by Jo Goodman
"Have you ever shot a gun?"
The question surprised Beryl. "A few times. I can hit the broad side of a barn. Why?"
"I just wondered." She hesitated, wondering what she could tell Beryl. "I wish I didn't have to stay here, waiting. I wish I could have gone with them this morning." She sighed. "At least I would know."
Beryl nodded. "Men don't understand about the waiting. They don't understand the toll it takes."
"Edie would have gone with them."
"Probably." Beryl's eyes drifted back to the baby she cradled in her arms. She touched Meredith's chin with her forefinger. "Rushton says that Edie could do most anything."
Watching Beryl's pensive expression, the knit of her dark and delicate brows, Maggie asked softly, "He talks about her?"
"All the time." Her half-smile was self-mocking. "I don't think he even realizes how often. Sometimes I think..." She shrugged.
Maggie waited, silent, but Beryl offered nothing else. "Are you tired of holding her?" she asked.
"No, I'm fine." She looked up, her features set softly in the dusky light. "That is, if you don't—"
This time Maggie realized that Beryl broke off purposely as something beyond Maggie's head caught her attention. Maggie's head swiveled as she strained to see what Beryl had seen.
At first it was only shadows, near shapeless and shifting forms moving slowly through the fading light. The shadows were bunched, coming forward almost as a single mass; then they seemed to splinter, separating as they approached, becoming more recognizable. The lead horses and riders broke with the pack suddenly and thundered toward the ranch house. There were shouts that were not understandable but clearly communicating jubilation in volume and tone.
Maggie stood, listening for one voice in the midst of all the others. Behind her she sensed Beryl rising and moving to the lip of the porch. Turning, Maggie took Meredith into her arms. Both women stood silent and still, straining to see and hear.
Buck and Patrick reached the porch first, cheering and whooping as if it had been a race and they'd won the prize. Ben came in just behind them, stirring a dust cloud as he pulled his mare sideways to keep from colliding with the others.
Maggie was on tiptoe now, looking over them and past them, trying to see the rest of the party. Beryl had moved to the bottom step, her entire upper body leaning forward in anticipation.
Luke brought his mount up sharply, shaking his head at the antics of the others. Dancer loped in beside him. He tipped his hat to the women and grinned widely. "Sure hope you saved us some dinner," he said. "Hell of a thing, bein' late for dinner."
Beryl was running now, her sights set on the last two riders. Half the hands turned to watch her. The other half watched Maggie to gauge her reaction. What they saw caught them all off guard: Beryl's run never veered once toward Connor, and Maggie's features were serene and untroubled as though she had expected nothing less.
Maggie smiled at Dancer and handed Meredith to him. "Here, take her. She missed you." Then she followed in Beryl's wake.
Connor pulled up his horse, dismounting quickly as Maggie came upon him. She nearly leaped in his arms. He lifted her, laughing, and returned the kisses she scattered over his face. Her whispers of welcome and longing warmed his skin, touched his soul. He held her closely and then his mouth found hers. The kiss held, healing and deeply hungry in the same moment.
"Maggie," he said huskily. He kissed her again, this time on the corner of her mouth. He tasted the salty wetness of her tears and he said her name reverently this time, knowing the tears were for him.
Her smile was watery. "Next time, I'm going," she said.
Even in the deepening twilight, he could see that she was serious. He didn't say no.
"Are you two quite finished?" Beryl asked sharply, helping Rushton dismount. "Some people come home in one piece and some people don't. Put your arm around me, Rush. That's it."
Connor set Maggie away from him and went to help his father.
"It's just a scratch, Beryl," Rushton said gruffly as Connor took Beryl's place. "It hardly aches now."
"Scratch!" Her voice rose. "Maggie, look at it! He's got a hole in his shoulder and he can barely walk!"
"I've been riding and crouching the better part of the day," Rush told her, limping along. "I'm not stretched out yet."
