“You were wrong, Maggie. You are an angel. You’re my angel.”
“Thank you, Jubal,” Maggie sighed. She began to nibble her way across his broad chest, to the accompaniment of his growl of pleasure.
When she tentatively tongued his hard nipple, he decided it was time to get down to business. He quickly unbuttoned her skirt and untied the tapes to her petticoat and drawers. They lay as they fell when he picked her up and deposited her on the bed. Then he quickly shed his boots, trousers, and underwear, and joined her.
Maggie didn’t know anything about being an angel, but she was pretty sure that making love with Jubal was as close to heaven as she’d ever get in this lifetime. His touch sent her soaring, and when they were joined and locked in the timeless rhythm of love, he rocketed her higher and higher until she exploded in a starburst of pleasure. She called out to him just before she went over the edge into bliss, wanting him to join her there.
He did. He’d never experienced anything like it, this loving with Maggie. The confession of love he’d made to her, the one that had been wrung out of him against his will and against his ego, and that he had been sure would weaken him, instead seemed to free him. He was free to give her all of his passion and all of his love, and to receive all of hers with joy. When he heard her call to him and felt the ripples that meant she was almost there, he couldn’t hold back any longer. He soared with her into the abyss, and knew it couldn’t get any better than this.
It took them a long time to recover. Maggie’s rippling contractions seemed to go on forever. Every one of them was an affirmation of love to Jubal. She was his. She was his and nobody could take her away from him. Not Prometheus Mulrooney, not society’s stuffy restrictions, and not the dead, although admittedly good, Kenny Bright. She was his. The knowledge made his heart swell until he was sure it would burst with the fullness of emotion.
Maggie, of course, was crying. This time, though, she was also trying to talk to him.
“Oh, Jubal, I love you so much. I didn’t think I could ever love anybody again. I didn’t think I could ever love anybody at all like this. I didn’t know what it was like.”
At least, Jubal thought that’s what she was saying. It was hard to understand her words, since they were drowned in tears and being muttered in between the breathy kisses she was tattooing onto his chest and cheeks. Her hands were almost convulsively gripping his muscled arms. Jubal smiled when he realized that, even through her haze of passion, Maggie was very, very careful not to pinch his bullet scar.
“Oh, Lordy, Maggie. I love you so much it hurts,” he whispered into her hair.
She kissed him passionately.
It was a funny thing, but now that he had finally admitted to having succumbed to the weakness of love, it didn’t bother him much anymore. In fact, he found that he enjoyed speaking the words to her. Of course, the way she reacted when he said them helped some.
“I love you, Maggie,” he murmured once more.
She kissed him again.
He grinned with satisfaction. This love stuff might not be so bad after all.
“Better start thinking about our wedding, Maggie Bright, because we’re getting married as soon as I can arrange it.”
The glowing smile Maggie gave him nearly knocked him flat. She was an angel. He didn’t care how absurd it sounded. He knew she was an angel. His angel. His very own, personal angel.
“The patio,” Maggie whispered, rapture making her voice an angel’s kiss against his ears. “We can be married in the patio. With flowers.”
It took Jubal a while to get dressed to go to the post office, since he and Maggie had a lot of hugging to do before he left, but he finally managed to get himself out of the hotel room. He stopped by the front desk to order a bath for Maggie before he went to the restaurant and made special reservations for their evening meal, too. It was to be their engagement party, for just the two of them, and he intended it to be special.
As for Maggie, she washed and dressed slowly. She had to stop what she was doing every once in a while just so she could think about the astounding turn her life had taken.
“I’m sorry, Kenny,” she whispered. “I loved you. I really did love you. I still do. You were so wonderful to me. I hope you don’t mind that I love Jubal, too.”
Maggie wasn’t a deep philosopher; her life had held no room for impracticalities like philosophy. But she did harbor a deep respect in her heart for the spirit of her departed husband. She’d always sort of savored the idea that Kenny’s spirit was still around, somewhere, looking after Annie and her.
