by Jo Goodman
Maggie was sure Beryl might have thought differently if she'd been alone with Connor, but she decided not to say so. "I'm going to do some washing," she said. "Perhaps you would watch Meredith for a while?"
Beryl glanced at the baby, who was quietly sucking on the rattle. She didn't answer Maggie's question. Instead she asked one of her own. "How long were you Connor's whore before he married you?"
Maggie's breath was simply expelled from her lungs. Her brows arched toward her hairline. Her knuckles whitened around the clothes she clutched. "How long were you Connor's whore before you married his father?"
Beryl's slow smile was feral. Her pale blue eyes saluted Maggie's comeback. "Touché." She pushed at a lock of her dark hair, curling a tendril around her forefinger. "Let's just say that I never seriously worked the profession the way you did."
Maggie schooled her features. "I don't know what you mean," she said.
Beryl pointed to Meredith. "Is she Connor's child?"
"Your question's insulting."
"I'm sorry," she said coolly. "I don't how to pose it in any other manner. Is she?"
"You only have to look at her to know the truth."
"Which is not precisely an answer." She sighed. "Poor Connor. He wonders, you know."
Maggie's shoulders stiffened and her chin came up. She felt like a fish with Beryl dangling the bait. In spite of that knowledge she couldn't help herself. She bit. "How do you know that?"
Beryl's oval face was tilted to one side momentarily. The expression in her eyes was pitying, the set of her mouth soft. "How could I possibly know if he didn't tell me?" she asked quietly. "Oh, he wants to believe she's his. That's what makes it such an agony for him. He wishes he could be certain he was the only man you had, but..." Her voice trailed off. She studied Maggie's pale features. "When you work as a lady of the evening for Mrs. Hall, you're bound to have more than one partner."
Maggie's heart slammed in her chest. Beryl's revelation stunned her. "How do you—"
Beryl's dark brows rose again. "I've said it before. How could I know if Connor didn't tell me?"
Maggie wondered if she couldn't believe it, or if she didn't want to believe it. "When?" she snapped. "You haven't been here but a moment."
"You keep forgetting," Beryl replied calmly, "that my relationship with Connor goes back several years. I think I know when something's troubling him. I spoke to him last night."
"I was with him last night."
"I know you were," she said. "For a while. I saw you from my bedroom window. You left him sitting alone by the stream. I went out after you came in. We talked for a long time."
Maggie remembered waking when Connor came to bed. She had no idea what time it was when he joined her but she had been sleeping hard. He had warmed himself against her, sliding his cold hands along the curve of her hip and waist, teasing her until she poked him in the ribs. "You talked to him about Meredith?" she asked.
"I asked about him," she said. "He told me about Meredith."
"He actually told you about Mrs. Hall's?"
"He actually did." She smiled gently. "But you're beginning to realize the truth in that, aren't you? I really couldn't know otherwise."
Maggie couldn't think of an alternative explanation. She pitched the last of the clothes into the basket, added Meredith on top, and stood, scooping the basket under her arm. "I don't think I want to spend any more time alone with you, Beryl. If Connor told you these things then I'm certain he meant them to be held in confidence."
She laughed lightly. "Oh, I'm quite certain he didn't. Connor knows me as well as I know him. He told me because he knew I'd ask. Is the baby his, Maggie?"
She started to walk out of the room.
"Don't you want me to watch Meredith?" asked Beryl.
"Go to hell."
Beryl's smile rose slowly and smugly.
* * *
Rushton looked over the valley from the rocky ledge that he shared with his son. "You've done right by Edie's dreams," he said. His gaze turned from the breadth of the homestead laid out before him to Connor. "You love it the same way she did."
"What do you know about her dreams?" he asked. "Or about what I love? You weren't around long enough to know either one of us." It came out in the rapid fire of a machine gun burst and Connor regretted all of it immediately. "Never mind," he said tersely. "It's Maggie's fault. She got me thinking." He started to go but Rushton reached over and grabbed Tempest's reins. The horse pawed the ground nervously. Stones from the ledge slipped over the hillside, skittering and bouncing along the rocky incline. "Are you trying to kill me?" he demanded, taking his mount under control.
