Calico

by Raine Cantrell

  “Did you hear me, Maggie? Me worrying about smooth hands when I seduced Lars right into that bed.”

  Maggie caught the ragged note in Pamela’s voice and slipped her arm around Pamela’s shoulders, giving her a quick hug. “You can’t keep blamin’ yourself. He wasn’t dragged there, was he? ’Cause if you did that, tell me how you managed.”

  The laughter bubbled up again, and Pamela couldn’t help hugging Maggie.

  To keep her laughing, Maggie dabbed a bit of cream on her nose, turned to the mirror, and decided Pamela could use the same.

  Pamela returned her effort with a smear across Maggie’s cheek, and not to be outdone by the shorter woman, Maggie managed two streaks across Pamela’s forehead.

  She listened to Pamela’s mutterings that they were being silly and childish, but Pamela didn’t stop and neither could Maggie. She had never played like this. Playing had only happened with McCready. Her hand was arrested in midair. McCready. Maggie closed her eyes. We’ll play, Maggie. I’ll chase you and you’ll chase me until one of us is caught. And they had. But it was only a game. A game like all the other things they had shared. And games were for children.

  “What’s wrong? Maggie? Maggie, answer me.”

  With a quick shake of her head Maggie looked at Pamela, then set the jar she held down on the tray.

  “It’s McCready, isn’t it?” Pamela asked, setting her own jar down and replacing the lids on both. “You can’t stop thinking about him any more than I can stop thinking about Lars.” With her hands resting on the edge of the bureau, Pamela bowed her head. “Maggie, what are we going to do?”

  “You’re marryin’ Lars.”

  “What if he doesn’t want me?”

  “Fool’s talk. He wants you.”

  “I wish,” Pamela said, turning, “that I could be as strong as you, Maggie. I wish I could believe that you’re right. But what about you?”

  “Me? Why, you just said me was—”

  “No.” Shaking her head, Pamela went to the bed and patted the place next to her. “Sit and talk to me. I meant what are you going to do about McCready? Do you love him?”

  “Love him?” Maggie felt the flush heat up on her face. “Love a man with a silver tongue that could have the devil himself givin’ up hell? No way. Were you hearin’ what that Mike Grant said to me?”

  “When?”

  Maggie started pacing the small area in front of the bed. “When he come rushin’ up after it was all over. Said McCready had been listin’ off me good points like I was some heifer up for auction.”

  “Auction? Well, Maggie, at least you would have enough men bidding on you if that was really happening. Pity me. I’d be lucky if Lars threw a bid my way. But he couldn’t do that while he’s married to you.”

  “Can’t be married to me. Can’t have two husbands. Ain’t one of them Mormons.”

  Frowning, Pamela looked up. “I think you have that wrong. They have lots of wives, but I don’t think the women can have more than one husband.”

  “Just like men to be thinkin’ of that!”

  “Maggie, that calls for a drink.” Pamela was off and running to the small parlor and back with a bottle of her father’s whiskey, and a sober mood, in moments.

  While Maggie watched, Pamela tipped the bottle back and took a healthy slug. Coughing and with eyes tearing, she handed Maggie the bottle. “That one was for my father.”

  “Pamela, someone’ll come along an’ buy the mercantile. Tell you what. Soon as I get me mines open, I’ll buy it. You take the money to your father an’ start over. Slick’ll only go to a few camps with them tarred and feathered.”

  “I never thanked you for stopping the miners from hanging them. I still can’t believe he was involved with those men. Give me the bottle if you’re not going to drink.”

  Maggie handed it over, thinking it was best that Pamela had some sleep. Her mind was churning with too many problems. And Maggie knew she was no better.

  “Pamela, talkin’ about that auction gives me an idea. We could—”

  “You’re going to do it? Maggie! You’re really going to auction yourself off?”

  “Auction meself?” Maggie repeated, staring at the other woman, then turning the thought over and over. “Well, I wasn’t figurin’ that. I was thinkin’ of all the supplies in the store. You’d have them sold out in no time an’ have all the money you’d need for a fresh start somewheres.”

