Angel in My Arms (15 page)

"Wow." He brushed back his forelock of thick hair.

"Yeah," was all she could manage.

Their gazes locked.

"Ah, Fox, what are we doing?" She glanced away, focusing on a rock in a grassy patch. "This is a bad idea. For both of us."

His tongue darted out to touch his upper lip, and she wondered if he could still taste her.

"I don't know what the hell I'm doing." He tugged on his earlobe as
he always did when he was uncomfortable. "All I know is that I'm
attracted to you," he continued. "I keep telling myself no good can
come of it. I just don't want you to—"

"Hurt you like she did," she finished for him. She was beginning to
understand now that it wasn't for moral reasons that he was troubled by
her occupation. It went deeper.

He didn't deny her words. "Look, I know you don't understand this. Me."

She exhaled, expelling his breath with her own. He was right. She
didn't understand how he could run so hot one minute, then cold the
next. She had a feeling that it wasn't just because of Amber though. "I
could try to understand," she said softly.

"MacPhearson!" Titus appeared at the edge of the stand of trees
where Fox and Celeste had been taking their lunch. "Me and Petey, we
could use your help over here, if yer done with your dinin'."

"Coming." Fox picked up the battered felt hat that had once been his
father's. It fit him nicely. He avoided eye contact as he spoke to her.
"You rest in the shade. I'll give the men a hand." He strode away.

"Wait." She scooped up his leather work gloves from the Indian blanket they'd been sitting on. "You'll need these."

Their fingertips brushed as she passed the gloves to him. Their
gazes met again, and Celeste knew that Fox would become her lover.
Perhaps not tonight, nor tomorrow night, but soon. It was as inevitable
as the west wind that blew through the canyon.

Fox rolled over in bed and stared at the punched-tin ceiling tiles.
The full moon lit the room almost as brightly as the gas lamps that his
father had strategically placed in the bedroom.

Fox couldn't sleep, only for once it was not Amber who kept him
awake. It was not her face he saw when he closed his eyes. It was
Celeste's.

Why had he kissed her today? Because she'd asked him to and he was
just being polite? He chuckled aloud. He kissed her because he'd been
dying to all week. There was something about the mountain air and hard
work that made him forget his past troubles, made him think that maybe
he deserved a little happiness. Celeste made him laugh. And her mouth
was so damned kissable. All he could think of was covering her entire
body with kisses, tasting her…

He groaned, yanked the goose down pillow out from under his head, and covered his face with it.

Damn. Damn. Damn. Don't you ever learn? Women like her are a
curse. A curse on your life. They were a curse on your father's, too.

Fox tossed the pillow on the floor and climbed out of bed. It was warm tonight and he slept naked. Or rather, he tried to sleep.

He pulled on a pair of dusty pants and a shirt. He slipped his feet,
without socks, into his father's boots that had become his own. Maybe a
walk would tire him. He just wished he had the dog with him. Old Silver
was good company for a man shadowed by demons.

Fox opened his bedroom door, glad it didn't squeak. He didn't want to wake Celeste.

Celeste rolled over on her side, then after a moment, rolled to her
other side. She tossed off the quilt. She was hot. She couldn't sleep.

Silver stirred on the end of her bed, his form illuminated by the
bright light of the full moon. He lifted his head to stare at her,
groggy with sleep.

"Sorry, old boy," she apologized. "Can't sleep."
Can't stop thinking about him.

Lying on her side, Celeste touched her lips and remembered the
passionate kiss she and Fox had shared beneath the aspen tree today.
She couldn't stop thinking about his kiss, about what it would be like
to feel his mouth on her breasts… lower.

"Shameless hussy. Tart," she said aloud and grimaced at the absurdity of it.

The dog whined and rolled away from her, expressing his displeasure at having been awakened in the middle of the night.

"All right, I'll be quiet. I'll suffer in silence so you can sleep."
She punched her pillow down and rested her head on it again.

The dog laid his head between his paws and closed his eyes.

Celeste sighed and forced herself to shut hers. Sleep. Sleep. It was
her escape. If she could just stop thinking about Fox, she knew sleep
would come. But of course, even then, she wouldn't really escape.
Lately he had not only haunted her days, but her nights as well. She
dreamed of him not here in Colorado, but in a warm place with rolling
green hills and rows of grapevines.

Celeste heard footsteps in the hallway and opened her eyes. This
wasn't the first time she'd heard him leave in the middle of the night.
She wondered where he went, what he did.

She held her breath, half-hoping he would stop at her door. She
exhaled as his footsteps passed and faded down the stairs. Something
told her that his night wanderings had something to do with his past
and the woman who now had a name. Amber. That was why she hadn't asked
him about his nighttime jaunts. Aside from that brief mention of her,
he'd made it clear he didn't want to talk about his past.

