by Jillian Hart
"Yep, we're all ready for tomorrow." Orla seized the broom by its handle and headed toward the hallway. "Do you think anyone will show up?"
"Hard to say," Josslyn answered, with a supporting arm around Aumaleigh's slender waist. "We'll be here. That's something."
"Mother wasn't the kind of person who had friends as much as she had allies." Aumaleigh's sorrow was palpable, carved into her face, heavy on her shoulders. "I don't think we should expect a large gathering."
"That's sad." Maebry hung her head. Maureen had been a hard taskmaster, but she looked humble in death. Shrunken, skeletal, tiny. I owe her so much, she thought, reminding herself stoically of what was only the truth.
How would her life have turned out had she stayed in Ireland? A burden to her family who didn't have enough to eat, living under the cloud of her stepfather's anger and drinking problems. No, at least she'd made a good life for herself here and, more importantly, was able to help her only sister to a better life as well.
She really did owe Maureen so much. She just wished it hadn't cost her Gil. Fresh misery rolled through her as she padded in her stocking feet to the nearby lamp. Her fingers trembled as she lifted a glass chimney and blew out the flame. She stood in the dark, listening to the others tap away toward the kitchen. She squared her shoulders. What she needed was a good night's sleep to prepare for tomorrow, and what may come from there.
"I just wish I knew more about the heirs." Orla's voice trailed down the short hallway to the kitchen, where a closet door banged shut. She must be putting away the broom.
"Oh, I remember Ely's daughters from back in the day." Josslyn gently steered Aumaleigh away from the dark coffin where her mother's body rested and toward the light of the kitchen. "They were just little girls then, but sweet as could be. Ely's little Rose was my Seth's age. Just wee ones, tottering around. I'll never forget how they played together."
"I remember." Aumaleigh's voice was coarse from hours of crying, but she cleared her throat, spoke warmly. With love. "My nieces. Of course, they wouldn’t remember me. I only visited a few times before Mother had enough of that. You know how she was good at getting her way."
"Do I," Orla commented, bustling to rescue the rumbling tea kettle from the stove. "I wish I'd met this Ely, but I hired on after he'd moved away."
"After Mother drove him away," Aumaleigh corrected. It was easy to read her unhappiness. "Those little girls were wonderful. Sweet and as pretty as could be. Iris was the oldest one. Strawberry blond hair, eyes as blue as periwinkles. Daisy came next, molasses-brown hair straight like mine, and blue eyes like her pa's."
"You love them still, don't you?" Maebry knew how that was, to love someone from afar. It's how she'd loved her sister, who was too far away to visit. It was how she would have to love Gil from now on. She pulled out a chair at the work table while Josslyn steered Aumaleigh into it.
"Yes, I still do." Aumaleigh settled her skirts, her face brightening. "They are all grown now, but I can remember them like it was yesterday. Little Rose with her blond curls and baby Magnolia with her sunny, golden hair. I never got to meet the last child, Verbena. It's funny how family binds your heart and time doesn't matter, even twenty years later."
"Do you think they'll come out to visit?" Maebry couldn't help asking. "They may want to see the land they've inherited."
"If they do, it would be lovely to see them again, it would mean so much." Aumaleigh swiped at her eyes, Aumaleigh who was now alone, without any family. "Look at me, going on. Who knows what the future will bring? Likely those young ladies are very sophisticated and polished, used to the comforts of a fine city. What would they want with a ranch?"
But Aumaleigh had her hopes up, Maebry could tell. She patted Aumaleigh's shoulder, rushing to help Orla pour the tea. Getting Aumaleigh through these tough few days was first and foremost, but she couldn’t help wondering about the five young women who'd inherited her contract. Would they be pleasant to work for? She truly hoped so. It was almost too much to dream of, and the thought of leaving here, of leaving Gil, was too much to bear.
The floorboard felt cool against her stocking feet as she joined Orla at the kitchen counter. Weariness hung on her like the night shadows.
"Here, this is just what Aumaleigh needs." Orla handed over a steaming cup of tea. "Chamomile for sleep, lavender to relax, a dollop of honey to make her sweeter."
