CHAPTER NINETEEN
It was a real shame Maggie Mullaney was one of those “respectable” types because for some strange reason, there was a draw Blaze couldn’t deny. A draw he seldom felt with other women that made him want to pitch all reservations and explore the possibilities.
Along with those lips.
He watched her now as she chattered on about her patients like a proud mother, and he swore her eyes sparkled more than the stars up above. They’d spent the last hour talking about everything under the moon, and the time had clipped by in such a blink, he would have sworn it was five minutes instead of sixty. Other than with his family, his best friend, Jake, and Rachel Dixon—his girl at the Ponderosa Saloon—Blaze couldn’t remember enjoying a conversation more.
But what surprised him the most was the depth of conversation that made it feel like he’d known Maggie Mullaney all of his life. He was pretty sure he’d never shared with any other woman how painful his mother’s passing had been as a boy of thirteen on the heels of his father’s death in a mine. He’d been forced to grow up fast as the man of the house, responsible for his siblings long before his mother had passed. The experience had both helped and harmed him—instilling a deep devotion to his family, yes, but also a healthy distrust of marriage and the women who sought it.
“I have absolutely no desire to marry, Blaze Donovan, so between my aversion to womanizers and marriage and your aversion to women of faith and church, I’d say you’re fairly safe.”
Safe. Looking at Maggie Mullaney now in the moonlight—lush lips always kissed by a smile, chestnut hair that shined more than the moon, and a shapely body that shouldn’t belong to a friend—somehow Blaze doubted his safety.
A thought that definitely enticed.
If it didn’t scare him silly first.
“May I ask you a personal question?” she asked, and Blaze tore his gaze from the beautiful tilt of her mouth to meet those hazel eyes dead-on, rounded with an innocent curiosity that was way too attractive.
Battling an annoying urge to sample those perfect lips, he tugged his hat lower to deflect the desire pulsing through his bloodstream, gushing faster than the melted snow that flooded the creek in the spring. “Sure,” he said with a tight smile, propping his hands behind his neck as he distanced himself with another lazy stretch in the chair. All at once he was downright disgusted that the more he talked with Maggie Mullaney, the more his body didn’t want to, craving a communication of a whole ‘nother means. His mouth tamped into a thin line. What the devil was wrong with him tonight anyway? For pity’s sake, he’d just spent the evening with Rachel, so why was he hankering for another woman?
A respectable one at that?
A God-fearing, church-going respectable woman to boot.
Who could put a noose around his neck if he wasn’t careful.
In reflex, he inched his rocker back a fair amount under the guise of angling her way, figuring the more space between them, the better. “Ask away, ma’am, he said in a casually polite tone he hoped would rein in feelings of friendship that were starting to feel a mite too friendly.
Maggie shifted to face him as well, head tilted in a wide-eyed curiosity that made her look more like Shaylee than a woman in her twenties. “You’ve mentioned someone named Rachel several times, Blaze. Do you mind if I ask who she is?”
He sucked in a slow, uneven breath, not exactly sure how to frame his relationship with Rachel. At least not to a lady like Maggie Mullaney. But then, maybe the bald-faced truth was just what he needed to quash this irksome attraction he felt. He already knew Maggie wasn’t interested in marriage, or so she claimed. But once she found out how he spent his time at the Ponderosa Saloon, she’d surely judge him like the rest of those church-going types, putting an end to these unwanted feelings.
Cuffing the back of his neck, he peered up beneath the brim of his hat with a sheepish smile. “Well, you might say Rachel Dixon is my special girl. The only lady I commit to”—he paused, his gaze locked on hers with a wayward smile—“romantically, that is,” he said softly, his direct look making his point crystal clear. “If you know what I mean.”
A lump bobbed in her throat, the motion as awkward as this conversation. “I thought you said you didn’t have any intention of getting married?”
“I don’t,” he said with an easy smile. “Rachel and I enjoy each other’s company and a lot of the same things, that’s all. You know—sarsaparilla, dancin’, poker, billiards”—he paused to deliver a cheeky grin—“sparkin’.”
Even in the moonlight, he could see the blush that bloomed in her cheeks, but she was saved by the sound of Uncle Finn’s buckboard rolling down the drive. “They’re here!” she said, voice hoarse as she jumped to her feet.