It might have been her imagination that whispered reassurance to her in that hotel room, so softly that she couldn’t really hear. It might have been her hopeful heart that told her that Kenny was happy for her, that he was glad she had found somebody to take care of her and Annie now. But Maggie didn’t think so.
“Thank you, Kenny,” she breathed through her happy tears.
Chapter Eighteen
Jubal felt like the lowest kind of snake. He didn’t know how on earth he was going to tell Maggie that her farm was gone, and it was because of him. He walked slowly back to the hotel and wondered if there wasn’t something he could bring to her, some gift he could give her, that might soften the blow.
Even before he completed the thought, though, he knew what the answer was. There was nothing he could do but simply tell the truth. Anything less would be a lie. Anything more would be a bribe.
Oh, God, please help me, he thought. It was the first time in years that Jubal had uttered a prayer.
His heart ached when he opened the door to their room and saw her. Maggie had bathed and washed her wild-honey hair and was dressed in the best she owned. Jubal was surprised at the sudden ferocious impulse he felt to snatch her away with him, find the best dressmaker in El Paso, and buy her pretty things. He knew she’d never had anything, and he found himself wanting to make up for a lifetime of poverty and want right now, this minute. He knew he was being irrational.
Maggie ran into his arms. Until now, she hadn’t known it was possible to be this happy to see somebody who’d only been gone for an hour or so. She felt renewed now that she’d made her peace with Kenny. Now she wanted only to begin her new life, free and happy, with Jubal Green.
When she was finally willing to let him go, she stepped back and looked up into his face, and her shining smile dimmed. “What’s the matter, Jubal?”
Her heart began thudding in a painful cadence. She recognized that look. It was a bad-news look, and it frightened her. “Is everything all right?”
Maggie frantically ran through the stored knowledge in her brain, trying to determine what could have put that look on Jubal’s face. She knew everybody on the ranch was all right. They’d just left them this morning. She wondered if he had any relatives she didn’t know about who might have died. Maybe there had been a stock-market crash that affected the price of cattle.
Jubal cleared his throat. “There’s a letter from Sadie Phillips for you, Maggie.”
Maggie’s sudden, golden smile almost broke his heart. She grabbed the edge of Sadie’s letter, but Jubal didn’t release it.
“I have to tell you something first, Maggie.” He figured Sadie would have written Maggie about the fire.
Maggie looked up at him with an uncertain smile playing on her lips. This was odd behavior for Jubal. He usually wasn’t hesitant about things. He got happy fast and he got mad fast and he got over it fast.
“What’s the matter, Jubal?”
Jubal cleared his throat again. “It’s your farm, Maggie,” he said softly.
Maggie’s eyes widened and the expression that crossed her face made Jubal want to shut his own eyes against it. It was an expression of heartbreaking fear, and if he didn’t already hate Prometheus Mulrooney for everything else he’d done, he would have hated the man for making Maggie’s face look like that. He figured he’d best just get it over with.
“Mulrooney burned it down.”
Maggie’s mouth dropped open. Jubal released the letter, and she blinked up at him for a second or two. Then she walked numbly to the bed, sat down, opened the envelope with great care, and took out the letter. She read Sadie’s words without uttering a sound.
Jubal knew enough about Sadie Phillips to realize that the letter was probably chock-full of emotion-wracked prose, and he swallowed hard and tried not to be angry with Sadie.
Maggie read the letter twice. Sure enough, the farm was gone. Even when she took into consideration Sadie’s extreme emotionalism and love of drama, Maggie could tell that her farm was lost forever. Kenny’s farm. Kenny’s dream. It has been burned to the ground. The newly repaired chicken coop, the brand-new goat pen, the shed, the fence, the house itself: everything was gone.
She could picture the little clearing in her mind, but she couldn’t make herself envision the charred remains that must be all that was left of her life, an ashen pile of rubble huddled alone and forlorn next to the pretty green woods. Next to Bright’s Creek that must still be bubbling and splashing as it rambled merrily along past the blackened ruins of her home.
