Then Came You: A Prequel to The McPhee Clan (6 page)

"It's too hot," Maureen barked, screwing up her wrinkled face like a prune. Hard eyes silently rebuked, silently judged.

"Sorry." Maebry blew on the tea gently, grabbed the spoon and stirred a few times. "There, that looks better."

"Too cool." Maureen didn't look at the cup. "Heat it up."

Biting back her frustration, Maebry poured a few inches of tea into the nearby empty wash basin and topped the cup, added a fraction of a sugar cube, stirred and blew. "This feels right."

"It had better be." Maureen sneered as she held up her weak, gnarled hand for her tea.

Biting her lip, enduring the threat, Maebry made sure the old lady had a good hold on the cup before she let go. Maureen struggled to lift the cup to her lips. Her hand shook, while the other lay motionless at her side. It was a sad sight, to see her fight so hard, leaning forward toward the cup unsteadily, while tea threatened to slosh over the side and scald her.

Full of pity, Maebry gently steadied the bottom of the cup, supporting it so Maureen could feel as if she was doing it all herself, when she wasn't. She took a tentative sip, a little swallow and tea drooled down from one corner of her mouth. Maebry wordlessly grabbed a napkin from the tray and dabbed Maureen's lips.

"Don't you look at me like that." The old lady drew up her lips, sneering. "I don't need your pity, you worthless girl, but believe you me. You're going to need mine. I want the entire upstairs scrubbed clean. Floors, ceilings, walls. Everything. Before you go to bed tonight."

"Yes, ma'am." She sighed, resigned. She'd given up the right to be upset at the injustice of it long ago. All it took was one thought of Nia happy in Dakota Territory, working as a governess to three little girls. That was worth anything.

Real love was sacrifice, as she'd learned from her mother, as she was learning from her life. She was glad of her decisions, although they limited her future. As she steadied Maureen's cup while the old woman struggled with another sip, Maebry closed the door to her heart, the one Gil had opened.

From now on, it had to stay shut.

Felt like the blizzard was blowing itself out. Gil set down his book, hopped off the straw bale he used for a chair and let himself out of Casey's stall. The gelding snoozed, breathing softly, lost in dreams. Latching the gate quietly so as not to wake his best buddy, Gil's thoughts turned back to Maebry. She hadn't served supper tonight. He'd even checked out the kitchen, but she hadn't been there either.

Maybe that's a sign
. He sighed, fetched his book and turned down the lantern hanging on a center post, until only darkness remained. On second thought, maybe he shouldn't have kissed her cheek. That had to be the reason why she was avoiding him.

Why had he done such a rash thing? He blew out a sigh, frowning, ambling down the dark main aisle. She'd pulled away from him. Wasn't that another glaring, unmistakable clue? But no, he'd had to move in when anyone else would have gotten the hint. His chest cinched, full of longing for her, proof of how powerfully he felt.

The barn's silence surrounded him. Horses in their stalls, fast asleep, even the barn cats were dozing. This was his favorite time of night, when the ranch hands were up at the bunkhouse, the animals safe and fed and cared for. The barn was far cozier than hanging out in the bunkhouse with a bunch of jaded cowboys. And it was a far sight closer to the kitchen house where Maebry worked and lived.

Maebry. He winced, tucked his book on his shelf in the tackroom and reached for his muffler and gloves. This time of night, she'd be reading in her little room off the kitchen. He knew because she'd always smile and wave to him when he came in with an armload of firewood. Sometimes she'd even come out and exchange a few polite words with him.

Polite. That was the key word, the important one he had to pay attention to. He bowed his head, looping the muffler around his neck, unable to ignore the foolish feeling rising up. The last thing he wanted was to look like Lawrence Latimer, not knowing when to back off. A little sheepish, he rubbed a hand over his face, tired, a little heartsick. That kiss to her cheek had been a mistake, especially if she was avoiding him.