Unfortunately. Blaze lumbered up from the rocker, the arrival of a second religious female on the ranch souring his mood considerably. Especially one who’d turned her back on Uncle Finn, his brother, and him.
“Whoa, boy …” Uncle Finn brought the buckboard to a halt in front of the porch and Blaze ambled down the steps behind Maggie, who literally threw herself into Aunt Libby’s arms the moment Finn lifted her down.
“Aunt Libby—I’m so glad you’re here!” Maggie pulled back, head tipping the slightest bit as she surveyed the blanket haphazardly draping her godmother’s shoulders. Her voice suddenly lowered to a hoarse whisper. “Are you … wearing your nightgown?” she said, and it was all Blaze could do to keep from grinning, the blush in his aunt’s face as blatant as Maggie’s.
Libby cinched the blanket more tightly, slipping Uncle Finn a thin-lidded glare. “I’m afraid Mr. McShane rushed me out of the hotel so quickly, I didn’t have a chance to dress.”
Uncle Finn’s laughter rang out as he rounded Lightning, pausing to rub the Palomino’s neck on the way. “It’s not Christian to lie, Libby—you had plenty of chances to dress and you know it. You were just too much of a mule to take ’em.”
“I’ll get your luggage, Aunt Libby.” Blaze moved toward the bed of the wagon when Finn’s chuckle stopped him mid-stride.
“It’s still at the hotel, Blaze, so if you could pick it up when you drive Maggie into town tomorrow, I’d be much obliged.” He nodded toward Libby with a wink. “And return the blanket we stole.”
“Brendan?” Ignoring Finn’s comments, Aunt Libby squinted at Blaze in the moonlight as she moved in close. “Oh my goodness, is that really you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a smile as stiff as the hug he returned when Libby gently embraced him.
Pulling away, she cupped a hand to his stubbled cheek, a mix of shock and wonder in her eyes tinged with an unmistakable hint of regret. “Heavens, where did the time go?” she whispered. “You’re a man now—how old?”
“Twenty-nine,” he said in a terse tone before shifting his gaze to Finn, the awkwardness of the situation swiftly propelling him to his uncle’s side. “Uncle Finn, I’ll be happy to put Lightning up for you.”
Finn clapped Blaze on the back. “Thanks, son. I’d like to get your aunt settled in, so I appreciate that.” He strolled over to Aunt Libby and extended an arm to the house. “Don said you skipped dinner, Libby, so how ’bout I fix you a quick bite to eat?”
“I would appreciate that,” his aunt said, so quietly Blaze could barely hear it. His uncle towered over her with a smile while she looked up, bundled in her blanket like a little girl.
Hopping into the buckboard, Blaze watched the interplay between them—a silhouette of a distant memory that tugged at his heart. Wonderful memories, he recalled, of a truly happy newlywed couple who’d visited long before his mother died. They’d stayed for only a week, but it had been one of the best of his life with lots of laughter and love, games and giggling, giving him hope that happy marriages could exist. Jaw hardening, he picked up the reins of the wagon, remembering how crushed he’d been when he’d discovered Libby had abandoned them all.
“I’ll have the wagon ready at seven sharp, Maggie,” Blaze
said as he clucked his tongue for Lightning to go, offering a tip of his hat.
Following Uncle Finn and Aunt Libby into the house, Maggie turned on the top step with that sweet smile that stuttered Blaze’s pulse more than he liked. “I’ll be ready,” she called with a wave, “good night.”
He nodded his response as he guided Lightning toward the barn, thinking it certainly had been a “good” night for a while. At least till Aunt Libby arrived. He snapped the reins, prodding Finn’s Palomino on with a scowl. And till he realized his annoying attraction to Maggie.
Because all of sudden … the night didn’t feel so dad-burned “good” anymore.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Oh, Mama, how I wish you could see me now! Whip in her right hand and reins in her left, Maggie was downright giddy she’d picked up the knack for driving the buckboard in only a week! She smiled up at a sky as clear and blue as a robin’s egg, pretty sure Mama did see her. She was, no doubt, smiling down as brightly as the blazing orb in the sky, so proud of the horse-skittish daughter who’d finally mastered her fears.
