by Jillian Hart
"I'll be happy to step in anytime you need it." He rose up to full height, his hand cupping both her elbows, drawing her forward with him. Closer to him. "Say, at the Montgomery's May Day party. Lawrence is determined when it comes to you."
"I have no idea why he would be. Honestly." She gasped when his hands trailed down her arms like a caress. Even through the layers of wool and cloth, her skin tingled. "There are other single ladies around."
"Not many," Gil corrected, backing to the edge of the wagon and stepping down with a powerful, masculine grace. "If women around here are single, they tend to get snatched up pretty quick."
"Still, a man wouldn't have to pay out a small fortune for them." There, she hoped her message would get across. He stood unblinking with his hat brim back, his bright blue eyes searching hers. As if he understood her meaning, he nodded once, winced as if in acknowledgement.
There. At least he understood what she could not say. She was glad for that. No man, no one, was going to go to such extremes for her.
And she wouldn’t want them to. She bobbed her head, sure of it. Even if the open place in her heart squeezed with feeling, sore with both sadness and gratitude. For a moment back there on the ride home, she'd felt free, unfettered by the contract that dictated her life. Spending time with a man she liked, being held by him. It was a moment to cherish.
But it was over. She placed her hands in his larger ones and stepped down from the wagon. Weightless, she hung suspended in air for one brief moment, aware of his muscled strength as he lowered her toward the ground. Her shoes hit the snowy earth, but her heart felt airborne.
"You need to know something, Maebry O'Riley." Gil tugged at her hood, straightening it to better protect her eyes from the snow. "You would be worth a small fortune. Wait, even a large one."
"No." She blushed at the sincere dip of his words, of how they rumbled with truth and caring. "That's not true, I—"
He leaned in, pulled down an edge of her muffler and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She drew in air, surprised, dazed, confused. Unexpected sweetness, that kiss. The exposed place in her heart she could not close eked open a little more. She'd never dared to let herself dream of this moment, when the crush she had on him turned to something more.
"Just practicing." He re-adjusted her muffler, brushing off snow, tugging it back up. "I mean, we have to make this convincing if we're going to be a pretend couple."
"Isn't that taking it a little far?" Her hands lifted upward without thought, as if aching to land on the impressive span of his chest. She caught herself in time, pulling back. A little wistful, wishing she'd touched him. Instead, she steeled her spine and took a step back. "We don't have to convince everyone."
"Oh, I don't mind." Tender. The timbre of his voice, the curve of his mouth, the glint in his eyes that studied her intently, as if trying to look inside her. "I keep my promises. When I agree to do something, it's one hundred and ten percent."
"That is the problem with you, Gil." Her fingers moved of their own accord, she could not stop them as they landed on his forearm, touching him, connecting with him. "You're a good guy."
"Well, fair to middling." He reached for something behind her. The grocery crate. He tucked it into the crook of his arm, as if it weighed nothing. "We'd better get you in. Can't leave the horses standing in this wind."
"You go on and take care of them." Knowing it was the right thing to do, she wrestled the crate from him. Putting distance between them was the smartest thing to do. "You're right, they've worked up a sweat getting us safely here. They come first. I can see myself to the door."
"What did I just tell you? Remember the one hundred and ten percent thing?" Something mysterious shadowed his eyes, when the rest of him was smiling.
She soaked in the sight of his smile. Crinkles and manly lines, the craggy cut of his cheekbones, the good-guy look of him. Thud, went her heart, falling just a little bit more. If she wasn't careful, this crush she felt was going to balloon into doom. So she took a step back, giving him no choice. "Save it for the May Day party, cowboy. I'm an independent lady."
"Except for the indentured thing." His grin dimmed a notch, because he had to know she was rejecting him again. His shoulders went back, as if determined. "You can't be independent and indentured at the same time."
"I was talking about my personality." She rolled her eyes. Was he feeling this way too, as if he didn't want this to end, as if he didn't want to let go?
"You should work on your personality then." Twinkles returned to his eyes. "Might want to rethink that independent thing."
