“I remember you were always wanting to come here for a swim,” she said now.
“I never felt like I could get clean enough.”
“You took baths nearly every day.”
Every night before he went to bed he’d sink into a tub and scrub at his skin, trying to scrape away the feeling of others touching him, men he hadn’t wanted anywhere near him. “Lot of dirt gets lifted off the ground when you’re working with cattle, and it’s gotta go somewhere.”
“I feel like that sometimes, like I’ll never get clean,” she said, so quietly he almost didn’t hear her.
“You still use that fancy soap. I can smell it when you walk by me.”
“Lavender. Milled soap from Paris. You used to hate it.”
He loved the fragrance on her but had complained about it because it had been safer not to let her know all the things about her that he liked. “I’d end up smelling like petunias anytime you hugged me.”
She laughed lightly. “Lavender and petunias are two different flowers, two different scents.”
“Flowery. That’s all that matters. Men aren’t supposed to smell like flowers.”
“They’re not supposed to wear flowers on their hat, either, but Uncle Houston does.”
A faded and frayed scrap of linen with flowers embroidered on it circled the crown of his Stetson, had for as long as Rawley could remember. “I think Amelia made it for him,” he said.
“She did, except originally she sewed it so Pa could identify her at the train depot in Fort Worth. Sometimes I wonder how different things would be if he hadn’t broken his leg and sent Uncle Houston to fetch her.”
“Some way or other, I think it would have all ended the same.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Do you believe in destiny?”
He shrugged. The river in this section wasn’t that deep. If he touched his feet to the bottom, the water would swirl around him about mid-chest. “I don’t know. But if I’d wandered into the general store five minutes earlier or later, my path might have never crossed with Ma’s and I wouldn’t be here now.” It had been the first time he’d encountered Cordelia Leigh. Most people, including Faith, believed it had resulted in the Leighs eventually taking him. Few knew the true story of what had happened the night Cordelia Leigh lost her baby.
“Then I’d have never met you,” Faith said.
She would have—if something like destiny really existed. Maybe he would have been a cowboy who wandered onto the ranch and got hired. Although if Dallas and Cordelia Leigh hadn’t taken him in, he’d probably have died years earlier or been such a bitter, angry man no one would have been able to stomach having him around. “Someone else would have come along to aggravate you.”
As though tired of the conversation, she went beneath the water, came back up, flicked away a few strands of hair that had come loose from her braid, and began swimming away from him. He’d wanted her to admit he didn’t irritate her, that she enjoyed having him about. He wanted to hear her laugh. He hadn’t heard an honest belly laugh from her since he’d returned. She was a mother, which brought responsibilities, had taken on the burden of running the ranch, which brought with it even more duties and obligations as well as accountability. The success of the ranch now rested on her shoulders. But she was in need of a little fun.
With long, sure strokes, he went in pursuit, easily catching up to her. He grabbed her waist, tugged her under—
The scream that rent the evening air sent chills racing up his spine. Her frantic kicking and punching had him immediately releasing his hold on her and darting back, away from her. But she continued to thrash about, yelling, “No! No! No!”
“Faith, it’s just me. It’s Rawley. I’m sorry, darling.” He held out a hand imploringly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
She went still, quiet, but he could see her trembling, a wildness in her eyes as though she were fighting to get her bearings.
“I’m going to come hold you.”
Her hand shot up. “No. I’m sorry. I have to get out now. Please just stay there.”
He heard the quaking in her voice, the quick rush of her breaths. “I’m going to swim back to where I left my pants. I’ll fetch your clothes, too. Wrap yourself in both quilts.”
She gave a jerky nod and began wading toward shore, while he headed upriver, climbed onto the bank, and drew his pants back on. Then he located her clothes and hurried back to where he’d spread the quilts. She was sitting on one of them, the other draped around her, the lantern brought in close to her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, watching as he neared.
“Don’t apologize for something that wasn’t your fault.” He dropped down beside her, grabbed the whiskey, opened the bottle, and held it toward her. “Take a swig of this. It’ll help warm you.” Even though the night was sultry, she seemed chilled. “I’m going to build a fire—”
“I don’t need a fire.”
