by Grace Walton
No, he could never expose Maggie to such danger. So he would keep their sweet kiss a secret. He was sure she would do the same. After all, she was engaged to another man. He was certain remorse was, even now, eating her alive. Because she hadn’t just suffered that kiss in the snow, she’d been as drugged as had he by their chemistry.
“God isn’t just a fairy godfather,” Maggie said once more.
Maybe if she could keep talking, she’d forget she’d just committed what amounted to adultery. Sure, she and Dan Gentry weren’t married yet. But they were promised. They’d made a solemn commitment to each other. Part of that commitment were promises including fidelity. She dreaded having to confess her recent sin to him. And confess it she would. For how could anyone begin a marriage with lies between them?
It was true she’d never felt anything like she’d just felt for Hollister. Not with any man had she felt the burn of desire running hot through her veins. And try as she might, she couldn’t really admit to herself that she was sorry for her lapse. She wasn’t. Maggie would have to stand before God and man to confess a sin she for which she was not exactly repentant. That was a troubling truth.
She was sure she’d spend the rest of her life reliving those perfect moments in the snow with John Hollister. How could she be sorry? Nothing from any movie she’d watched or book she’d ever read had been as romantic. She remembered every detail. The cool hard pressure of his lips against her own. The way his hands cherished her face as if she was some priceless treasure. The strength of his tall, sheltering body against her own.
“What?” he answered looking down at her.
She was still plastered to his side by his confining arm. He meant to keep her that way for as long as he could. Once they reached the vet’s ranch, he’d have to let her go, forever.
Maggie licked her lips and immediately felt the bite of freezing air. She frowned as she considered what she should say to him.
“I said praying is not just asking the Lord to grant your desires.”
“I don’t know,” he said. His mouth kicked up on one side like he found what she’d said humorous. “I’ve been in some firefights where there was a lot of begging for help. I’ve heard men promise some pretty outlandish things to God, including the life of their firstborn son. Sounds a lot like a fairytale to me.”
“When you were in that prison, you never prayed?”
The thought was so foreign to Maggie. She couldn’t quite wrap her mind around such a thing. Prayer was second nature to her. Surrendering her will was something she had to do every day, several times.
“Blackbird, can we not go into this right now?”
“Does it make you uncomfortable?” she asked.
He shook his head. The sprinkling of snow that had accumulated in his dark hair fell onto her. It was an enchanted moment. Neither of them could find the will to speak. Finally, finally, he did.
“It doesn’t bother me because I know it’s not real. I’m just trying to spare you. I’m trying to spare your feelings.”
“Don’t,” she said succinctly. “I’d rather hear the truth from you than some kind of comforting lie.”
He nodded. It was one of the things he loved about her. This refreshing honesty and stubborn refusal to take the easy way out of anything was the essence of Magnolia Ferguson. Whatever had happened to her in the past months while he’d been in that hellish prison had been good. The old, fearless Magnolia Ferguson was back. He was pleased. She was going to need that kind of strength to get through the next few days. Because he was sure Chase Brown wasn’t going to survive. He’d seen it happen many times over the years, especially in the countries where poppies were grown for profit. It was so easy for men and women to fall victim to the allure of addiction. And it seldom, if ever, ended well.
So changing his course, he immediately began speaking to her, “You know what happened to me?”
She nodded and watched his hard face intently.
“Never once, not once, did I experience any kind of spiritual or physical comfort.”
“Did you ask God for any?” she questioned bluntly.
“No,” he admitted. “It would have done me more good to believe I could have summoned the Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus to come to my aid. Believing in a god, any god, is just the same thing. It’s a sort of magical thinking for the uneducated.”
“Oh, Hollister,” she said, her words rife with pity.
“You see, this is why I thought it better not to have this conversation.”
“Why?”
“You feel sorry for me, there’s pity and disappointment in your eyes. I’m sorry you’re disappointed in me, Maggie. But I don’t need your pity.”
“It’s not pity,” she said hotly.
There was not one iota of her being that felt pity for this strong, seemingly invincible man. No, what she felt was not pity. It was perilously close to anguish. But it could never be pity.
“Then tell me what you feel?” he challenged. “Do you feel sorry for me? Do you realize I’m on a path straight to Hell? Is that it?”
He was closer to the truth than he probably knew. She bit her lip. Yes, she was horrified to think of him spending eternity in Hell. And she couldn’t stand to think there could never be anything other than friendship between them since he was so adamant in his disbelief. So she mourned not only for the man she loved, but for the future they could never have together.
“See,” he taunted. “You can’t truthfully tell me you don’t pity me. Because of some arrogant spirituality, you see yourself as better than me.”
“No!” she gasped. “I’ve never thought of you or anyone else that way.”
“But you believe you’re going on to a beautiful eternity once you die, and I’m not?”
She had to nod. There was no disputing what he said. “I do. But that has nothing to do with me thinking you’re not as good as me.”
“Then let me lay your mind to rest,” he snarled.
