Then Came You: A Prequel to The McPhee Clan (14 page)

Be stronger, Maebry, she told herself as she took another step. The twine holding her shoe snapped, the leather encasing her foot loosened, and the cold ooze seeped in. She gave a tug, but the shoe stayed stuck in the mud, her stockinged foot slid out, coated with mud. Oh, no, not again. She stood in place, balancing on one foot. He was watching her, she could feel Gil's gaze, the weight of it, the caress of it. So she did the only thing she could. She grabbed her lost shoe and kept on walking. More mud oozed between her toes (yes, this stocking had a hole in it too, she was still behind on her darning) but she ignored it. Perhaps Gil would do the right thing too and keep on riding toward the barn.

"What are you doing?" he called out. His caring, his kindness felt cruel. Like the taunt of a hot summer's day, the teasing flutter of a summery breeze in mid-winter. She heard the saddle leather creak as he dismounted, heard the splash and patter of his boots in the mud behind her, barricaded her heart so his wonderful tenderness wouldn't affect her, so she could keep all the love she felt for him walled in.

It did no good. The heat of his hand when it landed on her shoulder burned through layers of wool and flannel to the skin beneath, telegraphing his rare, dependable sort of comfort—the exact thing she hungered for. The one thing she could not let herself have. Struggling to hold onto her dignity, she hopped up the steps and onto the porch, leaving muddy prints in her wake.

"Maebry." He caught up to her, grabbed her elbow, spun her around. It hurt to see the concern dug in around his eyes, to hear the thick rumble of affection when he said her name. "You should have waited for me. I would have carried you."

"I know." Wasn't that what tortured her the most? That she'd found the right man, the one she would love through her lifetime, but she had nine years left to serve on her contract, nine years worth of debt to pay off. To strangers now, people who could move her to Chicago. She had no say in that. She'd signed a legal agreement, and now they had inherited that agreement. She didn't need to ask Nate to know that for a fact. She drew in a shaky breath, staring hard at one of Gil's coat buttons so she wouldn't have to meet his gaze. "I prefer to walk on my own."

"Through the mud?"

"Through the mud. It's not so bad. I'm sure it's good for my skin and calluses." A feeble attempt at humor. It fell short, and she shrugged. "It's better this way, Gil."

"Sorry, I don't buy that." He rubbed his knuckles against her jaw, moving closer, shadowing her with his height and strength. "I know Nate will contact the heirs, and he'll give them my offer too. He knows how serious I am."

"That's the thing." She reached out, splayed her hand on his hard chest, keeping him from moving in closer. It took a Herculean effort to meet his gaze, to see the tenacious hope there, the true devotion, the pain of her rejection. Oh, she did not want to hurt him. That's why she had to do what was right. "You have to let this go."

"Not as long as I can see love in your eyes, love for me." His hand covered hers, holding her palm against the steady thud of his heartbeat. He drew himself up to full height, like a man who refused to stop fighting to love her. "I won't let you go, Maebry."

His fingers covering hers squeezed meaningfully. In his eyes shone his dreams for their future. For love, marriage and family. The hope for a happily-ever-after.

Oh, she wanted those dreams too. Little girls with Gil's true blue eyes, little boys with dark hair and his goodness. Laughter and togetherness and year after year spent loving this man, this loyal, strong man. She blew out a shaky breath, took a few moments to feel the life-affirming rhythm of his heartbeat. Funny how hers beat in time with his. As if they were one.

Always would be.

"What choice do we have? I watched my parents struggle with terrible debt." The confession came thin and raw, full of emotion. Tough memories from her childhood, the one she worked to forget. He had to understand. "My mother's family struggled to hold onto their land. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make a living. There had been illness, and then gambling debts, all borrowed against the land. My father, oh, he was a dreamer. He said it didn't matter, he'd marry my mother, work to pay off the debt, that only love mattered."

"Let me guess." Gil's free hand cupped her jaw, cradling her, oh so tender. "It didn't work out that way."