  Pamela climbed onto the middle of the bed and curled her legs under her. “Think about it, Maggie. We could hold a double auction. Me getting rid of the stock of the store, and you taking the highest bid for a husband.”

  “Crazy talk.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to see McCready bidding for you? Why, I’ll bet you he would top every single bid that was made. You can’t be blind and not see how the man looks at you, Maggie.”

  “Slaves got auctioned. We fought a war to stop that. An’ here you sit, Missy Prim and Proper, an’ tell me to put meself up on the block.”

  Pamela did not take offense at Maggie’s name-calling. She smiled and nodded. “That’s it. You put yourself up on the block. Can you think of a better way to get rid of two husbands you don’t want? Think about it, Maggie. Think hard. Do you really want to be Mike Grant’s ranch wife? He’s good-looking, I’ll admit, but not nearly as handsome as Lars. He would likely pet you and keep you tied to a kitchen and babies.

  “And that’s another little thing we’ve forgotten about. You could be carrying McCready’s baby right now. Wouldn’t be fair to bring another man’s leavings to a marriage.”

  “Still think you’re crazy.”

  “Do you? You want McCready—”

  “He’s a liar!”

  “Stand still and look at me.” Pamela squinted to make sure that Maggie did stand still. Three drinks were one too many for her, she decided, swaying slightly. She inched her way back until the pillows cushioned her. “That’s better. Now, where was I?”

  “You were tellin’ me that I was wantin’ McCready, an’ I’m sayin’ you’re wrong.”

  “Do you get butterflies in your stomach when you see him?”

  “Butterflies? Oh, you mean the wee ones.”

  “Wee ones? Well, you have them, and I’ll keep my butterflies. But that proves what I’m saying. You don’t have them around with other men, do you?”

  Maggie sat on the edge of the bed and looked up in dismay. “No,” she whispered. “Not even a tiny flutter.”

  Pamela clapped her hands with glee, her gaze suddenly wise. “Do you think about kissing anyone the way you do McCready?”

  “I ain’t ever kissed another man.”

  “And I know you wouldn’t want to. I feel the same way about Lars, and I’ve done my share of kissing. It’s the only way, Maggie. McCready wants the mines, right?”

  “Yeah,” she answered absently, her mind racing with this crazy idea of Pamela’s.

  “He’ll do anything to have them?”

  “Bet on it.”

  “That’s it, then. You’ll put up yourself and the mines for auction. We’ll need signs, but I’ll take care of those.”

  “Slow down, girl, you’re like a wild bunch of mustangs, tramplin’ everythin’. I need to think about this.”

  “You do that, Maggie,” Pamela said in a smug little voice. “We’ll both sleep on it and see what the morning brings.”

  “In the last hour that’s the best suggestion you’ve had.” Maggie blew out the lamp and crawled into the other side of the bed. “It’s mighty soft,” she whispered, trying to hang on to the edge so as not to roll into the middle, where Pamela lay.

  “Get used to it, Maggie. You’ll have to stay with me. We have what’s left of our reputations to protect.” She found Maggie’s hand and gently squeezed it. “I’m glad we’re friends. I couldn’t get through this without you.”

  And in the dark Maggie squeezed Pamela’s hand back, unable to answer her
for the tears burning in her eyes and throat.

  Pamela would likely never know how much Maggie needed her as well. She wasn’t open like Pamela with her hugs and touches and her words. But she was learning that she could be strong and still share with someone else without losing anything.

  She had promised Pamela she would think about her crazy idea of an auction, and she tried, but eyes closed or open, all Maggie could see was McCready’s face with those dark blue eyes and that cocky know-it-all grin. Her sleep was restless. Her dreams filled with his taunting and daring her to reach out and take what she wanted.

  Pamela asked if she loved him. Maggie wasn’t sure what love was. But she knew she would rather be fighting with McCready than accepting any other man’s kindness.

  Dawn stole into the room, just as the answers she needed stole into Maggie’s heart and mind. She slept peacefully then. Able to wait to tell Pamela what she had decided.

