Then Came You: A Prequel to The McPhee Clan (8 page)

She crossed the porch, food in hand, wind in her face. While the snow had stopped, the cold had not. The last thing she wanted to do was to work for the Montgomerys, but she had no choice. Maureen had spoken, so she shivered, squinting through the golden glare of dawn toward the barn, waiting for her ride. A man's figure moved across the shadowy open doors of the barn. Gil. He didn't see her, his back was to her as he worked, bending to a cinch, saddling up Casey.

"Hey, there, Maebry!" a friendly voice called out over the squeaking sound of runners on snow, coming from the other direction, surprising her.

She looked up, fighting to keep her gaze from straying toward the open barn doors and Gil, and forced a smile at the young man driving her way. "Hi, Tiernan."

"Guess I'm your driver this morning." He pulled Phil to a stop. "Isn't Josslyn or Orla coming?"

"No, it's just me." Maebry gathered her skirts to climb into the small one-seat sleigh, and Tiernan caught hold of her elbow to help her in. He was only a few years younger than her, just eighteen, but a sweetheart with a sculpted, handsome face, honest, friendly eyes and a smile that had young ladies everywhere swooning and tittering, not that he was aware of it. He felt more like a younger brother to her, just someone to spoil with extra servings of dessert at the supper table.

"How's Maureen?" He held the buffalo robe out for her to take. "Heard the doc was gonna drop by again today."

"Yes, although I'm not sure what more he can do, but it's good of him to try." She settled onto the seat, pulled the buffalo robe over her for warmth and forced her gaze forward on the road ahead, and not behind where she swore she could feel the weight of Gil's stare. Determined, she pressed her lips together, the proper and stoic spinster she needed to be. "Maureen seems worse this morning. According to Aumaleigh, she was having trouble swallowing her morning's tea. Not a good thing."

"I'm sorry." Tiernan snapped the reins. Phil took off with a well-mannered lunge, and the sleigh sped down the hill, runners squeaking against the crisp snow. "Sounds like she's run out of time."

"Yes." Quietly, she settled the robe more snugly around her, bowed her head against the wind, thought of Aumaleigh who'd been up much of the night. Maebry picked at a strand of yarn in her gloves, trying to hide a small hole. She felt sorry for Maureen. Although she had everything—a fine mansion just up the hill behind the trees, one of the biggest and most respected ranches in the country and thought extremely well of herself, Maureen did not appreciate what mattered most. Before her husband had died, their marriage had been as lonely as her widowhood turned out to be. Her sons had scattered, trying to get as far away from her as possible and wanted nothing to do with her. And Aumaleigh, her only daughter, who had managed to love the old woman when no one else could, was treated worse than an indentured servant.

Yes, Maebry thought with pity, Maureen really had nothing at all. At least not the things that mattered.

"So," Tiernan broke into her thoughts, reining Phil through the gate and onto the country road. "You work in the house, you must hear things. Have you heard anything about our pay?"

"You mean, if you're going to get it or not?" Maebry squinted into the bright golden spears of sunlight spiking across the eastern horizon.

"Yep. Everyone's wondering," Tiernan confessed, gloved hands light and easy on the reins. A little sheepish, he shrugged his wide shoulders. "You know, since everyone wasn't paid last month."

"And since this will be your first pay day?" she asked, smiling, feeling lighter now that the ranch and especially Gil was far behind her. If she focused on the beautiful morning, the colorful cloud-strewn sky, the serenity of the sparkling snow in every direction, she could forget her troubles—and almost forget the enormity of what she felt for Gil. "I haven't heard a word."

"Well, this is my first job and I am looking forward to my first pay." Little dimples dug into the corners of his smile. What a cutie. No wonder young ladies giggled whenever he was around. She'd best brace herself, as there'd be plenty of that at the party today. He winked. "Just one of those things that mean I'm my own man."

"That's important with your family." She understood, thinking of Tiernan's mother. Nora Montgomery was a force to be reckoned with, not unlike his father. Being from a wealthy family didn't guarantee someone's happiness, anymore than coming from a poor family did, she'd discovered. "Is your father still not speaking to you?"

"Aw, he'll get over it." Tiernan's smile looked a little forced, as if he was hiding his hurt. "He thinks that my taking a job at the ranch is a step down for the family, that there's no future in it."

