CHAPTER 3

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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?

Dropping her head, she rubbed her forehead. How had she jumped from refusing to pour his coffee to wanting to impress his mother and sister? This was getting complicated.

"I'll cook our supper," she announced abruptly. She had intended to open a can of beans for herself and leave him to fend for himself. A small slap back for his refusal to share her trout last night. But this news about his family changed things. "It won't be anything fancy, just beans and bacon and biscuits."

"There's something else we need to discuss." This time there was no doubting the color rising in his face.

He ran a glance over her, starting at the crown of her new hat and traveling down to her scarred, old riding boots. "I think we should stop for a day in Denver ." Tilting his head, he studied the stars starting to poke holes in the sky. "I think we should buy you some dresses and hats. And give you a chance to have a bath and clean up a little."

Pride scratched her ribs, and her cheeks flamed. He was ashamed of her. Well, what did he expect? He hadn't plucked her out of some sweet-smelling parlor, after all. A mining camp didn't exactly offer the best facilities for cleanliness, and no one cared anyway.

More to the point, she thought suddenly, what would his mother and sister expect? She was beginning to form two definite impressions about her new family. First, their opinion mattered greatly to Max. And second, her newly acquired mother and sister were probably cultured ladies with fancy dresses, fancier manners, and high standards that Low Down couldn't possibly reach up to.

Her heart sank. If there was one thing worse than having no family at all, she suspected it would be having a family that was ashamed of her. A glimpse of the future flashed across the back of her mind, and it didn't feel good.

Well. Time flies. His fancy family wouldn't have to put up with her for long.

Silently she fetched her skillet and a slab of bacon and the biscuit fixings. She didn't say anything while she worked on supper. But she peeked at him, wondering if his family resembled him.

If so, the McCords were a handsome bunch. If she'd been the type of woman to swoon over a good-looking man, Max McCord would have been the man. She guessed she'd never shared a campfire with one who was better-looking. The summer sun had tanned his skin to a golden bronze that made his eyes seem bluer by contrast. His nose was thin above a wide stubborn mouth with sharply defined contours.

As she'd always thought of wrinkles as the punctuation marks of life, she studied his face carefully. The dashes radiating from the corners of his eyes suggested that he was a serious man, but the broad commas framing his mouth also told her that he could laugh.

The next thing of interest was his hands. Max's hands were hard and square, work hands, she noticed with satisfaction. She had work hands, too.

Finally she considered his overall impression, recalling the first time she'd noticed him. She hadn't been surprised to find him in a gold camp. He was tough enough to hold his own, not afraid of hard work. But there was also a hint of the dreamer about him, a man who could imagine gold in rushing water, who might see pictures in a puffy sky. A man who could describe a house to a woman and make it sound like a poem.

"I ain't worn a dress in years," she said, lowering her gaze to the balls of biscuit dough she was forming between her palms. "But I'll do it to please your ma. Is there any other damned thing you want to change about me, or are we finished with this?"

Standing, he placed his hands in the middle of his back and stretched. "You could stop swearing and saying ain't."

Oh she could, could she? She could also give him a demonstration of some real cussing, climb on Rebecca, and head south. Marriage wasn't something she'd asked for or wanted. Already she hated having a husband.

But she did want a baby.

And having a family was the best gift she could imagine. Even if the McCords turned out as she suspected they would, lofty and judgmental, still it would be wonderful to be able to say: "My family."

"You know, I just knew it would come to this." She jabbed a fork into the bacon slab and turned it over in the skillet, not caring that grease splattered into the flames. "You want to change how I look and how I talk and I don't know what all else. And I'll do all that, to get what I want. But maybe there's a few things about you that I don't like either."

"I imagine there's plenty of things you don't like about me," he said, walking into the deepening shadows to fetch their bedrolls. He flipped hers out on one side of the fire, and unrolled his on the other side. "I'm willing to make accommodations where I can, if I can. We should both remember that we only have to put up with each other for a short while."

"Well you can start by not behaving like this situation is all my fault." She dumped a large can of beans on top of the bacon. "I didn't make you pick the green marble. I wasn't even hoping that you would."

Maybe that wasn't quite the unvarnished truth. Maybe she'd passed a thought that if she had to sleep with someone to get a baby, it would be nice to sleep with a man like him who was easy on the eyes.

"I'm not saying you're completely to blame, but no one ever imagined that you'd want a baby."

She glared through the darkness, unable to distinguish his tall frame from the surrounding pines. "You could have swallowed your pride and refused to draw from the hat." The others would have scorned him and made him feel like a welsher and about as tall as a cork but he could have done it. Of course, no man worthy of the name would have.

He stopped at the edge of the firelight and his shoulders stiffened with offense. She noticed he clenched his fist around something in his pocket.

"Without honor and integrity, a man has nothing."

A long breath raised her chest. "All right, I guess you couldn't refuse. But that's not my fault."

"No it isn't," he agreed, surprising her. But his tone plainly stated it was her fault for wanting a baby in the first place.

"Look," she said, sounding and feeling defensive, "I'm sorry things worked out that you can't marry Miss Houser." Leaning to the fire, she spooned out beans and bacon and thrust a plate in his direction. And then she said something she hadn't planned, hadn't even known she was wondering about. "Do you love her a lot?"

"I would prefer not to discuss Miss Houser." He sat on the log and balanced the plate on his knees.

