by Cat Cahill
“Oh no, you don’t.” He leaned over and yanked the lines from her hands.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she said, indignation bubbling from her words.
Isaac didn’t answer. Instead, he swung down from his horse and climbed up into the wagon, forcing her to move to the other seat.
“Pardon me!” she sputtered. “I was driving!”
“My wagon. With my horses. Without permission.” He moved quickly back into the wagon bed, tied his horse to the rear, and then returned to the bench seat to direct the wagon horses to circle around.
Maggie crossed her arms and sat back, fuming. “Would you like to know where I was going?”
“To Crest Stone, I imagine. Unless you were planning to drive clear to Santa Fe?” He was being short with her, and he knew it. She had no regard for the danger she’d put herself in, or the worry she’d caused him. Nor had she apologized for it.
“Perhaps I was going to Santa Fe,” she mumbled under her breath. She still sat rigid in the seat beside him, arms hugged to her chest, refusing to meet his eyes.
Isaac drew the horses to a halt. “Maggie.”
She stared out at the land beyond the wagon, turned away from him.
“Maggie. Look at me.”
She continued to ignore him.
Isaac ran the lines between his hands. “Please,” he finally said. He wasn’t used to pleading for anyone to pay him attention. In fact, when he was with his brother, he’d had more eyes on him than he’d ever wanted. Sebastian had thrived on that. He enjoyed being the center of attention, loved having everyone fear him. Isaac had hated every second of it.
All he wanted was a patch of earth to call his own and, he’d thought, someone to share it with.
Although he was having second thoughts about that last part now.
“Do you know why I don’t want you out here driving alone?” When she didn’t answer—or look at him—he added, “It isn’t because I’m a horrible man who wants you locked up in the house all the time.”
She turned a little, her mouth briefly rising into a smile before frowning again.
He sighed. She fought him on every little thing. When he’d imagined married life, this wasn’t at all part of it. In fact, he didn’t know what he’d imagined. Good food, perhaps. A woman who knew what he needed before he could speak it, which, if he was being honest, was a bit far-fetched.
But what he got was Maggie. Who wanted to leave him more than anything else, it seemed. He swallowed the dread that had risen again inside him.
“It’s dangerous.” He waited until she finally looked up at him again. “A ways southeast of here, there’s a mining camp filled with all sorts. And while I’ve yet to run into any road agents, I wouldn’t doubt the possibility of men like that lurking about. And . . . there could be others you shouldn’t discount.”
She raised her eyebrows at him. “Men like you and your gang?” Her tone was sharp, and it cut him right where it hurt.
“Yes,” he said. She didn’t know how close to the truth she was. Most of the time, his brother was an affable man, even if he was unwilling to see the destructive path laid out in front of him, but he was also given to fits when things didn’t go the way he’d planned. It had taken months for him to grow used to the idea of Isaac leaving to become a rancher. He didn’t know how Sebastian would react to learning Isaac had taken a wife.
A wife who wanted to leave him so badly, she’d risked her life to do so.
“Isaac?” Maggie’s voice was soft, curling around the corners of the fear Isaac held in his mind. “Are you all right?”
She watched him with those eyes, more blue than gray out here in the cool spring sunshine, and—if he wasn’t mistaken—filled with concern. His fear ebbed, as if she alone could rescue him from drowning in it.
“Yes. I’m sorry I reacted so strongly.” He let the lines go a bit slack in his hands as he sat back in the seat.
“I frightened you,” she said, and it almost sounded like a question. “I haven’t had anyone worry over me in a while. Ivy’s mother did to a degree, but she had eight children of her own to fret about.” She paused for a moment, considering him. “I hadn’t planned to board a train.”
He swallowed, and the sick feeling disappeared some.
“I’d intended to purchase a few items in Crest Stone. I suppose I assumed you had an account at the general store.” Her face colored a bit. “I hoped to buy more flour, some sugar and salt, and perhaps a bit of fabric for curtains.”
“Curtains?”
