Wild Horses, Wild Hearts 3, page 2
THE REST OF THE DAY passed relatively without incident on the McNeal Ranch. Maggie and John eventually began their rounds across the ranch, ensuring everything was in order. Moving the cattle from pasture to pasture was starting to slow down as winter approached and the grasses started to go dormant.
As the colder temperatures drew closer, it would be up to John and the ranch hands that stayed through the winter to make sure that they rotated the herds from the pastures into the larger stable meant for the cattle so that they wouldn’t freeze and could be fed with stocks of hay. Though the cattle raised on the McNeal ranch had a reputation for being hardy creatures in the summer heat and the winter cold, there still wasn’t much sense in taking a chance on them freezing.
Much of the current ranch operations focused on preparing for the winter. The ranch hands were kept busy with any number of tasks, ranging from readying the bunk houses for the winter drafts and snows to unloading wagons full of hay and dry goods in case a heavy snow cut off access to Cheyenne. But despite their dedication to their work, harvest celebration week usually saw Margaret telling all of them to knock off for the day around midafternoon so they could go enjoy themselves.
Of course, the ranch hands all knew that their generous employer was also giving them the afternoons and evenings off so she could focus on her preparation for the show-riding event in Cheyenne. And with their ranch boss, John Baldwin, in on the event too, they all knew something special was brewing.
True to form, Maggie and John spent the afternoon and early evening running through the routine they’d prepared for the celebration, a mixture of their own tricks and a few they’d picked up from Chase and his riders two months previous.
There was just enough time for the two of them to make it back to the homestead to clean up and put on their best riding clothes before remounting their horses and preparing for the ride into Cheyenne. Abigail, wearing one of her more colorful dresses, followed along behind the couple in a wagon driven by Fergus Finnegan, Maggie and Leyla’s devoted godfather. The two would watch from the stands as John and Maggie performed the routine they’d been practicing for weeks.
All said and told, it looked to be a memorable evening for all involved.
CHEYENNE, WYOMING TERRITORY, October 1885
Cheyenne was truly a sight to behold during the yearly harvest celebration. While not as grandiose an affair as the show-riding competition the town had hosted four months previous, the harvest celebration was a far more intimate event best enjoyed by the local residents of the town and the surrounding areas.
All of the streets were lit with the lamps as well as colorful paper lanterns strung from building to building while farmers, ranchers, and business owners all celebrated another year for better or worse in the town on the plains.
Bonfires on every street helped warm the denizens in the crisp October air, the flames of each reaching high into the night sky, which was slowly yielding its star-filled bounty. All around the scents of countless foods assaulted the nostrils from every which way, ranging from sweet to savory and back again. The odors were wonderful to everyone passing through the town.
Everyone, that is, except for Margaret McNeal Baldwin.
The brunette ranch owner and her husband had just entered Cheyenne and were heading for the corral where the show-riding event was set to take place, but the minute that her nose registered the myriad scents wafting through the air, she felt her stomach perform a somersault inside of her. It took every ounce of willpower she had to not allow herself to double over and vomit when it all hit her.
When she finally regained control of herself, she glanced at John out of the corner of her eye to see if he’d noticed. She sighed in relief when she was certain that he hadn’t, distracted as he was by all the sights and sounds surrounding him.
I don’t what that was, she groused, but I hope it’s gone. Thank goodness John didn’t notice it or else he’d call the whole routine off.
Maggie knew John would be acting out of concern for her well-being, the fact that he’d remained by her side after she’d fallen from Apollo during the show-riding competition was evidence enough of that, but she didn’t want to let all of their hard work and training go to waste over something as silly as a little nausea.
No, she thought defiantly as she drew determination up from the well of her being, I’m going to ride tonight, and I’m going to give the audience a real show.
But as she and John continued riding toward the corral where the show riding was set to begin, an uneasy feeling began to settle in the pit of her stomach, and Margaret was unable to tell if it was dread or something far worse.
LOOKS LIKE IT’S GOING to be a good night for a show, John thought excitedly as he peered out from the stable near the corral where the show was already in progress. He and Maggie had been directed to their own stalls where they could tend to Apollo and Longbow and prepare for their demonstration.
The stands surrounding the corral still smelled of freshly milled pine and paint as they were filled to capacity with an audience raucously watching the best riders in the Wyoming Territory perform their best tricks on horseback. Those who weren’t lucky enough to have a seat made the best of their situation by watching from the corral fences, packed in with countless others to watch the antics of Cheyenne’s most skilled riders.
But as each rider performed his tricks and moved along, two names still hung anxiously on everyone’s lips: Margaret and John Baldwin.
Jeremiah Weatherby, editor in chief of one of Cheyenne’s larger newspapers, hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said that the announcement that Margaret McNeal was finally taking a husband would be one of the biggest scoops of the year. The bespectacled journalist had later profusely thanked the couple when he told them that, even though they’d kept the announcement of their coming nuptials to a simple section in the newspaper, that edition had sold like it was the recipe to some genuine miracle cure. The news had spread like wildfire, and all of Cheyenne now knew that Margaret McNeal was married to a man who was as deft a hand at horses as she was.
