When they talked at all as they proceeded down the mountain, Max and Elizabeth discussed the silver. It was ironic to Elizabeth that the riches they'd risked their lives for seemed to be all that held them together now, since the struggle for it had ultimately pushed them apart.
It was true that they would soon benefit financially from the quest, but for Elizabeth the promise of profit wasn't nearly enough. Neither were the pages of notes and articles she'd painstakingly written on the expedition. She knew it was the best writing she'd ever done, but that was only because Max had inspired her. Now what she really wanted was for him to forgive her. Then the writing would mean something once again.
The exact value of the metal was practically an obsession for Ross. The worth of their find was all he talked about on the way to Georgetown. Now that the truth about his shady business deal with Galbotto was out in the open, he told everyone about the trouble he was in. He prayed Galbotto would be satisfied with his cut of the money, which would surely come to well over three thousand dollars from the amount they’d brought down the mountain so far.
Plus, Ross still faced charges in New York, and would probably owe sizeable legal expenses before it was all over. No wonder the silver was so important to him. It was the only means he had to put his life back on track once they were home.Because she couldn’t spend every minute regretting the outcome with Max, Elizabeth thought about her own return to Manhattan and the reunion with her father. She hoped she still had a home to go back to, and a father who hadn't disowned her.
She thought, too, about Francis Hildebrand. Would the detective be waiting for her in Georgetown? She couldn't count on Max to come to her aid if Hildebrand pressed charges against her. In fact, Max might feel that a little time in jail was exactly what she deserved.
At least one positive result kept Elizabeth from total despair. Max had gotten a rip-roaring story, probably more than he'd ever hoped for. His account of the struggle with Paulie and Nick would no doubt be peppered with gritty details, thus attracting lots of readers. Maybe in the end, Max would think kindly of her because of the notoriety he'd receive. If only his kind thoughts were all she wanted or needed. But they weren't. She wanted his love.
Yet perhaps Max's love was more than she ever should have hoped for. After all, he hadn't said he loved her, even when their passions soared almost out of control. But a man couldn't kiss like that...he couldn't work such magic with his hands...he couldn't be so incredibly wonderful if he didn't feel something...could he?
Thanks to Max’s forward thinking, the path to Georgetown was well marked, and the Fair Day party spent only one night in tents on the way down. They arrived in town the evening of the second day. The assayer was closed, and Ross had to accept the bitter disappointment of not knowing the value of his ore until the next morning. He did, however, see a doctor who pronounced that his wound was healing nicely. Francis Hildebrand was nowhere to be seen, and Elizabeth believed she was free of this worry.
After they returned the burros to the outfitters, all five weary travelers sought the welcoming comfort of the Dakota Hotel. They discussed their plans for the next day over a light dinner.
Ross would be first in line at the assayer’s when he opened his shop. If the ore proved as valuable and he and Dooley suspected, he would then make arrangements to journey up the mountain again, this time with a whole string of burros so they could bring down as much ore as possible before the first snow fell.
"What about it, Cassidy?" he said to Max across the table. "You've proved yourself an able miner, and I could sure use you up there. Say you'll go with me one more time. It'll mean a lot of money for you, not just the pittance you'll get from this first load."
"No thanks," he said. "One trip is enough for this reporter. I'm anxious to get back to the peace and quiet of Manhattan."
"Oh, come on, Max. You're not giving up so easily? I thought you lived on danger and excitement."
"Danger and excitement, maybe, but bone-jarring cold...I don't think so. I'll leave it to you and Dooley to itch in your long johns."
"What about you, Lizzie? You're coming, aren't you? You've already made Dad so mad that another week or two won't matter."
Elizabeth felt Max's gaze on her, and it gave her some small measure of hope that he cared what her answer would be. "No, Ross, I'm going home, even if I have to beg for forgiveness."
Ross leaned back in his chair and put his arm around Ramona's shoulder. "Have it your own way, then. It'll just be more money for the three of us. But Cassidy, you could do me a big favor."
"Yeah, what's that?"
"Watch out for Lizzie on the way back. You may not believe this, but I do worry about her. A girl shouldn't travel alone these days. As close as you two have gotten, I don't think I'm asking too much of you, am I?"
He gave Max a conspiratorial wink that made Elizabeth want to kick him in his shin. How could her brother not have noticed the chill that had come down the mountain clinging to Max and her like an avalanche? He had no idea that Max couldn't care less about what happened to her. "For heaven's sake, Ross," she said, "I don't need a nanny."
"No, you don’t need a nanny," Max said. "But I do agree with Ross, and I'll see you home safely. First thing tomorrow I'll arrange transportation to Central City where we can buy our train tickets." After a moment, he said, “Perhaps we can each afford our own compartment this time.”
"How kind of you," she said, hoping her good manners hid her disappointment in his reaction.
