Chasing the Sunset(10)

Nick stared at her with a combination of sorrow and lust. She did not see a reasonable man when she looked at him; she saw the same monster that she saw in every man. He had seen the way she flinched away from every male she came into contact with on the farm. Even the fourteen-year-old Tommy unnerved her. She cut the same wide berth around every man, and it hurt him to his soul to see the pain in her beautiful eyes.

“Please,” he said softly, in the same low, soothing voice that Maggie had heard him use one day on a skittish bay mare. “I promise I will not come any nearer. I will give you my shirt to dry on, and while I turn my back, you can get dressed. I will not hurt you. I will not hurt you, Maggie.”

Slowly, never taking his eyes from hers, he unbuttoned his cotton shirt and laid it on the ground in front of him. Her wide eyes stared at his naked chest in fascination, at the curly pelt of hair that grew riotously all over it and arrowed down into his pants. Maggie felt a flutter in her chest as he turned away and moved forward a couple of feet.

“Go ahead, get out and dry off,” he said gently. “I will not turn back around until you say.”

She crept slowly, hesitantly, toward the shore, each step a gift of her trust, her wet hem slapping against her bare calves. Maggie felt hot all over as she thought about how she had been behaving. Like a wanton, like a whore, she thought in self-loathing. He will make me leave now, he will. Oh god, what will I do? Trembling, she reached for the shirt and began to dry herself, never taking her eyes from the strong muscles of his back. The cloth of the shirt was still warm from his body, and a musky, pleasant scent clung to it. She put it to her nose, and smelled deeply. It was his scent, the smell of his body, and she trembled again, suddenly weak. The pit of her stomach felt funny, heavier somehow, and it scared her. She fumbled for her dress and pulled it over her head recklessly, with no heed for fastenings or her tangled hair. Maggie bit back her cry as she backed slowly away from him, moving toward the wood. Where were her shoes? she thought in panic. She could do without the stockings, but those were her only shoes.

“Maggie,” he called. “Don’t run away. I can hear you. I want to talk to you. Please do not leave.”

Her heart started to race. She clutched his shirt against her chest and tried to think. He was her employer. If he told her to stay, then stay she must.

“What . . .” she started, then stopped when her voice broke. She shivered again and looked around. The clearing which had seemed so serene and welcoming before was sinister to her now. The old tree seemed twisted and grotesque to her now, threatening and frightening. The green branches were black in the absence of light and they no longer whispered to her, they hissed malevolently. She could not seem to stop shaking.

Nick was facing her now, and she started violently when he took a step forward.

“No!” she whimpered when he reached out a hand to her. “Please, please, I will go back to the house, I will do whatever you want, I promise!”

“Oh, Maggie,” he breathed. “You can do whatever you want in the evenings.” His dark eyes glittered at her in the moonlight. He seemed struck with some fierce emotion. “I am not going to hurt you.” His voice dropped an octave. “I want to escort you home. You need to get warm. I won’t touch you, I will just point out the way. I will get Ned for you, if you feel more comfortable with him.”

He was holding out his hand to her, his strong, brown, capable hand that could hurt her so easily. Maggie ran her tongue over her suddenly dry lips. She saw him take a step nearer, and she was frozen in place. She sucked in a breath, and he stopped moving, making no effort to mask his sorrow from her.

“Whatever it is, I did not cause it, Maggie.” He looked at her, really looked at her, and saw that she had just gone beyond listening. Her pupils were fixed and dilated, and she was breathing as if she had run a race.

“I want you to go home,” he said distinctly. “You are cold and wet, and you have had a fright. Come home now, Maggie.”

She still stared at him. He let out a sigh. She was going to hate this. He reached for her hand and pulled her close in one swift motion. She struggled feebly.

“Stop that,” he said sternly, and she quit struggling immediately and stood quiescent beside him.

Nick picked up her shoes, then set off through the forest at a fast pace, holding fast to her hand and pulling her along with him, dodging branches, moving around obstacles, and all the while she followed him quietly. He deliberately did not go near the stables so as not to run into anyone, and he breathed a sigh of relief when she finally stood in her own chamber. He grabbed a linen cloth and handed it to her.

