McCrory's Lady (37 page)

      
Her hips arched in response and her arms reached up, pulling him down as she placed his head between her hands, cradling his face tenderly. How Maggie longed to cry out her love, but some instinct held her back. Instead, she showed him with her body. She wrapped her legs around his hips and drew her thighs tightly closed, urging his thrusts deeper inside her. Her lips parted, inviting his kiss as she guided his mouth toward hers.

      
They moved slowly toward the crest, letting every sigh and caress say what words did not. She loved him. He was afraid to love her. Ghosts from the past still hovered between them until their physical needs overrode all thoughts, all fears, and their joining became swift and frantic. After such delay it was all the stronger.

      
Maggie's nails dug into his shoulders, pulling him to her. The now familiar waves of ecstasy swept away all else; and she was answered by his fierce shudders as he swelled inside of her, spilling his seed deeply into her womb.

      
Colin collapsed on top of her, gasping for breath. He buried his face in the cloud of her hair, smelling the subtle essence of lilies of the valley, permeated by the musky scent of satiated flesh.

      
He turned onto his side, reaching over to the table beside the bed to lower the lantern wick until the room was cast in darkness. Then, he rolled back to pull her against him as he covered them with the blanket.

      
They fell asleep in silence with no words spoken between them in the quiet of the night.

* * * *

      
The next morning Maggie awakened when she felt the loss of Colin's heat. He had slid silently from the bed. Her eyes still closed, she could hear the soft rustling as he dressed. She sensed his eyes on her.
He's troubled about what he revealed last night.
More than just desiring her, now he needed her; and Maggie knew that did not sit easily on Colin McCrory's shoulders. She vowed to be patient and let him find his way. Perhaps with time, he could love her as much as she did him.

      
When the door closed quietly, she sat up in bed and swung her feet over the side. Immediately, she lowered her head between her knees until the sudden nausea subsided. Then, she rose on shaky legs, performed a brief morning toilette and donned the same dusty riding clothes she had worn the day before.

      
Colin was nowhere to be seen when she entered the main room of the post. Hearing Eden's voice from the kitchen, she headed in that direction. “Good morning. I trust you did get some sleep?” she said, giving her stepdaughter a light hug.

      
Eden looked at Maggie's pale face and smudged eyes. “Better than you did, by the looks of you. Here, have some breakfast. Caleb's cook has shown us that he had a cache of good food in a private pantry.” Eden also had her suspicions about Caleb's relationship with the pretty young Apache girl, whom he had most probably forced to be his mistress.

      
“No Arkansas strawberries?” Maggie said with a smile at the cook.

      
“For sure not beans,” Eden replied. “Good hickory-smoked bacon and even white-flour bread with tinned butter and chokecherry preserves.” Eden smiled as the young Coyotero girl served up a rasher of crisp bacon strips on a plate, then sliced a thick wedge of bread.

      
Maggie poured herself a cup of steaming coffee and sipped it slowly, letting her rebellious stomach settle. She did not want to worry Eden with her mysterious ailment, but perhaps the doctor might have some suggestions. “Is Dr. Torres around? I know he's gotten little or no rest, but there's something I'd like to ask him.”

      
“I think he's ridden to one of the outlying villages to check on possible contagion. He should be back soon unless the epidemic has spread. Father and Ed are down at the corral getting ready for the ride to Tucson,” Eden added, looking expectantly at Maggie. “Have you asked him if you can go along?”

      
“I haven't told him yet. But I will.”

      
The cook, who understood English well enough, grinned as she placed the plate before Maggie. “You eat?” she asked shyly.

      
Rather than offend the girl or upset Eden, Maggie sat down at the simple pine table and took a bite of the thick fluffy bread, then nibbled on a strip of bacon. By eating slowly she was able to finish most of the bread and half of the bacon before Eden was summoned into the infirmary to see to a patient.

      
Thanking the young Apache woman for the meal, Maggie slipped from the kitchen, intent on talking with Colin about the journey to Tucson. She stepped into the hot morning sun and felt the heat beating down on her bare head. Willing the roiling in her stomach to abate, she rounded the corner of the post and looked out toward the corral just as Aaron Torres rode up and dismounted.

