One Bright Morning (41 page)

Once in the house, he started looking for
Maggie. He limped into the parlor. No Maggie. He peeked into his
study where he kept all his books. Not a soul in sight. He made a
hopeful tour of his bedroom and then checked out Maggie’s room. No
luck. He finally made his way to the kitchen only to find Beula
stirring a big pot of stew.

“
Maggie said she was going
to be cooking for you men, but she’s been working so blamed hard
today, I made her let me cook your stew tonight, Jubal,” Beula told
him.

“
Working?” Jubal’s frown was
so ferocious that Beula actually looked almost
frightened.

“
Yes, sir,” she stammered.
“She been working like a dog all day long.”

“
Damn.” Jubal swung out of
the kitchen and stomped as fast as his throbbing leg would let him
stomp out to the patio.

Sure enough, there she was. On her hands and
knees with a bucket of frothy water by her side and a
stiff-bristled brush in her hands, her face gleaming with sweat,
was Maggie Bright, scrubbing tiles for all she was worth. Jubal
didn’t notice that her sweaty face was beaming with happiness or
that she was humming a merry tune. He also didn’t notice that
Connie Todd was supervising her brother and tiny Annie Bright as
they spaded manure into a little plot of dirt behind the fountain.
He didn’t see the fountain itself, either. It had undergone a
rather startling transformation while he’d been out checking fences
and counting cows.

“
What the hell do you think
you’re doing
?”

Jubal’s furious bellow startled Maggie into
a full-fledged scream. The stiff-bristled brush slithered soapily
out of her grip and her hand flew to her bosom. Little Connie
shrieked, too. Henry, Jr., clutched his sister’s skirts with muddy
hands, and Annie Bright began to cry.

Maggie had to swallow her heart again before
she could answer him. Then she did so with a horrid, sinking,
lead-heavy droop to her spirits.

“
My Lord, Mr. Green, you
scared me to death,” she whispered. Then she glanced over to the
children. “You scared the kids to death. It’s all right, babies.
It’s just Mr. Green.”

She looked up at Jubal with
such an expression of dismay on her face that Jubal could have
kicked himself.
If it wasn’t for my damned
leg
, he thought. He wanted to squat down
next to her and hold her tight, but he was sure his leg, if it bent
at all, would never allow him to stand up again. Instead, he walked
up close to her and whispered furiously, “I thought I told you not
to work today, Maggie.”

Maggie’s initial, frightened recoil was
rapidly being replaced by irritation. “But, Jubal, I thought you
said I could fix up the patio.” She eyed the children and added in
a crabby hiss, “There’s no need for you to holler, either. If
you’re mad at me for something, tell me. Don’t holler and scare the
children.”

Jubal was embarrassed now.
“I’m sorry I hollered at you, Maggie.” He glanced over at the
children, too, then looked back at Maggie and whispered, “Of
course, you can fix the patio. That’s what I told you. But
you’re
not supposed to do
the work. You’re supposed to get Four Toes and tell him what you
want done and then he’ll get people to do it for you. You’re not
supposed to do it. You’re supposed to rest. I’m taking care of you
now, remember, damn it, Maggie?”

Maggie’s expression began to clear up when
his words penetrated. She never was any good at holding onto her
mad, anyway; and the fact that he was upset because he was worried
about her working too hard was purely sweet.

As a matter of fact, her face began to get a
downright tender look to it as she gazed up at him. She realized
that he was still trying to scowl at her for all he was worth, even
though he was obviously abashed at his initial roar, and she
smiled.

“
Oh, Jubal. Thank
you.”

She got up off her hands and knees and wiped
her hands on her apron. She would have hugged him, except she
didn’t think such an overt display of affection would be a proper
influence on the children. “Thank you. But Four Toes has been
working on the fountain, and the kids wanted to help, and I’m just
washing these tiles. They’re real pretty when you wash them off.
See?”

Jubal didn’t want to see. He wanted to grab
Maggie to his hard body and kiss her until she squeaked. Instead,
he was left to frown after her when she stepped over to the three
children and knelt down to comfort them. Annie ran into her arms
and sobbed. Henry, Jr., looked from her to Jubal with indecision
writ large upon his freckled features.

