Thimbles And Thistles (Baker City Brides Book 2) Read online

  Chapter Three

  “Mr. MacGregor?” Maggie knocked on the office door of MacGregor Lumber. It was after hours and she knew Ian’s help generally left an hour earlier. Not that she kept watch over the comings and goings at the lumberyard or the man who owned it.

  Plagued by guilt for the way she’d left Ian earlier in the week after he’d given her a ride back to town, she needed to make amends.

  An invitation for the man to join her for dinner seemed like a simple way to offer an apology and make a gesture of goodwill.

  Part of her hoped he’d be gone or decline her invitation. The other half, the half Maggie struggled to keep silent and subdued, looked forward to time spent with the handsome lumberman. Their verbal spars left her more alive and energized than she’d felt since Daniel died.

  However, she refused to dwell on the reasons behind it and rapped on the door again. “Mr. MacGregor?”

  While she waited, her gaze drifted over to a large warehouse. Although Ian sold lumber, he also had a planing mill and manufactured moldings, doors, windows, and trim.

  When he failed to answer after her third knock to the door, Maggie tried the knob and it turned beneath her hand. Cautiously pushing open the door, she stepped inside his office and looked at the organized space. A massive desk and a filing cabinet took up part of the room while maps and wood samples covered the walls. A smaller desk piled with stacks of files and papers sat behind a tall counter.

  The sound of wood dropping on wood, like boards being stacked, caught her attention. Inquisitive, she stepped over to the nearest window and caught a glimpse of Ian’s head behind a stack of lumber.

  She left the office then hurried down the steps and around the corner of the building to the lumberyard where he worked.

  “Mr. MacGregor?” she called as she walked among the high stacks of boards and sniffed the fresh aroma of the wood.

  Maggie inhaled again, drawing in a deep breath of the pleasant fragrance of pine. The hint of a masculine, musky scent did strange things to her stomach while her pulse skittered into an accelerated beat.

  She started to turn away and leave, but before she could take a step, a warm hand settled on her arm.

  “Mistress Dalton. What brings you out here on this bonny evening?” Ian MacGregor stood beside her wearing a beaming smile, a pair of sawdust-coated canvas pants, his boots, and little else.

  Although she intended to avert her gaze and walk away, Maggie’s feet rooted to the spot while her eyes roved over Ian’s bare, broad chest. The descending sun highlighted the matting of golden hair covering his muscled chest and flat stomach.

  She forced her gaze upward, only to get lost in the curve of his shoulder and the raw strength he exuded.

  “Are you well, lass? Is there something wrong?” Ian bent his knees slightly so he could look into her face.

  Finally coming to her senses, Maggie took a step back and sucked in a breath. “Fine. Everything’s fine.” She turned away and shivered from the intensity of the feelings Ian stirred in her. Feelings she’d buried long ago and didn’t want resurrected.

  “What brings you out here?” Ian followed as she walked between two rows of lumber and out into the open area where a fire heated his branding irons.

  She ignored his question as she studied the brand he’d burned onto a pile of boards. “What on earth are you doing?”

  Ian picked up one of the hot irons and burned his brand onto a board before setting it back in the fire. “Branding my wood. Not a single piece leaves the lumberyard until it bears my brand.”

  Maggie leaned over to study the unusual brand. At the base, she could make out an “M” and a “G,” assumably for the name MacGregor. The top of the brand proved to be a puzzle to her. Five curved lines protruded from a perfectly round circle. The circle sat atop a thin, straight line with a curved line on each side of it before it ran down to connect the letters.

  “What is that thing?” Maggie pointed to the top of the brand.

  Ian grinned and rubbed a callused thumb over the wood he’d just seared with the hot iron. “That is a thistle. It’s an important symbol to us Scots and I liked the idea of using it in my brand.”

  “A thistle? Like the purple flowers that bloom out in the hills?” Maggie again observed the strange symbol.

  “Exactly like that.”

  “And you stamp that on every board?”

  “I do. You’ll notice it is also on my horses, my cattle, and if I ever take a wife, I might just brand it on her beautiful backsi…”

  “I get the idea, Mr. MacGregor.” Maggie interrupted before he said something she would have to pretend she found offensive. “What I don’t understand is why you feel the need to brand everything you own.”

