Silver Lining (5 page)

She picked up her pan and carried it into the water, slapped at a mosquito on her throat, then squatted.

"I caught a trout this morning, and I've got some wild onions to cook with it. You want to come to supper?"

Her back was to him, and her hat brim covered the nape of her neck and the sides of her face.

"I've already made plans," he said hastily, the lie stiff on his lips.

A shrug adjusted the long coil of dirty hair. "Suit yourself."

He'd climbed the incline before she glared over her shoulder and called up to him.

"McCord? Remember yesterday when I promised to obey? Well, I lied. I won't obey any man." She turned back to the creek and plunged her pan into the swiftly flowing cold water. "The other vows were lies, too."

Standing in the tall grass at the top of the bank, he watched for a moment, thinking what a strange creature she was.

Years ago when he'd been young enough to believe such matters lay within his control, he had described his future wife to his brother. She would be small and dainty and beautiful, blond and blue-eyed. Her nature would be as sweet as the scent of her hair and skin. She would be accomplished in the womanly arts and would entertain him in the evenings with music and song. Together they would make strong, handsome children.

He hadn't known it then, he thought, gripping the marble, or maybe he had, but he'd been describing Philadelphia .

Instead, he had married a woman as far from his ideal as it was possible to get.

Right now, "low down" described his condition, too.

«^»

L
ow clouds hung in the valley folds, and ground mist floated around pines and brush creating a damp gray world that matched Low Down's mood when she stepped out of her tent.

Things were progressing as expected, which was to say that she had lost control of her life. In about an hour she would head west for no other reason than because that was where her new, unwanted husband wanted to go. Had he troubled himself to inquire if she had someplace she would rather go, like south?

No, he had not. Had he explained why they had to travel west instead of heading somewhere warm for the winter? Well, she could guess that Philadelphia lived in her grandfather's town and Max wanted to see her, but he hadn't explained. Not a word. It was just pack up and be ready to leave at sunup.

Already she saw confirmation that she had to obey in certain matters, like it or not. If she wanted a baby, she had to follow wherever her husband's privates went, regardless of where she might want to go.

Swinging her leg back, she started to kick something on the ground but stopped in time when the mist swirled around her boot revealing that the object she'd been about to kick was not a stone. Sinking down on her heels, she discovered a speckled blue metal cup in almost-new condition. Just beyond the cup sat a coffeepot that hadn't been used enough to blacken the bottom. Next to the pot were two clean bandannas hardly even faded. And then a real prize, a small pouch holding six fair-sized nuggets. The nuggets had to be from Frank, she guessed, blinking hard.

Between her tent and her campfire, she found a set of stirrups, a saddle blanket, a new hat with only one hole in it, a bone-handled comb with most of the teeth intact, a barely used toothbrush and a mostly full tin of tooth powder, a silver spoon, a pocket watch in a leather case, a pair of neatly mended wool socks, a well-thumbed songbook to add to her collection, and leather gloves in much better condition than her own.

And that wasn't all. Someone had started her fire and coffee and left her a skillet sizzling with fried venison and potatoes.

Clutching her treasures in her arms, Low Down sat on a log near the warmth of the fire and whispered a word of gratitude for the mist. It would have embarrassed her half to death to have anyone see tears in her eyes, and they would have seen because she sensed the men nearby in the chilly mist.

"Thank you," she shouted when she could trust her voice. "You didn't have to do this. Chipping in at the wedding was more than enough." As far as she knew, Max wasn't aware of the pouch Billy Brown had presented her after Max had stomped away, and she didn't plan to tell him about it. "I'll think of you every time I use these wonderful things."

No one answered, but the mist seemed less gray and the sky brighter than it had a minute ago. When she sensed the men slipping away, she poured coffee into her new speckled cup and inspected her gifts one by one, taking her time to admire each item thoroughly. She wasn't a weepy woman, so it irritated her that her eyes kept fogging over, but hell, she couldn't recall the last time someone had given her a gift, and here she had more than a dozen.

