Texas Gold (Mills & Boon Historical) Read online

  “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.

  “Thank you…I think,” she said slowly, as if seeking to determine the reason for his approach.

  “Let me,” he said quietly, dabbing the towel against her cheeks and forehead, soaking up the droplets of water before he pressed the cloth into her waiting hands.

  “I haven’t needed a ladies’ maid for years, Max,” she said quietly. And had he not caught a glimpse of the pulse at the side of her throat, he would have thought her unmoved by his touch. As it was, he found pleasure in the leap of her heartbeat, knew a moment of joy as she tried to hide her reaction to him.

  “I enjoy touching you, Faith, even if it is a trumped-up excuse.”

  “Do you?” He thought she looked a bit cynical, and he laughed aloud.

  “If you only knew how badly I want to touch you, lady, you’d have that revolver in your hand, and I’d probably be on my way out the door.”

  “Don’t you think you’re foolish to give me fair warning?” she asked, her lips twitching as if she joined his game.

  “No. I’ve tried to play fair with you,” he said. “Even now, I’m telling you what my next move will be.”

  “And?” She prodded him a bit, laying the towel aside and turning from the sink to head for the pantry.

  He followed her, aware that she occupied a dead-end space, an effective trap for the unwary. Faith did not qualify as such. She knew exactly what she was doing, and he felt a surge of triumph that her mood had changed, that she’d relaxed her guard.

  He blocked the narrow doorway and she glanced up at him, her hands readying several jars for transport to the kitchen cupboard. “Are you offering to help?” she asked.

  “In a moment.”

  Her smile faded, as if she thought better of her ploy, and recognized the inherent danger of her position. “What are you doing, Max?”

  “I’m going to kiss you,” he said quietly. “I want you, Faith, very badly. But I’m not about to make a mess of things by pushing for what I can’t have. I’ll settle for a simple kiss.”

  “Kisses are never simple where you’re concerned,” she said bluntly. “You make a production out of them, once you set your mind to it.”

  “Do I, now?” He felt a thrill of delight at her words. The woman was admitting more than she knew, and she’d given him an edge. One he was more than willing to take advantage of.


  Settling his hands on her shoulders, he turned her to face him, recognizing her reluctance and ready to release her should she deny his suit. He bent his head, and she lifted her face, exposing the clean, long line of her throat and offering him a glimpse of vulnerability, of soft skin drawn tautly over the fine bones of her face, of eyes shielded with lashes that fanned her cheeks.

  “You’re a beautiful woman,” he said quietly, his palm settling at the nape of her neck, holding her before him as he looked his fill. The pantry was shadowed, his body blocking the light from the kitchen, and he wished for a moment that he might see her more fully, might examine each lovely part of her face at his leisure.

  As it was, there was no guarantee that she would be so acquiescent for more than a moment, and he bent his head lower, knowing that this instant in time was a gift of her choosing, that he must accept it quickly or suffer her refusal should she change her mind.

  Their lips met and he felt a soft sigh escape her mouth. He inhaled it, tasting the sweetness of her breath, then pressed more firmly against the plush, wide mouth that offered no resistance. She stood erect, and he’d have preferred she lean against him. Her hands hung by her sides, and he wished for their weight around his neck.

  But her mouth—that generous, warm mouth he’d once known was his to conquer when he chose—offered heat and hummed with a hint of passion he could not mistake.

  His lips opened, his tongue touched hers, teased and tangled within the opening she allowed, and then she sighed again, as if she could no longer remain aloof, but must seek pleasure of her own. Her hands rose to creep up his chest, meeting finally behind his head, her fingers clasping him.

  She eased her breasts against him then, and he felt the firm roundness of womanly curves, and knew a moment of desire so intense it all but washed aside his control.

  “Faith.” It was a whisper, a warning, a plea. And she responded by opening her eyes, her lashes lifting slowly as if she sought to awake from a dream. “I want you, Faith,” he murmured. And she nodded, a slight movement of her head.

  He slid one hand between them and leaned back, allowing his fingers to spread wide over the fullness of her breast. It felt familiar, yet different, more firm than he remembered. The sign of her arousal was there in the forming of that small bit of flesh that pushed for attention against his index finger, and he inhaled sharply.

  His mouth sought hers again, his tongue taking ownership with a deep, thrusting movement that she responded to, possessing him even as he sought to stake a claim. It was a draw, he decided, allowing her to suckle the invader as she would. He shifted against her, his body responding in accord with her coaxing, and heard the soft sounds of desire she made no attempt to conceal.

  Her dress was unbuttoned rapidly, his fingers trembling but agile, and then he met the resistance of a chemise and hesitated. It was his undoing, that moment when he contemplated tearing the thin fabric that kept her skin from his. He felt her stiffen, knew the exact instant she recognized her danger, and silently cursed his hesitation.

  “No, Max.” Her voice trembled and her hands slid from him. She whispered the words again, and he thought he saw a tear hover on her eyelashes as she looked up at him. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “This is my fault. I only…”

  No matter her reason, she’d changed her mind, and he was duty bound to recognize her right to do so. That he’d managed to coax her so far along the road to seduction was somewhat of a miracle, he decided, and he’d do well to accept defeat rather than press his luck. Another time he might have been angry that she called the shots. Now, he only backed away and allowed her to escape.

  She buttoned her dress, turning aside as she forced her shaking fingers to complete the task. Her head was bent, as if she would hide her face from him, and he wondered if she was embarrassed by her behavior. It would not do. He didn’t want her to feel shamed by the moments of desire and passion they had shared.

