by Jillian Hart
Chapter Seven
"Maebry!" Cook shouted over the clanging of pans and chiming of plates as the last of the dishes were being washed and put away by the army of workers. "Someone to see you."
It wasn't Gil. She knew that by the silence in her heart. Thank goodness. She set down her dishtowel, peered around Missy who was on tiptoe wrestling a big kettle back onto the overhead shelf, and spied a dapper-looking fellow in the doorway, minus his bowler hat.
She groaned. Not Lawrence Latimer.
"Go on with you, now. We're almost done here." Cook went back to scrubbing the stove. "Have some fun, love."
"Oh." Not sure that being with Lawrence qualified as fun, Maebry thought. It seemed there was no escape. Where was a fake beau when you needed one? And why did Gil have to go and be so wonderful? She stumbled forward, taking small steps to prolong the moment.
"You grow lovelier by the day, my dear Maebry." Lawrence threw back his inadequate shoulders, puffed up his thin chest. He wasn't the handsomest fellow, but his eyes flashed kindness as he held out one soft hand to take hers.
"You flatter me too much, I'm afraid." Uncomfortable with his compliments and his attention, she blushed. "I'm average at best. You're very kind, Lawrence."
"I'm hoping that's an attribute you might value in a suitor?" He quirked an eyebrow as he reached out to take possession of her hand. His touch was cool, impersonal. "I noticed Gil left the party a bit ago."
"Oh." She swallowed, wondering why he'd left. Because she'd tried to reject him or because something was wrong at the Rocking M? She thought of Maureen's frailness and her stomach cramped. She stared down at the toes of her shoes, telling herself it didn't matter. Gil had left. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about him tracking her down for a dance, the way Lawrence obviously had.
She tried to tug free her hand from Lawrence's rather damp grip, but he had a death hold on it and it took some tugging. "I'm not serious with Gil either. I can't be. I owe Maureen too much money, and I could never in good conscience allow you or anyone else to pay my debt."
"But if I marry you, then it would become my debt, not yours." Lawrence opened the back door for her, a courteous gentleman. She lead him out onto the porch where the sun shone bright and snow melted from the roof and nearby trees with a cheerful, melodic drip-drop, drip-drop.
"You are a good man, Lawrence." She hated being the reason for the disappointment creasing across his face. Gently, so she would not hurt his feelings any further, she said what she'd been trying to avoid. But there was no other choice now than to be honest.
"I don't care about you in that way." She met his gaze directly, so he would know she meant every word. "Somewhere in this world there is the perfect lady for you. When you find her, you'll know. You'll be able to look into her eyes and see a lost piece of your soul. You'll know what she is about to say before she says it. When your hands touch, it's like your hearts are joined together, beating as one. That's what you deserve, Lawrence. It's what I'll be wishing for you."
He cleared his throat, stared down at the floor for a moment, gave a little shrug. When he met her gaze, his smile was bittersweet. "That's the nicest rejection I've ever had."
"Well, I am sorry for it." She felt tingles shiver down her spine. Every nerve ending in her skin flickered. That could only mean one thing. She waited until Lawrence had retreated back into the house and closed the door before she turned around, already knowing who had returned to the party.
Gil stood on the porch step, hands on his hips, watching her. His eyes shone darkly, as if with mystery. The line of his jaw looked rigid, uncompromising. Feelings she could not hold back rushed forward, affection too great to be confined.
"I heard what you said about finding the right person." His baritone rumbled through her as if his words were her own. His breath, his heartbeat moved hers. When he towered over her, he seemed to suck the oxygen from the air. She couldn’t breathe, not unless he did. A corner of his mouth quirked upward. "You were talking about us, weren't you?"
"No," she lied, because she had to protect him. She had to do right by him. This was Gil, wonderful Gil.
When the palm of his hand pressed against the curve of her face, his touch was more than flesh to flesh, skin to skin. She felt his soul in that touch. They stood in silence, and she sensed realization move through him, silently understanding everything.
Just everything.
