by Jillian Hart
"You are two months behind paying them." Aumaleigh thought of the checkbook in the next room. She itched to get up and fetch it right now, but Mother had to calm down first. She could be stubborn.
A knock sounded on the back door, brisk and strong, ringing through the house. None of the ranch hands knocked, so who could it be? Most folks in town were at the Montgomery's party. Aumaleigh pushed off the bed. "I'll be right back."
"Did I say you could leave?" Mother arched one brow, lips pursed, commanding. "You'll sit right here and serve me. One of the maids will get the door."
Impossible, as she'd given then the afternoon off. Aumaleigh rolled her eyes. But what her mother didn't know, didn't hurt anyone. She pushed to her feet. "Is there anything else you want from downstairs?"
"A new daughter." Maureen smiled, as if sure her words had hit their mark.
Gone was the day such a thing would hurt. She crossed the room, feeling wooden and drained and hurried down the hallway. A man's shadowed figure stood at the bottom of the stairwell, looking up at her. That was a surprise.
"Aumaleigh." Nate Denby bobbed his head once in greeting, causing his glasses to slide down his nose a few inches. "I thought you might be busy, so I let myself in."
"Glad you did." As it had saved her a few steps. "Come on up. You must need to speak with my mother?"
"Yes. She wanted a few last minute things done to her will. A codicil." Nate patted a packet of papers he carried, taking the steps easily. "Is she awake?"
"Yes. I'll come down. There's something I want to talk to you about."
"The will?" Nate lowered his voice, backed away to allow her to pass. "You look exhausted. You must have been up all night with her."
"Maebry was already so worn out, I couldn't let her spell me." Aumaleigh ached, thinking of the young woman. She lowered her voice so it wouldn't carry up to mother. "Is there any way we can free Maebry now? When I inherit, I'll forgive the debt and have you dissolve the contract—"
"Oh, you don't know." Nate's face fell. "I'm sorry. I just assumed you'd overheard, since Maureen assured me she'd discussed this with you. Apparently she was less than honest."
"Not unusual for Mother."
"No." Nate dipped his chin, wincing, as if he wasn't happy to be the bearer of bad news. "Your mother changed her will. You should know that you are no longer named as her heir. She said you weren't deserving, that was her reason to me. So you will inherit nothing.
"Nothing?" She swallowed, jaw dropping, knees shaking. "Not even Maebry's contract?"
"No." Sympathy crinkled around his eyes. He reached out, caught her elbow, as if he knew she was about ready to fall. "Let me guess. That was the only thing you wanted from your mother, Maebry's contract."
"Yes. I asked her for it specifically. Just that." Tears filled her eyes, but not for herself. Oh, she didn't care about any inheritance. She didn't covet this place, she didn't give a hoot about all the money Mother squirreled away so selfishly. Not at all, not one cent.
It was Maebry she cared about and the hired people on this ranch who deserved to be paid the wages they'd worked for. Distraught for them, she blinked away her tears. "This is so unfair. Maebry deserves all the love Gil can give her."
"My sentiments exactly." Nate leaned in, studying her, the sweet young man that he was. "Are you all right?"
"Yes. Fine." She waved him away, now that the shock was over she was better. Stronger. "I'll leave you two alone to talk. Maybe you can ask her for me, one last time. I just want Maebry's contract, or for her to set her free in the will."
"I can try. I'll do my best." Nate drew in a deep breath as if gathering his courage to meet with the difficult woman and headed up the stairs.
Still shocked at her mother's cruelty, Aumaleigh crossed the kitchen, needing to start supper for the hired hands. Not that her mother's cruelty surprised her, but even after death? Maebry had done the work of two women, never complained, and this is the way Maureen treated her? It would have cost her nothing to dissolve the contract at her death, and yet she'd refused to do so. Oh, that made her so mad. Aumaleigh clenched her jaw, slapped a kettle on the stovetop, drowning in disappointment for Maebry, but Maureen loved money. Perhaps that would be an incentive for her to say yes, to let Gil buy Maebry's freedom.
