Chapter 35 #2
“I said I’m paying him.” He hooked his thumbs in his gun belt.
“When Goodnight returns, he’ll send or bring you the money for however many of our longhorns make it to New Mexico.
But that might not be until spring. I’ll send extra funds before then in case.
” His eyes narrowed as if daring her to object.
Spring? The length of his absence had gone from fall to spring in a matter of sentences. Was she daft? He didn’t plan to return.
She picked up the envelope and held it to her chest without reading it. “I’m so sorry about your father.”
“I’ll send you word of what happens.” His expression said her sympathies meant about as much to him as Jeff Davis apologizing for the rebellion.
“I’ll…be seeing you before you go?” Why wouldn’t her voice cooperate? It made her sound like she was Charlie’s age or younger.
“Not likely.” He jutted his chin. “I’ll have to pack up tonight after we return. Probably take my meal in the loft. Then I’m heading out before sunup. I want to be there in plenty of time for the stage.”
She glared at him, half tempted to throw the envelope at him. “You’re not even going to say a proper goodbye? After everything between us?”
He snorted. “I figure a woman who doesn’t trust me would be relieved by my absence.
That way, she wouldn’t have to spend her life second-guessing me, forever wondering when I was going to slip up and transform into her father.
” But his voice wavered, too, as if it were a flag flipped about by a strong wind.
She stomped over to him, her shawl falling off her shoulders and slipping to the floor. “Regardless of what you think, I love you. I want to see you succeed…”
“But?” He glared at her.
But I don’t know if I can marry you.
The parlor clock chimed six times.
The slight crinkles around his eyes aged him a decade in a minute. “Your silence says more than enough, Cora.” He pushed past her and grabbed the haversack. “A man can’t marry a woman who doesn’t respect or trust him.”
“I trust you.”
He smirked. “To be an errand boy? Or a trail hand?”
“The ranch is half yours.” What kind of stupid reply was that, totally missing his point?
He shouldered the haversack. “Speaking of the ranch, I plan to stop by the land office and sign over any claim I have to you. It’ll be yours to do with as you please.”
Another part of their connection severed.
She sucked in a breath. She would not cry. “I don’t care what the deed says. Half is yours. It’ll be here when you want it.”
He strode right up to her bare toes. “I’ll want it when I see the doubt gone from your eyes. Replaced by respect and trust. Until then, you’ll have my provision as often as I can send it.”
He marched out of the room. The back door slammed.
She knelt to pick up her shawl and cradled it close to her chest. But instead of rising, her knees dropped to the floor. What if Ben was asking for something she couldn’t do?
Fading starlight still graced the pre-dawn sky.
Orange shimmered over the horizon. A lone robin filled the air with its song as Ben tightened the ties on his saddlebags.
Was he really going to ride out without saying goodbye to Cora?
He’d managed to avoid any private conversation with her yesterday when he and Charlie had returned with the five heifers and the bull.
She’d loaded praise on Charlie as they’d led the animals into the corral for the time being. But she’d only given Ben a scant thank you, with a smile that failed to reach her eyes, and a gaze that traveled every which way to avoid his.
He’d been harsh on her yesterday morning when he’d collected the haversack, but he’d meant what he’d said. He wouldn’t marry a woman who didn’t trust and respect him.
Still, the hurt in her eyes had wrecked him.
And what in the devil was she doing in the kitchen still dressed in her night clothes when she knew he might come inside?
The thin cotton chemise, with its lacy hem just past her knees…
it was more than enough to make a man long for a wedding night.
And the red shawl hanging off her shoulders and her chestnut locks cascading down her back had only added to the flame…
all at the same time she’d looked at him with those eyes of doubt, throwing an unbreachable wall between them.
He clenched his hand. It was high time he left this place, before he got himself twisted into such a tangled knot of hurt there’d be no hope of unraveling it.
Obviously, his father’s illness had come at a providential time.
With a glance toward the still-dark cabin, he jabbed his boot toe into the stirrup and swung into the saddle. It was better this way.
A door clicked. He held his breath. Cora ran around the side of the house, a sack in her hand.
Chest tight, he dismounted.
She slowed. This morning, she wore her violet dress, the one she’d been wearing the first time he’d laid eyes on her at Coffin’s office. Except today, her hair flowed behind her, barely brushed, and her feet were bare.
“We’ll be praying for your father.” She shoved the sack toward him. “Food for your journey. Ham, potatoes, dried apples, and more.”
His fingers curled around the rough cloth. Unspoken words clogged his throat.
Her eyes gleamed in the not-quite dark. Moisture? She held out her hand, as if he might shake it. He scowled instead.
Lip quivering, she threw her arms around him. His breath stalled in his chest. He stiffened, but she didn’t let go. Slowly, he slipped his arms around her.
“God be with you,” she whispered.
He inhaled. Rosewater with a sprinkle of citrus. She’d put on perfume. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Why do you push me away with one hand and hold onto me with the other?”
Her hold tightened, and she buried her face against his shoulder. “My heart is torn.”
He pressed his mouth to her ear. “Cora, I swear to you, I emptied every drop of that bottle into the outhouse hole. I haven’t tasted a drop since I left Pennsylvania.”
Silence, except for Cora’s sniffle, and the pounding of his heart in his ears.
The robin’s song erupted as a faint trace of orange burst across the horizon.
Ben slipped from her hold and stepped back.
Her tear-filled eyes gutted him.
“I have to go.” His voice barely scraped above a whisper.
Riding away was like ripping off skin.