CHAPTER 10

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S horty Smith reminded Louise—she was still trying to think of herself as Louise—of Stony Marks, and another of the boys put her in mind of a fellow she'd known in the Dakotas. She took to the cowboys at once and would have liked to spend more time at the barn and corral except Max made it clear that the boss's wife could be friendly to but not friends with the hands. In a small act of defiance she spent the afternoon baking chokecherry pies sweetened with plenty of dark brown sugar. When they were cool, she delivered four of the pies to the bunkhouse.

Most of the day she devoted to discovering the nature of her wifely duties. No one had to explain, the chores swept her along. It was obvious that the bed needed making and breakfast needed cooking. First she had to go into the pearly dawn and rummage around beneath the hens to gather eggs for frying. Then bring in some kindling and stoke up the stove, something she would do before gathering eggs from now on so she could return to a warm kitchen. Before she cleaned up the breakfast dishes, she bundled up again and hurried down to the barn to milk Missy before Missy mooed the walls down. Then the cream had to be skimmed, and she had to decide if she needed to churn up some butter. Then turn Missy into the pasture before she washed out the bucket and dashed back to the house to tidy up the kitchen and start thinking about what she would feed Max for dinner and supper. Knead some bread and put it aside to rise. Clean up the flour mess. And feed the chickens. She'd forgotten about the damned chickens.

After the barn tour, she fried up some ham and potatoes for Max's dinner. The bread wasn't ready to bake, so they had to do without. Then it was clean up the kitchen again and run though the house with a dust rag, doing a hurry-up job so she'd have time to pick the chokecherries she needed for the pies. And she didn't dare leave the kitchen while the pies were baking, not until she'd learned the quirks of the oven and if it cooked evenly or if she needed to turn the pans every few minutes.

Before she knew it, the sun was sinking and it was time to set the table again and the day was almost over.

"I'm plum tuckered out," she said to Max when they sat down to supper. The butter that Livvy and Gilly had provided was almost gone, and she gazed at the dish unhappily, wondering where she'd find time to churn up more. Heaven only knew what happened to the everyday chores on wash day.

"The boys were grateful to get those pies," Max mentioned, snapping his napkin across his lap in a way that made her remember the ma?tre d' at the Belle Mark. "I guess it wasn't an inappropriate gesture. As long as you don't make a habit of it."

"I wasn't sure how the pies would turn out since I haven't baked in a real oven since I can't remember when."

Already she was wondering how she would accomplish all she needed to do tomorrow when Max and the hands left for the roundup. She'd need to care for her mule Rebecca and the horses they were leaving behind. More chores.

"I'm starting to think that shoveling gravel and panning for gold was a walk in the woods compared to being a wife."

Max smiled. "Is it really that difficult?"

"The work isn't hard; there's just so much of it. I feel like I'm cooking and cleaning up from cooking all day long and hurrying to do the other work in between cooking."

She hadn't yet gotten the hang of the stove or of using an oven. The beef was overcooked, and the potatoes were undercooked, errors in timing that wouldn't have happened if she'd been cooking over a campfire. There you could see the flames on the bottom of the skillet and raise or lower it accordingly.

That the pies had come out well was something of a happy miracle.

Tonight she would have let Max throw out the dishwater, but he didn't offer. After supper he left the kitchen to sit in the parlor, which shocked her as she didn't think the parlor was for everyday use. When they went upstairs she hinted as much, talking to him while he was in the dressing room. Talking was better than silently imagining him naked behind the door.

"I needed to go over the expense figures for the house, barn, and sheds. Why are you smiling?" he added as he came into the bedroom.

"No reason." She hadn't figured him for a man who wore a nightshirt to bed. The long shirt ended at his knees and powerful calves emerged beneath the hem. "You could have spread out your papers on the kitchen table."

"Let's not start that business about not sitting on chairs. The chairs in this house are for sitting. Besides, I didn't want to disturb you."