She closed her eyes again. Maybe she'd bring it up tomorrow. Maybe
they'd go to church and then share a picnic lunch out on the claim. She
snuggled deep into the down mattress. And maybe, just maybe, he'd kiss
her again.

It's the moon. The moon that calls me… commands me tonight.
Blood. Only the blood spilled upon the sinner will, make her see her
sin. Protect others who would fall into her web of flesh and lust.

But I must be careful. There are those who would not understand,
who don't know these women as I know them. They wouldn't see why this
has to be done. They'd question my judgment and time would be lost.

The weight of the knife is a comfort to me. The ropes. The black
cloth. The needle and thread. It gives me the strength I need to do
what I must. The confidence. I wish that another could be responsible,
but I must accept my responsibilities. I must do as I am told, for I am
judgment.

Celeste lifted the meat cleaver and brought it down hard on the
worktable, slicing a thick slab of bacon. She raised the cleaver again
and her hand shook. Hot tears blurred her vision. She sniffed, wiped
her eyes with the sleeve of her new gingham dress, and lifted the
cleaver again, trying to concentrate on the bacon and nothing else. She
wanted to make breakfast for Fox. He'd slept in late this morning,
because he'd been up late last night, no doubt. She had to make him
breakfast. A man who worked hard needed a decent breakfast to start the
day.

Celeste heard footsteps behind her. Man and friend. Fox's boots
clunked on the hardwood floor. Silver padded past her on his way to his
water bowl.

"Good morning, Celeste." Fox groaned and must have stretched his
lean, hard body. "I can't believe it's raining again. I was hoping we
could take a walk this afternoon after you got back from church."

She heard the legs of a chair scrape on the polished wood floor.

"I thought we'd have a look at the places where John already
drilled. Maybe we can figure out what his reasoning had been. Where
he
thought the gold was."

Celeste held the meat cleaver in the air, but couldn't bring it down.

"Celeste, are you all right?"

She heard him rise from the chair and approach her.

Still she didn't turn.

"Celeste?" He placed his hand on her shoulder.

Slowly she lowered the meat cleaver. The bacon didn't cut, because she didn't use enough pressure.

"Celeste." He grasped her shoulder and turned her toward him.

Tears brimmed in her eyes. She held the cleaver in a death grip, her knuckles white.

"What's wrong?" he whispered.

"Tall Pearl," was all she could say.

"What?" Gently, he took the knife from her and lifted the corner of her apron to wipe the bacon fat from her left hand.

She stood unmoving, her arms hung at her sides, like a rag doll.
"Tall Pearl," she repeated. She didn't want to cry. What good would
tears do? What good had they ever done? she thought miserably.

"Tall Pearl? Who's Tall Pearl? One of your friends at the dance hall?"

"Dead," she whispered. "Murdered."

His gaze met hers and he swore under his breath. "I'm sorry."

Celeste's lower lip trembled. Tall Pearl had moved out of Rosy's room into Celeste's when Celeste moved in with John.
It could have been me,
was all Celeste could think.
Maybe it should have been me.

Fox led Celeste to the table and pushed her gently into a chair.
"Murdered like the other woman?" He crouched so that he could look into
her face. His mouth was pulled tight in genuine concern. His eyes
reflected the pain he felt vicariously through her.

"Yes." She swallowed the lump that stuck in her throat. "Brutal.
Blood everywhere," Celeste said as she fought a sob that would render
her speechless. "M… mutilated in some horrible way. The's… sheriff
wouldn't say." Celeste squeezed her eyes tight and fat tears slipped
down her cheeks.

Fox wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. "Shhh," he hushed. "It's all right. It's all right, honey."

Celeste clung to him, to his warmth, to the scent of his clean hair
and shaving soap. At this moment, he was the only solid thing in her
crumbling world. "I…"—sniff—"knew her for years," she whispered. "She
was my friend when no one else would…" A shudder stole the last word
from her.

"Ah, Celeste." Fox stroked her back in soothing circles. "I'm so sorry."

She pressed her face to his shirt, her flood of tears soaking the
clean denim. The shirt smelled of yesterday's sunshine and his own
distinctly masculine scent. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "Sorry I'm
being so—"

"Shhh." He kissed her forehead and smoothed her hair at the crown of her head. "It's understandable that you'd be upset."

"She's just a whore," Celeste whispered bitterly. "No one loved her; no one cared about her. It doesn't really matter."

"You cared about her," Fox reminded her gently. "And I know that she
knew you cared. You're that kind of person, Celeste. You care for us
all."

Fox's arms felt so good around her, so comforting. She wanted to
stay in the warmth, forever protected from the outside world. "I just
can't believe it," she whispered. "We played cards Sunday. Tuesday I
saw her at the dry goods. She was so excited. Her French stockings came
in on the morning mail wagon."

"I know, I know. It's so hard to believe someone you care for is
gone, especially in such a brutal manner." He smoothed her temple and
kissed the place where his fingers had been.