Spring Blossom Read online

  He had scouted out the small clearing where they would camp for the night and had returned to her side of the wagon, holding up a hand to help guide her down. Seeing Maggie’s struggle to descend because of her voluminous skirts, he offered, “Perhaps you should wear your britches. That outfit looks wonderful, my dear, but it’s hardly practical for a trip such as this.”

  “A lady hardly wishes to be seen on a public thoroughfare wearing britches,” she returned primly as she extricated her hand from his.

  “Really?” Hunter grinned as he went to the back of the wagon and opened a small case. “Denise gave me these for you.”

  Margaret stared in amazement at the boys’ breeches and shirt he held up for her inspection. She could not help the small smile that graced her lips. “I never thought she would dare,” she said. “She always hated when I wore those.”

  Hunter’s grin was suddenly complemented by a fair twinkle in his dark eyes. “I suspect there’s a lot you don’t know about your sisters.” He draped the garments over the side of the wagon bed, giving her the option to choose elegance over comfort, if she so desired. Then he was walking past her and Maggie turned to watch as he removed the harness from the matched bays. “These two are gentle enough for you to handle,” he said, holding out a pair of leads. “If you take them down to the stream to drink, I’ll follow with Pride and the colt and keep them further away.”

  “What?” she asked, raising disbelieving eyes to his. She wasn’t a stable boy.

  Lesson one, he thought ruefully. “There is work to be done each evening if you wish to fill your belly and seek some rest. But the animals come first. Always,” he added pointedly. “Now these good beasts have earned a drink but I can’t lead the stallions near these geldings. Please take them.”

  Maggie had managed the entire household at Treemont for years, and she had taken over the management of her father’s stables almost a year ago; she was used to giving orders, not taking them. And she knew as well as he that the animals required care. She was hardly a novice. But he seemed to enjoy ordering her about and he used vulgar language to boot; fill her belly, indeed! But, how could she argue when it came to the animals?

  She arrived at the water’s edge, holding her skirts high and teetering somewhat as she made her way downstream to where the embankment was not too steep. As the thirsty horses drank their fill, Maggie realized Hunter had moved farther downstream with Pride.

  “Anna seems to prepare most of the meals at Treemont,” he called in her direction. “And I didn’t think to ask you before now…can you cook?”

  A slow grin curved her lips. “I make a wonderful mash,” she called back at him, “hot water, oats and molasses.”

  “I should be a horse,” he grumbled to Pride, his hand stroking the muscular black neck. “But I guess you’re all set, old man.”

  He tethered Pride on one side of the encampment, then took the bays from Margaret and led them well away from the big stallion. “You could start gathering wood while I settle these two and take the colt for water,” he said offhandedly.

  Margaret looked at him resentfully; let him get his own wood.

  After the bays were settled, he led the colt toward the stream. “No wood, no fire, Maggie,” he called over his shoulder. “No fire, no food!”

  When he returned, she sat perched on a flat boulder, glaring at him.

  He was not the least bit surprised.

  She watched as he calmly, efficiently set up camp, gathered wood, and started the fire. After bringing water from the stream, he set a coffee pot on a rock placed strategically on the edge of flames and on the other side, he placed a cast-iron frying pan. Soon the wonderful aroma of perking coffee, frying sweet Virginia ham, and Anna’s molasses brown beans was filling the air.

  Her empty stomach reacted to the sweet odors with a terrible rumbling that she was certain could be heard clear back to Treemont.

  Hunter, however, had other thoughts in mind. He heaped ham and beans onto a tin place, poured steaming into a tin mug, and sat down on a log. He had taken only a mouthful of the food when he looked across the fire at his dear, sweet wife; her expression of utter disbelief almost broke down his barrier of firmness. “Are you hungry?” he asked reasonably.

  “Of course I’m hungry,” she snapped.