"I don't know, you could save up your money and buy a ranch one day." She leaned back against the seat as the countryside sped by—snowy trees, the white stretch of meadows, the beleaguered look of cattle pawing through the snow looking for something to eat. In the distance was the dark shadow of town, washed by the golden and pinkish tones of sunrise. She felt calmer here, breathing in the fresh, icy air. "That's how Maureen and her husband made their fortune, okay, along with inheriting more."

He grinned. "See, I've got an inheritance from a great uncle that comes to me when I turn twenty-five. I figure that gives me plenty of time to learn everything I can about running a ranch. When I come into my money, I can buy my own place."

"That sounds perfect to me." She was glad for him, running his own spread, building his life and his future. "You've got a great teacher in Beckett Kincaid. He's the best ranch foreman the Rocking M has ever had."

"Tell me about it." Tiernan's eyes sparkled with excitement, with hope. "I always thought I'd breed and train horses, but I'm getting so much hands-on experience with cattle, and I've learned I like cattle, so that's good right there. I'll figure it out as I go, just like my older brother did."

"Tyler is a great carpenter." She remembered the handsome older Montgomery brother who'd come to repair the barn roof after last summer's storm. He'd talked them into hiring Tiernan when he was through with school. She smiled, liking the way the Montgomery brothers stuck together.

Watching families was a hobby of hers, seeing the good in them, maybe wishing just a little for a family of her own one day. She might be a well-shelved spinster by then, but maybe she still had a chance to marry. Perhaps a widower with children would be looking for a mature bride. She shrugged, a little sad as she thought of Gil. Nine years was too long for him to wait, she knew that. He would figure it out, too.

"Tyler is great. Both of my brothers will be at the party today, of course. Father is actually closing the office, so the staff can come too." Tiernan rambled on, talking of his father's unrelenting work ethic, whether his mother was finally going to succeed in setting up his older brother with a bride of her choice, and how much furniture he'd be roped into moving for his mother, who would no doubt be in a state due to the snow in her prized flower gardens.

Maebry listened, nodding at the appropriate times, but part of her mind drifted. Where did it go? Right back to Gil. Last night, standing half in shadow, half in light, he'd made a sandwich and served it to her. And those things he'd said to her...why, her eyes teared, remembering. He'd made her feel special and important to him. Loved.

It was a feeling she never wanted to forget.

Aumaleigh McPhee pushed straggling hair out of her eyes, ignored the weariness bearing down on her like a speeding freight train and winced as her tired back protested in pain. She reached for a fresh clean nightgown, bunched the soft flannel up in her hands and gently slid it over her mother's head. Maureen, too exhausted by pain, could not lift off the pillow, so Aumaleigh did it for her, cupping the back of her head gently and tugged down the thickness of the material until it rested on her mother's wasted, skeletal shoulders.

"You pulled my hair. You're just worthless." Maureen snapped, pruning her face, although only the left side moved. "I don't know why I had you, you are a bane to my existence. A waste, that's what you are."

With forbearance, Aumaleigh gritted her teeth, determined not to let her temper rise. That was what Mother wanted. "Remember what the doctor said? You're to stay calm and rest. You must stay very calm. He thinks you had a small stroke last night."

"That doctor." One side of Maureen's mouth curled up with a snarl. "There's an imbecile if I ever saw one. Who does he think he is, that's what I want to know? Strutting in here as if he's a gift to the world, lying. That's what he's doing. I'm not dying. This sickness is all because of him. It's his doing, that medicine he wants me to take. I'm not taking it anymore. I'm too smart for that."

"All right." Aumaleigh knew better than to argue, for that would only escalate Mother's behavior. With a sigh, she shook out the nightgown's long sleeve and reached for her mother's withered arm.

"Don't insult me, you stupid girl." Maureen jerked up her good arm, although she had little control of it. "I can do this myself. Why I have to put up with you, I don’t know."

Hard to know what to say to that. Aumaleigh's jaw strained, her chest felt ready to explode from everything she held inside. For fifty two years, she'd been Maureen's daughter and was well used to her treatment, even if it hurt. Surely she could take it a little bit longer.