  And so he halted as she tried to escape, and spoke her name again. “Faith? Look at me, please.”

  She hesitated, then lifted her chin in a brave movement that cost her, if he was any judge of the woman. Her cheeks were pale, but a blush rose to color them in moments. “You’ll think I’m—”

  He touched her lips with his index finger, silencing her. “You have no idea what I think,” he said quietly. “But I’m about to tell you.”

  Her lips moved beneath his touch, as if she would speak. And he smiled, shaking his head. “I cherish each moment we spend together. You allowed me to kiss you and gave me leave to…” He looked down at her breasts, noting the still-turgid crests that pressed against worn fabric, enticing his touch.

  “You’re a generous woman, sweetheart. I appreciate it, and I won’t press for more, no matter that my…my body is rebelling against your refusal. You needn’t be embarrassed because you accepted my kiss.”

  “It was more than a kiss,” she said quietly, her hand clasping the finger that would have stilled her words. “I led you on, Max, and that was wrong of me.”

  He attempted a smile. “I think I’m a better judge of your guilt than you are, and I decree that you are innocent of all but the crime of feeling desire for your husband.”

  “I haven’t considered you my husband for a long time,” she admitted.

  “No matter,” he said bluntly. “I’m your husband, and I’m likely to remain in that position, given the fact that I’m not going to divorce you.”

  Her gaze dropped from his and she pushed at his chest, sliding past him as he stepped aside. “Even more reason why I had no right to lead you on,” she said, escaping to the kitchen.

  “I’m not sure you can call it that,” he said, shifting his trousers before he turned to face her. He was more than uncomfortable, and probably faced a sleepless night. Yet it had been worth it, to know that he had the ability to arouse Faith beyond her own set limits. That he had given and received pleasure for those few moments, and perhaps started her rethinking her adamant denial of their future.

  He watched her face as she remembered her failure to carry the jars from the pantry, knew the instant she realized she must pass by him again to retrieve them in order to begin cooking supper. And took pity on her.

  His hands full of her bounty, he offered the jars to her, one of green beans, another of what appeared to be applesauce and the third filled with chunks of meat. “Is that beef?” he asked.

  She nodded, as if relieved to have the subject matter changed. “I canned up a good supply last fall when Nicholas butchered a steer and I bartered for a quarter of it.”

  “What did you give him?” Max asked, his curiosity aroused by her methods of survival. “Surely it was worth more than a few dozen eggs.”

  She cast him a long-suffering look. “Of course it was. I helped Lin and Katie butcher the meat, and showed them how to preserve it. In return, they gave me a share.”

  “Your independence makes you more attractive, you know,” he said, settling at the table and watching her as she moved back and forth between the kitchen dresser and the stove. She’d opened the jars with ease and then spilled the contents into two pans for heating and a bowl in which to serve the applesauce.

  Now she looked up quickly, her expression uneasy. “Do you think so?”

  He nodded. “I know so. I find you more attractive than any other woman I’ve ever known in my life. You are the very essence of femininity, all wrapped up in a neat package.” He allowed a grin to escape. “I bow to your excellence.”

  Faith’s lips tightened. “Now I think you’re teasing me.” Her chin lifted a bit and she narrowed her eyes. “You’re just playing a game with me, Max, trying to coax me into your web.”

  “My web?” He laughed aloud. “You’d think I was a spider, sitting here spinning a trap for you.”

  “Aren’t you?” She placed the applesauce on the table and the pans on the stove.

  “No. I’m not that devious, love. You know exactly what I want from you. I’ve never ma
de any bones about it. If I can coax you into reestablishing our marriage, I’ll do it. In any way I can manage the deed.”

  Faith turned back to the pantry, emerging with a bowl in her hands. She placed it on the table and he leaned forward to watch as she mixed flour and lard together. “Biscuits?” he asked, guessing her plan. “Can I get the milk for you?”

  She nodded and he rose, returning to the pantry, where she kept a jar of milk beneath the bottom shelf, in a small safe that sat beneath floor level. The space was several degrees cooler than the temperature in the pantry, and he’d watched her other times as she stored items there for safekeeping.

  “This is a smart idea,” he said, returning with the bottle and tilting it to pour a small amount of milk into the flour mixture. “I hadn’t thought about how you kept your food fresh until I watched you open that trapdoor.”

  “It’s cooler in the cellar,” she said. “Even more so in the dugout.”

  “Dugout?” he asked, puzzled by the word.

  “In the back of the cellar, there’s a room for storage. It doesn’t freeze in the winter, but food stays fresh there for a good long while.”

  “I never noticed it.”

  “It’s a part of the wall,” she told him. “You have to know it’s there before you can tell where the door is.”

  “I suppose an icebox is out of the question,” he said. “I’m spoiled by such things.”

  “You learn quickly what works best,” Faith said. “I’ve appreciated the cellar since I moved in here. I didn’t have the ability to keep food in the cabin for longer than a day.”

  “How did you do it?” he asked.

  “I just kept enough perishables on hand in the warm weather to last a day or so. We all do what we have to, Max. And I had no choice. It was get used to it and survive, or call it quits. I chose to survive.”

  They ate in silence. The biscuits she’d formed and baked while the food heated atop the stove were tender and fluffy, and he broke one apart and spooned gravy over it. “You’re a good cook,” he said, after he’d finished his second helping.