Angel in My Arms (33 page)

"Ah, Celeste."

This time she allowed him to cradle her in his arms. She couldn't
bring herself to tell him about Adam, but even a partial confession
felt good inside. Now maybe he wouldn't think she was such a bad
person. Maybe now he would understand why she had chosen to have sex
with men for money, or at least not hate her for it.

"Celeste, Celeste." Fox stroked her forehead and she rested her
cheek on his chest. "I'm so sorry. So sorry. If I'd been your father,
I'd have killed the bastard right there."

"But he didn't believe me." She took a deep, gulping breath.

"He called me a whore. And then… then I showed him he was right."

"No. No. You can't blame yourself. Women are forced into these things. I know that. I never blamed you for what you've done."

She gazed into his eyes. In the darkness they glimmered. "But you never asked me why I sold my body. Not in all this time."

"I knew you had your reasons." He squeezed her tightly.

"But a whore is still a whore, and you could never love a whore." There. She'd said it.

When he didn't respond, she closed her eyes. Of course she couldn't
expect him to just forget about the eight years she had sold her body
to men. He could care for her and still not forget. It was more than
any woman could ask of a man.

After a long sigh, he said, "It's complicated, Celeste. And it's not
you; it's me. I don't know how to explain it, because I don't
understand it myself."

"Amber did you wrong," she said softly. "You loved her and she did you wrong. No one could blame you for being wary."

"Celeste, it wasn't just Amber, it was—"

Celeste realized he had been about to say something very revealing, but then he cut himself off.

"Who?"

He set his jaw and shook his head. "Never mind," he said sharply.

She felt a wall lower between them. She knew it was as thick as any stone wall in the mine, so she let his comment go.

For a long time Fox held her. He didn't say anything, he just hugged
her and stroked her hair. Finally she began to drift, and sleep came to
them both.

Celeste clutched the leather handles of her valise as she stood on
the train station platform, her face to the wind. Emma's death had
scared her. She needed comfort. She needed to feel Adam in her arms.
Nothing was working out as she thought it would. She was beginning to
care about Fox too much, depend on him too much. The more she thought
about him leaving to return to California and the vineyard he dreamed
of, the more fearful she became. If she let him get any closer to her,
if she fell in love with him, God forbid, she'd never survive his
leaving. She'd crumble.

"I have to go," Celeste said.

"You don't
have
to do anything but pay taxes and die." Fox
stood behind her in the same long overcoat he had worn the day he
arrived in Carrington. On his head perched a new wool hat she'd bought
him at one of the general stores in town.

The wind was cold on her face. It gave her the stamina she
desperately needed. "I have to go to Denver," she repeated firmly. "I
need to."

"You going to see
him
?"

"Him who?"

"Gerald," he said softly.

She turned around, grimacing. "Certainly not. If I see him at the gates of hell it will be too soon."

He glanced away. "You're not going to hell, Celeste," he said dryly. "He is, but you're not."

She turned her face back into the wind, saying matter-of-factly, "Whores go to hell."

"Damn it, Celeste," he swore behind her. "Tell me who you're going to see."

She shook her head. "Can't."

"I could find out myself. I could follow you or have you followed."

"You won't."

"No?"

"No. Because you respect my privacy."

He frowned. "You put me in a tight spot here."

Her gaze met his. "I know. I'm sorry," she whispered. She touched
the arm of his wool coat with her gloved hand. "I can't tell you. I
just can't. I'll be back in a few days. This changes nothing between
us."

"And just what is between us?" he asked under his breath, more to himself than to her.

She barely caught the words on the wind. "You tell me."

He shook his head and stared broodingly out over the small station that was under construction. "Never mind."

Celeste wanted to ask him again what he had meant by that. Did he
mean it was more than she thought… or less. But she knew better than to
try to get him to talk when he was in such a foul mood. She didn't
blame him for his temper either. If their roles were reversed at this
moment, she'd be angry, too.

Although neither seemed to be sure these days what their
relationship was, both knew by silent agreement that one didn't go
somewhere without telling the other. It had started out innocently
enough. Fox would often leave for the mine before she was up and would
call up the stairs to let her know he was leaving. She would go the
store, or to visit Sally, and tell him, just out of common courtesy for
someone else in the house. Now they checked with each other before
making plans. They were beginning to behave the way Celeste guessed a
married couple would. He picked up food stuffs she needed at the
general store on his way home from the mine. She starched his Sunday
shirt without him asking. She warmed his side of the bedclothes with a
warmer before he climbed into bed; he always started her water for tea
before she came down in the morning.

The sound of the train whistle brought Celeste out of her reverie. "I'll be back in three days."

The train chugged into the station with a wail and a whine of its brakes.

"Fox?" She laid her hand on his sleeve.

He turned his head. "Three days." He paused. "I'll miss you."

She almost smiled. It felt so good to hear him say that. She kissed his cheek. "I'll miss you, too."

"What do you mean you don't like it here?" Celeste signed, and then
ate a bit of piecrust off her fork. She and Adam had taken a long walk
and then stopped at her hotel for dinner in the dining room. Adam was
on his second slice of apple-cranberry pie.

"I don't like it," Adam signed adamantly.

"Use words, please," she said gently. Adam's school mistress
reported that he was speaking very well now, and needed only to be
reminded to use his new-found voice.

"I don't like it here anymore." He spoke precisely, but still signed
with his hands. His voice was low and guttural, but she understood
every painstakingly pronounced word.