A tear slid down her cheek as she stared with a unseeing eyes across the room. She didn’t see the hotel wall, decorated with its elaborately framed painting of Niagara Falls. She saw Kenny’s Farm, bright in the sunlight of an early spring morning, always warm, always welcoming, no matter how tired she was, no matter how worn down or discouraged. It was the first home she had ever known. She had lived with her aunt and uncle, but Kenny’s farm was the first home she had known.
Jubal watched her for what seemed like forever. Then he couldn’t stand it any longer. He took a step toward her and she looked up at him.
God damn Prometheus Mulrooney to eternal hell, passed through his mind. And God damn me for making Maggie go through this.
When Maggie saw the look on Jubal’s face, she was afraid that he would be angry because she was sad that her farm had burned down. She didn’t want him to think she loved him the less because his enemy had hurt her. She wanted to apologize to him.
“I’m sorry, Jubal,” she began.
Then she stopped. He hated apologies, too. Maggie didn’t know what to say then. She just sat still and silent as tears wet her cheeks. She had never felt so helpless, worthless, and unhappy in her life. Practically everything she had ever loved had just been burned to the ground and now lay in ashes at her feet, and she didn’t know what to do or say or think.
“Oh, God, Maggie.”
Jubal’s ragged whisper rasped from his throat and he bent to pick her up. When Maggie shook him off, he was sure his heart would break. He wanted to hold her, to cradle her on his lap and in his arms and rock her as one might rock a hurt child.
“No, Jubal. Please don’t touch me right now,” she whispered.
So Jubal backed away from her. His chest ached with the longing to love and comfort her, and dread began to coil up from his belly like a black, poisonous snake.
Oh, God, Maggie, don’t turn away from me now. Not now, when we just found each other.
He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, Maggie sitting on the bed, staring at the wall in front of her, but seeing the pictures in her mind; Jubal standing against the far wall, watching her, wanting her, aching for her. Every now and then, a shudder would ripple through her body, and Jubal’s fists clenched with each one of those shudders, as if he longed to slay the monster of unhappiness that had invaded their room.
They both became aware of Jubal’s muttered words at the same time. Jubal hadn’t realized he’d been speaking, and Maggie hadn’t been listening.
But slowly his, “I’m sorry, Maggie. It’s my fault. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry,” penetrated the fog of unhappiness that surrounded them. Unhappiness had filled the room up so that the air was thick with an almost palpable agony.
Maggie couldn’t stand to hear him sound so unhappy. She lifted her gaze from Niagara Falls and found his face. Poor Jubal, she thought. He wants so much to help.
But there wasn’t any help he could give her. There wasn’t anything he could do that he hadn’t already done. The reality of her life, that she was back to having nothing but herself and her baby, settled like a cloak of mourning around her shoulders.
“It’s not your fault, Jubal,” she whispered to him.
Jubal didn’t know what to say to her then. He wished like the devil that he possessed a glib tongue. But he didn’t.
Finally he said the only thing that he could think of to say, “Please let me hold you, Maggie.”
His words somehow managed to slither through tiny cracks in Maggie’s wall of loneliness. They were propelled by infinite love; maybe that was why they succeeded in penetrating her barriers. Whatever the reason, it occurred to her all at once that perhaps she wasn’t as alone as she had at first felt herself to be. She gave him the tiniest of tiny smiles.
“It’s not your fault, Jubal,” she whispered again.
He looked positively angry at that. “It is, too, Maggie. If it weren’t for me, you’d still have your pretty little farm. You saved my life and I got you burned out.”
Maggie actually gave him a real, albeit lopsided, smile. “But if you hadn’t come to my door, I’d never have loved you, Jubal,” she said softly. Then she patted the bed next to her.
Jubal’s eyes squeezed shut once and his heart breathed a prayer of gratitude before he slowly covered the space between them and sat down next to her. Very carefully, he wrapped his arms around her and felt her slump into his embrace. He couldn’t remember the last time he cried, but tears stung his eyes now.
