Then Came You: A Prequel to The McPhee Clan (10 page)

"Oh, that doesn't really surprise me," Maebry said with a wry twist of a smile and a shrug of her slender shoulders. She looked small and vulnerable in her worn old coat and fraying mittens. "It would be a lot of trouble to find another indentured servant."

"Right." The pain of his failure tore through him. He wanted to save her. He wanted to give her a better life, to make sure she was happy, his precious Maebry. The sadness wreathing her dear face tore him apart.

Footsteps sounded on the steps behind him before he could draw her close. He glanced over his shoulder, grimaced at the sight of Agnew waiting for him.

"Gil, I could use some help." The older gentleman hiked up a bushy silver eyebrow. "The first of the guests are starting up the drive."

"Fine, I'll be right there." Wishing he could be everything Maebry needed, Gil retrieved the shovel and held it out to her, sorry he had no spare time to clear the porch for her. He felt like he was breaking apart when he took that first step away from her.

"This isn't over," he warned her gently, because he'd figured out why she was so upset.

The tears in her eyes brimmed, rolling down her cheeks.

"It has to be." She took the shovel and turned away from him.

No, he didn't want to accept that. He couldn't let this be over. She meant too much to him. Nothing hurt worse than walking away from her, fearing she was right. That their love was never meant to be.

Gil was not going to waste his life's savings on her, and that was that, or spend even one second working off a debt for years to come. No way, no how. It was too much of a sacrifice. Maebry thunked down the bowl next to the undecorated layer cake sitting on the Montgomery's kitchen counter. He'd worked too hard for his savings. He deserved his dreams, the very best future, which he would not have if he mortgaged it for her.

No, she didn't want that for him. Which meant she would have to let him go. Her heart cracked apart at the thought. She reached for a clean spatula, blinking her blurry eyes. Concentrate on your work, Maebry, she told herself, focusing on the drone of the women's voices surrounding her, rising and falling as they scurried here and there in the crowded kitchen, frantic to finish their tasks. On the wall overhead, the clock ticked down the hour.

"We've got twelve minutes!" Cook armed herself with oven mitts and banged open the door. "Missy, are the potatoes done? Check them for me, dear. Lucile, did you fetch the cream from the cellar?"

Answers shouted out above the chaos, and Maebry tuned them out, dipped the spatula in the freshly whipped frosting and turned toward the cake. Her hand shook as she remembered the hurt and then the determination on Gil's sculpted face. The pinch of his mouth, the jut of his granite chin, the muscles bunching along his rock-hard jaw. He didn't look like a man who would let this go.

"Good job." Lucile, second in command in the kitchen bopped over to inspect Maebry's work. "You have a flare. Be sure and layer it thickly. The Missus is particular about her cakes."

"I'll do my best," she promised, plopping a dollop of frosting on top and spreading it around. Lucile rushed off, leaving her alone, and her gaze drifted to the window. She could see a distant corner of the barn, but not Gil, and she gave a troubled sigh.
This isn't over
, he'd said.

Then she would have to end it. Because she loved him. She'd cut all ties to him, never speak to him again. That would do it. Satisfied, she swirled frosting, scrunching her face up in thought. It would make things awfully uncomfortable around the ranch. Imagine darting through doorways and lingering in empty rooms just to avoid him. But come mealtime, there would be no dodging him. When she set out the platters of food on the dinner table, she'd simply have to do her best to ignore him.

Pain serrated her heart. She rubbed the heel of her hand against her sternum. Just think of her life without Gil in it—there would be no friendship, no laughter, no conversations between them. Just distance and uneasiness. She bit her bottom lip, deeply miserable. See what a mistake it had been to let her feelings get out of control? Now they were impossible to reel back in. Why had she done it?

Because she'd been weak, unable to control her heart. She'd known all along she couldn't marry him, but now they couldn't even be friends. That loss struck hard, and she swallowed down the sob rising in her throat. Focusing on the last glop of frosting in the bowl, she swirled it onto her spatula and gave the cake a finishing touch.

