Then Came You: A Prequel to The McPhee Clan (13 page)

"Yes," she agreed. She read something new in his self-possessed, unwavering gaze. His love, like the bond between them, had grown. She could not miss his gaze as she hiked her foot into the stirrup and he lifted her up effortlessly, settling her in front of him, sidesaddle. His rock-hewn arms encircled her, holding her tight and safe, keeping her from falling. It felt wonderful. Blissful.

Any way she chose to break this off would hurt him immeasurably. She cringed inside, wishing she'd been smart enough not to let this happen in the first place, hating herself for not holding onto her resolve. As Casey started out in a regal walk, splashing down the muddy drive and onto the residential road, she wanted to call herself all sorts of names. The last thing she ever wanted was to hurt her beloved Gil.

So she buried her face against his shoulder, into the crook of his neck, and breathed him in. The male scent of his skin, the faint smell of soap in his clothes, the sensation of being close to him. This moment in time was the last she could have with him. She'd already decided that. Now it was only the matter of how she would break things off with him. Because she loved him.

He could sense the change in her as he reined Casey down the street. Kids played in yards, throwing the last snowballs of the year or rolling the last snowmen. Their calls and shouts filled the silence that had settled between him and Maebry.

She felt amazing in his arms, like hugging a little piece of heaven. So sweet and special, he lacked the words to express exactly how committed he was to her. But he couldn't forget her distress. His nerve endings felt on edge, his pulse drumming too quick, worrying over what was to come. He gritted his teeth until his jaw hurt. If she wouldn't let him go into debt for her, then how could they ever be together?

His chest cracked apart at the thought of living his life without her. Agony racked through him in blade-sharp stabs. He tightened his grip on her, holding her as close as he could. Time passed while Casey marched through mud and snowmelt and the sun slid behind a bank of clouds. One thing was clear. His world would end without her. It would come crashing down, shattering into pieces, never to be the same again.

He'd come too far to lose her, he thought resolutely. As the buildings of town ambled by, he tried to keep the bad possibilities out, focusing on this moment, on the sweet scent of lilacs in her silken hair, of the sensation of those golden strands catching on his whiskered jaw, on the sweetness of her soft, feminine form in his arms. He had to make this moment last; he needed to turn it into forever. As soon as town was behind them, he pressed a kiss into Maebry's hair, closed his eyes, wished he could tell her how much she meant to him. Hoped she wasn't planning on pushing him away.

"Gil?" A man's voice carried on the wind, a familiar one.

He blinked, looked up, spotted a bay horse heading in his direction down the muddy, tree-lined road. Easy to recognize the spectacled man riding closer, dark hair tousled by the wind. Nathaniel Denby looked grim as he held up one hand in greeting.

Uh oh. That didn't look good. Gil's stomach dropped. He felt his world begin to shatter, one breath at a time. "Nate. Looks like you are coming from the Rocking M."

"That's right." Nate stopped his horse so they were facing each other. Sadness marked his square face. He swept off his hat, respectfully, and something in his posture made Gil stop, made him set aside his troubles and see there was something else going on. Nate hung his head, cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I have bad news."

Gil turned cold inside. "It's Maureen?"

Nate nodded. He raised his head, took a breath. "She passed away a little bit ago."

"Oh, no." Maebry's hands flew to her face, she sat as still as stone, struck by the news. So tender-hearted. Gil curled his hand around her shoulder, felt her tremble, gave her a comforting squeeze.

"I'm sorry." Nate looked choked up. "I stayed with Aumaleigh as long as she would let me. Josslyn came in to help with supper, and she took over. She could do more for Aumaleigh, as they are so close. I feel as if there is more I should do. If you think of anything, will you tell me?"

"I will." Gil nodded once in thanks. "This will be hard on Aumaleigh."

"Yes, that's true." Nate's horse stepped forward a few paces, then stopped. The lawyer glanced over his shoulder, genuinely distressed. "I wish there was more I could do for you, Maebry. Maureen refused to consider giving you your freedom in her will. Aumaleigh isn't in a position to negotiate on the estate's behalf."

"I know." Maebry nodded matter-of-factly, as if this was no surprise to her at all. "Thanks anyway, Nate, for trying. That was decent of you."

"It's not right how this turned out." Troubled, Nate urged his horse on, riding through the shadows, heading toward town.

Sorrow for Maureen and especially for Aumaleigh battered him. Gil blinked once, trying to keep it all in, but it was nothing compared to the wrench of loss he felt for Maebry. What was to become of her? The bottom fell out of his stomach. He felt as if he were falling, tumbling, unable to stop. He let out a shaky breath.

"I need to get home, Gil." Maebry sounded different, her voice without music, without emotion. She stared ahead toward the bend in the road, where the hills arched upward toward the sky, hiding the ranch's main buildings from sight. "I need to help Aumaleigh. She shouldn't have to deal with this all alone. The death, preparing the body. The wake and the f-funeral."

Maebry was crying. Controlled, honest tears she fought to hold back. But they came anyway, escaping over her bottom lashes to roll slowly down her cheeks.

Crying for Maureen. Crying for Aumaleigh.

And for us, he thought. She would never accept the love and future he wanted to offer her. Holding his heart still, so still he couldn't feel a thing, he urged Casey forward, racing home.

Aumaleigh sat in the silent room alone with her mother's body. The bright red rage that had dominated Maureen's face less than thirty minutes ago had faded, her tirade over refusing to accept Nate's suggestion to give Maebry her freedom had long since silenced, only the evidence of her final stroke remained in the unnatural twist of her face.

Aumaleigh let out a sad sigh that was part sob. She felt sorry for her mother, she felt deep pity for her mother, she wished things had gone differently for her. But it would be hard to miss her. No, she thought as she brushed an errant white curl off her mother's forehead, she'd been grieving for years. Grieving for the mother Maureen failed to be, grieving for the happiness Mother could have had if she'd softened her heart, grieving for the love, every bit of it, Maureen had shoved away and dismissed as worthless.