  Chapter 23

  Pamela and Maggie worked frantically all morning and argued every step of the way. Having set out a Closed sign and locked the door of the mercantile, Pamela ignored the few men that stopped by, but Maggie had to restrain her when Lars called out to her.

  “We agreed,” she reminded Pamela. “No one sees us till we’re finished.”

  “You’re right, but I didn’t think it would be this hard to do.”

  “Never mind. You finish makin’ the list of stores, an’ I’ll keep countin’. You’ll have enough money to give to your father an’ plenty left for—what was it you called it?”

  “A dowry, Maggie. A woman should have money and things of her own to bring to a marriage. It gives her worth in her husband’s eyes. The more she brings, the more he values her.”

  “That so?”

  “Would I lie to you? That is exactly the way it’s done back East, and I would imagine here in the territory, too. There aren’t many women who get to pick their own husbands. Why, it’s just like what Pete did to you. He made arrangements with Lars and Mike to marry you instead of paying back what they owed him. So, you see, Maggie, he already paid them your dowry.”

  Maggie turned from the stack of shirts she was counting. “Pamela, you figure that me havin’ a bigger dowry might get McCready to do some biddin’?”

  “Well, it couldn’t hurt,” she answered with a shrug. “But you don’t have anything but the cabin.”

  “You’ll wait a few days till I get back to put up the signs?”

  “Maggie! Maggie, where are you going?”

  “Why, I’m off to get meself a dowry.”

  Pamela ran after her. “You can’t leave. What’ll I say if anyone comes looking for you? Maggie, please.” But by the time she reached the back door, Maggie had called her dog to her side, for Pamela refused to allow Satin inside. “Maggie, don’t go,” she whispered, leaning against the edge of the door. But Maggie was already working her way up behind the mercantile and was soon lost to sight.

  “Where is she going to get a dowry?” Pamela didn’t know.

  By nightfall Pamela had run out of excuses why Maggie couldn’t come to the door. To Mike Grant’s two visits, she explained first that Maggie was still sleeping, then taking a bath. They worked as well for the two times McCready came calling. When Lars arrived for his one try, she refused to open the door at all, ordering him to go away, that Maggie didn’t want to see him and she didn’t want to talk to him.

  But McCready didn’t give up. He came back a third and then a fourth time. He didn’t believe that Maggie was too distressed to see him. He certainly didn’t believe that she was taking another bath.

  Pamela didn’t know what to do when he said he’d wait. And then asked about Satin.

  “Why isn’t she here by the door, Pamela? That dog gets within ten feet of me and starts growling. She can’t be taking a bath, too.”

  Twisting the curtain that covered the upper half of the door, although there was no window, Pamela turned to search the small kitchen behind her, hoping for new inspiration.

  “Pamela?”

  McCready made warning and impatience roll through her name. She turned to look at him through the few inches of the open door. The light barely revealed his features, but what she did see set her stomach to fluttering. His bruises only added to her sense of unease. There was no charming smile, just a thin, grim line shaping his mouth.

  Pamela forced herself to smile at him. “Ah, the dog got into the pickled beef barrel and ate so much she made herself sick, and now she’s sleeping.”

  McCready lifted his hand and, using one finger, tapped her nose. “You’re lying. Now, let me in to see Maggie.”

  “She’s not here.”

  “My patience is growing thin, Pamela. I need to talk to Maggie. I won’t go away until I do.”

  She knew he meant it. “Fine. Threaten me, McCready. Do your worst.” Pamela opened the door and stepped back. “Go on. Come on in and see for yourself that she’s gone.”

  He wasn’t wearing a gun, but Pamela felt a chill when she saw him dressed in black, filling up her kitchen with his male presence. Maggie, she thought, was welcome to him. She dogged his every step, standing quietly while he knelt beside her bed and peered beneath it, silently laughing to herself when he grew desperate enough to begin lifting the lids of the barrels in the store, hoping to find Maggie in one of them.

  When they returned to the kitchen, her smile was smug, and McCready’s mouth had grown stern. His eyes, Pamela didn’t look at. “Are you now satisfied that I was not lying?”

