MM03 - Saturday Mornings (18 page)

She took his hand then and pressed it lightly against her cheek. “I will. I promise.”

They stood that way for a while longer, his hand on her cheek, her hand over his, filled with longings and paralyzed by regrets.

“For all the ways I've hurt you, I'm sorry,” he said.

“I am too. For all the hard times I've given you. I was very foolish and naive.”

“You were neither. I was overbearing and arrogant.”

“You were not. You were generous and protective.”

They both laughed.

“If we keep on this way,” he said, “well have to pin medals on each other.” He grinned and waggled his eyebrows at her. “I can think of a few good places I'd like to pin yours.”

She blushed.

“Good night... again. Sweet dreams, pretty one.” He started to leave then turned back. “Remember... when you want me, when you need to be touched, all you have to do is say the word. I'm here for you when you're ready.”

He went down the walk, whistling. She could still hear the faint melody as he climbed into his truck. Then the door slammed, and the engine roared to life, and both Andrew and his music drove out of her life.

o0o

Andrew's phone was ringing when he got home. It was Rick.

“I like her, Andrew.”

“Good. I love her.”

Rick laughed. “I guess you're camping on her doorstep, playing that guitar and courting like mad.”

“No.”

“No?”

“She's the quiet kind who can't be rushed. I'm waiting for her to give me a signal.”

“You're waiting? That's not like you. How do you know you won't be waiting forever?”

“Because I know, that's all.”

“Let me know if you need any advice. I swept Martha Ann off her feet.”

Andrew heard his sister-in-law in the background. “Only because I wanted to be swept, darling.” Then he heard kissing sounds. Quietly he hung up. In a few more minutes they would have forgotten that they'd called.

Andrew got his guitar and went to his front porch. It was a balmy night, one of those summer evenings disguised as October. He sat in his rocking chair and struck a chord. Then another. And another. Before long he was playing “All I Ask of You” from
The Phantom of the Opera.

Margaret Leigh would come to him. Soon. He knew, for he'd roused her sleeping sexuality, he'd stoked the fires, he'd been warmed by them. As he played, the haunting words of the song whispered through his mind.

“Say you love me, Margaret Leigh.”

His only answer was a whippoorwill calling from deep in the woods.

o0o

Margaret Leigh found Tess waiting up for her.

“How did it go, Margaret Leigh?”

“I had a lovely evening.” Margaret Leigh kicked off her heels and sank onto the sofa beside her sister. “I've fallen madly in love with him, and I don't quite know what to do about it.”

“I can give you tons of advice... some of it's even good.” Tess laughed. “Heaven knows, I've had enough experience. What do you want to know first?”

“Well...” Margaret Leigh paused, thinking of the many times she'd berated him for living in the woods with nothing but birddogs and wishing she knew a way to prove to him that she'd been wrong. Then she thought of all the times he'd reached out for her and she'd wanted to be in his arms. But the promise had stood between them, and she hadn't known how to take it all back.

She looked at her sister, bright and beautiful and self-confident. “I thank you for the offer, Tess, but this is something I have to figure out for myself. If I'm to have a life with Andrew McGill, I have to learn how to deal with... everything by myself. You won't always be around to tell me what to do when I make a mess of things.”

Tess stood up and stretched. “I have a feeling that you'll know exactly what to do when the time comes. 'Night, Maggy.”

o0o

It took Margaret Leigh three days to figure out what to do. Fortunately she had a wealth of information at her fingertips—at the library. What did a man do with bird dogs, anyhow? She found the answer at the library. What were the National Field Trial Championships? There were books on the subject at the library.

She laid her plans and then set about implementing them. And in those three days, she didn't hear a word from Andrew. The old Margaret Leigh would have panicked. She'd have thought that a man like him couldn't possibly be in love with a woman like her, that he'd said so in a moment of impulse and had changed his mind. But the new Margaret Leigh thought of all the ways he'd shown his love, and she loved him even more for giving her the time and space she needed.

When she had everything ready, she went to Tess.

“I do need to know one thing, Tess.”

“Tell me what you need.”

