Authors: Jennifer Jakes
A nd it was warm.
The inviting fire of the large pot-belly stove beckoned her to the back wall. Heat seeped into her bones, reminding her of all the time she’d spent in the kitchen with Nettie. If she closed her eyes the yeasty smell of bread filled her senses, the tang of cucumbers dropped into jars with dill and vinegar, the sweet temptation of sugared apples ready for pies. Hunger gnawed at the delicious thought.
“Miss?”
Maggie jerked her eyes open. No clean kitchen surrounded her, just a dirty, drafty store. No warm bread or fresh dilled pickles, only musty blankets, tobacco, and a stench that could only be the pelts. No safe—albeit stifling—home in Missouri. Just fear—in the middle of nowhere.
“I asked if’n you wanted coffee.”
“I’m sorry,” Maggie offered, trying not to grimace at the way her boots gritted on the mud-covered floor.
“That’s most kind, Mr…”
The old man smiled showing an almost toothless mouth. “Tom Ward. But you can call me Tom.”
“Maggie Monroe.”
Tom blushed at her outstretched hand, then wiped his back and forth against questionably clean pants before touching her fingers. “Pleasurable meetin’ you.” He dropped her hand and reached for a tin cup hanging from a peg on the wall. Then with a sheepish glance toward her, he hurried to a small cabinet, pulled out a chipped porcelain mug and grinned as if he’d struck gold.
“I can git some sugar if’n you like.” Tom’s gnarled hand trembled as he passed the steaming cup. “Don’t keep no cow for cream though.”
“No, I can drink it black.” Might as well get used to living without the finer things such as sugar. Even if she could convince Mr. McBride to set her free, the life she knew would be lost forever. A t the rate Michael gambled, the house, the money, everything would be gone, and Nettie put on the street to find employment elsewhere.
A nd her one chance at life outside marriage destroyed. I won’t let that happen.
Rafe blew through the door in a swirl of snowflakes, the white crystals glistening in his dark hair and whiskers.
“The blizzard’s moving in. We need to hurry.” His stormy eyes flicked over her. “I put your satchel in my saddlebags.”
“Thank you.” Maggie took a fortifying gulp of the thick coffee. She had no time to lose. Now was the time to appeal to his sense of honor. She swallowed hard, preparing for the most important speech of her life. “Mr.
McBride, I wondered if—”
“Tom will show you to the coats.”
She stepped aside as Rafe brushed by her, leaving her hopeful proposal melting like the puddles of snow left from his boots.
She riddled his broad back with silent curses.
Damned, arrogant horse’s ass. What made men think they owned the last word? Since her father’s death, Maggie had had a small taste of freedom. She wasn’t going to lose it now to some overbearing mountain man.
Ice pinged against the windows, matching the cold beat of her heart. She needed another drink of courage.
She drained the bitter coffee in one long swig, then handed Tom the cup. “Mr. McBride, there’s something I have to say.”
The muscles in his back tensed, pulling the plaid shirt tight as he stiffened, then turned. “Well, I don’t have time to listen. Do you understand if we delay, we’ll be riding in a whiteout?” His dark brows knitted a frown. “I’m not afraid to die, but I’ll be damned if I want to do it by freezing. Now hurry up and choose a coat!” Tom tugged her hand, pulling her down an aisle.
“He’s right. You two best git goin’.”
“But I can’t—”
“Oh, don’t fret about decidin’. Not many of these coats be small enough to fit you. Won’t be much choosin’
to do.”
Maggie groaned in frustration. Tom was daft if he thought her concern lay with the stylishness of her coat.
A nd Mr. McBride…she glared across the room. She hoped he choked on his coffee. Boorish bastard.
“Tom, make sure it will keep her warm.” Rafe spoke into his cup, never raising his gaze, but his rich voice, laced with worry, flooded her with shame. Maybe he was daft. Harsh and controlling one second, then worried about her comfort the next.