"No, what I'm wanting is more of it." Her shoe found the first porch step and she stumbled up onto it. Drawn to him, wishing she wasn't, she glanced over her shoulder. Big man, bigger personality. She steeled her heart, trying to resist him. "It keeps me safe from men like you."
"Like me?" All innocence, hands on his hips, feet braced, his grin widening. "Well, that's all the proof I need. You're sweet on me, Maebry O'Riley. I knew it."
"You know nothing." She edged up onto the next step, wishing he didn't know the truth. Best to deny it. "I'm not interested in you, Gilbert Blackburn."
"I know what I saw." Teasing her now, but he really wasn't teasing.
"Sorry, but you need glasses, Mister. You saw incorrectly."
"There's nothing wrong with my eyesight. And don't think I'm going to forget about your promises."
"What promises?" Best to feign ignorance than to turn around right now, she thought, slogging across the snowy porch.
"Baked goods," he called out, nothing but a shadow in the white downpour now. "No cold or burned things on my supper plate."
"Hmm, I don't seem to recall making that deal." With a laugh, she shifted the crate to her left arm, balancing it against her side, and turned the door knob. It was simply too easy to joke with him. "You should pay better attention when we talk, Gil. Men simply do not listen."
"Right." The whiskey-smooth cadence of his laughter carried on the wind, as personal as a touch, as soul-melting as his kiss. The wind gusted, stealing him from her sight. But a ribbon of connection remained, something so sweet and bright not even the storm could break it.
You are in big trouble, Maebry . She bowed her head, gave the knob a twist and stepped into the light and warmth of the Rocking M's kitchen house. Once the original homestead, it was now headquarters for all the ranch's cooking. Three meals a day were prepared for the three dozen cowboys that lived and worked on the Rocking M.
The minute she closed the door behind her, she felt the laughter within her dim. For a moment, she'd forgotten herself again, laughing with a guy she liked, feeling cozy because he seemed to like her back. But she could not be that girl. She set the crate on the nearby counter, unwrapped her muffler and smiled at the other women in the room.
"Goodness, look at you." Aumaleigh rushed across the ranch's warm kitchen, her lovely, heart-shaped face crinkled with concern. In middle-age, Aumaleigh managed to hold onto her beauty, although these days she did look worn from the struggle to take care of her mother. Her blue eyes gentled with concern. "You must be frozen clean through. Come right over here and warm up by the stove. Josslyn, draw up a chair."
"No, I'm fine," Maebry argued, dreading the uproar to come if she wasn't doing her duty by serving Maureen. "Don't bother with me. Not when there's tea to serve."
"Right." Josslyn set a steaming tea kettle on a trivet on the big work table in the center of the large kitchen. Middle age looked good on her too, her red hair was only lightly touched with gray. "You got here just in time. I was just about to brew a pot of her second favorite tea, since it's four o'clock on the dot."
"Whew. Just in the nick of time." Maebry hung up her muffler and unbuttoned her coat. "Oh, I brought her favorite crackers, too."
"Excellent." Josslyn dove into the crate, finding the new tin of tea just as a hand bell rang from an upstairs room. Josslyn frowned. "That would be her."
"I'll get the crackers." St
rain paled Aumaleigh's face as she spoke over the bell. "Hurry, Josslyn. Are you sure you want to serve her, Maebry?"
"It's my job, right?" She whipped off her coat, forcing her mind to cut off all thoughts of Gil. To resist searching for him through the whitely hazed window. Whatever she felt for Gil, it was not real life. More like a daydream.
"Aumaleigh, use that plate." Josslyn scrambled to spoon tea leaves into the steeping ball. "Hurry."
"Thanks." Aumaleigh pried open the cracker tin and set several out on the plate, arranging the tray, fetching a sugar bowl and a spoon while Josslyn dropped the ball into the pot and poured the water.
"Sorry about the snow tracks." Maebry rushed across the room a little squishily and grabbed the tray Josslyn shoved at her. The bell jangled again, sharp and insistent. Angry this time.
"Maebry!" An elderly woman scolded from upstairs, her tone irritated and sharp enough to pierce wood. "I hear you down there, you lazy girl. Get up here. Bring my tea."