She held the nightgown's sleeve as Maureen attempted to stab her hand into the arm hole, time and time again. Finally, she succeeded. Sweat dotted the old woman's forehead and she'd turned gray from the effort.

At least now she'd likely be quiet while Aumaleigh finished dressing her. Making sure the sleeve was in place, there was no fabric wrinkled or bunched to cause discomfort, she reached across, lifted her mother's paralyzed left arm and fitted it into the sleeve. Gently peeled the covers back, bit by bit, she eased the fabric down over her mother's wasted body, easing her gently forward when necessary, lifting her up until the warm flannel draped her completely.

"Now the warm pair of slippers Maebry knitted for you." Aumaleigh fetched them from the nightstand, soft, thick wool in tiny, perfect stitches to keep in the heat. She sat on the edge of the bed. "These will keep you toasty. By the feel of things, I need to put more wood on the fire."

"Maebry should have built it up before she left. That lazy girl, I know you let her go to bed last night. And with her work unfinished!" Maureen had developed a slur, but that didn't lessen the bite to her words. "And if she thinks she can charm a man into marrying her and paying off her contract, she'd better think again. She's my servant."

"Why shouldn't Maebry find love?" Aumaleigh fought down anger. Failed. Probably because it was an old issue, one that hurt too much to think about. She turned her back to her mother, scrunched up the knit slipper she held and wedged it onto Maureen's gnarled and bloodless foot.

But the memories came up anyway, images of a tall, strapping man with a rumbling baritone—even in memory and after all these years the sound made her melt. She squeezed her eyes shut, growing still for a moment, keeping the memory inside...and the pain.

"Maebry belongs to me, that's why!" Mother huffed, struggling as a breathing fit took her over. She wheezed, grew red, but that didn't stop her tirade. "I bought her fair and square, I own her, and she'll serve her term or else."

Hard to know how to answer that. Especially since the doctor had been clear, any upset could trigger another stroke. Aumaleigh shook her head, tugged too hard on the slipper and left it slightly askew on Mother's foot. A hot, hard ball of outrage expanded in the pit of her stomach, growing larger and larger with every breath. Well, when she inherited, she would be in charge of Maebry's contract. The first thing she'd do was to give Maebry her freedom. And then she and Gil could move forward with their relationship.

The image of that—of Gil taking Maebry by the hand and courting her properly, one day kneeling down to ask her to be his wife, of the happiness they would share, of the family they would have—made tears burn in her eyes. Aumaleigh pushed off the bed, stopped to draw up the quilt over her mother's wasted form and whipped around, pounding across the room.

The sound of another’s footsteps startled her. She glanced over her shoulder, nearly stumbling when she recognized the town lawyer. Amiable Nate Denby hesitated outside the bedroom door, a bundle of papers tucked in the crook of one arm, a tousled lock of brown hair tumbling over his forehead. In his early thirties, he had kind eyes, spectacles and the kind of bookish-handsomeness that was very nice.

"Aumaleigh." His smile widened, showing hints of dimples. "Josslyn said to come on up. I have an appointment with your mother."

"If she's up to it." The decades of unhappiness being her mother's caretaker warred with the love of her mother, as it always did. The daughter in her yearned for a mother's love, as it always would. She glanced at the cadaverous woman on the bed with her chin touching her chest and her eyes closed. Being bathed and freshly dressed had been a strain. Aumaleigh shrugged. "Looks like she's napping. Would you like me to fix you a cup of coffee, maybe warm up a cinnamon roll for you? You can wait downstairs?"

"I'd like that."

"Good. I don't think she'll be asleep for long."

"That's fine. I don't mind waiting a bit." Nate's friendly gaze radiated warmth. She liked his easy going manner, and that relaxed manner reminded her of the man she'd fallen in love with decades ago.

Although her Gabriel had been a cowboy, strapping and strong. She gasped as the memory stole over her, she could not stop it. In her mind's eye, she saw Gabriel, Stetson tilted to shadow his face, giving light only to his strong, square jaw and whisker stubble. Her fingers tingled, remembering just how it felt to run her fingertips along that iron jaw line.

Enough, Aumaleigh, she told herself, kneeling to set a fresh piece of wood onto the grate. It tore out her heart to remember, and she had enough heartbreak now to deal with. She suspected the doctor, when he arrived shortly, would have even more bad news for her.