Then Came You: A Prequel to The McPhee Clan Read online

  "Still, you don't deserve it. I know all the cowhands think highly of you. You fit in here so well." Maebry wrapped her arms around herself, like a barrier between them.

  "How is Maureen doing tonight?" An easier question to ask than the one at the back of his mind, the one he had to get around to asking. Procrastinating a little wouldn’t hurt. He crossed his arms over his chest too, a barrier to his heart.

  "About the same," Maebry answered politely. "Last I checked, she was sleeping and Aumaleigh was up with her. Keeping the room warm enough is a constant task in this cold."

  "And tomorrow is May First. Wonder if the Montgomerys have ever had snow for their annual party?"

  "Once, I think, the first year I was here." Maebry shrugged, lowering her arms as if relaxing. "They'll probably have to bring everything indoors, which is too bad because Nora has such beautiful flower gardens. Incredible this time of year, freshly blooming."

  "Well, I probably won't mind not seeing that. I'm really not a flower kind of guy." He shrugged.

  She smiled. "Really? I'm shocked."

  "Figured you might be."

  She looked incredible in lamplight. Although she stood at the edges of light, it seemed to find her, reaching out to shine like gold against the sunny highlights in her blond hair. The lamplight cast a golden glow to her ivory complexion. Graced the delicate curve of her face. Nothing could be more captivating. Tenderness rose up from deep within, a tenderness he dared not show.

  "Listen, I've got something to say to you and it isn't gonna be easy." He steeled his spine, drawing himself up full height, fisting his hands, doing what had to be done. "About what happened earlier today when I helped you down from the wagon—"

  "You mean when you helped me to the ground?" She asked pointedly, flushing a bright pink, staring down at the toes of her shoes. "Considering how hard the wind was blowing, it could have knocked me over. I appreciated the help."

  "No, that's not what I mean." He steadied his voice, aware of what she was doing. "When I—"

  "Hauled the grocery crate out of the wagon for me?" she interrupted, her face turning pinker. "That was considerate of you, too."

  "Something tells me you don't want to discuss what really happened." He moved forward, one slow step. Another. A giant shadow, shrinking the size of the kitchen with his masculinity, his magnetic presence. He cleared his throat, his words came quietly, tender. "All I can say is I'm sorry."

  "For helping me with my muffler?" She didn't know why tears stood in her eyes. Why it felt like his apology was a rejection. It had to be this way. She just couldn't bear to hear him say the words. "There's nothing to be sorry for."

  "I kissed you." His boots knelled softly on the floor, rounding the central work table, coming closer. He took off his hat, held it in his hands. "You avoided me at suppertime, just the way you avoid Lawrence."

  "No, it's not like that, Gil." She wanted to cry out, to rush to him, because even in the half-lit room she could see the hurt in his eyes.

  The hurt. That realization tore her apart. Never in a million years would she want to hurt Gil. She couldn't stand that he thought that of her. And she couldn’t believe that she mattered so much to him. She pointed to the ceiling above. "It was Maureen. She's been in a mood ever since Lawrence came calling. She didn't approve of him asking me to go for a drive."

  "So, what did she do to you?" Protectively, his shoulders squared. The angles of his face hardened, his blue eyes darkened.

  "Oh, just found some work for me to do."

  "That's why you missed supper?" Concern pinched his features, making him somehow more handsome, more desirable. As big and strong as he was, he had a good heart.

  That's why she had to fight so hard not to let her feelings for him grow, to keep her heart firmly closed against him. She fisted her hands, when she wanted to reach out to him. She willed her feet to stay in place when she wanted to be closer to him. "I just finished most of the work. Aumaleigh dismissed me, she said I didn't have to finish it. Maureen was asleep and she'd never know."

  "That was good of Aumaleigh. I'm glad she looks out for you." He fingered his hat brim, a muscle jumping along his rock-hard jawbone. "Did you get anything to eat?"

  "No, I was just going to go to bed."

  "Not without a meal, you aren't." He tossed his hat on the work table and reached out for her. When his larger fingers curled around her wrist, snaring her, she tried to ignore the frisson of heat snapping up her arm. She tried to tell herself not to give in, to be strong, but she was weak. She couldn’t stop her feet from carrying her along where he directed her. He held out a chair at the small table by the window, the one she often ate at after the cowboys and Maureen had been served.

