Then Came You: A Prequel to The McPhee Clan (2 page)

"Thank you. I don't know why he's so persistent. He knows why I can't accept.
Not
that I would want to." She raised one shoulder up, then down, hoping the gesture would say what she could not. She felt Gil's gaze like a touch to her cheek, as if he were waiting for her to look up at him. For some reason she didn't want to, for that would make him suddenly too close, too intimate. She took a step away, fisted her hands, remembered the shopping list she was clutching. "You saved the day."

"I was only thinking of my stomach." A light quip, but the low dip of his tone said something more. Something that made her stomach clench up so tight it might never return to normal. "Not that you would have carried through with your threats."

"No, I really would have given you the burned pieces," she informed him, teasing. "I might have burned things on purpose just for you."

"Right, like I believe that." He winked at her, adjusted his hat, glanced out the window as if to make sure Lawrence had fled the scene for good. "You don't have a mean bone in your body, Maebry O'Riley. You were just bluffing."

"How do you know? Do I have to prove it to you?" She arched a brow at him. Sure, he was right, but a girl had to stand her ground, didn't she?

"We'll see come supper time." He gave a soft bark of laughter, his gaze finding hers. Warmth resonated in those dark blue depths and something mysterious, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. He dipped his chin, breaking eye contact and tipped his hat. "I'll be across the street if you lovely ladies need protecting."

"Lovely?" Maebry planted her hands on her hips. "Don't tell me that next you'll be turning into a Lawrence type."

"Well, it's a possibility." He winked, one big, capable hand curling around the door knob and engulfing it. "Maybe it could be the new me. I'd need a bowler hat, though."

"Take my advice. Do not trade in your Stetson."

"Okay, I'll keep that in mind." One corner of Gil's mouth tilted up into a half-grin, lopsided and dashing in a subtle, more masculine way that Lawrence on his best day could never hope to achieve. The bell above the door tinkled, announcing Gil's departure. He strode out the door, taking his very male presence with him.

"Whew, the store feels empty somehow when he leaves." Gemma swished into sight and held up the tin for inspection. "This is the tea you're after, right?"

"You know it. Maureen ran out again." Maebry grabbed a basket from the stack by the window and headed to inspect the packages of crackers. "She's having a rough time of it."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Gemma pushed a strand of black hair behind her ear and set the tea on the counter. "Rumor has it that she's having a hard time breathing."

"Yes, she's getting these weird episodes. Doc says she's near the end." Sad. Anyone's imminent passing was a sorrow, even Maureen's. Maebry's chest felt funny, tight with concern for the old lady even after all that had happened between them. She was family, after all, albeit distant. Very distant. "We're doing all we can to keep her comfortable."

"Hence the tea." Gemma's gait tapped lightly closer, her face genuinely concerned. "She's gone through the last tin so quickly. It must be one of the few comforts left to her."

"True." Maebry's gaze zipped across the store to the bank of front windows and the lone cowboy moseying across the dusty street. Back straight, long legs lean and strong, easy going stride. She didn't know why her throat closed up, making it hard to breathe. She could still feel the heat of his presence, the unyielding hardness of muscle and bone beneath her hand, the heat of his skin. Loneliness ached in her chest, which was foolish, really. She was twenty years old, she'd been on her own since she was fifteen, traveling from her home in Ireland by herself. She was alone and she accepted it. End of story.

But, still, her gaze lingered on the straight line of Gil's back. He was terribly fine. She couldn't help wishing, just a little, dreaming of him. Dreams couldn't hurt, right? She knew nothing could come of them, but the man just hooked her heart. There wasn't one thing she could do to stop it. But she had her duties and her obligations, and those came first.

And would for so many years, that it may as well be forever.

"He is a sight, isn't he?" Gemma plucked a tin of Maureen's favorite crackers from a nearby shelf, trying to hide a little sigh. "He's far too young for me, what is he, twenty-five, twenty-six? But still. My eyes can appreciate a fine man when he walks into my store."

