CHAPTER TEN
Meg's gear was packed up and the furniture returned to its original position. The door was unlocked. Heyes moved to slide the wall panel back across the safe.
"Wait," hissed Meg, "Have either of you a clean handkerchief?"
Kid's hand moved to his jacket. He paused.
"Joshua," he prompted, with the faintest of flushes.
Heyes gave a tiny shake of his head, but untied his bandana and handed it to Meg.
He watched in admiration as she carefully wiped the safe door and dial, closed the panel and wiped that. Moving over to the door, she polished the handle. She dusted the back of the chair used to prop it shut. Finally, she wiped down the windowsill and frame. Returning to Heyes, she hooked the bandana back around his neck. Still holding the ends, she gazed up at him.
"Just in case," she breathed seriously, "Fingerprints. You know – 'Tales of the Mississippi.'"
Heyes caught Meg's hands as he took the bandana from her and held them for a second.
"Meg," he grinned. "You are definitely my kinda girl!"
He blew out the safety lamp and added it to the rest of the equipment. He slung the bag over his shoulder. Kid lowered himself out of the window. His partner handed him the corked bottle of nitro.
"Careful with that Thaddeus," Heyes smiled.
Kid stared at him outraged.
"Wanna toss for it?" Heyes offered.
Kid rolled his eyes and shook his head, "I'll carry it!"
Heyes helped Meg out of the window, then, still with the bag slung over his shoulder, climbed after her. He closed it and following her example wiped down the outer frame and sill.
They set off, stealthily, away from the house, holding their breath as they slinked past the outbuildings where the hands would be sleeping. As they passed the stables, sticking wherever they could to the shadows, Meg's foot hit the curving prong of a pitchfork hidden amongst loose straw scattered around. The handle swung at her like lightening - missing her head by inches. She jumped, but managed to clamp her hand over her own mouth to stifle a squeak of shock. Her eyes flashed abject apology at Heyes.
The released pitchfork thwacked smartly against the stable, echoing in the silence of the night. It fell - noisily dislodging a bucket resting on a barrel. That too, sounded ridiculously loud as it hit first the hard floor, then banged against the timber wall. The creaking as it continued to roll back and forth seemed endless.
From within the stable came whinnies, startled neighs, hooves sounding on a stone floor.
Three pairs of eyes watched in horror as a light appeared in one of the outbuildings. They heard voices. Not clear - but enough.
"….Someone… by the stables…."
"….Git the shotguns…. "
There was a creak as a door opened.
"Make a run for it?" queried Kid, looking at his partner. His tone of voice conveyed he did not think much of this option.
The expanse of open ground between the stables and the first available tree cover was wide and exposed. No clouds dimmed the bright moonlight.
"Getting peppered by a shotgun? You heftin' a bottle of nitro, an' me with Mary-Sue here, slung over one shoulder?" said Heyes.
Meg gave an indignant yelp of protest.
"In here," ordered Heyes. He raised the bar holding shut the stable door and pushed Meg inside. Pulling the door to, behind Kid, Heyes thrust the bag of equipment over and hissed to his partner, "Hide."
Carrying the stolen pump and blasting gear, Kid immediately melted into the darkness. A soft whinny suggested he'd tucked himself into an occupied stall.
"This is stupid!" protested Meg, "They'll see the door's been opened. They'll know we're here."
"Sure they will," breathed Heyes, "I mean to give 'em somethin' to find." With that, he scooped her up and deposited her without ceremony on a pile of freshly cut hay. "Pull your blouse outta your skirt, open a button or two, an' play along," he whispered, as he dropped down to lay alongside her. Feeling herself gathered into his arms, Meg gave a smothered gasp. Close by her ear, Heyes breathed. "Shut your eyes, don't notice when the door opens - not till I do."
She heard heavy footsteps approach, at a cumbersome run. Heyes pulled her tight. His lips sought hers in the darkness. Suddenly, his mouth moved back to her ear.
"I said play along - "he hissed. "- Don't just lay there."
