Maggie wanted to pull away, but the stable door was at her back, and there was no way of resisting Rafe’s formidable strength. She didn’t want to get into this, didn’t want her decision challenged in this dangerous way. “Rafe, don’t, please…”
“I won’t, Maggie,” he said very quietly. “I won’t let you sacrifice my happiness because of some damn stupid scruple! You’ve said you’re leaving; I can’t keep you here against your will. But you’ll stay until I find another trainer, and I’ll do everything in my power to convince you to marry me. You may leave me, but I’ll make damned sure you never forget me!”
He pulled her against him roughly, holding her so tightly that she could feel the muscled power of his body branding her own. And the lips that captured hers were hot and hard with a need that made the blood roar in her ears. He kissed her as if it were the last chance he’d ever have, and Maggie was trembling violently when, moments later, he abruptly released her and strode away.
Chapter 7
From the moment Rafe walked away from her, Maggie knew that she should leave immediately. For some reason she couldn’t fathom, he’d decided she was what he wanted, and though he obviously didn’t intend to keep her on the ranch against her will, neither had he accepted her rejection.
Her willpower was shaky where he was concerned, and Maggie was very afraid that she’d give in to him because she loved him, without counting the cost. Away from him she could understand rationally that if she married him, Rafe could never be sure of her motives. Near him she had to fight the urge to ignore what he so generously called a “damn stupid scruple” and fling herself into his arms, into his keeping.
But it was more than a scruple. She could be certain herself, deep in her heart, that Shamrock meant nothing to her compared to Rafe. She could have no doubt whatsoever that if Rafe had nothing, she would gladly have walked by his side throughout their lives. But Rafe could never be certain of that. And even if the question never disturbed him, she would always carry the burden of it on her own shoulders.
She was almost willing to risk it. Almost willing to believe in Rafe’s love and put aside the question of her motives…for a while. Because she couldn’t help but believe that it would only be for a while, that Rafe would sooner or later find his love for her less than he had believed it to be.
And then what? He’d have a wife he didn’t love and couldn’t entirely trust. She doubted his family took divorce lightly. Would he end his marriage in court, or choose to live with his mistake whatever the cost?
Maggie knew that she was anticipating problems. She knew that she was raising every wall she could think of between them. But she had no choice. It was the only way she knew to find the strength she’d need to leave him.
—
For a few days Maggie was able to lose herself in her work. There was a great deal of attention focused on her because of Warlock. When she worked him in the training ring, there was always a crowd, and she often answered questions from the other trainers about methods used to prepare gaited horses for the show ring.
As for Rafe, she found that he could display yet another facet of his personality, yet another mirror image of a single man. He remained nearby, as he had in past weeks, but he was quieter and far less effusive than the “rake” who had so relentlessly pursued her. He was still inclined to pick her up and place her in a saddle, still quick to hug her or drop an unexpected kiss on the nape of her neck, but he no longer chose to carry on his “flirtation” beneath the eyes of the other Shamrock people.
It was a kind of pressure Maggie felt keenly, yet couldn’t, for some reason, protest. Whenever an objection rose in her throat, she would find his gaze on her and, breathless, would forget the words.
They were rarely alone and didn’t talk when they were. Very quietly Rafe had hired a temporary housekeeper until Kathleen’s return, a brisk and capable woman who cooked and cleaned and showed no inclination for the familiar talk that had been the Irish housekeeper’s saving grace.
Maggie felt lonely as never before in her life.
She dreaded the inevitable moment of her leaving, working as hard as she’d ever done to continue the training of her people and horses. That another trainer had not instantly been summoned didn’t surprise her. Rafe had hired her only after weeks of searching, and he’d hardly pick another trainer with less care. But her tension grew with the long working days and sleepless nights, until she knew she was on the brink of some reckless action, every bit as incautious as Rafe at his worst.
By Wednesday afternoon Rafe had either guessed her nervy state or else it had become painfully obvious.
“How long can we go on this way?” he asked her quietly.
Maggie had just turned Warlock into his stable, and she concentrated on fastening the door rather than looking at Rafe. “Have you found another trainer?”
“No. Now answer my question.”
She clipped the lead rope to a ring fastened near the door and finally turned to gaze at Rafe. They were alone in the cool hall. “What do you want me to say, Rafe? It’s…already been said.”
He drew in a deep breath and straightened away from the wall, staring at her. “I don’t think so. I’ve never yet seen a problem that couldn’t be solved in some way. And I happen to believe that you and I belong together. What I don’t believe is that you’d marry me to get this ranch. So where’s our problem, Maggie? Tell me that.”
She squared her shoulders and met his gaze as steadily as she could, realizing that he wouldn’t be put off this time. “Which problem, Rafe? Do you want a list? All right, then. You have what I want, what I’ve worked for all these years—”
“You wouldn’t marry me for the ranch,” he said flatly.
She ignored the interruption. “You’re a Delaney, and no matter what you say, that means something in this country. It means wealth and power and a heritage that makes you a part of a dynasty. And I’m a woman who trains horses, a woman who has little more than I can carry in a Jeep, a woman with no background, no understanding of what it means to be who you are. What would your brothers say if you married your trainer, Rafe?”
