The Bride of Willow Creek(30)
“Warm.”
She didn’t look as if she intended to pour him a cup, so he helped himself, then returned to the table, concentrating on the scent of the coffee instead of roses. “What’s on your mind?”
“Do you know what time it is?”
Her hair was glossy brown in the lamplight and looked as silky as a child’s. A few tendrils floated loose around her face, softening her strong features. He tried not to think of her as beautiful. He thought of her as irritating. But, in fact, there were moments when he glanced at her and felt his breath catch. Moments when he realized that he missed making love to a woman, having a woman in his life.
“It’s almost eleven,” he said, frowning at the schoolhouse clock.
“Since I’ve been here, you’ve come home in time to say goodnight to your daughters only twice.” Disapproval furrowed her brow. “Do you think it’s right that you spend only an hour at breakfast with your children?”
“Are you tired of taking care of them?” Just once, he wished they could have a conversation that wasn’t adversarial.
“That isn’t fair,” she said stiffening. “It isn’t me they want to see at the end of the day.”
She had a point. “If I could, I’d spend more time with them, but I work ten hours on the job, then work on my claim. Afterward I go to the Slipper or one of the other saloons to catch up on the news.”
“You think sitting in a saloon is more important than your children?”
Anger flushed his face. “Nothing is more important than my daughters. Everything I do is focused on making money to get Daisy the surgery she needs. Even sitting in the saloon. That’s where I learn about new strikes, if any are near my claims, and where costs are heading, and which syndicates are buying, and if claim jumpers are in the area. You don’t know mining, so you’ll have to take my word for it. This information is vital.”
“Your daughters need you,” she said, as if she hadn’t heard a word he said. “Isn’t that vital?”
“Damn it, Angie, I’m doing the best I can. I can’t be in two places at once. And I’m never going to find my jackpot if I keep banker’s hours. As much as I wish things were otherwise, that’s how it is.”
“Molly Johnson says you used to get home earlier than you do now.”
“Did Molly also mention that until recently the days were shorter and darker than they are now?” He returned her steady stare. “I can work later because it stays light longer. Plus, with you here, I don’t have to get home before the girls’ bedtime.” He didn’t like having to explain himself or having to account for how he spent his time. That was one of the many negatives about having a wife. He would do well to remember more of the negatives.
“I don’t mind taking care of your daughters. I’m willing to earn my keep while I’m here. But I don’t like paying for the privilege. That wasn’t our agreement.”
“What are you talking about?”
She told him about buying provisions and paying the iceman with her own money. Earlier in the week she had offered him every cent she had toward Daisy’s surgery. Now she resented spending a couple of dollars for food and ice. If he lived to be a hundred, Sam would never understand the female mind.
“All right,” he said, speaking between his teeth, “I certainly don’t want you to spend any of your money.” Reaching into his back pocket, he withdrew his Saturday pay packet. “What do I owe you?”
“Nothing. This time.” Leaning back in the chair, she studied his pay envelope with a thoughtful expression. “Would it be fair to guess that you don’t handle money well?”
“What?” The woman was a font of insults.
She shrugged. “I’m basing this observation on how little you’ve saved toward Daisy’s operation.”
The comment stung, and badly. She didn’t need to remind him how far he was from the amount he needed. Her father’s words echoed in a dark corner of his mind. You’ll never amount to anything. In a manner of speaking, she’d just said the same thing. Pride and fury stomped across his chest and pinched his expression.
A dozen acid responses burned on his tongue, but he held himself to saying, “Where is this leading, Angie?”
“I am good with finances.” The color had risen in her face, too. “Judging from what I’ve seen so far, I think we might save faster if I managed the money.”
The sheer gall of her suggestion flabbergasted him. Yes, he knew men who handed their pay packets to their wives. But he didn’t know his wife, had no idea if she was frugal or extravagant. Couldn’t guess if she’d pay some debts and ignore others. Or waste a week’s wages on a hat from Paris, France.