Maggie's Beau Page 9

  “Don’t deny me the sharing of your pleasure,” he said, and she hastened to explain herself.

  “No…no, that’s not what I meant. I was only…” How to explain the fanciful ideas he brought to life? There was no hope for it, and she shook her head again. “I was just thinkin’ about something else. I know it makes you happy to do things for folks.”

  If she turned, he would be close enough to touch, and that was a thought both tempting and yet fraught with…not fear, but something akin to it. His hands had only touched her with gentle care, and yet, there was that moment of doubt, that cringing of her soul when he stood too close. As he stood now.

  “Maggie?” She felt the loss of his body heat as he backed away, heard the touch of his boots against the wooden floor. And finally felt safe in turning to face him. His brow was furrowed, his eyes troubled. “I don’t keep a count, Maggie,” he said quietly. “You don’t owe me anything. This room needed a window, and if having a frame and sash brings you a bit of cool air or light to see by, then that’s payment enough for me. No matter if you’re here or not, it will always be your window, because I bought it for you.”

  Beau blocked the doorway, his shoulders wide, his big hands falling loosely at his sides, and she was struck almost speechless as she looked fully into his face. Too handsome for words, he was, with that straight nose and wide forehead, those dark eyes holding secrets she could not fathom. She’d felt those lips against her skin, her hand and forehead. She knew that men and women kissed, their lips touching, had heard that much from late-night whisperings before Emily and Roberta had gone from home.

  They’d murmured other secrets in the dark, strange images coming to mind as she’d listened, about men’s hands touching their skin, leaving pleasure in their wake. It had seemed far-fetched then. Now those visions sprang to life as she focused on Beau’s long fingers. A flush warmed her breasts and spread upward, her throat and cheeks burning with embarrassment at the thoughts flooding her mind.

  “Maggie?” Again he spoke her name and she turned away, confusion rife within her, searching for ordinary words to speak. Words that would conceal the strange yearnings tumbling within her breast.

  A vision of the pasture beyond the barn filled her mind and she seized upon the horses that pranced and romped within those fences. “You promised to let me help with the yearlings,” she said, amazed that her voice sounded next to normal. Bending, she picked up her boots from the corner of the room, then turned back to face him. “I’ll be ready in just a minute.”

  He hesitated, then nodded, turning away to walk across the kitchen floor.

  Maggie watched him move out of sight, then sat on her chair, tugging her boots on, leaning to tie them snugly. He’d promised her a chance at the yearlings and she trembled as she thought of the agile creatures waiting in the near pasture. She’d whisper to them, caress those shiny coats, teach them to follow. Her mind spun with delight as she hastened through the kitchen, snatching up the warm coat Beau had brought her. Her boots clattered across the porch and she sped across the yard.

  “Them horses ain’t goin’ nowhere, missy,” Pony said with a grin as she skidded to a halt beside him. “Come on with me and I’ll show you how this here thing is done.”

  By noontime she’d shed her coat, her arms ached from brushing the three colts Pony had assigned to her care, and she was enraptured by the antics of the youthful horses. It seemed that teaching the colts to stand still for her curry comb was the first step in the learning process. She’d done well, she thought, and then had led them in turn around the corral, holding them firmly by the halter, then easing out the length of rope so that they followed at her heels.

  Whether they were just good-natured, or she’d managed to teach them anything was a moot question, but lead them she did. And wonder of wonders, they followed, nosing her shoulder or back as the mood took them, playful as the puppies in the woodshed.

  “Think you can handle five, Maggie?” Beau asked from the top of the corral fence. He perched there, boot heels caught on a rail, hat tilted back, watching her progress. His mouth held a trace of amusement, the corners tilting upward. “Pony says you’ve got the touch.”

  She stopped stock-still and the colt behind her bumped her with his nose, nudging her forward. “He did?” she asked in surprise, reaching back to halt the playful antics. Grasping the halter, she drew the horse to her side, whispering softly as his head bent at her bidding. “There now, you behave, young’un. I’ll find you a carrot out of the garden if you’re a good boy.”