"I've never loved anybody, so I don't know much about that kind of thing." And it was none of her business. But to her irritation, she couldn't back off the subject. "Did you write a letter to Miss Houser, too?"

She didn't think he would answer, but he finally said, "That would be cowardly. I need to tell her about this in person." As if he'd lost his appetite, he pushed the beans around on his plate.

Low Down pushed the beans around on her plate, too. "I guess Miss Houser is going to be mighty upset."

Then, surprising her again, he told her about the bank position that would be withdrawn now. Privately, she thought that was probably a good thing. He didn't have a banker's hands.

"There will be a scandal. You and my family will suffer for it," he said, lifting his gaze to her. "I've jilted the daughter of Fort Houser 's leading citizen less than two weeks before the wedding. I'm going to be labeled a son of a bitch, and you're going to be seen as an unscrupulous temptress. At least in the beginning."

Her eyebrows soared."Me? A temptress?" It was the most thrilling thing she'd ever heard. And the most ridiculous. When she stopped laughing, she gave him a grin and a shrug. "Hell, I don't care what people think about me."

"I care. A man spends a lifetime building a reputation he can be proud of. Then, just like that, it's gone."

He snapped his fingers. "That's a hard thing."

Tilting her head to one side, Low Down examined him across the campfire. The part of her that responded to people in need wanted to reassure him and make things right, but she didn't know how.

"The job at the bank… was it something you always wanted?" She tried to imagine him fancied up in a banker's frock coat and tall hat and couldn't pull the picture into her mind. But the way he sat on a horse and the tall lanky look of him fit her image of a rancher. She could easily visualize him bucking hay, riding fence lines, tending his land and stock.

He didn't answer, and she didn't push. "The beans are good enough," she commented after a period of silence. "But the bacon could have cooked a little longer."

They finished eating without speaking, then Max washed up the dishes in the stream beside their camp.

He did it in a way that made Low Down think his mind had traveled miles into the distance. She thought hard; then, while his back was to her, she reached up under her shirt and vest and slipped the silver spoon out of the pouch.

When he returned to the fire, she glanced up at him and offered in a hesitant voice, "Would you like to see something pretty? It might make you feel better."

"What?" Frowning, he blinked down at her as if he'd forgotten about her until she spoke.

"Look." Holding out the spoon, she turned it between her fingers, delighted by the way the firelight reflected in the bowl as if she held a spoonful of fire. "Isn't it lovely?"

"It's just a spoon," he said without interest. Continuing past the campfire, he sat down on his bedroll and tugged at his boots.

Face flaming, Low Down hastily shoved the spoon into her pocket, then busied herself setting up the coffeepot for morning. How could she have been so stupid? He'd probably grown up eating off silver spoons. A silly old spoon wouldn't be anything pretty or wonderful to him.

"Max?" she called none too quietly once she was settled inside her own bedroll. "Are you asleep yet?"

His name felt awkward on her tongue and entirely too familiar. But calling him Mr. McCord wouldn't have felt right, either.

"What is it?"

"I don't want to do this," she said, peering up at the stars. They were too different, too far apart in every way. "I think we should part company right now and go our separate ways. I don't want to meet your family; they won't like me. I don't want to live in another woman's house. I don't want to be married to you, and you don't want to be married to me."

"Don't you understand? It's too late."

"What if I just rode away? You could tell your family that I ran out on you."

"We'd still be married. Miss Houser and her father would still detest me. I'd be a shirker in the eyes of the men who trust me to repay you for saving our lives. They expect one good thing to result from this disaster." A long silence ensued. "If you really want to run off, I can't stop you. But when I step back from the personal consequences, I can say that you deserve the baby you want."

He'd surprised her again. On the other hand, considering his prickly feelings about duty and honor, she supposed she could understand why giving her a baby was important to him. He had said he would, and he'd made a commitment to the other men to see this through no matter what.

"You were right about me blaming you," he added, talking to the black sky the same as she was doing.

"I agree that has to stop. While we're married we should at least treat each other cordially."

"I'm not a very cordial type," she admitted, thinking it over. A person who strewed roses usually stepped on thorns. She'd learned that lesson years ago. It was better to let people know right fast that she gave as good as she got. This wasn't exactly a cordial attitude.

"I've noticed. And right now you have no reason to believe that I'm cordial, either. But I think we'll get through this easier if we treat each other politely."

"What I know about polite wouldn't stuff a thimble."

His silhouette was just visible on the far side of the embers, arms crossed behind his head, his nose pointed toward the stars.

Low Down didn't speak again. Neither did she fall immediately asleep. Lying on her side, she watched the embers fade from orange to ashy and castigated herself for being so fricking wishy-washy. It was disgusting.

How many times had she insisted that it wasn't a real marriage or that she didn't want to be married, or suggested that he ride away or she ride away? And then at a word from him, she spun herself around and was suddenly willing to give this stupid tragic marriage a try? He must think her convictions lasted all of two minutes. She was beginning to think so, too.

Wrenching over on her stomach, she yanked the blanket up to her shoulders and squeezed her eyes shut. But her thoughts wouldn't settle down.

Just once in her life, she wished a man's voice would soften toward her as Max's voice softened when he spoke Philadelphia Houser's name. Well, it didn't matter. A person couldn't really miss what she'd never had.

She focused her restless thoughts on the baby. That's what kept her from riding away as everything sensible urged her to do. A baby. Her very own family to love. To have a baby, she'd put up with almost anything. Even a husband.