Spring Blossom Read online

  “The surprise being the fact that we are about to break our fool necks,” she murmured.

  “Faith, Maggie, my girl,” he drawled with his best imitation of a good Irish lad. “A little faith, if you please.”

  “Oh, I have faith,” she puffed as he pulled her up a long steep section of rock. “It just doesn’t extend in your direction.”

  Truer words were never spoken, he acknowledged grimly, and tried to blank them out of his mind. The moment would soon be upon them and he did not want to ruin it.

  He had brought her here because he needed a little restorative peace, and he hoped she would benefit as well from a quiet experience. He could not force Maggie, however, to reach within herself.

  When they reached the top Maggie was puffing with the exertion but not alarmingly so, and he smiled at her before looking around their perch. “This is it,” he said but when he saw her eyes turn toward the river Hunter lowered the cup to the rocks and placed both hands on her shoulders, guiding her until she stood with her back to him. “Look out, not down,” he insisted, then tightened his hold when she did not respond. “Do not look down, Maggie.” He reached around her shoulder and placed his fingertips under her chin to raise her head. “Always look outward first, then allow yourself to take in the lower views a bit at a time. That way you should become accustomed to the elevation.”

  She mumbled a protest, but complied.

  He let her stand there for a moment then returned his hand to her shoulder, pressing gently. “Sit down, Maggie, and I’m going to sit behind you. We have a few moments to wait.”

  Though wary of his nearness, she sat and, with such a steep drop before her, she was not prepared to argue too heatedly with him. After a stretch of moments, she asked in exasperation, “Hunter, why are we sitting here?”

  “You’ll see in just a few moments.”

  She sighed, a great sigh that had her shoulders heaving up and then down but did not ease the tension in her neck.

  Behind her, Hunter smiled and reached back to where he had set the tin cup. Such impatience. Such suspicion. He took a sip of the brandy and bent his knees so that he could rest his forearms there, even as his gaze strayed to the silver-blond hair and tense shoulders so close to him. She had drawn her knees up also and wrapped her arms around her legs so that, from his view, she looked like a frightened little creature nestled between his legs. And the tension and anxiety that surrounded her came not from the height of her perch but from his presence. That was understood without a word needed.

  He raised the cup to his lips once again and then reached around her shoulder, extending it to her.

  Surprisingly, Margaret took it then watched his hand as he casually returned his forearm to rest on his bent knee.

  "I don’t know whether you are familiar with brandy,” he said quietly, “but you should sip it slowly.”

  Maggie stared down at the cup before cautiously raising it to her lips. Her eyelashes fluttered when the vapors of the drink rose up to assault her. She took a small sip and then another; then gasped when the brew seared her throat. “Oh,” she breathed.

  Hunter chuckled over her reaction, before saying, “There are several things we should appreciate about this show, Maggie. We paid not a penny for admittance, the location of our seats is excellent, the size of the theater is restricted only by the distance we can see, and the number of players is limited only by our lack of imagination.”

  “Hunter, you’re not making sense,” she returned impatiently. “And I don’t like this.” He was entirely too close and she was feeling trapped. And not understanding his reasons for dragging her up to sit on a rock, did not add any feelings of confidence to the situation in which she now found herself.

  “Have you ever tried clearing your mind of your anger and suspicion and fear?” he asked. “Just long enough to allow simple enjoyment of something beautiful and natural? Can’t you believe yourself deserving of an innocent pleasure?”

  Her shoulder jerked upward and he leaned forward, just a little so as not to threaten her. “Clear you mind for a few moments, Maggie. Forget everything beyond this place. Forget I’m here, if you wish. Think of the things your eyes bring into focus. Concentrate on those things and their beauty. Clear you mind and just look…and feel,” he added on a hopeful breath.

  As she listened to his words an ache within her started to grow and fan out to encompass her entire being. She understood now what he was doing, and she wanted to appreciate his efforts. But it saddened her that he felt he needed to take these steps because she had somehow lost her way and could not enjoy a simple pleasure. She recalled the times when, as a girl, she would sneak out of the house at night simply to lie in the grass and watch the stars. What had happened to that girl? Of course, she knew the answer to that; the girl had turned to anger as a means of survival. All innocent pleasure had been snatched away from her, had become foreign to her existence, and Hunter, in trying to reintroduce such things to her, was causing her to mourn the loss. And it occurred to her that perhaps, just perhaps, he would be the one with whom she would once again find some semblance of inner peace. If…she could control her anger and set aside her fears long enough to give him a chance; to give herself a chance.

  “Why did you bring me here?” she asked softly.

  “I wanted to watch a sunset with you.”

  “I am never certain what to expect from you,” she said.

  And that kept her wary, kept her afraid; he knew that, just as he knew there was little he could do about it until he managed, somehow, to gain her trust. His eyes searched the skies and the scene before them, as if nature held some simple answer. But there was no easy answer. So, for this moment, he stopped thinking about it and opened his mind for a moment, as he had directed Maggie to do. “It’s beginning,” he said in a soft, rich voice that brought gooseflesh out on her arms.