  "Sit." His command was both firm and mellow. "How many meals have you served me? This time, just this once, let me serve you."

  Tears prickled behind her eyes. His kindness would be her undoing. "No, I can't."

  "Sorry, I'm not taking no for an answer." His hands moved up her arms, leaving shivery sensations, until they settled on her shoulders. He nudged her downward, into the chair. Unable to resist him, she sat, staring up at him, shadowed and yet more revealed than ever.

  Affection brightened the blue shade of his irises, changed and gentled the craggy angles of his face, made him seem ten times more amazing. Her heart rolled over in one unstoppable fall. What was she going to do now?

  "I'm not generally this bossy," he explained, moving away from her with measured footsteps, blending into the shadowed corner of the room. A drawer scraped open. "You bring out the worst in me."

  "You know I don't like a bossy man." Her voice wobbled, and she fought so hard to keep it from betraying her, from showing feelings she could not confess. "Not at all. Not one bit."

  "So I've heard. Guess I'm good and truly out of the running." The edge of a knife refracted the lamplight, then vanished. "Maybe Lawrence really is more your type?"

  "Don't even." She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, I did not hear you say that."

  "I could help you out by pretending to break up with you tomorrow at the party." There was the thunk of a plate, the scent of fresh bread. "That would free up your path to him."

  "Do it and I'll never speak to you again." Now she was smiling, biting her bottom lip, trying not to laugh. The exhaustion she felt slipped away until there was only a glow like the lamplight in the hallway, softly flickering. "Pretend to break up with me, and you become my number one enemy. I'd put you straight to the top of my list."

  "You can't fool me. You don't have an enemy list." He turned from the counter, holding a plate in his hand. He emerged from the darkness, a shadow taking on substance, eyes becoming bright blue, those lips that had kissed her cheek saying her name. "Maebry, there is nobody kinder than you."

  "Ah, just proves I've been successful in hiding my real self from you." She lifted her chin, determined to fight the pull of him on her soul. She could stay closed to him. "Did you make me a sandwich?"

  "Yes, as you've done for me countless times." He set the plate on the table before her. "And for the record, I see you, Sunshine. You're not hiding a thing."

  "Not one thing?" Her voice wobbled again, betraying her.

  "No." He understood her now, finally had her figured out. Well, at least as much as a man could ever understand a woman. He reached for the pitcher, filled a cup and set it beside her plate. "Tell me why you're still single. How has not one man dropped to his knee at your feet and proposed to you?"

  "You know why." Her voice cracked. She stared at the sandwich he'd made, savory stew meat between slices of homemade bread, and didn't reach for it. "I told you. I'm the independent sort. I've decided never to marry. Best to keep control of my life rather than to hand it over to some man who will just tell me what to do."

  "Yeah, because that's what marriage is." He pulled out the chair next to her, swung it around and sat down. "That isn't what marriage should be. I know. I watched my uncle treat his wife worse than a rab
id coyote that had come into the yard. I also remember my parents. Seemed to me Ma had more of an upper hand than my pa wanted to admit. They were happy."

  "That look on your face—" She hesitated, swiped a lock of tumbled down blond hair out of her eyes. "You were a happy little boy."

  "I was. Life has a way of surprising you with what happens next, and sometimes what you experience isn't good. But that doesn't diminish the happier times. It only makes them shine brighter. I always figured one day I would meet a lady, I'd let her lasso my heart and we'd be happy together. Just like that."

  "Like your parents?" She arched a slender brow, somehow more dear this way, quiet and unguarded. She reached for the glass of water but didn't take a sip. "So what happened with you? Why haven't you found someone who'll marry you?"

  "That's a very good question." He watched her take a dainty sip of water, slow deliberate movements, as if she were holding herself very still, waiting for his answer. He shrugged. "I haven't found the one lady who lights up my life."

  "Do you really think I'm believing that malarkey?" She arched an eyebrow at him and set down her cup. "My guess is no woman would have you."

  "That too. I'm holding out hope, though. Maybe one day a nice lady would come along—"

  "Nice?"

