Texas Gold

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.