The new furniture that Elise had ordered had arrived, three big wagons full. He and Gage had spent a whole day moving settees and bedsteads and bureaus a few inches here, a few inches there, all under Elise’s direction. Bowie had to admit, she’d chosen well. His only complaint was the small beds she’d ordered for the guest rooms. They were more like children’s beds.
Of course, the bed in her room seemed to cover half of Texas. He shrugged out of his work shirt and washed up. In the new beveled glass mirror over the washstand, he studied his face. Nothing had changed. His patchy beard blended with his blackened scars, and his eye patch covered the worst of the travesty. He shook his head at the shaving cup, strop, and razor Elise had put beside the pitcher and bowel. So she thought he had a nice jawline? The last time he’d had a shave, Elise had done it in the hospital. With his scarred mug, he’d rather appear in his long johns in church than show up anywhere with a naked face for people to gawk at.
The sound of horses and buggies came from the front yard, and he stopped mooning in the mirror, shrugging into the crisp white shirt Elise had left on the bed. She’d also laid out a dark suit coat and tie, but he left those behind. It wasn’t like the governor was coming tonight. Just his family.
Dinner was a success by all accounts. Bowie felt odd to sit at the head of the table, and Elise was much too far away at the foot, close to the kitchen where she could oversee the serving of the meal. She looked stunning in a dark blue gown with black, glittering beads scattered over it. He was aware of her every movement, her every look. Candlelight glinted off her hair and made her eyes luminous, and something in his chest tightened every time he looked at her.
Pa nudged him with his knee. “You did well for yourself, son. I still can’t believe all you boys did it. Seven weddings in a year … better yet, seven fine marriages that, God willing, will see you all into a happy old age.”
Bowie stabbed a forkful of turkey off his plate and said nothing. His brothers talked about plans for next spring’s roundup, how far down they should cull the herd, and whether or not to import some English blooded bulls to improve the stock on the 7 Heart, while the girls complimented Elise on the house, the furnishings, the wallpaper, just about everything. The meal was perfect, the house was perfect, her dress was perfect.
The only imperfect thing in her life was him.
Somehow he managed to get through the meal, but then they all moved into the parlor. Pa took a seat in the chair Bowie had occupied every evening for the past week, the one opposite Elise’s, the one where he pretended to read the paper every night while he watched her knit or sew or read a book.
Austin brought in one of the dining chairs, since the parlor didn’t boast seating for sixteen. “I ran into David Longley in town yesterday. He’s hot after one of Clara’s pups. I thought I’d never seen a kid so keen about getting a dog, until I remembered how you were at his age. All you thought about were horses and dogs.” He sat and rested his ankle on his opposite knee. “Guess you have more on your mind now.” He nodded in Elise’s direction. “All I thought about once upon a time was running this ranch and keeping you boys out of trouble, but now that I have Rebekah, my priorities have changed a bit. I guess marriage has a way of doing that to a man.”
Bowie glared at his older brother. Why did he want to talk about marriage? Austin never said anything without a purpose behind it, so just what was he after?
Bowie steered the conversation onto safer ground. “The pups are growing fast. Their eyes are open, and they’re fat as butter. They’ll be ready to wean around Christmastime. Maybe, if you see the Longleys, you can let them know that if they want to give one as a Christmas present for David, there’ll be one available. I already talked to Travis, and I’ll bring one over to El Regalo on Christmas morning for Robbie.” He kept his voice low so his new nephew wouldn’t overhear. “I’ll keep the rest for a while, see if I can spot a good cow dog or two to train.”
Pa stretched out his boots to the fireplace and laced his hands across his stomach. In minutes he was asleep. Elise rose and took a knitted blanket off the arm of her chair and spread it over him, smiling softly. Bowie shook his head, tamping down the homey feelings in his chest. When he was a younger man, especially during the War, before he was injured, he’d imagined evenings like this, where he had a wife to make a home for him, a place for his family to gather. Elise had done that, creating an inviting home, showing hospitality to his family. It was almost picture-perfect. Almost.