The Education of Madeline (2 page)

He wanted to say no. But he couldn't. She had a business proposition for him. That meant money. Teague would do just about anything for a buck.

Teague took all kinds of jobs that put him in harm's way, from bronc busting to transporting dynamite. He didn't care about the money. He pissed it away on whores and booze anyway. Every day he started with empty pockets, and he finished each day the same way.

With her stiffness and the way she ordered him around like he was some sticky-faced kid, and the way it made him want to wring her pretty little neck, working for Madeline could be his most dangerous job yet.

He stomped along until he caught up to her and gestured for her to proceed. She nodded regally and continued to walk. He felt the urge to stick his tongue out at her. Instead he stared at her ass when she walked. No bustle or anything to detract from the natural curves under the green dress. And the braid swung back and forth, caressing her with each pass. Unbelievably, he felt his lust stirring. Without being drunk. Without imagining she was Claire.

He reached up and slapped his cheek hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. Madeline turned around to look at him with her curious dark stare.

“Everything all right?”

No. Everything's not all right.

“Just dandy. Lead on.”

 

Jackson met up with Earl after the near hanging. He waited behind the jail, smoking a cheroot and feeling like he'd just bagged a ten-point buck.

Earl was a shitty judge; everybody knew it. But somehow he kept getting elected or appointed or whatever the hell it was that got him the job. He drank and whored with the best of them. That made him easy pickings when Jackson needed something done. Like a fake hanging.

Earl came around the corner, his eyes darting left and right like he was expecting an Indian attack.

“Relax. Nobody can see us, fool.”

Earl stuck out his chest, which unfortunately just made his big belly poke out like a woman expecting a family.

“Guard that tongue, Jackson. I can have you on a horse with a noose around your neck, too.” Malice dripped from Earl's words.

Jackson grinned at him. “Same goes for you, old man.”

After a minute of staring each other down, Earl lowered his eyes and scuffed the ground with the toe of one shiny shoe.

“Does he know what to do?”

“He'd better. We pounded it into him all night. He surely did want that five hundred dollars.”

Earl grinned and snapped his suspenders with his thumb, making a dull
thwack
against his girth.

“Excellent! Within one month, this town will belong to us.”

Jackson took a long drag of his cheroot and let the smoke out slowly.

“One month, and she'll be mine.”

 

Madeline was nervous. A condition she almost never dealt with. As she walked along with Mr. O'Neal behind her like an oversize dog, she tamped down the giddy pleasure welling up inside her. It was almost too easy, the way he had fallen into her lap. Now all she had to do was convince him.

They reached her house within fifteen minutes. Fifteen silent minutes. Mr. O'Neal had not asked one question about what kinds of repairs he would be doing. Or where he'd be living. Or even why she would step in to stop the hanging. Perhaps he wasn't the curious type.

The house was two stories high, with a large wraparound porch and a swing that danced gently in the breeze. It was enormous by any standard, and for just one person, it was simply too big. She'd painted it the brightest blue she could find and turned it into a boardinghouse of sorts. Whenever a stranger came to town, provided they were a good sort, she offered them a place to stay for a night.

Madeline never expected money for it. She already had enough to last her two lifetimes. No, she'd started doing it for the company, to give back some of the blood her father had drained from the world.

Then it became a way for her to thumb her nose at the judgmental town that never even gave her a chance. She bore the brand of being a Brewster and all that it entailed. Her father's life had stolen her future, so she lived for the present.

They walked up the three steps to the front door, which opened to reveal Eppie, her housekeeper, cook, and friend.

“Madeline! Are you crazy, girl? You can't save everyone!”

Eppie was a young mulatto who had been Madeline's first guest a few weeks after her father's funeral. As a freed slave, Eppie had drifted from place to place until she ended up in Plum Creek. A lasting friendship was born immediately. She had been living with Madeline ever since. A scarf tightly wrapped her dark hair, and the bright purple dress accented her coloring. She always wore bright colors, said it made each day a little better.

“Good afternoon, Eppie. This is Mr. O'Neal. He's our new guest.”

Eppie gaped. “Are you sure there is a man under all that dirt?”

Madeline smiled. “We'll find out, won't we? Let's start by letting him come inside.”

Eppie frowned at her, but she went back in the house. Madeline turned to Mr. O'Neal. She was surprised to find him inches from her back. A wave of awareness swept over her, leaving a trail of goose bumps behind.

“Welcome to my house, Mr. O'Neal.”

He looked at her for a moment and then at the house. “Quite a house. Is it just you and the girl?”

“And you. For now.”

He opened his mouth as if to say something else but closed it and gestured with his hand for her to lead the way.

