Forever in My Heart Read online

  Maggie reached under her pillow and found the packet of Madame Restell's pills. She rose from the bed slowly and padded on silent, bare feet to her bathing room.

  * * *

  Three expectant faces were turned in her direction as she entered the breakfast room. Jay Mac had delayed his trip to the office to hear Maggie's news.

  She gave them a half-hearted smile and saw they understood immediately.

  "It's not the end of the world," she said brightly, a shade too brightly perhaps, she thought. "I can reapply next spring for the fall term."

  "But you did so well on your exams," Schyler said. "And you were an exemplary student."

  "That's not the only thing they care about. I wasn't a very popular student. I didn't join any clubs or take any leadership positions." She shrugged. "Anyway, there are only twenty-two openings in the school and my letter says they had more than a hundred applications."

  Jay Mac shook his head in patent disbelief. "A hundred women who want to be doctors? It defies common sense."

  "Jay Mac," Moira said severely. "This is not the time or the place." She rose from the table and poured orange juice for everyone.

  John MacKenzie Worth was properly abashed. "I'm sorry, Maggie. It doesn't matter what I think. I know your heart was set on this."

  "It's all right, Papa." Everyone at the table except Maggie noticed that she called Jay Mac "Papa." It was the clearest evidence they had of how horribly sad she was feeling. "I've been thinking that this is the way it would be. I wasn't really very hopeful. Maybe that's what everyone's been noticing about me these last months. I suppose I've been expecting rejection all along."

  Skye's elbows spread across the table as she leaned forward, her expression pained and earnest. "I'm sorry, Mag. I know how much you wanted it to be otherwise. I wish..." She trailed off, blinking back tears. Her sister's hurt and disappointment was very real to her; she absorbed it as her own.

  "It's all right," Maggie said gently, becoming the comforter. "I was prepared a little bit more than you. I've been thinking of other things I can do."

  Jay Mac nodded. "That's right. There's no sense waving the white flag in every direction. Why, you could—"

  Moira interrupted her husband before he enumerated all the things he thought Maggie could do. She looked significantly at Jay Mac. "I'd like to hear Maggie's thoughts."

  Maggie glanced at her father. He was chafing a little at Moira's interruption but showed no signs of overriding her suggestion. Maggie picked up the jam and began spreading it on a slice of bread. "I've been thinking I should be getting some practical experience," she said. "I don't know if it would have occurred to me if Rennie hadn't mentioned it in a letter not so long ago, but she did and it has."

  Jay Mac stopped eating. A strip of bacon dangled in his fingers at a midpoint between his plate and his mouth. He was very interested in what Rennie may have suggested. He was also very worried. When his daughters began putting thoughts in one another's heads they were a force to be reckoned with. "I don't suppose her recommendation had anything to do with Connor Holiday and you and marriage."

  Maggie put down her knife and looked squarely at her father. "Papa, everyone knows that was your idea and the less said about it, the better."

  Moira hid her smile behind a napkin as the crisp bacon strip snapped in Jay Mac's fingers. Skye grinned openly at Maggie's courageous confrontation.

  "What I want to do," she went on, "is study with Dancer Tubbs."

  Now Jay Mac's brows shot nearly to his hairline. Moira lowered her napkin slowly. There was no smile to hide any longer. Skye's face reflected her confusion. All three of them, with nearly identical inflections of incredulity, said simultaneously, "Dancer Tubbs?"

  Maggie continued as if there had been no amazed reaction by any member of her family. "I don't know, of course, if Mr. Tubbs will have anything to do with me, but I know how he feels about you, Jay Mac, and I thought that might count for something."

  "But Dancer Tubbs lives in Colorado," Moira said.

  "Yes, I know. But so do Rennie and Michael. It's not as if there'd be no family there."

  "I thought Dancer Tubbs lived alone in the middle of nowhere in Colorado," Skye said.

  "He does," said Maggie. "But that doesn't bother me. Rennie would always know where to find me."

  "The conditions would be very primitive," Moira said.

