Thea Devine Page 10

  He rushed in immediately to make his point. “We always said that someday … I mean, Maggie, this might be the ideal time. You could retire, you could … remarry. You wouldn’t have all those responsibilities any more. Someone else could carry on and you would still reap the profits with none of the work.”

  She laughed. He hadn’t expected that, and he could not for the life of him see what amused her so.

  “Maggie, I’m serious.”

  “I know you are. I’m waiting to hear the rest. Who would take over? Who, for God’s sake, would I marry? Tell me, Dennis. Tell me how you’re going to order my life now just as Frank would have wished.”

  “He said—”

  “I know exactly what the will says, Dennis.”

  “Well, Arch Warfield could take over … or Reese,” he added as he saw the militant look in her eye. “You could sell the ranch, go to San Francisco. You could stay here, live comfortably at the hotel if you wanted. Or remarry. Marry me, for instance.”

  Now there was dead silence between them. She wasn’t ready to speak; she wasn’t sure she could. A thousand thoughts swirled around her brain, including the notion that Dennis and her mother-in-law had conspired to bring Reese to Colville expressly to wrest control of the paper away from her. It was unspeakable. She didn’t even hear the rest.

  “Maggie!”

  “I hear you, Dennis.” But she wouldn’t look at him.

  “Maggie.”

  “This is absurd. I’m not giving up the paper and I’m not interested in marrying and that’s the end of it. I will promise you one thing: I’ll pull back on opposition to the rail line. There’s nothing I can do about it anyway, but I reserve the right to comment on how its intrusion changes Colville. Does that serve the letter of the intent of the will, Dennis?”

  “It doesn’t serve my intent,” he muttered, taking up the reins again. “I can enforce your ouster, Maggie, if you don’t…”

  “But you won’t do that, Dennis. Too many people see me as the beleaguered widow, and believe me, I can play that part to the hilt, including making everyone believe I’m doing exactly what Frank wanted. It’s a powerful phrase, Dennis, and I’m sure you know it.”

  “I believe he would have wanted me to take care of you, Maggie. Why can’t you see that?”

  “You are taking care of me, Dennis, as much as I need taking care of. Unfortunately, Frank died before he could write another will; we don’t know a lot about what he really wanted.”

  “Or he was killed before he got to write that will, Maggie.”

  “We’ve talked that all out, Dennis. We don’t know, and if you’re looking to make me the scapegoat, fine. We’ll be enemies instead of—”

  “Possibly lovers,” he broke in violently and then curbed his words. “Damn, I never meant to say that, not yet. Forgive me, Maggie.”

  He waited a moment, but she said nothing, which piqued his anger still more. She never did anything another woman would have done. She might have fainted at his suggestion, so bold and lewd did it seem to him, having been said in broad daylight and at a time when she was unchaperoned and he was feeling the heat of other men’s interest in her. It was a suggestion that he felt only he had the right to follow, one given him by virtue of the terms of Frank’s will, and he still could not get her to see it that way.

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” she said finally, as she sensed his antagonism. “I know exactly how you feel about me, Dennis. You don’t need to say anything else.”

  “I don’t like hearing that, Maggie. I had supposed, after a decent interval, that you might be receptive to what I had to say.”

  “What is a decent interval?” she asked whimsically.

  “When Frank was finally really dead and gone for you.”

  “But he’s been that for at least two years, Dennis. Surely you understood that.”

  “I was thinking of you.”

  “As you always do, and I do appreciate it, but I’m telling you that the last thing I want to think about is either giving up the newspaper or remarrying, and you will just have to live with that.”

  “I’ll change your mind, Maggie. Now that I know …”

  She took a deep breath. Why was it that when another man said the same words he had the ability to excite her, to make her think of the possibilities, when someone like Dennis could only produce distaste within her at the thought?

  “Dennis, I cannot listen to this.”

  “You’re not ready.”

  “No, I’m not, and I won’t ever be. I do not want to give my life over to a man ever again, Dennis, and I wonder if you can understand that. Already you have me giving up the paper, selling my property, traveling like some genteel schoolmarm, marrying—and marrying you so you can take still further command of what I can or cannot do.”

  “Yes, and it’s because I think this Denver North business is so totally outside the realm of your understanding, Maggie, that it warrants my taking some steps to rectify it.”

  “Outside the—!” She was totally nonplussed by this attack, and could hardly keep down the harsh words that rose to her lips. “I don’t think it’s too hard for any simpleton to understand that while the line can be an economic boon to Colville, it can also be a disaster. Perhaps this town needs a woman’s perception to make it understand what it’s letting itself in for. Perhaps the greedy businessmen of the town don’t—”

  “Maggie, Maggie!” Dennis held up his hands in defeat. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Oh, you meant it exactly like that, Dennis, and that is exactly how it would be if I encouraged you to think you could find a place in my heart. I think our business is finished now. You can take me back to the office.”

  “Maggie, don’t close the door on me.”

  “Nonsense, Dennis, I would never do that. You are a dear and valued friend, one whose advice is always welcomed.”

  “I want you, Maggie.”

  “You want to conquer me, Dennis. You want to do what even Frank couldn’t do. How could I allow that?”

