Page 40 of Silver Lining
"I dished out the stew, but I thought you'd want to see the rest of the house before you ate. I wasn't sure what to do."
"I'll see the house later." He swallowed a bite of stew, then reached for a fresh loaf of bread. "I'm sorry I disappeared last night and most of today. I knew Ma and Gilly would look after you."
"I don't need looking after," she said, bristling. "A lot happened last night and this morning. Your ma told me most of it." She pulled small pieces off a chunk of bread, rolled them into balls between her thumb and middle finger, and dropped the little balls into her stew bowl. "I guess you went crazy when you learned Philadelphia was pregnant."
Suddenly the food tasted like ashes. "There's nothing to be gained by talking about it." As the shadows deepened outside the windows, the lamp in the center of the table seemed brighter, spreading a soft glow over the tablecloth, smoothing the circles beneath Louise's lashes. He drew a breath. "I'll be gone about a week on the roundup."
Surprise lifted her brows. "I thought I heard Livvy mention the roundup would last longer than that."
"We won't bring in the cattle in one large herd, but in several smaller herds. I'll return with the first group and set up for branding and notching."
"At the main house."
He nodded. "Will you be all right staying here alone for a week? I could leave one of the boys to look after you."
Even the loose tendrils around her face seemed to stiffen with offense. "I don't need a nursemaid, damn it." Tilting her head, she glared at him. "A better idea would be to take me along on the roundup. I could learn how to chase down cows."
"You probably could." He smiled in spite of himself. "But I doubt the boys would appreciate having a greenhorn woman getting in the way."
"I'm no delicate little flower, McCord," she said, narrowing her eyes even farther. "I can do anything a man can do."
He thought again that he liked her best when her dander was up, and pride and bravado rose like mercury shooting up a thermometer "I won't argue the point," he agreed, reaching for more bread. "Ma and Gilly used to ride along before Gilly turned into a young lady. But Ma was never a greenhorn, she could bust mavericks out of the brush as good as any man. And I've seen Gilly hold a small herd together."
"Well, then." Triumph gleamed in her eyes. "I guess I can, too."
"Cow punching is something a person grows up with or grows into. It isn't something you learn in the middle of the fall roundup. You'd be a danger to yourself and others."
Maybe it was the play of lamplight across her features that made her expression so readable tonight. He saw her disappointment but also knew he'd struck the right chord when he explained that she might imperil others.
"You could go up to the main house and stay with Ma," he suggested after he'd finished the stew and she'd served him a slab of rhubarb pie. He wouldn't have left Philadelphia absolutely alone, and he was determined to offer Louise the same courtesies.
"I might visit, but I'll stay here." She continued to roll little bread balls, now dropping them on top of the pie she hadn't touched. "Somebody needs to feed the chickens and milk the cow. I guess that's me. Who knows? Maybe I'll ride out and find some cattle close in and practice driving them toward the barn."
This was what he didn't like. Her independence led to impulsive decisions. Patiently, he explained the foolishness of attempting to chase cattle out of the brush with no instruction and no one along to help if things went wrong.
"Suppose the steer charges your horse and your horse shies and throws you. You could be out there for a week with a broken leg and no water, and no one knowing where you are."
Raising her head, she gave him a long searching look. "I wouldn't think that would concern you overmuch," she said in an expressionless voice. "Nobody would shed a tear if I got thrown and broke my neck."
"No one would be happy about it, either," he snapped, returning her steady gaze. "What you do now doesn't alter a damned thing. Live or die. Stay or go. Wally will still be married to Philadelphia ."
Realizing he'd raised his voice, he leaned back in his chair and pulled a hand down his jaw, feeling the small pox pits beneath his fingertips. "Do you still want a baby?" he asked bluntly.
"Yes."
"Then stop feeling sorry for yourself, if that's what you're doing. I agree it wasn't much of a welcome, with Ma talking divorce before you even went inside the house, but the family's trying to do right, trying not to blame you for everything that's happened." He ignored the hissing sound of her breath and the way her spine went rigid. "But the truth is, a lot of lives have been changed or affected because you want a baby."
"Or because you wanted a summer in the mountains. Or because fate put a marble in your hand. Or—"
He raised his hand. "You're right. But the fact is Wally wouldn't have married Philadelphia today if you had wanted a piano or a house or something else. You and I are married because you wanted a baby.
And so are Wally and Philadelphia ."
"What are you trying to say?" she asked coldly.
"I guess I'm saying that I don't blame you, but you do bear some responsibility. I'm also saying that you can run off if you want to. You can risk your life on foolish, dangerous pursuits if you need to prove a point." He stared into her eyes. "Then nobody wins. Nobody in this whole mess gets what they want.
Believe it or not, and I've told you this before, I don't want to see that happen. I'd like to think that at least one person finds something good in all of this. But I'm through begging you to stay, Louise. If you truly want to cut and run, then go. Nothing's holding you here, you're not a prisoner."