"Impossible, she's already sweet enough as she is." Gently teasing, but meaning every word, Maebry delivered the cup, squeezed Aumaleigh's hand in silent sympathy and remembered her work wasn't done yet. She still had her muddy shoe to wash out and leave by the stove to dry, hopefully before morning. No way could she be seen at Maureen's wake in her stockings.
"Maebry, you look asleep on your feet." Josslyn sidled over, concern lining her tired face. Maureen's passing weighed on her too. "Go on to bed, honey. I'll clean up here before going home."
"You've had a late night too, you look exhausted," she protested.
"I'm just fine, don't you worry about me." Josslyn opened Maebry's bedroom door. "Now get in there, go. I'm your supervisor, so you'd best do what I say or I'll fire you."
"Now you're just teasing me." Maebry rolled her eyes. "I can't be fired."
"Well, it's the only threat I have." Josslyn steered her through the doorway firmly, not one to be taken lightly. "I'll see you in the morning. Sleep well, and don't worry. This is all going to work out for the best."
"Why do you say that?" So much was up in the air, and while a woman had died and it was no time to be thinking of herself, Maebry couldn't help worrying about the uncertainty of her future.
"Because I remember those girls. I knew their parents well. Ely's wife Laura and I were friends back in the day, as was Aumaleigh. We were a threesome, us girls, sewing together on a winter afternoon or sitting out on the porch on a summer's evening. I know good people when I see them, and the girls who have inherited this place and your contract, they are good people."
"You knew them when they were small children." She kept her voice low, so it wouldn’t carry to Aumaleigh, who was at the table trying to sip her tea while Orla supervised, lovingly watching over her. Maebry swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in her throat. "A lot can change. They grew up in a big city. They're still strangers."
"Yes, but I have a good feeling." Josslyn's eyes shone, sure of that knowledge.
Maebry blew out a sigh, part relief, but wishing. It really would be nice to work for kinder people than Maureen had been. That was solace enough, the reassurance she needed to step into the dark room, face the darkness of another night alone.
"Look, there's something on your bed." Josslyn's surprise came warmly, not like there was something alarming like a snake or a giant spider on her blankets.
Maebry squinted through the faint path of light falling through the open door, bringing the shadowed images into focus. A new pair of shoes. Just sitting there, with no note, no explanation. She ran her fingertip across the fine leather, felt the bump of each carefully sewn button and seam. They were beautiful, amazing. Just the nicest things. She gathered them up in her arms and hugged them. She could not believe what he'd done.
"That Gil." Josslyn smiled understandingly.
Yes, Gil. Emotion gathered behind her eyes, hot and hard and blinding. Tenderness rushed through her, a love so strong nothing could diminish. It burned like a light not even darkness could put out, like a summer's day that had no end. She felt Gil's love, although he was nowhere near, like a whisper in her heart.
"Go to him," Josslyn advised, handing Maebry her coat. "Go."
Yes, she had some things to say to him. And it wasn't going to be easy.
* * *
There she is . Gil's pulse skidded to an utter and complete stop as he gazed across the front room of the bunkhouse at the darkly gleaming window. Her silhouette shone behind the room's reflection, slim, feminine, beautiful. What a sight.
"Excuse me, gentleman." He closed his book, set it a
side and pushed himself out of the chair.
"Oohwee," Shep hooted, looking up from his dime novel. He waggled his eyebrows. "Look who's got himself a lady."
"It was just a matter of time," Kellan commented, turning a page in the Deer Springs Gazette. "He's been mooning after her since he got here."
"Women. Nothing but trouble." John Brockman, the gruff old cowboy, shook his head, lifted an empty tin can to his lips and spit out a stream of tobacco juice. "That's why I stay away from 'em. You'd be smart to do the same."
"Yeah, well no one ever called me smart." Gil wove around cowboys, stepped over their crossed feet, marched straight for the door.
