Spring Blossom Page 7

“Coffee is here,” he pointed out, as he tried to find his equilibrium in determining just how to approach her.

  “Thank you,” she returned with strained politeness.

  “What have you done to your hair?” he asked stupidly.

  She frowned at him briefly as she reached for the coffee pot. “You’re a very rude man, do you know that?”

  He watched her pour the hot, black brew into her cup. “I suppose I am. But I’ve never seen a hairstyle quite so severe.”

  Margaret raised a hand in an unconscious gesture and patted the neat knot on the top of her head. “It keeps my hair out of my eyes when I’m working with the horses,” she said matter-of-factly. She turned to Jennifer as she pulled out a chair for herself. “Go and get ready for school. Now.”

  Jennifer looked unhappy, but she obeyed and Hunter frowned as he watched the girl hurriedly leave the room.

  Margaret seemed to concentrate only on lifting her cup to her lips, her gaze shadowed and turned downward.

  “You’re not going to eat?” he asked.

  She shook her head. Her stomach had been behaving nervously, but she was not about to admit that to him. While she might have to deal with him on a business level, Margaret had no intention of engaging him in personal conversations. Instead she said simply, “The stallions are ready for you to view.”

  She was all business and harsh edges and Hunter was sadly disappointed.

  “Your father won’t be joining us?” he asked reasonably.

  Margaret firmly set down her coffee cup. “The horses are my responsibility, Mr. Maguire. You may dicker with father over price, but I am in charge of training and conditioning the animals.” With that, she got to her feet, obviously intending to leave.

  “Along with the training and conditioning of those in the entire household,” he muttered.

  “I have to see that the girls are preparing for school,” she added, frowning because he had spoken so softly she had not heard his comments. She was, however, certain he had not complimented her. “I'll meet you at the barns in a few moments.”

  As she walked toward the door, Hunter looked out the window; the sun was barely up! “Surely it’s too early for school?” he asked.

  “And girls will dawdle away the hours if they are not reminded of their responsibilities,” she said over her shoulder.

  He merely shook his head, wondering if she ever dawdled away an hour or two. Somehow, he thought not.

  *

  “That is Passion’s Pride,” Margaret announced as she joined Hunter at the corral gate. “The beast,” she added fondly.

  Hunter noticed she continued to frown. “He’s a magnificent animal, Maggie.” He turned his attention back to the center paddock. Passion’s Pride pawed the ground and snorted before throwing his head high and racing to the far fence. He was a magnificent specimen of muscle, sinew, and spirit all drawn up tight as a drum in a sleek black package. “He needs to run,” Hunter murmured, keeping his eyes on the horse. “He might treat his ladies a little more gently if he had the freedom to run often enough.” He turned to Margaret. “Was he bred here?”

  Keeping her manner crisp, Margaret nodded her head. “Sired by my stallion, Eclipse, out of a mare called Desert Passion. Two of our finest animals.”

  “Truly outstanding,” Hunter murmured as he returned his attention to the horse. “He is fine to breed for good, strong saddle stock and that is where the best money lies for me. And he has me intrigued.”

  “If you’re feeling up to a challenge,” she said, nodding toward the prancing beast, “be my guest,” she added with a false smile.

  Hunter cast his gaze briefly toward the clear blue summer sky. “And I thought the sun would shine all day,” he said softly.

  So, she thought, he expected turbulence. Well, she wasn’t above providing a little if need be. The truth was Margaret had thought twice about facing Hunter this morning, but the horses were her domain and she had her pride. She had dressed plainly for the second part of her plan, and for the third, she’d decided to ignore him for the better part, keeping their relationship strictly business. By now he must be thoroughly disillusioned as to any other possible relationship between them so she would survive the few remaining days of his visit.

  Then life would return to normal.

  She was glad her father had promised to join them at the stables. Alastair had long claimed that Hunter was a master horseman and Margaret saw this as an opportunity to put the man to the test.

