Thea Devine (9 page)

“I’m not delighted that you think I don’t know my own mind,” Reese retorted sharply, and then he pulled back. He could not push a woman like Maggie and he knew it. “I hope you’ll give me time to prove that to you.”

“As long as you like,” she said sardonically, because she knew she could never allow herself to be taken by Frank’s brother. Like to like, she thought, but he didn’t have to know that. When his pursuit proved futile, he would leave, and she was going to do her utmost to see that it was soon.

Nonetheless, his declaration distracted her and made it impossible for her to enjoy their walk. Now she had to
look for hidden meanings in his conversation, and to be aware of personal references creeping into the most mundane exchanges between them. She was very sure she didn’t like him at all just this minute.

“I wish,” she said pointedly, “you hadn’t done that.”

“Excuse me, Maggie; when should I have done
that?
Or do you think I’m not aware that others have feelings for you too. My dear girl, I refuse to sit back and let someone else get the upper hand when I know very well that you and I understand each other. I took a chance. You shot me down—for now. Nothing has changed, Maggie. I will try to prove to you I mean what I say.”

“I expect you will,” she murmured, put out with him. Others have feelings indeed, she thought angrily. All of a sudden, in just one day! When had she become so desirable? she wondered caustically. She surely presented the most unfeminine of pictures, with her inky hands, unruly hair and plain cotton dresses, and her bossy manner. Men never saw her as being attractive and captivating, and they never had. Not even Frank.

Reese laughed. “You’re like a porcupine, Maggie, thrusting out your spikes so everyone will keep hands off. A smart man can see through those tactics. You don’t scare me one bit.”

His smug answer made her bristle, and she had to force herself not to make a stinging reply. “Good,” she said lightly; she didn’t want him to think that anything he said was meaningful to her. “I believe we have no place else to go,” she added, as they reached what was nominally considered the end of Main Street, a place where the plank boardwalk dwindled into stones and finally the rough track that led to the Denver road.

“I wish we could go further,” Reese said regretfully. “But this is enough for today.” He offered her his arm and they turned around and walked back into town in silence.

“Do you have any plans for this week?” Maggie asked idly after a while.

He looked at her speculatively. “I’d like to help you out this week, Maggie.”

She didn’t answer him. She didn’t know quite what to make of this seemingly helpful request. As they drew up before the office door, she said finally, “We’ll see,” and was saved from elaborating on that by the arrival of a buggy bearing Mother Colleran and driven by Dennis Coutts.

“Maggie!” he hailed her. “What luck. I was hoping, when I offered to drive Mother Colleran home, that I would run into you. Do you have time to come for a ride with me now?”

Maggie looked at Mother Colleran and then at Reese, who was glaring at Dennis. “I’d like that very much,” she said sweetly, and waited for Reese to help her into the buggy.

She was thankful Dennis didn’t say much as they drove away. He was heading out of town in the opposite direction, toward the ranch land and the free range, and she supposed there might be a reason for it, or then again, there might not. She knew that she did not need to make idle talk with Dennis. If he had something on his mind, he would air it soon enough.

Meantime, the air was sweet and the sun was warm. The buggy whipped by the town landmarks: the express station, Arwin’s store, the turnoff to the ridge that led to the church, the hotel, the trickle of homes that edged that end of town along the main street.

“So where do you suppose Melinda Sable is going to build this new house I hear about?” Maggie wondered aloud, after they had cleared the main street and had veered off onto the west road.

“Oh, you heard about that, did you?”

“Do you know?”

“I would think on the other side of town, Maggie, near where they’re going to build the depot. She wants to run a boarding house; she sees real opportunity there.”

“Oh, I bet she does,” Maggie murmured ironically.

“Now Maggie, maybe she does.”

“Now Dennis, you know what kind of opportunity she sees: men and money and luxury accommodations for a half hour, and it doesn’t include home-cooked meals.”

She was gratified that he looked shocked.

“Maggie, that’s really—you can’t go around saying those things.”

