The Cowboy’s Bride by Donna Alward
Epilogue
One Year Later
“Go ahead, say it. Da-da.”
Maren Johanna Madsen grinned up with her two teeth and drooled, “Da-da-da-da-da.”
“Very definitive. A sign of high intelligence, I’m sure.”
Alex leaned over the highchair, kissing the crown of her daughter’s dark head. Connor lounged back in his chair while Johanna came from the pantry carrying a gigantic chocolate layer cake.
“Go ahead, Maren, say “Grandma,” she cajoled with an affectionate grin.
“Da-da-da-da-da,” Maren babbled happily.
Johanna smiled widely, putting the cake on the table and cutting it into slices. “Now there’s a girl that knows where her heart lies, hmmm?” She couldn’t resist stopping and tickling Maren’s belly.
A year had passed since the slaughter decree and tornado. A lot had changed since then. Connor’s friend Mike had stopped running the rodeo circuit and had seriously started breeding Quarterhorses by renting a large portion of Windover. In the meantime, Connor was going back to school—to finally fulfill his dream of being a large animal vet. Maren had been born, and Alex had shown a talent for running an office…so all the records for Circle M Quarterhorses were in her control.
She picked up a sheaf of documents from the counter as Connor leaned back, enjoying cake and coffee. “These came today,” she announced. “Although it’s merely a formality.”
“What is it?”
“Maren’s adoption papers.”
They’d filed after Maren was born, and Ryan hadn’t contested a thing, thankfully. Now their sweet baby girl was officially what she’d always been in his heart—his daughter.
Johanna stopped, and put her plate back on the counter as soon as she saw the look on Connor’s face. His eyes caught Alex’s and held, so full of emotion and love that to stay would have been intruding.
She slipped away, leaving them alone.
The screen door shut quietly while Connor rose, his gaze never straying from the loving eyes of his wife.
“So now she’s ours.”
“She always was. As much as this one will be.”
“What?”
“I’d like a boy this time, but I suppose we’ll have to be happy with what we get,” she teased.
“One of each would be good,” he mused, pulling her close and tucking her head under his chin. “But we can always try again…”
“And again…”
“Until we get it right…”
“Like right now…” he nuzzled her neck and she sighed, only to hear Maren’s spoon banging against her tray. Alex craned her head around and smiled at the baby.
“You’re really pregnant?”
“I am. Only this time I’m healthy as a horse.”
Connor spun around, plucked Maren from her highchair, banana face and all, and swung them both around. “And this time there’s no wild propositions,” he decreed. “This time, you’re both exactly where you belong. With me.”
* * *
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FALLING FOR THE MARSHAL.
The crunchof tires on snow let Maggie Taylor know he was here. The US Marshal. The man who’d thrown a monkey wrench into her plans before he’d ever even arrived.
She parted the curtains and looked out over the white yard. A late March storm had dropped several centimeters of snow earlier in the week and then the temperature had plunged. Now it looked more like Christmas than impending spring.
Maggie sighed as the black SUV pulled up beside her truck. She’d almost booked a trip to get away from the late surge of winter. She’d always found an excuse not to travel, but now that Jen was away from home, she’d decided to treat herself for once and go somewhere hot, where she’d be catered to instead of doing the catering. In fact, she’d been taking extra time browsing around the travel agent’s on a trip to Red Deer when he had called, requesting a room for a prolonged stay.
Of course, since she’d been out at the time, Jennifer had taken the call and booked him in without even asking. Not only had it spoiled her plans, but it had caused a huge argument between her and Jennifer. She pressed her thumbs against her index fingers, snapping the knuckles. If it hadn’t been about that, it would have been something else. They were always arguing, it seemed. They never saw eye to eye on anything anymore.
As if preordained, Jennifer chose that moment to gallop down the stairs. Maggie stared at the pink plaid flannel that covered her daughter’s bottom half, topped by a battered grey sweatshirt that had seen far better days. Maggie felt guilty at the relief she knew she’d feel when Jennifer went back to school after her spring break. These days they got along much better when there were several miles between them.
