by Jillian Hart
Crying for Maureen. Crying for Aumaleigh.
And for us, he thought. She would never accept the love and future he wanted to offer her. Holding his heart still, so still he couldn't feel a thing, he urged Casey forward, racing home.
Chapter Nine
Aumaleigh sat in the silent room alone with her mother's body. The bright red rage that had dominated Maureen's face less than thirty minutes ago had faded, her tirade over refusing to accept Nate's suggestion to give Maebry her freedom had long since silenced, only the evidence of her final stroke remained in the unnatural twist of her face.
Aumaleigh let out a sad sigh that was part sob. She felt sorry for her mother, she felt deep pity for her mother, she wished things had gone differently for her. But it would be hard to miss her. No, she thought as she brushed an errant white curl off her mother's forehead, she'd been grieving for years. Grieving for the mother Maureen failed to be, grieving for the happiness Mother could have had if she'd softened her heart, grieving for the love, every bit of it, Maureen had shoved away and dismissed as worthless.
All the money Maureen had saved up, stowing away with a miser's love, did her no good now. That was the true tragedy of Maureen McPhee's life. Aumaleigh patted the cold, gnarled hand, sad that her mother had run out of chances to redeem her life, to finally understand what mattered.
Exhausted, Aumaleigh stood, the only sounds in the room were the faint squeak of the bed ropes, the slow cadence of her shoes across the floorboards, the pop from the fireplace where the fire had burned down to embers and ashes. Even with her mother gone, she still knelt to add wood to the grate, reached for the steel poker to stir up the embers, feeling the radiant heat against her face. She did not want to leave the body in a cold room.
She blinked back tears, it was time to say goodbye. She studied the empty shell, pathetic looking now with Mother's malice gone. The room seemed almost peaceful. Perhaps wherever Maureen's soul was now, she'd found some semblance of peace. Hoping so, Aumaleigh swiped hot tears from her eyes, reached out and patted her mother's foot through the bed covers.
"It wasn't easy loving you, but I did." The words stuck like paste in her throat. But she said them anyway. "Have a good journey."
She wished things could have been different, but they could not be changed now. She had to accept that. She'd done all she could for Mother. Everything a daughter could do. And it was over now. Feeling a little hollow, a little grateful and mostly relieved, she retreated from the bed and headed for the door.
Josslyn and Orla were in the hall, carrying towels, clothes and a basin of steaming water. Both sorrow and understanding wreathed their faces.
"We'll take care of her." Josslyn reached out, patted Aumaleigh's arm, her touch communicating decades of friendship. "You go downstairs and let this soak in. I left some tea on the table for you. Drink it, and I'll be down to talk in a bit."
Tears flooded Aumaleigh's eyes. She didn't know what to say. "What would I ever do without you?"
"You'll never have to find out." Josslyn scooted by her in the narrow hall.
"That's right," Orla seconded. Water sloshed out of the basin as she switched hands, reached out to give Aumaleigh a brief, comforting hug. "We're right here, right beside you. We aren't going anywhere."
"Even when it looks like you won't get paid now?" she joked, choosing humor over tears, but they came anyway. She gave Orla another hug, exchanged looks with Josslyn that she hoped communicated her love and gratitude and stumbled down the hall, spared the sad task of washing and preparing her mother's body.
The stairs ahead of her blurred, growing more impossible to see with every step. She grasped the railing tightly as she went down the stairs and willed the tears from her eyes, but the searing wetness brimmed over, unstoppable. She felt her way across the kitchen to the little drop-leaf table by the side window. She groped her way into one of the chairs, breathed in the scented steam of the steeping tea—the lavender and chamomile blend she made from her own garden—and planted her elbows on the table. Lowering her face into her hands, she let the tears come. She cried for Maureen's wasted life; she cried for herself and for the love that she'd lost, the love that would never come around again.
* * *
When the two story log house came into sight with lamplight gleaming in the windows and gray smoke curling up from chimneys and stove pipes, Maebry felt the unrelenting hit of surprising sorrow. Mourning seemed to hover around the house, darkening the light, feeding the shadows.
