Spring Blossom (10 page)

Margaret tore herself free and he let her
go. “I simply want you to leave me alone.”

“Why?”

“Because it is my wish.” The troubled eyes
she raised to him now were no longer fearful but filled with anger
and determination. “Just go away and leave me alone.”

He studied her expression for a moment,
deciding her words masked some greater meaning. He could understand
that her feelings for him could have diminished over the years, but
there was much more about her reaction to him that he obviously
failed to understand. “I can’t do that,” he said with quiet
determination. Taking hold of one wrist, he asked, “Will you walk
or must I carry you again?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said
and tugged in vain to free her wrist. The man was being
exceptionally pigheaded! Surely he must understand by now that
there was no longer anything between them; that she wanted nothing
to do with his attentions. She was not the raving beauty everyone
had expected her to become and that alone should have been
off-putting. So why had he not taken to his heels and run at first
sight of her? Because of some pretense of buying a horse? She did
not believe that was his only reason for coming to Treemont, not
after the way her father had been talking about the man’s visit.
There had been innuendo in Alastair’s tone before Hunter’s arrival
that did not sit well with her. Hadn’t she been plain enough in
dissuading him? Surely the stubborn man understood by now that she
had nothing to offer and she wanted nothing from him in return;
including his attention!

Actually, had Margaret better understood the
man she was dealing with, she would realize that her behavior had
only heightened Hunter’s curiosity, in addition to his concern.

And in spite of her words, he was now
determined to have it out with her because of the abuse of a fine
stallion. “You are a foolish woman,” he said, after she refused to
budge from the spot where she had planted her feet. “Will you be
embarrassed when I pick you up and carry you over my shoulder with
witnesses present?” He watched as her eyes briefly scanned those
people who were avidly watching. “Take heed, dear one,” he
threatened further, “carrying you is not a task I would
loathe.”

“I don’t understand why you are doing this,”
she muttered, but it was understood between them that she did not
want to create more of a scene.

‘Someone has to take you in hand. You're
entirely too thoughtless.”

“And you are going to save me from
myself?”

Hunter grinned ruefully. “Something like
that.” He turned then and, with a slight tug on her wrist, Margaret
reluctantly followed.

She could barely contain her anger at his
high-handed manner, but there had been enough commotion. Whatever
his purpose in dragging her toward that damned horse, she would
endure his treatment and hope she could then escape the attention
of all the eyes that were watching their every move. It miffed her
even more that her father just stood there, watching her being
abused. She had the distinct impression that Alastair had just
joined ranks with this heathen. That did not bode well. Her
father’s failure to come to her aid only fueled her suspicions that
her dear parent had plans for her future that she would not
like.

When Hunter reached Passion’s Pride he
released Margaret’s arm as he spoke softly to the nervous animal.
“Look at his mouth,” he commanded.

Margaret flinched as Pride continued to toss
his head in agitation, spraying the air with foam from his mouth
that was speckled with blood. She felt sick at the sight, closing
her eyes to block out the reality; she hadn’t stopped to consider
that she could actually harm Pride in her efforts to keep him with
her.

Hunter’s lips were very close to her ear as
he stood behind her. “Dammit, Margaret, you have been raised around
these animals. You must have considered the outcome when you had a
bit used on a horse that obviously has a sensitive mouth. Why did
you make this to happen?”

Remorse made her voice quake and, even
though she hated her own weakness, Margaret admitted, “I didn’t
think.”

Seeing just how badly Pride needed
attention, Hunter changed his mind and ordered the young stable boy
to take the horse inside and tend his sores; he would ride the
horse on the morrow. But his eyes had not left the profile of
Margaret Downing for one moment. “Does it bother you to see the
horse in this condition?”

“Of course it bothers me,” she snapped.

“Then why would you do such a thing?” he
asked again in his quest to understand her motivation. “Could you
possibly hate me so much that you would endanger that animal just
to see me unseated?”