"You cannot push me away. You cannot scare me away." He drew her against him, into the amazing invincible wall of his chest. "You can't force me away. No matter what, I'm not going anywhere. I love you, Maebry."
"I don't want you to." She burrowed against him, heaven knew she could not help herself. Pain prickled behind her eyelids and scorched her heart. "I won't let you sacrifice so much for me."
"I wish you would." He folded his strong arms around her, bringing her snugly against him. Tenderness resonated in his words. "It would be done out of great affection."
"Oh, Gil." She squeezed her eyes shut, holding back the burst of joy, the explosion of hope at his words, hope and joy she didn't want to feel. This wasn't what she wanted, to be a burden to him. She buried her face in his coat, at a loss. "I told you no. You'll be throwing away your future."
"What's my future without you?" He rested his chin on the top of her head, breathing her in. "I worked hard all these years because I want a better life. I want a dream. Now you're that dream."
"No." She wanted to pull back, wanted to say anything to make him change his mind, but his words touched her soul. It still didn't make it right. "It is too high of a price to pay. Believe me, I know what it's like to be trapped, when your life isn't really your own."
"I don't mind." He didn't even blink. So stalwart, so loyal and true.
"But I do." She pushed away from him, hating the way his arms fell away from her, hating the cold air rushing over her, where his body had warmed hers. Anguish tore through her. "I'm not worth it."
"You're worth everything." Unyielding love flashed in his blue eyes. Easy to see the strength of that would never fade. "Maureen isn't long for this world, the doctor said she has days at best. And while I'm sorry for that, may her passing be an easy one, I intend to make an offer to her heir. Then you'll be free to let me court you the right way. Free to marry me when the time is right."
"Oh, Gil." The burn behind her eyes became unbearable, but it was nothing compared to the agony in her heart. The agony from his kindness, from his love. She smiled through her tears. Why couldn't she resist teasing him? "Well, what if when I'm free, I don't want you to court me?"
"Then I'm in big trouble." He moved in, took her hands in his. Big, strong, male-hot. In that instant, with his sweet touch, her heart belonged to him, no longer hers. The corners of his mouth quirked upward into a mischievous grin. "Don't tell me after all this that I might lose out to Lawrence?"
"It's a close one, a real tough choice. Right now I can't say how this will turn out." Sure, she was joking, but only to hide what he meant to her. The depth of his love for her, for his sacrifice for her, it just blew her away. "You know I have nothing to give you, Gil. Not like what you've given me."
"Oh, yes you do." He tugged her against him, wrapped her in his arms, gazed down at her with infinite affection. She could read forever in his eyes, forever and a day. He smiled, slanting his lips over hers. "I'll settle for your love. Sunshine, you are worth anything, any sacrifice I have to make."
As if to prove it, his lips grazed hers, settled in and claimed. She placed her hands along his powerful jaw, felt the faint texture of his skin and whiskers, felt the punch of guilt in her heart. The firm, velvet-soft caress of his kiss sizzled along her lips and she clung to him, barely able to breathe, unable to move, mesmerized by the sensation of her heart coming alive in ways it had never been before. Of the depth of commitment she felt, the devotion knitting into her soul.
When he lifted his lips from hers, they stood in silence gazing into each other's eyes, su
rrounded by sunlight as spring returned to the world around them. She drew in a slow breath, never wanting this moment to end.
"Come here, Sunshine." He pulled her snug against him, folding her against his powerful chest. "I just want to hold you."
"I know the feeling." She sighed, burrowing into him, never wanting to let him go. Nothing was sweeter than being in his arms, her cheek pressed against his coat, listening to the reliable thump of his heart. Yes, this is how she wanted to spend forever.
Not that it was possible, so she held him while she could. Holding on, when she should be letting go.
* * *
Aumaleigh took the empty tea cup from Doc Hartwell and carried it over to the wash basin. Those few steps gave her a moment to compose herself. One look at the physician's weathered face told her exactly what she feared. Not a surprise, as this day had been a long time coming, Mother had been suffering from her wasting disease for two decades now, but still. It would be hard to take. She set the saucer down with a clink, took a moment to breathe in the silence of the still house, fortified herself with as much strength as she could.
