She thought of the letter he had yet to open, and discretion dictated that she not inquire as to its sender. He’d let her know soon enough if it was news she should be privy to. And yet a niggling doubt circled in her mind. The envelope was heavy; the writing, at least as much as she’d seen, had been in a feminine hand.
Probably from his mother, she thought, a feeling of gloom resting on her shoulders.
She accepted Max’s help with the animals and didn’t protest when he carried the valise to the house. The door opened with a creak, and she crossed to the windows to lift them wide, allowing the breeze to enter.
“It’s stuffy in here,” she said, heading for the pantry. “I’ll go on out and feed the chickens. They’ll be wondering if they’ve been forgotten.”
“Didn’t Lin take care of them yesterday?” Max asked. “I thought I heard her say she was riding over in the morning.”
“She did, and she gathered the eggs and brought them back to their place. We’ll be starting fresh today.” The egg basket was handy and Faith reached for it, then slanted a look in Max’s direction as she went toward the back door. He’d settled at the kitchen table and held the letter in his hand, a somber expression on his face.
“Are you all right?” she asked, hesitating on the threshold.
He glanced up quickly and a smile appeared, his eyes brightening as he offered reassurance. “I’m fine, just wondering what my mother wants.” He drew in a deep breath. “Might as well open it and find out, hadn’t I?”
Faith left the house, a premonition of dread settling in her stomach. Whatever the woman wanted, it would mar the day for them. She trudged across the yard to where her chickens waited, gathered by the fence. The barrel of feed was topped by a rock, holding down the lid, and she tossed it to the ground, then bent to fill the basin with chicken feed. Opening the wire gate, she slid inside the enclosure, scattering feed before her, smiling as the hens scratched to get their share. When the basin was empty, she tossed it over the fence and went into the coop where the laying boxes held the day’s bounty.
The eggs were still warm and she piled them gently in the basket, then let herself out the front door of the coop. Replacing the feed basin in the barrel, she headed for the house. It was time to face whatever Max’s mother had up her sleeve.
“You’re telling me I have three days to prepare for company,” Faith stated quietly. She sat before her dressing table, brushing her hair, watching Max in the mirror as he sat on the edge of the bed.
“She’ll be here on Saturday,” he told her. “It’s too late to stop her, Faith. Even if I sent a wire now, she’d already be on her way by the time it arrived. Or else she’d just ignore it. When my mother gets a bee in her bonnet, there’s no stopping her.”
“So she’ll show up here on Saturday, and then what?” The brush was placed carefully on the dressing table, when Faith’s first inclination was to throw it across the room. She scraped her hair together and began braiding it.
Max frowned. “Do you have to do that?”
She felt ornery, she decided. Max liked her hair loose, but she wasn’t in a mood to make him happy tonight. It was utterly foolish. She was aware that he had no jurisdiction over his mother’s comings and goings, but there was no one else to vent her anger on. Max was the target, like it or not.
“She won’t be happy when she finds out you were wounded,” Faith said, ignoring his disapproval. “I’ll bet she has you on a train back East lickety-split. You’ll be hauled off to the finest doctor in Boston.”
“I had fine care right here,” he said mildly. “I don’t need a doctor in Boston, or anywhere else for that matter.”
Well, that was one point in her favor, Faith decided silently. She’d proved to be a worthy nursemaid, whether his mother approved of his care or not. “What did she say in the letter?” Faith asked finally, unable to bear his silence.
“Just that she’s coming here and hoping to settle on a time for me to return home.”
Faith dropped her eyes and turned aside, aware of Max’s ability to gauge her mood should he take a good look at her face. “And when will that be?” she asked sharply.
He rose from the bed. “I don’t know, Faith. But I’ll have to go back sometime. You know that. I’ve already stayed longer than I’d planned when I arrived.”
“I haven’t tied you down,” she told him, bending to pick up her house shoes and tossing them toward the wardrobe.