  “Marriage is a partnership, Maggie,” he said quietly as he scooped beans onto his fork. “When we share the responsibilities, we can share the results of our labors. But even though I prepared the campsite and the meal all alone, I’m willing to share.” His eyes dropped briefly toward the fire where food remained in the pan. When he raised his eyes again, he was smiling.

  Maggie felt slightly contrite at her own spitefulness in the face of his patience. Still, it was not easy for her to withdraw from her current huff. “You are not a gentlemen,” she announced.

  His smile broadened into a grin as Hunter put a piece of ham into this mouth; God, I hope not, he mused, as he watched her scramble down from the rock in her beautifully fitted suit. Oh, the outfit flattered her figure to perfection and he could not find fault with that, but it was purely impractical and he was certain she knew it. Secretly he was placing mental wagers as to the length of time it would take her to reach a maximum level of discomfort. His best educated guess was less than two hours.

  Margaret totally demolished his theory, however. She had suffered through the heat of the day in a jacket that made her blouse cling to her skin, and the damned skirt made it almost impossible to find a comfortable position on the wagon seat. As for climbing up and down, she felt like an inept ballerina each time she tried to find her footing. Enough was enough! She would change as soon as she finished eating; or filled her belly, as Hunter would say. If her husband cared so little about her appearance, then why should she worry? If they chanced to encounter others along the way, he would have to suffer the consequences of introducing his wife…scarred and in boys’ britches and shirt.

  *

  They finished their meal in silence, but Maggie could sense that he frequently raised his eyes to her across the fire while she ate, as if he were examining every inch of her. That made her uneasy, and when she dared to look at him, the tender look he sent her made her feel conspicuous. Instinctively she turned the right side of her face away, hiding the scar from him.

  Hunter frowned at the action, then placed his empty plate aside, got to his feet, and slowly circled the fire.

  Maggie raised her head to watch him. She wasn’t quite sure what he intended to do, but she was ready to bolt if need be.

  Stopping directly in front of her, Hunter placed his fingertips lightly on the jagged pink line along her right jaw. When Maggie flinched away, his hand followed. “Never feel you have to hide this from me,” he said softly.

  “You were staring at it,” she said. “It made me feel self-conscious.”

  “I wasn’t staring at it, little one,” he said, looking directly into her eyes. “I was admiring you.”

  Maggie looked away in confusion.

  Hunter smiled at her discomfort and stepped back a pace. “Proud husbands do that, Maggie,” he said.

  Her gaze returned to his, after those softly spoken words. “I’m not used to that kind of attention.”

  He continued to smile as he reached for her plate. She would get used to that kind of attention, given time. “Are you finished?” he asked and Maggie handed him her plate. “Would you like to change your clothes now?”

  Maggie nodded and scrambled to her feet before he could assist her from her perch. She hastily snatched the clothing from the side of the wagon where Hunter had draped them and dashed off toward the brush in search of some degree of privacy. This marriage, she decided, was a monstrous mistake. How was she to remain aloof when he was so insistent about wearing down her protective guard?

  Lunging forward with the red plaid shirt waving in her hand, Margaret unknowingly ventured too close to Passion’s Pride. No high-strung creature of any intelligence would stand sti
ll for a frantic woman’s approach in a flash of skirts and frills, and Pride was an extremely intelligent animal. He sensed danger in this wild thing racing in his direction and acted accordingly. His head came up, eyes wide, and he dashed to the end of his tether. So trapped, the stallion turned to fight, his front hooves flashing in the air once, and then again, before Hunter caught Maggie around the waist and pulled her away.

  “Dammit, Maggie,” he cursed fearfully. “One of these days a thoughtless action is going to get you killed.”

  “I was doing just fine,” she shot back. Although she knew she had been in grave danger. Anyone who respected the power of a horse would know that

  Hunter reached the fire then angrily turned her to face him as he placed both hands on her shoulders. “You were practically under that horse’s hooves.”

  “You’re just trying to bolster your silly male pride,” she returned. “I know that stallion.”

