Spring Blossom Page 8

  Margaret raised her head and stared at him. “Why are you here?” she asked, throwing Hunter off balance.

  The fact that she had asked the question in such a way made him wary and he would say only, “There was a time when you did not want me to leave.”

  “But that time is lost. There is nothing left of that girl you knew. Can’t you understand that?” Shaking her head Margaret turned and walked slowly away.

  CHAPTER 8

  The following morning Margaret took herself off for some quiet time to think and was comfortably ensconced in the hayloft when she heard the chatter of her youngest sister. Opening the small door used for dropping hay to the animals in the paddock below, Margaret had a perfect view of Hunter Maguire preparing to ride Passion’s Pride for the second time.

  Jennifer had climbed up to sit on the uppermost fence rail and was offering encouragement. “The hackamore should be good!” she called.

  Turning his head, Hunter smiled at the girl. “We can hope,” he said ruefully.

  Seeing that smile, Margaret remembered how thrilled she had been as a girl to be blessed with even a single smile from him. Some small corner of her heart mourned the loss of that girl and those days when she had first fancied herself in love with Hunter Maguire. But she had learned much since then and memories of how foolish she had been eclipsed any tender feelings she might once have had. Seeing Jennifer so carefree and easy in his company only saddened her further when she realized her younger siblings needed to learn to protect their hearts as well as their lives.

  Alastair stood beside his youngest, as if hoping he could keep her from falling. Margaret could see Jennifer was carefully watching the proceedings, although she was relatively certain Hunter knew what he was doing. It irked her that her father was taking such inordinate interest in their guest’s every movement.

  She stretched out on her stomach to watch Hunter gentling the big black stallion with soothing words and soft caresses. Clearly the man was good with the animal, and she became fascinated by the quiet, confident manner that, despite her strongest wishes, she remembered all too well. He exuded power, yet his gentleness was apparent. She fought again against the twist of pain from the hidden recesses of her heart, just as she had fought for the past year because nothing could change what had happened and nothing could change what she had become. But she knew, if she could just get through the next four days, she would be able to take control of her life again and find some contentment in the security of Treemont.

  Hunter continued to talk to Passion’s Pride as he adjusted the hackamore. Gently he tested the tension of the lamb’s wool pad across the horse’s nose, then dropped his hand to caress the soft muzzle. In his peripheral vision he took note of his audience high above the paddock. He could see only the top of her fair hair but he was grateful that she cared to watch what he was doing. It gave him some small inkling of hope.

  Turning his full attention back to the horse, he whispered, “I know you mouth hurts, old boy, but there will be no more pain with this.” There was no bit in Pride’s mouth to cause further irritation. The animal would be controlled by the gentle pressure on his nose from the bridle and against his neck from the reins… in theory, at least. He smiled as he gazed into the animal’s large brown eyes. Either Pride would respond or the rider would end up in the dust once gain.

  Passion’s Pride initially responded with confusion to the new headgear and the unfamiliar signals from his rider, but it was clear that the beast was not mean. The horse was high-spirited and lacked in exercise, but he was intelligent. The stallion needed only strong and knowledgeable handling.

  Hunter spent some time putting the horse through several paces in and around the area of the barn and paddocks before deciding they had both had enough for one day. Tomorrow he would take the stallion out again and just let him run.

  Margaret had been able to see most of the stallion’s exercises and was impressed by what she had witnessed; Hunter possessed a knowledge and expertise far above that of any handler she had ever seen. She sighed and dropped her forehead onto her folded hands. Her attempts to drive him away had failed, and her feelings were in chaos. There was too much to admire about the man. She would be hurt again when he left and this time it would be for entirely different reasons. And she would be doubly hurt since it appeared her beloved Pride would leave as well.

  Time passed as she sorted through her jumbled feelings until suddenly the fine hair on the back of her neck stood up and Margaret turned onto her back in reaction to the soft rustle of hay nearby.

  “Jennifer and I are going out for a ride,” Hunter said, smiling. “Join us.”