“I’m here because it’s where I want to be.”
Faith heard the words as if through a whistling wind, so rapidly did her heart beat in her ears. Fear raced the length of her spine, sending chills to dwell in the depths of her being. He would leave. As surely as she was alive and breathing, he would pack his bag and turn away from her at his mother’s bidding. And she would be alone once more.
Her head lifted, her chin tilting upward. She’d been by herself before. She’d survived without him for three years, and she could do it again. She’d known this was coming, had recognized that she couldn’t leave with him, would be unable to accept the life he offered her in the East. It was pointless to grieve for what could not be.
“Faith?” He was behind her, lifting her from the bench, easing her into his embrace. “Don’t turn away, sweetheart. I can’t stand it when you freeze up this way. I can only think of those dark days in Boston when you retreated from me and I was at a loss as to what to do to reach you.”
“I have to protect myself,” she said quietly, barely recognizing the sound of her own voice. Harsh and chill, her words were a shield thrown up to hide the aching heart that threatened to burst within her breast. “I should have known better than to let you find a place in my life again. There was no doubt in my mind when you came that I’d be left holding the bag one day, Max. And now I can see it happening.”
He gripped her shoulders with hands that didn’t allow escape. “I told you when I got here that I wanted you back, Faith. I told you my aim was to bring you with me to Boston. I haven’t changed my mind on that score.”
She jerked futilely in his grasp. “And I haven’t changed mine,” she retorted. “The only thing I left behind when I left Boston was my baby’s grave. I don’t need to go back there to remember him. His memory will always remain in my heart.” Her voice rose in a spoken vow. “I won’t ever go back and live in that…that mausoleum again.”
“Mausoleum? Is that what you call my family home? A tomb?”
Her jaw was taut, her teeth clenched, and she glared in fury as she spat out the words that fought to be uttered. “Yes. A tomb. A place where your mother would have buried me forever. I was one of the living dead, Max. And you were too thickheaded to recognize how terribly unhappy I was.”
She wrenched away from him and he caught his breath sharply, growling an oath. His hands dropped from her and he stuffed them in his pockets. The bandage on his arm stood out, bringing her attention to the wound as his muscle twitched and his mouth twisted in pain.
“If I hurt you, I’m sorry,” she said politely. “I didn’t mean to put strain on your arm.”
“I’ll live,” he told her, snatching up his shirt from the chair where he’d dropped it only minutes before. He slid his arms into the sleeves and, leaving it to hang open, turned to leave the bedroom.
Faith pressed a hand against her lips, unwilling to ask his destination, unable to keep back the sobs that ached to be allowed out. Tears ran unchecked from her eyes, and with blurring vision, she watched him stride from the room.
Chapter Twelve
Faith changed the dressing on his wound in silence, each evening carefully unwrapping, then inspecting the stitches she’d set in place. A healing poultice was applied, then covered with fresh bandages. “You’ll need to have these stitches removed when you reach Boston,” she told him on the second day. “It’s healing well.”
“You can take them out before I go.”
“I doubt they’ll be ready.” His skin was warm, his scent that of a
man in need of loving—a faintly musky, delicately tinged aroma that enticed her to glance toward his lap as she stood between his thighs. As she did, he dropped his hands to rest there, and she felt her lips twist in silent laughter.
He tilted his head and caught her eye. His wry grin acknowledged her amusement, and he murmured words she bent to hear. “See what you do to me?”
“Not on purpose.” Her smile disappeared, and she was irritated with her own response. Thankfully, a woman’s arousal was easier to conceal than that of a randy man. A taut fullness in her breasts and a warm tingling in the depths of her belly told the tale of her newly awakened flesh. It would never do, she decided grimly, and, gritting her teeth, she banished it to oblivion, ignoring her body’s awareness of the man before her.
“Obviously, you can get along without me, Faith. I never doubted that. But I’m bright enough to know that you’ve enjoyed what we’ve shared.”