Feeling full of shadows herself, her heart caught on a beat, lingering there, stuttering. It was her future that troubled her now and she hung her head as Casey eased to a slow walk. His rolling gate rocked her against Gil's broad chest one last time before the animal stopped on the drive between the house and the nearest barn. She clung to the saddle horn, in her mind she'd already leaped from the horse's back and stood on the ground...except she hadn't moved a muscle.
Probably because she didn't want to. Sorrow ratcheted through her. She knew that her life would be worse with Maureen gone. Things had to be different now. Maebry blew out a breath, forced herself to unwrap her fingers from around the leather horn. Time to get out of this saddle and away from Gil. Like Cinderella, her clock had struck midnight. It was back to the reality of her life, to the consequences she'd chosen long ago when she'd signed seven years of her life over to Maureen, and seven more for Nia.
She hiked her chin up, noticed Gil had slipped his foot from one of his stirrups for her to use. Remnants of their time together, of that long, endless, timeless span on the porch in his arms, simply being held by him, stayed with her. And hurt as she stuck her toes into the stirrup, took care not to lean on Gil, not to need him as she climbed down.
He sensed it. She knew he did. It was like the sun going out. Like the world had stopped spinning.
"Thank you for the ride home." Polite, courteous, distant. That's how it had to be. She fisted her hands for strength, took a step in the mud, felt it squish beneath the soles of her shoes. "Thanks to you too, Casey. You braved all that mud fearlessly."
Casey arched his neck, gave a little proud nicker as if to say in his horsy way, no problem.
"You'll let me know if you need anything?" Gil's kindness reached out to her, stopping her in her tracks.
Oh, she wanted him. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing every muscle in her body not to turn around, not give in to the temptation to gaze upon him. Already she missed him, the heat of his presence, the snap of connection zinging through her heart. She needed to look into his eyes and read his feelings there. He was her weakness, this love she felt was hopeless. She belonged to strangers, now, to people who lived in Illinois, who controlled her destiny. She knew nothing about Maureen's heirs. Not one thing.
She did her best to keep walking, to nod, raise her hand in acknowledgement, but she kept on going. Squishing through the mud, fighting her feelings, doing what she had to do. The right thing to do. The only thing she could do.
As if Gil understood, he didn't call out to her again. The world felt cold, the wind hostile as she plunged one foot into the thick mire, heard the splash of water, wished her heart wasn't shattering into a million pieces. Didn't know how to stop it. She longed for the safe harbor of Gil's arms with every fiber of her being.
Be stronger, Maebry, she told herself as she took another step. The twine holding her shoe snapped, the leather encasing her foot loosened, and the cold ooze seeped in. She gave a tug, but the shoe stayed stuck in the mud, her stockinged foot slid out, coated with mud. Oh, no, not again. She stood in place, balancing on one foot. He was watching her, she could feel Gil's gaze, the weight of it, the caress of it. So she did the only thing she could. She grabbed her lost shoe and kept on walking. More mud oozed between her toes (yes, this stocking had a hole in it too, she was still behind on her darning) but she ignored it. Perhaps Gil would do the right thing too and keep on riding toward the barn.
"What are you doing?" he called out. His ca
ring, his kindness felt cruel. Like the taunt of a hot summer's day, the teasing flutter of a summery breeze in mid-winter. She heard the saddle leather creak as he dismounted, heard the splash and patter of his boots in the mud behind her, barricaded her heart so his wonderful tenderness wouldn't affect her, so she could keep all the love she felt for him walled in.
It did no good. The heat of his hand when it landed on her shoulder burned through layers of wool and flannel to the skin beneath, telegraphing his rare, dependable sort of comfort—the exact thing she hungered for. The one thing she could not let herself have. Struggling to hold onto her dignity, she hopped up the steps and onto the porch, leaving muddy prints in her wake.
"Maebry." He caught up to her, grabbed her elbow, spun her around. It hurt to see the concern dug in around his eyes, to hear the thick rumble of affection when he said her name. "You should have waited for me. I would have carried you."