“They’d congratulate me on my lovely bride,” he said very softly. “For Pete’s sake, Maggie, we don’t live in the Middle Ages! And the Delaneys aren’t royalty! Old Shamus was a reiver and a smuggler; William is buried on Boot Hill—and countless others of my ancestors were as wild as bedamned!”
“But you know who they were.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “You know where you came from and where you belong.”
He stepped forward abruptly and caught her hand. “Maggie,” he said gently, “my mother was a housemaid in Ireland when Dad found her. An orphan with no family and no money. She became a Delaney; she wasn’t born to it. But no one was prouder of our family than she was. And when Rising Star married Joshua, she accepted a way of life that was totally different from all that she knew—and became a Delaney.”
He stared down at Maggie, his dark eyes intense. “Maggie love, think of those two women. One an Apache woman who lived in a time of violent unrest, and the other an Irish housemaid who had survived a brutal war. Their men loved them for what they were, not for what they could bring materially to the family. They were women to walk beside a man and build a life with him. They took the Delaney name—and enriched it.
“Think about them, Maggie. And think of yourself. You don’t know it, but you’re an amazing woman. And together you and I could make this ranch mean more than either of us ever dreamed. I could never do it alone, lass.”
“You could—”
“No. I know horses and I know business, but I can’t tame a devil-horse in a single afternoon, or ride a gaited horse into the show ring. And I can’t work to build this ranch when there’s no one to share it with me. Not now. Not when I’ve discovered what sharing could mean.” His voice was low and filled with feeling. “I’ve…missed the sound of your laugh, Maggie. And the sparkle in your lovely eyes when you’re enra
ged at me. This place would be empty for me if you left.”
Maggie swallowed hard. Her mind was whirling, her heart aching with…possibilities. She loved this man so much, yet a lifetime of harsh reality told her that he could never love someone like her. And from somewhere, from some almost dry well of strength, she produced a faint smile. “You’re saying all the things I need to hear,” she said lightly.
He swore softly. “Is that why you think I’ve been talking? Just making pretty speeches? Maggie, I love you! And there’s only one thing you could say to convince me we don’t have a future together.” His free hand lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Tell me you don’t love me, that there’s no chance you could learn to love me. Tell me that, Maggie.”
Her eyes skittered away from his, the words he’d asked for stuck somewhere in her throat. She couldn’t say it. Couldn’t lie about her feelings. It took every ounce of willpower she could summon to keep from shouting out her love and flinging her arms around his neck.
But in not saying she didn’t love him, she was telling him that she did.
The hand at her chin seemed unsteady as Rafe said roughly, “I’m going to marry you, lass.” The devil-black eyes abruptly began to laugh and his crooked smile dawned. “What’s more, I’ve decided the days of locking unwilling maidens in turrets aren’t that far in the past. Although the closest thing to a turret I can offer is the old Norman keep at Killara….”
For the first time in days, Maggie found herself torn between laughter and anger, and it was a good feeling. He was acting rakish again, and she knew she had a definite soft spot for this particular rake. Besides, he couldn’t be serious. Could he? Backing away a step, she said carefully, “If I thought you were serious, I’d catch the first mule train out of here.”
Still smiling, Rafe winked at her and turned to stroll away. Whistling something, she decided, about Irish eyes.
She started slightly when Warlock nudged her over the door, and turned to frown at him. “Kipling was wrong,” she told the stallion uneasily. “The male of the species is far more deadly than the female. And I wish I knew what that male was up to!”
Well, she knew the answer, of course. Basically. And a reckless excitement began building within her. She had talked herself out of marrying Rafe, argued with him and with herself, worked herself almost to exhaustion, and spent too many wakeful nights. She had erected every possible wall between them and considered problems that might well never occur.
What she had not done, until this moment, was simply listen to her own heart and the instincts that had never yet proved false. She loved Rafe Delaney, and he seemed certain of his own love for her. Why was she so intent on fighting that? Why not simply accept the incredible smile of fate?
Maggie smiled herself and patted Warlock on his curiously marked nose.
—
Maggie sat bolt upright in bed, disoriented and afraid. The loud alarm ringing through the house jarred her down to her bones. For an eternal moment she didn’t know what was going on, her mind sluggishly reminding her that she’d gone to her room immediately after dinner because she’d felt unusually shy in Rafe’s presence. Then some instinct told her that either the ranch’s security system had been breached or—the thought stopped the breath in her throat—there was a fire.
Throwing off the covers, she dressed with desperate haste, cursing because she couldn’t see the barns from this side of the house. It was almost dawn but still dark outside, and as she rushed from her room and down the dimly lit hallway Maggie remembered the horror she had witnessed only once in her life: a burning barn with screaming horses trapped inside.
She met Rafe as he was about to enter the kitchen, taking the quickest route outside. He had obviously dressed in haste but was, like her, fully dressed and wide-awake. And his face was grim.
“Rafe?”
“It’s fire.” He led the way through the kitchen, pausing only to grab a handful of dishtowels from a drawer before heading out the back door. “Number four, Maggie.”
