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Chapter One

Benning, Texas—1898

Maxwell McDowell. As if the name on the note she held were written in flame, and the ensuing heat had burned her fingers, Faith dropped the crumpled bit of paper to the ground. A lump rose in her throat as she closed her eyes and viewed the promised wreckage of the life she’d managed to put together over the past three years.

“I’d say it’s pretty safe to say you recognize the fella’s name.”

Her lashes rose, and she was silent. Her visitor’s gaze was penetrating, his mouth set in a firm line, and for a moment, Faith was tempted to use his broad chest for a resting place.

She shook her head, both at the notion that had possessed her, and in reply to the sheriff’s query. “Who did he say he was looking for?” she asked, aware that her voice trembled.

Brace Caulfield touched her arm, and she sensed the respect he offered in the gesture. “Can I do anything, Miss Faith? I don’t want anybody coming around here, trying to upset you or give you a hassle.” And then he sighed as she shot him a look that demanded an answer.

“He said he was huntin’ for a woman called Faith McDowell. His wife, if my suspicions run true to form. I told him there wasn’t anybody hereabouts by that name, but if he’d write it out for me, along with his own, I’d show it around—see if I could come up with any information for him.”

He bent and snagged the crumpled bit of paper between his thumb and index finger, smoothing the wrinkles until the stark, bold lines of her husband’s signature, with her name beneath it, were revealed. “You know this fella, don’t you?” Brace asked quietly.

Faith shrugged. “Maybe. Let’s just say I don’t care to see the gentleman, Sheriff. If you feel obliged to tell him my whereabouts, I suppose I’ll understand, but I won’t like it one little bit.”

Her mind raced, one idea after another tumbling about, only to be rejected in rapid succession. Running was the first, closely followed by the urge to hide, to bury her identity and find a new place in which to huddle until the danger was past. But, like all her notions, that one depended on a certain amount of financial security.

She had none. Living in a borrowed home, bartering for her very existence and spending her days and nights in a state of anticipation of just this very thing taking place had not given her any degree of serenity.

Now she faced discovery and found she could not, in all honesty, lie to the lawman who had befriended her over the past three years.

“I left my husband back East a long time ago. My reasons are my own and—”

Brace’s upright hand halted her words. “I’m not asking for any explanations, Miss Faith.” His eyes held more than a bit of disappointment, she thought. Sheriff Caulfield had been subtle, but his interest in her as a woman was obvious. Her feminine instincts were betting he’d been getting up his nerve to come courting.

The knowledge that she was married had put a damper on that idea.

“Are you afraid of him, ma’am?” the sheriff asked quietly. She thought his spine stiffened, and not for the first time, she was thankful for his watchful care.

“Do I think he’ll hurt me?” Faith shook her head. “No, Max isn’t a harsh man, at least not to women and children. I wouldn’t want to cross him in his business dealings, but as a woman, I’m safe enough in his presence.”

“How about as his wife?” Brace asked bluntly. “If he’s spent a good bit of time hunting you down, he may not have much patience where you’re concerned.”

She shrugged, dismissing the idea. “His pride’s been damaged, that’s all. I doubt he’s overly concerned with dragging me back home with him. More likely he’s wanting me to sign a bill of divorcement so he can get on with his life.”

Brace folded his arms across his chest. “Well, what do you want me to tell him? Shall I give him directions, or do you want to go into town and meet him in my office?”

“Send him out,” she said, her shoulders slumping in weariness as she thought of what must come to pass. “I’ll handle it, Sheriff.”

“A wise choice.” The dark, deep tones were familiar to her, and Faith had no need to turn around to determine who spoke. Yet she did, knowing she was better off facing him than giving in to cowardice.

Leading a saddled horse, he stepped from around the side of the house, then halted, his gaze intent on the sheriff. “I followed you,” he said, tilting his hat back in a gesture that revealed his face.

“Thought I’d kept a close eye behind me,” Brace answered, one hand touching the butt of his revolver. “Didn’t take you for a sneaky man, mister.”

“I wouldn’t call it sneaky,” Max McDowell said quietly. “I had an idea you knew more than you were willing to admit when we spoke this morning. Didn’t think it would hurt to tag along.”

Brace muttered an oath, his face turning crimson as if he recognized his failure to keep Faith’s location a secret from the intruder.

“It’s all right,” she said hastily when the lawman would have stepped protectively in front of her. “I’ll talk to Max. I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine.”

Max nodded, the movement slight. “I think my wife knows me well enough to be assured of her own safety.”

