Maggie blinked, pretty sure her whalebone was expanding as hot tea pooled in her mouth, heating her cheeks as well.
Libby frantically blotted the back of her neck with her napkin. “Trust me, young lady, what men say they prefer and what they marry are two different things,” she said with a blush that, no doubt, mirrored Maggie’s to a shade. “Isn’t that so, Mrs. Poppy?”
All eyes instantly lighted on the elderly woman hailed as the Matriarch of Virginia City. A notorious matchmaker, Mrs. Poppy was the reason Pastor Poppy had unexpectedly married Libby and Finn in the parsonage so many years ago. A legend to the town and beloved by all, Mrs. Poppy’s innocent overuse of poppy seeds in her prized cake, tea, and ice cream had drugged everyone’s mind that night, according to her aunt, seducing Libby and Finn into a marriage never meant to be. But noting the humor that twinkled in the old woman’s rheumy blue eyes, somehow Maggie doubted both Mrs. Poppy’s innocence in the affair and Libby’s assertion she and Finn were never meant to be.
Mrs. Poppy delivered a pixie wink to Aunt Libby that brought a grin to Maggie’s face. “Well, you should know, my dear,” she teased. “After all, Finn always swore he’d never marry an irrepressible woman.”
“What’s ir-re-press-ible mean?” Shaylee wanted to know, tossing a piece of corn fritter into the air and snapping it with her teeth.
“Pig-headed,” Finn called from the other end of the table, hand cupped to his mouth as he lounged back in his chair with a lazy smile, gaze trained on Libby.
“Better than mule-brained,” Libby said with a proud lift of her chin, gaze challenging Finn’s until Maggie could have sworn an electric charge sizzled the air.
Mrs. Poppy’s laughter floated over the table. “Truly a match made in heaven,” she said with a wink in Finn’s direction, “during a celestial lightning storm, no doubt.” Taking a sip of her tea, she set the cup down and patted her mouth with her napkin while she offered Sheridan a mischievous smile. “Actually, young lady, I’m of the opinion that restraint is an admirable thing, whether one is referring to corsets or the gentlemen who don’t prefer them.”
“Speaking of which …” Libby nodded to where Jake and Clint were waving their hats wildly, hollering for Dash and Blaze to join in on the practice-rodeo contest. “It would appear all ‘restraint’ will now be directed to the broncs, thank goodness.”
As if on cue, the men rose as one, pushing their chairs in while Aiden lit his pipe.
Finn strolled over to Mrs. Poppy and offered his arm. “Ladies, I believe the contest is about to begin, so shall we mosey on over to the grandstand to cheer our hands on?”
“Holy snake snot, you bet!” Shaylee jumped up so fast, her chair wobbled as much as the table when she bumped it in her haste to get to the corral.
“Whoa, girl,” Finn said with a hitch of her overalls, ricocheting the little stinker against his chest with a squirm of a smile. “First of all, young lady, snake snot is not holy and secondly, secretions of any kind—human or otherwise—are not appropriate terms for anyone, much less a thirteen-year-old girl, all right?”
Shaylee huffed out a sigh that sagged along with her shoulders. “Yes, sir.”
“Come on, Shay,” Maggie said with a tug of the young girl’s hand, tapping Sheridan on the shoulder as well, “if we hurry, we’ll get the top bench on the grandstand.”
“Holy frog spi—” Shaylee stopped short, brown eyes peeking up at Finn, who only shook his head with an affectionate smile. “Sorry, Uncle Finn—I meant yeah, Maggie, let’s go!”
Mrs. Poppy and Maeve chuckled while Finn tweaked the back of Shaylee’s neck. “Go cheer your brother on, Shay—he’s been a bit of a crab lately.”
“Oh really? Which one?” Sheridan said with a roll of her eyes, snatching the last of Shaylee’s corn fritter before rising to join Maggie and her sister. “Since Rachel gave Blaze the boot, he’s been grumpier than a bear without a cave.”
Maggie snuck a peek to where Blaze shuffled toward the corral with his brother, Stetson low and hands deep in his pockets, painfully aware she was the cause for his grumpy moods over the last three weeks. He’d steered clear of her with nary a word or a look, spending most of his evenings at the Ponderosa even though she knew Rachel had quit and moved out.