  But her thoughts had turned away from him, away from the threat of him, as she silently concentrated on the scene before her. Maggie took another sip of brandy, enjoying the warmth of it as it descended to her stomach, then held the cup out to the hand that dangled near her right shoulder. In a moment hand and cup disappeared from her peripheral vision, and it was several seconds before his hand returned, minus the cup.

  Maggie did as Hunter suggested and looked straight ahead, noting that the sun was very low in the sky. Then her eyes traveled to the expanse of tree and rolling hills across the gully from where they sat. The shades of green darkened as the light diminished, and the sheer expanse of rock became a wall of gray and pink and black rearing up from the river’s edge. For the first time she noticed the violent roar of the river and realized he’d been right; to her left there were rapids, wonderful and frightening and exhilarating all at once, sounding like a continuous thunder, as if the river were angry.

  She raised her eyes as the sun dropped behind the farthest trees. The sky was streaked with a spectrum of reds, scarlet to palest pink, glowing colors that produced warmth within her and raised the fine hair on her arms. Why had she never noticed this beauty before? Why had she never felt this way before? As she leaned forward in concentration, Hunter’s hands dropped to her waist as security against a fall. But Maggie did not object. She had seen this before; had appreciated a sunset before. But that had been another time, another place and when she had been a younger girl.

  She stared out at the wilderness before her as it was slowly swamped by descending darkness. She felt it should have saddened her, this disappearing of something beautiful, but night was a peaceful intruder, and soon a strange serenity came over her and the harsh heat of day became a gentle, refreshing stirring against her skin, stirring her hair.

  The darkness began to glow a warm gray as her eyes adjusted, and finally she let her head fall back and closed her eyes as she felt night surround her like a gentle, friendly shroud.

  In time, Maggie let her back rest against his chest, and Hunter returned his forearms to his knees, not wanting to stir and spo
il the moment by frightening her, though he wanted desperately to put his arms around her and draw her back more tightly against him; to shelter her, to offer his support. But this was far too fragile a thing to rush, this first tentative contact she had sought with him. He would savor it while he silently thanked nature for providing this most tranquil moment.

  “It’s strange,” she whispered, “but I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite this way before.”

  “And how do you feel?” he asked softly.

  She shook her head from side to side against his shoulder. “I don’t think I can explain it.”

  “Do you feel good?”

  She nodded her head. Margaret felt very serene. She could not remember experiencing this kind of peace any night for over a year now; it almost seemed as if she had become boneless, her entire being almost floating free. And, as her conscious mind realized that she was actually leaning against a muscled chest that warmed her back, Margaret’s first reaction was that that, too, felt very good. “I supposed we should go,” she said, reluctantly after a time.

  “We could stay here all night,” he suggested lightly.

  She almost giggled at that. “We can’t stay up here.” With something akin to regret, she sat up. “I refuse to sleep on anything higher than a bed.”

  “You won’t be sleeping in a bed tonight,” he murmured, getting to his feet and helping her to stand beside him.

  “I’ll sleep in the wagon."

  Hunter bent to retrieve the tin cup. “You’d best sleep next to the fire, beside me.” He took her hand then and began cautiously leading the way down the rock face. “It gets cold out here at night even with a fire nearby.”

  She didn’t like the idea of sleeping on the ground, particularly beside him. “I’ll sleep in the wagon,” she insisted.

  Hunter grinned in the darkness. “Fine,” he drawled. “It may be a bit crowded for two, however.” The prospect did hold some merit; for him.

  “I didn’t say I wanted company,” she pointed out, as they climbed down the last of the rocks.

  “Maggie,” he said, turning to face her in the faint light of the half-moon. “Things sometimes go bump in the night, and you should sleep within sight and sound of me. I’m the one with the rifle,” he added, turning to lead the way back to their camp.

  That gave her something new to think about. “What kind of things might go bump in the night?”

  He smiled when he realized she was sticking close to his heels. “Four-legged things. Things that prowl around looking for food.”

  “You’re just trying to frighten me,” she accused.

  “Regardless,” he said, “you’ll sleep where I can make certain you’re safe.”

  She thought about that for a moment and then grumbled under her breath. Why did he always, eventually, make sense?

  CHAPTER 14

  Margaret’s first night of sleeping under the stars made a lasting impression. Her bones ached from lying on the hard, cold ground on just a thin blanket. At some point during the long night she started to tremble with the cold, despite the fire.

  She had laid out her bedroll across the fire from where Hunter had chosen to sleep, but each time she awoke, he was alerted by her shifting around in her attempts to find comfort. Eventually, noticing that she was huddled under her single blanket, he rose, taking his blankets with him, and moved around behind her.

  Maggie was fully awake, and her head swiveled as she followed his path. “What are you doing?” she asked at last as he spread one blanket beside hers.

  “I’m going to keep you warm,” he muttered. “Perhaps then we will both get some sleep.”

  “If you would let me sleep in the…”

  “Forget it, Maggie. You’re not sleeping in the wagon.” He spread the second blanket so that it partially covered her, leaving a little for himself. “Besides, it’s even colder there.”

