Forever in My Heart Read online

  There was an aching between her thighs, not heavy, but hollow, and then his hand was there, pressing and searching, intense without relief, and she moved against the heel of his palm, wanting it also. His fingers dipped inside her and she moaned softly, wanting this but wanting more. Her cotton nightgown was too heavy on her skin, too much of a barrier against the need to feel his hand on her naked flesh.

  She pushed at her clothing, struggled. He was helping her, sliding the material past her hips and waist, pushing it past her breasts. Free, she coiled around him and was frustrated by the drawers that kept her from touching him. Her fingers pulled at the drawstring; her hands slipped beneath the material. He arched as she pushed the drawers over his hips, past his thighs, his knees. They were lost in the tangle of sheets.

  His hand found hers, guided her to his thighs. She cupped him first, exploring, then his hand closed over hers again and moved it slowly along the length of his hardness. She stroked him in her fist, drawing a gasp from deep inside him. Her mouth moved over his chest and his flesh retracted in anticipation of her touch.

  They moved in unison, arching, seeking. Their touch was blindly needy, consciousness barely tapped, conscience not at all. They felt pure pleasure, shared it, but didn't understand it.

  And at the moment when they might have surrendered to it an insistent rapping separated them.

  Connor groaned as the terrible pleasure of frustration became pain. Bleary-eyed, he tried to sit up and found himself covered by Maggie's lithe body. She raised her head, her eyes horrified as awareness speared her like a poison-tipped arrow, replacing excitement with waves of painful humiliation.

  The rapping came again and they identified it at the same time.

  Maggie was paralyzed, taut and unyielding across Connor's body where she had been supple and searching moments earlier. It was left to him to remove her, taking her by the hand again and guiding her away. The sound at the back of her throat was anguished as she realized where her hand had been and what she had been about. With his help she rolled away.

  There was no time to bury her face in a pillow. The door to the bedroom was being opened cautiously. Connor yanked the comforter over Maggie and pulled the tangled sheet around his middle. His drawers slipped over the side of the bed along with Maggie's nightgown. He made a swipe at them, pushing them under the bed as the door opened wider, but there was no possibility of pretending they had been sleeping. Maggie was sitting up, clutching the comforter against her chest.

  Michael poked her head through the crack in the door. She did not need anyone to tell her what she had interrupted. Connor's expression was rigid with the frustration of denial and Maggie's looked as if she wanted to crawl under the comforter instead of using it as a shield.

  "I'm sorry," Michael said, genuinely embarrassed. She hoped this was something they would all laugh about some time in the future. Looking at Connor and Maggie now, though, it appeared that that future would be a long time coming. "Maggie? Could you stay with Madison while I go for the doctor?"

  Those words twisted Maggie out of her stupor. "Doctor? What's wrong?"

  Michael stepped in the room. She cinched her robe about her waist and ran a hand through her tangled hair. There was a crease between her brows, a worried, harried look in her eyes that belied her next words. "I don't think it's anything serious," she said. "She's flushed and her skin's warm to the touch. I'm probably making too much of it."

  Uncaring of his modesty, Connor stood and hitched the sheet more securely around his waist. "You stay with Madison," he said, beginning to gather his clothes. "I'll get dressed and go for the doctor."

  "But you don't know—"

  "You'll give me directions," he said calmly.

  Michael hesitated.

  "Go," he said. "Unless you want me to drop my—" He didn't have to finish. Michael was gone. Connor looked over his shoulder at Maggie. She was getting out of bed, struggling with the comforter and her modesty. "Your nightgown's under the bed on my side," he said. He turned back, dropped the sheet, and began dressing.

  Maggie's frosty glance was wasted on Connor's back. She found her nightgown and slipped it over her head, then put on her robe. She brushed past Connor on her way to the door.

  "Nothing happened," he told her softly as her hand closed over the knob. "And nothing's settled."

  Maggie didn't pretend not to know what he was talking about. The hollow ache and moist heat was still between her thighs. Her breasts felt swollen and heavy. She could sense the outline of her lips without touching her tongue to them, and when she did, she could taste him there. "Something happened," she said, her eyes tormented. "But you're right, nothing's settled."