Spurred into proving herself adept in any role thrust upon her, Meg brought one hand to the back of his head, winding her fingers into his hair. The other she flung around him in a tight hug. Her hand landed lower than intended. With an embarrassed, smothered apology, she moved it up to the small of his back.
He broke to murmur, "Not a problem, Meg," into her hair, before returning to kissing her, bringing one leg over hers to press her more firmly back into the hay.
She heard a scrape as wood rasped against the stone floor. Opening her eyelids the slightest fraction, she saw the outline of two men in the moonlit doorway. Heyes did not react, except to let his hands run the length of her body and to kiss her more deeply.
"Who's there? Know you're in here," called a voice.
A lamp, held high, swept around the stable. Meg saw that one figure levelled a shotgun. The pool of light fell on them. Heyes rolled away from Meg. He lay sprawled on his back, raised on one elbow, staring at the two men who had entered.
"Whaddya think you're doing, fella?" rasped the man holding the shotgun.
Heyes gulped, then glanced pointedly, at Meg.
"Tha- that's not - not exactly a question a gentleman can answer…not straight out," he stammered.
Watching Heyes, Meg wanted to applaud. Strands of hay caught in his tousled hair. His cheeks flushed. Embarrassment flooded his dark, wide-open, eyes. His shirt, pulled open to the waist, hung loose out of his pants. She saw his chest heave with simulated passion.
The lamp was shifted slightly to fall full on Meg. Struggling to sit up, she saw two pairs of eyes raking over her. Instinctively she clutched at the neck of her blouse and tried to pull her skirt back down over her calves.
The shotgun gradually lowered and an appreciative low chuckle filled the stable.
"Sam, think we caught us a tom-cat, havin' himself a piece of tail!"
The light was moved to run over Meg, from head to foot.
"Very nice too!"
More knowing laughter.
"Pick some other place next time, son. Find you here again, likely to get yourself a butt load o' shot!"
Heyes, still shame-faced, pulled Meg to her feet. Avoiding the laughing eyes, he began to drag her from the stable.
As they passed the door, Meg felt herself caught.
"Now you, honey -" said the first man, "- you're welcome back any time. Soon as you get tired of boys 'n' want a real man, you just come 'n' let me know!"
She yelped, as she received a sharp pinch, followed by a slap, which lingered over her behind.
Heyes tugged her away. They scampered across the open ground toward the trees. Laughter and raucous comments followed them. Glancing back, Meg saw the men replace the bar across the stable door and walk slowly back to the outbuildings, shoulders shaking with mirth.
oooOOOOOOOooo---
Heyes slowed the pace as soon as they reached the cover of the trees, but he did not stop pulling Meg along until they were at the spot where he and Kid had tethered their horses. Then he let go of her hand and dropped down into the grass. She flopped beside him.
He grinned at her and as soon as he could speak, gasped, "You can slap my face now, if it makes you feel better!"
She met his eyes and struggling to both laugh and pant for breath at the same time, wheezed, "No, it worked! That was wonderful, Joshua. You are SO clever! I would never have thought of pretending to be - to be -" Meg's vocabulary, wide as it was, failed her, "- as a diversionary tactic."
Her breathing slowly returned to normal. Looking up at the sky, she gave a sudden, rueful, snort of laughter.
"What?" asked Heyes.
She shook her head as she met his eyes, "I was just thinking, after twenty four years, a man finally kisses me - I mean kisses me properly - and it STILL doesn't count because he's only pretending." She turned away from him and gazed thoughtfully into the darkness of the trees in front of her.
Heyes continued to look at Meg. He was thinking first, just how much information was packed into that last artless comment. Secondly, he was wondering if the entire male population of Boston was made up of idiots with mediocre taste - or if Meg just moved in a particularly restricted circle.
She interrupted his train of thought.
"Joshua -"
"Yes, Meg?"
"Shouldn't we be going back to rescue Thaddeus?"
Heyes grinned, "I think Thaddeus can probably rescue himself. He'll lay low until all's quiet, then slip away. Make his way back here. Might take the gear back to the mine store first - depends."
