Page 44 of Silver Lining
Before she knew it, the sun was sinking and it was time to set the table again and the day was almost over.
"I'm plum tuckered out," she said to Max when they sat down to supper. The butter that Livvy and Gilly had provided was almost gone, and she gazed at the dish unhappily, wondering where she'd find time to churn up more. Heaven only knew what happened to the everyday chores on wash day.
"The boys were grateful to get those pies," Max mentioned, snapping his napkin across his lap in a way that made her remember the maître d' at the Belle Mark. "I guess it wasn't an inappropriate gesture. As long as you don't make a habit of it."
"I wasn't sure how the pies would turn out since I haven't baked in a real oven since I can't remember when."
Already she was wondering how she would accomplish all she needed to do tomorrow when Max and the hands left for the roundup. She'd need to care for her mule Rebecca and the horses they were leaving behind. More chores.
"I'm starting to think that shoveling gravel and panning for gold was a walk in the woods compared to being a wife."
Max smiled. "Is it really that difficult?"
"The work isn't hard; there's just so much of it. I feel like I'm cooking and cleaning up from cooking all day long and hurrying to do the other work in between cooking."
She hadn't yet gotten the hang of the stove or of using an oven. The beef was overcooked, and the potatoes were undercooked, errors in timing that wouldn't have happened if she'd been cooking over a campfire. There you could see the flames on the bottom of the skillet and raise or lower it accordingly.
That the pies had come out well was something of a happy miracle.
Tonight she would have let Max throw out the dishwater, but he didn't offer. After supper he left the kitchen to sit in the parlor, which shocked her as she didn't think the parlor was for everyday use. When they went upstairs she hinted as much, talking to him while he was in the dressing room. Talking was better than silently imagining him naked behind the door.
"I needed to go over the expense figures for the house, barn, and sheds. Why are you smiling?" he added as he came into the bedroom.
"No reason." She hadn't figured him for a man who wore a nightshirt to bed. The long shirt ended at his knees and powerful calves emerged beneath the hem. "You could have spread out your papers on the kitchen table."
"Let's not start that business about not sitting on chairs. The chairs in this house are for sitting. Besides, I didn't want to disturb you."
"You wouldn't have disturbed me," she called from inside the dressing room. Now it was her turn to hide and don her nightclothes. "I was only cleaning up from supper and laying out the breakfast things." She stripped off one of the skirts and shirtwaists that Livvy had supplied, then dropped her nightgown over her head and returned to the bedroom.
When she brushed out her hair in the dark dressing room, she didn't do a good job of it. But she felt uncomfortable wandering around in her nightgown. Still, this was her bedroom, too, damn it. Studiously ignoring Max, she brushed her hair in front of the vanity mirror, then plaited it into a braid.
Tonight his habit of reading in bed didn't surprise her when she climbed in next to him. Earlier today she'd taken a minute to bring up the songbook given to her by the boys at Piney Creek so she could read, too.
"What?" Max asked after she laughed out loud. He lowered his book and looked at her.
"These are cowboy stories. Listen to this," she said, reading aloud. "Oh it's cloudy in the west and it's looking like rain and of course my old slicker's in the wagon again."
"'The Old Chisolm Trail,'" he said with a half-smile.
"Oh, you know this story. Me, too, but I hadn't read that verse before. What are you reading?"
"The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.But my mind's drifting." Raising a hand, he rubbed the bridge of his nose.
There were many things that might distract him. The roundup that began tomorrow. Thoughts of Philadelphia . The papers he'd been studying in the parlor. She supposed it wasn't entirely impossible that he might be worrying about leaving her here alone, not that he needed to.
Closing the songbook, she set it aside and folded her hands on top of the ruffled spread. They sat close enough that she could feel the heat of his shoulder and inhale the good outdoors scent of him. Suddenly she realized that all day she'd been looking forward to this time with him. Even though she didn't care for the multitude of frills and ruffles, the bedroom was warm and cozy, and she could imagine the rest of the world had fallen away, leaving only them sitting against the pillows, reading together. It was a fanciful thought, but right nice.
"What's your mind drifting toward? If you don't mind my asking."
About the time she had decided he wouldn't answer, he said, "The papers I was examining show the expenses on this place were more than I figured. I'd counted on a salary at the bank to replenish any cost overruns."
"I'd forgotten about the bank position." She shook her head. "You just don't strike me as a banker type of man." Try as she might, she couldn't cast him in the role played by the fellow at the Colorado Merchant's Bank. Max belonged on the land.
"Maybe the only part of banking that I'll miss is a steady salary," he conceded. "I thought I could work in town and still keep up the ranch. Maybe it wouldn't have been as easily done as I'd hoped."
Louise agreed. "A man can't serve two masters. Eventually you would have had to choose." She was beginning to suspect that turning Max into a banker had been Philadelphia 's idea, not his.
Yes, this was the very best time of day. Sitting close beside him in bed, discussing this and that. Enjoying the warm nearness of muscle and bone and the deep smooth timbre of his voice. If she moved her foot a few inches, she could touch his foot. She didn't do it, but she could have. And she thought about it. And she wondered—just a little—when they would get to the next poke. Which reminded her…
