by Craig, Emma
“Let’s see, now. How many little girls there are in here.”
“Me!” cried Maddie. “There’s just me!”
“Well, now, ye never know about these things, child. Want to search behind the counter, Grace, my lass? I’ll take a peek under that stack of blankets over there. Never know where these little tykes will turn up, y’know. Why, when I was a wee lad in Scotland, we used to find children everywhere.”
Grace made an obedient search behind the counter while Mac lifted blankets and pretended to peek under them. Maddie watched the two adults with eyes that had gone as round as grapefruit, her horned toad almost forgotten during this new game. Grace noticed Noah watching them, too. He looked even more puzzled than Maddie, and that made her sad. It was as if he’d never played a game with a child before and wouldn’t have any idea how to join in if he wanted to, which she was sure he didn’t.
She popped up from behind the counter, making Maddie jump and then squeal with delight. Noah looked first at Grace and then at Maddie, as if they’d both lost their minds. Grace experienced another pang of empathy for him.
“Well, there’s no little boys or girls in amongst the blankets,” Mac announced solemnly. “Unless—yes. I’d better just shake this one out. It looks a mite lumpy to me.”
He lifted the top blanket—it did look a little lumpy—and gave it a quick shake. A dove shot out from underneath it, precipitating another squeal of delight from Maddie. Even Grace was surprised. Noah’s mouth fell open for only a second. He closed it again almost before Grace had seen how surprised he’d been. No one could tell by his expression, which remained as stony as Capitan, the mountain looming off in the distance.
Mac opened the door and the dove flew straight outside. Grace didn’t have any idea how he did these things. She’d had experience with his magical expertise before, and wondered if he’d worked as a magician before he moved to the territory. She’d even asked him once or twice, but he’d only chuckled and given her enigmatic answers that she only later realized hadn’t told her a thing. He remained a puzzle, but the most kind-hearted puzzle Grace had ever encountered.
After the dove had left, Mac planted his fists at his waist and frowned. “Well, Grace, I do declare that I don’t see a single other child in this room but that one there.” He pointed at Maddie.
By this time, Grace was almost used to the effect of the sparkles-in-the-air that Mac seemed to be able to produce whenever he wanted. This time, as always, however, they startled her at first. She’d never seen another magician produce the same effect. It was quite lovely, and never failed to astonish her.
Sparkles danced in a cloud that slowly dissipated and then sprinkled down on Maddie. She looked at them, wide-eyed, as though she were too stunned to giggle or shriek.
Recalling that they weren’t alone, Grace looked over and discovered Noah frowning heavily and staring at the shimmering air as if he wanted to erase it; as if he didn’t appreciate magic or sparkles or anything else the least bit out of the way of his own experiences. Judging from what Grace expected some of his experiences must have been in order to make him the dour individual he was, she wondered at his attitude.
Suddenly Mac clapped his hands, breaking the spell even as another shower of sparkles shot from his hands as they met. Everyone in the room with him jumped.
Then he threw back his head and laughed.
“Ah, me. ‘Tis a grand life when an old fellow like me can make two grown people and a little girl stare in wonder at a wee bit of magic.”
This time the spell was really broken. Grace gave herself a mental shake and smiled at her daughter. Noah blinked several times, peeked down at the two tins of peaches he held, and then jerked toward the counter.
Mac held out his hand, Maddie transferred her horned toad to one hand, took Mac’s with her other, and they left the store.
“Ye’ll have to wash them hands before ye eat your licorice whip, Maddie m’girl.”
“I will, Mac.” She skipped outside with the old man, and Grace thanked God for at least the millionth time for having brought her and Maddie into his good orbit.
Chapter Three
“How the devil did he do that?”
Realizing what he’d said, Noah thought Aw, hell, stopped staring at the door, and turned to Grace. “Sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean to swear.”
She gave him an understanding smile. She’d been doing that ever since they’d met, and Noah wished she’d stop. She didn’t understand a damned thing. Couldn’t. And she was better off for it.
“That’s all right, Mr. Partridge. I’m used to worse language than that, I can assure you. Life isn’t full of tea parties and polite conversation out here.”
