“Don’t make me do this, McCready,” she pleaded in a soft whisper that only he could hear.
Her voice was low and shaking, and he leaned close. “Maggie, stop being afraid to let these men know you’re a woman with a woman’s feelings. They won’t respect you less.” But he could see even when he finished that Maggie was afraid to reveal a softer side. He couldn’t blame her. Taking her hand with his, he squeezed it gently. “Think a tar-and-feather party will satisfy everyone? I can’t just let them go.”
Relief flooded her, and she knew McCready felt her shiver before she pulled her hand free. She even managed a lopsided smile for a few seconds until she remembered Andrew Burton.
“Pamela’s sure to be upset about her father.”
“I think she’s got other things on her mind right now,” McCready said, turning, and knew that Maggie had to follow his gaze to where Pamela appeared to be arguing with Lars. “I think your husband has his women mixed up.”
“He’s not me husband. An’ the next man that says so will find out I’m not a soft woman.”
McCready ignored the warning in her voice, glad to see color return to her face. Her eyes were losing that glazed look, and that was all he cared about. Well, it was for a moment. From the corner of his eye he saw a man step out from behind the miners clustered around the three wounded men. His russet hide vest, chaps, and bowed walk pointed to him being a cattleman, and when McCready heard the jingle of his spurs, he confirmed it to himself. He moved closer to Maggie just as she did to him. He didn’t think either of them would forget how easily they dismissed Quincy as being harmless.
“Mighty nice shootin’, fella,” the man said, tilting his hat back and squinting at them. “Name’s Mike Grant and I call Montana home. Sorry I couldn’t take a bit of the action.”
Reading no guile in the man’s eyes or in his crooked smile, McCready took his offered hand. But he felt a ripple of jealousy at the way the man’s eyes darted to Maggie.
Mike touched his hat brim. “But you’re the little gal I’ve come to find.”
Maggie bristled at the male gleam in his eye. She only had McCready to judge by, but the look was the same. “Seems I’m gettin’ to be a bigger draw than a newly staked claim.”
“An’ any fool can see why, darlin’.”
“Maggie needs to go home,” McCready cut in, every male instinct sending him an alarm about Mike Grant.
Maggie wanted the same, but she wasn’t giving McCready the satisfaction of ordering her. She wasn’t this Mike Grant’s darlin’, or his little gal, but there was an open honesty in the warmth of his dark eyes and the deeply tanned face that set off his ready smile.
“We’ve got business?” she asked him.
“Sure do, honey. You see, Mohawk Pete, your uncle, is the one that staked me so’s I could buy a ranch I had my eye on. I’d helped Pete out of a mite of trouble, an’ he figured this was a way to repay me. Generous man, Pete was. Made sure there was enough money to stock the place. It’s been five years, an’ I’m doin’ real well. Was right sorry to hear about his dying. Wish I could’ve been here to help you. But that’s why I’m here now. Just learned of Pete’s passing.”
“Whatever you owed Pete, forget it,” Maggie said, liking the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners.
“Much as I’d like to, darlin’, I can’t be doing that.” Mike smiled at her and winked. “The man made me an honorable proposition, and I accepted it.”
“This is all very interesting, Grant, but Maggie can hear this later,” McCready once again cut in. “She’s had a rough time and—”
“Heard it all,” Mike said, turning serious. “I’m obliged to you for taking care of her the way you did. Ain’t many men that would put their life on the line for a woman.”
“Maggie’s not just any woman. She’s damn special to me,” McCready grated from between his clenched teeth, ignoring Maggie’s stunned expression. This cowpoke was getting under his skin, and he no longer cared if the man knew it. McCready turned to Maggie, basking a moment in her smile, intending to take her arm and drag her away if necessary, but Mike’s arm snaked between them and caught hold of Maggie’s hand, pulling her to his side.
“You did real fine, mister. But I’ll take over caring for her now. Maggie’s got packing to do so we can get a fresh start in the morning.”
“Packin’?” Maggie looked up at Mike in confusion. She peeled his hand from hers. She couldn’t make sense of this. “You’re mistaken. I’m not plannin’ on goin’ anywhere with you or anyone.”