  And so, she ignored Hunter’s comments and smiled a greeting as her father walked up to the paddock to join them. She hoped he was about to see his friend land on his rump in the dust.

  Pride was a valuable animal; one they could not afford to lose. And, since her father would not listen to reason on the matter, her only choice was to dissuade Hunter from purchasing the stallion.

  Smiling sweetly at her parent, she said, “I shall have the boys get Pride saddled, Papa.”

  Alastair nodded absently as she left, but he was more concerned when she returned moments later, smiling smugly.

  “This should only take a moment,” she said and Alastair’s frowned deepened.

  She did not give her father an opportunity to question her as she watched two lanky youths enter the paddock. One hefted a saddle onto the fence railing then followed the other boy who clutched a bridle. It took some time and quick maneuvering to corner the proud black animal, but they eventually managed to catch hold of the horse’s halter and deftly got bit and bridle into place, carefully avoiding the hind legs. With the horse prancing between them, they started toward the gate, but Hunter had already entered the large enclosure and was upon them.

  “Leave the saddle,” he said, reaching for the reins. “If this fellow is truly not a gentleman, I want to feel him moving beneath me. Perhaps then I can detect any tricks he has in mind before he unseats me.”

  “Yes, sir,” one of the young men managed to say as they both moved away, wide-eyed. “There’s goin’ to be hell to pay when that man breaks his neck,” he muttered to his companion.

  Hunter stood and talked quietly to the animal, rubbing the soft muzzle and velvety ears.

  “My God,” Alastair whispered, “he’s going to ride without a saddle.”

  “I’m certain he knows what he is doing, Papa,” Margaret said as her heart began to beat a wild tattoo. Her plan had to work, she thought, as she maintained total concentration on the horse and rider. She couldn’t lose Pride; no matter the cost. But some small part of her admired Hunter’s nerve.

  Hunter continued to talk soothingly as he caressed the animal’s sleek neck, then he ran his hand along the muscular back. Still talking, he grabbed a handful of mane at the withers and easily swung up onto Pride’s back.

  The great stallion stood still, awaiting a command. Not until Hunter gathered the reins more firmly in his hands did the horse appeared distressed.

  And the man immediately knew he had trouble…several hundred pounds of trouble.

  Pride tossed his head fretfully and began to worry at the bit. Hunter kept the reins firm and short; if Pride managed to get his head down, he would buck. Instead, the horse twisted and ran toward the far fence. Hunter immediately understood the trick. Pride would turn at the last minute, raking his rider along the wooden rails.

  Hunter was stunned that he had absolutely no control over the horse; a horse that was not unschooled. Instantaneously he realized the horse had the bit between his teeth.

  After that there was no more time for thought, other than to seek the best means of escape. If he did not bail out now, he could lose his right leg. So…over the side he went, rolling several times as he hit the ground before lying flat on his back.

  Margaret flinched visibly at the sound of man hitting solid earth.

  “Damn!” Hunter muttered and beat a fist into the dirt.

  “Get that animal back in his stall!” Alastair blustered.

  “No! Wait!” Hunter rolled smoothly to his fe
et and called to the stable boys. “Wait!” he said again. “Let me see him.”

  Margaret turned her head long enough to see the worried expression on her father’s face. “Mr. Maguire is an experienced horseman, Papa,” she said, trying to alleviate his fears. “I’m sure he has taken many spills.”

  Alastair cast her a baleful look. “And that makes this fall acceptable?”

  Margaret shook her head, frowning as she returned her attention to the paddock. “Not acceptable, Papa, but necessary.”

  Alastair’s frown intensified. “Margaret…” But he grew quiet as his attention was drawn again to the stallion and to Hunter.

  The stable boys had captured the horse and Hunter stood staring at the beast. Pride continued to worry at the bit and the froth from his mount was speckled with blood. Hunter stepped forward and, keeping the reins around Pride’s neck, dropped the bit free. His lips tightened and his eyes darkened as he saw the severe curb. “What bit does this horse usually wear?” he asked the older boy.