  “I’m satisfied that Maggie isn’t here. But you know where she is, don’t you, Pamela?”

  She thought for a few minutes about putting him off. But she was worried about Maggie. And she really didn’t know where Maggie had gone, only what she had gone for. If McCready could make sense of it, he might find Maggie before more trouble found her.

  “All I can tell you is that she went looking for a dowry.”

  Her level gaze told him she was telling the truth, but it made no sense. “What dowry? Maggie doesn’t need one. She’s already got two husbands that—”

  “One, McCready. Lars made it clear for all to see that he didn’t like Maggie.”

  “Well, Lars didn’t know about the gold mine. Funny the way gold can make a man like almost anything or anyone.”

  Pamela hid her hurt. Men knew things about other men that women were never told, and sometimes never learned. But she could strike a blow for Maggie. “Is that why you want to find her? Is that all you care about, McCready—the gold?”

  “What’s between Maggie and me is just that—private. And it’ll stay that way till Maggie decides differently.”

  “I don’t think so, McCready. Along about nine or so months from now, everybody might know about you and Maggie.” Pamela turned her back on him, biting her lip to keep from crying. Lars couldn’t want Maggie. He just couldn’t. What did McCready know, anyway? He’d made a mess with Maggie. No, she wouldn’t believe him until Lars told her so himself.

  But the mere thought that he might have told her the truth forced Pamela to sit down.

  McCready hunkered at her side, raking his shoulder-length hair back before he lifted her chin with the tips of his fingers. “Let’s forget about Maggie for now. Why don’t you tell me what has you upset? You know no one blames you for what your father did. And we’ll make sure that you can keep the mercantile going, if that’s what you want, Pamela. Ira said he’d come help you as much as he can, and there are others, if you’re interested in selling, who might be able to buy the place and stock from you.”

  “Maggie already offered.”

  “But Maggie won’t be here.”

  “Don’t be so sure, McCready. Maggie doesn’t want to be married to Mike Grant. She said as much. She meant it, too. And she doesn’t like Lars any more than he liked her. So Pete just wasted his money trying to marry her off. But you,” she said, turning in the chair to face him, “didn’t
understand what I said before. I’ll make it plainer. A man has his pleasuring and knows it, and a woman, McCready, a woman has to wait to find out if she’s the one paying for it.”

  “Maggie’s—no, she couldn’t be.”

  Pamela wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, but it wasn’t her, and he was unsteady as he stood up and towered over her. “Like all men, you never thought about that, did you? Well, Maggie and I don’t need the likes—”

  “You? I never touched you, Pamela.”

  “I didn’t say you did. But as I was saying, Maggie and I will work out our problems in good time. You’ll just have to learn some patience and wait. And now, McCready,” she stated coolly, “it is late and you’d best leave.”

  McCready slipped the leash on his temper. He gently pushed her back into the chair. With one hand braced on the chair’s back and the other flat out on the table imprisoning her, he angled his face close to hers. “I’m not going anywhere till you tell me where Maggie is.”

  For all that he looked dangerous, Pamela wasn’t afraid of him. But she had to make him understand that she wasn’t lying. “Do you really care about Maggie?”

  “Would I have come over here looking for her all day if I didn’t?”

  “That is not much of an answer, McCready.”

  “It’s all the answer you’re getting. Now, tell me—” Clasping her hands together in her lap, Pamela met his penetrating gaze. “I don’t know. She said she was going to find a dowry. Do you know where she could do that? Because, if you do, that’s where Maggie is.”

  “The mine,” he whispered, releasing Pamela and turning away. Maggie missing. Maggie and baby. Maggie and gold. Maggie and her damn husbands. With both of his hands he raked back his hair. He had forgotten about the possibility of Maggie being with child. His child. And now she had run off. He spun around.

  “Supplies, Pamela? How many days’ worth did she take with her?”

  “None. Not from here. And there wasn’t much up at her cabin.”

  “Christ! That damn woman!”

  “Now, now, McCready, she’ll be back. She has to come back and settle the problem of one too many husbands. And you don’t really want someone marrying Maggie and taking her away, do you?”