“Yes, I . . .” Maggie looked down at the fingers she twisted together in her lap. “I thought perhaps I might occupy my time with making curtains for the parlor.”
“I see.” Isaac didn’t know what else to say. It seemed like such a permanent thing to do, for someone who planned only to remain in his home for a few more days. “And how long might those take to complete?” he asked lightly.
“If I work diligently, I should have them finished by Friday.” She looked up at him through her eyelashes. “I assume it’s all right to hang curtains? Or do you prefer to hang your guns from the windows?”
Isaac laughed. “Yes. It’s quite all right.”
And with that, he turned the horses south toward Crest Stone.
Chapter Thirteen
Maggie ran her fingers over the dyed muslin. The pretty red would look nice in the parlor windows. She glanced up at Isaac for his thoughts.
“Whatever you like,” he said before ambling off to look at the items on the shelves.
Maggie laughed. “We’ll take it,” she said to the woman at the counter, who had introduced herself as Caroline Drexel.
“It’s a nice choice,” Mrs. Drexel said as she began to measure out the muslin. “Do you live very far? We see a few ranchers, but I don’t believe I’ve seen you in here before.” She gave Maggie a friendly smile that immediately made her think of Ivy.
Maggie’s heart ached for the company of her friend. Perhaps talking with this woman would ease the pain of missing Ivy. “A fair distance north. I’m not certain how far exactly, but it is over an hour’s ride.”
“Have you been there long?”
“Only a few days. We . . .” Maggie paused before deciding she didn’t need to share that she planned to leave soon. “We’re only just married.” The words felt odd on her tongue, and yet, glancing at Isaac’s back as he perused the tools hanging on the wall, they also gave her a warm feeling inside, as if she belonged somehow.
“How wonderful!” Mrs. Drexel looked up from the fabric she was cutting. She was young, about Maggie’s age or perhaps only a little older. “My husband and I have been married less than a year. That’s him, with your husband.”
Maggie turned. A tall man with dark blond hair and an easy smile was shaking hands with Isaac. “How do you find married life?” Maggie asked.
When Mrs. Drexel laughed, Maggie’s face went warm. This was just the sort of thing that set the women in Plainfield to talking about her. Poor Maggie, she seems to lack the most basic of manners. It was the type of question—too forthright and too curious—that had given her no prospects at all in such a small town. “I’m sorry,” she said, casting her eyes down to the fabric-covered sales counter. “You don’t need to answer that.”
“It’s quite all right. To answer your question, it’s more wonderful and more trying than I ever thought it would be.”
Her answer brightened Maggie’s mood some. Even if the manner in which she and Isaac became married was unusual, and their personal circumstances were even more so, perhaps their disagreements were more normal than she’d thought.
Maggie wanted to laugh at herself. Here she was, so worried about whether her marriage was “normal,” when it wouldn’t exist after Saturday. That evening, she’d be on a train back to Illinois, she supposed, while Isaac . . . She bit down on her lip. For some reason, the thought of him returning to a cold, dark, empty house that still held traces of her triggered a wave o
f sadness so intense that tears pricked her eyes.
“You remind me of my dear friend Penny,” Mrs. Drexel said, shaking Maggie from the turn in her thoughts. “She has a tendency to speak her mind, too.” She folded the fabric and reached for a roll of brown paper. “We should be friends, you and I.”
Maggie blinked at her. No one except Ivy had wanted to be her friend since she was a child. “All right,” she said hesitantly.
That made Mrs. Drexel—or Caroline, since they were to be friends—laugh. “The next time you’re in town, we’ll have a visit.”
“That sounds wonderful. Thank you.” Maggie smiled at her. She wished it would happen, although that would mean she’d be staying here, married to Isaac.
What would happen if she did stay?
As Caroline tied the package of fabric up with string, Maggie’s mind wandered to days filled with fumbling through cooking, sewing curtains for the rest of the house, and perhaps even helping in some way with the ranch work. And Isaac . . .