“Truly? Excuse me,
my
husband was the one who abandoned his wife for the town whore. I’ll say exactly what I want to and what everyone knows, and I don’t care one whit that she was supposedly faithful to him. It wouldn’t surprise me, Dennis, if she had consoled herself with every man in town, including
you
.”

He had the grace to look slightly uncomfortable. “I don’t think we came for a ride to talk about Melinda Sable, Maggie.”

“Oh. Then what did we come out for, Dennis? Do you want to chastise me yet again for something I’ve done that Frank would not have liked?”

She was a witch, he thought, as he drew the buggy to a halt so he could properly deal with her stinging tongue.

“Let’s just say the Reverend Minister had much to say about this edition of the paper, Maggie. Let’s just say the church is squarely behind Harold Danforth’s philosophy of expansion, growth, and profit for everyone.”

“Including Melinda Sable,” Maggie put in sarcastically.

“Even Melinda,” Dennis agreed resignedly. “I just wonder, Maggie, if it isn’t time for us to start looking for an editor whose views are more in tune with the town managers and the majority of the landholders.”

She wasn’t shocked; she had known it would come one
day, especially because Dennis was the most conservative manager she had ever known. The wonder was he had let her have her head so long, and had freely interpreted Frank’s wishes to suit
her
purposes.

Nonetheless, she was silent for so long that Dennis thought she might be crying. Or maybe he hoped she would be crying because it would be much easier to approach her and make her see things his way.

But when he leaned over and touched her, he saw that she was only staring out into the distance, her face grim and her mouth set. She was the same old Maggie, and she was girding for a fight.

He rushed in immediately to make his point. “We always said that someday … I mean, Maggie, this might be the ideal time. You could retire, you could … remarry. You wouldn’t have all those responsibilities any more. Someone else could carry on and you would still reap the profits with none of the work.”

She laughed. He hadn’t expected that, and he could not for the life of him see what amused her so.

“Maggie, I’m
serious
.”

“I know you are. I’m waiting to hear the rest. Who would take over? Who, for God’s sake, would I marry? Tell me, Dennis. Tell me how you’re going to order my life now just as Frank would have wished.”

“He said—”

“I know exactly what the will says, Dennis.”

“Well, Arch Warfield could take over … or Reese,” he added as he saw the militant look in her eye. “You could sell the ranch, go to San Francisco. You could stay here, live comfortably at the hotel if you wanted. Or remarry. Marry
me
, for instance.”

Now there was dead silence between them. She wasn’t ready to speak; she wasn’t sure she could. A thousand thoughts swirled around her brain, including the notion that Dennis and her mother-in-law had conspired to
bring Reese to Colville expressly to wrest control of the paper away from her. It was unspeakable. She didn’t even hear the rest.

“
Maggie!
”

“I hear you, Dennis.” But she wouldn’t look at him.

“Maggie.”

“This is absurd. I’m not giving up the paper and I’m not interested in marrying and that’s the end of it. I will promise you one thing: I’ll pull back on opposition to the rail line. There’s nothing I can do about it anyway, but I reserve the right to comment on how its intrusion changes Colville. Does
that
serve the letter of the intent of the will, Dennis?”

“It doesn’t serve my intent,” he muttered, taking up the reins again. “I can enforce your ouster, Maggie, if you don’t…”

“But you won’t do that, Dennis. Too many people see me as the beleaguered widow, and believe me, I can play that part to the hilt, including making everyone believe I’m doing exactly what Frank wanted. It’s a powerful phrase, Dennis, and I’m sure you know it.”

“I believe he would have wanted me to take care of you, Maggie. Why can’t you see that?”

“You are taking care of me, Dennis, as much as I need taking care of. Unfortunately, Frank died before he could write another will; we don’t know a lot about what he really wanted.”

“Or he was killed before he got to write that will, Maggie.”

“We’ve talked that all out, Dennis. We don’t know, and if you’re looking to make me the scapegoat, fine. We’ll be enemies instead of—”

“Possibly lovers,” he broke in violently and then curbed his words. “Damn, I never meant to say that, not yet. Forgive me, Maggie.”

