Texas Gold
Texas Gold
Carolyn Davidson
Faith Hudson Was Falling In Love With Her Husband!Her marriage was a disaster. Her husband was better off in Boston without her. It had been clear to her then, and it was even clearer now that she'd traveled west and made her home on a Texas ranch. She had no plans of ever returning.But Max Hudson wanted her back. It had taken him three years to find her, and he wasn't going home without her. It was a matter of principle.…Until he realized he was more in love with the woman Faith had become than he ever could have imagined. And that love just might be what Faith had needed all along.
“I think my wife knows me well enough to be assured of her own safety.”
The sheriff cut an inquiring look at Faith. “You’re sure?”
Faith nodded.
The sheriff mounted his gelding and swung the horse in a half circle. “I won’t stand for any shenanigans, McDowell. Miss Faith is under my protection, so long as she’s living in this county.”
Max shot him a glittering look from dark eyes that brooked no interference. “I think I heard my wife tell you I was not a harsh man, Sheriff. Isn’t that good enough for you?”
“Max…” The warning was clear, Faith’s use of his name drawing his attention and obliging Max to nod agreeably.
“Don’t worry about the lady,” Max said. “I’ve never hurt Faith before. And I’m certainly not about to change my ways.”
Texas Gold
Harlequin Historical #663
Praise for Carolyn Davidson’s recent titles
The Texan
“…heart-touching characters and a vivid, mythic setting…”
—Romantic Times
A Convenient Wife
“Carolyn Davidson creates an engaging, complex plot with a hero to die for.”
—Romantic Times
The Bachelor Tax
“From desperate situation to upbeat ending, Carolyn Davidson reminds us why we read romance.”
—Romantic Times
The Tender Stranger
“Davidson wonderfully captures gentleness in the midst of heart-wrenching challenges, portraying the extraordinary possibilities that exist within ordinary marital love.”
—Publishers Weekly
#664 OF MEN AND ANGELS
Victoria Bylin
#665 BEAUCHAMP BESIEGED
Elaine Knighton
#666 THE BETRAYAL
Ruth Langan
Texas Gold
Carolyn Davidson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Available from Harlequin Historicals and
CAROLYN DAVIDSON
Gerrity’s Bride #298
Loving Katherine #325
The Forever Man #385
Runaway #416
The Wedding Promise #431
The Tender Stranger #456
The Midwife #475
* (#litres_trial_promo)The Bachelor Tax #496
* (#litres_trial_promo)Tanner Stakes His Claim #513
* (#litres_trial_promo)One Christmas Wish #531
“Wish Upon a Star”
Maggie’s Beau #543
The Seduction of Shay Devereaux #556
A Convenient Wife #585
A Marriage by Chance #600
The Texan #615
Tempting a Texan #647
Texas Gold #663
This story was written during a time when I found, firsthand, just how fragile we are as human beings. Thankfully, my own private crisis was resolved and my life partner was restored to health. To those who shared those months with me, offering me their strength and hope when my own faltered, I dedicate this book. As did Faith and Max in my story, I found, through those long days, new depths in the relationship of our marriage.
I would be amiss if I did not include Mr. Ed in these few words, so
To the man whose love I cherish above all else, I offer my devotion…for all time.
Contents
Chapter One (#u43ce14c4-6aee-590c-95ea-3517e1d9e380)
Chapter Two (#u020eaad0-1fd4-59ec-a817-bdf198fb38f3)
Chapter Three (#uf8854059-6baf-5d82-921b-f38f9b024402)
Chapter Four (#u5ba55b7a-88b4-51f3-88bc-213bd03eb95a)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Benning, Texas—1898
Maxwell McDowell. As if the name on the note she held were written in flame, and the ensuing heat had burned her fingers, Faith dropped the crumpled bit of paper to the ground. A lump rose in her throat as she closed her eyes and viewed the promised wreckage of the life she’d managed to put together over the past three years.
“I’d say it’s pretty safe to say you recognize the fella’s name.”
Her lashes rose, and she was silent. Her visitor’s gaze was penetrating, his mouth set in a firm line, and for a moment, Faith was tempted to use his broad chest for a resting place.
She shook her head, both at the notion that had possessed her, and in reply to the sheriff’s query. “Who did he say he was looking for?” she asked, aware that her voice trembled.
Brace Caulfield touched her arm, and she sensed the respect he offered in the gesture. “Can I do anything, Miss Faith? I don’t want anybody coming around here, trying to upset you or give you a hassle.” And then he sighed as she shot him a look that demanded an answer.
“He said he was huntin’ for a woman called Faith McDowell. His wife, if my suspicions run true to form. I told him there wasn’t anybody hereabouts by that name, but if he’d write it out for me, along with his own, I’d show it around—see if I could come up with any information for him.”
He bent and snagged the crumpled bit of paper between his thumb and index finger, smoothing the wrinkles until the stark, bold lines of her husband’s signature, with her name beneath it, were revealed. “You know this fella, don’t you?” Brace asked quietly.
Faith shrugged. “Maybe. Let’s just say I don’t care to see the gentleman, Sheriff. If you feel obliged to tell him my whereabouts, I suppose I’ll understand, but I won’t like it one little bit.”
Her mind raced, one idea after another tumbling about, only to be rejected in rapid succession. Running was the first, closely followed by the urge to hide, to bury her identity and find a new place in which to huddle until the danger was past. But, like all her notions, that one depended on a certain amount of financial security.
She had none. Living in a borrowed home, bartering for her very existence and spending her days and nights in a state of anticipation of just this very thing taking place had not given her any degree of serenity.
Now she faced discovery and found she could not, in all honesty, lie to the lawman who had befriended her over the past three years.
“I left my husband back East a long time ago. My reasons are my own and—”
Brace’s upright hand halted her words. “I’m not asking for any explanations, Miss Faith.” His eyes held more than a bit of disappointment, she thought. Sheriff Caulfield had been subtle, but his interest in her as a woman was obvious. Her feminine instincts were betting he’d been getting up his nerve to come courting.
The knowledge that she was married had put a damper on that idea.
“Are you afraid of him, ma’am?” the sheriff asked quietly. She thought his spine stiffened, and not for the first time, she was thankful for his watchful care.
“Do I think he’ll hurt me?” Faith shook her head. “No, Max isn’t a harsh man, at least not to women and children. I wouldn’t want to cross him in his business dealings, but as a woman, I’m safe enough in his presence.”
“How about as his wife?” Brace asked bluntly. “If he’s spent a good bit of time hunting you down, he may not have much patience where you’re concerned.”
She shrugged, dismissing the idea. “His pride’s been damaged, that’s all. I doubt he’s overly concerned with dragging me back home with him. More likely he’s wanting me to sign a bill of divorcement so he can get on with his life.”
Brace folded his arms across his chest. “Well, what do you want me to tell him? Shall I give him directions, or do you want to go into town and meet him in my office?”
“Send him out,” she said, her shoulders slumping in weariness as she thought of what must come to pass. “I’ll handle it, Sheriff.”
“A wise choice.” The dark, deep tones were familiar to her, and Faith had no need to turn around to determine who spoke. Yet she did, knowing she was better off facing him than giving in to cowardice.
Leading a saddled horse, he stepped from around the side of the house, then halted, his gaze intent on the sheriff. “I followed you,” he said, tilting his hat back in a gesture that revealed his face.
“Thought I’d kept a close eye behind me,” Brace answered, one hand touching the butt of his revolver. “Didn’t take you for a sneaky man, mister.”
“I wouldn’t call it sneaky,” Max McDowell said quietly. “I had an idea you knew more than you were willing to admit when we spoke this morning. Didn’t think it would hurt to tag along.”
Brace muttered an oath, his face turning crimson as if he recognized his failure to keep Faith’s location a secret from the intruder.
“It’s all right,” she said hastily when the lawman would have stepped protectively in front of her. “I’ll talk to Max. I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine.”
Max nodded, the movement slight. “I think my wife knows me well enough to be assured of her own safety.”
Brace cut an inquiring look at Faith. “You’re sure?” Obviously dragging his feet, he lifted the reins he’d dropped to the ground. “Should I stop by and talk to Garvey?”
Faith shook her head. “No, there’s no point in dragging anyone else in on this.”
Brace Caulfield mounted his gelding and swung the horse in a half circle. “I won’t stand for any shenanigans, McDowell. Miss Faith is under my protection, so long as she’s living in this county.”
Max shot him a glittering look from dark eyes that brooked no interference. “I think I heard my wife tell you I was not a harsh man, Sheriff. Isn’t that good enough for you?”
“Max…” The warning was clear, Faith’s use of his name drawing his attention and obliging him to nod agreeably.
“Don’t worry about the lady,” Max said, his voice chilled with contempt. “I’ve never hurt Faith before. And I’m certainly not about to change my ways.” He led his mount forward, and with a quick movement, released the cinch with an ease of motion that surprised Faith. Max had never been an avid horseman, yet had kept a mare in a livery stable, riding for exercise when the burdens of business became weighty and he sought relief in an hour or two outdoors.
Now he repeated his words, emphasizing each one. “I said, don’t worry about my wife, Sheriff. She’s in no danger.”
Brace grudgingly grunted agreement, gave Faith a last, questioning look, and then, at her nod of reassurance, nudged his horse into a trot and headed toward town.
The man she’d married more than six years before had changed a bit, she decided. Max McDowell was beginning to show his age. A scattering of white touched his temples, adding a bit of dignity to his already stalwart appearance. He carried himself well, she thought, as he always had.
For Max the paunch developed by men who ate well and exercised little would never come. His body had always been that of a man who worked hard, and he’d developed a muscular structure, one to be envied by lesser beings. Dark hair, cut short lest it wave overmuch, capped his well-formed head. His features, that arrangement of facial components that made him a prize sought by women wherever he went, had not changed.
Chiseled, or perhaps severe, she decided, was the best description she could come up with for the rigid jawline, the blade of a nose and the deep-set, dark eyes that could slice through her like a bolt of lightning, leaving her trembling, and aware of the effect he’d always had on her.
She trembled now—now that the full force of his attention was directed on her slender frame. Perhaps it had been an error in judgment, sending Brace on his way. Yet she could not imagine holding this postmortem in front of a stranger. And certainly Max would not be leaving until he’d had his pound of flesh.
Perhaps it was only a figure of speech, but given that the flesh in question was ultimately to come from her, she didn’t find the vision of the hour or so ahead of her an appetizing prospect.
“Are we going to stand out here all morning?” Max asked. “If you’ll allow it, I’ll put my horse into the pasture or the barn, whichever suits you.”
“I’ll take him,” Faith said, snatching at the opportunity to walk away from the man who’d pursued her halfway across the country. “Sit down on the porch while I turn him loose out in back.”
“I’ll help you,” Max said smoothly, walking beside her, allowing her not a moment in which to gather her wits before she was faced with the confrontation that was sure to come. His hand brushed against hers as if he commanded her attention, and she drew aside, unwilling to allow him any familiarity.
His chuckle surprised her, and she glanced up, wary of the humor that lit his gaze. “What’s so funny?”
“You. Trying to avoid the simple touch of my hand against yours. When we both know you didn’t feel so hesitant to have my hands on you once upon a time.”
She felt a blush redden her cheeks, knew the haze of anger blurring her vision. “That was a cheap shot, Max. Although it tells me much about your opinion of me. I wasn’t aware that you thought so little of my—”
“You haven’t the faintest idea what I thought about you,” he said harshly, interrupting her before she could muster an adequate defense. “You didn’t give me a chance to answer any of your accusations or offer any compromise that might have salvaged something of the wreck we’d managed to make of our marriage.”
“I knew,” she said quietly, opening the gate to the corral and leading his mount through the dusty area to the pasture gate beyond. She quickly stripped the saddle from the horse’s back, and Max took its weight from her, tossing it atop the corral fence.
“You knew?” he asked, brushing his hands together as he stepped ahead to lift the latch on the narrow entry to the lush grass beyond the fence. Three horses occupied the pasture, two of them the team she used for field work. Her own mare looked up, sent a shrill welcome to the visitor and loped eagerly toward them.
“I’ll be damned.” Max’s words were a hushed whisper. “Where’d you get that mare?” he asked, his attention taken by the golden creature that approached. Creamy mane flying in the wind, her tail a flag held high, the horse was a vision to behold.
“Bought her,” Faith said shortly.
“She’s breeding,” he said, his gaze scanning the slender legs and swollen belly. “When’s she due to drop her foal?”
“Anytime now.” And if he thought he was going to be here to attend the event, he had another think coming, she decided.
“Have you got a buyer lined up?” Max reached for the mare, spooking her with his touch, and she tossed her head, flirting a bit, as if she were accustomed to attention from visitors.
“The foal will belong to my neighbor, Nicholas Garvey. I used his stud. He’ll breed her for me in another month or so, and the next one is mine.”
Max shot her a look of disbelief. “You’re not charging him, just giving him—”
“I made the deal,” she said harshly. “I live in this house, free of charge. He owns it, and he keeps an eye on things…sort of looks after me.”
The dark eyes grew cold, his jaw tightened, and his mouth was a thin line. “Looks after you? And allows you to live in his house? And where does he spend his nights?”
She felt a chill pebble her flesh at the offending words. “My neighbor’s interest in me is none of your business,” she retorted.
“I’d say it is. You’re my wife. I have a license in my pack that proves it. Any man who’s been looking at you—”
His words were stilled by the flat of her hand, the sound resembling a gunshot as she swung her arm in an unexpected motion he stood no chance of halting. “Don’t you dare insult me that way,” she whispered. “Or Nicholas either, for that matter. He’s my neighbor, not my lover. His wife would not stand by and watch that happen, let alone the fact that my own sense of decency—”
Max halted her words by the simple act of holding his hand over her mouth. She felt the calluses on his palm rub against her lips, shivered again as he stepped closer and circled her waist with his other arm.
“I apologize,” he said, bridling his temper. His nostrils flared, but he bowed his head just a bit, a conciliatory gesture, she thought. “I had no right to make such a statement.”
His grip tightened and she stumbled, losing her balance, her weight held up by his greater strength and the long lines of muscle, sinew and bone that made up his stalwart frame.
She trembled at his touch, the heat of his body radiating through the layers of their clothing. Shrinking from the intimacy of their positions, she felt his hand at the base of her spine flatten, pressing her even closer, and became suddenly aware of the taut, powerful length of his thighs.
And then was taken aback by the unmistakable shape of his masculine arousal against her belly.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, his eyes narrowing as if he’d only just recognized the telltale sign of his reaction to her warmth. “It’s obviously been a long time since a woman stood this close to me. I didn’t mean to be so blatant.” A crooked smile curved his lips, and his gaze touched her mouth and softened. “But then, you’ve always had this effect on me, haven’t you, Faith? One touch, one smile, and I was at your beck and call.”
“In the bedroom, perhaps,” she said quietly. Her hands lifted to press with force against his chest, and he released her. “I never complained, at least not until the last few months we were together, about your attentiveness.”
“And that change was at your own request,” he reminded her, sliding his fingers into the back pockets of his trousers, as though that were the safest place for them to rest.
Her hands clenched, and she shot him an angry look. “I don’t want to hear a discussion of what went on in my bedroom. Please, say whatever you came to say, and then leave.” And then anger twisted her features. “In fact, I’ve changed my mind about even that. Just get on your horse and go, Max.”
“It’s not that easy,” he said sharply. “There are things to be settled, papers to be signed and…” He hesitated, then drew in a deep breath. “Can we just have the day together, Faith?”
“So I can sign papers for your divorce?” she asked.
“Divorce?” He repeated the word slowly. “What makes you think I’m here for a divorce?”
“That would be the logical reason for you to come calling.” She tilted her chin, only too aware of the effect he had on her, conscious of her trembling hands, of the rapid beating of her heart, and worst of all, her yearning for the brush of his lips against her own.
“Well, that isn’t the reason. Far from it, in fact.”
His statement was flat, with certainty underlining each word.
“I’d think you’d want to get on with your life,” she said curtly. “Marry again, have a family.”
“I’m already married,” he reminded her. “And my wife has shown herself capable of giving me a family.”
The pain was sharp, quick and urgent, and she clutched at her waist as if wrapping her arms around the aching emptiness would alleviate the knife thrust he’d dealt. “I gave you a child, and then proved incapable of being a good mother.” Her stomach ached as if a giant fist clutched at it, threatening to empty its contents. “Our baby died, Max. And it was my fault.”
“I never said that,” he said quietly.
“Didn’t you?” Her laugh was forced and harsh, and held no semblance of humor. “Perhaps not.” She gave him the benefit of the doubt. “But others did.”
“My mother?” he asked, watching her closely. “If it came from her, I can only say she’s difficult to please, and she was hurt by the loss of her first grandchild.”
“Is that supposed to fix everything? Your mother was hurt?”
“Let’s not get into this right now,” he suggested mildly. “There are other things we need to decide. I know this is painful for you, sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart? I think not,” she said sharply. “You lost the right to call me that a long time ago.”
Her eyes were like daggers, he thought, stabbing in an attempt to draw blood. In fact, this woman bore little resemblance to the wife he’d last seen almost three years ago. Never had Faith aimed such venom in his direction. Seldom had she even shown a sign of anger, and rarely had she disputed his word or challenged his opinions.
A new light shone from her blue eyes, a sharp, knowing glance aimed in his direction, as if she judged him and found him wanting. Her hair was loose around her face, soft tendrils clinging to her forehead and temples. The ends were caught up in a braid that failed to subdue the curls and waves of gold.
A golden hue almost matching the color of her horse, he noted, glancing from woman to mare. The woman who had been his, the woman he’d called his sweetheart.
“Pain is what I feel when you deny my touch, Faith. When you glare at me with distrust and hatred in your eyes.”
“You call that painful?” she asked, a subtle undertone suggesting wry humor. “You don’t know what painful is, my friend. And neither does your doting mother.”
“And you, Faith?” he asked, aware that her eyes held not a trace of softness. “Have you suffered? Or has leaving our home alleviated your pain? Were you able to leave the past behind and get on with your life?” He hadn’t meant the sarcasm to be so biting, and he sighed, wishing those final words unsaid.
And so he apologized once again. “That was uncalled for. I recognize that you’ve carried scars.”
“Really?” Her own sharp retort revealed her doubt about his sincerity. “What would you know about my scars, Max? Your main interest in life is your business and the money you’re capable of adding to your bank account.”
“Is it? Was I so bad a husband, then?”
Her brow furrowed, and he recognized the signs. Faith was cogitating, developing an answer. And, he feared, the longer she considered her words, the worse the picture she would paint of him.
“Look,” he said quickly. “Can we put this whole rehash of things on the back burner? At least long enough for me to have a cup of coffee. Maybe even a bit of breakfast?”
She swung her gaze from the horses, which had run in tandem to the far side of the pasture, to meet his again. “You haven’t eaten this morning?”
He shrugged. “I saw the sheriff as soon as I got up. The man at the hotel pointed him out to me as he was leaving the dining room there. By the time we spoke, and he had me put my signature on his ridiculous piece of paper, I knew he was pulling my leg. There was no doubt in my mind he knew exactly who you were, once I described you in detail.
“I decided to follow him, but it took me a few minutes to get a horse from the livery stable on the other end of town. Then it was a chancy thing, staying far enough behind him so he wouldn’t look around and see me dodging among the trees and taking shortcuts through the brush.”
Max lifted his hands in a gesture of defeat. “I’m not at my best when I’m hungry, Faith. Will you take pity?”
Her look was scornful, and her sigh told of patience at its end as she led the way to the house. “A piece of toast and a couple of eggs wouldn’t be beyond me, I suppose,” she said, climbing the steps before him.
Her slender form was garbed in heavy cotton, and yet she was as appealing as she’d ever been when dressed in silk and lace, he thought. Possibly even more so. There was a maturity about her that held his interest, a beauty gained by the years, perhaps even abetted by the struggle she’d undergone in this place. He’d admired her three years ago, and been smitten by her lovely face and figure before their marriage began. How could he help but be even more intrigued by the woman she had become since he’d last seen her?
She’d been young, twenty-two years old, with the promise of acceptance from Boston society and a husband who held her in highest esteem. And yet she’d still been not much more than a girl, hurt by circumstances that fate dealt out in a cruel fashion, and unsure of herself and her place in the world in which they lived.
She’d changed, he decided. Faith was a woman, full grown. The promise of beauty she’d worn like a shimmering shawl of elegance had become a deep-seated, golden radiance that illuminated her as if sunshine itself dwelled within. Her eyes were intelligent, the small lines at the corners adding a certain maturity to their depth.
Her hair had lightened considerably, probably from hours spent in the sun, he thought. And she was lean, her youthful curves shaped by whatever work she’d been doing into sleek, feminine contours that drew his eye to the length of her slender form.
And then she was gone from sight, entering the dim kitchen, and he hastened to follow. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the shadowed interior, and watched as she walked unerringly to the stove against the far wall. A coffeepot sat on the back burner and she pulled it forward, then lifted a skillet from where it hung amid a collection of pots and pans, all neatly arrayed against the wall.
“Two eggs?” she asked, turning to him as one hand reached for a bowl of brown eggs on the kitchen counter. A heavy cupboard adorned one wall, glass doors above displaying dishes, solid doors beneath apparently concealing foodstuffs.
“Yes, two is fine. Three would be better, but I’ll settle for what I can get.”
She lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug. “I can afford to feed you.” Her hands were deft, unwrapping and slicing a loaf of bread and placing two pieces on the oven rack. The eggs were cracked and dropped with care into the skillet, to which she had added a scoop of butter from a dish on the table.
“Do you bake your own bread?” he asked, settling in a chair, stretching his legs full length and crossing his boots at the ankle before he placed his hat on the edge of the table.
“The nearest store is close to an hour’s ride away,” she said, “and they don’t carry a selection of bread. The ladies hereabouts bake their own.”
“And the butter?” he asked. “You know how to make that, too?”
“Any fool can learn how to lift a dasher and let it fall into a churn,” she told him. “The difficult part was finding a neighbor with a cow.”
“Why didn’t you buy one of your own?” he asked idly, his gaze fixed on the neat economy of her movements as she set the table before him, turned the eggs in the pan and rescued the toasted bread from the oven.
“A little matter of money,” she said. “Mine is in short supply.”
“Where do you get your milk, then?” he asked, intrigued by her methods of survival. She’d never been so complicated a woman during their marriage.
“I told you,” she said impatiently, serving his eggs and placing the toast neatly on the edge of his plate. “I barter for what I need. There are a couple of neighbors close enough to swap milk for eggs, or garden produce. Right now, I get my milk from Lin’s cow.” She looked up quickly to meet his gaze.
“Lin is Nicholas Garvey’s wife. I taught her how to milk her cow, and since I have chickens, and she hasn’t had time to develop much of a flock yet, I provide eggs for their table.”
Max nodded, picking up his fork. The woman was downright resourceful. “And how about your staples? You know, the everyday things you need in order to put food on the table.”
“I have a big flock of laying hens,” she said. “I carry eggs to town once a week, and I do sewing and mending for folks. Then there’s my garden.”
“You raise your own food?” The eggs were good—fresh, with bright golden yolks. And the bread was finely textured and browned with a delicate touch. He spread butter on the piece he’d torn off, and tasted it. “Someone taught you well,” he announced.
“Trial and error, for the most part. Though I had a neighbor, while I was still a squatter, who shared her yeast with me.”
“A squatter?” His face froze, as if he was stunned by the term.
“Yes, a squatter. Not a pretty word, is it, but it applied to me. I lived in a cabin in the woods on property not my own.”
“I know what a squatter is, Faith. But I hate it that you were reduced to that. Why didn’t you take money with you when you left? You knew the combination to my safe.”
“I had money,” she said stubbornly. “And I sold my mother’s jewelry.”