Maebry stood in the muted light from the window, clutching the shoes he'd bought her to her chest. Oh, she about broke his heart standing there like a waif in the ragged clothing Maureen provided for her.
"Why aren't those on your feet?" he asked gently, already knowing her answer, already prepared for the rejection she'd surely come to give him. Well, he'd had enough of that, he thought tenderly, closing the door shut good and tight and moving in to her. He stared at her feet. "What are you wearing?"
"A pair of barn boots Shep left with Aumaleigh to mend." She shrugged, her carved, dainty chin hiking up a notch. Boy, was that girl stubborn. It only made him love her more. She pinched her forehead, furrows digging in as she raised apologetic green eyes to meet his. "I can't accept these, Gil. You know that."
"Well, I'm not going to take them back. You know that too." He brushed a stray blond curl from her face, tucking it behind the shell of her ear. "They'd look all wrong on me. Think what they'd do for my reputation. I'd never live it down."
"Don't even try to make me laugh." She made a small choking sound, almost like a sob, betraying her.
His dear, sweet Maebry. Affection lifted through him, powerful and everlasting. How he loved her. He smiled, felt the worry and fear of losing her fade from his chest. "That's how it always is with us, Sunshine. We make each other laugh. Don't think we should change that now."
"You mean, now that we have to go back to being friends?" A wobbly question, belying that strong, set angle of her jaw.
It had to be tough being an indentured servant for Maureen. Long, relentless workdays, a tough taskmaster, no kindness. But that was over now. He took hold of the shoes, the fine leather soft against his hand. He tugged, she let go, relieved.
Too bad she misunderstood.
"Thank you." She tilted her head back, gazing up at him, her shield slipping down. In that moment he saw everything, the quiet hopes she dared not wish for, what his gift meant to her, the love she tried to hide. Everlasting love for him. She blew out a shaky sigh, stepped back, as if trying to hide in the dark night. "I can't believe you're being so great about this. It really was very thoughtful of you, Gil."
"No, just showing you the way I intend to go." He caught her wrist before she could escape, wrapped his fingers around her arm, holding her firmly even when she tugged. She could fight, but some things in life could not be changed. His love for her was one of them.
"I'm going to take care of you," he told her, nudging her backward across the covered porch. "That's the way it's going to be."
"Oh, no, I'm suddenly getting flashes of Lawrence Latimer." She joked, trying to lighten the mood, trying to resist as he steered her through the darkness. "You two are more alike than I'd first thought."
"Honey, we are nothing alike." He towered over her, six feet plus of solid, invincible man. "Now sit down."
"And if I refuse?" She felt the edge of a chair's seat behind the back of her knees. Again, his kindness was killing her, tearing her apart. Making what she had to do much harder. "You can't be taking care of me, Gil."
"That's what you do when you love someone very, very much." He knelt down, set the new shoes on the shadowed porch boards and grabbed hold of the heel of the boot she wore. "Especially when you love someone so much, you'll never be able to stop."
"Oh, Gil." Her eyes smarted as she stared down at the man kneeling in front of her, head bowed, strong shoulders set, his hand on her heel. Weak, just too weak, she dropped into the chair. "What am I going to do with you?"
"You'll have to keep me, I guess." Cowboy humble, in his easy-going way, she felt his silent confession, the one that spoke in the silence behind his words, the deeper meaning that perhaps there were no words for. It was his heart touching hers. In the dark, he was more shadow, almost hidden to her.
His feelings were not. She covered her face with her hands, needing to hide her reaction from him. Didn't he understand what he was doing to her? Couldn’t he see that if she would let herself dream, that he would be in every one of those dreams, at the very center, as the love of her life?
"If you don't keep me," he said, his baritone rumbling low and deep, "then who knows what will become of me? I might turn out as lovesick as Lawrence. Maybe become melancholy, lose my job, end up on the streets. Me and Casey walking through town begging for spare change."
"You're doing it again." She felt the boot slip off, the chilly night air on her foot, especially through the holes in her stocking (she really needed to find the time to fix all of her socks). "You're trying to make me laugh."
