Читать книгу Maggie's Beau - Carolyn Davidson - Страница 11

What the food lacked in flavor it made up for in quantity, Beau decided. Pieces of beef swimming in broth with bits of potatoes made up the bulk of his meal, small pieces of carrots adding color. The onions lent seasoning, but she’d been pretty scant with salt and pepper. He shook the salt shaker over his dish with a heavy hand, aware of Maggie watching from across the table.

“Not very good, is it?” she asked quietly. “I’m not the best cook in the world.”

He glanced up. “It’s better than I could have done, Maggie.” Another bite found its way into his mouth. “Maybe next time you just need to quit cooking it before the vegetables get…” He paused, unwilling to add to her gloom.

“Mushy,” she supplied. “I probably won’t be here long enough for there to be a next time, though,” she said after a moment. “I don’t want you to get in Dutch over me stayin’ here.”

“No one will know where you are, as far as I’m concerned,” he told her grimly. “And if your father comes hunting you, he’ll find more than his match.”

She glanced up at him, and Beau caught a glimpse of beauty in the line of cheek and brow, a promise of charm in the lifting of long lashes as one eye met his gaze. Her swollen eye was still purpled, but as he watched, a tear fell from its lower lid. She blinked and her mouth trembled. “You’re a nice man, Beau Jackson. I reckon you mean that.”

Beau reached across the table, capturing her hand, holding it loosely within his palm. “You can stay here as long as you want to, Maggie.”

She rose from the table, drawing her hand from his, and picked up her plate. “I’ll wash out the wheelbarrow in the morning and load up the potatoes I dug. You got a place to store them?”

Beau nodded. “There’s an old root cellar on the west side of the house. You’ll want to watch for mice when you open the door. Last year we piled the potatoes against the far wall. Had pretty near enough to last past spring. They’ll get soft by then and you have to cut off the sprouts, but they’re fit to eat. There’s a tub for carrots and a place to hang onions and such.”

“There’s more to dig, yet. Ma always liked to have the old plants pulled and the ground turned in the fall. I can do that tomorrow.”

“Then don’t plan on mucking out stalls,” Beau told her firmly. “The men can tend to that. I’d rather have you at the house.”

She stood at the sink, her shoulders hunched, her hands busy with the dishes. “Do you think I could help with the horses, maybe the yearlings? I’ve got a good touch with animals.”

“We’ll see,” Beau said. “You might want to take a look at my milk cow in the morning. Maybe you can do something for her. She’s been touchy the last couple of days at milking time.”

Maggie turned to face him. “Might be she’s a little milk bound. You ever use camphorated oil on her?”

Beau shook his head. “She’s never had any problems before.”

“You got any oil? I’ll warm some up and see if it helps. You just don’t want to get it in the milk. You have to wash off her bag before you commence to milkin’ her.”

Maybe the girl was right. It was worth a try. Beau pushed back from the table and rose. “There’s a boxful of stuff in the pantry,” he said. “Salves and such. Take a look. I’m pretty sure there’s camphorated oil there.”

Maggie wiped her hands on a towel, nodding her understanding. “I’ll see what I can find. Have you milked her tonight, yet?”

“No, I’m ready to do the last of the chores now.”

“Can I come with you?” she asked.

Beau nodded. “I’ll wait for you.”

The cow’s tail twitched as Maggie sat on the milking stool. “It’s only me,” she murmured, her hand moving slowly over the animal’s flank. She glanced up at Beau. “She got a name?”

“Not that I know of,” he told her with a grin. “I just call her the cow.”

“Animals do better with a name.” Her hands moved together now, over the curve of the cow’s belly, then to the front udder. A visible shiver passed over the creature and she shifted her near leg.

“She feels kinda hot, inflamed maybe,” Maggie said quietly. “Let’s try the warm oil and see if it helps by morning.” One hand moved to her pocket and she withdrew a small bottle she’d warmed atop the cookstove only minutes before. She uncapped it and poured a puddle of it into her palm, then spread the pungent liquid over the bulging udder.

The cow stood still, only lowing softly as Maggie intoned words of comfort. Her voice was soft as she glanced at Beau. “You’re not gonna want to use her milk tonight. I’m gonna use some of this on her teats, too.”