  * * *

  Maggie sat with her sister and Madison while Connor went for the doctor. She used a sponge dipped in a mixture of alcohol and water to cool Madison's skin and prepared some chamomile tea to soothe Michael's nerves.

  Michael's fingers lightly raked Madison's hair, smoothing it over her scalp as Maggie sponged her. "I'm sorry about the interruption," she said. "I didn't know what else—"

  "Don't give it another thought." Maggie avoided her sister's eyes. She was afraid Michael might see there was no reason to be sorry, that she was grateful for what had happened.

  "Connor looked as if he might like to strangle me."

  Better you than me, Maggie thought. Keeping her head bent, she shrugged and said, "He got over it as soon as he realized what you wanted."

  "I'm not completely sorry," Michael said. That brought Maggie's head up. "I was worried there might be some... some problem in the bedroom. It's good to know there isn't."

  Maggie's cheeks flamed. "What made you think there was a problem?" she snapped. Her hands twisted hard as she wrung out the sponge, but when she returned to bathing her niece, her touch was gentle. "And even if there was I can't see that it's any of your concern. You may be my sister, but you can't dictate the relationship I have with my husband!"

  Michael's fingers had stilled. "Maggie!" she said softly. "I'm sorry if I offended you, but I know things can't be easy between you and Connor. The circumstances of your marriage must put a strain on both of you."

  "I told you," Maggie said tightly, "that we've managed to put that behind us. We both have what we want out of our marriage. Can't you accept that?"

  Michael fell silent. In spite of her tender touch and Maggie's delicate ministrations, some of their tension was transmitted to Madison. The child stirred restlessly between the two adults and brought an uncertain peace.

  When Connor arrived with the doctor, it was Maggie who went downstairs to let them in. "I think it's chicken pox," she told the physician. "She only has a few spots on her bottom, so faint that I would have missed them if I hadn't been looking."

  Dr. Hamilton nodded, thanked Maggie, and went to Madison's bedroom. Maggie would have followed but Connor stopped her. "This might be the only opportunity we have to talk in private," he said. "Let's go in the kitchen."

  Maggie's fingers twisted in her hair, plaiting it as she followed him to the rear of the house. "The water's still warm from the tea I made Michael," she said. "Do you want something to drink?"

  He shook his head. "And you don't either," he said, pointing to one of the chairs at the table. "Have a seat." He expected her to bristle at the command but she obliged him, if not meekly, then with no fussing. Connor pulled out one of the ladder back chairs and straddled it, his forearms resting on the top rail. His dark eyes were steady on Maggie's. He noticed that she didn't turn away from his scrutiny. "I'm not going to apologize for what happened in our bedroom," he said finally.

  Maggie's voice was quiet and calm. "I didn't ask you to."

  "When I said that nothing happened, I meant that we didn't—"

  "Consummate the marriage," she said politely. "I know what you meant. Still, it was something to me. I've never..." She stopped, her voice trailing off because she knew it wasn't true. She had done things like that before and with this man. She c
ouldn't keep hiding behind her memory loss. "I didn't mean for this to happen again."

  "Neither did I." He took in a breath and let it out slowly. "I don't want to stay here one more night that we have to."

  Maggie nodded, her smile faint. "Sometimes we do agree." She sighed. "If you'll speak to a lawyer tomorrow, I'll go to the depot and arrange for our cars to be attached to the next train out of Denver headed for Queen's Point."

  "I'll do it all," he said. "Where's our marriage certificate? I might need it to help us secure a divorce."

  "There's a strongbox beneath Jay Mac's desk. The key's in the middle drawer."

  "Maggie, you understand that even though we both want it, this divorce isn't going to happen overnight?"

  Her eyes dropped to her hands folded neatly on the tabletop. "I know." There was a certain amount of pain in her tone. "Just please get it started." She got up. "I'm going to check on Madison. I want to hear what the doctor has to say, then I'm going to bed."