Well, he owed her an apology at the least. His pride stung, but he'd do right by her. She shouldn't have to go around tomorrow worrying about avoiding him, too, right? Right. His chest felt hollow as he buttoned up his coat all the way and reached for his gloves. Looked like he didn't have a chance with her. That hurt.

Disappointed, his foot stumbled on his way to the door, but he kept going. Headed out into the storm, head bowed, full of determination. Icy pellets walloped him, a mean wind tried to blow him off course, but he kept going until he found the snow-covered woodpile against the kitchen house. He filled his arms full and hiked to the back door. The weather was brutal, but he kept going. Even if she would never be his, he wouldn't stop doing things for her.

He just couldn't.

Gritting his teeth, trying to keep his feelings as frozen as the outside world, he wrestled open the back door and tumbled into the dark kitchen. The faint scents of the day's cooking lingered in the air, buttermilk bread, peppery beef stew, molasses baked beans. A lamp in the hallway tossed enough light into the room for him to see by. As he moseyed toward the stove, he noticed Maebry's bedroom door was closed tight, when it had always been open before.

Well, that was another big sign. And it smarted. He sighed, tightening his jaw, and knelt down in front of the wood box. Piece by piece, he stacked the wood inside, quiet so as not to wake her. He had visions of the future, spending nights just like this, being forced to watch while one day some other man courted Maebry and married her. The image made his chest implode, and he winced at the unexpected pain. He was a tough man, but she made him vulnerable. Likely always would.

Although it wasn't his job, had never been in his job description, he went back outside, filled his arms again and carried more wood into the house. Began filling the wood box piece by piece. It would be nice and full come morning for her, so she wouldn't have to step outside in the frigid temperatures before lighting the stove.

Like music, light and sweet and slow, he recognized the gentle tap of her footstep on the stairs. So, guess she wasn't in her room after all. Still, he couldn’t look at her. Steeled his spine, kept lowering the last of the chunks of cedar into the bin.

"Gil." Surprise brightened her voice. Not an uneasy tone, as if she were thinking,
great, need to get away from that man
. But a warm tone. As if she didn't mind finding him in her vicinity.

"On a night like this, you should be in the bunkhouse, you know, out of the weather." She padded closer, her skirts rustling. "You do too much for us."

"Can't help myself, since I'm one of the newest hires." He set the last stick of wood down and rose slowly, keeping his voice neutral, friendly. As if that kiss hadn't happened. "You know, I'm still temporary, got to ingratiate myself as much as I can."

"You must like your job."

"Best I've had for the most part." He dusted bits of bark and moss off his gloves, watched it tumble into the wood box, felt her presence like a hot sun at his back. Fighting his feelings for her, larger now and grander, wasn't going to be easy.

"Even with Maureen as your boss?" Politeness was back in her voice. Slightly distant. When he turned around, he could see her reserve, the way she hung in the shadows, staying back from him in the room.

That kiss stood between them in the darkness, like the night.

"Yes, Maureen." He thought of the older lady, crippled and failing. "For the most part, she only yells at me through the window, or if I'm called up to talk with her. I'm tough enough to take a little yelling."

"Still, you don't deserve it. I know all the cowhands think highly of you. You fit in here so well." Maebry wrapped her arms around herself, like a barrier between them.

"How is Maureen doing tonight?" An easier question to ask than the one at the back of his mind, the one he had to get around to asking. Procrastinating a little wouldn’t hurt. He crossed his arms over his chest too, a barrier to his heart.

"About the same," Maebry answered politely. "Last I checked, she was sleeping and Aumaleigh was up with her. Keeping the room warm enough is a constant task in this cold."

"And tomorrow is May First. Wonder if the Montgomerys have ever had snow for their annual party?"

"Once, I think, the first year I was here." Maebry shrugged, lowering her arms as if relaxing. "They'll probably have to bring everything indoors, which is too bad because Nora has such beautiful flower gardens. Incredible this time of year, freshly blooming."

