CHAPTER 13

?^?

P hiladelphia 's father brought trunks of clothing and personal items to the ranch and stayed for an hour on the second day. On the third and fourth days, Philadelphia pressed and put away her clothing, annoyed there was no maid to perform the tasks for her. On the fifth day she had nothing to occupy her time except embroidery, and that was of no interest. She was so bored with her self-imposed seclusion that she wanted to scream, but she refused to go downstairs while that creature was in the house.

Irritated and feeling out of sorts, she stood beside the bedroom window where she couldn't be seen, and peered through lace curtains down at the long table where the hands would eat their dinner. Occasionally Gilly or the creature passed in and out of view, setting up utensils and condiments and carrying out dishes that didn't require heating.

Philadelphia could not keep her eyes off the Low Down person when she appeared. The nasty creature was tall and raw-boned and moved with purpose instead of grace. Given her shocking and disreputable background, there was no reason to suppose she would have any sense of fashion, and she didn't. Her skirts were six inches too short, revealing indecent glimpses of thick everyday stockings, and the shirtwaists she wore were dark, utterly plain, and totally lacking any stylish detail. If the creature spent twenty minutes arranging her hair, Philadelphia would be surprised, as Low Down's hair was just twisted into a utilitarian coil at the nape of her neck.

Still, she wasn't entirely as unappealing as Philadelphia had hoped she would be. Her features were regular if not delicate. She had well-shaped brows and especially fine clear eyes, a light brownish color flecked with green and gold if Philadelphia remembered correctly. Even without a corset, her figure was molded to a desirable hourglass shape. The creature was not pretty except when she smiled, but she possessed an indefinable quality that drew one's attention. She was what Philadelphia 's father referred to as "a handsome woman" or "a woman of presence."

What made Philadelphia feel sick inside was noticing the creature's only jewelry, a gold wedding band.

This plain, immoral opportunist was the no-account woman Max had married instead of her. She didn't care that Low Down had nursed Max through his bout of small pox. She didn't care how the marriage had come about. The fact was, Low Down had taken Max. Philadelphia didn't believe for a single instant that chance had determined the outcome. The creature had decided she didn't want the other miners and had somehow arranged for Max to draw the scratched marble. Philadelphia felt certain of this. And Max had obliged by forgetting his bride and his upcoming wedding. He had thrown her aside rather than appear less than fair and noble before a group of strangers he would never see again. It would have been better if he had died of the pox. It would have served him right.

Well, she thought furiously, no doubt Max regretted his choice every time he glanced at his debauched, graceless wife. And every time he thought of the woman he could have had instead. Every time he remembered their evening together and considered her pregnancy and how he had walked away from his responsibility. She hoped guilt and remorse gnawed at him day and night.

Pushing the door open, Livvy popped her head inside. Instantly, Philadelphia stepped away from the curtains, irritated at being caught peeping at the dinner preparations below.

"Are you ill?" Livvy inquired, entering without an invitation.

"Not at all. Why do you ask?"

"I rapped at the door several times." Again without a by-your-leave, Livvy seated herself in one of the chairs flanking a small fireplace and brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. "I've been so busy cooking and cleaning the last few days that I haven't had an opportunity to speak to you regarding some personal and practical matters."

This was exactly the sort of comment that annoyed her most about Livvy McCord. A faint hint of criticism underscored Livvy's mention of being busy, but surely she didn't expect Philadelphia to cook for and clean up after a motley crew of cowhands?

Gracefully, Philadelphia sank to the facing chair and folded her hands in her lap. Casting her eyes down in an expression of modesty, she murmured, "If you're referring to Wally's decision to sleep in his old room and leave this lovely guest room to me, I admit I readily agreed. I've never shared a room with anyone, and we just thought, well, we decided to sleep apart until we know each other better." She had no intention of sharing her room with a man, not now or ever.

"Sleeping arrangements between a husband and wife are their private affair," Livvy said crisply. Her gaze slid from Philadelphia 's face to her waist. "We need to discuss clothing."

