by Denise Dietz
“I’m so cold,” she repeated.
Someone wrapped a quilt around her and poured soup down her throat. She wanted to spit it up but Mama Scarlet said that spitting was bad etiquette.
Had she cooked the soup? She cooked for Gabriel and washed his clothes and kept his cabin clean and posed for his paintings. One night she crept into his bed and they canoodled. Half asleep, Gabriel kissed her. Then he stopped. When she begged him to go on, he threw her bottle of scent against the wall. He said she was a child.
Bilge water! She was sixteen, and her body had become a woman’s body. She wasn’t pretty, not by a long shot, but Gabriel made her feel pretty. In his paintings, her waist was pinched and her hips nicely rounded. In his paintings, her hair looked like a fox’s tail rather than ripe strawberries.
The heat was unbearable. She thrashed about to escape it, kicking away at the blankets.
“Josh, she’s burning up again,” said the man with the tender voice, only now his voice sounded worried.
Gabriel removed her wedding gown, then her white camisole and lacy drawers. His caresses seared her bare flesh, sending heat waves to the secret place between her legs.
She wanted him so badly. After two years, she didn’t even see his scars. Anyway, it didn’t matter if his face was scarred. His lips and tongue worked just fine. And the loss of his leg had nothing to do with that special part of his body that brought her a stabbing pain then unbearable pleasure. The pleasure far outweighed the pain. And, he said, she’d never experience pain again. Which was good, because she wanted to experience pleasure every night for the rest of her life.
She had always known that Gabriel loved her. Always.
When he told his parents about their marriage, they disinherited him. His wife was the daughter of a whore, they said.
Gabriel couldn’t care less about being disinherited. He hunted game while she tended her vegetable patch. They had food and shelter and she felt happy, cherished, loved.
“She feels cooler,” a man murmured.
“Thank God,” said the man with the tender voice. “I don’t know what I would have done, Josh. You see, I love her so much.”
She and Gabriel rode toward their special glen. This time the Aspen leaves shimmered and the autumn sun shone and she was neither too hot nor too cold.
Well, she was hot inside. Because she knew they would soon make love underneath their favorite tree. Afterwards, Gabriel must get back to work. Collectors were clamoring for his canvasses. Gabriel might even become rich, a funny thought. What did rich feel like? Fat? Starched? Snooty?
Gabriel always shared his paint and brushes. The first time, wanting to please him, she had stared at an empty canvas, face-high, propped against wooden spokes. Then she had begun sketching a picture with charcoal. She filled in the lines and spaces and Gabriel taught her how to paint shadows.
She painted her baby sister, Beatrice, and all the pets she had cared for during her years at the Homestretch, and she painted Mama Scarlet.
“Now Mama Scarlet will live forever,” she told Gabriel.
“So will you,” he said.
Painting her portrait, he signed it with his first name but didn’t add his last name. He didn’t want to use the family name, he said. Not because he was ashamed of it, but because his father didn’t deserve to have his name preserved. That was the only time Gabriel had ever sounded bitter about his disinheritance.
She understood why he felt so bitter. She never painted her daddy. Oh, he hadn’t disinherited her, but if her daddy hadn’t come back, Mama Scarlet would still be alive.
Her daddy and mama were buried next to each other, never to be separated again. Sometimes she thought she saw them, hand in hand, exploring the mountains, happy ghosts.
Gabriel’s horse galloped faster and faster.
Hallie felt a cool breeze caress her cheeks. Squeezing her eyes shut, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
TWENTY
Hallie raised herself up on one elbow, wincing at the slight movement. Her body felt bruised. Had she fallen down the stairs? Turning her head, her puzzled gaze lit upon a basin and towel, situated next to a small vial of prescription pills. Her nightgown smelled like fabric softener. Her sheets smelled clean, too. How on earth could Gabe strip the mattress and wash the sheets while she slept?
She sniffed again and smelled — dog.
Which meant that Napkin had been here.