The new hat went on her head and her old hat plopped on the fire. New socks replaced old. She carefully tucked the watch into her pocket, and she chose the least-faded bandanna to tie around her throat. Then, feeling very grand, she stirred a sugar cube into her coffee with the silver spoon, and afterward she meticulously polished the spoon on her shirttail before she tucked it safely into Frank's pouch of nuggets. She added the pouch to the leather cord tied around her neck, which already supported the chipping-in money and the gold dust she had panned out of Piney Creek.

After she washed her skillet and plate in the creek, she tested the toothbrush and enjoyed the luxury of tooth powder, something she'd been out of for a couple of weeks. The powder had a faintly peppermint taste that she liked a lot.

By the time Max showed up, just as the morning sun was burning off the ground mist, she'd finished attaching her gift stirrups and had slung the new saddle blanket over Rebecca's back.

"I thought you'd be ready by now," he remarked impatiently.

"Well, pardon me." She slid him a glance, trying to determine if he was looking over her belongings, figuring they were now his. On the other hand, it occurred to her that Max McCord might not think her paltry possessions worth claiming.

His hat was comfortably worn, but there were no holes and the brim was smooth. His denims weren't patched or thin in spots, nor were his jacket or waistcoat. His boots looked practically new. And his horse. Low Down had never owned a ride as fine as the mustang Max sat atop.

"What's her name?" she asked, admiring the shine of sunlight on the mare's fiery coat.

"Marva Lee. Are you ready to go?"

"You can see I still have to strap down my saddlebags." And tie on her bedroll. The tent she would leave behind; maybe someone could use it. If events progressed the way they were supposed to, she'd be sharing Max's tent.

When she finished loading, she checked the site to see that she hadn't forgotten anything, then pushed back her hat and gazed down the slope at her diggings. A lot of hope had run through that sluice.

Tilting her head, she studied the sugary early snow frosting the high peaks, listened to the tumble and splash of the creek. Finally she dropped her gaze to the men pretending to work along the banks, pretending not to watch her and Max prepare to leave. Some of them she liked, some she didn't. But they'd always treated her squarely.

She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted. "Good-bye all you gold grubbers! Just remember, I've seen you naked and none of you got do-diddle to brag about!" Laughter ran down the banks, and she grinned. "Strike it rich, boys!"

A chorus of good-luck wishes rolled down the creek banks and once again Low Down felt her throat getting tight and her eyes shiny. Damn it anyway. One era of her life was ending, and a new uncertain phase was beginning. She didn't know how she felt about any of it.

"Are you sure that mule can keep up?" Max asked from behind her.

"Rebecca's old, but she's like me. Sturdy, capable, and mean when riled." Low Down swung into the saddle. "Are you going to say good-bye to the boys?"

"I said my good-byes last night."

Drank them was more likely, Low Down thought, examining his bleary eyes and the paleness beneath his sun-darkened face. Men could do that. Sit and drink together without passing a sentence, then get up and go in the belief they had said all that needed to be said. Women required the words. But Max knew that, she suspected, pressing her hand against the pocket where she kept her copy of his letter.

Suddenly and for no reason at all she felt a surge of anger. "Well? What's the hold up? You know where we re going, so you'll have to lead off. I sure don't know where we're going. Nobody asked me about it.

All I know is we're headed west, not south. I never heard of any place called Fort Houser , and I don't want to go there, but I have to because I'm married now, like it or damned not." She leaned a forearm on the saddle horn and returned the stare he was burning down on her. "So?"

"One thing," he said after a minute. "Did you bring the wedding ring?"

"I've got it." She wasn't going to reveal where she kept her valuables. Her long johns, shirt, vest, and jacket were bulky enough that he couldn't see the pouches tied beneath her clothing. He wouldn't even suspect.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd wear the ring from now on."

He phrased the request politely enough, but Low Down knew a command when she heard one, and she thought about that during the rest of the day as she and Rebecca followed him down rough-and-rugged terrain.

