Night Hawk (21 page)

He shook his head. Standing up, he took her hands and gently urged her to her feet. In the snug-fitting denims and blue flannel shirt, she couldn't be more beautiful than if she were gowned in silk. He traced her cheek and the wonder unfurled again. He kissed her softly. Kissing him back, her arms slowly crept around him and tightened. He did the same and soon they were lost in a tender reunion that was filled with the passionate joy of finally having no barriers between them; no trains, warrants, or rented rooms. Now they were together and able to explore all they could be.

Ian reluctantly pulled away from her beguiling lips. “Welcome home.”

She hugged him tight. “Glad to be here.”

After a few more moments of silent savoring, he asked, “Ready to see your domain, your majesty?”

“Very much.”

Holding her hand, he introduced her to the room they were standing in. There were colorful tribal-designed rugs on the floor, and blankets of matching motifs on the sofa and two sitting chairs. “I buy them at a trading post in Osprey,” he explained. “The Native women make them and the trader sells them, for a profit of course.”

“They're very nice, especially the colors.” There were scarlets and grays on fields of black and ivory.

The mantel over the fireplace was bare, but mounted on the wall above it hung the head of a bear in mid-growl.

“Does the bear have a story?” she asked.

“One of Charlie's trophies. The bear wanted Charlie's horse.”

“And Charlie took issue with that, I assume.”

“Yes, he did.”

He led her into the kitchen next. It was large and very spacious. The modern stove with its four top plates and large oven surprised her.

“Charlie's pride and joy.”

“And with good reason. One of the women I worked for had a stove similar to this.”

He watched her look around at the whitewashed cabinets and the counters above the lower cabinets and drawers. “Let me show you the pump.”

He led her through the back door and outside to the curved-handled pump a few steps away.

“There's another out by the barns, but we use this one for the house.”

She looked out at Charlie's log cabin. “Is that where he lives?”

“Yes. Everything will be okay. Promise.”

She nodded and for the first time seemed to notice the large garden staked out next to the house. Whatever was planted there had begun to push up from the soil with leaves and curling, sun-seeking vines. He met her grin.

“The garden,” she voiced quietly.

“Yep. Charlie takes care of it, but it's yours, too.”

She looked very pleased. “Where to next?”

“Come. I'll show you.”

Their next stop was a small bedroom. The clutter and clothing everywhere took Ian by surprise for a moment until he remembered Charlie saying Harper was staying here. He sighed. “This was a spare room, but apparently it's where Harp's been sleeping.” Ian was going to have to have a heart-to-heart discussion with his friend. Now that he'd returned home with a wife, the sheriff was going to have to find somewhere else to park his boots. Selfish, maybe, but Ian didn't care. “He'll be moving out shortly.”

Chapter 20

I
an's mood lightened as he moved them away from the chaos left behind by Harper. He walked Maggie down the hallway and stopped in front of a closed, polished wood door. “Now, for this part of the tour, I want you to close your eyes.”

To his surprise, she didn't question the request. “I'm going to pick you up, so no peeking.”

Her answering smile earned her a kiss.

He picked her up, dipped her a moment so he could open the door, and then walked her inside.

“Okay. Open them,” he invited with her still in his arms.

Maggie stared around at a bedroom. She saw windows covered by closed shutters and nightstands holding glass-globed lamps. She saw a large armoire and a big ornate mirror on one wall, but mostly she saw the huge wooden bed with its tall posts and large carved headboard. “Hallelujah!” She leaned up and kissed him long and hard in gratitude. Laughing, he set her back on her feet.

“This is to be our room?”

“Yes.”

“We'll share it?”

He went silent for a moment. “Unless you'd rather sleep in the room Harper's going to be vacating?”

“No. I want us to be in a room together.”

To her surprise he eased her into his arms. She felt the soft pressure of his lips against the top of her hair. She sensed something flowing in him that she couldn't name. “May I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

She looked up into his eyes. Maggie hesitated for a moment. The last thing she wanted was to offend him in any way. “Is this the room you shared with your first wife?”

“No,” he replied quietly. “She slept in the room Harper's using.”

“Oh.” She didn't have the heart to ask why, but from the mask now veiling his features, she assumed it had been his wife's choice. Maggie placed her cheek back against his heart. “I want to wake up with you beside me, and close my eyes in the same way.”

He kissed the top of her hair again and said softly, “Got one more place, no, two more places to show you.”

First was the washroom with its big claw-footed tub. Once again, the size of the space was impressive. The second place he took her to was another closed door next to the bedroom. Maggie couldn't imagine what the interior might hold.

“Close your eyes again.”

“Ian,” she said with mock warning.

“Humor me one last time, please.”