Featherbrained mooncalf! Josh had been here and left a lingering trace of St. Bernard. That made sense. Dog hairs probably clung to his clothes and — what the heck was Josh doing in Gabe’s bedroom?
She moved her legs over the edge of the bed, dismayed by her lack of strength. In this new position, she could see that there was a banner thumb-tacked to the wall. Large printed letters proclaimed WELCOME BACK.
“Welcome back? Where did I go?”
“You took a journey through the past,” said Gabe.
Startled by the sound of his voice, she saw him standing just inside the doorway. He carried a steaming bowl of something. Soup? Stew?
She glanced up at the skylight.
“The sun’s so high, it must be noon or later,” she said. “Holy Moses, Gabe, I slept round the clock.”
“Honey, it’s Friday.”
“Friday?” She felt the color drain from her face.
Gabe placed the bowl on top of the bureau and raced toward the bed. “Take it easy, Hallie.” Sitting next to her on the edge of the bed, he stroked the tangled curls away from her forehead.
She recalled her fevered musings. “They were lovers, Gabriel and Knickers.”
“They were married.”
“You can’t be married and lovers at the same time?”
“Of course you can. I only meant—”
“Oh my God, Gabe. Did I talk out loud?”
“Yup.”
“The whole story?”
“Bits and pieces. You can fill in the blanks.”
Hallie told him everything she remembered while he gently massaged her shoulders.
“I guess they lived happily ever after,” she concluded. “No, they didn’t. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have felt my heart stop when I walked down Myers Avenue.”
“Maybe you experienced a premonition, Hallie. Myers Avenue was the scene of the fire. And, years later, Scarlet’s funeral.”
“The comet!”
“What?”
“Why did I paint a comet?”
“Because there was a comet. It appeared in 1910.”
“But what does the comet have to do with anything?”
“What does the Midland Terminal Railroad have to do with anything?”
“It led me to Cripple Creek. All my paintings are clues, Gabe.”
“Let’s see what you paint next, Hallie. Okay? I think the worst is over. Gabriel and Knickers were happily married. I’ll bet your next few paintings show kids and cats and dogs.”
“Speaking of dogs, what was Josh doing here?” Tentatively, she toed the carpet, then stood and stretched.
“Josh kept you company while I fetched the medicine and cooked…” Gabe paused, his gray-green eyes dancing. “Brewed chicken soup.”
“I wasn’t in any danger.”
“Yes, you were. I was afraid…” Again he paused.
“You were afraid I might go into a trance and not come out of it? Don’t be silly. Now that I’ve found you, I plan to experience pleasure every night for the rest of my—”
“Life?”
“Visit.” She felt a blush stain her cheekbones. Lowering her lashes, she buried her gaze in the basin.
“Hallie, you’re adorable.”
“I’m adorably hungry.”
“You vant to eat my heart?”
“Basted frog! You sound like I sing. Don’t ever try to audition for a theatrical production of Dracula. Stop laughing, you idiot. I need real food, the kind you chew, but first I need a real bath.”
“Perhaps you might care to taste a differ
ent portion of my anatomy.” Glancing down at his lower body, he quirked an eyebrow. “I know vampires suck blood, but I don’t believe they, um, reproduce.”
“I need a bath, Drac. Preferably, a bubble bath.”
“Okay.”
“You have bubbles?”
Rising from the bed, weaving his fingers through hers, he led her toward the bathroom. “Choose your scent, Hallie. Apple, lilac, clouds—”
“Wait a sec. What do clouds smell like?”
“Angel wings.”
“You’re nuts.”
“I bought a plastic bottle of clouds because I read somewhere that it’s Johnny Depp’s favorite.”
She watched Gabe plug up the drain, turn on the faucets, then rummage in the cabinet beneath the sink.
“Damn,” he said, “I’m all out of clouds. We’ll have to use this pink stuff.”
“What do you mean, we?”
“Would you deny me a bath, Hallie?”
“No. It’s your tub.”
“Our tub.”
