“No!” She grabbed hold of his hand atop the bottle. “Please! I cannot afford to lose any more.”
He glanced at her hand covering his—so small, so soft. The back of his hand tingled where she touched him. He met her gaze.
Quickly, she drew away. “If I explain, will you leave the rest alone?”
He was calmer now. They were all safe. The possibility of another exploding bottle was unlikely now that the last two bottles were half-submerged in cold water. He let go and waited for her explanation.
“It’s for the treatment of ailments and nerves.”
“You brought this on the train? Why so much?”
She glanced at Anna, who watched the entire exchange with interest. “It’s not so much. And it’s the last of my da’s recipe. It’s helpful...with nerves and such. Good to have on hand. I asked Mary for an extra bottle for Rebecca Simpson. She has trouble sleeping and often has headaches.”
Miss Simpson’s health wasn’t any of his business. Neither was Maggie’s but he had to ask. “Do you use it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t stand the taste. And...”
He waited.
“I don’t feel poorly.”
Something wasn’t adding up. “But you keep it around to give away?”
“In a way.”
If these were the only two bottles, he supposed it didn’t matter all that much. It was obvious that she didn’t want to talk to him about it. He pulled the tarp back over the boot and strapped it into place.
Her cool, wet fingers covered his again. “Thank you, Jackson.”
Hearing his name in that soft voice of hers—something uncurled inside and relaxed. He snorted softly. “You are a lot of trouble, Maggie McCary.”
A slow smile brought the dimples out on her pretty face. “I am at that.”
Chapter Seven
Sunday, the women were approached by four men from the Betterment Committee who wished to take them on a picnic. It was a pleasant afternoon, but Maggie found herself comparing each one of the men to Jackson. When the depot agent for the train asked if she would accompany him on a second outing, she declined his offer. She had to keep up the appearance of looking for a match for herself, but knowing that she would be leaving town with Mary, she didn’t want any of the men to waste their time on her. Let them vie for Rebecca, Anna, or Sadie. Those women wanted to marry.
That evening the four women gathered in Maggie’s room and discussed Abigail White’s request for the interview. Rebecca was adamant that each woman share only their own story and no others, which suited Maggie fine. She certainly didn’t want anyone talking about the tonic. Rebecca also pointed out that leaving a little mystery made for a more interesting courtship.
It made Maggie think of the secrets she had kept from Jackson even though their friendship was not a courtship. She liked Jackson. He had gone out of his way to take her out to the Circle P. He seemed to understand how hard it was for her to leave her sister. And he’d been kind.
She didn’t like keeping secrets from him.
She would have never imagined how tough he was, but after seeing him handle the runaway horse there was no doubt in her mind of his strength. Recalling the way his muscles bulged with the effort to draw the frantic animal to a stop and the way he looked with his wet shirt plastered to his skin—the thought of it now had an alarming effect on her pulse.
Monday, two other men stopped by the hotel to take them on a ride. Sadie declined, saying she was giving the first interview. Maggie had been invited also, but she’d had enough of new faces the day before. Besides, she wanted to have her dress mended.
After Anna and Rebecca left, she carefully folded her skirt and slipped it into her carpetbag.
On her way down the stairs Jackson strode into the hotel lobby, toting a box of tools. He wore the same coarsely woven shirt he’d had on when she’d first seen him right here on the stairwell and the same brown pants. He had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and looked for all purposes as if he intended to put in a hard day of work.
The dreary attitude that had dogged her since leaving Mary lifted. “Hello, Mr. Miller.”
He nodded. “Miss McCary.”
She descended the stairs to the last one and leaned against the banister. It put her eye to eye with him. She rather liked looking into his extraordinary green eyes. “What are you up to today?”
He set his tools down on the floor and removed his cap. “A few things Mr. Austin has ordered. I’ll be in and out through the week.”
That brought a warmth to her heart. “How pleasant.”
“Pleasant? If you say so. Work is work.”
“I mean it will be nice to see a friendly face about the place—one that isn’t weighing whether I’ll make a good wife.”
“I imagine that can be trying,” he said dryly.
“Sarcasm, Mr. Miller?”
“That is why you are here.”
Was that jealousy she heard in his voice? Impossible.
His gaze narrowed on her. “So, what have you planned today?”
She hefted her bag. “Nothing as daring as a runaway horse.” She stood there a moment, realizing she really didn’t have to leave just yet. She liked talking to him. “You weren’t in church yesterday.”
His expression closed off. “I don’t go to church.”
“Oh.” The sudden change in him startled her. She pulled back from the banister, unsure now of her welcome. A cool breeze blew from the direction of Jackson Miller.
“If you’ll excuse me...” He crouched down and began searching through his tools.
She raised her chin. Fine. She would be about her business then.
Chapter Eight
Maggie turned away from the hotel window. A full week had passed since her visit to the Circle P and she’d taken to peeking out to the street more and more often, actually toward the vicinity of Jackson’s shop in the hopes she would see him come or go. Nosy is what she was.
