Page 15 of Silver Lining
If he had behaved with more restraint and less urgency, if they hadn't been alone in the gazebo, if Philadelphia's hands and lips had echoed her soft murmurs of protest. If he hadn't wanted to reassure her about his leaving, if she hadn't wanted to persuade him to stay. Afterward, she had lain in his arms and wept and worried aloud about whether he could ever respect her again. And he'd silently flogged himself for acting the cad and stealing her wedding night from her.
How right he had been. When she eventually married, she would begin her marriage in deceit. And he had done this to her.
"Supper's ready," Low Down called behind him.
Hunched over, staring out at the Great Plains , he spent another minute gazing out at the distant lights of Denver winking like fireflies in the dusk.
Now the question was, Could he ever respect himself again? Self-recrimination and disgust made him doubt it.
Eventually he turned toward the campfire, his shoulders still bunched in knots, his hands deep in his pockets. He watched Low Down stirring a pot over the flames and for an instant he hated her. The next time she offered to ride off and leave him, he'd tell her to go and good riddance.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he rubbed a hand across the pox marks on his jaw.
If he let her ride away, nothing would change. He'd still be married to her. He'd still have to face the painful scene with Philadelphia and her father. If he drove Low Down away, all he'd accomplish would be to carve one more dishonorable act on the ledger of his life. Sixty-three men trusted him to do what he had given his word to do. If he failed, those men would haunt his conscience for the rest of his life. Damn it to hell.
Silently, he approached the fire and accepted the plate Low Down handed across the flames. Tonight she'd made a stew out of jerky and wild onions and mushrooms. She could have prepared pheasant under glass with foie gras on the side and he wouldn't have tasted a thing.
"Is something wrong with your supper?" she asked when she finished eating and noticed that he had barely begun.
"The stew's fine."
"It's too salty, isn't it?"
"I have a lot on my mind, that's all."
The firelight softened her expression and made her skin look smoother. She might have washed her face, and it looked like she might have pulled a comb through the fringe of hair falling across her forehead. He wasn't certain and didn't care. All he could think about was Philadelphia . He would write her from Denver and inform her to expect him the following evening. He would also request that Mr. Houser be present.
"I guess we'll ride into Denver before noon tomorrow," Low Down remarked, pouring herself a cup of coffee. He nodded and made himself swallow a bite of the salty stew. After a minute or two, she made another effort at conversation. "I know a secondhand place where I can buy some dresses and a hat."
A full minute passed before her comment penetrated but when it did he scowled. "I don't want you buying secondhand."
Instantly she bristled. "No man tells me how to spend my money!"
"Dressing a wife is my obligation, not yours." How many times had he watched his father defer to his mother with a shrug and a look that said, It's your land, you decide. He had seen firsthand what a woman's money could do to a man's pride.
Low Down's chin jutted, and her eyes narrowed. "I'll pay for my own clothes, thank you very much."
"The hell you will," he snapped, setting his plate on the ground. "We agreed to treat this as a real marriage for however long it lasts. That means you don't humiliate me by behaving as if I can't provide for a wife! While we're together, I'll pay for whatever you need."
Easing back on the log, she stared hard at him. "I swear, you have enough pride for six men. What if I told you I had a little pride, too. It's not my intention to humiliate you, but I don't want to be obligated, either."
"This is not negotiable, Low Down. I'll provide." Hating it, he remembered Jellison telling him to do right by the wife he had. And by God, he would. He wasn't going to have Low Down weighing on his conscience, too.
"I thought we agreed to be cordial. Even I know that tone isn't cordial. So. Are you mad at everybody and everything, or are you back to blaming me for everything under the sun?"
Part of the difficulty was that she didn't understand. By her own admission she had never loved anyone.
She'd never lost someone with whom she had planned to spend her life. She'd never had a good name to lose. Didn't care what her neighbors thought of her. And someone called Low Down wouldn't comprehend what it did to a man to recognize that he'd dishonored the principles he lived by and held dear.
Thrusting a hand into his pocket, he caught up the green marble and gripped it hard.
"I thought you said you'd never been to Denver ," he said abruptly, changing the subject.
He had to stop blaming her. In the end, their marriage was everyone's fault and no one's fault. If he continued to see the collapse of his life every time he looked at her, he would never be able to make love to her and be rid of her. If ever there was a misnomer for an act, it was "making love." He and Low Down would never make love. He would do his duty, and she would permit it.
"I didn't say I hadn't been to Denver . I said I'd never heard of Fort Houser ." Standing, she stretched then picked up their plates and shook off the scraps. "I spent a year in Denver a long time ago. That's how I know about the secondhand place." Turning her head, she glanced toward the lights twinkling on the plain. "I worked in a laundry down in Chink Alley. Most folks think Chinamen do all the washing and ironing, but that ain't—" she paused and inhaled deeply "—that isn't always so. And some think a Chinaman would cheat you as soon as look at you, but the Chinaman I worked for treated me square. I had no complaints."
"You worked in a commercial laundry?" She was so different from any woman he'd known that she was incomprehensible.
