by Cat Cahill
Isaac sighed and opened the door. He went to set his hat on the little table that usually sat nearby—but the table wasn’t there. And if the table wasn’t there, neither was the lamp. The room was dim with the sun setting on the other side of the house, even with the small blaze in the fireplace. Isaac squinted through the shadows as he shrugged out of his coat and hung it.
“Maggie?” he called as he searched the room for the lamp. It looked as if all the seating had been moved toward the fireplace. He moved closer, tripped over the corner of the sofa, and his irritation rose. What had she done to his house?
Finally, on the table that now sat between the two wing chairs, he found the lamp. But of course the matches weren’t with it. He held the useless lamp up and fought back the words he wanted to let fly as Maggie emerged from the hallway, a lit lamp in hand.
“Where are the matches?” He forced his voice to stay even, but it sounded strained, even to his ears.
“In the drawer of the table.” She stood there, a pretty smile on her face and her shoulders thrown back. “Isn’t this better? The seating should be around the fire so people won’t chill while they relax in the evenings.”
He grunted as he lit the lamp. The flame sparked and he took his time adjusting it. “I need a lamp near the door.”
“All right.” Maggie held up her lamp and surveyed the area near the door. “Perhaps you could hang another peg or a nail?”
Perhaps he could? “I’m not the one who moved everything around.”
She took a step backward. “I cleaned too, which you might have noticed if you hadn’t so quickly decided how much you disliked my arrangement.”
“I wish you’d asked me first.” Irritation clawed its way up through him. She was going to leave him this coming Saturday, and yet she felt the need to decide how his house should be set up? “Some things don’t need fixing.”
Her free hand was on her hip now. “It would be nice if you at least thanked me for cleaning. The room certainly needed it.”
“The house hasn’t been built all that long,” he snapped back, even as he knew she spoke the truth.
Her mouth dropped open just slightly. “You are incapable of showing gratitude, aren’t you? In fact, I suspect you’re the sort of man who can’t stand it when someone else makes decisions.”
“For a woman who made such a quick decision about me, you seem to have spent a lot of time thinking about what sort of man I am.”
His words lingered in the air between them. Her chest rose and fell quickly, and that pretty little mouth was pursed as he suspected she didn’t know what to say next. He’d finally caught her at a loss for words, and as petty as it was, that pleased him.
“I want this room put back to rights tomorrow,” he finally said.
She tilted her head, and waves of hair that had come loose framed her face. If he weren’t so bothered by her brazenness at rearranging his life, he would’ve been able to admit she looked quite beautiful in the lamplight, even with that uppity smirk on her face. In fact, he had the strangest desire to trace those lips and make them smile.
“I don’t know why you’re so concerned with the items in this room, particularly when none of them truly belong to you,” she said.
He tore his gaze from her mouth to meet her eyes, which had gone gray in the shadowy light. “What do you mean?”
“If you purchase everything you own with stolen money, none of it really belongs to you. It belongs to the people you stole from.” She raised her eyebrows as if daring him to contradict her. This woman had the gall of every man in Sebastian’s gang put together.
He took a couple of steps forward, until she was right in front of him and had to look up to see him. He paused a moment, waiting to see if she’d move away from him. She didn’t. Instead, she held her ground and gazed at him with that same daring look in her eyes.
“I’ll have you know, Mrs. Trenton,” he said in a low voice, smooth as the creek that ran by the rear of the house, “that I purchased every piece of furniture, every scrap of wood, every bit of metal, and every horse on this land with my own money.”
She swallowed visibly. He’d unnerved her, and while he thought that would make him feel vindicated—and it did, somewhat—unease crept up his spine. He was trying to prove himself to Maggie, and he didn’t know why.
“I asked you not to call me that,” she finally said, her voice barely a whisper.
“That’s your name.” And with that, he turned and grabbed his coat and hat from the pegs near the door. He was outside before she could say anything else.
