Page 37 of Emergence: Prequel
Inhaling the scents emanating from the kitchen, I knew tonight must be a stew and dumpling night. It was one of my favourites, and Maggie had been babying me ever since Chains had passed on. I appreciated it even if my nearly fifty-year-old waist was suffering. Ah, well, I’d worry about that tomorrow.
In socked feet, I walked towards the door that would take me to the kitchen and stopped, leaning against the doorframe. Crossing my arms over my chest, I got comfortable to watch the show being put on in front of me.
I couldn’t help but smile as I watched Maggie, oblivious to being watched, or at least so I thought, as she danced around the kitchen, stirring something in the pot on the stove, hips swaying to an old Def Leppard song. Her long, still pitch-black hair swinging in loose curls down her back to just above her hips; it swayed gently as she danced. She hadn’t changed much in the years since I’d met her. She was still my Maggie. To me, she was just as beautiful as she’d been the night I’d met her.
I’d taken a ribbing from a lot of my so-called friends back in the day because Maggie didn’t meet the then societal norms of being painfully thin or perky pretty. They didn’t get it then, and some still didn’t get it now, but to me, Maggie was perfect and fit me just right.
My Maggie was a tall woman, at just over five foot ten in her socked feet, with wide shoulders and hips. Most thought she was fat, but she wasn’t, there wasn’t an ounce of fat on her. What she was, was well-built and strong, not just in her body but in her heart. Her heart was one of the things I loved most about her, it was the soul of her, and it knew no bounds when it came to loving those of us that she’d chosen to share her light with. She welcomed all into our house, it didn’t matter who you were or where you came from. And she did all this with love, warmth, and grace.
Every now and then, her eyes would flash with ire, but mostly her eyes held kindness. After her heart, her eyes were my favourite, they were the brightest green, framed by thick dark lashes the same colour as her hair, with high cheekbones and a mouth that was just a tad too big, with soft, lush lips. Her skin was milk-white, and she was zealous about applying sunblock. You’d very rarely find Maggie wearing make-up or dresses, being far more comfortable in jeans or slacks. But when she did dress up, she was a knockout, and more than a few times, I’d watched brothers do a double take when she’d walked in on my arm on special occasions. To me, she’d only got more attractive as we’d got older, and at the age of forty-eight, after five children, she still did it for me.
I remember the night we met clear as day. Chains and I’d not long been patched in; we’d ridden into town to blow off some steam and for a change from partying at the clubhouse. We’d been laughing, joking, and shoving at each other when we’d walked into the bar that we’d frequented. Nobody ever bothered to card us when we were wearing our cuts, not at this bar, as it was owned by the club. There’d been five of us, and I’d been at the back of the crowd when I’d looked up and seen her, not that I was the only one to take note of the table she was at.
She’d been there with four girlfriends, all of them dressed to the nines except for her. That was the first thing I’d noticed—she wasn’t trying to attract attention, not like the other girls at her table. She’d been dressed in a royal blue halter top that tied behind her neck, showcasing her broad shoulders, her long legs had been encased in well-worn jeans and long brown boots with a slight heel. Her long black hair had been pulled back into a high ponytail. It wasn’t long before we’d managed to get ourselves invited to sit at their table, and I’d made sure I was sitting next to her.
Leaning over, I’d introduced myself; I held out my hand to her, “Hi, I’m Tinman.” She’d smiled at me, white teeth flashing at me from parted lips. It was then that I caught her accent and realised she wasn’t American. “Maggie, and that’s an interesting name.”
I grinned at her before leaning over to explain, “It’s a road name,” I tapped my finger to my cut where my name was stitched.
“Why Tinman?” she’d asked curiously.
“My government name is David Tin, but when I was prospecting, I messed up a few times, and the Pres would shout out ‘for fuck’s sake Tin man’. It kind of stuck and became Tinman.”
She smiled at my explanation; her attention was pulled away by something one of the other girls said. Once she answered her, she sat back and listened, quiet and letting the other girls talk. During the course of the evening, I found out that she was a lot younger than them. It had been my turn to buy a round and when I’d asked her what she wanted to drink, she’d asked for a Coke. I’d told her that she could have anything she wanted, but she shook her head and whispered in my ear that she was underage to drink in the US. With a nod, I bought everyone a round and happily delivered her a Coke.