“So … what do you think?” Maggie said, turning to beam at Blaze while she absently snapped the whip on the horse’s rump with unbridled excitement. “How am I doing so fa—?” The question veered into a high-pitched squeal when the wagon did the same, scraping against a boulder in a ditch that jostled so much, she dropped the reins.
“Uh, eyes on the road, Maggie,” Blaze said with a low chuckle, snatching the reins up to redirect his horse before handing them back. “The barest tap of the whip is all you need, and never, ever let go of the reins, remember?”
“Oh, right. Sorry.” Sucking in a deep draw of air, she refocused on the road that led into town, properly humbled. Blaze had carefully taught her everything she needed to know to drive the wagon to and from work for the last week now. First with Shaylee’s docile quarter horse the first three days, which had gone fairly well given she was petrified of horses and her hands had quivered more than the reins. Then with Sheridan’s paint the next three, where she’d improved considerably if one didn’t count the turtle she’d run over. She’d been so horrified, she’d slapped hands to her eyes with a shriek, reins flopping on the floorboard while the paint moseyed off to nibble some yarrow. And then finally today, with Blaze’s own horse by the name of Minx, who was obviously the most ornery. Her lips kinked.
Shocking.
Her bodice expanded and contracted with a wispy sigh. She supposed the humility was well deserved. She’d had way too much fun toying and teasing Blaze about being a “cocky cowboy” since they’d forged a friendship the night Aunt Libby arrived. But Maggie had gotten a little cocky herself, it seemed, her comfort level with Blaze a little too comfortable for humility. Her mouth pursed. And for friendship?
She swallowed a gulp.
No question Maggie had been hesitant about forging anything with a man who was every bit the heartbreaker Sister Fred claimed—handsome, charming, a hard worker, a lover of family, and way too easy to talk to. He had surprised her that first night with his unassuming candor and sincerity about both his past and his family. They were everything to him, and you could see it when he spoke—the liquid warmth in his eyes, the way his voice turned husky and thick.
His honesty had certainly disarmed her, but his intelligence and wit amazed her, enabling him to talk about any and everything from ranching and mining to politics and people. An avid reader, his Uncle Finn had insisted the same in his nieces and nephews, not only providing an entire library of literature in his study, but insisting both Blaze and Dash attend the University of Nevada. “You boys need to be educated to run both your lives and this ranch in the future,” his uncle had told them, and although both boys resisted, their Uncle Finn had prevailed.
With Uncle Finn’s best friend, Milo Parks, being the editor of The Territorial Enterprise and Uncle Finn’s own aspirations to run for mayor in the next election, Blaze had a fertile grasp on anything political that Maggie wanted to discuss, even if the two didn’t always agree.
“What do you mean you don’t see the need for women to vote?” Maggie had demanded, stunned that such an intelligent man could be so ridiculously stupid.
Blaze had only grinned with a shake of his head, keeping tabs on her driving progress while he read his newspaper. “Come on, Maggie, women have no need to clutter their brains with politics—that’s what their husbands and fathers are for. Besides”—he casually turned the page of the Enterprise with a lazy smile she suspected was meant only to rile—“men are the providers and clearly the most educated.”
“I beg your pardon,” she’d said with a drop of her jaw, promptly steering the horse off the road, “I’m a provider, I’ll have you know, and educated, too, for your information.”
“Yeah, but you’re the exception to the rule, Miss Mullaney, because you have no intention of ever getting married, remember? And let’s face it—jobs and education for women only cause problems in a marriage.” He turned another page with a grunt. “Aunt Libby is certainly proof of that.”
Maggie’s hand had instantly tightened on the whip, sorely tempted to use it on Blaze instead of the horse. “I would contend that it’s your Uncle Finn who caused the problems, Mr. Donovan, with his blatant refusal to allow the wife he supposedly loved to practice her passion.”
He had the nerve to toss her a wink. “That’s because a woman’s passion should be her husband, Miss Nightingale, not stirring up trouble for him.”
A bee had chosen that inopportune moment to buzz Maggie’s face, causing her to squeal and scream as she frantically swatted it away. Blaze had laughed his fool head off when the confounded horse—a male, no doubt—had lurched forward in a dead run, rocking Maggie back in her seat with a shriek.
