The Farmer Takes A Wife. Barbara Gale
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this man said he had aged too quickly. Maybe it was the way he moved…slowly…as if it took great effort—not precisely a careless restraint, but perhaps a result of indifference. But something told Maggie that where this man stood had once been beauty—happiness, too, maybe—even if it were only the vaguest shadow dance, now. Maggie marveled that she saw so much at once, and dismissed herself as fanciful. No doubt it was the reason her breath had caught in her lungs.
Chapter Two
Somebody took a wrong turn somewhere, Rafe decided grimly as he set the grocery bags down on the counter and stared boldly at the woman holding up the wall. Late thirties, if he guessed right. Sickly, too, if he were any judge of red noses, chapped lips and rashy cheeks. Of course, the wet weather could account for that, but the lady did look a sorry mess. He had no idea who she was, had no idea why she was there, but he did know one thing: the town of Primrose never entertained.
“What’s going on here?” he asked, his voice soft. But nobody—not the adults, in any case—could fail to perceive his underlying displeasure.
“Hey, Dad, this here is Maggie Tremont,” Amos announced, excited beyond anything to be the bearer of news. And such news! A stranger invading Shangri-la could not have been more exotic to his young eyes. “She’s lost, Dad! And guess what? She’s a doctor, no kidding!”
Maggie watched as Rafe reassessed her through the filter of this new information. No matter—she could have been the Queen of Sheba—she knew what he saw was unimpressive. When people said your nose was your best asset, you knew your mirror didn’t lie. If her gray eyes sparkled when she laughed, she knew nothing about that. And though her skin would never be radiant there was something to be said for a smattering of freckles and pink cheeks, even if they were a bit feverish just at the moment. If something in Rafe’s eyes made her regret her lack of beauty, Maggie tamped down her unexpected reaction as quickly as it rose. Her confidence in her abilities was too finely rooted to be influenced by a sour glance from a man, even if he did have broad shoulders.
Vaguely, she listened as Louisa explained her arrival to Rafe. It was vexing, the way they talked as if she weren’t there, but feeling queasy, she did not interfere. Common sense told her to mind her manners. She had a feeling that being snappish wouldn’t get her anywhere with this pair. But containing her irritation wasn’t easy, the way her head was throbbing. Couldn’t they see how sick she was and that she only wanted a bed?
“Yes, my name really is Doctor Margaret Tremont,” she said wearily. “I’m one of the small crew of doctors who work for the Mobile Clinic of New England.”
Rafe studied her thoughtfully. “We use their services, but our association is with a Doctor Marks.”
“Yes, I know him, he’s a great guy, and don’t worry, I’m not his replacement. Listen, I don’t even belong here in New Hampshire. I work the Massachusetts corridor because I live in Boston. Technically, I’m not even on duty! I mean, there I was on 93 South, and then…I wasn’t!” she sighed.
Rafe’s look was disparaging. “I know the highway wanders when you cross the state line, but not that much.”
“Enough to lose my way,” Maggie said ruefully, wondering if getting lost was a cardinal sin in these parts. “Like I said, I’m unfamiliar with this area. I passed Concord hours ago. But give me a month and I’ll be able to tell you all the landmarks. I have a very good sense of direction…usually,” she declared with a light laugh.
Rafe was skeptical. “You’ve strayed pretty far from home for someone with a good sense of direction. Boston is miles south of here.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Maggie smiled wryly. “Somewhere, somehow, I took a wrong turn—majorly! There were a few moments when I was absolutely petrified I’d fall off the side of the mountain. Right about when the asphalt turned to mud. If I were you, I’d call the department of highways and complain.”
“What makes you think we haven’t?” Rafe asked coldly.
Maggie was startled by his sudden flash of temper. “Yes, I guess you would have,” she said diplomatically. “Well, lucky for me I saw that sign for Primrose. It led me here. Mrs. Haymaker was just about to offer me a room for the night when Amos appeared—weren’t you, Mrs. Haymaker?”
Maggie held her breath, hoping Mrs. Haymaker’s sense of justice would come to her aid. If she didn’t find a bed in the next five minutes, she was going to collapse on Louisa’s mucky linoleum floor. Quickly, she moved to the Formica counter and rummaged about in her bag for her checkbook. “Is a hundred dollars for the night fair market value, Mrs. Haymaker?”
The generous offer was rewarded by a gasp from Louisa. “And permission for Amos to build me a fire—if that’s all right with you, Mr. Burnside,” Maggie added, her chin a stubborn line.
Rafe sent her steely look, but she noticed that he didn’t say, either way. A hundred dollars was a lot of money and they all knew it.
“Cabin three will do, Amos,” Louisa said quickly. “Last I checked, there was still a bit of wood in the fireplace.”
Amos was thrilled to be allowed. “Will do!” he said, saluting smartly as he tugged his hat over his golden fall of hair.
“Thank you, Amos,” Maggie said quietly, and was rewarded by his big, red blush. “I’ll bring my van around as soon as I pay Mrs. Haymaker.”
His slender shoulders hunched against the rain, Amos grabbed the cabin key from the wall board hook and dashed out the door, a damp chill sweeping the room as he left. The crisis, real or imagined, was over. “Thank you for allowing me to stay, Mrs. Haymaker. I’ll just make you out that check and be on my way. I’m pretty tired.”
Rafe must have understood something of Maggie’s misery because, even though he looked as if he’d swallowed a lemon, he did back off. “I’ll go help the boy,” he muttered.
Louisa, too, seemed relieved. “Look here, Rafe. The little miss is a godsend. Her being a doctor means you won’t have to drive me over to Bloomville next week, to see that podiatrist fellow—if she would look at my feet, that is.”
“I never complained,” Rafe said tersely, as he headed for the door.
“I know that, Rafe. You’re as good as gold about that sort of thing. But it would be one less chore for you.”
“I would be happy to examine your feet, Mrs. Haymaker,” Maggie said quickly as she followed Rafe, “just as soon as I’m on my own.” Then, no longer able to hide her exhaustion, Maggie bid Louisa good night. Standing outside, sheltered by the tiny porch, they both hesitated, neither anxious to step out into the storm. Every gust of wind sent a heavy spray of cold rain across their cheeks.
“I guess we had better make a dash for it, before we really get wet.”
“Really get wet? What do you call this?”
The flickering yellow porch light barely lit the way, the relentless rain blurred the path, but Maggie could see Rafe clear as day. They were so close his breath was a warm whisper, and all the rain streaming down her body could not cool the heat suddenly coursing through her veins. Standing in the dark, wet wood of a misbegotten town, she watched his dark eyes narrow. It was there in his look, his reluctant gaze on her mouth, his slight, but unmistakable interest. She could almost see his own surprise, and his dismay, before he turned on his heel and hurried into the night.
Shaking sense into herself, Maggie tried to calm her beating heart. When she could breathe again, she made a mad dash for her van, turned on the ignition and blasted the heat high until some warmth crept back into her body. When she could wriggle her toes, she drove around back, to the line of cabins hardly visible. Thankfully, one reflected light. Ignoring her headache, she pulled a heavy valise from the back of the vehicle but it was so heavy, and she was so weak, she could hardly lift it. Frustrated, she left it where it fell and headed for the cabin, her sneakers making squishy, wet sounds that made her regret her rubber boots, buried somewhere in the