Spring Blossom (18 page)

Staring up at him, she asked skeptically,
“In the way of what?”

“I’m hoping you will walk a short way with
me. There is something quite extraordinary for us to see
tonight.”

There! He was doing it again. Why did he
have to be so damned mysterious?

Maggie stared at the hand he held out for a
good long moment, knowing, as they both did, that she had never
willingly touched him.

“Take my hand,” he said. Finally she placed
her small hand in his work-roughened palm. He smiled at her warmly
then. “You can change on the other side of the wagon and you’ll
have the privacy you want. But stay away from Pride, will you?” His
teasing tone actually won him a small smile and he was
satisfied.

*

By the time Maggie returned to the fire,
Hunter had cleared away the remainder of their supper. He was
grinning as he held up a brown labeled bottle for her inspection.
“You father is a thoughtful man,” he told her. “This was tucked
away with our food supplies.” He rinsed a tin cup and poured a
hearty draft of brandy.

Margaret frowned at the generous portion he
had poured. She didn’t want a drunken man on her hands.

Hunter merely chuckled in the face of her
concern. “We’ll share this while we watch the show,” he said and
eyed her garb with approval. “Much more practical, don’t you
think?” In actually fact, he felt he might be a bit sorry he had
given her the clothes; these britches seemed to fit more snugly
than those he had previously seen her wear, accentuating her
rounded hips and narrow waist. And the shirt fit in a revealing
fashion, as no allowance for female attributes had been planned in
its design. His Maggie had a well-proportioned and very womanly
figure, for all her youth, and Hunter was forced to turn away from
the sight of all that femininity. It had been a long and trying day
and, in what he considered as his weakened condition, he wanted
nothing more than to hold all of the womanliness close to his own
body.

He moved off toward the river and Margaret
stared at his back for a moment before having the presence of mind
to follow. “What show?” she asked, curious now as she came up
beside him.

Hunter grinned, satisfied that he had
captured her imagination. “You’ll see.”

Maggie stopped dead in her tracks. “If this
is a trick, Hunter…”

“No trick,” he assured her as he continued
to walk. “It’s something worth watching.”

Maggie narrowed her eyes as she watched him
walk away, still carrying the cup of brandy. What could he do here
that he couldn’t do elsewhere, she reasoned and shrugged in
resignation before catching up with him once again. “Why are you
being so mysterious?” she asked as she worked at keeping up with
his long strides.

He smiled. “It’s a surprise.”

“Out here?” She looked around at rocks and
trees and the river rushing by.

“Here,” he said as he led her along the
river’s edge to a high outcropping of rock. “I noticed this while I
was watering the animals.” He stopped at the base of the huge
rocks. “Can you hear the rush of water? I suspect there might be
some rapids beyond this point.”

Margaret stared at the rushing blue-green
water and then raised her eyes to his in puzzlement. “That’s the
surprise?”

“There’s more.” He looked upward, studying
the rocks. “Think you can make it?” he asked.

Her eyes followed the path his had taken.
“You expect me to climb up there?”

He grinned in the face of her surprise.
“I’ll help you.”

“Hunter, I don’t care if you can fly me up
there, I’m not particularly fond of heights.”

“How can you ride a horse if you feel that
way?” he teased.

“That’s hardly a height,” she returned
impatiently. “And riding is second nature to me.”

“Then this will be third nature. You will
feel the same way about sitting on top of the universe as you do
about sitting atop a horse.”

“You really are mad,” she murmured and
looked up with doubt.

“Quite,” he agreed. He took her hand and
guided her up the easiest face of the rocks.

Margaret climbed agilely in his wake, but
when he felt her pull against his hand, he looked over his
shoulder. “Don’t look down,” he directed firmly and then grinned.
“You’ll spoil the surprise.”

“The surprise being the fact that we are
about to break our fool necks,” she murmured.

“Faith, Maggie, my girl,” he drawled with
his best imitation of a good Irish lad. “A little faith, if you
please.”

