Silver Lining (32 page)

'Scuse me, Sunshine. Jumping a fence in a blizzard! What in the hell was he thinking of? I swear, sometimes I suspect God didn't give men but half a brain. Would any of us do a damned fool thing like that?"

Livvy smiled and Gilly giggled, and then they were all laughing, great gusts of side-holding laughter that left them breathless and wiping tears from their eyes and cheeks. None of them could have explained why they laughed until they cried except they all felt better afterward.

Later, when Louise and Gilly pulled a sled laden with food down to the bunkhouse, a frozen wind drove snow and ice particles into their hair and faces. But Louise didn't feel the cold. She was warmed by the memory of Wally saying she had a family now. She wasn't alone anymore.

*

The new schedule was far from ideal. Dawn had already broken by the time Dave Weaver arrived to help with the morning feed. And since the days were short, it was dark before Wally arrived, and then he had to change out of his banker's togs and into work duds.

Max drove the sled and in the evenings he held a torch so Louise and Wally could see to work. While he stood watching, frustrated and angry, he relived the decision to jump the stone fence. Actually it hadn't been a conscious choice. He hadn't thought about the jump at all. Now his family was paying for his carelessness. And no one paid a heavier price than Louise.

When she wasn't pitching hay or feeding all the mouths on the ranch, she was shoveling a path to the barn and henhouse, chopping firewood, and milking Missy. She helped Max get dressed in the morning and undressed in the evening. She stropped his razor and shaved his face as if she'd served an apprenticeship in a barbershop. As if that weren't enough, she dragged half-frozen cows into the barn and rubbed them dry, gave them warm water to drink, and bullied them into a healthier state. Max marveled that she didn't keel over in exhaustion. He felt like she was working herself half to death on his behalf.

"What else can we do? We can't go back and change what happened," Louise pointed out. "So stop stewing around. You might as well enjoy your time off."

He slapped his book shut and shifted on the pillow to glare at her. Lamplight softened her wind-chapped cheeks and gleamed in the braid that lay across the shoulder of the cursed nightgown. But even in the mellow flattering light, deep circles were evident beneath her lashes and fatigue dulled her eyes.

"That's ridiculous. I can't enjoy anything when you're working harder than most men." Watching her chop wood or shovel a path, watching her work until her legs shook and she could hardly stand ate him up inside.

"It's not so bad," she insisted, setting aside her songbook. "We're managing. I don't mind the extra work."

"Well, I mind."

When she came up to the house after feeding the beeves and cracking ice off the stock ponds, her arms were trembling and twitched so badly that she had to steady her coffee cup with both hands to keep the coffee from spilling. Worst of all, two nights ago the temperature had fallen to fifteen degrees below zero.

Tears of frustration and determination had frozen on her cheeks before they reached her chin. He'd seen the little beads of ice in the torchlight, and he'd gone crazy inside.

"I'll make this up to you," he promised grimly. "I swear it, Louise."

"Well, there is something you could do for me. I'd sure like to have a baby," she said in a soft voice, looking down at her hands. "But with you all busted up …"

"Louise Downe McCord!" He sat up, and a slow grin replaced his frown. "Damned if you aren't turning into the temptress that half of Fort Houser thinks you are."

A sparkling glance chased the fatigue from her eyes. "I'm afraid it's finally happened. I've turned into a wanton woman."

"Absolutely debauched."

"Without shame. Too bad your arm's in a sling and you can't take advantage of my fallen state."

"My arm's busted, darlin', but everything else still works."

She had a wonderful laugh, husky and unselfconscious. "Do tell," she said when she'd caught her breath.

"There are ways to manage this where my arm wouldn't be in jeopardy."

Curiosity flickered in her hazel eyes. "If you want to elaborate on that statement, I'm listening."

"The man doesn't always have to be on top."

"Oh!" She blinked, thinking about it. "Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. I suppose we could give that a try."

Now he laughed. She was so knowledgeable and experienced in some areas, so innocent in others. "If you're willing, as tired as you are, I'm willing, too." In fact, his body had proven itself ready, willing, and able several minutes ago. "But you have to take off your nightgown. Pitching a tent in a high wind is easier than fighting that damned nightgown."