 

After an incredibly awkward moment in the foyer, Madeline sent Eppie to the general store to see if they had any clothes that might fit Mr. O'Neal.

Madeline brought him upstairs to the bathing room, and after explaining how to use the running water, left him with two cakes of soap, three towels, and her father's shaving gear.

Eppie came back with a pair of trousers and one shirt she had bought from Mr. Hansen at the mill. He was about the only man in town as large as the new houseguest. She'd also made arrangements with Brenda Monahan, the seamstress in town, to come by and measure him in the morning for new clothes.

After delivering the new clothes
outside
the bathroom door, Madeline went downstairs and waited for him in the sitting room. It was her favorite room because it had been her mother's and had sat untouched and unused for twenty years.

After her father died, Madeline had opened it up, aired it out, and claimed it as her sanctuary. She had all her precious books in the shelves on the walls. Books were her greatest passion. She was never without one or two or even three lying around, waiting for her to get back to them.

She picked up
Sense and Sensibility
, usually one of her favorites, but found herself reading the same passage over and over. Just as she was about to get up and go check on her guest, he appeared in the doorway.

Madeline had initially thought he was an average-looking man, albeit a big one. She was unprepared to find out she had been
very
wrong. He was anything but average.

Underneath the grit and grime was a man with thick, wavy black hair and a rugged face nearly hewn from granite. He had incredible cheekbones and a strong jaw with full lips. The clean clothes hugged him like a second skin, accentuating the sheer size of his chest, shoulders, and arms. She couldn't bring herself to look any lower than that or she might embarrass herself.

“Mr. O'Neal.”

“Miss Brewster.”

His deep voice vibrated through her. She wanted to press her ear against his chest and
feel
his voice.

“Please sit down.” She gestured to the large sofa that sat across from the fireplace. As he walked toward the sofa, she found her eyes straying to his behind. His perfectly formed behind. When he sat down, she almost asked him to stand up again.

Stop it! Business first!

Madeline sat up straight in the wingback chair and pressed her hands together on her lap. She looked at his feet.

“I have a business proposition for you, Mr. O'Neal. Please listen to its entirety before you give me a yes or no answer.”

“I can do that,” he responded.

She took a deep breath and continued. “First, let me say that you are welcome to stay in the house for as long as you need to. My house is always open for those in need. In addition, I am willing to pay you to teach me certain skills I am lacking.”

Mr. O'Neal nodded.

“As I'm sure you gathered, I am unmarried and…untried by a man. My marriage prospects are virtually nonexistent, and I…I want to learn everything you can teach me about the intimacies between a man and woman.”

She let loose a shaky breath and finally looked him in the eye. He didn't look shocked. In fact, he looked almost amused.

“You want me to bed you?”

“Not just bed me, Mr. O'Neal. Teach me everything there is to know, or at least to the extent of your knowledge. And I am willing to compensate you five hundred dollars after a month's…work.”

She had thought she was nervous before, but now an entire colony of butterflies was dancing in her belly. He smiled. Then he chuckled.

Madeline almost lost her composure. She stood abruptly.

“I see that your answer is no. I won't bother you again about it, Mr. O'Neal. Please be kind enough not to mention it to anyone.”

She held herself together with sheer will as she turned to leave the room. A large hand on her arm stopped her. She turned to look up into Mr. O'Neal's face. He no longer looked amused. In fact, his pupils had widened in his incredible blue eyes, and his mouth had compressed into a thin line.

“I didn't say no.”

M
adeline's heart was pounding so hard, she thought it might burst from her chest any second. She found that her voice had deserted her, and her mouth was as dry as cotton.

He didn't say no.

But that didn't mean yes, either.

“Please sit back down, Miss Brewster.” He gestured to the chair and waited until she sat before he sat back down on the sofa.

“I thought at first you were joshing me. Trying to see how much trouble a drifter could get into. Then I realized that you wouldn't do such a thing to a man you had just saved from a hanging.” He looked at her with a serious expression on his face. “You are a pretty woman, Miss Brewster. Why would you throw away your virginity on a no-account drifter like me?”

Madeline cocked her head and regarded him for a minute before answering.

“Pretty? I think you mean that, Mr. O'Neal.”

It seemed odd to be so formal after what she had just proposed, but it seemed to be the only way to keep her sanity together during this strange conversation.

“I'm thirty-two years old,” she said. “Now, don't look shocked. You can tell I'm not a girl in the first blush of womanhood. There are no marriage prospects in this town for a woman like me, and circumstances tie me to this town sure as Excalibur was stuck in that stone. I admit to being curious about…what goes on between men and women. I've read textbooks, but that's just the scientific explanation. Just once, I want to experience true physical contact with a man while I'm still young enough to enjoy it.”