"It's time!" Cook clapped her hands above the frenetic noise in the kitchen. Chatter silenced, knives stilled, the staff paraded by the counters and like a well-disciplined army lifted platters and bowls, steaming with delicious food. "Lucile, you lead. Missy, get in the back. Don't spill a drop of that gravy. Maebry, carry the bowls of string beans and carrots, that's a love."

Ready to help, she nodded in agreement, set aside the spatula and snatched up the designated bowls. Carrots in a butter glaze steamed up at her, emitted a delicious aroma, although when she breathed in the green beans with crumbled bacon, her stomach rumbled hungrily. Who wouldn't salivate, she thought as she slipped into the back of the line of servers. This was a feast fit for royalty.

"I can't believe all this food," Missy turned around in line to whisper, then fell silent when Cook gave her a squinty eye. Deportment mattered in the Montgomery household.

Maebry squared her shoulders, straightened her spine and did her best to look presentable as she paraded past Cook, through the doors and into the hallway. The conversations of the awaiting guests echoed in the coved ceiling overhead, and the beams of golden light from the chandeliers cast a heavenly glow over the luxurious room.

Fine furniture gleamed, crystal glittered, real silver glinted in the light. The best linen money could buy draped the main dining table and several that had been brought in from other rooms. The seated guests all turned to comment in anticipation of the delicious food. Maebry kept her eyes on the ground, careful not to tread on the backs of Missy's shoes, feeling anonymous in her black maid's dress and white ruffled apron, borrowed from the uniform closet. The skirt was a tad shorter than she'd hoped, showing the upper portion of her shoe. She hoped no one noticed the twine holding it onto her foot.

No one seemed to. Only one man watched her with a steady, claiming gaze. Gil shifted in his chair as she circled toward him. He stopped in mid-sentence, ignoring one of the Montgomery brothers he'd been speaking with. The corners of his mouth upturned, the intensity shadowing his bright blue eyes darkened. The noise in the room silenced, everything faded away as if it were only the two of them. Her breathing stilled, she wasn't even sure if her heart was beating as Gil's gaze sank into hers. Her skin tingled as she swept past him. Every hair on her arm stood at attention. Aware of him. Affected by him.

"It's a shame Aumaleigh couldn't be here." A woman's voice came as if from a great distance. "The rumors about Maureen must be true. How is she doing, Maebry?"

At the sound of her name she blinked, breaking the hold Gil had on her. The room around her rushed in—the bright lamplight, the many tables ringing with conversation, the guests merry. She set down the bowls of vegetables on the table next to Sarah Combs's dinner plate. The young woman, who was the local schoolteacher, looked up at her expectantly, auburn-brown curls framing her pretty face.

"Uh, Maureen is struggling." She kept her voice low, so it wouldn’t carry. No doubt Mrs. Montgomery would not approve of her servants speaking with the guests. "We fear she had a small stroke last night, so Aumaleigh didn't want to leave her side."

"Understandable." Sarah nodded in sympathy. "I'll try and stop by and see Aumaleigh. Maybe relieve her for a bit so she can get a little rest. I imagine you've tried."

"Yes, but she refuses to budge." Maebry bit her lip, fighting sadness on so many levels. "The doctor says it won't be long now. In the meantime, I worry about Aumaleigh's health."

"You're a good friend to her." Sarah patted Maebry's arm, a kind touch, meant to comfort. "You look like you've been carrying a hard workload too. I—"

A sharp, scolding sound interrupted. Mrs. Montgomery cleared her throat, sending a pointed look Maebry's way. Caught, Maebry bowed her head, backed away, heart pounding. As she retraced her steps, hurrying to catch up with the other departing maids, she snared Gil's gaze. The arch of his brows, the tender look on his face, the determination in the set of his jaw. What was she going to do about that?