She dropped the curtain back into place, obscuring her view of the man getting out of the vehicle.
“Honestly, Jen. You’re still in your pajamas and our guest is here.” She ran her hands down her navy slacks and straightened the hem of the thick grey sweater she’d put on to ward off the chill.
“I haven’t done my laundry yet.” Jennifer skirted past her and headed straight for the kitchen.
Maggie sighed. Even though Jen complained that there was nothing to do around here, she somehow always left laundry and chores up to Maggie. And Maggie did them rather than frustrate herself with yet another argument. Their relationship was fragile enough.
When Jen had informed her of this particular booking, Maggie had lost her cool instead of thanking her daughter for actually taking some initiative with the business. Instead she’d harped about her ruined vacation plans.
She should just let the resentment go. Mexico wasn’t going anywhere. She’d go another time, that was all. And the money from this off-season booking would come in handy come summer, when repairs to the house would need to be undertaken.
The marshal was a guest here and it was her job to make him feel welcome. Even if she had her doubts. A cop, of all people. He was probably rigid and scheduled and had no sense of humour.
Letting out a breath and pasting on her “greeting” smile, she went to the door and opened it before he had a chance to ring the bell.
“Welcome to Mountain Haven B&B,” she got out, but the rest of her rehearsed greeting flew out of her head as she stared a long way up into blue-green eyes.
“Thank you.” His lips moved above a grey and black parka that was zipped precisely to the top. “I know it’s off season, and I appreciate your willingness to open for me. I hope it hasn’t inconvenienced you.”
It was a struggle to keep her mouth from dropping open, to keep the welcome smile curving her lips. His introductory speech had locked her gaze on his face, and she was staggered. She’d be spending the next three weeks with this man? In an otherwise empty bed and breakfast? Jennifer would only be here another few days, and then it was back to school. It would be just the two of them.
What had started out as an annoying business necessity was now curled with intimacy. He was, very possibly, the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. Even bundled in winter gear she sensed his lean, strong build. His voice was smooth with just a hint of gravel, giving it a rumbling texture; the well-shaped lips were unsmiling despite his polite speech. And he had killer eyes…eyes that gleamed brilliantly in contrast to his dark clothing.
“I am in the right place, aren’t I?” He turned his head and looked at the truck, then back at her, his brows pulling together a bit as she remained stupidly silent.
Pull yourself together,she told herself. She stepped back, opening the door wider to welcome him in. “If you’re Nathaniel Griffith, you’re in the right place.”
He smiled finally, a quick upturn of the lips, and exhaled, a cloud forming in the frigid air. “That’s a relief. I was afraid I’d gotten lost. And please…” He pulled off his glove and held out his hand. “Call me Nate. I only get called Nathaniel when I’m in trouble with my boss or my mother.”
She smiled back, genuinely this time, as she shook his hand. It was warm and firm and enveloped her smaller fingers completely. She couldn’t imagine him in trouble for anything. He looked like Mr. All-American.
“I’m Maggie Taylor, the owner. Please, come in. I’ll show you your room and get you familiar with the place.”
“I’ll just get my bags,” he said, stepping back outside the door.
He jogged to the truck and reached into the backseat for a large black duffle. He leaned across the seat for something else and the back of his jacket slid up, revealing a delicious rear clad in faded denim. A dark thrill shot through her at the sight.
“Wow. That’s yum,” came Jen’s voice just behind her shoulder.
Maggie stepped back into the shadows behind the door, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. “Jennifer! For God’s sake, keep your voice down. This is our guest.”
Jen took a bite of the toast she’d prepared, looking remarkably unconcerned by either her words or her appearance. “The cop, right? The one I booked? Mom, if the front’s anything like the back, it totally beats Mexico.”
Nate turned around, bags in hand and Maggie pressed a hand to her belly. This was silly. It was a visceral, physical reaction, nothing more. He was good looking. So what? She was his hostess. It wasn’t her style to have an attraction to a guest.
It wasn’t her style to feel that sort of pull to anyone for that matter, not these days. It was just Jen pointing out his attributes. Maggie wasn’t blind, after all.
