“A.J.,” Seamus said in a low warning voice.
Staring at his friend, A.J. shrugged unrepentantly. “You know you were a fool, sonny. No need to act righteous now.” He winked at Maggie, as she fought a smile. “There’s the missy I know. Be full of joy and wonder, and give Dunmore hell when he returns. Before givin’ him a big kiss.” He winked again, when Seamus half-sighed, half-groaned.
Maggie giggled and A.J. chuckled.
Seamus stared at Maggie with an arrested expression, as it was the first time he’d heard her laugh in too long. Soon they were swept up in conversations going on around them, but a tenuous truce had been forged between Maggie and her father. However, neither of them were foolish enough to believe there would be full harmony until Dunmore returned.
* * *
Dunmore sat watching the horses trundle along, as his thoughts remained on Maggie. He was thankful that the man beside him was alert and eager to shoot at anyone who would threaten the stage. Dunmore feared an attack could occur, and he would be dead, long before he even knew there had been a threat.
The last time he saw Maggie played over and over again in his mind. Her desolate expression. Her defeated posture. How had he allowed Seamus to convince him to separate them? With an irate huff, he wished he’d had the sense to confront the man before he left town. He wished he’d made Seamus tell Maggie the truth, so she would understand his esteem had never wavered. Instead she thought him a scoundrel, who had played with her affection.
“Maggie,” he whispered, finding solace in merely whispering her name to the wind. He hated that he had been to Fort Benton and hadn’t held her in his arms. Hadn’t shared a conversation with her. Hadn’t gazed with joy and adoration into her beautiful eyes.
The horses shied in front, and he focused on the surroundings. They were on a wagon trail carved into the side of the mountain, headed toward a distant mining town that would be little more than a vague memory in a year or two. He would normally have allowed another man to run this route, but Dunmore had heard Jacques Bergeron was there, and Dunmore wanted to ensure the man had no plans to leave.
Glancing around, he saw the steady incline of the trail in front of him, with a steep drop-off to the other side. Pine trees and shrubs clung to the mountainside, although little grew where the steep drop-offs and gullies were. Where there were meadows, stalks of flowers with lacy white orbs dotted the landscape. “Bear grass,” he muttered to himself.
Suddenly the horses whinnied and then screamed, as a horrible groaning echoed through the air. With his own scream, he yelled, “Jump! Get out of the stage now!” The man beside him sat in stiff horror, frozen in place. Dunmore pushed at him, waking him from his stupor, and the man launched himself over the edge, shrieking in fear and then howling in pain as he landed.
Casting a quick, furtive glance behind him, he saw those inside the carriage peering out the window. Unable to stop the horses, nor to separate the stage from them, Dunmore prayed for a quick death, as the road fell out from underneath them, and the stage tumbled down the mountainside, splintering apart, as though nothing more than kindling.
Chapter 4
Turning her face up to the brilliant sunlight, Maggie prayed the warmth would penetrate the icy shell surrounding her heart. Every day that passed without word from Dunmore, she felt the numbness growing. She worried that she would be incapable of feeling anything, if he didn’t return soon. With a sigh, she thought about her father and about her mounting resentment toward him.
Although he had attempted to speak with her numerous times, she had rebuffed every one of his overtures, determined to wait until Dunmore had returned to her. Their shared camaraderie from a few nights ago had evolved into a stilted tension. Maggie understood they needed someone like A.J. to help ease the friction between them. Or Dunmore needed to return. However, Dunmore had departed nearly a month ago, and she hadn’t had a word from him since.
Now that the busy season was upon them in earnest, she understood how much she had come to rely on his frequent visits. Even if he was only in town for an evening or two, he would always come by the house for a meal and to share a story about something interesting he had seen. She realized how dependent she was on his frequent visits, never having lost faith that he would return. She missed that naive certainty that she would see him again, one day soon, and that he’d gaze at her with adoration and affection as he teased her, their hands brushing each other’s as they sat side by side at her father’s table.
However, now that it was early July, she had hoped he would have returned to her by now. That he wouldn’t have been able to keep to her father’s edict. That a month away would have been as challenging for him as it was for her. Doubts she had attempted to keep at bay gained credence, as the duration of his absence grew. If he really cared, he’d return, her mind whispered. If you were more than a passing fancy, he could never stay away for so long, it taunted.
She ducked her head, as she admitted to herself that she wasn’t the type of woman to inspire a lifetime’s worth of devotion. Even her step-uncle Jacques had recognized what she was—a woman no better than the Sirens at the Bordello. She shivered, as she raised a hand to her forehead, suddenly freezing in the