  "I could adjust," Maggie replied. "Anyway, you have to think of what I'd be learning. Jay Mac's said himself that Mr. Tubbs knows a great deal about healing. He saved Jay Mac's life after the train wreck at Juggler's Jump; set his broken legs and brought him back to good health. Rennie thinks the world of him. He healed Jarret's shoulder when no physician anywhere could. Rennie says Jarret has full use of his arm and hand now and she credits Mr. Tubbs."

  "I don't think it would be safe," Moira said.

  "How couldn't it be?" asked Maggie. "No one bothers Mr. Tubbs. He keeps to himself. I'm certain I'd be quite safe."

  Still disbelieving what she was hearing, Skye shook her head slowly. "Are you quite certain you read Rennie's letter correctly?" she asked. "Was she seriously suggesting you do this?"

  "I didn't mean that it was her idea exactly. She wrote something that put the idea in my head."

  "Well," Jay Mac said firmly, "you can put the idea out again. You're not going."

  Silence blanketed the breakfast room. Skye stared at her plate. Moira studied the napkin in her lap. Maggie felt heat and color rise in her cheeks as she looked steadily at her father. Jay Mac began eating, the matter settled in his mind.

  "Excuse me," Maggie said softly. She stood, dropped her napkin on her chair, and left the room before anyone saw her tears.

  * * *

  "Where are you going?" Beryl asked as she slipped into Connor's bedroom.

  "None of your business." He shrugged into his jacket.

  Beryl closed the door behind her and leaned against it. "What did that Dennehy girl want yesterday?"

  "I'm surprised it's taken you this long to ask," he said.

  Beryl's eyes narrowed and her mouth tightened. He knew perfectly well why she'd had to wait to ask the question. Connor had managed to make himself inaccessible. "So?" she asked. "What did she want?"

  "None of your business." He walked to the door and was forced to stop when Beryl refused to step aside. "Get out of my way, Beryl."

  She didn't move. "Are you going to see her?"

  "It's really none of your concern. You're my father's wife, not mine." He waited a beat. "Move, Beryl."

  She shook her head. "Why do you keep pretending you don't want me, Connor?"

  He managed to hold his temper. "It's not a pretense," he said.

  "Rushton knows you still want me."

  "That's something you'd like him to believe. There's no truth in it."

  Beryl reached out boldly and laid the flat of her hand against Connor's groin. "Oh no?" she asked. Under the practiced manipulation of her hand she felt him respond. "It seems you're lying."

  A muscle worked in Connor's taut jaw. He took Beryl's wrist in his hand and very deliberately removed it from his groin. "Get out of my way, Beryl."

  The hardness in his opaque eyes thrilled and frightened her. She moved this time.

  Connor stepped into the hallway and nearly ran into his father. "She's in there," he said, jerking his chin toward his room and making no attempt to hide his disgust. "You know, you probably saved my life by marrying Beryl Walker. It's a damn sure thing you saved hers." He kept on walking.

  Once outside Connor didn't bother to hail a hansom. He hated the confines of carriages, even the open ones, and itched to be riding his own mount again. None of the horses in his father's stable were bred for the hard free-range work that Connor's animals performed on the ranch. Rushton's mounts were beautifully matched high steppers, purchased for show. They had speed. Connor's mounts were sure-footed mountain climbers and hard-driving herders. They had endurance.

  It was ju
st seven o'clock when Connor arrived at the Worth home. The housekeeper opened the door to him. "Connor Holiday to see Mary Margaret."

  "Sure, and I know who you are, young man," Mrs. Cavanaugh said. "It's a real pleasure, I can tell you that, though I don't speak for anyone but myself. Always a pleasure to cast these eyes on a handsome devil like yourself."

  Completely disarmed, Connor hesitated on the threshold.

  "Well, step inside. She's not going to entertain you on the stoop." Mrs. Cavanaugh shut the door behind him. "Truth is, she may not entertain you at all. She's in the library. I'll announce you."

  Sensing an ally, Connor touched the housekeeper's arm, stopping her. "I know where the library is. Perhaps it would be better if I just went ahead alone."