It all came out in a rush, but after she was done, it was as if a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She was finally able to take a deep breath.

“Just once?”

His softly worded question brought a flush to her cheeks, even more than her own bawdy proposition.

“I don't expect more than that.”

Oh, but that was a lie, and she knew it. Deep down where her dreams lay gathering dust, a long-ago wish rumbled to life. She tried to stuff the wish back into its hiding place, but it scratched and wailed, refusing her the chance to ignore it.

I want more. I want it all. I want a husband and children.

“And you said you would pay me for a month's wages?”

Madeline had to mentally shake herself to focus on Mr. O'Neal's question.

“Yes, I also have repairs that need to be made to the house. I'm willing to compensate you for all your…work.” She swallowed a lump and kept her gaze locked with his.

He finally looked down at the floor and leaned his elbows on his knees.

“I realize this is out of the ordinary,” she said. He croaked something between a laugh and a snort. “And I appreciate that you are considering my offer,” she continued.

He stood and wandered over to the window overlooking the backyard. Her eyes strayed to his wide shoulders, powerful arms, and back. A man worked hard to get muscles like that. Mr. O'Neal obviously worked
very
hard.

His back tapered down to a waist that led down farther to that perfect derriere. His behind was well shaped and as firm as the rest of him. A tiny shiver of longing erupted from within. Longing to run her hands across those shoulders, down those arms. To feel the sinews and bone that made up that perfect specimen of man. Her palms actually itched, so she flattened them against her knees.

“I am more than willing to make any repairs you need, and I truly appreciate the offer of room and board.”

Madeline sensed there was more coming, and she was going to be disappointed with the rest of it.

He sighed and leaned against the window frame. “But I can't say yes to the rest of your business proposition.”

All the hope that had been building collapsed like a house of cards. It was okay. Really. She hadn't expected more. Really. But she had so
wished
for more.

“Yet.”

That one word stopped her crashing spirits.
Yet
.

“When do you think you might ah…that is…make a definite decision?”

“I'm not sure, Miss Brewster, but maybe we can agree to wait a week.” He finally turned to look at her, and the absolute masculinity in this man struck her again. His black hair had dried into waves that looked as soft as silk. His eyes were pools of azure that shuttered his secrets from the world.

“A week is perfectly acceptable to me. Thank you, Mr. O'Neal.”

Teague walked over and pulled her to her feet. His hands were calloused and hard, practically engulfing hers, which were not a petite, feminine size. She tilted her head to look up into his eyes—something she hadn't done for nearly twenty years to another human being.

“I'll stay here and work for you on two conditions. First is that you call me Teague.”

“Teague.” She repeated the name, and it felt…perfect on her tongue. “As long as you call me Madeline.”

“Agreed. And don't thank me. I should be thanking you for saving my life.”

Madeline nodded her head, not willing her voice to speak. It was all so unreal. She had hoped,
prayed
for so long to find a man to fulfill her plan. Here he was. In her house. Willing to consider being her teacher.

“You're most welcome…Teague. What's the second condition?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly.

“I can't believe I'm going to say this…. If I agree to the rest of your deal, you must never tell anybody I did. I don't want to be known as a whore.”

The word slammed into Madeline like a kick from a horse.

Whore.

It was an awful, spiteful word applied to women who sold themselves for money. She'd never even considered that people would consider Teague a whore, because she paid him a month's wages.

“I don't plan on shouting it from the rooftops. This is a private agreement between you and me and involves no one else. As to the money, let's agree that I will only pay you for the repairs and improvements to the house.”

It sounded so cold. So impersonal. But wasn't that what she wanted? Wasn't that how she'd explained it to him? Yes and no. It wasn't what she wanted, really. It was how it had to be.

Teague nodded his agreement. The deal was acceptable. Now it was up to him whether or not it ever went any further than a conversation in the sitting room.

 

Teague joined her for his first official meal at what Eppie called “The Last-Chance Hotel.” When they walked into the dining room, Madeline inwardly cringed at the ornate quality of the room. A black walnut table with twelve chairs sat in the center of the room, a large brass chandelier with dangling prisms hanging above it. A blue tablecloth with matching napkins, two place settings of their everyday china with glasses, and a plain vase with bluebonnets in the middle sat upon the table. There was a breakfront on one wall, with delicate Wedgwood china lined up like a carnival booth. On another wall was a huge bay window that overlooked Plum Creek, which ran behind the house. Lastly, there was a liquor cart, which now stood with empty crystal decanters, the bourbon and whiskey long since dumped.