But as exasperating as Blaze could be, she quickly discovered that underneath the easy charm and devilish tease dwelled an honest and forthright man who’d simply been hurt—a lot. Oh, he was still a womanizer all right—you couldn’t possess the looks and charm that Blaze Donovan did and not be—dazzling every woman he met with a mere smile or a tip of his hat. At least, according to several of the nurses who’d taken to congregating on the front steps of the hospital whenever Blaze dropped Maggie off. But he never acted on it, they told her with a collective sigh, opting to spend most of his social time at the Ponderosa Saloon.
Heartbreak all the same.
Especially for Rachel, Maggie was certain, the one woman Blaze did “act upon.”
“You might say Rachel is my special girl.”
In addition to the one that he “sparked,” Maggie recalled, chancing a sideways peek as Blaze read an article to her from The Territorial Enterprise. When he’d told her that, she’d been utterly mortified until she learned Rachel’s uncle owned the Ponderosa and was also one of Blaze’s and Dash’s good friends. Maggie swallowed hard. Surely an uncle wouldn’t allow Blaze to take advantage of his niece that way. Would he? She quickly jerked her attention back to the road, hoping he didn’t notice the blush that burned hot in her cheeks. Because sweet mother of Job, after more than seven solid hours alone with Blaze Donovan to and from work, Maggie already knew how deadly spending time with the man could be.
Sparkin’ or no.
Her stomach flip-flopped when she noticed a wagon rumbling their way, and chewing her lip, she attempted to steer closer to the edge, squealing when the wagon tipped.
“Easy does it, Flo …,” Blaze said with a grin, utilizing one of the Florence Nightingale nicknames he’d coined when she’d met him in the barn the first morning in her uniform.
Claiming the reins once again, he coaxed Minx out of a rut with the same soothing voice of encouragement he used to teach Maggie to drive. “There’s plenty of room for you and anybody else on the road, Maggie, so just relax.” He was so close she could smell the faint scent of cedar from Angus’s soap on his fresh-shaven jaw, causing her stomach to flip-flop for an entirely different reason. “Feet braced on the front board for stability
like I showed you and reins firm between your index and third fingers, all right?”
“Yes,” she said in a meek voice, feeling anything but stable—both in the wagon and in this newfound friendship with Blaze Donovan. Her breathing was shallow as they made their way down the main street toward the hospital, already bustling with people, wagons, and horses. “Uh, I’m not exactly sure where or how to park—”
Chuckling, he tapped her arm. “Move over, darlin’,” he said patiently, butting so close, a bolt of shock rippled through her at both the intimacy of the endearment and the press of his thigh against hers when he took the reins. A shot of heat whirled in her belly while the air stalled in her lungs, seeping out in a fractured exhale when he finally pulled in front of the hospital. “Whoa, girl.” At the gentle coax of his voice, more heat burnished Maggie’s cheeks over a command that could have easily applied to her as well as to Minx.
He handed Maggie the reins while he hopped out and rounded the wagon. “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Hands to her waist, he lifted her down before she could even blink. “At least not bad for your first few times behind a rig, Nurse Mullaney. But I’m afraid we’ll need a few more lessons before I can turn you loose on your own.”
Patting her nurse’s cap to make sure it was still pinned in place, Maggie managed a tentative smile as she adjusted the pinafore apron of her uniform. “I think that goes without saying, Foreman Donovan, so thank you for your patience.” She shaded her eyes from the sun as she peered up, feeling like a runt next to a man who seemed to tower over her like the mountains towered over the hospital. “But I suspect you are a far better teacher than I am a student when it comes to horses.” She cast a repentant glance in Minx’s direction.
“You’ll be fine, Maggie.” With a tip of his hat, he mounted the wagon, tossing her a lazy smile that sputtered her pulse. “I’ll be in town today building new bookshelves for the school, so I’ll pick you up right here at the end of your shift, all right?” He clucked his tongue with a flick of the reins, setting Minx in motion. “And remember—if you can handle Aiden O’Shea on your first day at the hospital, you can handle a horse and wagon, trust me.”
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