An Unwilling Husband (31 page)

“I’m going to saddle Buck,” Maggie said after a length of silence. “I need this, and will go, with or without you.”

Lenny sighed. “I bet you can’t even lift the saddle over him.”

“Hmmph. Winner makes dinner?” she asked with a grin.

“Fine, but Cookie goes with us. Garret would kill me if I let anything happen to you.”

“Please. His life would be much improved if something happened to me.”

Lenny shook her head, but followed her outside and toward the barn. “You
try
to saddle Buck, and I’ll find Cookie.”

Maggie waved at her retreating friend’s back and called out, “Sarcasm isn’t attractive on a woman!” This earned her yet another shake of the head from the raven haired woman, who she suspected was smiling, but she couldn’t be sure from behind.

The ride to Roy’s homestead seemed a lot longer than she remembered. Maybe Lenny had been right about the trip being too much too soon. What could be exhausting about straddling a horse and guiding it with the reins? Sure, she’d made progress in droves, but she was ready to be back to her old self and disheartened by the amount of time it took to get there.

When Roy’s old house came into view at the end of the long dirt road, her heart clenched. It hadn’t been long since he’d passed, but already his home looked forsaken and dilapidated. Overgrown, an ocean of grass in the field in front of the house waved to an abandoned landscape. The top of the plow poked out of the grass, toppled over and left in the exact place it had been when unhitched from the frightened team. The blade Roy died by.

She blinked back tears. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.

Lenny and Cookie waited outside while she tidied what she could of Roy’s home. To abandon the house uncared for seemed cruel, and she promised herself she would come more frequently. After she finished, they left the horses tied to the posts out front and hiked to the old climbing tree where Roy lay. Maggie took her time picking wildflowers in colors she thought would have suited Roy. When she looked up from his grave, she was surprised to see Lenny and Cookie’s attention riveted on the approaching figure of a man on a horse. As the rider drew closer, the disappointment nearly sank her. Not her man, but Clint Jennings. He couldn’t be further from the man she hoped to see.

Throwing a look of disdain toward the Comanches, who gave him room, he made a beeline for her. Cookie’s stance was relaxed, but his expression said he would like nothing more than to literally bite a chunk out of Jennings’s arm. Or face.

Maggie put her hand over the place on her arms where he had made bruises before. “What do you want?” she asked him as he hopped off his horse.

“What do I want? Seems like I should be the one asking questions here, Miss Flemming.”

He smiled, and she ignored the slight to her married name.

“You see, this land is as good as mine, and you’re trespassing.”

“As good as yours? So it isn’t yours yet, now is it?” she asked, repressing an actual growl in her throat. “I’m visiting my father’s grave, and since no one yet owns the land, I do believe I have just as much right as any to visit. Maybe even more, since this was once my home.”

Clint raked his foxlike gaze over Cookie and Lenny then returned his attention to her. “You know, I never did care for the way Shaw ran things. It’s disgraceful, letting a bunch of Injuns run his ranch. They should be on the reservation with the rest of the savages. Can’t really say as I’m sad Anna didn’t marry him.”

“You’re welcome, then. It seems I did you a favor, Mr. Jennings. And it’s a good thing you live all the way on the other side of Rockdale, so you don’t have to worry yourself about how Garret runs our ranch. Now, kindly go away.” Gazing once more at the bouquet of flowers she’d placed on Roy’s grave, she waited for him to leave.

“I’m surprised to see you up and walking around in the land of the living. You just won’t die, will you? Like a cockroach.”

The quiet clang of his spurs sounded as the man took a step toward her and then another, and she turned around. A well-placed pistol connected Cookie’s hand to Clint Jennings’s head.

“That was your cue to leave, Mr. Jennings,” Cookie growled. “Now, kindly do as the lady said, and go away.” Cookie’s tone had begged Mr. Jennings to mess up and give him an excuse. There was no love lost between these men.

“You’re the reason my son is dead,” Clint said to her, ignoring the gun to his head. “It ain’t on Garret. He did what he had to do. It’s on you. You entitled. Manipulative. Whore.” Clint spat on the hem of her dress and mounted his horse. He rode away without looking back to see the anguish his words had caused her.

Until then, she had done a fair job of blocking out the vision she’d had of Wyatt’s last moments. If she let the memory take hold, it would haunt her forever. It was her fault. She knew it was, and though Wyatt didn’t deserve pity after all he had done to her, her involvement in his death left a raw patch on her soul.

On the ride home, talking about her turmoil wouldn’t make it better, and Lenny and Cookie didn’t push. By the time they reached the barn, she was physically and emotionally drained. In desperation for the blissful unconsciousness that would heal her mind and body, she settled for sliding the saddle and blanket from Buck’s back and setting him out to graze with the mules. She’d brush him down later when she wasn’t about to keel over. When her horse bucked his hind end up in the air before he trotted over to greet his friends, she smiled.

She’d meant only to sleep for a couple of hours before she started dinner, but by the time she opened her weary eyes again, darkness had fallen and supper had long since passed. She rubbed her eyes and stretched. She hadn’t even bothered to remove any of her layers when she’d fallen asleep, and laughed that her shoes still clung stubbornly to her feet. It was difficult to continue sleeping in Garret’s bed after the confusing way in which he’d left her, so she had moved into her room. Her ring was the constant reminder of him now, and impossible to part with. She lit a candle in the dark and glanced down at the gleaming, tiny, green gem on her finger, as she did a hundred times a day. Uncertainty fluttered and threatened to settle, so she shoved her hands in her pockets and stifled it.