“I haven’t denied that.” She wrapped the bandage firmly in place, holding it with a large piece of adhesive plaster.
“And you can forget me when I’m gone, never think about me?” He shifted, his muscular thighs enclosing her. “You won’t miss me?”
Exasperation chilled her words. “I managed before you got here. I’ll do just fine when you leave.”
“I’ll be back,” he promised.
“Will you?” She moved to step away from him, and his legs parted, releasing her.
“Not till spring, probably. I have things that require my presence over the autumn months, and winter makes travel difficult. But when the weather breaks…”
Faith turned aside as his voice softened. “Don’t make promises to me, Max.”
“All right.” He rose from the chair and gathered the soiled bandages, rolling them into a tidy bundle and then placing them in the stove for burning. “Thank you.” His words of appreciation followed her as she left the kitchen, and she nodded, barely able to see where she walked because of the tears blurring her vision.
It wasn’t fair that she should be so foolish over the man. That she should ache so at the thought of his leaving. Reaching the sanctuary of her bedroom, she closed the door and leaned against it, allowing the tears to run unchecked down her cheeks, until sobs began to choke her and she dived for the bed. A pillow muffled the sounds she would not allow him to hear, and it was the middle of the night before she rose to undress and crawl beneath the sheet.
Morning brought birdsong and the sound of her rooster greeting the dawn. Max had slept somewhere in the house for the past two nights. Probably in the spare room, she decided, although the sofa in the parlor was a possibility. One thing was for sure—her bed was a lonely place during the long night hours, and she’d hugged the pillow against her breasts to ease the pain of Max’s absence.
Heartache was not a stranger, but Faith’s familiarity with its presence didn’t make it more palatable. She’d almost forgotten the long days and nights three years ago. Her chest had ached with a constant misery, even though all her intelligence told her such a pain had no real relationship to the physical organ that beat there. A broken heart was a figure of speech, a term used by those who felt pangs of rejection or the pain of loss when a lover fled from their lives.
The loss of both her lover and the child she’d borne him had created in Faith almost unbearable anguish—that of a woman betrayed and then left alone to mourn.
She shook her head at the fanciful thoughts that filled it this morning. Max had not intentionally betrayed her. She couldn’t hang that particular sin on him. But he had allowed his mother to dictate the terms of their marriage. And for that, Faith found herself unwilling to forgive him.
Perhaps…She shook her head. No, he would never turn his back on the woman who had raised her sons to be loyal to family and business first and foremost. His wife must make her own life, fitting it around that of Maxwell McDowell, businessman. And in her heart, Faith knew she could no longer fit that pattern.
He would leave—he’d said as much. She looked into her own eyes as she sat before the mirror, drawing her hair up into a knot atop her head. It was part of the armor she donned today. Hair tightly controlled, dark dress buttoned to the throat, her apron tied about her waist to keep her full skirts away from the stove.
If Max’s information was correct, Hazel McDowell would arrive today. And when she walked through the door she would see a no-nonsense woman in place.
Faith rose and inspected herself. She was about as unattractive as she was likely to get, she decided. Max would find little to inspire him to seek her out now. No longer was she casting smiles in his direction. The small byplay they’d indulged in was over. Once his mother arrived he’d no doubt be more than ready to take his leave from this primitive way of life she had chosen.
Within twenty minutes, the kitchen was redolent with the scent of coffee brewing and bacon frying on the back of the stove. From the open doorway, she spotted Max striding toward the house, egg basket slung over his arm, Wolf gamboling around his feet. As if begging for attention, the dog darted before his erstwhile playmate and barked sharply. All to no avail. Max was not playing games today.
His brow was furrowed as he entered the back door and cast her a long look. “I took care of the horses and gathered the eggs.”
“Leave the basket on the table. I’ll take care of them.” Faith’s words were terse and to the point, and Max did not argue. Depositing the wicker basket, he walked to the sink and washed his hands, then bent to splash water on his face, running long damp fingers through his hair to tame its waves.