The hotel room was coming to represent a gilded cage more and more, and out there was the freedom she desired. It would be lovely to see Mary, but her sister had warned her not to come again—that she would come to town when the tonic was ready. Although she tried to keep a cheerful attitude, as the days of the contract wore on she became more anxious for the tonic to be ready so that she could start selling it.
She had had her fill of men coming to call. They were all attentive during a stroll about the tiny town, but she felt as though she was wasting their time and hers. She avoided talking about herself and instead recounted the attributes of Anna, Sadie and Rebecca. Truly, the other girls were so much more agreeable than she.
Rebecca sprawled across her bed reading the newest edition of the Oak Grove Gazette.
“May I have a look?” Maggie asked, more to have some noise in the room than anything else. She felt positively stifled. The afternoon was much too quiet for her taste.
“I’m nearly finished with it. Sadie’s interview is not very long.”
Maggie looked over Rebecca’s shoulder. “Sadie isn’t one to talk about herself. It must have been awkward for her.”
Rebecca chuckled. “She spoke of the wonderful accommodations on the Pullman train, and then glossed over the horrible train we had to take from Kansas City.”
“Leave it to Sadie to make the best of a situation.”
A knock came at the door.
“Miss McCary?” The voice was high-pitched. “There’s a man downstairs asking for you.”
Maggie sighed. “Thank you, Kade. I’ll be right down.”
Amusement filled Rebecca’s face. “You really should find one quickly before the best ones are snapped up.”
“Easy for you to say. You’v
e set your cap for the banker. You do know that he’s not the brightest of the bachelors.”
“I have good reason for my choice.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. Although Micah Swift was pleasant enough in appearance, Rebecca was only looking at the size of his wallet.
“It’s just...I want you to understand. I’ve known difficult times—very difficult. I can’t let that happen again. You have a sister to help you. I don’t.”
Maggie hadn’t thought of things that way. She was fortunate to be able to depend on Mary. “He’s a nice man,” Maggie finally allowed. “And with your intelligence, you’ll be a good match.”
“I hope so.”
Maggie tied the yellow ribbons of her straw bonnet beneath her chin, and then checked her appearance in the mirror.
“Your blue dress would bring out the color in your eyes.”
Maggie smoothed her light green skirt. It made no difference how she dressed. She wasn’t trying to impress any of the men who came to call. “Mrs. Taylor still has it for mending.” She slipped out the door.
To her surprise, the man waiting at the bottom of the stairs was not a hopeful bachelor at all. Angus O’Leary wore the same clothes that she’d seen him in at their first meeting. He tipped his top hat as she approached. “Will you have time for a walk on this fine day with the likes of me, young lassie? I’ve had a shave and a haircut and I’d hate it to go to waste.”
“A walk sounds lovely!” Anything to get her out of the hotel room, and she couldn’t think of a more congenial companion. She took the arm he offered. He was shorter by five inches, his shoulders stooped with age, but she felt an immediate closeness with him. “Are you off to a party?”
“The suit is wasting away in my closet.”
They stepped outside and she took a moment to breathe in the fresh air only to find the wind was blowing from the direction of the stockyards. She wrinkled her nose. “Cattle.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Angus said, patting her hand in the crook of his arm. “And you’ll find it means money for this town.”
They strolled along the boardwalk, taking their time and looking in the windows of the different establishments. She told him about Jackson taking her to visit with Mary and of the men who’d called on her. The cabinet shop was closed up and dark. Where was Jackson?
“Have you come to a decision on any of the men making a path to your door? I might be able to give you some pointers.”
“None that hold a candle to you, Mr. O’Leary,” she teased.
His gray eyes twinkled. “I’m afraid you’ll have to set your sights a bit lower, me girl. There’s not a worthy Irishman in the lot except for me.”
A laugh bubbled up. And suddenly the day was brighter.
They sat to rest on the bench outside the train depot, grateful for the shade of the overhanging roof.
Angus took out his handkerchief and dabbed at his brow. “Have you seen our fine friend, Mr. Miller lately?”
“Often. He is working on the lobby at the hotel.” The fact that Jackson had barely nodded the last time she had passed by bothered her.
“And what do you think of him?”
“Well. I don’t. I can’t. He doesn’t want to marry.” She swallowed. “But a bride might be good for him. He’s always alone.” Why, why had it begun to plague her so? If he had given to the Betterment Committee, then he would be courting one of the brides—and she would hate that. It was ridiculous. Her thoughts were all jumbled since she’d met him.
“Ever wonder why that is? Why don’t you ask him?”
“Oh, I couldn’t. He’s a very private person.”
“That he is. But I imagine if the right lass comes along, he’ll want to marry.”
She took in a deep breath and pasted on a smile. “Well, it won’t be me. I have other plans.”
Angus studied her with his watery gray eyes. “I see that in your face. You’ve got your own rainbows to chase.”
A wagon lumbered into town, pulled by two draft horses. Maggie watched the dust kicked up by the animals. Dusty, dirty, no trees, no green... She missed Bridgeport.
Angus stood. “Can ye walk a bit farther? I’ve a hankerin’ to see the river.”