      
He, Colin and Ed were engaged in conversation as she drew nearer, but before reaching the halfway point, her stomach rebelled. Not wanting to disgrace herself, Maggie quickly stepped behind a juniper bush and doubled over, losing her carefully eaten breakfast in several loud, undignified heaves. She was busily mopping her brow and wiping her mouth when the doctor's voice interrupted.

      
“I thought I heard someone in distress, but I must confess I'm surprised it's you, Maggie. What seems to be the problem? Did you get hold of some tainted meat?” Torres guided her gently over to a large flat rock shaded by a pinyon pine and had her sit down.

      
“No. The food was fine. It's just me. I've been having these spells for several weeks...”

      
Unaware of the exchange going on between Maggie and Aaron, Colin and Ed continued their discussion of the trip to Tucson.

      
“We'll need to ride into town separately,” Ed said. “I don't want anyone connecting me with your battle against Barker and the ring. I think I can use a nom de plume and bluff myself into a job on one of the local newspapers. It would be best if I left directly from here. I took the precaution of packing extra clothing in my saddlebags before I set out.”

      
Since he had never seen Ed in anything but a rumpled gray suit, Colin wondered what she might have needed to pack but refrained from saying so. “You seem to have thought of everything.” His shrewd gaze measured her. He could almost hear the gears clicking in her mind. “Why are you abandoning the search for the ring's man in the capital to go to Tucson?”

      
“I have my reasons,” Ed replied, raising her pointy chin, which made her overlong neck resemble that of an ostrich.

      
“Those reasons wouldn't have anything to do with perusing Win Barker's records, would they? I seem to recall you saying reporters didn't need subpoenas.”

      
“Caught out,” she said with a mock sigh. “You have Lamp's records—or at least what he's made available. If I could get my hands on Barker's, we would be able to make comparisons.”

      
His eyes narrowed. “I already told you I don't want any illegal—not to mention dangerous—tomfoolery. All we'll do is drive Barker farther underground. Let me confront him with what we know about Rigley and the stolen cattle.”

      
She considered. “That might panic him into some untoward action, yes. And I can observe his every move under the guise of being an eccentric society reporter whose interests lie with teas and garden clubs.”

      
Ed Phibbs was certainly eccentric enough for a man like Win to underestimate. Hell, Colin had almost done it himself—would have, too, if not for Maggie. Maggie. What would he do about her?

      
As if his troubled turn of mind had conjured her, Maggie approached them, a bemused expression on her face. “Good morning, Colin, Ed. Doc Torres tells me you plan to ride to Tucson today. I want to accompany you.”

      
“That's ridiculous,” Colin said. “What for? This isn't a pleasure trip. It could be dangerous.”

      
“Then you could use my help again.” Maggie held out the arm that had been grazed in Prescott.

      
Colin scowled. “I most certainly do not want you in the line of fire again.”

      
“We have some things to discuss, Colin. Very important things that can't wait.” Maggie drew closer to her husband and placed her hand on his arm.

      
Ed coughed discreetly. “I might be so bold as to suggest, your wife could provide an excuse for you to spend some time in Tucson—shopping, whatnot, while you see what you can learn before bearding Barker in his lair.”

      
“She's right, Colin.”

      
His eyes narrowed on his wife. “We're leaving now and you're staying here with Eden. That's my final word. Do you understand me, Maggie?”

      
“Yes, I understand you, Colin,” she replied tightly.

      
Within the hour Colin and Ed rode away from the post, leaving Maggie and Eden waving farewell.

      
“What are you going to do now?” Eden asked quietly, knowing Maggie's plans had gone awry.

      
Maggie turned to Eden with a look of grim determination on her face. “Why, I'm riding to Crown Verde to pack. Then, I'll take the stage from Prescott to Tucson tomorrow.”

      
“But you told Father you would do as he said.”

      
Maggie smiled serenely. “No, I told him I understood what he said.”

