Fool's Gold

by Cassandra Dean

  The only trouble was, he didn’t know how much.

  Her eyelids fluttered. He watched her awaken, her heavy lidded gaze becoming sharp as sleep left her. Finally, she became aware of him, and a delicate blush lit her cheeks.

  He loved that. He loved she seemed so brash and bold, and yet small things like his half-naked body and waking beside him reddened her cheeks. He loved she was sentimental over things like Christmas ornaments, and she knew the story of each.

  Letting his fingers trail over her cheek again, he said, “Hello.”

  She smiled, and the glory of it hit him like a punch to the gut. “Hello.”

  Leaning forward, he kissed her, and her lips clung to his, sweetly. Something squeezed about his heart, something warm and light and full of exhilaration.

  With a sigh, she pulled back and settled beside him, her head next to his on the pillow. Outside, the force of the storm pushed against the window, a dull howl as the wind screamed past.

  “The blizzard ain’t letting up any time soon,” she said.

  “No.”

  She regarded him in the gloom. “Have you ever seen anything like it?”

  “Not that I recall.” He hesitated. Might as well say it. “There weren’t many blizzards in Chicago.”

  She didn’t reply.

  A kind of roil started in his stomach, the kind he would have termed nerves if he’d been the type of man who suffered them. But what did he have to be nervous about? Only that she would react as poorly as she had yesterday afternoon. Only that she’d never want to see him again.

  “Why did you leave?” she finally said.

  The roil didn’t let up. “I just wanted to.”

  Raising her brow, she said, “You gave up wealth and privilege because you just wanted to?”

  “I—” He had to give her the truth. She deserved nothing less. “No, you’re right. It wasn’t simple.” He looked beyond her, and saw his life as it had been. The rigid expectations. The social niceties. His father wanting him to take a place at the club, to drink and smoke and wile away hours at a time. His mother expecting him to study at Harvard or Yale, become a lawyer like his grandfather before him. “I never…fit. I tried. I tried to be what my parents wanted, but I could never quite manage it.”

  “So what did you manage?” She lay on her side, an arm tucked under her head and her shadowed eyes regarding him levelly, her hair tumbling about her bright as light-soaked tinsel.

  He took the curl that lay on her breast and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. “When I was eight, a shipment came in from Wyoming. It was huge, a massive container towering full of coal. I remember being fascinated by the blackness of it, an inky blot upon the sky. Some of the coal had fallen to the ground, and I picked up a piece. It weighed heavy in my hand, and cold to the touch, a dense black thing absorbing everything around it. That night, I went home and read all the books we had on coal mining. There weren’t many, so the next day, I went to the library.” He smiled. “Guess the fascination never stopped.”

  “What made you leave?”

  Bitterness filled him, and he could feel his smile change its shape. “My father. He knew I was interested in coal and its business, but he didn’t want me to stray far from his path. He was a rich man’s son, had never worked a day in his life, and no son of his was going to work either. So, he set about finding ways for me to do what he wanted. He wanted me to attend a shooting party, he’d say he’d introduce me to a coal mining concern. He wanted me to spend an evening at his club, he’d promise there’d be coal shippers there. He’d promise he’d ease my path some, and I, fool that I was, believed him. I was so excited, thinking I’d be working with that what fascinated me, and I was disappointed every time. In the end, I saw it for what it was. It was like…fool’s gold, you know? Empty promises and lies. So, I left.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.” He let her hair fall from his hand. “I was seventeen years old, and I knew what I wanted. So, I took the money my grandfather had left me and struck out on my own. Haven’t been back since.”

  Steady blue eyes regarded him. “And the letter from your mother?”

  Whatever else in his life he may not know, about this he was certain. “I don’t want to go home, Pearl.” But, and thrice-damn him for a fool, he wanted her thoughts. “Do you think I should?”

  Her gaze became not so steady, looking somewhere south of his. “It don’t matter what I think.”

  But it did. To him. “It matters.”