"What, they weren't appreciating Lawrence?" Okay, perhaps it was wrong of her to tease. She chose a second tin of crackers from the shelf and plopped it into the wicker basket she'd hooked over her arm. "Sorry, I couldn’t help it."

"We are sisters-in-arms, my dear." Gemma gave a helpless shrug and took the crackers out of Maebry's basket. "We have to stick together when it comes to that man. He is a trial."

"He's just lonely." The words seemed to scrape out of her throat, because she knew how that felt. She battled that feeling every single day when her work was done and she was alone in her little room off the kitchen, facing an endlessly lonely evening. "I feel bad for him."

"Not bad enough to let him beau you, I hope." Gemma set the crackers on the counter next to the tea. "Oh, he's harmless enough, but I don't think he'd make a good husband."

"Maybe none of them do," Maebry found herself saying, echoing the words her mother used, the same sentiment Maureen had expressed whenever she got the chance. Maebry winced, hoping that didn't mean she was on the verge of believing real love didn't exist, that true love was impossible. Or maybe it was a defense, instead of saying the truth. That she would likely never marry. Never have a husband to love, children to treasure.

Unwillingly, her eyes wandered toward the window again, catching the last glimpse of Gil as he yanked open the feed store's front door and ambled inside, out of sight. The sensation of the reassuring warmth of his arm pressed to hers lingered.

Maybe I'm just that hopeless, she thought with a head shake, consulted her crumpled list and marched down the nearest aisle.

Gil Blackburn ignored the drone of the chatter in the store as he hiked up to the front counter. He still felt a little dazed, but then Maebry O'Riley usually had that effect on him. Still, he thought, squaring his shoulders, it had felt good to help her, even if it had nearly broken his heart.

"Gil, good to see you." Carl Thomas, proprietor of this fine establishment, dusted hayseed off the scarred wooden counter. "What can I do you for?"

"We're running short on oats at the Rocking M." He splayed his hands on the edge of the counter, glancing over his shoulder at the mercantile across the street. The waning sun glinted too brightly on the windows to catch a glimpse of her. He cleared his throat. "Last year's twister wasn't good for our crops."

"Mine neither!" called Zeke Owens, cowboys sat in the far corner of the store, hunkered down on a feed barrel over a game of checkers.

"It stayed east of my place, I had a great harvest." Silas Meeks, his fellow player, jumped his red checker across the board, collecting black pieces. "Hey, Gil. Is it true? Are you courting Maebry?"

"What? How did you hear something like that?" He shook his head, guffawing, if only to cover the painful ache in his heart.

"Latimer came in to join our game," Zeke explained. "But we wouldn't let him."

Poor Lawrence. It wasn't his fault he was, well, the way he was. Gil felt sympathetic, since they were both clearly sweet on Maebry. The problem being that Lawrence was sweet on any female in town under forty.

"Yeah, what's the word, Gil?" Carl pulled out his accounts ledger and flipped through the pages. "Are you and Maebry serious?"

"What is with you all?" Gil glanced over his shoulder, straining to catch sight of her in the store. He simply needed to see her, but no luck. The sun dimmed, and all he could make out was the front window display showing off lady's shoes. "Do you really think a gal as pretty as Maebry O'Riley would settle for the likes of me?"

"Well, when you put it that way." Zeke winked, turned his attention to the game and pondered his next move. "Maebry would be foolish if she settled for you."

"Don't I know it?" Humor covered the painful truth. There was something wrong with him, letting his heart fix on a woman he couldn’t have. Maebry had never shown a speck of interest in him, other than the friendliness she showed everyone. "We've worked together for a few months now. She knows me well enough to see faults and all. How can any lady get past that?"

"Exactly," Silas teased, wincing as he lost two checkers to Zeke. "Which is good for me. She doesn't know me yet. Think she'll have me?"