They crossed the railroad tracks, and then followed a walking trail through the tall prairie grass. She began to worry that Angus would tire before they reached the water, when suddenly the Smoky Hill River opened up before her. Something very close to the feeling of freedom lifted her heart as she watched the water drift by.
“This...I could love about Kansas,” she murmured.
“Aye. A little piece of heaven on earth.” Angus sat on a rocky prominence along the bank. “I’ve seen her in all her seasons. Muddy when the cattle cross and spilling over her banks in the spring. She’s never the same twice.”
Maggie stared at the river. Watching the water move gently by in rolling swirls and small ripples gave her a sense of calm. It had been the same in Bridgeport on the banks of the Ohio.
After a few moments, Angus stood. “I thank you for humoring me with a stroll. No need for you to leave. I’ve walked this bank a sight of times.” He rubbed his freshly shaven chin, and then pointed past her with a bob of his head. “If you continue on past that bend, you’ll come to a sight not to be missed.”
She glanced downriver. When she turned back, he’d already started through the tall grass toward town.
* * *
Jackson whipped the pole around his head and snapped his wrist, sending the angle far out into the river. The tension of the past week evaporated as the light breeze blew off the water. He planned to catch a few fish, fry them up and enjoy the peace and quiet.
Which meant he would stay away from the hotel. Maggie had stepped out with six different men over the past week. Six! Each time she grabbed another man’s arm, his chest would tighten and fill up enough to choke him. He had to remind himself it wasn’t any of his business. She was doing what she was supposed to according to the contract.
He still didn’t have to like it. She was getting under his skin. Even when he focused on his carpentry thoughts of her disrupted him. He would be sanding a plane of wood, only to realize that he’d stopped in the middle of the task for ten minutes while his thoughts circled on her. He had thrown himself into his work to distance himself from her and all it accomplished was to make him want to see her more. He wondered what she was doing at all hours of the day.
On Wednesday, with Blackwell’s help he had loaded the last pew on a flatbed wagon and taken it to the church. The new parson and Blackwell saw to securing it in place. All that was left for him to do now was to hang the bell. After that he might take a real break. Leave town. Go to Dodge City for a few days. Maybe then he would be able to wipe Maggie from his thoughts.
The tip of his rod dipped toward the water. A nibbler. Slowly he reeled in the silk line, stopping every few turns of the crank, just enough to tease the fish in hopes it would latch onto the hook good and hard.
“What are you do—Oh!—have you caught anything?”
The line went still. Great. The fish had heard Maggie and skedaddled.
Maggie skirted a small limestone formation and walked toward him. Her dress caught here and there on the grass and thistles but she didn’t seem to notice or care. Perhaps she had been truthful about that one dress after all.
“Anyone ever tell you you’ll scare the fish away?”
At his growl, she stopped. Then she set her jaw and stomped the rest of the way into the small clearing. “My da.”
“Your father liked to fish?”
“Mostly when we needed to eat. He bid me sing to them.”
He chose to ignore that idiotic statement.
“You don’t believe me.”
“No.”
She walked over t
o the fire pit and looked over his things—a tin pitcher full of black coffee balanced on rocks over the small fire. “Why have you not spoken to me? Why are you ignoring me?”
“I’ve been busy.” And frustrated—wanting to see her himself and yet hating when she talked with other men.
She glanced at the tin cup on the ground. “Digging worms?”
“Bait,” he said, knowing he sounded grouchy as all get-out.
She frowned, flushing, one hand to her hip. “I’m trying to be pleasant here, Mr. Jackson Miller.”
“You are scaring the fish away.”
“Well, you would like to scare everyone away. Don’t you like people?”
He looked at her sharply. What did she mean by that?
She pressed her lips into a pout and counted things off with the fingers of one hand. “You didn’t come to the party. You don’t go to church. You tuck yourself away in your shop. And you try to fish. All alone.”
He raised his brow. He wasn’t about to bare his soul to her after she had been stepping out with other men all week. “I do fish. Quite well when not interrupted.”
“Well I don’t see any.”
He wound up the rest of his line, his movements jerky with pent-up irritation, and set his fishing pole aside. He wasn’t angry. Only frustrated. The longer she stayed, the longer she pressed him, the more he felt his life was lacking...life.
“I thought we were becoming friends. Why are you pushing me away too?”
He couldn’t tell her it was because he hated the thought that she had to choose a husband from the Betterment Committee. Every time that she’d gone up or down the stairs that week with him working there, he’d caught her sweet scent, heard her bell of a laugh and detested the man who had come to call on her. “It’s easier.”
That stopped her. “Easier? Than what? What do you mean?”
“Easier. That’s all.” He let out a long breath. He wasn’t about to explain about Christine. “It’s been two years since my brother died. Ever since it is just easier not to get too close to people.”
“Because they let you down? You forget I lost my da. I had Mary to help me afterward, but you’ve had no one.” She stepped close and put her hand on his arm. “You could use a friend.”
Mail-Order Brides of Oak Grove Page 19