Mike’s jaw angled out and he tugged his hat brim forward. “Right sorry to hear you feel that way. But, darlin’, you ain’t got a choice. This here paper I’ve got says we’re married—”
“Married!” Maggie yelled.
“…married, like I was saying, all nice and legal. My wife’s gonna obey me.”
“Wife!” Lars pushed his way to them. “No. You make a mistake. Mary is my wife.”
“Who the hell are you?” Grant glared at the newcomer, taking his measure and figuring he wasn’t all that big.
“Me,” Lars announced, pointing to his chest, growing tired of having to explain. “Larson Vladimir from the territory of Washin—”
“Washington and he owns his own sawmill,” Maggie finished for him. “Pete staked him to buy land and the mill. Right generous of old Pete, wasn’t it?” she asked of no one but herself, not understanding her uncle’s conniving. It was bad enough when McCready first had told her they were married—but two more? And she didn’t even want a husband!
“
Ja
. Mary tells this true. So she is my wife.”
“Can’t be, fella. I got papers right here.” Mike dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He almost tore it in his hurry to get it open and wave it under Lars’s nose. “Read that. Says here that Maggie O’Roarke was married by proxy on the seventeenth of June, eighteen-eighty.”
“But that’s almost four years ago,” Maggie cut in, rubbing her hands over her arms. What had Pete done to her? She saw Lars frown at her and wondered what he expected her to do. Behind them, the miners were listening and buzzing with their own speculations. She looked to McCready for help, but he was staring at Mike.
“That’s right, darlin’.” Mike nodded. “Mohawk Pete married you to me, Michael Grant, just like what’s written here, in Billings, Territory of Montana. And it’s signed by Captain Earl Austin, justice of the peace.”
“
Ja. Ja
. I see your paper. You look, too, at mine. My paper says that Mary O’Roarke is married to Larson Vladimir on the seventh of April in eighteen-eighty.”
Voices rose and fell from the crowd, but Maggie didn’t hear them. Why wasn’t McCready shutting them up? Why didn’t he tell them that she couldn’t be a wife to either of these men since she was already McCready’s? She turned to him. “McCready, show them the date on your paper.” Her demand was followed by a silent prayer that his date was older.
“His paper?” Lars and Mike chorused, facing Maggie.
She raked her hands through her short hair, trying to stop the growing feeling that something was horribly wrong. “Crazy. All of this. Crazy as Pete thinkin’ he could marry me off to three men. I ain’t married to you,” she told Mike, grabbing his paper and tearing it in half. “An’ I don’t want to be married to you, any more than you want me,” she informed a stunned Lars. But he wouldn’t let her grab hold of his paper.
“McCready? Tell them, damn you!”
McCready was seething for what Pete had done. He could put a stop to this by telling them that Maggie was married to him, but she and they were demanding a paper he didn’t have. Temper glared from Maggie’s eyes, and he knew she had been pushed as far as she would allow. Another woman would be flattered to know that men wanted her without her gold mine. But not his Maggie. She wanted his proof of marriage. And he didn’t have a shred of paper to show.
“Maggie, I can’t. I lied to you.”
“Just back off an’ leave me be!” Maggie knew she was about to start screaming. A roaring filled her ears, and she saw that McCready was talking, but she couldn’t hear him. Her insides felt as if they were crumpling and she helpless to stop it.
Then everyone was looking at her, making her feel caged. Shaking her head and whispering no, Maggie raised her fists.
Pamela provided unexpected rescue. She came to Maggie’s side, sliding her arm around Maggie’s waist, and confronting the men with tears glistening in her eyes.
“While the pack of you are tearing at Maggie, I tended three wounded men. No matter what he did, Andrew Burton is still my father. But how any of you could do this to Maggie after what she’s been through shows what a bunch of stupid men you are. Shame on the lot of you. Women need comforting, not badgering by a passel of men. I’m taking Maggie home to her cabin, and if one of you dares come near us,
I’ll
be the one doing the shooting!”
She caught their attention. Everyone knew that Pamela couldn’t hit a bucket unless she stuck the gun inside, but no one wanted to find out. There wasn’t one protest to be heard, least of all from Maggie.
“Belly up to the bar, boys,” Dutch offered and waited until the men turned away. He touched McCready’s shoulder. “You, too. She’s not going to want to see you at all.”