"Why? Isn't Miss Higgens kind to you?" She gave up signing and
simply looked directly into his eyes so that he might read her lips.
"She tells me you're her favorite student."

"I miss you," he grumbled, not bothering to sign.

She almost smiled, but knew he might have misconstrued her meaning.
She didn't want him to think she was trivializing his homesickness. It
was just that Celeste was so proud of her handsome son with his sandy
blond hair and his brilliant blue eyes that resembled her father's.

When Adam had been small, the doctors had told her he would never
learn to speak, that he was addlepated, and that she just ought to
abandon him in an orphanage. But Celeste had refused to accept their
diagnosis.

She had found Miss Higgen's school for the deaf, and Adam had
learned to speak. He wasn't addlepated. He was a bright healthy young
man. And his presence in her life was worth every agony she had ever
suffered—every man she had ever bedded. Celeste didn't regret a single
thing she had done since the night Gerald had raped her. The money she
made provided Adam with the opportunity he had needed at the time. Now
with her money from the silver mine she could slip into an acceptable
place in society, and be the kind of mother her son would be proud of.

"I want to go with you." Adam set down his fork and stared at his
plate. He was dressed in a pinstriped black suit she'd bought him
yesterday. She only realized now that it was identical to the one—down
to the wool hat—she'd had made for Fox in Carrington.

"I told you, Adam, there's no place in my shop." She had told him
she was a merchant, that she sold ladies' dresses for a living. He
thought his father was dead and that he had been a kind man. Celeste
felt that there was no need for Adam to know the truth about his
father. Ever. It would only harm him.

"I don't care where I have to sleep." He was becoming upset, so his
spoken words were more difficult to understand. "I don't want to stay
here anymore. I want to go with you."

"Shhhh," Celeste soothed as she slid her hand across the table to cover his.

The patrons at the next table, a man in a black suit and a woman with a feathered cap, glanced at them and then away.

Celeste glanced down at the pristine linen tablecloth and then at
Adam. The candlelight twinkled off the red highlights in his hair—her
mark on the beautiful child. "I don't know if that's possible."

Adam looked up from his pie plate. "Please, Mama?" he signed.

Celeste thought her heart would break.

She had convinced herself that Adam would be better off in boarding
school, even if he was able to move to another school not specifically
for deaf children. Even now. He would be better off with friends his
own age, visiting their families on holidays. She was afraid she would
taint his life with her past. What if someone who knew her from Kate's
came along? She couldn't do that to Adam.

"Please," Adam whispered, his blue eyes beseeching.

She squeezed his hand. "I'll think about it. My situation has
changed. I've… a new occupation, so there is a possibility," she heard
herself say.

His eyes widened with interest. "Are you going to move? Would you
have room for me? I could sleep on the floor, ma'am. Really I could."

He signed so quickly that she was having a difficult time following what he was saying.

"Wait. Wait," she said as she signed, laughing. "You're going too fast. Talk to me. I want to hear your handsome voice."

He repeated his questions, his speech remarkably good.

"Just give me some time," she said. "We can talk about it at Christmas."

"You're coming?" He ate a mouthful of his pie.

"Of course I'm coming for Christmas. We're going to have that plum
pudding you love, and we're going to go skating, and we're going to the
opera—"

"Op-er-a," he groaned.

Celeste laughed. "And if you're very good, I just might bring you a present."

He rose from his chair and walked around to hers to throw his little
arms around her. "Oh, Mama, if you come for Christmas, that will be my
present. I don't need any other presents but you."

Adam kissed her cheek, and she had to brush away her single tear with her fingertips.

Fox sat on the high stool, a row of figures in front of him. He
stared at the numbers, knowing they would show that the productivity of
the mine this week was excellent, but he didn't really see them.

Machinery clanged around him, and the pain in his head pulsed to the
beat. He dropped his pen and lowered his head to his hands in
frustration.

The mine was producing excellent silver ore. He was going to be rich
again. He could buy that land in California and start the vineyard he
had always dreamed of. So why wasn't he happy?

Celeste.

He hadn't wanted her to go to Denver. He had practically asked her
not to. She had known he didn't want her to go, that he wanted her to
stay here with him. But she'd gone anyway…

Fox ran his fingers through his hair and lifted his head. He stared
blindly at the far wall of the equipment building. How could he have
done this to himself again, damn it? How had he allowed himself to care
so much?

He didn't know who Celeste went to see in Denver. As she had
reminded him, it wasn't his business. But her gallivanting off was
proof that he was right to be wary of her. Whores couldn't be trusted.
They didn't have the capacity to love as other women did. His theory
had been proved once, twice… now a third time with Celeste. If she
really cared for him, she wouldn't have gone. She'd have stayed here
and made the effort to be loyal to him. Of course she had never told
him she loved him, so who was he kidding? No one but himself.

There was no future with Celeste here or anywhere else, and the
sooner he accepted the fact, the better off he'd be. Where had he ever
gotten the idea that he could have' more from her than her laughter and
her touch in his bed? He'd probably be better off to move on soon, to
sell his half of the mine and get out of here. He didn't like the
mining business anyway. With the cash now coming in from the silver
ore, he could hire someone to begin looking for land in California. He
could be gone by spring.

Fox stared at the column of figures again on the desk in front of
him. They were in Celeste's perfect handwriting. He thought of her in
Denver with a man, and anger bubbled up inside him. Anger was good. He
could accept the anger. It was far easier to deal with than his
breaking heart.