The Humbug Man Page 7

  He jerked it open and a man was standing there, a very old one in a ragged hat. “Sorry to bother you, boss, but Katie Bess is due.” He grinned. “I knew you’d want to be there.”

  “Yes. I do. Thanks, Baldy.”

  He closed the door and turned. “Katie Bess is one of my Shetland sheepdogs,” he explained. “We use them to help us herd cattle. Katie Bess is our newest, and she and her pups are purebred.”

  “Christmas babies,” Maggie said with a smile, trying to live down her humiliation. “Can I come, too?”

  “Sure. But not in that,” he said with a faint grin.

  “I’ll hurry and change.”

  “What’s going on?” Blake called as they went past his door.

  “Never mind.” Maggie peeked in his door and told him, “Go back to sleep. Santa may come while we’re outside, but only if he thinks you’re snoring.”

  “I am, I am!” he promised, snoring loudly.

  Maggie laughed as she closed the door. She got into her red flannel shirt and a pair of jeans, thick socks and boots, grabbed her parka and rushed out into the hall. Tate was already ahead of her, his boots making loud thuds as he went toward the hall closet and jerked out his shepherd’s coat and hat.

  She followed him to the stable where the mother sheepdog, who resembled a small collie with her fluffy tan and white fur, was lying in a clean stall. There were already three tiny furry bodies nuzzling close as the puppies nursed. And even as they watched, a fourth and fifth were born. Tate and Baldy spoke encouragingly to the dog, of which they were both obviously fond, and commented glowingly on the pups. They were like patchwork in color, beige and brown and white and brown and tan and white, and Maggie would have loved to pick them up and cuddle them. But they were too tiny just yet, and she satisfied herself with watching, adoring the tiny things with her eyes.

  When she was a child, her parents had always kept her away from the animals when they were about to give birth. Far from thinking it would be an interesting experience for her, they were horrified at the thought that it might frighten her. But this wasn’t a frightening experience; it was a humbling one.

  The dog bent, licking the soft little coats. Her liquid brown eyes were as tender as a human mother’s, her tired body shivering a little in reaction.

  “I’ll get some milk for her,” Baldy said, moving away.

  Tate’s lean hand found Maggie’s in the semidarkness under the central hanging light bulb. “She’s been sick,” he explained, “and we were afraid she might need help. But as you can see, she was up to it. That’s a fine litter, Katie Bess,” he said gently to the dog, who wagged her tail and looked up at him as if she loved him. “Good girl.”

  Baldy came back with milk and some fresh meat. “I’ll take care of her now, boss. Looks like more snow coming, but Merry Christmas anyway.”

  “Merry Christmas, Baldy,” Tate chuckled. “I guess we’ve both got our presents tonight.”

  “Guess we have, although yours looks a mite prettier than mine, but just a mite, mind,” the old man said with a smothered chuckle.

  Tate didn’t seem to take offense. He wished the old man a good night, and he and Maggie went back toward the house.

  The snow was coming down softly, but the wind was calm. They could see for miles in the white landscape, the snow lighting the way as surely as a lamp. Tate stopped to light a cigarette and slid his arm around Maggie’s shoulders as they walked.

  “Was it hard for you, when Blake was born?” he asked unexpectedly.

  She looked up at him. “You mean, was it hard physically?” He nodded, and she let her eyes slide back to the house, silhouetted against the snow and the mountains and the dark sky. “I guess it was. But it’s his face I remember, not the pain. Life is like that, isn’t it? We may remember the cut, but it’s the kiss that came afterward that stays in the memory.”

  “Profound thoughts on a Christmas Eve,” he murmured.

  “Yes. It’s a profound night.” She sighed, feeling his strength near her, dwarfing her, supporting her. “A night for miracles.”

  “I haven’t celebrated Christmas since the accident,” he said. “I haven’t cared about much. But you and Blake have made the color come back into the world for me,” he added, looking down at her. “You’ve brought me out of the past, out of the shadows. I think I’d forgotten how to smile until you came along.”