This was a pleasant surprise. Heavens knew her motherin-law could use some fashion advice. Even around the house, one didn't need to look indistinguishable from a servant. Before Philadelphia could decide on a tactful way to say so, Livvy was talking again.

"Although you don't look it, I figure you must be about four months along. Very soon you'll need clothing to accommodate your condition. Have you given any thought to alterations?"

Philadelphia stared, then blinked rapidly. It just didn't go away. There were long stretches when she forgot her condition, then something jolted the pregnancy back to the front of her mind. "I don't think I'm that far along."

"You must be close. Max departed for the mountains on May 30, and as I understand it, you and he …"Livvy coughed into her hand. "I'm counting from May 29." Now she frowned. "My dear, you really should stop lacing so tightly. I realize you didn't want anyone to guess, but you're safely married now, and it isn't good for the baby to lace so tightly. I'd recommend that you stop wearing a corset entirely."

"Perhaps." Again she cast her eyes toward her lap and fidgeted with her fingers.

"Meanwhile, we can begin letting out the waists on some of your dresses and ensembles and sewing up anything new you need. Gilly and I are doing some sewing for Louise; we can work on your requirements as well."

"I wouldn't dream of putting you to any trouble. Whatever alterations are necessary can be done by my seamstress." In fact, she would indeed need additional dresses, a thought that lifted her spirits somewhat.

She'd have Wally take her back to Denver for a shopping excursion.

Livvy fell silent for a full minute. "Perhaps I should remind you that Wally is not a wealthy man. Surely he's mentioned that we won't be sending many cattle to market this year."

"Oh, I'm certain we'll manage." She didn't wish to offend the famous McCord pride by mentioning that her father would pay her seamstress as he always had. And she counted on the fact that the Houser pride would ensure that her father also paid for the Denver excursion rather than subject her to the indignity of appearing in altered clothing. The Housers weren't the sort to make do.

"There's something else we need to discuss." Livvy clasped her hands in her apron lap. "I suspect you've kept to your room since you arrived because Louise has come every day to help with the cooking. Is that correct?"

"I don't wish to see or speak to that person," Philadelphia said coldly. "I won't be in the same room with an immoral creature such as she. No decent woman would."

Livvy reached across the space that separated them and took her hand. " Philadelphia . The worst thing that can happen is to have this family split down the center." She drew a deep breath. "I know everything that's happened is deeply painful to you. I certainly understand how you would focus blame on Louise.

But I beg you to rise above these feelings if you possibly can. For the sake of the family."

Withdrawing her hand, she stood abruptly and returned to the window. Staring through the lace, she watched the men striding toward the house from the barn and corrals. If she'd opened the window, she knew the air would stink of dust and scorched cowhide. Truly, she didn't know how she could endure living on a ranch. None of the outside smells were pleasant.

"The whole family will have dinner here every Sunday. For the sake of unity and harmony, I ask that you tolerate Louise for a few hours every Sunday and on holiday occasions."

After the countless concessions she had already made, expecting her to share a table with a woman no better than a whore added insult to injury. Her frown settled on Max and Wally, walking behind the cowboys toward the house. Both were flushed and tight-jawed as if they'd been arguing.

"You ask too much, Mother McCord. As a tribute to the decent women in this family, you should instruct Max to leave Low Down at home on Sundays and come to dinner alone."

"Her name is Louise," Livvy said sharply. "If I close my door to Louise, I also shut out Max, and rightly so. I would expect both of my sons to turn their backs on any person or place that does not welcome their wives. It would kill me if any of my children ever felt unwelcome in this house."

Livvy paused, clearly wanting Philadelphia to bend to her wishes. Too angry to speak, Philadelphia remained silent.

"Holding the family together depends on you. I wish that burden weren't yours to bear. I wish things were different, but they're not. If you can move ahead with your life and focus on Wally and your child instead of dwelling on past hurts and betrayals, then the McCord family has a chance to come through this intact. And if you can find it in your heart to treat Max and Louise politely if not warmly, you'll go a long way toward settling much of the gossip and scandal."

