An Unwilling Husband (28 page)

Maggie opened the door for him as he deftly pulled the buckets inside to the kitchen, spilling nary a drop. She’d found herself looking for him throughout the day while she’d tried to do her part around the ranch. And had tried to stop herself, but every few minutes would pull her gaze in the direction Garret was with the cattle. The sight of him up on the porch, so ready to help her with the water, filled a hole in her that had been dug there when he’d disappeared earlier in the day.

A plucked chicken roasted on a spit above the fire, and the bread she’d made earlier in the day already lay on the table. Used to bachelorhood for so long, Garret had long ago learned to cook and fend for himself. For that, sometimes she was truly grateful.

Garret turned the spit. “It’ll probably be a half an hour more.”

“Perfect. That will give me time to drain the cream off the milk.” Maggie set to her task, ladling the cream from the top of the bucket with a wooden spoon. She felt as if Garret watched her, and a sly glance in his direction proved her instincts spot on.

He leaned back in his favorite chair, staring at her, wearing a thoughtful expression. She would have paid good money to get a peek into his thoughts at this moment, but returned her attention to the milk.

Boots and spurs scuffled against the wooden floorboards as he drew closer. He stopped behind her then traced her backbone through her dress, just one finger’s soft touch.

“Next time we’re in town, I want to get you another dress,” he said low. “A woman pretty as you should have dresses to choose from.”

Maggie stopped ladling and leaned into his hand, tipped her head backward and looked into his face. His gaze traveled to the outline of her breasts, both of which were pressed for space in the dress’s fitted bodice. The corner of his mouth turned up and he leaned down, put his lips on hers.

It was scandalous to kiss a man upside down, from that position. She couldn’t help but relish it. A hungry shiver took her as he found his way with his hand and cupped her breast, the material of her cotton dress the only barrier between their skin. With his free hand, he released the pins from her hair, throwing them carelessly on the floor. He delved with his fingers through the thick waves of her hair and his soft lips moved against hers again and again, as if she were some exotic nectar he couldn’t drink enough of.

As he stroked lazy circles with his thumb where the fabric of her dress met the skin of her breast, a moan escaped her, and again as he pushed his hand inside the material, kneaded her fullness.

Hooves clopped on the ground outside, loud in the stillness.

“Come on out, Shaw,” a man drawled in a deep voice, slurring his words. Wyatt Jennings.

“Aw, hell,” Garret whispered and pulled away, leaving her flesh cold where he’d removed his hand. He nodded at the rifle on the wall meaningfully, checked his pistols still in the holster on his hips and glanced out the window. Motioning for her to stay put, he opened the door then shut it tightly behind him to face Wyatt Jennings alone.

Frenzied panic raced through her. Wyatt was dangerous on a good day and now he had drink in him. Garret’s men were out with the cattle, beyond reach for backup. What should she do?

She gave a soft growl of frustration, grabbed the rifle, checked that it was loaded and stuffed two more rounds in the pockets of her dress for good measure. Silent as a breath, she tiptoed to the back door, careful to avoid the planks that creaked.

Outside, the night air on her bare arms gave her a chill, made her feel exposed and unprotected. The men were talking on the other side of the house but she was unable to make out what they said. As she crept slowly around the side, she sent a silent thank you to Lenny for gifting her such quiet shoes.

The setting sun gave off enough light to see the men conversing in front of the house. Garret stood on the porch, leaning against the railing like he didn’t have a care in the world, while Wyatt spoke furiously and waved a gun around with careless abandon. Her heartbeat hammered in her chest. The gun now pointed at Garret. One drunken slip of the finger and he would be lost to her forever. He still hadn’t drawn his weapon.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t put a bullet in you,” Wyatt demanded unsteadily. “You deny my sister. Embarrass her in front of the whole town for a woman you don’t care a thing for. You up and take the cattle that should have been ours. Whitfield sold us his land. His cattle should have come with it. Mighty underhanded, Shaw.”

“Seems to me what’s underhanded is forcing Whitfield off his land in the first place. Can you blame him for wanting to sell his cattle to someone else?”

“That ain’t the point! It’s like you are here to just…just…get to me. You are a splinter. Irritating and always at the back of my mind,” Wyatt said. “You’ve been trouble for me since we were little and there has to be repercussions for pushin’ somebody so long, you hear?”

“Well, I’m sorry ’bout your bad luck. I think you’re just used to getting your way by bullying, and it ain’t working here. I’m just trying to keep my ranch, Wyatt. That’s all. You and your family are going to have to accept we are here and learn to ignore it.”

“You know this place is going to be mine,” Wyatt said, waving his gun in the direction of the land. “With this place, and old Roy’s place, it’ll make a fine piece to start me out. Maybe I’ll get me a little wife. Maybe she’ll be fair and redheaded, with pretty green eyes like the whore you wrangled. Make me some redheaded little babies.”

“Enough!” Garret barked. “Get off my land. Now.”

There was steel in his voice and the crack of tension was so thick, it was almost tangible. Wyatt smiled as if such a show of emotion was exactly what he wanted. He pulled his gun up and directed the barrel at Garret’s chest. As drunk as he sounded, his aim looked true and steady.

She whipped around the house and chambered a round, stalked steadily forward as Wyatt and Garret turned at the sound.

“We was just talkin’ about you,” Wyatt sneered, pulled the gun off Garret’s chest and held it carelessly in the air. “’Cept I had an idea.” He swung his gaze to Garret, likely ruling her out as any real threat. “I hadn’t even got to the good part yet! I was thinking, if your pretty little wife here died, you’d be free to marry my sister and this land would be Jennings land after all. Am I right?”