  "You're right. I'm setting the bar too high. That any woman will come along, old or young, ugly or not, and she won't find me too repulsive—"

  "That will be a long shot right there—"

  "And since she's desperate with no other prospects, will settle for me as a husband." He feigned a wistful sigh. "It's my dream."

  "Be serious." She scowled at him, laughed, shook her head, scattering those wisps of pure gold. "Tell me the truth. I'm curious now."

  "I have told you the truth." She had no idea how much it hurt to not be able to say what he felt. "Not about some lady settling for me, but about her lighting up my life. The trouble is, I can only guess she might feel something for me. I don't know because she hasn't said."

  "Oh." Maebry bowed her head, the escaped wisps from her braid tumbled forward like a veil, trying to hide her reaction to him. "Maybe she's not free to say something."

  "Maybe." His chest twisted, tight and sweet. At least he had his answer for sure. No more guesswork. At least she understood his feelings, so he leaned in, brushed away silken locks of her hair, delicate against his finger, and kissed her cheek. He felt her exhale, as if she'd been holding so much in. She was sweetness itself and he breathed her in, a faint scent of lilacs and lemon oil.

  When he pulled away, she didn't move. He sensed sadness, felt it in the stillness between them. He'd go to the ends of the earth, carry the world on his shoulders if he had to, to take away that sadness.

  "Guess I'll see you bright and early tomorrow." He climbed to his feet, swung the chair back into place, wishing he had the right to comfort her. To haul her into his arms and profess his intentions to her. But she belonged to another, her life was contractually bound to Maureen. Until that was resolved, he had to be respectful of it. Because when he made a promise to Maebry, it had to be one he could keep.

  "For breakfast, right." She tilted her face up, where the lamplight found it. Revealing porcelain-fine cheekbones, the precious curve of her face, the sweep of her long curly lashes. Emotion glinted in her eyes. Was it longing he saw?

  "And don't forget you owe me a dance." He wanted to reach for her, lay his hand against the soft side of her face, savor being close to her, maybe press a kiss to her forehead. But he wouldn't do that to her. Not until she was free of her contract. Not until he could show her the dreams he had in store for her.

  "Now, eat that sandwich and go to bed." He grabbed his hat, headed away, smiled back at her. Tried to keep the love out of his voice. "Good night, Sunshine."

  There were tears in her eyes when he closed the door. The storm hurled ice at him, but he hardly felt it. What he felt inside—the warmth, the light—wasn't something that any storm could dim. Nothing on earth could.

  Chapter Five

  He'd called her Sunshine. The honest, undisguised regard and affection in his voice was a sound that stayed with her through her dreams and into the next morning. Every time she thought of it, her chest glowed. But sadness crept in too. It was impossible, but meant the world to know he cared that much for her. Sunshine, he'd called her, the man looking for a woman to light up his life.

  A loud clink startled her. A fallen spatula, and she must have been the one who dropped it. She blinked, bringing her surroundings into focus and clearing her senses. She stood in front of the cook stove, where bacon sizzled and popped in a frying pan, hashed potatoes browned in a skillet, and a yellowy swirl of scrambled eggs were busy congealing in the double skillet. Oops, looked like she'd forgotten to stir them. Imagine the looks on the ranch hands' faces when they saw their breakfast had been ruined. Maybe she'd better pay attention. This was Gil's breakfast too.

  "Need any help there?" Josslyn sauntered over with an empty platter. She set it down within easy reach for the eggs, when they were done. "It isn't like you to drop spatulas right and left. If I don't miss my guess, that's an I'm-thinking-of-a-man look you've got on your face."

  "I was thinking of the sandwich I had for dinner last night." The one Gil had made her (which had tasted good, by the way). She'd never forget how he'd taken care of her. She tried to wince away the blush on her face, because it was going to give her away. "You know how I love beef sandwiches."

  "There it is again. That look." Amused, Josslyn sidled in and stole the spatula. "Move aside. I'm not having this meal ruined by a daydreamer."

  "I won't ruin it. I promise to pay better attention." What she didn't want to admit was her feelings for Gil. No, it was better to keep them to herself. If Josslyn knew, then in a blink Aumaleigh and Orla would too. They would root for her, start hoping for her, and that would only feed hopes that could not possibly be met. "Josslyn, let me do my job."