"You were right to have me come and check her again. Often small strokes are a precursor to something worse." The doc's boots knelled slowly on the hardwood, coming closer. Voice low, so his words wouldn’t carry upstairs where Mother lay resting. The older gentleman's face wreathed in compassion. "You must prepare for the end, I'm afraid. I wish I had better news."
"Me, too. Mother has fought so hard for so long." Her throat choked closed, cutting off her words. A surge of raw, horrible grief rolled up, flooding her chest, driving out every other feeling. It didn't matter that her mother had been impossible to deal with, she still loved the woman—the woman who had cost her so much. She closed her eyes against the hot seep of tears. Now was not the time to give into them. She held herself upright, grabbing the counter for support. "What can I do for her?"
"Just keep her comfortable and very calm. I know that's hard with Maureen, but this is important. I've left more laudanum on the corner of the table there." Doc's tone softened. "You are working too hard, Aumaleigh, caring for her. Perhaps you can hire someone to help for this last little bit. You mustn't wear down your health."
"That's good advice, thank you." She wearily shook her head, Mother had been worse than ever about holding onto money and to the control of it. Refusing to delegate, refusing to accept her coming death. There would be no extra money in the household budget she gave them to pay for a helper. Weary, she pushed away from the counter. "What should I watch for, so I know when to call for you next?"
"It could go very fast, be over in a moment." The doc frowned, buttoned his coat, his deep tenor layered with sadness. It must be hard to give this kind of sad news. "Or she could linger for a few more days. She's having difficulty breathing, and her heartbeat is irregular. Those are signs the end is near. You call me anytime you want to, Aumaleigh. You don't question it, you just send one of your men riding for me, even if it's in the wee hours of the night."
Kindness. Aumaleigh winced, doing her best to hold back her emotions. She appreciated the doc more than he knew. "Thank you for coming. I know you're missing the Montgomery's party."
"Truth is, I don't much mind." Doc winked, heading toward the door, medical bag in hand. "You know I like to play my fiddle for the social events in this town, but I don't always get along with Nora. If it was one of her son's birthdays or something, I'd be there. But as it is, I'm happier working. Are you sure you don't need anything else?"
"I'm good, Doc." She saw him to the door, held it open as he ambled through, gave him a wave as he strode across the porch. Melting snow tinkled and chimed, merry as a melody while the sun blazed with a summer's heat. Crazy weather. She shook her head, closed the door and checked on the china pot of steeping tea. Looked done, just the way Mother liked it.
She loaded the tea tray, her mind drifting. She'd lived on this ranch for so long, she hardly thought of the past anymore, or wondered what her life would have been like had she made different choices, if she hadn't let her mother talk her into doing the dutiful thing. Aumaleigh frowned, put a few crackers from the tin on a plate. She stared out the window. It did no good to look back and second guess the past, but she had regrets.
Big regrets.
As she reached for the sugar bowl, she saw the ranch foreman clomp into sight. Big and brawny, handsome in a can-do cowboy kind of way, Beckett Kincaid tromped up the steps, his dark hair scattering in the wind, his square jaw tensed. Looked like something was wrong.
Her stomach twisted. She knew exactly what it was. She quickly added a silver spoon to Mother's tray and turned just as the back door swung open, and Beckett filled the doorway. In his early thirties, Beckett was as handsome as they came. Men his age often made her wonder, if she'd made other choices, if she would have had a son. And if she did, then likely he would have been the same age as Beckett. A son with deep gray eyes, just like his pa—
Not that she ever let herself think of such things, of course. Her chin went up, she buried all thoughts of sons and marriages and lost opportunities and swept the tray off the counter. "Beckett. I recognize that look. I know why you're here."
"It's after noon on the first of the month, and I have a lot of unhappy cowboys asking me about their wages. Again. This is becoming commonplace." Beckett shut the door and managed to look apologetic and determined at the same time. Beckett was a good man. Understanding glinted in his gaze as he strolled forward, into the reach of the lamplight. He cleared his throat. "I have to ask if the pay is ready."