"You wouldn't have disturbed me," she called from inside the dressing room. Now it was her turn to hide and don her nightclothes. "I was only cleaning up from supper and laying out the breakfast things." She stripped off one of the skirts and shirtwaists that Livvy had supplied, then dropped her nightgown over her head and returned to the bedroom.

When she brushed out her hair in the dark dressing room, she didn't do a good job of it. But she felt uncomfortable wandering around in her nightgown. Still, this was her bedroom, too, damn it. Studiously ignoring Max, she brushed her hair in front of the vanity mirror, then plaited it into a braid.

Tonight his habit of reading in bed didn't surprise her when she climbed in next to him. Earlier today she'd taken a minute to bring up the songbook given to her by the boys at Piney Creek so she could read, too.

"What?" Max asked after she laughed out loud. He lowered his book and looked at her.

"These are cowboy stories. Listen to this," she said, reading aloud. "Oh it's cloudy in the west and it's looking like rain and of course my old slicker's in the wagon again."

"'The Old Chisolm Trail,'" he said with a half-smile.

"Oh, you know this story. Me, too, but I hadn't read that verse before. What are you reading?"

"The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.But my mind's drifting." Raising a hand, he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

There were many things that might distract him. The roundup that began tomorrow. Thoughts of Philadelphia . The papers he'd been studying in the parlor. She supposed it wasn't entirely impossible that he might be worrying about leaving her here alone, not that he needed to.

Closing the songbook, she set it aside and folded her hands on top of the ruffled spread. They sat close enough that she could feel the heat of his shoulder and inhale the good outdoors scent of him. Suddenly she realized that all day she'd been looking forward to this time with him. Even though she didn't care for the multitude of frills and ruffles, the bedroom was warm and cozy, and she could imagine the rest of the world had fallen away, leaving only them sitting against the pillows, reading together. It was a fanciful thought, but right nice.

"What's your mind drifting toward? If you don't mind my asking."

About the time she had decided he wouldn't answer, he said, "The papers I was examining show the expenses on this place were more than I figured. I'd counted on a salary at the bank to replenish any cost overruns."

"I'd forgotten about the bank position." She shook her head. "You just don't strike me as a banker type of man." Try as she might, she couldn't cast him in the role played by the fellow at the Colorado Merchant's Bank. Max belonged on the land.

"Maybe the only part of banking that I'll miss is a steady salary," he conceded. "I thought I could work in town and still keep up the ranch. Maybe it wouldn't have been as easily done as I'd hoped."

Louise agreed. "A man can't serve two masters. Eventually you would have had to choose." She was beginning to suspect that turning Max into a banker had been Philadelphia 's idea, not his.

Yes, this was the very best time of day. Sitting close beside him in bed, discussing this and that. Enjoying the warm nearness of muscle and bone and the deep smooth timbre of his voice. If she moved her foot a few inches, she could touch his foot. She didn't do it, but she could have. And she thought about it. And she wondered—just a little—when they would get to the next poke. Which reminded her…

"Max?" She gazed down at her hands. "I've got something to tell you." Keeping her head down, she twisted her wedding ring around her finger, sliding the glow of lamplight along the gold circle. "I'm not pregnant. We're going to have to do, you know—it—again."

Max tilted his head back and turned his eyes toward the darkness outside the bedroom window. Louise didn't think it would have changed anything if they'd known she wasn't pregnant before Wally married Philadelphia , but she didn't know for sure.

"I'm sorry," he said finally.

"Me, too." She'd known yesterday, but it had taken until now to push her disappointment down far enough that she could tell him. It didn't seem fair that some people could get pregnant after one poke and other people couldn't.

"We both understood it might take a while." But the way his eyebrows knit together told her that he hadn't really believed it. He'd assumed, or more likely he'd hoped, that one poke had done the job.

Naturally she had hoped that, too.

She slid a quick sidelong glance toward the crisp dark hair curling out of the collar of his silly nightshirt.

At some point she would have to force herself to submit to another poke. Heat flooded her cheeks, and her stomach rolled over in an odd way that almost felt like anticipation.