“I know. I bought it back,” he said quietly. “I traced you that far during the first week. And then you vanished from the face of the earth.” His fork touched the plate with a clatter, and he looked down at it in surprise, then lifted it to place it carefully beside his knife on the table.
“I thought you were dead, murdered perhaps, or killed in an accident, and someone had hidden your body. I was only too aware that the city was not a safe place for a woman alone.”
She sighed, and her voice held a note of regret. “I’m sorry. Truly I am, Max. I fear I wasn’t thinking rationally when I left. But there was the note.” Her pause was long as she awaited his reply, as if he might admit to the accusations her note had held, listing his sins, one by one.
She prodded him. “You did read my note, didn’t you?”
“Of course I read it. As a matter of fact, I’ve read it since, several times, and it still doesn’t make much sense. At any rate, I was never able to fully understand your reasons for walking away from me.”
“I’m a bit surprised that you even knew I was gone,” she said casually.
He glanced up, aching as he recognized the truth. “You had become like a shadow, Faith, barely causing a ripple in the household. I thought it best to leave you to grieve as you saw fit, I suppose. I certainly hadn’t helped the process by trying to comfort you with my presence.”
Her laughter was broken by a sound that he thought resembled a sob, and he felt a familiar sense of helplessness wash over him as she turned aside. “I don’t recall you even speaking of our son’s death, Max. Let alone offering me any comfort.”
Then she spun to face him, and her face was contorted by pain, her eyes awash with tears she could not hide. “Please. Just eat your breakfast and be on your way. We have nothing else to discuss as far as I’m concerned.”
“We haven’t even begun,” he said quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“What about your business?” Her words were a taunt. “Surely it will fall into ruins without you there at least sixteen hours a day to keep it on the straight and narrow.”
The sound of her voice was shrill now, and if ever he’d seen Faith lose control of her emotions, it was at this moment. Even the tears she’d shed at their son’s funeral had not torn at his heart as her helpless sobs did now.
“I’ve left it in competent hands,” he said. “I’m on hiatus for a while.”
“Well, coming here wasn’t a smart move, Max. I don’t want you in my home,” she said harshly, backing toward an interior doorway. It led into a hallway behind her, and she seemed unaware of all else but the urgency to rid herself of his presence. “Go away,” she said, her voice rising. “Leave me alone.”
From the yard beyond the porch, a call rang out. “Faith! What’s wrong?”
Max turned to look out the screened door, his attention taken by the man who stalked up the steps onto the porch and then into the house. Tall and bronzed by the sun, he was dark-haired, with brilliant blue eyes and a demeanor that might have stricken a lesser man speechless.
Max had faced down wrongdoers in his life, but he was aware that in this case he might be considered to be at fault, and as such, didn’t have the proverbial leg to stand on. But there was always the truth, he decided.
“Faith is my wife,” he said quietly, halting the intruder’s headlong approach.
The man looked to where Faith leaned for support against the wooden framework of the door. “Faith?” he asked again, the query implicit in his voice. Hands clenched at either side, he was a formidable opponent, Max decided, one he’d just as soon not be forced to do battle with.
“Yes.” Her response was a bare whisper. “Max is my husband.”
“Has he threatened you?” the man asked quietly, alert to every nuance of expression, each breath that Max took.
Faith shook her head. “No, not the way you’re thinking, Nicholas.”
“Ah—so you’re the neighbor who has provided my wife with shelter,” Max said, allowing no inflection of sarcasm to enter his voice. He ached with the urge to oust the stranger from the kitchen, though it was a moot question whether or not his attempt would meet with success.
“Faith is living in a house that I own…so I suppose you could say that I’ve provided her with shelter.”
“I should probably thank you, then,” Max said nicely, rising in slow motion, lest the visitor take it in his head to consider him a threat.
“You should probably vacate the premises, is my guess.” Harsh and unyielding, the man stood aside and waved a hand toward the door. “I think you’ve gotten the message that my tenant doesn’t want your company.”
“Please, Max,” Faith said quietly. “Just leave. There’s nothing for you here.”
He hesitated, his eyes taking in the tearstained face, the slumping shoulders, and her arms wrapped in mute agony around her waist, as if she were attempting to soothe an ache that threatened to tear her asunder.
“I’ll leave, Faith. But I’m coming back. I have the right to speak with you. Hell, I have the legal right to haul you back to Boston with me, if I want to push it that far.”
The man she’d called Nicholas spoke up, his words icy, his demeanor threatening. “I wouldn’t try that if I were you, Mr. Hudson. Faith is among friends here.”
“Hudson?” Max felt the stab of pain at her denial of his name. “Her name is Faith McDowell. Mrs. Maxwell McDowell, to be precise. The day she married me, she lost any need for her maiden name.”
“Well, maybe she needs to see a lawyer about having it changed back legally.”
“No, Nicholas.” Faith stepped from the doorway. “Don’t make a fuss over it. It isn’t worth your while. I’m all right. I just want to be left alone.”
Max bowed his head for a moment, bitter disappointment washing through him. He’d never thought to effect such a confrontation with her. He’d hoped to speak about their problems, maybe solve some of the issues she’d apparently thought were important. And now he’d managed to lose even that small opportunity.
Staying would solve nothing.
“There’s a hotel in town,” Faith said quietly.
“I know. My baggage is there. I took a room yesterday.”
“There will be a train heading east tomorrow,” Faith told him. “If you want me to, I’ll come to town and see a lawyer with you, have him draw up paperwork to dissolve our marriage.”
Max shook his head. “No, I’ll go to the hotel and decide what has to be done. If you’ll call off your watchdog, that is.”
“Speaking of dogs, where’s Wolf?” Nicholas asked, a frown creasing his brow.
“There’s a female over on Clay Thomas’s place. Wolf has gone calling, I think.”
“Wolf? Your dog…” Max paused, envisioning a massive guard dog, and was suddenly thankful the absent creature had been stricken by the sudden desire for a mate.
“Yes, my dog is called Wolf.” Faith lifted her chin. “I wouldn’t return in a big hurry, Max. He doesn’t like strangers.”
Chapter Two
Morning brought an end to the restless night she’d endured, and her usual sunny nature was lacking as she stepped onto the back porch. Some critter had threatened her henhouse in the early morning hours, causing the dog to sound an alarm, and then had vanished when she’d peered from the window. Just in case, she decided, she’d be prepared for its reappearance, and she caught up her rifle as she opened the back door, hoping for a shot at the varmint.
And then stopped dead still. Max had returned, and was in the process of gaining Wolf’s loyalty. Her “watchdog” lay on his back, wiggling joyously as long, agile fingers scrubbed at his belly.
“Wolf!” She called his name harshly, aggravated beyond belief at the creature’s fickle behavior.
“He doesn’t seem endowed with any savage tendencies,” Max said, smiling up at her, coaxing the dog’s friendship with his knowing touch. And then he rose, and she lifted her free hand, forced to shade her eyes from the sun as she met his gaze once more. Her other hand held her rifle, its barrel pointed at the ground, its presence patently ignored by the man before her.
Wolf scrambled to all fours and then sat down with a flourish of his tail, as close to Max’s left boot as he could get. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, his eyes shone with mischief and he watched these two humans, as if seeking instructions for the next bit of fun on the agenda.
“I’d say he needs some training in order to qualify as a bona fide watchdog,” Max said dryly. “I didn’t even have to coax him with the bits of bacon I brought with me.” He slid his hand into his jacket pocket and removed his handkerchief, where remnants of what had probably been his breakfast lay wrapped.
Wolf transferred his attention to the bacon, one ear lifting, the other at half-mast, and Max laughed—an exuberant sound, Faith thought, as though he had not a care in the world. And maybe he didn’t, after all.
He’d ridden into the yard unchallenged, had dismounted and tied his horse to the hitching rail, and then made an instant ally of her much-touted watchdog. His glance was accusing. “You tried to make me believe your defender would eat me alive.”
“Obviously, I failed in his training,” she said quietly. “But—”
Her attention caught by a movement behind him, she shifted the rifle swiftly, her finger squeezing the trigger with a practiced movement, her aim on target.
At the sound of the blast the dog yelped and scampered to one side, but Max was immobile, his eyes narrowing as they remained trained on her face. “Was that a warning of sorts?” he asked.
She shrugged, as though the matter was of little importance. “I didn’t want my dog bit by a rattler.” And then she motioned with the rifle barrel toward the ground to Max’s left. The snake’s body twitched in its death throes, and she thought Max’s jaw tensed as he surveyed the remains.
“I suppose I should thank you,” he murmured, and then looked up at her. “Or was it only your dog you were concerned about?”
“I think you can figure that out for yourself,” she said, rather pleased by the effectiveness of her shooting skill.
“Well, at least your watchdog likes me,” he added, and then smiled slightly. “I remember—”
“I know,” she said quickly. Even the small pooch he’d brought home to her after their honeymoon had much preferred Max’s attention, given a choice.
He rose now and faced her, his eyes narrowing as he assessed her, skimming her clothing, lingering a bit as he examined her face, paying particular attention to her eyes. “You didn’t sleep well,” he said finally.
“I never sleep well when I’m in the midst of a problem.”
“Have you solved it with your tossing and turning?” he asked. He stepped across the expanse of ground between them and reached up to brush the lavender shadows beneath her eyes. She jerked away from the gentle touch. It was a less than subtle reminder of his effect on her.
“I don’t think you made any headway, did you?” he asked quietly.
“If you were a more agreeable man, it might be a simple matter,” she said, already aware that he was neither agreeable nor given to simple solutions. Not when it came to having his own way. Max was stubborn and possessive, and in this dispute she doubted he would give up easily.
“I consider myself a decent fellow,” he told her, his smile an obvious attempt to charm her into good humor. “The lawyer in town was very helpful. I suppose I should tell you that I stopped by to see him this morning.”
“Really? And what did he say that put you in such a good mood?”
“Oh, that I had the law behind me, should I decide to make demands on you.”
“Demands?” She felt her heart stutter a bit and then begin beating again, albeit at a more rapid pace than was its habit. “Are you thinking of taking me to bed, Max?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Did I say that?” And then he smiled, a grin that reminded her of Wolf at his friskiest. “Does the idea appeal to you?”
“You know better. I left you and my responsibilities as your wife a long time ago. So far as I’m concerned, our marriage is over. If you force the issue, you’ll have a fight on your hands.”
His grin evaporated, and his hands snagged her waist, drawing her toward him. “I don’t think you stand a chance of winning that sort of battle, sweetheart, even if I were to offer the challenge. You forget, I’m close to a hundred pounds heavier than you, almost a foot taller, and even though you’ve toughened up considerably over the past three years, I’m relatively certain I could have you in your bed in less than five minutes.”
His voice lowered as he held her captive and leaned to touch her lips with a fleeting kiss. A kiss she felt her hungry mouth return, lingering against his for a heart-shuddering moment before he eased away, looked down at her and smiled. “Not that I’m going to do such a thing.”
She thought his dark eyes grew shadowed then. “Mind you, I didn’t say I wouldn’t like to,” he amended. “In fact, I can’t think of anything that would give me more pleasure than to spend the whole day in your bedroom.”
“Really?” she asked, her voice splintered by a loss of breath, her lungs finding it difficult to draw in a full measure of air as she recovered from the brief meeting of lips that had managed to rock her equilibrium.
Her knees felt weak, her breath caught in her throat with a shudder, and she stepped past him without awaiting a reply and walked toward the chicken coop, where her hens awaited their morning meal. Doing the ordinary, simple tasks that were her daily routine seemed the route to follow right now. She’d given Max the response he wanted, had fallen on him like a woman deprived, and had managed to embarrass herself in the process.
Now she would feed the hens and gather the eggs and ignore his presence. Hopefully, the man would give up and be on his way. The thought of being involved in another confrontation with her neighbor made her cringe. She was a woman more than capable of tending her own affairs, and getting her benefactor and his wife involved in this mess was not to be considered.
“Can I help?” Max asked, following at her heels as she opened the gate to the chicken yard.
Leaning the rifle against the fence, she looked up at him. “If you don’t mind chicken poop on your shiny boots,” she said dryly. “There’s a pan just inside the door, hanging on the wall. You can be in charge of gathering eggs. Your best bet is to get the job done while I’m feeding the hens. You’ll save yourself getting all bloody that way. My hens don’t take to strangers.”
“That’s what you said about the dog,” he reminded her, glancing back to where Wolf lay in the shade, watching the ritual of tending the chickens take place.
“Wolf’s a traitor,” she said, dismissing the pooch with a wave of her hand.
“Don’t write him off too readily,” Max told her, opening the door to the coop. “Given the right circumstances, he’d be a loyal defender. He just sensed that I wasn’t a threat to you.”
She turned to look over her shoulder at him. “Aren’t you?” And then she dipped her pan into the barrel of feed and scattered it across the chicken yard, shaking the pan to call her flock.
“While you’re looking for something to do, you might dispose of that rattler,” she said, delighting in his look of distaste.
He’d done as she asked and then headed for the barn, where he put his energy into cleaning stalls, a chore Faith had been certain he would try to avoid, given the resultant boot cleaning involved once the work was complete. Her memories of Max involved knife-edged creases in his trousers and gleaming leather shoes and boots, plus a tendency to always appear well-groomed, even when he rose from her bed.
She, on the other hand, had usually felt like a well-used dishcloth, limp and still warm from his kisses and the profusion of caresses he was wont to include in their sessions in the darkest hours of the night. Quiet in his retreat, he’d left her yearning for his arms on those nights when he slept in his own room, and she’d never been able to bring herself to join him there.
Max called the shots. And she’d allowed it. Prim and uneasy with the marriage relationship, unwilling to approach him with any degree of eagerness, she’d been what her mother-in-law had been prone to speak of as “an ideal wife, who knows her place in her husband’s life and in society.”
And wasn’t that the saddest excuse for marriage she’d ever heard. Yet it had been, for a while, an experience she’d cherished.
She shivered, forking hay from the loft, where the temperature hovered above sizzling and pretty close to sweltering. The man was a piece of work, trying to fit himself into her life, as if he had a right.
But after all, hadn’t the lawyer in town told him as much? Faith leaned on the pitchfork for a moment, wondering what else the lawyer had had to say during that early morning chat. Surely Max had not mentioned his inclination to claim his marital rights. If he had, and if she were to ever face Mr. Handle in town, it would be a most humiliating experience. Probably the discussion had concerned Max’s right to drag her back to Boston with him.
It could be done, of that she was certain. Women were at the bottom of the heap when it came to surviving conflict in the relationship between husband and wife.
“You going to stay up there all day?” Max called from the bottom of the ladder.
She jerked, almost dropping the pitchfork on top of him, and then lost her balance. Tossing the sharp-tined weapon aside, she fell back, lying flat, looking upward toward the barn ceiling. Truly not one of her better moments, she decided, rolling to her knees and rising to stand on the uneven bed of hay.
“Are you all right?” Max’s head appeared through the hole in the floor, followed by his shoulders as he lifted himself from the ladder to stand before her. “Here, let me give you a hand.” He reached to steady her, and laughed outright.
“Your hair is a mess,” he said, plucking wisps of hay from her braid and brushing bits and pieces from her sweaty brow. The movement of his hand slowed, then ceased altogether, and in a hushed moment, he touched her lips with his index finger.
“Faith.” It was a whisper of sound, and she glared up at him, unwilling to be so readily coaxed by his gentle approach.
“I’m fine. Go on down. I’ll toss enough hay down for the next couple of weeks and then pile it in the corner. It saves me climbing into the loft more than twice a month.”
“It’s nice up here,” he said, looking off into the shadows, where a bird had built a nest and was busily fluttering on the edge, feeding her young. “If it wasn’t so blasted hot, I’d enjoy lying back in the hay and talking for a while.”
“You’d be talking to yourself,” Faith said, lifting her pitchfork from the hay and stabbing it into the pile she’d so recently occupied. Hay fell through the opening, scattering on the barn floor beneath, and she lifted another layer, sending it after the first.
A large, lean hand took the fork from her, ignoring her tightened grip on the handle. “Let me do that,” Max said. “How much do you want below?”
She stepped back, giving him the necessary room, and drew in a deep breath. He was pushing her, and she didn’t like it. Edging ever closer in a game she had no intention of joining. “Enough to fill the far corner of the aisle, next to the last stall,” she said.
“All right.” Obligingly, he tossed hay through the opening and then halted, stepping back to allow her passage to the ladder. “After you,” he said cheerfully.
She climbed down swiftly, pleased that he hadn’t preceded her, aware that her legs were exposed as she held her skirt high enough to keep it from tangling around her feet on the ladder rungs. Gaining the floor, she looked up and reached for the pitchfork.
“Let me,” she said. “I’ll move it out of the aisle.”
“I’ll take care of it.” His voice was gruff, as if he was scolding her for her spark of independence, she decided. “You work too hard, Faith.” He made his way down and then stood beside her. “This isn’t a job for a woman, tending livestock and grubbing in the dirt for a living.”
“And what’s wrong with it?” she asked. “It’s honest work, and I’m not going to apologize for earning my own way. I’m happier here than I ever was in the city, Max. I know you have a hard time believing that, but it’s true.”
He hung the pitchfork on the wall and turned to her, grasping her hands and holding them up to the light. “Look at the calluses,” he muttered. “Your hands should be soft and smooth. Instead, you work at one thing or another from morning till night. I hate it that you’ve been forced to live this way.”
“Aren’t you listening to me?” she asked, snatching her fingers from his. “I love it here. I enjoy what I do, and I’m happy to grub in the dirt. I raise my food, and then I cook it and eat it. Whatever is surplus is set aside for the winter months. It’s called making a living, Max.”
He had the grace to look shamefaced. “I didn’t mean to make it sound…the way I did,” he said quietly. “There’s no shame in working hard. It’s just that I hate to see you so tired. You’ve lost weight, Faith.”
“I was too plump, anyway,” she said quickly. “I’m strong and healthy, and you might as well forget whatever you’re trying to accomplish here. I’m not going back with you, Max. No matter what, I’m staying here.”
“The sheriff would like that, wouldn’t he?”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” She felt a flush climb her cheeks, only too aware of his gibe being more the truth than she would like to admit.
“You know exactly what I’m referring to,” Max shot back. “He’s sweet on you.”
“Well, I’m not sweet on him. I’m not sweet on anybody.” She stalked out the barn door and headed for the house, then turned to face Max, walking backward several paces until she reached the porch steps. “I wish you’d just leave me alone. Go back to Boston and find yourself someone who wants you for a husband. I’ll sign anything you like. You’ll be free as a bird.”
He halted halfway across the yard, and his expression was unreadable. “I told you there were papers for you to sign, Faith. In all the fussing we’ve done, I haven’t told you what they are. I brought them with me in my pouch today, and I think we need to go inside so you can look them over.”
She felt a dull ache begin in her breast. If he had indeed given in on the idea of getting a bill of divorcement, this would perhaps be the final time she was forced to see him. Surely a judge could handle the whole thing, so long as she signed her rights away.
Climbing the porch steps, she opened the kitchen door and waited for Max to enter. He hesitated, his manners dictating that he let her precede him, but she cast him an impatient look and he did as she wished.
In a few minutes she’d washed her hands, smoothed her hair back and settled across the table from him. His pouch open, he sorted through it for the documents he’d mentioned, then placed them on the table before her.
“Your father left you his estate when he died fourteen years ago,” he began. “It was held by the court until you reached the age of twenty-five. I don’t know why he thought you’d be all grown up by then, but for some reason, that was the milestone he chose.”
She looked down at the papers Max had brought to her, and focused on the names and the collection of “therefores” and “whereases” covering the first page. They were a hodgepodge of legality, she decided, and pushed the papers across the table toward him. “Read them for me, and tell me what all these fancy phrases have to do with me,” she told him. “I’m not at all sure what it signifies.”
“You’re a woman of means,” he said simply. “The estate is yours.”
“And being mine automatically makes it yours, if I recall your mother’s tutoring session correctly.”
“Tutoring?” His eyes narrowed as he repeated the word she had chosen to use. “My mother tutored you?”
“Lectured might be a better way to put it,” Faith said bluntly. “Never failing to remind me how fortunate I was to have been chosen by the great Maxwell McDowell.”
His mouth tightened. “I can’t imagine my mother used that term to describe me.”
“Believe what you like,” Faith said. “Suffice to say, I never measured up to what she felt you needed as a wife. I was too young, too boring, too—”
“Stop it,” he ordered, cutting short her list of failures, a catalog of flaws that had come to light during her years as his wife. “My mother means well, but she gets carried away on occasion.”
“Ah…I should have known you were still her champion.”
His jaw tensed, and a profusion of blood colored his cheekbones brick-red as he made an obvious attempt to be silent.
Faith waved a dismissive hand. “Explain what all this means, the paperwork I’m supposed to sign, and the money my father left for my use.”
“By signing your name where the lawyer has designated, you are accepting the money into your care.”
“I can put it in a bank here and use it as I like?” she asked, doubt coating each word with disdain. “But that’s not going to happen, is it?”
“The money will go into the bank in Boston, under my supervision,” Max said bluntly. “You have access to it as my wife. Your father felt secure in the knowledge that I would take care of you, supply all your needs.”
“Fine,” she murmured, snatching the sheaf of paperwork and arranging it before her again. “Where’s the pen, and where do I write my name?”
“No more questions?” he asked, drawing a fountain pen from his pocket and removing the cap. He offered it to her, and she accepted, examining its length.
“Is this the one I gave you?” She thought she glimpsed a flash of sorrow in his gaze as he nodded. “It was the only gift I ever bought you with my own money,” she recalled. “From then on, I used the allowance you gave me. I often thought it was like carrying coals to Newcastle, buying you paltry gifts when you were capable of ordering up anything you wanted with the snap of your fingers.”
“You gave me much more than a pen or hemmed handkerchiefs, or even the small watercolor I hung beside my bed, Faith.”
“Oh? Really?”
“I appreciated every gift I received from you, cherished each gesture of affection you offered.” His pause was long, and she felt the breath leave her lungs, knowing what he would speak of next.
“Most of all I treasure the memories of the times I held you in my arms. You gave me the pleasure of loving you.”
“Loving?” she asked. “You’re telling me now that you loved me?”
“You know I loved you,” he said, his jaw taut, his mouth narrowing as if he recognized the doubt in her query.
“On the contrary, Max. You never told me you loved me. You said I was lovely, that I pleased you, that I wore the elegant clothing you bought for me with a degree of grace…but not once did you tell me—”
“You knew,” he muttered, his voice an accusing growl. “Don’t try to pretend otherwise, Faith.”
“Then where were you when I needed you the most?” And as soon as the words were spoken aloud, she rose from the table and turned her back to him. “No, don’t bother answering. Please. I don’t want to hear excuses about your work, or the trips you were forced to take to expand the business. I heard all of that from your mother, and it wasn’t any more palatable coming from her than it would have been from you.”
“You wouldn’t even allow me into your bedroom,” he said, exasperation lacing his accusation. “I wasn’t allowed to touch you.”
“And who told you that?” she asked, bowing her head.
“It was implicit in your behavior.”
She spun to face him, stalked back to the table and snatched up the pen she had cast aside. Her signature was a scrawl as she shuffled through the pages, leaning over the table and scattering documents hither and yon as she searched out the places marked for her name to be signed.
“There. It’s done,” she said sharply. “Now just leave, and take the promise of a few more dollars for your bank account with you.”
Max leaned back in his chair, oblivious to the hash she’d managed to make of the papers. The table and floor bore mute testimony to her anger, and yet he ignored it, his attention focused on the woman who had wreaked havoc in these few moments.
“I don’t want your money,” he said finally. “And I’m not leaving. In fact, I’ve made arrangements to have my things brought here from the hotel. I’m moving in with you, Faith. The only way you can stop me is by calling your neighbor and telling him to shoot me down or evict us both from his property.”