  Mrs. Cavanaugh considered it, her mouth puckered to one side thoughtfully. "She'll be fit to be tied," she said, "but it's nothing I've not seen before. Go on with you." She waggled a finger at him sternly. "I'll be close by."

  Maggie was sitting in one corner of the sofa, her stockinged feet curled under her, her gaze unfocused and vague. There was an unopened book on the rug beside her shoes. The drapes were drawn, keeping out late spring's twilight. Except for a single oil lamp on the table beside the sofa, the room was dark.

  She looked up when she heard the door click shut. "I didn't think it would be you," was all she said. She went back to staring at the shelves of books on the opposite wall.

  "May I?" he asked, indicating the chair in her line of vision.

  She shrugged.

  Connor sat down. She was staring right past his shoulder, and he didn't try to gain her full attention. It gave him a moment to study her. She was sitting at the edge of the circle of light, her features partly obscured by shadow. Half of her hair was a dark blend of browns, the other half shot through with threads of copper and gold. Her eyelids were faintly swollen, the rims just hinting of red. As deep as he could see into her eyes he could only see sadness.

  "Your housekeeper let me in," he said quietly.

  Still not looking at him, she nodded. "There's no one else here."

  "I hadn't expected that."

  "Jay Mac's still at his office. He... he got a late start today. Mama's gone to see Mary Francis at the convent, and Skye's with friends. Would you like some refreshment? Mrs. Cavanaugh could—"

  "No, nothing for me." He watched her withdraw again. The change was almost imperceptible, just a small movement of her head and a slight hunching of her shoulders, but he was coming to know what it meant. "After you came to visit me yesterday I asked a few questions," he said. "I know about Madame Restell."

  Maggie wasn't surprised, merely resigned. "I shouldn't have told you."

  "But you did."

  "I was angry."

  He nodded. "And frightened, I think."

  She shrugged again.

  "Have you done anything about your threat?" he asked.

  Now she looked at him. "You mean, am I still carrying your child?"

  He was silent a moment. "Yes," he said, "that's what I mean."

  She watched him carefully. "No. Madame Restell's pills are as advertised: infallible." What was it she saw there in the darkly remote eyes? Pain? Relief? It was gone so quickly that Maggie wondered that she had seen anything at all. Indifference was his practiced expression. She wished that it might be hers.

  "I see," he said. "I believe I will have something to drink now."

  Was he celebrating or mourning? Maggie rose gracefully from the sofa and went to the sideboard. She pointed to the various crystal decanters and stopped when he indicated the whiskey. She poured three generous fingers in a tumbler and handed it to him.

  "Nothing for you?" he asked as she returned to the sofa.

  "No." She had never been able to drink. Alcohol went right to her feet and emptied her head of every sensible thought she'd ever had. She almost told him but she suspected he already knew that about her. "Nothing for me."

  He warmed the whiskey by rolling the tumbler between his open palms. "When are you going to marry me?" he asked.

  She blinked, stared at him, and blinked again.

  Connor repeated the question.

  "I heard you," she said. "But I wonder if you heard me. I told you Madame Restell's pills worked. I'm not pregnant. There's no reason for you to marry me."

  "If you recall, I asked you to marry me before I knew there was a baby."

  "If you recall, I said no."

  "Why?"

  "Why?" She was surprised to hear the passion in her voice. "I don't love you!"

  Connor was fascinated by the brightness that had come into her eyes. "So?" he asked reasonably.

  "I don't even like you."

  "I know. It's mutual." He paused, watching her. A cold half-smile played at one corner of his mouth. "Or did you suspect I might feel differently about the woman who calmly tells me she's aborted my child?"

  Maggie shivered at what she saw in his eyes this time. He didn't merely dislike her, she realized. He despised her. An idea, one that would have been impossible to imagine minutes earlier, began to form in her mind. "You want the land, don't you?"

  His gaze didn't waver and he didn't lie. "Yes."

  "I don't believe I took your money that night."

  "And I don't believe it was anyone else."

