The Rancher's Temporary Engagement Page 9

  “Please don’t die, Mama. Please.”

  The memory of her seven-year-old words, full of pleading, startled her with their sudden appearance and clarity. Why hadn’t she remembered them before?

  “Are you frightened, Maggy?”

  “Yes.” Tears burned her throat before leaking out her eyes.

  Her mother traced a trembling finger across Maggy’s cheek. “I’m a little frightened, too, dearest. Not to die but to leave you.” Her voice cracked. “I want to stay and see my Maggy girl grow up.”

  “I want you to stay, too, Mama.” She clung to her mother’s hand.

  There were tears in her mother’s eyes now. “I can’t do that, dearest. Not anymore. This pain is my last to endure on this earth. But you won’t be alone, Maggy.”

  “I know. Pa will still be here.”

  The lines around her mouth tightened. “Yes, but I’m speaking of someone else.”

  “Who?”

  Her mother tugged her forward so they were almost nose to nose. “Remember how I taught you to pray?” When she nodded, her mother went on. “God will be with you. Every single moment. But sometimes it’s hard to see Him. You have to look for His hand in the small things and the big things, Maggy. Look for His hand.”

  Moisture stung Maggy’s eyes and she bit down on her tongue to dissipate it. She wasn’t sure why she’d suddenly been able to recall this memory, especially in its entirety. Maybe it had to do with being in church again—a place her mother had loved. A place Maggy had longed to go back to after her mother’s death. But her father had refused, even became enraged at the idea. She could remember weeping bitterly to herself behind the pine tree near their cabin when she finally made the decision to stop asking him.

  Where was God’s hand then? she wondered. Where was His hand each time her father had lifted his hand to strike her? Or when he’d been too inebriated to care for her, so she’d had to stop attending school to cook and clean for the two of them?

  She squirmed against the hard bench, her breath coming faster, the tears growing harder to fight. She didn’t want to remember; she didn’t want to relive the same feeling of abandonment from God that she’d felt from her father and from Jeb. Had her mother been wrong? Did God only love others but not Maggy? Could she find some evidence, any evidence, of His hand in her life since that awful day her mother had died?

  Edward shifted beside her, accidentally bumping her with his shoulder. He smiled in apology, but the simple contact gave her an anchor amidst the swirling storm of emotions and memories. His kindness and friendship had been unexpected. He could have turned out to be arrogant or a tyrant, and instead, he’d proven himself trustworthy and kind nearly from their first meeting. If he hadn’t, Maggy never would have suggested playing the role of his fiancée or been able to keep it up so effectively.

  Was this evidence of God’s hand in her life? Her mother had said it wouldn’t just be in the big things; it would be in the small ones too.

  The question felt too weighty to consider for long, but Maggy noticed she felt far less troubled and nervous than she had earlier. She no longer had to battle tears, either. Her breath came out in a whoosh as she attempted to find a more comfortable position on the pew. That was something else she could suddenly recall from her girlhood—feeling ready for the services to end long before they actually did.

  On the bench ahead of theirs, a little boy also moved restlessly, twisting to look one way, then the other. His mother raised an eyebrow at him, which prompted him to sit still. But after another minute, he was back to shifting and gazing about the room. When he glanced over his shoulder, Maggy smiled at him. His eyes widened before he hurried to face forward.

  Only a few seconds passed before he peeked at her again. This time she winked. The boy eyed her a moment, then he winked back. Maggy pressed her lips over a giggle. He didn’t turn around after that, but he did seem less fidgety the remainder of the meeting. The exchange, however small, cheered her immensely and allayed the rest of her discomfort.

  “God will be with you. Every single moment.” She let her mother’s words repeat through her mind. This time they didn’t prick with pain; they felt almost hopeful. “Sometimes it’s hard to see Him. You have to look for His hand in the small things and the big things, Maggy. Look for His hand.”