  "I'll be up in a little while."

  It was the first of three nights that Connor Holiday spent sleeping in a rocker because he couldn't keep his hands off his wife.

  * * *

  They delayed their departure until Ethan returned from Stillwater. As much as Maggie wanted to leave, she couldn't go while Madison was ill. Connor's understanding and willingness confounded her and complicated matters in her heart. Maggie watched him develop an easy friendship with Michael, a loving one with Madison, and a comfortable one with Ethan. She didn't know what to make of the man who would not always be her husband. He was stiff and unyielding with his own father, cold to Beryl, and angry with her, but Maggie saw that he was rarely any of those things with other people. She thought that even a lifetime of living with him wouldn't provide the explanations she sought.

  There were moments when that thought relieved her, others when it tore at her heart.

  * * *

  Maggie stood on the small platform balcony leaning against the iron rail. They were miles outside of Denver and she still couldn't quite bring herself to go inside. She and Connor had had to say goodbye to Ethan and Madison at the house, but Michael escorted them back to the depot.

  The farewell had been wrenching for both sisters. Maggie had come so close to begging Michael to allow her to stay that she could taste blood on her lip where she had bitten back the words. And Michael, without knowing the cause of Maggie's torment, felt the pain almost as keenly as if it were her own.

  Connor stepped out on the balcony and stood directly behind Maggie. The air was cool as their train climbed the tree-lined side of a mountain. On their left, blue spruce pines erupted from the earth at impossible angles and on their right the mountain fell away so steeply that stepping off the train in that direction would have been like stepping into the sky.

  "Are you sorry you didn't ask her if you could stay?" he asked quietly. He was close enough to be aware of the fragrance of her hair.

  She didn't turn around and when she felt his hands settle lightly on her shoulders, she didn't resist. "You knew?"

  "It was pretty obvious for everyone to see."

  Maggie closed her eyes. She hadn't wanted anyone to see. Tears pressed against the back of her lids.

  "Maggie?" His fingertips nudged her gently, urging her to turn without demanding that she do so.

  As the train continued to climb, drawing them inexorably closer to the moment they would part, Maggie turned and leaned against Connor, not afraid of his strength, but wanting it. Tears fell from the corners of her eyes as he held her in a loose embrace and let her sob against his chest.

  * * *

  Moira Worth turned the corner in the upstairs hallway and nearly collided with the housekeeper. Mrs. Cavanaugh had a polishing cloth tucked in the pocket of her apron, a broom and dustpan in one hand, and a black leather satchel in the other.

  "Was that Maggie's room you just came from?" Moira asked.

  "Sure and it was," Mrs. Cavanaugh explained. "I've been meanin' to get around to takin' care of it since our little girl left. I only had time to give it a spit and promise before today." A smile split her round face. "And look what I found when I did the thing right." She dropped the dustpan and leaned the broom against the wall. "Don't you know, it was under her bed." She held up the leather bag. "Sure, and so far under that I had to use my broom handle to push it out."

  "You're nothing if not thorough, Mrs. Cavanaugh," Moira said. She glanced at the satchel. "I don't remember seeing Maggie with that before. It looks a little like a physician's bag."

  "That's what I was thinkin'. Do you suppose the poor darlin' bought it before she heard from the medical school?"

  "Entirely possible," said Moira. "Did you open it?"

  Mrs. Cavanaugh pursed her lips. "That's not for me to do," she said stiffly. "I was bringin' it to you."

  Moira accepted the bag. She fingered the clasp but it didn't release. "It's stuck."

  "I know." The housekeeper realized her error too late, but she had the grace to look sheepish. "I was certain Maggie wouldn't mind if I tried to take a peek."

  Moira laughed. "You're incorrigible." She gave the bag back to Mrs. Cavanaugh. "It doesn't really matter what's inside. It's Maggie's. Why don't you pack it up and send it to her? She'd like that. She may even have cause to use it where's she going."

  "Where should I send it? To the Double H?"

  Moira shook her head. "Send it to Michael in Denver. She'll know the best way to get it to Maggie."

