Texas Gold

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?”