Thirty minutes later, she slept with a smile on her lips, her head resting against his good shoulder. He needed to get up and turn off the lamps, but he knew how exhausted she was and couldn't bring himself to disturb her.

Despite what she had said the day he broke his arm, there were so many good things about Louise. If he had a herd left after this hard bitter winter, it would be because of her. To say he was grateful would be to understate his sentiments by a country mile.

Not for the first time, he decided that she reminded him of an egg. Hard-shelled on the outside, soft on the inside. She blustered and swore and slammed things around in the kitchen when she was angry. Stuck out her chin and dared the world to take a swing. But she didn't sulk, didn't pout, didn't attempt to manipulate. And although he tried, he couldn't recall ever hearing her complain. She had a remarkable ability to accept whatever life tossed her way and find something positive.

But beneath that hard, defensive shell, was a vulnerable woman who couldn't see her own worth. Others did. Even Sunshine grasped that Louise's opinion of herself was nowhere near who she really was.

And now, in the silence of a cold black night, thoughts of betrayal crept into his mind.

Philadelphia would never have volunteered to help him save his herd. If he tried for a hundred years, he wouldn't be able to imagine her pitching hay in below-zero weather with tears freezing on her cheeks, or working until she shook with exhaustion and couldn't hold a coffee cup between her blistered palms.

Philadelphia would not have stepped forward to set a broken bone. If she had remained in the room, she would have fainted as Gilly had. It was impossible to imagine her nursing a stream of men filling a schoolhouse with the stench of pus and vomit. Philadelphia would have been among the first to flee at the initial whisper of disease.

Further, he could not visualize Philadelphia ever throwing off her nightgown and her inhibitions as Louise had done tonight. Philadelphia would always be the rigidly delicate and modest lady who submitted and endured and participated as little as possible because joy and enthusiasm in the bedroom would damage her dignity and self-image. He couldn't know for certain, but he suspected Philadelphia would view sex as a manipulative tool, dispensing her favors as a reward or in exchange for favors granted.

Frowning, he stared at the icy frost patterns laced across the windowpanes, and he remembered Philadelphia ridiculing Louise in front of Sunshine, and again in front of the family at dinner. He remembered countless incidents of pouting lips and copious tears and a stamping foot. Oddly, he did not remember laughter in their relationship. He remembered his goals and her goals, but no common goals or shared viewpoints.

What on earth had drawn them together?

Lowering his head, he rubbed his fingertips across his forehead. Damn it. How could he criticize the mother of his child? How could he justify such disloyalty? Without the intervention of one green marble, it would have been Philadelphia sleeping beside him now. It would have been him fastening a stiff starched collar around his neck and riding into the bank every day. Not so long ago, that's what he had believed he wanted.

But his worst betrayal came when he smiled at Louise and realized with sudden guilt and astonishment that he could love her. And when he understood that he respected and admired this unusual woman, and he genuinely enjoyed her company.

When these insights occurred, his mind instantly backed away and his thoughts shut down. What kind of bastard would love one woman while another carried his child? Tar and feathers were too good for such a man.

And there was the fact that Louise would leave him once she became pregnant. This was their agreement. Through trial and error and compromise they were managing to live together and doing it successfully, in his opinion. But she'd said nothing to indicate that anything had changed. Their agreement held.

He gazed down at the top of her head and the curve of her cheek. Studied her work-roughened hand rising and falling on his chest. Once he had believed that smooth pale hands with manicured nails were beautiful. Now his eyes had opened to the aching beauty of bruised knuckles, blunt nails, and callused palms.

If it hadn't been for Philadelphia and the child she carried… if he and Louise hadn't agreed their marriage was only temporary…

But he would never know what might have happened. He could allow himself to respect Louise and enjoy her company, but he could not permit his regard to deepen into anything more than admiration and esteem. Not when mere months ago, he would willingly and happily have married someone else. Not while that someone else grew large with his child.

«^»

"
I
don't believe I've seen you this excited," Max mentioned after he'd apologized for not assisting her up the veranda stairs. One arm was in the sling, and in his free hand, he carried a cloth bag filled with gifts.