"Honey, that's my job, and I'm going to do it for the rest of your life." The boots hit the porch with a thud and the night deepened, as if to hide all signs of him. "You only have nine years left on your contract."
"Only nine years?" That made her laugh. She shook her head, only Gil could think nine years was a short time. "By then, I'll be twenty-nine, a month shy of thirty. You'll be thirty-four. You can't be serious."
"Deadly." He held her foot in his big hands, rested it on his solid knee. "I'll wait for you, Maebry. A lifetime if I have to."
"I can't ask you to. It's crazy. It's a long time, Gil. You might get tired of waiting."
"Now what did I just say?" Infinitely tender those words as he tugged on one new shoe, reached for her other foot. "A lifetime, Maebry. That's what you are to me. You are my life."
Amazing words. She drank in the sound of them, cherishing every ounce of his heart-felt feelings. She wanted to give in, she wanted to believe but all she saw was doom. Of him getting frustrated as time went by, of all the things in life he was missing out on by waiting for her—marriage, children, a happy family. The ranch he wanted to buy. All on hold, because of her. No, she shook her head, adamantly, fighting down a sob. She was not worth that.
"You are worth it." He slipped on her other shoe, lowered her foot to the ground, reached up to take her hand. How had he read her mind like that? How had he known? She opened her mouth to argue, to do what was best for him and convince him to let her go, when he cradled her hand in both of his. Something about the action stopped her short, made her pulse skip and realization zip through her like a lightning strike.
No, he couldn't be about to—"
"Maebry O'Riley, will you marry me?" He proposed, just like that, with all his love and devotion ringing in the rich, rumbling timbre of his deep voice. "You light up my life, without you there is only darkness. Please say yes."
"I wish I could," she whispered, unable to stop the tears spilling down her cheeks. "You have no idea."
Her future with him, that's what she couldn’t let herself imagine, couldn't let even one wonderful image in. She fought against it, just as she fought the tears. She wanted him with everything in her soul, but how could she say yes? Worse, she thought, swiping at her eyes with her free hands, how could she say no? "I don't want to hurt you, Gil."
"Then don't. Because you will destroy me." Honest, without a drop of humor, utterly serious. He cradled her hand in his, raised it to his face, pressed a kiss to her knuckles. That kiss, more tender than any dream. "Why can't you say yes?"
"I don't know my future." Even as she resisted it, the doors on her heart eked open, the truth, so tender and vulnerable, needing to be said. "I care about you so much, Gil. More than myself, more than my life. I love you so very much.
If I say no, then I hurt you. But if I say yes, I know I'll lose you. Nine years is a long time, and I don't think I could bear losing you. I just don't think I could."
She bowed her head, ashamed of her weakness for him, for a love so strong it had overthrown her heart, seized every piece of her soul.
"I see." Kind, those words. That was Gil, always kind, even when he had to be sensible, responsible, do the right thing. At least now he could see what the right thing was.
He brought her hand to his cheek, pressed it there for a moment, as if he finally understood there was no solution, no real way for their love to work out. Wrapped up in her own heartbreak, in the wrenching realization that she would never know the pleasure of being his fiancé, the thrill of being his wife, the happiness of raising a family with him, she didn't notice the ring he'd slipped onto her finger until the warm band of gold he'd taken from his pocket encircled her left fourth finger.
"This is the kind of love that lasts. Just let yourself believe." He leaned forward, brushed her cheek with the sweetest kiss. The truth lit his eyes, revealed his devotion to her, without end. "There is no way you're losing me, Sunshine. I'm sticking like mud to your shoe."
"Funny. I'm not fond of mud." She reached out, let her hand rest on the firm span of his shoulder, felt the change, the belief begin to fill her heart. This really was happening, his love for her was strong. As strong as her love for him.
Invincible.
"It's a metaphor," he told her, leaning in, the corners of his mouth crooking up into a dashing smile. "Maybe not the best one, but I'm a cowboy, not a poet."
"You're certainly no poet." She found herself leaning in too, needing him, dreaming of him. "Good thing too, as I'm fond of cowboys."