  “He thinks you can handle them,” Beau said, his watchful gaze measuring the colt’s behavior. “It’s a big responsibility. These are the best of the lot.”

  “You’re selling off the rest?” she asked, looking toward the pasture where more than two dozen yearlings grazed.

  “I’ve got buyers waiting for my horses,” Beau said, with just a touch of pride tinging his words. “These are ready to train. If they want me to work with them, I will, but they’ll pay extra.”

  “Which are you sending to Dodge City?” Maggie asked.

  “Three- and four-year-old geldings,” he said. “They’re ready for the army to use. They’re used to a saddle and bridle, but they’re only green-broke. We’ll round them up in a week or so and send them off. It won’t take long for the soldiers to train them.” He motioned to the pasture. “Whichever of the yearlings I don’t sell, I’ll put out to pasture for another year before they get a saddle on their backs.”

  “I guess I didn’t know there was so much to it,” Maggie said, reaching absently to rub between the colt’s ears. “I just thought when they got big enough, you got on their backs and rode ’em.”

  “If somebody buys a horse from me, it’s already been handled and trained to follow a lead rope, and most likely been ridden. All but the yearlings. They’re too young to take that much weight on their backs yet.”

  Beau slid down from the fence and stepped closer, laughing as the colt kicked up his heels at his approach. “Come on, pretty boy. It’s time for Maggie’s dinner. We’ll put you back where you belong for now.” He unlatched the gate and Maggie led the prancing horse toward a smaller enclosure, where almost a dozen other chosen yearlings stood, noses in the grass. She unsnapped the lead rope from his halter and released her charge, laughing aloud as he trotted toward the small herd, head high, his whinny sounding in the chill air.

  She snatched her coat from a fence post and slid into it, flipping the tail of her braid from beneath the collar. “I feel kinda guilty, not helping Sophie in the kitchen this morning,” she said, walking beside Beau toward the house.

  “You’re earning your keep, Maggie,” he told her. “Sophie was keeping house before you got here. She doesn’t mind.”

  And she apparently didn’t, turning to welcome them into the kitchen just moments later. “Wash up quick,” Sophie said. “I told the men to come on up for dinner. They’d just as well eat in the house. Pony said they was sick of their own cookin’ whilst I was gone last month. I figure I can make enough for all of us now that winter’s comin’ on. By the time they get that cookstove stoked up for meals, it’ll be easier to have them come in here, where it’s already warm.”

  Beau headed for the sink where wash water awaited. “Go ahead,” he said to Maggie, motioning to the shallow pan.

  She hesitated, and Sophie nodded agreement. “You can help me dish up, Maggie. Take first dibs on the warm water.”

  It felt heavenly, she decided, splashing the dirt from her hands and face, reaching for the towel Sophie’d placed close at hand. The soap smelled clean, and left her face shiny, the skin taut. A small mirror over the sink reflected her image and she grimaced as she noted the flyaway wisps of hair around her face, clinging damply to her forehead. “I’m a sight,” she announced, wishing for her comb.

  “You look just fine,” Beau said at her elbow. “Move over so I can pour fresh water.” She dumped the pan, sloshing it with clean water from the pump,
and stepped aside. If Beau thought she was passable, she’d take his word for it.

  The meal was hearty, Sophie having cooked her biggest kettle full of beef stew. Fluffy dumplings rested atop the thickened gravy and she ladled out bowls full of savory meat and vegetables, topped with the light dumplings Maggie had yet to learn the knack of preparing. She passed the wide bowls around the table, then placed the last two before her chair and Sophie’s own sturdy armchair.

  The men ate without speaking, their spoons scraping to retrieve the last scrap from their bowls. Without urging, Sophie rose and took the stewpot to the table, ladling second helpings around. Maggie had never in her life seen such appetites, in her past used to scant rations that seldom allowed for more than a single serving at her mother’s table.

  Pa had always taken his share and more, first off the bat, making sure he got an ample portion, she remembered. Beau, on the other hand, waited until his men had been served before he held out his own bowl for refilling. He shot a glance her way and lifted a brow.

