"Get out."
"I'm staying till we talk this out."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Yes, there is. Think of Slade."
Think of Slade! What else had she done for the last seven years but think of Slade? "Why, you-" She snatched a piece of kindling from the ground at her side and threw it at him.
Neatly, he caught the stick and tossed it on the fire. Standing, she met his glare. He stepped closer, still looming a foot above her. "Why don't you think of Nikky? Where does he fit into all this lunacy?"
His blue eyes flinched with her words. "Nikolaus would want Slade safe, too."
"Would we live together?" she asked, keeping her voice even.
His gaze wavered and then narrowed. "Isn't that the point? Ruiz would have to think we were happily married." She crossed her arms over her breasts. "How would we explain a temporary marriage to the boys? It wouldn't be fair to them," she said, thinking how close the two of them had become, how much closer they'd be in a few more weeks. "It would be a mistake." She raised her chin. "I know what you're thinking. I made a mistake once, but I won't do it again."
"I wasn't thinking that."
"What were you thinking?"
The corner of his mouth almost twitched. "That you're thinking about it."
"You're an infuriating man, Anton Neubauer."
"But you'll think on it?"
As much as she hated to admit it, the idea held more promise than anything she'd been able to come up with herself.
"Rain Shadow?"
"I'll think on it."
Chapter Eleven
She was out her mind to consider such a harebrained scheme. Anton was out of his mind to suggest it! Their fathers were way out of line to think of such a plan. By the end of the week Rain Shadow deemed the plot ludicrous and pushed it from her mind. There was something more to worry over.
Thanksgiving. The Anglo-American holiday lush with family traditions only gave her more cause to realize she did not fit in here.
Annette informed Rain Shadow their family always ate together on holidays, therefore she and Slade were taken in under the familial wing and expected at Franz and Annette's. Johann and Two Feathers had shot the turkey the day before, and Rain Shadow had dressed the bird, her only contribution to the festivity, since she didn't know how to do the things Annette and Lydia did. Inactivity had worn her endurance thin. With each passing moment, the Neubauers' house had grown more and more confining.
A change of atmosphere appealed, but the thought of dinner at Anton's sister-in-law's comfortable and solid home pointed out how inept and awkward she really was. The remaining hours passed with dread, until finally Rain Shadow changed into the dress she'd finished hemming that morning.
Franz and Annette's house was only a few years old, sturdily built, decorated with handmade doilies and sepia-toned daguerreotypes. Annette was everything Rain Shadow wasn't, capable, domestic, a perfect wife, mother and hostess. She showed Rain Shadow the house and set her to peeling potatoes while she scurried about the kitchen.
Lydia and Jakob arrived, and Lydia knew just what to do and where things were, busying herself between the kitchen and dining room, at the same time pacifying both her and Annette's youngest children.
"Will you set the table?" Annette asked Rain Shadow while the potatoes boiled.
Rain Shadow nodded and stared hard at the bread crumbs falling to the tabletop as Lydia deftly sliced a crusty loaf. Something hollow ached in her chest, and her hand trembled on her cotton skirt. Annette's shoes appeared in her line of vision, and she forced her gaze up.
"The plates are in the china closet in the dining room, the silverware and napkins in the top drawer." Annette turned to the stove.
Rain Shadow wanted to bolt for the door. She didn't know the first thing about setting a proper table. She felt like a sow in a wren house. Slowly, she stood.
Annette puckered her pretty brow in thought. "I think I counted ten. You'd better count again."
Rain Shadow stepped into a silent dining room, so spacious her entire lodge would have fit in the area. An ivory lace cloth draped the long table, sheer ruffled curtains swagged across the windows. She opened the glass-inset doors of the cabinet and stared at the delicate rose-patterned china plates. What if she broke one? Her hands might shake so badly she'd drop the entire stack on the floor! Two sizes of plates, assorted platters, endless cups, saucers and other strange pieces were displayed before her distressed gaze. Was she supposed to do something with all of them?
"Need a hand?" The familiar voice came from behind.
She whirled to face Anton, her palm flying to her breast. "Oh!"
"Sorry, I thought you heard me." He circled her arm with his fingers. "You're shakin'. What's wrong?"
She glanced into his eyes and away. "You startled me, that's all."
One sandy brow lifted in disbelief. The question hadn't sounded like one of his digs. Perhaps he was just being courteous.
"Yes, I can use some help," she replied, aware her acceptance threw him off guard. "Will you lift the plates down for me?" Words Sissy Clanton might have used. Hearing than from her own mouth, Rain Shadow almost blushed.
Anton reached past her, and she caught the scent of his clean hair and shirt. Only days before he'd watched her heft ammunition-laden saddlebags onto Jack's back, and they both remembered it. There was no logical reason on earth for her to need his assistance. He carried the plates to the table without comment, took the top one and began spacing them around the perimeter.
Gratefully, she followed his unconscious lead.
"Been thinking?" he asked.
She watched his dark hand rest on the ivory tablecloth, and suddenly the sight became intimate. From nowhere came the image of him striding shirtless into the room he'd turned over to Slade, the planes and curves of his tanned and muscular torso defined by the gas lamp. Rain Shadow remembered watching him brush his unruly hair, slip his tie over his head and adjust it before the mirror. She'd wondered then about the intimacy between a husband and wife, wondered what it would be like to share a house...a room...a bed. Had she been thinking about his offer?
"Yes."
"And?"
She pulled open the top drawer and withdrew a neatly ironed and folded stack of linen napkins. "And I wonder what you have to gain."
"You insult me."
She turned, met his blue gaze and stifled an unconscious shiver. "I didn't mean to. It's just that...I don't see how you can make such an offer. You've made it plain that I'm a nuisance."
"Consider it something I need to do for Slade."
The immediate bond he'd developed with her son had always been a bit of a mystery to her. "You have a son of your own. Why do you have such an attachment to mine?"
He took the napkins from her hand, his fingers brushing hers. A long and knowing look passed between them. He drew his gaze away first and placed each delicately hemmed piece of linen on the left of the plates. "Maybe because I have a son of my own. Maybe because I was a boy once myself. I didn't have a ma. Nikolaus doesn't have a ma, and Slade doesn't have a pa. Not one worth a plug nickel, anyway."
She dragged her attention from his long fingers wrapped around a white napkin and searched his face. He'd said it dryly, a comment a person made to another when both agreed on a subject. How did he see her? Did he think less of her because she'd never married Miguel, or because she'd consorted with him in the first place? "Anton, I was very young..."
She'd seen him in physical pain, and the expression that now crossed his golden features was the same.
"You don't have to explain," he said. "You don't owe me anything."
"Don't I?"
He looked up sharply. "No."
"You rescued Slade from that railcar, sacrificed your room for weeks, got yourself stabbed in the shoulder over my-my-" She faltered. "Over me."
"You paid me back by nursing me through it. You've put in your share of work around the place." He laid the last napkin in place and grinned. "All of Nikolaus' dungarees and shirts are mended."
Warmth crept into her cheeks. She hadn't realized he'd noticed. "But, if we-well, if you did this thing for me-"
"Got married."
"Then I would owe you something."
He shrugged noncommittally. "Mend my shirts."
Mend his shirts.
Annette appeared in the doorway with a tray.