Chasing the Sunset

chapter EIGHT



Maggie woke reluctantly, not wanting to leave her warm, comfortable nest in Nick’s arms. She pillowed her head on his chest, hiding, but the light from the sun would not go away. Finally she lifted her head and squinted her eyes as she looked around. Nick opened his eyes when he felt her move.

“Good morning,” he said, the words full of hot desire and sensual promise, and Maggie blushed as she thought of last night and all the things they had done to one another.

Nick chuckled. They had made love twice more, falling asleep in each other’s arms for short periods, then waking up to lose themselves in each other again. He did not know how she could still blush after all the things that they had done together through the long night, but it was enchanting to see the pretty color flood her skin. He flicked a finger over the freckles on her nose; he had developed a fascination with them last night and had tried to count them by the flickering firelight and plant a kiss on her pliant mouth for every one he had found.

“We should go,” he said. “They will all be worried about us.”

Maggie groaned, and stretched like a cat. She ached in muscles she had not known she had.

“I suppose,” she said unenthusiastically. She did not want anyone to worry, but she did not want to leave this place either. This dirty cabin had been a place of enchantment last night; her world had become a fairytale love story as Nick claimed her in front of the dilapidated fireplace.

Nick pressed her to him, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, belly to belly. Their skin touched everywhere and his mouth ravished hers until she was breathless. Then he pulled her clinging arms from around his neck with a purely male aura of satisfaction.

“That is for you to remember all day,” he murmured, then swatted her behind. “Now let’s go home.”

Maggie yelped and grumbled, but a cup of coffee did sound good right now. Her mouth watered. Some biscuits and gravy, maybe some bacon, too . . . Her stomach growled.

Nick saddled Jet and they rode him double back to the farm, Maggie contented in his arms. At first they went slowly, gazing often into each other’s eyes, pressing kisses against greedy mouths, but then Nick took a path out of the forest into a pasture that he said was a straight shot to the house. He grinned at her with mischief shining from his every pore.

“How fast do you think Jet can go carrying both of us?” he asked, and gave Jet a tap with his heels that had the stallion galloping for home.

They rode recklessly fast through the pasture, the wind tossing Maggie’s hair behind her in one long streamer, both of them laughing giddily like children. Maggie whooped as loudly as Nick did, leaning low over the horse’s neck, urging him on with her voice, and Jet responded because he loved to run fast as much as they liked to go fast.

They thundered into the yard and pulled the horse up right in front of the stables. Tommy and Ned had both come out to see who was coming across the lawn at such a high speed. Nick slid off Jet’s back and pulled Maggie with him, throwing the reins to a grinning Tommy.

“Walk him out, would you, Tommy?”

“Yes sir,” Tommy said, and slanted his eyes at Maggie. “Glad to see that you are all right, Miss Maggie,” he said, and Maggie was sure that what she and Nick had done together was written all over her face . . . and then it was, as she blushed bright scarlet and turned pointedly away from Tommy’s knowing grin.

“I am going up to the house,” she said, trying to maintain her dignity. “Has everyone already had breakfast?”

“If you could call it that,” grumped Ned. “Runny eggs and burnt toast, and Tommy’s coffee is worse than mine, and Kathleen is not here yet, so I could not get her to cook me anything.”

“Well, come on up in a few minutes,” she said in amusement. “I will put a pot on to brew before I go and clean up.”

“Are you all right, Maggie?” Ned asked hesitantly, and Maggie’s smile flew across her face with a brilliance that rivaled the sun.

“Oh, yes, Uncle Ned,” she said softly. “I am just . . . wonderful.”

The lines around his eyes grew deeper as his smile grew larger. He hugged her against him for a moment, and smoothed a hand over her disheveled hair. “It is glad I am,” he said. “If you are happy, then I am happy for you, Maggie girl.”

Maggie fairly danced up to the house, a broad smile creasing her face. She could not help it, she was just so content that the joy just seemed to come bubbling up out of her. She put the coffeepot on to boil and ran upstairs to change into clean clothes.

She stared at herself in the mirror and searched for differences in her face. She traced her reddened mouth with a finger, touched the whisker burn on her neck with a small, secretive smile, but she still looked exactly the same as she had yesterday. She wondered how that could be, when she felt so different inside.

When Maggie went downstairs, Kathleen was there. Kathleen greeted her with a fierce hug. “Maggie, I was so afraid that something had happened to you!”

“Something has,” Maggie confided, and spilled the whole story to her friend. Kathleen hugged her again, gleefully, and they set to work with happy hearts, the morning flying by as they played as much as they worked.

At lunchtime, Nick’s hot eyes never left Maggie. He spilled his cup of coffee all over his trouser leg, burned his finger on the serving platter of roast chicken, knocked a bowl of mashed potatoes onto the man next to him, and buttered half of his linen napkin before he noticed, but still he did not take his eyes off of her. Maggie could not keep the fiery blush from swamping her whole body whenever she looked his way, and when the men began to nudge each other and chuckle, she took refuge in the kitchen until he was gone, before she was tempted to do something foolish, like haul him upstairs to the nearest bedroom.