  “A snaffle, sir,” the boy answered timidly.

  “Then why did you put such a harsh bit on him today?” But, really, he did not need to ask as the two boys looked fearfully at each other and then, pleadingly, back at Hunter. In an attempt to quash his anger, Hunter ran his fingers through his black hair and took a deep breath. “Miss Downing’s instructions?” he asked softly, and the older boy managed a slight nod of affirmation. Sighing heavily, he asked, “Is there a hackamore in the tack room?”

  The older boy smiled. “Yes, sir.”

  “Get it for me, will you? This animal’s mouth is sore enough.” He turned to the younger boy. “Can you hold him here on your own?” The lad nodded, reaching for the reins. “I’ll be back. And make certain you hold him well. There is about to be a ruckus and I don’t want him frightened into running.”

  The boy nodded his head nervously and slowly coaxed the anxious animal across the paddock, away from the area in which the Downings stood watching outside the fence.

  Hunter moved with a strong, assured gait as he crossed the paddock and left the gate wide open when he rounded the fence toward the two who stood watching. His gaze remained determinedly fixed on the blue eyes that were growing larger with each step he took in her direction. When he had only a step or two to take, Margaret sensed his purpose and bolted; but not quickly enough. Hunter seized her upper arm and spun her around to face him. “Come with me,” he said evenly.

  Margaret fought against the strong fingers that commanded, as much as his deep voice. “Let me go!” she snapped. And when that failed to influence her captor, she called, “Papa!”

  Alastair stood by, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched the proceedings. Hunter Maguire would not harm his daughter, he knew, and, since he was at a loss as to what to do with her, he remained mute and unmoving.

  Hunter started to move back toward the paddock but with that first step, Margaret dug in her heels. “I said let me go!” she demanded and dragged backward against his force.

  Knowing he would bruise her if she insisted on being dragged, Hunter changed his tactics, and Maggie quickly found his arm around her waist as he hauled her against his hip. “I want to show you something,” he said firmly and grunted when one of Margaret’s flailing, booted feet caught him soundly on the shin. “Stop that,” he ordered.

  “Put me down,” she cried in panic as she continued to kick and struggle, hoping for any chance to escape him.

  “I said stop that!” He was breathing heavily from the exertion of trying to control her; the woman was twisting and bucking like a harnessed mustang. Thinking of Passion’s Pride, standing a few feet away and already snorting, fearing the wild creatures coming in his direction, Hunter snapped, “You’ll get us all killed!”

  When she continued to kick and strike out with her hands and feet, Hunter set her roughly on the ground. “Now stop,” he ordered. Glaring into eyes that expressed her shock at being so roughly handled, he tightened his grip on her arms for he could see the explosion coming just as surely as the sun would set that night.

  “How dare you,” she spat as she tried to raise her hands to scratch his face.

  Hunter captured both wrists in one hand and wrapped his arm around her waist again, drawing her against his side where she could do less damage. “How dare I?” he muttered. “I dare because, by God, you are going to see what you have done.”

  Margaret was beginning to weaken, and she knew, physically, she would lose in a battle against him. She was no match for this man’s strength, but her fear of being held so close against him made her struggle until her last ounce of strength gave out.

  When finally she sagged against him, Hunter set her on her feet once again, and he noted that she took a deep breath as his arms loosened their hold even while he continued to offer support with his hands at her waist. He stared down at her, her head bowed in defeat, wondering why she had continued to struggle against him when he had posed no real threat. “Why did you fight me?” he asked softly. “Do you fear me so much?”

  Maggie’s head snapped up, and her beautiful pale blue eyes narrowed with loathing. “You act like a madman,” she snarled, “and you have the nerve to ask?”