Down by the barn Max and Wally halted and turned to face each other. Philadelphia couldn't hear what they shouted, but she saw their clenched fists and braced postures. She saw the cowboys look back from the table, saw the creature and Gilly stop with bowls of food in their hands.

When she looked at the brothers again, Max and Wally were hitting and punching each other, going at it as if they were the worst of enemies.

"This breaks my heart," Livvy whispered at her side.

*

It was a stupid argument that should never have escalated into a fistfight. What did Max care if Wally ended with a few more beeves than he did? He didn't even know if that was the case because they hadn't yet taken a final count. Also, Dave Weaver was recording the preliminary tally and dividing the herd into fourths, not Wally.

He'd made an offhand comment about Wally ending up with more calves, and Wally had reacted as if Max had accused him of stealing. By the time Max explained that he'd simply made an observation, Wally was beyond reason and fighting mad. In Max's opinion, Wally had been spoiling for a fight ever since he'd returned from Denver .

"That's a damned lie," Wally objected, spitting the words and glaring at Max over Livvy's head. "But if I were mad, I'd say I have reason. You leave here for months, then walk in and expect to take over like you've only been gone five minutes. You don't know what it was like to watch the streams and creeks dry up this summer. You don't know how it felt to ride out and find the dead beeves by following circling buzzards. If you'd been here like you should have—"

"That's enough, both of you. Sit down, Max. You, too, Wally."

They were in the kitchen where Livvy had cleaned and doctored split lips, a couple of black eyes, and various scrapes, scratches, and bruises. Gilly had cast them a despairing look before heading to the corrals to find Dave, and Louise had given Max a long, unreadable stare before she followed Gilly. As for Philadelphia , Max guessed she was upstairs. He'd seen the curtains twitch at the window of Gilly's old bedroom, otherwise he hadn't glimpsed hide nor hair of her since the day she'd arrived.

"The two of you should be ashamed of yourselves," Livvy snapped. When they were boys, they had called the look she gave them now her fire-and-brimstone look. It began with her fists on her hips and her eyes narrowed to slits, and occasionally it had ended with a switching. "Fighting like two mad dogs, and doing it in front of your hands."

"Hell, they enjoyed it," Wally said sourly, staring at his outstretched legs.

Max agreed, remembering the cheering and hollering. "I imagine they also enjoyed watching your wife wade in and stop the carnage," Livvy stated coldly.

Max frowned down at his bruised knuckles. He'd managed to pull his punch a second before he would have laid Louise out on the ground. Jumping into the middle of a fistfight was a damned foolhardy thing for her to do, and he still could hardly believe that's what she'd done. But she had walked between them without a hint of fear or hesitation, and she'd smacked them both with the heels of her hands, knocking them backward. Curling her lip, she'd said with disgust, "You're acting like you ain't in long pants yet!

Now get your butts up to the house and apologize to your ma for shaming her in front of the hands."

"Aren't you the focus of enough gossip and talk without adding to it?" Turning her back to them, Livvy walked to the window and glared outside. "Every person who hears this tale will believe the two of you were fighting over Philadelphia . And that's the story the boys will tell in the saloons tonight."

"It was about cattle," Max insisted firmly. Wally nodded.

"You two haven't fought each other since you were in your early teens, and now you go at it over a few calves?" Turning from the window, Livvy leaned against the sideboard and folded her arms across her chest. "Well, I hope blacking each other's eyes and bruising each other's ribs got it out of your systems.

Because I don't want to see this happen again, do you hear me?"

The air went out of Max's chest, and he covered his eyes with a hand. No one would believe that he and Wally had fought over a couple of calves. Of course it was more than that.

"This can go one of two ways," Livvy said. "We can accept that things got turned around and didn't work out the way we planned. We can put the past behind us and make this situation work for everyone.