  “Don’t you realize that horse was trying to protect himself in any way he could? Don’t you realize how much danger you were in?”

  She did, now that reality set in. But, at the moment, facing Hunter, it seemed beside the point. He was simply too overbearing for her liking. “I was raised around horses, if you will recall,” she shot back tightly.

  And she did not like to be challenged. Hunter understood that. Sighing and running shaking fingers through his black hair, he said softly, “But your thoughts were elsewhere. I know you’re facing a lot of changes in your life, but I’m asking you to have a care for your own safety.” He also understood that he had reacted with anger because he had been frightened; more frightened than he had ever been in his life. He could have lost her then and there, under the destructive hooves of a stallion who thought he had been fighting for his life.

  Once again Maggie found herself reacting to his tender concern, as irritating as that was. “I didn’t mean to frighten him,” she muttered.

  After a moment’s thought Hunter shook his head, fighting the urge to smile. “Maggie, you and that horse are like salt and an open wound. You sting him almost constantly.”

  In the back of her mind Maggie knew it was true; how many times had she and Pride caused him misery? But because she was feeling guilty about her actions, she turned her guilt into anger and directed that anger toward Hunter instead of herself.

  “You want to take over my life and order me around,” she accused, “so that I behave to suit your own needs. You want to bend me to your own purposes, to use me. I have been used by a man for his own purposes before, and I will not permit that to happen to me again. I am my own woman and I can think for myself without your interference.”

  Her words were like direct kicks to his midsection and he was affected by every one of them. “Oh, Maggie,” he breathed. “You’re confusing so many things. Sharing burdens does not constitute taking over one’s life. Requesting help does not constitute ordering another about. Caring about your safety poses no threat to you. I don’t want to take over your life, but to combine both our lives for mutual benefit. A man’s wants and needs are not so very different from a woman’s; a man needs a soul-mate and a help-mate, just as most women do. I don’t want to use you, Maggie, but to be with you. I’ll be sad when you are sad and rejoice with you as we achieve pinnacles in our lives which, hopefully, will be many. I want my purpose to become your purpose and yours to become mine. But I won’t be your slave or your servant, just as I don’t expect you to be mine. I want us to start building a life together but it takes the two of us to do that."

  She looked away from him, pondering his words, guessing at his motives. He was too clever by half, she thought, and could find no reason to trust him. She was beginning to realize that she would have to steel herself against his smooth tongue and his tender words. But she would not buckle so easily.

  “I only want to see you happy again,” Hunter added as he studied her stiff spine.

  She turned and stared at him warily for several moments; what if she did consider the things he had just said? He was right in that she did react without thinking on occasion and, while she had always been somewhat impulsive, the thought occurred that her thoughtless actions more often stemmed from a near constant state of anger that had sustained her for the past year. Did she want a life with him? If so, they were not going to have much of a life while they were constantly at odds. Certainly it would be a relief to find some way to be rid of this anger and enjoy a little inner peace and harmony. But the difficulty was her initial goal was not to find a life with him on a continuing basis. She wanted to return to Treemont and her former life. That had been her plan. Now she was questioning that; along with too many other things current in her life. She was weary of thinking, of planning, and of being angry.

  “Can you understand my position?” she asked. “You are taking me from my home, although I did not wish to leave. You have married me, although I did not wish to marry.” She raised her eyes, asking for his understanding. “And most of the time you make me confused.”

  "I know I do and I’m sorry. But it was pass. You’ll come to know me better and it will pass. Be kind to yourself, love,” he added, the endearment causing her to stiffen in surprise. “You’re so wary, understandably so, that you fail to see that you sometimes truly need protection. You make yourself vulnerable when you do that, Maggie. Just have a care,” he said again as the palm of his lightly stroked the right side of her face.

  As he moved away, her eyes followed the long, confident strides that took him across the clearing to where she had dropped the boys’ clothes. His movements were strong, and she realized as she watched that, for a large man, he was graceful in a powerful way. He was tall and proud and each movement seemed to be efficient and economical; and Margaret felt a surprising stirring of respect.