  “Had enough? I’d have thought anybody who’d been dragging three yearling colts around the corral all morning would be ready for more than one helping.”

  “If there’s enough left, I’ll have a bit more,” she allowed, peering over the edge of the big kettle. She held out her bowl, and Sophie dished up a full ladle. “Thank you,” Maggie murmured, lifting a bite of tender dumpling on her fork. “Sure wish I could get the hang of these, Sophie.”

  “Nothin’ to it. You just have to drop them in when the gravy’s come to a good boil, then clap the lid on and put the kettle at the back of the stove for twenty minutes or so.”

  Maggie nodded glumly. “You make it sound so easy.”

  “Well, I’m not much at barn work,” Sophie said cheerfully, returning the kettle to the stove. “I reckon we all have our uses.”

  The table emptied quickly, once the men were finished, and Maggie stood, gathering bowls in both hands.

  “Joe found a hawk with a broken wing,” Beau said. “He wondered if you wanted to bother with it, or if he should just put it out of its misery.”

  “I can take a look,” Maggie said quickly. “I’ve mended more than one bird’s wing. There’s a cage out behind the barn.” She halted and turned back to the table. “I’ve got a red fox in there already, but he’s about ready to turn loose.”

  “I saw him,” Beau told her. “Pony said you’d rescued him from the trap outside the henhouse.” His look was resigned. “Maggie, we can’t have foxes running loose. If they get in the coop, they’ll wreak havoc with the chickens. The trap’s there for a reason.”

  “Well, if you don’t want me fixin’ up the fox, why are you givin’ me a hawk to tend? He was likely keepin’ an eye on your flock of chickens himself.”

  Beau shrugged. “I don’t know. I just hate to see a creature wounded, though I’d have probably got rid of the fox if I’d seen him first. Maybe he’ll stay clear of here, once you turn him loose. Once caught in a trap, he’d ought to be wary enough to keep his distance.”

  “I’ll take a look at the hawk,” Maggie said, depositing the bowls in the sink and returning to the table for another load.

  “Go on ahead,” Sophie told her. “I’ll finish up in here.”

  With a grateful look at the housekeeper, Maggie reached for her coat and followed Beau from the house. “You’d rather be outdoors anyway, wouldn’t you?” he asked, grinning down at her as she kept pace with his longer stride.

  She skipped once to take up the slack in her step, and felt her heart leap as his approval of her made itself apparent. “I can do either,” she told him. “I’m pretty good at runnin’ that carpet sweeper thing you showed me, and I haven’t broken anything in your parlor yet.”

  He cast her a measuring glance, his gaze thoughtful. Then, halting before the barn door, he held up a hand, bringing her to a halt. “We’ll have time after dark to spend at the kitchen table tonight, Maggie,” he told her. “I thought maybe I’d show you some other books I’ve got, see if I can teach you some letters.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes taking in the sober look he bestowed, her heart singing as she considered the offer he’d made, so casually, so easily, as if it were of little value. “I’d be pleased, if you’ve got the time to waste on me.” More than pleased, she wanted to say as the idea of making sense out of the squiggles in his books set her thoughts to dancing.

  “It won’t be a waste,” he assured her. “Learning to read is about as important as learning to breathe. Before long, you’ll be equally as good at one as the other.” His quick grin sealed the bargain, and she followed him into the barn, aware that she trod at his heels much like the colts had scampered behind her this morning. And wondered if he was gentling her to his purpose in much the same manner.

  The squiggles had names, and definite shapes, she discovered over the next week. Beau told her she was smart, assured her that in no time at all, she’d be reading the books he’d brought from town. Books he’d talked the school-teacher into giving him, she found, after much prodding.

  “Didn’t she wonder what you needed ’em for?” she asked, her hands careful as she turned the pages. “Does she know I’m here?” Her eyes widened as the thought made itself known, and she felt a sense of panic as Beau nodded agreement.

  “She knows, but she won’t tell,” he assured her. “She remembers your sisters from years back, when your pa let them come to school for a year or so. She didn’t know there were three of you though. I made her take a vow of silence, and she agreed.” His eyes flashed darkly. “She doesn’t think much of your pa. And she said to tell you that your sisters were getting along fine. She knows the men they married.”

