Texas Gold

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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