  She smiled up at him, but her heart felt heavy. Was that a way of saying goodbye and thanks for the hand? Or was it more? She was afraid to ask him for anything.

  “I’m glad you’ve remembered how again,” she said, forcing her eyes back to the path.

  “About what I said in there,” he murmured, nodding toward the house. He hesitated. His dark eyes cut down to hers. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Maggie, if you want me, all you have to do is say so.”

  The blatant shock of the words stunned her. She couldn’t even answer him for a few seconds. Yes, she did want him all right. But he made it sound matter-of-fact, like offering a thirsty traveler a drink of water. She flushed violently.

  “I…I’m sleepy,” she faltered. “I’d better get some rest so that I can cope with dinner tomorrow. Thanks for letting me see the pups!”

  She practically ran up onto the porch and through the quiet house to her room, tears glistening in her eyes. She couldn’t look at Tate, and that was a shame, because the look on his face would have told her everything she needed to know.

  After she’d put on her pajamas, the same blue ones she’d worn at the cabin, she paced the floor with the lights off. She paused at the window, looking out into the snowy darkness with eyes that didn’t see. Christmas was tomorrow. Then, in two days, they’d be gone.

  She closed her eyes on a groan and got into bed. She had to forget. No, she had to make plans. She’d been coasting, loving Tate, getting to know him. But there was no future in it, and she’d been making dreams, not plans. Now she had to decide. Did she keep the ranch? Did she send Blake back to school? Did she go back to Tucson?

  She worried the question for hours. Finally, in desperation, she got out of bed. Surely Tate would be asleep by now, and she needed a cup of coffee and an aspirin for the headache she’d given herself. Hopefully she wouldn’t run headlong into Santa Claus out there, she mused.

  But when she went into the dark kitchen and collided with a warm shape, she let out a faint gasp until she saw Tate’s face silhouetted in the light from the Christmas tree.

  “What are you doing up?” she faltered.

  He let his dark eyes run slowly over her body in the pajamas, and he smiled because she was so obviously embarrassed at not having on a robe.

  “I’m about to make coffee,” he mused. “But now that you’re up, you can do it while I put some clothes on.”

  That was when she realized that he didn’t have anything on. She kept her eyes on his face with wide-eyed apprehension that tore a deep laugh from his throat.

  “My God, is it that much of a shock?” he whispered wickedly.

  “I’ve never even seen a naked man!” she screeched, and it was true because she’d never looked at her husband, not once.

  His eyebrows arched in the faint light from the tree. “And you were married? Well, lady, you’re overdue.”

  “No, I’m not.” She closed her eyes tight, and he laughed as he turned back down the hall.

  “All right, coward.”

  But she peeked. Just as he went into his room, the streaming light from it silhouetted him and she got an eyeful. He was the most magnificent man she’d ever seen, with or without clothes. She turned into the kitchen feeling poleaxed. He could have been a centerfold, all right, she thought dazedly.

  He was back in less than five minutes, but only clad in his jeans. His feet were bare, like hers, and so was the rest of him.

  “I thought you’d gone to sleep,” she murmured. She plugged in the percolator, having already filled it with water and coffee and laid out cups and saucers and cream.
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  “I couldn’t sleep,” he said quietly. “I wanted you too badly.”

  Her eyes lifted. “But…”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. His lean hand touched her cheek. “I know. I frightened you off. Maybe I meant to.” He sighed heavily. “I’m still in the learning stages about seduction.”

  “I thought you didn’t want me.”

  “I finally realized that,” he said on a soft laugh.

  She managed a tight smile and let her eyes fall to his chest, but the bare expanse of it disturbed her, so she averted her gaze to the tree.

  “I forgot to call Michael,” she mentioned.

  “Is it too late?”

  “The time zones are a couple of hours apart,” she recalled, “and it’s later on the East Coast. I guess he’s asleep. It’s just as well, anyway. I haven’t quite decided what I’m going to do.”

  He caught her waist and leaned back against the kitchen counter, bringing her lazily against him. “Decided to do about what?”

  “About the ranch. And Blake.” She stared at his chin. “And me.”