"No," Rushton said calmly, "I'm trying to make you listen. Just this once, hear me out."
Connor sat in the saddle stonily. He didn't move.
"That old man poisoned you against me," he said. "He couldn't stand the thought of his grandson leaving this valley the way his sons did. He pinned every hope he had on Edie, forced her to take up the commitment he had to this ranch and this land." When he saw Connor wasn't bolting, Rushton's tone became less earnest, less bent on convincing. "The thing of it was, your mother loved this place. For Edie, living here and loving it was as natural as breathing. Perhaps it was because she was a woman that your grandfather didn't trust her. Perhaps it was because he had already had three sons leave." He was quiet a moment. "Or perhaps it was because I represented a threat to him, someone from the outside who had elected to stay. Old Sam certainly didn't trust me. He thought I might give Edie notions about leaving, fill her head with what the city had to offer. Your grandfather never saw me as Edie's anchor here. He was sure I was going to take her away."
"You asked her to leave," Connor said. "I know. I heard you talking about it. So Old Sam was right."
"I asked Edie to leave more than a dozen times," Rushton admitted without shame. "But never once until she told me to go."
Connor's head jerked to the side. He stared at his father's chiseled profile. Rushton's mouth was grimly set, the edge of his jaw, hard. But the profile couldn't hide the glimmer of something wet at the corner of Rushton's eye. "My mother told you to go?" said Connor.
Rushton nodded once.
"You're lying." Connor spurred his horse around and left his father alone on the ledge.
* * *
Dinner that evening was a silent affair. Beryl offered a few conversation gambits but no one was interested. Meredith seemed to sense the tension and grew cranky as the meal progressed. Almost relieved for the excuse, Maggie left the table with her daughter and retired to the bedroom. Rushton went to the bunkhouse a few minutes later, ostensibly to play poker with the hands. Beryl began clearing the table. Connor walked out to the corral.
"Thought you might be out here," Dancer said as he approached the corral fence.
Connor continued grooming Tempest, stroking the stallion's flank with a hard brush. "Thought you'd be playing poker."
Dancer grunted. "No one around here has nuggets. It ain't worth playin' unless you got nuggets."
Laughing, Connor patted Tempest's hindquarters and sent him preening and prancing to the far corner of the corral. "Not everyone has a gold mine, Dancer."
"Don't I know it."
Connor leaned against the rail and stretched his legs. "Was there something you wanted?"
"Did you take your pa around the south end of the ranch today?"
"No. Some reason why I should?"
"Went down that way myself this afternoon. Frankly, I couldn't stomach the company 'round here, but that ain't my business."
Connor knew there was no love lost between the prospector and Beryl. "What is your business?"
"I think you got rustlers stealin' from your herd down that way." He saw he had Connor's complete attention. "Don't know it for a fact, but the signs look right."
"Why didn't you say something earlier?"
"I'm sayin' somethin' now."
Connor whistled sharply. Tempest's ear's pricked. The
stallion trotted along the perimeter of the corral to Connor's side. Connor hefted his saddle off the top rail and slung it over Tempest's back. "You want to show me where?" he asked, fastening the straps.
"It's near dusk," Dancer pointed out. "It'll be hard to track."
"I don't plan on doing anything tonight," he said.
"All right."
They set out ten minutes later, taking the first part of the journey swiftly. Dancer was not a tracker by nature, but Connor had no trouble finding the signs. Grass was trampled. There were broken branches where horses and cattle had passed hurriedly.
"Not Indians," Connor said. "They'd never be this obvious. Looks like the work of two men. They picked out the grazing stragglers and didn't go for the heart of the herd."
"How many you reckon they got?"
"A dozen."
"They're long gone then."
Connor dismounted and went forward on foot for a while. It took him less than ten minutes to find the remains of a fire. "They were pretty certain we wouldn't see the smoke from the house. This was a big fire and they weren't in any hurry to leave."
"Figure they plan to come back this way?"