  “Perhaps,” he said ominously, snapping the reins so that the buggy jerked forward and caught her off balance, “that is one decision that won’t be in your hands.”

  “So, Miz Maggie, you thought you were so smart with your fancy words and fine ideas, and everyone’s talking about Harold Danforth anyway.” Arch Warfield, laying in wait for her when she returned with Dennis, waved a copy of the Morning Call in her face.

  “I expect we’ll see which of us history proves right,” Maggie said with a calm she was far from feeling. Dennis had let her down without a word and let her face Warfield without so much as a goodbye. She had watched him drive off with mixed emotions before she turned to answer Warfield, who rudely hopped off the boardwalk and stalked away in the direction of Bodey’s store.

  It was midafternoon by then, and Bodey closed at two on Sundays. Arch wouldn’t find much of an audience, she reflected as she let herself into the office. Maybe it was enough that he had castigated her today.

  The office was an oasis of quiet. She could hear Mother Colleran clumping around above her, and a lighter, firmer step that had to be Reese. Just as well that she stayed down here. She felt drained from her battle of wits with Dennis.

  It was that damned perfidious will, she thought, easing herself into her desk chair with her back to the door and her elbows propped on her worktable. It kept rising like a spectre to haunt her, and she and Dennis kept beating at it like it was some kind of burning bush they had to extinguish. Dennis always wanted one thing, and she the other, and he nearly always gave in to her.

  She had always theorized that Frank had written the will directly after their marriage, and that in spite of her obsession with working at the paper he had forgotten to change it. It just wasn’t possible that he saw her as the proper manager and editor and that he had really wanted her to carry on after his death. But then, he hadn’t expected to die.

  And now, somehow, Dennis was trying to interpr
et its terms to mean that Frank would have blessed a marriage between them!

  It was so outrageous a thought it defied belief. And yet he obviously believed it.

  She didn’t know quite where to go from there. He was the executor and the man to whom she was bound by the terms of the will to turn to for advice and money, which was allocated to her at his discretion.

  She wondered what his discretion would be after this rejection of his advances. He wasn’t a man to take such a rebuff lightly. He took his duty to Frank—and to her—very seriously.

  He could make her step down from the paper.

  No, he could fight her to take control of the paper, and she would go down battling with every ounce of strength.

  He wouldn’t do that.

  He was a decorous man who was proud of his standing in Colville and of his service to Frank while he was alive and to his widow after his death. He would never censure her publicly. He would never do anything that would reflect badly on him.

  What could he do?

  She supposed, in a blinding moment of insight, she ought to reread the terms of the will; she thought she knew them by heart, but possibly there was something there that he could use against her.

  Unless … unless he was content to bide his time and wait her out or doggedly pursue her in spite of her protestations. Yes, that would be just like him. He might very well pretend that he had shocked her by his proposals, that he hadn’t waited long enough, or phrased things delicately enough so that she could consider them completely.

  He was powerless, she thought, unless he became vindictive. And then he would be a formidable enemy. But she refused to consider that. She could win him over somehow. The events of the day were explosive enough without her mulling over just how vicious an opponent Dennis Coutts might make. It didn’t warrant the effort. Things weren’t that bad.

  They weren’t …

  “Well, Miss … you took long enough.”

  “Long enough for what, Mother Colleran?” she asked, looking up blindly, never having heard her mother-in-law’s approach.

  “You know what,” Mother Colleran snapped. “And with that Dennis Coutts! Honestly, Maggie, you think someone didn’t see you or that the whole town won’t be talking about you tomorrow?”

  “Well, fine,” Maggie retorted. “It will replace Reese’s living with us as the topic of conversation around Bodey’s store.”

  Her mother-in-law looked horrified. “But Reese is family, not some upstart who wants to seize an opportunity.”

  “What opportunity is that, Mother Colleran?”

  Her mother-in-law sent her a smug look. “Everyone knows that Dennis Coutts has had his eye on you ever since Frank was laid to rest. You’re not that simple, Maggie. Surely you could see that?”

  “Why no. Dennis is a good friend and trusted advisor, Mother Colleran, who somehow read into the terms of Frank’s will that Frank’s indigent mother should have a home and a stipend. I believe we owe him a great deal of gratitude for his sensitivity.”

  “He’s a rotten advisor and friend,” Mother Colleran hissed, “if he didn’t convince Frank to change his will before he died.”

  “But we all have to live with that, Mother Colleran, including me.”

  “I don’t see where you’ve come off so badly, my girl. I would go so far as to say it looks very suspicious.”

  “You have said it before, Mother Colleran. I am now waiting to see how Reese is going to prove it.”

  She caught her; she caught the old witch, and it was gratifying to watch her sputter to find words that would deny the charge that both of them knew to be true. Maybe the thing the old crow hadn’t counted on was Reese liking her so much. Good. She liked him too, and if he had other plans she could learn to dislike him very fast.

  “Nonsense,” Mother Colleran said sharply, finally regaining a sense of what she should say, “Reese is here to visit me, nothing more, nothing less.”