All the money Maureen had saved up, stowing away with a miser's love, did her no good now. That was the true tragedy of Maureen McPhee's life. Aumaleigh patted the cold, gnarled hand, sad that her mother had run out of chances to redeem her life, to finally understand what mattered.

Exhausted, Aumaleigh stood, the only sounds in the room were the faint squeak of the bed ropes, the slow cadence of her shoes across the floorboards, the pop from the fireplace where the fire had burned down to embers and ashes. Even with her mother gone, she still knelt to add wood to the grate, reached for the steel poker to stir up the embers, feeling the radiant heat against her face. She did not want to leave the body in a cold room.

She blinked back tears, it was time to say goodbye. She studied the empty shell, pathetic looking now with Mother's malice gone. The room seemed almost peaceful. Perhaps wherever Maureen's soul was now, she'd found some semblance of peace. Hoping so, Aumaleigh swiped hot tears from her eyes, reached out and patted her mother's foot through the bed covers.

"It wasn't easy loving you, but I did." The words stuck like paste in her throat. But she said them anyway. "Have a good journey."

She wished things could have been different, but they could not be changed now. She had to accept that. She'd done all she could for Mother. Everything a daughter could do. And it was over now. Feeling a little hollow, a little grateful and mostly relieved, she retreated from the bed and headed for the door.

Josslyn and Orla were in the hall, carrying towels, clothes and a basin of steaming water. Both sorrow and understanding wreathed their faces.

"We'll take care of her." Josslyn reached out, patted Aumaleigh's arm, her touch communicating decades of friendship. "You go downstairs and let this soak in. I left some tea on the table for you. Drink it, and I'll be down to talk in a bit."

Tears flooded Aumaleigh's eyes. She didn't know what to say. "What would I ever do without you?"

"You'll never have to find out." Josslyn scooted by her in the narrow hall.

"That's right," Orla seconded. Water sloshed out of the basin as she switched hands, reached out to give Aumaleigh a brief, comforting hug. "We're right here, right beside you. We aren't going anywhere."

"Even when it looks like you won't get paid now?" she joked, choosing humor over tears, but they came anyway. She gave Orla another hug, exchanged looks with Josslyn that she hoped communicated her love and gratitude and stumbled down the hall, spared the sad task of washing and preparing her mother's body.

The stairs ahead of her blurred, growing more impossible to see with every step. She grasped the railing tightly as she went down the stairs and willed the tears from her eyes, but the searing wetness brimmed over, unstoppable. She felt her way across the kitchen to the little drop-leaf table by the side window. She groped her way into one of the chairs, breathed in the scented steam of the steeping tea—the lavender and chamomile blend she made from her own garden—and planted her elbows on the table. Lowering her face into her hands, she let the tears come. She cried for Maureen's wasted life; she cried for herself and for the love that she'd lost, the love that would never come around again.

When the two story log house came into sight with lamplight gleaming in the windows and gray smoke curling up from chimneys and stove pipes, Maebry felt the unrelenting hit of surprising sorrow. Mourning seemed to hover around the house, darkening the light, feeding the shadows.

Feeling full of shadows herself, her heart caught on a beat, lingering there, stuttering. It was her future that troubled her now and she hung her head as Casey eased to a slow walk. His rolling gate rocked her against Gil's broad chest one last time before the animal stopped on the drive between the house and the nearest barn. She clung to the saddle horn, in her mind she'd already leaped from the horse's back and stood on the ground...except she hadn't moved a muscle.

Probably because she didn't want to. Sorrow ratcheted through her. She knew that her life would be worse with Maureen gone. Things had to be different now. Maebry blew out a breath, forced herself to unwrap her fingers from around the leather horn. Time to get out of this saddle and away from Gil. Like Cinderella, her clock had struck midnight. It was back to the reality of her life, to the consequences she'd chosen long ago when she'd signed seven years of her life over to Maureen, and seven more for Nia.

She hiked her chin up, noticed Gil had slipped his foot from one of his stirrups for her to use. Remnants of their time together, of that long, endless, timeless span on the porch in his arms, simply being held by him, stayed with her. And hurt as she stuck her toes into the stirrup, took care not to lean on Gil, not to need him as she climbed down.

He sensed it. She knew he did. It was like the sun going out. Like the world had stopped spinning.

"Thank you for the ride home." Polite, courteous, distant. That's how it had to be. She fisted her hands for strength, took a step in the mud, felt it squish beneath the soles of her shoes. "Thanks to you too, Casey. You braved all that mud fearlessly."

Casey arched his neck, gave a little proud nicker as if to say in his horsy way,
no problem
.

"You'll let me know if you need anything?" Gil's kindness reached out to her, stopping her in her tracks.

Oh, she wanted him. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing every muscle in her body
not
to turn around, not give in to the temptation to gaze upon him. Already she missed him, the heat of his presence, the snap of connection zinging through her heart. She
needed
to look into his eyes and read his feelings there. He was her weakness, this love she felt was hopeless. She belonged to strangers, now, to people who lived in Illinois, who controlled her destiny. She knew nothing about Maureen's heirs. Not one thing.

She did her best to keep walking, to nod, raise her hand in acknowledgement, but she kept on going. Squishing through the mud, fighting her feelings, doing what she had to do. The right thing to do. The only thing she could do.

As if Gil understood, he didn't call out to her again. The world felt cold, the wind hostile as she plunged one foot into the thick mire, heard the splash of water, wished her heart wasn't shattering into a million pieces. Didn't know how to stop it. She longed for the safe harbor of Gil's arms with every fiber of her being.