*

Max awoke before dawn and discovered himself wrapped around Louise, his legs tangled in the cursed nightgown. Paralyzed with surprise and dismay, he tried to think how this might have happened. The air in the bedroom was frigid because he liked to sleep with the window open a few inches. They must have rolled toward each other seeking warmth.

And she was indeed warm. The heat of her buttocks pressing against his groin caused an intimate stirring that grew stronger when he inhaled the warm sleepy scent of her hair and skin.

Embarrassed by his response, he carefully extricated himself and hastily slid out of bed, pulling the nightshirt over his head as he moved through the darkness to the dressing room. He dressed quickly, then carried his socks and boots downstairs to the kitchen where he discovered that Louise had brought in kindling the night before. In a moment he had the stove fired up but he didn't have to wait to shave as the water in the reservoir had stayed warm throughout the night.

As he shaved over a basin in the mudroom, he grudgingly conceded that Louise had the practical think-ahead mind that made for a good ranch wife. She'd brought in the kindling, filled the water reservoir, set the table for breakfast, laid out the skillet, and prepared the coffee-pot. And this was only her second full day. He suspected she'd be handling her duties as efficiently as Ma or Gilly within a week or two.

Lowering the razor, he stared at his lathered face in the lamplit mirror.

She wasn't pregnant.

They would continue together, building habits, reaching small accommodations, learning to understand each other's foibles and strengths. It would happen merely by virtue of living together, regardless how either of them felt about creating a relationship.

The same process would occur with Wally and Philadelphia .

Placing his hands on either side of the basin, he dropped his head and leaned forward.

It would be Wally who sat down to supper with Philadelphia and praised her piecrust. Wally who watched her draw on her stockings and slide the garters into place. Wally who saw her with her hair down, who took the brush from her hand. Wally would learn her habits and mannerisms, would discover what pained or delighted her.

Not him.

By the time Louise passed through the mudroom on her way to collect eggs, he had finished shaving and had temporarily accepted what he could not change. He had tucked Philadelphia behind a mental door labeled: Forbidden.

The trick would be to keep that door shut.

*

Louise stood on the front porch, wiping her hands on her apron, and watched Marva Lee trot down the ruts that served as a road, heading toward the main house where the roundup would begin. In her opinion, no banker had ever ridden a horse the way Max did, as if he and Marva Lee were extensions of each other. Watching his straight back and broad shoulders was a pleasure that warmed her inside.

She was glad he was going.

Maybe some hard riding and hard work would knock the thoughts of Philadelphia out of his hard head.

She knew when Max was thinking about that saintly paragon of womanly virtues, Miss Philadelphia Wonderful Houser, now Missus Wally McCord. A distracted look appeared in his eyes, and he turned cool and distant as he'd been at breakfast this morning.

Turning on her heels, she entered the house and returned to the kitchen. After pouring herself another cup of coffee, she reached in her pocket and removed her copy of the letter Max had written Philadelphia , then smoothed out the pages on the kitchen table.

She had memorized every sentence, but she read the letter anyway, feeling each word like a pin prick against her heart.

It was a happy letter, written by a man to a woman he deeply cared about. After describing parts of the house, Max gently chided Philadelphia for promising that he'd be sorry for abandoning her for the summer. He teased her about her pleasure in the wedding gifts that had begun to arrive. He called her dearest and said he was counting the days until she would be his.

When Louise had first read this letter, it hadn't affected her personally. She had simply liked the way the words flowed together and had wished someone would write her such a fine letter and call her dearest.

Then, after she and Max married, the letter had seemed sad, evidence of fate's capriciousness. Now, it made her angry, although she couldn't have explained why.

Of course Max still thought about Philadelphia . He cared for her and he'd planned to share his life with her. Plus, a person couldn't turn his feelings on and off at will. He would probably grieve Philadelphia 's loss for a long time, maybe forever.

She sipped her coffee, leaning back from the table to see out the window. This morning frost had sparkled on the range grass, and each day the leaves on the cotton-woods seemed a paler green, edging toward yellow. When she had visited the barn, she'd noticed the horses' hair was growing thick and long for winter.