Or," she stared at them, "the two of you can destroy our family. Is that what you want? To live within shouting distance of each other and fill the space with animosity? Do you want to tear your sister in two pieces? Never mind what it will do to me if you two can't accept the decisions you made. If you want to throw away a lifetime of caring about each other because of a woman, I can't stop you. But think about it and be sure that's what you really want."

She looked like she wanted to switch them, but they were grown men so she walked outside instead, slamming the door behind her.

"Hell," Max said after a minute, touching his fingers to his cracked lower lip. "Where'd you learn to throw a punch like that?"

"From you." Leaning back in the chair, Wally gingerly placed a hand against his ribs. "Damn. I'm not going to be able to take a deep breath for a week."

They sat in silence taking inventory of minor injuries.

"I guess this had to happen," Max said in a low voice. He hated it that Wally had married Philadelphia , hated that Wally was falling in love with her, and hated it that Wally would make her a good and devoted husband. Hated to think that Philadelphia might return Wally's love someday. He hated it that he couldn't place his hand on her stomach and feel his child kicking inside. Hated it that he would never know his son or daughter the way a father should. For a few violent moments he had needed to punish Wally for all of his own mistakes.

"I've been wanting to knock you into next Sunday, waiting for a chance to do it," Wally admitted, considering the hole in his pants above his knee.

Max nodded. Wally hated it that he'd saved the family honor at the cost of choosing his own bride and his own future. He hated it that Philadelphia had loved Max and Max had been there first. He had to hate it that his wife was carrying his brother's child.

"I'm through," Max said firmly. "As far as I'm concerned, it's finished."

"Same here."

"Have we talked about this enough, or is there anything more you want to say?"

"We've covered it," Wally said. "We know where we stand and what we're going to do about it."

They stood, gazed hard into each other's eyes, then shook hands, holding the grip longer than was necessary.

It occurred to Max that if he repeated this conversation to Louise, she would blink and claim they hadn't talked at all. But she would be wrong. They had said it all with their fists, and Livvy had added the postscript. Now the air was clear, and they could go on. They slapped each other on the back and returned to the corral to wrap up the branding and ear notching.

While he worked, Max decided that Livvy was right. There was no woman worth losing his brother over. His feelings wouldn't change overnight, but for the first time since he had looked down and found the scratched marble in his palm, he understood that he'd only paid lip service to the fact that he had to let Philadelphia go. On some level he had stubbornly believed that eventually, somehow and someway, everything would work out as it should have. But it wasn't going to. He had to accept that, completely and finally, or lose his brother.

*

They didn't discuss the dreamlike evening on the kitchen floor or the fight between Max and his brother.

There was no need because Louise understood that Philadelphia stood squarely at the center of both events. To state it mildly, Philadelphia was not her favorite topic despite the amount of time she wasted thinking about the woman. Half a dozen times a day she recalled her meeting with Philadelphia and thought about all the things she might have said in response to Philadelphia 's remarks.

The only reason she'd taken Philadelphia 's comments lying down was because she felt sorry for her, and because she knew Livvy McCord desperately did not want an open breech within the family. For Livvy's sake, Louise had decided that she would do whatever it took not to cause further trouble. If that meant letting Philadelphia walk all over her, well, so be it. There was nothing Philadelphia could say to her that she hadn't heard before.

Besides, if she ever let herself cut loose, she could outdo Philadelphia any day of the week when it came to insults. If living in a man's world had done nothing else, it had taught her how to cuss and hurl insults alongside the best of them.

There was another, less noble reason why she hadn't given Philadelphia a hard verbal slap. A little matter of the truth.

Pausing with her dust rag on the piano keys, Louise reluctantly conceded that Philadelphia was right.

Louise hadn't been choosy about who drew the scratched marble. To get a baby she would have slept with just about any of the prospectors.

But she wasn't a whore as Philadelphia believed. She wasn't promiscuous either. At age twenty-eight, she'd been with two men, and one of them she'd married. If that made her an affront to decent women—if wanting a baby to love and raise wasn't something respectable folks could understand—then she didn't want to be decent or respectable.

