Spring Blossom (26 page)

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The Feddler place was not nearly so grand a
farm as Hunter’s. The three-room hut suffered for lack of repairs,
and the barn had great gaping holes where wallboards had sprung
away, never to be replaced.

Margaret rode to the small farm on the
sprung buckboard seat, sandwiched between Hunter and Jason. Jeffrey
and Marie-Louise sat or occasionally rolled about in the wagon-bed
due to the rough road. Margaret realized rather quickly that the
rolling around was mainly by design.

Hunter pulled the team and wagon up before
the dilapidated house and handed the reins to Jason. “I’ll take the
women in and pay my respects to Feddler,” he said. “I’ll join you
in the barn shortly.”

Not a question or comment stayed him as he
jumped to the ground and turned to hold up his arms to Margaret.
“Come,” he said simply, and she leaned forward, placing her hands
on his shoulders as he took her weight easily, his hands at her
waist, and lowered her to the ground.

He released her, walked to the back of the
wagon, and reached for Marie-Louise. But after he had set her on
the ground, he teased, “You’re not getting a bit heavier, are you,
girl?”

“Jeffrey and I will tell you when,” she
returned primly and winked at her husband before she turned toward
the house.

Hunter took Margaret’s hand and followed in
the younger woman’s wake as Jason drove the team off toward the
outbuildings where they would feed the stock, clean stalls and milk
the cow.

“Feddler outlived his first wife,” Hunter
explained as he tucked Margaret’s hand securely into the crook of
his arm, “and they were childless all the years of their marriage.
Her death left him bitter and disgruntled, but don’t be afraid of
him. Janie is much younger than he…younger even than you,” he
added, “but I don’t believe Feddler abuses her. If I thought that,
I would take steps to protect her. He’s simply a gruff old man, and
his young wife tries very hard to please him. Don’t let him upset
you, little one. He may howl like a wolf, but his bite is less than
that of a mosquito.”

Margaret was grateful for the warning, and
her eyes told him so when she smiled up at him as he held the front
door open for her to enter.

“I won’t be far away,” he added in an
under-tone as he followed her into a room that was overstuffed with
furniture from years gone by and a clutter of knickknacks on every
surface. “His first wife was a collector of sorts,” Hunter
whispered lightly very close to her ear, and Margaret coughed
delicately to cover a telltale giggle.

A very pregnant young woman turned away from
Marie-Louise and came toward them then. She was dressed in a loose,
flowing brown dress that boasted little shape except her burgeoning
one. But her smile of greeting was sincere.

“Janie,” Hunter said, taking the young
woman’s proffered hand. “You’re well?”

The girl, who appeared to be no more than
sixteen years, nodded happily. “Fine,” she said simply and turned
toward the woman standing at Hunter’s side. “Your wife?” she asked
and Margaret began to suspect that Janie was a woman of few
words.

“This is Maggie,” Hunter said in such a way
that made his new wife’s head snap around in his direction; he had
actually sounded proud. “I’ll say hello to Feddler,” Hunter
announced after he had completed the introduction, “and leave you
women to it,” he added, squeezing Margaret’s hand before he left
her side.

Margaret turned her head slightly and spied
a tiny, perfect blond creature riding the arm of a smiling
Marie-Louise.

“Isn’t she the sweetest little thing?”
Marie-Louise asked as she stepped closer to the two women. “This is
Sarah,” she announced before looking expectantly at Margaret.

The toddler was not yet two years old,
Margaret guessed but her alert blue eyes and smiling face would
have captured the heart of anyone who came within sight of her.
Sarah was a generous, loving little girl who played no favorites
and sought the attention of any who would give it.

When her small arms reached out toward her,
Margaret could not resist, taking the child into her arms. She sat
down on the nearest chair and balanced Sarah on her forearm while
her other hand steadied the child’s back. Margaret was unfamiliar
with very small children, but she took instantly to this one,
keeping her occupied while Marie-Louise and Janie chatted and
worked around the kitchen.

She was so engrossed with teasing and
tickling little Sarah, in fact, that she didn’t notice Hunter’s
approach until he was beside her.