Beryl grabbed Maggie by the arm and pulled her along as Connor helped Rushton to the house. "Stretched out!" she cried. "Any more of this damn foolishness and you'll be stretched out in a pine box."
"Pine box?" He grinned, turning his head to look at his wife. "I think we can afford better than that."
She raced around Rushton and Connor, forcing them to halt in their tracks as she turned and faced them. "No," she said firmly, fists on her hips. There was high color in her cheeks and her pale blue eyes glittered angrily. "There'll be no we then. So help me, Rushton, I'll have you buried in a pine box and I'll keep all your money." Through her haze of fury she saw his dark eyes widen slightly, his jaw loosen and drop a notch. "You can't be surprised," she went on. "It's what you expect from me, isn't it? It's all you've ever expected from me. I couldn't have married you because I loved you. That would have been inconceivable. It must have been for your money. It must have been because I wanted to live somewhere where the buildings towered over us and not the mountains. I couldn't have chosen you over your son for any reason but money and position." She looked from father to son and back again, tossing her head in agitation and disgust. "It's easy to live up to expectations when they're like either of yours." Beryl pointed to Maggie who was watching her calmly, letting her have her say. "She figured it out."
On that note Beryl spun on her heels and stormed into the house.
Dancer laughed his high-pitched cackle as the door slammed behind her. Meredith burbled. Patrick pushed back his hat and scratched his head. "What the hell was that about?" he asked the other hands.
No one answered him. Maggie opened the door for Connor as he helped his father onto the porch and inside. "Take him to his room and get him out of that shirt. I assume the bullet went through."
"Clean through."
"And that Dancer's already taken care of it."
"As best he could."
"All right then," she said. "I'll get my herbs." She started to go but a hand placed gently on her wrist stopped her. At first she thought it was Connor, then she realized it was Rushton.
"You figured it out?" he said quietly.
Maggie shrugged. "Beryl's giving me more credit than I deserve," she said. "It took me until you rode out this morning."
Rushton shook his head. Even through his pain he managed a rueful smile. "That's more than twelve hours ahead of me."
"She loves you," Maggie said simply. "When you think about it—both of you—you'll realize that it explains everything."
They watched her go. "Wise," Connor repeated softly. "Maggie's wise."
* * *
Maggie steeped washes to cleanse the wound and teas to relieve the pain. She showed Beryl how to apply the wash and the balm and let her give Rushton the tea. It was material from one of Beryl's petticoats that was fashioned for Rushton's sling. No one mentioned the lace edging around his elbow when Beryl slipped his arm into it.
Connor came up behind Maggie in the kitchen. She was standing over the stove, stirring clear chicken broth. His arms folded around her, and he took her slight weight as she leaned into him. He kissed her lightly on the crown of her head. "Let Beryl do that," he said. "She's enjoying herself."
"So is your father."
"I've noticed." Connor slid his palms along Maggie's ribcage, past the curve of her waist, to her hips, then up again. "I'd like a beautiful woman to pay attention to me," he whispered.
"Beryl's busy."
He gave her a small squeeze, letting her know what he thought of that.
"Your daughter's sleeping."
Connor nuzzled her hair and removed the chicken broth from the stove. "You're the woman I want
," he said gently. "And I know just where I want you."
Maggie's protest died away when she turned and saw the loving look in Connor's eyes. "For all time," she returned quietly. "You've got to want me for all time. I won't let you send me away."
The flicker of his darkly mirrored eyes gave him away. "How did you know?"
She searched his face, the stoic features that no longer kept secrets from her. She touched the side of his jaw, her thumb brushing just beneath his lower lip. "How could I not know?" she asked plaintively.
He reached for her hand, stilling it. His fingers closed around her wrist. He drew it away from her face and toward his side, and then he led her out of the house and toward the stable.
Night cloaked the valley. Lantern light flickered from the bunkhouse. There was a shout of laughter from that direction, followed by Dancer's distinctive cackle. Maggie looked sideways at Connor. "Someone's embellishing your standoff with the rustlers," she said. "I've heard the story from Dancer and Rushton and they're both twists on the truth. No one really finishes a shootout because they're hungry."
