Silver Lining (15 page)

"You can marry him, and you will."

"Wally McCord?" She shook her head in confusion. When she tried to pull Wally's face into memory, she saw Max, younger and grinning, softer and more malleable, easygoing. Where had this idea come from?

"You have three choices," her father stated flatly. "You can do nothing, stay here, and face the disgrace and humiliation. Or you can go back East, have the baby, put it out for adoption, and still be the object of whispers and speculation. Lastly, you can marry Wally McCord, scatter a few lies to dampen part of the scandal, and thank heaven that he's willing to give your bastard a name. No matter what you do, there will be a storm of gossip. The way I see it, marrying Wally McCord is your best choice. I wish he wasn't a McCord, but he's all we have."

"But I don't want Wally," she wailed. "I want to marry Max."

"That is the stupidest, most foolish thing I've ever heard you say." Her father's fingers tightened painfully around her hand. "Remember this. McCord's pride was more important than you," he said bitterly. "Max didn't have to draw a marble out of that hat. If he'd cared one iota for you, he would have refused. And if he'd truly cared, he wouldn't have destroyed your innocence, then ridden out of here to spend the summer in the mountains."

This time when she burst into tears, he wrapped his arms around her and let her cry on his neck.

She didn't know how she could hate Max and want him at the same time, but she did. One thing she did know. It wasn't over between them.

«^»

A
n open expanse of land, sky, and horizon settled Max's thoughts as the enclosed slopes and valleys of the mountains never had. Here on the high plains, a man could breathe. He could see what was coming.

Shifting his weight on Marva Lee, he let his eye follow a line of tall cottonwoods and wild plums banking a dry creek bed that flooded every spring. Long after he had crumbled into dust, the land would endure, cycling through the seasons with an ageless predictability. Usually this thought made his problems seem small. But today, his problems struck too deep.

Hoofbeats sounded behind him, and he straightened in the saddle, waiting for his brother.

Wally reined up, and silently they watched a steer just visible through a leafy stand of ripe chokecherries.

"The roundup starts the day after tomorrow?" Max asked finally. Ironically, the fall roundup had been a consideration when he and Philadelphia had discussed dates for the wedding.

"Right," Wally confirmed. "We'll bring all the cattle to Ma's place, then sort out which beeves belong to who. We figured we'd divvy up any unbranded stock."

Very likely this would be the last year they ran the four parcels as one ranch. Dave had already started fencing his and Gilly's land, and Max's hands were also putting up fence.

"You'll have to handle it without me this year," Wally said, squinting at the ragged line of peaks shadowing the horizon.

Max clenched his teeth, and his thighs tensed, sending Marva Lee into a sideways dance.

He circled her back alongside Wally's roan. "I spent last night sitting in the barn thinking about…

everything. I wish I knew what to say." Neither of them looked at the other. "Thank you and I'm sorry don't begin to cover it." He wanted to ask what had happened at this morning's meeting between Wally, Livvy, and Howard Houser, but pride got in the way.

"You'd do the same for me."

"I would. But that doesn't make any of this right. I keep going over and over it." He watched the steer hiding in the chokecherry bushes. "If I hadn't drawn a marble out of the hat. Or if I hadn't gotten sick. If I'd stayed here and hadn't gone to Piney Creek in the first place." That's why they had made love. She'd wanted to entice him to stay in Fort Houser and give up his summer in the mountains. Why hadn't he?

"Did you find what you were looking for up there?" Wally jerked his chin toward the line of mountains to the west.

"It doesn't seem important anymore."

He'd been trying to comprehend the longing in his father's voice when Jason McCord recalled the three years he'd worked the streams and mines near Central City. Those three years of searching for gold had been the defining years of his father's life, a passion Max had never understood.

If his father had been beside him now, Jason would have fixed his gaze on the mountains, and a half-smile of memory would have twitched his lips. He wouldn't have seen the steer or noticed the geese passing overhead in an arrow-shaped formation.

When Jason McCord finally came out of the mountains to join his family, the fire had gone out of him.