McCready started to walk back with Dutch, trying to block from his mind seeing the same terror in Maggie’s eyes that she had the night of the storm. His hands clenched with the need to hold her, but he knew Dutch was right. She wanted to be left alone. Maggie was back to not needing anyone. Certainly not him. He had lost the soft woman he had found in his isolated cabin. And the loss right now was more than he could stand.
The sight of the three wounded men lying inside the doorway stopped him. “Berger,” McCready whispered, having forgotten about the other threat to Maggie. “Ira, get up to Maggie’s cabin and keep watch. There’s still one more we need to catch.”
Ira slugged down the drink he had just poured and, grumbling, left them.
Once Satin accepted her presence, Pamela bullied Maggie into using the warm water she heated to wash, then ordered her into a clean shirt and bed.
There was little in the way of food supplies, but she didn’t want to eat, and Maggie refused the moment she mentioned it. Pamela brought Maggie a cup of whiskey-laced coffee and sat on the edge of her bed to sip at her own cup.
Maggie thought Pamela looked as lost as she felt. No matter how bad her own untenable situation was, Pamela had to face the fact of what her father had done.
“You called out a warnin’ to us, Pamela. When did you find out about your father?”
“I thought you’d be snapping and snarling like a scalded dog, Maggie.”
“Well, I’ve had the snap and snarl shook out of me.”
Pamela busied herself rimming the edge of the cup, unable to look at Maggie. “I’m so ashamed of my father. I never knew he was involved with those men. The night before, Ryder came looking for him, but Pa was still in Clairmont. And … and … Oh, Maggie, I don’t know how to tell you what I’ve done.”
For once Maggie was not annoyed with Pamela’s sniffling. She wished she could do a little of it herself. But she had shut down all thoughts about McCready and his betrayal. She closed her eyes for a moment, fighting to regain the wall she had painstakingly erected.
Pamela sipped the hot coffee, hoping she would have the courage to tell Maggie the truth. But when she glanced up, Maggie had her eyes closed and she looked away.
“Maggie,” she began softly, “have you ever in your life done something that you knew was wrong, but you did it anyway?”
Wanting to be with McCready in spite of his lies was damn wrong to Maggie, but she couldn’t deny that right now it was what she wanted. Pamela’s expectant look forced her to answer.
“Yeah, I guess I have.”
“Oh, Maggie, you don’t know how much easier you’ve made this for me.” Almost shyly, Pamela reached for Maggie’s hand and held it. “I never really felt close to you, but I always liked you, Maggie. That’s what makes telling you this so hard.”
“Maybe if you just get on with it, it won’t be so bad.”
“It…” Pamela released Maggie’s hand and wrapped both of hers around the cup. “It’s Lars,” she finally whispered.
Maggie recalled the instant when McCready’s gaze had led her to see Pamela cradled against Lars. “You’re not the kind of woman to carry on over a stranger, Pamela. Did you know him?”
“Know him?” She couldn’t help her guilty start. Maggie couldn’t know the truth. And a look confirmed that. “I … I met him right after Ryder came looking for my father. Poor Lars,” she said, shaking her head. “I held a gun on him, but I was shaking so badly I think he knew it. But he didn’t make a move; just reassured me that he meant no harm. I was so relieved that I invited him to stay for coffee.”
Biting her lip, Pamela sought encouragement from Maggie for her to continue. She had to make do with Maggie’s nod.
“Pa usually comes back the same night, but this time he didn’t. Lars stayed to have supper with me.”
Maggie read the growing shrillness of her voice as a sign that Pamela was upset and afraid to tell her the rest. “Havin’ him to supper wasn’t so bad.”
“But there’s more,” she whispered, bending to set her cup on the floor. Clasping her hands together in her lap, Pamela stared at the wall. “I did more than have supper with him, Maggie. I seduced him into my bed.”
Seeing her head bow, Maggie had the feeling Pamela was waiting for the kind of condemnation a preacher was best at giving. She had never shared talk with another woman, not like this, and didn’t quite know what to say. She certainly couldn’t blame Pamela for doing the same thing she herself had done. And Maggie knew she didn’t want to open the door and think about what happened with McCready. It hurt too much.
She really felt uncomfortable saying anything, but when Pamela once more turned to her, her gaze pleading, she had to say something.