He pushed his chair back from the table and stood. "I guess I'll turn in then. See you all in the morning."
When he’d left the restaurant, Ramona plopped her elbows on the table and glared at Elizabeth. "What the blazes is the matter with you two?" she demanded.
Elizabeth fiddled with the folds of her napkin. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Three days ago before all this mess happened, you and Max were as starry-eyed as any two people who'd ever been lucky enough to find each other. Now those stars have been replaced with lightning bolts. What did you do?"
"Me? What makes you assume that I'm the one who's at fault?" She knew she was, but it still rankled to learn that her guilt was obvious to anyone else.
"Because he had it so bad for you, honey, and now he's walking on hot coals around you and scared to death of getting burned.” Her eyes softened and she spoke in the mellow voice that had charmed Elizabeth from the start. "You got to make this right again, Elizabeth. If this keeps up, you two will get back to Manhattan and forget you even live in the same city...and that you once shared the same bedroll if I'm not mistaken."
Tears welled in Elizabeth's eyes and she blinked hard to keep them from spilling over. "Oh, Ramona, it is all my fault. I...I was perfectly horrible to Max. I blamed him for getting us in trouble. I called him a liar." She swallowed to get control of the trembling in her voice. "Every other time I've opened my big mouth he's always forgiven me, but this time..."
"This time it's different," Ramona said. "This time he thinks you might be right."
"But I wasn't right," Elizabeth sniffled. "I was wrong."
"Have you told him that?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "He’s not ready to listen."
"Do you love him?"
She'd never admitted it to anyone before, but it was time to say what was in her heart. "I think so, but I've ruined everything. Even if he did feel something for me, he doesn't now."
Ramona smiled. "Oh, I'll bet he does. Max is a straight shooter, honey. You can believe me, 'cause I've seen many men who weren't. If he shot an arrow at you, he's not going to pull it back just because of a little squabble. All you got to do is let him know it hit the target."
Elizabeth stared into Ramona’s eyes, which were clear of whiskey and arsenic, and wonderfully earnest. What if there was still hope for her and Max? Elizabeth wanted to believe there was, more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. She reached across the table and squeezed Ramona's han
d. "What should I do?" she asked.
"You'll think of something.” Ramona smiled. “We women are a smart lot. But here’s what I can tell you. You'd do well to think of a plan before the sun rises on another lousy day."
Elizabeth stood from the table. Yes, she was smart. And capable. And determined. And in love. "I’m going up now,” she said.
Ramona patted her arm. "Go on, get out of here."
Before Elizabeth had climbed half-way to the second floor, she knew exactly how she was going to fight for Max.
Chapter Twenty-two
The nicest young man worked at the Dakota Hotel, and Elizabeth suspected he might be a romantic at heart. When she asked him to find a yard of bright red ribbon, he brought it to her room. When she asked him to deliver a strange package smelling faintly of citrus to Max Cassidy's room, he did so. When she paid him an extra dollar to guarantee no one would disturb her for the rest of the night, unless it was the man he delivered the package to, he promised. Now all she could do was wait.
A half hour later there was a knock at her door. She checked her reflection in the mirror, though she'd done that a dozen times already. The simple blue linen dress could have used a good pressing, but the lacy scooped bodice revealed just enough of her bosom to be alluring...she hoped. She’d lost weight on her travels, but the loose-fitting waistline still hinted at the shapely figure that had recently been disguised behind baggy britches. Her hair glistened from the first good washing in a week. She was ready.
"Betsy?" Max whispered hoarsely from the hallway. "Are you there?"
"Coming, Max." She drew a deep breath and opened the door.
God help her, she loved him. There couldn't be a more magnificent man in the entire world than Max – every compact, scrappy pound of him. At first she thought he'd lost weight too, but then decided his pounds had merely changed position. His black trousers, without the benefit of suspenders, hugged his trim hips. His shirt sleeves, rolled up past his elbows, were tighter than before their trek up the mountain, revealing the rounded swells of his upper arms. She hadn't really noticed before, but Max had muscles. Or maybe swinging a pick ax and a hammer had done what wielding a pencil never could. His hair, freshly washed, and slightly unruly, waved over his forehead.
He held the package out to her, almost like an offering. The red ribbon spiraled down from his hand. "You asked me to read this and get back to you," he said. "I'll need more time to finish, but what I read was quite good."
"Won't you come in, Max?" she said.
He stepped over the threshold. "Sure. We can talk about it if you want." He crossed to the center of the room and placed the package of notebooks on a table before really looking at her for the first time. Maybe he'd forgotten what she looked like in feminine clothes, because his gaze was suddenly warmer, more appreciative.
He cleared his throat and assumed a business-like tone in his voice. "Your writing shows great sensitivity and a good eye for detail. You've noted things here that would never have occurred to me." He shrugged his shoulders and pressed his lips together in a thin line resembling a grin. "That challenge you gave me on the train from New York...it looks like it's going to be a fairly equal contest after all."