The rest of the party got more and more sloshed as the night went on, the drinks flowing, and pretty soon, they paired up with each other and gone to the dance floor, leaving Maggie and me at the table.
We sat quietly for a little while when Maggie turned to me and said, “You don’t have to sit with me. I’m sure there’s someone here who’s taken your fancy.”
I frowned at her to see if she was messing with me, but no, her eyes were serious as they watched me. Then a thought hit me that maybe she didn’t want me sitting here and maybe there was someone’s eye she was trying to catch. “I’m good here, babe,” I hesitated before continuing, watching her eyes as I asked, “unless you want me to leave. Is there someone you’d rather be sitting with?”
Her eyes widened, and a pretty pink blush spread across her cheeks, “No, I’m not interested in anyone. I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to sit with the not-so-pretty one because you feel sorry for me.”
Her words just served to piss me off and I let it be known when I growled, “I’m not sure what you mean by that comment, but I don’t like what you’re implying about yourself or me, for that matter."
Her face had crumpled a little at my words, and she put her hand on my arm, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. I just didn’t want you to feel obligated to keep me company. That’s all.”
I snorted at her words knowing full well that she had been putting herself down. “Babe, I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. You’re right; I don’t think you’re pretty or glamorous or whatever those girls were trying to be tonight,” I informed her.
My gut tightened as her lips pressed into a firm line, but I saw the tears as she looked away towards the dance floor. Taking her chin in my hand, I turned her face back to mine, saying softly, “You didn’t let me finish. You are none of those things, and you don’t need to be. Being pretty is fleeting. What you are is much better.” I paused, waiting as my words sunk in. She continued to watch me with big eyes and slightly parted lips that I was dying to take a taste of. Rubbing my thumbagainst her bottom lip, I told her, “Baby, you are so much better because what you are is beautiful, and beautiful trumps pretty any day.”
The smile that she’d beamed at me had lit me up from the inside out. We’d spent the rest of the evening talking quietly in the corner; I’d pulled her chair closer to mine so that she was tucked under my shoulder. She’d explained to me that she was here from the UK for a course learning some new farming techniques.
I loved talking to her. She had a fantastic sense of humour, was interesting, and there was nothing fake about her. When the rest had left, heading to bed with whichever girl they’d paired off with, I’d waved them off. We didn’t leave until the bar closed. I’d taken her home on the back of my sled, knowing that there wouldn’t ever be another on there. I’d dropped her off that night but not before arranging to pick her up for breakfast the next day.
Maggie never did move back to the UK, much to her family’s horror. Three months after we met, to the disbelief of everyone, including the brothers in the club, we moved into a one-bedroom apartment together, and she became my Old Lady. We got married when Maggie turned nineteen and I was twenty-one. We had Coal when she was twenty and I was twenty-two.
She’d named all our boys with road names from birth because, as she explained, if they weren’t going to use their birth names after they joined the club, they may as well have road names from the start; that way they didn’t break her heart. And if she was married to a Tinman, then it seemed only fair that her children have names to match our surname. She’d loved the name Coal, and he was our first; after Coal, we’d in short order had Copper, Nickel, and Cobalt.
After four boys, we’d thought we were done, and our family was complete. Then just after Maggie’s thirty-second birthday, she’d found out she was pregnant again. Our last baby had been our surprise baby, and by surprise, I mean she really had been, considering I’d had a vasectomy.
When Maggie turned up pregnant, I’d asked to be checked, and it seemed like the vasectomy had failed. I’d not been thrilled that I’d have to go back in again to have it sorted. As Maggie was already pregnant, I’d put it off until she’d had Opal; that way, we could recuperate together, I’d told her.
Maggie had shaken her head at me and just laughed.
When she’d had Opal, she’d decided to go with semi-precious stones because Diamond and Ruby had been overdone. I’d laughed my ass off at her logic but had left her to it. Our kids had great names, as far as I was concerned.
And that was how it was for us. Easy, no major drama, just love and loyalty. We were best friends long before we were lovers. We had no secrets between us, except if it was club business. But even there, Maggie just got it. She fit in wherever she was and was liked by everyone. Even the club bunnies had liked her.