“Reckon not,” he muttered.
“As for Mac and his magic, I have no idea how he does it, but he’s the most entertaining fellow I’ve ever met. I have a theory, of course.” She turned and gazed at the door out of which Mac and Maddie had just exited.
He waited, but she didn’t continue. Faintly annoyed, sure she was playing some feminine game with him that would involve his begging her to enlighten him, he said, “What’s that, ma’am?” Then he wished he hadn’t.
He realized she hadn’t paused only for effect when he saw her give a tiny start and gaze back at him. It was as if she’d forgotten he was there. His frown deepened.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Partridge.” She gave a soft laugh. “I suppose I should be used to Mac and his ways by this time, but whenever he does his magic tricks, he surprises me all over again. At any rate, I’ve always speculated that he used to work on the stage or something, as a magician.”
Acquitting her of subterfuge, Noah condescended to nod. “Sounds logical.”
Grace’s eyes narrowed and her brows knit, as if she were still bemused. “But he’s so good at his tricks. I used to enjoy watching magicians back home, but I’ve never seen one as good as Mac. You—at least I—can never figure out how he does what he does.”
“Mmmm.” Noah felt a small tug of attraction to Grace Richardson, and frowned. Hell, if there was one thing he needed less than to have any truck with a female, he didn’t know what it could be.
“My uncle Henry used to do a few magic tricks, but you could always tell that they were tricks. I can’t tell with Mac, he’s so good.”
Noah let out with another “Mmmm,” because he didn’t know what else to say. He wasn’t used to talking to people, especially women. This woman seemed unaffected, too, and not at all like most of the women he’d known in his day. Noah was sure it was all a sham on Grace’s part, and resented her for it. His level of resentment didn’t quite reach his level of attraction, and he gave himself a mental kick in the butt.
“I mean, take that dove,” she went on. “How in heaven’s name did he get that dove in that blanket. For that matter, where did he get a dove at all?” She looked up at him, and he was struck once again by how pretty her eyes were. Damn, he was crazy. “And how could he have known he’d need it?”
Good question. “Couldn’t say, ma’am.”“No. Me, neither.” She’d left her thread in tidy rows on the counter top, and piled the papers of pins next to them. She picked up the pins now, gingerly. “It’s certainly a riddle to me.”
And she laughed again, Noah presumed at her unconscious selection of words. He tried to be annoyed—ever since the war, he’d loathed the sound of women giggling—but couldn’t. In fact, he found himself wishing he could listen to Grace Richardson giggle for an hour or three. Lord, what an ass he was.
“Yeah,” he said. “Me, too.”
She went to the notions shelf, put the pins up, and returned for her thread. Noah realized he was staring at her and tapped his peaches, trying to look as if he were pondering canned goods and not her. She couldn’t carry all that thread.
Out of nowhere, he found himself saying, “Here, let me help you.”
She shot him a glorious smile over her shoulder. It pierced his rhinoceros-thick hide and landed somewhere in the vic
inity of his ribcage. He didn’t like it. It made him feel something—vulnerable, maybe. Or wishful. To combat the effect of her smile, he scooped up a handful of thread and frowned harder.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Partridge. You really needn’t help, you know. My job here in Mac’s store isn’t very difficult, after all, and I like to think I at least partially earn my keep.”
“I’m sure you do, ma’am.”
Where the hell was her husband? Why did she have to earn her keep here in this unlikely place? Noah got mad at himself for wondering. She was no business of his, and he didn’t want her to be. God, that’s all he needed. The idea of a woman in his life was so appalling, he shuddered.
“Are you all right, Mr. Partridge?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m fine.”
As soon as he rid himself of the thread, he paid for his goods and left the store, thanking his stars that he could now return to his solitary little stall in the back of McMurdo’s Wagon Yard and be alone again. Women and kids. And horned toads. And doves and magic. Good God.
# # #
The following morning dawned as clear and chilly as the prior one, and Noah liked it every bit as well. In fact, after he’d been awake for a half-hour or so, he discovered there was a tune swimming around in his brain. He tried to recall the last time he’d thought in music, and couldn’t.
