*
When he could finally bring himself to do it, he went in search of his new bride. The men he passed gave him a thumb's up sign or a nod of sympathy but none met his eye directly. He understood. In their shoes, he would have felt uncomfortable, too, that one man bore the burden for all. There was some satisfaction in knowing the men recognized the injustice that had been done him.
He might have walked past Low Down's claim, mistaking her for a man, if he hadn't recognized the clothing she'd worn yesterday. Halting at the top of the rise, he crossed his arms over his chest and silently took stock of the stranger who was now his wife.
First, she gave no indication that she knew he was present, indicating she was neither observant nor cautious. A kinder viewpoint might have been to grant her a high level of concentration and intent focus.
She stood at the edge of the creek, squatting over the water, swirling her pan just beneath the surface to wash away dirt and loose matter. When she raised the pan to pick out rocks and gravel, he saw that her hands were red from the icy water and rough-looking even from a distance.
Philadelphia 's small hands were white and soft, the nails beautifully shaped and buffed to a pink sheen.
Low Down's ugly hat shaded her neck and face from the sun and a cloud of mosquitoes, but one long coil of gray-brown hair swung down the back of her wool vest. With something of a shock, Max realized the grayish color was mud and dirt. Heaven only knew what color her hair might be when it was clean.
The night before he'd left for the mountains, he had stood on Philadelphia 's steps and watched the light from the porch lamp cast a golden halo around her curls. Her skin and hair had smelled like roses.
Blinking, he watched Low Down examine her pan and poke a finger at the sandy residue. With a sound of disgust, she tossed it out, then stood, stretched, and reached for a shovel to refill the pan with a new load of hope.
She was tall, something he hadn't really noticed yesterday, only three or four inches shorter than he, which made her about five foot eight. Not small and delicate like Philadelphia .
"How long you going to stand there gawking? I thought you were leaving today," Low Down said. She hadn't looked at him once and didn't now.
So she wasn't as unobservant as he'd supposed. He also noticed the Colt strapped to her waist and realized she wasn't incautious either. Dropping his arms to his sides, he walked down to the water's edge and inspected her sluice. She'd set it up efficiently, but he didn't notice much color glittering along the ridges. A little dust maybe, but no nuggets.
"We'll leave in the morning." He wanted his letter to reach Fort Houser before they arrived. "I figure we'll ride out at sunup."
She squatted over the water again and plunged her pan beneath the surface. "We? Come on, McCord.
You ain't taking this marriage seriously, are you?" She made a derisive sound at the back of her throat.
"Everybody knows the ceremony was a sham." She concentrated on swirling her pan as if the matter was closed and there was no more to say.
"The wedding was real, and you know it," he stated in a flat voice. "Like it or not, you and I are married."
She didn't look up immediately, but she stopped circling the pan and she lifted her hands out of the icy water, making sure he noticed that she wasn't wearing the ring Billy Brown had provided. "Go home to Miss Houser," she said in a low voice. "Just ride out of here. Neither of us wants to be married, so just go."
He leaned against a granite boulder facing the willows and cottonwoods crowding the opposite bank, and he wished to Christ that he could do what she suggested.
"And do what? Marry Miss Houser and make a bigamist out of myself?" And then spend the rest of his life living in fear of exposure and dreading what the truth would do to Philadelphia and their families and any children they might have if the marriage to Low Down ever came back to bite him.
She rocked back on her heels, dipping her butt in the cold water, and she glared up at him with hazel eyes that were an odd mixture of green and brown.
"We're married," he said again. Maybe if he said it enough times, he'd start to actually believe it. "We have to decide where we go from here."
"For starters, I'm not going anywhere with you." Standing up, she slapped at the water dripping off the butt of her trousers, then she picked up her shovel and leaned on the handle. "Don't get me wrong, McCord, I've got nothing against you. I just don't want the aggravation of a husband, not you or any other man. Plus, you already have a wife lined up and waiting. She doesn't have to ever know what happened yesterday." She waved one red-cold hand. "Or, if you think you need to, ride up to Wyoming and petition for a divorce."
Work had slowed all along the creek, and the men found reason to face in the direction of Low Down's claim. Those down wind made no pretense about straining to overhear the conversation. The noise of shovels and voices had ceased.
Max drew a breath. "It's not easy to obtain a divorce; very few are granted." He waited, then said the rest. "There's also a matter of duty." When she frowned, he realized he had to spell it out. "The men's gratitude. Their expectations."
"Oh. That." Her laugh was so false that he scowled. "Having a baby was a dumb idea." She smiled down at layers of men's clothing then tugged at the neck of the faded long johns bunched above her shirt collar.
"Can you imagine me as a mother? Now that I've had time to think about it, neither can I."
Considering that he didn't know her at all, it impressed him as odd that he knew she was lying. But he'd watched her as she struggled to decide whether to ask for the one thing she wanted most. She wanted a baby and had wanted one for a long time.
He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Unbelievably, not only had he been forced to marry this woman, but now he found himself in the ludicrous position of having to persuade her to honor their vows.
"Low Down…" He let the words trail, wondering if she had a real name. "I'll go to my grave resenting what happened yesterday. But I agreed that you deserved whatever you wanted as a token of our gratitude. And I put myself in the group of men who would draw a marble out of the hat." In retrospect, stepping forward had been the deciding act of his life. And the stupidest. "It's important to the men you saved that you have that baby. And they expect me, as a man of honor, to do what I agreed to do." He flat could not believe he was saying this. His voice hardened. "If you've changed your mind about a baby, or if it was a frivolous choice, then damn you." He stared at her. "Your foolishness wrecked several lives."