His booted steps echoed on the verandah and he stomped the snow from his boots before coming in and putting down the bags.
Maggie shut the door behind him. Enough draft had been let in by the exchange and already the foyer was chilly.
“I’m Jen.” Jennifer plopped her piece of peanut butter toast back to her plate and held out her hand.
“Nate,” he answered, taking her hand and shaking it.
When he pulled back, a smudge of peanut butter stuck to his knuckle.
“My daughter,” Maggie said weakly.
“I gathered,” he answered, then with an unexpected grin, licked the smudge from his thumb.
Jen beamed up at him, unfazed, while Maggie blushed.
“You took my reservation,” he offered, smiling at Jennifer.
Jen nodded. “I’m on spring break.”
Maggie held out her hand. “Let me take your coat,” she offered politely. “The closet’s just here.”
He shrugged out of the jacket and Maggie realized how very tall he was. Easily over six feet, he towered over her modest height. He handed her the coat, along with thick gloves. She smiled as she turned to the closet, the weight of the parka heavy in her hands. For a man from the sunny south, he sure knew how to dress for an Alberta winter.
A cellphone ringtone echoed through the silence, and Jen raced to answer it. Nate’s eyes followed her from the room, then fell on Maggie.
“Teenagers and phones.” She raised her shoulders as if to say, “What can you do?”
“I remember.” He looked around. “She gave great directions. I found you pretty easily.”
“You drove, then?” Maggie hadn’t had a chance to get a glimpse of his plates. Maybe the SUV was a rental. He could easily have flown into Calgary or Edmonton and picked up a vehicle there.
“The truck’s on loan from a friend. He met me at Coutts, and I dropped him off before driving the rest of the way.”
Maggie shut the closet door and turned back, getting more comfortable as they settled into polite, if cool, chit-chat. This was what she did for a living, after all. There was no need to feel awkward with a guest, despite Jen’s innuendoes. And Nathaniel—Nate—at least seemed adept at conversational basics, and that helped.
“Where does your friend live?” Maggie asked. Nate gripped the duffel by the short handles. Maggie paused her question. “Would you like some help with your bags?”
“I’ve got it.” He moved purposefully, sliding the pack over his shoulder and gripping the duffel.
Maggie stood nonplussed. His words had been short and clipped, but she’d only been offering a simple courtesy. Her lack of response stretched out awkwardly while Jennifer’s muffled voice sounded from the kitchen. Inconvenience at his arrival was now becoming discomfort. Perhaps she’d been right after all when she’d thought about having a cop underfoot. Terse and aloof. She prided herself on a friendly comfortable atmosphere, but it took two to accomplish it. By the hard set of his jaw, her work was clearly cut out for her.
Nate spoke, finally breaking the tension.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m just used to looking after myself.” He smiled disarmingly. “My mother would flay me alive if I let a woman carry my things.”
Maggie wondered what his mother would say if she knew Maggie looked after running the business and all the repairs on the large house single-handedly. She was used to being on her own and doing everything from starting a business to repairing a roof to raising a daughter.
“Chivalry isn’t dead, I see.” Her words came out cooler than she wanted as she moved past him to the stairs.
“No, ma’am.” His steps echoed behind her as she started up the staircase.
When they reached the top, she paused. Perhaps because of his job he was naturally suspicious, but she was trying hard not to feel snubbed after his curt words in the foyer. It should have been implicitly understood that whatever was in his bags was his business. She’d never go through a guest’s belongings!
“The Mountain Haven Bed and Breakfast is exactly that. A haven.” She led him to a sturdy white door, opened it. “A place to get away from worries and stress. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay here.”
He looked down into her eyes, but she couldn’t read his expression. It was like he was deliberately keeping it blank. She’d hoped her words would thaw his cool manner just a bit, but he only replied, “I appreciate your discretion.”
He went inside, putting his duffel on the floor and the backpack on the wing chair in the corner.
“Local calls are free, long distance go on your bill, unless of course you have a cell.” Maggie dismissed the futility of trying to draw him out and gave him the basic run-down instead. “There’s no television in your room, but there is a den downstairs that you’re welcome to use.”