Astute little Connie Todd had it all figured
out, apparently, because she just smiled at Jubal and said, “Hi,
Uncle Jubal. Look, we’re going to plant a garden.”

Jubal’s expression remained rebellious for
another couple of seconds, but he finally admitted defeat and gave
Connie a somewhat crooked grin. “A garden, huh?”

A huge smile lit up Connie’s face. “Yes.
Mrs. Bright said we can plant flowers here, ‘cause it’s the patio.
We don’t have to plant carrots and cabbages and such here. And she
said maybe we can even have a rosebush.”

“
You want a rosebush,
Maggie?” Jubal asked. His forehead creased up and he looked
worried. He hadn’t even thought about roses when he’d been buying
seeds for her. If anybody had mentioned a rose to him, he’d have
bought her one right off. Or two or three. He couldn’t think of
everything, could he?

It took all the control Maggie could command
not to wrap her arms around him and kiss him. He looked so adorably
concerned for her wants.

“
We can plant a rosebush
later, Jubal,” she said gently.

Annie had stopped crying now, but she was
still frowning. She looked mad, in fact, and her little fist was
crammed into her mouth, a sure sign that all was not well with her.
When her mama stepped up closer to Jubal, she pulled her fist out
of her mouth, leaving a small circle of grime around it, and
pointed a dirty finger at him.

“
Juba holler,” she
announced. She didn’t sound any too pleased with the fact,
either.

Jubal felt bad.

Then Annie said, “Juba mad,” in a very
censorious voice, and he felt even worse.

He looked at Maggie and discovered that she
was watching him with a mixture of amusement and tenderness that
was completely irresistible. He finally let out a heavy sigh and
chuckled. “Jubal’s not mad anymore, Annie, honey,” he said. Then he
took her out of Maggie’s arms. “Boy, you don’t let a guy get away
with anything, do you, you little chipmunk?”

That comment got Henry, Jr.’s attention.
“I’m your little chipmunk,” he reminded Jubal. The little boy
seemed mighty offended that Jubal could have forgot that “chipmunk”
was an endearment reserved for him alone.

Jubal looked down at Henry and sighed again.
“Good God,” he muttered. “I never realized being a—an uncle would
be so much trouble.” He had been going to say “father,” but thought
better of it.

“
I guess Annie will just
have to be something else, Jubal,” Maggie said with a
giggle.

“
How about a parsnip?” Jubal
eyed Annie narrowly. She was listening to the conversation with
interest. “You seem like a parsnip to me, Annie. How about it. Will
you be my little parsnip?”

“
Powsup?” Annie asked,
peering at Jubal with a rather dubious expression on her
face.

Jubal’s grin broadened. “Close, Annie. Will
you be my little parsnip?”

Annie eyed him doubtfully for another second
or two, but when he continued to grin at her, she relented. First
she nodded. Then she threw her arms around his neck and laid her
head on his shoulder and hugged him.

Maggie and Jubal just looked at each other
for a few moments.

Then Maggie said, “Looks like you got
yourself a parsnip, Jubal Green.”

Jubal wished he could kiss Maggie. “Looks
like I do,” was all he said.

# # #

Jubal pulled so many strings that he felt
like a puppet master. But at last he maneuvered circumstances so
that he could have Maggie all to himself when he went to El Paso
the following week.

It was not difficult getting Beula to agree
to take care of Annie for the duration. Beula was on his side.

“
It’s about time you found
yourself a good woman, Jubal Green,” she lectured him. “Haven’t I
been telling you?”

Jubal cast his eyes toward the heavens and
prayed for patience. “Yes, Beula. You’ve been telling me. But near
as I can figure you haven’t yet come up with a solution to the
problem of Prometheus Mulrooney trying to murder anybody who even
so much as smiles at me. How the hell am I supposed to keep a
wife?”

Beula scowled at him. “Well, you just better
figure that one out yourself pretty darned soon, Jubal Green. I’ll
be mad as fire if anything happens to Maggie Bright.” Beula was
hanging out her washing as they spoke. To emphasize her point, she
gave Cod Fish’s union suit a hard flap, splattering Jubal liberally
with water.