“My pa always told me that if doin’ somethin’ made you happy an’ didn’t hurt no one—”
“But it did hurt, Maggie.” Pamela clasped her hand over her mouth.
“Then why did you do it?”
Slowly Pamela lowered her hand. “The kissing part’s all right. And men seem to want to. It really wasn’t so bad the second time.”
Maggie’s hand shook, and she handed Pamela the cup so as not to spill the coffee. Those few words triggered memories of McCready. The hungry kisses they had shared, the taking and the giving that went on and on, without pain, until Dutch had come and McCready had refused to talk to her.
“Maggie, have you ever wanted a baby? I mean, you do think about getting married someday and having children, don’t you?”
“No, can’t say as I have.”
“Well, I did. And now with Lars married to you, and after what we did, I might be having a baby without being married.”
“A baby?” Maggie couldn’t look at Pamela’s tear-filled eyes. She had never thought about babies. McCready didn’t, either. And now … She couldn’t help but look down at herself. She could be carrying McCready’s child and not even know it.
“Now, you know why I had to talk to you, Maggie. You’ve got to give up Lars. He’s got to marry me.”
“Yeah, Pamela, he’s got to marry you.” But she wasn’t prepared for Pamela flinging herself against her for a quick hard hug. “Oh, Maggie, I just knew once I explained that, you would understand. With goodness knows what’s going to happen to my father, I’ll be alone. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
Maggie untangled herself from Pamela and slipped off the bed. She had to think. With Lars and Mike both claiming her as a wife, she couldn’t tell McCready he had to marry her. She wouldn’t do it anyway. The man had lied to her. Her trust had been betrayed.
Pacing, ignoring the other woman, Maggie knew she should figure out a way for revenge, but she hurt so much.
Watching her wrap her arms around her waist, Pamela began to realize that Maggie had troubles of her own. “What’s wrong, Maggie? Can’t you share with me? I know I’m not as strong as you, but sometimes just talking will help.”
There was warmth and sympathy in Pam’s eyes, and it reached down into the raw place inside Maggie. And she found herself saying, “You’re not the only one that got fooled by a man and needs to think about babies.”
“You?”
“Yeah. Me.”
“It was McCready, of course,” Pamela stated, instantly setting aside her problem for Maggie. “What are you planning to do? I know you’d like to skin him alive, but Maggie, that wouldn’t make sense now.”
“Nothin’ much makes any sense. Look at what Pete did to me. Marryin’ me off to two men. An’ you’re welcome to Lars. The man doesn’t want me. I saw that right off,” Pamela’s hurt expression had her adding, “Not that he isn’t a fine-lookin’ man, but I’m all wrong for the likes of him. He needs someone like you. Someone soft and pretty who’ll know how to do for him.”
“Well, what about the rancher? He seemed mighty taken with you just as you are, Maggie.”
“What do I know about ranchin’? The only way I like beef is on me plate. An’ I don’t want to be married to a man who calls me darlin’.”
She turned her back toward Pamela, thinking of McCready’s voice whispering
Maggie mine
just before they joined together. Or the teasing way he called her … No, she wasn’t going to drag up any more. She was only hurting herself.
“And McCready? How do you feel about him?” Pamela asked in a timid voice.
Maggie wished she knew. She wished she could summon up anger at him. She wished she could rid herself of the ache that was growing inside her. Why did he lie to her? Pressing her fingers against her forehead, she rubbed hard. Did he want the mines so badly that he would pretend to care for her? Did he have to trick her?
There was more than that, and you know it
, a voice whispered.
“Maggie, did you hear that?” Pamela ran to douse the lantern. “There’s someone outside.”
Satin was whining at the door, scraping it with her paw.
“Stay, girl. I’ll not have you outside to get shot at again.” The darkness was no hindrance to Maggie. She found the shelf that held her cartridges, took her rifle, and went to the table to load it.
Just goes to show how much McCready hurt me
. She hadn’t even loaded her rifle when she came home.
“You’re not planning to go out there,” Pamela whispered at her back, startling Maggie. “For one thing, you’re not dressed. For another, you don’t know how many are out there. It’s all my fault. I never should’ve told everyone to stay away.”
In a surprising gesture for Maggie, she reached out and patted Pamela’s hand. “That’s who it might be. Someone comin’ to see if we’re all right.”