  When he returned, Hunter stopped beside her and held out the shirt and britches. “Will you put these on, now?” he asked reasonably. “I have something I want to show you and your skirts will get in the way.”

  Staring up at him, she asked skeptically, “In the way of what?”

  “I’m hoping you will walk a short way with me. There is something quite extraordinary for us to see tonight.”

  There! He was doing it again. Why did he have to be so damned mysterious?

  Maggie stared at the hand he held out for a good long moment, knowing, as they both did, that she had never willingly touched him.

  “Take my hand,” he said. Finally she placed her small hand in his work-roughened palm. He smiled at her warmly then. “You can change on the other side of the wagon and you’ll have the privacy you want. But stay away from Pride, will you?” His teasing tone actually won him a small smile and he was satisfied.

  *

  By the time Maggie returned to the fire, Hunter had cleared away the remainder of their supper. He was grinning as he held up a brown labeled bottle for her inspection. “You father is a thoughtful man,” he told her. “This was tucked away with our food supplies.” He rinsed a tin cup and poured a hearty draft of brandy.

  Margaret frowned at the generous portion he had poured. She didn’t want a drunken man on her hands.

  Hunter merely chuckled in the face of her concern. “We’ll share this while we watch the show,” he said and eyed her garb with approval. “Much more practical, don’t you think?” In actually fact, he felt he might be a bit sorry he had given her the clothes; these britches seemed to fit more snugly than those he had previously seen her wear, accentuating her rounded hips and narrow waist. And the shirt fit in a revealing fashion, as no allowance for female attributes had been planned in its design. His Maggie had a well-proportioned and very womanly figure, for all her youth, and Hunter was forced to turn away from the sight of all that femininity. It had been a long and trying day and, in what he considered as his weakened condition, he wanted nothing more than to hold all of the womanliness close to his own body.

  He moved off toward the river and Margaret stared at his back for a moment before ha
ving the presence of mind to follow. “What show?” she asked, curious now as she came up beside him.

  Hunter grinned, satisfied that he had captured her imagination. “You’ll see.”

  Maggie stopped dead in her tracks. “If this is a trick, Hunter…”

  “No trick,” he assured her as he continued to walk. “It’s something worth watching.”

  Maggie narrowed her eyes as she watched him walk away, still carrying the cup of brandy. What could he do here that he couldn’t do elsewhere, she reasoned and shrugged in resignation before catching up with him once again. “Why are you being so mysterious?” she asked as she worked at keeping up with his long strides.

  He smiled. “It’s a surprise.”

  “Out here?” She looked around at rocks and trees and the river rushing by.

  “Here,” he said as he led her along the river’s edge to a high outcropping of rock. “I noticed this while I was watering the animals.” He stopped at the base of the huge rocks. “Can you hear the rush of water? I suspect there might be some rapids beyond this point.”

  Margaret stared at the rushing blue-green water and then raised her eyes to his in puzzlement. “That’s the surprise?”

  “There’s more.” He looked upward, studying the rocks. “Think you can make it?” he asked.

  Her eyes followed the path his had taken. “You expect me to climb up there?”

  He grinned in the face of her surprise. “I’ll help you.”

  “Hunter, I don’t care if you can fly me up there, I’m not particularly fond of heights.”

  “How can you ride a horse if you feel that way?” he teased.

  “That’s hardly a height,” she returned impatiently. “And riding is second nature to me.”

  “Then this will be third nature. You will feel the same way about sitting on top of the universe as you do about sitting atop a horse.”

  “You really are mad,” she murmured and looked up with doubt.

  “Quite,” he agreed. He took her hand and guided her up the easiest face of the rocks.

  Margaret climbed agilely in his wake, but when he felt her pull against his hand, he looked over his shoulder. “Don’t look down,” he directed firmly and then grinned. “You’ll spoil the surprise.”