  It seemed she thought some, judging by her silence, and the way she worried the sheet between her fingers. He waited, wanting to know her thoughts almost more than his next breath.

  Finally, her gaze rose to his. “I think you should do what you feel is right. I don’t know your family and can’t make a proper judgment, but if it pains you to see them, then maybe it is you shouldn’t go back.”

  Abruptly, his chest felt too tight. He had…feelings, so many and all at once. He could barely choke out, “Thank you.”

  Looking kind of self-conscious, she shrugged, that blush again staining her cheeks.

  How was it he’d never noticed she was so reticent about all manner of things? How had he never noticed this Pearl beneath the brashness, this lovely woman full of compassion and wickedness and a hundred other things he so admired?

  The answer came to him, just as quick. Because he’d never taken the time to notice. “What about you? Would you ever go back to Chicago?”

  “No.”

  He blinked. Well hell, there was no hesitation to her response at all. “Why won’t you go back to Chicago?”

  “I just wouldn’t.”

  “Is that like how I ‘just left’?”

  She shot him a dirty look. The corner of his mouth twitched. Gosh, she looked all manner of cute when she glared. “You really want to know?”

  “Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

  And she looked even cuter when she scowled. “Don’t be contrary, Garrett.”

  This time, he gave the sweet smile, seeing as she was being all cute and all. “Then answer the question, Miz Pearl.”

  Tucking a hand under her cheek, she exhaled. “I…. Do you know why I was so funny about you being a Garrett?”

  The way she’d reacted had been strange. “I don’t reckon I’ve ever seen anyone react like you did.”

  “Yes. Well.” She took a breath. “I don’t much like rich men.”

  He blinked. “Okay.”

  She took another breath, and this one kind of shuddered. “Back in Chicago, I was a chorus girl in a dancing hall, and I…. You know what I look like. When I reached womanhood, men started to…expect things. Demand them. Rich men, mostly.”

  A sick feeling started in his stomach. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. “Pearl—”

  “After a time, it got wearying, so as I couldn’t tell the reason I refused. I started thinking, why not say yes? Why not become a rich man’s plaything? They seemed to expect it, wouldn’t stop their demands, and if I took one, maybe the others would stop. But I’m a singer, not a whore.” Her fingers worried the material of the pillow and a tear wound down her cheek. “So, when Alice invited me here, I came. No more distraction by something that glitters and shines and pretends like it’s affection. No more fool’s gold, like you said.”

  Smoothing his hand over her hair, he tried not to think on all the things she wasn’t telling him, all that lay behind her simple words. “Would you like me to beat them?”

  Incredibly, she smiled, a sudden, quick smile. “What, all of them?”

  “If you like.”

  Her smile faded, becoming something soft and sad. “It was a long time ago.”

  “Not to you.” Goddamn it, they still made her cry. “You say the word, I’ll go to Chicago, and I’ll make them pay.”

  “It really was a long time ago, and I’ve healed myself some. Mostly, I would even say.” She brushed her thumb over his cheekbone, cupped his jaw. “Thank
you.” Her eyes lit. “You know what I would do if I could choose anywhere at all to go? I’d go to Paris. Visit Alice. Meet her son.”

  Maybe she was really mostly healed, if she could change tack so quickly. He didn’t rightly know if he could do the same. “And when would you go?” he said, and he tried to make his tone light.

  “One day. Maybe even next year. I’d want to go before Oliver grows too big, I reckon.” She grinned, a big happy grin, and he saw she really had put the past behind her. Mostly, as she’d said.

  “Well, that’s a mighty fine idea, Miz Pearl, make no mistake.” Leaning forward, he kissed each eyelid. Her mouth. He framed her face with his hands and just looked at her. “Maybe one day soon we’ll both find more than fool’s gold.”

  She was silent so long he thought she’d fallen asleep. “Maybe we already have.”

  Chapter Five

  Christmas Day

  Bright light woke Pearl. Frowning, she threw an arm over her face, but the light wormed its way under, turning her eyelids red.