“Why?” she asked. “Why do you want to hound me this way, Max? Surely you don’t want to breathe life to the ashes. And trust me, that’s all there is left of our marriage. I don’t want you.”
He was silent a moment, as if digesting that claim, and then a twitch at the corner of his mouth revealed his doubt. “Don’t you? When I kissed you, I felt something between us, sweetheart.”
“You’re wrong,” she said sharply. “I might respond to anyone who knew how to kiss as well as you do. In fact—”
“Don’t lie to me,” he said flatly. “We both know you’re grasping at straws, and threatening to seek out another man is impertinent. It doesn’t become you.”
“I’ve never known anyone so arrogant as you,” she said, her teeth clenched against the anger that roiled within her. “Impertinent, am I? That goes right along with your mother’s assessment of me when she called me an upstart, a month after our wedding.”
His brow lifted, and for a moment he looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Apparently, my mother said several things she should be taken to task for.” His frown drew his brows together as he thought for a moment. “Upstart? She really used that word?” And then he grinned.
“Damn you, Max. It wasn’t funny. She made me feel lower than dirt, that I had dared to marry the great Maxwell McDowell.”
“Dared? I begged for your hand. I groveled at your feet.” His grin widened, and Faith was tempted to match it with one of her own. Max on a roll was something to behold. But better sense prevailed.
“You’ve never groveled in your life.”
“I think I may have to before this is finished,” he said, his look pensive as he watched her cross the kitchen to the stove. He sat up straight then, watching as she lifted a long spoon and stirred the contents of a kettle. “Is that dinner?”
“Yes. I killed a chicken and cleaned it before breakfast. I’m making stew.”
“Am I invited, or do I have to be an interloper?”
“I’m not capable of tossing you out on your ear.”
“I’d call that a backhanded invitation,” he said, rising from the table and pushing his chair back in place. He bent, picking up the sheets of paper she had scattered, sorting through them to place them in order, and then tapped them on the table to neaten the pile.
“This can go in the mail to my lawyer, I think,” he said. “I’ll take it into town the next time I make the trip. Perhaps we can arrange for the money to be sent here to the bank for your use.”
“With your supervision, I suppose,” she said quietly, laying aside the spoon and seeking out a lid for the kettle.
“It’s your money, Faith. As to the rest, I intend to supervise everything you do for the next little while,” he said. “For as long as it takes.”
He’d known it wouldn’t be difficult to find the neighboring ranch house. Yet once it came in sight, Max revised his estimate of Nicholas Garvey. The man had a considerable amount of financial clout, it would seem, if the size and design of his home was anything to go by. It stood in the shade of tall trees, as if it had been there for many years, yet the newness showed. Like a jewel in a particularly lovely setting, it drew his eye, and Max, ever a man to appreciate beauty, felt a twinge of envy for the man who lived there. Not that he couldn’t have duplicated the home, given the urge, but such a site, with such perfection of surroundings as Nicholas had chosen, might never again be available.
A woman stepped out onto the back porch as Max rounded the corner of the house, a small female with russet hair and a creamy complexion. She wore a smile of welcome, tinged with curiosity, her brown eyes taking his measure as he rode closer.
“Welcome,” she said quietly. “I’m Lin Garvey. Are you looking for my husband? Nicholas is out riding in the pasture with our daughter.”
“Do you welcome all visitors so graciously?” Max asked, smiling because there was no other choice. She’d taken his defenses and shattered them with her warmth.
Her own smile became touched with mischief. “I know who you are, Mr. McDowell. I’ve almost been expecting you, once Nicholas told me you were visiting with Faith.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t come by to chase me away,” he said.
“Nicholas told me to mind my own business,” she admitted, “even though I threatened to ride over and give you fair warning.”
“And now?” he asked.
She bit her lip, obviously deliberating. “I thought to give you a chance, once I laid eyes on you myself. I’m a good judge of character, Mr. McDowell, and I don’t see any danger in you where Faith is concerned. She needs some happiness in her life, and if you’re the man to bring it to her, I’ll be grateful.”
She stepped closer to the edge of the porch, and her hands slid into the deep pockets of her apron. “However, be warned. If I find that you’ve caused her pain, you need to know that I’m very good with a shotgun.”
“I’d say you and my wife make a good pair, then.” He bowed his head, admiration for the woman causing him to hide his grin, lest she think he mocked her. “I’ll consider myself on guard, ma’am,” he said politely. “And now I’ll see if I can round up your husband for a short visit.”
She gazed past him and her expression assumed a degree of tenderness. “You won’t have to look far, sir. He’s riding this way right now.”
The transfer of a small girl into Lin Garvey’s care took but a moment, and then Nicholas dismounted and indicated that Max should do the same. They walked toward the shade of a cottonwood tree, and Nicholas tugged his gloves off and tucked them into his back pocket.
“You wanted to see me, I assume?” he asked, his gaze darting toward the house as if he were checking out the whereabouts of his wife and child.
“I felt it only right to let you know that I’m going to be staying with Faith for a while. In fact, I came to offer you a fair price to rent the house while I’m in residence.”
“Faith is my tenant. If she chooses to have you live there, I have no say in the matter,” Nicholas said bluntly. “Not that I approve, you understand. But it’s Faith’s choice.”
“Actually, it isn’t,” Max admitted. “I told her I was having my things sent out from town. She’s not real happy about it.”
“But she’s your wife, and you’re taking advantage of that fact.”
“That’s about it,” Max agreed. “I’m not a sneaky man, Garvey. I’m here on a mission, and I won’t allow anyone to stand in my way.”
“Is this a warning?” Glittering blue eyes met his as Nicholas glared a response to Max’s challenge.
“You can call it that if you like. I’m also a peaceable man. I have no intention of fighting with you.” He glanced back at the house and smiled. “Although I’ve already been cautioned by your wife that my days are numbered if I hurt Faith. I understand Mrs. Garvey is handy with a shotgun.”
He thought the blue eyes softened at the mention of Lin’s threat, and then Max watched in amazement as Nicholas smiled.
“You don’t want my wife to be on your trail,” he said. “She’s a formidable opponent. I’d watch myself if I were you.”
“That’s fair enough,” Max said with a nod. “I’ll be on my way. I’ve taken up a sufficient amount of your time.”
“You’ll see me again,” Nicholas told him.
“I expected I would.”
Chapter Three
The rain was heavy, running from the roof in sheets that blurred the image of the barn, yet presented a clear picture in Faith’s mind of how totally drenched she would become should she brave the elements to feed her flock of chickens. The garden needed the rain, though, and she rejoiced in the thought of her thirsty plants soaking up the life-giving moisture.
The chickens were another matter. Though some of them, more brave than the others, would squawk and flutter about the puddles in the chicken yard, many of them would probably refuse to leave the dry interior of the coop.
Debating in silence, she looked through the screened door.
“You’re not planning on going out in that mess, are you?” Max stood behind her, his presence warming her back as she shivered in a gust of wind and the smattering of raindrops that accompanied it across the width of the porch.
“I was thinking about it,” she confessed. “The hens will be hungry.”
“They’ll live another couple of hours,” he said dryly. “And from the looks of that sky, it’ll be at least that long before this lets up.”
She nodded. “I know. I figured that out already.” Stepping back, she shut the inside door, dodging him as he moved from her path. “I might as well fix breakfast, I guess.”
“Where’s the dog?” He went to the window and bent to peer through the glass. “I didn’t hear him last night at all.”
“He doesn’t bark unless someone comes around or varmints show up near the chicken coop. Right now, he’s no doubt warm and dry under the porch. I stuck a wooden box under there, facing away from the wind, and he has an old blanket he sleeps on.”
“All the comforts of home,” Max said, straightening and stretching a bit. Faith wondered if the bed she’d offered him was too short. Certainly it was not akin to the mattress he’d paid a pretty penny for back in Boston.
“How long have you had the pooch?” Max asked. “He doesn’t look very old.”
“He’s not. Nicholas and Lin gave him to me last year when they built their new place and let me move in here. They decided I needed him worse than they did.”
“Probably a good move on their part. It never hurts to have a dog around.”
Faith was silent, thinking of the pet she’d left behind in Boston.
“He’s fine,” Max said, as if he discerned her thoughts. “He missed you terribly after you left. After he’d howled for a couple of nights, I let him sleep on the rug beside my bed to make up for your absence.”
“I wanted to take him with me, but I couldn’t see any way to do it.”
“Maybe he’ll make coming back with me more appealing.”
And wasn’t that a cunning way to coax her into his way of thinking? “I don’t think that ploy is going to work, Max,” she said, hoping to dash his hopes before he could make a full-fledged assault on her defenses.
He picked up the coffeepot from the stove and filled two cups with the dark brew. “Give me points for trying, anyway.”
“I’ve already given you more of an advantage than I should have,” she said, breaking eggs into a bowl. “Your moving into my home was certainly not a part of my plan. If I weren’t unwilling to bring the wrath of the sheriff and Nicholas down on your head, it never would have happened.”
“Well, I suppose I must be thankful for small favors,” he murmured dryly. Opening the bread box, Max lifted a wrapped loaf and placed it on the table. “Do you want this sliced?” At her nod, he picked up her cutting knife and neatly severed four thick slices, then opened the oven door to place them on the rack.
“You know, the sheriff has no power to keep me from you—not legally, anyway,” he said quietly. “And your neighbor is wisely keeping hands off.”
Faith quickly glanced up at him and then turned her attention to the work at hand, pouring the eggs into a hot skillet. “You told the Garveys to stay away?” she asked. And then she looked at him more fully. “I’m surprised that Nicholas didn’t run you off.”
“His wife is the one who warned me that my hide would be at stake if I harmed you in any way. She’s a formidable woman.” A grin softened his description of her friend. “She told me she was very good with a shotgun. And her husband let me know I was here on sufferance.”
“They’ve been wonderful friends to me, and I fear they may be a bit protective,” Faith told him. “Lin and I hit it off the first time we met, and I was on hand to help deliver their little boy a while back.”
Max looked surprised, she thought. “I saw the girl, but no one mentioned a baby.”
“He was probably asleep. Lin has help—a woman called Katie, who runs the house with an iron hand.”
“It’s a big place. Looks more like it belongs in Boston than out in the middle of nowhere,” Max said. “The man must be successful at ranching.”
“He’s a banker by trade,” Faith said. “Still owns a bank in a town south of here. He and Lin have quite a background.”
“I’m more interested in what you’ve been doing the past few years,” Max said. “I want to know how you ended up here.”
She thought for a moment, remembering the day she’d walked away from the big house in Boston. Actually, she’d only walked to the end of the front walk, then loaded her sparse amount of baggage into a passing conveyance for the trip to the train station. “I was interested in finding a place where I wouldn’t need a great deal of winter clothing,” she said. “And Texas was in the south, so I headed in this general direction.”
She smiled, recalling her naive mind-set. “I had no idea that winter in Texas could be brutal at times. Anyway, I traveled as far as I could afford to by train, and then walked as far as my legs would carry me,” she said simply. “I was told by a farmer’s wife closer to town of a cabin in the woods, and I decided it would serve the purpose.”
“A cabin? Was it weather-tight and furnished?” he asked, his frown dark with concern.
Faith pursed her lips, remembering. “A little of each. Barely leaked at all, and it had a bed of sorts and a small stove for heat. Thanks to the friendship of folks who lived here before Nicholas and Lin arrived on the scene, it became my home. When my cash supply reached rock bottom, I asked around and found folks who needed mending and sewing done. Even the sheriff sought me out, asking me to take care of his financial matters, writing letters for him and such.”
“I think he sought you out for another reason, too,” Max said in an undertone.
“Whatever you might think, Brace has been a good friend, and I’ve appreciated his help. Then one day, he came to pick up his mending and told me he’d heard of a horse for sale. The owner was moving on and needed money in a hurry and couldn’t take the horse. Brace paid him up-front and I earned it back.”
Max’s mouth thinned as if he held back words better left unsaid, and Faith shot him a dour look as she spooned his eggs onto his plate, reserving a helping for herself. She pulled the bread from the oven and joined him at the table.
“When the original owners sold this place a couple of years ago, it sat empty for a long time, and I was given permission to take anything I needed from it in order to improve the cabin. What I took were the books from the parlor.”
“Books? I don’t recall you being that much of a reader,” he said, buttering all four slices of toast, and then offering the plate to her. “What were they? Classics?”
“Actually,” she said, breaking apart a slice of toast, “a couple of them were textbooks on herbal healing, along with a medical book that had to do with anatomy and the setting of bones. I read everything I could that winter. It seemed like spring would never come.” Her voice sounded pensive, and she cleared her throat, unwilling to let Max think she was asking for his pity.
“You were lonely?” He was truly interested, she decided. Not feeling sorry for her, but wanting to know how she had survived.
“A little. But I learned so much. I fed the birds and the small animals that gathered in front of the cabin for handouts. I’d collected corn from the fields after the harvest was over, and gleaned wheat from the farm to the east, when the threshers were through. It gave me something to feed the wild things, and they were company for me.”
She looked up into his gaze, aware that he’d watched her closely. “You’ll think I’m foolish to be so bound up in the little things of life, Max, but I learned a lot about myself that first year or two. I found I could plant a garden and harvest it, and live from the land if I had to. A neighbor gave me a setting hen and a dozen eggs and I began my flock. Within a year I had a lean-to built to hold my hens and nests for their eggs.”
“You built a lean-to?” he asked. “By yourself?”
“Brace helped,” she said. “I found a barn that had fallen to bits on a deserted farm the other side of town, and dragged home enough wood to nail together. All it cost me was the price of the nails, and Brace lent me a hammer until I could buy one of my own.”
Max looked stricken. “I had no idea. I wanted to follow you when you left, Faith, but…”
She hesitated, then spoke the thought that had been itching to be expressed since his arrival. “Why didn’t you? I suppose I wondered why you let me go so easily, Max. And when you made no apparent attempt to find me, I decided you’d figured you were well rid of me.”
“Not true,” he said harshly. “Things happened after you left. My brother had an accident the next day and was laid up with severe injuries for several months. I was torn between abandoning the family business or setting out on your trail.”
“And the business won, hands down.”
“We employ a great number of people, and Howard’s wife was distraught. We thought at first he wouldn’t live, and my time was divided between the hospital and the business for longer than I like to remember. I couldn’t just walk away from all that, no matter how much I wanted to chase after you.”
She shrugged. “I suppose you’re right. I doubt you’d have found me, anyway.”
His mouth set in a grim line as he eyed her narrowly. “Trust me, I’d have found you. As it was, by the time I set detectives on your trail, it was stone cold, and I had to offer rewards all across the country before I heard word of a woman of your description here in Benning.”
Her brow lifted. “You paid a reward for me?”
“Just for the information that led me here,” he said.
“And how did you manage to get away from your work once you located me?”
“Howard owed me. I’d covered for him for almost a year, and I told him he could handle my end for however long it took to find you and bring you home.”
“You really expect me to come back with you?” Her voice rose as she spoke the query. “After all I’ve said, you still think—”
He lifted a hand to halt her words. “I warned you I was going to try my best to win you back, Faith. I haven’t given up. I keep thinking of you out here in a cabin while I sat in Boston in a warm house, with food enough for a small army in the pantry, while you scrabbled for your very existence.”
“I never starved,” she told him. “And eventually, I earned enough money to get along well.”
“And then Garvey let you move in here.”
“Yes,” she said. “And after I helped deliver his son, he told me I had a home here as long as I wanted it. And when they moved back to Collins Creek for a short while, they left the wagon and team with me.”
Max ate silently for a few moments, digesting more than the food. And then he laughed softly, as if mocking himself. “And here I thought I was riding to your rescue, sweetheart. Like a champion coming to carry you off.”
“I don’t need rescuing, Max. I’m very comfortable, and satisfied with my lot in life.” She cleaned the last of the eggs from her plate and rose to head for the pantry. “Would you like some jam on your toast?”
“Please. That sounds good.” He watched as she opened the jar, and stuck a spoon into its contents. “Did you make that?”
“Of course. If you expect sweets on your bread, you start by combing the woods for berries. These are from a patch not too far from the house.”
“You’re a woman of many talents,” he murmured, spooning jam onto his remaining piece of toast. None of which he’d been aware of, he reminded himself. He’d thought Faith to be a lovely addition to his home, a luxury he’d paid well to acquire. Her presence in an adjoining bedroom had guaranteed him satisfaction when the need arose, and he’d considered himself a good husband.
“You get along just fine without a man in your life, don’t you?” It came as a surprise to him when the words erupted from his lips. And Max was not given to speaking without forethought. He offered her the jam and she accepted it, looking up with surprise lighting her eyes.
“Most of the time, yes,” she agreed. “I decided I’d rather live alone and depend on myself than be any man’s trophy. I didn’t like myself much, Max.”
“You felt like my trophy? Did I do that to you?”
Her shrug excused him from his self-assigned guilt. “I let you do it. I married you and then sat on a shelf, carted along to social events, gracing your table when you entertained business associates and their wives. And once in a while, you visited me in my bedroom and found me pleasing. At least you said you enjoyed my company there.”
“I was proud to have you in my home, Faith. And what I found in your bed was beyond enjoyment. You filled a very important need in my life.”
“Well, that’s good to know,” she said lightly. “I’d thought the feelings were all one-sided on that level.”
He was surprised at the anger rising in protest as he considered her remark. “You knew how I felt about you,” he said, his voice rigid with control. “I was pleased when you told me you were going to have our child.”
She stood and gathered the plates and silverware, holding them in both hands as she met his gaze. “I’ve always thought the best way to make certain someone knows how you feel is to express it in words.” Her face was pale, and he caught a glimpse of pain shadowing her expression. “I couldn’t tell you then, but I can tell you now how I felt, Max. Then, because I was too shy, too unsure of myself to admit aloud that I loved you beyond all measure—now, because I’ve gotten over the need to love you.”
“You loved me? But now you don’t?” He pushed his chair back and circled the table, taking the plates from her hands and settling them with a clatter on the oilcloth-covered surface. Gripping her waist, he pulled her to himself.
“What do you feel for me then? Simple desire? Lust? There’s something there, Faith. I can feel it, and the way you returned my kiss gave it away.” He bent and she turned her face aside, as if unwilling to allow his lips access to hers.
“That won’t work,” he muttered, his hands rising to clasp her head, turning it toward him. “I’ve been wanting to do this again ever since I tasted you the other day. And since you consider me such an unfeeling brute, you shouldn’t be too surprised at my lack of finesse, should you?”
He kissed her, his mouth firm against hers, allowing no retreat, and for a fleeting second, he rued his clumsy approach, remembering the long moments he’d wooed her in the past, easing past her timidity and coaxing her into a heated response.
But that was then, and this was now, and she was no longer the same. It wasn’t just the self-sufficiency of the woman, her skill with the rifle, her nonchalant ability to cook and work with her animals. She had become a different woman entirely.
Now he held a trim, vibrant creature whose sleek curves melded in a perfect fit against his body, whose breasts, more firm than in another time, pressed against his chest, their inviting contours bringing him to instant arousal. But some things never change, he thought, even as a craving he refused to deny drove him to complete the kiss she’d tried to withhold from him.
For her mouth was as soft and perfect as it had ever been, and she carried the same scent, one he’d longed for during dark nights when he’d entered her empty room and slept in the bed they’d once shared. That aroma of femininity that rose even now from her body to invade his nostrils with the perfume of desire.
She lifted her hands, clasping his wrists, her fingers wrapping around them as if she must cling for balance, even as her body pressed more closely to his, with a warmth that fanned the flame of passion into a bonfire he stood no chance of escaping.
Her mouth, that wide, appealing arrangement of lips and teeth and tongue that had ever been available for his delight, opened for him now, and a sigh escaped her throat. She was accepting his kiss, returning the pressure of lips and welcoming of his invasion, sparring in a leisurely fashion, then sliding her tongue in a seductive movement the length of his, as if she offered her own for his pleasure.
His lips closed around hers and he tasted the jam she’d eaten, shared the sweetness of her breath and savored the flavor of the woman he’d once had at his beck and call.
And not appreciated as he should have.
“Faith?” He lifted his head and watched as her eyes opened, a slow process, one she seemed loathe to complete, as if she prefered to capture the moment and hold it inviolate. “Will you let me—”
She stepped back, breaking his hold, shaking her head, and he silently cursed his foolishness in posing the question. He should have picked her up and carried her to a bedroom, any bedroom. Anywhere there was a flat surface on which to—
“No.” Her simple response was spoken flatly and loudly, a denial of her own desire and a rejection of his plea. She swayed before him and his hands held her waist, steadying her lest she lose her balance. “Don’t expect that of me, Max,” she said, her voice trembling.
“All right.” There was no point in arguing that she’d entered into the kiss with a passion that was unmistakable. She was well aware of her own vulnerability, and he had to give her credit for her ability to back away from him, keeping her dignity intact.
“You’re here because…maybe because I’m allowing my curiosity some satisfaction. Because I want to see just what it was about you that had me so in thrall to you when we were first married.” She looked up at him. “Maybe that sounds foolish to you, but I need to know…”
“What?” he asked sharply. “Tell me what you need to know, and I’ll do my best to provide it. I’ll try to be what you want me to be, Faith.” And wasn’t that a new idea, he thought. He wasn’t the one who needed to make sweeping changes—not from where he stood, anyway. “I thought I was a good husband in the past. Obviously, you decided I wasn’t.”
She nodded and turned aside, and his hands fell to his sides. “Well, you’ve got that right,” she said flatly.
The anger he’d controlled rose again, and he walked to the kitchen doorway, opening the screened door and stepping out onto the porch. He allowed the wooden framework to close gently behind him, catching it before the taut spring could snatch it from his hand. And then he strode across the yard to the barn, the rain pelting him, soaking his clothing and penetrating the layers. By the time he reached the barn he was drenched, his boots sinking an inch into the mud with every step.
And even the chill of sodden clothing and the force of the wind that required him to use a considerable amount of strength to open, then close, the barn door behind him, was not enough to cool the anger that roiled within him. Faith had never had the capability to turn him upside down this way during those early years of their marriage. Now her words of scorn brought his temper to a boil, and he recognized the fact that it was because he cared.
Maybe cared too much. She’d scorned him, mocked him and told him she didn’t love him, and still he was here, asking for more punishment. He shook his head. The woman had him running in circles.
His horse turned his head, the length of rope that tied him in his stall limiting his movement. And for a long moment, Max was tempted. His pride was taking a beating.
It would be an easy matter to saddle the animal, although any sane creature, man or beast, would be reluctant to ride out into the downpour that pounded unceasingly against the barn roof. Yet Max could probably make the horse obey him, force him to carry him to town, and to the hotel. A train would be heading east within the next twenty-four hours. That was almost guaranteed.
If he had any sense at all, he’d be on it, making arrangements for Faith’s inheritance to be deposited for her use, once the papers were delivered to the lawyers in Boston.
The papers. They were even now in his pouch, beside the bed where he’d slept. And wasn’t that handy? The deciding vote had been cast, he thought, leaning his head against the wide doorjamb. Leaving right now was not an option. And unless he left while he was still angry enough to walk away, he feared his stubborn need for Faith would keep him here until he could breach her defenses and…and what?
Make love to her? His manhood’s urgent plea for attention had subsided during the trek through the rain, but now it made itself known again at the thought of Faith in his bed. Or him in her bed. Either way would do, he decided with a rusty laugh. And neither way seemed to be in his immediate future.
He spent a long moment contemplating a vision of Faith awaiting his attentions, and somehow could not visualize the body that hid beneath coarse cotton and sturdy underclothing. For he’d almost guarantee that the lace and fine fabrics she’d worn beneath her dresses in Boston no longer had a place in her wardrobe.
“And who cares?” he said aloud, then looked around at the dim interior of the barn, as if some listener might have heard his words. His horse, and Faith’s in the stalls beyond, were patently uninterested in his presence, standing patiently in their beds of straw.