“Will you marry me, Maggie? Will you marry me today, right now? I swear to God, Maggie, I’ll never let anything else ever happen to you.”
“Thank you, Jubal.”
That didn’t sound like a “yes” to him, and he glanced at her sharply. His heart was still doing crazy things in his chest and a sudden horrifying thought that she was going to tell him no surged through him. She couldn’t leave him now. He wouldn’t let her.
“Well?” he asked. It came out as a demand.
Maggie took a deep, shuddering breath. “You don’t have to marry me, Jubal.”
Astonishment made his eyes widen. “What?” He was sure he’d misunderstood her.
With another deep sigh, Maggie said, “You don’t have to marry me.”
He drew away from her a little bit so that he could look at her face. He couldn’t quite believe she’d said what he’d just heard. “What do you mean?” This didn’t make any sense to him. None at all.
“Oh, Jubal, please don’t feel guilty. You couldn’t help what happened any more than I could. It’s not your fault, and I’m not going to marry you just because you feel guilty. I—I couldn’t do that.”
“What?” The word was sharp and ricocheted in the room like a bullet. Maggie winced, and he squeezed her again and tried to calm down.
Very carefully, he composed himself so that he wouldn’t yell and said, softly, “I don’t want to marry you because I feel guilty, Maggie. I want to marry you because I love you. I can’t even stand to think about living without you.” Upon another deep, calming breath, he said, “Please marry me, Maggie. Please marry me because I love you and you love me.” He was very proud of himself that he sounded so calm. He wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled and then holler at her.
She thinks I asked her to marry me because I feel guilty. Jesus Christ.
Maggie drew back a little bit and gazed up at him, doubt clouding her expression. He looked sincere. In fact, he looked very sincere. He also looked as though he wanted to strangle her. The combination actually made her want to chuckle.
She thought about questioning him and asking if he meant it, then she remembered how touchy he was and decided that for once in her life, and in spite of her aunt’s many lessons to the contrary, she’d believe something nice that somebody said to her. The good Lord knew, she wanted to believe Jubal Green right now.
“All right, Jubal. I’ll marry you. I’d love to marry you. Thank you.”
She had begun to stroke his chest lightly, sending bolts of heat through him, and he lectured his manhood severely for its uncivilized reaction to her touch. It didn’t matter. He was hard as an oak log in a second.
Her words did make him feel better though, and he no longer felt like shaking her. “Good,” he breathed.
“But I want my baby to be there, Jubal, and Dan and Four Toes and Sadie Phillips, and Beula. I want to marry you in your pretty patio after it’s fixed up. I—I never had a pretty wedding before. I always sort of dreamed about it.”
Jubal was frowning at her now, and she got a little worried.
“Do you mind?” she asked in a tiny voice.
Jubal didn’t answer her for a minute. When he did, his voice was rough with emotion. It was a voice Maggie had never heard before.
“I don’t want to wait, Maggie. I want you to be my wife as soon as we can get it done. If anything happens to me, I want to be damned sure you’re taken care of.”
The sudden surge of fear that shot through Maggie at the thought of something happening to Jubal made her forget his wound. She squeezed his arm so tight that he grunted in pain. Then she let him go and rubbed his sore scar gently.
“Nothing will happen to you, Jubal,” she whispered as though she hoped it were true.
“You don’t know that. It’s not an idle consideration, Maggie.” Jubal’s voice was fierce. He wanted to quell any arguments she might come up with. “Mulrooney burned your farm down because of me. It’s me he wants. He could kill Dan and Four Toes and me and then you’d be left all alone with Annie and no place to call home, no money, and nobody to take care of you. I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen.” He held her to his chest as though he were afraid she’d bolt if he let her go.
As Maggie sat next to Jubal her thoughts whirred and stumbled over each other. She’d never lived through such an emotionally crazy day in her life. Her fingers stroked his cheek and she could feel the stubble of his quick-growing beard. It felt good to her. She inhaled a deep breath and smelled him, warm and male and wonderful.
One Bright Morning Page 32