weighed his answer before speaking. “I’m not sayin’ you didn’t hear somethin’. But what I am sayin’ is that you were standin’ there by yourself.”
The weather vane atop the roof squeaked as the wind sent it turning.
“Maybe I was,” she finally whispered, her tone not the least argumentative. “But I know this . . . I wasn’t alone.”
Chapter
THIRTY-FOUR
Finished with breakfast early the next morning, Maggie waited for Cullen to come downstairs and join her at the table. Things needed to be said, and she needed to say them while she still had the courage.
Wordlessly, Onnie refilled her cup with coffee, steaming hot like Maggie liked it. And just like Onnie had been doing for years. Not only for Maggie but for her parents and brothers as well.
“Thank you, Onnie.” Maggie cradled the warm cup in her grip. “For all you do for me. And thank you as well for all you did yesterday to help after the fire.”
Onnie paused in the doorway. “You welcome, Missus McGrath.”
It still sounded a little odd to hear Onnie call her by that name. After all, Onnie had known her since before she was born.
“And thank you, ma’am”—Onnie’s expression softened—“for what you did for Ennis and his family. I’s so proud o’ you when I heard what you done.”
Surprised by the woman’s admission, Maggie was also humbled by it.
“I know, ma’am, that your—” Onnie stopped suddenly, then looked away as if she’d come close to embarrassing herself. “I know that your husband will be hungry, ma’am. I’ll get his breakfast.”
Hearing Cullen’s footsteps on the second-story landing, Maggie sensed that what Onnie had said wasn’t at all what she’d planned on saying. “What is it, Onnie?” she asked softly. “If there’s something you want to say, please say it.”
Onnie stepped closer. “All I’s gonna say, ma’am, is that I know your mama didn’t much care for the ridin’ and shootin’ you did growin’ up. But I think if she was to see you today . . . she be right proud of you.”
Taken aback, Maggie didn’t quite know how to respond. “Why, thank you, Onnie,” she finally managed. “That’s . . . very kind of you.”
Onnie dipped her head and returned to the kitchen, and Maggie didn’t know what surprised her more. That Onnie had shared something so personal, or that she simply didn’t believe Onnie was right. No matter how she wished it were true.
“Good mornin’.” Cullen nodded to her as he took his seat, looking handsome as always, though not well rested.
“Morning, Cullen. Onnie’s getting your breakfast.” Bucket padded up to her, and she gave him a good scratching between his ears.
“Thank you.”
The tense silence had followed them from the bedroom, but Maggie knew how to fix that. She took a steadying breath.
“Cullen, I need to say something to you, and I need you to hear me out before responding.” Even sitting across the table from him, she felt his guard go up.
He merely tilted his head, as if demonstrating his willingness to comply with her wishes.
“What I’m about to say, I don’t say lightly. I’ve given this much thought, and I think it would be best if—” The words caught against the tangle of emotion in her throat, but she forced them past it, thinking again about the likelihood of what happened to Ennis happening to Kizzy. No dream was worth that. “. . . If I stopped giving Kizzy riding lessons, and if we told Ennis and Odessia that we’ve decided not to enter Belle in the Peyton Stakes.”
There, her heart was racing, but she’d said it.
Cullen looked as genuinely surprised—no, shocked—as she’d imagined he would be. And she felt an even greater loss than she’d anticipated.
But after experiencing what she had over the last thirtysome-odd hours, she knew there were far more important things in life than training thoroughbreds and winning races. Even if a part of her still felt as if every moment of her life had been preparing her to do just that.
Cullen watched her walk serenely away from the table, so composed, so seemingly at peace. So unlike the passionate and opinionated woman he knew so well, and loved the same.
“Here you are, Mister McGrath.” Onnie set a heaping plate of scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, ham with red-eye gravy, and toast before him. Having awakened hungry, he could hardly wait to dig in. And yet—
He couldn’t allow Maggie to say something like that and then just walk away without any discussion. Not when he knew how much this meant to her.
“This looks delicious, Miss Onnie. But if you wouldn’t mind keepin’ my plate warm for me for just a few—”
“Cullen!” Maggie’s scream came through the open windows from the direction of the stable.