Margaret raised her head and stared at him.
“Why are you here?” she asked, throwing Hunter off balance.

The fact that she had asked the question in
such a way made him wary and he would say only, “There was a time
when you did not want me to leave.”

“But that time is lost. There is nothing
left of that girl you knew. Can’t you understand that?” Shaking her
head Margaret turned and walked slowly away.

CHAPTER 8

The following morning Margaret took herself
off for some quiet time to think and was comfortably ensconced in
the hayloft when she heard the chatter of her youngest sister.
Opening the small door used for dropping hay to the animals in the
paddock below, Margaret had a perfect view of Hunter Maguire
preparing to ride Passion’s Pride for the second time.

Jennifer had climbed up to sit on the
uppermost fence rail and was offering encouragement. “The hackamore
should be good!” she called.

Turning his head, Hunter smiled at the girl.
“We can hope,” he said ruefully.

Seeing that smile, Margaret remembered how
thrilled she had been as a girl to be blessed with even a single
smile from him. Some small corner of her heart mourned the loss of
that girl and those days when she had first fancied herself in love
with Hunter Maguire. But she had learned much since then and
memories of how foolish she had been eclipsed any tender feelings
she might once have had. Seeing Jennifer so carefree and easy in
his company only saddened her further when she realized her younger
siblings needed to learn to protect their hearts as well as their
lives.

Alastair stood beside his youngest, as if
hoping he could keep her from falling. Margaret could see Jennifer
was carefully watching the proceedings, although she was relatively
certain Hunter knew what he was doing. It irked her that her father
was taking such inordinate interest in their guest’s every
movement.

She stretched out on her stomach to watch
Hunter gentling the big black stallion with soothing words and soft
caresses. Clearly the man was good with the animal, and she became
fascinated by the quiet, confident manner that, despite her
strongest wishes, she remembered all too well. He exuded power, yet
his gentleness was apparent. She fought again against the twist of
pain from the hidden recesses of her heart, just as she had fought
for the past year because nothing could change what had happened
and nothing could change what she had become. But she knew, if she
could just get through the next four days, she would be able to
take control of her life again and find some contentment in the
security of Treemont.

Hunter continued to talk to Passion’s Pride
as he adjusted the hackamore. Gently he tested the tension of the
lamb’s wool pad across the horse’s nose, then dropped his hand to
caress the soft muzzle. In his peripheral vision he took note of
his audience high above the paddock. He could see only the top of
her fair hair but he was grateful that she cared to watch what he
was doing. It gave him some small inkling of hope.

Turning his full attention back to the
horse, he whispered, “I know you mouth hurts, old boy, but there
will be no more pain with this.” There was no bit in Pride’s mouth
to cause further irritation. The animal would be controlled by the
gentle pressure on his nose from the bridle and against his neck
from the reins… in theory, at least. He smiled as he gazed into the
animal’s large brown eyes. Either Pride would respond or the rider
would end up in the dust once gain.

Passion’s Pride initially responded with
confusion to the new headgear and the unfamiliar signals from his
rider, but it was clear that the beast was not mean. The horse was
high-spirited and lacked in exercise, but he was intelligent. The
stallion needed only strong and knowledgeable handling.

Hunter spent some time putting the horse
through several paces in and around the area of the barn and
paddocks before deciding they had both had enough for one day.
Tomorrow he would take the stallion out again and just let him
run.

Margaret had been able to see most of the
stallion’s exercises and was impressed by what she had witnessed;
Hunter possessed a knowledge and expertise far above that of any
handler she had ever seen. She sighed and dropped her forehead onto
her folded hands. Her attempts to drive him away had failed, and
her feelings were in chaos. There was too much to admire about the
man. She would be hurt again when he left and this time it would be
for entirely different reasons. And she would be doubly hurt since
it appeared her beloved Pride would leave as well.

Time passed as she sorted through her
jumbled feelings until suddenly the fine hair on the back of her
neck stood up and Margaret turned onto her back in reaction to the
soft rustle of hay nearby.