He shook his head, and wondered if this new development meant anything. For the first twenty-some years of his life, music had been about all he lived for. Music and Julia. They’d both been gone for years, however, and he couldn’t account for this sudden reemergence of one of them.
Then he thought about Grace Richardson, and realized the title of the tune that had taken possession of his imagination was “Hard Times Come Again No More.” A smoky, black curl of cynicism snaked its way through him. As if. He should be so lucky.
On the other hand, music had always had the power to soothe him in the old days—until he’d run up against powers even bigger than music. Still, if this move to the territory proved salutary, perhaps Noah might find himself actually breaking out in a whistle or a hum someday. Shouldn’t take more than another fifteen, twenty years at the outside, if he worked at it.
He hoped like hell it wouldn’t take that long to dislodge the picture of Grace Richardson that seemed to have tacked itself up inside his mind’s eye like a reminder of everything he could no longer aspire to.
With a little too much force, he jerked his pack up from the stump where he’d been filling it. It nearly flew over his shoulder. He jumped back, but it still hit him in the chest.
“All ready, laddie?”
Rubbing the sore spot where his pack had hit him, Noah turned around and saw Mac walking toward him. The old man had a grin on his face, a twinkle in his eye, and his pipe in his mouth. Noah tried to dislike him for being amused at his expense, and couldn’t find the energy.
“Yeah. I just finished loading my pack. I’ll strap it on Fargo now.” He gestured at his horse, who had been watching his antics and looked almost as amused as Mac. Noah shook his head, convinced his mind had bent too far this time.
“Good. Good. Got my horse all saddled. Samuel, I call him, and he can go for miles. Not much to look at, old Samuel, but a good horse for all that.”
Noah glanced at where Mac gestured with his pipe and saw a sagging, flea-bit gray hitched to a post. Looked about a million years old. But so did Mac, and Noah judged Mac could handle pretty much anything. Maybe Samuel could, too.
He unhitched Fargo’s reins and led him over to the other horse. The two animals eyed each other benevolently. Noah had a funny feeling they were saying howdy. He decided it was a damned good thing he’d be out of the company of men soon, or somebody’d probably try to lock him up. He didn’t think he could stand being locked up again.
“Maddie’s bringing our food out in a minute. Grace packed a good supply for us this morning.”
“That was nice of her.” Noah spent a moment being surprised before he realized she’d naturally have packed the food for Mac, not him. Still, it would be pleasant to eat something besides hard biscuits, dried beans, tinned peaches, and sardines smashed on bread. Although Noah wasn’t 176176 º fussy about his food, he was mighty tired of those commodities, although he had a sinking feeling he’d think of Grace with every bite. Hell.
“Here’s your food, Mac!”
Both men turned at the cheerful, high-pitched announcement. A sudden smile lit Noah up inside. The smile didn’t make it to his lips, but the sight of little Maddie Richardson hefting that huge bundle of supplies was one to behold. It was all she could do to keep the pack from dragging on the ground as she staggered towards them. She was a game girl, though, and even when the parcel knocked her sideways, she didn’t falter from her goal, nor did her happy expression change.
“Looks like enough for a week or more,” he murmured.
Mac nodded. “I expect it is. It’s big country around here, and it’ll take a while to see it all.”
“Mmmm.” Noah fought his urge to run and help the little girl. She looked so proud of herself. He sensed she didn’t want help from anyone, and he admired her grit. He wondered if she’d got it from her mama, and sighed inwardly. Damn, he wished he’d stop thinking about Grace.
Taking the bundle from Maddie, Mac leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thank’ee kindly, Maddie m’lass. And thank your mama, too.”
“Mommy put lots and lots of food in there, Mac. There’s ham and beef and beans and potato salad and bread and biscuits and bacon and coffee and pickles and sugar and salt.” She ran out of breath.
She looked like she was extremely proud of her mother. If he did such things, Noah would have thought she was real cute.