“Good Lord, he has got it bad,” Kathleen said in awe. “You have got to tell me how you did that, Maggie. I might want to use it on some poor, unsuspecting male some day.”

Maggie blushed even harder, and Kathleen smirked. “Maybe I do know how you did it, after all,” she snickered, and Maggie snapped a wet towel at her, laughing.

Just before dinner, right after Kathleen had gone home, Maggie was walking out the back door to throw some vegetable scraps to the chickens when a hand reached out and snatched her. She gave a startled yelp, then wrapped her arms around Nick and purred.

“I have been thinking of you all day,” he whispered, pressing frantic kisses to her hair, her face, her neck, wherever he could touch.

“Me, too,” she admitted.

“Let’s go,” he said, tugging her away from the door. Maggie protested, laughing.

“What about dinner?”

“Kathleen packed us a basket,” he said smugly, presenting it. “And Tommy and Ned can fix their own plates.” With that, he began dragging her away again.

“Wait!” Maggie cried. “I have to take everything off the stove and put it on the table at least, or we will come back to a house on fire.”

He made a long-suffering noise. “I suppose you are right.”

Maggie quickly did what she had to do and grabbed an old woolen shawl that Kathleen kept by the back door on a hook.

“Where are we going?” she panted when Nick grabbed her by the hand and made her run alongside him. “My legs are shorter than yours. Slow down!”

“We cannot slow down now,” he cried. “We are chasing the sunset!”

Chasing the sunset ... it sounded lovely even if she did not know what it meant, so Maggie held tight to Nick’s hand and ran as fast as she could. They stopped in the little clearing by the river, the one where Nick had watched Maggie take her clothes off to go swimming, the place that had proved so climactic for them both. Nick sat the basket down and flopped onto his back on the cool grass.

“Come down here,” he said, staring up at her. She obliged him, laying her head on his shoulder.

“What is that you said we were doing?” she asked, her fingers idly playing with his hair.

“That is something my father always said,” he told her and brought her fingers to his

mouth.

Maggie felt rather than saw him smile. “Every once in a while, come evening time, we would fill up a picnic basket with food and run for the river as fast as we could, pulling Mother along with us and laughing like fools. Hurry up! he would say. We do not have time to waste, we are chasing the sunset! Then we would lie down upon the ground, our arms around each other, and watch the sun go down.” He reached over and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Just like we are doing now.”

He cleared his throat. “I have never done this with anyone else before.” He smoothed her hair, and kissed the tip of her nose while Maggie digested the significance of this remark. “But I cannot think of anyone else who I would rather chase the sunset with.” He whispered it, and to Maggie it sounded almost like a vow.

“Neither can I,” she whispered, and put her lips to his almost chastely.

“Careful,” he said, smiling into her face. “You will miss the best part.”

They lay cuddled together, wrapped tight around each other, and watched the dying sun sink below the horizon. A glowing ball of bright orange, it went down in a burst of glorious color, illuminating the sky for mere seconds with serrated bands of crimson, gold and cerulean. Strips of soft violet and pink floated by, then vanished, disappearing into the darkening of the sky.

Maggie thought that she had never seen a more beautiful sunset in her life; surely there had never been such a beauteous display of riotous hues?

“So beautiful,” she whispered. Nick agreed, but he was not looking at the sky. He was looking at her.

“Kathleen packed cold chicken sandwiches and some fruit. And some lemonade,” he told her. “Got to keep your strength up,” he told her wickedly. “You are going to need the stamina. I have a longing to know if we are just as good together in a bed as we are on a dirt floor.”

They sat in the growing darkness and ate their dinner, then holding hands, they sprinted back to the house . . . with all of its big beds.

Nick did think that the loving he and Maggie shared was just as good in his soft bed as on the dirt floor. Indeed, he thought that if it got any better, he would be a dead man.

The next few weeks took on a dreamlike quality for Maggie. Kathleen lost track of how many times she came upon Maggie when she was supposed to be immersed in some task, instead staring off into the rafters, a small, dreamy smile curving her lips, eyes aglow with some thought or memory she had no wish to share with anyone else. Kathleen would snap her fingers in front of Maggie’s eyes, forcing Maggie back to the present, but the dreamy cast never went completely away from her features. Kathleen had remarked acerbically that if this was what love did to you–turned you into an idiot–then she wanted no part of it. Maggie blushed, and laughed, and apologized. Kathleen put her hands on her ample hips and grinned.

“I am just jealous,” she had said good-naturedly. “To hear Ned tell it, Nick is just as bad as you are. He has his head so high up in the clouds, he cannot even walk across the stable yard without tripping over something. Ned says that he has to find a dozen reasons a day to send Nick up to the house just to get him out of their hair down to the stables.”