The cold, fresh air washed over him, and it felt as if he were waking up from some sort of dream. He took a few deep breaths, hoping it would set his mind right.
Because there was no denying that Maggie had worked her way into his head. Maggie, who believed him to be no better than the drunks or petty thieves that might be taking up residence at the Cañon City jail. And if he didn’t get her out of his every thought, he’d pay the price when she left.
Chapter Nine
Early the next morning, Maggie crept downstairs. The sun had barely crested the sky, and she hoped that meant Isaac was still downstairs. She’d heard him come back in late last night, so at least he hadn’t chosen to sleep in the barn. That gave her a little hope.
She’d laid awake for hours last night, unable to fall asleep. Indignation and guilt had warred in her head. She was angry that Isaac had reacted the way he did, and yet she felt terrible for assuming how he’d come by this land. She wished Ivy were here. What she’d give to have a good friend to talk to right now! After a fitful night of sleep, she’d determined an apology was in order. Although she had no plans to remain here, it was best to leave knowing she’d been as good a person as possible.
He was nowhere in the house, although fires blazed cheerfully in both the parlor and the kitchen. Pulling on her coat, Maggie opened the front door, hoping to spot him somewhere nearby.
She didn’t have to look far. Isaac sat on one of the wooden chairs on the porch, gun belt peeking out from under his coat, and one foot perched on the railing. He turned as she stepped outside, those dark eyes regarding her as she paused just beyond the door.
He said nothing, so she took that as invitation to sit in the chair next to him. Searching for the right words, she lifted her eyes to the scene beyond the house. The sunrise, bright oranges and reds and purples, streamed over the dark mountains and across the valley, illuminating each rise and dip of the land. The patch of trees that marked the entrance to the ranch appeared almost black against the intensity of the sun’s colors.
It was as pretty as a painting, and Maggie couldn’t tear her eyes away. Sunrises in Illinois had been nice, but they were nothing compared to this.
“It’s something to see, isn’t it?” Isaac finally spoke.
“Yes,” Maggie said breathlessly. “I’ve never laid eyes on anything like it.”
“It isn’t like this every morning, but it is more often than not.”
Enveloped in the changing colors in front of her, Maggie was rendered silent yet again. She rarely was without words to describe something, but sitting with this tableau before her was one of those few occasions.
When the last of the orange was erased from the sky, Maggie felt as if she could finally speak again. “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Isaac smiled. “I think the same each morning I see it, until the next one.”
Maggie folded her hands in her lap. She’d been so mesmerized by the sunrise, she hadn’t felt the cold. But now, her fingers were like ice and she wished she’d buttoned her coat. “Have you been able to spend much time here?”
“Some. But it will be more. My work is here now.”
She raised her eyes to him. “Does that mean—?”
He held her gaze. “Yes. I’m finished with that life. I never wanted it to begin with.”
That was curious. Maggie wanted to know more, but he stood and moved to th
e porch railing, and it seemed the wrong time to ask. Besides, she’d come out here for a reason, and she might as well get on with it. She stood too, pulling her hands up as far as they would go into her coat sleeves. “I wanted to apologize, for yesterday.”
He turned, leaning a hip against the railing.
“I shouldn’t have assumed you came by everything here illegally,” she plowed on. “I’m also sorry I rearranged your furniture without asking first, although since you wanted a wife, I thought you’d expect her to do things such as that.” She forced herself to stop speaking before she made it even worse. Although every bit of it was true, she hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud.
He stared at her for a moment before nodding. “You’re right. I owe you an apology for my reaction. I suppose I hadn’t expected you to . . .” He trailed off, but Maggie knew what he meant. He hadn’t expected a woman who had no intentions of staying to make herself so at home.
And Maggie couldn’t explain why she had done so.
“As for Aspen Ridge . . .” Isaac turned and surveyed the land that rolled out in front of them and for miles on each side of the house.
