by Jillian Hart
"Well, we are a charming bunch," John agreed, raising a bushy gray eyebrow at her, as if he knew exactly what she meant. He wasn't fooled, not one bit. "Guess I can't blame you for that."
“A lady as nice and pretty as you deserves a loving husband." Winston peered down the table at her thoughtfully, his sharp hazel eyes intense on her. "We wouldn't want to be the reason you wind up alone."
"That's not your worry. But I will help you with cooking and housework while I'm here." She gave a great gulp, finally swallowing her first piece of beef. Doing her best to hide her grimace (it didn't taste so good), she reached for her glass of milk and took a long swallow before continuing. "I can cook and clean and do laundry. Maybe I can get a few meals made ahead before the trains are running again, so you are all taken care of for at least a little bit."
"Well, now, that's an offer we can't refuse." Pa stabbed his fork into a piece of potato, a man who knew a good deal when he saw one. "We'd be grateful. That's mighty nice of you."
"And we'll pay you, too," Pops added, his voice dipping fondly. He clearly thought well of Maggie.
Anyone would, Miles conceded. He didn't like the plan, but with any luck the trains would be back to running on time tomorrow and she would be gone. In the meantime, she wasn't so bad (as far as women went).
"No pay," she insisted. "I'm happy to help. That's what I like to do. I've spent so much of my adult life taking care of those I love. Caring for others makes me happy."
A flicker of fondness brightened her deep blue eyes before she turned her attention to her forkful of potato.
Well, any woman who truly cared for his grandfather and father was all right in his book. Miles saw her so clearly, and he didn't know why, when he hadn't been able to see the truth about his first love, Sylvia, or his fiancée, Bethleigh. Maggie had come here hoping to take care of the man she believed Chester to be. She had come here for love and she wasn't looking for the first available man to attach herself to. She was truly heartbroken and trying to hide it.
Well, maybe it wouldn't be so bad having her around for a day or two, Miles conceded as he dug into his potato (at least that wasn't overcooked). But now he had a bigger problem. He liked her—and he didn't like that at all.
Look at her sitting there with the lamplight soft on her face, burnishing her golden hair. She looked like an angel, sweet and innocent, a vulnerable woman alone. Something in him wrung tight and he couldn’t stop it—something that made him want to look out for her, to make her life better. Hell, it wasn't going to be easy having her in this house, but he'd survive it.
"Besides, I have just enough savings left over to buy train fare to Clark Creek." Little glimmers of dark blue twinkled in her eyes. Joy spread across her dear, heart-shaped face. "When the storm's over, I think I'll travel there instead. It will be a good stopover on the way home, and I'd feel better about letting my new brother-in-law buy me a ticket, than you, Miles. It's nice of you, but I've never been in debt to anyone before. I wouldn't be comfortable with it."
"As you wish." A lump gathered in his throat, sticking there painfully, and he didn't know why. "What's in Clark Creek?"
"My sister Callie," she explained, cheerfully, the longing to see her sibling soft on her face. "She invited us all to spend Christmas with her and see her new home, but we couldn't quite afford the train fare for all of us. It wasn't practical. But this way, I could see her again. It would be wonderful to be with her for Christmas, and I could see her new house."
"That plan makes you mighty happy," Pops said warmly. "Then that's what you should do. With any luck, the storm will be gone by morning. We'll make sure Miles gets you on the first train east."
"Thank you." Tears stood in Maggie's eyes, her whole heart shining there. It was a beautiful sight. "Miles, you'll have to tell me what your favorite meals are so I can fix them before I leave. I mean, since you're giving me a ride to the train and all."
"Sure," he said gruffly, but he didn't care about his favorite meals. She smiled at him in her gentle way, and as beautiful as she was, that gentleness made her even more stunning.
Okay, that moved him, it just grabbed hold of his heart. Miles shoveled a big bite of buttery potato into his mouth so he wouldn't have to say more. He hadn't felt anything in a long time, and he wasn't going to start now. His heart was stone.