Jubal jumped back as the cold water hit him.
“Jesus, Beula, you don’t have to drown me. I’m not about to let
anything happen to Maggie.”

Beula humphed. “Well, just see that you
don’t.”

She stabbed two clothespins onto the
shoulders of Codfish’s underwear and turned around to finish her
lecture. She wasn’t through with Jubal yet. Her fists sank into her
ample hips and she glared at him hard. Beula’s eyes were brown, but
when she was feeling intense about something, they took on an amber
cast. They were really, really amber now.

Jubal knew he was in for a good, hard,
impassioned lecture. He sighed and stood his ground bravely, hoping
she wouldn’t yell at him for too long.

“
And not only that, Jubal
Green,” she began, “But you’d better do something pretty darned
quick about making an honest woman of her, too.” Beula blushed a
deep carmine color that clashed with her red hair.

Jubal’s brows shot up until they nearly got
lost in his hairline. “An honest woman of her?” he bellowed.

“
Yes,” said Beula,
apparently not at all intimidated by his hollering. “I know good
and well that you’ve taken her to your bed, Jubal. Now, Maggie
Bright is a good woman. She wouldn’t do something like that with
just anybody, and I’m not going to let you get away with trifling
with her affections.” Beula looked like an ornery mule, and she
leaned into her lecture as though a stiff wind were blowing at her
back.

“
Trifling with her?” Jubal
couldn’t believe his ears.

“
Trifling with her. Yes. I
don’t care if you do own this ranch, Jubal Green. I won’t have
it.”

Jubal was so mad now, he tore his hat off of
his head and slammed it into the dirt. A puff of dust swirled up
around their feet, but Beula didn’t back off an inch.

“
I’m not trifling with her,
God damn it!” Jubal roared.

“
Well, then, just what do
you aim to do to save her honor, Jubal Green?” Beula’s eyes were
tiny green slits now. Her normally rosy cheeks were nearly purple
with passion, and her enormous bosom was heaving with every
agitated breath.

“
Save her
honor
?”

Jubal couldn’t believe his ears. He glared
back at Beula with terrible ferocity. She didn’t budge.

“
Well?” she said.

Jubal’s mouth was drawn up into a tight
pucker when he stooped to pick up his dusty hat. He slapped it
against his left thigh before he thought about it, and he nearly
bellowed again when it stung his barely healed bullet wound.

“
I’m waiting for an answer,
Jubal Green,” said Beula through stiff lips.

“
God damn it, Beula,” said
Jubal in a near whine.

“
Blasphemies won’t get you
anywhere, either,” Beula announced primly.

“
Well, for Lord’s sake,
Beula. I asked her once.”

“
Well, what did she
say?”

“
She sort of didn’t
answer.”

“
Now, just what on earth
does that mean, Jubal Green? Just exactly what is, ‘she sort of
didn’t answer’ supposed to mean?”

“
Well, she’s worried about
her damned farm, Beula.”

Jubal felt really sulky. Until Beula’s words
shattered his happy fantasy, he figured nobody else knew about his
nighttime activities with Maggie. It was a truly hard blow to
discover he had no secrets from his little ranch family.

Beula’s face eased up a touch.

“
I’m sure a bright man like
you can figure out some way to ease her mind about her farm, Jubal
Green. Don’t you.” It wasn’t quite a question.

Jubal glared at Beula in defeat. During the
past two weeks, he’d pretty much come to the conclusion that he
wasn’t going to get over this problem of loving Maggie Bright any
time soon. But, since his first fumbling, tentative mention of
marriage to her, he had been postponing an actual, honest-to-God
proposal because it seemed like such a permanent thing to do.
Marriage sounded so final. It was such an endless condition. Sort
of like consumption. Once you got it, there was no getting over it
unless one of you died. He just hated having his hand forced as
Beula was forcing it now.

He gave her another good, solid glare before
he said, “Yeah. I guess I can do something about her damned
farm.”

Beula beamed at him. “Good.” And she went
back to hanging her wash.

Jubal thought about proposing to Maggie that
night in bed, but he got distracted.