  "It's not like me," she said. "I've never stolen anything."

  It was Connor's turn to shrug indifferently. "The way I remember it, you did a number of things that night you've never done before."

  Something tugged at the edge of her memory and Maggie was awash with a physical sensation she couldn't understand or explain. Pleasure rushed through the center of her. Her breasts swelled and her nipples hardened. A hand was on her skin. A mouth. A tongue wet her lips, pressed against her teeth. Please, she heard a voice say. Please. It was her voice. She closed her eyes.

  Maggie jumped to her feet and pressed her knuckles against her mouth. Pleasure shattered as the memory disintegrated and Maggie was left with a burning sense of shame. She wrapped her arms around her middle and stepped away from the light.

  "Maggie? Are you all right?"

  She nodded. It was all she could do. It was difficult to catch her breath but how could she tell him that? How could she tell him what had happened when she hardly knew herself?

  "Do you want me to ring for the housekeeper?" he asked.

  "No." She sat down slowly and resumed her curled position, tucking her feet under the skirt of her coral gown. "It's nothing."

  Connor wasn't so sure. He raised his glass, drank a little, then watched her over the rim.

  "I don't suppose I can convince you about the money," she said.

  "No, I don't suppose you can."

  "But you know I don't remember."

  "I'm still skeptical about that," he said. "But I'm willing to be convinced."

  Of course, she thought, when there was no way she could offer proof he was willing to hear the evidence. "If I agreed to marry you," she said, "you would get the land."

  "That was the arrangement suggested by your father. My father sells the land to Jay Mac and it becomes your dowry."

  "And therefore yours."

  "That's right."

  "And what do I get?"

  Connor didn't hesitate. "Satisfaction that your debt has been paid in full."

  "Only one of us agrees there is a debt," she said. "I only have your word that there ever was any money."

  Connor stretched his legs out in front of him. "There was money," he said.

  "Even if I agree there was, it's still not enough to make me marry you."

  If Connor had ever had any doubt he was dealing with Jay Mac's daughter, Maggie was making certain he knew it now. He wondered if she was aware of how like her father she was at this moment. Nothing had changed about her physically. She was as delicately featured as her mother, her wide green eyes as guileless, her expression almost serene, but she was setting up her trade with the shrewd business savvy of Jay M
ac himself. "What is it you want?" he asked.

  "A divorce."

  She had the power to surprise him and this time it showed on his face. He set down his tumbler. "You marry me and then I divorce you."

  "Yes." Now her tone was perfectly reasonable. "You get the land and I get what I really want."

  "The divorce?" He didn't pretend to understand.

  Maggie shook her head. "That's the means to an end. What I want is an escort to Colorado, specifically to a man named Dancer Tubbs. I want to know what he knows about healing. I have reason to believe he'll let me stay with him and learn from him."

  Connor Holiday actually laughed. "Dancer Tubbs? You think you'd be welcome to stay with Dancer Tubbs?" Still smiling, he shook his head. He picked up his drink and took a short swallow. "I don't know how you've even heard his name, or know anything about him, but you don't know enough if you think you'll find a welcome there."

  Maggie raised her chin a trifle haughtily. "A while back my father was thought to have died in a train wreck at Juggler's Jump in Colorado."

  "I'm aware of that. Your father's an important man. News of what happened reached my ranch the same as it did everywhere else. As the crow flies, Juggler's Jump's about twenty miles from the Double H. I was part of one of the first search parties to go over the area."

  Maggie hadn't known that. "Then thank you," she said sincerely.

  "For what? I didn't find him."

  "You looked. There were others on the train besides my father. You must have helped them."

  Connor didn't want her misplaced gratitude. He brushed it aside with a wave of his hand. "I never heard how your father was found, only that he reappeared one day."

  "Rennie and her husband found him. No, that's not quite true. Dancer Tubbs found him first, took care of him, and kept him safe. Rennie never believed Jay Mac was dead. She made Jarret take her to the site of the wreck and from there, on a hunch, he took her to Dancer's place. They found Jay Mac working in one of Dancer's mines."