Not now, perhaps not ever.
His mouth left one last kiss against her throat, and without touching the lips that opened for his kiss, without allowing himself the pleasure of coaxing her into submission, he loosed his hold on her and stepped away.
“Max?” She blinked and looked up at him, and he derived one hard-earned moment of enjoyment at the look she wore. He’d left her wanting, and that was a victory he seized on, hoping it would be to his benefit. The presence of his masculinity in full bloom within the confines of his trousers was giving him severe discomfort, and he desperately needed all the advantage he could gain from this encounter.
“I won’t put that kind of pressure on you again,” he said, noting the rough tones of his voice, aware that desire had manifested itself in more ways than one. “I’m sorry, Faith. I shouldn’t have taken advantage.”
She nodded, her own cheeks a rosy hue, her eyes shining with passion. “I appreciate your restraint,” she said simply, and then turned to walk away. He grinned. The woman lied. As surely as he was standing here with an aching need and the bulge in his drawers to prove it, she’d lied to him. Appreciate? He’d lay odds that she was chewing on her tongue even now.
The woman lied, and he was exultant.
Chapter Eight
Nicholas had decreed the mare was ready to be bred, from the looks of things. Together, he and Max walked from the barn to the back porch, Nicholas leading the gelding he’d ridden over at Faith’s declaration of Goldie’s readiness. The two men spoke in low tones, their heads bent as if some matter not fit for female consumption was being discussed.
Faith watched from the back door and knew a moment’s uneasiness as they approached. A year ago, when Goldie had first been introduced to Nicholas’s stud, she’d felt no such compunction at speaking freely to him about the breeding to take place. Now, with Max in the picture, Faith was strangely embarrassed to talk about the stallion in front of him. As if his presence made it unfitting for her to discuss the procedure with Nicholas.
She stepped out onto the porch, her hands shoved deeply in the pockets of her apron, and waited impatiently until the men should notice her. Max looked up first, caught her eye and paused midsentence, nudging Nicholas with his elbow.
“Faith.” Nicholas spoke her name as a greeting and smiled, his usual, darkly handsome grin. Even as a married woman, she’d found she was not immune to the beauty of the man, admiring him as she might a fine work of art, though she felt not a twinge of desire for him.
Now, with Max in the picture, even Nicholas’s strikingly handsome features had definitely taken a back seat. They could have been related, the two of them were so alike in stature, their masculine images cast in the same mold of confidence and arrogance that suited them so well. They stood now, not fifteen feet from her and their eyes met, Nicholas nodding briefly before he climbed up into his saddle.
He turned to Faith and tipped his hat, a courteous gesture she was familiar with, and then rode away. Max watched him go, and she thought he inhaled deeply before long strides carried him to the porch. His boot touched the second step, and he leaned with his forearms on his knee, looking up at her.
“What’s the decision?” she asked, although she already sensed what he would say.
“Nick said she’s ready,” Max told her, tilting his hat back a bit, the better to see her face. He looked sober, his eyes dark, as if he waited for her to deny Nicholas’s decision.
“I told him that yesterday,” she said sharply. “But he couldn’t take my word for it, could he?” She turned and opened the screened door, entering the kitchen without another word.
Men. Once Max had made an appearance at the farmhouse, and was accepted by Nicholas, he’d become just another part of the brotherhood. Between them, they managed to close ranks, not allowing a woman’s presence to interfere in manly doings. She slammed the skillet on the stove and turned toward the pantry. The screened door slammed again, and Max stalked across the kitchen, capturing her effectively in the narrow storage area.
“What the hell is all this about?” he asked gruffly. His eyes were narrowed and piercing, and she met his gaze with anger bubbling inside her, like a geyser ready to blow.
“It’s my mare you’ve been out there discussing, making up your minds like two…two men,” she said harshly.