What he was about to do was killing him. It was worse than when he’d tried to scare her off before he’d left for the Middle East the first time. It was ten times worse. He loved her. He wanted to live with her. He meant to do anything and everything within his power to win her. Even if it meant cutting out her fiancé, which he fully intended to do. But she needed to fully comprehend he would never be weak enough to take up her faith.
“When I grab my last, hard breath, I am going straight to the bowels of what you call Hell. There’s no way to avoid that reckoning. I don’t know if there is such a place, my intellect tells me there is nothing after death. Nothing, Maggie, people are no different from a dead steer or a dead bird. When we die, we are done. We are just rotting flesh. But if there is a Hell, a place of eternal damnation, then that’s exactly where I’ll end up.”
“Hollister, no,” she begged tears flowing freely down her cold face.
“Yes, you’ve got to face this, Blackbird. I don’t think there is any future for us, if you can’t.”
She was momentarily stunned by his bold statement. Did he think there was some kind of lasting relationship possible for them? She’d give almost anything, if that was possible. But she, more than he, knew it was truly impossible.
“I know,” she said.
“You do?”
She’d managed to surprise him. He’d thought she’d begin arguing and try to show him the error of his ways. It was part of why he’d said what he’d said. He wanted her to know he was coming for her. He wanted her eyes wide open when he claimed her as his. He’d not expected Maggie would agree.
“I do,” she said.
“Then you agree you need to set your ridiculous religion aside?”
Maggie shook her head. “No, I could never do that, Hollister.”
“Then you’ll have no issue with my not attending church?”
“What I know and believe has nothing to do with just attending a church,” she explained. “It has everything to do with who I am. With what I am.”
She courageously looked him square in the face. “No, this is not just a simple disagreement over our interpretations of religion.”
“I have no interpretation of religion,” he answered sarcastically. “Except that it’s all a stinking wad of lies, myths, and other people’s agendas.”
“I know,” she said. “I know you think that. But, Hollister, you’re wrong, you’re so tragically wrong.”
“It shouldn’t matter,” he argued. “It shouldn’t matter that we don’t share a religion. Other couples have the same challenge. They do well enough.”
“But I can’t,” she admitted. “I can’t settle for well enough.”
“But you’ll settle for that pasty-faced preacher, Gentry?”
She had the grace to look shamefaced at his assertion. He was right. What she had with Dan was no better than what she’d have with Hollister. Each would be a lie, in its own way.
“Love will grow between Dan and I,” she insisted.
He laughed in her face. It was a hard, dark sound. “Whatever lie you need to tell yourself, Magnolia.”
“It’s not a lie,” she said angry. “At least what Dan and I have is built on something real.”
“And you don’t think desire is real?” he goaded. “What I feel for you is more real than anything I’ve ever experienced.”
“You said yourself, it’s just lust,” she mumbled.
“Ah, so now you agree with me about that?” he challenged.
This conversation was not going as she’d planned. And she hated that control of what was transpiring was out of her hands. How had he done that, she wondered? How had he put her so easily on the defensive?
“No,” she said anguished. Then she shrugged her shoulders in defeat. “I don’t know. You confuse me, Hollister.”
“What I’m saying is very simple, Maggie,” he answered.
In the distance he could just make out the faint lights of a ranch house. It was Doc Fuller’s place. Thankfully, they’d be able to turn Chase Brown over to his care. In the meantime, Hollister didn’t mind confusing Maggie. It was a good strategy. It kept her questioning her own ideas of what was right and wrong. But one thing he did not want was Brown dying on his watch. That might become an insurmountable obstacle to his winning of the shivering girl sitting so close to him. She had enough regrets and baggage pertaining to the man who’d assaulted her. Hollister didn’t need the man’s death preying on her tender conscience.
If it were up to him, he’d have dumped the guy into the snow and left him to freeze. It would surely be an easier death than the one he faced. Even now, Hollister could tell the inert man’s breathing was slowing. It was becoming more labored and thready. He wouldn’t last long. And if Chase Brown was lucky, he’d not regain consciousness.
“It doesn’t seem simple to me,” she said.
“But it is,” he soothed. “You don’t have the experience to know it, but what we have between us is rare. Rare and very, very intense. We’d set the night sky on fire with our passion. We’d know fulfillment like you can’t imagine. Like I can’t imagine. Most people never get this chance. They never find their soulmate. It would be criminal not to share such desire.”
“You’re talking about sex?” She frowned.
“Sex and much, much more.” He nodded. “I’ve never felt the way I do with you. I’d be willing to bet, you’ve never experienced anything close to what we have with Dan? Am I right?”
“Dan and I, we don’t…”
“I know,” he said with a cocky smile. “But I can give that to you, Maggie. I can give you the stars. If you’ll just meet me halfway.”
“I can’t do what you’re asking me to do?” she sputtered. “You want me to surrender everything I believe, everything I am for a few moments of pleasure.”
“Not just a few moments, a lifetime.”
“You’re asking me to… you’re asking me to marry you?”
“Maybe.” He nodded. “But first we’d need to quench this fever we have for each other.”
