Texas Gold

“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.”