* * *
Maggie slipped a sparkling clean plate out of the rinse water and attacked it with a soft dishtowel, swiping it dry. The McClintock kitchen was spacious and beautiful with honey oak cabinets and marble counters, even a water pump was handy in the sink. She didn't need to haul water from a well and pack it into the house. The McClintocks had every convenience.
How her sisters would love this kitchen, she thought, with a sharp ache. She missed them. Underneath, where she didn't want to look, there were feelings she didn't want to admit. Hurt and betrayal, the remnants of her broken dreams. She needed Emma's mothering, Abby's comfort, Dee's reassurance.
But she would see Callie soon enough, she reminded herself, putting the plate away in the fancy cabinets. Callie who was quick to laugh and always so understanding. Maggie couldn't wait to see her sister and laugh. Just the thought brightened her heart.
Footsteps knelled behind her, beating out a confident, no-nonsense gait. She didn't have to turn around to know it was Miles because the room changed. First the shadows seemed to deepen and then the light appeared to dim. Without a word, he strolled to the fancy cook stove in the corner and retrieved the rumbling tea kettle. He kept his broad back decisively turned toward her as he reached down two ironware mugs from the cabinets.
"Let me guess," she began, stealing another plate from the hot rinse water to dry. "You're okay with me staying here, as long as you aren't alone with me in the same room?"
"Yep, that's pretty much it." He pried the lid off the tea canister. "It's not you, so don't take it personally. I traveled all the way here, to Montana Territory so I wouldn't have to be around your kind."
"My kind?" She would have taken offense except for the hint of a smile in his tone. Maybe that meant he didn't think too badly of her for being a certain kind. "I'm so sorry I'm offending you with my presence."
"That's all right. I'm tough. I can take it." He offered her more of that smile, showing off a hint of good humor. He was relaxed, at ease, his movements unhurried as he measured tea into a ball and dropped it into the teapot. "As long as we set some ground rules."
"Ah, I should have known this was coming." She rubbed the plate until it squeaked and put it away. She studied the mountain of a man making tea. He was tough, strong and masculine, with a thick sweep of dark hair tumbling over his forehead.
Oh my, she thought, her heart fluttering. Was it her, or had it suddenly become too hot in here? She bit her bottom lip, considering the nearby stove spewing out heat, a likely culprit, but maybe that wasn't the reason her body felt uncomfortably warm.
Fine, so perhaps she was a little attracted. Who wouldn't be? Likely any woman in the entire territory would be a little heated in close proximity to Miles. He really was magnificent, cast in shadow, his iron-shoulders limned by lamplight. His black hair shone almost blue as he settled the tea kettle on a trivet. It was just a woman's natural reaction to a virile, very masculine man, she reasoned, and certainly not a big deal. Nothing to worry about.
"Ground rules," he said, turning around, leaning against the counter, feet braced, long legs and strong body set, arms crossed over his impressive chest. His chiseled mouth tugged downward in the corners. "I'm not looking for a friend, so keep your distance."
"That shouldn't be too difficult." She dunked the dishcloth into the soapy water basin tucked in the sink and swished it around, gave it a squeeze to wring it out. "Whenever I see you in one room, I'll race into another. Or rush down the hallway the second I spot you."
"You're making fun of me." His sculpted lips tightened, drawing deep lines around the corners of his mouth, lines that might have been dimples if he'
d been smiling. His hazel eyes snapped. "And I don't like it."
"Too bad, you'll just have to get used to it." She breezily swiped down the marble counter. "It's not easy being stuck here, and if I can't make fun of you, then what's the point?"
Twinkles came to life in those attractive, hazel eyes. She saw the first hints of laughter, of the man's deep and easy sense of humor. But Miles reined it in, biting the inside of his cheek, forcing the corners of his mouth downward. He stared hard at the floor until the urge to laugh passed. "When you put it like that, I guess you'll have to take your pleasures where you can. I'll try to endure the teasing."