Cullen pushed back his chair and was out the door before Miss Onnie could respond.
Following Maggie’s desperate cries, he raced to the stable and found her standing over Bourbon Belle. The thoroughbred lay on her side in the stall unmoving, her belly distended.
Chapter
THIRTY-FIVE
Cullen gently pushed past Maggie and knelt beside Belle, the scene all too familiar and yet another world—and lifetime—away. “Hey, sweet girl.” He spoke softly to the horse, running a hand over the mare’s swollen belly. The thoroughbred responded by lifting her head, or trying to.
Behind him, Maggie drew a shuddering breath. “What’s wrong with her, Cullen?” She knelt and cradled the side of Belle’s face, her hand trembling. “I came in and found her like this.”
“Was the door to her stall closed?”
“Yes.” Maggie wiped her cheeks.
“And to the stable?”
She nodded again, fresh tears starting.
Cullen leaned down and pressed an ear to the mare’s belly. “Her breathin’s faint and rapid.” He checked the nostrils then the mare’s mouth. “She’s got discharge comin’ from her nose, and the hay ’round her mouth is soppin’ wet.”
Maggie looked from him to Belle. “What does that mean? What are you saying?”
He saw the fear in Maggie’s eyes. “I think someone’s poisoned her.”
“But—” She hiccuped a sob. “But why? And how?”
Cullen rose. “You fed her the usual grain last evenin’?”
“Yes.”
“What about yesterday mornin’?”
“The same. And the same before that. As I do every day.”
He peered down the line of stalls and quickly accounted for Levi and the other horses. “Whoever did this seems to have had a specific target. And that target appears to have been Belle.”
“But why would anyone want to hurt her?”
“Why would anyone want to hurt any champion racehorse?” He saw the hurt slip into her eyes and regretted it. That hadn’t been his intention.
What she’d announced moments ago at the breakfast table had both pleased and troubled him. He knew the affection she had for this horse. And for racing. But there was a side of racing that wasn’t all integrity and honor.
“But Belle isn’t even racing right now, Cullen. And her name isn’t on the roster to run in the Peyton Stakes either.”
“I understand that. But you have to ask yourself, Maggie . . . Are you doin’ anything right now that would make someone think you might be plannin’ to enter Belle into the race come October?”
He didn’t have to wait long for her answer. It showed clearly in her face.
He checked the grain bin outside Belle’s stall, scooping handfuls of grain and sifting through it.
She came alongside. “What are you looking for?”
“Anythin’ out of the ordinary.” He returned to the stall and started rummaging through the hay covering the dirt floor, mindful of the thoroughbred and her powerful hindquarters. This couldn’t be happening again, could it? God, please . . . Don’t make this woman pay for my mistakes.
Maggie knelt beside him. “If you’ll tell me what you’re looking for, I can help.”
“It looks a lot like nettle leaves. And bein’ the start of September, it could have little white flowers on it.”
She started searching. “And does this plant have a name?”
“White snakeroot.” He glanced up to see question in her features. “Ever heard of milk sickness?”
She stilled. “Yes. A lot of people died from that here in the early years.”
“It comes from snakeroot. Folks either eat meat or drink milk from an animal that’s ingested the plant, then they get sick. It usually takes a couple of days after the animal has eaten it before the signs show up.” He looked back at Belle. “But this has all the signs of snakeroot.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Because I’ve seen it before. Back in London.”
She frowned.
He glanced away, wishing he had another choice, but knowing he didn’t. She deserved to know the truth, and all of it. Not right now, but soon. “I worked in stables when I lived in London. I saw it there. There’s more I’ll tell you, but right now time is important. The sooner we get Belle help, the better. I’ll ride into town and—”
“No,” Maggie said quickly. “I’ll ride to Belle Meade.”
“For Uncle Bob?”
She grabbed a saddle. “For Rachel. She helps Uncle Bob doctor the horses there.”
Cullen grabbed the saddle from her. “I’ll go. You stay with Belle. She loves you, Maggie. You’re her whole world.”
Tears filled her eyes. “And she’s a big part of mine.”