"Save a dance for me, Sunshine," he murmured as she swept by.

She squeezed her eyes shut, weak for just an instant, and kept on going. Why did he have to be so wonderful? It made it so much harder to do the right thing, to let him go. Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them away. She cared about Gil far too much to let him sacrifice his future for her. Then he would be the one indebted to Maureen or to her heirs (she knew for a fact Aumaleigh would not inherit, as everyone expected).

Frustrated, miserable and hurting, she scurried into the kitchen to help with the clean up. At least kitchen work would keep her safe from Gil and out of his sight. Too bad it wouldn't keep him out of her heart.

"Maebry!" Cook shouted over the clanging of pans and chiming of plates as the last of the dishes were being washed and put away by the army of workers. "Someone to see you."

It wasn't Gil. She knew that by the silence in her heart. Thank goodness. She set down her dishtowel, peered around Missy who was on tiptoe wrestling a big kettle back onto the overhead shelf, and spied a dapper-looking fellow in the doorway, minus his bowler hat.

She groaned. Not Lawrence Latimer.

"Go on with you, now. We're almost done here." Cook went back to scrubbing the stove. "Have some fun, love."

"Oh." Not sure that being with Lawrence qualified as fun, Maebry thought. It seemed there was no escape. Where was a fake beau when you needed one? And why did Gil have to go and be so wonderful? She stumbled forward, taking small steps to prolong the moment.

"You grow lovelier by the day, my dear Maebry." Lawrence threw back his inadequate shoulders, puffed up his thin chest. He wasn't the handsomest fellow, but his eyes flashed kindness as he held out one soft hand to take hers.

"You flatter me too much, I'm afraid." Uncomfortable with his compliments and his attention, she blushed. "I'm average at best. You're very kind, Lawrence."

"I'm hoping that's an attribute you might value in a suitor?" He quirked an eyebrow as he reached out to take possession of her hand. His touch was cool, impersonal. "I noticed Gil left the party a bit ago."

"Oh." She swallowed, wondering why he'd left. Because she'd tried to reject him or because something was wrong at the Rocking M? She thought of Maureen's frailness and her stomach cramped. She stared down at the toes of her shoes, telling herself it didn't matter. Gil had left. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about him tracking her down for a dance, the way Lawrence obviously had.

She tried to tug free her hand from Lawrence's rather damp grip, but he had a death hold on it and it took some tugging. "I'm not serious with Gil either. I can't be. I owe Maureen too much money, and I could never in good conscience allow you or anyone else to pay my debt."

"But if I marry you, then it would become
my
debt, not yours." Lawrence opened the back door for her, a courteous gentleman. She lead him out onto the porch where the sun shone bright and snow melted from the roof and nearby trees with a cheerful, melodic
drip-drop, drip-drop
.

"You are a good man, Lawrence." She hated being the reason for the disappointment creasing across his face. Gently, so she would not hurt his feelings any further, she said what she'd been trying to avoid. But there was no other choice now than to be honest.

"I don't care about you in that way." She met his gaze directly, so he would know she meant every word. "Somewhere in this world there is the perfect lady for you. When you find her, you'll know. You'll be able to look into her eyes and see a lost piece of your soul. You'll know what she is about to say before she says it. When your hands touch, it's like your hearts are joined together, beating as one. That's what you deserve, Lawrence. It's what I'll be wishing for you."

He cleared his throat, stared down at the floor for a moment, gave a little shrug. When he met her gaze, his smile was bittersweet. "That's the nicest rejection I've ever had."

"Well, I am sorry for it." She felt tingles shiver down her spine. Every nerve ending in her skin flickered. That could only mean one thing. She waited until Lawrence had retreated back into the house and closed the door before she turned around, already knowing who had returned to the party.

Gil stood on the porch step, hands on his hips, watching her. His eyes shone darkly, as if with mystery. The line of his jaw looked rigid, uncompromising. Feelings she could not hold back rushed forward, affection too great to be confined.