Brace cut an inquiring look at Faith. “You’re sure?” Obviously dragging his feet, he lifted the reins he’d dropped to the ground. “Should I stop by and talk to Garvey?”

Faith shook her head. “No, there’s no point in dragging anyone else in on this.”

Brace Caulfield mounted his gelding and swung the horse in a half circle. “I won’t stand for any shenanigans, McDowell. Miss Faith is under my protection, so long as she’s living in this county.”

Max shot him a glittering look from dark eyes that brooked no interference. “I think I heard my wife tell you I was not a harsh man, Sheriff. Isn’t that good enough for you?”

“Max…” The warning was clear, Faith’s use of his name drawing his attention and obliging him to nod agreeably.

“Don’t worry about the lady,” Max said, his voice chilled with contempt. “I’ve never hurt Faith before. And I’m certainly not about to change my ways.” He led his mount forward, and with a quick movement, released the cinch with an ease of motion that surprised Faith. Max had never been an avid horseman, yet had kept a mare in a livery stable, riding for exercise when the burdens of business became weighty and he sought relief in an hour or two outdoors.

Now he repeated his words, emphasizing each one. “I said, don’t worry about my wife, Sheriff. She’s in no danger.”

Brace grudgingly grunted agreement, gave Faith a last, questioning look, and then, at her nod of reassurance, nudged his horse into a trot and headed toward town.

The man she’d married more than six years before had changed a bit, she decided. Max McDowell was beginning to show his age. A scattering of white touched his temples, adding a bit of dignity to his already stalwart appearance. He carried himself well, she thought, as he always had.

For Max the paunch developed by men who ate well and exercised little would never come. His body had always been that of a man who worked hard, and he’d developed a muscular structure, one to be envied by lesser beings. Dark hair, cut short lest it wave overmuch, capped his well-formed head. His features, that arrangement of facial components that made him a prize sought by women wherever he went, had not changed.

Chiseled, or perhaps severe, she decided, was the best description she could come up with for the rigid jawline, the blade of a nose and the deep-set, dark eyes that could slice through her like a bolt of lightning, leaving her trembling, and aware of the effect he’d always had on her.

She trembled now—now that the full force of his attention was directed on her slender frame. Perhaps it had been an error in judgment, sending Brace on his way. Yet she could not imagine holding this postmortem in front of a stranger. And certainly Max would not be leaving until he’d had his pound of flesh.

Perhaps it was only a figure of speech, but given that the flesh in question was ultimately to come from her, she didn’t find the vision of the hour or so ahead of her an appetizing prospect.

“Are we going to stand out here all morning?” Max asked. “If you’ll allow it, I’ll put my horse into the pasture or the barn, whichever suits you.”

“I’ll take him,” Faith said, snatching at the opportunity to walk away from the man who’d pursued her halfway across the country. “Sit down on the porch while I turn him loose out in back.”

“I’ll help you,” Max said smoothly, walking beside her, allowing her not a moment in which to gather her wits before she was faced with the confrontation that was sure to come. His hand brushed against hers as if he commanded her attention, and she drew aside, unwilling to allow him any familiarity.

His chuckle surprised her, and she glanced up, wary of the humor that lit his gaze. “What’s so funny?”

“You. Trying to avoid the simple touch of my hand against yours. When we both know you didn’t feel so hesitant to have my hands on you once upon a time.”

She felt a blush redden her cheeks, knew the haze of anger blurring her vision. “That was a cheap shot, Max. Although it tells me much about your opinion of me. I wasn’t aware that you thought so little of my—”

“You haven’t the faintest idea what I thought about you,” he said harshly, interrupting her before she could muster an adequate defense. “You didn’t give me a chance to answer any of your accusations or offer any compromise that might have salvaged something of the wreck we’d managed to make of our marriage.”

“I knew,” she said quietly, opening the gate to the corral and leading his mount through the dusty area to the pasture gate beyond. She quickly stripped the saddle from the horse’s back, and Max took its weight from her, tossing it atop the corral fence.

“You knew?” he asked, brushing his hands together as he stepped ahead to lift the latch on the narrow entry to the lush grass beyond the fence. Three horses occupied the pasture, two of them the team she used for field work. Her own mare looked up, sent a shrill welcome to the visitor and loped eagerly toward them.

“I’ll be damned.” Max’s words were a hushed whisper. “Where’d you get that mare?” he asked, his attention taken by the golden creature that approached. Creamy mane flying in the wind, her tail a flag held high, the horse was a vision to behold.