He cared, he admitted. For a moment he desperately desired the chance to view her slender form again, to take special note of the formation of breasts and hips, the narrowing of her waist, the changes time had wrought in the body he’d once been privileged to own as her husband.
Now, he stood little chance of ever owning more than he’d already snatched from her. She’d refused his suit, denied him in no uncertain terms. And he was hiding in her barn like a callow youth, pouting over his inability to seduce the love of his life.
The love of his life. He was taken aback at the idea. He’d thought, long ago, that he could set her in a compartment labeled Wife and keep her there, taking her out now and then for his pleasure or to grace his arm, or sit at the head of his table as his hostess. And he’d never really known the woman inside the shell of elegant beauty she possessed.
Now she was set free, had escaped the mold he’d formed for her, and in freeing herself, had filled him, heart and mind and soul, with her presence.
The love of his life? Was she? Could he find another woman who appealed to him as Faith did? Did he even want to try? The answer was clear, as clear as if he looked in a mirror and faced the dour countenance he knew he wore at this moment.
“I beg your pardon,” Max said. He stood outside the screened door, looking as bedraggled as any man she’d ever seen. The rain had long since ceased, and Faith had fed the hens and gathered the eggs, one eye on the closed barn door, behind which her husband was taking his ease.
The sun shone brightly, and a nice wind blew from the west, drying up the puddles that dotted the yard. He’d trudged through them on his way to the house, his hair dry, but totally disordered, his clothing clinging to him, even as it dried against his body. He’d shed his shirt halfway across the yard, hanging it over the clothesline, then continued on his way.
Sitting on the edge of the porch, he’d tugged his boots off, then wrung out his stockings before he hung them on the short line between two posts, where she made it a practice to pin her dish towels to dry. Now he stood before her, his dark eyes shadowed, his beard causing him to look unlike the male creature she had known in Boston, who took immense pride in his immaculate, elegant facade.
He resembled nothing more than a man with an apology to offer, and she hesitated as she decided if she was willing to hear it. “You beg my pardon?” she asked, facing him through the screen.
“Yes. I need to ask your forgiveness for my behavior earlier.” Humble was not a word she would have chosen to portray the Max she remembered from her earlier life. Yet it seemed an appropriate description for his appearance at her door. Hat in hand would be a more accurate depiction, she thought, except that his hat was even now hanging on a hook inside her kitchen.
“My forgiveness?” she repeated, attempting to digest his meaning. “For the kiss you took? Or the assumption you made that I would toss back the sheets and invite you into my bed?”
He looked taken aback at her words. “You’ve changed, Faith,” he said finally.
“Have I? Because I speak my mind?”
His nod was slow, his eyes lighting with amusement. “Not only that,” he said, “but you’re so damned independent.” He chuckled and opened the door, walking past her to stand near the stove, rubbing his hands together. “Your barn doesn’t provide much in the way of creature comforts. It’s cold out there.”
She shrugged. “You’re the one who chose to tramp through the rain and spend half the morning with the horses. I hope you put them out to pasture, by the way.”
He seemed ready to make amends as he nodded in reply, and then reinforced it with a quiet plea. “If I ask nicely, will you let me have a cup of coffee?”
She considered for a moment, enjoying his penitent mood, although he had almost ruined it with his smile and smart remarks. “There’s enough in the pot, I think. Probably too strong, but still fit to drink if you’re desperate.”
“I am,” he said solemnly. And the glance he shot in her direction appeared to hold more than one message in its dark depths.
It was something she decided not to examine too closely, and instead, lifted a cup from the shelf and poured it full of the strong coffee she’d kept warm for just this moment. “Did you clean the stalls?” she asked casually.
“Yes. I used the wheelbarrow and lugged the whole mess out to the manure pile. Managed to ruin my boots. I’ll probably end up buying another pair.”
Her shrug was uncaring. “You’ll learn how to clean them if you stick around long enough. I manage to get by with one pair.”
“You wear house shoes,” he reminded her. “Your boots stay on the porch for the most part.”
“I’d say it was a good place for yours, too.” She turned from him, lifting her dish towel to wipe at a spotless pane of glass in her kitchen cabinet, then concentrated on watching her fingers as they traced the wooden framework.
“By the way, I’m sticking around,” he said, catching her attention. “I haven’t given up on changing your mind.” His hesitation was long and then he spoke again. “Will you go to town with me, Faith?” he asked quietly. “I think we need to send off the papers you signed, and I’d like to buy you some things at the general store.”
Her breath snagged in her throat at the thought of appearing in Benning with Max at her side. “What sort of things?” she asked.
“Turn around and look at me.”
She did as he commanded, leaning back on the cabinet. “All right. I’m looking.”
“Do you need to make everything so difficult?” he asked quietly. “Can we just be…pleasant to each other for one day?”
“Does being pleasant involve you spending money on me? For things I can do very nicely without?”
“I want to buy you new dresses. Nothing fancy,” he amended quickly as she opened her mouth to deny her need for such things. “Just simple cotton. Bright colors, maybe, and I’ll almost guarantee any undergarments you brought with you have long since worn out. You can choose new ones, and maybe a nightgown. Or whatever you might need,” he added quickly.
“Why?” she asked, shoving her trembling fingers into her apron pockets. “What’s the purpose of spending money on me? To put me in your debt? Maybe make me look at you differently?”
“Maybe,” he said slowly, “because I want to. Because it would give me pleasure to buy you something to show off your pretty face and form a bit more than that dress you’re wearing is capable of doing. And because I feel more than a little guilty that you haven’t had anything new, while I have a closetful of suits in Boston.”
“You want to show off my—” She halted, pressing her lips together. “I don’t need fancy things here,” she said. He’d never been so forthright in his assessment of her charms before, and the thought of how much more delicate and fragile she’d been in those early years made her smile.
“I’m not nearly as attractive as I once was,” she told him. “Or else your vision has deteriorated in your old age.”
At that he winced, then grinned. “Ah, you’ve no idea how lovely you are, Faith. You’re a mature woman now, whereas you were only a girl when I married you. I find myself leaning toward maturity, I think.”
“Well, that’s nice,” she said, at a loss for words. She sought his dark eyes, trying without success to fathom their depths. And then she shrugged. “I expect you can spend your money on me if you like. My wardrobe is sparse enough that it could use a few additions.”
His smile was immediate, and she thought he looked more than a little triumphant as he swallowed a good bit of his coffee. “Would you like to go today?” he asked.
“Why not?” she replied. “I need to carry a load of eggs to the general store, anyway. Yesterday was my usual day to deliver them and pick up my mail.”
“Half an hour?” he asked, rising and heading for the room he’d slept in. “I just need to wash up and change my clothes.” His fingers scrubbed at his jaw. “And shave, too, I suspect.”
“Half an hour,” she agreed.
The eggs were secured in a burlap sack, each wrapped in a bit of newspaper and layered between inches of straw. It was a good method of transporting them, she’d found through trial and error. The same way she’d discovered other ways of surviving.
Faith saved all her newspapers for this purpose, after reading and rereading the printed pages. It was her one luxury, the mailing of a weekly edition from the nearest large city. As she fetched them and began wrapping her precious eggs, Max watched for a moment, then started to tear the newsprint into pieces appropriate for her use. “One sack full?” he asked as she tied the first burlap bag in a loose knot.
“No, I only fill the bags halfway, so the eggs on the bottom don’t break from the weight,” she said, reaching for a second bag from the pantry shelf. “One on each side of my saddle, behind me. I could use the wagon and team, I suppose. In fact, I do, when I’m in need of bulkier supplies.”
She looked up at him. “The truth is, I enjoy riding my mare. I don’t usually have much of a schedule to keep. I’ve learned to appreciate the view, Max.”
“As I’m doing, even now,” he said, sliding a quick glance her way.
She laughed, deciding to appreciate his humor and the dry wit she’d almost forgotten he was capable of. “You were fun to be with,” she said, her thoughts making themselves known before her better sense prevailed.
“Thank you,” he replied. “I enjoyed your company, too. In fact, I was probably one of the proudest men in Boston when I escorted you from home.”
“Were you?” She heard the note of surprise she could not conceal.
“You didn’t realize how much of an asset you were to me?”
She thought about that for a moment, her hands slowing in the methodical task of egg wrapping and securing. A layer of straw came next, and she lifted it from the supply she’d sent him for, a washtub filled with the yellow, rough, scratchy residue from thrashing the wheat, donated for her use by the neighbor to the east.
“I don’t suppose I ever considered myself an asset to you, just a decoration for your arm, and a partner when you chose to dance with me.” And then she thought of the nights when their return from an evening in company usually ended with him visiting her bedroom. “Did I seem more appealing to you when I was dressed in my finest?”
“You’ve never been more appealing to me than you are at this very moment,” he said, his hands touching hers as they spread straw in the confined depths of the burlap sack. The straw fell to the bottom, covering the layer of eggs, and their fingers entwined, his gripping hers with a gentle strength she did not attempt to escape.
She was speechless, feeling pursued by a man intent on seduction, and yet willing to allow it. There was an inner sense of satisfaction that permitted him this moment of intimacy, as small as it might be.
For just this moment, she felt exceedingly feminine, wonderfully desirable and just a bit breathless as she knew the warmth of a man’s hands clasping hers, and recognized the desire gleaming in his eyes.
Chapter Four
“Didn’t know Miss Faith had a husband,” Mr. Metcalf said, lifting an eyebrow as Max introduced himself upon arrival at the general store.
“I’ve been back East,” Max told him. “Business has made it impossible for me to be a part of my wife’s life for the past little while,” he added casually, slanting a glance in Faith’s direction as he answered the storekeeper’s pointed remark.
Mr. Metcalf nodded, apparently swallowing the ambiguous theory for Max’s sudden appearance at Faith’s side this morning. She’d liked to have kicked Max in the shins for his arrogance, and then smacked Mr. Metcalf a good one for his gullible acceptance of the explanation.
Instead, she bit her tongue and decided to hustle Max from the place before he caused any more speculation among the townsfolk. It would be hard enough to explain away his disappearance once he gave up on her and headed back to Boston. There was no point in folks thinking he was going to be a permanent fixture in her life.
Tucking her precious newspaper beneath her arm, she approached the counter where Max waited. Her mail was generally pretty scanty, and today was no different, only the delivery of the Sunday issue of the Dallas paper. Subscribing was a luxury she could barely afford, but the news it offered fed her need to keep up with the world outside of Benning, Texas.
Max looked impatient now, and well he might, since Mr. Metcalf, apparently accepting his presence, was bending his ear with a tale about a customer who had refused to pay his long-standing bill. “Yessir, that fella just about fried my gizzard,” the storekeeper cackled. “I told him, in no uncertain terms, what he could do with—”
Max cut him off with an uplifted hand and an apologetic smile. “Here’s my wife now, sir. I’m sure she’s in a hurry to get back home, aren’t you, dear?”
Faith glanced at him, his term of endearment causing her to grit her teeth. She vacillated between rescuing him from the storekeeper and leaving him to stew. Rescue won, hands down, as she recalled other days when she’d been the victim of Mr. Metcalf’s droning monotone.
“Here’s my list,” she said quickly. “I left eight dozen eggs on the counter, Mr. Metcalf, in the crock where I usually put them.”
He glanced up at her and nodded, then took her list with a resigned sigh, turning to the shelves to search for the items she needed.
Max shot her a grin and leaned against the counter. “How do we go about choosing clothes for you?” he asked in an undertone.
“I look for Mrs. Metcalf,” Faith said quietly. “I think she must be in the back.” And as she spoke, that lady appeared through the curtain that divided the store from the stockroom.
“Good morning,” she said brightly, spotting Faith and heading in their direction.
“We need some things for my wife,” Max told the woman, and Faith watched as the plump lady who had the misfortune to be wed to Mr. Metcalf figuratively fell at Max’s feet.
“Why, land’s sakes,” she said brightly. “I surely didn’t know our Miss Faith had a good-looking husband like you. She’s been keeping secrets.”
Her smile was wide, her eyes sparkling as Max nodded agreeably, charming her almost effortlessly, it seemed. At his request, she sorted through bins of clothing that lined the shelves and within moments had placed several dresses on the counter for Faith’s approval. Two were set aside quickly, as being too dark and plain, according to Max. A blue-checked cotton with lace edging the collar was chosen, along with a leafy-green frock Faith privately thought was too dressy for her style of living.
She drew the line at two, and then watched as Max pointed a finger at one bit of lace and batiste after another, choosing undergarments for her from the assortment provided by the wide-eyed shopkeeper’s wife. A finely woven lawn nightgown was added to the growing stack, and Faith almost blushed as she considered wearing such a garment to bed in the old farmhouse where feed sacks had been sewn together for her last nightgown.
“That’s enough,” she said finally, and as Max looked at her, he shrugged, acknowledging defeat at her hands.
“Maybe next time we’ll—” he began, but was cut off midsentence by Faith’s hand on his arm, hauling him toward another counter where boots were displayed.
“You’d better buy either new boots or a pair of shoes to wear indoors,” she said firmly. “You’ve bought me all you’re going to. I don’t even need that much, and if you don’t quit now, I’ll give back that whole pile of things.”
Yet her heart nudged her as he finally nodded acceptance of her terms. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” she said quietly. “I appreciate that you want to help me, Max. I just don’t need any more than that.”
“This may come as a surprise to you, but I needed to do this for you,” he said finally. “We’re not going to discuss it right now, but I’m fighting with a load of guilt, and this has only begun to alleviate a bit of my burden.”
He tried on boots, walking back and forth across the floor under the surveillance of Mr. Metcalf and his wife. They both looked pleased by the prospect of Max and his money dropping by their establishment today, and Faith settled down on a seat near the cold, potbellied stove while she waited for him to make the decision.
Max, it seemed, was the center of attention, as several ladies came into the store and stood about in a group, speaking softly and darting glances his way. Ignoring them all, he focused on Faith, asking her opinion, and then choosing several candy sticks, obviously with her in mind.
“You like peppermint, as I recall,” he said, bowing as he offered her a red-and-white-striped specimen. Root beer was his favorite, she remembered, and she watched as he sucked on a bit of candy, recalling another day when they’d walked in the park, early in their courtship, and he’d broken off a piece for her.
I like peppermint better. She’d smiled up at him and thought him the most gloriously handsome man she’d ever seen. And then she’d laughed aloud as he drew another candy from his pocket and unwrapped it solemnly before he offered it.
Whatever the lady wants. And she’d accepted it, yearning for the taste of root beer from his lips, knowing he would kiss her before he left her in the front hallway of her aunt’s home.
“I said, are you ready?” Max asked, and Faith was aware that he’d repeated the question while her mind had wandered to the park in Boston.
She rose quickly. “Yes. We need to be on our way.”
The clothing he’d purchased was folded neatly, wrapped in brown paper and placed in the egg sacks. The bits and pieces of dry goods, salt and coffee, and a slab of bacon Max had determined they needed, were gathered together, wrapped and placed in another burlap bag, then tied behind Max’s saddle. The bags hung on either side and Max was forced to lead his horse to a mounting block in order to gain the height necessary to fit himself in the saddle without dislodging his purchases.
Faith laughed aloud as he rode beside her. “You look like Louie the peddler,” she said, chuckling as they headed out of town.
“And who the dickens is he?” Max asked, returning her smile with a look of satisfaction. “And by the way, I like hearing you laugh, ma’am.”
“He’s a little old man who rides up to my back door about three times a year, with a packful of odds and ends. I always ask him in for coffee, and he shakes his head and tells me he prefers tea. Which I already know, of course.”
She smiled apologetically. “You have to be a part of his ritual to understand. I put the kettle on to heat as soon as I see him heading toward the house, and he digs around in his pack and finds a special blend of tea, and we share whatever I have in the pantry. Usually a slice of bread and jam or cookies, or sometimes….” Her words trailed off and she shrugged, thinking Max must surely consider her small pleasures to be foolish.
And then he surprised her, his voice almost wistful as he said, “You make it sound like fun. I never thought about you entertaining a peddler man, Faith. I would have worried that he might not be safe, that you’d be in danger from him.”
Max looked at the serenity of trees and meadows surrounding them, and then up at the sky overhead, where fleecy clouds decorated the brilliant blue like an overturned, China-blue teacup with dabs of whipping cream on the surface. The sun was leaning toward the west, and by the time they reached the farmhouse, it would be past time for supper and the evening chores.
For now, though, he intended to savor the moments they spent together. “It’s different here,” he said. “Peaceful and quiet. Perhaps I’ve worried for nothing.”
“You should talk to Nicholas and Lin,” she said, “if you think it’s always so tranquil in these parts. We’ve had our share of trouble, and there’ve been occasions of cattle rustlers or men on the run who can pose a threat to our well-being.”
She touched the rifle she carried with her, firmly sheathed behind her saddle. “That’s why I take this with me when I leave the house. I learned early on to watch my back.” And then she sent an apologetic look in his direction. “I don’t mean to spoil your image of this part of the country, Max. For the most part, it’s safe and I feel secure.”
Lines marred the width of his forehead as he listened, and then he shrugged, as if setting aside his concern. “I suppose there’s danger no matter where you live, Faith. Boston has a beautiful, orderly facade it offers to visitors, but there are pockets in the city where no one in his right mind would walk alone at night.”
“Well, for the most part, I feel at home here. I can roam the woods at night if I please. And with the dog beside me, I doubt anyone would bother me. We have a good sheriff,” Faith said. “Brace has a reputation for upholding the law, and there are few men in the area who would want to face him in a gun battle.”
“And with him to look after you, you’ve felt pretty—”
She halted him with an uplifted hand. “I look after myself, Max. Make no mistake, I can use this gun, and I’m not afraid to fire it.”
His grin was a teasing reminder of the session with the rattlesnake. “As I well know,” he said, bowing his head in a parody of respect. “My wife, the gunslinger.”
She shrugged, sending him a fleeting smile. “I’ve been called worse.”
“I don’t think I want to know about it, if you have,” he said. “I’d probably be ready to go to your defense, and end up getting shot for my trouble.”
“Haven’t you ever fired a rifle?” she asked. At his silent denial, a subtle, seemingly reluctant shake of his head, she posed another question. “Would you like me to teach you?”
“I suppose I could get the hang of it in a hurry,” he said. “I’ve carried a small pistol for years. I’d think shooting a rifle or shotgun wouldn’t be beyond my intelligence to figure out.”
“We’ll do it tomorrow,” Faith said. “I have a supply of shells, and I can get more when I go to town next.” And then she closed her eyes, thinking of what she had just said. Assuming he would be here, she was already planning for another trip to Benning, and making out a list.
“Don’t worry, sweet,” Max said quietly. “I’ll be sure you’re stocked up with whatever you need to run the place, no matter how many trips to town we have to take.”
“You probably won’t be here that long, anyway,” she said stiffly. “I doubt your business will tolerate your absence more than a week or so.”
“My brother is in charge while I’m gone,” Max said. “I told you he owes me some time off. He can consider this our honeymoon. The one I never gave you, due to pressing business.” His voice ground out the words—words she’d considered one small part of her litany of complaints during the years of their marriage.
“Pressing business” had been one, “family responsibilities” another. And Faith had dangled at the end of the list of his priorities, a wife who demanded little and expected less. Perhaps, she thought, as recognition of her own faults brought pain to her heart, she might have been better at this marriage business had she made more noise, gotten his attention more frequently.
“I’m trying to make amends, Faith,” he said quietly. “I’m not sure if I’m making any progress or not, but if there’s any chance to mend our marriage and have you back in my life, I’m willing to spend all the time it takes to bring that about.”
“I won’t deny you that right,” she said, “but don’t count on anything where I’m concerned, Max. My memories leave a lot to be desired, and to be honest with you, I’m not sure you’re capable of the sort of marriage I might demand.”
“I’m asking for time,” he told her. “And a chance to prove to you that I mean business. I want you back.”
“I’ll never be the woman I was,” she warned him. “Don’t try to make me into that docile little wife you once knew.” He gave no reply, but his jaw firmed as he nodded. They rode in silence, and then as they approached the back of the house, she slid from her mare.
Turning to him, she reached up to loosen the sacks from behind his saddle. “I’ll lift these to the ground first, so you can dismount easier.”
He snagged the burlap bags from behind his saddle and helped her, lowering them into her hands. Then he slid from the saddle himself and took them up to carry them into the house. “If you’ll wait a minute, I’ll help you tend the horses,” he told her.
But she was already on her way to the barn, leading their mounts. “I’ll start,” she said. “You can finish up.” Besides, she wanted a minute to herself, needed a few long moments of reflection as she thought of what would come next. Max was creeping into her life as he’d once crept into her heart. And she could not allow that to happen again, no matter how empty her days would be once he was gone from here.
“I think I’ll use the wagon and my team from now on when I go to town,” Faith said, setting aside her grooming tools and shaking out the saddle blankets before she spread them on the rail where they were stored. She’d groomed her mare, paying special attention to the rounded belly, then sighed, as if she recognized a sign Max was not aware of.
“Because the mare is ready to deliver?” he asked. “How can you tell?”
“It’s her time. I should have stopped riding her a month ago, I think,” Faith said. “But I’m not very heavy and I didn’t push her.” She looked up at him. “I’m selfish, I suspect.”
He shook his head. “I doubt anyone could apply that word to you. At least I can’t. You were always generous with me.” He thought back, remembering. “Even now,” he said, “you’ve made me feel welcome, even though I know you didn’t want me here. You’ve shared your food with me, given me a bed.”
And then he smiled, his mouth twitching at one corner, and she felt her heart thud in response. “Even though it wasn’t the bed I’d have chosen, I appreciate the fact you didn’t toss me out on my ear.”
“And I appreciate the fact you’ve not tried to invade my bedroom,” she said quietly. “Not that it would have done you any good.”
“No, probably not,” he agreed. “I value my hide too much to expose it to your rifle.”
“I keep a revolver in the drawer beside my bed,” she told him. “Nicholas lent it to me a while back.”
“I’ll buy you one, if you like,” Max said sharply. “You can give Nicholas’s back to him. I’d rather you owe me.”
She smiled, and he thought he caught a glimpse of satisfaction in her eyes. “I do believe you’re a jealous man, Max. And all for naught. Nicholas has no designs on me. I would have thought you’d figured that out by now.”
“I’m aware of that.” His words sounded stiff and awkward in his own ears. “I’m also more than aware of my shortcomings. The fact that I’ve done a poor job of being a husband only makes me more determined to plug the leaks.
“Are you willing to allow me some time to prove my intentions?” he asked as they climbed the steps to the back porch. “I didn’t want this whole thing to come to a matter of legalities, Faith. I know I can stay here, whether you like it or not. But that isn’t my intention. In order for me to have a shot at mending my fences, you’ll have to accept me in your life for a while.”
She shrugged, opening the back door. “Suit yourself. I think you will anyway.”
Her nonchalance galled him, and he was tempted to bite his tongue, lest he offer a retort that would put her back up. “Shall I help with supper?” he asked instead.
“If you like.” She opened the stove lid and peered inside, then bent to pick up wood from the box. Placing it carefully on the coals, she checked the damper, then went to the sink. Folding her sleeves to her elbows, she performed the small ritual he’d watched several times over the past days—bending to scoop soap from the jar beneath the sink, then scrubbing at her hands and rinsing them in the shallow basin.
A quick movement of the pump handle allowed fresh water to pour from the spout, and she caught it, then lifted her cupped hands to her face, splashing it. When she reached for the towel he was there, holding the bit of linen, and she glanced up quickly, surprise alive in those blue eyes.