“We are two men,” Max said quietly, reaching for her. His hands clamped around her waist and he held her before him, immobile and ready for an argument. “I don’t know what’s got you all in a dither, Faith. You knew Nick was coming over this afternoon, and you knew I’d be out in the barn with him.”
“I’m not in a dither,” she said staunchly, sensing the nearness of tears, and totally unable to understand why she was ready to cry and at the same time about to haul off and punch her husband where it would do the most good.
“Well, something’s got you all in an uproar,” he said reasonably. “And I think I deserve to know what it is.” He cocked his head to one side. “Are you mad because we didn’t invite you to walk out to the barn while we checked out Goldie?”
“I would have been embarrassed if I had,” she said, aware that her lower lip protruded just a bit. “But she’s my mare.”
He released her and stepped back. “Yes, she is. And I thought you were all right with her being bred this month. If you’ve changed your mind for any reason, I’ll ride over and tell Nick you want to wait awhile.”
Faith turned and snatched at the new pail of lard, carrying it in one hand as she brushed past Max and walked to the stove. A turning fork in one hand, she opened the pail and scraped out a generous-size nugget of lard into the skillet, where it sizzled over the hot fire.
“You want me to put that back?” Max asked nicely, holding out his hand for the lard pail.
She handed it to him and turned back to her cooking, placing several pieces of flour-drenched chicken in the hot grease. They sizzled, browning quickly, and she turned them over with the fork, then lifted the pan, moving it aside to a cooler spot on the stove.
“What can I do to help with supper?” Max asked.
“Just stay out of my way.” The tears were closer now, and if the man didn’t leave her alone, she might just throw something at him. And wasn’t this the most foolish position she’d ever found herself in. Arguing for the sake of a mare who probably couldn’t wait until that big, hulking brute of a stallion arrived tomorrow to…Faith’s mind went blank as the image appeared for a moment, and then disappeared just as quickly.
It was the thought of what would take place in the morning that bothered her so, she realized with a shudder. Aware of a strange warmth within her own body, she recalled that errant thought, that image that had been placed in her mind as she thought of Nicholas’s stallion. Imagined him mounting her mare’s golden back and taking his pleasure at the smaller horse’s expense.
And yet, if the mare was ready, as she’d been a year ago, she would not fight the stallion, but offer herself to him, the foolish creature. No matter that his masculine member would provide her with only fleeting relief from the heat nature had bestowed upon her, in order to guarantee the increase of the population of horses such as Goldie. The foolish creature would allow it, even as she uttered shrill sounds of protest.
And then she would bear a colt, or another filly, in eleven months, and suffer its loss when it was sold or—
“Damn it, Faith. I want you to turn around and tell me what your problem is,” Max said, his voice rising as he stomped across the kitchen floor and removed the fork from her hand. With his other hand, he pushed the skillet farther to the back of the stove and then tossed the fork into the sink.
His grip was rough on her now, and she looked up at him in shock. Max had ever been a gentleman where she was concerned. Even yesterday, when he’d kissed her in the corral and then allowed her to walk away, he’d apologized for his actions. Now his fingers dug into her waist and his brow was lowered as if he was beset by a fury he was in no mood to con
trol.
“She’s my mare,” Faith cried aloud. “I’m right back to men making up their minds about my life. You and Nicholas have had your heads together for the past hour, and he’s gone off to his nice little wife, who dotes on him, and you’ve come in here, expecting your supper on the table, and I’m—I’m…”
She felt the tears spurt from her eyes, knew the frustration of salty drops running down her cheeks and falling on her bosom. And saw with amazement that Max was speechless. And then he inhaled sharply, lifting a hand to wipe the tears from her cheek.
“I’ve never expected you to cook for me if you didn’t want to, Faith,” he said finally. “And as to Nick going home to his wife, he said he’d better get a move on, that he’d be catching hell from the three women he lives with if he was late for supper one more time this week.”
“You know what I mean,” Faith wailed, giving up on halting the deluge of tears. It seemed that once she cut loose, she stood no chance of putting a stop to the waterworks.
