Texas Gold. Carolyn Davidson

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      “Yes.” Her response was a bare whisper. “Max is my husband.”

      “Has he threatened you?” the man asked quietly, alert to every nuance of expression, each breath that Max took.

      Faith shook her head. “No, not the way you’re thinking, Nicholas.”

      “Ah—so you’re the neighbor who has provided my wife with shelter,” Max said, allowing no inflection of sarcasm to enter his voice. He ached with the urge to oust the stranger from the kitchen, though it was a moot question whether or not his attempt would meet with success.

      “Faith is living in a house that I own…so I suppose you could say that I’ve provided her with shelter.”

      “I should probably thank you, then,” Max said nicely, rising in slow motion, lest the visitor take it in his head to consider him a threat.

      “You should probably vacate the premises, is my guess.” Harsh and unyielding, the man stood aside and waved a hand toward the door. “I think you’ve gotten the message that my tenant doesn’t want your company.”

      “Please, Max,” Faith said quietly. “Just leave. There’s nothing for you here.”

      He hesitated, his eyes taking in the tearstained face, the slumping shoulders, and her arms wrapped in mute agony around her waist, as if she were attempting to soothe an ache that threatened to tear her asunder.

      “I’ll leave, Faith. But I’m coming back. I have the right to speak with you. Hell, I have the legal right to haul you back to Boston with me, if I want to push it that far.”

      The man she’d called Nicholas spoke up, his words icy, his demeanor threatening. “I wouldn’t try that if I were you, Mr. Hudson. Faith is among friends here.”

      “Hudson?” Max felt the stab of pain at her denial of his name. “Her name is Faith McDowell. Mrs. Maxwell McDowell, to be precise. The day she married me, she lost any need for her maiden name.”

      “Well, maybe she needs to see a lawyer about having it changed back legally.”

      “No, Nicholas.” Faith stepped from the doorway. “Don’t make a fuss over it. It isn’t worth your while. I’m all right. I just want to be left alone.”

      Max bowed his head for a moment, bitter disappointment washing through him. He’d never thought to effect such a confrontation with her. He’d hoped to speak about their problems, maybe solve some of the issues she’d apparently thought were important. And now he’d managed to lose even that small opportunity.

      Staying would solve nothing.

      “There’s a hotel in town,” Faith said quietly.

      “I know. My baggage is there. I took a room yesterday.”

      “There will be a train heading east tomorrow,” Faith told him. “If you want me to, I’ll come to town and see a lawyer with you, have him draw up paperwork to dissolve our marriage.”

      Max shook his head. “No, I’ll go to the hotel and decide what has to be done. If you’ll call off your watchdog, that is.”

      “Speaking of dogs, where’s Wolf?” Nicholas asked, a frown creasing his brow.

      “There’s a female over on Clay Thomas’s place. Wolf has gone calling, I think.”

      “Wolf? Your dog…” Max paused, envisioning a massive guard dog, and was suddenly thankful the absent creature had been stricken by the sudden desire for a mate.

      “Yes, my dog is called Wolf.” Faith lifted her chin. “I wouldn’t return in a big hurry, Max. He doesn’t like strangers.”

      Chapter Two

      Morning brought an end to the restless night she’d endured, and her usual sunny nature was lacking as she stepped onto the back porch. Some critter had threatened her henhouse in the early morning hours, causing the dog to sound an alarm, and then had vanished when she’d peered from the window. Just in case, she decided, she’d be prepared for its reappearance, and she caught up her rifle as she opened the back door, hoping for a shot at the varmint.

      And then stopped dead still. Max had returned, and was in the process of gaining Wolf’s loyalty. Her “watchdog” lay on his back, wiggling joyously as long, agile fingers scrubbed at his belly.

      “Wolf!” She called his name harshly, aggravated beyond belief at the creature’s fickle behavior.

      “He doesn’t seem endowed with any savage tendencies,” Max said, smiling up at her, coaxing the dog’s friendship with his knowing touch. And then he rose, and she lifted her free hand, forced to shade her eyes from the sun as she met his gaze once more. Her other hand held her rifle, its barrel pointed at the ground, its presence patently ignored by the man before her.

      Wolf scrambled to all fours and then sat down with a flourish of his tail, as close to Max’s left boot as he could get. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, his eyes shone with mischief and he watched these two humans, as if seeking instructions for the next bit of fun on the agenda.

      “I’d say he needs some training in order to qualify as a bona fide watchdog,” Max said dryly. “I didn’t even have to coax him with the bits of bacon I brought with me.” He slid his hand into his jacket pocket and removed his handkerchief, where remnants of what had probably been his breakfast lay wrapped.

      Wolf transferred his attention to the bacon, one ear lifting, the other at half-mast, and Max laughed—an exuberant sound, Faith thought, as though he had not a care in the world. And maybe he didn’t, after all.

      He’d ridden into the yard unchallenged, had dismounted and tied his horse to the hitching rail, and then made an instant ally of her much-touted watchdog. His glance was accusing. “You tried to make me believe your defender would eat me alive.”

      “Obviously, I failed in his training,” she said quietly. “But—”

      Her attention caught by a movement behind him, she shifted the rifle swiftly, her finger squeezing the trigger with a practiced movement, her aim on target.

      At the sound of the blast the dog yelped and scampered to one side, but Max was immobile, his eyes narrowing as they remained trained on her face. “Was that a warning of sorts?” he asked.

      She shrugged, as though the matter was of little importance. “I didn’t want my dog bit by a rattler.” And then she motioned with the rifle barrel toward the ground to Max’s left. The snake’s body twitched in its death throes, and she thought Max’s jaw tensed as he surveyed the remains.

      “I suppose I should thank you,” he murmured, and then looked up at her. “Or was it only your dog you were concerned about?”

      “I think you can figure that out for yourself,” she said, rather pleased by the effectiveness of her shooting skill.

      “Well, at least your watchdog likes me,” he added, and then smiled slightly. “I remember—”

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