She smiled at him. "Max, the package was wrapped in a ribbon. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
His eyes widened, but not with recognition. He picked up the end of the ribbon dangling from the table, held it between his thumb and finger, and studied its satiny texture. "It does seem an odd way of showing your work to me," he said.
"Max, hasn’t anyone ever given you a gift?"
He thought about this much too long, and her heart ached for him. "Well, sure," he finally said. "But hardly ever wrapped up. Is that what you're doing...giving me your articles?"
She nodded.
"But why?"
"Isn't it obvious? You're a reporter, Max. Can't you draw a logical conclusion? Or in this case, take the blatant facts and draw the only conclusion possible?"
He dropped the ribbon, folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the table. He had that look of mischief in his eyes that she’d grown to love.
"I get it," he said. "You're bucking for a job with the Gazette. You've decided you want to work for a real newspaper, not that sissy Courier News." Raising a finger to his lower lip, he added, "I don't know, Bets. It takes a lot more than sensitivity and keen observation to work for an outfit like the Gazette."
He really wasn’t getting her point at all. "Max, you thick-headed..." No, don't do it Elizabeth. Make him understand. She breathed deeply. "It's a present, a gift, don't you see? It's from my heart, from my very soul. I've poured hours of emotion and turmoil into those pages, and I'm offering them to you as an apology. I sprinkled lemon verbena on it, and I’m afraid you’ve missed the symbolism entirely. I’m trying to heal the wounds I caused, to make up for the things I said in anger."
There, she'd said it all. She let out a long breath and waited for his reaction.
He continued to stare at her, his arms still folded infuriatingly across his rigid chest. His eyes revealed nothing, but the cocky angle of his head seemed to poke fun at her heartfelt revelations. Either he didn't appreciate how difficult that confession had been for her, or he had no intention of accepting her apology.
"Blast you, Max! You could use a little sensitivity yourself. This isn't easy, you know."
He looked down at the floor, and a low, sputtering sound came from his mouth. When he raised his head, his eyes sparkled with humor. A wide grin spread across his face. He lifted his hands palms up at his sides. "Apology accepted," he said.
She felt an answering grin tug at her own mouth and was determined that he not see it. He’d been teasing her all along. She looked at a window and thrust out her chin. "I'm not so sure I want to give it now," she said. "I'm not at all certain you deserve it."
He came to her and put one hand on her arm. The other rested against his heart. "Too late. Whether I deserve it or not, I've already tucked it in here."
He put his hands on each side of her face and brought her gaze to lock with his. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"So are you."
"You're stubborn and opinionated."
"So are you."
“And I’m about to say something I could regret for the rest of my life.”
She sighed, implored him with her eyes as if he were a youngster who needed her guidance. “Take a chance, Max, on something other than crap games and danger. Take a real chance.”
He rubbed his chin for a moment, thinking. "Okay, here’s the thing, Betsy. I’m pretty sure I like you. A lot.”
She threw her arms around his neck. "Oh, Max, I love you, too."
“Whoa, Bets, I didn’t say...”
“Shut up, Max.”
“That’s probably a good idea.”
She closed her eyes as his mouth descended to hers. Then she melted, from the inside out. From the pit of her stomach to the ends of her nerves, a slow building heat flowed through her like warm honey.
His mouth moved over hers, sweetly insistent. She parted her lips and his tongue plunged inside, swept over her teeth and probed the tingling insides of her cheeks, bringing her blissfully, completely alive.
He drew away from her, and she slowly opened her eyes to see him smiling down at her. His gaze roamed over her face. He moved his thumb across her lips, removing the moisture left from his kiss. "Do you think we can be happy together?" he asked.
"I’m sure of it," she said. "Our life won't be dull."
He chuckled. "No, it won't be that. About your gift...it's wonderful, but I'd prefer it if we share our articles. It's a test, actually. If we can do that, I think sharing our lives will be relatively easy."
"You're probably right."
"So, when we get back to New York... when I’ve met your father...” He pressed his hands together in the sign of prayer. “May the saints be with me..."
“What Max? What happens after you’ve met my f
ather?”
“Assuming I’m still drawing breaths, I should probably ask him if I can marry you.”
Did they have earthquakes in Colorado? Elizabeth suddenly felt like she was smack in the middle of one. Max caught her under her arms and drew her to his chest. “Are you okay, darlin’?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Well good. I wouldn’t want you fainting dead away on me."
"No, Max. I meant yes, I’ll marry you, even if you didn’t properly ask."
He rested his chin on the top of her head. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, Miss Elizabeth Sheridan," he whispered. "When your carriage appeared out of nowhere on Seventh Avenue that night, you did more than help me get away.”
Silver Dreams Page 25