"Well, I probably won't mind not seeing that. I'm really not a flower kind of guy." He shrugged.

She smiled. "Really? I'm shocked."

"Figured you might be."

She looked incredible in lamplight. Although she stood at the edges of light, it seemed to find her, reaching out to shine like gold against the sunny highlights in her blond hair. The lamplight cast a golden glow to her ivory complexion. Graced the delicate curve of her face. Nothing could be more captivating. Tenderness rose up from deep within, a tenderness he dared not show.

"Listen, I've got something to say to you and it isn't gonna be easy." He steeled his spine, drawing himself up full height, fisting his hands, doing what had to be done. "About what happened earlier today when I helped you down from the wagon—"

"You mean when you
helped me to the ground
?" She asked pointedly, flushing a bright pink, staring down at the toes of her shoes. "Considering how hard the wind was blowing, it could have knocked me over. I appreciated the help."

"No, that's not what I mean." He steadied his voice, aware of what she was doing. "When I—"

"Hauled the grocery crate out of the wagon for me?" she interrupted, her face turning pinker. "That was considerate of you, too."

"Something tells me you don't want to discuss what really happened." He moved forward, one slow step. Another. A giant shadow, shrinking the size of the kitchen with his masculinity, his magnetic presence. He cleared his throat, his words came quietly, tender. "All I can say is I'm sorry."

"For helping me with my muffler?" She didn't know why tears stood in her eyes. Why it felt like his apology was a rejection. It had to be this way. She just couldn't bear to hear him say the words. "There's nothing to be sorry for."

"I kissed you." His boots knelled softly on the floor, rounding the central work table, coming closer. He took off his hat, held it in his hands. "You avoided me at suppertime, just the way you avoid Lawrence."

"No, it's not like that, Gil." She wanted to cry out, to rush to him, because even in the half-lit room she could see the hurt in his eyes.

The hurt. That realization tore her apart. Never in a million years would she want to hurt Gil. She couldn't stand that he thought that of her. And she couldn’t believe that she mattered so much to him. She pointed to the ceiling above. "It was Maureen. She's been in a mood ever since Lawrence came calling. She didn't approve of him asking me to go for a drive."

"So, what did she do to you?" Protectively, his shoulders squared. The angles of his face hardened, his blue eyes darkened.

"Oh, just found some work for me to do."

"That's why you missed supper?" Concern pinched his features, making him somehow more handsome, more desirable. As big and strong as he was, he had a good heart.

That's why she had to fight so hard not to let her feelings for him grow, to keep her heart firmly closed against him. She fisted her hands, when she wanted to reach out to him. She willed her feet to stay in place when she wanted to be closer to him. "I just finished most of the work. Aumaleigh dismissed me, she said I didn't have to finish it. Maureen was asleep and she'd never know."

"That was good of Aumaleigh. I'm glad she looks out for you." He fingered his hat brim, a muscle jumping along his rock-hard jawbone. "Did you get anything to eat?"

"No, I was just going to go to bed."

"Not without a meal, you aren't." He tossed his hat on the work table and reached out for her. When his larger fingers curled around her wrist, snaring her, she tried to ignore the frisson of heat snapping up her arm. She tried to tell herself not to give in, to be strong, but she was weak. She couldn’t stop her feet from carrying her along where he directed her. He held out a chair at the small table by the window, the one she often ate at after the cowboys and Maureen had been served.

"Sit." His command was both firm and mellow. "How many meals have you served me? This time, just this once, let me serve you."

Tears prickled behind her eyes. His kindness would be her undoing. "No, I can't."

"Sorry, I'm not taking no for an answer." His hands moved up her arms, leaving shivery sensations, until they settled on her shoulders. He nudged her downward, into the chair. Unable to resist him, she sat, staring up at him, shadowed and yet more revealed than ever.