Max had wanted to know why. He'd wanted to understand the expression in his father's eyes when he turned his face to the far horizon. Now maybe he did. And oddly, it wasn't the gold as Max had always believed. It was the search itself and the dreams of a life changed. Jason McCord had left his dreams in the streams near Central City.

"Whatever you found up there… was it worth it?" Wally asked in a low, curious voice.

He didn't answer.

"We'll live with Ma in the main house," Wally announced abruptly, tapping the end of the reins against his thigh.

That decision surprised him. He'd assumed that Wally would move to town.

"This way she'll have Ma, Gilly, and Louise to help with the delivery or if anything goes wrong along the way."

Good God. He hadn't given Louise a thought since he'd left her in his mother's parlor yesterday afternoon.

"There are obvious disadvantages to me and Miss Houser— Philadelphia —living out here," Wally continued carefully, "but Ma and Mr. Houser agree it's the best choice. The progress of the pregnancy won't be as easily noted by every gossip. And this is one way to take some of the punch out of the scandal. Make it seem like there's no hard feelings between you and me."

Max squinted at a second squadron of geese heading south, then shifted in his saddle. "Are there hard feelings, Wally?"

Something hot flickered in his brother's eyes, a quick flame that died before the heat burned either of them. "All my life I've had to take your leavings," Wally said in a flat tone. "I never had a schoolbook that didn't have your scribbling in the margins. It was years before I owned a new shirt or a pair of boots that you hadn't worn first. As you outgrew a chore, it became mine. Now I'm getting the bride you jilted, and you were there first. How do you think I feel?"

Max covered his eyes. "I wish to Christ none of this had happened."

"I've been thinking, too, and I've got a few things to say. If I have to do this, then I want to do it right. I'll try my damnedest to be a good husband to Philadelphia and a good father to her child. But I can't succeed if you get in the way, Max. As far as you're concerned, you and Philadelphia never happened.

You walk away and don't look back. You give me a chance to make this marriage successful. Second, I want your promise that you won't come between me and the child I'm going to raise. You give up any claim, and you agree that the child is mine and will never know that I'm not his or her father."

Each word was a knife to the heart. Each request was necessary and fair. When he could, Max unclenched his jaw and spoke in a thick voice. "You have my word. And my gratitude."

He stayed on the range after Wally rode back to the main house, sitting slumped in the saddle, thinking about Wally's optimism. Somehow his brother had been able to set aside any bitterness or resentment, turn his attitude around, and talk about his intention to make a success out of a marriage to the wrong woman and about raising a child that wasn't his.

Max hoped to God that he could live up to his promise.

What Wally asked was not unreasonable. For the circumstances to be bearable, both Max and Philadelphia had to pretend there had never been anything between them. They had to forget that she carried Max's child. Anything less would be unfair to Wally and would generate deep resentment and trouble.

He leaned a hand on his thigh, feeling the bump of the marble in his pocket. What hurt most was knowing he'd given up all rights to the child he and Philadelphia had created together.

*

Low Down, or rather Louise, as she was now trying to think of herself, spent the morning down at the barn and corrals behind the main house. Preparations for the roundup were in full swing and were creating an air of anticipation and excitement that led to a lot of jokes that ended abruptly when the boys noticed her watching and listening. Then came a flurry of lifted hat brims and sheepish grins and a multitude of "sorry, ma'ams."

She didn't mind. This was the world she understood, the man's world of risqué jokes and pride and posturing. A world of clear-cut goals where success or failure wasn't open to interpretation. Where a person was judged by his deeds and his character, not by what he wore or how pretty he spoke.

When Livvy called to her from the back stoop, she left the corrals with reluctance. She would far rather have joined the boys in their roundup preparations than climb up on the wagon with Livvy, Gilly, and Sunshine to drive to her new home.

Livvy took the reins, then pointed her chin toward the wagon bed where Gilly and Sunshine sat on a mound of hay. "Judging from those saddlebags, you don't have many clothes."

"Just this dress and one other."