"This is my first real Christmas," Louise explained. "For people without a family, Christmas doesn't mean much." That's how it had always been for her, just another day. But not this year. She lifted her hem away from the snowy steps and looked up with eager, sparkling eyes. "Oh Max, I can't wait to see the tree. Will there be candles on it?"

Once she had believed life couldn't offer a better moment than the party in her honor on the day the prospectors burned the schoolhouse. But the night at the Belle Mark with Max had eclipsed the party in her honor. And now she was positive that her first Christmas Eve with a real family would be the best evening in her whole life.

Max smiled. "There'll be candles on the tree. And ornaments and strings of popped corn and cranberries. We'll stuff ourselves on Ma's famous divinity and the fudge Gilly always brings. Gilly will play carols on the piano, and we'll try to sing along. We'll all eat and drink too much, and go home loaded with gifts."

She held her breath, listening, then slowly exhaled. "Oh! It sounds so wonderful. Like everything I ever imagined, but better."

At the door, Max inclined his head in a gesture that was almost a bow. "I'm sorry to ask you to knock, but … "

He was being overly solicitous, but instead of annoying her, his attitude seemed proper tonight. This was a very special occasion, and she wanted it to feel that way in every respect.

Before she rapped on Livvy's door, she brushed damp snowflakes off the shoulders of Max's best coat before she lowered the hood of her cape and wiggled to dislodge any clinging snow.

"Oh my, don't we look grand!"

Good Lord, he was handsome, peering at her with those delfi-blue eyes from beneath the brim of a rakishly tilted Stetson. Tonight he wore a starched white shirt and a dark tie and vest over good wool trousers and his Sunday boots.

She didn't look too shabby herself. Tonight she wore the stylish green taffeta that Gilly had sewn up for her. Yards and yards of material floated around her new shoes and swept toward a handsome bow topping her bustle. The green taffeta crackled and whispered in a wonderful way when she walked.

This was the first time ever that she had owned a dress that wasn't too big here and too small there; the green taffeta fit her perfectly. She had a lovely new dress, she was going to a party, and this year she would have a Christmas. Thrilled with everything, she'd taken extra care with her appearance. She'd rubbed lotion into her cheeks and throat, and she'd brushed her hair until it gleamed before she coiled it on top of her head. She had even cut a sprig of holly and pinned it at the back of her hair for a festive touch.

The door swung open, and Livvy beamed and wished them a merry Christmas. "I thought I heard you two out here. Come in, come in." The black velvet Max had purchased in Denver had been put to good use, sewn up into a lace-trimmed dress that was soft yet distinguished. And for tonight's celebration, Livvy had pressed waves in her graying auburn hair where it curved back toward the knot on her neck.

Looking at Max's mother now, it was hard to believe that only yesterday Livvy had stood in Louise's kitchen wearing a soiled apron, peeling potatoes, and telling a hilarious and slightly risqué story about a bull that had gotten into the bunkhouse.

"You look wonderful!" Louise said.

"Oh my, so do you." Livvy hung their coats on the rack. "Turn around so I can see how the bow turned out. Well, I declare. Gilly could make a living with her needle!"

Sunshine ran out of the parlor and halted abruptly. "Oh, Aunt Louise!" Her eyes rounded. "You look beautiful!"

Laughing, Louise waved aside the compliment. "Well, now, look at you! You're the one who's beautiful tonight. Spin around and let me see."

Hair and ribbons flying, Sunshine spun fast enough to flare black velvet around her stocking-clad calves.

"Mama trimmed my dress in the scraps from yours. See?" She touched her collar, then held out green taffeta cuffs for Louise to admire.

"I don't suppose you'd like to put these gifts beneath the tree, would you?" Max asked, smiling.

"Oh yes, I would. But first, look up there. It's mistletoe! You have to kiss Aunt Louise, and I get to watch."

"So do I," said Livvy, winking at Sunshine.

"Only a fool would miss an opportunity to kiss a pretty woman." Max slipped his good arm around her waist and grinned. "Looks like we've been ambushed."