“Good,” Dunmore rasped in a deep voice. “If you’re learning anything about kissin’, it’s from me.” He bent forward, softly placing his lips against hers. At her inquisitive tilt of her head and the firming pressure of her mouth against his, he groaned and hauled her closer. Soon, the kiss had deepened, and his arms were wrapped around her waist, his legs tangled in her skirts. Her hands were buried in his long hair, and she pressed against him, eager to be as close to him as possible.
After many long drugging kisses, Dunmore broke away, ignoring her moan of protest. He scattered kisses over her cheeks and down her neck, forcing himself to stop at the neckline of her gown. “Forgive me for being so forward.” His breath sawed in and out of him, while his hand shook as it stroked through her loose hair. With his gaze gleaming with passion, he stared at her with her hair down. “I’ve dreamed of seeing you like this for so long.”
She shook her head in confusion and gazed at him in silence.
Kissing her quickly, he backed away, pressing his forehead against hers. “Lips swollen from my kisses. Hair a tangled mess and free from pins due to my hands. Your expression filled with promise.” He took a deep breath and then another. “I … I beg your pardon, Maggie.” He took another deep breath and backed away, putting a slight distance between them and ignoring her further groan of protest. “Beloved.”
“Beloved?” she breathed.
“Yes, it’s how I always think of you. My beloved Maggie.” His expression overflowed with sincerity, passion, and the deepest of emotions he refused to name. “Never doubt how much you are cherished.”
At the sound of Mr. Harrison calling out in the livery, Dunmore motioned for her to remain, as he found his hat and sauntered out to chat with the livery owner about his horses.
The stage hit a rut, and Dunmore jerked from his reverie. With a start, he looked around him, realizing he had traveled miles with no recollection of the land traversed. Shaking his head in disgust, he forced himself to pay attention to the terrain and to any potential for danger, as he attempted to push Maggie from his thoughts.
* * *
Two weeks after Dunmore had left, Maggie wandered to the levee to stare at the Missouri River and to watch the men work. She knew her da would be upset with her because she was wandering around town without a brother as her escort, but she needed time alone, away from the house. Without the promise of Dunmore’s return and visits with him, Maggie felt her large family home had turned into a prison.
Even during the long winter months, she had never felt as cooped up, as penned in, as she did now. Dunmore had visited almost every day. They had chatted while she cooked and then, during the long evenings, he had taught her to play cribbage. He said it was one of his favorite ways of passing the time while traveling, as he could almost always find someone to play with him, and he never cared to risk his hard-earned money in a card game. She rarely beat him, and she relished their quiet moments in the kitchen, with the rumble of her father’s voice in the background, as he read to the family in the living room. Those simple, easy days seemed so far away.
A deep-seated anger had taken root inside Maggie. She attempted to understand her father’s desire to have more time with her, but she resented the misunderstanding that had been allowed to bloom between her and Dunmore. A sliver of rage had sprouted toward Dunmore too. He had agreed with her father, never speaking with her. He’d allowed her to believe that he didn’t care for her. That all of their precious moments had been a lie.
She ducked her head, as she rubbed at her eyes, battling tears. She wanted Dunmore back in town. She wanted to throw herself into his arms. To feel his strength as he held her close. To breathe in deeply of his musky masculine scent that always held a hint of horses and a forest. She wanted to feel at peace again.
A hand gripped her shoulder, and she stiffened in alarm.
“Now what could make the prettiest girl in Fort Benton so sad?” A.J. asked, as he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and then released it. “Ain’t right to see you’ve lost your bloom, missy.”
“I think you call us all missy so you don’t have to remember our names,” she teased, her voice shaky, as she attempted to hide her melancholy.
He peered at her, as he rocked back and forth, his pipe clamped in the corner of his mouth. “Now you don’t go tellin’ anyone else my secrets.” He winked at her, his smile fading when he saw her fighting tears. “Miss Maggie?” He grasped her arm and gently led her to a nearby crate, easing her onto it. “Ain’t nothin’ so awful as to make you cry.”
She swiped at her cheeks. “That’s easy for you to say, Mr. A.J.”
“The lad was a fool to run away from you, without speakin’ with you. And a greater fool for ever agreein’ to your pa’s demands.” He paused. “I remember when I was courtin’ my sweet Bessie. Her father tried somethin’ similar. I think it’s in a father’s nature to always test the man courtin’ his daughter.”
“Da knows the man Dunmore is,” Maggie protested, as she pulled out her handkerchief.
“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, missy.” A.J. puffed on his pipe and stared at the ever-constant flow of the Missouri, seeming to take comfort from the river. “Every man, even the most trustworthy, must be tested when a father is going to entrust his precious daughter to him.”
Maggie’s gaze shone