"I know." Wasn't that what tortured her the most? That she'd found the right man, the one she would love through her lifetime, but she had nine years left to serve on her contract, nine years worth of debt to pay off. To strangers now, people who could move her to Chicago. She had no say in that. She'd signed a legal agreement, and now they had inherited that agreement. She didn't need to ask Nate to know that for a fact. She drew in a shaky breath, staring hard at one of Gil's coat buttons so she wouldn't have to meet his gaze. "I prefer to walk on my own."
"Through the mud?"
"Through the mud. It's not so bad. I'm sure it's good for my skin and calluses." A feeble attempt at humor. It fell short, and she shrugged. "It's better this way, Gil."
"Sorry, I don't buy that." He rubbed his knuckles against her jaw, moving closer, shadowing her with his height and strength. "I know Nate will contact the heirs, and he'll give them my offer too. He knows how serious I am."
"That's the thing." She reached out, splayed her hand on his hard chest, keeping him from moving in closer. It took a Herculean effort to meet his gaze, to see the tenacious hope there, the true devotion, the pain of her rejection. Oh, she did not want to hurt him. That's why she had to do what was right. "You have to let this go."
"Not as long as I can see love in your eyes, love for me." His hand covered hers, holding her palm against the steady thud of his heartbeat. He drew himself up to full height, like a man who refused to stop fighting to love her. "I won't let you go, Maebry."
His fingers covering hers squeezed meaningfully. In his eyes shone his dreams for their future. For love, marriage and family. The hope for a happily-ever-after.
Oh, she wanted those dreams too. Little girls with Gil's true blue eyes, little boys with dark hair and his goodness. Laughter and togetherness and year after year spent loving this man, this loyal, strong man. She blew out a shaky breath, took a few moments to feel the life-affirming rhythm of his heartbeat. Funny how hers beat in time with his. As if they were one.
Always would be.
"What choice do we have? I watched my parents struggle with terrible debt." The confession came thin and raw, full of emotion. Tough memories from her childhood, the one she worked to forget. He had to understand. "My mother's family struggled to hold onto their land. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make a living. There had been illness, and then gambling debts, all borrowed against the land. My father, oh, he was a dreamer. He said it didn't matter, he'd marry my mother, work to pay off the debt, that only love mattered."
"Let me guess." Gil's free hand cupped her jaw, cradling her, oh so tender. "It didn't work out that way."
"No. It was a hardship, a black mark against them from the start. They both worked their fingers to the bone. There was nothing but work and hardship and despair." She closed her mind against the arguments, the disappointments, the shell of disenchantment her parent's marriage became. "I watched it all. How my father gradually came to resent my mother. He'd sacrificed so much for her, after all. My mother resented him for not loving her enough, the way he'd promised. My father died a broken man, and my mother turned bitter, lost her heart."
"And you think that will be us?" Gentle, those words, wanting to understand. "You're afraid that I will come to resent you, that instead of you I could have had my own ranch? Or maybe a wife who wasn't such a burden?"
"Yes." Finally. Relief rocked through her like lightning striking, threatened to knock her to her knees. Tears flooded her eyes. Now that he understood, he could stop trying to rescue her. She never wanted to be something he regretted. "It was nice while it lasted. You have no idea what you mean to me. I'm really glad I let down my guards and let you in."
"Me, too." Tears stood in his eyes, a rare show of the deepest layer of his heart, tears he blinked away, stalwart. Invincible.
Heart shattering, she went up on tiptoe, kissed his cheek, ignored the catch of longing in her chest. With her shoe clutched in her other hand, she turned on her heel, leaving him alone on the porch. As she stepped into the kitchen and closed the door behind her, the sun chose that moment to disappear fully behind encroaching clouds, leaving the day as if in twilight. Like a sign.
Their chance at love had passed.
* * *
Gil closed Casey's stall gate, double-checking to make sure it had locked. At least now he understood why Maebry had been so upset over his offer to buy out her contract. Heartbroken, at a loss, he scrubbed the gelding's nose a final time, grabbed the empty grain bucket and headed down the aisle. Casey's nicker of good-night followed him, along with the questioning and neighs of a barn full of horses who heard the rattle of the pail's handle and poked their heads into the aisle, hoping for a bit more grain.
