Angel in My Arms (10 page)

Celeste tugged the gown over Sally's slender shoulders. "I didn't
mean to insult you, Rosy. You know how much you all mean to me." She
sighed. "It's not you. It's me. I just can't do it anymore." She shook
her head, feeling as if she were on the verge of tears.

"That's what happens when a decent man passes through your life,"
Rosy soothed. "Don't worry about it. Young Mr. MacPhearson will take
what's his and move on soon enough." She reached across the table and
brushed Celeste's cheek. "Just don't let 'im take your heart with 'im
when he goes. Promise me that?"

"I have no intention of
dancing
with Mr. MacPhearson."

"No?" Sally strutted across the kitchen naked but for high heels,
stockings, and garters. "Well, if you say you ain't interested." She
reached for the gown she'd worn to Celeste's. "Then I might just invite
him over to Kate's. One look at me in my gown and he'll be emptyin' his
pockets on the end of my spring bed."

Celeste had to smile at Sally's innocent confidence. Although Sally
was only five years younger, sometimes it seemed to Celeste that it was
fifty. For a whore, Sally had led a very sheltered life. She didn't yet
understand how having sex with men could eventually take its toll on a
woman's body and her heart.

"Cover yourself, sweet pie," Rosy chastised Sally. "You want Celeste's man to come down those stairs and see you bare-assed?"

"He's not my man," Celeste hissed through clenched teeth. "Please don't spread that all over town."

"Wouldn't mind a bit if he saw my bare tail," Sally said flirtatiously.

Rosy heaved herself out of the chair. "Get your silly, shameless
bare butt over here and cover yourself." She took Sally's silver and
gold gown and held it over the younger woman's head. Sally slithered
into it.

Silver lifted his head off the kitchen floor and whined.

"Here he comes," Celeste warned with a wave of her hand. "Get her buttoned up."

"Oh good," Rosy said. "I can meet this man I've heard so much about."

"Heard what? From whom?" Celeste asked, annoyed. "He just—"

"Good evening, ladies." Fox appeared in the kitchen doorway.

Celeste's heart fluttered at his good looks, and then she was irritated with herself for her reaction.

Fox smiled, all charm and good teeth. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"Not at all," Sally cooed, sliding closer to him.

"We was just leavin'," Rosy said as she linked her arm through Sally's. "Wasn't we?"

"I guess we'd best get to work." Sally pouted prettily. "But if
you'd like to come by the dance hall later, Mr. MacPhearson, we'd love
to see you."

Rosy scooped up Sally's new silky gown and ushered the girl toward
the door. "Thanks a bunch, sweet pie." She blew Celeste a kiss. "I knew
if I pinned up Sally's gown it'd be crookeder than the Snake River."

"I wish you wouldn't work tonight." Celeste rose from the chair
feeling tired to the bone. "It's not safe. You said yourself Sheriff
Tate doesn't have any idea who might have killed Margaret."

Rosy lifted a meaty shoulder. "We'll be careful. 'Sides, chances are
he's long gone by now. Moved on to a more prosperous town." She turned
to go, then turned back. "Oh, I forgot. The girls over at Sal's is
taking up a collection so's they can bury Margaret in a decent coffin.
Fred already come and got her, but he says someone has to pay for the
box." She adjusted the feathered purple hat on her head. "Over at
Kate's, we thought we'd toss a few dollars in. Margaret would 'ave done
the same if it had been one of us."

"Could have been one of us," Sally said softly.

Celeste gave Sally's arm a squeeze. "It's all right. You're all
right." She looked at Rosy. "Of course I'll contribute. Let me run
upstairs and get my pursestring. I'll meet you in the front hall."

"Wait," Fox called.

All three women turned back to him. He had his hand inside his
well-cut waistcoat. He hesitated a heartbeat before he spoke. "Let me…
I want to contribute, too."

"You didn't know Margaret, did you?" Sally asked.

Fox unfolded an expensive French wallet and peeled off ten
one-dollar greenbacks. "No," he said as he held out the cash. "But I
knew too many like her."

Rosy took the cash, turned away, and headed down the hallway with
Sally in tow. Celeste just stood there and stared at Fox. "That was a
very nice thing to do," she said softly, truly touched.

He smiled a distant smile as he tucked his lighter wallet back into his coat. "It's the least a man can do."

"Thank you for helping with the dishes," Celeste said, acutely aware of her proximity to Fox.

With rain still falling, they'd spent a strangely domestic afternoon
reading several Denver papers that Celeste received weekly through the
U.S. mail. Then, while Celeste prepared an evening meal of pea soup and
biscuits, Fox had read a book he'd brought with him.

It was not unlike many evenings Celeste had shared with John after
he became ill and she'd moved in with him. But there was one distinct
difference. John's presence had been comforting, like the feel of a
worn pair of bed slippers on a chilly night. With Fox, there was a
tension in the air, an electricity as undeniable as the bolts of
lightning that lit the shadows of the parlor. Each time a casual
comment passed between them, she sensed the tension with every fabric
of her being. She knew he felt it, too.

