Free Spring Blossom by Jill Metcalf Page B

you also
let Margaret go her own way?”
    Jennifer studied her fork as a frown cross
her cherubic face. “Sometimes Margaret is nice to me, but not much
anymore, so I just leave her alone. She used to be fun, but not
since the accident.”
    Hunter got to his feet and moved to the
sideboard. As he returned with the silver coffee pot in hand, he
asked, “What sort of accident was it?”
    Jennifer shrugged as he took his seat. “I
don’t know. Anna told me I was not to talk about it.” She chewed
thoughtfully on a wedge of ham for a moment, considering. “I don’t
think Denise and Florence know either. Some man hit Maggie and left
that scar on her face, but I don’t know why someone would do such a
thing. He must have been a beast, don’t you think?”
    “ An ogre,” Hunter said
quietly.
    “I’d bet you’ve never hit a woman.”
    He smiled in return. “Never. Nor would
I.”
    “I knew that!” she declared with confidence
before taking up serious study of her now empty plate. “I don’t
remember when you were here before but Margaret used to talk about
you a lot.” She raised her eyes to study his. “She was quite gushy
about you, really.”
    Hunter laughed. “Gushy?”
    A smile lit up her eyes at his reaction.
“You know…silly. Like older girls get sometimes when they talk
about boys?”
    “Yes, I believe I know what you mean.”
    “Time to get ready for school, Jennifer,” a
quiet voice announced from the doorway.
    Two pairs of eyes turned in that direction
and Hunter’s expression turned to disbelief when he saw her. The
vision of loveliness of the evening before had vanished, only to be
replaced by a severe and unfeminine specter. Today Margaret had
pulled her glorious hair back severely and her attire was that of a
stable hand. He could not imagine anyone putting a rough plaid
shirt and stiff dungarees next to a woman’s delicate skin, but she
had done just that. And he was taking this fashion statement of
hers as a direct challenge.
    “I’ve had Pride turned out into the paddock
so you can see him running free,” she said as she picked up a cup
and saucer.
    “Coffee is here,” he pointed out, as he
tried to find his equilibrium in determining just how to approach
her.
    “Thank you,” she returned with strained
politeness.
    “What have you done to your hair?” he asked
stupidly.
    She frowned at him briefly as she reached
for the coffee pot. “You’re a very rude man, do you know that?”
    He watched her pour the hot, black brew into
her cup. “I suppose I am. But I’ve never seen a hairstyle quite so
severe.”
    Margaret raised a hand in an unconscious
gesture and patted the neat knot on the top of her head. “It keeps
my hair out of my eyes when I’m working with the horses,” she said
matter-of-factly. She turned to Jennifer as she pulled out a chair
for herself. “Go and get ready for school. Now.”
    Jennifer looked unhappy, but she obeyed and
Hunter frowned as he watched the girl hurriedly leave the room.
    Margaret seemed to concentrate only on
lifting her cup to her lips, her gaze shadowed and turned
downward.
    “You’re not going to eat?” he asked.
    She shook her head. Her stomach had been
behaving nervously, but she was not about to admit that to him.
While she might have to deal with him on a business level, Margaret
had no intention of engaging him in personal conversations. Instead
she said simply, “The stallions are ready for you to view.”
    She was all business and harsh edges and
Hunter was sadly disappointed.
    “Your father won’t be joining us?” he asked
reasonably.
    Margaret firmly set down her coffee cup.
“The horses are my responsibility, Mr. Maguire. You may dicker with
father over price, but I am in charge of training and conditioning
the animals.” With that, she got to her feet, obviously intending
to leave.
    “Along with the training and conditioning of
those in the entire household,” he muttered.
    “I have to see that the girls are