  “Well, I can’t see any real problem, honey,” he said carelessly. “I want to buy the ranch, so that gets it out of the way. And Blake doesn’t want to go to military school; he wants to live here and learn the cattle business. That takes care of him. Which only leaves you and me.”

  She swallowed. Her heart was going wild. She looked up hesitantly, her eyes faintly pleading. “You and me?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” He bent, brushing her nose with his. He smiled softly. “And that means,” he whispered at her lips, “that you’re not going anywhere until I say so, pretty girl.”

  “But I can’t…my job…responsibilities…” she protested weakly, the words muffled by his lips.

  “Hush,” he chuckled, and his mouth opened lazily, taking her lips with it. She made a faint sound, but he held her close until she gave in, and then he unbuttoned her pajama jacket.

  “Tate!” she protested against his hungry mouth.

  “God, you’re soft,” he whispered as his hands tenderly took the soft weight of her breasts. He eased the fabric away from them and pulled her against him, holding her there, drawing her lazily from side to side so that the thick hair on his chest made delicious patterns on her softness, so that the hunger got worse by the second and she began to make noises that he liked.

  Her nails bit into his shoulders and she clung, her mouth as eager as his.

  His lean hands slid down to her hips and pulled them gently against his thighs, pressing her to him so that she could feel how much he wanted her. “I go crazy when I get close to you,” he said huskily. “Eventually I’ll give in to it, and so will you. We have to do something about it.”

  Her hands slid over his broad chest, savoring the feel of it, adoring him. “Yes.”

  He bit at her mouth. “When?”

  Her eyes opened. “What?”

  “When do you want to get married?” he asked simply, his black eyes soft, tender.

  She stared at him blankly. “You…you want to marry me?” she stumbled.

  “Of course I want to marry you.” His shoulders lifted and fell and his mustache twitched. “Can you see us living in sin with Blake around?” he chuckled.

  “But, marriage,” she said quietly. Her pale eyes searched his dark ones. “You haven’t wanted anyone around you.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” he said honestly. “But you know how it’s been for the past week. You have opened doors for me.” His hands slid up her bare back and down again, smoothing her breasts against him, shuddering a little with the sweet pleasure of it. “Maggie, I’ve learned that I can’t live in the past. And I don’t want to, not anymore. I want a family. I want you. And Blake. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life alone, and I don’t think you want to, either.” His dark eyes narrowed. “Or have I read it wrong? Is it just a physical thing with you?”

  “I want you like crazy,” she admitted without embarrassment. “But it isn’t just a physical thing. I love being with you. I feel safe and happy.” She stared down at his chest, where her fingers were buried. “I…”

  “Don’t stop now, for God’s sake,” he whispered huskily. “Say it.”

  She looked up, flushing. “You didn’t.”

  “I won’t—not until you do,” he said. “What’s the matter, city girl, balking at the last fence?”

  Her chin shot forward and she glared at his smug expression. “Well, you know already, don’t you?” she challenged.

  “Of course I know,” he said with barely concealed impatience. “You were trying to seduce me before we went to see the pups, weren’t you? That isn’t the kind of thing a virtuous woman does unless she’s pretty stuck on a man.”

  Her blush got worse. “Maybe I just got hot and bothered,” she muttered.

  “Fat chance. Say it.” He nibbled at her mouth and his hands slid up her sides, smoothing blatantly over her breasts and making her moan. “Say it, woman, for God’s sake!”

  “I love you,” she murmured. “I love you, you horrible, wonderful man—” His hard lips cut her off, and her mouth was taken, possessed, absorbed, the second the last word was dying on the air, his hands strong and warm and tender on her soft breasts as he made them burn with pleasure.

  He bent, lifting her, his big body shuddering with unconcealed hunger. “It’s been years,” he whispered roughly, “and I want you like hell. But I’ll be gentle with you.”

  Her arms tightened around his neck and she buried her face in his throat, trembling. “I don’t care if you aren’t,” she whispered. “I love you so much. I want you just the way you are, Tate.”