“Maggie, please be careful. I heard my father talking with those men. They were set on making you tell where that claim is. And they talked about someone else … a…”
“Berger,” Maggie supplied. “We got his name from Cora Ann. Don’t worry. I’m always careful.”
Not so. You didn’t do so well protectin’ yourself against McCready
.
That was the past
.
Maggie swore it would be when she lifted the bar to the door. She had to order Satin to stay again, for the dog was nosing her aside, trying to get out.
McCready left the tar and feathering to the miners. They were none too pleased not to be having a necktie party, but when he told them that was what Maggie wanted, no one argued. None of the three wounds were serious; still, McCready warned Slick to make sure the tar and feathers were kept away from the bandages. He had even supplied Cora Ann’s feather tick and watched Burton, Quincy, and Ryder taken outside with a flood of relief. By the time the miners got done with them, those three men wouldn’t be able to show themselves in the territory, for nothing spread faster than miners’ gossip.
Dutch brought the last of the glasses he had washed back to the bar. McCready looked up but didn’t say anything and went back to nursing his drink. He stood alone at the bar, but behind him, at the far table, Mike Grant sat with Lars Vladimir discussing their wife-in-common, Maggie. The Rose sat at the piano, picking out notes and softly humming.
Pouring the last of the liquor from the bottle into his glass, McCready motioned for Dutch to bring him another.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
“Just bring me another bottle, and I’ll let you know when that happens, Dutch.”
The whoops and hollers coming from outside had Dutch shaking his head. “Sounds like they’re having themselves a party out there.”
“Slick’ll make sure it doesn’t get out of hand. You can’t be feeling sorry for those three after what they tried to do.”
“Not me, boss. But you, you’re another matter.”
“Nothing’s the matter with me.”
“Hey, McCready,” Mike called out. “Come sit with us. We need you to settle something.”
“Not now,” McCready whispered.
But Dutch heard him. “What are you going to do about those two? Maggie don’t want either of them. Can’t figure Pete doing such a thing to her. When you told me that day that you lied and told Maggie she was married by proxy to you, I thought it sounded—”
“You landed a fist or two in lieu of voicing an opinion, Dutch.” McCready rubbed his jaw. “My lie wasn’t as farfetched as you seemed to think at the time. I just never thought Pete would have done that to her. Neither marriage is legal. And I—”
“McCready,” Mike called again. “You want we should join you?”
“No. I’m coming.” McCready took his glass and the fresh bottle with him. If he drank enough, he would forget the look in Maggie’s eyes. If the burning in his gut didn’t force him to quit sloshing liquor down first.
“Boss?”
“Yeah.”
“You come down with something? Long before now you should’ve been quoting from that fancy education of yours.”
“Never fear. I’ve been repeating one to myself. ‘Alas, poor woodcock, dost thou go a birding? Thou hast even set a spring to catch thy own neck.’ ” McCready offered Dutch a grin.
“That from the play you like so much?”
“Shakespeare’s
Hamlet
?” McCready shook his head. “Not so. John Dryden’s
Wild Gallant
.”
Shaking his head, Dutch muttered, “You sure do savor those fancy words. Figure you got caught in your own trap?”
“I’ve got another one for you,” McCready said, waving the bottle. “When the Spartan commander, Lysander, was told that he could not wage war by deceit, he replied, ‘Where the lion’s skin will not reach, it must be patched with the fox’s.’ And that’s what I need to do. Patch things up.”
“You think you can do that with Maggie?”
“What I think is, if I don’t go over and have a few drinks with her two husbands, I’m gonna have a fight on my hands.” He glanced from the glass to the bottle he held. “Can’t. Got my hands full.”
“What you’ve got is a belly full and don’t know it,” Dutch muttered to himself. He left the bar and went to the back door, satisfied that the job was almost done. By the torchlight he saw the three men were covered with pitch, and the last of the feathers were being tossed on them. Someone had used the tick’s covering and made cloth signs to hang around their necks, announcing these were “Cooney Camp Claim Jumpers.” “Nice,” he called out to Slick, who was already seated on the wagon that would haul the men out of there.
“Figure I’ll take them up to Clairmont first. Boys up there ain’t had a good laugh.”