  Mrs. Cavanaugh hefted the bag and picked up her broom and dustpan. "It's as good as done," she said, as she hurried down the hallway.

  * * *

  The livery in Queen's Point had boarded Connor's horse during his trip east. Maggie stood in the entrance to the stable and watched the reunion with a great deal of amusement. It was difficult to know who was happier, Connor Holiday or his horse. She made certain she let him know it, too.

  "Tempest's been with me three years now," Connor told her, not apologizing in the least. "He's the best range horse I've ever had and..." His voice dropped to a whisper so that only she could hear. "And my mares like him, too." He laughed when Maggie blushed predictably. "Now go wait outside while I wrangle with the owner over the fee." He gave Maggie a push toward the door.

  Fearful that it wouldn't hold up under scrutiny, Maggie didn't examine the camaraderie that had developed between them. She accepted it at face value, assuming that it was impossible for tension to sustain itself indefinitely. The breaking point had been when he simply held her and let her cry until she was exhausted. He never questioned. He let it be.

  That freed Maggie as nothing else could have. She didn't know if Connor had changed his opinion of her; it didn't matter. What mattered was that she was no longer afraid of him.

  Connor purchased a wagon at the livery and two mares to pull it. Their belongings, reduced considerably since Maggie had been to Michael's, were loaded in no time. Connor purchased supplies for their journey and additional staples for Maggie to take to Dancer Tubbs as well as supplies for the Double H. He tethered Tempest to the rear of wagon since Maggie couldn't manage the reins of the team and he was afraid Tempest would throw her.

  "Take a good look at that mining town," he told her as they were preparing to leave. "There's nothing like it between here and Dancer's. We'll be on our own."

  Maggie kept her eyes on Connor, not on the town. "I'm ready to go," she said. "Everything I want is ahead of me."

  Connor Holiday couldn't help wondering if she meant him as well. "All right," he said. "But there's no shame in changing your mind."

  Maggie had no intention of changing her mind. Connor snapped the reins and the team began a slow walk on the dirt track road leading from Queen's Point.

  Dancer Tubb's claim was a three-day journey from the mining town. Connor had warned Maggie that the trip would be difficult. Once they were underway he never mentioned it again. It would have been disrespectful to try to protect Maggie from the consequ
ences of her decision and Connor didn't try. With the exception of not expecting her to drive the wagon, Connor demanded that she share every chore.

  Maggie could not have anticipated what the travel would really be like. If Connor had taken the time to describe each aspect of the trip, she wouldn't have believed him. It only took an hour on the hard seat of a buckboard wagon to convince Maggie that she was ill prepared. Her back ached from the wagon's steady jouncing and her bottom, in spite of the skirt, underclothes, and cotton duster she wore, felt bruised. Her wide-brimmed bonnet shielded most of her face from the sun, but she still felt the tip of her nose reddening. Her corset bound her uncomfortably but it also supported her breasts. Without it she imagined she would have popped a button on her blouse each time they hit a bump.

  When they stopped to rest the horses, Maggie helped draw water and feed them. She climbed over rocks and waded through streams to reach water that was inaccessible to the horses while they were hitched to the wagon. She knelt on the bank and drank from an icy spring with her cupped hands, washing a half-day's dust from her face and neck.

  Through his hooded and remote glance, Connor watched her. He made no move to help her or indicate in any way that he might want to. He only had to take inventory of his own stiff bones and cramped muscles to understand how Maggie was aching, yet she never mentioned it then or at any other time during their journey.

  When Connor announced they were stopping for the day he noticed she was not particularly relieved, merely agreeable. After a rather awkward climb down from the wagon Maggie began gathering kindling for a fire, and at Connor's direction, pine branches for a softer place to sit and sleep. She hauled water to make coffee while Connor cooked their meal of smoked ham and beans. He showed her how to make pan cornbread over an open fire and Maggie watched over his shoulder, standing while he hunkered in front of the flames.

  "You can sit down, Maggie," he told her. "There's not another thing for you to do right now."

  "If I sit down now I won't be able to do another thing later."