Nick had been spending a lot of time up at the house, more than he ever had before, and Kathleen had come upon them giggling together, hands entwined, eyes speaking volumes even when they said not a word. Maggie had also disappeared for long periods of time, then reappeared flushed and disordered, hair hastily re-pinned, and once with the back of her dress buttoned up wrong, and her apron on crooked. But even if her clothing had not been in disarray, the glow of satisfaction on her face was evidence enough in itself of what she had been doing.

“Kathleen?” Maggie questioned hesitantly one day while they were making the week’s supply of bread. “You . . . you do not think that I am terrible, do you? I mean,” she said, and looked down, twisting her hands together. “Because Nick and I are lovers.”

“Lord, no!” Kathleen said. She cocked her head to one side and wiped her floured hands on her apron. “Maggie, have you ever heard of Mary Wollstonecraft?”

“No,” Maggie said. “Who’s she?”

“She is an Englishwoman who wrote a book called The Vindication of the Rights of Woman. She started out as a teacher; she co-owned a school for girls with her sister, and she was appalled at the low level of education most women aspire to, or are kept at by their families. Our preacher found a copy of it and put it idly with his purchases while he was perusing the stacks at a local bookseller’s establishment. When he got it home and actually read it, he was shocked beyond belief. He condemned her book from the pulpit, saying that it was an affront to decent women everywhere, that it should not be allowed into this country, that we needed to protect our innocent flowers of womanhood from this vile outrage and that any who found copies of this base literature should destroy them immediately .” She grinned then, winking at Maggie. “Of course, by the time he got finished talking about it, Mother and I had memorized the title and the author’s name, and we were just dying to have a copy of it. I wrote to Joanne, Nick’s cousin, in Boston and she sent a copy to us straight away.”

Maggie laughed and kneaded the pliant dough. “What does it say, this book?” she asked curiously.

“Mary Wollstonecraft says that women are treated little better than slaves in a marriage–that they are encouraged to look beautiful but to be empty-headed, to bow down to the opposite sex as if they were gods, to be submissive above all else. She says that women are kept all their lives in a state of ignorance and dependence, and that the institution of marriage as it stands now–with masters and servants–degrades both parties. She goes so far as to call marriage ‘legal prostitution’, because she says that women trade sex for security. She says that women should be allowed to vote in public elections, that they should have the same rights afforded to them that men have . . . and that includes the right to make love outside of marriage. And Maggie, guess what? The book was published in England in 1792. In more than sixty years, things have not changed much for women, have they? Joanne also sent us a copy of a book that she said sells out the minute that it is reprinted. It is written by Margaret Fuller and called Woman in the Nineteenth Century. It is a very frank discussion about marriage, property laws that relate to women, and increased freedom for women in all regards. ”

Kathleen placed several lumps of dough in bowls, covered them, and put them next to the stove to rise. Maggie listened, fascinated. She had been reading voraciously from Nick’s library since she was here, trying to make up for the years that she had been denied any form of literature, but she had not seen anything like that here. The closest thing she had seen to either of the publications was Tom Paine’s Rights of Man, and she mentioned this to Kathleen, who snorted derisively.

“Well, Nick is a man, after all. Do you think that he is going to have a book lying around that suggests he is not the be-all and end-all of the universe, and that women need to seek more freedom in order to prosper?”

Maggie laughed and protested. “He is not that bad, Kathleen, you are exaggerating.”

“Yes, I am, aren’t I?” she agreed with a wicked grin. “Well, to be fair, these books are hard to find. Joanne had the devil’s own time finding me a copy of either of these, because a lot of booksellers refuse to carry it, so when one does carry it, the book sells out right away. And it is not as popular with men as Tom Paine, who incidentally was a friend of Mary Wollstonecraft’s. I will bring you my copies of them, if you want.” She turned to face Maggie, her face for once as sober as Duncan.

“I think that you are brave to be able to love again after all that has happened to you, Maggie. I admire you for not giving up, and for trying to do what feels right for you. You do not have to be married to love someone, and I for one do not believe greatly in marriage.” She made a wry face. “You only have to see some of my sister’s marriages to see what I mean. Delia is married to a local planter and has been with child for five out of the last six years; she is nearly worn out from birthing babes, and she is only twenty-four. Her husband John practically roams the countryside looking for trouble to get into and fast women to run around with. I saw two little boys in Geddes the last time I went there that look so much like him, I nearly fell over in shock. Delia is always smiling and gay and she pretends to be happy, but I have seen her face when she thinks that nobody else is looking. She is unutterably miserable. And Grace’s husband beat her until Daniel paid him a visit, one that resulted in her husband’s broken arm, and now he does not lay a hand on her–that we know of.” She sighed and flung down a dishtowel. “Jenny’s happy, and Harvey is wonderful to her—but one out of three? What kind of odds are those? My parents are happy, too, but they have a rare communication that transcends the ordinary . . . having met her, how ordinary do you think my mother? My sisters’ unhappy marriages are part of the reason that my mother keeps trying to find me a husband. She believes that she is responsible for their unhappiness, since she never tried to dissuade either of them from their choices in husbands. She is trying to make up for that by finding me a ‘good’ husband.”

