Texas Gold

“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.