  “Because it’s mine. I want everyone to know these boards came from MacGregor Lumber and I’m proud of the quality we produce.” Ian’s chest puffed out slightly, snagging Maggie’s attention. She blushed then turned away and marched back toward the office.

  He easily caught up to her and pulled her to a stop with a gentle tug on her arm. The sight of her, looking so lovely in a spring dress the color of freshly churned butter, addled his thoughts and thickened his brogue. Swiftly gathering his wits, he gave her a pleading look. “Please, lass, ye must’ve come here for a reason. What can I do for ye?”

  Maggie loved hearing Ian speak although she’d never admit it, not to anyone. While his deep voice plucked a chord in her heart, the sound of his brogue made her want to succumb to the delicious little shivers that raced up her spine.

  “I owe you an apology for my behavior the other day after you were kind enough to give me a ride to the ranch and back into town. I failed to offer so much as a word of thanks and for that I’m sorry.”

  “Och, lass, dinna fash yerself. All is well.”

  Maggie frowned at him. “What does that mean, those words you said?”

  Ian grinned and Maggie noticed the white teeth behind his inviting lips and the mirth dancing in his bright eyes.

  Inviting lips? Mentally lambasting herself, Maggie needed to leave before any other unsuitable and entirely inappropriate ideas about Ian MacGregor flew through her head.

  “It means don’t trouble yourself. You have no need to apologize, Mistress Dalton. None at all.”

  Maggie curtly nodded her head and turned around, away from the temptation that Ian embodied with his bare chest and rumbling voice.

  “Then I’ll just be on my way.”

  Ian watched her skirts sway as she started to leave. He couldn’t let her go, though, without spending a few more minutes in her company. He caught up to her again and walked with her toward the back of his office building. “Are you sure that’s the only reason you came to see me?”

  Words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Would you like to join me for dinner? I made a roast and fresh bread and there’s cake. I don’t cook as well as Jemma, but most people find my food edible.”

  Maggie wanted to bite her tongue, or, at the very least, clamp a hand over her mouth to keep anything else from spilling out. If she weren’t careful, she’d admit how attractive she found Ian at that very moment, despite the scruff on his face and his tousled hair. On the other hand, maybe her interest stemmed from that scruff and the unkempt hair that practically begged her fingers to run through it.

  With determination, she forced her gaze to return to his face. He winked at her and waggled his eyebrows. “There’s nothing I’d enjoy more, lass. May I take a moment to put out the fire and find my shirt, or would you rather I walk through town with you like this.”

  “Heavens, no!” Maggie’s eyes widened at the gossip Ian’s lack of attire would create, most especially if she allowed him to accompany her through town to her shop. “I’ll run home and set the table. Please feel free to take your time in making yourself respectable before you come.”

  Maggie intended to turn around and hurry away, but her gaze lingered on Ian’s chest. It looked so physically
powerful and it had been so long since she’d had somewhere strong and safe to rest her head. She imagined how good it would feel to lay her cheek against the warm skin and have Ian’s arms wrapped around her.

  Peeved by the direction of her thoughts, she dropped her eyes and rushed toward the front of Ian’s business. “Knock on the back door when you’re ready.”

  “Yes, Mistress Dalton.” Ian smirked as he watched her dash away. Unsure what had driven Maggie Dalton to his door with an invitation to dinner, he wasn’t one to turn away an unexpected gift.

  After dousing the fire, putting away his brands, and locking the office door, he hurried to his house located on a small acreage behind the lumberyard. Since the evening was warm, he took a towel and a bar of soap down to the river that ran through the edge of his property and bathed. He had a big bathtub at the house, but it was faster to jump into the river. Quickly returning to the house, he dressed in fresh clothes. Unwilling to keep Maggie waiting, he shook his head to dislodge the remaining water drops then rushed out the door.

  Ian set a brisk pace as he walked into town then down the street to her store. He strolled past her dress shop before turning down a side street and entering the alley. There was no need to give anyone a reason to gossip or stir up trouble with the sheriff.