"No. Mother has been sleeping on and off all day." Aumaleigh set the tray on the nearby worktable, staring down at the fine china and silver, at the imported linens Mother had insisted on having. Only the very best for her. Aumaleigh sighed, ashamed of her mother's attitude toward others. "I've already checked with the bank. Mother is the only name on the account. Even if she is infirm, they will not let me sign for her."
"You mean, she won't give you permission to." Hard those words, said between clenched teeth, but that same understanding remained in his gaze. And maybe a dash of something else. Pity.
Yes, she knew how others saw her. The poor, spinster daughter, silently enduring her mother's sharp tongue and frequent wrath. How many times had she vowed not to put up with it anymore? How many times had she packed her bags or stood on the front steps of the little town bank ready to withdraw every penny of her savings and start a new life? But something always stopped her, or if it didn't, something inside her held her back. In the end, Maureen had no one else who would take care of her, and this was a daughter's duty.
With a sigh, she thought of the bank ledgers upstairs. Thought of the money her mother squirreled away with greedy self-interest, hating every penny she had to spend on others, even the wages they'd earned.
"I feel for you and the men, I really do," she said as gently as she could. "I'd hand out their pay this very instant if I could."
"She's simply not going to pay us then?"
"No. I'll talk to her about it again after her tea. Maybe she'll agree to it if I take the account book to her and put a pen in her hand." She shrugged. "I don't know what else I can do. When Maebry comes back from the May Day party, I plan to head to town. Nate may be able to help."
"I appreciate that, Aumaleigh. Thanks. An attorney was our next step." Beckett looked relieved, but still troubled. He owed it to his men to make sure they were fairly paid. "I don't know how many of them will stay, if I can't hand over their wages."
"I understand. Please give them my apologies. If there's nothing Nate can do, then I'll dig into my savings and pay everyone who is owed. Please tell them that."
"You shouldn't have to do that." Beckett's jaw clenched harder. "But thank you, Aumaleigh. Some of the men have families and they are hurting."
"I know." She felt bad for that. How did she explain all the times she'd said as much to her mother? Then again, Beckett nodded as if he already knew.
He donned his hat, tipped it to her, and strode out of the kitchen. The door clicked behind him, leaving her alone.
A faint jangle from a hand bell penetrated the ceiling boards.
"Aumaleigh!" Mother shouted. "Where did you get off to! Where's my tea?"
"Coming." She scooped up the tray and hurried upstairs, dread growing with every step. She loved her mother, she always would, but she certainly didn't like the woman very much. A hard thing, a complicated thing. When she breezed into the over-warm bedroom where the fire crackled and popped, she did her best to shield her heart. Ignore the barbs, try to do the right thing.
"There you are." The corner of Mother's mouth hung low in one corner, more obvious than before. She wheezed, struggling to breathe. "I am tired of looking at you, and I need my tea. Where's Maebry? Why isn't she here to serve me?"
"She's helping with Nora's party, remember?" Calmly, Aumaleigh slid the tray onto the nightstand, shook out the lace-edged napkin and spread it out beneath her mother's chin. "She should be back soon."
"I heard the door open, I thought it was her." Mother managed a half-faced scowl. "She should be here. I need her. Who does she think she is?"
"Here, Mother." Aumaleigh ignored the tirade, measured out sugar cubes from the bowl and stirred them into the fragrant tea. "This will taste good. Are you hungry? I can get you a sandwich if you'd like. You hardly touched your lunch."
"That's because you were here. I want Maebry." Mother clamped her mouth together, raising her weakened hand to shove roughly at the tea cup. Nearly spilling it on herself.
Aumaleigh whisked it away just in time, ignoring the scalding liquid sloshing onto her hand. She calmly set saucer and cup down and reached for a second napkin, wiping the hot tea from her skin.
"I suppose I know who came. One of the men." Mother's face turned pink, her voice wobbling with anger. "Wanting his wages. Thinking only of himself. Selfish. That's all those people do, shirk on their work, do as little as possible, but when it comes time for their pay, they'd rob you blind if they could."