Maggie's Beau. Carolyn Davidson

to tug teasingly at the end of her pigtail. Her wince did not escape him and he hesitated. “I won’t ever hurt you, Maggie. I’ve told you that before. When you gonna start believing it?”

      Her face was downcast and he fit his palm under her chin, lifting it to his view. She bit at her lip and he shook his head at the movement. “Don’t do that. You’ll make that lip sore again, and it’s just starting to heal up good.”

      “I’m sorry,” she said. “Old habits die hard. My mama always used to say that and I guess I know now what she meant. I know you’re a good man, but whenever I see a hand come at me or someone movin’ quicklike, my heart pounds real funny and I want to run.”

      His own heart twinged with pain at her words and he nodded his understanding. “Let’s go in to supper, Maggie. The men are coming up from the barn, and Sophie’s got supper on the table.” His hand touched her shoulder and rested there. “I fed your dog in the barn when we brought the last load of hay in. Those pups look pretty healthy. They’re moving around real well.”

      She shifted and moved beneath his fingers and they tightened a bit, holding her in place. His voice was low, his words gentle. “I’m not going to stop touching you, honey. It’s like handling a skittish colt. They just have to get used to it, and I suspect it’s going to be the same way with you.”

      “Maybe,” she said quietly, turning from him and opening the screened door. “I thank you kindly for tending to Maisie,” she murmured.

      He bowed his head. “My pleasure, ma’am.”

      “How would you like to look at a couple of my books, Maggie?” Beau stood in the doorway and Maggie dried her hands on a towel, turning to face him. “Take them into the parlor,” he told her. “I’ll be out here in the bathtub and you’d best have something to do for a while.”

      “Do they have pictures in them?” she asked, laying the towel aside and eyeing his offering. Her heart beat rapidly as she considered his suggestion. No one had ever given her the chance to sit and spend time with a book. The thought of having nothing else to do but look at the pages of words she could not read, trying to decipher the letters she could not name was more than she could fathom.