Kathleen stared off in the distance, her eyes sightless for a moment, and then she visibly shook herself. “I have vowed not to marry until I find a partnership just as extraordinary as my parent’s . . . and it looks as if I will be waiting forever, no matter how much my mother pushes me towards every available bachelor that she can find.”

Maggie laughed at the dry tone of Katherine’s voice as she spoke that last part. “Your mother is a character all right; I cannot help but agree with you there.” She was silent for a moment while she finished up her share of the loaves and put them with Kathleen’s. “I would like to read those books, if I may,” she told Kathleen. “I think that Miss Wollstonecraft and Miss Fuller and I may have more than a few views in common.”

“I will bring them with me, then, when I come tomorrow.” Kathleen bit her lip and her voice was hesitant as she spoke next. “Maggie? I am afraid you are going to think this very presumptuous of me, but I went to see Granny Thompson the other day.” Maggie looked inquiringly at her. “She is a local herbalist, quite a gifted healer, really, and she does a rousing business with the local women. Anyway,” she said, and she drew the word out and then rushed the rest of the sentence, the color in her face going wildly red. “She gave me something that helps prevent pregnancy, and I brought it to give to you.” Her blue eyes looked anxiously at her friend. “I hope that you are not angry. I did this out of concern; I was not trying to be a busybody.”

After Maggie finished blushing and stammering, she assured Kathleen that she was not angry, and confessed that the thought of pregnancy had been tormenting her. She turned a much brighter red when she told Kathleen that Nick had not been spilling his seed inside her, but that she knew that was not always enough to keep a pregnancy from ‘catching’. Kathleen pulled a small package out of a pocket in her skirt and showed it to Maggie. The package contained a collection of small sponges, and Kathleen told her that the herbalist had instructed her to soak them in vinegar and insert them inside her before making love. They helped to keep the man’s seed from penetrating into the recesses of your body, she explained, and Maggie nodded. She tucked the packet away, and resolved to use them.

Maggie read the books that Kathleen soon brought her, and she agreed with a great deal that Mary Wollstonecraft and Elizabeth Fuller had said in them; her marriage was a case in point. Had not she in fact sold herself into bondage when she had married David? It did not matter that she had not realized that is what her marriage would be like; she had known that she did not love David, but she was just so glad that she had someone to take care of her and a home to call her own that she had sacrificed her own personal standards for safety.

She had been thinking about her relationship with David a lot lately, and with all the time and distance between those nightmare days and the present, she was able to analyze the marriage with amazing objectivity. She understood now that she had been made to pay for all his troubles–had not she seen him grovel, nearly get down on his knees and beg some of his wealthier clients for their business? Then, the moment they were gone from the house, he had reverted back to the master, and the more he had been made to grovel by his wealthy clients, the more despotic he had become with Maggie. He took out all of his humiliations on her; she had been made to pay the price for all of his perceived debasements. He had to control her, she had come to realize, because that was the only way that he could feel like a man. The more that she was brought to her knees, the higher he stood, and he needed to be above someone; he craved it like a drug. In his eyes, men were stronger than women, both physically and mentally, so he could do whatever he wanted to the ‘weaker sex’, without fear of reprisal, and furthermore, he felt that he owned Maggie so she was his to do with as he pleased.

It bothered her a great deal that she still had not told Nick the truth about the way her marriage had ended. She had started to tell him a hundred times, then the words had frozen on her lips, and she could not force them out no matter how hard she tried. He had taken her at her word about Duncan, had never brought up the subject again, though she had seen his lips tighten when Duncan, who had given up his cane for good, had come by to see her. He resented that odd connection that Maggie had with Duncan. She could feel it in the tightening of his body whenever he laid eyes upon her friend. Still, he had said or done nothing to offend either of them, neither had he appeared to be jealous, and Maggie knew that it must be very hard for him to trust after the lessons he had learned from Mary.

He had praised her honesty over and over, every word he spoke stabbing her like a knife in the heart, until she felt that she must surely die from the pain of it. She had to tell him, and soon. The likelihood of anyone finding her here--and knowing who she was–was slim, but it existed. And Maggie did not want to lie to Nick, even by omission. She loved him, and she wanted to share everything with him. Perhaps he could help her find a way out of this whole mess. The thought lifted her heart; to be able to live without a shadow over her head seemed like a sweet dream.

Maggie might be sure that she loved Nick, but she still was not sure of the depth of his

feelings. He had never said the words, and though he showed the force of his desire a dozen times a day, he had never offered anything to Maggie beyond the present. Never once had he intimated that they were meant to be together for all time, and so she had held back her feelings, too, though I love you had screamed inside her mind a hundred, a thousand times since they had come together. And it was becoming harder and harder to keep the words inside. She dreaded the day in which they might slip out by accident and ruin everything that they had between him.

