An Unwilling Husband. Tera Shanley

did, without a care for giving his unborn child a name was the vilest act of dishonor a highborn man could commit. Roy, with his plain way of life and easygoing ideals, had been ten times the man and hadn’t even had a reason, other than he loved her and Mother. The genuine, smiling expression in his eyes still visited her fondest memories of childhood. Yes, there was something to be said about finding happiness in a simple life out here. And seeing Roy again was a start.

      She fingered the stack of letters she’d pulled from her baggage to calm her nerves. She and Roy had kept in touch by writing a few times a year. His letters were a reminder of the life she’d loved as a child and left behind. The tattered notes had always brought solace during dark times in her life, and she needed such comfort again as the buggy jerked and swerved closer to the only place she had ever considered home.

      The town had changed and grown so much in the past ten years, that she felt disconnected with it. The road to Roy’s homestead passing beneath the buggy’s wheels, however, was just as she remembered. Still rutted with pot holes so deep, they echoed, and peppered with rabbits frightened out of hiding as the shallow-bedded wagon rolled noisily by.

      When they neared the first turn off, shivers of excitement fluttered in her chest. Clusters of blooming cactus lined an unassuming dirt road leading away from the main. The turnoff signified the entrance to the Lazy S Ranch where Garret Shaw had lived when they were little. According to the updates in Roy’s letters, he didn’t live there anymore, but she peered as far as she could see across the flat landscape for him none-the-less.

      Garret. Her first and only love. Only calf love, as she had been just a child at the time, but the most she would ever feel for a boy. She still thought about him from time to time. Imagined what he looked like all grown up; what kind of man he had become. Roy had grown used to her asking about her childhood friend, and when he wrote, offered tidbits of information on him. Last she knew, he was finishing up his schooling in Georgetown, and had left his father to run the Lazy S. He hadn’t been back to visit in years.

      She squinted against the sun as they passed the Lazy S Ranch. What had he looked like? It had been so long ago for a person so young, half a lifetime. He’d had dark hair, though what color she couldn’t recall. Five years older than her, he’d been kind for accepting her younger and constant presence with minimal annoyance. Compared to her, tall, and he’d been as thin as a fence post, no matter how much his mother fed him. What had his features looked like, though? The color of his eyes? Had they been green? Her memories had blurred with time.

      The next homestead was Roy’s, and as Bill pulled the team up to the front of the house, Maggie tucked the letters into her luggage. She straightened her dress. The time had come to introduce her memories of Roy to the present day man.

      Roy’s cabin was well repaired, but showed the signs of aging. The wood wasn’t the color of new logs she remembered. The bones of the small home had grayed with age, and newer wooden shingles peppered the roof where leaks had been tended to. The porch creaked underfoot and her heart hammered as she lifted a gloved hand to knock on the frail looking door. No one answered. “Roy?” she called as she knocked again. Silence.

      Bill hopped from the buggy and sauntered around the house, yelling out Roy’s name, to no answer. “Well, he still lives here, I can promise you that. He runs cattle and he’s probably out with them, is all.” He hoisted himself onto the wagon seat and tipped his hat. “I wish you well, miss, but I’m losing daylight. That old coot won’t mind a bit if you just went on in there and made yourself at home.”

      She reached for her small coin purse. “At least let me pay you for your troubles.”

      He waved her off and slapped the reins against the backs of the two horse team. “No need.”

      “Thank you,” she sang out with a wave but if he heard her, he didn’t show it.

      When she opened the door to the cabin, a hundred memories from childhood assaulted her. Every piece of furniture seemed to be in the same place. The small oval dining table was surrounded by four ladder backed chairs and the deep slate sink that took up most of the kitchen still boasted the same old hand pump. The small bookcase had not moved from the shadow of the stone fireplace and the faded floral curtains Mother had hung lifted lazily in the breeze from the open window. Even the smell of bacon grease and yeast bread seemed familiar.

      A smile curved her lips. There, beyond the front porch and yard lay the prairie grass so tall it would tickle her waist if she had a mind to stand in it. She’d imagined this a thousand times. Home.

      She lugged her baggage inside, set it near the front door, and bit her bottom lip. A change into a dress with lighter skirts would be a relief, but it felt odd to make herself at home when Roy didn’t even know she was there. Padding around the cabin, she picked up a glass perfume bottle Mother had left behind and a folded drawing of an atrocious looking grasshopper she’d done as a child. She touched blankets, curtains, and furniture to re-familiarize herself with the place. In the mirror over the washbasin, she straightened her prim, cream-colored hat. She re-pinned a couple of curls that had come loose during the jarring trip from the train station and plopped onto one of the chairs at the dining table. Weakened with hunger and exhausted from traveling, Maggie lowered her head to her arms on the table. Her eyelids were too heavy to fight to keep open. Eventually, the hours of waiting lulled her into a fitful sleep.

      * * * *

      The door creaked open. Slam! The wall shuddered with the force of it. Maggie lurched awake to find a pistol pointed directly at her face.

      “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” the man holding the gun said in a gravelly voice.

      “Roy?” she said, still half dazed.

      The gun was pulled away and clicked loudly as the man uncocked it. A bewildered look crept over his older, yet still familiar face.

      “Magpie?” he asked.

      The old nickname warmed her. Roy had only called her that when her mother wasn’t around to scold him for not calling her Margaret. “It’s me, Roy. I’m back.”

      She stood up in time for him to give her a crushing hug. He was still as tall and gangly, but gray now streaked his dark hair and beard. His brown eyes danced as he looked her over incredulously, and the crinkles of his face deepened when he laughed.

      “What’s happened, darlin’? Where’s your mother?” Roy asked after he regained his speech.

      Deep sadness welled up inside her, and she swallowed the urge to weep to the only other person who’d understand the depth of her heartache. “She passed about six months ago. I’m sorry to have waited this long to tell you, but I couldn’t bring myself to write it in a letter.”

      He was quiet, gazing vacantly somewhere beyond her, then said, “Is that why you’ve come? To tell me your mother has passed?”

      “I’ve come to stay, Roy.”

      “To stay?” He let go of her shoulders and took a step back. “What about your kinfolk?”

      “You mean Aunt Margaret, I suppose. I can’t go back to Boston. Not now, not ever. Boston was never my home, no matter how I tried to make it so. This is the only place I have ever belonged.”

      “It’s not safe for you here. This town just got the railway in. It stops here now, but sooner or later they’ll work to continue it. There will be teams of rough men out here. And ranchers from all around drive their cattle here and blow off steam in town. Half the danged town is saloons now. Things have changed since you left.” Roy shook his head. The look in his eyes pleaded with her to understand. “You look fair proper now, Margaret. You’ve built a life in Boston. Best you not ruin that by staying here.”

      “It’s Maggie now,” she said, tears stinging her eyes at the rejection. “I can’t go back to Boston. I can’t hear that I’m plain, or lazy, or unwanted, or a bastard child, or a thorn in the family’s name anymore. I’ll take my chances here, where I have a fraction of a hope at happiness.”

      Roy heaved a