Be who you seem to be. That was one of the proverbs she tried to live by. She didn't put on airs, didn't gussy up her background, didn't apologize for who she was or how she lived. She tried to do right and stay out of trouble. She lived what she considered a decent life, though it might not seem so to someone like Philadelphia .

There were about a million rules in the Good Book and in society, and she tried to obey those that made sense. But it never should have been a rule that a woman became indecent if she was willing to accept just about any man in order to make a baby. Some women were never going to catch a husband or didn't want one. That didn't make them in-damn-decent.

Raising a hand, she banged her fist down on the piano keys, striking a jarringly discordant sound. After she did it again, Max appeared in the parlor archway, startling her. She hadn't realized he'd come inside.

"What are you doing?"

Her chin came up and she glared. "Everyone in the McCord family can play a stupid piano except me.

Even Sunshine can pick out a tune; she told me so." When Max smiled and pointed out that neither he nor Wally played the piano, she snapped at him. "You know what I mean."

"I'm sure Gilly would be delighted to teach you."

"Well, maybe I'll just ask her about that." After closing the lid over the keys with a bang, she swished her skirts past him and headed for the kitchen. "Or maybe I won't. Maybe I think a person can be decent without knowing how to play a single damned note. What are you doing here anyway?"

"I came up to the house for dinner," he said patiently, following her into the kitchen.

"Oh Lord. Is it dinnertime already? Seems I just finished putting away the breakfast fixings." Her face flamed as she walked across the section of floor where they had lain together, and she didn't dare look at him. They had done… it… on the kitchen floor. If she were still a cussing woman, she would have spun out a string of awed swearing, yes sir.

"Just give me some bread and gravy. That'll be fine."

"A man ought to have more than bread and gravy for his dinner." He was standing too close, and that flustered her. In all her born days, she didn't think she'd ever met a man who smelled as wonderful as Max did. He smelled like lots of good things. Leather and smoke, horseflesh and cowhide. Soap and fresh air, earth and sun. Sometimes he smelled of whiskey, and sometimes he smelled like the apples she kept in a basket near the mudroom door. Sometimes she smelled lamp oil on his hands, sometimes coal or pine resin. If she sniffed him before he washed up at night, occasionally she caught the tang of good honest man sweat.

"Louise …"

They stood gazing into each other's eyes, close enough that her skirt wrapped his legs. And his intense speculative look suggested that he, too, remembered what had happened in this spot a few nights ago.

"Mr. McCord? Max? Are you in there?"

Louise gave him a faint smile and stepped backward, folding her shaking hands in her apron.

"That you, Shorty?" Max called toward the mudroom door. He placed a fingertip at the corner of Louise's lips.

His touch was light, but it shot a spear of fire down to her toes and pinned her to the floor.

"You and me," Max said quietly. "We got some talking to do. I'll be back after I find out what's on Shorty's mind."

Nodding, Louise leaned against the sink and wet her lips. There were a dozen things he might want to discuss. Piano lessons, expenses, the roundup, the weather, his black eye. But the hot tingle in her stomach and the accelerated thump of her heartbeat suggested that she hoped it was none of those things.

When the strength returned to her legs, she stood up straight and blinked at the bacon drippings on the stove shelf, then toward the sideboard where she kept the flour sack. She tried to think about gravy, but her heart and ears listened for Max's voice. Even so, she had the skillet out and on the stove before she realized the voices outside were too loud. Frowning, she hesitated, then moved the skillet off the heat and wiped her hands in her apron. All she had to do was stand in the door to the mudroom and she could hear Max and Shorty.

"I'm sorry, Mr. McCord. You got to know we wouldn't walk out on you if there was any choice."

Louise pressed a hand to her mouth, smothering a gasp.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd give me a few days to work this out." Anger shook Max's voice.