Maggie snuck a glance at her husband again. He’d removed his hat and was tapping it against his leg as he spoke with Mr. Drexel. Not for the first time, she admired how handsome he was—tall, broad, and utterly certain of himself. Maggie smiled to herself before the same old fears crept into her mind. Despite those kind, dark eyes that commanded her gaze each time they locked with her own, and despite the smile that seemed to take over his entire face when he spoke of ranching or when he had a moment’s peace with her, he was an outlaw.
Had been an outlaw, she corrected herself. But did that matter? Should it matter? She knew only one thing for certain, and it was that she was teetering on the edge of losing herself completely.
“I’ll add this fabric to your other items,” Caroline said, placing the wrapped parcel next to the bags of flour, sugar, salt, and other necessities that sat on the counter just as Isaac finished his conversation with Mr. Drexel.
The two men carried the items to the wagon out front while Maggie said goodbye to Caroline. Seated on the buckboard again, Maggie looked around the town. It certainly wasn’t much of one yet. Besides the general store and mercantile, a smithy’s shop was nearby, a few dilapidated buildings sat farther out, and the skeletons of a few new buildings had begun to sprout up on this side of the tracks. The small depot where she’d arrived only a few days ago was empty of people, since the train to Santa Fe had left while they were inside the store.
Her heart constricted as she remembered how Isaac had feared she’d left for good. It had occurred to her, but she had no money for a ticket. And, if she were being honest, she wasn’t entirely certain she wanted to leave yet. Her eyes drifted away from the depot and the confusing feelings that came when she thought of what Saturday would bring, and landed on the hotel that sat on the hill behind the depot.
She pointed to it. “Have you been inside?”
“I haven’t had a need to be,” Isaac replied, gathering the lines.
“I should have liked to see it,” Maggie said wistfully. “It looks like such a grand hotel. I imagine it’s beautiful inside.”
Isaac glanced at the hotel before turning to her, a smile on his face. “Then why don’t we? It’s time for lunch, and I’m famished.”
“Could we?” Maggie nearly squealed as she clasped her hands together. “I’ve never eaten at a hotel.”
“Neither have I.” Isaac clucked to the horses, and drove them over the tracks and along the path that led up to the hotel.
They passed what looked like a fountain outside the beautiful building, although it was not running now. Maggie supposed the water might still freeze overnight if it were. Isaac stopped the wagon at a stable that sat off to the left of the hotel.
After he spoke with the men inside the stable, he offered Maggie his arm.
She took it, feeling every inch the queen even in her plain working dress, and they began the walk toward the imposing front doors of the hotel.
Inside, Maggie caught her breath. The hotel lobby stretched out across the front of the building. A large stone fireplace on either end provided warmth while the high wooden ceiling soared above, drawing her eye to the second-floor landing that overlooked the scene below. Rich rugs and furs leant more warmth to the room, and the polished floor gleamed in the light streaming in from the windows.
Maggie clutched a hand to her heart, trying to memorize the grandeur of it all. Her small town in Illinois had a hotel, but it was a modest affair, nothing at all like this.
Isaac led her through the lobby. People of all sorts milled about, from richly dressed people Maggie imagined had come by train from cities back East, to scruffier-looking men who likely worked on nearby ranches or on the railroad.
The dining room was no less impressive than the lobby. There were customers scattered here and there, and gray and white-clad waitresses bustled about the room. After hanging their coats, Isaac found them a small table for two near one of the windows. He held out her chair for her, and Maggie sank into it gratefully. After all the excitement of the morning, she was both tired and ravenous.
One of the waitresses, who had the brightest red hair Maggie had ever seen, greeted them with a friendly smile. “I’m Miss Sinclair,” she said as she poured water for each of them. “Today we have ham and bean soup, or if you prefer, we have steak tartare.” She pronounced the last word carefully, as if it weren’t something she were used to saying.
Maggie had no idea what steak tartare was. She shot Isaac a worried look. He smiled and turned to Miss Sinclair. “I believe we’ll both have the ham and bean soup.”