“All the reason to give the bear a little honey, darling,” Mrs. Poppy said with a chuckle, allowing Finn to support her arm as she rose from the chair. “To help spread a little joy.”
Ah, yes—joy, indeed! Maggie smiled as her thoughts shifted to Rachel, the girl with whom she’d forged a friendship founded on God. Maggie had been ecstatic when Rachel broke it off with Blaze and moved into Mrs. Cleary’s Boardinghouse. All it had taken was for Sister Fred to learn that Rachel wanted to leave the saloon, and the dynamo nun had worked her magic to secure a room in Mrs. Cleary’s attic in exchange for housecleaning and serving.
Both Rachel and Maggie had been downright weepy with gratitude. Then utterly beside themselves when Sister suggested Saturday evening parlour piano recitals where Rachel entertained and Mrs. Cleary sold tea and dessert. That brilliant suggestion earned Rachel a small weekly paycheck that would now help put her on the path to a new life. Maggie released a grateful sigh. A true blessing from God for everyone involved.
Except Blaze.
“Aiden, shall we escort these lovely ladies to the festivities?” Finn offered his other arm to Libby while Aiden followed suit with Maeve.
Maggie was as bubbly as Sheridan and Shaylee as they scrambled onto the double-slatted grandstand Finn had asked Jake to build for optimum viewing. Until the girls plopped down by their brothers, pulling Maggie down to sit right next to Blaze. One by one her bubbles of excitement popped as he silently rose and moved to sit on Dash’s other side, leaving a gaping hole.
Both on the bench and in Maggie’s heart.
Thank goodness the air was abuzz with men’s laughter and shouts, helping to dispel Maggie’s melancholy over Blaze’s rejection. No less than twenty cowhands straddled or leaned on the corral fence, preparing to compete, placing bets, or just jawing, their excitement fairly shimmering in the air.
After seating Mrs. Poppy and Libby on the end of the first row, Finn put two fingers to his mouth and blew a shrill whistle that immediately settled the crowd. Grabbing a cow horn, he addressed everyone with enthusiasm as palpable as the smell of hay and horses in the air, all tinged with the scent of barbecue and cowhands eager to perform.
“Okay, everyone, listen up!” he shouted. “This isn’t the first practice run we’ve ever had over the years for the statewide rodeo bronc-busting contest, but it’s certainly the best with the presence of some very special ladies. That said, save any drinkin’, swearin’, and chawin’ for later, understood?”
A few murmurs rumbled while Finn glanced over at Jake. “Everybody signed up, Jake?”
Jake tipped his hat, stopwatch in hand and hip cocked to a post. “Yes, sir, everybody rides but you, Mr. O’Shea, and Angus.”
“Humph.” Lips gummed tight, Angus scowled from where he sat next to Gert on the second bench, shuffling a well-worn deck of cards obviously meant for another game of poker. “I can outride every one of those young whippersnappers if you just let me, and you know it,” he muttered, slashing cards toward Gert in a deal that didn’t bode well for the O’Shea’s cook.
Finn shot a conciliatory smile. “I know you can, Angus, and everyone else knows you can too, my friend, but when it comes to ensuring sustenance for the Silver Lining Ranch, I’d much rather feed our stomachs than your pride, eh?”
“Hear-hear!” Dash and several cowhands called.
“What pride?” Gert said with a wicked smile, fanning her cards out with a gleam of trouble in her eyes. “When I’m done with this hand, he ain’t gonna have any.”
Laughter filtered through the crowd as Finn turned his attention to the cowhands. “As usual, Jake, Dash, and Blaze will ride last so they can man the bucking shoot. They will be the final word on verifying all bo
ots make contact above the horse’s shoulders before front legs hit the ground. Eight-second rides are required, and those that manage to hang on will be judged by Angus, Aiden, and myself. Three best scores represent the Silver Lining Ranch in the statewide rodeo bronc-busting contest in September at the Bar J Ranch. Highest score walks away with a nice bonus. Second place receives two silver dollars, and third place receives one. Any questions?”
Finn glanced around and nodded to Jake when no one spoke up. “Good. Then may the best cowboy win. Jake—first rider up.”
Checking the first name off his list, Jake looked up at Clint with a grin. “That would be Lady-killer Keller,” he said with a chuckle, “and let’s hope he’s as lucky with horses as he is with women.”