Frowning, she gazed down at the letter. Keeping it didn't make her feel good anymore. Without considering what she was about to do, she crumpled the pages, then dropped them in the firebox of the stove and watched the paper curl to ash. And she fervently wished Philadelphia would disappear as easily.

There was another reason why she was glad to see Max leave for the fall roundup. Since marrying him, she hadn't had a single blamed minute to herself. She'd led a solitary life—she wouldn't exactly call it lonely—and she needed solitude to chew though the things that troubled her, to recall the items that gave her pleasure, and to make plans for tomorrow.

Standing, she gazed around her kitchen and decided the dirty dishes could wait. So could her other chores. What she needed now was a reminder that she was more than Max McCord's wife, she was still herself and she meant to stay herself.

Determined, she marched upstairs, threw off the too-short skirt and her shirtwaist. Then, because her prospector clothing had vanished, she chose a pair of Max's denims, rolled up the cuffs, and pulled them on. The waist was large enough that, without suspenders, the denims would have fallen around her ankles, so she borrowed a pair of suspenders, too. And a warm flannel shirt. And a hat and some riding gloves.

Feeling better than she'd felt in days, she strode down to the barn and corrals and looked over the horses that Max and the boys had left behind. Rebecca ambled over to the log rails, followed by a black gelding that was no longer young. She fussed over Rebecca a little then ran a hand along the gelding's winter-fuzzy neck.

"You don't like being left behind, huh?" she murmured before she climbed over the rails and dropped down beside him. "At your age you ought to know enough about cattle to teach me a little something."

The black quivered as she saddled and cinched him, as eager to go as she was. Once Louise was mounted, she let the gelding run off excess energy, laughing as he soared over the stone fence north of the barn.

For the next hour she rode aimlessly, enjoying the sunlight sparkling through brisk, chill air, getting a feel for the lay of the land, discovering draws and creek beds, wooded areas and open range. Occasionally she spotted a steer or cow and then the gelding's ears pointed sharply forward and she felt him tense beneath her, awaiting her signal.

"We'll get to that," she said, leaning to pat his neck.

Max would never approve of what she was doing, she knew. But she'd never been submissive, had never been afraid to take a risk, and she wasn't going to begin now. If she ended up injured… she'd deal with the situation if and when it happened. Just as she had dealt with unpleasant situations during all the years when she hadn't had a husband who thought he could tell her what to do.

"All right," she said to the gelding. "The next time we see a beeve, you do whatever it is you do, and I'll sit up here and observe and learn."

Almost at once the gelding leapt forward, galloping after a cow and calf that he spotted before Louise did. There was no sitting and reflectively observing. It was all she could do to hang on as the gelding cut sharply in one direction, then whirled in another as the cow and calf tried to evade capture. If capture was indeed the objective, something Louise wasn't sure of at all. The gelding chased the cow at full gallop then cut directly in front of her and stopped hard, his head down, his front legs plowing out in front of him.

Louise sailed over his head and landed hard on her fanny.

She'd have some bruises to show, but she hadn't broken any bones, thank God, and the cow had missed trampling her. Grim-lipped and steely-eyed, she caught the gelding and swung up into the saddle again. By the time she looked up, the cow and calf had vanished. The likeliest place to hide was in a thick tangle of chokecherries and other bushes she couldn't identify.

"You win this time," she shouted at the bushes, unwilling to prod the gelding into the thicket. "I'll catch you tomorrow."

The next time the black took after a lone steer, she had an idea what to expect and hung on longer, not trying to control the horse but just letting him work the beeve. Unfortunately, she ended as she had earlier, sprawled on all fours in the prairie grass.

At the end of the day, the gelding tossed her yet again, eyed her with what looked like disgust, then trotted toward the barn and corrals, leaving Louise to walk two miles back to the house. By the time she arrived, she was feeling the evening cold and aching in spots she hadn't known she had. After unsaddling the gelding and forking hay into the corral, she limped up to the house, anticipating a nice long soak in the wash tub. Among other things, she'd learned that chasing after cattle wasn't nearly as easy as she had supposed it would be.