"Coming!" Maebry dove toward the stairs in the hallway, the teacup rattling in its saucer with every step. She charged upstairs, her pulse rat-tat-tatting partly panic because she really didn't want to endure Maureen's wrath, but that wasn't the only reason. In truth her heart hadn't beat normally since Gil had kissed her cheek.
He'd kissed her! It felt as if she'd left her heart behind, out there in the storm with him.
"Hurry up, you!" Maureen reprimanded. "I've had just about enough of waiting for you. Much more of this, and I'll sell your contract to the highest bidder, hire me a maid who can do her duty. I swear I will."
"Sorry, ma'am." Maebry tripped down the hall and into the room, where Maureen lay in bed, propped up by pillows. Her limbs gnarled and wasted, she was a skeleton in fine clothes. A scowling skull.
Sympathy for the dying woman filled her. She set the tray on the bedside table.
"Don't sorry me," Maureen snapped, struggling to lift her one good arm to point a gnarled finger. "You jump when I say jump, and you bring my tea on time. I own you, girl, you do what I say. Do you understand me?"
"Yes." She nodded, dutifully. Maureen wasn't wrong and she had the signed contract to prove it.
Maebry's hand shook as she poured the tea, the steaming, fragrance scenting the room. The fire snapping in the nearby hearth chased away the storm's chill as she stirred in a lump of sugar and held up the cup to Maureen.
"It's too hot," Maureen barked, screwing up her wrinkled face like a prune. Hard eyes silently rebuked, silently judged.
"Sorry." Maebry blew on the tea gently, grabbed the spoon and stirred a few times. "There, that looks better."
"Too cool." Maureen didn't look at the cup. "Heat it up."
Biting back her frustration, Maebry poured a few inches of tea into the nearby empty wash basin and topped the cup, added a fraction of a sugar cube, stirred and blew. "This feels right."
"It had better be." Maureen sneered as she held up her weak, gnarled hand for her tea.
Biting her lip, enduring the threat, Maebry made sure the old lady had a good hold on the cup before she let go. Maureen struggled to lift the cup to her lips. Her hand shook, while the other lay motionless at her side. It was a sad sight, to see her fight so hard, leaning forward toward the cup unsteadily, while tea threatened to slosh over the side and scald her.
Full of pity, Maebry gently steadied the bottom of the cup, supporting it so Maureen could feel as if she was doing it all herself, when she wasn't. She took a tentative sip, a little swallow and tea drooled down from one corner of her mouth. Maebry wordlessly grabbed a napkin from the tray and dabbed Maureen's lips.
"Don't you look at me like that." The old lady drew up her lips, sneering. "I don't need your pity, you worthless girl, but believe you me. You're going to need mine. I want the entire upstairs scrubbed clean. Floors, ceilings, walls. Everything. Before you go to bed tonight."
"Yes, ma'am." She sighed, resigned. She'd given up the right to be upset at the injustice of it long ago. All it took was one thought of Nia happy in Dakota Territory, working as a governess to three little girls. That was worth anything.
Real love was sacrifice, as she'd learned from her mother, as she was learning from her life. She was glad of her decisions, although they limited her future. As she steadied Maureen's cup while the old woman struggled with another sip, Maebry closed the door to her heart, the one Gil had opened.
From now on, it had to stay shut.
Chapter Four
Felt like the blizzard was blowing itself out. Gil set down his book, hopped off the straw bale he used for a chair and let himself out of Casey's stall. The gelding snoozed, breathing softly, lost in dreams. Latching the gate quietly so as not to wake his best buddy, Gil's thoughts turned back to Maebry. She hadn't served supper tonight. He'd even checked out the kitchen, but she hadn't been there either.
Maybe that's a sign . He sighed, fetched his book and turned down the lantern hanging on a center post, until only darkness remained. On second thought, maybe he shouldn't have kissed her cheek. That had to be the reason why she was avoiding him.
Why had he done such a rash thing? He blew out a sigh, frowning, ambling down the dark main aisle. She'd pulled away from him. Wasn't that another glaring, unmistakable clue? But no, he'd had to move in when anyone else would have gotten the hint. His chest cinched, full of longing for her, proof of how powerfully he felt.