“Sex, before marriage?”
Maggie was horrified. She’d fought so hard to keep herself chaste and pure. Even after she’d almost been raped, she’d still ignored all the suggestive invitations from men who’d thought her an easy target. Her fear held her back, but so did her honor. Now Hollister wanted her to ditch it all?
“I prefer to think of it as making love,” he corrected.
Hollister’s mind roiled in disgust at his own words. Of course, he wanted to marry her. He had no idea where all the obscene suggestions he was now making were coming from. Maybe it was the PTSD? Of maybe he was just the low-down filthy beast he’d always been ashamed he’d become. Whatever it was he was horrified to hear what was pouring from his mouth.
“You don’t know the first thing about love,” she sniffed. “If you did, you’d never make such a demeaning suggestion.”
“No, you don’t understand,” he backtracked as fast as he could.
“I think I understand for the very first time. I thought that kiss meant something to you, Hollister,” she said in a soft injured way. “It meant something to me. You’ve always been the one. The special, noble one who I thought I could give my heart to. But you’re not. You’re not.”
She was sobbing as the sleigh pulled up to Doc Fuller’s house. She darted out of the sleigh leaving Hollister to wonder what had just happened. He scarcely had time to process her reaction and his obviously hurtful words before he saw Doc Fuller running through the deep, drifted snow towards him.
“The little gal says you got an injured man out here,” his voice was old like he was.
He wasn’t a tall man. His stooping back told a tale of a life lived hard. The shock of white hair and leathery tanned skin told Hollister this man was an outdoorsman. The gnarled and bony hands were signs of both strength and, sadly, arthritis. There was a serious and intent look on his craggy face. Like he knew whatever he was about to find in the back of the sleigh wasn’t going to be good.
“He just got out of prison. He’s an addict coming off something. I’m not sure what. But he looks bad,” the younger man said.
“Can you get him in the house?” the old vet asked. “I’m not much good at lifting and hauling anymore.”
“Sure,” Hollister said.
It only took a minute for him to jump down from the sleigh. He bent into the back seat of the open vehicle. He shoved Chase’s inert body over one broad shoulder and started towards the lights of the small ranch house.
Heavy, wet snow clung to his work boots. Chase was not a small man so the burden on his shoulder was great. To make matters worse, Hollister wasn’t sure the man was still breathing. It was altogether possible that he’d died sometime on the cold trip. Blowing ice pellets stung Hollister’s face. But all of those things were nothing compared to the pain in the region of his heart.
How could he have said such awful things to Maggie? He still was flummoxed. It would be one thing if he actually believed any of the drivel he’d been spouting off. But he didn’t. He wasn’t looking for a floozy to warm his bed. If that’s all he’d been after, he would have taken Fiona up on her multiple offers in London.
He wondered if he’d just lost his last chance with Maggie. He hoped not. No, it was more than some random hope. It was a burning regret in the middle of his chest that threatened to steal his very breath. Without Magnolia Ferguson in his life, he was nothing.
He stood patiently on the narrow stoop of the low-slung ranch house. His mind raced with all the ways he might make it up to her. Maybe he could attend church with her. That might do it. She’d seemed very upset about his lack of faith. He could feign some kind of tepid interest in such things, if it meant getting her back.
He spread his feet to shift the weight of the man draped over his shoulder. As soon as he was stable on the icy bricks
, the door was opened.
Maggie stood there. She was backlit by the rosy glow of a large fireplace. There seemed to be a halo all around her slim body. If he was a man who believed in such things, he’d think her an angel come down to earth. She was so beautiful it hurt to look at her. Her jet black hair tumbled down past her shoulders. Her cheeks were pink and vibrant from the cold. Her eyes sparkled with what he guessed were unshed tears. The lush lips he’d captured, not so long ago with his own, trembled. And she was obviously incensed with him.
He didn’t blame her. He’d acted like an idiot. Which was something he’d found himself doing around her with alarming regularity. She had every right to be furious at him. He just hoped he’d be able make amends. Though, how he was to do that, he didn’t know.
“Set him on the couch,” the old man said from somewhere behind him.
Doc Fuller was a widower. His home looked like it. There was nothing that softened the masculine effect of the place. The sofa was worn out and brown. The recliner was the same color and in the same condition. There was a mass produced hunting scene in a raw pine frame mounted over the brick fireplace. The floors were scuffed and hadn’t seen wood polish since probably before his wife had passed away ten years ago. The scent of onions hung heavy in the air. There was a meal of grilled steak and the aforementioned onions sitting on a TV tray pulled up to the recliner. A can of beer in a car lot cuzzie completed the dining area.
Hollister tried to lower Chase to the sofa as carefully as he could. He knew the man was most likely dead. But the others didn’t seem to realize that the body’s stillness had more to do with eternity than illness. The vet was the first one to notice the bluish pallor of Brown’s face.
“He don’t look good,” the man wheezed out.
He moved over to lean down and take a pulse reading. He tried the prone man’s meaty wrist first. Shaking his head, the vet moved on to Brown’s throat.