Some days she was positive that his feelings for her ran as deep as hers for him; on other days she was convinced that he felt only lust for her, and that his feelings would soon fade. On those days, it seemed like a good thing that Maggie had held back something of herself, and she was glad she had not confessed her sins, and her love. Those things could be used as weapons against her when Nick’s lust for her soured or began to fade away.

On the days when he seemed particularly tender, when his eyes caressed her and seemed to speak silently those very words that she was so desperate to hear, she longed to lay her soul bare, to present herself figuratively naked before him as a gift . . . but she never did. There was too much fear left in her, too many scars on her psyche to be really sure of his reaction, so she did nothing.

She woke each morning afraid that this would be the day that he would tire of her, and vowed to make the last day with Nick count. So she threw herself into loving Nick, surprising him with gifts, with her body, with the extent of her passion . . . but always something was held back, and it chafed at her. And if Nick thought her manner was a bit too frantic, if there seemed to be an air of desperation fueling her passion, it went unremarked.

And for his part, Nick was afraid. He was afraid that Maggie would stop loving him; he was afraid that her passion for him was merely a by-product of being thrown together for months. He was afraid that she would decide that she preferred Duncan after all. The big man was a frequent visitor to the farm, and Nick was careful to be friendly to him, but fear ran under the surface of his skin like magma under the crusted top of a volcano. He shied away from the vocalization of his feelings for Maggie. He did not even say it to himself, for fear that even thinking it would somehow ruin their affair. The depth of his passion for her seemed bottomless; he drifted on, just happy at the end of the day that he would wake up beside Maggie at least one more time.

They continued Maggie’s riding lessons; she was a good student. She liked the horses and quickly lost her fear of them. The horses soon realized this in the instinctive way that animals had, and her riding improved so that she was soon competent enough to ride any horse on the place. Nick still insisted that she wear the trousers while she rode, and his hands slid all over her whenever he got close. He whispered in her ear about all the ideas those tight breeches gave him, and their riding lessons usually culminated in a long, satisfying session in bed.

October gave way to November, bright leaves turning dull and falling off the trees to lie heaped in great piles under the forlorn, skeletal remains. The wind whistled and blew hard from the north, blowing in the cold, blustery weather. Indian summer was gone, with its warm, brilliant days full of false hope of putting off the inevitable cold, and then winter was full upon them. The sudden drop in temperature was stunning. Frost was on the windowpanes every morning; you could see your breath when you dared the wind to venture outdoors. Maggie shivered in the mornings when she put her toes out from underneath her warm coverings, and Nick often talked her into staying there for a while.

They could have gone on like that forever, falling into a comfortable routine that in truth

did nothing but disguise their fears from each other, if Nick’s cousins had not suddenly arrived in an unscheduled visit.

Early one morning a carriage rumbled down the drive, and Kathleen peered intently out a side window, then let out a scream of pure delight. Maggie peeped over her shoulder and saw a stylish young woman dressed in a lush blue velvet dress with a matching cloak stepping out of the vehicle. She was followed closely by a slender young man with his arm in a sling who was most certainly a relative, so close were they in looks. They both were dark-haired and dark-eyed, with long, coltish limbs and defined features. The woman turned to say something to him, smiling indulgently, the feather that topped her fashionable hat drooping down and caressing the corner of her wide mouth.

“It is Joanne and Ronald, Nick’s cousins! Oh, I have been longing to see them for ages!”

Kathleen very nearly jumped up and down with delight. She tore off her apron and flew out of the house to throw herself into the grasp of the laughing young man. He clutched her tightly in his one-armed embrace, Kathleen pressing her face into his chest. The woman said something to their driver, and only then did Maggie notice that it was Duncan who sat on top of the driver’s box, his horse tied onto the back of the vehicle.

Maggie saw a look on his face that made her study him speculatively as he watched Kathleen press a vehement kiss to the cheek of the other man. Kathleen next grabbed the taller woman in a hug that must have threatened to crack her ribs, and they held each other in an embrace that held nothing of artifice.

She followed Kathleen outside to greet them more slowly and certainly more circumspectly, arriving in time to hear a whoop of joy coming from the direction of the stables. Nick, too, had seen their visitors and he came now at a fast lope, a wide grin creasing his face.

He swung his female cousin up and around, and she gurgled a laugh in a husky, pleasant voice, the feather that topped her hat bobbing wildly. Her hands with their well-kept nails caressed his face lovingly, making Maggie think of her own work-worn skin. She hid her hands in her skirt, shame-faced, as she came slowly down the steps.

“What are you two doing here?” he cried. His smile dimmed somewhat when he saw Duncan climbing down from the driver’s box, clutching, of all things, what appeared to be one of Sadie’s half-grown puppies. “Duncan Murdoch,” he said flatly. “You sure do turn up here a lot lately.”