Margaret Leigh told her. After Tess had finished laughing she showed her.

o0o

Andrew McGill was sleeping the peaceful sleep of a man with a clear conscience. He stirred in his sleep, dreaming that a mosquito was tickling his wrist. He burrowed his head closer to his soft pillow and dreamed he was in a fragrant meadow. He could smell the flowers.

“Andrew.”

Now he was dreaming that he heard an angel's voice.

“Andrew.”

And the voice sounded exactly like Margaret Leigh's. He sat bolt upright, lifting his hands to rub the sleep from his eyes. There was something attached to his right hand. He blinked, adjusting his eyes to the darkness, and looked at his hand. A golden cord was tied around his wrist, and that cord was attached to another hand, a small, soft, sweet-smelling hand. A smile began to form at the corners of his mouth. Attached to the sweet-smelling hand was a woman, a woman wearing a white silk gown and a smile.

“Margaret Leigh.”

“That's my name.” She smiled.

“How the devil did you get in?”

“Is that any way to greet a woman in love?”

She leaned forward and kissed him. It was a long time before he wanted to say anything else. He pulled her close, his mouth sealed with hers, her breasts molded against his chest, his free arm wrapped around her waist.

When he finally came up for air, he asked again, “How in the world did you get in?”

“I picked the lock.”

“You picked the lock. Good grief, where did you learn a thing like that?”

“I'll never tell.”

He laughed. “People go to jail for less.”

“Take me prisoner. I'm yours.” She nibbled the side of his neck and rubbed her hand down his thigh.

“There's one little thing standing in my way.” He held up their joined hands. “Can we take off the cord that joins us?”

“For now. But the separation will be only temporary. I want to be joined to you forever.”

Andrew went very still. He had finally heard the words he'd been waiting for, and he didn't trust himself to speak. All the love he felt for Margaret Leigh welled up inside him, and he got a lump in his throat.

“Do you mean that?” he whispered.

“Now and forever. I love you, Andrew McGill, and if you still want me—”

“If I want you!” He cupped her face and gazed at her as if she were the only woman he'd ever seen. “Margaret Leigh, I want you more than sunshine on Saturday mornings and bird dogs that know how to hold a point. I want you more than old blue jeans washed so many times, they've gone soft and comfortable.” He paused, trying to think of all the things he loved most in the world. “I want you more than music played softly on the front porch on a balmy summer evening. I want you more than laughter and buttered popcorn in front of a warm winter fire.” His eyes glistened. “I want you now and forever.”

For a moment, her own eyes were bright with unshed tears of happiness; then a smile broke through, and finally a soft laugh. “Andrew, does that mean we're going to get married?”

“It does.” He chuckled and gave her a formal bow, as formal as a naked man could make. “I couldn't have proposed more nicely myself. I accept, Margaret Leigh.”

Grinning, she propped her elbow on her knee and her hand on her chin and pretended to be deep in thought.

“That's not good enough. Show me, Andrew.”

His gaze burned over her as he loosened the silken cord that bound their wrists.

“This could take all night.” He tossed the cord to the foot of the bed, and then he began to savor his bride-to-be.

He placed her back against the pillows and traced her with his hands. They skimmed over her shoulders, brushing aside her tiny straps.

“I love you in white.” He hair gleamed gold as he bent over her. “I plan to love you in all the colors of the rainbow.” His lips sent shivers through her.

“The sun has never touched you here—” he paused to savor the spot, then continued, “and here... and here... but I have... and I will.”

The gown rustled as he slipped it over her feet and tossed it aside. It formed a pool of white beside the gold silk cord.

Poised above her, taking his weight on his elbows, he studied the face of the woman he loved. “This time, you came to my bed willingly.”

“Yes.” Her fingertips traced his face. “Oh, yes, Andrew. I'm willing.”

“When two people come together out of love, the experience is too beautiful to be described, Maggy.”

“Then show me.”

And he did. He filled her with music and beauty and enchantment and the mystery of a magic too wonderful to comprehend.

Theirs was a sweet and tender joining, an exchange of private vows with only a white silk gown and a gold silken cord as witnesses. And when it was over, he cradled her in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder and his leg draped over her hips.