  “You frightened me to death!” she gasped.

  He dropped down to kneel near her feet and shook his head. “Sorry, Maggie.”

  “And don’t call me Maggie.”

  He raised his dark brows in mock despair. “I don’t know you well enough to call you Maggie?”

  My name is Margaret,” she snapped.

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “Then why don’t you use it?” Frowning even more severely, she looked for a way to get around him and escape; she was boxed in up here!

  “I was once very fond of a young girl named Maggie,” he said conversationally and grinned at the glare he earned. “Don’t suppose you could bring her back? I miss her.”

  “You’re being ridiculous!”

  He laughed at her disgruntled tone. “Oh, no. Not me. I’m dead serious.” With that he stood and held out a hand to help her up. “Come ride with us, will you?”

  “I’m not in the mood for a ride,” she mumbled, ignoring his hand.

  “Very well. What will you mood allow?” He stepped back a pace to allow her to struggle to her feet under her own steam; which, he knew, she manufactured in abundance.

  “Work,” she said simply, brushing hay from her britches.

  But when she took a step toward the ladder that led below, Hunter placed a hand gently on her forearm. “Afraid?” he challenged.

  Margaret stiffened her spine and her resolve. “Perhaps I simply don’t care for you company. Have you considered that?”

  “Frankly, no.”

  She was so taken aback by his calm, quiet arrogance that she had to choke back an astonished laugh.

  “Jennifer's waiting,” he said pointedly.

  With sudden inspiration she snapped, “My mare is lame.”

  “Then we shall find you another,” he returned, equally inspired. “We could stay up here and verbally fence the day away, so why not give in while the sun is still shining?”

  “Why are you so determined?”

  “Why are you?”

  Exasperated, she flounced down the ladder in frustration. “For heaven’s sake, let’s go for the damned ride.”

  “Gotcha,” he whispered after a moment’s hesitation and, grinning, followed her down.

  Jennifer eyed her sister warily as Margaret stormed toward the stable doors with Hunter following on her heels. “I had Maribelle saddled for you, Margaret,” she called, smiling and hoping it would encourage her sister to do the same.

  “Maribelle is lame.”

  “No she’s not,” Jennifer returned. “I saw you ride her earlier.”

  Margaret glared at the girl and then raised her hands in resignation, letting them fall to slap her thighs before rushing out the door.

  Hunter chuckled softly as he came around to the side of the little roan. “Leg up?” he offered.

  Maggie shook her head and, without a word, led her horse over to the mounting block where she climbed the three steps and settled herself astride the mare.

  Hunter had almost become accustomed to her garb and had decided the fitted shirt and britches held some merit. His Maggie might act like an aged aunt at the ripe old age of eighteen, but that outfit accented beautifully the maturing curves of a woman.

  Jennifer was dressed in breeches and a matching jacket and was not so reluctant to accept hunter’s offer of a
leg up. He easily raised her high while she swung her right leg over the saddle, then smiled her thanks at him while she gathered her pony’s reins loosely in her hands.

  “Could be please not trot?” she asked. “My pony jiggles my insides when we trot.”

  Hunter laughed as he moved off and mounted the horse he had chosen.

  “Jennifer!” Margaret admonished, shocked by the girl’s vulgarity.

  The young girl frowned. “Well, he does.”

  “Don’t say things like that.”

  “Why not?” Jennifer asked, perplexed. “That’s what happens.”

  “She has a point there,” Hunter teased and led them off down the nearest lane.

  Margaret did not appreciate his interference and decided the best way to survive this outing was probably to remain silent. But it was difficult not to speak when the man was so damned vexing!

  They rode past row upon row of drying sheds, which would not be filled with tobacco leaves for several more weeks. At least Hunter hoped that was the case in the southern part of the state, for he wanted to be home well before the start of harvest.

  He noticed as they rode that Alastair had left several fields to fallow. He pulled back, slowing his mount until Margaret was beside him. “Are these fields played out?”