And it hadn’t taken long before the newly married couple had taken to showing their horse riding skills together in front of the crowds in Cheyenne.
But their previous demonstrations would pale in comparison to what they had planned tonight. It’d taken a week or two of hard practice, but they’d come up with something daringly unique, something that would make even Chase, Leyla, and their fellow show riders gawk in amazement had they been present.
However, like many things in life, the wait that preceded the moment itself was always the toughest, and though John was still relatively new to show riding, he found a touch of anxiety swirling in his stomach. He looked to Longbow for some measure of comfort, but his ebony black mount simply returned his stare.
“Fat lotta help you are,” John chuckled, running his hand along his partner’s mane.
Longbow blew a strong gust from his flared nostrils, as though he took offense to John’s little slight, but otherwise didn’t appear vexed.
“Yeah, well, we better go get Maggie and Apollo,” he assured his horse, giving him another appreciative pat before moving to the next stall. “After all, it’d be a pretty poor show if it were just me and— Maggie?”
John’s boots ground to a halt on the hay-covered floor as he found the stall next to him to be occupied by Apollo. His wife, however, was nowhere to be seen.
“Maggie?” John asked aloud again, hoping for some kind of response. But once more, relative silence answered him back.
Where in the Devil could she have gone to? he wondered, knowing full well that it was not in Maggie’s repertoire to leave her prized steed alone in a stable other than her own. He was just about to turn around and ask one of the stable hands if they’d seen where she’d gone when he heard a sound reminiscent of someone heaving their insides up.
That can’t be good, John worried as he moved two stalls down to where the noise had come from.
Peering his head slowly into the stall, he saw the unmistakable figure of his wife hunched over a barrel and chucking what was likely her dinner into it.
All thoughts of the upcoming performance vanished from John’s mind as concern for his wife immediately took over.
“Maggie!” he cried out as he rushed to her side.
OH BLAZES, MAGGIE DREADED as she heard her husband call her name followed by the feeling of the tremors in the floor as he ran to her. Apparently, I wasn’t as quiet as I thought I was.
She was about to turn around and attempt to reassure him that she was fine when she felt another convulsion seize hold of her and she reflexively turned her head back into the barrel as she heaved once more into the empty wooden object.
In the midst of her vomiting, she felt John lay a comforting hand on her back as she did so. She couldn’t tell why, but for some reason his presence helped calm her nausea and she felt what bile remained slowly recede from her mouth and gullet. She took another minute bent over the barrel gathering herself and wiping her lips off on her coat sleeve before she turned to address her husband.
“Is it time for us to go on?” she asked, trying to pretend that she hadn’t just taken violently ill in a public place.
“No, not yet,” came John’s firm but concerned reply “but I don’t think we’ll be performing tonight at all, Maggie.”
Maggie’s temper flared immediately to life at being told she wouldn’t perform. “Husband or not, John Baldwin, you’re dreaming if you think you can keep me from— urp!” Her tirade was cut short as the bile returned in force and she once again turned to face the barrel.
“That’s what I thought,” John said in a matter of fact tone. One of his hands remained on her shoulder in a comforting way as the other gripped her braid in order to keep it clear of her mouth.
When she had finished the round of heaving, she felt physically spent in the worst way possible. It felt like every muscle in her body had been worked over with a butcher’s mallet.
Even an entire day breaking horses never wore me out like this, she thought dejectedly.
She felt John’s hands momentarily leave her and she could barely hear him talking to someone behind her. She cursed herself for not even having the energy to turn around and see who he was talking to.
Almost as quickly as he’d first appeared, she felt John beside her again, his strong hands working to help her upright.
“I told one of the stable hands to go tell the folks running this show we can’t perform,” he said quietly, his concern for her far outweighing his desire to perform.
“But what about—?” Maggie started to object.
“That doesn’t matter,” John cut her off. “What matters right now is getting you to see Doc Wilson. I slipped the stable hand a few coins and told him to find your mother and Fergus and tell them to meet us there. Now come on.”
Realizing that there was no way she was going to convince her husband otherwise, Maggie relented and allowed herself to be guided to where Apollo stood in his stall. The creature looked at his master with the same concern that John had in his own eyes. With a little assistance from John, she climbed into the saddle before John retrieved Longbow. Holding onto Apollo’s reins, John led Maggie and her horse quietly out of the stable and away from the roaring crowds, who would have to wait until another day to see the act the couple had worked so hard on.
This better not just be some kind of indigestion, Maggie thought angrily.
DESPITE BEING LAUDED as one of the best doctors in Cheyenne, Doctor Karl Wilson maintained a small but neat medical office near the railway station, his logic being that he could keep himself more easily accessible that way to the people who lived outside of Cheyenne on the ranches and farms.
The short German physician lived above his office with his wife and nurse, Hilda, both of them well-versed in the medical profession. Despite their welcome and comforting demeanors, the two were quite content to spend their evenings at home with one another rather than partake in the wild celebrations occurring just outside their door.
