by Grace Walton
He still had no answer for that particular question. And he was terrified Maggie might be asking such a quandary of herself. Because most days, and every long endless night, only the strength of his iron will kept him alive. A neat bullet in his mouth or one step off a high Montana butte would solve all his problems.
But, there was a kind of strength in not caring whether you lived or died. It made going into battle easy. And it also afforded numbness from the pain of awful memories and soul destroying regrets. A man could do just about anything, if he didn’t care whether he lived or died.
And something howled in despair to see the same agony he felt writ across the beautiful face of this woman. It was wrong. It was almost evil to see her so overcome with despair.
Maggie was supposed to be the light in his world. Even if she never knew how important, no integral, she was to him. She was supposed to be everything good and true and warm. Compassion for the hard man he’d become who had none within himself to give. Beauty in every breath she took. Peace in a world where none existed. That’s what Magnolia Ferguson was to Hollister. She was life itself.
And he’d be eternally dammed for the reprobate he was, if he didn’t do anything and everything he could to keep that purity in her eyes. Maybe some other man had harmed her. And for that, the monster would pay and dearly. But that two-legged animal’s lust hadn’t robbed her of what was the very essence of who she was.
She still shone with an inner light. It hurt Hollister’s eyes when he was this close to her. But it was a pain he’d gladly bear. One he never wanted to see extinguished. It was one of the multitudes of things he loved about her.
“Hullo Blackbird,” his voice rumbled.
Maggie felt as if a tiny string of lightning flashed down her quivering coward’s spine. Something inside her reached out to him. It was an emotion she never experienced with any other. Not that her past lent itself to much in the way of sensual understanding. But she knew at least one thing. No man had ever affected her like Hollister. His mere presence heated her blood and stained her cheeks with a delicate wash of color. Her treacherous lungs labored to seek life-giving breath when he looked at her with intent, as he was now doing.
“Don’t call me that. I’m not that silly little girl anymore,” she said.
Of course, she’d meant to sound assertive and even a little beligerant. But, as the words trickled out of her mouth, she heard how tentative and insecure they were. This would not do. No, she had to make sure he knew he couldn’t intimidate her. So she tried once more.
“I’m not going home,” she said it with a breadth and depth of finality that was impressive, even to her.
“I’m not here to take you back to the Black Knife,” he lied.
Hollister was good at lying. Over the years he’d perfected it as an art. A well-spoken lie had saved not only his life, but the lives of the men who fought alongside of him too many times to count. So he had no compunction about lying to the trembling girl standing before him.
There was no way on God’s green Earth that he was going to let her get on a plane without him. The world was a scary place for tasty young ladies like Magnolia Ferguson. Hollister would not let her find that out, first hand. Of course, if what his friend Gage alluded to was true and he had no reason to believe it was not. Poor Maggie had already had a sour taste of the evil that walked among men.
“You’re…you’re not?” She was horrified at how her voice squeaked on the last syllable. “I thought…I thought…well, I thought that’s why you’re here.”
A rosy flush crawled up her face. Even with her lovely olive skin she was easy to blush. And she had no control over when and how much she did it.
Hollister’s eyes honed in like lasers. One of his hands balled into a rock-hard knot at his side. Now, now, his inner predator told him. It’s time to move in for the kill. Strike now while she’d flustered and vulnerable. Put your hand on her arm and lead her away. Get her on the Black Knife plane. Get her home and safe before she has time to wonder why you’re showing so little control.
But, try as he might, he couldn’t make himself take advantage of her weakness. He frowned. It was a fierce killing look. For the first time in his life, he was unable to follow through on a plan that was simple, though admittedly, vicious. He slowly shook his head to clear it.
“You’re not here to take me back home?” she whispered not quite sure.
Standing where he was and making no effort to stop her he began talking, “No, I don’t understand why you felt you had to slink off like a thief in the night. And I’d like to understand. But, you’re an adult Maggie. No one can make you do anything you don’t want to do.”
Hearing his words, she moaned softly. A flood of unwelcome memories poured over her. “Yes they can,” she said.
His eyes hardened and became shards of amber ice. “Some day, when you want to, I’d like you to tell me who put that fear in you.”
Maggie shook her head. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Don’t push.”
Now, as if something was suddenly unleashed inside him, he moved closer. Gentle hands settled on her shoulders. He leaned down until his beautifully carved mouth was less than a scant breath from hers. His breath, sweet and heavy with the scent of coffee and mint caressed her heated face. And when he spoke there was a heartbreaking tenderness to his words.
“Not all men hurt women.”
Embarrassed that he’d guessed what bothered her she looked down at her dowdy shoes. How does one respond when the man you love, the only man you’ve ever loved, says such a thing? Maggie didn’t know. She only knew she loved the safety she felt at his nearness. For once, in three long awful years, she didn’t feel terrified.
Anxiety and panic had become her twin burdens. Since that night when a cocky, drunken Chase Brown had decided she was his for the taking, she’d lived with unmanageable fear. It kept her awake at night. It hounded her steps. It made her handicapped as sure as if she was physically crippled. And, in a sense, she supposed she was a cripple. An emotional one, at least.