“Is that what you’ve named this place?” she asked. “Oh! After that stand of aspen up on the mountain behind the house.” She smiled as she called to mind the pretty picture it made from the back porch. “I like it.”
He was watching her with a puzzled look on his face.
“I’m sorry. Do go on.”
“Don’t apologize. It was the first thing that caught my eye about this land. I’m glad you noticed it too. My father loved aspens.” He rested his hands on the railing and was quiet a moment before speaking again. “My parents passed away a couple of years ago. They owned a small ranch outside of Denver, and as the eldest, it was all willed to me. Their nearest neighbor wished to purchase it and offered an impressive sum. I was . . . otherwise occupied at the time. I accepted the offer, put the money in the bank, and let it sit until I was ready to settle down.”
Maggie pressed her lips together. His explanation made her feel even worse. “I’m sorry about your parents.”
“Thank you. They were good people.” He paused, still looking out across the valley. “They knew nothing about my occupation. Or my brother’s.”
“Your brother’s?” Maggie’s heart beat faster. Was his brother that horrible man on the train, the one he’d rescued her from?
“Yes.” He turned toward her. “You didn’t meet him.”
“Oh.” She let out a breath. “Good.” She let her eyes drift up to his. “I lost my parents too. My mother just last year from a fever. And my father when I was young.”
His brow crinkled and—if it was possible—his gaze grew even more intense. “That must have been hard.”
Maggie swallowed. No one had ever looked at her that way. It was odd, having someone she barely knew appear so concerned for her grief, and yet strangely comforting at the same time. She searched for something to say. “It was. They had no living relatives, so I remained in Plainfield, rented a room, and took work in a shop.”
He tilted his head. “No one else in town offered to take you in?”
“My dear friend Ivy’s family offered—and I did stay with them for a short while—but I didn’t like having to live off the charity of others, and besides, I knew they couldn’t truly afford to have me stay very long. I didn’t mind working. And I rather liked being on my own.” Maggie straightened her shoulders as she spoke. She knew her ways weren’t necessarily those expected of a young woman, but she was proud of the fact that she’d been able to take care of herself when so many others would have faltered. And if it weren’t for Mr. Etter’s advances, she’d still be providing for herself now.
A smile played across his lips, disappearing as quickly as it had arrived. His smile made him even more handsome, and Maggie found herself wishing he’d offer it more often.
“I shouldn’t have expected anything less. You are quite a woman, Mrs. Trenton,” he said.
The name didn’t go unnoticed, but Maggie’s attention was pulled more toward the rest of what he’d said. “What do you mean?”
“Only that you don’t let much scare you.” He paused. “I meant it as a compliment.”
Maggie raised her eyebrows. “Even though you made it quite clear you prefer a docile woman who will bend to your will?”
He stared at her a moment, and then a smile took over his face again, brightening his eyes, smoothing the hard edges of his jaw, and making Maggie’s heart beat a little faster. “I suppose I did. I also suppose I haven’t spent much time in the company of women and didn’t quite know what to ask for in that ad.”
What did he mean by that? Was he happy with what he’d gotten instead? Maggie’s face flamed, and she didn’t know why. She turned away and let her gaze fall on the shoots of spring grasses that lay between the brown from the previous year. “You also brought me here under false pretenses.”
He sighed, but Maggie didn’t dare look at him for fear she’d find her heart beating much too fast again. “I suppose I did. Maybe we both pretended to be someone we weren’t.”
Maggie swallowed and pressed her lips together. He was right, although she still believed his lie was much greater than her own.
A breeze blew across the valley, making the grasses and bits of sagebrush wave. It was cool, but refreshing.
“This land is truly magnificent. I should like to see more of it,” she said.
“Perhaps I can take some time to show you later today, after we get more work done on the bunkhouse. If you’d like,” he added.