Beau murmured agreement, crouching beside her, taking the oil from between her knees where she’d lodged it as she worked. She glanced up quickly at his touch, but he ignored her, his fingers deft as he tightened the cap and waited, silent as he listened to the soft syllables she uttered.

“I’ll milk her for you,” Maggie offered. “I don’t think I’d ought to strip her out, though, just take milk enough to keep her comfortable.”

“I’ll get the pail,” Beau offered, rising and moving at an easy pace. He returned in moments and put the bucket in place.

His attention was too intense, his presence too near, and Maggie shifted uncomfortably on the stool. “Haven’t you got chores to do?” she asked, glancing up at him. “I can handle her just fine by myself.”

He nodded and stepped back. “Leave the pail by the door when you’ve finished. I’ll dump it.”

The cow suffered Maggie’s hands on her, only shifting a bit in protest. “I’m about done, cow. You’ll be fine tomorrow. Just a little fever, nothing we can’t take care of.” The words flowed in a quiet stream, and within minutes the task was done. Putting the stool against the wall, she looked toward the back of the barn to where deep shadows held the gloom of nightfall. There was no sign of Beau.

“Must have gone out back,” she murmured to herself, and then knelt down to look beneath the manger. “Come on out, Cat. I see you there.” With a low chirp deep in her throat, the three-legged creature stepped cautiously past the cow and into the aisle.

“Guess I shoulda followed my own advice, Cat,” Maggie murmured, bending to run her fingers through the rough fur. “Never did give you a name, did I?” She squatted next to the animal, speaking softly. “I wasn’t real sure you were gonna live, you know. I didn’t want to bury a critter I was attached to, and I thought if I didn’t name you, it wouldn’t matter so much if you died. That was pretty dumb, wasn’t it?”

She stood, and the cat eyed her from her three-legged stance. “Come on, then,” Maggie told her. “You can walk with me up to the house. I don’t think the mister would want you inside, though.”

Lifting the milk pail, she stepped to the double doors, the cat at her heels. Overhead, the stars were like silver buckshot against the sky and she tipped her head back in amazement at the sheer number of them. Perhaps she hadn’t looked up lately, she decided. For more years than she could remember, she’d hung her head lest she be accused of being uppity, it seemed. But tonight she felt free, and the thrill of that discovery brought a sunburst of joy to her heart. With a light step, she set off for the house. The pail bumped against her leg, reminding her of Beau’s words, and she deposited it next to the doorway, then made her way across the yard.

“She’s got a good hand, don’t she?” Pony stood in the shadows just inside the last stall, watching as the girl vanished in the darkness. “Do you suppose she knows what she’s doin’? With the stuff she smeared on your cow, I mean?”

“We’ll find out, won’t we.” She’d disappeared, swallowed up in the night, and then he heard the distinct sound of his screened door closing. “There’s something about her that I can’t put my finger on. I saw it the other day, with her cat and dog, and again, just now, the way she talked to that poor crippled animal.” He shot a glance at Pony. “You’re going to think this is far-fetched, but it’s like she understands them—and they know it.”

“Nah,” Pony said, denying Beau’s concern. “I’ve seen folks like that in the circus. Either you got it, or you don’t. Most of us don’t. I kinda got the touch, with horses anyway, but there’s those who have a gift.” His voice trailed off and he snorted. “Now you’ll think I’m the one goin’ out on a limb.”

The two men walked the length of the barn, a lone lantern providing light overhead. “What you gonna do with her, boss?” Pony asked diffidently.

“Nothing,” Beau answered.

“She’s a pretty good-lookin’ woman, ain’t she?”

He shot Pony a dark look and his words were grudging. “Yeah, I suppose so.” Better than pretty good, he thought glumly, remembering the gleam of dark hair in lantern light as she soothed the milk cow.

“She know how to cook? I’m gettin’ plumb sick of eatin’ my own fixin’.” Pony’s query held a wistful note. “Seems like I get stuck with most of the meals. Course, Joe don’t know the first thing about food, ’cept for eatin’ it, and Radley does his share just haulin’ in wood and keepin’ the ashes dumped.”

Beau noted the lack of Shay’s name in Pony’s litany, then grinned as the man continued his sad tale. “I was thinkin’ maybe she’d fill in a meal once in a while for us, when she gets the knack real good.”