"But they put the bar back across the door," said Meg.
He smiled, "If you can lever a window catch, Meg, guess Thaddeus can manage to escape from a stable."
"Oh, that!" Meg sniffed dismissively, "Kate and I both learned how to do that at college. You've no idea how ridiculous the curfews were!"
She stretched up her arms and with a deep satisfied sigh, let herself fall back into the grass. She stared at the stars overhead.
Heyes stretched out beside her. He lay propped on one elbow, watching her watch the sky.
A contented smile spread over Meg's face.
"Joshua -" she began, without looking at him.
"Uh huh?"
"That was, without a doubt, the most exciting night of my life!" she said.
He grinned and gently retrieved a piece of hay, caught in her hair.
"Must say, I found parts of it pretty stimulatin' myself."
Meeting his eyes and distrusting the teasing gleam, Meg said with dignity, "I was referring to cracking the safe."
"Well - to what did you think I was referrin'?" asked Heyes.
Again he lightly touched her hair, freeing another tangled strand of hay. This time he did not move his hand away. He cupped her cheek, thumb resting below her chin. The laughter left his eyes, as he held her gaze. Very slowly his forefinger began to stroke her cheek. The caress was so delicate it did not touch her skin, only stirred the fine layer of soft down resting upon it. Meg gave a low murmur of pleasure. Her wide eyes returned Heyes intent look, shyly, but very willingly. Lowering his face to hers, Heyes felt his breath quicken and a tiny gasp of joy escaped, as he felt Meg's fingers first brush the length of his throat and then twine softly amongst the hair at the nape of his neck. With the edge of his thumb, he applied the gentlest of touches to Meg's chin, to part her lips. Her breath stirred, warm against his skin, against his mouth.
He saw her eyes close, in anticipation of his kiss.
Heyes stopped.
He drew back his head an inch or two, struggling with himself.
"Meg," he breathed.
She opened her eyes.
"That wish list of yours - what you're looking for in a man -" Heyes continued, "- are you holding out for the full package?"
Meg felt her heart sink. She gulped, but stood by her ethics.
"Yes," she said, in a very small but firm voice.
Heyes was still softly stroking her cheek.
She met his gaze as he said, "Any man who doesn't think you're worth everything on that list and more, is a fool -" he paused, "But -"
"But -" agreed Meg, regretfully.
"Even if I could be that kind of man one day, right now, circumstances are kinda against it."
She nodded and tried to swallow down the lump in her throat.
"Besides -" went on Heyes, "- Thaddeus always tells me I make lousy coffee."
"Oh, well then! That's that!" said Meg, with a brave attempt at a smile, "Like I said this afternoon - good coffee has to be a given."
There was a short silence. Meg reached up to gently clasp the hand still stroking her face.
"Thank you, Joshua."
"For what?" he asked, surprised.
"For not wanting me to get hurt," she said earnestly. Then with another wavering smile, she went on, "After all, if I'd got really fond of you - and only then found out the bad news about the coffee - it would be awfully disappointing."
Heyes looked at her for a long moment.
"You give me too much credit, Meg," he said, seriously, "If I let myself get used to us - drinking coffee - together; it wouldn't be only you getting hurt when I had to leave."
He gave her hand a final squeeze and rolled away, onto his back, to gaze at the stars.
Meg sat up, clasped her knees and resumed staring into the darkness.
For a full five minutes the only sound was an occasional soft harrumph from one of the tethered horses. Meg broke the silence.
"Joshua," she said, "Are you thinking about the same thing as me?"
Heyes was mentally replaying the last fifteen minutes with an alternative ending. One where he displayed less honesty and moral fibre. One in which Meg discovered exactly where being properly kissed by a man who both really meant it and wasn't expecting to be interrupted by a shotgun any second, could lead.
Unseen by her, he grinned wickedly, as he replied, "I kinda doubt it, Meg. Why – what are you thinking about?"
"I'm thinking about how close together were the deaths of Louis Hamilton and that maid."