She felt her heart catch as she raced beside him down the lane. She could hear the shrieks of frightened horses and within moments was able to see barn four silhouetted against the gray sky, its entire roof in flames. Shouts rose above the roar of the fire as Shamrock people arrived at the barn, some in vehicles and some on foot.
“Rafe, the sprinkler system’s out!” Tom had appeared beside them almost magically, his lined face older than Maggie had ever seen it. “The whole damn compound is without water or power!”
The boss of Shamrock didn’t waste time with questions. “Get the portable pump and run it straight into the tanks. Run as many hoses as you can. Wet down barns three and five so they won’t catch.”
“The horses!” Maggie yelled, starting forward only to halt as Rafe grabbed her arm.
“Wait, lass. With the power out, all the doors are jammed—even the paddock doors. We’ll have to break through to get the horses out.” He dumped the dishcloths into her arms and reached for the ax one of the men was holding out to him, then ran for the main door of the barn.
Maggie was close behind, feeling helpless as she watched Rafe and the other man attack the huge door with fierce blows. The heat was building, coming at them in waves, the bales of hay within the loft feeding the fire’s hungry need. She knew they had very little time to get the horses out before the loft would cave in on the helpless, trapped animals below.
She found Russell and Mike beside her, and handed each of them a couple of the cloths she was still holding, keeping two herself and dumping the rest on the ground. She and her two apprentices, she knew, would stand a better chance of getting the terrified animals out of the barn since they were accustomed to handling these particular horses.
Remembering that other burning barn that still flamed in her nightmares, Maggie prayed silently as she waited for a large enough opening to fit herself through. Prayed that the animals would be controllable in their terror. Prayed that the loft would hold until a dozen horses could be saved.
And she wondered, fleetingly, what could have caused the fire. Since the power was out all over the compound, it seemed reasonable that some electrical malfunction could prove to be the culprit. But a niggling certainty told her that was next to impossible. She had been on countless ranches and worked in many stables, and none had possessed a security system with as many safety checks as Shamrock’s. Each barn was individually protected by an independent security and fire system; the sprinklers were tied into the underground tanks holding water for the ranch and the waterlines were kept pressurized.
How could the entire compound have been rendered powerless and without water? And why had the fire alarm worked when nothing else did?
The questions vanished from her mind as a ragged opening was carved in the big door, and Maggie slipped instantly through before Rafe could stop her.
“Maggie!”
She coughed as heavy smoke filled her lungs and brought tears to her eyes, but her steps took her automatically to the nearest stall. Some flaming bits of hay were spilling down from the loft and into the wide hall, and it was an eerie and awful feeling to find her way to the stall by the reddish, flickering light of hungry flames. Some of the horses were trying to kick their doors down, while others frantically circled the traps of their stables and screamed in terror.
A violent nudge nearly knocked her down, and Maggie found Figure at her side. His long ears were pinned flat, the rheumy eyes watering from the smoke, and she could see the burro had been trying in vain to open the stable door. Diablo’s stable, she realized instantly. Scars in the wood all around the bolt testified to Figure’s desperation—and testified to the strength of bolts made specifically to foil any animal’s attempt to unfasten them.
Pushing the anxious burro to one side, Maggie reached for the lead rope hanging on the wall, then unbolted the stable door and flung it open. She knew the horse was Diablo only because she knew it was his stall. The dim and ugly red glow p
rovided very little light and tears were streaming from her eyes because of the smoke. She crooned softly as the stallion snorted and sidled away from her, holding on to her patience because she knew it was her only hope. Diablo trembled, jerking away from her twice before she was finally able to get the cloths fastened to his halter, and covering his eyes. He was too terrified by the fire even to be calmed by Figure’s presence. But with his eyes covered, he was instantly, almost magically quieted, and she was able to lead him quickly from his stall.
Russel and Mike hurried past her as she neared the door, the opening now just barely large enough for a horse to fit through. She pulled the stallion outside and into the clear as Figure followed, only vaguely aware that it had grown lighter during the minutes she’d been inside the barn.
Coughing violently, she handed the lead rope to Lisa. “Take him to one of the other barns,” she said, gasping, “and put him in a paddock. Let Figure stay with him to keep him calm. The mares can go in the corral, but the stallions would kill each other. We’ll have to keep them separated.” She bent to get another cloth from the ground as Lisa led the blindfolded horse down the lane with the burro at their heels.
Rafe grabbed her arm, his free hand holding a blindfolded mare he’d just led out. “You aren’t going back in there!” He thrust the lead rope into her hand and took the cloth from her. “Get her to the corral, Maggie.”
He dived back through the opening before she could object, and she quickly led the mare across the lane to the large corral. She tore the blindfold off and released the horse safely within the fence, then raced back to the barn, mentally counting as she watched Russell lead her own Dust Devil from the barn. Three. Three safe. Nine horses to go….
“Take him to a paddock, Russ!” she shouted. The roar of the fire was louder now, like some hungry beast demanding to be fed. Three men held hoses spraying water on the barn, but she could see that it would never be enough. By the grace of God there was no wind, so the other barns appeared to be safe, but number four, she knew, would burn to the ground.