The barn's silence surrounded him. Horses in their stalls, fast asleep, even the barn cats were dozing. This was his favorite time of night, when the ranch hands were up at the bunkhouse, the animals safe and fed and cared for. The barn was far cozier than hanging out in the bunkhouse with a bunch of jaded cowboys. And it was a far sight closer to the kitchen house where Maebry worked and lived.
Maebry. He winced, tucked his book on his shelf in the tackroom and reached for his muffler and gloves. This time of night, she'd be reading in her little room off the kitchen. He knew because she'd always smile and wave to him when he came in with an armload of firewood. Sometimes she'd even come out and exchange a few polite words with him.
Polite. That was the key word, the important one he had to pay attention to. He bowed his head, looping the muffler around his neck, unable to ignore the foolish feeling rising up. The last thing he wanted was to look like Lawrence Latimer, not knowing when to back off. A little sheepish, he rubbed a hand over his face, tired, a little heartsick. That kiss to her cheek had been a mistake, especially if she was avoiding him.
Well, he owed her an apology at the least. His pride stung, but he'd do right by her. She shouldn't have to go around tomorrow worrying about avoiding him, too, right? Right. His chest felt hollow as he buttoned up his coat all the way and reached for his gloves. Looked like he didn't have a chance with her. That hurt.
Disappointed, his foot stumbled on his way to the door, but he kept going. Headed out into the storm, head bowed, full of determination. Icy pellets walloped him, a mean wind tried to blow him off course, but he kept going until he found the snow-covered woodpile against the kitchen house. He filled his arms full and hiked to the back door. The weather was brutal, but he kept going. Even if she would never be his, he wouldn't stop doing things for her.
He just couldn't.
Gritting his teeth, trying to keep his feelings as frozen as the outside world, he wrestled open the back door and tumbled into the dark kitchen. The faint scents of the day's cooking lingered in the air, buttermilk bread, peppery beef stew, molasses baked beans. A lamp in the hallway tossed enough light into the room for him to see by. As he moseyed toward the stove, he noticed Maebry's bedroom door was closed tight, when it had always been open before.
Well, that was another big sign. And it smarted. He sighed, tightening his jaw, and knelt down in front of the wood box. Piece by piece, he stacked the wood inside, quiet so as not to wake her. He had visions of the future, spending nights just like this, being forced to watch while one day some other man courted Maebry and married her. The image
made his chest implode, and he winced at the unexpected pain. He was a tough man, but she made him vulnerable. Likely always would.
Although it wasn't his job, had never been in his job description, he went back outside, filled his arms again and carried more wood into the house. Began filling the wood box piece by piece. It would be nice and full come morning for her, so she wouldn't have to step outside in the frigid temperatures before lighting the stove.
Like music, light and sweet and slow, he recognized the gentle tap of her footstep on the stairs. So, guess she wasn't in her room after all. Still, he couldn’t look at her. Steeled his spine, kept lowering the last of the chunks of cedar into the bin.
"Gil." Surprise brightened her voice. Not an uneasy tone, as if she were thinking, great, need to get away from that man. But a warm tone. As if she didn't mind finding him in her vicinity.
"On a night like this, you should be in the bunkhouse, you know, out of the weather." She padded closer, her skirts rustling. "You do too much for us."
"Can't help myself, since I'm one of the newest hires." He set the last stick of wood down and rose slowly, keeping his voice neutral, friendly. As if that kiss hadn't happened. "You know, I'm still temporary, got to ingratiate myself as much as I can."
"You must like your job."
"Best I've had for the most part." He dusted bits of bark and moss off his gloves, watched it tumble into the wood box, felt her presence like a hot sun at his back. Fighting his feelings for her, larger now and grander, wasn't going to be easy.
"Even with Maureen as your boss?" Politeness was back in her voice. Slightly distant. When he turned around, he could see her reserve, the way she hung in the shadows, staying back from him in the room.
That kiss stood between them in the darkness, like the night.
"Yes, Maureen." He thought of the older lady, crippled and failing. "For the most part, she only yells at me through the window, or if I'm called up to talk with her. I'm tough enough to take a little yelling."