“No, sweetheart, I’m afraid I don’t,” he said, settling in a kitchen chair next to the table and drawing her onto his lap. “Why don’t you tell me.”
She was silent, and he pulled his kerchief from his back pocket, offering it for her use. She looked it over for a moment, deemed it clean and blew her nose in one corner. Her tears were wiped quickly and she struggled to stand. All to no avail.
“I’m not letting you up until you tell me what’s got your feathers ruffled,” Max said quietly. “I don’t often put my foot down, Faith, but this time I am.”
She took a deep breath, and the conflict she’d been chewing on became apparent as she recalled the breeding process just a year ago. It had been at Nicholas and Lin’s place, and Faith had been relegated to the house during the actual introduction of mare and stallion. But she’d heard the wild, keening whinny of her mare, had known in that instant what was taking place, and for that small space of time, had rued the notion she’d held dear.
That of breeding Goldie not only once, but twice, to the sorrel stallion that Nicholas had purchased for that very reason.
She and Lin had looked at each other in dismay as the mare sounded her distress, and then Lin’s face had darkened as the stallion trumpeted his jubilation at his conquest of the golden mare. “Damn male creatures,” she’d said sharply. “I swear, they’re all alike. Just listen to that stupid stud.”
And they’d laughed then, as if some cloud had passed by. And if Faith thought Nicholas had a darkly determined look on his face when he came into the house and set his gaze on Lin, she’d put it aside, leaving with the mare quickly.
“I remember only too well that Goldie wasn’t really keen on this whole business a year ago, and now I’ve put her in the same position again,” she said quietly, looking down at her hands, both of them clutching the kerchief in her lap.
“She’s a horse, Faith. A mare, whose usefulness to you is measured by the colts or fillies she can give you. You can’t give her credit for having the emotions of a human being.”
“I can so,” she said, glaring up at him. “She’s more than just a brood mare as far as I’m concerned.”
His shrug was agreeable. “Well, then I’ll just ride over and tell Nick you’ve changed your mind. He’ll understand. Maybe.” And then she caught a glimpse of the grin he tried in vain to conceal from her.
She rose from his lap, breaking his hold on her and stomped back to the stove. “You’ve made me burn the chicken,” she said accusingly. “Now, go get the fork you tossed into the sink.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His voice was meek and she looked up at him sharply.
“If you value your life, you won’t make fun of me tonight, Maxwell McDowell.”
“No, ma’am,” he said softly, rinsing the fork under the pump and returning it to her hand. “Can I do something to help you?”
“Yes,” she said. “Go make sure the hen hasn’t hatched those chicks yet. I want to know as soon as they’ve made an appearance so I can take them out of the coop and put them in a separate place.”
“All right,” he said, turning from her and leaving the house. She decided he’d looked relieved to be rid of her presence, and for good measure she stepped to the door to watch as he strolled toward the chicken yard. It had been just three weeks since she’d put the hen in the nesting box in one corner of the coop. And unless she missed her guess, those little peeps would be chipping their way out of the eggs any minute now.
Max went in through the front door of the henhouse and closed the door behind him. She knew it was not his favorite place to spend time. The smell was not conducive to improving his appetite, he’d told her one day after cleaning the floor and replacing the dirty straw with a fresh supply.
For whatever reason, he’d gone there gladly now, and she suspected it was to get away from her and her tears. She turned the chicken in the pan again and recalled her claim. It had not burned. Indeed, it looked crisp and brown and ready for the oven. She liked to bake it once it had browned, leaving her free to put together the rest of her meal. Tonight was no exception. She had potatoes cooking slowly and a kettle of green beans that had been simmering on the back burner for three hours.
The chicken was in the oven and she’d mashed the potatoes and set them aside to stay warm when Max came back in the kitchen.
“You’ve got a whole boxful of baby chicks,” he announced. “What do we do with them now?”