“Once she learns how to shake on a little more salt and pepper, she won’t be too bad,” Beau told him. “I doubt her mother had much inspiration in the kitchen. From what she’s said, there wasn’t much to be grateful for around their table.”

Pony stepped into the aisle, then bent to peer between two barrels. “I thought as much,” he exclaimed softly. “I heard a noise a while ago. Looks like we got something goin’ on. That mangy hound’s made herself a nest.”

“I saw her by the porch earlier,” Beau said softly, crouching beside the other man. A soft growl issued from the darkness, and he caught a glimpse of movement in the shadows. “I wonder that Maggie didn’t notice,” he whispered.

“You better tell her,” Pony advised. “She’ll be madder’n a wet hen if you don’t and she finds out.” His chuckle was short. “Damned if we’re not both a couple of softies, boss. Dogs been havin’ litters on their own since year one. This’n will do just fine by herself.”

He rose stiffly, and Beau followed suit. “You’re probably right.” They walked to the front of the barn, and Beau lifted the lantern from its perch. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, moving from the barn to the yard. Behind him, Pony swung the doors into place and latched them firmly.

The storeroom door was closed, and he stood indecisively, his knuckles poised to rap against the solid wood. Without warning, it swung open and Beau remained where he stood, one hand uplifted. Framed in the glow of candlelight, she resembled a nymph, her eyes startled, her body beneath the simple shift a shadowy outline. Without thinking, he clenched his hand, and she hunched her shoulders, ducking her head.

His arm dropped, the fist he’d unwittingly formed jamming against his hip. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, Maggie.”

Her chin lifted and she backed into her room, one hand pushing against the open door, as if she would close him out. “I was going to get a drink. I thought you were still in the barn.”

He shook his head. “Wait a minute, honey. I need to tell you about your dog.”

She froze in place. “What’s wrong with Maisie?” Turning from him, she snatched at the shirt she’d placed on the bed. “Turn away, mister. I’m gonna get dressed.”

Beau obligingly turned his back on her, a grin twitching at the corners of his mouth. If she only knew that he’d already taken a good gander at her slender frame, outlined by the glow of the candle behind her, she’d probably have a fit. Not that there was a whole lot to see. She was a little bit of a thing, built more like a child, but for the curves of her breasts. Probably some good food on a regular basis would fill her out nicely.

Behind him, she shoved her way past. “Where’s my dog? Is she all right?”

“Put your boots on, girl,” Beau reminded her. “The dog’s all right, just holed up behind a couple of barrels. I think she’s ready to drop her litter. I thought you’d want to know.”

Her feet slid readily into the pair of boots he’d talked Pony out of the day before, and she left the kitchen, the spring of the screened door slamming it in place.

“Might’s well join the party,” Beau muttered to himself. “There’ll be no sleeping till she comes back in anyway.” Snatching the lantern from the table, he followed her out the door, heard the murmur of voices from in front of the barn, and then the sound of the doors opening.

“That you, Pony?” he called.

Shay appeared before him. “No, boss. I was just about to look for the lantern. The girl says her dog’s cooped up havin’ pups. Thought I’d get her some light.”

“I’ve got this one,” Beau told him.

“You want me to stick around, keep an eye on things?” Shay asked quietly.

Beau considered only a moment. “No. Go on back to the bunkhouse. I’ll be here.” Shay nodded and turned away. Beau watched him go. The man had either taken a shine to Maggie, or he’d appointed himself her guardian angel. And it had better be the latter.

The animals stirred, a low whinny from one of the stalls signaling a mare’s unease. Beau strode the length of the aisle, and several heads turned in his direction as he passed the open stalls. Maggie crouched by the barrels, speaking softly to the creature she’d rescued.

“Want me to move those barrels?” Beau asked, hanging the lantern from a peg on the wall.

“Just the one,” she responded. “It’s too heavy for me to shift it alone. I already tried.”

He leaned the barrel a bit and rolled it easily, giving better access to the dog’s chosen spot. Maggie reached a hand toward the mongrel and Beau held his breath. It wouldn’t be unheard of for a dog to bite while in the throes of labor, and the thought of Maggie’s small hand left torn and bloody made him cringe inwardly. But the dog only whined, and Beau watched as a long tongue wrapped itself around slender fingers.