  With a sigh, she admitted defeat. Sunshine poured in from her window, spilling across the floor and the foot of the bed. As she squinted at the light, a sinking feeling started in her belly. There was no sign of a blizzard outside, no snow obscuring the view, no sound of wind howling past.

  It was over.

  Behind her, Ethan shifted, his arm tight about her waist and his legs tangled with hers. Linking her fingers with his, she brought his hand to her chest and stared at the light spilling across her floor. Nuzzling her neck, he exhaled and settled into sleep.

  Taking a shuddering breath, she turned in his embrace. He slept on, his arm still around her. Running her gaze over his features, she committed each to memory. The closed lids with the faint blue circles beneath them, the blond beard covering his jaw. His full, kissable bottom lip, which she had occasion to know was as soft as it looked. The too-sharp cheekbones and jaw, and the long lashes resting on his cheeks.

  She didn’t want it to be over. She wanted this…this…thing that had begun in the midst of a blizzard to continue. She wanted that in spring, she would hear him complain of how the newly blooming flowers made his eyes itch, and not just in the public domain of the saloon as she had in years previous, but with him and her both sitting on her bed. She wanted to complain to him of the heat of summer, of how the layers and spangles of her dresses fair drove her crazy in the swelter. She…she wanted him.

  Exhaling, she trailed her fingers over his outstretched arm. Well hell, and wasn’t such a thought just a kick in the pants? Who would have thought she and Ethan would end up tangled in a bed?

  It was all so confusing, and she had no one to talk to, neither. If Alice were here, she’d go straight to her. But Alice weren’t here. She was in Paris, with her husband and son and her successful theater, and she would have no time for Pearl. In any event, if she told Alice, her friend would probably smirk and crow and say how she’d always known this would happen, she knew there was more to Pearl’s sniping and Ethan’s politeness than what was on the surface—

  She chewed her lip. Maybe it was she wouldn’t tell her friend. Or, if she did, she’d tell her in a month. Or maybe a year. Yeah, a year would be better.

  That is, if there was still something to tell. Maybe there wouldn’t be. Maybe Ethan would wake, look at her all horrified, and practically bolt from her bed. Maybe the next time they saw each other, he would act awkward and weird, and never talk to her again. Never hold her. Never make her feel like maybe she’d found something real. Gentle-like, she traced his jaw. His beard scratched her fingertips, his lips soft under her thumb, and he mumbled.

  She froze. He nuzzled into her touch before settling once more.

  No. She didn’t want this to ever end.

  A fluttering started in his lids, signaling his return to wakefulness. Fear came upon her, stealing her breath and making it so she felt she would be sick. God, she didn’t want him to wake. She didn’t want to see regret cross his face, or watch him look at everything but her as he tried to find the words that would make it easy for him to leave. She knew how this worked, how it always worked with rich men. It didn’t matter he were no longer rich. It didn’t matter he lived in Freewill and hadn’t visited his family for years. It was going to end, and she didn’t know how she would deal with its passing.

  His eyes opened. Sleepy green regarded her, a slow smile curving his lips. Then, his gaze sharpened, and the arm about her tensed.

  The leaden feeling in her belly worsened. Her hand dropped from his jaw to lie forlorn on the covers.

  They stared at each other for the longest time, silence an awkward weight between them. Finally, she had to break it. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning.” He looked beyond her. “The blizzard’s stopped?”

  “Seems that way.”

  Silence fell again, even more awkward now they’d spoken. She didn’t know what to say, what words would make it so there was an ease between them, but then, they’d never had ease between them. It was all hurt feelings and taunting words, and a politeness that rubbed her raw.

  “I guess I should go,” he finally said.

  “I guess,” she echoed.

  He looked at her, as if he wanted her to say something. She didn’t rightly know what she could say. After an endless moment, he extracted himself from her, untangled his legs, and rose from the bed.

  Pushing herself up, she sat in the pile of blankets they’d shared. As he dragged his drawers up his legs, she tugged her knees to her chest. A coldness spread through her, one that owed nothing to the chill in the air. He donned his trousers, his shirt, pulled the suspenders over his shoulders. Raking his hands through his hair did nothing to order the mess they’d made of it, and her fingers twitched to right the strands stuck up every which way.