“Let me take her for a moment,” he said,
reaching out with both hands. The child immediately went to him,
grinning. “Hello, Sarah, my darling,” he said softly, as he gently
poked a finger into the rounded tummy, making the child giggle
before she planted a quick kiss on his lips. “Maggie, let me
introduce you to Feddler before I leave to help the men.” He
balanced Sarah in the crook of one arm while he helped Margaret up
from her chair. “How do you like this little mite?” he asked
her.

“I think she’s wonderful,” Margaret said
happily, and then a chill went through her as Hunter turned those
intense, black eyes her way. “Do you think we could share one of
these one day?” he asked quietly.

CHAPTER 19

That evening, after they had returned home,
Margaret and Marie-Louise shared the kitchen duties, the beginning
of what would prove to be an easy routine. While Margaret set the
table and prepared water and towels in preparation for the men
coming up from their chores, Marie-Louise cooked. Once the meal had
been enjoyed, the two women talked quietly with each other as
Margaret washed the supper dishes and Marie-Louise dried.

The men remained at the table, but Hunter
found his attention drifting away from the talk of farming, his
gaze returning again and again to his young wife. Margaret was
standing with her back to him, and Hunter caught only a glimpse of
her face as occasionally she turned to her companion. He found
himself wishing that they could be alone, that he could share the
kitchen chores with her, just to have her turn her attention toward
him. He was suddenly, selfishly, impatient to be alone with
her.

When at last Margaret turned away from the
dry sink to remove her apron, Hunter took a last sip of coffee,
ground out his cigar, and moved to her side. Taking her hand in
his, he said to Marie-Louise, “You’ll forgive me if I take her away
for awhile?”

Marie-Louise’s eyes twinkled. “I don’t know
if I should let you,” she said saucily.

Hunter laughed and pointedly ignored the
remark as he pulled Margaret toward the door.

“Where are we going?” Margaret asked, as
they stepped out into the sultry evening air.

“I want to show you that little mare,” he
said.

The full moon lit their way as Hunter slowly
led her toward the barn. He was in no hurry. It was pleasant to
walk with her, her small hand tucked snuggly, warmly, into his.

“The air is sweet,” she said, taking a deep
breath.

“Honeysuckle.”

Margaret didn’t know what to say after that.
Hunter seemed to be in one of his quiet moods and he was certainly
taking his time in getting to the barn.

“I like to walk,” he said as he tipped his
head back and searched the starlit sky. “Especially at night,” he
added softly. And then he smiled down at her. “Do you like to walk,
little one?”

Margaret remembered walking with him years
ago, when she was an innocent girl, falling madly into first love
with the most handsome, the most considerate man she had ever
known. They had not held hands then, as they did this night, but
she could remember wanting to walk with him forever. “I like to
walk sometimes,” she said at last.

“And will you walk out with me,” he teased,
lightly squeezing her hand.

She turned her head and stared at him,
puzzled. “As if we were courting?”

“Of course. Don’t you think I’m courting
you, Maggie?”

“But we’re married,” she returned, as if the
idea of being courted now was outlandish.

“I think a beautiful woman deserves to be
courted, even by her husband. Particularly by her husband.”

Uneasy, she turned slightly away. “Hunter, I
wish you wouldn’t keep referring to me as a beautiful woman. We
both know I’m not. It seems…”

Margaret stopped in mid-sentence when Hunter
pulled up short and turned her to face him.

“That’s another reason why I could kill that
man from your past,” he said evenly. “He stole your confidence
along with so much more that is vital. You have no understanding of
how truly lovely you are,” he breathed as he cupped her face with
his hands, his thumb lightly stroking the soft skin around the
scar. “I told you once before this doesn’t detract from your rare
beauty or what I see when I look at you,” he added, his anger
easing. “I’m scarred, too, but I think I’m still beautiful,” he
teased.

Margaret stared, incredulous, before a slow
smile crept across her lips. “You’re crazy!” she said with a laugh.
“You are not scarred.”

“I am, too,” he insisted, grinning at her.
“Remind me to show you my scar sometime when we’re alone.”