“I’m here, Maisie,” Maggie crooned. “I’ll tend to you if you need me.” She settled herself cross-legged and her hands moved knowingly over the creature’s swollen belly. “You got a whole mess of ’em, haven’t you, girl?”

As Maggie spoke, the dog stiffened and thrust her head back, a guttural sound passing through her clenched teeth. Maggie’s hands pressed and massaged, her words soft, almost indecipherable, as she comforted the straining mother-to-be. “You don’t need to stay around, mister,” she said after a moment, as the dog panted and closed her eyes.

“When you going to start calling me Beau?” he asked her quietly, crouching beside her.

She glanced up, and her small smile coaxed an answering grin from his mouth. “I guess now’s as good a time as any,” she allowed. “I’ll be here a while…Beau. Why don’t you go on to bed?”

“Nah, I get a kick out of watching new life come into the world,” he told her. “Why don’t I get us a cup of coffee, and we’ll both stick around.”

“Can she feed six pups? She’s kinda scrawny, don’t you think?” Beau leaned back in his chair, watching as Maggie stirred scrambled eggs in his large skillet. The sun was high in the sky, and they’d been in the barn until after midnight.

“She’ll do fine,” Maggie answered, turning to the table. “I’ll feed her extra, if you don’t mind. They ought to be good pups. I think the daddy’s a big shepherd from the next farm to my pa’s.” She reached for a spoon. “You don’t have a dog, do you?”

Beau shook his head. “There was one hanging around when I bought the place, but he died.” He watched as scrambled eggs were turned out onto his plate. “Does Maisie belong to your pa?”

She frowned, spoon held midair. “What are you thinkin’? That I stole her?” She exhaled noisily, and stomped back to the stove. “My pa wouldn’t give the time of day to an animal, let alone food to fill its belly.” The skillet settled on the stove with a clatter, and Maggie went to stand before the door.

“I’m sorry,” Beau said quietly. “I just need to know where the land lays, Maggie. If someone comes to my door looking for a stolen dog, I need to be sure you don’t have anything to do with it.” She was silent, and he darted a look at her.

“Maggie, come on and eat something,” he said. “I didn’t mean to doubt your honesty, thinking you’d take a dog that wasn’t yours. I had to be sure. Though to tell the truth, the poor thing doesn’t look like she’s worth much anyway.”

Maggie spun to face him. “She’s worth a lot to me. When I leave here, she’ll be my protection.” Her eyes glittered, and Beau motioned to the chair across the table from himself.

“Sit down. We need to talk a little bit.”

She moved across the floor and slid into the chair. “Go ahead. Eat your eggs,” she said. “I’m not goin’ anywhere for a while. And that’s another thing I need to mention.”

Beau ate steadily, willing her to continue. She was a far cry from the female he’d coaxed into his house only three days past, and the difference was most gratifying. “Go ahead,” he said. “Talk away.”

“Well, I thought I’d find enough to do for you to earn my keep till Maisie gets her pups weaned. I was worried about having to keep us safe and dry in the woods till she had them. Now, with being here and all, I thought I could work for you for the next five or six weeks.” She broke off, her eyes seeking his, her hands clenched tightly against the tabletop.

Beau nodded, as if he considered her plan. She’d made it easy for him, given him six weeks to figure out some sort of future, and it was all he could do not to beam his approval. “That oughta work,” he said slowly. “I’ll need an extra hand here while a couple of my men take horses to Dodge City this month. You can…”

“You didn’t answer me before.” Her words were eager and her hands lay flat now, as she leaned forward, sitting on the edge of her chair. “Do you think I could help work with the yearlings you keep?”

“I don’t want you too far from the house, Maggie. If your pa comes hunting you down, I’d just as soon he didn’t see you.”

She nodded, considering his words. “Maybe I could work in the corral. You know I can do barn work.” Her head turned to the door as a man’s voice rising in protest caught her attention from outside.

“Damn dog!”

Beau was on his feet. “I’ll bet somebody set Maisie off. Probably got too close.”

From the porch, Pony called his name, and Beau headed for the door. “The girl’s dog won’t let Joe in the barn,” Pony said through the screen. “You better come on out, boss.”