“I’ll pick the warmest one I got.” Tom scratched his bald head as he scurried to the back of the store. He dug to the bottom of a stack. “This’n might do.” She accepted the dusty coat he held out. The abrasive brown wool scratched against her palms, but the inside lining was soft and would protect her from the harsh weather. Even though she had no intention of leaving with Mr. McBride, she couldn’t hide in the store forever.
“Thank you, Mr. War—I mean, Tom.”
He blushed, toeing the floor like a schoolboy. “My pleasure, Miss Maggie.”
“Is there somewhere private I can change coats?” If not, then these two men would have to turn their backs.
She was not exposing her breasts to anyone else today.
“You know,” Tom said as he tapped his mouth in thought, “she’s gonna have a hard time ridin’ in that fancy dress. I still got a box of Jimmy’s clothes from afore he went to war. He weren’t too big a boy. I bet they’d fit her.”
Rafe’s gaze raked over her. Head to toe, then back again. When their eyes met, heat flooded her face. His look appraised, not lusted, still her heart beat a little faster, and the heated ache between her legs started again. It wasn’t too far a stretch to imagine those gray eyes filled with desire, with hunger. A hunger she would not encourage. Freedom was what she wanted. Not a man.
“Thank you.” Maggie tried to clear the husky timbre from her throat. “I appreciate your offer.”
“Just let me go git them clothes, then you can change.” Tom scuttled away. Several clanks sounded from two shelves over. “Hell and damnation. Where is that—ah-ha.” He reappeared carrying a cobweb-covered box, then showed her to a small room attached to the side of the store.
“This is where I sleep.” He dropped the box onto the bed and lit a lantern. “You take whatever clothes fit. A nd don’t fret.” He gave her a wink. “Rafe’s a good man.” A patchwork blanket-door swung closed behind him, swirling dust throughout the room. Did she look so worried even Tom could see? She twisted, searching for a mirror, but this room competed with the hotel for sparse. A bed, a table, and one frost-covered, curtain-less window.
The wind howled outside, a cold draft blowing through the rough, unpainted wall. How did Tom sleep in here without a stove? Goose skin prickled her body.
A nd the thought of taking her clothes off in the frigid air made shivers run down her back. It was warmer beside the hanging blanket, but what if the men could see through the thin material? She sidled closer and squinted at the fabric. She couldn’t see anything…but the floorboards groaned as footsteps passed on the other side of the curtain. The creak of the stove door made Maggie drop to her knees and peer under the blanket to the big cast iron heater.
“I still need the supplies, Tom, probably more, but I don’t know how I’ll pay you.” Rafe’s muffled baritone floated across the floor
She clutched the blanket until her fingers turned white. This was her chance. Rafe had spent all his money. A nd the necklace sewn into her skirts dangled hope. She didn’t wait for Tom’s reply. It was time to make her offer.
Both men turned when she entered the room. “You need somethin’ else, Miss Maggie?”
“Scissors, please.” Her high-pitched squeak didn’t bode well for her bravery.
Tom quirked a bushy gray brow, but reached behind the counter for the tool. Her knees wobbled as she sat down beside the stove to clip the threads. What if Rafe refused her offer? He won’t. He won’t. He won’t. Still, her hand shook when she fished the locket from her skirt and looked into his frowning face.
“If Tom will buy my necklace, I can repay what you’ve lost, Mr. McBride.” She stood and met his stare. “I hope by replacing your money you’ll be gentleman enough to grant me my freedom.” She swallowed hard and pushed ahead. If she stopped talking, he might say no. “I only need enough money to purchase passage back home to St. Louis. You may keep the rest.” She turned to Tom. “Will you allow me to stay with you until the next stage comes through? I will be no trouble.” Tom gave a nervous laugh and rubbed his chin. Rafe stared into his coffee.
“Well?” she prompted. Every item in the store seemed to hold its breath awaiting answer.
Tom was the first to speak. “Miss Maggie, I don’t think—” He coughed again. “I don’t think you’re fully understandin’. The stage don’t run here regular. It only stopped because of the wheel. A s much as I’d like to help you, I can’t protect you. If these men ‘round here wanted to, well…” He let the words hang and shrugged his stooped shoulders. “I’m too old to stop ‘em. Rafe here’ll take care of you.”