Though by all rights she should have been ravenous, she wasn’t hungry. Her appetite had ebbed of late, likely due to her emotional upheaval. Lenny scolded her often enough for it. Said she needed to gain some weight back, but to overindulge herself when so unhappy was a chore. Making dinner so late didn’t sound invigorating in the least. She wasn’t tired, though it was the sleeping hour, and searched with concentrated effort to think of something to do to pass the time. What she wouldn’t give to mindlessly exist until happier times found her.

She lit three candles around the room and undressed slowly, careful to put her dress neatly away and roll her stockings. Wearing her thinnest nightgown, made for relentlessly warm summer nights, she let her hair down, sat in front of the mirror and brushed through it until it shone like auburn silk. When nothing else to primp herself came to mind, she pulled her nightgown open and slid it down her shoulders, clasped it in a fist between her breasts. She did this often, made herself look at her scars. Accept them. Own what happened that day. Her heartbeat thudded against her small, clenched fist as she studied her marred skin, and again as she swiveled to look at her back.

The door creaked open behind her and she froze, half turned in her chair. Garret stepped into the room. What a beautiful mirage he made. He had to be another figment of her imagination because he wasn’t there, and then he was. An unattainable dream who stood frozen in the shadows of her room. She smiled and he returned the favor, though shyly. Her breath shook when the moment wore on and Garret remained.

Standing before the door he’d closed behind him, he took his hat off. Worn, ragged at the edges, and tired, he looked beautiful. Such a tall, strong, capable and powerful creature he was. Caressing her skin with burning eyes that conveyed want and hunger, he took a step toward her, and then another.

“Why ain’t you sleepin’ in my bed anymore?” he asked.

“It didn’t feel right. After you left like you did—it was too hard.”

Garret tossed his hat on the chair in the corner and stalked across the room, closing the space between them. She stayed frozen while her heart hammered against the fist holding the nightgown in place around her shoulders. Halted behind her, he trailed two fingers over her scar.

“You’re beautiful, Maggie,” he said in a voice as quiet as a breath. His piercing blue eyes found her green ones in the mirror.

Though her nerves sent flutters of anticipation into her stomach, the tenderness in his tone made the tension leave her and her hand relax. The thin fabric slid down her bare arms, brushed her hips and came to rest, a pool of fabric around her. Never did she take her eyes from Garret’s.

For a moment she couldn’t fathom his expression. The hunger in his eyes intensified as he fixed upon the reflection of her body, and let out the breath he’d been holding. Didn’t touch her or speak. He stood there, drinking her in, the depth of his gaze threatening to burn her up from the inside.

Never had she been naked in front of a man before, and never in her wildest dreams had she expected to be so vulnerable in front of a man such as he.

Surprisingly, he knelt, turned the swivel chair until she faced him, and with gentle hands, parted her legs and placed himself in the space. He took her hand and kissed it lightly, rested his rough cheek against the soft skin on the back of her knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words vibrating against her skin, in her heart. “For all the hurt and uncertainty I’ve caused you. I had all of these reasons to push you away, but they just don’t seem important anymore. I can’t fix the things I’ve said to you, but I’ll try harder. I’ll make you happy.” He brought his face up to hers, and his eyes held a pleading look. Forgiveness was what he sought.

She kissed his forehead, and when he straightened, level with her, kissed his cheek and chin. “Say it,” she said, teasing him with the closeness of her lips.

His kiss was demanding, threatened to drag her under the seductive waves of his raw power. It was now or never.

“Say it,” she pleaded.

“I love you, Maggie,” he murmured against her lips.

His lips moved against hers and breath caressed her, and she shivered at the delicious sensation.

She unbuttoned Garret’s shirt, slid her palms against his chest as he shrugged out of the restrictive linen. Tenderly he cradled her neck in a capable hand, making her tremble, slipped it downward, cupped and kneaded her breast, drew her to him with the hand resting on her back. His skin against hers was silk and steel, and she groaned at the velveteen warmth of it.

Garret chuckled into her mouth and in one strong movement lifted her from the chair. Her gown fell away from her feet. Keeping her pressed to him, he guided her into his bedroom. “I want you sleeping in here from now on. With me. This is our room now.”

She gave a slow nod while he shut the door behind them. In the glow of candlelight, he led her to the bed, where he lay and watched her settle herself beside him. Then he pulled her close, and she felt his eagerness, even through the thick cotton of his pants. How intimidating, that such a sizeable man belonged to her.

He paused at her hesitation. “We’ll take it slow. I’ll be gentle with you, Maggie. I promise.”

And he was. He took his time, revered her, touched every inch of skin and emotion she possessed. Gazing into her eyes, he touched her lips ever so lovingly with his. And amidst satiated sighs and soft moans, she connected with him, to the depths of their souls.

Chapter 21

Unable to sleep late after years of waking before the rooster, Garret woke early the next morning. Maggie’s head rested on his chest and, with staggering pride, he moved a strand of hair from her face with the tip of his finger. His wife. A foreign term, yet exciting. Sure, he had been a husband for some time, but the word hadn’t felt like it applied to him until this morning.

Though he wanted badly to wake her, he couldn’t bring himself to. He’d roused her twice in the night, and the thought made him smile. She’d been as thirsty for his skin as he was for hers.

He left her a note on his pillow with the three simple, yet all important words she needed to be reminded of as often as he was able. Their truth lived and breathed inside him, and she deserved to hear them.

He made breakfast and left a plate to warm on simmering embers for her. Damn, she had looked so beautiful. Leaving her entangled in their sheets, sound asleep in their bed with the early morning light gracing the peaceful expression on her face had been damned hard.