Hoping so with all of her heart, Aumaleigh reached for a kettle. Above the clunk and clatter as she set it on the stove, Maureen's voice cut through the ceiling, blade-sharp.
"No! I said no." Anger rang in that thin voice, ugly and all consuming. "Without me, she'd be nothing but Irish trash living in squalor. This is all about some man, isn't it? That's a big mistake. Men always are. No, she'll thank me later for saving her from that. Mark my words, she'll thank me."
Oh yes, I've heard this before . Aumaleigh bowed her head, struggling not to remember when those words had been spoken about her and the man she once loved. It still hurt after all these years.
Chapter Eight
Maebry didn't know how long she spent in Gil's arms, cradled against him with the faint background of the party going on inside the house. All she knew was the precious warmth of him, the solid masculine feel, the scent of hay on his coat, the cadence of his every breath. His heartbeat became hers. For this one moment, he was her whole world. She felt so close to him, she didn't know where she stopped and he started.
Finally, a nearby door squeaked open. They were no longer alone. She felt Gil tense, felt him grimace as if he was as loath to let go as she was.
"Gil?" A man's voice said quietly. "I hate to interrupt, but I've been looking for you."
"You need help with the horses?" Regret rang in his voice, in his baritone that seemed to rumble through him.
Maebry stepped out of his arms, embarrassed at being caught so intimately, so privately, but the connection between them remained. He breathed, she breathed. His heart beat, hers did too. Some things could not be diminished by distance. She wrapped her arms around her waist, not sure what to do about this deepening affection she had for him. She had no right wanting him forever, not when she loved him so much.
"No." Tiernan shook his head, his gaze perceptive, nodding as if this was what he'd suspected all along, Gil's affection for her. The younger man straightened his tie, looking like the wealthy Montgomery's youngest son he was in his finely tailored clothing. "Some folks are leaving early, due to the bad roads, wanting to get home in the heat of the day. So we won't have a sudden rush of everyone leaving at once, horses and sleighs to juggle. So why don't you leave now? I can handle it."
"Only if you're sure." Gil stood tall, feet planted, hands on hips, powerful. The slight breeze tousled his dark hair, and even in his Sunday best he looked out of place on the genteel back porch full of wicker furniture and floral cushions and potted flowers blooming through the cold. There was something elemental about him, intensely male, as if not even the wide open plains could hold him.
If only he could be hers. That wish rose up, unbidden, straight from her soul. She bit her bottom lip, struggling to fight that dream. Best to be practical, to do the right thing for him. She took a step back, let the cool winds batter her body, tried to turn off the quiet dreams she didn't dare give into.
While Gil and Tiernan talked, she spun away, pressed against the damp, wooden banister, watched snowmelt drip from the roofline and onto the covered rose bushes below. The gardener had obviously taken care to protect the plants once it had started snowing.
She shivered, the ruffle of her white apron dancing in the breeze, remembering the winds back home ruffling her skirts while her parents fought. She lifted her face to the warm sunshine, felt its heat. Even as it shone brightly, it could not quite chase away all the remaining chill. Like a sign. That regardless of how her love shone, it wouldn't be enough. She'd seen it before.
"Maebry?" Gil's hand on her shoulder, the comfort of his touch. His big body leaned in, pressing against her with comfort, as if he knew she needed it. "C'mon, let's go. I'll take you home."
"Okay. I'll get Casey and wait for you out front." Gil's steady blue eyes held a note of sorrow. She felt his gaze on her back as she scurried away from him, running away.
Memories from her childhood threatened to surface as she grasped the door handle, yanked the door open and leaped inside. Once Gil was out of her sight, these strident, overwhelming emotions would ease up, right? She hurried down the hallway and into the small changing room, but the connection she felt to him, the bond between his heart and hers, did not lessen. She felt him as if he were standing with her, as if she were wrapped safely and snugly in his arms once again.
Longing filled her. She untied her apron and hung it on a nearby wall peg, thinking of the man waiting for her. What was she going to do? She unbuttoned the black frock, hung it up, reached for her old worn dress. She wanted to be in Gil's arms so much, missing him was a physical pain.