Maggie stood just inside the stall beside Cullen as Rachel examined Belle. Maggie had never spent much time around Rachel Norris, but Uncle Bob considered Rachel’s gifts of healing to be straight from the Great Physician himself.
The woman’s delicate hands moved over Belle’s body with tender expertise. “You find any trace of snakeroot?”
“Nay, we didn’t. But I’ve seen before what it can do.”
Rachel nodded. “Same as me, Mister McGrath.”
Maggie stole a look beside her at Cullen to see him already watching her, his eyes warm with understanding and concern.
Rachel stood, her dark brown curls flowing about her shoulders, her skin the color of well-creamed coffee. But it was the woman’s startling blue eyes that Maggie found the most revealing. Eyes that told an all-too-familiar story in a single glance.
“You love this creature, Missus McGrath.”
“I do,” Maggie whispered.
Rachel slowly smiled. “She knows it. And she counts on your love. She be needin’ it, too, if she’s to pull through this.”
“If?” Maggie’s chest ached.
“Judgin’ from the signs, I’m thinkin’ the poison’s been in her body for at least a full day.” Rachel glanced back at Belle, who moved from trembling to lethargy based upon the moment.
“The night before last,” Maggie whispered, studying Cullen, wondering if he was having the same thought.
“Aye . . .” His eyes narrowed. “There was plenty of time while we were down there for someone to get to her.”
Maggie turned back to Rachel. “Two nights ago—”
“I know what happened here,” the woman said softly. “We all know.” She looked at Cullen. “And my guess would be the same as yours, sir. They slipped the snakeroot into her stall and into her grain.” Rachel gestured to the bins outside the stall. “They need to be emptied and washed, and all the grain burned. We don’t want another animal sufferin’ the same fate.”
“Aye. I’ll see that it’s done, Mrs. Norris. Anythin’ else you need?”
“What herbs I need that I didn’t bring, I’ll get from my cabin. But blankets would be appreciated.”
“For Belle?” Maggie asked.
“For me.” A dark brow rose. “Times like this, I stay with my patient, Missus McGrath.”
“Thank you,” Maggie whispered, grateful, but hurting every time she looked at Belle. “Do you think she’ll make it through?”
Rachel’s
hand on her arm was warm and strong. “Every creature on this earth been given a time to be born and a time to leave this land of death and move on into true life. I can’t change that for Belle any more than I can change it for you, ma’am.” The gentleness of her smile reflected her healing nature. “At best, I can be an instrument in the Lord’s hand for his good and perfect will. Just like you were . . . for Mister Ennis.”
Maggie thought again of the voice she’d heard so clearly behind her that night.
Rachel knelt by Belle and opened her satchel. “I’ll do my best to heal your beloved Bourbon Belle, all while prayin’ that my will is in accord with the Almighty’s.”
Chapter
THIRTY-SIX
Following a restless night, Cullen stood on the front porch Monday morning and watched as dawn broke cloudy and gray over the hills. An unease gnawed at him. The rain that started as a sprinkle shortly before midnight had become a deluge and now poured from the roof of the house and outbuildings.
He’d welcomed the moisture earlier in the season, but with harvest upon them, rain was now more foe than friend. Odd how quickly that relationship could change.
Bucket gave a little whine beside him, and Cullen sighed. “My feelin’s exactly, boy.”
He caught sight of Maggie through the open stable door. She’d insisted on staying with Belle last night, even though Rachel was there. So of course he’d stayed with her.
He doubted she’d gotten any more sleep than he had. Every twig that broke in the night, every whoosh of the breeze rustling the pines, brought his senses to alert and his hand to his rifle.
He’d doubled the number of men keeping watch each night to four, but if whoever did this came back in greater number . . . How could he protect this much land? This many people?
Though he was no closer to discovering who had set the fires and poisoned Belle, he assumed they were one and the same. All any of the workers could tell him was that they’d seen men in white hoods. Cowards hiding behind masks.
He’d reviewed the ledgers for the farm last evening, and replacing what was lost in the fire would swiftly devour what limited cash remained—while still demanding more. It would mean buying on credit, which he loathed.
To Win Her Favor Page 30