“No hopin’ about it, Sully.” Clint swaggered over to where Maggie sat, a crooked smile on his lips while he tucked his thumbs in the pockets of his dusty jeans. “Sure would appreciate a ribbon for good luck, though, ma’am.”
Heat all but swallowed Maggie whole as she peeked up at the cowboy who’d been dogging her heels since she arrived at the ranch, reluctant to admit the man possessed an easy charm that could sway a girl’s thinking.
Sheridan nudged her. “Give him your ribbon, Maggie—it’s tradition.”
Clint swept his Stetson to his chest with flair, offering a slight bow. “Yes, Maggie, please, because win or lose, I’ll be riding high if I’m wearing your colors.”
Somebody cut loose with a sarcastic grunt, and Maggie was pretty sure it was Blaze, who’d made it perfectly clear he didn’t approve of any association she had with “Lady-Killer Keller.” In one timid beat of her heart, all the frustration she’d tamped down over Blaze’s behavior boiled up inside, spilling over in a less-than-righteous resolve to pay the mule back.
Without another thought, she snatched the blue ribbon that bound her curls to the back of her head and handed it to Clint, unconcerned when chestnut tresses rippled over her shoulders. “Good luck, Clint.” Managing a tight smile, she felt the singe of Blaze’s stare.
“Oh, I won’t be needing that, ma’am,” he said with a smoky smile accompanied by the hoots and hollers of several of the cowhands. Tying the ribbon around his neck, he promptly tucked it inside the loosened collar of a well-sculpted chambray shirt, where a hint of dark hair matted a bronzed muscled chest. He gave her a wink. “At least … not now.”
Maggie fought a gulp as he strolled toward the chute in his chaps with all the poise and confidence of a champion rider. No, when it came to women and winning, she suspected Clint Keller didn’t need a whole lotta luck. He tipped his hat with an easy smile, and she twisted a strand of her hair in a nervous spiral that matched the one in her gut. Because he may not, but she had a sneaking suspicion about somebody who just might.
Me.
CHAPTER FORTY
“Ready to do some bustin’?” Dash peered up at Blaze, eyes in a squint as he and Jake latched hard to restrain the meanest horse on the ranch.
You have no idea. Blaze gave a curt nod as he positioned his heels above Nightmare’s shoulders to mark the animal out, the ornery quarter horse that few of the ranch’s cowhands had mastered. He glimpsed Maggie out of the corner of his eye laughing with Clint, and his fist gripped the rein till his knuckles felt ready to crack.
First the bronc, then Keller’s pretty face.
One of the cowhands opened the chute, and Nightmare lunged forward with a wild leap that would have unseated most men. But Blaze held on, calibrating both his breathing and his movement with that of the horse. Arm in the air, he spurred the animal from shoulders to saddle in a rhythmic motion that correlated with Nightmare’s violent thrusts like a fine-tuned machine. Power crackled through Blaze like fire to kindling with every powerful thrust of the mare’s body, and although the force of their wills were polar opposite, horse and rider may as well been one.
Like Maggie and me.
The thought jolted as much as Nightmare’s thrusting when Jake’s whistle pierced the air. Teeth gritted, Blaze forged on beyond the eight seconds out of pure stubbornness, finally jumping off as smoothly as he had ridden. He dodged the mare’s hooves with as much practice as he dodged any woman who threatened his peace of mind.
Like Maggie.
“Whoo-eee, boy, that was one dandy of a show.” Stopwatch in hand, Jake slapped him on the back as Blaze returned to the chute while cowhands cheered and whistled. Acknowledging them with a listless wave, he unbuckled his chaps with a clamp of his jaw, his clean ride doing little to improve his state of mind.
“Yeah, Hotshot,” Dash said with wide grin, “riding after the whistle just to put the other contender in his place. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re trying to impress the ladies.”
“Not trying to impress anybody,” he muttered, the notion suddenly souring his mood all the more when he realized Dash might be right. Since he’d ended his friendship with Maggie, he’d been downright miserable having to live under the same roof and not able to speak to her, laugh with her, or savor her company like he had before.
And her kisses?