“Bought her,” Faith said shortly.

“She’s breeding,” he said, his gaze scanning the slender legs and swollen belly. “When’s she due to drop her foal?”

“Anytime now.” And if he thought he was going to be here to attend the event, he had another think coming, she decided.

“Have you got a buyer lined up?” Max reached for the mare, spooking her with his touch, and she tossed her head, flirting a bit, as if she were accustomed to attention from visitors.

“The foal will belong to my neighbor, Nicholas Garvey. I used his stud. He’ll breed her for me in another month or so, and the next one is mine.”

Max shot her a look of disbelief. “You’re not charging him, just giving him—”

“I made the deal,” she said harshly. “I live in this house, free of charge. He owns it, and he keeps an eye on things…sort of looks after me.”

The dark eyes grew cold, his jaw tightened, and his mouth was a thin line. “Looks after you? And allows you to live in his house? And where does he spend his nights?”

She felt a chill pebble her flesh at the offending words. “My neighbor’s interest in me is none of your business,” she retorted.

“I’d say it is. You’re my wife. I have a license in my pack that proves it. Any man who’s been looking at you—”

His words were stilled by the flat of her hand, the sound resembling a gunshot as she swung her arm in an unexpected motion he stood no chance of halting. “Don’t you dare insult me that way,” she whispered. “Or Nicholas either, for that matter. He’s my neighbor, not my lover. His wife would not stand by and watch that happen, let alone the fact that my own sense of decency—”

Max halted her words by the simple act of holding his hand over her mouth. She felt the calluses on his palm rub against her lips, shivered again as he stepped closer and circled her waist with his other arm.

“I apologize,” he said, bridling his temper. His nostrils flared, but he bowed his head just a bit, a conciliatory gesture, she thought. “I had no right to make such a statement.”

His grip tightened and she stumbled, losing her balance, her weight held up by his greater strength and the long lines of muscle, sinew and bone that made up his stalwart frame.

She trembled at his touch, the heat of his body radiating through the layers of their clothing. Shrinking from the intimacy of their positions, she felt his hand at the base of her spine flatten, pressing her even closer, and became suddenly aware of the taut, powerful length of his thighs.

And then was taken aback by the unmistakable shape of his masculine arousal against her belly.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, his eyes narrowing as if he’d only just recognized the telltale sign of his reaction to her warmth. “It’s obviously been a long time since a woman stood this close to me. I didn’t mean to be so blatant.” A crooked smile curved his lips, and his gaze touched her mouth and softened. “But then, you’ve always had this effect on me, haven’t you, Faith? One touch, one smile, and I was at your beck and call.”

“In the bedroom, perhaps,” she said quietly. Her hands lifted to press with force against his chest, and he released her. “I never complained, at least not until the last few months we were together, about your attentiveness.”

“And that change was at your own request,” he reminded her, sliding his fingers into the back pockets of his trousers, as though that were the safest place for them to rest.

Her hands clenched, and she shot him an angry look. “I don’t want to hear a discussion of what went on in my bedroom. Please, say whatever you came to say, and then leave.” And then anger twisted her features. “In fact, I’ve changed my mind about even that. Just get on your horse and go, Max.”

“It’s not that easy,” he said sharply. “There are things to be settled, papers to be signed and…” He hesitated, then drew in a deep breath. “Can we just have the day together, Faith?”

“So I can sign papers for your divorce?” she asked.

“Divorce?” He repeated the word slowly. “What makes you think I’m here for a divorce?”

“That would be the logical reason for you to come calling.” She tilted her chin, only too aware of the effect he had on her, conscious of her trembling hands, of the rapid beating of her heart, and worst of all, her yearning for the brush of his lips against her own.

“Well, that isn’t the reason. Far from it, in fact.”

His statement was flat, with certainty underlining each word.

“I’d think you’d want to get on with your life,” she said curtly. “Marry again, have a family.”

“I’m already married,” he reminded her. “And my wife has shown herself capable of giving me a family.”

The pain was sharp, quick and urgent, and she clutched at her waist as if wrapping her arms around the aching emptiness would alleviate the knife thrust he’d dealt. “I gave you a child, and then proved incapable of being a good mother.” Her stomach ached as if a giant fist clutched at it, threatening to empty its contents. “Our baby died, Max. And it was my fault.”

“I never said that,” he said quietly.