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Carolyn Davidson
Faith Hudson Was Falling In Love With Her Husband!Her marriage was a disaster. Her husband was better off in Boston without her. It had been clear to her then, and it was even clearer now that she'd traveled west and made her home on a Texas ranch. She had no plans of ever returning.But Max Hudson wanted her back. It had taken him three years to find her, and he wasn't going home without her. It was a matter of principle.…Until he realized he was more in love with the woman Faith had become than he ever could have imagined. And that love just might be what Faith had needed all along.
“I think my wife knows me well enough to be assured of her own safety.”
The sheriff cut an inquiring look at Faith. “You’re sure?”
Faith nodded.
The sheriff mounted his gelding and swung the horse in a half circle. “I won’t stand for any shenanigans, McDowell. Miss Faith is under my protection, so long as she’s living in this county.”
Max shot him a glittering look from dark eyes that brooked no interference. “I think I heard my wife tell you I was not a harsh man, Sheriff. Isn’t that good enough for you?”
“Max…” The warning was clear, Faith’s use of his name drawing his attention and obliging Max to nod agreeably.
“Don’t worry about the lady,” Max said. “I’ve never hurt Faith before. And I’m certainly not about to change my ways.”
Texas Gold
Harlequin Historical #663
Praise for Carolyn Davidson’s recent titles
The Texan
“…heart-touching characters and a vivid, mythic setting…”
—Romantic Times
A Convenient Wife
“Carolyn Davidson creates an engaging, complex plot with a hero to die for.”
—Romantic Times
The Bachelor Tax
“From desperate situation to upbeat ending, Carolyn Davidson reminds us why we read romance.”
—Romantic Times
The Tender Stranger
“Davidson wonderfully captures gentleness in the midst of heart-wrenching challenges, portraying the extraordinary possibilities that exist within ordinary marital love.”
—Publishers Weekly
#664 OF MEN AND ANGELS
Victoria Bylin
#665 BEAUCHAMP BESIEGED
Elaine Knighton
#666 THE BETRAYAL
Ruth Langan
Texas Gold
Carolyn Davidson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Available from Harlequin Historicals and
CAROLYN DAVIDSON
Gerrity’s Bride #298
Loving Katherine #325
The Forever Man #385
Runaway #416
The Wedding Promise #431
The Tender Stranger #456
The Midwife #475
* (#litres_trial_promo)The Bachelor Tax #496
* (#litres_trial_promo)Tanner Stakes His Claim #513
* (#litres_trial_promo)One Christmas Wish #531
“Wish Upon a Star”
Maggie’s Beau #543
The Seduction of Shay Devereaux #556
A Convenient Wife #585
A Marriage by Chance #600
The Texan #615
Tempting a Texan #647
Texas Gold #663
This story was written during a time when I found, firsthand, just how fragile we are as human beings. Thankfully, my own private crisis was resolved and my life partner was restored to health. To those who shared those months with me, offering me their strength and hope when my own faltered, I dedicate this book. As did Faith and Max in my story, I found, through those long days, new depths in the relationship of our marriage.
I would be amiss if I did not include Mr. Ed in these few words, so
To the man whose love I cherish above all else, I offer my devotion…for all time.
Contents
Chapter One (#u43ce14c4-6aee-590c-95ea-3517e1d9e380)
Chapter Two (#u020eaad0-1fd4-59ec-a817-bdf198fb38f3)
Chapter Three (#uf8854059-6baf-5d82-921b-f38f9b024402)
Chapter Four (#u5ba55b7a-88b4-51f3-88bc-213bd03eb95a)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Benning, Texas—1898
Maxwell McDowell. As if the name on the note she held were written in flame, and the ensuing heat had burned her fingers, Faith dropped the crumpled bit of paper to the ground. A lump rose in her throat as she closed her eyes and viewed the promised wreckage of the life she’d managed to put together over the past three years.
“I’d say it’s pretty safe to say you recognize the fella’s name.”
Her lashes rose, and she was silent. Her visitor’s gaze was penetrating, his mouth set in a firm line, and for a moment, Faith was tempted to use his broad chest for a resting place.
She shook her head, both at the notion that had possessed her, and in reply to the sheriff’s query. “Who did he say he was looking for?” she asked, aware that her voice trembled.
Brace Caulfield touched her arm, and she sensed the respect he offered in the gesture. “Can I do anything, Miss Faith? I don’t want anybody coming around here, trying to upset you or give you a hassle.” And then he sighed as she shot him a look that demanded an answer.
“He said he was huntin’ for a woman called Faith McDowell. His wife, if my suspicions run true to form. I told him there wasn’t anybody hereabouts by that name, but if he’d write it out for me, along with his own, I’d show it around—see if I could come up with any information for him.”
He bent and snagged the crumpled bit of paper between his thumb and index finger, smoothing the wrinkles until the stark, bold lines of her husband’s signature, with her name beneath it, were revealed. “You know this fella, don’t you?” Brace asked quietly.
Faith shrugged. “Maybe. Let’s just say I don’t care to see the gentleman, Sheriff. If you feel obliged to tell him my whereabouts, I suppose I’ll understand, but I won’t like it one little bit.”
Her mind raced, one idea after another tumbling about, only to be rejected in rapid succession. Running was the first, closely followed by the urge to hide, to bury her identity and find a new place in which to huddle until the danger was past. But, like all her notions, that one depended on a certain amount of financial security.
She had none. Living in a borrowed home, bartering for her very existence and spending her days and nights in a state of anticipation of just this very thing taking place had not given her any degree of serenity.
Now she faced discovery and found she could not, in all honesty, lie to the lawman who had befriended her over the past three years.
“I left my husband back East a long time ago. My reasons are my own and—”
Brace’s upright hand halted her words. “I’m not asking for any explanations, Miss Faith.” His eyes held more than a bit of disappointment, she thought. Sheriff Caulfield had been subtle, but his interest in her as a woman was obvious. Her feminine instincts were betting he’d been getting up his nerve to come courting.
The knowledge that she was married had put a damper on that idea.
“Are you afraid of him, ma’am?” the sheriff asked quietly. She thought his spine stiffened, and not for the first time, she was thankful for his watchful care.
“Do I think he’ll hurt me?” Faith shook her head. “No, Max isn’t a harsh man, at least not to women and children. I wouldn’t want to cross him in his business dealings, but as a woman, I’m safe enough in his presence.”
“How about as his wife?” Brace asked bluntly. “If he’s spent a good bit of time hunting you down, he may not have much patience where you’re concerned.”
She shrugged, dismissing the idea. “His pride’s been damaged, that’s all. I doubt he’s overly concerned with dragging me back home with him. More likely he’s wanting me to sign a bill of divorcement so he can get on with his life.”
Brace folded his arms across his chest. “Well, what do you want me to tell him? Shall I give him directions, or do you want to go into town and meet him in my office?”
“Send him out,” she said, her shoulders slumping in weariness as she thought of what must come to pass. “I’ll handle it, Sheriff.”
“A wise choice.” The dark, deep tones were familiar to her, and Faith had no need to turn around to determine who spoke. Yet she did, knowing she was better off facing him than giving in to cowardice.
Leading a saddled horse, he stepped from around the side of the house, then halted, his gaze intent on the sheriff. “I followed you,” he said, tilting his hat back in a gesture that revealed his face.
“Thought I’d kept a close eye behind me,” Brace answered, one hand touching the butt of his revolver. “Didn’t take you for a sneaky man, mister.”
“I wouldn’t call it sneaky,” Max McDowell said quietly. “I had an idea you knew more than you were willing to admit when we spoke this morning. Didn’t think it would hurt to tag along.”
Brace muttered an oath, his face turning crimson as if he recognized his failure to keep Faith’s location a secret from the intruder.
“It’s all right,” she said hastily when the lawman would have stepped protectively in front of her. “I’ll talk to Max. I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine.”
Max nodded, the movement slight. “I think my wife knows me well enough to be assured of her own safety.”
Brace cut an inquiring look at Faith. “You’re sure?” Obviously dragging his feet, he lifted the reins he’d dropped to the ground. “Should I stop by and talk to Garvey?”
Faith shook her head. “No, there’s no point in dragging anyone else in on this.”
Brace Caulfield mounted his gelding and swung the horse in a half circle. “I won’t stand for any shenanigans, McDowell. Miss Faith is under my protection, so long as she’s living in this county.”
Max shot him a glittering look from dark eyes that brooked no interference. “I think I heard my wife tell you I was not a harsh man, Sheriff. Isn’t that good enough for you?”
“Max…” The warning was clear, Faith’s use of his name drawing his attention and obliging him to nod agreeably.
“Don’t worry about the lady,” Max said, his voice chilled with contempt. “I’ve never hurt Faith before. And I’m certainly not about to change my ways.” He led his mount forward, and with a quick movement, released the cinch with an ease of motion that surprised Faith. Max had never been an avid horseman, yet had kept a mare in a livery stable, riding for exercise when the burdens of business became weighty and he sought relief in an hour or two outdoors.
Now he repeated his words, emphasizing each one. “I said, don’t worry about my wife, Sheriff. She’s in no danger.”
Brace grudgingly grunted agreement, gave Faith a last, questioning look, and then, at her nod of reassurance, nudged his horse into a trot and headed toward town.
The man she’d married more than six years before had changed a bit, she decided. Max McDowell was beginning to show his age. A scattering of white touched his temples, adding a bit of dignity to his already stalwart appearance. He carried himself well, she thought, as he always had.
For Max the paunch developed by men who ate well and exercised little would never come. His body had always been that of a man who worked hard, and he’d developed a muscular structure, one to be envied by lesser beings. Dark hair, cut short lest it wave overmuch, capped his well-formed head. His features, that arrangement of facial components that made him a prize sought by women wherever he went, had not changed.
Chiseled, or perhaps severe, she decided, was the best description she could come up with for the rigid jawline, the blade of a nose and the deep-set, dark eyes that could slice through her like a bolt of lightning, leaving her trembling, and aware of the effect he’d always had on her.
She trembled now—now that the full force of his attention was directed on her slender frame. Perhaps it had been an error in judgment, sending Brace on his way. Yet she could not imagine holding this postmortem in front of a stranger. And certainly Max would not be leaving until he’d had his pound of flesh.
Perhaps it was only a figure of speech, but given that the flesh in question was ultimately to come from her, she didn’t find the vision of the hour or so ahead of her an appetizing prospect.
“Are we going to stand out here all morning?” Max asked. “If you’ll allow it, I’ll put my horse into the pasture or the barn, whichever suits you.”
“I’ll take him,” Faith said, snatching at the opportunity to walk away from the man who’d pursued her halfway across the country. “Sit down on the porch while I turn him loose out in back.”
“I’ll help you,” Max said smoothly, walking beside her, allowing her not a moment in which to gather her wits before she was faced with the confrontation that was sure to come. His hand brushed against hers as if he commanded her attention, and she drew aside, unwilling to allow him any familiarity.
His chuckle surprised her, and she glanced up, wary of the humor that lit his gaze. “What’s so funny?”
“You. Trying to avoid the simple touch of my hand against yours. When we both know you didn’t feel so hesitant to have my hands on you once upon a time.”
She felt a blush redden her cheeks, knew the haze of anger blurring her vision. “That was a cheap shot, Max. Although it tells me much about your opinion of me. I wasn’t aware that you thought so little of my—”
“You haven’t the faintest idea what I thought about you,” he said harshly, interrupting her before she could muster an adequate defense. “You didn’t give me a chance to answer any of your accusations or offer any compromise that might have salvaged something of the wreck we’d managed to make of our marriage.”
“I knew,” she said quietly, opening the gate to the corral and leading his mount through the dusty area to the pasture gate beyond. She quickly stripped the saddle from the horse’s back, and Max took its weight from her, tossing it atop the corral fence.
“You knew?” he asked, brushing his hands together as he stepped ahead to lift the latch on the narrow entry to the lush grass beyond the fence. Three horses occupied the pasture, two of them the team she used for field work. Her own mare looked up, sent a shrill welcome to the visitor and loped eagerly toward them.
“I’ll be damned.” Max’s words were a hushed whisper. “Where’d you get that mare?” he asked, his attention taken by the golden creature that approached. Creamy mane flying in the wind, her tail a flag held high, the horse was a vision to behold.
“Bought her,” Faith said shortly.
“She’s breeding,” he said, his gaze scanning the slender legs and swollen belly. “When’s she due to drop her foal?”
“Anytime now.” And if he thought he was going to be here to attend the event, he had another think coming, she decided.
“Have you got a buyer lined up?” Max reached for the mare, spooking her with his touch, and she tossed her head, flirting a bit, as if she were accustomed to attention from visitors.
“The foal will belong to my neighbor, Nicholas Garvey. I used his stud. He’ll breed her for me in another month or so, and the next one is mine.”
Max shot her a look of disbelief. “You’re not charging him, just giving him—”
“I made the deal,” she said harshly. “I live in this house, free of charge. He owns it, and he keeps an eye on things…sort of looks after me.”
The dark eyes grew cold, his jaw tightened, and his mouth was a thin line. “Looks after you? And allows you to live in his house? And where does he spend his nights?”
She felt a chill pebble her flesh at the offending words. “My neighbor’s interest in me is none of your business,” she retorted.
“I’d say it is. You’re my wife. I have a license in my pack that proves it. Any man who’s been looking at you—”
His words were stilled by the flat of her hand, the sound resembling a gunshot as she swung her arm in an unexpected motion he stood no chance of halting. “Don’t you dare insult me that way,” she whispered. “Or Nicholas either, for that matter. He’s my neighbor, not my lover. His wife would not stand by and watch that happen, let alone the fact that my own sense of decency—”
Max halted her words by the simple act of holding his hand over her mouth. She felt the calluses on his palm rub against her lips, shivered again as he stepped closer and circled her waist with his other arm.
“I apologize,” he said, bridling his temper. His nostrils flared, but he bowed his head just a bit, a conciliatory gesture, she thought. “I had no right to make such a statement.”
His grip tightened and she stumbled, losing her balance, her weight held up by his greater strength and the long lines of muscle, sinew and bone that made up his stalwart frame.
She trembled at his touch, the heat of his body radiating through the layers of their clothing. Shrinking from the intimacy of their positions, she felt his hand at the base of her spine flatten, pressing her even closer, and became suddenly aware of the taut, powerful length of his thighs.
And then was taken aback by the unmistakable shape of his masculine arousal against her belly.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, his eyes narrowing as if he’d only just recognized the telltale sign of his reaction to her warmth. “It’s obviously been a long time since a woman stood this close to me. I didn’t mean to be so blatant.” A crooked smile curved his lips, and his gaze touched her mouth and softened. “But then, you’ve always had this effect on me, haven’t you, Faith? One touch, one smile, and I was at your beck and call.”
“In the bedroom, perhaps,” she said quietly. Her hands lifted to press with force against his chest, and he released her. “I never complained, at least not until the last few months we were together, about your attentiveness.”
“And that change was at your own request,” he reminded her, sliding his fingers into the back pockets of his trousers, as though that were the safest place for them to rest.
Her hands clenched, and she shot him an angry look. “I don’t want to hear a discussion of what went on in my bedroom. Please, say whatever you came to say, and then leave.” And then anger twisted her features. “In fact, I’ve changed my mind about even that. Just get on your horse and go, Max.”
“It’s not that easy,” he said sharply. “There are things to be settled, papers to be signed and…” He hesitated, then drew in a deep breath. “Can we just have the day together, Faith?”
“So I can sign papers for your divorce?” she asked.
“Divorce?” He repeated the word slowly. “What makes you think I’m here for a divorce?”
“That would be the logical reason for you to come calling.” She tilted her chin, only too aware of the effect he had on her, conscious of her trembling hands, of the rapid beating of her heart, and worst of all, her yearning for the brush of his lips against her own.
“Well, that isn’t the reason. Far from it, in fact.”
His statement was flat, with certainty underlining each word.
“I’d think you’d want to get on with your life,” she said curtly. “Marry again, have a family.”
“I’m already married,” he reminded her. “And my wife has shown herself capable of giving me a family.”
The pain was sharp, quick and urgent, and she clutched at her waist as if wrapping her arms around the aching emptiness would alleviate the knife thrust he’d dealt. “I gave you a child, and then proved incapable of being a good mother.” Her stomach ached as if a giant fist clutched at it, threatening to empty its contents. “Our baby died, Max. And it was my fault.”
“I never said that,” he said quietly.
“Didn’t you?” Her laugh was forced and harsh, and held no semblance of humor. “Perhaps not.” She gave him the benefit of the doubt. “But others did.”
“My mother?” he asked, watching her closely. “If it came from her, I can only say she’s difficult to please, and she was hurt by the loss of her first grandchild.”
“Is that supposed to fix everything? Your mother was hurt?”
“Let’s not get into this right now,” he suggested mildly. “There are other things we need to decide. I know this is painful for you, sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart? I think not,” she said sharply. “You lost the right to call me that a long time ago.”
Her eyes were like daggers, he thought, stabbing in an attempt to draw blood. In fact, this woman bore little resemblance to the wife he’d last seen almost three years ago. Never had Faith aimed such venom in his direction. Seldom had she even shown a sign of anger, and rarely had she disputed his word or challenged his opinions.
A new light shone from her blue eyes, a sharp, knowing glance aimed in his direction, as if she judged him and found him wanting. Her hair was loose around her face, soft tendrils clinging to her forehead and temples. The ends were caught up in a braid that failed to subdue the curls and waves of gold.
A golden hue almost matching the color of her horse, he noted, glancing from woman to mare. The woman who had been his, the woman he’d called his sweetheart.
“Pain is what I feel when you deny my touch, Faith. When you glare at me with distrust and hatred in your eyes.”
“You call that painful?” she asked, a subtle undertone suggesting wry humor. “You don’t know what painful is, my friend. And neither does your doting mother.”
“And you, Faith?” he asked, aware that her eyes held not a trace of softness. “Have you suffered? Or has leaving our home alleviated your pain? Were you able to leave the past behind and get on with your life?” He hadn’t meant the sarcasm to be so biting, and he sighed, wishing those final words unsaid.
And so he apologized once again. “That was uncalled for. I recognize that you’ve carried scars.”
“Really?” Her own sharp retort revealed her doubt about his sincerity. “What would you know about my scars, Max? Your main interest in life is your business and the money you’re capable of adding to your bank account.”
“Is it? Was I so bad a husband, then?”
Her brow furrowed, and he recognized the signs. Faith was cogitating, developing an answer. And, he feared, the longer she considered her words, the worse the picture she would paint of him.
“Look,” he said quickly. “Can we put this whole rehash of things on the back burner? At least long enough for me to have a cup of coffee. Maybe even a bit of breakfast?”
She swung her gaze from the horses, which had run in tandem to the far side of the pasture, to meet his again. “You haven’t eaten this morning?”
He shrugged. “I saw the sheriff as soon as I got up. The man at the hotel pointed him out to me as he was leaving the dining room there. By the time we spoke, and he had me put my signature on his ridiculous piece of paper, I knew he was pulling my leg. There was no doubt in my mind he knew exactly who you were, once I described you in detail.
“I decided to follow him, but it took me a few minutes to get a horse from the livery stable on the other end of town. Then it was a chancy thing, staying far enough behind him so he wouldn’t look around and see me dodging among the trees and taking shortcuts through the brush.”
Max lifted his hands in a gesture of defeat. “I’m not at my best when I’m hungry, Faith. Will you take pity?”
Her look was scornful, and her sigh told of patience at its end as she led the way to the house. “A piece of toast and a couple of eggs wouldn’t be beyond me, I suppose,” she said, climbing the steps before him.
Her slender form was garbed in heavy cotton, and yet she was as appealing as she’d ever been when dressed in silk and lace, he thought. Possibly even more so. There was a maturity about her that held his interest, a beauty gained by the years, perhaps even abetted by the struggle she’d undergone in this place. He’d admired her three years ago, and been smitten by her lovely face and figure before their marriage began. How could he help but be even more intrigued by the woman she had become since he’d last seen her?
She’d been young, twenty-two years old, with the promise of acceptance from Boston society and a husband who held her in highest esteem. And yet she’d still been not much more than a girl, hurt by circumstances that fate dealt out in a cruel fashion, and unsure of herself and her place in the world in which they lived.
She’d changed, he decided. Faith was a woman, full grown. The promise of beauty she’d worn like a shimmering shawl of elegance had become a deep-seated, golden radiance that illuminated her as if sunshine itself dwelled within. Her eyes were intelligent, the small lines at the corners adding a certain maturity to their depth.
Her hair had lightened considerably, probably from hours spent in the sun, he thought. And she was lean, her youthful curves shaped by whatever work she’d been doing into sleek, feminine contours that drew his eye to the length of her slender form.
And then she was gone from sight, entering the dim kitchen, and he hastened to follow. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the shadowed interior, and watched as she walked unerringly to the stove against the far wall. A coffeepot sat on the back burner and she pulled it forward, then lifted a skillet from where it hung amid a collection of pots and pans, all neatly arrayed against the wall.
“Two eggs?” she asked, turning to him as one hand reached for a bowl of brown eggs on the kitchen counter. A heavy cupboard adorned one wall, glass doors above displaying dishes, solid doors beneath apparently concealing foodstuffs.
“Yes, two is fine. Three would be better, but I’ll settle for what I can get.”
She lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug. “I can afford to feed you.” Her hands were deft, unwrapping and slicing a loaf of bread and placing two pieces on the oven rack. The eggs were cracked and dropped with care into the skillet, to which she had added a scoop of butter from a dish on the table.
“Do you bake your own bread?” he asked, settling in a chair, stretching his legs full length and crossing his boots at the ankle before he placed his hat on the edge of the table.
“The nearest store is close to an hour’s ride away,” she said, “and they don’t carry a selection of bread. The ladies hereabouts bake their own.”
“And the butter?” he asked. “You know how to make that, too?”
“Any fool can learn how to lift a dasher and let it fall into a churn,” she told him. “The difficult part was finding a neighbor with a cow.”
“Why didn’t you buy one of your own?” he asked idly, his gaze fixed on the neat economy of her movements as she set the table before him, turned the eggs in the pan and rescued the toasted bread from the oven.
“A little matter of money,” she said. “Mine is in short supply.”
“Where do you get your milk, then?” he asked, intrigued by her methods of survival. She’d never been so complicated a woman during their marriage.
“I told you,” she said impatiently, serving his eggs and placing the toast neatly on the edge of his plate. “I barter for what I need. There are a couple of neighbors close enough to swap milk for eggs, or garden produce. Right now, I get my milk from Lin’s cow.” She looked up quickly to meet his gaze.
“Lin is Nicholas Garvey’s wife. I taught her how to milk her cow, and since I have chickens, and she hasn’t had time to develop much of a flock yet, I provide eggs for their table.”
Max nodded, picking up his fork. The woman was downright resourceful. “And how about your staples? You know, the everyday things you need in order to put food on the table.”
“I have a big flock of laying hens,” she said. “I carry eggs to town once a week, and I do sewing and mending for folks. Then there’s my garden.”
“You raise your own food?” The eggs were good—fresh, with bright golden yolks. And the bread was finely textured and browned with a delicate touch. He spread butter on the piece he’d torn off, and tasted it. “Someone taught you well,” he announced.
“Trial and error, for the most part. Though I had a neighbor, while I was still a squatter, who shared her yeast with me.”
“A squatter?” His face froze, as if he was stunned by the term.
“Yes, a squatter. Not a pretty word, is it, but it applied to me. I lived in a cabin in the woods on property not my own.”
“I know what a squatter is, Faith. But I hate it that you were reduced to that. Why didn’t you take money with you when you left? You knew the combination to my safe.”
“I had money,” she said stubbornly. “And I sold my mother’s jewelry.”
“I know. I bought it back,” he said quietly. “I traced you that far during the first week. And then you vanished from the face of the earth.” His fork touched the plate with a clatter, and he looked down at it in surprise, then lifted it to place it carefully beside his knife on the table.
“I thought you were dead, murdered perhaps, or killed in an accident, and someone had hidden your body. I was only too aware that the city was not a safe place for a woman alone.”