"That's exactly what I figure." Connor glanced up at the sky. There was virtually no daylight left. "We'll start out tomorrow. They were headed for your property, Dancer. They could be holed up at your cabin."
"Like hell."
Connor grinned as Dancer spit to emphasize what he thought of rustlers using his place. "Come on," he said. "Maggie's going to be worried."
"Don't count on it," Dancer muttered.
"What?" Connor glanced over his shoulder. "Did you say something?"
"Never mind. Keepin' my nose out of people's business."
"Sounds more like your nose is out of joint." He waited to see if Dancer was going to reply. When the prospector didn't, Connor shrugged and led the way back to the ranch.
Beryl was waiting on the porch. When she saw them approaching she smoothed her lavender gown over her midriff and hips and tripped lightly down the steps and across the yard.
Dancer saw her coming first. "Here's trouble," he said under his breath. More loudly he added, "I'm goin' 'round to the bunk house and tell the others what we found. You take care of the animals." He dismounted and got out of Beryl's way before she reached them.
Connor slid out of the saddle and took both horses by the reins. Ignoring Beryl, he led them into the stable and into their stalls. "What is it now, Beryl?" he asked, lighting a lantern. He hung it on a hook just outside the stalls.
"You might make me feel a trifle more welcome," she said, sidling up to the first stall. Her face was bathed in the warm lantern light. She watched Connor work for a while before she said casually, "Your daughter's lovely. If she is your daughter, that is."
His head came up and he looked at her sharply. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Just that I know Maggie was the whore you met at Mrs. Hall's brothel. I imagine it's hard to know which dark-haired, dark-eyed patron fathered that baby."
"What the hell goes through your mind, Beryl?" he asked angrily, striking the offense before she cornered him.
She shrugged delicately. "Have I misspoken?" she asked. "I thought since Maggie shared it with me I could talk plainly to you."
Connor's eyes narrowed as he looked at Beryl for a long moment. "Maggie told you about Mrs. Hall's?" he asked, suspicious.
"How else could I possibly know?"
That was something worth finding out, Connor thought. "Meredith is my child, and if you think Maggie told you something else, then you misunderstood her."
"Perhaps I did," Beryl said softly, backing off slightly. "Tell me something, Connor, was she pregnant when you married her?"
"I didn't think so," he said. He rubbed down Dancer's horse. "It didn't have anything to do with why I married her, Beryl, so stop barking up that tree."
She laughed lightly. "What an unpleasant picture."
"It suits you," he said bluntly. "You're a bitch."
Beryl blinked. The line of her mouth hardened. "You'll regret saying that."
He stared her down. "A bitch in heat."
She slapped him.
Connor didn't respond except to become very still. He saw Beryl flinch. After a moment he pushed past her and went into the next stall to take care of Tempest.
Beryl recovered and followed him. "Your wife's not happy here," she said.
Most anything else Beryl could have said, Connor would have ignored. This barb struck an open wound. "Did Maggie say that?" he asked cautiously.
"What do you think?" she countered. Before he could reply Beryl went on. "When I was in Denver I spent some time with her sisters. There was talk of Maggie wanting to be a doctor. I confess I find the whole notion rather odd, but then she comes from a rather odd family, don't you think?"
Connor didn't reply.
"Do you think she resents you for getting her pregnant?" asked Beryl. She leaned against the side of the stall and crossed her arms in front of her narrow waist. "You might not have known she was carrying a child, but she knew, and with all the bastards in her family, what choice did she really have?" Beryl shrugged. "You have to admit, Connor, it seems Maggie gave up medicine to come out here. If I had a dream like that, I wouldn't be happy with anything less."
Connor gave Tempest a slice of apple from the flat of his palm. He glanced sideways at Beryl, his dark brows drawn. "You did have a dream, Beryl. You wanted to marry money and get out of Colorado, and you'd almost given it up when you met my father. Strange, though, you got exactly what you wanted and you haven't been happy since. That doesn't leave you in a very good position to know Maggie's state of mind." He brushed his hands off on his jeans and started to move out of the stall.