"Nah," Zeke added two checkers to his growing pile. "You're more faulty than Gil, and he doesn't stand a chance."

"Well, now, I disagree. Gil isn't so bad." Carl, a fatherly figure, reached for a pencil thoughtfully. "I'd reckon any number of ladies might think so too."

"Thanks, Carl." Gil took the pencil he offered, initialed the record of purchase and tipped his hat. "I appreciate it, but no woman has tied me down yet. Best to keep it that way."

"I understand, you like to roam free." Carl snapped the ledger closed, grinning easily. He was a kindly man, quiet, stocky but strong from years of lifting hundred and fifty pound sacks of grain in his store. Salt and pepper hair swirled around a thin spot on top where he was beginning to go bald, his angular face lined with laugh lines. Instead of making another friendly joke, his gaze turned serious, as if he somehow understood.

Revealed and not sure that he liked the storekeeper guessing his secret, Gil tipped his hat and headed for the stack of bagged oats. He hefted a bag over his shoulder, resisting the urge to turn around and check the mercantile windows one more time. It's impossible and you know that, he told himself as he headed out the door.

Something icy dove beneath his hat brim and brushed his cheek. He looked up. Snow. It hailed toward the ground in fat, thick flakes,
tap, tap, tapping
in every direction. The street turned white all around him.

"This is crazy!" A beautiful and familiar voice called from across the street. Maebry latched her wagon's tailgate and dusted the snow off her gloves. She peered at him from the depths of her hood, tattered and fraying in places, but her secondhand clothing could not dim her brightness. She shone like a beam of spring sunshine even in the darkening storm. "It's May!"

"It's Montana," he answered, somehow getting down the stairs without falling. Good thing his feet had found their way on his own, because all he really noticed was her. "You'd better head home before the roads get bad."

"Just what I was thinking." She spun on her heels, swishing away from him. Willowy and petite, she lifted her skirts, hopped up into the wagon and dusted off the snowy seat.

Nothing seemed to bother her. Not one thing. He absently bumped into something—the side of his own wagon—and dumped the bag of oats into the bed. The veil of snow threatened to cut off his view of her, but the wind gusted, allowing him one last look as she took the reins in her slender hands. Little wisps of sunshine blond hair tumbled down from her up knot to curl around her delicate, oval face. Emerald green eyes flashed as she laughed and raised one gloved hand to him in a graceful little wave.

"Thanks again for being my pretend beau," she called out as her wagon rattled by, drawn by one of the ranch's horses. "It may have been brief, but it was the best relationship I've ever had."

"Me, too." His heart took another wrench. Judging by her easy-going, friendly manner, she had no clue. Not a single one. He watched her roll away. "Get home safe!"

She was far enough away that he wasn't sure his words had reached her, but she fluttered her fingers in a little wave before the snow storm closed around her in a curtain of white, stealing her from his sight.

Something tugged on his sleeve. Casey, his bay gelding. Velvet lips clamped firmly on his coat cuff, dark eyes mildly reprimanding. Casey ran a tight ship, and he expected his master to do the same.

"All right, I'm done mooning." Gil scrubbed the horse's nose and jolted into action, pounding up the steps to the boardwalk, leaving a trail in the quickly accumulating white stuff. He couldn't help glancing over his shoulder one more time, wishing.

Wishing, when he had sacks of feed to bring home before this turned into a full-force blizzard. Tucking away his tender feelings for Maebry O'Riley, he buried them deep. Some things were simply not meant to be.

Stupid weather! Maebry swiped snow out of her face as she squinted at the disaster that had befallen the wagon. The ranch horse glanced over his shoulder at her, arched a horsy brow and sent her a worried look through the sideways falling snow.

"Phil, why are you looking at me like that?" She gave the wagon wheel a good hard kick. That was the old family rule. When frustrated, a good whack with your foot to whatever wasn't working never did any harm. Except to her toe, which protested painfully from smacking into the metal rim. "It's not my fault we're good and stuck."