Dubiously, she studied the antique tub with its four clawed legs and shower fixture. The pink stuff had bubbled and the bathroom smelled like Marianne’s raspberry lemonade.
“Take off your nightgown,” Gabe urged, “before the water cools.”
“You first, Drac. You’re over six feet tall so you’ll have to bend your knees.”
“I plan to bend my knees over your prone body. Hurry, Hallie. We’re losing the bubbles.” He grinned wickedly. “Alice W. O’Brien’s a bullyragged jellyfish,” he taunted.
“I’m no coward!” She shed her nightie and sank down into the water so that her toes were near the drain, beneath the faucets. “Okay, Gabe, you can stick your butt in the air. I was trying to be nice.”
“You have a nice butt.”
“How can you tell? It’s squashed against the bottom of the tub.”
Gabe grinned like an idiot. Bubbles formed a halo around Hallie’s dark curls and a white goatee accentuated her chin. More bubbles hid the tantalizing curves of her body. He wanted to keep the conversation lighthearted, but he knew that anything he said would have a raspy-throated quality.
“Jellyfish got your tongue?” she taunted.
Was she totally unaware of her seductive powers? How could she help but become aware when he removed his jeans? His erection would surely betray his desire.
The bubbles were soapy, he reminded himself, even though they looked like carbonated fizz. So he’d drain the tub, watch the bubbles disperse, and add fresh water before tasting her raspberry-scented flesh.
Hallie’s eyes widened as Gabe kicked his jeans free from his long, muscular legs. How could a man swell so fast without kissing? Without even touching! On the other hand, she hadn’t kissed or touched him, and yet she felt her nipples swell. Maybe ache would be a better word. No. They swelled.
Perhaps the word for Gabe was tumefy. She had once read that word in a book and looked it up. The dictionary didn’t have tumefy, but it did have tumescence, a readiness for sexual activity marked by excessive fullness of the sex organ.
What a great word, tumescence. Rather like luminescence. Hallie felt luminous and — why was Gabe draining the water?
“Please don’t drain the water, Gabe. I need a long soak. I feel fine, honest.” Her plea subsided when he climbed into the tub.
“I thought you might taste like soap,” he explained, “so I’m draining the bubbles.”
“You vant to eat my heart?”
“Your heart’s a good place to start.” On his knees, he adjusted the faucets. Then he flipped the little gizmo that controlled the shower head.
“You’ll soak the bathroom floor,” she gasped.
“Downstairs I have a mop. Under the bathroom sink I have sponges. Your call.”
“If you’re not careful, I’ll call your bluff.”
“I’ll be very careful.” Concentrating on every sensual curve, Gabe traced the arc of Hallie’s graceful neck, the tilt of her small but surprisingly full breasts, the indentation of her slender waist, the flare of her hips.
“You’re right,” he said.
“About what?”
“You should be on top.”
He shifted their positions so that her back rested against his drawn-up knees. Spray from the shower head pelted them mercilessly, washing away every vestige of bubbly soap. Now he could taste. Now he could play Dracula.
Except, why suck blood when he could suck nipple?
Hallie ignored the spray that rebounded off her shoulders. With a moan, she inched forward and felt Gabe penetrate. Funny. She had always believed that a man must be on top so that his sex organ could slant downwards, between a woman’s spread thighs. It had never occurred to her that his organ could sustain an upward slant. Actually, she thought with a blush, Gabe’s organ had no slant at all.
Her body spasmed and she reached out blindly, trying to get a firm grip on his shoulders. But his rippling muscles were wet, slick. In any case, she had lost all control, sinking backwards toward his bent knees.
He had no trouble grasping her waist, then lifting her up and down, up and down. Each time, he felt firmer, more substantial. How was that possible? He had begun this unique love lesson already “tumefied.”
Her spasms became explosive bursts, as if she’d swallowed nitroglycerin. Gabe swallowed her happy sobs, but his kisses were even more inflammatory. Eyes shut, she felt him cradle her back as she sank toward his knees again. Rocking from side to side, she inhaled spray.