By the morning of the fourth day she dared hope that she was getting a handle on catching cows. Cows were more cunning than she would have believed and faster, too, which surprised her. Also, she had wrongly supposed they were as stupid as chickens.

She was heading out the back door when she heard Gilly calling from the front door.

"Louise? Are you there?"

A wide smile curved her mouth. She had never thought she would see a day when family came calling, but here it was. Pleased as all get out, she hurried to the front of the house. "Howdy!"

Gilly's mouth dropped when she saw the denims and suspenders. Flustered, she glanced down at Sunshine's wide eyes. "Mother and I were worried that Max didn't leave someone here to look after you, so I came by to check on you and bring a cake." She blinked and stared. "Louise, why on earth are you dressed like… likethat?"

"I'm learning to catch cows. But this is how I always used to dress," she explained cheerfully. "Come on in. And excuse the house. I ain't done my chores, but I'll catch everything up before Max returns." What was it about her new family that made her say "ain't" when she'd almost stopped using the word around Max? "It'll only take a minute to reheat the coffee."

Gilly picked up a basket at her feet and, holding Sunshine's hand, silently followed to the kitchen. "I don't think Max would approve of you chasing cows all by yourself."

Louise agreed, bringing two cups of coffee and a glass of milk to the table. "But if I wait for Max to teach me about cows, I'll still be waiting when the trumpet sounds."

Gilly smiled. "Dave's the same. He's always saying we'll do this or that, but he never gets around to it."

She ran an eye over Louise's flannel shirt and suspenders, then cleared her throat. "Ma thinks we should go to town tomorrow to buy material for your new clothing. It needs to be tomorrow because two days after, Wally and Philadelphia will arrive home, and the first herd will be coming in. Me and Ma—and you, too, if you want to help—will cook for the boys since they'll need every man to hold the herd and do the branding and notching."

Louise cupped her hands around her coffee cup and nodded, absently thinking that Sunshine was a miniature vision of Gilly. Long chestnut curls hung beneath her neat little hat. Her eyes were a lovely clear McCord blue. "Tomorrow's fine. And of course I'll help with the cooking. I'll make pies." At least she knew she could make a credible pie.

Wally and Philadelphia were coming home. She didn't need a fortune-teller to predict that their arrival would shatter the fragile equilibrium she and Max had begun to establish.

"We'll come by for you tomorrow morning, and I'll tell Ma about the pies."

Lifting her arms, Gilly removed her hat, then took the cake out of the basket, followed by a pile of mending. And suddenly Louise realized Gilly meant to stay a while, which made sense when she thought about it. The drive would hardly be worth the considerable trouble if Gilly had delivered her messages and then turned around again and left.

Stepping to the window, she gazed toward the corral and pictured the black gelding waiting for her. He was out of luck. No horse could compete with a visit from family.

Grinning broadly, she returned to the table with a knife, plates, and forks, and suggested that Gilly cut the cake. Then, curious, she asked Gilly to describe her house. She made bread while Gilly talked and Sunshine played quietly with the doll that Max had brought her from Denver .

Louise laughed at Gilly's growing-up stories and told a few of her own. She asked about roundups and stampedes and caring for cattle through the winter Gilly asked about prospecting and the people Louise met in the mining camp. They talked about the things all women have in common, homes and stoves, recipes and chores, until Gilly glanced at the kitchen clock, said, "Oh mercy me," and reached for her hat.

As Louise stood in the doorway and returned Sunshine's wave while Gilly's wagon headed up the rutted road, she realized she was sorry to see her niece and sister-in-law leave. She and Gilly were as different as a mouse and a moose, but they'd enjoyed each other's company and had found a few areas of shared interest. They hadn't discussed anything important, had avoided the problem areas, but they had made a beginning. Toward what, Louise didn't know, but she hoped it was a friendship. That would be mighty fine. She'd never had a woman friend before.