“Dry yourself and get into something else,” he told her gruffly. “I will be right back.”

By the time he returned, she was in a faded dressing gown, sitting down and brushing her hair. He handed her a glass silently and she took it just as silently and drank the whiskey without complaint. He smiled faintly when she made a face and choked on the harsh alcohol, but she could feel much needed warmth spreading up from her stomach after she drank it.

He hunkered down in front of her and felt it like a blow when she cowered back.

“Maggie,” he said gently, and took her cold resisting fingers into his. “You are safe here, and no one will hurt you. You can go to the clearing and swim whenever you want, and I will not bother you. I promise you that.”

She looked at him suspiciously and did not say a word. He bit back a sigh and felt an urge to touch her face that he resisted. She would not welcome any contact from him.

“Go to bed,” he said softly. “Rest. Tomorrow will be here soon.”

He stood for a moment outside her door, head resting against the frame, palms flat against the cool wood. Then he walked slowly to the stairs above the stables and Ned’s room. He pounded fiercely until Ned answered the door, disheveled, obviously ready for bed despite the early hour. He had been up all night the evening before with a mare ready to foal for the first time, and Nick had sent him off hours before with orders to sleep for a while. His white hair stood up in spikes all over his head, and there was a crease on his face from the bedcovers.

“What is it? Is it the mare? Why did Tommy not wake me?”

“I want to talk to you about your niece,” he said heavily, and Ned’s face fell.

“I have been expecting you,” he said heavily. “Come on in.”



When Maggie awakened before dawn as she did every morning, she had a feeling that something was wrong. When she opened her eyes, the events of the night before came flooding back. She curled up in a tight ball in the middle of the bed, for she felt as if she were flying apart. She pressed a fist against her temple with a force that was sure to bruise later, but she needed the physical pain to distract her from the turmoil that thrummed inside her head. What was she going to do? She had no place to go, no money to speak of, no one else to turn to if he decided to make her leave. She would just . . . she would just die. Maybe she could give him what he wanted, what she saw in his eyes that he desired, and maybe then he would let her stay.

Her heart trebled its rate at just the thought. Her mouth trembled, and she put a shaking hand up to it. No, she could not do it. No. She lay for a moment in her warm bed, underneath her soft sheets, and thought about what had brought her to this point. She could remember a time, vaguely, when she had not been afraid and she wanted that feeling back again . . . she wanted it so badly.

She rose from the bed to stand at the window and stare out. The sky was just beginning to lighten with a rosy hint of dawn, and she watched the rising of the sun with eyes gone bleak and hopeless. When had it happened? How long had it taken to turn her into this spineless creature, the one who feared every touch, even obviously kind ones? When had she become the person who could not stop being afraid, the one who could not even live her own life anymore? She did not want to be this way, that part of her life was over, but she still relived it day by day and it seemed she had not escaped it after all. Once, and it seemed like such a long time ago, the world had been such a joyous, exciting place, full of grand adventures and shimmering surprises. She had met each day with a smile on her face, unafraid to walk in the sunshine, desperate to seek out new experiences.

She wanted to be like that again, for what was the point of all of this if she lived this half life, cowering in her room and afraid of every shadow? She might as well have died in that place, but she was alive, alive, and she meant to live the rest of her life, not wallow in bad memories and self-pity.

She would be that girl again, she would, and if Nick Revelle wanted her to leave then she would just beg him to let her stay. She would go down on her knees and kiss his feet if she had to. He was not like him, she knew that he was not. She could feel it all the way to the depths of her soul. He would not hurt her, or force her to do what he so clearly wanted to do. He had come upon her nearly naked, and he had put not one hand wrong upon her. He had been nothing but the soul of kindness and he did not deserve this distrust.

She would do whatever it took, whatever was necessary, because she felt clearly in her own heart that this was her last chance. If she was forced to leave, if she ran from this place, there would be no more chances for her. She would fall down into that dark hole of memory that was waiting for her and she would never fight her way to the top. She would live in fear forever.