right,” he said
quietly. “Maribelle is fine and you will be, too.” And when he felt
her stiffen against him, he added, “Come now, you can lean on me
this once, until the storm passes, Maggie.”
Somewhere within her a dam seemed to burst
as two days of pent-up emotions chose this moment to be released.
Margaret gripped his shirtfront as she buried her face against his
chest and wept.
Jennifer was looking decidedly worried, and
Hunter was afraid she, too, would burst into tears. “Take Maribelle
over to the small tree and tie her, monkey,” he suggested as a
means to distract the girl. “Can you do that?”
Jennifer nodded her head and stepped around
him, frequently looking back over her shoulder to keep a watchful
eye on her sister as she did as he requested.
“Put your arms around my neck,” he
whispered. He bent his knees and scooped her up in his arms before
Margaret could comply. For safety’s sake she was forced to wrap one
arm around him, but she would not raise her head, and her face
remained hidden against his chest, her hand covering her eyes. “My
brave girl wouldn’t be this frightened,” he said with conviction as
he sat on the log and settled her on his lap. “Would you care to
tell me what this is really about?”
Margaret’s initial response was to get away
from him but, after scrambling off his lap, her sub-conscious
sought to retain his comfort and she sat beside him. With her head
turned away so that he could not see her tears, she said, “I was
afraid Maribelle would be hurt.”
Hunter did not comment as she angrily wiped
the palm of one hand across her cheeks; she was clearly fighting to
regain control.
He said only, again, “The mare is fine.”
The silence stretched out between them until
Margaret finally demanded, “Why did you come? Can’t you see this is
hurting me?”
“Yes, I can see your pain, Maggie,” he
sighed. “And I want to understand why? I need to know why my being
here is so painful?”
Margaret sputtered something that was very
close to a wry laugh. “As I recall,” she said, raising her head to
stare out over the pond, “I cried the last time we came to this
place.”
Hunter quietly stared at her profile. “You
cried then for a very different reason.” He held out his
handkerchief to her, waiting patiently, willing her to go on.
“Yes. I remember. I was a foolish child back
then,” she whispered.
“Why foolish?” he asked, frowning as he
leaned toward her, trying to understand. “You thought you loved me,
back then. Love is never foolish, little one. It’s something
everyone desires.”
Margaret had collected herself by now and
the tears were gone when she turned to look at him. “Not everyone,
Hunter,” she murmured. “Not everyone needs love.”
She was then certain she had made her
desires fairly clear, but she had not anticipated one small but
revealing detail; the subtle catch in her voice when she had
spoken.
CHAPTER 9
When they arrived back at the house,
Jennifer jumped down from her pony unassisted, leaving the animal
to be cared for by others as she raced to the house to tell her
father and sisters about their afternoon adventure and Maggie’s
near calamity.
Hunter helped Margaret down from Maribelle’s
back and, once the two horses had been led into the stables, he
turned her, with his hand on her elbow, toward the house. “Your
father will want to see that you are not injured,” he said, “but I
want us to talk privately after you’ve seen him.”
Startled, Margaret stopped in her tracks.
“Talk privately? About what?” She raised her finely arched brows,
shooting him a cocky appearance, but Hunter was not fooled.
Something was seriously wrong; something had hurt her severely, far
beyond the scar she bore, and he was going to find out what that
something was.
“I want to continue the discussion we were
having before Jennifer interrupted us,” he said.
“Oh, you do! And if I choose not
quietly. “Maribelle is fine and you will be, too.” And when he felt
her stiffen against him, he added, “Come now, you can lean on me
this once, until the storm passes, Maggie.”
Somewhere within her a dam seemed to burst
as two days of pent-up emotions chose this moment to be released.
Margaret gripped his shirtfront as she buried her face against his
chest and wept.
Jennifer was looking decidedly worried, and
Hunter was afraid she, too, would burst into tears. “Take Maribelle
over to the small tree and tie her, monkey,” he suggested as a
means to distract the girl. “Can you do that?”
Jennifer nodded her head and stepped around
him, frequently looking back over her shoulder to keep a watchful
eye on her sister as she did as he requested.
“Put your arms around my neck,” he
whispered. He bent his knees and scooped her up in his arms before
Margaret could comply. For safety’s sake she was forced to wrap one
arm around him, but she would not raise her head, and her face
remained hidden against his chest, her hand covering her eyes. “My
brave girl wouldn’t be this frightened,” he said with conviction as
he sat on the log and settled her on his lap. “Would you care to
tell me what this is really about?”
Margaret’s initial response was to get away
from him but, after scrambling off his lap, her sub-conscious
sought to retain his comfort and she sat beside him. With her head
turned away so that he could not see her tears, she said, “I was
afraid Maribelle would be hurt.”
Hunter did not comment as she angrily wiped
the palm of one hand across her cheeks; she was clearly fighting to
regain control.
He said only, again, “The mare is fine.”
The silence stretched out between them until
Margaret finally demanded, “Why did you come? Can’t you see this is
hurting me?”
“Yes, I can see your pain, Maggie,” he
sighed. “And I want to understand why? I need to know why my being
here is so painful?”
Margaret sputtered something that was very
close to a wry laugh. “As I recall,” she said, raising her head to
stare out over the pond, “I cried the last time we came to this
place.”
Hunter quietly stared at her profile. “You
cried then for a very different reason.” He held out his
handkerchief to her, waiting patiently, willing her to go on.
“Yes. I remember. I was a foolish child back
then,” she whispered.
“Why foolish?” he asked, frowning as he
leaned toward her, trying to understand. “You thought you loved me,
back then. Love is never foolish, little one. It’s something
everyone desires.”
Margaret had collected herself by now and
the tears were gone when she turned to look at him. “Not everyone,
Hunter,” she murmured. “Not everyone needs love.”
She was then certain she had made her
desires fairly clear, but she had not anticipated one small but
revealing detail; the subtle catch in her voice when she had
spoken.
CHAPTER 9
When they arrived back at the house,
Jennifer jumped down from her pony unassisted, leaving the animal
to be cared for by others as she raced to the house to tell her
father and sisters about their afternoon adventure and Maggie’s
near calamity.
Hunter helped Margaret down from Maribelle’s
back and, once the two horses had been led into the stables, he
turned her, with his hand on her elbow, toward the house. “Your
father will want to see that you are not injured,” he said, “but I
want us to talk privately after you’ve seen him.”
Startled, Margaret stopped in her tracks.
“Talk privately? About what?” She raised her finely arched brows,
shooting him a cocky appearance, but Hunter was not fooled.
Something was seriously wrong; something had hurt her severely, far
beyond the scar she bore, and he was going to find out what that
something was.
“I want to continue the discussion we were
having before Jennifer interrupted us,” he said.
“Oh, you do! And if I choose not
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