“I’ll come,” Maggie said, pushing away from the table and hurrying past Beau. She brushed against him and retreated, her glance quick. “Sorry, didn’t mean to shove at you that way.”

She’d flinched from him, and again Beau felt a moment’s anger at the man who had instilled fear into her very being. “Run on out, Maggie,” he urged her. “I can’t take a chance on a dog bite. We’ll have to tie her, I guess. She’s not going to feel safe with those pups nursing.”

Maggie ran before him, her feet flying across the packed earth. Even with the heavy boots she wore, her gait was more graceful, the limp subsiding, and Beau followed close at her heels, his eyes intent on her. She pulled up short before Joe, keeping a distance as she spoke to him.

“She won’t hurt you none if I tell her who you are. Come on in with me,” she urged in a rush of breath. “She needs to know you.”

Joe tipped his hat back and shook his head. “I’m sorta attached to my fingers, ma’am. I’d just as soon not have her take after me.”

Maggie looked up at Beau. “Tell him. Tell him she’ll listen to me.”

Beau nodded. “I believe she will, Joe. Let’s take a look.” He led the way, opening the doors fully and walking toward the back of the barn, the rest trailing behind him. Maggie hurried past and spoke to the new mother in soft tones, then stood as the men approached.

“Just squat down here by me, all of you,” she said firmly. Then, turning to the dog, she spoke the names of the men who watched, reaching with one hand to touch each of them in order, her fingers barely grazing the backs of their hands. Her other hand curled atop Maisie’s head, and her monologue was continuous as she introduced each of them to the watching dog. Only as the velvet nose sniffed at the back of Joe’s hand did Maisie hesitate, her low growl signifying doubt.

“I want you to be a good girl,” she said finally, and then bent low to whisper soft phrases in the animal’s ear. Maisie whined and tilted her head, then barked and stood, wagging her tail.

“I’d give a passel to know what she’s sayin’ to that critter,” Pony muttered beneath his breath.

The same thought had just crossed Beau’s mind, and he nodded. “Whatever it is, I think…”

“She won’t bother you none,” Maggie said, cutting off his train of thought. “Just leave her be, and she’ll be fine.”

Joe sent her a doubtful look. “You’re sure?”

Maggie stood before the five men, dwarfed by their size. And yet, Beau thought she was, on some level, an equal. And the men seemed to consider her a bit differently than they had that first day.

“I’m more than sure. I’m dead certain,” Maggie told them, looking from one to another. “If you leave her a bite of your leftovers once in a while, she’ll warm up. Just don’t reach for her pups.”

She looked across the aisle to an empty stall and her eyes lit up. “There you are, Cat. I wondered where you’d got to.” From the darkened area, the lean three-legged feline hobbled toward the group, and Maggie bent to pick up her pet.

“I fed her this morning, over by the bunkhouse,” Joe admitted shyly. “I figured she couldn’t do much hunting on her own, what with…” He shrugged, as if unwilling to speak aloud the cat’s infirmity.

“Thank you kindly.” Maggie nodded at him solemnly. “I surely appreciate it.”

Beau cleared his throat. “I think we’ve been lollygaggin’ around long enough this morning. There’s work to do.” The men broke ranks, two of them heading for the back door and the corral, the others picking up pitchforks. “How about taking a look at the cow while we’re here, Maggie?” he asked.

She was already heading in that direction and he followed. “She all right?”

Maggie squatted by the spotted Guernsey and ran her hands over the udder. She looked up at Beau and grinned. “She’s not hot anymore. I wouldn’t drink the milk yet, and I’d better put some more oil on her today, but she’ll be fine, I think. I’ll just milk her first.”

He’d thought to do that chore himself, but there was no sense in arguing with success, he decided, and right now it looked like Maggie was on a roll. “I’ll get the oil.” He’d play nursemaid this time around, gladly, if it meant his cow was on the mend.

Supper in his kitchen was late again; the men in the bunkhouse were already doing the evening chores by the time Beau sat down at his table. The potatoes were underdone, but the steak was rare. He’d convinced Maggie to throw it in the pan and let it sear for only a minute or so before she turned it over. She’d cringed, shivering as he cut into the tenderloin, watching as the juices ran bright red on his plate.