  It was only when he struggled with his neckerchief she spoke. “Let me.”

  His hands dropped. Pulling the sheet about her, she rose to kneel on the edge of the bed, almost putting her at his eye-level. Tucking the sheet under her arms, she took the ends of the neckerchief, and her fingers brushed against his throat as she fumbled the cloth into a mess of knots and twists. Biting her lips, she tried again and again, and she tried to stop the sob from working its way out her throat.

  “Pearl.”

  She didn’t respond, focusing on the cloth and not the feeling tearing at her insides.

  His fingers covered hers, stilling them. She stared at their hands together, his dark and work-roughened, hers milky pale.

  “Pearl,” he said again, and she heard a sort of catch to his voice. “This doesn’t have to be the end.”

  She couldn’t raise her gaze from his throat. “Doesn’t it?”

  “No.” His fingers tightened on hers. “I…don’t want it to be.”

  Finally, she found the courage to look up. He stared down at her, a kind of intensity to his green eyes. An intensity that spoke of the things she felt, the ones she couldn’t find the words to say.

  “I don’t want it to be the end, either.” Her voice was soft, so soft she wasn’t even sure she’d spoken.

  He’d heard her, though. He’d heard her, and her words brought a light to his face, one that shone and made her feel…so many things.

  “Well, then.” He cleared his throat, and the light inside him grew. “Well, then, that’s mighty fine.”

  A smile tugged at her, one full of giddiness and elation and an intense joy. “Mighty fine?”

  “Words fail me, Miz Pearl. I’m just glad you want to continue.” A dull red stained his cheeks. “That is, that you wish to…. That you want…. Ah, hell.” Rifling his hands through his hair, he exhaled shakily. “You know what I mean, right?”

  Happiness burst inside her, bright and shining. She hopped off the bed, wrapping the sheet about her tight. “I do.”

  His answering smile was rueful. Cupping her face, he touched his forehead to hers. “I have awful powerful feelings for you, Miz Pearl.”

/>   Her own feelings swelled inside her, too big and too bold to be contained by flesh and blood. “I do, too. I mean, for you.” Hell, and now she was being all awkward. Taking a breath, she sorted her words, one from the other. “I have powerful feelings for you, Garrett.”

  Gently, his thumb traced her cheekbone. “Ethan.”

  “Ethan.” Closing her eyes, she wound her arms about his waist. They stayed like that, wrapped in each other, and she reckoned she’d never felt so happy in all her days.

  “It’s Christmas.”

  Brows drawing together, she pulled back. “What?”

  He nodded toward her tree. “Today. It’s Christmas.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Merry Christmas, Miz Pearl.”

  She kissed him. “Merry Christmas, Ethan.”

  He smiled. “It just about killed you to say my Christian name, didn’t it?”

  Amidst the feelings of joy and affection and something she wasn’t quite ready to call more, annoyance stirred. “’Course not.”

  “I bet it did. I bet you thought ‘Garrett’ in your head, with that way you have of saying it.”

  “What way?”

  “The way like I’m a burr in your saddle you can’t wait to be rid of. Well, we know the difference, don’t we?”

  She scowled, but it were more from habit than from any true irritation. “Are you being bothersome on purpose?”

  “It’s Christmas. Everyone needs a bit of bother on Christmas.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “No.” Rubbing his chin, he appeared to consider the ridiculousness of his statement. “It doesn’t, does it?”

  She arched a brow. “Have you run crazy, Garrett? One night indulging in sin, and your brains leaked from your ears?”

  “Ethan.”

  Her lips twitched. “Ethan.” Then she smiled, all flirty and suggestive and all the things he’d said he liked about her. “So, I trust you’ll come by tomorrow, Ethan?”

  He brushed his mouth over hers. Soft. Sweet. Like a promise.

  Against her lips, he said, “And everyday after that, Miz Pearl.”