“Oh, I have faith,” she puffed as he pulled
her up a long steep section of rock. “It just doesn’t extend in
your direction.”

Truer words were never spoken, he
acknowledged grimly, and tried to blank them out of his mind. The
moment would soon be upon them and he did not want to ruin it.

He had brought her here because he needed a
little restorative peace, and he hoped she would benefit as well
from a quiet experience. He could not force Maggie, however, to
reach within herself.

When they reached the top Maggie was puffing
with the exertion but not alarmingly so, and he smiled at her
before looking around their perch. “This is it,” he said but when
he saw her eyes turn toward the river Hunter lowered the cup to the
rocks and placed both hands on her shoulders, guiding her until she
stood with her back to him. “Look out, not down,” he insisted, then
tightened his hold when she did not respond. “Do not look down,
Maggie.” He reached around her shoulder and placed his fingertips
under her chin to raise her head. “Always look outward first, then
allow yourself to take in the lower views a bit at a time. That way
you should become accustomed to the elevation.”

She mumbled a protest, but complied.

He let her stand there for a moment then
returned his hand to her shoulder, pressing gently. “Sit down,
Maggie, and I’m going to sit behind you. We have a few moments to
wait.”

Though wary of his nearness, she sat and,
with such a steep drop before her, she was not prepared to argue
too heatedly with him. After a stretch of moments, she asked in
exasperation, “Hunter, why are we sitting here?”

“You’ll see in just a few moments.”

She sighed, a great sigh that had her
shoulders heaving up and then down but did not ease the tension in
her neck.

Behind her, Hunter smiled and reached back
to where he had set the tin cup. Such impatience. Such suspicion.
He took a sip of the brandy and bent his knees so that he could
rest his forearms there, even as his gaze strayed to the
silver-blond hair and tense shoulders so close to him. She had
drawn her knees up also and wrapped her arms around her legs so
that, from his view, she looked like a frightened little creature
nestled between his legs. And the tension and anxiety that
surrounded her came not from the height of her perch but from his
presence. That was understood without a word needed.

He raised the cup to his lips once again and
then reached around her shoulder, extending it to her.

Surprisingly, Margaret took it then watched
his hand as he casually returned his forearm to rest on his bent
knee.

"I don’t know whether you are familiar with
brandy,” he said quietly, “but you should sip it slowly.”

Maggie stared down at the cup before
cautiously raising it to her lips. Her eyelashes fluttered when the
vapors of the drink rose up to assault her. She took a small sip
and then another; then gasped when the brew seared her throat.
“Oh,” she breathed.

Hunter chuckled over her reaction, before
saying, “There are several things we should appreciate about this
show, Maggie. We paid not a penny for admittance, the location of
our seats is excellent, the size of the theater is restricted only
by the distance we can see, and the number of players is limited
only by our lack of imagination.”

“Hunter, you’re not making sense,” she
returned impatiently. “And I don’t like this.” He was entirely too
close and she was feeling trapped. And not understanding his
reasons for dragging her up to sit on a rock, did not add any
feelings of confidence to the situation in which she now found
herself.

“Have you ever tried clearing your mind of
your anger and suspicion and fear?” he asked. “Just long enough to
allow simple enjoyment of something beautiful and natural? Can’t
you believe yourself deserving of an innocent pleasure?”

Her shoulder jerked upward and he leaned
forward, just a little so as not to threaten her. “Clear you mind
for a few moments, Maggie. Forget everything beyond this place.
Forget I’m here, if you wish. Think of the things your eyes bring
into focus. Concentrate on those things and their beauty. Clear you
mind and just look…and feel,” he added on a hopeful breath.