"That's what I guessed. I put together a few things to make do until you can get more clothes. The skirts will be short but that can't be helped." Livvy flapped the reins across the horses' backs and urged the team out of the yard. "Do you sew?"

"I can darn socks and mend a seam." But she knew that wasn't what Max's mother was asking.

Stamping down her pride, she looked at the short prairie grass running up to the wheel ruts. "Admitting this ain't going to make much of an impression, but I've never sewed a whole dress before. Didn't even wear dresses much until this week."

"I never met a grown-up lady who couldn't sew," Sunshine said.

"Well, now you have," Low Down said.

Gilly broke the following silence. "You'll need at least three everyday skirts and shirtwaists. A go-to-town skirt and jacket. Two good dresses and one party dress." She slid a glance toward Louise's hat. "Plus accessories."

"We'll have to go to town to buy material. Maybe while everyone's off on the roundup. Then we can get started. It might be easier and faster to send off for ready-made small clothes."

Louise was tempted to ask if Max had authorized them to spend his money left and right for new clothes for his temporary wife, but she kept silent, listening to the interplay between mother and daughter. She didn't understand what was meant when Gilly said, "Aunt Dilly was tall and braid looked smart on her. I think two spools." But Livvy nodded as if an entire discussion had preceded Gilly's comment.

When the conversation shifted to Wally and Philadelphia , her interest sharpened. But here, too, mother and daughter spoke in fragments and phrases that Louise didn't fully comprehend. But she understood the affection between them and was touched that neither questioned the decision to sew her some dresses. Nor did Livvy appear to object that Philadelphia would now be living with her in the main house instead of in Max's house. Louise wondered if all families absorbed blows like the McCords did.

"Mr. Houser seems to think hiding Philadelphia out here will avert most of the scandal." Livvy rolled her eyes toward a cloudless sky. "We're going to say that Philadelphia was engaged to one brother but loved the other and married him days before she should have married the first one. Then after she and Wally elope, she's coming out here to live on a ranch with both of them."

"Not both of them, Mama."

"Might as well be. Even with his own place, Max will still spend time up at the main house. He's been doing my accounts for years, no reason to change now. And there's Sunday dinner."

"Oh my." Gilly rubbed a gloved hand up and down on her forehead. "Sunday dinner."

"This misfortune is not going to break up my family," Livvy said fiercely. The quotation marks between her eyebrows deepened. "We'll continue to have Sunday dinner together."

Louise's heart sank, and she nodded when Gilly gave her a look of despair and rolled her eyes. In that instant, she and her new sister were in perfect accord. No one but Livvy was going to be happy about the whole family sharing Sunday dinner.

Livvy turned her head to look at Louise. "I don't think you've said three words since breakfast. Do you have an opinion about all this?"

"No, ma'am."

"I'm not ma'am, I'm Livvy." Livvy gave the reins an irritable flap. "Since we're going to have three Mrs.

McCords, it'll go easier if we drop the formalities and use our given names. Are you agreeable?"

"I am. Except I don't feel like Louise. That doesn't seem like me." She couldn't remember back far enough to recall a time when anyone had called her Louise. And she didn't care much for the name.

Louise impressed her as too soft and feminine for a rough number like her.

"Well, you can't be called Low Down. Max told me how you got that nickname," Livvy said, pressing her lips into a line. "I'm not going to have a daughter-in-law with a name that makes her sound worthless.

You're a McCord now."

In fact, there was an element of safety and comfort in her old name. No one expected much from a person called Low Down. She didn't expect much of herself. But Louise McCord… that was different.

Louise McCord sounded like a woman of consequence who might be expected to know about things like sewing a dress.

"And you don't strike me as a person without opinions."

"I have opinions. But it ain't—it's not my place to jump into a family matter." Especially as she was acutely aware the trouble had begun with her.

But it was easy to be wise after an event. When this whole thing started, she'd had no inkling how many people would be affected by her longing to have a baby. Grinding her teeth together, she told herself that it was not her fault that Wally was about to marry the woman Max had wanted to spend his life with. She couldn't possibly have guessed that would happen.