Since she had informed him that she would not obey, and she meant it, her instinct was to fling the wedding ring down a ravine so she could honestly announce that she no longer had the ring and thus couldn't wear it. But impulse was not her guiding principal. Proverbs were. And the proverb that applied here was probably: They that are bound must obey. Marriage came under: Act in haste, repent at leisure.

God knew she was bound, and she was repenting.

When they stopped for the night, early enough that they still had light to set up camp, she thrust out her chin and asked why he wanted her to wear the ring since neither of them considered their marriage anything close to the genuine article.

"The marriage is real all right," he said in a resigned voice after he'd tethered Rebecca and Marva Lee to a picket line and then returned to the fire Low Down had started.

"Maybe I don't see it that way." Making coffee was the first thing she did, even before she laid out her bedroll or thought about food. This time the coffee wouldn't be much good since the gift pot was practically new and you needed a seasoned pot for truly decent coffee. She poured hers into the speckled blue cup and left Max to get his own. No sense starting a bad habit by waiting on his butt like she was a real wife.

He rolled up a log and sat across the fire from her. "My family is going to expect that you'll be wearing a wedding ring."

Low Down's hand jerked and boiling hot coffee slopped unnoticed on her denims. "You have a family?"

She gaped at him. "And we're going to see them?"

"My family owns a ranch outside Fort Houser ." For a long moment he gazed into his coffee cup, then swallowed half the liquid. "My mother split the ranch into quarters last year after my father died. My brother, Wally, lives in the main house with my mother. My sister and her family have a place about a mile south. My quarter is north."

It hadn't entered her mind that he would have family or that she would get to meet them. Or have to meet them, as the case might be. This was a truism about husbands that she'd overlooked because she hadn't thought about it at all. You married their families, too.

But … good Lord. Suddenly she sort of had a family. The revelation amazed her.

"I've been thinking about this," Max said, frowning at her across the flames blackening the bottom of the new coffeepot. "You and I know what we've agreed to. But I doubt others would understand."

"You don't want your family to know we're going to divorce after I get pregnant," Low Down stated bluntly.

A flush of discomfort climbed his throat, or maybe it was only the flames reflecting on his skin. "I explained the circumstances in a letter to my mother, but I didn't mention a divorce as we hadn't agreed to that yet." He ground his teeth hard enough that knots ran up his jawline. "My family will expect us to treat this as a genuine marriage."

Picking up a stick, she jabbed at the fire. "What exactly does that mean?"

"We'll move into my house," he said, turning his head away from her. "And set up housekeeping."

The house he'd built for Philadelphia .

"My family will expect us to attend Sunday dinner, and other family events. They'll expect us to make the best of the situation and try to make a success of our marriage."

"We made our bed and now we have to sleep in it? Like that?"

He circled his coffee cup with his hands, his face turned toward the growing darkness beyond the fire.

"I'll understand if you don't want to mount a pretense for the sake of my family. But I'd appreciate it if you would."

"We'd be living in a real house," she said, thinking about that. Her fingers dropped to the letter in her pocket, and she remembered everything he'd written. He had wanted to surprise Philadelphia with the house but hadn't been able to resist describing it. To Low Down, his description had made the house sound like a palace.

Living in a real house … she'd been camping out of a tent for so many years that the idea of a house enthralled her even if it had been built for another woman. She thought about upholstered chairs and a mattress to sink into and maybe even rugs between her feet and the chill of a winter morning.

"My place is about three miles north of the main house. If you need advice about housekeeping chores, my mother and Gilly are both near enough to help."

Her chin stiffened. "Well, hell. I guess I can cook and scrub a floor without asking for instructions."

Immediately she thought of the old saying about the devil wiping his buttocks with poor folk's pride, and she swallowed hard. "On the other hand, there might come a time when I could use a little guidance."

Years had passed since she'd done any housework. Maybe there were things she'd forgotten. Still, how would it look to Max's mother and sister, her new family, if she had to request assistance with chores they would assume every woman knew? What kind of impression would that make?