  Later, talking about the meeting with Edward over lunch, she couldn’t recall a single word of the sermon or what hymns they’d sung. But she no longer felt as anxious at the prospect of returning the following Sunday. If nothing else, she felt a little closer to her mother while there. She might even remember more of the happy, tender memories. And maybe it was time to take her mother’s long-ago challenge to heart—about looking for God’s hand in her life, however big or small. After all, she wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.

  * * *

  Edward leaned his forearms on the top rung of the pasture fence, his gaze wandering over the herd of horses. The two wranglers who’d stayed behind from church had reported no suspicious activity. He’d been relieved to hear the news. It had added to the already pleasant day.

  He’d been uneasy about attending church with Maggy as his fiancée. Though he wasn’t any less worried than she’d been, judging by her abnormally tight grip on his arm as they’d walked inside and her restlessness throughout the early part of the meeting. Thankfully he’d been able to ease his own concerns with the reminder that, for all intents and purposes, she was his fiancée. He wasn’t lying to God or to anyone. There’d even been moments during the service, as there’d been last night at dinner, when he’d felt content—even proud—to have her seated beside him.

  Our arrangement is only temporary, he reminded himself. He couldn’t imagine loving a woman again, not after Beatrice’s betrayal. Besides, did he even know what real love looked and felt like? Not that it mattered with Maggy. She had a career she treasured and wasn’t likely to give up to become someone’s wife. They might be friends, but that was all.

  A pinprick of sadness filled him at the thought, but Edward stifled it. He lowered his arms to his sides and started to turn away from the pasture when a flash of movement across the way caught his eye. Whirling back, he tried to look between the grazing horses to see what had captured his notice. Then he saw it. Someone in a cowboy hat was creeping away from the pasture, half bent over.

  “Hey,” Edward shouted. “You there!”

  The man whipped around, but he was too far away, his hat pulled too low, for Edward to see his face. Turning forward again, the man ran faster.

  Edward broke into a run, too, moving parallel with the fence. When he circled the corner, he pushed his pace faster. But the man had too much of a head start on him. By the time Edward reached the spot where he’d first spotted the man, he was nowhere in sight.

  Breathing hard, Edward studied the surrounding landscape. No horse and rider appeared. Anger and suspicion boiled within him. The man had been up to something. But what? Edward moved back toward the fence. A gunnysack lay forgotten in the grass. He picked it up, feeling confused. What had been inside? Had the man dropped it by mistake?

  A high-pitched whinny jerked his attention from the sack to the horses. Several reared in terror and bolted for the opposite side of the pasture.

  “What in the world—”

  Lowering his gaze to the pasture grass, he saw a snake, coiled and ready to strike. The realization crashed into him with all the force of a hoof to his chest—the man had released a snake into the field to frighten the horses. And a couple of spooked horses could cause the entire herd to stampede, possibly injuring themselves or destroying a fence.

  Dropping the sack to the grass, Edward raced toward the main barn. His hat flew off as he ran, but he left it where it landed. He had to get rid of the snake and calm the horses.

  “McCall,” he yelled as he skidded through the open barn doors. His foreman, thankfull
y, joined him in his mad rush to the tack room. “Get all the boys and run the horses in the east pasture into the corral. Someone let a snake loose.”

  The grim look on McCall’s face surely matched the one on Edward’s. He trusted his foreman to follow through. Edward grabbed a shovel and a pair of gloves from the tack room and sprinted back outside. His lungs burned. But he had to hurry if he wanted to keep his horses safe.

  When he reached the spot where the snake still sat, he pulled on the gloves, hopped over the fence, and brandished the shovel. Most of the horses were running nervously about at the other end of the pasture. Edward gripped the shovel and brought it down on the head of the snake. After several more strikes, the serpent lay dead.

  Edward sagged against the shovel to catch his breath. To his relief, he spied McCall and the wranglers leading the horses through the pasture fence and toward the corral.

  “That was close,” he said, half to himself, half in prayer. “Too close.”