  Margaret looked around her. “I wouldn’t have thought so,” she said and then shrugged her shoulders. “Perhaps Papa decided to leave them for another year.”

  Hunter was surprised that Maggie lacked the knowledge to answer his question. Although the horses appeared to be her primary area of responsibility, he would think that Alastair would discuss the workings of the farm with her, even in casual conversation. It also surprised him that his host had not chosen an alternative crop that would be easier on depleted soil. Few planters could afford to leave fields lying fallow for many years. And then Jennifer drew up beside him.

  Hunter slowed his horse to match the pace of the pony while the girl chattered on about several topics. His thoughts, however, remained a few paces behind…with Margaret.

  Soon they left the fields behind and were riding through a pretty forest that smelled of evergreen and sweet damp earth and wildflowers that grew in patches where the over-story of the trees did not blot out the sun. When they emerged from the trees, Hunter suddenly recognized the location.

  “I remember this pond!” he said, smiling as he turned to look at Margaret. “You must remember as well.”

  “Why?” Jennifer asked, looking from one to the other.

  “It was one of Mother’s favorite places,” Margaret said carefully.

  Hunter laughed. “Your sister and I took a little dip in this pond.”

  Jennifer’s eyes widened with shock. “You went swimming?” she demanded. “Together?”

  Margaret began fidgeting with her reins, not wanting to remember that afternoon when she had cried as only a foolish child could cry. She knotted the end of the reins, picking at the leather to avoid looking at the man who had managed to bring back more memories in two days than she thought she could have dredged up in a lifetime.

  “We didn’t swim intentionally,” Hunter explained as he lifted Jennifer to the ground.

  “You fell in?” she asked while squinting up at him with a grin. Then she turned to tease her sister. “Did he pull you in Mag?” she dropped the pony’s reins and ran toward the pond. It didn’t look very deep. She looked back at Margaret awaiting a full explanation, then frowned in confusion when she saw her sister refuse a hand down. Hunter shrugged casually and turned away, leaving Margaret to her own devices.

  “I pulled him in,” Margaret said, setting the record straight.

  “Aww, you did not! He’s too big.”

  Hunter was smiling as he walked toward the water and sat on a fallen log at its edge. “It’s true, monkey,” he said. “She pulled me in.”

  “Jiminy! Maggie’s stronger than I thought!”

  Margaret stubbornly remained mounted, but she was watching her sister closely. “Don’t get too close to the water, Jennifer!” she called and then was startled when Maribelle began prancing. Maggie frantically grabbed the saddlebow to avoid being unseated. It took her a moment to realize what had happened; the mare had dropped her head to nibble the grass and the knotted reins had slipped forward on the animal’s neck with enough slack so that the mare’s forefoot had stepped through. When Maggie had called out, Maribelle had abruptly lifted her head with the reins now trapping her foreleg.

  The mar whirled and began to panic when she could not lower her leg to the ground.

  “Hunter!” Jennifer screamed as she turned from the water and saw her sister’s desperate attempts to stay in the saddle while the frightened horse whirled and pranced with increasing hysteria.

  Hunter needed no more than a quick glance to understand what had to be done. He was on his feet and running before Maribelle’s first squeal rent the air.

  He had no time to think of the consequences. He circled the mare at a run, leaping up to drape himself over her neck. Maribelle was forced to bow her head against his weight, but she continued to whirl frantically. The mare's neck was almost rigid with fright, but Hunter’s weight was enough to force her head further down until he was able to push the knotted reins over the animal’s ears. As soon as the tension of the leather and Hunter’s greater weight were relieved, the mare stood on all fours, blowing and snorting while he attempted to calm her.

  Hunter then freed the knot as he stepped around the mare’s head and looked up at Margaret. Her normally glowing complexion had paled and her hands continued to grip the saddle as she stared down at him, stunned by the thought of the near tragedy that had been avoided by his quick thinking.

