Page 55 of Silver Lining
Feels like it could, though."
The bottle clinked against the lip of his glass, then silence. She didn't mind. It was nice to sip good whiskey and quietly share the darkness. Good companions didn't need words.
"There's a mystery down at the corral," he said eventually.
"Do tell." On the other hand, words were fine, too.
"Eight beeves wandered into the corral and closed the gate behind themselves."
She swallowed another fiery sip of whiskey. "Is that so."
"And there must have been a hell of a windstorm while I was gone, strong enough to blow hay in the corral to feed those beeves."
"Well, that is a mystery, now ain't it."
"So which horse did you use?" he asked after another silence.
"The black gelding."
"That's Hoss. A good choice if you can stay on top of him."
"I spent some time picking myself out of the dirt." With the comfort of the dark and the whiskey and the faint glow of embers in the firebox, she knew he wouldn't chastise her for rounding up a few cattle on her own. It wasn't that kind of moment. Plus, he could see that she hadn't broken any bones. And all's well that ends well.
"I imagine the only reason you didn't brand the two calves is because we have all the irons up at the main ranch." A hint of amusement softened the sharpness of his words.
"Max? Is this here going to be a habit? Sitting up in the middle of the night drinking?"
This time the silence stretched so long that she decided he was through talking.
"I thought I was doing what I needed to do," he said defensively. "I thought I had to spend the summer at Piney Creek to understand. I think Pa dreamed of succeeding big at something he loved to do, and he didn't want to leave the mountains until he did. I think it broke something inside when Ma succeeded but he didn't. And every time someone praised him about the ranch, whatever was broke cracked a little more."
So that's what had occupied his thoughts during the roundup. Going over and over his summer in Piney Creek, seeking to justify the decision that had ended by changing lives. She poured another splash into her glass and leaned back in her chair.
"The thing is, I could have figured that out without ever leaving Fort Houser ." Disgust roughened his voice.
"Max? You've got a long day tomorrow. You need some sleep."
"I was dead set on going. It meant there wouldn't be any engagement parties, no prenuptial celebrations, none of the bridal fuss that women like. It meant leaving Shorty to build the house and ranch. How did walking away from my responsibilities ever seem reasonable?"
"If you'd known Philadelphia was pregnant, you would have left the mountains like a shot."
"I don't know why she didn't tell me. I had her letters in a packet inside my vest when I took sick. They were burned with my clothing. But I go over and over them in my memory, wondering if I missed a hint I was intended to see. But I don't recall anything like that. She wanted me to come home, but hell, she didn't want me to go in the first place. She never wrote there was a special reason why I should come back."
"You're beating a dead horse, Max. It's done and over." The words were harsh, but she spoke them softly.
"Damn it, I'm so black-bile-up-to-here fricking angry." Sitting forward, he propped his elbows on his thighs and dropped his head in his hands.
"I know."
She understood feeling angry and being helpless to do anything about it. She'd felt that way today after Philadelphia spoke to her. She'd felt that way so many, many times in her life. There wasn't anything that would fix Max's anger or alter the injustice of everything that had happened. But it wasn't in Louise's nature to sit idly by and do nothing in the presence of pain and need.
Sliding her bare feet to the cold floor, she stood, thought a minute, then fetched Max's winter duster from the mudroom and spread it on the kitchen floor. She folded her shawl for a pillow.
Then she moved to stand in front of him, and tapped him on the head to get his attention. "I ain't got much to give to take your mind off hurting, but I'm offering you what I got."
Reaching down, she lifted the bottom of her nightgown with the intention of pulling it over her head. The wretched thing swallowed her up, and she thought she never would get it off. Swearing and slapping at volumes of material, she shoved it down and tried opening the drawstring at her neck. Better. She got one arm and shoulder through the opening, then the other, and she pushed the gown to her waist.
Max drew a sharp breath, and she realized she stood silhouetted by the moonlight falling through the frosted window. Now was not the moment to go timid, she reminded herself. This was her idea—in for a penny, in for a pound.