“Don’t look up,” he said. “Sorry, I should have turned off the shower. Too late now.”
She felt a new wetness and a primitive satisfaction at her power to cause that wetness. Then Gabe cried out, and she cried out, and she saw a rainbow, even though she was vaguely aware that she viewed the rainbow through tap water, not rain.
Later, dryer, they canoodled together in bed.
“I think I’ve found another laughin’ place,” Hallie said. “Who’d have thought it would be an antique bathtub?”
Then she had to explain about B’rer Alice, adapted from Uncle Remus and B’rer Rabbit.
“Everybody’s got a laughin’ place,” she said. “What’s yours, Gabe?”
“I thought it was traipsing all over the world, shooting photos. Then I thought it was developing pictures in my own darkroom.” He sighed a contented sigh. “But now, Alice W. O’Brien, it’s anyplace you are. There’s only one thing that would make my laughing place perfect.”
“And that thing is?”
“I want to know what the ‘W’ in Alice W. stands for.”
She laughed so hard she couldn’t tell him.
TWENTY-ONE
Gabe knew that, eventually, he’d have to rise and prepare something to eat. The soup on the bureau was ice-cold. They had skipped breakfast and lunch. If this continued, he and Hallie would love each other as ghosts. Skinny ghosts.
As if she’d read his mind, she said, “I’m hungry, but I don’t feel like moving. Is there a take-out service that delivers food to the bedrooms of starved, satiated lovers?”
“Yup. It’s called Joshua Quinn.”
“Don’t you dare call Josh, you basted frog.”
“Basted frog?” He picked up her right hand and pressed it against his lips before cradling it in his own hands, working the fine bones gently. “I’ve improved a lot since the fifth grade. When we were in the tub, my kisses almost drowned you.”
“Very funny.” She freed her fingers so that she could frame his face. “I guess a few weeks, months, even years of Charles-passion are worth the risk.”
“Charles? Charles who? “
“Bronson.”
“You’ve lost me, honey.”
“In his movies, Bronson’s lover always dies.”
“From passion?”
“No. Assassins.”
“I’ll protect you from assassins.”
“And sunsets?”
“Yup.”
“Thanks, Drac.
” She chewed her bottom lip. “How about comets?”
“If a comet should appear, which is virtually impossible, we’ll share the sight together.”
“Comets scare me, Gabriel. Did you know that the miners won’t work because they don’t want to die underground? Quite a few went home to spend their last days with their families. I saw a newspaper story inside Harper’s Grocery. Mark Twain said he came in with Halley’s Comet and expected to go out with it. Mr. Harper told me about this vender selling comet pills outside the Imperial Hotel. The pills are supposed to protect people from the comet’s dire effects. Could we buy some pills, Gabriel? Please?”
“Hallie!”
“Oh, God.” She shook her head, as if to clear away spider webs. “I don’t know why I just said that, Gabe, honest I don’t. I wasn’t trancing. The words just popped out.”
After a long silence, he said, “Mark Twain died in 1910.”
“I didn’t know that. You’re so smart.” Obviously hoping he’d ignore the rest of her outburst, she caressed his jaw line.
Gabe swallowed a scowl. If I’m so smart, why can’t I solve the mystery of Gabriel and Knickers?
Tenderly, he ran his fingers through Hallie’s curls, as if answers were hidden amongst the thick, dark brown strands. But one big question kept repeating itself, over and over again. Were her fevered dreams real, or merely fevered dreams?
The last thing Gabe meant to do was fall asleep. But Hallie’s hands had abandoned his face to massage the tight muscles in his shoulders and back, then his arms and legs, until even his toes were beyond the power of motion. He started to say “I love you” but “I love” was as far as he got before he curled on his side and darkness closed over him.
* * *
Hallie watched Gabe sleep. It was only fair. After all, he had spent endless hours watching her. Finally, she settled against him, reveling in the fit of her back against his chest, her butt against his stomach, as if they had always belonged to each other. Not just a hundred years ago. Always.