Maggie lifted the bolt from its brackets, set aside the sturdy board, and stepped back. When the door did not explode inward, she eased open the panel.
Ben loomed in the darkness like a mountain of suppressed anger. Gauntleted palms bracketed the doorframe. From the other end of stiff arms, his glare pushed her backward into the room. He kicked the door shut and followed. Clutching the unbuttoned bodice of her dress, she stopped when she bumped the bedstead.
He ripped off the gauntlets and flung them across the room. They slapped the stone hearth and fell in a heap. “Who the hell is Declan Fannin?”
The name, Ben’s acid tone… The man could not have struck her harder had he used the back of his hand. Her knees gave way, and her bottom hit the mattress.
Ben tipped back his hat and leaned closer. “I found his grave, about five or six miles from here. Under a big oak.” His eyes glittered in the moonlight spilling across her shoulder. “He was your husband, wasn’t he? The one you expected any day.”
Her pulse throbbed at the base of her throat, but she held his gaze. “Yes.”
Ripping off the hat, he pivoted away on a snarl. “You lied to me. Why?”
Chipped nails shredded the thin calico and bit into her palm. “How do you tell a cattle rancher your husband was hanged for a rustler?”
****
Apprehension clawed up Ben’s legs and dug into his gut. The fist clenching his hat fell to his side, ferrying the anger with it. “A rustler? Any truth to that?”
“I wouldn’t doubt it.” The vow to keep fighting dwindled within her soldier’s eyes, and Maggie lowered her gaze to her lap.
Disquiet wound through irritation and took hold of Ben’s windpipe, squeezing words from his throat. “You knew, didn’t you?”
“No.”
“The truth, Maggie.”
“That is the truth. He swore he was finished…with all of it.”
The hat abandoned numb fingers. Ben dropped to his haunches. No matter how low he dipped his head, he couldn’t find her eyes. “All of it? What else was there?”
On a monumental shudder, she collected a breath. “They called themselves Arms of the Lord. Folks in Mizooruh called ’em killers and thieves.”
Kansas. Bleeding Kansas. Ben’s heart stopped in mid-beat. Dear God. Had they brought the nightmare to Texas, to Dumont? “Was he finished?”
“I thought he was. He promised. Said we’d start over, build us a real home somewhere big enough nobody’d pay us no mind.” Her voice almost disappeared. “And I was foolish enough to believe him.”
He pried up her chin, and still she hid her eyes. “There never was a deed, was there?”
“I don’t know. Declan lied about so many things.”
“Why didn’t you leave him? Go back to your family.”
“I got no family.” A tear trickled from beneath her lashes. She swiped it away. “I made a vow. And I had nowhere else to go.”
A rip opened Ben’s chest, spilling her name into the room. “Oh, Maggie.” He moved onto the mattress and coaxed her into his arms. She buried her face against his shoulder. Easing her closer, he pillowed his cheek on spring-morning hair. “Is that why you’ve been after me to mend the rift with mine?”
Her head swiveled, pressing her forehead into his neck. “No.”
Her breath on his skin pulled a shiver up his spine. In the midst of an oppressive summer, spring exerted a powerful allure. Hoping he was right, fearing he was wrong, he wrapped a hand in her braid and tilted her face to his. “Then why?”
“I can’t have you here anymore, Ben. I…just can’t.”
A wisp of russet lay against her cheek. He swept the backs of unsteady fingers across her downy skin and tucked the tendril behind her ear. When her lips parted, the pad of his thumb traced the lower edge of the tempting bow. A spark lit the depths of cognac eyes.
Or, maybe, the flicker reflected from his.
****
The heat in the Union blue stole the last bit of breath from Maggie’s lungs.
A thump hit the outside wall behind the bed. Then another. A hoof demanding attention, offering rescue. Ben’s gaze cut to the noise but hurried right back to trap hers in a lock.
He licked his lips. “I’d best go check on Saber.”
Yet nothing moved except his hand. Glimmering eyes grew darker, deeper, while he watched his fingertips comb the hair at her temple. She shivered, and a smile sneaked across his features. Rough knuckles trailed her cheek, her neck, until his palm wrapped the fingers she’d wound in the calico bodice.
She released the cloth.
Staring at the hand he captured, he mapped the bones, the veins, the nails with his thumb. Her free palm executed a slow glide up too much worn fabric, at last encountering a tense jaw. The scratch of stubble flung a thrill all the way to her toes.
When he drew her fingers into his mouth, bathing every screaming nerve with his tongue, she could not prevent a moan.
“Maggie, I—”