She sighed, and her voice held a note of regret. “I’m sorry. Truly I am, Max. I fear I wasn’t thinking rationally when I left. But there was the note.” Her pause was long as she awaited his reply, as if he might admit to the accusations her note had held, listing his sins, one by one.
She prodded him. “You did read my note, didn’t you?”
“Of course I read it. As a matter of fact, I’ve read it since, several times, and it still doesn’t make much sense. At any rate, I was never able to fully understand your reasons for walking away from me.”
“I’m a bit surprised that you even knew I was gone,” she said casually.
He glanced up, aching as he recognized the truth. “You had become like a shadow, Faith, barely causing a ripple in the household. I thought it best to leave you to grieve as you saw fit, I suppose. I certainly hadn’t helped the process by trying to comfort you with my presence.”
Her laughter was broken by a sound that he thought resembled a sob, and he felt a familiar sense of helplessness wash over him as she turned aside. “I don’t recall you even speaking of our son’s death, Max. Let alone offering me any comfort.”
Then she spun to face him, and her face was contorted by pain, her eyes awash with tears she could not hide. “Please. Just eat your breakfast and be on your way. We have nothing else to discuss as far as I’m concerned.”
“We haven’t even begun,” he said quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“What about your business?” Her words were a taunt. “Surely it will fall into ruins without you there at least sixteen hours a day to keep it on the straight and narrow.”
The sound of her voice was shrill now, and if ever he’d seen Faith lose control of her emotions, it was at this moment. Even the tears she’d shed at their son’s funeral had not torn at his heart as her helpless sobs did now.
“I’ve left it in competent hands,” he said. “I’m on hiatus for a while.”
“Well, coming here wasn’t a smart move, Max. I don’t want you in my home,” she said harshly, backing toward an interior doorway. It led into a hallway behind her, and she seemed unaware of all else but the urgency to rid herself of his presence. “Go away,” she said, her voice rising. “Leave me alone.”
From the yard beyond the porch, a call rang out. “Faith! What’s wrong?”
Max turned to look out the screened door, his attention taken by the man who stalked up the steps onto the porch and then into the house. Tall and bronzed by the sun, he was dark-haired, with brilliant blue eyes and a demeanor that might have stricken a lesser man speechless.
Max had faced down wrongdoers in his life, but he was aware that in this case he might be considered to be at fault, and as such, didn’t have the proverbial leg to stand on. But there was always the truth, he decided.
“Faith is my wife,” he said quietly, halting the intruder’s headlong approach.
The man looked to where Faith leaned for support against the wooden framework of the door. “Faith?” he asked again, the query implicit in his voice. Hands clenched at either side, he was a formidable opponent, Max decided, one he’d just as soon not be forced to do battle with.
“Yes.” Her response was a bare whisper. “Max is my husband.”
“Has he threatened you?” the man asked quietly, alert to every nuance of expression, each breath that Max took.
Faith shook her head. “No, not the way you’re thinking, Nicholas.”
“Ah—so you’re the neighbor who has provided my wife with shelter,” Max said, allowing no inflection of sarcasm to enter his voice. He ached with the urge to oust the stranger from the kitchen, though it was a moot question whether or not his attempt would meet with success.
“Faith is living in a house that I own…so I suppose you could say that I’ve provided her with shelter.”
“I should probably thank you, then,” Max said nicely, rising in slow motion, lest the visitor take it in his head to consider him a threat.
“You should probably vacate the premises, is my guess.” Harsh and unyielding, the man stood aside and waved a hand toward the door. “I think you’ve gotten the message that my tenant doesn’t want your company.”
“Please, Max,” Faith said quietly. “Just leave. There’s nothing for you here.”
He hesitated, his eyes taking in the tearstained face, the slumping shoulders, and her arms wrapped in mute agony around her waist, as if she were attempting to soothe an ache that threatened to tear her asunder.
“I’ll leave, Faith. But I’m coming back. I have the right to speak with you. Hell, I have the legal right to haul you back to Boston with me, if I want to push it that far.”
The man she’d called Nicholas spoke up, his words icy, his demeanor threatening. “I wouldn’t try that if I were you, Mr. Hudson. Faith is among friends here.”
“Hudson?” Max felt the stab of pain at her denial of his name. “Her name is Faith McDowell. Mrs. Maxwell McDowell, to be precise. The day she married me, she lost any need for her maiden name.”
“Well, maybe she needs to see a lawyer about having it changed back legally.”
“No, Nicholas.” Faith stepped from the doorway. “Don’t make a fuss over it. It isn’t worth your while. I’m all right. I just want to be left alone.”
Max bowed his head for a moment, bitter disappointment washing through him. He’d never thought to effect such a confrontation with her. He’d hoped to speak about their problems, maybe solve some of the issues she’d apparently thought were important. And now he’d managed to lose even that small opportunity.
Staying would solve nothing.
“There’s a hotel in town,” Faith said quietly.
“I know. My baggage is there. I took a room yesterday.”
“There will be a train heading east tomorrow,” Faith told him. “If you want me to, I’ll come to town and see a lawyer with you, have him draw up paperwork to dissolve our marriage.”
Max shook his head. “No, I’ll go to the hotel and decide what has to be done. If you’ll call off your watchdog, that is.”
“Speaking of dogs, where’s Wolf?” Nicholas asked, a frown creasing his brow.
“There’s a female over on Clay Thomas’s place. Wolf has gone calling, I think.”
“Wolf? Your dog…” Max paused, envisioning a massive guard dog, and was suddenly thankful the absent creature had been stricken by the sudden desire for a mate.
“Yes, my dog is called Wolf.” Faith lifted her chin. “I wouldn’t return in a big hurry, Max. He doesn’t like strangers.”
Chapter Two
Morning brought an end to the restless night she’d endured, and her usual sunny nature was lacking as she stepped onto the back porch. Some critter had threatened her henhouse in the early morning hours, causing the dog to sound an alarm, and then had vanished when she’d peered from the window. Just in case, she decided, she’d be prepared for its reappearance, and she caught up her rifle as she opened the back door, hoping for a shot at the varmint.
And then stopped dead still. Max had returned, and was in the process of gaining Wolf’s loyalty. Her “watchdog” lay on his back, wiggling joyously as long, agile fingers scrubbed at his belly.
“Wolf!” She called his name harshly, aggravated beyond belief at the creature’s fickle behavior.
“He doesn’t seem endowed with any savage tendencies,” Max said, smiling up at her, coaxing the dog’s friendship with his knowing touch. And then he rose, and she lifted her free hand, forced to shade her eyes from the sun as she met his gaze once more. Her other hand held her rifle, its barrel pointed at the ground, its presence patently ignored by the man before her.
Wolf scrambled to all fours and then sat down with a flourish of his tail, as close to Max’s left boot as he could get. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, his eyes shone with mischief and he watched these two humans, as if seeking instructions for the next bit of fun on the agenda.
“I’d say he needs some training in order to qualify as a bona fide watchdog,” Max said dryly. “I didn’t even have to coax him with the bits of bacon I brought with me.” He slid his hand into his jacket pocket and removed his handkerchief, where remnants of what had probably been his breakfast lay wrapped.
Wolf transferred his attention to the bacon, one ear lifting, the other at half-mast, and Max laughed—an exuberant sound, Faith thought, as though he had not a care in the world. And maybe he didn’t, after all.
He’d ridden into the yard unchallenged, had dismounted and tied his horse to the hitching rail, and then made an instant ally of her much-touted watchdog. His glance was accusing. “You tried to make me believe your defender would eat me alive.”
“Obviously, I failed in his training,” she said quietly. “But—”
Her attention caught by a movement behind him, she shifted the rifle swiftly, her finger squeezing the trigger with a practiced movement, her aim on target.
At the sound of the blast the dog yelped and scampered to one side, but Max was immobile, his eyes narrowing as they remained trained on her face. “Was that a warning of sorts?” he asked.
She shrugged, as though the matter was of little importance. “I didn’t want my dog bit by a rattler.” And then she motioned with the rifle barrel toward the ground to Max’s left. The snake’s body twitched in its death throes, and she thought Max’s jaw tensed as he surveyed the remains.
“I suppose I should thank you,” he murmured, and then looked up at her. “Or was it only your dog you were concerned about?”
“I think you can figure that out for yourself,” she said, rather pleased by the effectiveness of her shooting skill.
“Well, at least your watchdog likes me,” he added, and then smiled slightly. “I remember—”
“I know,” she said quickly. Even the small pooch he’d brought home to her after their honeymoon had much preferred Max’s attention, given a choice.
He rose now and faced her, his eyes narrowing as he assessed her, skimming her clothing, lingering a bit as he examined her face, paying particular attention to her eyes. “You didn’t sleep well,” he said finally.
“I never sleep well when I’m in the midst of a problem.”
“Have you solved it with your tossing and turning?” he asked. He stepped across the expanse of ground between them and reached up to brush the lavender shadows beneath her eyes. She jerked away from the gentle touch. It was a less than subtle reminder of his effect on her.
“I don’t think you made any headway, did you?” he asked quietly.
“If you were a more agreeable man, it might be a simple matter,” she said, already aware that he was neither agreeable nor given to simple solutions. Not when it came to having his own way. Max was stubborn and possessive, and in this dispute she doubted he would give up easily.
“I consider myself a decent fellow,” he told her, his smile an obvious attempt to charm her into good humor. “The lawyer in town was very helpful. I suppose I should tell you that I stopped by to see him this morning.”
“Really? And what did he say that put you in such a good mood?”
“Oh, that I had the law behind me, should I decide to make demands on you.”
“Demands?” She felt her heart stutter a bit and then begin beating again, albeit at a more rapid pace than was its habit. “Are you thinking of taking me to bed, Max?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Did I say that?” And then he smiled, a grin that reminded her of Wolf at his friskiest. “Does the idea appeal to you?”
“You know better. I left you and my responsibilities as your wife a long time ago. So far as I’m concerned, our marriage is over. If you force the issue, you’ll have a fight on your hands.”
His grin evaporated, and his hands snagged her waist, drawing her toward him. “I don’t think you stand a chance of winning that sort of battle, sweetheart, even if I were to offer the challenge. You forget, I’m close to a hundred pounds heavier than you, almost a foot taller, and even though you’ve toughened up considerably over the past three years, I’m relatively certain I could have you in your bed in less than five minutes.”
His voice lowered as he held her captive and leaned to touch her lips with a fleeting kiss. A kiss she felt her hungry mouth return, lingering against his for a heart-shuddering moment before he eased away, looked down at her and smiled. “Not that I’m going to do such a thing.”
She thought his dark eyes grew shadowed then. “Mind you, I didn’t say I wouldn’t like to,” he amended. “In fact, I can’t think of anything that would give me more pleasure than to spend the whole day in your bedroom.”
“Really?” she asked, her voice splintered by a loss of breath, her lungs finding it difficult to draw in a full measure of air as she recovered from the brief meeting of lips that had managed to rock her equilibrium.
Her knees felt weak, her breath caught in her throat with a shudder, and she stepped past him without awaiting a reply and walked toward the chicken coop, where her hens awaited their morning meal. Doing the ordinary, simple tasks that were her daily routine seemed the route to follow right now. She’d given Max the response he wanted, had fallen on him like a woman deprived, and had managed to embarrass herself in the process.
Now she would feed the hens and gather the eggs and ignore his presence. Hopefully, the man would give up and be on his way. The thought of being involved in another confrontation with her neighbor made her cringe. She was a woman more than capable of tending her own affairs, and getting her benefactor and his wife involved in this mess was not to be considered.
“Can I help?” Max asked, following at her heels as she opened the gate to the chicken yard.
Leaning the rifle against the fence, she looked up at him. “If you don’t mind chicken poop on your shiny boots,” she said dryly. “There’s a pan just inside the door, hanging on the wall. You can be in charge of gathering eggs. Your best bet is to get the job done while I’m feeding the hens. You’ll save yourself getting all bloody that way. My hens don’t take to strangers.”
“That’s what you said about the dog,” he reminded her, glancing back to where Wolf lay in the shade, watching the ritual of tending the chickens take place.
“Wolf’s a traitor,” she said, dismissing the pooch with a wave of her hand.
“Don’t write him off too readily,” Max told her, opening the door to the coop. “Given the right circumstances, he’d be a loyal defender. He just sensed that I wasn’t a threat to you.”
She turned to look over her shoulder at him. “Aren’t you?” And then she dipped her pan into the barrel of feed and scattered it across the chicken yard, shaking the pan to call her flock.
“While you’re looking for something to do, you might dispose of that rattler,” she said, delighting in his look of distaste.
He’d done as she asked and then headed for the barn, where he put his energy into cleaning stalls, a chore Faith had been certain he would try to avoid, given the resultant boot cleaning involved once the work was complete. Her memories of Max involved knife-edged creases in his trousers and gleaming leather shoes and boots, plus a tendency to always appear well-groomed, even when he rose from her bed.
She, on the other hand, had usually felt like a well-used dishcloth, limp and still warm from his kisses and the profusion of caresses he was wont to include in their sessions in the darkest hours of the night. Quiet in his retreat, he’d left her yearning for his arms on those nights when he slept in his own room, and she’d never been able to bring herself to join him there.
Max called the shots. And she’d allowed it. Prim and uneasy with the marriage relationship, unwilling to approach him with any degree of eagerness, she’d been what her mother-in-law had been prone to speak of as “an ideal wife, who knows her place in her husband’s life and in society.”
And wasn’t that the saddest excuse for marriage she’d ever heard. Yet it had been, for a while, an experience she’d cherished.
She shivered, forking hay from the loft, where the temperature hovered above sizzling and pretty close to sweltering. The man was a piece of work, trying to fit himself into her life, as if he had a right.
But after all, hadn’t the lawyer in town told him as much? Faith leaned on the pitchfork for a moment, wondering what else the lawyer had had to say during that early morning chat. Surely Max had not mentioned his inclination to claim his marital rights. If he had, and if she were to ever face Mr. Handle in town, it would be a most humiliating experience. Probably the discussion had concerned Max’s right to drag her back to Boston with him.
It could be done, of that she was certain. Women were at the bottom of the heap when it came to surviving conflict in the relationship between husband and wife.
“You going to stay up there all day?” Max called from the bottom of the ladder.
She jerked, almost dropping the pitchfork on top of him, and then lost her balance. Tossing the sharp-tined weapon aside, she fell back, lying flat, looking upward toward the barn ceiling. Truly not one of her better moments, she decided, rolling to her knees and rising to stand on the uneven bed of hay.
“Are you all right?” Max’s head appeared through the hole in the floor, followed by his shoulders as he lifted himself from the ladder to stand before her. “Here, let me give you a hand.” He reached to steady her, and laughed outright.
“Your hair is a mess,” he said, plucking wisps of hay from her braid and brushing bits and pieces from her sweaty brow. The movement of his hand slowed, then ceased altogether, and in a hushed moment, he touched her lips with his index finger.
“Faith.” It was a whisper of sound, and she glared up at him, unwilling to be so readily coaxed by his gentle approach.
“I’m fine. Go on down. I’ll toss enough hay down for the next couple of weeks and then pile it in the corner. It saves me climbing into the loft more than twice a month.”
“It’s nice up here,” he said, looking off into the shadows, where a bird had built a nest and was busily fluttering on the edge, feeding her young. “If it wasn’t so blasted hot, I’d enjoy lying back in the hay and talking for a while.”
“You’d be talking to yourself,” Faith said, lifting her pitchfork from the hay and stabbing it into the pile she’d so recently occupied. Hay fell through the opening, scattering on the barn floor beneath, and she lifted another layer, sending it after the first.
A large, lean hand took the fork from her, ignoring her tightened grip on the handle. “Let me do that,” Max said. “How much do you want below?”
She stepped back, giving him the necessary room, and drew in a deep breath. He was pushing her, and she didn’t like it. Edging ever closer in a game she had no intention of joining. “Enough to fill the far corner of the aisle, next to the last stall,” she said.
“All right.” Obligingly, he tossed hay through the opening and then halted, stepping back to allow her passage to the ladder. “After you,” he said cheerfully.
She climbed down swiftly, pleased that he hadn’t preceded her, aware that her legs were exposed as she held her skirt high enough to keep it from tangling around her feet on the ladder rungs. Gaining the floor, she looked up and reached for the pitchfork.
“Let me,” she said. “I’ll move it out of the aisle.”
“I’ll take care of it.” His voice was gruff, as if he was scolding her for her spark of independence, she decided. “You work too hard, Faith.” He made his way down and then stood beside her. “This isn’t a job for a woman, tending livestock and grubbing in the dirt for a living.”
“And what’s wrong with it?” she asked. “It’s honest work, and I’m not going to apologize for earning my own way. I’m happier here than I ever was in the city, Max. I know you have a hard time believing that, but it’s true.”
He hung the pitchfork on the wall and turned to her, grasping her hands and holding them up to the light. “Look at the calluses,” he muttered. “Your hands should be soft and smooth. Instead, you work at one thing or another from morning till night. I hate it that you’ve been forced to live this way.”
“Aren’t you listening to me?” she asked, snatching her fingers from his. “I love it here. I enjoy what I do, and I’m happy to grub in the dirt. I raise my food, and then I cook it and eat it. Whatever is surplus is set aside for the winter months. It’s called making a living, Max.”
He had the grace to look shamefaced. “I didn’t mean to make it sound…the way I did,” he said quietly. “There’s no shame in working hard. It’s just that I hate to see you so tired. You’ve lost weight, Faith.”
“I was too plump, anyway,” she said quickly. “I’m strong and healthy, and you might as well forget whatever you’re trying to accomplish here. I’m not going back with you, Max. No matter what, I’m staying here.”
“The sheriff would like that, wouldn’t he?”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” She felt a flush climb her cheeks, only too aware of his gibe being more the truth than she would like to admit.
“You know exactly what I’m referring to,” Max shot back. “He’s sweet on you.”
“Well, I’m not sweet on him. I’m not sweet on anybody.” She stalked out the barn door and headed for the house, then turned to face Max, walking backward several paces until she reached the porch steps. “I wish you’d just leave me alone. Go back to Boston and find yourself someone who wants you for a husband. I’ll sign anything you like. You’ll be free as a bird.”
He halted halfway across the yard, and his expression was unreadable. “I told you there were papers for you to sign, Faith. In all the fussing we’ve done, I haven’t told you what they are. I brought them with me in my pouch today, and I think we need to go inside so you can look them over.”
She felt a dull ache begin in her breast. If he had indeed given in on the idea of getting a bill of divorcement, this would perhaps be the final time she was forced to see him. Surely a judge could handle the whole thing, so long as she signed her rights away.
Climbing the porch steps, she opened the kitchen door and waited for Max to enter. He hesitated, his manners dictating that he let her precede him, but she cast him an impatient look and he did as she wished.
In a few minutes she’d washed her hands, smoothed her hair back and settled across the table from him. His pouch open, he sorted through it for the documents he’d mentioned, then placed them on the table before her.
“Your father left you his estate when he died fourteen years ago,” he began. “It was held by the court until you reached the age of twenty-five. I don’t know why he thought you’d be all grown up by then, but for some reason, that was the milestone he chose.”
She looked down at the papers Max had brought to her, and focused on the names and the collection of “therefores” and “whereases” covering the first page. They were a hodgepodge of legality, she decided, and pushed the papers across the table toward him. “Read them for me, and tell me what all these fancy phrases have to do with me,” she told him. “I’m not at all sure what it signifies.”
“You’re a woman of means,” he said simply. “The estate is yours.”
“And being mine automatically makes it yours, if I recall your mother’s tutoring session correctly.”
“Tutoring?” His eyes narrowed as he repeated the word she had chosen to use. “My mother tutored you?”
“Lectured might be a better way to put it,” Faith said bluntly. “Never failing to remind me how fortunate I was to have been chosen by the great Maxwell McDowell.”
His mouth tightened. “I can’t imagine my mother used that term to describe me.”
“Believe what you like,” Faith said. “Suffice to say, I never measured up to what she felt you needed as a wife. I was too young, too boring, too—”
“Stop it,” he ordered, cutting short her list of failures, a catalog of flaws that had come to light during her years as his wife. “My mother means well, but she gets carried away on occasion.”
“Ah…I should have known you were still her champion.”
His jaw tensed, and a profusion of blood colored his cheekbones brick-red as he made an obvious attempt to be silent.
Faith waved a dismissive hand. “Explain what all this means, the paperwork I’m supposed to sign, and the money my father left for my use.”
“By signing your name where the lawyer has designated, you are accepting the money into your care.”
“I can put it in a bank here and use it as I like?” she asked, doubt coating each word with disdain. “But that’s not going to happen, is it?”
“The money will go into the bank in Boston, under my supervision,” Max said bluntly. “You have access to it as my wife. Your father felt secure in the knowledge that I would take care of you, supply all your needs.”
“Fine,” she murmured, snatching the sheaf of paperwork and arranging it before her again. “Where’s the pen, and where do I write my name?”
“No more questions?” he asked, drawing a fountain pen from his pocket and removing the cap. He offered it to her, and she accepted, examining its length.
“Is this the one I gave you?” She thought she glimpsed a flash of sorrow in his gaze as he nodded. “It was the only gift I ever bought you with my own money,” she recalled. “From then on, I used the allowance you gave me. I often thought it was like carrying coals to Newcastle, buying you paltry gifts when you were capable of ordering up anything you wanted with the snap of your fingers.”
“You gave me much more than a pen or hemmed handkerchiefs, or even the small watercolor I hung beside my bed, Faith.”
“Oh? Really?”
“I appreciated every gift I received from you, cherished each gesture of affection you offered.” His pause was long, and she felt the breath leave her lungs, knowing what he would speak of next.
“Most of all I treasure the memories of the times I held you in my arms. You gave me the pleasure of loving you.”
“Loving?” she asked. “You’re telling me now that you loved me?”
“You know I loved you,” he said, his jaw taut, his mouth narrowing as if he recognized the doubt in her query.
“On the contrary, Max. You never told me you loved me. You said I was lovely, that I pleased you, that I wore the elegant clothing you bought for me with a degree of grace…but not once did you tell me—”
“You knew,” he muttered, his voice an accusing growl. “Don’t try to pretend otherwise, Faith.”
“Then where were you when I needed you the most?” And as soon as the words were spoken aloud, she rose from the table and turned her back to him. “No, don’t bother answering. Please. I don’t want to hear excuses about your work, or the trips you were forced to take to expand the business. I heard all of that from your mother, and it wasn’t any more palatable coming from her than it would have been from you.”
“You wouldn’t even allow me into your bedroom,” he said, exasperation lacing his accusation. “I wasn’t allowed to touch you.”
“And who told you that?” she asked, bowing her head.
“It was implicit in your behavior.”
She spun to face him, stalked back to the table and snatched up the pen she had cast aside. Her signature was a scrawl as she shuffled through the pages, leaning over the table and scattering documents hither and yon as she searched out the places marked for her name to be signed.
“There. It’s done,” she said sharply. “Now just leave, and take the promise of a few more dollars for your bank account with you.”
Max leaned back in his chair, oblivious to the hash she’d managed to make of the papers. The table and floor bore mute testimony to her anger, and yet he ignored it, his attention focused on the woman who had wreaked havoc in these few moments.
“I don’t want your money,” he said finally. “And I’m not leaving. In fact, I’ve made arrangements to have my things brought here from the hotel. I’m moving in with you, Faith. The only way you can stop me is by calling your neighbor and telling him to shoot me down or evict us both from his property.”
“Why?” she asked. “Why do you want to hound me this way, Max? Surely you don’t want to breathe life to the ashes. And trust me, that’s all there is left of our marriage. I don’t want you.”
He was silent a moment, as if digesting that claim, and then a twitch at the corner of his mouth revealed his doubt. “Don’t you? When I kissed you, I felt something between us, sweetheart.”
