Texas Gold. Carolyn Davidson

fell at Max’s feet.

      “Why, land’s sakes,” she said brightly. “I surely didn’t know our Miss Faith had a good-looking husband like you. She’s been keeping secrets.”

      Her smile was wide, her eyes sparkling as Max nodded agreeably, charming her almost effortlessly, it seemed. At his request, she sorted through bins of clothing that lined the shelves and within moments had placed several dresses on the counter for Faith’s approval. Two were set aside quickly, as being too dark and plain, according to Max. A blue-checked cotton with lace edging the collar was chosen, along with a leafy-green frock Faith privately thought was too dressy for her style of living.

      She drew the line at two, and then watched as Max pointed a finger at one bit of lace and batiste after another, choosing undergarments for her from the assortment provided by the wide-eyed shopkeeper’s wife. A finely woven lawn nightgown was added to the growing stack, and Faith almost blushed as she considered wearing such a garment to bed in the old farmhouse where feed sacks had been sewn together for her last nightgown.

      “That’s enough,” she said finally, and as Max looked at her, he shrugged, acknowledging defeat at her hands.

      “Maybe next time we’ll—” he began, but was cut off midsentence by Faith’s hand on his arm, hauling him toward another counter where boots were displayed.

      “You’d better buy either new boots or a pair of shoes to wear indoors,” she said firmly. “You’ve bought me all you’re going to. I don’t even need that much, and if you don’t quit now, I’ll give back that whole pile of things.”

      Yet her heart nudged her as he finally nodded acceptance of her terms. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” she said quietly. “I appreciate that you want to help me, Max. I just don’t need any more than that.”

      “This may come as a surprise to you, but I needed to do this for you,” he said finally. “We’re not going to discuss it right now, but I’m fighting with a load of guilt, and this has only begun to alleviate a bit of my burden.”

      He tried on boots, walking back and forth across the floor under the surveillance of Mr. Metcalf and his wife. They both looked pleased by the prospect of Max and his money dropping by their establishment today, and Faith settled down on a seat near the cold, potbellied stove while she waited for him to make the decision.

      Max, it seemed, was the center of attention, as several ladies came into the store and stood about in a group, speaking softly and darting glances his way. Ignoring them all, he focused on Faith, asking her opinion, and then choosing several candy sticks, obviously with her in mind.

      “You like peppermint, as I recall,” he said, bowing as he offered her a red-and-white-striped specimen. Root beer was his favorite, she remembered, and she watched as he sucked on a bit of candy, recalling another day when they’d walked in the park, early in their courtship, and he’d broken off a piece for her.

      I like peppermint better. She’d smiled up at him and thought him the most gloriously handsome man she’d ever seen. And then she’d laughed aloud as he drew another candy from his pocket and unwrapped it solemnly before he offered it.

      Whatever the lady wants. And she’d accepted it, yearning for the taste of root beer from his lips, knowing he would kiss her before he left her in the front hallway of her aunt’s home.

      “I said, are you ready?” Max asked, and Faith was aware that he’d repeated the question while her mind had wandered to the park in Boston.

      She rose quickly. “Yes. We need to be on our way.”

      The clothing he’d purchased was folded neatly, wrapped in brown paper and placed in the egg sacks. The bits and pieces of dry goods, salt and coffee, and a slab of bacon Max had determined they needed, were gathered together, wrapped and placed in another burlap bag, then tied behind Max’s saddle. The bags hung on either side and Max was forced to lead his horse to a mounting block in order to gain the height necessary to fit himself in the saddle without dislodging his purchases.

      Faith laughed aloud as he rode beside her. “You look like Louie the peddler,” she said, chuckling as they headed out of town.

      “And who the dickens is he?” Max asked, returning her smile with a look of satisfaction. “And by the way, I like hearing you laugh, ma’am.”

      “He’s a little old man who rides up to my back door about three times a year, with a packful of odds and ends. I always ask him in for coffee, and he shakes his head and tells me he prefers tea. Which I already know, of course.”

      She smiled apologetically. “You have to be a part of his ritual to understand. I put the kettle on to heat as soon as I see him heading toward the house, and he digs around in his pack and finds a special blend of tea, and we share whatever I have in the pantry. Usually a slice of bread and jam or cookies, or sometimes….” Her words trailed off and she shrugged, thinking Max must surely consider her small pleasures to be foolish.

      And then he surprised her, his voice almost wistful as he said, “You make it sound like fun. I never thought about you entertaining a peddler man, Faith. I would have worried that he might not be safe, that you’d be in danger from him.”

      Max looked at the serenity of trees and meadows surrounding them, and then up at the sky overhead, where fleecy clouds decorated the brilliant blue like an overturned, China-blue teacup with dabs of whipping cream on the surface. The sun was leaning toward the west, and by the time they reached the farmhouse, it would be past time for supper and the evening chores.

      For now, though, he intended to savor the moments they spent together. “It’s different here,” he said. “Peaceful and quiet. Perhaps I’ve worried for nothing.”

      “You should talk to Nicholas and Lin,” she said, “if you think it’s always so tranquil in these parts. We’ve had our share of trouble, and there’ve been occasions of cattle rustlers or men on the run who can pose a threat to our well-being.”

      She touched the rifle she carried with her, firmly sheathed behind her saddle. “That’s why I take this with me when I leave the house. I learned early on to watch my back.” And then she sent an apologetic look in his direction. “I don’t mean to spoil your image of this part of the country, Max. For the most part, it’s safe and I feel secure.”

      Lines marred the width of his forehead as he listened, and then he shrugged, as if setting aside his concern. “I suppose there’s danger no matter where you live, Faith. Boston has a beautiful, orderly facade it offers to visitors, but there are pockets in the city where no one in his right mind would walk alone at night.”

      “Well, for the most part, I feel at home here. I can roam the woods at night if I please. And with the dog beside me, I doubt anyone would bother me. We have a good sheriff,” Faith said. “Brace has a reputation for upholding the law, and there are few men in the area who would want to face him in a gun battle.”

      “And with him to look after you, you’ve felt pretty—”

      She halted him with an uplifted hand. “I look after myself, Max. Make no mistake, I can use this gun, and I’m not afraid to fire it.”

      His grin was a teasing reminder of the session with the rattlesnake. “As I well know,” he said, bowing his head in a parody of respect. “My wife, the gunslinger.”

      She shrugged, sending him a fleeting smile. “I’ve been called worse.”

      “I don’t think I want to know about it, if you have,” he said. “I’d probably be ready to go to your defense, and end up getting shot for my trouble.”

      “Haven’t you ever fired a rifle?” she asked. At his silent denial, a subtle, seemingly reluctant shake of his head, she posed another question. “Would you like me to teach you?”

      “I suppose I could get the hang of it in a hurry,” he said. “I’ve carried a small pistol for years. I’d think shooting a rifle or shotgun wouldn’t be beyond my intelligence to figure