Maggie glanced at him. He was standing in an odd manner, a bit stiff, and his fingers tapped against the porch railing as if he were nervous. A piece of her heart melted as she realized he was afraid she’d say no. “I’d like that,” she said, feeling strangely shy.
“Good. Well. Hemphill’s waiting on me.” And with that, he moved around her to the stairs and disappeared toward the barn.
Maggie stood there for a moment, wondering what exactly had just happened.
There was only one thing about which she was certain: Isaac had left the house without any breakfast.
Chapter Ten
By noon, Isaac was exhausted. After his conversation with Maggie that morning, he’d found himself full of energy, which he’d poured into finishing the bunkhouse. He didn’t know what was driving him, but both he and Pete were happy to get the work done.
By the time the morning had ended, poor old Pete looked as though he might pass out. Isaac told him to take it easy the rest of the day, and the older man nodded gratefully. Isaac’s stomach grumbled as he gathered tools and scraps of wood. He’d managed to leave that morning without eating a thing. Maggie had sent his mind whirring, and perhaps it was the guilt of how he’d treated her yesterday, but he felt the need to make it up to her.
Not to mention, he was looking forward to spending more time in her company.
He shouldn’t. In fact, he shouldn’t have offered to show her the ranch at all. Not when she still planned to leave in a few days’ time. Isaac was good at being alone, and he’d told himself he’d be good at it again. And yet, he found himself thinking about the way she pursed her lips together in thought, or the way the sunlight caught the gold in her hair and illuminated it, or the way she’d taken charge of a sad situation and survived.
And now, he hurried across the grass and sage toward the house, eager to see her again, despite knowing it was a foolish desire.
He didn’t notice the horse and rider until they rounded the pines and came into view. Isaac stilled, hand automatically reaching for one of the revolvers he always kept at his side. He rested his hand on the handle and forced himself to breathe normally as he watched the rider grow closer.
It was likely a neighbor. After all, no one associated his name with the train and stage robberies his brother’s gang had pulled over the past few years. The wanted posters called them all by ridiculous names. “The Ghost” w
as the one most often used for Sebastian. And last Isaac had seen, he was “Blackheart.” The name made him sound like a pirate on the high seas. But so long as no one knew his true identity, they could call him whatever they wanted.
His fingers twitched on the handle of the pistol, ready to react at the first inclination that something wasn’t right. His eyes darted to the house. Maggie was nowhere to be seen. He prayed she’d stay inside, safe. Although that was impossible. The woman was incapable of remaining silent and unseen.
The man grew closer, but Isaac didn’t relax. Not until the man pulled his horse to a halt nearby and climbed down, his hand outstretched.
Allowing himself to release a shaky breath, Isaac stepped forward and clasped his hand.
“Name’s Bert Hill. I’ve got the land about five miles north of here. Was in Crest Stone for supplies, and the telegraph operator asked if I’d drop this telegram off to Isaac Trenton at Aspen Ridge. That you?” The man fished a folded and sealed paper from his saddlebag.
“That’s me,” Isaac said, taking the paper. “Good to meet you.”
Hill pushed his hat back a bit, revealing a crop of red hair. “Nice place you got here.”
“Thanks. We aren’t operational yet, but should be soon.”
“Well, let me know if you need anything. It’s good to have a neighbor.”
Isaac shook the man’s hand again and thanked him for bringing the telegram. He waited until Hill had disappeared from sight before breaking the seal and unfolding the paper. He scanned the brief message typed out inside.
Need your help. Expect me soon. Seb.
Isaac sucked in a breath and wadded up the paper in his fist. He loved his brother—so much he’d risked his life and his reputation on Sebastian—but Isaac didn’t want him here. Not as he was now. And especially not with Maggie in the house. Perhaps he wouldn’t arrive until next week. That wouldn’t change Isaac’s mind, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about Maggie. Then he’d only need to withstand his brother’s pleading for help. Isaac couldn’t be dragged back into that life, not now. Not when he was so close to having this ranch up and running.