  Maggie leaned forward across the table. “Are they happy? They’re not bein’ used poorly?”

  Beau’s forehead creased as he considered her question. “Used poorly? Do you mean, are their husbands being kind to them?” At Maggie’s nod, he sighed. “Most men are decent to their wives. I think you can rest easy. Your sisters are fine, certainly much better off than they were at home.”

  Maggie sat back in her chair, digesting the news he’d given her. “Maybe sometime I can see them, let them know I’m all right.” She shrugged as another thought struck. “They might not even know I’ve run off. Maybe they think I’m still livin’ at home.”

  “We’ll talk about it,” Beau promised. “I don’t want your pa to know you’re here, Maggie. I’m not sure what he could do about it, and I don’t want to have to face him down with a gun in my hand. He hasn’t come nosing around yet, and I’d just as soon keep your whereabouts from him.

  “Now let me see your paper. Sophie says you were practicing your letters this afternoon.”

  Maggie drew a sheet of paper from beneath her book and offered it for his perusal. Beau glanced at it quickly and then a smile lit his face. “You learned how to write my name. Did Sophie show you?” At Maggie’s nod, he placed the paper before her. “You’ve got the letters right, every one of them. Do you remember them all now?”

  “It wasn’t so hard,” she answered. “I asked Sophie about a couple. I had the straight line on the wrong side of the circles, when I was writin’ them small, but once I figured that out and put a name to them, I caught on pretty good.”

  And indeed she had, Beau thought, feeling an inordinate sense of pride as he remembered the lines of letters she’d printed. And beneath them, her name, both printed and then written in cursive, the letters imperfect but legible. But it was the final series of letters on the page that had brought a lump to his throat. She’d painstakingly printed out his name, not only once, but three times, with capital letters to be sure, but in order, and with a flourish that told him she’d done so with a mind to pleasing him.

  “Let’s take a look at the book now,” he said. “I’ll tell you the words and you see if the letters make sense to you.” He rose and walked around the table, pulling another chair close to where she sat. “I think it will work
better if I sit beside you,” he told her, careful as he placed one hand on the back of her chair.

  She looked up at him, her eyes as startled as those of the fox he’d come upon in the cage behind the barn last week. Maggie’d been a wild creature, to be sure, yet taming nicely, he decided, sliding his chair a bit nearer. His index finger traced a line beneath the first word on the page and he spoke it aloud. “This…”

  She whispered it beneath her breath, the sound hissing as she repeated the single syllable. And then looked up at him eagerly. “What does the next word say?”

  From the doorway, Sophie caught his glance and he nodded, aware that she left to climb the stairs to the bedrooms above. From a dubious watchfulness, she’d altered her stance over the past weeks, now entrusting him with Maggie. She’d hovered near those first days, and then a tacit understanding had developed between them, as if Sophie sensed his regard for the girl, and approved.

  “Beau?” Filled with impatience, Maggie nudged his finger, edging it toward the next word, and he capitulated, grinning at her eagerness.

  “…is,” he said. And then he read the whole sentence, slowly, one word at a time, as Maggie listened, absorbing in rapt silence the string of words that would begin to open up a whole new world to her eager mind.

  November brought the first snowfall. The pups were kept inside the woodshed by a board across the doorway, high enough so that they could not climb over. Maggie visited them daily, teaching them human touch, tending to their droppings and assuring Maisie of her love. They’d learned quickly how to drink from a pan, leaving Maisie alone for the most part, since table scraps filled their need for solid food. Beau studied the best way to break the news that it was past time to find homes for most of them.

  He’d already decided to keep at least one of the litter, since their shepherd ancestry had shown up in the largest of the six. The brown-and-black pup would work well with herding the cows—if he could keep Maggie from making a pet of it. He approached the shed, just as the sun rose over the peach orchard, milk pail in his hand, and swung the shed door open in preparation for feeding the noisy youngsters who were yapping impatiently inside.