Page 76 of Silver Lining
"Oh!" She blinked, thinking about it. "Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. I suppose we could give that a try."
Now he laughed. She was so knowledgeable and experienced in some areas, so innocent in others. "If you're willing, as tired as you are, I'm willing, too." In fact, his body had proven itself ready, willing, and able several minutes ago. "But you have to take off your nightgown. Pitching a tent in a high wind is easier than fighting that damned nightgown."
Thirty minutes later, she slept with a smile on her lips, her head resting against his good shoulder. He needed to get up and turn off the lamps, but he knew how exhausted she was and couldn't bring himself to disturb her.
Despite what she had said the day he broke his arm, there were so many good things about Louise. If he had a herd left after this hard bitter winter, it would be because of her. To say he was grateful would be to understate his sentiments by a country mile.
Not for the first time, he decided that she reminded him of an egg. Hard-shelled on the outside, soft on the inside. She blustered and swore and slammed things around in the kitchen when she was angry. Stuck out her chin and dared the world to take a swing. But she didn't sulk, didn't pout, didn't attempt to manipulate. And although he tried, he couldn't recall ever hearing her complain. She had a remarkable ability to accept whatever life tossed her way and find something positive.
But beneath that hard, defensive shell, was a vulnerable woman who couldn't see her own worth. Others did. Even Sunshine grasped that Louise's opinion of herself was nowhere near who she really was.
And now, in the silence of a cold black night, thoughts of betrayal crept into his mind.
Philadelphia would never have volunteered to help him save his herd. If he tried for a hundred years, he wouldn't be able to imagine her pitching hay in below-zero weather with tears freezing on her cheeks, or working until she shook with exhaustion and couldn't hold a coffee cup between her blistered palms.
Philadelphia would not have stepped forward to set a broken bone. If she had remained in the room, she would have fainted as Gilly had. It was impossible to imagine her nursing a stream of men filling a schoolhouse with the stench of pus and vomit. Philadelphia would have been among the first to flee at the initial whisper of disease.
Further, he could not visualize Philadelphia ever throwing off her nightgown and her inhibitions as Louise had done tonight. Philadelphia would always be the rigidly delicate and modest lady who submitted and endured and participated as little as possible because joy and enthusiasm in the bedroom would damage her dignity and self-image. He couldn't know for certain, but he suspected Philadelphia would view sex as a manipulative tool, dispensing her favors as a reward or in exchange for favors granted.
Frowning, he stared at the icy frost patterns laced across the windowpanes, and he remembered Philadelphia ridiculing Louise in front of Sunshine, and again in front of the family at dinner. He remembered countless incidents of pouting lips and copious tears and a stamping foot. Oddly, he did not remember laughter in their relationship. He remembered his goals and her goals, but no common goals or shared viewpoints.
What on earth had drawn them together?
Lowering his head, he rubbed his fingertips across his forehead. Damn it. How could he criticize the mother of his child? How could he justify such disloyalty? Without the intervention of one green marble, it would have been Philadelphia sleeping beside him now. It would have been him fastening a stiff starched collar around his neck and riding into the bank every day. Not so long ago, that's what he had believed he wanted.
But his worst betrayal came when he smiled at Louise and realized with sudden guilt and astonishment that he could love her. And when he understood that he respected and admired this unusual woman, and he genuinely enjoyed her company.
When these insights occurred, his mind instantly backed away and his thoughts shut down. What kind of bastard would love one woman while another carried his child? Tar and feathers were too good for such a man.
And there was the fact that Louise would leave him once she became pregnant. This was their agreement. Through trial and error and compromise they were managing to live together and doing it successfully, in his opinion. But she'd said nothing to indicate that anything had changed. Their agreement held.
He gazed down at the top of her head and the curve of her cheek. Studied her work-roughened hand rising and falling on his chest. Once he had believed that smooth pale hands with manicured nails were beautiful. Now his eyes had opened to the aching beauty of bruised knuckles, blunt nails, and callused palms.
If it hadn't been for Philadelphia and the child she carried… if he and Louise hadn't agreed their marriage was only temporary…
But he would never know what might have happened. He could allow himself to respect Louise and enjoy her company, but he could not permit his regard to deepen into anything more than admiration and esteem. Not when mere months ago, he would willingly and happily have married someone else. Not while that someone else grew large with his child.
CHAPTER 17
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"Idon't believe I've seen you this excited," Max mentioned after he'd apologized for not assisting her up the veranda stairs. One arm was in the sling, and in his free hand, he carried a cloth bag filled with gifts.
"This is my first real Christmas," Louise explained. "For people without a family, Christmas doesn't mean much." That's how it had always been for her, just another day. But not this year. She lifted her hem away from the snowy steps and looked up with eager, sparkling eyes. "Oh Max, I can't wait to see the tree. Will there be candles on it?"
Once she had believed life couldn't offer a better moment than the party in her honor on the day the prospectors burned the schoolhouse. But the night at the Belle Mark with Max had eclipsed the party in her honor. And now she was positive that her first Christmas Eve with a real family would be the best evening in her whole life.
Max smiled. "There'll be candles on the tree. And ornaments and strings of popped corn and cranberries. We'll stuff ourselves on Ma's famous divinity and the fudge Gilly always brings. Gilly will play carols on the piano, and we'll try to sing along. We'll all eat and drink too much, and go home loaded with gifts."
She held her breath, listening, then slowly exhaled. "Oh! It sounds so wonderful. Like everything I ever imagined, but better."
At the door, Max inclined his head in a gesture that was almost a bow. "I'm sorry to ask you to knock, but … "
He was being overly solicitous, but instead of annoying her, his attitude seemed proper tonight. This was a very special occasion, and she wanted it to feel that way in every respect.
Before she rapped on Livvy's door, she brushed damp snowflakes off the shoulders of Max's best coat before she lowered the hood of her cape and wiggled to dislodge any clinging snow.
"Oh my, don't we look grand!"