  He groaned, laughing, as he carried her down the long hall. “My God, this is going to be sweet,” he whispered.

  She flushed, laughing. “I go all giddy and wild when you touch me.”

  “Just remember that Blake’s a light sleeper,” he whispered.

  She nibbled at his jaw as he carried her, savoring the feel of his broad, warm chest, the clean scent of his body. He was going to be her lover, and she could hardly wait. This was like nothing she’d ever experienced, not even in the excitement of her first marriage. This was the promise of heaven and only the beginning of a long, achingly sweet relationship….

  “Santa Claus!”

  They’d just passed Blake’s room and were at the door of Tate’s when the sleepy young voice froze them in place. If Tate hadn’t been quite so hungry, the look on his face would have been comical as he swung around with Maggie close in his arms to see Blake ambling slowly toward the living room with his crutch under his arm and cast bumping the floor.

  “Santa Claus!” Blake called again.

  “Damn,” Tate whispered huskily. “He thinks he heard Saint Nick.”

  “Thank God,” Maggie whispered back, frantically buttoning buttons while her face blazed with embarrassment.

  He put her down, smiling faintly at her panic. “Calm down,” he said gently. “Nothing happened.”

  “By the skin of our teeth,” she moaned. She looked up at him and her heart stopped. “Oh, I love you,” she breathed huskily. “And if it had happened, I wouldn’t be sorry.”

  “I wonder,” he mused. He bent and brushed his mouth gently over hers. “I lost my head, but I think it might be a good idea if we do it by the book. For Blake’s sake.”

  She smiled dreamily. “That sounds nice. Too bad your heart’s giving the show away,” she added, pressing her hand over its hard, heavy beat.

  “My body and my mind don’t always agree,” he confessed, but he was smiling, too.

  Lights went on in the living room. “Wow!” came a hearty exclamation from a young voice. “Mom! Mr. Hollister! Wake up! Santa’s been here!”

  “Make that Mom and Dad, Blake,” Tate called down the hall.

  There was a short, shocked pause, a gasp and then a yell that could have awakened the dead.

  “I think he’s pleased,” Maggie murmured.

  �
�Do tell,” Tate said, grinning. “I am, too. Well, we might as well go and open our presents, since we aren’t going to give each other our best one just yet.”

  “There’ll be time for that,” she replied.

  His dark eyes searched her gray ones. “All the time in the world,” he agreed. “But we get married first.”

  “Yes, Mr. Hollister,” she whispered.

  Blake was already through his first two packages when they joined him, his eyes bright with love as he showed Tate and Maggie his new copy of the Stockman’s Handbook and the software for his computer.

  “But my best present,” he told them, “is my new dad.”

  Tate ruffled his hair affectionately. “I hope it was worth that broken leg,” he murmured dryly.

  Blake flushed. “You knew?”

  “I used to be a boy myself,” Tate chuckled. “Yes, I knew.”

  “But how?” Maggie asked gently.

  He gave her a rueful glance. “Well, you see, honey, while he was trying to get himself lost, I was busy sabotaging your generator so you’d have to spend Christmas week with me.”

  “Tate!” she gasped.

  He smiled at Blake, who was laughing openly. “A man gets lonely. Maybe old Scrooge had a humbug attitude toward Christmas, but I wanted a tree and someone to help me enjoy it.” He shrugged. “Hard to find company up here in the mountains, unless you trap it.”

  Maggie hugged him on one side, and Blake did on the other. He held them both gently, fighting the sting of moisture in his dark eyes. Christmas had brought him gifts he’d never imagined, and he had them in his arms.

  * * *

  A week later, Blake was in school in Deer Lodge, crutches and all, and Maggie and Tate were just home from the justice of the peace’s office. They’d just been married, with Blake as a witness and had dropped him off at school on their way back to the ranch. Maggie and Tate were alone for the first time, and she was afraid.

  It was harder than Maggie had realized, the newness of belonging to a man after so many years of being alone. She felt like a beet when she glanced at her husband and hated her own feelings of inadequacy and nervousness.