Texas Gold. Carolyn Davidson

don’t need rescuing, Max. I’m very comfortable, and satisfied with my lot in life.” She cleaned the last of the eggs from her plate and rose to head for the pantry. “Would you like some jam on your toast?”

      “Please. That sounds good.” He watched as she opened the jar, and stuck a spoon into its contents. “Did you make that?”

      “Of course. If you expect sweets on your bread, you start by combing the woods for berries. These are from a patch not too far from the house.”

      “You’re a woman of many talents,” he murmured, spooning jam onto his remaining piece of toast. None of which he’d been aware of, he reminded himself. He’d thought Faith to be a lovely addition to his home, a luxury he’d paid well to acquire. Her presence in an adjoining bedroom had guaranteed him satisfaction when the need arose, and he’d considered himself a good husband.

      “You get along just fine without a man in your life, don’t you?” It came as a surprise to him when the words erupted from his lips. And Max was not given to speaking without forethought. He offered her the jam and she accepted it, looking up with surprise lighting her eyes.

      “Most of the time, yes,” she agreed. “I decided I’d rather live alone and depend on myself than be any man’s trophy. I didn’t like myself much, Max.”

      “You felt like my trophy? Did I do that to you?”

      Her shrug excused him from his self-assigned guilt. “I let you do it. I married you and then sat on a shelf, carted along to social events, gracing your table when you entertained business associates and their wives. And once in a while, you visited me in my bedroom and found me pleasing. At least you said you enjoyed my company there.”

      “I was proud to have you in my home, Faith. And what I found in your bed was beyond enjoyment. You filled a very important need in my life.”

      “Well, that’s good to know,” she said lightly. “I’d thought the feelings were all one-sided on that level.”

      He was surprised at the anger rising in protest as he considered her remark. “You knew how I felt about you,” he said, his voice rigid with control. “I was pleased when you told me you were going to have our child.”

      She stood and gathered the plates and silverware, holding them in both hands as she met his gaze. “I’ve always thought the best way to make certain someone knows how you feel is to express it in words.” Her face was pale, and he caught a glimpse of pain shadowing her expression. “I couldn’t tell you then, but I can tell you now how I felt, Max. Then, because I was too shy, too unsure of myself to admit aloud that I loved you beyond all measure—now, because I’ve gotten over the need to love you.”

      “You loved me? But now you don’t?” He pushed his chair back and circled the table, taking the plates from her hands and settling them with a clatter on the oilcloth-covered surface. Gripping her waist, he pulled her to himself.

      “What do you feel for me then? Simple desire? Lust? There’s something there, Faith. I can feel it, and the way you returned my kiss gave it away.” He bent and she turned her face aside, as if unwilling to allow his lips access to hers.

      “That won’t work,” he muttered, his hands rising to clasp her head, turning it toward him. “I’ve been wanting to do this again ever since I tasted you the other day. And since you consider me such an unfeeling brute, you shouldn’t be too surprised at my lack of finesse, should you?”

      He kissed her, his mouth firm against hers, allowing no retreat, and for a fleeting second, he rued his clumsy approach, remembering the long moments he’d wooed her in the past, easing past her timidity and coaxing her into a heated response.

      But that was then, and this was now, and she was no longer the same. It wasn’t just the self-sufficiency of the woman, her skill with the rifle, her nonchalant ability to cook and work with her animals. She had become a different woman entirely.

      Now he held a trim, vibrant creature whose sleek curves melded in a perfect fit against his body, whose breasts, more firm than in another time, pressed against his chest, their inviting contours bringing him to instant arousal. But some things never change, he thought, even as a craving he refused to deny drove him to complete the kiss she’d tried to withhold from him.

      For her mouth was as soft and perfect as it had ever been, and she carried the same scent, one he’d longed for during dark nights when he’d entered her empty room and slept in the bed they’d once shared. That aroma of femininity that rose even now from her body to invade his nostrils with the perfume of desire.

      She lifted her hands, clasping his wrists, her fingers wrapping around them as if she must cling for balance, even as her body pressed more closely to his, with a warmth that fanned the flame of passion into a bonfire he stood no chance of escaping.

      Her mouth, that wide, appealing arrangement of lips and teeth and tongue that had ever been available for his delight, opened for him now, and a sigh escaped her throat. She was accepting his kiss, returning the pressure of lips and welcoming of his invasion, sparring in a leisurely fashion, then sliding her tongue in a seductive movement the length of his, as if she offered her own for his pleasure.

      His lips closed around hers and he tasted the jam she’d eaten, shared the sweetness of her breath and savored the flavor of the woman he’d once had at his beck and call.

      And not appreciated as he should have.

      “Faith?” He lifted his head and watched as her eyes opened, a slow process, one she seemed loathe to complete, as if she prefered to capture the moment and hold it inviolate. “Will you let me—”

      She stepped back, breaking his hold, shaking her head, and he silently cursed his foolishness in posing the question. He should have picked her up and carried her to a bedroom, any bedroom. Anywhere there was a flat surface on which to—

      “No.” Her simple response was spoken flatly and loudly, a denial of her own desire and a rejection of his plea. She swayed before him and his hands held her waist, steadying her lest she lose her balance. “Don’t expect that of me, Max,” she said, her voice trembling.

      “All right.” There was no point in arguing that she’d entered into the kiss with a passion that was unmistakable. She was well aware of her own vulnerability, and he had to give her credit for her ability to back away from him, keeping her dignity intact.

      “You’re here because…maybe because I’m allowing my curiosity some satisfaction. Because I want to see just what it was about you that had me so in thrall to you when we were first married.” She looked up at him. “Maybe that sounds foolish to you, but I need to know…”

      “What?” he asked sharply. “Tell me what you need to know, and I’ll do my best to provide it. I’ll try to be what you want me to be, Faith.” And wasn’t that a new idea, he thought. He wasn’t the one who needed to make sweeping changes—not from where he stood, anyway. “I thought I was a good husband in the past. Obviously, you decided I wasn’t.”

      She nodded and turned aside, and his hands fell to his sides. “Well, you’ve got that right,” she said flatly.

      The anger he’d controlled rose again, and he walked to the kitchen doorway, opening the screened door and stepping out onto the porch. He allowed the wooden framework to close gently behind him, catching it before the taut spring could snatch it from his hand. And then he strode across the yard to the barn, the rain pelting him, soaking his clothing and penetrating the layers. By the time he reached the barn he was drenched, his boots sinking an inch into the mud with every step.

      And even the chill of sodden clothing and the force of the wind that required him to use a considerable amount of strength to open, then close, the barn door behind him, was not enough to cool the anger that roiled within him. Faith had never had the capability to turn him upside down this way during those early years of their marriage. Now her words of scorn brought his temper to a boil, and he recognized the fact that it was because he cared.

      Maybe