Of course, this also meant that any accidents that occurred could be immediately tended to by the good doctor as he was always home. And so it was that he was currently examining Margaret McNeal Baldwin while wearing his nightshirt and his wife clad in her dressing gown. John Baldwin, Abigail McNeal, and Fergus Finnegan had been ushered upstairs into the Wilson’s parlor as they waited for any news.
For John, the minutes seemed to stretch into hours as he waited. He repeatedly attempted to take to pacing the room or pressing his ear against the floor rug to try and hear what was going on beneath him only to be stopped by Abigail or Fergus.
Even though taking Maggie to see Dr. Wilson had been his idea—even Abigail admitted it amazed her that he had been able to get her daughter to go along with—he still felt powerless. Granted, he had seen his wife in worse shape than this, but he couldn’t help worrying about her.
After an hour had passed, Hilda poked her curly blond head up the stairs and asked the three to come into her husband’s office.
Once everyone was gathered in the office on the ground floor, Dr. Wilson stood in front of all of them and eyed each one carefully. John stood right next to Maggie where she sat on the examination table, his hand gripping hers protectively.
“I have gut news und bad news,” he stated quietly, his native German making a rare appearance into his speech. “What would you like to hear first?”
“Bad news,” John and Maggie said in unison, the two of them looking at one another in surprise.
Dr. Wilson sighed dramatically. “The bad news is that you’ve both missed your performance tonight,” he said as his usually dour face twisted into an amused smile.
Margaret quickly looked around for something heavy to throw at the doctor, but John uttered a wry laugh at the small joke. Fergus did as well, while Abigail simply rolled her eyes in addition to giving a polite chuckle.
“And the good news is...?” Maggie huffed, her tone one of clear irritation at having been reminded of the fact she’d been deprived of her beloved show riding on an extremely important night.
The doctor looked to his wife and the two shared a smile before once again turning to regard their patient.
“The good news, Frau Baldwin,” he stated happily, “is that you are with child.”
Chapter II: A Blessing...
Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory, October 1885
The silence that descended upon Dr. Karl Wilson’s office was thick enough to cut with a knife. Not a single soul present dared to breach its sacred weight, as though even the barest whisper would shatter everything and reveal it all to be nothing more than a dream.
With child? Maggie echoed, the thought reverberating throughout every inch of her being in equal parts rising joy and overwhelming panic. Her hand reflexively reached up to cover her stomach, almost as though she could feel the newly announced life growing within her.
“I’m...I’m...” she began to stutter.
“Pregnant.”
The word, uttered by her husband, pulled her immediately from her confusion and her head turned to look at him, her eyes stretched wide in disbelief. She quickly saw that John’s eyes were equally wide, his face a mask of wonder.
Abigail and even the usually verbose Fergus were at a loss for words as the silence seemed to stretch into what felt like an eternity. Even the raucous sounds of the celebration outside the building seemed to melt away as all of the room’s occupants tried to make sense of what they’d been told.
The silence would likely have continued if not for the distinct sound of a nose sniffling. All eyes immediately looked to regard the source of the sound: John Baldwin.
The rough and tumble cowboy, the man who had risen from nothing to become the ranch boss of the McNeal Ranch and, unlikeliest of all, the husband of Miss Margaret McNeal herself, stood there with his eyes brimming with uncharacteristic tears staring down at his wife.
“John...?” Maggie asked, unsure of what could possibly bring the man she loved and respected to tears.
But no sooner had she spoken the words then John bent at the hip and enveloped her in his strong arms, his face pressed against her stomach and his warm tears dampening the material of her shirt.
“Oh Maggie,” he sniffed, his ever calm voice straining with emotion. “Maggie Baldwin, I love you so much I can’t even begin to put it rightly into words.”
Maggie was shocked by John’s actions and words. At that moment, all she could do to make any sense of the situation was run her hand gently thorough his long blond locks.
He’s happy? she thought confusedly, though she couldn’t tell why such a thing should vex her. How can he be so happy about this when I’m not even sure how I feel yet?
Two more sniffles caught her attention and she tore her gaze away from her husband to regard her mother and godfather, the two of them dabbing at their eyes with their own handkerchiefs. Uncle Fergus, despite the tears running down his cheeks and into the dense white brush of his muttonchops, wore a smile that looked like it was going to split his face. Abigail was more subdued in her smile, but she more than made up for it in tears of joy streaming from her eyes.
Maggie felt numb in that moment, her mind and heart still desperately trying to make sense of everything. She brought a hand up to her own cheeks to wipe away the tears she knew would certainly be falling from her own eyes, but her hand came away dry. Aside from Dr. Wilson and his wife, she was the only one in the room who wasn’t crying.
I should be crying, shouldn’t I? she thought bewilderedly. I was always told women cry when they’re told their pregnant. Why aren’t I crying?
Her thoughts were interrupted as John rose from his position nuzzling her belly to capture her lips for a passionate kiss, one which easily matched the fervor of their first, which felt like it had happened an eternity prior. Maggie could only return the kiss as much as she could in her confused state, praying that John wouldn’t notice her lack of effort.