For that reason, she was loath to pull away from the warm shelter of Hollister’s big body. Nothing and no one could harm her when she was almost in his arms. She was safe.
“Did you hear me, Blackbird?” he said low. “Not all men are animals.”
Something in the deep timbre of his voice made her look up. “Are you one of them? The men who are not animals?”
A shaft of hurt cut him to the quick. The simple fact that she’d even need to ask killed him. There was obviously much more to what had happened to this gentle, sweet-spirited woman.
Nothing much scared Hollister anymore. Every good and fine emotion had been tortured or burned out of him long, long ago. Any voluntary warm feeling was long since dead in his breast. He did what was expedient to get the job done and he never looked back. But her pain threatened all that vaulted control. He could not stand to see it. And for that reason alone, he answered her.
“Yes,” he said. “Pleasure shouldn’t be tied to pain or humiliation. Desire should be a shared delight.”
“I’ve heard that some women…”
“I know what you’ve heard, Blackbird. And there are women who are as broken as men when it comes to lust. But sex should never hurt.”
“Lovemaking,” she whispered.
He leaned closer to hear her. “What?” he asked.
“Shouldn’t it be called lovemaking and not just sex?”
Maggie was terribly embarrassed to be asking such a personal question. But, in the back of her mind, she’d often wondered about Hollister and his legions of women. Was there ever anything involved other than a slaking of his body’s need for release? Was there nothing tender and loving about those joinings?
Before Chase Brown had cured her of any kind of normal human sensual curiosity, she’d wanted that experience with Hollister. After that horrendous night in the truck with Brown, she’d never given it further thought. But now, with Hollister s
tanding before her, she had to ask. Because she knew he’d tell her the truth.
Carrie might sugar-coat the marital act. And Gage would surely be thorough in explaining the anatomical mechanics involved. But only Hollister would tell her the truth.
“Love is not necessary,” he said.
“So, it’s truly just a matter of good chemistry?”
She didn’t like the sound of that. It reduced something that the Bible said was transcendent between spouses into something more fit for a breeding barn.
Hollister rocked back on the heels of his well-worn boots. Never in his wildest imaginings had he thought to be standing in the middle of a crowded airport discussing sexual attraction. Especially discussing it with the only woman he’d ever felt anything real for.
“It’s a matter of animal lust,” he said succinctly.
She shook her head. A lock of ebony hair fell from the tight bun at the base of her neck. It trailed over her shoulder. Hollister worked hard to ignore its satiny length.
“I don’t believe that,” she said.
“You should, because though women seem to need poetry, candlelight, flowers and other romantic gestures, when it’s all said and done, lust is all there is.”
“No, that can’t be,” she argued quietly. “You only need look at Gage and Carrie to know that love is everything. It’s everything, Hollister.”
“Love is a myth,” he ground out.
He had no right to shatter her illusions. And he’d never want to hurt her. But she better off not believing in fairytales.
“There is healthy passion. There is dirty sex. There is mutual satisfaction between lovers. But love is just a word the naïve use to justify their hunger.”
She shook her head, yet again. “I feel sorry for you,” she murmured in true compassion.
Suddenly, seeing the pity on her cameo face, a beast was roused within him. “Don’t waste your time, Blackbird. If you’re going to feel sorry for someone, feel sorry for yourself. You can’t summon up the strength to even touch a man, much less abandon yourself to sensuality.”
Maggie swallowed hard. What he’d just said was true. She was a coward.
“Where are you going?” he cut right to the chase.
It was not a question he needed answered. He already knew where she was going. But her explanation would buy him some time. All his previous gentleness and tenderness vanished. In their place now stood a relentless and hardened warrior. A man who cared not for anyone.
Maggie knew Hollister deserved an answer. And she would give him one. “I’m going to London.”
“For how long?” he demanded
The wheels in his mind started churning as soon as the words were out of her mouth. He was weighing and considering how to follow her. How to keep her safe in that urban jungle he’d once known. Since his first plan to retrieve her had failed, he now needed to make another one.
She shrugged and looked away.
“Maggie, how long will you be in London?” he repeated.
“I don’t know.” The girl shrugged like she didn’t want to talk about it. “Maybe forever,” she said.
Chapter Five
“Are you sure you’re going to be OK, Ms. Ferguson?” asked the chipper young woman with the very crisp and correct British accent.
Maggie looked around the Spartan bedroom that was the sum total of her entire new living quarters. When she’d finally made it to the mission house early that morning, she’d spent the day learning her new responsibilities. So now, seeing what her new friend optimistically called her flat, Maggie was disappointed and dead on her feet.
It was no wonder her co-worker was voicing some reservations about leaving her alone. She was in a new city, in a new home, and had a new demanding job. To top it all off, she was suffering with the worst case of jet lag she’d ever experienced.
After she’d managed to avoid any more of Hollister’s questions at the airport, and after she’d hurried away from him to make her flight, she’d not slept all night long. The run from Hartsfield-Jackson to Heathrow should have been a sleeper flight. She usually caught up on her rest on long overnight flights. But last night she couldn’t quit thinking. For some reason, she couldn’t stop dissecting Hollister’s honesty as he’d answered her rather inappropriate questions about sex. She still felt sorry for him. If what he said was actually what he believed, his was truly a lost soul.