He stifled a grunt as he cast a lidded look to where Clint flirted his fool head with the woman. Yeah, that, too. Oh, he was still hotter than a jalapeno in a flamin’ frypan over what she did, but what riled him more than even the breakup with Rachel was the red-hot fire Maggie had sparked in his soul.
“You sure?” Dash said softly, his gaze following Blaze’s to where Maggie was smiling at Clint.
Blaze slid his brother a scowl. “Yeah, I’m sure. Just wasn’t about to let Keller steal my thunder, that’s all.”
Dash chuckled. “Doubt that could happen. You’ve been a raging thunderstorm since Rachel left the Ponderosa.”
Blaze unloaded a grunt as he draped the chaps over the fence. No, Little brother, since I kissed Maggie in the barn. And that’s exactly what he’d told her when she’d hounded him to get their friendship back on track last week, waylaying him in the barn for the fifth blasted time.
“No!” he’d shouted with a crack of his hand to the wall, “it won’t work, Maggie. Not just because you stuck your nose in my business and riled me to no end. But because of that infernal kiss in the barn, confound it.” He leveled a stiff finger, jaw hard as flint. “So, help me, I’m warning you right now to steer clear, woman, because I want nothing to do with that or with you ever again.” Even now the memory of her tortured look twisted his gut, but it had been the only way to save face.
And heart.
Finn’s two-fingered whistle drew everyone’s attention as he waved Jake’s list in the air, using the cow horn to announce the results. “That was some great riding, boys, and I’m proud of each and every one of you.”
“Except Murrell,” somebody shouted, and laughter circled the corral where cowhands were perched on the railing. They always ribbed the newest member of the group, especially a spindly kid like Murrell who’d been one of the orphans Blaze trained a few years back.
Finn chuckled. “Don’t you pay them no mind, Murrell—every last one of these upstarts hit the dust in the beginning—”
“Some still do,” one of the older hands called out, and more laughter ensued.
“True enough.” Finn shook his head with a patient smile before continuing. “Since the Silver Lining Ranch has taken home the prize for the best bronc buster six years running, we’ll be fixin’ to send today’s winners into that corral come September. And as usual, the two runners-up will receive a smaller monetary prize and step up if the winner breaks a leg.”
A few chuckles circled the crowd.
“Now for the sake of the ladies who may not know how the scores are tabulated, judges score both the horse's bucking action and the cowboy's control of the horse and spurring action. That said, I’m pleased to announce third place goes to Chester Walton.”
Cowhands whooped up a storm while Chester—one of the oldest hands—limped up to receive his silver dollar from Finn. “Good job, Chester,” Finn said with a
clap on the man’s back before continuing on. “Second place is mighty important because there’s been many a time the top rider gets tossed on the first turn and can’t finish the second and third rides, so I’m proud to say that honor goes to Blaze Donovan.”
More cheers and hollers thundered through the corral as Blaze raised his hat in thanks, the smile on his lips as stony as the mountains on the horizon since this meant Clint likely beat him out.
“And finally, the winner of today’s practice rodeo—halting Blaze’s winning streak of three years running, I might add—is Clint Keller.”
The crowd erupted in cheers while Finn shook Clint’s hand. After he awarded the prize money, Finn announced there’d be ice cream on the back porch. Pandemonium broke out as a horde of hands charged the ranch house, where Gert and Angus waited next to several churns of ice cream lined up.
After offering a handshake to Clint, Blaze scowled when the cowhand presented his arm to Maggie to escort her to the ice cream social. Temper taut, he stormed past them both to stride toward the barn with a granite jaw.
“Hey, you don’t want ice cream?” Dash called as he and Jake ushered Shaylee and Sheridan toward to the house.
“Nope, not hungry.” With an offhanded wave, he strode toward the barn with head bowed, suddenly wishing Maggie Mullaney had never come to Virginia City. He tossed a glance over his shoulder to see her laughing with Clint, and the bitter taste of jealousy tainted his tongue, chilling him more than a churn full of ice cream.
“Only four months to go,” he muttered as he entered Minx’s stall, determined to get as far away from Maggie Mullaney as he possibly could. He didn’t want to see anymore of her sunny smiles. Hear anymore of her musical laughter. Feel anymore of her dad-burned gentleness when she tried to approach him like he was some skittish bronc.
Love's Silver Lining (Silver Lining Ranch Series Book 1) Page 25