“Didn’t you?” Her laugh was forced and harsh, and held no semblance of humor. “Perhaps not.” She gave him the benefit of the doubt. “But others did.”

“My mother?” he asked, watching her closely. “If it came from her, I can only say she’s difficult to please, and she was hurt by the loss of her first grandchild.”

“Is that supposed to fix everything? Your mother was hurt?”

“Let’s not get into this right now,” he suggested mildly. “There are other things we need to decide. I know this is painful for you, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart? I think not,” she said sharply. “You lost the right to call me that a long time ago.”

Her eyes were like daggers, he thought, stabbing in an attempt to draw blood. In fact, this woman bore little resemblance to the wife he’d last seen almost three years ago. Never had Faith aimed such venom in his direction. Seldom had she even shown a sign of anger, and rarely had she disputed his word or challenged his opinions.

A new light shone from her blue eyes, a sharp, knowing glance aimed in his direction, as if she judged him and found him wanting. Her hair was loose around her face, soft tendrils clinging to her forehead and temples. The ends were caught up in a braid that failed to subdue the curls and waves of gold.

A golden hue almost matching the color of her horse, he noted, glancing from woman to mare. The woman who had been his, the woman he’d called his sweetheart.

“Pain is what I feel when you deny my touch, Faith. When you glare at me with distrust and hatred in your eyes.”

“You call that painful?” she asked, a subtle undertone suggesting wry humor. “You don’t know what painful is, my friend. And neither does your doting mother.”

“And you, Faith?” he asked, aware that her eyes held not a trace of softness. “Have you suffered? Or has leaving our home alleviated your pain? Were you able to leave the past behind and get on with your life?” He hadn’t meant the sarcasm to be so biting, and he sighed, wishing those final words unsaid.

And so he apologized once again. “That was uncalled for. I recognize that you’ve carried scars.”

“Really?” Her own sharp retort revealed her doubt about his sincerity. “What would you know about my scars, Max? Your main interest in life is your business and the money you’re capable of adding to your bank account.”

“Is it? Was I so bad a husband, then?”

Her brow furrowed, and he recognized the signs. Faith was cogitating, developing an answer. And, he feared, the longer she considered her words, the worse the picture she would paint of him.

“Look,” he said quickly. “Can we put this whole rehash of things on the back burner? At least long enough for me to have a cup of coffee. Maybe even a bit of breakfast?”

She swung her gaze from the horses, which had run in tandem to the far side of the pasture, to meet his again. “You haven’t eaten this morning?”

He shrugged. “I saw the sheriff as soon as I got up. The man at the hotel pointed him out to me as he was leaving the dining room there. By the time we spoke, and he had me put my signature on his ridiculous piece of paper, I knew he was pulling my leg. There was no doubt in my mind he knew exactly who you were, once I described you in detail.

“I decided to follow him, but it took me a few minutes to get a horse from the livery stable on the other end of town. Then it was a chancy thing, staying far enough behind him so he wouldn’t look around and see me dodging among the trees and taking shortcuts through the brush.”

Max lifted his hands in a gesture of defeat. “I’m not at my best when I’m hungry, Faith. Will you take pity?”

Her look was scornful, and her sigh told of patience at its end as she led the way to the house. “A piece of toast and a couple of eggs wouldn’t be beyond me, I suppose,” she said, climbing the steps before him.

Her slender form was garbed in heavy cotton, and yet she was as appealing as she’d ever been when dressed in silk and lace, he thought. Possibly even more so. There was a maturity about her that held his interest, a beauty gained by the years, perhaps even abetted by the struggle she’d undergone in this place. He’d admired her three years ago, and been smitten by her lovely face and figure before their marriage began. How could he help but be even more intrigued by the woman she had become since he’d last seen her?

She’d been young, twenty-two years old, with the promise of acceptance from Boston society and a husband who held her in highest esteem. And yet she’d still been not much more than a girl, hurt by circumstances that fate dealt out in a cruel fashion, and unsure of herself and her place in the world in which they lived.

She’d changed, he decided. Faith was a woman, full grown. The promise of beauty she’d worn like a shimmering shawl of elegance had become a deep-seated, golden radiance that illuminated her as if sunshine itself dwelled within. Her eyes were intelligent, the small lines at the corners adding a certain maturity to their depth.

Her hair had lightened considerably, probably from hours spent in the sun, he thought. And she was lean, her youthful curves shaped by whatever work she’d been doing into sleek, feminine contours that drew his eye to the length of her slender form.