“Jennifer and I are going out for a ride,”
Hunter said, smiling. “Join us.”

“You frightened me to death!” she
gasped.

He dropped down to kneel near her feet and
shook his head. “Sorry, Maggie.”

“And don’t call me Maggie.”

He raised his dark brows in mock despair. “I
don’t know you well enough to call you Maggie?”

My name is Margaret,” she snapped.

“I’m aware of that.”

“Then why don’t you use it?” Frowning even
more severely, she looked for a way to get around him and escape;
she was boxed in up here!

“I was once very fond of a young girl named
Maggie,” he said conversationally and grinned at the glare he
earned. “Don’t suppose you could bring her back? I miss her.”

“You’re being ridiculous!”

He laughed at her disgruntled tone. “Oh, no.
Not me. I’m dead serious.” With that he stood and held out a hand
to help her up. “Come ride with us, will you?”

“I’m not in the mood for a ride,” she
mumbled, ignoring his hand.

“Very well. What will you mood allow?” He
stepped back a pace to allow her to struggle to her feet under her
own steam; which, he knew, she manufactured in abundance.

“Work,” she said simply, brushing hay from
her britches.

But when she took a step toward the ladder
that led below, Hunter placed a hand gently on her forearm.
“Afraid?” he challenged.

Margaret stiffened her spine and her
resolve. “Perhaps I simply don’t care for you company. Have you
considered that?”

“Frankly, no.”

She was so taken aback by his calm, quiet
arrogance that she had to choke back an astonished laugh.

“Jennifer's waiting,” he said pointedly.

With sudden inspiration she snapped, “My
mare is lame.”

“Then we shall find you another,” he
returned, equally inspired. “We could stay up here and verbally
fence the day away, so why not give in while the sun is still
shining?”

“Why are you so determined?”

“Why are you?”

Exasperated, she flounced down the ladder in
frustration. “For heaven’s sake, let’s go for the damned ride.”

“Gotcha,” he whispered after a moment’s
hesitation and, grinning, followed her down.

Jennifer eyed her sister warily as Margaret
stormed toward the stable doors with Hunter following on her heels.
“I had Maribelle saddled for you, Margaret,” she called, smiling
and hoping it would encourage her sister to do the same.

“Maribelle is lame.”

“No she’s not,” Jennifer returned. “I saw
you ride her earlier.”

Margaret glared at the girl and then raised
her hands in resignation, letting them fall to slap her thighs
before rushing out the door.

Hunter chuckled softly as he came around to
the side of the little roan. “Leg up?” he offered.

Maggie shook her head and, without a word,
led her horse over to the mounting block where she climbed the
three steps and settled herself astride the mare.

Hunter had almost become accustomed to her
garb and had decided the fitted shirt and britches held some merit.
His Maggie might act like an aged aunt at the ripe old age of
eighteen, but that outfit accented beautifully the maturing curves
of a woman.

Jennifer was dressed in breeches and a
matching jacket and was not so reluctant to accept hunter’s offer
of a leg up. He easily raised her high while she swung her right
leg over the saddle, then smiled her thanks at him while she
gathered her pony’s reins loosely in her hands.

“Could be please not trot?” she asked. “My
pony jiggles my insides when we trot.”

Hunter laughed as he moved off and mounted
the horse he had chosen.

“Jennifer!” Margaret admonished, shocked by
the girl’s vulgarity.

The young girl frowned. “Well, he does.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” Jennifer asked, perplexed.
“That’s what happens.”

“She has a point there,” Hunter teased and
led them off down the nearest lane.

Margaret did not appreciate his interference
and decided the best way to survive this outing was probably to
remain silent. But it was difficult not to speak when the man was
so damned vexing!

They rode past row upon row of drying sheds,
which would not be filled with tobacco leaves for several more
weeks. At least Hunter hoped that was the case in the southern part
of the state, for he wanted to be home well before the start of
harvest.