  If he hadn’t been standing near the pasture, he wouldn’t have seen the man and real damage might have occurred. Probably just as the culprit wanted.

  Fury mounted anew inside him as he tossed the shovel aside and picked up the lifeless serpent. He stuffed it back in the gunnysack and took off toward the hill where he’d last seen the man.

  Perhaps Maggy had spied the intruder while on her ride, though Edward doubted it, given that she and Persimmon had headed off in the opposite direction. Maggy had been quieter than normal since leaving church, though not in a despondent way—more in a thoughtful way. Edward had almost gone riding with her, but he’d sensed she wished for time to herself. Now he was glad he’d stayed behind.

  He reached the top of the knoll, but he couldn’t see any movement. There were no hoof prints in the grass either, which meant the man had either walked to the Running W or stowed his horse somewhere farther away.

  Scowling, Edward dumped the dead snake onto the grass. He’d keep the gunnysack, though with no markings or distinctive features, he wasn’t sure it would provide any clues as to its owner. He marched back toward the ranch. Frustration—directed at the saboteurs and at himself—dogged his heels. There hadn’t been any new acts against him since before Maggy’s arrival. Foolishly he’d believed the vandalism might have stopped for the time being. But that illusion had been shattered. He and the Running W were still targets.

  “Edward!”

  He lifted his head from glaring at the ground to find Maggy striding toward him. She’d changed out of her Sunday dress into her men’s clothes for her ride, and yet, she still moved with a determined grace whatever her outfit.

  She waved toward the commotion near the corral. “Why are McCall and the others moving those horses?”

  “Because someone let a snake loose in the pasture,” he answered, hoisting the empty gunnysack for her to see. Fresh resentment snarled inside him. “I saw a man on the other side of the pasture, but he ran before I could get a proper look at his face. Then one of the horses reared and I realized the visitor had left us a gift.”

  She slowly shook her head, her blue eyes full of concern. “It was meant to frighten and possibly harm the horses, wasn’t it? Are they all right?”

  “I believe so.” He started walking again, the sack strangled in his fist. “I killed the snake while the men moved the horses into the corral.”

  Reaching out, she rested her hand lightly on his arm, where his sleeves had been rolled back. Her fingers felt welcomingly cool. “We’re going to solve this, Edward. I give you my word.”

  Instead of comforting him, though, her statement grated against his frustration. “How, Maggy?” he countered. “In the past six days, all we’ve uncovered is who isn’t orchestrating the sabotage.” He shook the sack in the air as proof. “Not who is.”

  “It takes time to solve a complex case like this.” A frown formed on her lips as she crossed her arms.

  He glanced back at the now-empty pasture. “Time is not something I have in abundance right now.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Should he tell her about the Cavalry? He hadn’t told anyone else, except for McCall. But perhaps if Maggy knew, it might help her understand his urgency. “I’ve been in contact with a gentleman employed with the British Cavalry. They’ve heard great things about the horses bred in this part of the world and are considering securing a large shipment of animals from here for their soldiers.”

  “That’s wonderful, Edward.”

  He acknowledged her compliment with a nod. “You can see now why I need this case over and solved. I won’t let all my hard work be laid to waste right before my eyes. I will not fail.” He hadn’t meant to add the latter—it had simply slipped out on a tide of anger.

  “You’re not just talking about supplying horses to the Cavalry,” she said perceptively and with annoying calm. “Damage to your property or even your horses wouldn’t mean you’ve failed. Look at what you’ve accomplished here.” She swept her arm in an arc.

  But if it was all taken from him by some unknown assailant... The thought brought all the inadequacies he’d felt growing up roaring to new life inside him. He wasn’t needed; his parents already had an heir and a spare. He was less than his brothers, a fixture largely forgotten in the great house. His success at university, his prowess with horses, none of that had been enough for his family, for Beatrice...for himself.