  “I was angry, yes, but surely you cannot fear me so much that you felt you had to fight to the ends of your strength. We were once great friends, Maggie.” He tried to study her face but his softened tones had her looking away from him. “You had no fear of me then. In fact, I recall you were fond of me. What had happened since those days when we were friends, Maggie? What has changed?”

  Margaret tore herself free and he let her go. “I simply want you to leave me alone.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it is my wish.” The troubled eyes she raised to him now were no longer fearful but filled with anger and determination. “Just go away and leave me alone.”

  He studied her expression for a moment, deciding her words masked some greater meaning. He could understand that her feelings for him could have diminished over the years, but there was much more about her reaction to him that he obviously failed to understand. “I can’t do that,” he said with quiet determination. Taking hold of one wrist, he asked, “Will you walk or must I carry you again?”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said and tugged in vain to free her wrist. The man was being exceptionally pigheaded! Surely he must understand by now that there was no longer anything between them; that she wanted nothing to do with his attentions. She was not the raving beauty everyone had expected her to become and that alone should have been off-putting. So why had he not taken to his heels and run at first sight of her? Because of some pretense of buying a horse? She did not believe that was his only reason for coming to Treemont, not after the way her father had been talking about the man’s visit. There had been innuendo in Alastair’s tone before Hunter’s arrival that did not sit well with her. Hadn’t she been plain enough in dissuading him? Surely the stubborn man understood by now that she had nothing to offer and she wanted nothing from him in return; including his attention!

  Actually, had Margaret better understood the man she was dealing with, she would realize that her behavior had only heightened Hunter’s curiosity, in addition to his concern.

  And in spite of her words, he was now determined to have it out with her because of the abuse of a fine stallion. “You are a foolish woman,” he said, after she refused to budge from the spot where she had planted her feet. “Will you be embarrassed when I pick you up and carry you over my shoulder with witnesses present?” He watched as her eyes briefly scanned those people who were avidly watching. “Take heed, dear one,” he threatened further, “carrying you is not a task I would loathe.”

  “I don’t understand why you are doing this,” she muttered, but it was understood between them that she did not want to create more of a scene.

  ‘Someone has to take you in hand. You're entirely too thoughtless.”

  “And you are going to save
me from myself?”

  Hunter grinned ruefully. “Something like that.” He turned then and, with a slight tug on her wrist, Margaret reluctantly followed.

  She could barely contain her anger at his high-handed manner, but there had been enough commotion. Whatever his purpose in dragging her toward that damned horse, she would endure his treatment and hope she could then escape the attention of all the eyes that were watching their every move. It miffed her even more that her father just stood there, watching her being abused. She had the distinct impression that Alastair had just joined ranks with this heathen. That did not bode well. Her father’s failure to come to her aid only fueled her suspicions that her dear parent had plans for her future that she would not like.

  When Hunter reached Passion’s Pride he released Margaret’s arm as he spoke softly to the nervous animal. “Look at his mouth,” he commanded.

  Margaret flinched as Pride continued to toss his head in agitation, spraying the air with foam from his mouth that was speckled with blood. She felt sick at the sight, closing her eyes to block out the reality; she hadn’t stopped to consider that she could actually harm Pride in her efforts to keep him with her.

  Hunter’s lips were very close to her ear as he stood behind her. “Dammit, Margaret, you have been raised around these animals. You must have considered the outcome when you had a bit used on a horse that obviously has a sensitive mouth. Why did you make this to happen?”

  Remorse made her voice quake and, even though she hated her own weakness, Margaret admitted, “I didn’t think.”

  Seeing just how badly Pride needed attention, Hunter changed his mind and ordered the young stable boy to take the horse inside and tend his sores; he would ride the horse on the morrow. But his eyes had not left the profile of Margaret Downing for one moment. “Does it bother you to see the horse in this condition?”

  “Of course it bothers me,” she snapped.

  “Then why would you do such a thing?” he asked again in his quest to understand her motivation. “Could you possibly hate me so much that you would endanger that animal just to see me unseated?”