  “Come down,” he said softly and reached up to grasp her around the waist. Margaret did not refuse his aid this time. When she stood before him, he ducked his head, examining her eyes closely. “You’re all right?”

  Maggie nodded her head. “Maribelle?”

  “She seems all right. Can you stand on your own while I take a look at her?”

  Once more Margaret nodded her head and Hunter reluctantly removed his hands from her waist. He dropped to one knee and ran his hand down the length of the mare’s finely boned leg.

  The second Margaret’s feet were firmly on the ground Jennifer ran to her and put her arms around her sister’s waist. “You scared me, Maggie,” she said fiercely. After a moment of no response, Jennifer tipped her head back, frowning.

  “I’m sorry, darling,” Margaret managed to say as she clutched Jennifer close. But the aftermath of the shock had set in and tears sprang to her eyes.

  “Don’t cry, Maggie,” Jennifer pleaded.

  Then Hunter was there, placing one hand reassuringly on Jennifer’s shoulder while, with his free arm, he gathered Maggie close against his chest. “All right,” he said quietly. “Maribelle is fine and you will be, too.” And when he felt her stiffen against him, he added, “Come now, you can lean on me this once, until the storm passes, Maggie.”

  Somewhere within her a dam seemed to burst as two days of pent-up emotions chose this moment to be released. Margaret gripped his shirtfront as she buried her face against his chest and wept.

  Jennifer was looking decidedly worried, and Hunter was afraid she, too, would burst into tears. “Take Maribelle over to the small tree and tie her, monkey,” he suggested as a means to distract the girl. “Can you do that?”

  Jennifer nodded her head and stepped around him, frequently looking back over her shoulder to keep a watchful eye on her sister as she did as he requested.

  “Put your arms around my neck,” he whispered. He bent his knees and scooped her up in his arms before Margaret could comply. For safety’s sake she was forced to wrap one arm around him, but she would not raise her head, and her face remained hidden against his chest, her hand covering her eyes. “My brave girl wouldn’t be this frightened,” he said with conviction as he sat on the log and settled her on his lap. “Would you care to te
ll me what this is really about?”

  Margaret’s initial response was to get away from him but, after scrambling off his lap, her sub-conscious sought to retain his comfort and she sat beside him. With her head turned away so that he could not see her tears, she said, “I was afraid Maribelle would be hurt.”

  Hunter did not comment as she angrily wiped the palm of one hand across her cheeks; she was clearly fighting to regain control.

  He said only, again, “The mare is fine.”

  The silence stretched out between them until Margaret finally demanded, “Why did you come? Can’t you see this is hurting me?”

  “Yes, I can see your pain, Maggie,” he sighed. “And I want to understand why? I need to know why my being here is so painful?”

  Margaret sputtered something that was very close to a wry laugh. “As I recall,” she said, raising her head to stare out over the pond, “I cried the last time we came to this place.”

  Hunter quietly stared at her profile. “You cried then for a very different reason.” He held out his handkerchief to her, waiting patiently, willing her to go on.

  “Yes. I remember. I was a foolish child back then,” she whispered.

  “Why foolish?” he asked, frowning as he leaned toward her, trying to understand. “You thought you loved me, back then. Love is never foolish, little one. It’s something everyone desires.”

  Margaret had collected herself by now and the tears were gone when she turned to look at him. “Not everyone, Hunter,” she murmured. “Not everyone needs love.”

  She was then certain she had made her desires fairly clear, but she had not anticipated one small but revealing detail; the subtle catch in her voice when she had spoken.

  CHAPTER 9

  When they arrived back at the house, Jennifer jumped down from her pony unassisted, leaving the animal to be cared for by others as she raced to the house to tell her father and sisters about their afternoon adventure and Maggie’s near calamity.

  Hunter helped Margaret down from Maribelle’s back and, once the two horses had been led into the stables, he turned her, with his hand on her elbow, toward the house. “Your father will want to see that you are not injured,” he said, “but I want us to talk privately after you’ve seen him.”