“You’re wrong,” she said sharply. “I might respond to anyone who knew how to kiss as well as you do. In fact—”
“Don’t lie to me,” he said flatly. “We both know you’re grasping at straws, and threatening to seek out another man is impertinent. It doesn’t become you.”
“I’ve never known anyone so arrogant as you,” she said, her teeth clenched against the anger that roiled within her. “Impertinent, am I? That goes right along with your mother’s assessment of me when she called me an upstart, a month after our wedding.”
His brow lifted, and for a moment he looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Apparently, my mother said several things she should be taken to task for.” His frown drew his brows together as he thought for a moment. “Upstart? She really used that word?” And then he grinned.
“Damn you, Max. It wasn’t funny. She made me feel lower than dirt, that I had dared to marry the great Maxwell McDowell.”
“Dared? I begged for your hand. I groveled at your feet.” His grin widened, and Faith was tempted to match it with one of her own. Max on a roll was something to behold. But better sense prevailed.
“You’ve never groveled in your life.”
“I think I may have to before this is finished,” he said, his look pensive as he watched her cross the kitchen to the stove. He sat up straight then, watching as she lifted a long spoon and stirred the contents of a kettle. “Is that dinner?”
“Yes. I killed a chicken and cleaned it before breakfast. I’m making stew.”
“Am I invited, or do I have to be an interloper?”
“I’m not capable of tossing you out on your ear.”
“I’d call that a backhanded invitation,” he said, rising from the table and pushing his chair back in place. He bent, picking up the sheets of paper she had scattered, sorting through them to place them in order, and then tapped them on the table to neaten the pile.
“This can go in the mail to my lawyer, I think,” he said. “I’ll take it into town the next time I make the trip. Perhaps we can arrange for the money to be sent here to the bank for your use.”
“With your supervision, I suppose,” she said quietly, laying aside the spoon and seeking out a lid for the kettle.
“It’s your money, Faith. As to the rest, I intend to supervise everything you do for the next little while,” he said. “For as long as it takes.”
He’d known it wouldn’t be difficult to find the neighboring ranch house. Yet once it came in sight, Max revised his estimate of Nicholas Garvey. The man had a considerable amount of financial clout, it would seem, if the size and design of his home was anything to go by. It stood in the shade of tall trees, as if it had been there for many years, yet the newness showed. Like a jewel in a particularly lovely setting, it drew his eye, and Max, ever a man to appreciate beauty, felt a twinge of envy for the man who lived there. Not that he couldn’t have duplicated the home, given the urge, but such a site, with such perfection of surroundings as Nicholas had chosen, might never again be available.
A woman stepped out onto the back porch as Max rounded the corner of the house, a small female with russet hair and a creamy complexion. She wore a smile of welcome, tinged with curiosity, her brown eyes taking his measure as he rode closer.
“Welcome,” she said quietly. “I’m Lin Garvey. Are you looking for my husband? Nicholas is out riding in the pasture with our daughter.”
“Do you welcome all visitors so graciously?” Max asked, smiling because there was no other choice. She’d taken his defenses and shattered them with her warmth.
Her own smile became touched with mischief. “I know who you are, Mr. McDowell. I’ve almost been expecting you, once Nicholas told me you were visiting with Faith.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t come by to chase me away,” he said.
“Nicholas told me to mind my own business,” she admitted, “even though I threatened to ride over and give you fair warning.”
“And now?” he asked.
She bit her lip, obviously deliberating. “I thought to give you a chance, once I laid eyes on you myself. I’m a good judge of character, Mr. McDowell, and I don’t see any danger in you where Faith is concerned. She needs some happiness in her life, and if you’re the man to bring it to her, I’ll be grateful.”
She stepped closer to the edge of the porch, and her hands slid into the deep pockets of her apron. “However, be warned. If I find that you’ve caused her pain, you need to know that I’m very good with a shotgun.”
“I’d say you and my wife make a good pair, then.” He bowed his head, admiration for the woman causing him to hide his grin, lest she think he mocked her. “I’ll consider myself on guard, ma’am,” he said politely. “And now I’ll see if I can round up your husband for a short visit.”
She gazed past him and her expression assumed a degree of tenderness. “You won’t have to look far, sir. He’s riding this way right now.”
The transfer of a small girl into Lin Garvey’s care took but a moment, and then Nicholas dismounted and indicated that Max should do the same. They walked toward the shade of a cottonwood tree, and Nicholas tugged his gloves off and tucked them into his back pocket.
“You wanted to see me, I assume?” he asked, his gaze darting toward the house as if he were checking out the whereabouts of his wife and child.
“I felt it only right to let you know that I’m going to be staying with Faith for a while. In fact, I came to offer you a fair price to rent the house while I’m in residence.”
“Faith is my tenant. If she chooses to have you live there, I have no say in the matter,” Nicholas said bluntly. “Not that I approve, you understand. But it’s Faith’s choice.”
“Actually, it isn’t,” Max admitted. “I told her I was having my things sent out from town. She’s not real happy about it.”
“But she’s your wife, and you’re taking advantage of that fact.”
“That’s about it,” Max agreed. “I’m not a sneaky man, Garvey. I’m here on a mission, and I won’t allow anyone to stand in my way.”
“Is this a warning?” Glittering blue eyes met his as Nicholas glared a response to Max’s challenge.
“You can call it that if you like. I’m also a peaceable man. I have no intention of fighting with you.” He glanced back at the house and smiled. “Although I’ve already been cautioned by your wife that my days are numbered if I hurt Faith. I understand Mrs. Garvey is handy with a shotgun.”
He thought the blue eyes softened at the mention of Lin’s threat, and then Max watched in amazement as Nicholas smiled.
“You don’t want my wife to be on your trail,” he said. “She’s a formidable opponent. I’d watch myself if I were you.”
“That’s fair enough,” Max said with a nod. “I’ll be on my way. I’ve taken up a sufficient amount of your time.”
“You’ll see me again,” Nicholas told him.
“I expected I would.”
Chapter Three
The rain was heavy, running from the roof in sheets that blurred the image of the barn, yet presented a clear picture in Faith’s mind of how totally drenched she would become should she brave the elements to feed her flock of chickens. The garden needed the rain, though, and she rejoiced in the thought of her thirsty plants soaking up the life-giving moisture.
The chickens were another matter. Though some of them, more brave than the others, would squawk and flutter about the puddles in the chicken yard, many of them would probably refuse to leave the dry interior of the coop.
Debating in silence, she looked through the screened door.
“You’re not planning on going out in that mess, are you?” Max stood behind her, his presence warming her back as she shivered in a gust of wind and the smattering of raindrops that accompanied it across the width of the porch.
“I was thinking about it,” she confessed. “The hens will be hungry.”
“They’ll live another couple of hours,” he said dryly. “And from the looks of that sky, it’ll be at least that long before this lets up.”
She nodded. “I know. I figured that out already.” Stepping back, she shut the inside door, dodging him as he moved from her path. “I might as well fix breakfast, I guess.”
“Where’s the dog?” He went to the window and bent to peer through the glass. “I didn’t hear him last night at all.”
“He doesn’t bark unless someone comes around or varmints show up near the chicken coop. Right now, he’s no doubt warm and dry under the porch. I stuck a wooden box under there, facing away from the wind, and he has an old blanket he sleeps on.”
“All the comforts of home,” Max said, straightening and stretching a bit. Faith wondered if the bed she’d offered him was too short. Certainly it was not akin to the mattress he’d paid a pretty penny for back in Boston.
“How long have you had the pooch?” Max asked. “He doesn’t look very old.”
“He’s not. Nicholas and Lin gave him to me last year when they built their new place and let me move in here. They decided I needed him worse than they did.”
“Probably a good move on their part. It never hurts to have a dog around.”
Faith was silent, thinking of the pet she’d left behind in Boston.
“He’s fine,” Max said, as if he discerned her thoughts. “He missed you terribly after you left. After he’d howled for a couple of nights, I let him sleep on the rug beside my bed to make up for your absence.”
“I wanted to take him with me, but I couldn’t see any way to do it.”
“Maybe he’ll make coming back with me more appealing.”
And wasn’t that a cunning way to coax her into his way of thinking? “I don’t think that ploy is going to work, Max,” she said, hoping to dash his hopes before he could make a full-fledged assault on her defenses.
He picked up the coffeepot from the stove and filled two cups with the dark brew. “Give me points for trying, anyway.”
“I’ve already given you more of an advantage than I should have,” she said, breaking eggs into a bowl. “Your moving into my home was certainly not a part of my plan. If I weren’t unwilling to bring the wrath of the sheriff and Nicholas down on your head, it never would have happened.”
“Well, I suppose I must be thankful for small favors,” he murmured dryly. Opening the bread box, Max lifted a wrapped loaf and placed it on the table. “Do you want this sliced?” At her nod, he picked up her cutting knife and neatly severed four thick slices, then opened the oven door to place them on the rack.
“You know, the sheriff has no power to keep me from you—not legally, anyway,” he said quietly. “And your neighbor is wisely keeping hands off.”
Faith quickly glanced up at him and then turned her attention to the work at hand, pouring the eggs into a hot skillet. “You told the Garveys to stay away?” she asked. And then she looked at him more fully. “I’m surprised that Nicholas didn’t run you off.”
“His wife is the one who warned me that my hide would be at stake if I harmed you in any way. She’s a formidable woman.” A grin softened his description of her friend. “She told me she was very good with a shotgun. And her husband let me know I was here on sufferance.”
“They’ve been wonderful friends to me, and I fear they may be a bit protective,” Faith told him. “Lin and I hit it off the first time we met, and I was on hand to help deliver their little boy a while back.”
Max looked surprised, she thought. “I saw the girl, but no one mentioned a baby.”
“He was probably asleep. Lin has help—a woman called Katie, who runs the house with an iron hand.”
“It’s a big place. Looks more like it belongs in Boston than out in the middle of nowhere,” Max said. “The man must be successful at ranching.”
“He’s a banker by trade,” Faith said. “Still owns a bank in a town south of here. He and Lin have quite a background.”
“I’m more interested in what you’ve been doing the past few years,” Max said. “I want to know how you ended up here.”
She thought for a moment, remembering the day she’d walked away from the big house in Boston. Actually, she’d only walked to the end of the front walk, then loaded her sparse amount of baggage into a passing conveyance for the trip to the train station. “I was interested in finding a place where I wouldn’t need a great deal of winter clothing,” she said. “And Texas was in the south, so I headed in this general direction.”
She smiled, recalling her naive mind-set. “I had no idea that winter in Texas could be brutal at times. Anyway, I traveled as far as I could afford to by train, and then walked as far as my legs would carry me,” she said simply. “I was told by a farmer’s wife closer to town of a cabin in the woods, and I decided it would serve the purpose.”
“A cabin? Was it weather-tight and furnished?” he asked, his frown dark with concern.
Faith pursed her lips, remembering. “A little of each. Barely leaked at all, and it had a bed of sorts and a small stove for heat. Thanks to the friendship of folks who lived here before Nicholas and Lin arrived on the scene, it became my home. When my cash supply reached rock bottom, I asked around and found folks who needed mending and sewing done. Even the sheriff sought me out, asking me to take care of his financial matters, writing letters for him and such.”
“I think he sought you out for another reason, too,” Max said in an undertone.
“Whatever you might think, Brace has been a good friend, and I’ve appreciated his help. Then one day, he came to pick up his mending and told me he’d heard of a horse for sale. The owner was moving on and needed money in a hurry and couldn’t take the horse. Brace paid him up-front and I earned it back.”
Max’s mouth thinned as if he held back words better left unsaid, and Faith shot him a dour look as she spooned his eggs onto his plate, reserving a helping for herself. She pulled the bread from the oven and joined him at the table.
“When the original owners sold this place a couple of years ago, it sat empty for a long time, and I was given permission to take anything I needed from it in order to improve the cabin. What I took were the books from the parlor.”
“Books? I don’t recall you being that much of a reader,” he said, buttering all four slices of toast, and then offering the plate to her. “What were they? Classics?”
“Actually,” she said, breaking apart a slice of toast, “a couple of them were textbooks on herbal healing, along with a medical book that had to do with anatomy and the setting of bones. I read everything I could that winter. It seemed like spring would never come.” Her voice sounded pensive, and she cleared her throat, unwilling to let Max think she was asking for his pity.
“You were lonely?” He was truly interested, she decided. Not feeling sorry for her, but wanting to know how she had survived.
“A little. But I learned so much. I fed the birds and the small animals that gathered in front of the cabin for handouts. I’d collected corn from the fields after the harvest was over, and gleaned wheat from the farm to the east, when the threshers were through. It gave me something to feed the wild things, and they were company for me.”
She looked up into his gaze, aware that he’d watched her closely. “You’ll think I’m foolish to be so bound up in the little things of life, Max, but I learned a lot about myself that first year or two. I found I could plant a garden and harvest it, and live from the land if I had to. A neighbor gave me a setting hen and a dozen eggs and I began my flock. Within a year I had a lean-to built to hold my hens and nests for their eggs.”
“You built a lean-to?” he asked. “By yourself?”
“Brace helped,” she said. “I found a barn that had fallen to bits on a deserted farm the other side of town, and dragged home enough wood to nail together. All it cost me was the price of the nails, and Brace lent me a hammer until I could buy one of my own.”
Max looked stricken. “I had no idea. I wanted to follow you when you left, Faith, but…”
She hesitated, then spoke the thought that had been itching to be expressed since his arrival. “Why didn’t you? I suppose I wondered why you let me go so easily, Max. And when you made no apparent attempt to find me, I decided you’d figured you were well rid of me.”
“Not true,” he said harshly. “Things happened after you left. My brother had an accident the next day and was laid up with severe injuries for several months. I was torn between abandoning the family business or setting out on your trail.”
“And the business won, hands down.”
“We employ a great number of people, and Howard’s wife was distraught. We thought at first he wouldn’t live, and my time was divided between the hospital and the business for longer than I like to remember. I couldn’t just walk away from all that, no matter how much I wanted to chase after you.”
She shrugged. “I suppose you’re right. I doubt you’d have found me, anyway.”
His mouth set in a grim line as he eyed her narrowly. “Trust me, I’d have found you. As it was, by the time I set detectives on your trail, it was stone cold, and I had to offer rewards all across the country before I heard word of a woman of your description here in Benning.”
Her brow lifted. “You paid a reward for me?”
“Just for the information that led me here,” he said.
“And how did you manage to get away from your work once you located me?”
“Howard owed me. I’d covered for him for almost a year, and I told him he could handle my end for however long it took to find you and bring you home.”
“You really expect me to come back with you?” Her voice rose as she spoke the query. “After all I’ve said, you still think—”
He lifted a hand to halt her words. “I warned you I was going to try my best to win you back, Faith. I haven’t given up. I keep thinking of you out here in a cabin while I sat in Boston in a warm house, with food enough for a small army in the pantry, while you scrabbled for your very existence.”
“I never starved,” she told him. “And eventually, I earned enough money to get along well.”
“And then Garvey let you move in here.”
“Yes,” she said. “And after I helped deliver his son, he told me I had a home here as long as I wanted it. And when they moved back to Collins Creek for a short while, they left the wagon and team with me.”
Max ate silently for a few moments, digesting more than the food. And then he laughed softly, as if mocking himself. “And here I thought I was riding to your rescue, sweetheart. Like a champion coming to carry you off.”
“I don’t need rescuing, Max. I’m very comfortable, and satisfied with my lot in life.” She cleaned the last of the eggs from her plate and rose to head for the pantry. “Would you like some jam on your toast?”
“Please. That sounds good.” He watched as she opened the jar, and stuck a spoon into its contents. “Did you make that?”
“Of course. If you expect sweets on your bread, you start by combing the woods for berries. These are from a patch not too far from the house.”
“You’re a woman of many talents,” he murmured, spooning jam onto his remaining piece of toast. None of which he’d been aware of, he reminded himself. He’d thought Faith to be a lovely addition to his home, a luxury he’d paid well to acquire. Her presence in an adjoining bedroom had guaranteed him satisfaction when the need arose, and he’d considered himself a good husband.
“You get along just fine without a man in your life, don’t you?” It came as a surprise to him when the words erupted from his lips. And Max was not given to speaking without forethought. He offered her the jam and she accepted it, looking up with surprise lighting her eyes.
“Most of the time, yes,” she agreed. “I decided I’d rather live alone and depend on myself than be any man’s trophy. I didn’t like myself much, Max.”
“You felt like my trophy? Did I do that to you?”
Her shrug excused him from his self-assigned guilt. “I let you do it. I married you and then sat on a shelf, carted along to social events, gracing your table when you entertained business associates and their wives. And once in a while, you visited me in my bedroom and found me pleasing. At least you said you enjoyed my company there.”
“I was proud to have you in my home, Faith. And what I found in your bed was beyond enjoyment. You filled a very important need in my life.”
“Well, that’s good to know,” she said lightly. “I’d thought the feelings were all one-sided on that level.”
He was surprised at the anger rising in protest as he considered her remark. “You knew how I felt about you,” he said, his voice rigid with control. “I was pleased when you told me you were going to have our child.”
She stood and gathered the plates and silverware, holding them in both hands as she met his gaze. “I’ve always thought the best way to make certain someone knows how you feel is to express it in words.” Her face was pale, and he caught a glimpse of pain shadowing her expression. “I couldn’t tell you then, but I can tell you now how I felt, Max. Then, because I was too shy, too unsure of myself to admit aloud that I loved you beyond all measure—now, because I’ve gotten over the need to love you.”
“You loved me? But now you don’t?” He pushed his chair back and circled the table, taking the plates from her hands and settling them with a clatter on the oilcloth-covered surface. Gripping her waist, he pulled her to himself.
“What do you feel for me then? Simple desire? Lust? There’s something there, Faith. I can feel it, and the way you returned my kiss gave it away.” He bent and she turned her face aside, as if unwilling to allow his lips access to hers.
“That won’t work,” he muttered, his hands rising to clasp her head, turning it toward him. “I’ve been wanting to do this again ever since I tasted you the other day. And since you consider me such an unfeeling brute, you shouldn’t be too surprised at my lack of finesse, should you?”
He kissed her, his mouth firm against hers, allowing no retreat, and for a fleeting second, he rued his clumsy approach, remembering the long moments he’d wooed her in the past, easing past her timidity and coaxing her into a heated response.
But that was then, and this was now, and she was no longer the same. It wasn’t just the self-sufficiency of the woman, her skill with the rifle, her nonchalant ability to cook and work with her animals. She had become a different woman entirely.
Now he held a trim, vibrant creature whose sleek curves melded in a perfect fit against his body, whose breasts, more firm than in another time, pressed against his chest, their inviting contours bringing him to instant arousal. But some things never change, he thought, even as a craving he refused to deny drove him to complete the kiss she’d tried to withhold from him.
For her mouth was as soft and perfect as it had ever been, and she carried the same scent, one he’d longed for during dark nights when he’d entered her empty room and slept in the bed they’d once shared. That aroma of femininity that rose even now from her body to invade his nostrils with the perfume of desire.
She lifted her hands, clasping his wrists, her fingers wrapping around them as if she must cling for balance, even as her body pressed more closely to his, with a warmth that fanned the flame of passion into a bonfire he stood no chance of escaping.
Her mouth, that wide, appealing arrangement of lips and teeth and tongue that had ever been available for his delight, opened for him now, and a sigh escaped her throat. She was accepting his kiss, returning the pressure of lips and welcoming of his invasion, sparring in a leisurely fashion, then sliding her tongue in a seductive movement the length of his, as if she offered her own for his pleasure.
His lips closed around hers and he tasted the jam she’d eaten, shared the sweetness of her breath and savored the flavor of the woman he’d once had at his beck and call.
And not appreciated as he should have.
“Faith?” He lifted his head and watched as her eyes opened, a slow process, one she seemed loathe to complete, as if she prefered to capture the moment and hold it inviolate. “Will you let me—”
She stepped back, breaking his hold, shaking her head, and he silently cursed his foolishness in posing the question. He should have picked her up and carried her to a bedroom, any bedroom. Anywhere there was a flat surface on which to—
“No.” Her simple response was spoken flatly and loudly, a denial of her own desire and a rejection of his plea. She swayed before him and his hands held her waist, steadying her lest she lose her balance. “Don’t expect that of me, Max,” she said, her voice trembling.
“All right.” There was no point in arguing that she’d entered into the kiss with a passion that was unmistakable. She was well aware of her own vulnerability, and he had to give her credit for her ability to back away from him, keeping her dignity intact.
“You’re here because…maybe because I’m allowing my curiosity some satisfaction. Because I want to see just what it was about you that had me so in thrall to you when we were first married.” She looked up at him. “Maybe that sounds foolish to you, but I need to know…”
“What?” he asked sharply. “Tell me what you need to know, and I’ll do my best to provide it. I’ll try to be what you want me to be, Faith.” And wasn’t that a new idea, he thought. He wasn’t the one who needed to make sweeping changes—not from where he stood, anyway. “I thought I was a good husband in the past. Obviously, you decided I wasn’t.”
She nodded and turned aside, and his hands fell to his sides. “Well, you’ve got that right,” she said flatly.
The anger he’d controlled rose again, and he walked to the kitchen doorway, opening the screened door and stepping out onto the porch. He allowed the wooden framework to close gently behind him, catching it before the taut spring could snatch it from his hand. And then he strode across the yard to the barn, the rain pelting him, soaking his clothing and penetrating the layers. By the time he reached the barn he was drenched, his boots sinking an inch into the mud with every step.
And even the chill of sodden clothing and the force of the wind that required him to use a considerable amount of strength to open, then close, the barn door behind him, was not enough to cool the anger that roiled within him. Faith had never had the capability to turn him upside down this way during those early years of their marriage. Now her words of scorn brought his temper to a boil, and he recognized the fact that it was because he cared.
Maybe cared too much. She’d scorned him, mocked him and told him she didn’t love him, and still he was here, asking for more punishment. He shook his head. The woman had him running in circles.
His horse turned his head, the length of rope that tied him in his stall limiting his movement. And for a long moment, Max was tempted. His pride was taking a beating.
It would be an easy matter to saddle the animal, although any sane creature, man or beast, would be reluctant to ride out into the downpour that pounded unceasingly against the barn roof. Yet Max could probably make the horse obey him, force him to carry him to town, and to the hotel. A train would be heading east within the next twenty-four hours. That was almost guaranteed.
If he had any sense at all, he’d be on it, making arrangements for Faith’s inheritance to be deposited for her use, once the papers were delivered to the lawyers in Boston.
The papers. They were even now in his pouch, beside the bed where he’d slept. And wasn’t that handy? The deciding vote had been cast, he thought, leaning his head against the wide doorjamb. Leaving right now was not an option. And unless he left while he was still angry enough to walk away, he feared his stubborn need for Faith would keep him here until he could breach her defenses and…and what?
Make love to her? His manhood’s urgent plea for attention had subsided during the trek through the rain, but now it made itself known again at the thought of Faith in his bed. Or him in her bed. Either way would do, he decided with a rusty laugh. And neither way seemed to be in his immediate future.
He spent a long moment contemplating a vision of Faith awaiting his attentions, and somehow could not visualize the body that hid beneath coarse cotton and sturdy underclothing. For he’d almost guarantee that the lace and fine fabrics she’d worn beneath her dresses in Boston no longer had a place in her wardrobe.
“And who cares?” he said aloud, then looked around at the dim interior of the barn, as if some listener might have heard his words. His horse, and Faith’s in the stalls beyond, were patently uninterested in his presence, standing patiently in their beds of straw.
He cared, he admitted. For a moment he desperately desired the chance to view her slender form again, to take special note of the formation of breasts and hips, the narrowing of her waist, the changes time had wrought in the body he’d once been privileged to own as her husband.