  The idea of getting on Tully Barrett’s bad side held no appeal. The man had been friendly and helpful to Ian since he moved to Baker City. It was important to maintain a good relationship with the sheriff.

  Upon reaching Maggie’s back door, he knocked softly. When no one answered, he knocked again then opened it, sticking his head inside her workroom.

  “Mistress Dalton? Hello?” Ian stepped inside, gawking at the bolts of fabrics, baskets of trims, and more frippery than a man could fathom.

  “I’m upstairs, Mr. MacGregor. Come on up,” Maggie called.

  Ian glanced to the stairs set against the far wall. He took a deep breath then sauntered up them.

  Maggie stood at the top, frowning at him. “I thought perhaps you changed your mind.”

  “No chance of that.” Ian grinned as he took in her simple yet elegant apartment. A sitting area caught the last rays of sunlight as it dropped into the western horizon, filling the space with warm, golden light. Instead of the heavy, dark furniture he expected, the room featured a cream settee with a matching chair. A big rocking chair, a few side tables with lamps, a shelf with books and whatnots, and a marble fireplace with a mantle completed the furnishings. Lace curtains framed sparkling windows and cream damask wallpaper covered the walls, making the room seem open and inviting.

  “I don’t have a formal dining room. I hope you don’t mind eating in the kitchen.” Maggie gave him a small smile as she turned down a short hallway and entered a well-equipped kitchen. A polished stove, an icebox, a large sink, and sturdy oak counters with cabinets lined three of the walls. A table with four chairs took up space on the other, along with a door to a small balcony.

  Ian glanced around the light-filled room, breathing in the delicious aroma of roasted meat and freshly baked bread. His stomach growled in anticipation of the meal.

  Maggie glanced up from the bread she sliced and quirked an eyebrow at him. “Hungry?”

  “Aye, lass, that I am.” Ian stepped behind her, inhaling her sweet fragrance and forgetting about everything beyond his desire to touch her smooth skin, taste her soft lips, make her his own. Swiftly reining in his amorous thoughts, he cleared his throat. “Have you anything I can do to help?”

  “If you like, you can fill those glasses with milk.” Maggie jabbed her knife in the direction of the icebox then returned to slicing bread.

  “I can handle that without causing too much trouble.” Ian took a bottle of milk from the icebox and turned to fill the glasses, noticing three sat on the counter. Before he could question the addition, the sound of boots on the steps alerted him to a visitor. He had no doubt who it would be.

  “Mags?” Tully Barrett’s baritone voice filled the apartment as he topped the stairs and clomped down the hall. “Did you know the…” Tully stepped into the kitchen and fell silent when his gaze landed on Ian.

  “Did I know what, Tully?” Maggie asked with a smile as she set a steaming bowl of mashed potatoes on the table, set for three.

  “Huh?” Tully frowned at Maggie.

  Ian experienced a moment of satisfaction at the disconcerted look on the other man’s face. He carried the glasses of milk to the table then reached out a hand to the sheriff. “Evening, Sheriff Barrett. It appears we both are about to enjoy the fruits of Mistress Dalton’s labors in the kitchen.”

  “Just make sure you don’t enjoy them too much,” Tully growled as he removed his hat and tossed it on a hook by the door.

  From his familiarity with the room and their hostess, Ian concluded Tully enjoyed Maggie’s hospitality with some frequency.

  Tully washed his hands at the sink then turned to seat Maggie just as Ian pulled out her chair. The two men engaged in a tug-of-war with the unsuspecting chair until Maggie plopped down in a different one with a huff.

  “Will you two please be seated before dinner gets cold?” Maggie glared at Tully as he sat in the chair Ian relinquished into his keeping. “Tully, please offer your thanks for the meal.”

  After a brief prayer, Tully settled a calculating gaze on Ian, intent on intimidating him.

  For the most part, Ian overlooked him and turned on his charm as he accepted a platter of sliced roast from Maggie. “Mistress Dalton, thank you for the invitation to dine with you this evening. This roast smells delicious. I dinna recall the last time I had such a verra lovely home-cooked meal.”