"No. It was a hardship, a black mark against them from the start. They both worked their fingers to the bone. There was nothing but work and hardship and despair." She closed her mind against the arguments, the disappointments, the shell of disenchantment her parent's marriage became. "I watched it all. How my father gradually came to resent my mother. He'd sacrificed so much for her, after all. My mother resented him for not loving her enough, the way he'd promised. My father died a broken man, and my mother turned bitter, lost her heart."

"And you think that will be us?" Gentle, those words, wanting to understand. "You're afraid that I will come to resent you, that instead of you I could have had my own ranch? Or maybe a wife who wasn't such a burden?"

"Yes."
Finally
. Relief rocked through her like lightning striking, threatened to knock her to her knees. Tears flooded her eyes. Now that he understood, he could stop trying to rescue her. She never wanted to be something he regretted. "It was nice while it lasted. You have no idea what you mean to me. I'm really glad I let down my guards and let you in."

"Me, too." Tears stood in his eyes, a rare show of the deepest layer of his heart, tears he blinked away, stalwart. Invincible.

Heart shattering, she went up on tiptoe, kissed his cheek, ignored the catch of longing in her chest. With her shoe clutched in her other hand, she turned on her heel, leaving him alone on the porch. As she stepped into the kitchen and closed the door behind her, the sun chose that moment to disappear fully behind encroaching clouds, leaving the day as if in twilight. Like a sign.

Their chance at love had passed.

Gil closed Casey's stall gate, double-checking to make sure it had locked. At least now he understood why Maebry had been so upset over his offer to buy out her contract. Heartbroken, at a loss, he scrubbed the gelding's nose a final time, grabbed the empty grain bucket and headed down the aisle. Casey's nicker of good-night followed him, along with the questioning and neighs of a barn full of horses who heard the rattle of the pail's handle and poked their heads into the aisle, hoping for a bit more grain.

"Sorry, guys." He shrugged, showed them the empty bottom of the bucket, earned a few horsy huffs and raspberries. Seemed like everyone was in for disappointment tonight. He tossed the bucket into the feed room, blew out the last lantern and dug into his leather saddlebags on his way out the door for the package he'd picked up in town.

"Better hurry up!" Beckett Kincaid, ranch foreman extraordinaire, called out from the yard as he hiked up the hill, toward the small cottage he shared with his small daughter. "Everyone's already in there. There won't likely be any grub left by the time you get there."

"I'm not worried. I have an in with the cook." A cook who still owed him baked goods. A cool rain needled down from a swollen, charcoal sky as he wrestled the barn door shut.

"We'll be rounding up the horses soon, bringing in the prime ones to break." Beckett turned around, angling his hat to shield his face from the rain. "I'll need help. Are you interested?"

"Yes." His gaze cut to the kitchen window, shining in the encroaching darkness. Maebry was in there, the love of his life. If she thought he was going to let her go, then she was plain crazy. He splashed through the mud, changed the angle of his hat to catch the rain, winked at Beckett. "I could use the extra work. You think we'll ever get paid for it?"

"I'll talk it over with Nate, Maureen's heirs will inherit her debts too. Haven't heard all the details of the will yet, the formal reading will be after the funeral, but it only stands to reason they'll either want to sell out their share of this place or make it work, and either way you have to pay ranch hands to run this place."

"Right." Gil shifted the package he carried to his other hand, stared down the shadowed valley, felt his future shift. "I may be giving my notice. Depends on where Maebry ends up."

"Okay. I understand. I was in love once." Becket backed up the path, into the dark. "We'll talk."

"Right." Gil felt the rain sluice against the side of his face like a touch. Funny how things worked out. Like his love for Maebry really was meant to be. He hiked across the yard, heading straight for that light, for Maebry, his life.

"There you are!" Orla whipped open the back door, pinned her gaze on him and shook her head in mock disapproval. "Supper is on the table."