Now, he stood little chance of ever owning more than he’d already snatched from her. She’d refused his suit, denied him in no uncertain terms. And he was hiding in her barn like a callow youth, pouting over his inability to seduce the love of his life.
The love of his life. He was taken aback at the idea. He’d thought, long ago, that he could set her in a compartment labeled Wife and keep her there, taking her out now and then for his pleasure or to grace his arm, or sit at the head of his table as his hostess. And he’d never really known the woman inside the shell of elegant beauty she possessed.
Now she was set free, had escaped the mold he’d formed for her, and in freeing herself, had filled him, heart and mind and soul, with her presence.
The love of his life? Was she? Could he find another woman who appealed to him as Faith did? Did he even want to try? The answer was clear, as clear as if he looked in a mirror and faced the dour countenance he knew he wore at this moment.
“I beg your pardon,” Max said. He stood outside the screened door, looking as bedraggled as any man she’d ever seen. The rain had long since ceased, and Faith had fed the hens and gathered the eggs, one eye on the closed barn door, behind which her husband was taking his ease.
The sun shone brightly, and a nice wind blew from the west, drying up the puddles that dotted the yard. He’d trudged through them on his way to the house, his hair dry, but totally disordered, his clothing clinging to him, even as it dried against his body. He’d shed his shirt halfway across the yard, hanging it over the clothesline, then continued on his way.
Sitting on the edge of the porch, he’d tugged his boots off, then wrung out his stockings before he hung them on the short line between two posts, where she made it a practice to pin her dish towels to dry. Now he stood before her, his dark eyes shadowed, his beard causing him to look unlike the male creature she had known in Boston, who took immense pride in his immaculate, elegant facade.
He resembled nothing more than a man with an apology to offer, and she hesitated as she decided if she was willing to hear it. “You beg my pardon?” she asked, facing him through the screen.
“Yes. I need to ask your forgiveness for my behavior earlier.” Humble was not a word she would have chosen to portray the Max she remembered from her earlier life. Yet it seemed an appropriate description for his appearance at her door. Hat in hand would be a more accurate depiction, she thought, except that his hat was even now hanging on a hook inside her kitchen.
“My forgiveness?” she repeated, attempting to digest his meaning. “For the kiss you took? Or the assumption you made that I would toss back the sheets and invite you into my bed?”
He looked taken aback at her words. “You’ve changed, Faith,” he said finally.
“Have I? Because I speak my mind?”
His nod was slow, his eyes lighting with amusement. “Not only that,” he said, “but you’re so damned independent.” He chuckled and opened the door, walking past her to stand near the stove, rubbing his hands together. “Your barn doesn’t provide much in the way of creature comforts. It’s cold out there.”
She shrugged. “You’re the one who chose to tramp through the rain and spend half the morning with the horses. I hope you put them out to pasture, by the way.”
He seemed ready to make amends as he nodded in reply, and then reinforced it with a quiet plea. “If I ask nicely, will you let me have a cup of coffee?”
She considered for a moment, enjoying his penitent mood, although he had almost ruined it with his smile and smart remarks. “There’s enough in the pot, I think. Probably too strong, but still fit to drink if you’re desperate.”
“I am,” he said solemnly. And the glance he shot in her direction appeared to hold more than one message in its dark depths.
It was something she decided not to examine too closely, and instead, lifted a cup from the shelf and poured it full of the strong coffee she’d kept warm for just this moment. “Did you clean the stalls?” she asked casually.
“Yes. I used the wheelbarrow and lugged the whole mess out to the manure pile. Managed to ruin my boots. I’ll probably end up buying another pair.”
Her shrug was uncaring. “You’ll learn how to clean them if you stick around long enough. I manage to get by with one pair.”
“You wear house shoes,” he reminded her. “Your boots stay on the porch for the most part.”
“I’d say it was a good place for yours, too.” She turned from him, lifting her dish towel to wipe at a spotless pane of glass in her kitchen cabinet, then concentrated on watching her fingers as they traced the wooden framework.
“By the way, I’m sticking around,” he said, catching her attention. “I haven’t given up on changing your mind.” His hesitation was long and then he spoke again. “Will you go to town with me, Faith?” he asked quietly. “I think we need to send off the papers you signed, and I’d like to buy you some things at the general store.”
Her breath snagged in her throat at the thought of appearing in Benning with Max at her side. “What sort of things?” she asked.
“Turn around and look at me.”
She did as he commanded, leaning back on the cabinet. “All right. I’m looking.”
“Do you need to make everything so difficult?” he asked quietly. “Can we just be…pleasant to each other for one day?”
“Does being pleasant involve you spending money on me? For things I can do very nicely without?”
“I want to buy you new dresses. Nothing fancy,” he amended quickly as she opened her mouth to deny her need for such things. “Just simple cotton. Bright colors, maybe, and I’ll almost guarantee any undergarments you brought with you have long since worn out. You can choose new ones, and maybe a nightgown. Or whatever you might need,” he added quickly.
“Why?” she asked, shoving her trembling fingers into her apron pockets. “What’s the purpose of spending money on me? To put me in your debt? Maybe make me look at you differently?”
“Maybe,” he said slowly, “because I want to. Because it would give me pleasure to buy you something to show off your pretty face and form a bit more than that dress you’re wearing is capable of doing. And because I feel more than a little guilty that you haven’t had anything new, while I have a closetful of suits in Boston.”
“You want to show off my—” She halted, pressing her lips together. “I don’t need fancy things here,” she said. He’d never been so forthright in his assessment of her charms before, and the thought of how much more delicate and fragile she’d been in those early years made her smile.
“I’m not nearly as attractive as I once was,” she told him. “Or else your vision has deteriorated in your old age.”
At that he winced, then grinned. “Ah, you’ve no idea how lovely you are, Faith. You’re a mature woman now, whereas you were only a girl when I married you. I find myself leaning toward maturity, I think.”
“Well, that’s nice,” she said, at a loss for words. She sought his dark eyes, trying without success to fathom their depths. And then she shrugged. “I expect you can spend your money on me if you like. My wardrobe is sparse enough that it could use a few additions.”
His smile was immediate, and she thought he looked more than a little triumphant as he swallowed a good bit of his coffee. “Would you like to go today?” he asked.
“Why not?” she replied. “I need to carry a load of eggs to the general store, anyway. Yesterday was my usual day to deliver them and pick up my mail.”
“Half an hour?” he asked, rising and heading for the room he’d slept in. “I just need to wash up and change my clothes.” His fingers scrubbed at his jaw. “And shave, too, I suspect.”
“Half an hour,” she agreed.
The eggs were secured in a burlap sack, each wrapped in a bit of newspaper and layered between inches of straw. It was a good method of transporting them, she’d found through trial and error. The same way she’d discovered other ways of surviving.
Faith saved all her newspapers for this purpose, after reading and rereading the printed pages. It was her one luxury, the mailing of a weekly edition from the nearest large city. As she fetched them and began wrapping her precious eggs, Max watched for a moment, then started to tear the newsprint into pieces appropriate for her use. “One sack full?” he asked as she tied the first burlap bag in a loose knot.
“No, I only fill the bags halfway, so the eggs on the bottom don’t break from the weight,” she said, reaching for a second bag from the pantry shelf. “One on each side of my saddle, behind me. I could use the wagon and team, I suppose. In fact, I do, when I’m in need of bulkier supplies.”
She looked up at him. “The truth is, I enjoy riding my mare. I don’t usually have much of a schedule to keep. I’ve learned to appreciate the view, Max.”
“As I’m doing, even now,” he said, sliding a quick glance her way.
She laughed, deciding to appreciate his humor and the dry wit she’d almost forgotten he was capable of. “You were fun to be with,” she said, her thoughts making themselves known before her better sense prevailed.
“Thank you,” he replied. “I enjoyed your company, too. In fact, I was probably one of the proudest men in Boston when I escorted you from home.”
“Were you?” She heard the note of surprise she could not conceal.
“You didn’t realize how much of an asset you were to me?”
She thought about that for a moment, her hands slowing in the methodical task of egg wrapping and securing. A layer of straw came next, and she lifted it from the supply she’d sent him for, a washtub filled with the yellow, rough, scratchy residue from thrashing the wheat, donated for her use by the neighbor to the east.
“I don’t suppose I ever considered myself an asset to you, just a decoration for your arm, and a partner when you chose to dance with me.” And then she thought of the nights when their return from an evening in company usually ended with him visiting her bedroom. “Did I seem more appealing to you when I was dressed in my finest?”
“You’ve never been more appealing to me than you are at this very moment,” he said, his hands touching hers as they spread straw in the confined depths of the burlap sack. The straw fell to the bottom, covering the layer of eggs, and their fingers entwined, his gripping hers with a gentle strength she did not attempt to escape.
She was speechless, feeling pursued by a man intent on seduction, and yet willing to allow it. There was an inner sense of satisfaction that permitted him this moment of intimacy, as small as it might be.
For just this moment, she felt exceedingly feminine, wonderfully desirable and just a bit breathless as she knew the warmth of a man’s hands clasping hers, and recognized the desire gleaming in his eyes.
Chapter Four
“Didn’t know Miss Faith had a husband,” Mr. Metcalf said, lifting an eyebrow as Max introduced himself upon arrival at the general store.
“I’ve been back East,” Max told him. “Business has made it impossible for me to be a part of my wife’s life for the past little while,” he added casually, slanting a glance in Faith’s direction as he answered the storekeeper’s pointed remark.
Mr. Metcalf nodded, apparently swallowing the ambiguous theory for Max’s sudden appearance at Faith’s side this morning. She’d liked to have kicked Max in the shins for his arrogance, and then smacked Mr. Metcalf a good one for his gullible acceptance of the explanation.
Instead, she bit her tongue and decided to hustle Max from the place before he caused any more speculation among the townsfolk. It would be hard enough to explain away his disappearance once he gave up on her and headed back to Boston. There was no point in folks thinking he was going to be a permanent fixture in her life.
Tucking her precious newspaper beneath her arm, she approached the counter where Max waited. Her mail was generally pretty scanty, and today was no different, only the delivery of the Sunday issue of the Dallas paper. Subscribing was a luxury she could barely afford, but the news it offered fed her need to keep up with the world outside of Benning, Texas.
Max looked impatient now, and well he might, since Mr. Metcalf, apparently accepting his presence, was bending his ear with a tale about a customer who had refused to pay his long-standing bill. “Yessir, that fella just about fried my gizzard,” the storekeeper cackled. “I told him, in no uncertain terms, what he could do with—”
Max cut him off with an uplifted hand and an apologetic smile. “Here’s my wife now, sir. I’m sure she’s in a hurry to get back home, aren’t you, dear?”
Faith glanced at him, his term of endearment causing her to grit her teeth. She vacillated between rescuing him from the storekeeper and leaving him to stew. Rescue won, hands down, as she recalled other days when she’d been the victim of Mr. Metcalf’s droning monotone.
“Here’s my list,” she said quickly. “I left eight dozen eggs on the counter, Mr. Metcalf, in the crock where I usually put them.”
He glanced up at her and nodded, then took her list with a resigned sigh, turning to the shelves to search for the items she needed.
Max shot her a grin and leaned against the counter. “How do we go about choosing clothes for you?” he asked in an undertone.
“I look for Mrs. Metcalf,” Faith said quietly. “I think she must be in the back.” And as she spoke, that lady appeared through the curtain that divided the store from the stockroom.
“Good morning,” she said brightly, spotting Faith and heading in their direction.
“We need some things for my wife,” Max told the woman, and Faith watched as the plump lady who had the misfortune to be wed to Mr. Metcalf figuratively fell at Max’s feet.
“Why, land’s sakes,” she said brightly. “I surely didn’t know our Miss Faith had a good-looking husband like you. She’s been keeping secrets.”
Her smile was wide, her eyes sparkling as Max nodded agreeably, charming her almost effortlessly, it seemed. At his request, she sorted through bins of clothing that lined the shelves and within moments had placed several dresses on the counter for Faith’s approval. Two were set aside quickly, as being too dark and plain, according to Max. A blue-checked cotton with lace edging the collar was chosen, along with a leafy-green frock Faith privately thought was too dressy for her style of living.
She drew the line at two, and then watched as Max pointed a finger at one bit of lace and batiste after another, choosing undergarments for her from the assortment provided by the wide-eyed shopkeeper’s wife. A finely woven lawn nightgown was added to the growing stack, and Faith almost blushed as she considered wearing such a garment to bed in the old farmhouse where feed sacks had been sewn together for her last nightgown.
“That’s enough,” she said finally, and as Max looked at her, he shrugged, acknowledging defeat at her hands.
“Maybe next time we’ll—” he began, but was cut off midsentence by Faith’s hand on his arm, hauling him toward another counter where boots were displayed.
“You’d better buy either new boots or a pair of shoes to wear indoors,” she said firmly. “You’ve bought me all you’re going to. I don’t even need that much, and if you don’t quit now, I’ll give back that whole pile of things.”
Yet her heart nudged her as he finally nodded acceptance of her terms. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” she said quietly. “I appreciate that you want to help me, Max. I just don’t need any more than that.”
“This may come as a surprise to you, but I needed to do this for you,” he said finally. “We’re not going to discuss it right now, but I’m fighting with a load of guilt, and this has only begun to alleviate a bit of my burden.”
He tried on boots, walking back and forth across the floor under the surveillance of Mr. Metcalf and his wife. They both looked pleased by the prospect of Max and his money dropping by their establishment today, and Faith settled down on a seat near the cold, potbellied stove while she waited for him to make the decision.
Max, it seemed, was the center of attention, as several ladies came into the store and stood about in a group, speaking softly and darting glances his way. Ignoring them all, he focused on Faith, asking her opinion, and then choosing several candy sticks, obviously with her in mind.
“You like peppermint, as I recall,” he said, bowing as he offered her a red-and-white-striped specimen. Root beer was his favorite, she remembered, and she watched as he sucked on a bit of candy, recalling another day when they’d walked in the park, early in their courtship, and he’d broken off a piece for her.
I like peppermint better. She’d smiled up at him and thought him the most gloriously handsome man she’d ever seen. And then she’d laughed aloud as he drew another candy from his pocket and unwrapped it solemnly before he offered it.
Whatever the lady wants. And she’d accepted it, yearning for the taste of root beer from his lips, knowing he would kiss her before he left her in the front hallway of her aunt’s home.
“I said, are you ready?” Max asked, and Faith was aware that he’d repeated the question while her mind had wandered to the park in Boston.
She rose quickly. “Yes. We need to be on our way.”
The clothing he’d purchased was folded neatly, wrapped in brown paper and placed in the egg sacks. The bits and pieces of dry goods, salt and coffee, and a slab of bacon Max had determined they needed, were gathered together, wrapped and placed in another burlap bag, then tied behind Max’s saddle. The bags hung on either side and Max was forced to lead his horse to a mounting block in order to gain the height necessary to fit himself in the saddle without dislodging his purchases.
Faith laughed aloud as he rode beside her. “You look like Louie the peddler,” she said, chuckling as they headed out of town.
“And who the dickens is he?” Max asked, returning her smile with a look of satisfaction. “And by the way, I like hearing you laugh, ma’am.”
“He’s a little old man who rides up to my back door about three times a year, with a packful of odds and ends. I always ask him in for coffee, and he shakes his head and tells me he prefers tea. Which I already know, of course.”
She smiled apologetically. “You have to be a part of his ritual to understand. I put the kettle on to heat as soon as I see him heading toward the house, and he digs around in his pack and finds a special blend of tea, and we share whatever I have in the pantry. Usually a slice of bread and jam or cookies, or sometimes….” Her words trailed off and she shrugged, thinking Max must surely consider her small pleasures to be foolish.
And then he surprised her, his voice almost wistful as he said, “You make it sound like fun. I never thought about you entertaining a peddler man, Faith. I would have worried that he might not be safe, that you’d be in danger from him.”
Max looked at the serenity of trees and meadows surrounding them, and then up at the sky overhead, where fleecy clouds decorated the brilliant blue like an overturned, China-blue teacup with dabs of whipping cream on the surface. The sun was leaning toward the west, and by the time they reached the farmhouse, it would be past time for supper and the evening chores.
For now, though, he intended to savor the moments they spent together. “It’s different here,” he said. “Peaceful and quiet. Perhaps I’ve worried for nothing.”
“You should talk to Nicholas and Lin,” she said, “if you think it’s always so tranquil in these parts. We’ve had our share of trouble, and there’ve been occasions of cattle rustlers or men on the run who can pose a threat to our well-being.”
She touched the rifle she carried with her, firmly sheathed behind her saddle. “That’s why I take this with me when I leave the house. I learned early on to watch my back.” And then she sent an apologetic look in his direction. “I don’t mean to spoil your image of this part of the country, Max. For the most part, it’s safe and I feel secure.”
Lines marred the width of his forehead as he listened, and then he shrugged, as if setting aside his concern. “I suppose there’s danger no matter where you live, Faith. Boston has a beautiful, orderly facade it offers to visitors, but there are pockets in the city where no one in his right mind would walk alone at night.”
“Well, for the most part, I feel at home here. I can roam the woods at night if I please. And with the dog beside me, I doubt anyone would bother me. We have a good sheriff,” Faith said. “Brace has a reputation for upholding the law, and there are few men in the area who would want to face him in a gun battle.”
“And with him to look after you, you’ve felt pretty—”
She halted him with an uplifted hand. “I look after myself, Max. Make no mistake, I can use this gun, and I’m not afraid to fire it.”
His grin was a teasing reminder of the session with the rattlesnake. “As I well know,” he said, bowing his head in a parody of respect. “My wife, the gunslinger.”
She shrugged, sending him a fleeting smile. “I’ve been called worse.”
“I don’t think I want to know about it, if you have,” he said. “I’d probably be ready to go to your defense, and end up getting shot for my trouble.”
“Haven’t you ever fired a rifle?” she asked. At his silent denial, a subtle, seemingly reluctant shake of his head, she posed another question. “Would you like me to teach you?”
“I suppose I could get the hang of it in a hurry,” he said. “I’ve carried a small pistol for years. I’d think shooting a rifle or shotgun wouldn’t be beyond my intelligence to figure out.”
“We’ll do it tomorrow,” Faith said. “I have a supply of shells, and I can get more when I go to town next.” And then she closed her eyes, thinking of what she had just said. Assuming he would be here, she was already planning for another trip to Benning, and making out a list.
“Don’t worry, sweet,” Max said quietly. “I’ll be sure you’re stocked up with whatever you need to run the place, no matter how many trips to town we have to take.”
“You probably won’t be here that long, anyway,” she said stiffly. “I doubt your business will tolerate your absence more than a week or so.”
“My brother is in charge while I’m gone,” Max said. “I told you he owes me some time off. He can consider this our honeymoon. The one I never gave you, due to pressing business.” His voice ground out the words—words she’d considered one small part of her litany of complaints during the years of their marriage.
“Pressing business” had been one, “family responsibilities” another. And Faith had dangled at the end of the list of his priorities, a wife who demanded little and expected less. Perhaps, she thought, as recognition of her own faults brought pain to her heart, she might have been better at this marriage business had she made more noise, gotten his attention more frequently.
“I’m trying to make amends, Faith,” he said quietly. “I’m not sure if I’m making any progress or not, but if there’s any chance to mend our marriage and have you back in my life, I’m willing to spend all the time it takes to bring that about.”
“I won’t deny you that right,” she said, “but don’t count on anything where I’m concerned, Max. My memories leave a lot to be desired, and to be honest with you, I’m not sure you’re capable of the sort of marriage I might demand.”
“I’m asking for time,” he told her. “And a chance to prove to you that I mean business. I want you back.”
“I’ll never be the woman I was,” she warned him. “Don’t try to make me into that docile little wife you once knew.” He gave no reply, but his jaw firmed as he nodded. They rode in silence, and then as they approached the back of the house, she slid from her mare.
Turning to him, she reached up to loosen the sacks from behind his saddle. “I’ll lift these to the ground first, so you can dismount easier.”
He snagged the burlap bags from behind his saddle and helped her, lowering them into her hands. Then he slid from the saddle himself and took them up to carry them into the house. “If you’ll wait a minute, I’ll help you tend the horses,” he told her.
But she was already on her way to the barn, leading their mounts. “I’ll start,” she said. “You can finish up.” Besides, she wanted a minute to herself, needed a few long moments of reflection as she thought of what would come next. Max was creeping into her life as he’d once crept into her heart. And she could not allow that to happen again, no matter how empty her days would be once he was gone from here.
“I think I’ll use the wagon and my team from now on when I go to town,” Faith said, setting aside her grooming tools and shaking out the saddle blankets before she spread them on the rail where they were stored. She’d groomed her mare, paying special attention to the rounded belly, then sighed, as if she recognized a sign Max was not aware of.
“Because the mare is ready to deliver?” he asked. “How can you tell?”
“It’s her time. I should have stopped riding her a month ago, I think,” Faith said. “But I’m not very heavy and I didn’t push her.” She looked up at him. “I’m selfish, I suspect.”
He shook his head. “I doubt anyone could apply that word to you. At least I can’t. You were always generous with me.” He thought back, remembering. “Even now,” he said, “you’ve made me feel welcome, even though I know you didn’t want me here. You’ve shared your food with me, given me a bed.”
And then he smiled, his mouth twitching at one corner, and she felt her heart thud in response. “Even though it wasn’t the bed I’d have chosen, I appreciate the fact you didn’t toss me out on my ear.”
“And I appreciate the fact you’ve not tried to invade my bedroom,” she said quietly. “Not that it would have done you any good.”
“No, probably not,” he agreed. “I value my hide too much to expose it to your rifle.”
“I keep a revolver in the drawer beside my bed,” she told him. “Nicholas lent it to me a while back.”
“I’ll buy you one, if you like,” Max said sharply. “You can give Nicholas’s back to him. I’d rather you owe me.”
She smiled, and he thought he caught a glimpse of satisfaction in her eyes. “I do believe you’re a jealous man, Max. And all for naught. Nicholas has no designs on me. I would have thought you’d figured that out by now.”
“I’m aware of that.” His words sounded stiff and awkward in his own ears. “I’m also more than aware of my shortcomings. The fact that I’ve done a poor job of being a husband only makes me more determined to plug the leaks.
“Are you willing to allow me some time to prove my intentions?” he asked as they climbed the steps to the back porch. “I didn’t want this whole thing to come to a matter of legalities, Faith. I know I can stay here, whether you like it or not. But that isn’t my intention. In order for me to have a shot at mending my fences, you’ll have to accept me in your life for a while.”
She shrugged, opening the back door. “Suit yourself. I think you will anyway.”
Her nonchalance galled him, and he was tempted to bite his tongue, lest he offer a retort that would put her back up. “Shall I help with supper?” he asked instead.
“If you like.” She opened the stove lid and peered inside, then bent to pick up wood from the box. Placing it carefully on the coals, she checked the damper, then went to the sink. Folding her sleeves to her elbows, she performed the small ritual he’d watched several times over the past days—bending to scoop soap from the jar beneath the sink, then scrubbing at her hands and rinsing them in the shallow basin.
A quick movement of the pump handle allowed fresh water to pour from the spout, and she caught it, then lifted her cupped hands to her face, splashing it. When she reached for the towel he was there, holding the bit of linen, and she glanced up quickly, surprise alive in those blue eyes.
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Carolyn Davidson
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Faith Hudson Was Falling In Love With Her Husband!Her marriage was a disaster. Her husband was better off in Boston without her. It had been clear to her then, and it was even clearer now that she′d traveled west and made her home on a Texas ranch. She had no plans of ever returning.But Max Hudson wanted her back. It had taken him three years to find her, and he wasn′t going home without her. It was a matter of principle.…Until he realized he was more in love with the woman Faith had become than he ever could have imagined. And that love just might be what Faith had needed all along.