And then she was gone from sight, entering the dim kitchen, and he hastened to follow. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the shadowed interior, and watched as she walked unerringly to the stove against the far wall. A coffeepot sat on the back burner and she pulled it forward, then lifted a skillet from where it hung amid a collection of pots and pans, all neatly arrayed against the wall.

“Two eggs?” she asked, turning to him as one hand reached for a bowl of brown eggs on the kitchen counter. A heavy cupboard adorned one wall, glass doors above displaying dishes, solid doors beneath apparently concealing foodstuffs.

“Yes, two is fine. Three would be better, but I’ll settle for what I can get.”

She lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug. “I can afford to feed you.” Her hands were deft, unwrapping and slicing a loaf of bread and placing two pieces on the oven rack. The eggs were cracked and dropped with care into the skillet, to which she had added a scoop of butter from a dish on the table.

“Do you bake your own bread?” he asked, settling in a chair, stretching his legs full length and crossing his boots at the ankle before he placed his hat on the edge of the table.

“The nearest store is close to an hour’s ride away,” she said, “and they don’t carry a selection of bread. The ladies hereabouts bake their own.”

“And the butter?” he asked. “You know how to make that, too?”

“Any fool can learn how to lift a dasher and let it fall into a churn,” she told him. “The difficult part was finding a neighbor with a cow.”

“Why didn’t you buy one of your own?” he asked idly, his gaze fixed on the neat economy of her movements as she set the table before him, turned the eggs in the pan and rescued the toasted bread from the oven.

“A little matter of money,” she said. “Mine is in short supply.”

“Where do you get your milk, then?” he asked, intrigued by her methods of survival. She’d never been so complicated a woman during their marriage.

“I told you,” she said impatiently, serving his eggs and placing the toast neatly on the edge of his plate. “I barter for what I need. There are a couple of neighbors close enough to swap milk for eggs, or garden produce. Right now, I get my milk from Lin’s cow.” She looked up quickly to meet his gaze.

“Lin is Nicholas Garvey’s wife. I taught her how to milk her cow, and since I have chickens, and she hasn’t had time to develop much of a flock yet, I provide eggs for their table.”

Max nodded, picking up his fork. The woman was downright resourceful. “And how about your staples? You know, the everyday things you need in order to put food on the table.”

“I have a big flock of laying hens,” she said. “I carry eggs to town once a week, and I do sewing and mending for folks. Then there’s my garden.”

“You raise your own food?” The eggs were good—fresh, with bright golden yolks. And the bread was finely textured and browned with a delicate touch. He spread butter on the piece he’d torn off, and tasted it. “Someone taught you well,” he announced.

“Trial and error, for the most part. Though I had a neighbor, while I was still a squatter, who shared her yeast with me.”

“A squatter?” His face froze, as if he was stunned by the term.

“Yes, a squatter. Not a pretty word, is it, but it applied to me. I lived in a cabin in the woods on property not my own.”

“I know what a squatter is, Faith. But I hate it that you were reduced to that. Why didn’t you take money with you when you left? You knew the combination to my safe.”

“I had money,” she said stubbornly. “And I sold my mother’s jewelry.”

“I know. I bought it back,” he said quietly. “I traced you that far during the first week. And then you vanished from the face of the earth.” His fork touched the plate with a clatter, and he looked down at it in surprise, then lifted it to place it carefully beside his knife on the table.

“I thought you were dead, murdered perhaps, or killed in an accident, and someone had hidden your body. I was only too aware that the city was not a safe place for a woman alone.”

She sighed, and her voice held a note of regret. “I’m sorry. Truly I am, Max. I fear I wasn’t thinking rationally when I left. But there was the note.” Her pause was long as she awaited his reply, as if he might admit to the accusations her note had held, listing his sins, one by one.

She prodded him. “You did read my note, didn’t you?”

“Of course I read it. As a matter of fact, I’ve read it since, several times, and it still doesn’t make much sense. At any rate, I was never able to fully understand your reasons for walking away from me.”

“I’m a bit surprised that you even knew I was gone,” she said casually.

He glanced up, aching as he recognized the truth. “You had become like a shadow, Faith, barely causing a ripple in the household. I thought it best to leave you to grieve as you saw fit, I suppose. I certainly hadn’t helped the process by trying to comfort you with my presence.”

Her laughter was broken by a sound that he thought resembled a sob, and he felt a familiar sense of helplessness wash over him as she turned aside. “I don’t recall you even speaking of our son’s death, Max. Let alone offering me any comfort.”