Page 39 of Silver Lining
When the shadows lengthened and the air felt cool against her cheeks, she stood to return inside, pausing as she noticed a horseman trotting across the prairie range. Even from a distance she recognized Max by the way he sat Marva Lee and from the distinctively jaunty angle of his hat. She watched him lean forward in the saddle as Marva Lee sailed over a stone fence, then man and horse veered toward the barn.
Never had Louise expected to feel her heart constrict in a spasm of strange wild joy simply because a man rode toward her. But this wasn't just any man. Her husband was coming home for supper. And suddenly that seemed like a mighty fine thing.
She couldn't decide whether to curse Preacher Jellison for turning her life upside down or to bless him for giving her a taste of a life she would never have experienced otherwise.
She'd decide later. Right now she needed to give the stew a stir and set the table. Son of a… gun. She flat couldn't get over it. She had a husband, and he was coming home for supper.
CHAPTER9
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The original plan had included a wing extending to the south. The additional space would have added a sunroom, a library, and a family sitting room on the ground floor, a nursery and extra bedrooms above.
Before Max had departed for Piney Creek, he'd decided to wait and see how well Philadelphia adjusted to ranch living before adding the expense of the south wing. He had hoped that eventually she would share his love of the land and the pleasure of not dwelling eaves to porch rail with a neighbor. When that time came, if it did, then he'd construct the wing.
Now he studied the tall, narrow core of the house and conceded that Philadelphia would never have adjusted to an isolated location or to living so far from her father and friends and lady's clubs. Moreover, he'd neglected to provide quarters for a cook or maid, an oversight Max only now recognized as significant.
Absorbed in thinking about mistakes that seemed obvious in retrospect, he was almost to the barn before he saw Louise rise from the kitchen stoop and gather the edges of her shawl close to her breast.
She stood straight and tall, not signaling, not seeming to expect anything, simply waiting and watching.
The barn called to him, but duty and guilt called louder. Swearing softly, he paused, then turned Marva Lee toward the house and rode up to the stoop, wondering what he could possibly say to her. To his relief she broke the silence first.
"Supper's ready whenever you are," she said, shading her eyes to look at him. She didn't castigate him for abandoning her as he'd half expected she might.
"I'd like to look at the barn and sheds, and speak to the boys." None of the hands were strangers, since most had worked for the McCords before Livvy parceled the ranch into fourths. They would expect him to say hello after a long absence.
"There's no hurry. Supper will keep." She dropped her hand and smoothed it across the front of an apron he'd seen his mother wear. "There's a basin of water in the mudroom where you can wash up."
Late sunlight slanted across her face, finding gold in her hazel eyes, coaxing auburn highlights from her hair. "Max?" Color rushed into her cheeks and her voice sounded oddly shy. "This is a wonderful house."
From her perspective he supposed it was. Anything with solid walls and a roof would be an enormous step up from pitching a tent on the bare ground. She wouldn't notice the lack of an informal sitting room and servant's quarters.
Putting her out of his mind, he spent the next hour touring the barn, sheds, bunkhouse, corrals, and stock pond, and talking to Shorty, his foreman.
"Everything seems to be according to the plans," he said with satisfaction. He'd never doubted that it would be, not with Shorty Smith overseeing the barn raising and house building. Shorty had been his man on site, the person he'd trusted to make the day-to-day decisions and see that the job got done.
"I appreciate your diligence on my behalf," he said gruffly, shaking Shorty's hand. Spending the summer in the mountains would have been impossible without Shorty. His brother and Gilly's husband had their own operations to run, and he wouldn't have imposed by asking either to oversee an extensive building project.
"My pleasure, boss," Shorty said, puffing out his chest. "It ain't often a man gets to be part of a ranch right from the get go." He leaned on the top rail of the corral and slid Max a curious look. "I wish you and the missus every happiness on your new place."
Shorty wouldn't ask the questions flickering behind his sidelong glance, but it wasn't difficult to guess what they were. Cowboys were worse gossips than old women, and undoubtedly there was a great deal of bunkhouse speculation about Max coming home with one woman days before he was scheduled to marry another. By suppertime tomorrow the cowboy grapevine would be discussing what it meant that Wally had taken the gig to town wearing his Sunday best and toting a large traveling satchel. And before breakfast of the following day, the hands would notice that Wally wasn't participating in the roundup. By then they might have learned that Wally and Philadelphia had run off to Denver together.
Max bit down hard and faced toward a sunset blaze of red and orange. The days were getting shorter and the nights colder. "Tomorrow I'll bring Mrs. McCord down to show her the barn. You might tell the boys to shave and put on clean bandannas."
Having said all he intended to say, he headed toward the back of the house and the mudroom. The first time he entered his house should rightly have been through the front door so he could experience a first impression as others would. But having admitted the flaws, his impression of the house was soured.
"Is there a towel?" he called after washing up.
"Somewhere. But I don't… here, use this." Coming to the mudroom door, Louise glanced at the water dripping into the opened collar of his shirt, then pushed a dish towel into his hands.
The first thing he noticed after hanging his hat on a peg and stepping into the kitchen was the stove. Iron with nickel trim and wood handles that stayed cool to the touch no matter how hot the firebox became. It burned wood or coal, soft or hard.
"Ain't it the grandest, shiniest stove you ever saw?" Louise said, following his gaze. "And look here. We have an icebox to keep things cool." Opening the icebox lid she removed a dish of butter. "There's no ice in it now, but come winter there will be." A stream of words poured out of her. "Your mother and sister prepared supper." She set the dish of butter on the table and stepped back, frowning. "Do I have to set out spoons even if we won't be using them? Oh, wait. I forgot about stirring sugar into coffee. Well, hell.
I forgot to make fresh coffee."
"It doesn't matter." Remembering that he hadn't eaten since yesterday, he took a seat at the head of the kitchen table. "Louise," he said after watching her bounce from stove to pump handle to icebox as if she couldn't stop moving. "Will you sit down?"