Beryl blocked his path. "It was never just about money with your father," she said. "And never just about getting east." She put her arms around Connor's waist. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you what it was about." She raised herself on tiptoe and pressed her mouth against his.
Connor simply picked Beryl up and set her away from him. "Where did you get the idea I might love you? You're an astonishingly beautiful woman, Beryl—"
Maggie stepped into the stable holding Meredith in her arms. Her features were expressionless. In that moment she taught her husband about cold and distant eyes. "Rushton's looking for you, Beryl," she said flatly. "I told him I thought you were out here."
"And here I am." Beryl smiled coyly at Connor. "I guess that means I'll excuse myself." Her walk was deliberately provocative as she left the stable and slid one last, over-the-shoulder glance at Connor before she disappeared into the night.
Tempest snorted and moved restlessly. An owl in the rafters flapped its wings and hooted. A litter of kittens mewled for their meal in the loft. For more than a minute the animals provided the only sounds. Afraid that she'd sound like a harridan or a harpy, or start screaming and never stop, Maggie remained silent.
"Maggie," Connor said quietly, gently.
It was the voice he used on the horses, she thought. That low, lullaby tone that kept them calm while he reined them in. It was the soft, sweet cadence of capture. She wasn't having any part of it.
Connor raised his hand, reaching for her as she turned to go. His outstretched arm remained suspended, just inches from her. He could have extended himself and touched her. Instead he did nothing.
Lowering his arm, he watched her walk away. He'd wondered how he would convince her to leave the Double H. Now he knew.
* * *
Maggie was sitting in the rocker nursing Meredith when Connor came back to the house. She didn't look up as he entered the room or at any time while he was getting ready for bed. Meredith watched him, though, and to Connor's guilty conscience even his daughter's eyes looked faintly accusing.
"I heard we have rustlers," Maggie said, lifting Meredith to her shoulder.
"That's right." Connor slipped under the covers and rolled on his side, p
ropping himself on an elbow. "Dancer found their trail. We're going after them tomorrow."
"Do you hunt them down or lie in wait for them to come back?"
"Either. This time, a little of both. Patrick, Ben, and Luke will wait for them. The rest of us are going hunting."
"The rest of us?"
"Dancer, Buck, and me."
Meredith burped. "There's a good girl," Maggie praised her. "Are you ready for sleep? Hmm?" She kissed her daughter's cheek. "What about Rushton?" she asked Connor.
"What about him? My father's not going." He held out his arms as Maggie rose from the rocker. She handed him Meredith and he rolled on his back, letting the baby rest on his chest.
Maggie unbuttoned her dress. "He thinks he is," she said. "In fact, I'm certain he's counting on it."
"Then he should count on something else. It's too dangerous. He hasn't done any hard riding for years, and I'm not sure he can handle a gun."
"He was examining your gun case earlier. He looked as if he knew which end to point."
Connor paused in stroking Meredith's silky cap of dark hair. "What are you saying, Maggie? That I should take him along just because he can still get on a horse and hold a gun?"
"No, of course not." She unhooked her button shoes and rolled her stockings down and off. "You have to decide if he would be a help or a hindrance. I just don't think you should ignore him."
"Did he put you up to this?"
"No!" She let her dress drop to the floor, stepped out of the circle of material, and went to the wardrobe to get her nightgown. "I just think you should consider the consequences of not taking him with you. It would be a slap in the face."
Connor's reply was a soft, noncommittal grunt.
Maggie picked up Meredith, held her above Connor's face for a kiss, and then placed her in the crib. She stood over the bed, patting Meredith's bottom gently while the baby squirmed and squealed. Connor blew out the lamps and the baby quieted almost immediately. Maggie gave it a few more minutes then crawled into bed.
She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling. She could feel Connor watching her. The very thing he expected her to talk about was the very last thing she wanted to talk about. Her emotions were too raw to bring Beryl into their bedroom. "What happened between you and your father today?" she asked quietly. Even though they weren't touching, she felt him stiffen and knew she had struck another nerve. "I know it was something," she said. "You and he went riding this morning in reasonably good spirits. You haven't exchanged five words since."