As she poked her arms through her dress sleeves, the door to the small room opened.
"I came looking for you and noticed you and Gil on the back porch. Together." Sarah Combs waggled her brows, her brown-red hair tumbling down in artful wispy corkscrew curls from a fancy up knot. "Very close together."
"You saw that?" Who else had, she wondered? Or had Tiernan said something.
"Oh, don't worry. The party is on the other side of the house." Sarah's eyes sparkled with friendliness behind her round spectacles. "Good thing, since you know this town. The Bluebell gossip mill is a thing to behold. Faster than greased lightning. I just wanted to give you my congratulations. Gil is a fine man, and he looks terribly serious about you."
"Yes, he is." On both counts. She buttoned up, a little embarrassed, a little chagrined.
"Hmm, does that mean you're not? Because from the look of things, you seemed pretty serious, too." Sarah removed Maebry's old coat from its peg. "Or am I wrong?"
"Oh, you're not wrong." Maebry gratefully took her coat and shrugged into it. "I don't think I'm the right one for Gil, for his future."
"Oh. The contract. Right." Sarah nodded, realization crossing her apple-cheeked face. "Well, he looks like a man determined to do whatever it takes for you. A woman couldn't ask for more."
"I know." Men didn't get better than Gil. As for the strength of his love—she squeezed her eyes tight for just a moment, to keep the wash of emotion in. "How are you doing? You must be glad the school year is almost over?"
"Can't wait, although my little natives are getting restless." She laughed, a warm, musical lilting sound. Infectious. "Something tells me Gil is waiting for you. Is he taking you home?"
"That's what he said." She wasn't sure how a wagon or a sleigh could get through the mire the roads would likely be in this thaw, so she shrugged. "At least you can walk home if you have to."
"Hey, I walked here. I had offers from a few gentleman to drive me, but honestly, I'm not sure about the choices in this town. At least I keep garnering the attention of the old, weak and infirm. Even though I'm happy being a spinster, it's hard on my ego."
"Oh, I don't know." She followed Sarah out the door and into the hallway. "Besides, there's always Lawrence Latimer."
"Oh, don't even mention that man." Sarah rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "He's proposed to me twice now. What can I say, he's just not my type."
"But he is persistent, I have to give him that." Maebry could have talked for hours, she didn't want to say goodbye. "Gil is waiting for me. I'd better go."
"Okay. But whatever is making you look so sad, it will all work out. I'm sure of it." She waltzed away in her pretty blue dress, waggling her brows.
What Sarah needed was a man as wonderful as Gil, Maebry thought as she trudged in the opposite direction, letting herself out onto the back porch. She truly wished that for her. Blinking through the bright sunshine, she made her way around the house. The first sight of Gil astride his gelding, sitting straight and commanding in the saddle made her eyes burn.
She wanted him. She wanted a future with him.
She wanted it too much.
"Hey, there." Gil reached down, his gloved hand engulfing hers. He slipped his foot out of his stirrup for her to use. His touch should quiet the turmoil she felt inside, but it did not. "With these roads, I thought it would be better to ride."
"Yes," she agreed. She read something new in his self-possessed, unwavering gaze. His love, like the bond between them, had grown. She could not miss his gaze as she hiked her foot into the stirrup and he lifted her up effortlessly, settling her in front of him, sidesaddle. His rock-hewn arms encircled her, holding her tight and safe, keeping her from falling. It felt wonderful. Blissful.
Any way she chose to break this off would hurt him immeasurably. She cringed inside, wishing she'd been smart enough not to let this happen in the first place, hating herself for not holding onto her resolve. As Casey started out in a regal walk, splashing down the muddy drive and onto the residential road, she wanted to call herself all sorts of names. The last thing she ever wanted was to hurt her beloved Gil.
So she buried her face against his shoulder, into the crook of his neck, and breathed him in. The male scent of his skin, the faint smell of soap in his clothes, the sensation of being close to him. This moment in time was the last she could have with him. She'd already decided that. Now it was only the matter of how she would break things off with him. Because she loved him.