Maggie couldn't remember him ever saying
please
, before, so she closed her eyes and let him lead her by the hand.

“Open.”

What she saw was a room filled with shelves and shelves of books, so many that she placed her hands over her mouth and stared around in awe. He'd promised her books, but she hadn't expected a lending library's worth. The sight filled her with so much emotion she had no idea she was crying until she noticed the dampness on her cheeks. “Oh, Ian.” Filled with amazement, she walked over to the shelves and was mesmerized by the tomes, folios, and small, cloth-bound volumes of poetry by men like Keats and Spenser, and women like the poetess Miss Phillis Wheatley. There were Shakespeare's tragedies and comedies and bound maps of foreign lands. She eyed neatly stacked newspapers beside magazines from England. From almost ceiling to floor there was something to read. She'd married him, and now had died and gone to heaven. She turned to him standing by the doorway. “I'm speechless.”

“You?” he teased.

Maggie began walking past the shelved books again. “This is astonishing.” For the first time she noticed the large stone fireplace and the comfortable-looking brown wingbacks sitting on either side. Each had a folded Native blanket across one arm. “It must be grand in here when the winter is raging outside and you're cozied up by the fire.”

“That it is.”

She hurried across the room to him with her arms outstretched. He gathered her in and swung her off her feet. She threw back her head and beamed. “This is the happiest I've been in my life. Thank you for being my husband.”

“Thank you for being my wife.”

They heard someone clear his throat. In the doorway stood Charlie. “You two want something to eat?”

Maggie left Ian's arms and walked over to him. Looking into his sun-crinkled eyes, she said with sincerity, “Charlie, my apologies if I offended you or hurt your feelings earlier.”

He waved her off. “Not needed.”

“It's just that I'd been waiting so long to get here so Ian could show me the house. I wanted him to have the honor.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

He nodded.

She opened her arms and gave him a hug, which widened his eyes. He responded with a few quick pats on her shoulders and stepped back as if unsure how to respond to such demonstrative behavior.

“So,” she asked, “how may I help with the meal?”

“You can't. All you get to do is sit down and rest. You've been traveling a long time, but you're home now.”

Maggie glanced between the two men, and the kindness in their eyes made her feel as if she truly had come home. “Thank you, Charlie.”

After his departure, Ian asked in a Scottish brogue, “Would you like to tour the grounds, my lady?”

She curtsied in her denims. “I would, kind sir.”

He held out his arm and they were off.

The land near the house held three large corrals for the wild horses he and Charlie brought in.

“They're empty now, but Charlie and I will go up in the spring and see what we can find.”

“Is that where my horse will come from?”

“Nope. I have a mare for you. If she'll let you ride her.”

Maggie was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“She won't let anyone ride her. Charlie's theory is that she wants a female rider. Not sure he's right, but wild horses can be very particular about who they take to sometimes.”

“May I see her?”

He led her over to a pasture behind the corral. Smoke grazed nearby and Maggie noted how much larger the stallion looked without his saddle and reins. A palomino walked over and nuzzled Ian affectionately. “This is Jack. He's been with us for almost four years now. He's blind in one eye so we didn't want to sell him.”

Jack immediately began searching the front of Ian's jacket. Ian reached into a pocket and produced a carrot which Jack made short work of in two crunching bites. “Good boy. Now, where's the queen? Where's Lightning? I haven't seen her yet.”

The palomino wandered off.

Ian shook his head. “He doesn't care. He's gotten his carrot and he's gone.” He stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly.

Nothing.

He whistled again, louder this time.

A few minutes later a dazzling black horse walked up. If this was the mare, she wasn't quite as many hands high as Smoke, but what she lacked in muscle and height she made up for in her sleek and powerful appearance. A jagged white blaze between her eyes resembled a lightning bolt. She stopped well out of Ian's reach. “Afternoon, your majesty. We are honored to be in your presence. Not that you care, but this is Maggie.”

The mare's dark eyes moved slowly from Ian and over to Maggie, who noticed Smoke watching as if he was interested in how this might go, too. “Hello, missy,” she called softly.

In response, Lightning cocked her head. After studying Maggie a second longer, the mare tossed her head and galloped away.

“And the royal visit ends,” Ian declared.

“I don't think I've ever received a dismissive look from a horse before.”

“She's something.”

“How long have you had her?”

“Two years.”

Smoke had resumed his grazing.

Looking off in the direction the mare had taken, Maggie pointed out, “She's very beautiful.”

“And knows it.”

They left the pasture and looked in on the five hens in the coop.

“Charlie says they all have names but I couldn't tell you who's who.”

“All hens have names. Shame on you.”

“As long as they give me eggs for breakfast, I don't care what they're called.”

She leaned into the row of nests and told the cackling and fussing birds, “We'll just have to wait for Charlie to introduce us then, won't we?”