On the floor was a Persian rug of intricate design that was one of her father's prized possessions. The mixture of blues, greens, and purples accentuated the rose wallpaper and the light walnut wainscoting.

All in all, it was a room out of a rich man's mansion (which it was)—a fact Madeline tried to ignore. However, it was hard to ignore it when you had a man behind you scrutinizing the room down to the cream-colored damask seats on the chairs.

“Nice room.”

Madeline almost choked on her own spit. It was anything but a nice room to her.

“This was one of my father's decorating endeavors.”

She walked over to the chair next to the head of the table, and was as surprised as she could be to see a hand pull the chair out for her. She murmured a thank you and sat down. Teague sat down across from her instead of at the head of the table. He pulled the place setting in front of him.

“Why did you sit there?” she blurted.

He raised one dark eyebrow. “Is this seat taken?”

“No, of course not. It's just…well, most men would have sat at the head of the table.”

He shrugged one massive shoulder. “Not my house, not my place to sit there.”

Madeline watched as he placed the napkin on his lap and waited patiently for Eppie to bring the food in. Obviously well brought up and well mannered, his actions stirred her curiosity. Never a shy person, Madeline didn't try to curb it.

“Where are you from originally?”

Teague glanced down at the empty white plate in front of him. “Is that a job requirement?”

“No, of course not. In this house you are free to keep your secrets, and free to share your dreams.”

He nodded and looked out the window. It felt decidedly odd to sit down to supper with a man Madeline had just made an indecent proposal to. She hadn't picked him for his manners or his etiquette or the cut of his clothes (most especially). She'd picked him because he was a man who didn't know her or her family secrets, and, well, in truth because he was big. Madeline was no petite, delicate dumpling. She was not only tall, she also was big and curvy. The man to fit her had to be as big or bigger.

Teague certainly fit the “bigger” description. All over. She had to stop herself from staring at him. She had never experienced a rush of heat looking at a man before, but this one was apparently different. She reminded herself that this was still a business arrangement even if she was lusting after her proposed partner like an animal in heat.

Madeline had to change the subject in her brain, or she was going to embarrass herself. Like a savior, Eppie breezed in with a platter of fried chicken and a bowl of mashed potatoes.

“Here you go. I'll be right back with the green beans and lemonade.”

Eppie set the platter down in front of Teague and the mashed potatoes between them. She shot Madeline a look of disbelief after a good look at Teague all cleaned up. Her eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline. Madeline shook her head slightly and frowned. Eppie just grinned and left the room.

“Smells good.”

“Eppie is a wonderful cook. She was made to work in the kitchen from the time she was a young girl. Now she does it because she loves to.”

Madeline was babbling. She mentally pinched herself to stop being such a fool.

Eppie came back in with a bowl of green beans and a pitcher of lemonade. With her brown eyes dancing, she smiled widely at Madeline and set the bowl in front of her.

“Lemonade?” Eppie asked Teague.

“Yes, please,” he replied.

“Such nice manners on your man, Madeline,” Eppie teased.

“He's not
my
man, Eppie. Now stop it.”

Eppie poured Madeline's glass and then Teague's. As she set the pitcher on the table, she winked at Madeline.

“I'll leave y'all alone so you can talk business.”

With a little giggle, she pranced out of the room. The sound of her tinkling laughter floated back to them as she dashed back to the kitchen.

“I'm sorry. Eppie is…a free spirit.”

“She's a sweet girl.”

“Yes, she is. Eppie is my best friend. My only friend.”

After she said it, Madeline wanted to tuck the words in her pocket and hide them. She sounded so pitiful. One friend in the whole world.

“I used to have a friend myself. A best friend like your Eppie.”

Teague reached forward, speared a piece of chicken, and put it on his plate.

“What happened to him?” Madeline heard herself ask.

“He died in my arms. At Shiloh.”

Well, that certainly put a damper on things. Madeline just couldn't stop her mouth sometimes. She put a spoonful of mashed potatoes on her plate and held the bowl out to him.

“Potatoes?”

He took the bowl and slid the platter of chicken toward her. Madeline took a drumstick and tried to force herself to feel hungry. Teague took a healthy portion of potatoes and green beans.

“I'm sorry I said that. It wasn't right to bring it up at our first meal together.”

Madeline looked up at him in surprise. Teague's blue eyes shone with sincere regret and a hint of ancient pain.

“We'll start over, then. Could you pass the green beans?”

He handed her the bowl and held on to it as she moved to take it.

“I don't know what to make of you, Maddie.”

Maddie.

Her mother had called her Maddie, but no one else ever had. Her father had forbade it after her mother had died. He had always hated the name and insisted she be called Madeline, as her grandmother had been called.