“Your cousins’ driver took sick, and when they brought him to the surgery, I offered to bring them out here. Ronald here has a broken arm, and Miss Joanne was not sure if she could handle these horses on her own.” Duncan looked at Nick calmly from under his battered hat, pushing it back a little on his broad forehead. “I had to come out this way and visit Mrs. Booker anyway. She is expecting an addition to their household soon, and I wanted to see how she was doing.” He handed the squirming young dog over to Nick. "And on the way, I just happened to run across this little rascal, and I recognized him. One of your pups, is he not? He is quite the wanderer. He was several miles from here when I found him."

"He must have followed the other dogs off when they went hunting again," Nick said with a frown and a shake of his head. "He’ll be a fine dog one of these days, if I can keep him at home long enough to train him. He keeps getting lost."

“It was the strangest thing," Joanne said, smiling up into Duncan’s face. "Doctor Murdoch was barreling along that path you call a road, when he suddenly stopped the carriage, jumped down, and ran off into the forest. He was gone for so long that I was just going to send Ronald off after him, when he showed up carrying that little dog. He said that he could hear him crying from his perch up on top of the carriage. He must have wonderful hearing. Tell Doctor Murdoch thank you, Nick," Joanne demanded. "Both for rescuing your mangy livestock and for bringing us out here. Just because you live out in the back of beyond is no reason to forget your manners."

"Thank you," Nick told the other man stiffly. "Appreciate it."

"And we thank you so much, too,” Joanne said sincerely. “I might have been all right driving all the way out here from Geddes, but it would have been a struggle, and my sense of direction is not always the best as I am sure you remember. We might have ended up back in St. Louis.”

“It was no problem, ma’am.” Duncan said, and nodded to Kathleen, who had one arm around Ronald’s waist. “That sure was a good pie you sent out to me yesterday, Miss Donaldson,” he drawled. His eyes twinkled at her and his mouth twitched just a little as he untied his horse from the back of the carriage. “Your mother told me that you had baked it especially for me. I sure do appreciate it.”

Kathleen went crimson with embarrassment. She had not known anything about any pie, and from the wicked glint in his eye, Duncan Murdoch well knew it. She cursed her mother for the thousandth time for her total lack of shame when it came to her matchmaking efforts on her behalf. He finished untying his horse from the back of the buggy, and swung his big leg over the side of the patient gelding. Kathleen thought that she would shrivel up and die of mortification when he winked at her.

“I really do appreciate that invite to dinner tonight, too,” he said, his sober, pious attitude belying the wink he had just given her. Kathleen did a slow burn, her murderous expression promising to pay him back for the teasing. “I did not think that I would be able to make it, but you will be happy to know that barring any emergencies, I have cleared my schedule. Please inform your mother of this if you will, and I will see you later tonight.”

Kathleen made a small noise of frustration in her throat, and all but stamped her foot at the big man. She would fool him, she thought, and a small smile creased her mouth at the thought. She would let her parents know that he was coming; she would send Tommy over with that message, and to tell them at the same time that she was spending the night here in order to visit with Joanne and Ronald. She could borrow something to wear to sleep in from Maggie or Joanne, and she would just give today’s clothing a good brushing out; it would do until she could go home tomorrow morning and get fresh, clean clothing. Her mother would be mad enough to spit, but she could fawn all over the irritating man without her presence just as well as she could with it.

Duncan made Kathleen a small bow from the saddle and tipped his hat. His gaze swept to Maggie and his expression warmed subtly, his white teeth flashing a sincere smile at her. Kathleen felt somehow piqued by that. “Maggie, it is good to see you,” he called. “I checked on those fox kittens yesterday, and you will be glad to know that they are doing well. They are nearly grown now, or they think that they are.”

Maggie laughed, and said that she would have to get out there and see them soon, before it snowed them all in. Duncan’s eye fell on the stony-faced Nick and he decided that he had worn out his welcome.

He wheeled his horse around and set off at a sedate walk. Maggie lifted a hand in farewell. Three pairs of female eyes watched him leave the property, all with a different emotion in their depths; one pair resentful, one definitely appreciative of his male beauty, and the other filled with warm affection.

Nick called out to Maggie. “Come down and meet my cousins, Maggie!” She walked over to them somewhat reluctantly, nervously smoothing her hair, and offered her hand to Joanne, who grasped it in both of hers and smiled beatifically.

“Kathleen has written me all about you,” she said warmly. “I feel as if we already know each other.”

“And I, too,” said Ronald. “Though after seeing you in person, I would prefer to know you much better.” He winked at her outrageously, and Maggie laughed. The two siblings were alike as peas in a pod; healthy, handsome specimens both possessing silky smooth black hair, white skin, and eyes that were a dark, startling blue up close, though Ronald’s feature were a bit coarser and more masculine than his sister’s were. Kathleen pinched the skin covering his ribs, and he yelped and winced away.

“Stop that flirting, Ronald,” she said severely. “You will scare her. She does not know you are a great big windbag like I do.”

“You are so good for my ego, Kathleen,” he said to the diminutive blond. “I am happy to realize after all these years what your opinion of me is. A great big windbag.”

