Colorado Dawn by Kaki Warner Page B

one.
    She frowned. Put that way, it sounded rather lonely. Was thattruly what she wanted? To dwell on the fringes of her friends’ lives? To rock their children to sleep without ever holding her own? Could she be content to never again feel a man’s arms around her?
    If it meant having control of her own life…absolutely.
    Ash had been a skilled lover, and she had missed that intimacy these last six years. She liked men. She liked the way they moved and laughed and smelled—the texture of their skin, the strength in their bodies, the power they took and gave in the marriage bed.
    They?
He.
    Memories eddied through her mind as she looked across the fire at the only man who had ever made love to her. Would it be the same with other men? Would she ever find that wonder and bliss again?
    Perhaps she should find out. There were several men in Heartbreak Creek who had shown interest—admittedly, most had been patrons of the Red Eye Saloon next to the hotel, and their attentions had been more like harassment than true interest. Even Mr. Satterwhite had made an offer, although Maddie knew the only reason he had done so was out of his determination to see her protected. Mercy sakes, the dear man was old enough to be her father. Her grandfather, even.
    Still, the idea bore consideration. Perhaps if she encouraged advances from other gentlemen—not Mr. Satterwhite, of course—Ash would become so disgusted with her he would go on his way and leave her to her tintypes. She could continue to reside in Heartbreak Creek near her dear friends Lucinda and Prudence and Edwina, and all would be as it was.
    With a sigh, she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and stared with disinterest into her plate of stew.
    Unless Angus—Ash—was so intent on getting his heir, he dragged her back to Scotland to suffer the arduous task of petitioning Parliament for a divorce so he could marry someone who could give him a son.
    It was all so wretchedly unfair. She fingered the heavy signet ring on her finger and wondered why she still wore it. The man whohad given it to her was long gone. A figment of a lonely young woman’s imagination.
    Suddenly aware that her husband was watching her, she forced herself to take a nibble of the dry-as-dust hardtack that Mr. Satterwhite insisted on serving with every meal.
    Not that she could do any better. She was an artist—not a cook. When she had interviewed Mr. Satterwhite for the position of driver and cook and he had proclaimed himself excellent at both, she probably shouldn’t have taken him at his word. But after spending several months in his company, she was glad she had. He was a dear old thing, even if he was a ghastly cook. And she had greatly enjoyed his companionship on her treks through mining camps, Indian reservations, army posts, and lonely homesteads. With his help, she had captured the spirit of the West so vividly that after Mr. Chesterfield at
The Illustrated London News
had received her first shipment of whole plate negatives, and
carte
portraits, and stereoscopic panoramic slides, he had written immediately back, demanding more and hinting at a leather-bound compilation of her work.
    She was making a name for herself—by herself. Mr. Satterwhite was part of that success, and she couldn’t give up on him, no matter how poor a cook he was, any more than she could give up on her work, no matter what Angus—or Ash—said. Somehow, she would make her husband understand that having known the joy of independence these last two years, she would never willingly give it up. Not even for a husband, or a title.
    She watched Ash sneak pieces of stringy meat to his dog when Mr. Satterwhite wasn’t looking, and tried to stay mad at him for his cavalier treatment of her. But gentler memories kept intruding.
    Her husband wasn’t a bad man. As a young cavalry officer, he had been brash and energetic and perhaps too ready to rush to the next adventure. Not that she blamed him. She had lived