  “That’s fine, Mother Colleran. I’m glad. I’m glad you were able to hunt him down, and I’m glad he was able to come at your request. But over and above that, I’m glad you understand that his presence here makes no difference to me whatsoever.”

  She was stunned to see that complacent look settle on her mother-in-law’s thick features.

  “Maybe it will, maybe it won’t,” she said placidly, as if the implicit threat meant nothing to her at all. “We’ll see, my dear Maggie, we’ll see.”

  Chapter Seven

  It became, finally, a day she wished were well over by the time her mother-in-law left her alone. Instead the thought occurred to her that she had yet to see Logan this day as he had promised, and she was wary of seeing him at all.

  No, she didn’t want to see him. She had had enough of men and their wants and wishes today. Logan had very definite wants and wishes, and she did not have the stamina to cope with another dictatorial man.

  But as the afternoon wore into evening, she began to feel petulant about the fact that he did not come. Instead, she ate a solitary dinner in the apartment while Reese and her mother-in-law dined at the hotel after she declined to join them.

  She made her mind utterly blank, pushing away thoughts of the afternoon and what Reese had said, and Dennis Coutts, and Mother Colleran; all of it she relegated to a little waste basket in the back of her head and concentrated instead on the coming week’s work, on where she wanted to go and the things she wanted to know, and how much or little she ought to dog the steps of the engineers as they laid out the plan for the track. How much or little she ought to let Reese help, if he really were sincere in his offer to help—and what kind of help he could give her that she would willingly accept.

  And so she came back to Reese and Dennis and the magic of Logan’s presence the previous night, and what she had felt, and … what she wanted to feel again.

  So …

  She made the admission. In spite of exigencies of the day, and her feelings about Reese and Dermis, she wanted to see Logan. She just wanted to see him. She had had the feeling the morning of Frank’s memorial service—she needed to see Logan.

  It was crazy.

  Reese and Mother Colleran returned and roundly castigated her for passing up a good meal and the unexpected and welcome company at the table: friends of Mother Colleran’s, at which Maggie looked askance, who had wanted to meet Reese, were so happy to meet Reese, and would have loved to see Maggie, even if they did disagree with her railroad politics. Yes, they had wanted to tell her so, too.

  And Dennis was there, and that Logan Ramsey, Mother Colleran was not loath to tell her. All her friends except the Mapes, and everyone knew they couldn’t afford the luxury of having a hotel dinner anyway.

  Logan was in town. Her heartbeat accelerated with alarming speed. But he hadn’t come, and there was nothing to say he might come later. Maybe later? Maybe the same time as the night before?

  She was going crazy. She didn’t want to see him after all. He had nothing to offer her except the very same words she had heard from Reese and Dennis; he wanted the very same thing, and he had no compunction about being blunt about it either.

  All his fine talk about “other ways” …

  Her body stiffened instantly at the thought, and she almost felt as though her mother-in-law could see it and knew exactly what was on her mind.

  She could not allow Logan to do this to her, yet she couldn’t stop thinking about his words and his kisses….

  The discouraging thing was Mother Colleran’s self-satisfied expression as she sat and listened and did a bit of knitting that she kept by her parlor chair. It was an elegant device, the knitting; she never got beyond the first ten rows or so, and yet her preoccupation with it gave her an air of concentrated intelligence that she did not really possess. Maggie was sure she ripped out half the rows she made every night.

  It was a sweet family scene, with the kerosene lamps shedding a soft warm light over the room and a fire crackling in the fireplace and sending out a wispy, smoky h
eat that did not warm the air at all. Reese somehow took on the stance of the man of the house, deferring to his elderly mother, playing to the pretty lady who sat in a side chair by the fire—the woman of the house in the steel engraving. It was perfect—and specious.

  They had to go to bed sometime, she thought, and she waited them out until Mother Colleran’s head began drooping and her gnarled fingers dropped the knitting into her lap.

  Only then did Reese stop talking. With a conspiratorial smile at Maggie he took charge of waking his mother and seeing her comfortably to bed.

  And after … “Maggie?”

  “I’m wide awake, Reese. Don’t let me stop you though.”

  “I’ll keep you company for a while.” He sounded eager, too eager, and she curled up inside in resignation. It wasn’t that he wasn’t an entertaining talker. He had a hundred stories, both amusing and hair-raising, about his travels, and he took gentle swipes periodically at the family situation that had sent him from the bosom of his family when the Collerans were one of the pillars of San Francisco society.

  Maggie listened to them and did not hear them. Eventually, she thought, he had to become tired of the sound of his own voice. Or perhaps he was testing her, or waiting for some kind of invitation he must know would never come.

  And what if Logan were waiting for her?

  Let him wait.

  She almost couldn’t bear the thought of it. It was as if the events of the day were telescoped in her mind to something minuscule and meaningless in comparison to the fevered excitement of the thought of being with Logan.

  Except of course he apparently did not want to be with her. He hadn’t come, and she had only the drone of Reese’s pleasant voice to keep her company.

  “I believe I am getting tired,” she said finally.

  “All right then. But I must tell you, Maggie, I could really warm up to this familial feeling you exude very easily. I am very much at home here, and I hope you don’t mind my telling you, in spite of what we said this morning.”