  With a slight growl, he stalked forward again, tossing over his shoulder, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh?” Maggy irritatingly kept pace with him. “Maybe that’s true. But I wasn’t born into a life of ease and luxury like you were, Edward. With education and possibilities right there for the taking. With parents who didn’t...”

  He wheeled around, his breath coming as harried now as it had when he’d been running earlier. “Who didn’t what?”

  “Never mind.” Her expression became instantly shuttered. “I told you we’d solve your case, and I meant it. But I won’t stand here and let you browbeat me with your fears of failure.”

  With that she strode away. Edward blew out a long breath. Anger at his attackers was reasonable, but it wasn’t right for him to direct it toward Maggy. Sending a quick prayer of apology heavenward, he walked swiftly after her.

  “Maggy, wait. Please.”

  She slowed to a stop, though she didn’t turn around. Her arms were defensively folded against him once more.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, stopping behind her. “That was unkind and unfair. You’ve done nothing but help since you’ve arrived. And in return, I unjustly turned my frustration on you.”

  Her shoulders relaxed slightly as she turned to face him. “Why do you feel the need to prove yourself?” Leave it to Maggy to cut straight to the heart of the matter.

  “You were right about my life growing up.” He glanced down at the sack in his hand, so he wouldn’t see the potential derision in her gaze. “I did have everything I could possibly ask for, except...” Edward cleared his throat. “Except for a real place in my family. I never felt like I had much purpose in life. Until I came here.”

  When he lifted his head, he found her watching him, not with scorn but with a mixture of understanding and mild surprise. “That’s how I felt when I became a detective.”

  “Ah.” He ventured a smile—so she did understand. “Again, I apologize for my rudeness earlier.”

  “Apology accepted.” She pointed toward the stable. “I still need to brush down Persimmon.”

  “I’m headed to the house.”

  They stepped at the same time, to head in opposite directions, and ended up colliding. Instinctively Edward dropped the sack and clasped Maggy’s arms to keep her from stumbling.

  “Sorry about that,” he said.

  He gave a self-deprecating laugh, which faded the moment he realized how close they were standing.
Closer than they ever had before. Her hands had come to rest against his chest and her eyes were twice as large as normal and deeply blue. And her lips... Why had he never noticed their perfect shade of rose?

  “Sorry,” he murmured again, though he couldn’t say why he was apologizing.

  Those pink lips parted. “You already said that.”

  The most irrational thought entered his mind—he wanted to kiss her, to hold her face between his hands, and gently explore the feel of her lips with his own. He’d shared a piece of himself by telling her of his private fears, and now he very much wanted to share a kiss. Would Maggy allow it, though?

  Before he could think on it further, the sound of carriage wheels reached his ears. He and Maggy both looked toward the drive. A woman in a buggy was headed for the house. She didn’t appear to have seen them yet.

  “I think that’s Mrs. Winchester,” Maggy said in a slightly breathless voice.

  Edward studied the other woman’s face. “I believe you’re right.”

  “And look what I’m wearing.” Her face blanched as she glanced down at her clothes. “I’d better go change.”

  “I’ll stall her while you go around the back of the house to the guest cottage.”

  She nodded, her gaze locked on his for another moment. Almost as if she didn’t want to leave. His heart gave a leap at that thought. Then without another word, Maggy took a step back, breaking his hold, and sprinted toward the house.

  As he watched her go, aware of his empty hands, Edward wondered how one could feel the loss of something one didn’t truly have in the first place.

  Chapter Eight

  Maggy concluded two things within five minutes of Mrs. Winchester’s visit, which had apparently been mandated by Mrs. Druitt to deliver a handwritten invitation to join the wives’ club. First, she would need to stop wearing her favorite clothes, even for riding. Now that she was an official member of the club, female visitors might descend upon the ranch at any moment and Maggy didn’t relish another mad dash to the guest house to change. Second, Winchester’s wife had no knowledge of her husband’s involvement—however large or small—with the attacks on the ranch.