“How can you eat that?” she asked, her nose wrinkling in disgust. “It’s a wonder it’s not still moving.”

Beau chewed the tender morsel and swallowed. “You can fry yours to a frazzle if you like, but I want mine fit to eat.”

Maggie turned back to the stove. “I want it good and dead when it goes in my stomach,” she told him. The pan sizzled as she turned the piece of meat again, and finally after a few minutes, she speared it, transferring it to her plate. “That’s more like it.”

She helped herself to green beans, leaving Beau a second helping in the dish. “I churned butter today, and finished up with diggin’ the potatoes,” she said after a few minutes. “They’re all in the root cellar.”

“Did anyone help you?” He’d told Shay to keep an eye out for her this afternoon.

Maggie shook her head. “No. Shay offered, but I told him I could do it. He watched me from out by the barn while he was shoein’ a horse.” She took a bite and chewed slowly, then pushed her potatoes around on the plate. “I helped him a little bit. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not if he doesn’t,” Beau said. “Shay’s not much for small talk. Don’t have your feelings hurt if he doesn’t say much.”

“He didn’t say anything, only nodded his head when I took hold of the mare’s halter and held her steady.”

“It was her first set of shoes,” Beau explained. “She was probably a little spooked.”

“I know. I felt like she needed someone to talk to her,” Maggie explained. “So I did. But I got the potatoes done anyway.”

They finished eating in silence and Beau took his plate to the sink. “I’ll be out back for a while. Thanks for cooking.” He left the house, noting the two men who busied themselves inside the barn. He had things to think about, he decided, veering past the bunkhouse and heading for the small peach orchard. The trees were bare of fruit and the leaves had begun to wither. It was quiet, with starlight filtering through the tree limbs overhead. Settling himself on the ground against a dark tree trunk, he bent one knee, leaning back against the rough bark. He needed to consider carefully just how deeply he was becoming involved with his little fugitive.

She was bright, but uneducated. He’d watched as she scanned through the book of recipes Sophie used on occasion. That she was unable to read the script therein was obvious. A look of utter frustration had masked her features, and he’d been appalled that anyone lacked the basic skills in this day and age. Most girls spent at least six years in schooling, sometimes more. And yet, Maggie appeared not to have been given that opportunity. He’d not wanted to embarrass her and had looked aside.

Now he considered her situation. There must be some way he could approach her, some plan he could evolve to help her. She was intelligent, despite her lack of schoolroom skills. And her innate knowledge of animals was remarkable.

Shifting against the tree, he felt a piece of tree branch beneath him and his fingers searched it out. It lay in his palm, a thickened area catching his attention, and he lifted it closer, studying the odd shape of a bole in the wood. Something about it appealed to him, and he eased his knife from his pocket as he considered the shape of his find. In the light cast from moon and stars overhead, his narrowed gaze found the suggestion of a cat within the piece of tree limb. He cut off the excess branch, then whittled at it, turning it back and forth, seeking the elusive form he’d envisioned there.

Tomorrow evening he’d sound her out, he decided. Some way, somehow, he’d ease past her distrust and persuade her to his side. She’d come a long way already, except for flinching from him twice. When he’d taken the bottle of oil from between her knees in the barn last night, she’d inhaled sharply and shivered. And again today, when she’d brushed past him, there’d been that moment of hesitation, as though she expected a blow from his hand.

His knife slipped and he sliced through the wood he held. “Damn,” he muttered, the profanity not one he was given to use. His mother had frowned on cusswords, and respect for her memory kept them to a minimum in his vocabulary. This time, the single syllable was heartfelt and he repeated it.

“Damn. She thought I was going to hit her,” he growled beneath his breath.

He cast aside the piece of wood he held and skimmed the ground with his left hand, seeking another scrap, but it was not to be. And then he stood, a thought piercing his mind. There were any number of likely prospects in the woodshed, just beyond the outhouse. Tomorrow he’d find one and spend some time with Maggie. He’d carve her a cat, and get her to talk to him.

Long strides carried him from the stand of peach trees toward the house. The thought of the girl there was a lure he could not resist. “I only want to help her,” he whispered staunchly to himself. And his pace increased as he walked.

Perhaps she was still in the kitchen.