Faith wiped the eggs with a clean, wet cloth and placed them in the crockery bowl she used for storage. Five of them were broken quickly into another dish and whisked to a frothy foam. In moments she had lifted the bacon from its pan and drained off the grease into a cup, then spilled the eggs into the skillet to cook.
Bread was sliced, coffee poured, and still she was silent. Max took his cue from her and worked around her, setting the table and bringing the butter and jam from the pantry. Seating herself at the table, she pushed the bowl of scrambled eggs in his direction and busied herself with buttering a piece of bread.
“She’s due to arrive this morning, Faith. There are things we need to talk about,” he said, serving himself and lifting his gaze as he settled the dish before her.
“What would you like me to say?” she asked, her gaze averted. “I’ll put clean sheets on my bed for your mother to sleep on while she’s here, and I’ll try to cook meals that will suit her refined tastes.”
Max felt a chill touch his spine at her words. Faith was not going to give an inch, and he was caught in the midst of a storm that was almost guaranteed to leave victims behind. His mother was a known factor in this situation. Faith, on the other hand, had changed so drastically over the past years, he wasn’t sure just how she would cope with Hazel McDowell’s presence in her home. At least it wouldn’t be a long visit. If he knew his parent as well as he thought, she would be champing at the bit to return East by Sunday.
“I’m getting used to the parlor sofa after the last couple of nights,” he said dryly. “And I’m sure you or my mother will be equally comfortable in the spare room. Unless you’d like me to join you upstairs. I’m sure that bed will hold both of us.”
“Us?” Faith’s brow rose scornfully. “There is no us,” she told him. “There is simply Maxwell McDowell and his estranged wife. And if I have to I can even manage to sleep on the floor in one of the empty rooms upstairs for a couple of nights.”
“What are you talking about? You needn’t sleep on the floor.” He felt his irritation with her grow by leaps and bounds. The woman was deliberately inciting him to anger, and from the gleam in her eye, was enjoying his frustration.
“I’m giving her my room,” Faith said. “She won’t be here long enough to inconvenience me. I’d say twenty-four hours should about do it.”
“Do what?” He heard the tenor of his voice change, noted the gruff tone he
employed and caught a glimpse of Faith’s superior expression as she cast him a long look.
“It should be just about long enough for her to have you hotfooting it off to Benning to catch the Monday afternoon train.”
Max tilted his chair back a bit. “Ah, I see,” he said quietly, proud of the light inflection of his words. “You’ve already got me on the train, have you?”
She met his gaze fully and nodded. “I don’t see that you have any choice,” she said politely. “You’re going back to Boston…and I’m not.”
The front legs of his chair hit the floor with a bang. “What I want from you doesn’t matter, does it? What I see as a future for us together doesn’t mean anything.”
Her brows lifted and she feigned surprise. “Oh? Did you have a future planned with me in mind?”
Hurt gathered under his skin like prickly heat, and he stood abruptly. “You don’t recall, I suppose, the description I gave you of the house and property I’ve been looking at outside of the city. Nor do you consider the nights we’ve spent together in your bed as a change in our status, do you?”
“We haven’t been sleeping together lately.” Her eyes were cool, yet there was an underlying shadow in them as she responded. “I’m very aware of the depth of our relationship. I was here and you were in need of a woman’s touch, Max. I didn’t make you any promises, and you certainly didn’t aim any in my direction.”
“I told you I’ll be back. Damn it, Faith! You told me you loved me.” The words were a shout, punctuated by the sound of his chair hitting the floor as he shoved it aside.
“Yes, I did,” she admitted agreeably. “I’ve never claimed not to be gullible. And you’ve always been very talented when you set your mind to it. I was caught up in the moment, I suspect.”
Texas Gold (Mills & Boon Historical) Page 20