Maggie paused. Nate was waiting patiently for her to finish her spiel. It was very odd, with him being her only guest. Knowing he’d be the only guest for the next few weeks. It didn’t seem right, telling him mealtimes and rules.
She softened her expression. “Look, normally there’s a whole schedule thing with meals and everything, but you’re my only guest. I think we can be a little more flexible. I usually serve breakfast between eight and nine, so if that suits you, great. I can work around your plans. Dinner is served at six-thirty. For lunch, things are fluid. I can provide it or not, for a minimum charge on your overall bill. I’m happy to provide you with local areas of interest, and you have wifi in your room.”
Nate tucked his hands into his jeans pockets. “I’m your only guest?”
“That’s right. It’s not my busiest time right now.”
“Then…” his eyes met hers sheepishly. “Look, I’m going to feel awkward eating alone. I don’t suppose…we could all eat together.”
Nate watched her closely and she felt colour creep into her cheeks yet again. Silly Jennifer and her suggestive comments. The front side was as attractive as the back and Maggie couldn’t help but notice as they stood together in the quiet room. It wasn’t how things were usually done. Normally guests ate in the dining room and she ate at the nook or she and Jen at the kitchen table. Yet it would seem odd, serving him all alone in the dining room. It was antisocial, somehow. Despite the ideas Jen put in her head, Maggie knew it was her job to make his stay comfortable.
She struggled to keep her voice low and even. “Basically, your stay should be enjoyable. If you prefer to eat with us, that would be fine. And if there’s anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable, let me know.”
“Everything here looks great, Ms. Taylor.”
“Then I’ll leave you to unpack. The bathroom is two doors down, and as my only guest it’s yours alone. Jennifer and I each have our own so you won’t have to share. I’ll be downstairs. Let me know if there’s anything you need. Otherwise, I’ll see you for dinner.”
She courteously shut the door, then leaned against it, closing her eyes. Nate Griffith wasn’t an ordinary guest, that much she knew already. She couldn’t shake the irrational feeling that he was hiding something. He hadn’t said or done anything to really make her think so, beyond being proprietary with his backpack. But something niggled at the back of her mind, something that made her uncomfortable. Given his profession, she should be reassured. Who could be safer than someone in law enforcement? Why would he have any sort of ulterior motive?
His good looks were something she’d simply have to ignore. She’d have to get over her silly awkwardness in a hurry, since they were going to be essentially roommates for the next few weeks. Jen wouldn’t be here to run interference much longer, and Maggie would rely on her normal professional, warm persona. Piece of cake.
He was just a man, after all. A man on vacation from a stressful job. A man with an expense account that would make up for her lost plans by helping pay for her next trip.
* * *
Nate heavedout a sigh as the door shut with a firm click. Thank goodness she was gone.
He looked around the room. Very nice. Grant had ensured him that the rural location didn’t mean substandard lodging, and so far he was right. What he’d seen of the house was clean, warm, and welcoming. His room was no different.
The furniture was sturdy golden pine; the spread on the bed was thick and looked homemade with its country design in navy, burgundy, deep green and cream. An extra blanket in rich red lay over the foot of the bed. He ran his hand over the footboard. He would have preferred no footboard, so he could stretch out. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was here and he had all the amenities he needed. To anyone in the area, he’d be a vacationing guest. To his superiors, he’d be consistently connected through the internet and in liaison with local authorities. Creature comforts were secondary, but not unwelcome. Lord knew he’d stayed in a lot worse places while on assignment.
He unpacked his duffle, laying clothing neatly in the empty dresser drawers. His hand paused on a black sweater. When Grant had mentioned a bed and breakfast, Nate had instantly thought of some middle-aged couple. When he’d learned Maggie ran Mountain Haven alone, he’d pictured a woman in her mid-to-late forties who crocheted afghans for the furniture and exchanged recipes for chicken pot pie with her guests. Maggie Taylor didn’t fit his profile at all. Neither did Jen. He’d known she was here, but she seemed precocious and typically teenage. Certainly not the kind to get in trouble with the police.