The words settled like a cold lump of porridge into her stomach. Blinking hard, she dropped to the hard oak chair and clasped her hands together to stop the trembling. She couldn’t stay in this horrible town. There had to be another way.
She turned to Rafe. “Then I’ll pay you to take me to the next stage stop. I can even send you more money once I get settled. Name your price.” She hated the desperate sound of her voice, but damn it all, she was desperate. “Please, understand. I—I—” The words lodged in her throat, then escaped in a warble. “I can’t stay here.
You can’t keep me!”
Rafe slammed his cup onto the stove. “Miss Monroe, I never intended to keep you.” His gruff voice suggested she’d offended him. “Believe me, a woman is the last thing I want.”
“Then why—”
His gray eyes narrowed to icy slits. “You saw your alternatives outside.”
Maggie shrank in her seat, the bitter coffee churning in her stomach. Just the thought of those men…Their nasty hands touching her bare skin…Their foul breath as they kissed her. She shivered and swallowed down coffee-tinged bile.
Rafe heaved a loud breath. “You can’t stay here. But I promise to take you to Fort Union as soon as possible.
What you do—where you go—from there is entirely up to you. Until then I’m afraid you’ll have to trust me.” She stared at his mouth, hearing the words, but unable to believe what he said. Her nails bit into her palms as she fisted her hands. Trust me, he’d said. Well, she didn’t! Men did as they pleased and made no apologies for whom they hurt in the process. She’d spent her life controlled by men. Now this one would take her off to God knew where, and she’d be at his mercy.
Not if she could think of another way.
“I’ll go change,” Maggie said. “It’s snowing much harder now, and I’m sure we need to be on our way.” She stood, her gaze fading from outside as she pressed her necklace into Tom’s hand. “I’ll appreciate whatever you can give me for the necklace.”
Maggie ducked beneath the blanket-door and eyed the tiny window, unsure if she would fit, but positive of the horrors that waited on the other side. No, that wasn’t the way to freedom. That was the way to unspeakable depravity. Mr. McBride might be rough and bossy, but he didn’t scare her like the men on the street.
She slumped onto the bed. Even if she did climb out, chances were she’d freeze to death. A nd until Tom paid her for the necklace, she was penniless. She couldn’t get to St. Louis.
So there was no other way.
“Reckon she knows how to cook?” Tom’s teasing voice floated through the blanket.
“I doubt she knows how to do anything.”
“That’s not fair to say, Rafe.”
“Maybe not, but I’ve known women like her. They pour tea, buy dresses, pout and look pretty. The sooner I’m rid of her, the better.”
Relief flooded through her despite his unkind words.
H e really didn’t want her. But why should that surprise her? Father always said she was too stupid to attract a man. In this instance, she was glad.
She quickly unbuttoned his large coat and stripped off her clothes, then fingered the red welts Michael had left on her chest. Her face flushed with embarrassment thinking how he’d exposed her breasts to those men.
Including the one who waited for her.
Trust me. The words again rumbled through her mind. He didn’t know what he asked. Every man she’d ever known broke promises to her. She doubted Mr.
McBride was any different.
She spread her mud-spattered skirt on the floor, then rolled her petticoats and other clothes into a bundle.
Inside the wooden box she found long underwear, soft from washing. A patched shirt was next, then she sat to try the trousers. Tugging the britches over her hips, she looked longingly at her skirt. She felt naked dressed in trousers, the fit indecent. She pulled the shirt from the waistband of the pants, relieved it hung to her thighs. A t least she looked more proper.
There was another set of Jimmy’s clothes in the box so she took them, adding them to her bundle. She reached for woolen socks and yanked them over her stockings, then pulled on her boots.
Tom looked up from the counter when she entered the room. “Them clothes look right nice on you, Miss Maggie.”
Heated fingers of awareness traced up her back, a lazy wave of desire that only one man had made her feel.
She spun, catching Rafe’s gaze as he watched from the boardwalk. A shiver prickled her skin. She reached for her new coat and slipped it on, letting the length cover her body.