"You look tough enough to take it. Don't worry, I'll be gentle with you." Now she was the one laughing, feeling a tug on her heart and a rippling sensation in her stomach. She leaned forward, concentrating overly much on a dried spot of something stuck to the marble top and scrubbed at it until it was gone. "So, that's one ground rule negotiated. What's number two?"
"Keep your suitors in line or I'll do it for you." Now he turned grim, his voice lowering a note, booming with disapproval. "We have a quiet life here. That's the way I want it."
"Suitors?" She wrinkled her forehead, gave the now spotless countertop one more swipe and rinsed the cloth in the dish water. "I don't have any suitors. Besides, I won't be staying here long enough to get any. I'll be gone in time for Christmas."
"You're kidding, right?" He arched an eyebrow at her. "This is a town full of bachelors. We've had a housekeeper get married at the rate of one a month. Once word spreads there's a pretty, single woman staying here, they'll be banging on the door. Don't think the blizzard will stop them."
"Now you're teasing me." Her chin went up. "It's because I was a mail-order bride, isn't it? Well, I'll have you know Chester was the only suitor who returned my letter. The only one, out of the fifty advertisements I answered."
"Only one, huh?" His face hardened, turning to granite. "I don't believe that. You're a very beautiful woman—"
"I am?" She blushed, a little flustered. She hadn't been prepared for the compliment, especially from Miles. Wasn't that sweet of him? And honestly, who would have guessed he had a sweet side?
"You have to know you are," he said very un-sweetly, tension bunching along his jaw. "So let's get this clear. As soon as morning comes, I'm predicting we'll have bachelors lining up at the door. It's not my business who you let court you, but you're not to meet them here on McClintock land. Got it?"
"Not a problem. I'm not desperate enough to marry just any man, but maybe you don't realize that about me." She leaned against the counter, crossed her arms over her chest and considered the man across from her. Boy, he had some issues, didn't he? "I could be offended that you think so poorly of me, but I know you've had a bad experience. I'm not an opportunist, Miles."
"A couple of bad experiences, and most women are opportunists." A muscle strummed along the angled lines of his powerful jaw. Tension corded in his neck. He seemed to expand by two sizes and grow an inch taller. But it was pain she saw in him, the result of a truly shattered heart. When he loved, it really must be deeply.
"Not most women," she argued quietly, gently. "Surely not your grandmother, John's beloved Elma."
"No." Miles hung his head, his anger deflating in one big whoosh of a drawn out, released breath. He stared at the floor for a minute, cast in shadow now. He cleared his throat. "Nor my mother either. You had to go and remind me of that, didn't you?"
"Hey, it's part of my job as a woman, you know, to point out where men go wrong." She felt the corners of her mouth quirk, felt the emotional hit in her chest. She wished she didn't like Miles so much. "And I've been hurt too. I could be saying how all men just tell a lady what she wants to hear to get what they want, even if it's just to humiliate her. But I'm not. I know there are good men in the world and they aren't to blame for what Chester and his brothers did."
"What they did to you was ugly." Compassion darkened Miles's eyes, layered his baritone richly. "Don't worry, there's a man somewhere out there who'll put his heart on the line for you and treat you well. Poor sap."
But it was the regard for her in his words, the meaning behind them, that touched her. Her heart tugged, starting to like him way too much.
"Hey, I poured some tea for you." He hefted up the basin of wash water, manhandling the awkward container efficiently. "Why don't you go into the parlor or upstairs to your room? You should relax."
"Just what I was thinking," she answered lightly, but she didn't feel that way. Her heart ached watching him as he walked away, disappearing out into the snow. She sighed, staring into the space where he'd been. The cups of tea steamed on the counter where he'd left them—one of them he'd poured for her. How about that? Well, Miles McClintock wasn't what he seemed at all. No, he was so much more. She pressed her hand to her sternum, where her heart was inexplicably hurting. She really did like him so much.