"I just want a plate, if that's okay with you." He hiked up the steps, stomped the mud off his boots. "I'll eat in the bunkhouse."

"That's understandable, considering." Orla nodded, wearing an apron, holding a wooden spoon. She stepped back from the doorway to make way for him. "What with Maureen's passing and the news about Maebry. Poor Maebry. What if they want to take her from us? I don't think I can let that girl go. She's like a daughter to me. Now you just come in where it's warm, stand right there, don't touch that cake. I'll dish you up a plate."

"Thanks, Orla." He swept off his hat, shouldered the door shut and breathed in the delicious aromas of chicken, dumplings and lemon cake. His stomach grumbled, but food wasn't foremost on his mind. He searched the room for signs of Maebry, strained to hear the lilt of her voice in the nearby dining room. A faint pad of footsteps in the room overhead grabbed his attention. There she was, upstairs probably helping Aumaleigh.

"I'll just be a minute," Orla called over her shoulder as she bustled across the room, a clean plate in hand. "All the food is on the table. I'll load up and be right back."

"Great." He waited until she was out of sight before grasping the glass knob on the door to his left. Maebry's room. It was dark and cool, her narrow bed neatly made, the pillow plumped, a worn and patched wool blanket folded over the foot of the mattress. A tiny room, little more than a closet. His chest twisted as he crossed to the bed. She deserved better than this, and he would give it to her.

He unwrapped the brown paper, the gift he'd left the Montgomery's party to buy. He set the pair of shoes on the blanket at the foot of the bed, brand new. Her exact size. The best pair in Gunderson's Mercantile. He hoped she would understand the meaning behind his gift as he left the room, closing the door behind him.

"There. We have everything ready." Maebry fussed with the lace scarf she'd draped over the side of the open coffin, so it would hang just right.

The big, open front room had once been the parlor when Maureen's family first lived here, then the dining room for the ranch hands when McPhee Manor up on the hill had been completed. Now the dozens of chairs had been moved into a smaller, adjacent room and the table supported Maureen's coffin. Sadness hung in the air, the reverence of life lost. Fire crackled in the stone hearth, crystal lamps beamed golden light, but cold and shadows remained, as if nothing could touch them.

"Yep, we're all ready for tomorrow." Orla seized the broom by its handle and headed toward the hallway. "Do you think anyone will show up?"

"Hard to say," Josslyn answered, with a supporting arm around Aumaleigh's slender waist. "We'll be here. That's something."

"Mother wasn't the kind of person who had friends as much as she had allies." Aumaleigh's sorrow was palpable, carved into her face, heavy on her shoulders. "I don't think we should expect a large gathering."

"That's sad." Maebry hung her head. Maureen had been a hard taskmaster, but she looked humble in death. Shrunken, skeletal, tiny. I owe her so much, she thought, reminding herself stoically of what was only the truth.

How would her life have turned out had she stayed in Ireland? A burden to her family who didn't have enough to eat, living under the cloud of her stepfather's anger and drinking problems. No, at least she'd made a good life for herself here and, more importantly, was able to help her only sister to a better life as well.

She really did owe Maureen so much. She just wished it hadn't cost her Gil. Fresh misery rolled through her as she padded in her stocking feet to the nearby lamp. Her fingers trembled as she lifted a glass chimney and blew out the flame. She stood in the dark, listening to the others tap away toward the kitchen. She squared her shoulders. What she needed was a good night's sleep to prepare for tomorrow, and what may come from there.

"I just wish I knew more about the heirs." Orla's voice trailed down the short hallway to the kitchen, where a closet door banged shut. She must be putting away the broom.

"Oh, I remember Ely's daughters from back in the day." Josslyn gently steered Aumaleigh away from the dark coffin where her mother's body rested and toward the light of the kitchen. "They were just little girls then, but sweet as could be. Ely's little Rose was my Seth's age. Just wee ones, tottering around. I'll never forget how they played together."