Maggie's Beau

Her lids were both open, the swelling so far gone that only a bit of puffiness remained beneath the damaged eye, and for the first time he gazed fully into the blue depths. He cringed at the bloodshot look of her, ached for the bruising that had faded over the past days to hues of yellow and pale green…yet at the same time admired the delicate lines of brow and cheek as she tilted her head to look at him.

“I’ve been doin’ it for years. My fingers just know what to do, I guess.” She pulled the long braid over her shoulder and continued forming the three strands until there was only a short tail undone. “Tear me off a strip from this belt, will you?” she asked, lifting the makeshift sash she wore, extending it in his direction with two fingers.

He took it from her hand and did as she asked, then handed her the piece of material. She wound it rapidly around the pigtail and tied it with a flourish, then bent in his direction. “I had a talk with your Sophie,” she whispered.

He grinned in reply. “I know. She told me.”

“Is it all right with her if I stay on here?” Her look toward the kitchen door was anxious. “She was real nice to me, Beau, but I don’t want to be in her way.”

“You won’t.” He handed her the comb, recognizing it as his own. “Where’s the comb you used before?” he asked.

“It wasn’t very good. It only had a few teeth in it, and Sophie threw it out,” she admitted. “She told me I could use yours. She didn’t think you’d mind.”

“No, I don’t, but you need your own. I’ll get you a new one, and a brush, too, when I go to town tomorrow.” Something more feminine, he decided, than the plain black specimen he used. Perhaps a hand mirror, too, and some talcum powder in a tin. It gave him a jolt of pleasure to think of buying her such intimate items, envisioning the delight in her eyes when he presented his gifts.

“I’ll earn them out,” she said quickly. “I need to be figuring up what all I owe you already.”

Unwilling to injure her pride, he nodded agreement, then reached to tug teasingly at the end of her pigtail. Her wince did not escape him and he hesitated. “I won’t ever hurt you, Maggie. I’ve told you that before. When you gonna start believing it?”

Her face was downcast and he fit his palm under her chin, lifting it to his view. She bit at her lip and he shook his head at the movement. “Don’t do that. You’ll make that lip sore again, and it’s just starting to heal up good.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Old habits die hard. My mama always used to say that and I guess I know now what she meant. I know you’re a good man, but whenever I see a hand come at me or someone movin’ quicklike, my heart pounds real funny and I want to run.”

His own heart twinged with pain at her words and he nodded his understanding. “Let’s go in to supper, Maggie. The men are coming up from the barn, and Sophie’s got supper on the table.” His hand touched her shoulder and rested there. “I fed your dog in the barn when we brought the last load of hay in. Those pups look pretty healthy. They’re moving around real well.”

She shifted and moved beneath his fingers and they tightened a bit, holding her in place. His voice was low, his words gentle. “I’m not going to stop touching you, honey. It’s like handling a skittish colt. They just have to get used to it, and I suspect it’s going to be the same way with you.”

“Maybe,” she said quietly, turning from him and opening the screened door. “I thank you kindly for tending to Maisie,” she murmured.

He bowed his head. “My pleasure, ma’am.”

“How would you like to look at a couple of my books, Maggie?” Beau stood in the doorway and Maggie dried her hands on a towel, turning to face him. “Take them into the parlor,” he told her. “I’ll be out here in the bathtub and you’d best have something to do for a while.”

“Do they have pictures in them?” she asked, laying the towel aside and eyeing his offering. Her heart beat rapidly as she considered his suggestion. No one had ever given her the chance to sit and spend time with a book. The thought of having nothing else to do but look at the pages of words she could not read, trying to decipher the letters she could not name was more than she could fathom.