"If they get hungry enough they do. We were and we did." He saw she didn't quite believe him and Connor was fine with that. He didn't want to talk about killing rustlers or debate western justice. Dancer's random firing into the trees brought down another cattle thief. Buck, in the rear position, wounded still another. Connor wounded two as they scrambled for higher ground and better cover. Surrender of the last uninjured man came quickly after that. Two of the wounded were mere boys, thirteen and fourteen, and even knowing that he'd likely have to face them again as men, Connor let them go. The others hanged.
"It had to be," Maggie said, responding to things left unsaid.
He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer as they walked. "Do you always know the right thing to say?"
"Hardly ever."
"Then maybe it's the way you say it. Your voice is as soothing as one of your special teas."
Maggie thought she liked the sound of that. She kissed him on the cheek as they entered the stable. Connor gave Maggie the lantern to hold as he lit it, and then he hung it on a hook by the doors. "Where are we going?" she asked as he began to lead her away from the entrance.
He pointed to the loft and nudged her toward the ladder.
She dug in her heels and gave him a saucy glance. "You're going to tumble me in a hayloft?"
"I certainly hope so," he said feelingly.
Grinning, Maggie hiked up her skirts and climbed the ladder. Connor gave her a boost over the top by palming her bottom and pushing. She obligingly went down in a thick mound of hay. Laughing, she held out her arms to Connor.
He knelt beside her. A rush of emotion left him without a voice for a moment. Her face was simply radiant. She stared at him with eyes that were like twin jewels. Her smile beckoned him. And her laughter cleansed his soul.
His fingers touched her temple. She turned her cheek in to him, rubbing against him in a sensual feline gesture. His hand delved more deeply in the dark coppery fire of her hair. He stretched out beside her, hay cushioning their bodies.
"Love me," he whispered. "Heal me."
She took him into her arms. Into her heart. Then into her. She bathed his face in soft, sweet kisses. Her fingers fluttered along his shoulders. She cradled him with her body. And he gave her pleasure. Her flesh vibrated with sensation as they moved together.
Fierce need drove him into her again and again. She accepted the force of him because her need mirrored his. She wanted to feel him everywhere. His hands in her hair. His mouth on her breasts. She needed to feel him between her thighs, in her and against her.
Her legs wrapped around his flanks. She ground against him. He knelt back, lifted her bottom, looked at their joined bodies, withdrew and plunged into her again. The stab of pleasure was intense enough to make her cry out. Her neck arched, then her entire body.
He absorbed her shudder and then she absorbed his. Their flesh seemed to ripple with the aftershock. He collapsed against her, rolling onto his side, then his back, and took Maggie with him, supporting the length of her against him.
She smiled down at him, her teeth flashing briefly before the curtain of her hair blocked the light from below. "Tell me about Beryl," she said huskily.
He blinked, surprised. "You do pick your moments."
Maggie nudged his nose with hers. "Tell me," she said.
Connor shifted so Maggie could slide onto her side against him. He liked the way she kept one leg over his, liked the proprietary air. "I met Beryl in Denver," he told her. "Almost two years ago. She was working in her mother's dress shop."
"And since you needed a dress..."
"And since I was walking by the shop on my way to the saloon, I happened to see her through the window. I thought she was pretty."
"She's beautiful."
"All right. She is beautiful." He noticed that Maggie's expression didn't change. It didn't matter to her that he thought Beryl was beautiful. It was a fact—more simply, an act of nature. "I courted her, brought her and her mother out to the Double H, and—"
"You brought her mother here?" Maggie asked incredulously. "I never knew that."
"You never wanted to hear before, remember?"
Maggie's fingers had been drumming lightly on his chest. They stilled for a moment as she realized there had been times when he wanted to explain. "Go on."
"I was being gallant," he said. "And respectable. Grace came along as Beryl's chaperone."