He waited a moment, but she said nothing, which
piqued his anger still more. She never did anything another woman would have done. She might have fainted at his suggestion, so bold and lewd did it seem to him, having been said in broad daylight and at a time when she was unchaperoned and he was feeling the heat of other men’s interest in her. It was a suggestion that he felt only he had the right to follow, one given him by virtue of the terms of Frank’s will, and he still could not get her to see it that way.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she said finally, as she sensed his antagonism. “I know exactly how you feel about me, Dennis. You don’t need to say anything else.”

“I don’t like hearing that, Maggie. I had supposed, after a decent interval, that you might be receptive to what I had to say.”

“What is a decent interval?” she asked whimsically.

“When Frank was finally really dead and gone for you.”

“But he’s been that for at least two years, Dennis. Surely you understood that.”

“I was thinking of you.”

“As you always do, and I do appreciate it, but I’m telling you that the last thing I want to think about is either giving up the newspaper or remarrying, and you will just have to live with that.”

“I’ll change your mind, Maggie. Now that I know …”

She took a deep breath. Why was it that when another man said the same words he had the ability to excite her, to make her think of the possibilities, when someone like Dennis could only produce distaste within her at the thought?

“Dennis, I cannot listen to this.”

“You’re not ready.”

“No, I’m not, and I won’t ever be. I do not want to give my life over to a man ever again, Dennis, and I wonder if you can understand that. Already you have me giving up
the paper, selling my property, traveling like some genteel schoolmarm, marrying—and marrying you so you can take still further command of what I can or cannot do.”

“Yes, and it’s because I think this Denver North business is so totally outside the realm of your understanding, Maggie, that it warrants my taking some steps to rectify it.”

“Outside the—!” She was totally nonplussed by this attack, and could hardly keep down the harsh words that rose to her lips. “I don’t think it’s too hard for any simpleton to understand that while the line can be an economic boon to Colville, it can also be a disaster. Perhaps this town needs a woman’s perception to make it understand what it’s letting itself in for. Perhaps the greedy business
men
of the town don’t—”

“Maggie, Maggie!” Dennis held up his hands in defeat. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, you meant it exactly like that, Dennis, and that is exactly how it would be if I encouraged you to think you could find a place in my heart. I think our business is finished now. You can take me back to the office.”

“Maggie, don’t close the door on me.”

“Nonsense, Dennis, I would never do that. You are a dear and valued friend, one whose advice is always welcomed.”

“I want you, Maggie.”

“You want to conquer me, Dennis. You want to do what even Frank couldn’t do. How could I allow that?”

“Perhaps,” he said ominously, snapping the reins so that the buggy jerked forward and caught her off balance, “that is one decision that won’t be in your hands.”

“So, Miz Maggie, you thought you were so smart with your fancy words and fine ideas, and everyone’s talking
about Harold Danforth anyway.” Arch Warfield, laying in wait for her when she returned with Dennis, waved a copy of the
Morning Call
in her face.

“I expect we’ll see which of us history proves right,” Maggie said with a calm she was far from feeling. Dennis had let her down without a word and let her face Warfield without so much as a goodbye. She had watched him drive off with mixed emotions before she turned to answer Warfield, who rudely hopped off the boardwalk and stalked away in the direction of Bodey’s store.

It was midafternoon by then, and Bodey closed at two on Sundays. Arch wouldn’t find much of an audience, she reflected as she let herself into the office. Maybe it was enough that he had castigated her today.

The office was an oasis of quiet. She could hear Mother Colleran clumping around above her, and a lighter, firmer step that had to be Reese. Just as well that she stayed down here. She felt drained from her battle of wits with Dennis.

It was that damned perfidious will, she thought, easing herself into her desk chair with her back to the door and her elbows propped on her worktable. It kept rising like a spectre to haunt her, and she and Dennis kept beating at it like it was some kind of burning bush they had to extinguish. Dennis always wanted one thing, and she the other, and he nearly always gave in to her.

She had always theorized that Frank had written the will directly after their marriage, and that in spite of her obsession with working at the paper he had forgotten to change it. It just wasn’t possible that he saw her as the proper manager and editor and that he had really wanted her to carry on after his death. But then, he hadn’t expected to die.