“What should I do about the mare and foal?” Ralph asked somewhat helplessly.
Phillip ushered Maggie outside the stall and paused to send him an impatient look. “Try to find someone to come over and give you a hand. Call Simmons at the van Doren ranch.”
She stumbled, but his strong arm was around her to support and guide her into the privacy of the tack room. Maggie choked on the sobs she tried to swallow and wiped awkwardly at the few tears that slipped from her lashes. Phillip led her to the divan and set her on the cushions.
“I’m sorry.” She tried to get hold of herself. Phillip was sitting on the couch near her, leaning toward her with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him. His patient gray eyes were watching her closely.
“There’s no need to apologize,” he assured her. “The rope triggered some traumatic recall that your mind couldn’t cope with, so you went a little crazy.” His faint smile seemed to say it was all perfectly normal. His quiet understanding was too much for her. She breathed in sharply, wanting to cry. “Would you like to talk to me about it, Elizabeth?” Phillip suggested. “Sometimes that helps.”
Tears began to slide down her cheeks. “I wish my brother was here.” Maggie turned her head to the side. “I could talk to Culley.” A tear crept across her mouth, which she wiped with a trembling hand. “I didn’t cry when they buried my father. I didn’t even cry when it happened.”
“Were you there when the accident happened that killed your father?” He studied every nuance of her expression, guessing that he was close to the truth. Somehow this was tied in to the death of her father.
“It wasn’t an accident.” Although she knew that was what her aunt, and everyone else here, had been led to believe. “He was murdered.”
Before she could stop herself or think about what she was saying, Maggie was pouring out the whole story to him—about the Calders, her affair with Chase, the cattle-rustling, and the hanging of her father. Through it all she cried as she had not been able to do before. At some point, Phillip sat on the edge of the divan and gathered her into his arms while she sobbed out her story.
It was a bizarre tale, farfetched and difficult for him to believe, yet her anguish and pain were very real and genuine. Even if there was an exaggeration of the truth, his questions concerning her reticence to talk about the past were answered. Half of what she had endured would have crushed a girl of average resilience.
His hand smoothed the black hair on her hea
d as he cradled it against his shoulder. “You should have gone to the police and told them,” he stated grimly.
“They wouldn’t have believed us.” She sobbed out a bitter laugh. “They probably would have thought we were crazy. Besides, they take their orders from Calder, anyway. We had no proof except our word. And they would have asked what Calder’s motive had been. What would have happened to us if we’d told them Pa was stealing his cattle and about our part in it? Culley could have gone to prison, and they would probably have sent me to a juvenile home.”
Phillip could see that they had been forced into silence in order to protect themselves. The one thing he found so difficult to accept was the continued existence of a vigilante style of justice. More objective than she could be, he recognized that both her father and Calder had some justification for the actions, however misguided they might be. Naturally, because of his own interest in her, his sympathy was on her side, but it didn’t blind him to the other.
“They ruled his death was a suicide.” Her voice continued to waver with the flow of tears. “That’s why I let Aunt Cathleen think it was an accident. I couldn’t tell her about it—she’s a devout Catholic. It wasn’t suicide, anyway, although sometimes I think he must have subconsciously had a death wish.” She began to tremble violently, vibrating in his arms. “I hate them. I hate the Calders for what they did. I hope somebody destroys them someday.”
The depth of her passionate hatred shook Phillip. “Don’t hate them, Elizabeth. Hate invariably destroys the one who hates. Put it behind you,” he urged. “Don’t forget the father of your child is a Calder.”
“Ty will never know that,” she stated emphatically.
“Someday he’ll ask you about his father.” Phillip attempted to reason with her.
“I’ll never tell him who it is. I’ll make up some story,” she vowed and began crying again.
He held her closer and pressed his lips against her temple in an attempt to comfort her the way a father would kiss a child to make the hurt go away. That’s the way it started—with Phillip pressing light kisses over her forehead and cheekbone and whispering soothing words to her tortured soul. She turned her face toward him, tilting her head back so he could continue this assuagement of her pain and grief.
When his mouth brushed her lips and he felt them yielding softly in response, it all changed. His senses signaled an awareness of firm breasts thrust against his chest and the soft contours of her slender body curved against him. She was wholly desirable and she was in his arms. His mouth came back to seek the sweet taste of her lips beneath their salty covering of tears. Her body warmth ignited the desire that simmered below the surface whenever he was around her. Somewhere he’d lost the reason to control it. Passion flamed through his kiss and she returned it, her lips moving against his in the same spontaneous reaction. He hungrily deepened the kiss and felt her yield to him.
Suddenly her hands were pushing against his chest and she was wildly breaking free from his kiss to stare at him with green eyes that seemed to see a stranger. His hands started to reach for her, but she recoiled from him.
“Don’t touch me,” she warned and managed to scramble to her feet, backing away from him.
“Elizabeth, I—” He searched for the words to apologize for his behavior—for taking advantage of her when she had been in such a vulnerable state.
She rushed to the open door, pausing just long enough to get her bearings before she sped across the yard to the apartment above the garage. Phillip watched her from the stable doors.
Chapter XXI
Someone was climbing the flight of stairs outside the garage. Maggie could hear the footsteps, but she pretended she didn’t and continued to spoon-feed Ty in the high chair. Ty tried to grab the spoon, so she held his hand down and held the spoon to his closed mouth. He regarded her for several seconds with steadfast brown eyes, then shook his head.
“Come on, Ty. Just one more bite,” Maggie coaxed at the same instant there was a knock on the apartment door. She glanced at her aunt, who was scraping the plates from the evening meal before washing them.
“I’ll answer it.” Her aunt smiled at the young mother and child.
While Maggie’s attention was distracted, Ty grabbed the spoon with his free hand. Strained apricots squished through his little fingers and dripped onto the high-chair tray. Releasing an exasperated breath, Maggie reached for the damp washcloth kept nearby for just such emergencies. After prying the spoon out of his strong grasp, she wiped his hands and mouth, then her own and the tray. It had been the last spoonful of apricot sauce from the jar, so she untied the stained bib protecting his T-shirt. His legs kicked the chair while he cooed with delight.