"Are you saying that you and Beryl never—"
He put a finger across her lips. "No," he said. "I'm not saying that. I wish I could."
It was what she had expected, exactly what she had always thought, but it was still difficult to hear. "You didn't know me then."
"That's right. I didn't even know someone like you existed."
Maggie placed her hand over his heart. "Do you always know the right thing to say?" she asked. She kissed him lightly on the mouth. The kiss lingered a moment.
Connor pulled a piece of straw from her hair as she leaned away again. "Almost never," he said.
She smiled. "What happened then?"
"At Beryl's suggestion, I invited Rushton here for the wedding and she ended up marrying him." There was no bitterness in his voice; saying the words without it was a new experience for Connor.
"She fell in love with him," Maggie said softly. "And neither of you could believe it."
"We refused to believe it, I think. I know I did. I couldn't accept her choosing my father over me. My pride was battered. I beat his down as well."
"He was still willing to marry her on any terms."
Connor nodded. "But the seed had been planted. He never believed she married him for love."
"She was angry at him for that," Maggie said. "Angry at you both. She became what you expected her to be. Vain. Shallow."
One of his brows rose. His glance was skeptical. "Let's say that she emphasized those traits," he said dryly. "They were certainly there."
"Perhaps," Maggie said. "She's also very clever."
Clever, Connor thought. Yes, it was the right word to describe Beryl. Unlike Maggie. He simply smiled at her, listening.
"She tried to make Rushton understand," she went on. "Tried to make him prove he felt something for her by making him jealous."
"He was jealous."
"But he never really let her know that. And she couldn't find any way to tell him how she felt. Then you married me and her dilemma became even more complicated. She couldn't make him jealous if you seemed totally unavailable. If Rushton knew you loved me, really loved me, then he could be certain you wouldn't take an interest in Beryl. You had to seem available. She doubled her efforts to get back at both of you."
"I know," he said. "I was there. Through all of it."
Maggie plucked a piece of straw from the mound and traced Connor's lower lip with one end. "Your pride's not stung again, is it, realizing she never wanted you at all?"<
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His pride was stung. "I think she wanted me a little bit," he said, his tone sulky.
Maggie laughed. "I'll scratch her eyes out," she said fiercely, growling playfully as she nuzzled Connor's neck.
He was forced to laugh at himself. That was the secret of Maggie's real healing, he thought. "I believe you would."
"Of course." She laid her head in the curve of his shoulder. "When I saw you with her here in the stable, I almost did."
Connor remembered the coldness in Maggie's eyes on that occasion, the emptiness that had made her expression bleak. "I hurt you. I'm sorry."
"No," she said. "I hurt me. I didn't trust you and that's what hurt me. It frightened me when you left this morning and we hadn't talked about it, even more so when I realized it was Rushton that Beryl truly wanted, and how misplaced my anger was. If anything had happened to you..." She didn't finish. She couldn't.
Connor stroked her hair, his fingers sifting through the silky strands. "I was going to make you leave," he said quietly. "And it occurred to me that Beryl might help me drive you out. You were right not to trust me completely. God, Maggie, I want to make you happy."
"That's not your job," she whispered, tears gathering in her eyes. "In fact, the pursuit of happiness is one of my inalienable rights." She lifted her head so he could see her face. "I'm happy now," she said. "With you. With Meredith."
"You should be a doctor," he said. "Not a rancher's wife. If I leased some land to Rennie for the railroad we would have the money—"
"I wouldn't go back east without you," she said. "I won't go anywhere without you."
"Then I'll go with you while you study."
"Oh, Connor." She framed his face with her hands. "What a beautiful gesture."
It was a gesture, he realized, because they didn't have the money and Maggie didn't have an acceptance from any medical school. "I mean it, Maggie," was all he could say.
"I know you do."
He had to be satisfied with that. Connor turned on his side and fingered the edge of Maggie's chemise. He traced the swell of her breasts. "My mother told my father to leave the Double H," he told her.