“I’ll move them after supper,” she said. “I have a small pen by the woodshed, with chicken wire over the top and an old doghouse for shelter. The varmints can’t get at them there, and it keeps the little ones away from the rest of the flock.”
“I’ll wash up and set the table,” he volunteered, casting her an inquiring look, as if wondering if he was welcome at her table.
“All right,” she told him, deciding that being agreeable was the best route to take for now. If she decided to change her mind about the mare, she still had time to let Nicholas know before morning. And if the truth be known, she was just a bit embarrassed at having made such a display over the breeding and Max and Nicholas spending time together.
They sorted out the hen and chicks before dark, toting the babies out in a basket, Faith carrying the hen in her apron, where the creature squawked and set up a ruckus Max said was enough to wake the dead. Once the little yellow chicks were settled, and their mother had looked them all over, they hustled into the old doghouse, and Faith bent low to see them there. The hen had her feathers ruffled, covering them beneath her skirt of dusty gray, clucking quietly as she squatted in the bed of fresh straw Max had carted in at Faith’s bidding.
“You want to take another look at the mare and filly?” he asked after she had pronounced the chickens safe for the night.
“Probably not,” she told him. “I’ll just have second thoughts again, and it’s too late now to change my mind.”
“It’s never too late to change your mind, Faith,” he told her as they walked back to the house. “I keep hoping you’ll have second thoughts about me, you know.”
She glanced up at him and frowned. “I told you when you arrived here that I wasn’t going back to Boston with you, Max. I haven’t given you reason to think otherwise, have I?”
He followed her onto the porch and then into the dark kitchen. The sun had set and the house was silent and shadowed. “Do you want me to light the lamp over the table?” he asked, ignoring her query.
“No, I’m almost ready to go to bed,” she told him. “I’ll need to be up early.”
And then she lay awake in the wide bed, her gaze fixed on the midnight sky, agonizing over the diverse emotions that tore at her serenity. Max was worming his way into her heart once more, a position she’d sworn would never be open to any man. She found herself looking forward to each morning as a gift to treasure, a time wherein she might store up memories to keep her company during the long days of winter, when Max would be gone and her life would be empty once more.
<
br /> I’ve never stopped loving him. The thought was alive in her and she recognized it as truth. All her talk, her denial of her need for the man, were as naught in the dark hours of the night. Perhaps, she thought, she might better rise from her solitary bed and seek him out. He would welcome her, of that there was no doubt, and she would once more know the joys and pleasures to be found in the arms of Maxwell McDowell.
And then what? Once he staked a claim, he would never give up. She’d find herself beset by his coaxing, his loving, and eventually would concede defeat to his greater, overwhelming presence in her life. She rose from the bed and stood at the window, aware of the soft breeze that caused her nightgown to outline each curve and hollow of her body.
Max had bought her this garment, and she’d refrained from wearing it, aware that to do so would be a concession to his influence. Now she stood in the midnight hours, craving the blessed sleep that would not come to her, aware that his presence in this house had changed her in a way she had not thought possible.
It had seemed so simple. Allow Max to share her days for a week or so, and then send him on his way, with the knowledge that she’d given him a fair chance and found him wanting.
Wanting. Such a complex word, she thought, leaning her forehead against the windowpane. Encompassing her with his tenderness, surrounding her with his humor and touches of elegance, the man had her almost panting at his heels.
Wanting. She was filled with it, suffused with a yearning for his arms that brought her to the very edge of desire, almost to the brink of passion.
Her behavior in the corral brought flaming color to her cheeks, and she pressed her cool palms against them, recalling her need for him in those few moments. Remembering his cool apology as he set her aside and watched her walk away.
The only redeeming feature of the whole episode had been the knowledge that he was aroused, that the shape of that male member had, for one long moment, been pressed against her, and in that she had reason to rejoice. He was not as aloof, as uninterested as he’d seemed to be in those moments.
Texas Gold (Mills & Boon Historical) Page 13