He rested his hips on the curved footboard and frowned. It was hard to discern Maggie’s age. Initially he’d thought her maybe a year or two older than himself. But the appearance of her nearly grown daughter had changed that impression. He couldn’t tell for sure, but she had to be at least late thirties to have a daughter that age. Yet…her skin was still creamy and unlined, her eyes blue with thick lashes. Her hand had been much smaller than his, and soft.
But it was Maggie’s eyes that stuck in his mind. Eyes that smiled warmly with welcome but that held a hint of cool caution in their depths. Eyes that told him whatever her path had been, it probably hadn’t been an easy one.
He stood up abruptly and reached for the jeans in his duffle, going to hang them in the closet. He wasn’t here to make calf-eyes at the proprietress. That was the last thing he should be thinking about. He had a job to do. That was all. He had information to gather and who better to ask than someone in the know, someone who would take his questions for tourist curiosity? Inviting himself to dinner had put her on the spot, but with the desired results.
The afternoon light was already starting to wane when he dug out his laptop and set it up on the small desk to the left of the bed. Within seconds it was booted up, connected and ready to go. He logged in with his password, checked his e-mail…and waited for everything to download. Once he’d taken care of everything that needed his immediate attention, he quickly composed a few short notes, hitting the send button. Now he just had to wait for the requested reply. He tapped his fingers on the desk. Waiting was not something he did well.
But perhaps learning to wait was a life lesson he needed. He’d been one to act first and think later too many times. Dealing with the aftermath of mistakes had caused him to be put on leave in the first place. He hadn’t even been two weeks into his leave when it had been cut short and he’d been given this assignment, and he was glad of it. He wasn’t one to sit around twiddling his thumbs.
Grant had asked for him personally. As a favour. And this wasn’t a job to be rushed. It was a time for watching and waiting.
He frowned at the monitor and his empty inbox. For now, his laptop was his connection to the outside world. It was a tiny community. The less conspicuous he was, the better.
He realized that his room had grown quite dark and checked his watch. It was after six already, and Maggie had said dinner was at six-thirty. He didn’t want to get things off to a bad start on his first day, so he shut down the laptop and put his backpack beneath the empty duffel in the closet.
* * *
Maggie heardhis footsteps moving about upstairs for a long time, and listened to the muffled thump as she mixed dough and browned ground beef for the soup.
Nate Griffith. US Marshal. The name had conjured an image of a flat-faced cop when Jennifer had told her about the reservation. Despite the flashes of coolness, he was anything but. He couldn’t be more than thirty, thirty-one. And it hadn’t taken but a moment to realize he was all legs and broad shoulders, and polite manners.
“Whatcha making?”
Jennifer’s voice interrupted and for once Maggie was glad of it. She’d already spent too long thinking about her latest lodger.
“Pasta e fagioli and foccacia bread.”
“Excellent.” Jen grabbed a cookie from a beige pottery jar and leaned against the counter, munching.
Maggie watched her. There were some days she really missed the pre-teen years. Parenting had been so much simpler then. Yet hard as it was, she hated to see Jen leave again.
“Day after tomorrow, huh. Did you book your bus ticket?”
“I booked it return when I came, remember?” She reached in the jar for another cookie.
“You’ll spoil your supper,” Maggie warned.
Jen simply raised an eyebrow as if to say, I’m not twelve, Mother.
“You should be glad I’m leaving. That leaves you alone with Detective Hottie.”
Maggie glared.
“Oh, come on Mom. He’s a little old for me, even if he is a fine specimen. But he’s just about right for you.”
Maggie put the spoon down with more force than she intended. “First of all, keep your voice down. He is a paying guest in this house.” She ignored the flutter that skittered through her at Jen’s attempt at matchmaking. “He wouldn’t be here at all if you’d asked first and booked later.”
Jennifer stopped munching. “You’re still mad about that, huh.”
Maggie sighed, forgetting all about his footsteps. It wasn’t all Jen’s fault. She did her own share of picking fights. She should be trying to keep Jen close, not pushing her away.