For that reason, she’d squirmed in the first-class seat and stared out the window into the starry night. The plane had been quiet except for the low hum of the engines and the subtle sounds of other passengers sleeping. Every once in a while a flight attendant would prowl up and down the narrow aisle. But other than that, Maggie could have been completely alone.
And that long stretch of solitude gave her plenty of time to think about Hollister. She was sure he’d known she was avoiding not only him, but answering anymore of his pointed questions. And she’d been pretty surprised when he’d let her get away so easily. But she’d been thankful for the reprieve.
“Really Ms. Ferguson, it would be no trouble at all for you to come home with me tonight. My divan pulls out to make a cot. You’re more than welcome to stay over with me.”
Maggie looked at the homely young woman who’d been so kind to her all day. Jane, her co-worker, was the salt of the Earth type. She had a round moon-like face, thin blonde hair, and a dumpy figure. She was a no-nonsense woman whose entire existence seemed to be wrapped up in mission work.
That was one reason it was already almost midnight by the time she’d forsaken her duties to motor Maggie around to this bleak little flat that was to be her home for the foreseeable future.
Maggie set her suitcase down on the threadbare area rug that covered a good part of the scuffed ancient linoleum floor. She turned to thank Jane.
“Please, call me Maggie,” she insisted for the umpteenth time. “And thank you for your generosity, but I think I’ll settle in here.”
“If you’re sure?” the other young woman said doubtfully.
Maggie nodded and gave her a smile. “I am. And thank you for showing me the walk to the mission house. I’ll be there bright and early in the morning.”
“Of course, we’re so looking forward to having you join the staff, Maggie?” Jane nodded and let herself out. At the door she turned back to say one more thing, “Mind you lock yourself in. This is a dodgy bit of the neighborhood.”
Maggie nodded and smiled in return though she was quite certain the description of her new home was true. Jane’s tiny little coupe had dodged rough lads standing in the middle of the narrow lanes as they’d driven through the borough. Some of the street lights had been broken so the remaining ones cast a scattered eerie glow onto the narrow cobblestone roadway. A nasty fog settled in between the tall leaning houses that were subdivided into tiny flats on either side of the tiny lane.
The houses were very old and dilapidated. Their exteriors were covered in graffiti. Litter clogged the deep gutters on either side of the street. Maggie had seen a fat rat twitch his whiskers at them and then skitter up the winding steps as she and Jane made their way to her flat.
“Well then, good night,” Jane said. She bustled away as if she couldn’t leave quick enough.
Once she was gone, Maggie realized she was truly alone. Alone in a way she’d not ever been before. It wasn’t that she was frightened of her circumstances. Though they were indeed very frightening. And it wasn’t that she was intimidated by the prospect of the work at the mission. Though it was going to be much, much harder than she’d ever expected. No, she felt alone because, over the last few years, she’d begun to depend upon herself more than she depended upon God.
And now, here in this dingy little excuse for an apartment, she knew she could not run from Him anymore. So kneeling down beside the narrow cot jammed against one wall, she began to pray:
“Lord I’m sorry I turned away from You. It’s just… just that I wanted to fix my problems by myself. I got myself i
nto that horrible situation and I felt I should be able to make it right. But now, I know that was foolish. And more than that, it was sinful. For I put my will above yours. I should have just confessed my pride and selfishness to You. I should have done that a long time ago. Lord, I’ve wasted so much of my life trying to fix what is unfixable. And now, I just want you to know I surrender it all to You. I’m not going to try and pretend it never happened. I’m not going to act like I’m the same gullible girl I was. I’m just going to trust you to take this awful thing that happened to me and make it into something good. Something beautiful and useful. Lord, I’m sorry. I love You, and I’m sorry.”
Opening her eyes, Maggie saw that nothing inside the bare little room had changed. Not that she’d supposed it would. She wasn’t looking for some kind of miraculous flash of light. No, she knew the change would have to come from within her and not her just surroundings. So with that in mind, she began to take an inventory of her new home.
The cot she leaned against was spare but clean. The linens were patched in several places but smelled fresh and looked pressed. There was a tiny sink mounted to the opposite wall. It was an old timey porcelain model with one handle and a brass spigot. Above the sink a circle mirror about the size of a dinner plate was nailed to the tattered rose covered wallpaper. A big hook on the back of the door served as her new closet. She’d need to keep her clothing and shoes packed in her suitcase. If she kept that shoved under the narrow bed, then there would be just enough room to walk to the door.
Maggie heard the banging of old pipes and knew that meant there was a shared bathroom nearby. Jane had mentioned something about a loo down the hall. Opening the door, she looked out to find another doorway situated at the end of the corridor. It stood open and she could see a lavoratory and tiny shower within. Grabbing the thin towel folded over her sink, she hurried down there and used the facilities.
Coming back a few minutes later, she changed into her pajamas and towel dried her hair. She set the alarm on her cell phone. Then she collapsed onto the cot. Within seconds she was fast asleep.