He took her hand again, and they entered the
dark barn. Margaret stood just inside the doors while Hunter lit
the lantern that was hanging on the wall nearby.

“She’s down here,” he said, then led the
way, holding the lamp high when he stopped at the door of a large
box stall. “This is her royal highness.”

Margaret peeked through the steel bars of
the stall. “Is that her name?” she asked as her tutored gaze roamed
over the filly.

“No.” Hunter hung the lantern on a hook
above their heads. “I just like to think she’ll eventually be the
queen of my stables. Her name is Fancy That.”

She laughed softly. “Really?”

“Think we should change it?”

“No. I think it’s cute. She’s a lovely mare,
Hunter; fine bones, but good structure and strength. She should do
well for you.” After a moment Margaret turned and pressed her back
to the door of the stall. Hunter was standing very close, his dark
eye staring down at her.

“I think she’ll do well,” he said. And it
was clear that he was not talking about the mare. His eyes moved
upward, closely examining her hair before he touched a soft curl at
her shoulder. “Do you know why I had to bring you out here?” he
asked as he braced his free hand against a bar near her shoulder.
“I found myself sitting in that kitchen resenting the presence of
my own friends.”

“Why?” she asked, her blue eyes searching
his for an answer that should have been obvious.

He smiled. “You really don’t understand, do
you? I’m a grown man, but I feel like a lovesick boy. I want to be
alone with you all the time. I find myself resenting my work and
your work and anyone or anything that takes you away from me for a
single moment of each day.” His hand caressed her face, her neck,
and skimmed slowly down the length of her arm as he spoke. And
Margaret found herself, not afraid, but awestruck by what he was
saying. “I want to be with you, kissing you and touching you, and
when I can’t, I think about you.”

He dipped his head and Margaret knew she was
about to be kissed. But she was so stunned by what he had just
revealed that she could offer no resistance. Did these things mean
that he really did love her, she wondered? With her next thought,
she dismissed the notion. He merely wanted her. One had nothing to
do with the other; that much she did know. And he certainly didn’t
know her well enough to love her.

Hunter put his arms around her and pulled
her lightly against him. “This will be a real kiss, little one,” he
breathed. “No peck on the cheek,” he added before slanting his lips
softly against hers, pulling her closer against his chest. The
kiss, indeed, was not a simple peck. Hunter struggled with longing
and impatience, not wanting to frighten her, knowing he had to wait
upon her adjustment. She would be worth the wait, he knew, but the
strain of keeping his hands off her would soon be telling. His kiss
was firm, but not threatening and, eventually, he could feel her
relax somewhat against him. He could only hope that his coaxing,
teasing, assault was, somehow, having a positive effect on her.

He moved his lips slowly over hers,
breathing in the freshness of her, filling his mind with the
softness of her. “Oh, God, little one,” he murmured, raising his
head a fraction, only to return and trail velvety kisses over her
face. He carefully held his lower body away from her, but when he
lowered his head to pay passionate attention to the soft tender
spot beneath her ear, he dared to place his hand just below her
left breast.

Margaret could feel her heart thundering in
her chest, the sound echoing in her ears. A rush of new sensations
roared through her system that she did not understand. While the
feelings were not threatening, they were worrisome because she did
not know how to respond or what would relieve the building of this
strange force within her. It was the warm and teasing things he was
doing to her that caused the turmoil and she could feel the heat of
him even through the stuff of their clothes. Something was
happening to her that would never bring her back to before this
moment, and she knew that instinctively. It was similar, and yet
greater, than when she had shared the brandy with him; liquid fire
was consuming her.

But then, in a natural protective motion,
she flinched away from him when his hand eased up and cupped her
breast. Alarmed, Margaret reached up and clamped her hand around
his wrist, her pale blue eyes pleading with him as she attempted to
break his hold on her.

“Don’t," he whispered. “Just let me touch.
Just let yourself feel, Maggie.”

Her fingers remained around his wrist, but
she ceased her attempts to remove his hand from her. She was
watching him as he stared down at her, his gaze following the slow,
circular motion of his thumb, raising her tender nipple to a
hardened peak.