“I see,” Maggie whispered. “Thank you so much, Mr. Harrison. I hope you enjoy your book.” She stumbled away, glad when he focused on his book rather than her faltering steps. She managed to only walk far enough to be out of view, before she collapsed against a stall. “Gone,” she whispered, a hand to her heart. “He left.”
A searing anger filled her at her da’s treachery. But Dunmore? Although she attempted to understand his motive, Dunmore’s absence made it nearly impossible. Nothing would be right until Dunmore returned and understood that they didn’t have to wait a year.
She forced herself to walk from the livery, staring at the blue sky and the road leading out of town toward the bluffs that buffeted the town. She wished she could saddle a horse and race after him, although she knew that was pure folly on her part. Rubbing a hand over the ache in her chest, she turned for home, one thought paramount in her mind.
How was she to endure his absence?
* * *
Dunmore rode away from the first stage stop between Fort Benton and Helena, already regretting his hasty decision to leave town. He wished he could turn around his stagecoach and return to Maggie. To explain to her why they’d suffered through that miserable dinner the previous night. Although he would break his promise to Seamus, he knew it would be worth it to ease the torment he’d seen in Maggie’s gaze. He hoped to never see her suffer like that again.
With a sigh, he settled onto the uncomfortable seat atop the stagecoach, his alert gaze taking in the constant landscape of prairie land and dun-colored bluffs in the distance. The route was nearly as familiar to him as Maggie’s beautiful face, although not nearly as precious. Each bluff, coulee, and dry riverbed was a landmark, and he knew he was running a little behind schedule. He’d allowed Mr. Patterson at Twenty-Eight Mile Springs to chatter on too long, as his sons changed the horses. However, Dunmore knew better than to rush the man, as Dunmore depended on the horses to be well tended for each leg of the arduous journey to and from the mining cities farther into the Territory.
Ignoring the man sleeping beside him, Dunmore continued to contemplate Maggie. Unbidden, the memory of their embrace not even a month ago filled his mind, and he was momentarily lost to memories.
“Dunmore,” Maggie called out in her sweet voice. “Are you truly back?” She poked her head around the corner into the tack room, smiling with glee at the sight of him. “You are here!” she exclaimed, throwing herself into his arms. When he caught her, but held her stiffly against him, she pushed away and flushed a fetching shade of pink. “Forgive me. I’m being shameless.”
He gripped her arm, preventing her from racing away in embarrassment. “Shameless?” he asked, as he watched her with deep interest. “You’ve never been, nor will you ever be, shameless, Maggie darlin’.”
She stared at him in openmouthed wonder at his use of the word darling. “Dunmore,” she breathed. “It’s good to have you home.”
He chuckled and nodded. “I suspected you felt some joy when you threw yourself into my arms.” When she belted him on his arm, he laughed louder. “I’ve asked you to call me Philip.”
She continued to stare at him with wide eyes. “It seems too forward.”
He shook his head subtly and took a step toward her, shrinking the distance between them to almost nothing. “Forward?” Slowly raising a hand, he cupped her head. “There’s nothing forward about asking the woman I … adore to call me by my given name.”
Her eyes widened farther, as she blurted out, “You adore me?”
His smile tender, he tilted his head down toward hers, so their noses almost touched. “How do you not know? How could you doubt?”
Her breath rapid, she shrugged. “I hoped.” She took a deep breath, raising her hand to softly clasp his hand caressing her head. “I hoped.” Her eyes were wet, as though fighting strong emotions, and she was unable to say anything more.
Hauling her close, Dunmore wrapped his arms around her, tugging her onto her toes, as he hugged her so hard that he nearly squeezed the breath from her. “Every time I leave you, it’s a torment. All I can dream about is returning to you.”
She breathed in his singular scent—one of horses, musk, and the forest, all mixed together to mean Dunmore. “I love how you smell.”
He shook his head in astonishment. “I stink of horses and work.”
“No,” she murmured, as she took another sniff. “Well, yes, you smell of hard work. But also a hint of the forest clings to you, and you’re all manly.” She shrieked, as he spun her around, placing her back against the tack room wall. “Dun—Philip.”
“And you,” he breathed, as he nuzzled her neck. “You smell of the sunshine and peppermint and a hint of starch.” He sniffed again. “Of hope and of all my dreams.”
“Philip,” she whispered, her hands cupping his cheeks, as she gazed deeply into his ardent gaze. “I …” With a sudden inhalation of breath, she stood on her toes and leaned forward, placing her lips against his. A chaste kiss, she did nothing more than that, before she backed away, flushing with humiliation.
He stared at her, mouth agape, his breaths emerging in pants, unable to form a single word.
“What must you think of me? I throw myself at you, and I don’t even know how to kiss!” She squirmed in an attempt to ease away. “I fought … him, … so I never really kissed anyone before. Oh, I’m a fool.” She
