Carolyn Davidson - Maggie's Beau

“Don’t you shoot my dog. She’s just scared you’ll hurt her.” The girl stepped forward, shielding the pair of animals, her narrowed eyes glittering defiance. Dark hair hung in disarray, its snarled length falling over her shoulders and partially covering her face. She snatched at the unruly mop and peered up at him.

“Who beat the tar out of you?” Beau asked, his voice quiet, even as his stomach roiled in disgust. She hadn’t narrowed her eyes at him purposely. One was almost shut, its lid puffed and purpled, a bruise covering most of her cheek. Blood stained the corner of her mouth and her lips were swollen and discolored.

“None of your business.” The dog moved to nudge its nose against the girl’s hand and Beau watched as her fingers spread to cover the furry head. “Just let us get by and we won’t bother you none.” The cat stood again, and hobbled to lean against the girl’s bare leg. She glanced down and reached for the wounded creature, her movement swift, her gaze returning quickly to Beau.

“I don’t think I can do that, ma’am,” he said quietly.

“I didn’t steal nothin’,” she told him sharply. “I just took a nap in your loft. We didn’t touch anything.”

“I wasn’t worried about that.” What he was concerned about was getting her and her menagerie better acquainted with the idea of eating breakfast.

She watched him warily. “If you’ll move out of the way, mister, we’ll be gone faster than you can blink.” She took one step toward him, the dog moving to her side, the cat creeping up to wind itself around the back of the girl’s neck.

“You got any belongings, miss?” Surely she hadn’t arrived in his barn without some sort of baggage, aside from the creatures she protected.

Her eye twitched and she hunched her shoulders, glancing to where the ladder led to the loft. “I left my stuff up there. Forgot it.”

Beau nodded. “Why don’t you go up and get it, and I’ll see what I can rustle up for breakfast for you and your critters.”

Stock-still, she watched him, her head turning a bit as she gauged his considerable length, her gaze finally coming to rest on the gun he held. “You gonna kill my dog?”

“Not till I feed her,” Beau said, sliding the pistol back into its holster.

“I don’t take somethin’ for nuthin’,” she said firmly. “I’ll earn the food.”

He hesitated, but only for a moment. He’d have to let her call the shots, most likely. Otherwise, she’d be gone in a heartbeat once he turned his back. “All right, you can do that. Come on up to the house and I’ll find some grub. Then you can work for a while in the garden, if you want to.”

Her chin stuck out mutinously. “I’d rather clean stalls.”

Beau swallowed a chuckle as she stood her ground, then shrugged. “That’s up to you. I just need to have the potatoes dug and the rest of the onions pulled.” At her glare, he relented. “Hey, if you’d rather clean stalls, by all means, have at it.”

She turned away, reaching for one of the pitchforks on the wall and he stilled her hand with a word. “No.” It was a firm command, and she was obviously used to the harsh tone he used, for she turned quickly, her expression fearful. “You can earn your food after you eat it, and after your animals get fed.”

Her head nodded slowly, her hand returned to clutch at the side of her dress and she waited. “Go ahead, mister. I’ll follow you up to the house.”

“Is your dog going to latch on to my leg when I turn away?” he asked, amusement coloring his words, hoping to lull her into conversation. He offered a smile and was stunned as she backed from him again.

“Maisie won’t bite you if I tell her not to.” She touched the dog’s head and the animal sat quietly by her side. “Go ahead on. We’ll follow you.”

Beau turned away, walking briskly toward his house, the silence behind him tempting him to look back. She was a fey creature, without much to recommend her. Somebody had trounced her good from the looks of it. And unless he missed his guess, she’d gone hours, maybe days, without food. It was no wonder she was wary of him, with his gun slung around his waist. He’d only worn it in case he encountered the snake he’d spotted last night. Rattlers were rare around the house and barn, but he wasn’t about to take any chances.

He hunched his shoulders and then stretched upward, bringing sore muscles into play. Damn, his day was shot all to hell and back and he’d hardly had time to rub the sleep from his eyes.

Maggie moved behind him, matching her steps to his, scampering as he outpaced her. Cat clung to her hair, balancing across her neck, and Maggie reached up to grasp the animal’s hind legs. Beside her, Maisie moved cautiously, and as they approached the back porch of the ranch house, the dog halted and growled a warning. Maggie touched the shaggy head and looked down.

“Your dog not partial to men?” The rancher stood on the porch and turned to face her. “She can stay out here. Hell, you can all stay out here if you like. Or come on in. It makes no matter to me.” He turned from her and opened the screened door, walking into the house.

“We’ll eat on the porch,” Maggie said, raising her voice so as to be heard. The screened door slammed and she climbed the steps with care, her feet tender from the long hours of walking on rough ground. She should have snatched up her shoes when she’d left, but Pa had been rustling around in the next room and she’d not wanted to take a chance on being caught. She’d skinned over the windowsill and landed on the ground with a thud, then snatched up her bundle and taken off like a streak across the yard, toward the woods.

Settling against the wooden corner post, she pulled the cat from around her neck. The wound was healing well, she decided, brushing back the hair to better make out the rough stitches she’d put in place. Her mouth drew down as she recalled the horror of a steel trap and the howls of the wounded creature who’d strayed into its jaws. Pa had nailed her a good one for hiding the cat and not giving away its whereabouts, but it was worth it. Already Cat was walking pretty good. Before long, she’d be…Maggie’s eyes dimmed as the creature’s hopeless future loomed before her. No longer would Cat be able to hunt for food, or protect herself from predators.

“I’ll take care of you. Don’t you worry none,” she murmured, her fingers tugging at the gray ears with tender caresses. Maisie watched from the grass below, sitting patiently, her gaze never swerving. “And you, too, Maisie.” Maggie lifted her shoulders, stretching, easing the cramps from sleeping in the loft. She’d settled down near the opening, watchful of her animals, and the floor had been hard and ungiving.

In the room beyond the screened door, sounds promised the coming of a meal, or at least some sort of hastily prepared food, if she was any judge. A pan clattered, a spoon scraped, and water was pumped into a container. Who’d have ever thought a man could put together something to eat? Pa wouldn’t have been caught dead dealing with the kitchen stove or making a meal for himself. But he always managed to be there when Mama dished things up.

Maggie leaned her head against the post behind her. For right now, for this moment, she was safe. If Pa was after her, she’d see him coming, for the lane was in sight. Beyond the barn, several men were heading in this direction, but they didn’t seem to be on the lookout, just making their way toward a long, low building where smoke drifted from the chimney and a clanging noise seemed to be a signal of sorts. She shrank within herself, lest she be seen by the men. Three of them there were, and so far they hadn’t taken any mind of her. She could hear them calling back and forth, and then they made their way through the doorway into the building next to the barn.