  But as he stretched out behind her, Margaret sat up and twisted around. “I don’t want you here.”

  “That’s too damn bad,” he mumbled wearily and, placing a hand firmly on her shoulder, forced her to lie back. He lay on his side, waiting for her to accept the fact that he was not moving, nor would he allow her to move. “Face the fire,” he said firmly.

  “There you go,” she hissed, “ordering me around.”

  “I’ll do more than order you around, foolish one,” he said. “Now turn over and let me get some sleep.”

  She did so, angrily, catching the baggy sleeve of her shirt under her and almost wrenching her arm as she tried to raise it. Rearing up, Maggie muttered an unintelligible curse.

  He smiled at her back, watching her performance. “Are you settled now?” as he moved closer to her.

  “Back off,” she commanded and started to roll toward the fire without thinking, intending only to get away from him.

  Suddenly a firm hand landed squarely on her rump, and when she started to get up, a heavy arm fell over her shoulder, pinning her down. “Stop this nonsense!” he growled and Maggie immediately fell still. “I haven’t made a threatening move toward you, and you needn’t fear that I will, so don’t insist on becoming a human candle. Now settle down and go to sleep.”

  There was little she could do but lie there with his arm over her, weighing her down, but sleep she would not. And then, to further distract her, Hunter’s hand covered one of hers and tucked it against her chest. His thumb lightly stroked her from wrist to fingers, and warm tingling sensations darted the entire length of her arm. It was unsettling, what he was doing. Yet it was comforting. And there was consolation, she had to admit; she was warm.

  *

  All through the following morning, as she rode beside Hunter on the high wagon seat, she was mortified each time she thought of how she had turned to him in her sleep and awakened with his arms around her, holding her against his chest. It was the closest she had ever been to any human being.

  Thoughts of how his nearness had disturbed her brought back older, more ancient memories…of a mother tenderly hugging a daughter, of parents caressing each other, even in view of their children. It reminded her that a hug could give one a sense of security, of calmness, and of being loved. Oh, she could not extend this last to Hunter, for surely he did not love her. But her instincts and his behavior of the past few days allowed her to suspect that he harbored some affection for her. Certainly that was more than she had ever hoped to attain, and she was amazed to find that receiving affection matter to her…mattered deeply. And she cautioned herself against becoming too comfortable with his small signs of affection.

  With these thoughts came a desire to end the long silence that had fallen between them. She remembered the he enjoyed quiet moments, even when others were about, but Maggie was not yet comfortable enough in his presence to feel safe with those silences.

  “What’s your home like?” she asked.

  He smiled thoughtfully at her before returning his attention to the road ahead. “It’s a farm like any other, I suppose. Not so old or as grand as Treemont. But the house is warm in winter and the land supports us well.”

  “Us?” she questioned, surprised. “I understood you didn’t have any family.”

  “I have friends who live and work with me,” he said warmly. “And now I have you.”

  The intensity of the gaze he had turned on her again made Maggie uncomfortable; she looked away, searching her mind for another topic. “How many friends will live with us?”

  Hunter wondered briefly at the direction her questions were taking. “Only Jason will live in the main house with us. Jeffrey and his wife have a cottage of their own.”

  “Jason?”

  “An old friend of my mother’s.”

  “Oh.”

  Hunter frowned at her as he asked, “What does ‘oh’ mean?”

  In fact it meant a great deal in her own mind, but Margaret didn’t think he would appreciate the conclusions to which she had jumped. “Nothing,” she said, shrugging casually. “Another woman li
ves there?”

  Hunter grunted, as if her lack of response to his question was disappointing. He assumed she had decided that his mother and Jason had been lovers, and he wouldn’t be surprised if that had been fact, so he let it go. “Marie-Louise and Jeffrey are newly wedded,” he responded. “Jason and I have been most happy to have her around; she’s a terrific cook.”

  “That’s good,” she muttered. “At least we won’t starve.”

  Hunter laughed, returning his attention to the team.

  “Anna hated having anyone in her kitchen,” she explained, “except to do menial chores. That’s why I never learned to cook.”

  “Why doesn’t Anna’s attitude surprise me?” he said wryly.

  “Will Marie-Louise and I get on, do you think?”

  He nodded his head. “You’re about the same age,” he told her. “I think you’ll be good company for each other. She can be outspoken but she’s very sweet. She’s a strong girl and certainly a willing worker.”

  Having another woman around would be a comfort, Margaret decided; she would dearly miss her sisters.

  “I think we should stop for the day,” Hunter said after a time as he examined the sky, determining the time. “We should reach home in decent time tomorrow and this appears to be a good spot." He motioned beyond the brush at the edge of the clearing. “I suspect we’ll find water over there, but let me check to be certain.”

  When he returned, Hunter reached up a hand to help her down, but Margaret had found new freedom in her boyish clothes and smiled as she took his hand and proceeded to jump from the wagon seat. Going to the back of the wagon, she began to unload some of the things they would need for the night as Hunter stared at her in surprised silence. But when she reached for the heavy sack containing the cooking and eating utensils, he stopped her. “I’ll carry the heavy things, Maggie, in a moment.”