"There's nothing you can do. This ain't going to work out. The boys are cleaning the bunkhouse now.

We'll ride out after we finish the day's chores." A silence ensued, broken by the sound of throat clearing, spitting, and boot scuffing. "I'm sorry. I felt like I was part of this place. Wanted to watch it grow."

"If things change, there'll always be a place for you here."

"I hope they do change, boss. I surely do."

There was time for them to shake hands, time for Shorty to walk away before Max slammed into the house, strode past her, and dropped heavily into a chair at the table.

Louise poured a cup of coffee and placed it in his hand. "What was that? I heard the end of it, but not the beginning."

"The boys went into town last night to spend their wages and let off a little steam."

"And?"

"Nobody in town would take their money. They were either ignored or told to get out. They couldn't buy a drink or a woman, couldn't get a shave or a shine. No restaurant would serve them. The hotel told them to move on and use someone else's hitching rail. One of the sheriff's deputies followed them everywhere they went. Watching them and how they were treated. Smiling when it became apparent that Shorty and the boys couldn't buy the time of day."

"But why?" Louise's eyes widened and she spread her hands. "Why would any establishment turn away business?"

He stared at her. "Because the owners were told to."

"But who… ?"Then it came to her. "Oh." Silently she returned to the stove and poured another cup of coffee for herself.

"As long as Shorty and the boys work for me, they're pariahs in town."

Louise sat at the table and shoved back the hair falling across her forehead. "Surely Howard Houser doesn't hold the mortgage on every business in Fort Houser ," she said angrily.

"There's one bank in town, and Houser owns it. I've seen the file room. Hundreds and hundreds of folders. Mortgages, loans, investment accounts, savings, you name it. If someone makes a financial transaction, you can bet that Howard had something to do with it. If he doesn't hold the mortgage directly, he probably has dealings with the establishment's suppliers, and so on."

"The hell with him. We'll hire new hands."

"Who's going to sign on? The word will get out, if it hasn't already, that working for Max McCord is like working for free because no one in town will accept money from one of my hands. I might as well pay their wages in dried peas for all the good my money does them."

The ripples continued to widen, rolling outward from a moment on a mountainside above Piney Creek.

Swearing softly, Louise watched Max drag his fingers over the pits marking his jaw.

"Would it do any good to speak to Houser?" Even as she asked the question, she knew any appeal would be futile.

"Rouser knows what he's doing. The ostracism will continue until he decides I've been punished enough."

"This isn't fair," Louise said furiously. "If you won't believe me, then believe your ma. Livvy said you did the right thing. She knows what happened wasn't your fault."

"That was before anyone knew about Philadelphia 's pregnancy. The pregnancy is my fault. That's what Howard can't move past." He pushed a hand through his hair. "I'd feel the same if I had a daughter and some bastard got her pregnant."

Maybe Max did have a daughter, Louise thought, looking away from him. Maybe the child Philadelphia carried was a girl.

"Well," he said after a full minute. "I can't feed a herd by myself. And I know Howard Houser. If I spread my herd among Dave, Ma, and Wally's herds, their hands won't be able to buy so much as a plug of tobacco, either." He stared at a point in space, his face hard and resigned. "There's nothing to do but sell out. I'd rather sell the herd now than watch them starve over the winter."

"You're talking about giving up your ranch?"

What more did Max McCord have to lose before the reverberations ended from that day on the mountainside? He'd lost his bride, his child, a future in banking. Before it was over, he might lose his brother and now his ranch. She'd be damned before she let that happen. It ended here, now. Max was not going to lose anything more.

"Like hell," Louise said, leaning forward. Her eyes glittered. "You got me. And I'm worth three hands any day. You and me, we can get those beeves through the winter."

He stared at her. "You don't know what you're saying. Getting a herd through the winter is hard work.

The cattle don'tstop eating when a blizzard blows. We'll have to keep the stock ponds from freezing over. I can't ask this of you."

"You ain't asking. I'm volunteering. We're not giving up without a fight."