“My goodness, child. We’ll have ourselves an entire restaurant on the backs of our horses.”
“That’s what Mommy said.”
“Mac! Maddie! I forgot to pack the pies.”
Noah looked up from Maddie and saw Grace running towards them. She looked much as she had the first time he’d seen her, with her skirts caught up in her hand, and her pretty hair flying. No. He meant her apron strings. That’s what was flying out behind her. Although her shiny blond hair was, too. Not that Noah paid attention such things. He looked away and fiddled with Fargo’s cinch, which didn’t need fiddling with, and wished he hadn’t seen her this morning. The sight of her made his mental picture of her brighten and solidify.
“Oh, my, I’m glad you haven’t left yet!” Grace skidded to a stop and her breath came out in little gasps.
Noah dared to peek at her, and was sorry he had. Her cheeks were pink with exertion, and she’d slapped a hand over her bosom as she held out another bundle—smaller than the first—for Mac to take. She had a nice bosom. Noah wished he hadn’t noticed. He feared he’d never get rid of his mental image of her if this kept up.
“I made several little pies for you, some raisin and some dried-apple. They’re folded over like tarts so they’ll be easy to carry and eat.”
“Ye’re a good lass, Grace.” With the license endowed upon him by old age and abiding friendship, Mac kissed Grace’s cheek just as he’d kissed Maddie’s.
Noah found himself envying the old man, was shocked by it, and growled, “Better be getting on, I reckon.”
Mac’s smile was the slyest thing Noah had ever seen. “Aye, we’d best be off, lad. Won’t do to stand around out here bein’ sociable or anything.”
He chuckled at Noah’s sharp frown.
Grace took up Maddie’s hand. “I hope you’ll find what you’re looking for out here, Mr. Partridge.” She had the nicest voice Noah’d ever heard, even if she did have a back-east accent. Damn it, this admiring Grace Richardson every second had to stop.
“Thanks.” Noah swung himself up onto Fargo’s back before he dared look at Grace again. Even then it was too soon. She held her daughter’s hand and looked up at him with the most open, pink-cheeked, friendly expression on her face he’d seen d
irected at him in six years or more. He couldn’t maintain eye contact with anything that innocent, but directed a brief nod at the two females, wheeled Fargo around, and headed toward the double gates.
Mac had evidently thought of a really funny joke by the time he caught up with Noah, because he was laughing fit to kill. Noah didn’t look at him because he had a pretty fair notion that the joke was him.
“Bye-bye, Mac and Mr. Noah!” Maddie’s voice chirped from behind them.
Noah hunched his shoulders as if in that way he could deflect the good cheer being aimed at him.
“Bye-bye, Maddie-lass. Take good care of your mommy.”
“I will.”
“Be careful, Mac. Take care, Mr. Partridge.”
That was Grace. Her voice settled into Noah’s consciousness like a chorus of the song he’d been 176176 ˛ thinking earlier. Although he knew it would hurt, he turned slightly and waved. Damn. He wished he hadn’t done that.
Maddie and Grace Richardson still held hands. The hands not occupied with each other were waving at him and Mac as if they honestly wished them well. Noah guessed they probably did, and the knowledge was so unnerving, and so completely contradicted everything that he’d come to expect out of life, that it threw his thinking all askew. Not that that was anything new.
Shoot. He’d be really glad when he’d found a piece of land, built some kind of shelter on it, and headed out of Rio Hondo for good. Being around those two females for any length of time was apt to make Noah forget that he no longer belonged in society. It wouldn’t do to get to missing company again. He shivered, thinking about it.
“Cold?” Mac asked genially.
Cold? Noah couldn’t remember when he wasn’t cold, although his cold was internal and had nothing to do with the weather. In truth, his outsides were warm as summer. He said, “Yeah. A little.”
“Ye’ll warm up pretty soon, laddie. I guarantee it.”
Because he had the oddest notion Mac wasn’t talking about his physical wellbeing, Noah glanced at him from under his hat brim. The old fellow appeared to be as innocent as little Maddie, and was peering around at the landscape as if he hadn’t seen anything so interesting in years.