He scowled at her. “And I am wounded, if you had not noticed. I could use some sympathy. I slipped on the paved path in the garden the day before we left Boston. Spent the whole trip in agony, both from the arm and from being trapped in close quarters for weeks with Joanne. Have a care with me, now.” Kathleen smirked at him.

Joanne linked her arm through Maggie’s and started to stroll toward the house.

“Ignore them,” she said. “They are like a couple of children. Tell me, do you have a pot of coffee going in the kitchen? I am near to frozen, and I am dying to sit before a fire. Hurry up and get my bags, Nick,” she called over her shoulder. “You would not want me to start telling terrible stories about you without you there to defend yourself, now would you?”

“You would not happen to have any food in there, would you?” called Ronald after them. “Joanne has near starved me to death on the way here. She thinks that because she does not need to do it that often, eating must be a waste of valuable time. I vow, I have gone down to skin and bone on this trip. It is a good thing that it did not take any longer to get here. A few more days and I might have expired of hunger.”

“I had a devil of a time getting us here, let me tell you. I thought at first we could get passage on a ship and then come the rest of the way overland, but that was not to be. We traveled the entire way by land, and it has been a long trip, let me tell you. The coachman did nothing but whine and complain, and when he fell ill I thought at first that he must be feigning it just to get out of the journey. Because you know he did not want to bring us at first, but I told him that I simply must get to Missouri, and eventually he changed his mind. Ronald was no use at all once the coachman became ill, because of the broken arm, you see, and I had to do simply everything.” Joanne stopped and smiled at Maggie.

“Listen to me chatter on. It is just because I have not had a woman to talk to in weeks. I was surrounded by men whose sole purpose in life, it seems, is to keep me from doing what I want, and I declare I do not know why I just have not gone right ‘round the bend. But now that I’m here, with some acceptable company,” and she threw a speaking glance at her twin as she said the last two words, “I am sure that I will feel much better in no time at all."

Maggie found herself laughing helplessly as they all settled comfortably before the fire. This outrageous woman had a way of getting everyone to do exactly as she wanted so smoothly that you almost did not realize that you had been cleverly manipulated. There was no malice in Joanne, though, and Maggie could not help but like her and Ronald. They were amusing companions, the twins were, and they all laughed so hard over their coffee–and the cookies that Kathleen had unearthed for Ronald–that Maggie’s stomach actually ached.

Joanne leaned forward and touched the brooch that Maggie wore on the collar of her dress. "What a lovely brooch," she exclaimed. "May I see it?"

Maggie unfastened the pin and handed it to her. Joanne turned it over in her hands, examining the signature closely.

"This was painted by Suisan O’Roarke, is it not? I recognize the signature," Joanne said crisply. "This is probably quite valuable. The art world lost a great painter when she died. She was from Boston originally, you know, before she moved to St. Louis. I believe the stableman here, Ned, was her brother-in-law. That is how our association with her came about; our mother saw one of the oils hanging in the dining room and commissioned a portrait through Ned. She traveled all the way back to Boston and stayed with us for an entire month, do you remember, Ronald?" She turned her bright eyes upon her cousin. "You remember seeing it, do you not, Nick? It is hanging in Mother’s sitting room, above the sofa. We were about ten when she painted us, and Mrs. O’Roarke got us just right. You can almost see Ronald thinking about reaching out and pulling my braid."

Maggie felt a terrible fear strike her heart. If Joanne and Ronald knew her mother, had they discovered the terrible secret that Suisan O’Roarke’s daughter carried in her heart? She shuddered, and felt her head spin. She could feel the color practically draining from her face, and she reached for her cup of coffee to hide her expression from them all. She tried without success to still her trembling fingers. What a horrible coincidence.

"That is serendipity for you, Joanne. Suisan O’Roarke was Maggie’s mother," Nick told his cousin.

Joanne slowly raised one eyebrow, and handed the brooch back to Maggie. "Oh?" she said, her gaze turning speculative, her eyes holding Maggie’s until she stirred uneasily in her overstuffed chair and hid her face in her coffee cup again. "I thought that Suisan O’Roarke’s daughter had married," she said. "That is what I had heard, in any event, about a year after her death."

"I am a widow," Maggie said, fighting to stay calm, her spine ramrod straight and her shoulders back. Show nothing, she warned herself. Do not let her see that these questions make you nervous. Kathleen caught her eye and gave her an encouraging smile. Maggie took heart from the fact that Kathleen would support her, no matter what happened. She took a deep breath and went on. "I was married for a little less than three years. When my husband died, I came to be near my Uncle Ned, who is the only family I have left."

Nick, being somewhat perceptive, sensed something amiss in the stilted conversation between the two and his eyes flicked back and forth between them, his black brows drawing together in a frown.

"That is interesting," Joanne said, her perceptive gaze probing deeply. Maggie felt a shiver run down her spine, but she held Joanne’s gaze steadily. Finally, Joanne seemed to come to some conclusion that no one else was privy to. "She was quite famous, you know, and extremely talented,” she said smoothly. "You must be very proud. Her paintings are simply wonderful, as I am sure that you know. Nick, did not you tell me once that the painting of hers in the dining room is your very favorite?"

