Maggie And The Maverick. Laurie Grant

he tell me much about thees woman who was hees wife,” Jovita informed her. “You ask heem sometime, st?”

      “Oh, I’m sure it’s none of my business,” Maggie told the woman uncomfortably, but for some reason Jovita didn’t look at all convinced.

      “You have never been married, señorita?” Jovita inquired.

      The change of subject startled Maggie. “No,” she said, but she felt the betraying flush creep up her cheeks. Once, she had expected to be Mrs. Richard Burke by this time.

      “Ah, but you have a sweetheart, no? He ees back where you came from?” Jovita asked, her face puzzled.

      “No,” Maggie said, too quickly. “That is…there was someone.but we’re no longer, uh, courting.”

      “Ah…” the woman murmured, and Maggie saw in her eyes that she had guessed much about Maggie’s former sweetheart.

      She was afraid Jovita was going to probe further, and was wondering how she could politely evade the questions, when Johnny began jumping up and down and shouting that his father was coming down the street. And then Garrick Devlin was silhouetted by the sun in the entranceway.

      “Everything ees ready, Senor Devlin,” Jovita said, motioning to the food and dishes spread out on the table. “Sit down and eat, you and Senorita Maggie and Johnny. You sent your wire, st?”

      “Yes,” he murmured, but his eyes were on Maggie, who felt like a jackrabbit must feel when cornered by a cougar. A wounded, irritable cougar.

      “Oh, but I wouldn’t dream of intruding on your dinner with your son, sir,” Maggie assured him, and wasn’t surprised to see her remark make his face relax a little. “Perhaps you could tell me if the hotel serves luncheon?”

      “Of course you weel not eat at the hotel! There ees more than enough food for all three of you, Senorita Maggie. You weel eat here,” Jovita informed her. “Señor, I have theengs to buy for your household at the general store,” she said. “I weel leave Johnny weeth you while he eats and then come back for heem, sí? You can enjoy your son and get to know your new employee,” she said with a twinkle in her eye as she started walking to the door.

      “You’re not staying?” Garrick protested. “But Jovita—” But the bell over the door was already tinkling as the Mexican woman exited.

      “Let’s eat, Papa! The pretty lady can sit by me!” the boy cried, his eyes moving from his father to Maggie and back again. “Come sit here, pretty lady!”

      Maggie bent to speak to the little boy. “Johnny, you may call me Miss Maggie,” she said with a smile, then turned to speak to his father. “Mr. Devlin, it’s not necessary,” she began. “I’ll just walk down to the hotel—”

      “You’ll do no such thing, Miss Harper,” Garrick Devlin informed her, his eyes warning her not to protest further in front of his son, who was watching everything that passed between them. “Have a seat next to Johnny, there. I’ll need to discuss with you how I intend to run this newspaper in any case, so you might as well sit down and eat dinner with us.” He gestured toward the table, his invitation the very antithesis of the famous Southern hospitality.

      That hospitality must be reserved for other Southerners, she thought ruefully, for as a Yankee she’d never received it.

      Ah, well, he was just her employer. And if he didn’t like her, little Johnny seemed perfectly thrilled that she was going to eat with him and his papa, Maggie thought as the little boy settled himself on the chair between them and grabbed at a drumstick.

      “Not yet, Johnny. Haven’t I taught you we must give thanks for our food before we eat?”

      Before she bowed her own head, Maggie saw the little boy dutifully bow his and squeeze his eyes shut. Then she listened as Devlin briefly drawled grace.

      The man had a beautiful voice, even if he was testy in the extreme, Maggie thought. Then she opened her eyes, to find him looking at her.

      “Go ahead and help yourself to some chicken now, Johnny, Miss Harper,” he said, without looking away from her. “You’ll have to forgive my lack of eloquence in prayer, ma’am,” he said, irony dripping in the twangy, molasses-coated vowels. “My brother Cal’s the preacher in the family.”

      “But…isn’t he the sheriff? At least, I thought that’s what Jovita said,” Maggie replied, then knew when he raised an eyebrow that she’d managed to say the wrong thing. She ducked her head and pretended to ponder her own selection of chicken.

      “Oh, so my housekeeper’s already given you my complete family history,” he commented. “No doubt you’d have solved all my problems if I’d been gone five minutes more.”

      “No, Mr. Devlin, I—”

      He held up a hand to hush her. “No matter. I’m sure it’s just as well that you know my estimable brother Caleb is the sheriff of this little town, after having been a preacher before the war. In fact, you’d probably get along famously with him, as he fought alongside the Yankees rather than our own Southern boys.” There was bitterness in his voice as he divulged this surprising news.

      She felt him watching her again, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of showing her curiosity.

      Johnny’s interruption made that easier. “I like Uncle Cal—Aunt Livy, too!” he announced, waving his alreadybare drumstick like a baton. “And I like Grammy and Aunt Annie, and Uncle Sam and Aunt Mercy—she’s gonna have a baby! And I like my kitty cat!”

      “You have a lot of family to like, Johnny,” Maggie said, feeling envious. Since her mother had died, she’d had only her absentminded father, and she sometimes thought James Harper forgot her existence except when they worked together at the newspaper.

      She turned to Devlin after the boy started attacking a second drumstick. “So how did you decide you wanted to run a newspaper, Mr. Devlin?”

      “I just got tired of beating all the men and boys of Brazos County at footraces, Miss Harper,” he said with a sardonic nod toward his wooden leg, which was extended stiffly out to the side of his chair.

       Chapter Five

      His sarcasm left Maggie feeling as if she’d just been slapped. For a moment she couldn’t get her breath, and then she was angry—so angry that she wished little Johnny wasn’t there so she could tell Garrick Devlin off before she quit and went to inquire about the next stage back to Austin. But little Johnny was there, and his presence stiffened her resolve. She’d be damned if she was going to let the man bait her into leaving before she’d even started.

      “You have a.unique way of informing me it’s none of my concern, haven’t you, Mr. Devlin?” she replied in a voice that was as unruffled as she could possibly make it, so that the little boy wouldn’t notice the tension that thrummed between the adults. “Very well. Perhaps you should tell me what your goals and philosophy are in regards to your newspaper.”

      He blinked at her composed response. Point for me, thought Maggie, but don’t expect me to be so restrained when your child is elsewhere. I haven’t got red hair for nothing.

      “My goals and philosophy?” He leaned back in his chair and made a tent of his fingers. “Well, I reckon my goal is to start a newspaper worthy of the name, a paper that will expose the villainy of the carpetbaggers who have polluted our fair Texas soil, and the cancer of the scalawags who would sell Texas itself for the right price.”

      She felt herself flushing as she realized he was again attempting to goad her.

      “In other words, Texas right or wrong, is that your creed?” she retorted sweetly.

      “Precisely, Miss Harper. Johnny,