“I just wish…I wish you’d give some thought to things first, instead of racing headlong and then having to backtrack. You took the reservation without even consulting me.”
“I was trying to help. I told you I was sorry about it. And they did come through with the cash, so what’s the big deal?”
How could Maggie explain that the big deal was that she worried over Jen day and night? She hadn’t been blind the last few years. Jen had skated through without getting seriously hurt. Yet. But she’d had her share of trouble and Maggie was terrified that one day she’d get a phone call that something truly serious had happened. She wished Jen took it as seriously as she did.
“Let’s not argue about it anymore, okay?” Arguing over the reservation was irrelevant now. Maggie had been irritated with Jennifer at the time for not taking a credit card number, but it had ceased to matter. The United States Marshals Service was picking up the tab. All of it. A day after Nate had reserved the room, someone from his office had called and made arrangements for payment, not even blinking when she’d told them the rate, or the cost of extras. And she’d charged them high season rates, just because she’d been so put out at having to put her travel plans on hold.
She pressed dough into two round pans, dimpling the tops with her fingers before putting them under a tea towel to rise. No matter how much she wished she were lying on a beach in Cancun right now, she still derived pleasure from doing what she did best. Cooking for one was a dull, lonely procedure and her spirits lightened as she added ingredients to the large stockpot on the stove. Jen had been home for the last week, but it wasn’t the same now that she was nearly adult and spreading her wings. Having guests meant having someone else to do for. It was why she’d chosen a B&B in the first place.
The footsteps halted above her, the house falling completely silent as their argument faltered.
“I didn’t mean to pick a fight with you.”
“Me either.” Jen shuffled to the kitchen doorway and Maggie longed to mend fences, although she didn’t know how.
“Supper in an hour,” she called gently, but it went ignored.
Maggie reached across the counter to turn on the radio. She hummed quietly with a recent country hit as she turned her attention to pastry. Her foot tapped along with the beat until she slid everything into the oven, added tiny tubes of pasta to the pot, and cleaned up the cooking mess, the process of cooking and cleaning therapeutic.
At precisely six-twenty, he appeared at the kitchen door.
She turned with the bread pans in her hands, surprised to see him there. Again, she felt a warning thump at his presence. Why in the world was she reacting this way to a complete stranger? It was more than a simple admiration of his good looks. A sliver of danger snuck down her spine. She knew nothing about him. He looked like a normal, nice guy. But how would she know? She didn’t even know the reason why he was on a leave of absence. What could have happened to make him need to take extended time off? Suddenly all her misgivings, ones she rarely gave credence to, came bubbling up to the surface. Most of the time she was confident in her abilities to look after herself. Something about Nate Griffith challenged that. And very soon, it would just be the two of them in the house.
“Is something wrong?”
She shook her head, giving a start and putting the pans down on top of the stove. “No, not at all. You just surprised me.” Maggie took a deep breath, keeping her back to him. “Dinner’s not quite ready. It won’t be long.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
He took a few steps into the kitchen. It was her job to make him at ease and feel at home, so why on earth was she finding it so difficult? She forced a smile as she flipped the round loaves out of the pans and on to a cooling rack. “Jen should be down soon. Besides, it’s my job to look after you, remember?”
“Well, sure.” He leaned easily against the side of the refrigerator. “But I thought we were going to play it a little less formal.”
He had her there. She thought for a moment as she got the dishes out of the cupboard. He was only here for a few weeks. What harm could come of being friendly, after all? Her voices of doubt were just being silly; she was making something out of nothing. He’d be gone back to his job and the palm trees before she knew it.
“All right.” She held out bread plates and bowls. “Informal it is. We can use the kitchen or the dining room, whichever you prefer. If you could set the table with these, I’ll finish up here.”
He pushed himself upright with an elbow. “Absolutely.” He moved to take the dishes and their fingers brushed. Without thinking, her gaze darted up to his with alarm. For a second she held her breath. But then he turned away to the table as if nothing had connected.
Only she knew it had. And that was bad, bad news.
Look for Falling for the Marshal where books are sold.