"Yes, it is," Nick said warmly. "It is a rendering of the Mississippi river, and so lifelike that you feel as if your hand would get wet if you reached out to touch the water."

Joanne smiled then and began to ask Kathleen about various members of her family, and Maggie let out the breath that she had not realized she had been holding. The frown line between Nick’s eyes gradually disappeared. He had no idea what that was all about, and as secretive as Joanne was, chances were that he never would. Whatever it was, it was over now. No sense worrying about it.

“So, cousin, you still have not said what brings you here,” Nick finally prodded, still bright red after several recounted stories of his misspent youth.

Joanne glowed. She bent forward and grasped his hand. “We are going to stay right through the holidays,” she cried. “You will never guess . . . Mother’s getting remarried! She met him at one of the poetry readings that she is always going to. Axel, that is her fiancée, is the cousin of some obscure poet that she admires tremendously. He owns a string of dress shops in Boston, Axel, that is, not the poet, and I am sure you can imagine Mother caused quite a scandal when she announced their impending nuptials!" A dimple popped up in one cheek as her smile widened.

"But she does not care. She has told me that she never expected to marry again, and that she does not give a fig for anyone’s opinion of Axel except her own. Axel wanted to take her to visit his family in St. Louis, get married there and stay through Christmas and the New Year, but Ronald and I did not want to spend the entire winter with total strangers. Axel is German, and he let it be known that most of his relatives do not speak English and we do not speak German, so we gave Mother our blessing and decided to come and see you. We thought it the perfect solution, do you not agree? Axel, who is a perfect dear, seemed very much relieved that we were not staying with them, to tell the truth. He is some years younger than Mother, though she does not look older, of course. I do not think that he relished explaining her grown children to his parents, and without us there, he will not have to.”

Nick agreed that it was indeed the perfect solution to their holiday dilemma, but his eyes flew to Maggie, who stayed perfectly expressionless. Both of them wondered what this would mean to their situation, and Maggie had a sinking feeling in her stomach. How could she carry on openly with Nick while his cousins were here? They had not hidden their relationship from Kathleen, and Ned, and Tommy, it was true, but they had been discreet, and Kathleen was the only one who knew for sure what was going on. The other two only speculated, but it was going to be impossible to keep it a secret with two more people in the house.

The instant that the thought hit her mind, Maggie was overcome with shame for her selfishness. She should be glad for Nick. She knew that he loved his cousins and had missed them dreadfully, and there was nothing better than spending the holidays with your loved ones and nothing more heart-wrenching than spending them alone. Still, her smile was bittersweet as she agreed that it was a lovely thing, sure to be so much fun . . .

Joanne prattled on about sleigh rides and stringing cranberries and popcorn for a tree, not to mention helping make a whole, traditional Thanksgiving dinner. She never noticed anything wrong, or at least pretended that she did not. But Ronald’s sharp eyes bounced from Maggie to Nick and back again. He raised a questioning brow at Kathleen, who nodded almost imperceptibly.

Ah, so that is the way of it, he thought. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, a small smile creasing his mouth. Nick deserved some happiness at long last, and he just hoped that they were not putting a crimp in his plans with an untimely visit.

Kathleen spent some time grumbling about her terrible mother and her efforts at matchmaking, and about stupid doctors who were much too handsome for their own good and had a dubious sense of humor. And, she said, she was certainly happy about staying here tonight, for more than one reason.

But Nick was distinctly unhappy later on that evening when Maggie pulled him into the kitchen.

She jumped away when he tried to put his arms around her, glancing nervously at the door as if expecting it to come flying open at any time . . . and it might, Nick thought grimly. His cousin Joanne, much as he dearly loved her, had been flitting from one end of the house to the other all day, not giving him a minute alone with Maggie.

“No,” she hissed at him now. “I am not going to be sneaking around with you while your family is here. It is not right, and I will not do it.”

“Not the whole time that they are here?” he asked slowly. “Maggie, that could be months. They are talking about staying until the end of January.”

She turned her back on him resolutely. “I know.” She wanted to cry, or scream, but she did neither, just stood there while misery streamed through every particle of her being. Touch me, she begged silently. Swear that you cannot live without me, and I will change my mind. Tell me that you love me. Tell me, and I will be your lover flagrantly, no matter who disapproves.

Nick said none of those things, however, just stood behind her silently.

“I see,” he said, and she could read nothing from the tone of his voice. It held no pain, no pleasure, no emotion at all, just an empty politeness that echoed frigidly through Maggie’s soul. “If this is what you have decided, I will of course abide by your wishes.”

He turned and left, leaving Maggie alone in the kitchen. His remoteness frightened her as much as her sudden pain did, and she swayed dizzily and caught at the edge of the wooden counter.

She mustn’t fall. There was no one here to catch her if she fell, she thought bleakly. No one.

No one at all.