* * *
He could sense the change in her as he reined Casey down the street. Kids played in yards, throwing the last snowballs of the year or rolling the last snowmen. Their calls and shouts filled the silence that had settled between him and Maebry.
She felt amazing in his arms, like hugging a little piece of heaven. So sweet and special, he lacked the words to express exactly how committed he was to her. But he couldn't forget her distress. His nerve endings felt on edge, his pulse drumming too quick, worrying over what was to come. He gritted his teeth until his jaw hurt. If she wouldn't let him go into debt for her, then how could they ever be together?
His chest cracked apart at the thought of living his life without her. Agony racked through him in blade-sharp stabs. He tightened his grip on her, holding her as close as he could. Time passed while Casey marched through mud and snowmelt and the sun slid behind a bank of clouds. One thing was clear. His world would end without her. It would come crashing down, shattering into pieces, never to be the same again.
He'd come too far to lose her, he thought resolutely. As the buildings of town ambled by, he tried to keep the bad possibilities out, focusing on this moment, on the sweet scent of lilacs in her silken hair, of the sensation of those golden strands catching on his whiskered jaw, on the sweetness of her soft, feminine form in his arms. He had to make this moment last; he needed to turn it into forever. As soon as town was behind them, he pressed a kiss into Maebry's hair, closed his eyes, wished he could tell her how much she meant to him. Hoped she wasn't planning on pushing him away.
"Gil?" A man's voice carried on the wind, a familiar one.
He blinked, looked up, spotted a bay horse heading in his direction down the muddy, tree-lined road. Easy to recognize the spectacled man riding closer, dark hair tousled by the wind. Nathaniel Denby looked grim as he held up one hand in greeting.
Uh oh. That didn't look good. Gil's stomach dropped. He felt his world begin to shatter, one breath at a time. "Nate. Looks like you are coming from the Rocking M."
"That's right." Nate stopped his horse so they were facing each other. Sadness marked his square face. He swept off his hat, respectfully, and something in his posture made Gil stop, made him set aside his troubles and see there was something else going on. Nate hung his head, cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I have bad news."
Gil turned cold inside. "It's Maureen?"
Nate nodded. He raised his head, took a breath. "She passed away a
little bit ago."
"Oh, no." Maebry's hands flew to her face, she sat as still as stone, struck by the news. So tender-hearted. Gil curled his hand around her shoulder, felt her tremble, gave her a comforting squeeze.
"I'm sorry." Nate looked choked up. "I stayed with Aumaleigh as long as she would let me. Josslyn came in to help with supper, and she took over. She could do more for Aumaleigh, as they are so close. I feel as if there is more I should do. If you think of anything, will you tell me?"
"I will." Gil nodded once in thanks. "This will be hard on Aumaleigh."
"Yes, that's true." Nate's horse stepped forward a few paces, then stopped. The lawyer glanced over his shoulder, genuinely distressed. "I wish there was more I could do for you, Maebry. Maureen refused to consider giving you your freedom in her will. Aumaleigh isn't in a position to negotiate on the estate's behalf."
"I know." Maebry nodded matter-of-factly, as if this was no surprise to her at all. "Thanks anyway, Nate, for trying. That was decent of you."
"It's not right how this turned out." Troubled, Nate urged his horse on, riding through the shadows, heading toward town.
Sorrow for Maureen and especially for Aumaleigh battered him. Gil blinked once, trying to keep it all in, but it was nothing compared to the wrench of loss he felt for Maebry. What was to become of her? The bottom fell out of his stomach. He felt as if he were falling, tumbling, unable to stop. He let out a shaky breath.
"I need to get home, Gil." Maebry sounded different, her voice without music, without emotion. She stared ahead toward the bend in the road, where the hills arched upward toward the sky, hiding the ranch's main buildings from sight. "I need to help Aumaleigh. She shouldn't have to deal with this all alone. The death, preparing the body. The wake and the f-funeral."
Maebry was crying. Controlled, honest tears she fought to hold back. But they came anyway, escaping over her bottom lashes to roll slowly down her cheeks.