As soon as the waitress left, Maggie leaned forward. “Thank you. I wasn’t certain what that steak dish was.”
He grinned at her. “Neither was I.”
Maggie’s insides warmed. “To be honest, I feel a bit out of place here. I’ve never eaten in a restaurant this nice. We had a small diner at home, but it was nothing like this.”
“Would you like to know a secret?” Isaac asked. When Maggie nodded, he whispered, “I haven’t either.”
Giggles traipsed their way up Maggie’s throat until she had to cover her mouth. “Do you suppose anyone can tell?”
He glanced about the room. “They don’t suspect a thing. For all they know, we operate the largest ranch in the county. In fact, I may even be an elected official.” He gripped the edges of his jacket in both hands, puffed out his chest, and leaned back in his chair.
“All right, Mayor—”
“Mayors live in towns.”
“Fine. Commissioner?”
“I don’t know what a commissioner does, but it sounds important.”
“It’s very important. The commissioner commissions.” Maggie fought to keep a straight face as Isaac nodded slowly and then actually waved at another customer. “If you’re the commissioner, than what am I?”
“The commissioner’s wife.”
Wife. There it was again, that reminder she’d be no such thing come Saturday, and the tinge of regret that came with the thought. She pushed away the uncomfortable feeling and gave Isaac a smile to cover it up. “Yes, of course, but I need something more than that to work with.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I hadn’t pictured you one for playacting.”
She lifted her chin. “I can’t say as I’ve done this before, but I always take new endeavors seriously.”
“Do you?” He leveled his gaze at her until she felt compelled to look away. But she held her ground, and he smiled. “All right then. Mrs. Trenton, wife of the commissioner, is a former debutante late of New York City, where her father runs a successful pickling business and her mother is on the board of the Ladies’ Society for the Perpetuation of Loud and Colorful Birds. Mrs. Trenton has seventeen siblings and fought off nine other offers of marriage.”
Maggie bit her lip, but that couldn’t stop the laughter. “Only nine?”
He shrugged. “It’s a modest number.”
“And yet I chose you.”
“Of course.” H
e pulled on the edges of his jacket, which only just covered the guns he wore each time he left the house. “I should’ve worn a pocket watch.”
Miss Sinclair returned with their bowls of soup, a few slices of bread, and a little bowl of butter. “Is there anything else you need right now?”
Maggie glanced at Isaac. He had a devilish look in his eye, almost as if he were daring her. “The commissioner might also enjoy some coffee with his soup.”
Miss Sinclair’s brows knotted at the strange request, but she nodded. “I’ll bring you some coffee, Commissioner. Do you take sugar and milk?”
When Isaac nodded, Maggie bit down hard on her lip this time. Just as Miss Sinclair turned to leave, Isaac asked, “I don’t suppose this hotel has any birds, Miss Sinclair? Particularly of the loud and colorful variety. My wife surely does enjoy a loud and colorful bird.”
A confused look flitted across the poor waitress’s face, but it disappeared immediately into a friendly smile. “I’m sorry, but we do not. I’ll be right back with your coffee, sir.”
As soon as Miss Sinclair was out of earshot, Maggie let out the laughter she’d been containing. Isaac tried to maintain a serious face, but it didn’t last long at all. Dabbing her eyes with her napkin, Maggie looked at the man across from her. He seemed different to her now, somehow. “I suppose this is why you were so good at your work.”
His laughter ceased immediately. “What do you mean?”
Maggie pressed the napkin between her fingers. “Only that you have quite the ability to disarm folks,” she said carefully.
He turned his attention to the window and said nothing.
She’d said the wrong thing again. Maggie wished she could take the words back, to return them both to the fun they were having, but—like always—her thoughtless speech remained hanging between them in the air.
Ruining everything yet again.
Chapter Fourteen
“I never wanted it,” Isaac finally said, still staring out the window. If he kept his eyes on the grasses and the stables in the distance, he wouldn’t have to look at Maggie and see exactly what she thought of him.