He stiffened, then eased. A smile slowly crept onto his lips. Fine. He’d had no right to rip up her nightgown. She could have the last word. Tonight.
The days that followed his father’s burial were busy for Hawk. He would have to spend at least five to ten days away from the ranch if he was going to ride north and find Crazy Horse. The ride was a beautiful one, but he and Sloan meant to take cattle and presents, which meant pack mules and a slow-going route. The idea of leaving his mysterious wife behind did not appeal to him, but the current hostile Indian situation was so severe that it had to take precedence over her personal problems. And she would never actually be alone. Willow, Rabbit, and Jack Logan would be around to keep wary eyes on the new mistress, right along with Megan and Henry Pierpont as well, should she threaten the estate in any way.
So far, she didn’t seem to be intent upon doing any such thing, even though the telegram she had received continued to haunt his mind.
She gave no sign of having any interest in anything beyond Mayfair. By day, she was truly the model wife, lending a hand to whatever household tasks were on the calendar, be it candle making, washing, or bread baking. She managed to avoid him throughout most of the day or, perhaps, he managed to avoid her.
By night…
The first night he had come into her room after that of his father’s funeral, he had found her cocooned in the covers. But when the lights had been snuffed out, and he’d crawled in beside her, he’d been both pleased and amused to discover that she wore nothing beneath those covers.
“At least you learn quickly and have taken the vow of obedience to heart.”
“I’ll never be obedient.”
“But you’ve obeyed.”
“I’m merely trying to preserve my wardrobe. Though I should insist that you replace what you’ve destroyed.”
“Buy you new outfits?”
“Pay me for them. I can replace them on my own.”
“Ah. But then, you don’t need a nightgown replaced, do you?”
He waited. When was she going to ask him for the money she apparently needed? Send help. He was certain the words were a plea for financial assistance.
“You are exasperating.”
“At this moment, I am distracted. Come here.”
“If you want me?—”
“Yes, I know. Take what I want. I shall.”
“Are you always so wretchedly persistent?”
“Always.”
But she was equally as stubborn. Every night, he made love to her. Every night, she held herself aloof. And the dissatisfaction within him grew along with his unease. She filled his thoughts when he was in the midst of payroll checks, haunted him when he rode with Willow, choosing cattle to be taken on his ride to see Crazy Horse. Determined to shake her hold on him, he spent a night in his own room.
Being away from her didn’t help. He was not just disappointed or vaguely dissatisfied.
He was in pain. It had been a fool’s determination. He was about to leave her. The longing would intensify a hundred-fold.
He’d be damned, of course, if he let her know.
The night before the morning he had planned to leave, he sat in his office, ostensibly going over accounts, in actuality asking himself if he felt safe leaving her. He heard a tap on his door. Sandra stuck her head in, smiling her exotic, catlike smile. “May I come in?”
“Please.”
She came to his desk. Her smile faded. “I think that I must tell you about your wife.”
“Oh?”
“She found her way to Gold Town today.”
“What?” he demanded, startled.