Chapter Five
In the darkness of the lean-to, Miles shrugged into Pops's old winter coat, not sure why his pulse was racing. Maybe it was because Maggie's golden beauty was affecting him—the way it would any red-blooded man. She was a heady combination of sweetness, soft curves and desirable woman. Those glints in her eyes and the mischief lurking in the corners of her rosebud mouth would make any male worth his salt wonder what it would be like to kiss her. Add that to the fact that he hadn't touched a woman in years—Bethleigh had insisted on making him wait until after the wedding, not because she loved him but because, come to find out, she was busy getting in bed with some other man behind his back.
Remembering, anger shot through him, made it easier to open the outside door and step into the beat of the storm. He propped the door open, letting the wind-driven snow whip against him, driving ice through his clothes and cold into his bones. Maybe that was just what he needed to cool his blood, since it was feeling way too hot for comfort. It was a sad state of affairs that the mere thought of a certain woman's kisses could get him in an aroused state.
He gritted his teeth, shook his head at his sorry self. What kind of man was he if he didn't have better self-control than that? He scooped up the basin of water, carried it down the steps and emptied it against the side of the lean-to. The fierce gale wasn't quite blizzard strength, but close. White snow beat at him out of the dark, blocking out all view of the open door and the faint spill of light where Maggie might still be standing.
There his pulse went, beating double time again. Ridiculous. He shook his head, tossed the basin through the open doorway and debated going back inside. His tea was waiting for him, and he'd planned to retreat to his den and get some work done, but that would mean going back into the kitchen. She would be there with her unguarded blue eyes and mesmerizing smile and good humor curving her mouth. That kissable mouth. He'd just discovered he had a hard time looking away from it.
Disappointed in himself, he hung his head and let the storm pummel him. He tried to purge every image of her soft pink lips from his mind. But they lingered, the curve they made when she smiled, the way her pearl-white teeth dug into her lush bottom lip, the way she pursed them together when she thought.
Sudden, surprising need fisted in his gut, making the decision for him. He'd never wanted to kiss anyone this badly before. There was no way he could go back inside and spend the evening a stone's throw away from her in the parlor. Especially knowing his pa and grandfather would be watching and hoping for his attraction to her.
No, it was much better to spend the evening out in the barn with the horses. He swung back outside, firmly wrestling the door closed behind him. Funny, he could have sworn he saw a flash of something out of the corner of his eye—maybe a movement, maybe someone out in the storm—but when he glanced again there was only the dark wall of snow and wind gusting along the eaves.
Who would be out in the middle of the dark evening storm? With a shrug, Miles headed into the yard, following the stretch of the clothesline until he reached the first wooden rails of the pa
ddock. He followed the fencing to the barn, glad that every step he took brought him farther away from Maggie. That woman put an extra beat in his heart and heat in his blood. That could not be good.
Not good at all.
* * *
"I can't think where Miles got off to." John ambled into the front room, where the fire crackled merrily in the big stone hearth. The older man set the book he'd fetched onto the end table next to his overstuffed reading chair. "I looked high and low. First in his room, then in the den and even in the west wing. Didn't find hide nor hair of him."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry about Miles." Winston looked over the top of his reading spectacles and the top edge of his newspaper, his mouth hiking up wryly. "I expect he's as far away as he could get from our pretty little Maggie here."
"I don't know why." Maggie closed the novel she'd packed in her satchel. She hadn't taken it as a good sign that Miles had never returned to the kitchen for his tea. She couldn’t help but take that personally. "I'm no threat to him. He isn't my type."
"And believe me, he works hard not to be any lady's type." Winston chuckled, shaking his head. "That boy. I don't know what I'm going to do with him."
That boy, Maggie reflected as she ran her fingertips along the title on the book's cover, was a grown man in his thirties, tough, capable and surly. But it was his kindness that attracted her. A kindness that ran deep in him, far deeper than the bitterness.
"We never should have let him move all this way." John settled into his comfortable reading chair and winked. "I know you're gonna say there's no talking sense to that boy when he's set his mind on something, but still. We've been here since May and nothing has changed."