As she listened to his words an ache within
her started to grow and fan out to encompass her entire being. She
understood now what he was doing, and she wanted to appreciate his
efforts. But it saddened her that he felt he needed to take these
steps because she had somehow lost her way and could not enjoy a
simple pleasure. She recalled the times when, as a girl, she would
sneak out of the house at night simply to lie in the grass and
watch the stars. What had happened to that girl? Of course, she
knew the answer to that; the girl had turned to anger as a means of
survival. All innocent pleasure had been snatched away from her,
had become foreign to her existence, and Hunter, in trying to
reintroduce such things to her, was causing her to mourn the loss.
And it occurred to her that perhaps, just perhaps, he would be the
one with whom she would once again find some semblance of inner
peace. If…she could control her anger and set aside her fears long
enough to give him a chance; to give herself a chance.

“Why did you bring me here?” she asked
softly.

“I wanted to watch a sunset with you.”

“I am never certain what to expect from
you,” she said.

And that kept her wary, kept her afraid; he
knew that, just as he knew there was little he could do about it
until he managed, somehow, to gain her trust. His eyes searched the
skies and the scene before them, as if nature held some simple
answer. But there was no easy answer. So, for this moment, he
stopped thinking about it and opened his mind for a moment, as he
had directed Maggie to do. “It’s beginning,” he said in a soft,
rich voice that brought gooseflesh out on her arms.

But her thoughts had turned away from him,
away from the threat of him, as she silently concentrated on the
scene before her. Maggie took another sip of brandy, enjoying the
warmth of it as it descended to her stomach, then held the cup out
to the hand that dangled near her right shoulder. In a moment hand
and cup disappeared from her peripheral vision, and it was several
seconds before his hand returned, minus the cup.

Maggie did as Hunter suggested and looked
straight ahead, noting that the sun was very low in the sky. Then
her eyes traveled to the expanse of tree and rolling hills across
the gully from where they sat. The shades of green darkened as the
light diminished, and the sheer expanse of rock became a wall of
gray and pink and black rearing up from the river’s edge. For the
first time she noticed the violent roar of the river and realized
he’d been right; to her left there were rapids, wonderful and
frightening and exhilarating all at once, sounding like a
continuous thunder, as if the river were angry.

She raised her eyes as the sun dropped
behind the farthest trees. The sky was streaked with a spectrum of
reds, scarlet to palest pink, glowing colors that produced warmth
within her and raised the fine hair on her arms. Why had she never
noticed this beauty before? Why had she never felt this way before?
As she leaned forward in concentration, Hunter’s hands dropped to
her waist as security against a fall. But Maggie did not object.
She had seen this before; had appreciated a sunset before. But that
had been another time, another place and when she had been a
younger girl.

She stared out at the wilderness before her
as it was slowly swamped by descending darkness. She felt it should
have saddened her, this disappearing of something beautiful, but
night was a peaceful intruder, and soon a strange serenity came
over her and the harsh heat of day became a gentle, refreshing
stirring against her skin, stirring her hair.

The darkness began to glow a warm gray as
her eyes adjusted, and finally she let her head fall back and
closed her eyes as she felt night surround her like a gentle,
friendly shroud.

In time, Maggie let her back rest against
his chest, and Hunter returned his forearms to his knees, not
wanting to stir and spoil the moment by frightening her, though he
wanted desperately to put his arms around her and draw her back
more tightly against him; to shelter her, to offer his support. But
this was far too fragile a thing to rush, this first tentative
contact she had sought with him. He would savor it while he
silently thanked nature for providing this most tranquil
moment.

“It’s strange,” she whispered, “but I don’t
think I’ve ever felt quite this way before.”

“And how do you feel?” he asked softly.

She shook her head from side to side against
his shoulder. “I don’t think I can explain it.”

“Do you feel good?”

She nodded her head. Margaret felt very
serene. She could not remember experiencing this kind of peace any
night for over a year now; it almost seemed as if she had become
boneless, her entire being almost floating free. And, as her
conscious mind realized that she was actually leaning against a
muscled chest that warmed her back, Margaret’s first reaction was
that that, too, felt very good. “I supposed we should go,” she
said, reluctantly after a time.

“We could stay here all night,” he suggested
lightly.