* * * *

      
On the long, bumpy stage ride, Maggie had a lot of time to ponder exactly what she was going to tell Colin. So much was at stake. Convincing Colin that Wolf Blake would make a suitable husband for Eden would be a prodigious enough feat. But Maggie had an even more pressing matter to consider. She closed her eyes and hugged herself, still unable to believe Dr. Torres's diagnosis. She was going to have Colin's child!

      
After all the bitter lonely years mourning the loss of her baby, feeling so cruelly cheated of motherhood, she was being given another chance. And this time she truly loved the baby's father. But that brought sober thoughts. Does Colin love me? Will he want this child?

      
He had told her in no uncertain terms when they first met that he would never get over his first wife's death in childbirth. He never wanted the responsibility of fathering another child. Eden was the only heir he needed or wanted.
And I assured him I was barren.
He would think she had lied to entrap him.

      
Maggie had been so certain for all those years that the doctor in Omaha was right. There had been so many men, each making her feel more defiled than the one before. She had hated their touch, washing, inside and out, after every encounter—as if to bathe away her whoredom like Pilate washing his hands of guilt.

      
Put them in the past,
she commanded herself. That part of her life was over. She had to think of the new life growing inside her now. And of the child's father and sister. Maggie leaned back and closed her eyes, to plan and to dream.

* * * *

      
Bart Fletcher was also bound for Tucson, arriving from another direction. After selling the Silver Eagle in San Luís, he had drifted up north into Arizona Territory as far as Yuma, a sinkhole of heat and dust. Briefly, he debated a return visit to San Francisco, as delightfully sophisticated as any city he had encountered in the United States; but at the last minute, some impulse drew him to purchase a ticket for Tucson. Now, as the brakes shrieked on the old Overland Stage and the driver yanked on the lines, cursing loudly as he rounded the corner where Pearl Street converged onto Main, Bart looked out the window, reconsidering his foolish attempt to locate Maggie.

      
The town boasted over 6,000 inhabitants, a veritable metropolis by Southwestern standards, but it remained little more than a vast collection of adobe structures built in the pueblo architectural style. They differed from those in Sonora only in size and numbers. The streets were narrow and crooked, filled with all sorts of hard-looking Anglo gunmen and Mexican banditti as well as “knights of the green cloth” such as himself, nattily attired with flat crowned hats and brocade vests. Here and there, respectable Anglo females dressed in what passed for the latest fashions from back East wended their way down the busy streets, pausing to chat with businessmen in somber frock coats and starched white shirts.

      
He climbed down in front of the Palace Hotel, one of the town's few two-story structures, actually boasting a porch and second-floor verandah around three sides of the building. Perhaps it might be livable. But for how long? Chasing Maggie Worthington was a fool's errand and he knew it. McCrory had married her and taken her to some godforsaken cattle ranch far to the north. The one weather-stained letter from her that had reached him indicated that much.

      
Reading between the lines, he also recognized that the unlikely alliance was not making her happy. Perhaps by now—if he could locate her—Maggie might be willing to go to San Francisco with him, that Scots scalper be damned. He wondered if McCrory had told her about his past. Would it have made any difference to her? Probably not. Cursing himself for this surprisingly romantic streak at his advanced age, Fletcher sauntered into the cool embrace of the hotel's interior. First, he would secure the best possible accommodations, then attend to the most pressing business—the money Win Barker owed him.
After that I'll decide what to do about pursuing Megs.

      
Fletcher passed a most satisfactory afternoon, squeezing several thousand dollars out of that parsimonious old windbag Barker for the Mexican silver shipment from Sonora that Lazlo and his boys had robbed. For providing the information about it, Bart was owed ten percent of the take, which Lazlo had failed to deliver to him. Learning from McCrory and Blake about the gunman's fate at the delicate hand of Maggie's stepdaughter did not excuse Lazlo for defaulting. A deal was a deal and Barker had owed him. Now, they were square—or, Bart cynically thought, as square as one could ever figure on being with an oily character like Win Barker.