  Maggie took a serving of cooked carrots then passed the bowl to Tully. “I didn’t realize you had such a faulty memory, Mr. MacGregor, or shall I tell Jemma you don’t enjoy her cooking. It seems to me you indulged not only in the lunch she prepared Monday, but also ate more than your share of sweets at tea that afternoon.”

  Ian grinned. “For a man who lives alone and largely eats beans from the can, it seems like years between tasty meals instead of a few days.”

  “In that case, you best take a bite of your meal while it’s still palatable. If you keep talking about it instead of eating it, your dinner won’t be fit for anything but slop for pigs.” Maggie stabbed a piece of roast with more force than necessary when Tully continued tilting his head toward Ian questioningly.

  Almost imperceptibly, she shook her head and continued to eat. She didn’t know what had gotten into Tully, but he acted like a spurned suitor instead of a dear friend. In all the years she’d known him, he’d always been like a brother to her. She certainly hoped he didn’t have other ideas. She loved him too much and valued his friendship too greatly to let him destroy it with some ridiculous romantic notions.

  Ian MacGregor, on the other hand, was a thorn in her side and one she intended to pluck out immediately. This dinner would be her thank you to him for his assistance then she could return to ignoring him without a guilty conscience.

  Tomorrow, she would block from her mind the sound of his voice that made her think of rough velvet. She’d force herself to forget the enthralling sight of his brawny arms and chest, and the tantalizing smell of his masculine scent.

  Tonight, though, she might allow herself to enjoy them, just a little. It was hard not to find amusement in the way Ian’s presence rattled Tully’s cage.

  Without giving a thought to the consequences, Maggie decided to have some fun at Tully’s expense. It would serve him right for behaving boorishly.

  She lifted the glass of milk to her lips and stared at Ian. He finally turned and looked her direction. Slowly, she tilted the glass and took a drink then ran her tongue over her upper lip.

  “Don’t you enjoy a good glass of cold milk?” She cast a flirty smile Ian’s direction. For good measure, she added a few bats of her eyelashes.

  Ian froze with his fork halfway to his mouth, eyes fastened on her face. Maggie continued eating
, tossing him several coy glances.

  Tully stiffened in his seat, glowering at both her and Ian throughout the rest of the meal, but she blocked out his obvious irritation.

  The moment the men finished their dinner, she hopped up and sashayed over to the counter, slicing into a cake she’d baked earlier in the day. She slid large pieces onto plates, along with a dollop of freshly whipped cream. Maggie set down Tully’s piece then stepped around the table to deliver Ian’s.

  As she set it in front of him, she bent over just enough that her breath warmed his neck when she spoke. “Hope you’re in the mood for something sweet.”

  He jerked and almost knocked over the milk that remained in his glass. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

  Tully jabbed his fork into the cake with such force, Maggie worried he would crack the china plate. He shoveled in one bite after another, oblivious to what he ate as he glared at her then Ian.

  Ian fumbled with his fork, dropped his napkin, and then tipped over the glass he’d barely managed not to spill earlier. He jumped to his feet, clearly disturbed as he dabbed at the milk soaking into the tablecloth.

  “Dinna fash yerself, Mr. MacGregor,” Maggie said, imitating his Scottish brogue. Winking at him, she grabbed a dishtowel and sopped up the milk. “No need to worry over spilt milk.”

  Humored by the look on both Ian and Tully’s faces, Maggie couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her or the entrancing smile on her lips.

  Ian’s face paled and he took a step back from the table, at a loss as to what had come over her.

  Tully looked as though he might rip Ian into pieces if the man hadn’t been a physical match for him.

  “What are you speaking, Maggie, and what is this…” Tully waved his hand around her kitchen as he rose to his feet, “all about? I demand an explanation.”

  “Demand all you want, but I don’t owe you one. Now sit down, both of you, and finish your cake.” The sweet smile she offered Ian made Tully clench his jaw so tightly, she feared he might break a tooth.

  “I believe I’ve had all the sweets I need for the evening,” Ian said, walking across the room. “Thank you for a delicious meal, Mistress Dalton. I appreciate the invitation but I’ll see myself out. Good evening.”