Ian rolled his eyes and took her hand. “Come on, you.”

Back outside, Maggie stood and looked around at the beauty and magnificence of the land. There were trees and birds, and it was so silent she swore she could hear the earth's heartbeat. Her voice turned serious. “I'm going to love it here.”

“This is a very special place.”

“What mountains are those?”

“Wind River chain of the Rockies.”

They were still snow-topped. “How far away are they?”

“Over a hundred miles and then some.”

“They look so much closer.”

“Yes, they do.”

She turned to him and felt the need to thank him again for marrying her, but because it seemed as if she'd been saying that to him all day, she simply walked over and wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tight. No words were needed.

“I'm looking forward to what the future brings us.”

“So am I.”

On the walk back to the house, Maggie was moved by all she'd seen so far. His pride in his land was readily apparent and she was honored to be asked to share it.

For dinner, Charlie prepared two succulent, pit roasted hens basted with a sweet, spicy tomato sauce, grilled potatoes, and collards. He was an excellent cook, and his blueberry biscuits made Maggie groan with delight.

“Like those?” Charlie asked from his seat at the table.

“I do. They're heavenly.”

“Only make them on special occasions.”

“Then I count myself lucky. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

“I don't remember you ever making these for me,” Ian mockingly complained.

“What's so special about you?”

Maggie's sip of water came through her nose. She hastily wiped her face with her napkin.

Charlie countered Ian's claim. “I've made these before, you just ate them so fast you don't remember.”

Maggie knew she'd enjoy living with Ian, but having Charlie thrown in was a bonus. Seeing that Ian appeared more amused than offended by the irascibility, she guessed the two men went back and forth this way often. She'd never had a friend to banter with and she wondered if Ian knew how blessed he was that he did.

Charlie asked her, “What other kind of things do you like to eat, Miss Maggie?”

She shrugged. “I'm not real particular. Never could afford to be.”

He studied her silently as if weighing her and her words. “We know you like blueberries. Do you like them baked in a pie?”

“I do. Very much.”

“What else?”

While she and Charlie conversed, Ian realized he'd never seen Charlie go so out of his way to be pleasing. Ian still swore he'd never had the blueberry biscuits before, but Charlie'd made them for Maggie and the gesture was very surprising because Ian thought he knew the old mountain man well.

Once they finished discussing her likes and dislikes they went back to their meal, and she asked, “How long have you lived in the Dakotas, Charlie?”

He gave her a smile. “Hear how she said Dakotas?” the pleased-looking Charlie pointed out to Ian.

“I did.” He was getting a real kick out of this. She hadn't been at the ranch a full day yet and already had him eating out of her hand. Ian couldn't wait to see what other miracles she'd bring about.

“Been here since the late thirties.”

“Where were you born?”

“Missouri. Left there when I was nine and headed west.”

“With your parents?”

He shook his head. “Alone.”

She studied him as if evaluating the truthfulness of the tale. Ian could've told her not to bother.

“That's pretty young.”

“Yep. Got tired of being a slave.”

“Ah.”

“Worked my way as a gopher for a wagon train master.”

“What on earth is a gopher?”

“You go for this, you go for that.”

“Oh,” she uttered. She glanced Ian's way but he kept his face impassive and picked up his shot glass of whiskey.

“Got to be friends with a man of color named Jim Beckworth. He was the train's blacksmith. When he left the train in Denver I went with him. After months of trapping and fighting Natives—no offense—”

“None taken.”

“We met a Crow woman who claimed Jim was her long-lost son and adopted him into the tribe. Pretty soon, he was a Crow chief.”

She looked confused. “Why would she think he was her son?”

“Jim didn't know, and to this day, I don't, either, but she did.”

She met Ian's eyes again. He toasted her with his glass.

“Charlie. Is this a tall tale?”

“Nope. As true as the story of old Big Nose George becoming a pair of shoes.”

“What! Ian?”

Ian smiled. “Now that's true.”

Maggie was speechless for a moment. “You can't turn a man into a pair of shoes.”

“Here, you can.”

So he told her the story of the outlaw and murderer Big Nose George Parrot, who received his comeuppance for his crimes at the hands of a lynch mob of masked Rawlins citizens.

Charlie interjected. “The mob had to hang him three times because they botched the first two attempts.”

Maggie stared.

“Will you let me finish?”

“She should know the details.”

Ian smiled. “Anyway, after he was finally dead, the body was claimed by two local doctors.”

Charlie interjected, “They wanted to compare his brain to a regular man's brain to see if they could find a reason why Big Nose was a criminal.”

“In the name of medical science,” Ian added.

“That's understandable, I suppose,” Maggie said but not sounding sure.