Laurie Grant - Maggie And The Maverick

“No,” Maggie said ruefully. “That is, I didn’t mean it as a joke, but I knew he wouldn’t consider me if he knew I was a woman. I…I’m afraid he’s rather angry—not only because I’m a woman, but also because I’m from the North.”

“He weel get over eet,” Jovita told her, her black eyes twinkling, “when he sees you do a good job.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Maggie assured her, buoyed by the woman’s vote of confidence. Then she darted a glance at Johnny, but the boy was staring at a grasshopper making its way over the glass, just out of his reach, and he was paying no attention to them.

Maggie lowered her voice and said, “I’d like to ask while Mr. Devlin is gone—why is he wearing a black armband? And is that why he’s so…so cross?”

A shadow passed over the older woman’s face, and she, too, checked to see if Johnny was paying any attention to them before she whispered back, “Eet ees for hees wife. She die some days ago, but he just learn of eet yesterday, you see? She was a silly woman, hees wife. She ran away from heem.”

Margaret felt her mouth drop open in shock. “She deserted him? And their child?” Now she understood the undercurrent of rage in his voice when he had spoken to her. His grief was still fresh, and mixed with that grief was an anger he was entitled to feel at his wife’s betrayal.

Ah, Maggie, you’re so perceptive all of a sudden, a voice within her mocked. You, who didn’t see what kind of man Richard Burke was until it was too late? Maybe Garrick Devlin made his wife’s life a hell on earth, as he may very well make yours as his employee. Somehow, though, her heart was sure that whatever had happened between him and his wife, Garrick had not been at fault, despite his sour temperament.

“Oh, dear,” she said aloud. She could hardly have come at a worse time.

“I do not theenk he means to be so cross,” Jovita said, laying a consoling hand on Maggie’s shoulder. “Eet ees not you. Eet ees hees wife, the war.he lost hees leg in the war, did you know that?”

“Yes, he told me,” Maggie said hastily. Actually, he had flung the words at her, hadn’t he? As if they were jagged stones.

The Mexican woman shrugged. “Eet ees many things. He has not had the boy a long time. They still get to know each other, you see.”

“I see,” Maggie murmured, but of course she didn’t.

“Hees brother Cal, the sheriff, he tell me much about thees woman who was hees wife,” Jovita informed her. “You ask heem sometime, st?”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s none of my business,” Maggie told the woman uncomfortably, but for some reason Jovita didn’t look at all convinced.

“You have never been married, señorita?” Jovita inquired.

The change of subject startled Maggie. “No,” she said, but she felt the betraying flush creep up her cheeks. Once, she had expected to be Mrs. Richard Burke by this time.

“Ah, but you have a sweetheart, no? He ees back where you came from?” Jovita asked, her face puzzled.

“No,” Maggie said, too quickly. “That is…there was someone.but we’re no longer, uh, courting.”

“Ah…” the woman murmured, and Maggie saw in her eyes that she had guessed much about Maggie’s former sweetheart.

She was afraid Jovita was going to probe further, and was wondering how she could politely evade the questions, when Johnny began jumping up and down and shouting that his father was coming down the street. And then Garrick Devlin was silhouetted by the sun in the entranceway.

“Everything ees ready, Senor Devlin,” Jovita said, motioning to the food and dishes spread out on the table. “Sit down and eat, you and Senorita Maggie and Johnny. You sent your wire, st?”

“Yes,” he murmured, but his eyes were on Maggie, who felt like a jackrabbit must feel when cornered by a cougar. A wounded, irritable cougar.

“Oh, but I wouldn’t dream of intruding on your dinner with your son, sir,” Maggie assured him, and wasn’t surprised to see her remark make his face relax a little. “Perhaps you could tell me if the hotel serves luncheon?”

“Of course you weel not eat at the hotel! There ees more than enough food for all three of you, Senorita Maggie. You weel eat here,” Jovita informed her. “Señor, I have theengs to buy for your household at the general store,” she said. “I weel leave Johnny weeth you while he eats and then come back for heem, sí? You can enjoy your son and get to know your new employee,” she said with a twinkle in her eye as she started walking to the door.

“You’re not staying?” Garrick protested. “But Jovita—” But the bell over the door was already tinkling as the Mexican woman exited.

“Let’s eat, Papa! The pretty lady can sit by me!” the boy cried, his eyes moving from his father to Maggie and back again. “Come sit here, pretty lady!”

Maggie bent to speak to the little boy. “Johnny, you may call me Miss Maggie,” she said with a smile, then turned to speak to his father. “Mr. Devlin, it’s not necessary,” she began. “I’ll just walk down to the hotel—”

“You’ll do no such thing, Miss Harper,” Garrick Devlin informed her, his eyes warning her not to protest further in front of his son, who was watching everything that passed between them. “Have a seat next to Johnny, there. I’ll need to discuss with you how I intend to run this newspaper in any case, so you might as well sit down and eat dinner with us.” He gestured toward the table, his invitation the very antithesis of the famous Southern hospitality.

That hospitality must be reserved for other Southerners, she thought ruefully, for as a Yankee she’d never received it.

Ah, well, he was just her employer. And if he didn’t like her, little Johnny seemed perfectly thrilled that she was going to eat with him and his papa, Maggie thought as the little boy settled himself on the chair between them and grabbed at a drumstick.

“Not yet, Johnny. Haven’t I taught you we must give thanks for our food before we eat?”

Before she bowed her own head, Maggie saw the little boy dutifully bow his and squeeze his eyes shut. Then she listened as Devlin briefly drawled grace.

The man had a beautiful voice, even if he was testy in the extreme, Maggie thought. Then she opened her eyes, to find him looking at her.

“Go ahead and help yourself to some chicken now, Johnny, Miss Harper,” he said, without looking away from her. “You’ll have to forgive my lack of eloquence in prayer, ma’am,” he said, irony dripping in the twangy, molasses-coated vowels. “My brother Cal’s the preacher in the family.”

“But…isn’t he the sheriff? At least, I thought that’s what Jovita said,” Maggie replied, then knew when he raised an eyebrow that she’d managed to say the wrong thing. She ducked her head and pretended to ponder her own selection of chicken.

“Oh, so my housekeeper’s already given you my complete family history,” he commented. “No doubt you’d have solved all my problems if I’d been gone five minutes more.”

“No, Mr. Devlin, I—”

He held up a hand to hush her. “No matter. I’m sure it’s just as well that you know my estimable brother Caleb is the sheriff of this little town, after having been a preacher before the war. In fact, you’d probably get along famously with him, as he fought alongside the Yankees rather than our own Southern boys.” There was bitterness in his voice as he divulged this surprising news.

She felt him watching her again, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of showing her curiosity.

Johnny’s interruption made that easier. “I like Uncle Cal—Aunt Livy, too!” he announced, waving his alreadybare drumstick like a baton. “And I like Grammy and Aunt Annie, and Uncle Sam and Aunt Mercy—she’s gonna have a baby! And I like my kitty cat!”