Celeste understood that Fox was angry with her for not telling him
who she was the first evening he'd set foot on her doorstep. But she
also realized that a part of him was disappointed in her. It was that
disappointment that hurt. She was no different now as Celeste the whore
than she'd been when he thought she was the attractive Miss Kennedy,
his father's nurse. Only now he saw her differently.

That first night in Carrington, Fox had liked Celeste for the person
she was inside. He'd been physically and emotionally attracted to her,
so attracted that he'd actually asked her to marry him. Now he saw her
as nothing more than another commodity, like his gold investments.
Celeste knew men well enough to know that he was still sexually
attracted to her, but his attitude toward her had clearly changed. Like
any other man, he thought she was merely a warm body, for a price, and
it angered her.

"I never knew a man who could make tea, hang his own coat, and dry dishes." Celeste glanced up to find Fox watching her.

He passed her a dry plate to return to the yellow painted cupboard.
Their fingers touched through the cotton dish towel. "I've lived alone
since I was fourteen." He lifted one shoulder. "I learned to take care
of myself, dishes included."

Celeste felt as though she was walking a tightrope. They were
talking about dishes, but she could see the way he looked at her. She
knew he wasn't just thinking about dishes. He was thinking about
her—about her body. About the way he'd like to touch her. He passed her
a fork and once again their fingertips brushed, this time bare skin
against bare skin. Invisible sparks arced between them.

Celeste wondered how this man could affect her the way he did. After
all the years of men climbing in one side of her bed and out the other,
she had thought herself numb of sexual feelings.

"Fourteen is young to be alone. If you don't mind my asking, where were your father and mother?"

Fox scowled. "I mind. It's not something I like to think about. Let's just say unavailable."

She wanted to question him further, to ask about his mother, who
even John had been tight-lipped about, but the look in Fox's black eyes
warned her that she'd trespassed far enough.

"Tell me something," Fox said after a moment. "Were you serious when you said you intended to mine John's land?"

"Completely." The dishes dry, she moved to a safer distance from
him, where she couldn't see the flickering light in his eyes. "Your
father was positive he was going to get rich off that claim. He just
hadn't found the gold before he got sick."

"I don't mean to offend you, but why would a whore want to become a miner?"

She didn't flinch. This was the type of behavior she expected out of men. "So she won't have to be a
whore
for the rest of her life."

He exhaled as if trying to comprehend. "I don't understand how a
woman gets herself into such a position to begin with. What happened to
you, Celeste? You obviously come from a good family. You're educated,
you cook, you're well read."

This could have been her opportunity to tell Fox about her father,
about Gerald Marble, but it didn't seem the right time. The damage was
already done. Fox would never look at her as he had looked at her that
night on the swing, so what was the point? "I'd have been an excellent
catch for a man like yourself?" she intoned with a taste of his own
sarcasm.

He didn't answer her.

"Is that what you were going to say?" she prodded.

He leaned against the sink stand and crossed his arms over his
chest. "I suppose it was what I was thinking," he admitted softly.
"Seems a waste."

"You don't know anything about me." Her temper flared as she pointed
a finger. "You don't know where I came from or why. You have no right
to judge me, Fox MacPhearson."

He lowered his head to stare at his polished shoes. "No, I don't
suppose I do have the right to judge you, or anyone else for that
matter."

She took a deep breath. He had disappointed her again. She'd given
him another chance to ask why she had been forced to sell her body, but
he hadn't taken the opportunity. "Don't you see? That land, the gold
that might sit just below the surface, could be my way out. If I struck
gold, I'd never have to set foot in Kate's Dance Hall again."

He nodded. "There are probably easier ways for a pretty woman like yourself to get out of the business."

She gave a little laugh. "What? A man?" She looked him straight in
the eye. "No, thank you. A man is what got me into this in the first
place." She strode toward the kitchen door, her head held high. She
wasn't ashamed of herself because she knew she'd had no other choice.

"Celeste—"

She ignored his voice that beckoned her back. She sensed that he was
struggling with his own demons. "I think the rain's stopped. I'm going
to take Silver out. If it's still dry in the morning, we can borrow
Kate's wagon and ride out to the claim. Good night."

Outside Celeste breathed in great gulps of the cool, damp air. The
rain clouds had passed and the sky was clear. Stars were just beginning
to appear in the black bowl of the sky, piercing its surface with
pinpricks of white twinkling light. Celeste sat on a bench in the
backyard and drew her wrap tighter around her shoulders. She knew her
dress would be damp from the wet bench, but she needed to remain
outside a few minutes longer. She needed a reprieve from Fox and her
own feelings for him.

"Can you believe it?" she asked Silver softly. "After all these years, I still haven't learned my lesson."