Wyatt brought his pistol up steadily and with a look of pure hatred in his eyes, aimed it at her. Time slowed to a crawl while she watched in horror as the events went off as if she were dreaming. For surely such horror and violence could only be the result of a night terror.

From Wyatt’s steady hand and the venom in his gaze, he intended to kill her. She pulled the trigger and her aim was true. She hit him in the chest at almost the precise moment Garret shot him in the head, having pulled his gun as soon as the threat was aimed at her.

Wyatt’s brain matter exploded from the side of his face and his body jerked. His weapon fired, his mind having already told his finger to pull the trigger. Final instructions carried out by a hand that didn’t know it was dead yet.

She screamed as searing pain blasted through her shoulder and she was blown off her feet, backward into the dirt.

“Maggie!” Garret yelled as he jumped over the porch railing and ran for her. She felt blood soaking her dress before he was even able to get to her. Such a warm and odd feeling, when life’s vital fluid spilled.

He skidded to a stop beside her and propped her shoulders in his lap. Scanning the entry and exit wounds, he whispered, “No, no, no, no,” as if it would help. “Lenny!
Lenny
!” he bellowed in a panicked voice.

The girl appeared as if by magic around the side of the house. She chugged breath heavily as if she’d already been running their way.

“Ride for the doc and the sheriff. Ride like hell!”

Lenny disappeared to the barn, running so fast she blurred. Moments later, the Indian girl tore out bareback on her mare, gripping the mane for dear life with the promise of running the beast to death if it came to it.

“She can’t understand you when you only speak English, you know,” Maggie said somberly. She tried her best to smile and ignore the blazing pain that brought stars to the edge of her vision.

Still clutching her shoulders, he looked at her in shock. “That Indian understands the language just fine. I know she talks it too. You two ain’t as clever as you think you are. I have to get this blood stopped.” He put her down gently on his lap and pried his shirt off, ripping every button in the process. “This is going to hurt.”

Before she could respond, he’d pressed the cloth onto both sides of her wound and pushed down with force. She tried not to scream again, she really did. But the pain made her do things she didn’t mean, and the effort proved fruitless.

“Garret,” she said through tears and gasping breaths, “if anything happens to me, promise you’ll write my uncle. Tell him.”

“Don’t talk like that, Maggie,” he pleaded, fear evident to the very whites of his eyes. “I won’t let nothin’ happen to you. Do you hear me?”

“Please,” she said, growing weaker, “just write him...let him know what has happened to me. Tell him I was...happy.” She tried to smile again but the trembling in her voice gave away her fear.

“What’s his name?”

“William Hall. Of Boston.”

Eyebrows furrowed, he whispered, “William Hall is your uncle?”

The corners of her vision blurred and blacked out to a pinpoint.

“Maggie? Maggie! I love you. Do you hear me? I love you. I won’t let nothin’ happen to you.”

She slipped into a blissful unconsciousness to escape the pain and weakness as the last tear filled words from Garret’s mouth guided her into the all-consuming blackness.

* * * *

Maggie’s lifeless form was tucked neatly into Garret’s bed. Doc had come to find him in the front of the house, still pressing as tightly as his shaking arms could on the bullet hole that had pierced his wife. She’d lost too much blood, the doctor said, and had given a grim prognosis. He’d cleaned the wounds and sewn her up, and Garret had tucked her in tightly to keep the cool air from her struggling body.

She hadn’t awakened. Her lips had taken on a blue tint and her skin grown so pale, he could trace the veins running just beneath the surface; her breathing was shallow and labored. He couldn’t find it in himself to leave her for fear she would pass when he wasn’t there with her.

The sheriff was aware of the history. He took Wyatt’s corpse and cleared Garret of any wrongdoing. One look at Maggie, and the lawman had offered him his condolences and been on his way to take the body to Clint Jennings with strict orders for no retaliation.

Even near death, she looked like an angel, and though never having been a praying man before, in desperation, he asked God to let her stay with him.

The fever and shakes began on the second day as infection set in. Doc visited daily to offer what help he could. On the fourth day, the first signs of blood poisoning appeared as little tendrils of red staining her fair skin around the wounds. Maggie withered while her body tried desperately to replenish the blood lost and fight the deadly infection.

The rise and fall of her chest became an obsession. His life felt dependent on the next breath. He found himself agitated whenever anyone came in to pay their respects and interrupted his quiet watchfulness.

Except for Lenny, that was. She cared for Maggie as if she were a sister, and changed her bandages, spent hours dribbling broth down her throat. She bathed her every night, and fixed her hair so she would be presentable for visitors who came to pay their respects. Maggie would likely never know the pains the girl went through for her last days, nor would Lenny expect attention or praise for anything she did, but he was grateful he could share his grief with someone almost as affected as he by this woman.

He didn’t bother to speak anything other than English to the girl, and Lenny didn’t bother pretending she didn’t know what he said. Wanting to be close in case she was needed, which was fine by him, she stayed in the loft and cooked for them. Which made it easier for him to be able to remain at Maggie’s side.

The ranch went on in a somber, numbing haze. Words were rarely spoken between the hands as they went about their day and fulfilled their duties. The animals didn’t go hungry. The livestock were milked, watered, and tended. They were cared for, but there was no joy in the work. No smiles or jokes. The wind carried no laughter.

The first two nights Garret slept beside her, with his hand gently resting on her stomach, where she wouldn’t feel pain. After the fever hit, however, he’d resorted to sleeping in the rocking chair he’d dragged up beside her bed to give her space and the comfort of cool air on her heat-scorched skin. The hole in his heart ached at the thought of losing her. He missed her. Missed so much about her. The countless number of things he had learned to love about her were made so painfully clear in her absence.