  "Sorry, it's almost done anyway. You can flip the bacon for me and drain it." All business, Josslyn expertly stirred the eggs. "I saw your light on pretty late last night. Maureen kept you up again?"

  "It wasn't too bad." She grabbed a fork and rescued the smoky bacon slices from the hot pan. The delicious, savory scent of bacon wafted upward, and she breathed it in, making her stomach rumble. "Aumaleigh had it worse. I think she was up most of the night."

  "I suspected as much. If the old woman would part with a few of her precious dollars, she could hire help and ease the burden on her daughter." Josslyn's face scrunched up in sympathy for Aumaleigh. "Heaven knows I do all I can to help out, but there aren't enough hours in the day to do it all, not and run this kitchen too. Not that she's paid me last month's wages yet."

  "You and everyone else, so I hear." Maebry rescued the last bacon strip and hefted the iron fry pan from the stovetop.

  "She's promised to catch everyone up on April's payday," Josslyn's skepticism carried a bite. "Keep in mind, that's today. I didn't see any money for our pay sitting around upstairs yesterday. Did you?"

  "No." Maebry swallowed. The ranch's financial management hadn't been handed over to Aumaleigh. No, Maureen kept control, and it was no secret she was behind on her bills. Maebry frowned. The money situation worried her. Her stomach clamped up, sick feeling. What if Maureen kept her threat and sold the contract? It would be a way for the old lady to get cash without digging into her reserves.

  Troubled, Maebry popped a cloth over the bacon platter, to keep the meat warm. She hefted the stack of ironware plates off their shelf, and a movement out the window caught her eye. Gil hiking across the yard heading toward the barn. Long-legged stride, confident, striking. All black against the white world. He didn't look her way, he was intent, all business, hat set at a no-nonsense angle, showing only the strong line of his jaw. Remembering his remarkable kiss, she sighed. The warm brush of his lips to her cheek, the tender moment between them, the comfort of his touch. Longing filled her, sweet and strong.
/>   Everything within her ached to go back in time and re-live that one, singular moment again. So she could savor his kiss, memorize every detail. The faint scent of winter on his coat, the clean male scent of his skin, the faint fan of his breath on her cheek—

  "Maebry." As if from a great distance, her name was spoken again. "Maebry?"

  "Oh!" She blinked, jumped, realized she was staring at Gil as he wrestled open the barn door far across the yard. Realizing she'd been caught staring, heat scorched her face. "Sorry. Daydreaming."

  "So I see." Aumaleigh, this time, smiled at her with understanding. She'd entered the room without Maebry noticing, apparently, and had even taken a plate from the stack she held.

  Wow, I was really dreaming, she thought, embarrassed. Guess there was no keeping her secret feelings private now.

  "As I was saying," Aumaleigh said patiently, her blue gaze softening with what looked like pity. As if she knew exactly how hopeless falling for Gil would be. The older woman stole two slices of bacon from the platter. "I'll bring Mother her breakfast and help out feeding the men. Mother wants you to be on time to the Montgomery’s. Leave now, before she starts calling for you. She's in a mood this morning, and I want to spare you that."

  "All right." She stared down at her toes, at her patched shoes, one still held on with the twine Gil had given her. "What about you? You were up all night with her again. You have to be exhausted."

  "She needed me." Aumaleigh lifted one slender shoulder in a shrug. Weariness marked her face, making her appear almost haggard, her loveliness drained. "I don't think there are many nights left."

  "And last I heard the doctor agreed with you," Josslyn spoke up, emptying the scrambled eggs onto the platter. "Tough times, to be sure. Maebry, I'll make up a breakfast sandwich to take with you, but you'd best go get on your coat now. One of the men will take you to town."

  "Okay." Resigned, she scurried over to the wall hooks as the conversation silenced. Aumaleigh filled a breakfast plate for her mother, Josslyn rescued biscuits from the oven and popped them into a basket. By the time Maebry finished the last button on her coat, Josslyn was handing her an egg sandwich wrapped in a napkin and waving her out the door.