“I know you don’t.” Chase guessed what she was going to say. “And I’m not going to try to persuade you to change your mind and let me love you. All I want to do is hold you. Okay?”
She searched his face for an instant, then let him turn her sideways to lie across his chest. Chase took off her hat so her head could rest against his shoulder and smoothed the tangle of long, black curls. A hand was doubled near her mouth while the other rested lightly on his chest. He could feel the tension in her body and held her loosely, one hand resting on her hipbone and the other cupping her rib cage below the swell of her breast.
He made no attempt at conversation, simply holding her in his arms. The sun was warm and a light breeze rustled the grass. Gradually, he felt her relax against him like a slowly uncoiling spring. A quiet contentment seemed to claim both of them. Chase had no idea how long he held her like that; five minutes or twenty. His muscles were starting to cramp; soon they would be numb if he didn’t move. He shifted slightly, tucking his chin into his chest to look at her. Her eyes were closed, long curling lashes lying together.
“Are you sleeping?” he murmured.
“Uh—” It was a negative sound. “Thinking.”
“About what?” A strand of black hair laid across her cheek and Chase gently pushed it back with the others.
She smiled, almost sadly. “I don’t think you would understand.”
“Try me.”
“I was thinking”—her eyes opened slowly as she shifted in his hold so that she was lying with both shoulders against his chest and facing the open sky—“that I won’t always be cooking and cleaning and mending worn-out clothes for my father and brother. When I finish school, I’m leaving the ranch. I’ll get a job somewhere and have a place of my own … and new clothes. People won’t look at me and click their tongues, saying the poor girl doesn’t have a decent thing to wear.” She mimicked the words with bitter pride. “I’m going to work and make something of myself. And my hands won’t have callouses. They’ll be smooth, like a lady’s.” She paused to look at her hands. “I suppose that sounds silly to you.”
“No, it doesn’t sound silly.” Chase smiled against her hair, breathing in the freshly washed smell of it. “Those are the kind of dreams about the future just about everybody has.” He hadn’t because his future had been all mapped out for him since the day of his birth—taking over the Triple C Ranch. A man couldn’t dream much bigger than that. “They rarely come to anything, though. You’ll probably marry some cowboy and have three kids before you’re twenty.”
The words twisted inside him like a sharp knife at the image of Maggie in another man’s arms and her belly swollen with someone else’s child. This violent feeling of jealousy took him by surprise. He was distracted from the discovery when Maggie twisted angrily out of his arms and bounded to her feet, her green eyes blazing.
“I won’t!” She stormed in an unbridled fury that rolled Chase to his feet. “I won’t marry some two-bit cowboy and live like this the rest of my life! I won’t be like my mother, existing on dreams and broken promises! I won’t! Do you hear me?!!” Her clenched fists pounded at his chest to drive home her words. “I’m going to be somebody! And no one can stop me! I won’t let them!”
“Hey, I believe you.” Chase caught at her hands, amazed by her vehemence. His smile was one of admiration and respect. But Maggie caught the laughing inflection in his voice and glared at him, daring him to laugh at her. “I believe you, Maggie,” Chase repeated, this time without it. “As a matter of fact,” he added wryly, “I feel sorry for anyone who tries to stand in the way of what you want.”
Her anger died, but the determination remained. “I’m not like my father, Chase. I’m not like him at all. And I’m not weak and passive like my mother.”
“I’m convinced there isn’t anybody like you,” he declared and let go of her hands to tunnel his fingers under her hair. Bending his head, he kissed her mouth. With persuasive pressure, he coaxed it open while his hand cupped the thrusting point of her breast in his palm.
After that it seemed a natural progression of events that found them on the ground again, the barrier of their clothes being dismantled with consummate ease. They stroked, caressed, demanded, and aroused each other, then coupled in a passionate union that left no shadows between them, mental or otherwise.
It was harder this time for Chase to leave her, and he couldn’t say why. He insisted on riding with her partway. There was a place where he could cut across the sections that would intercept his original route.
“Won’t anybody ask where you are?” Maggie wondered as she walked her horse through the grass beside his.
“They might, but Buck will cover for me,” he assured her. “We’re moving a herd from the adjoining range here onto the Broken Butte.”
“Why?” The comment aroused an idle curiosity. At this time of year, the summer pasture was usually established for a herd.
“To get them away from the main road, where it would be too easy for the rustlers to reach them,” he replied.
“Oh.” She looked straight ahead, realizing she had artlessly garnered an important piece of information. She caught her nether lip between her teeth, her mouth dry. “Do you have any idea
who is stealing your cattle?”
“No. If we did, we’d stop them. But they won’t find that it’s easy pickings anymore,” he stated confidently.
“Because you’re moving the cattle,” Maggie concluded. A sense of guilt made her try to have the O’Rourkes look innocent. “Maybe I should mention something to Pa about moving our herd in case they decide to leave you alone and hit us.”
“It might be a smart thing to do. With rustlers working in the area, you should take some precautions,” Chase advised.
“You’re right,” she agreed and hoped he didn’t detect the nervous tremor in her voice.
Most of the wildflowers wilted during the long ride home. Maggie put the few fresh ones in a bud vase and set them on the table. Her father noticed them as soon as he sat down for the evening meal. He eyed her curiously when she passed him the platter of meat.
“What’s the occasion?”
“No occasion,” she responded in a cool, composed voice. She wasn’t about to tell him that they were the first flowers any man had given her, not when it was Chase Calder. “I thought they would look nice.”