He kissed her forehead. “Thank you for coming to me.”

“Nothing less would have done. I had to show you that I accept you on your terms, Andrew. I love you and want you just as you are.”

They lay still a while, enjoying the closeness of two people who have loved long and loved well. There was a small noise, and Andrew lifted himself on one elbow to look at Margaret Leigh. “Did you say something?”

“No.” She smiled and rubbed his cheek. “You must be hearing things.”

The noise came again, a low pitched whine. He cocked his head, listening. “If I didn't know better, I'd think I was hearing a puppy.”

She chuckled. “I thought he'd be quiet until the morning.”

“He?”

She sat up and slipped on her gown then she reached for his hand. “Come with me, Andrew. I have something to show you.”

He grabbed a pair of shorts. “If it's as good as the last thing you showed me, I don't think I can stand it.”

“Wait and see.”

She led him into his den and flicked on the lights. In the middle of the floor sat a cardboard box, and peeping over the top of the box was a small liver-and-white pointer.

“It's a birddog puppy.”

She laughed. “I know that, Andrew.”

He squatted beside the box and lifted the puppy out.

“He has fine markings, good color.” He glanced up at Margaret Leigh. “What's he doing in my den?”

She squatted beside him and began to rub the puppy's head. “He's my wedding gift to you. After all the things I said about your profession, I had to find a way to let you know that I believe in you and what you do.”

“He's beautiful. You're beautiful.” He leaned over to kiss her, and soon they were wrapped in each other's arms, kissing as if there were no tomorrow. They might have continued if the puppy hadn't protested. He didn't like being squashed.

Andrew pulled back, and Margaret Leigh sat on the floor, drew her legs up, and wrapped her arms around them. “He's not champion stock. I couldn't afford to get you a puppy sired by champions. But I know you can train him to be a champion, Andrew. I just know you can.”

Andrew put the puppy back into the box and led Margaret Leigh to the sofa. Sitting with her cuddled against his shoulder, he asked her the question that meant everything to him, the one he'd almost been afraid to ask.

“It takes space for kennels, space for training.”

“I know.”

“How?”

“I'm a smart woman, Andrew. I looked it all up at the library.”

“Are you willing to live here with me, in the woods?”

“On two conditions.”

“Name them.”

“That you let me get a television. I don't think I've heard the news until I see Peter Jennings.”

“That's a small concession I'm willing to make. What's the second?”

“That we can add space when the babies start coming?”

“The babies?”

“You don't want children?” Her face fell. “I thought... well, your brother has six and your sister has two.... and I thought you'd want—”

“Four or five will do nicely.” Smiling, he ran his hand down her thigh. “There's just one thing, Margaret Leigh.”

“What's that?”

“Rick's way ahead. I think we'd better get started, or we'll never catch up.” He lay back on the sofa, taking her with him. “What do you say to that, my pretty one?”

She reached for the waistband of his shorts. “I say we’ll never catch up if you don't stop talking.”

Epilogue

Boguefala Bottom was in full flower. Redbud and dogwood trees stood side by side, the redbud as flirty as painted ladies at a Saturday-night dance, and the dogwood as shy and blushing as a bride. Violets sprang up in the rich, dark earth, turning their purple faces toward the sun. Oak trees sprouted baby green leaves, and along the sunny hillsides, daffodils and daisies danced in the spring breeze.

Margaret Leigh McGill stepped onto the front porch, her thick dark hair hanging loose around her shoulders. She wore comfortable faded jeans and a soft rosy shirt, and she was wielding a broom and humming.

The bristles sang across the bare boards, kicking up only an occasional spurt of dust. Since Margaret Leigh's advent to Boguefala Bottom, dust and spider webs and mildew and bathtub rings were things of the past.

In the backyard, the dogs were howling their morning greeting to Andrew. Margaret Leigh knew them all by name now—Mississippi Rex and Sam Pea and Lollipop and Jonas and, last of all, Colonel Leigh, the wedding puppy. She even knew them by their barks. Colonel Leigh was the loudest of ail, his voice rising above the din, eager to attract the master's attention.