"Sorry, guys." He shrugged, showed them the empty bottom of the bucket, earned a few horsy huffs and raspberries. Seemed like everyone was in for disappointment tonight. He tossed the bucket into the feed room, blew out the last lantern and dug into his leather saddlebags on his way out the door for the package he'd picked up in town.
"Better hurry up!" Beckett Kincaid, ranch foreman extraordinaire, called out from the yard as he hiked up the hill, toward the small cottage he shared with his small daughter. "Everyone's already in there. There won't likely be any grub left by the time you get there."
"I'm not worried. I have an in with the cook." A cook who still owed him baked goods. A cool rain needled down from a swollen, charcoal sky as he wrestled the barn door shut.
"We'll be rounding up the horses soon, bringing in the prime ones to break." Beckett turned around, angling his hat to shield his face from the rain. "I'll need help. Are you interested?"
"Yes." His gaze cut to the kitchen window, shining in the encroaching darkness. Maebry was in there, the love of his life. If she thought he was going to let her go, then she was plain crazy. He splashed through the mud, changed the angle of his hat to catch the rain, winked at Beckett. "I could use the extra work. You think we'll ever get paid for it?"
"I'll talk it over with Nate, Maureen's heirs will inherit her debts too. Haven't heard all the details of the will yet, the formal reading will be after the funeral, but it only stands to reason they'll either want to sell out their share of this place or make it work, and either way you have to pay ranch hands to run this place."
"Right." Gil shifted the package he carried to his other hand, stared down the shadowed valley, felt his future shift. "I may be giving my notice. Depends on where Maebry ends up."
"Okay. I understand. I was in love once." Becket backed up the path, into the dark. "We'll talk."
"Right." Gil felt the rain sluice against the side of his face like a touch. Funny how things worked out. Like his love for Maebry really was meant to be. He hiked across the yard, heading straight for that light, for Maebry, his life.
"There you are!" Orla whipped open the back door, pinned her gaze on him and shook her head in mock disapproval. "Supper is on the table."
"I just want a plate, if that's okay with you." He hiked up the steps, stomped the mud off his boots. "I'll eat in the bunkhouse."
> "That's understandable, considering." Orla nodded, wearing an apron, holding a wooden spoon. She stepped back from the doorway to make way for him. "What with Maureen's passing and the news about Maebry. Poor Maebry. What if they want to take her from us? I don't think I can let that girl go. She's like a daughter to me. Now you just come in where it's warm, stand right there, don't touch that cake. I'll dish you up a plate."
"Thanks, Orla." He swept off his hat, shouldered the door shut and breathed in the delicious aromas of chicken, dumplings and lemon cake. His stomach grumbled, but food wasn't foremost on his mind. He searched the room for signs of Maebry, strained to hear the lilt of her voice in the nearby dining room. A faint pad of footsteps in the room overhead grabbed his attention. There she was, upstairs probably helping Aumaleigh.
"I'll just be a minute," Orla called over her shoulder as she bustled across the room, a clean plate in hand. "All the food is on the table. I'll load up and be right back."
"Great." He waited until she was out of sight before grasping the glass knob on the door to his left. Maebry's room. It was dark and cool, her narrow bed neatly made, the pillow plumped, a worn and patched wool blanket folded over the foot of the mattress. A tiny room, little more than a closet. His chest twisted as he crossed to the bed. She deserved better than this, and he would give it to her.
He unwrapped the brown paper, the gift he'd left the Montgomery's party to buy. He set the pair of shoes on the blanket at the foot of the bed, brand new. Her exact size. The best pair in Gunderson's Mercantile. He hoped she would understand the meaning behind his gift as he left the room, closing the door behind him.
Chapter Ten
"There. We have everything ready." Maebry fussed with the lace scarf she'd draped over the side of the open coffin, so it would hang just right.
The big, open front room had once been the parlor when Maureen's family first lived here, then the dining room for the ranch hands when McPhee Manor up on the hill had been completed. Now the dozens of chairs had been moved into a smaller, adjacent room and the table supported Maureen's coffin. Sadness hung in the air, the reverence of life lost. Fire crackled in the stone hearth, crystal lamps beamed golden light, but cold and shadows remained, as if nothing could touch them.