Paint the Wind

by Cathy Cash Spellman

  "I'm sorry I was such a fool back then, Fancy. I was too young and stupid to know how to handle things. I was confused by the way you acted... and I knew Hart loved you, too. I didn't know what to do about any of it. Can you ever forgive me for letting you go?"

  Fancy closed her eyes to shut out the hurt his words called up; two tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks in silent reproach.

  Chance signaled the waiter and stood up abruptly. "You're coming home with me, Fancy. We'll change the past as well as the future."

  Her heart pounded as insistently as the ache in her loins; she'd wanted him since time began, but she was so afraid and didn't know exactly why.

  Neither said a word on the short carriage ride to Chance's house. He could feel her fragility, sense the fiddle-string tension... he wondered what on earth could be going on behind those stricken eyes. He helped her alight from the carriage and she clasped his hand tighter than need be.

  Chance unlocked the front door and led Fancy into the parlor. He could see, as he turned up the gas lamp on the table, that she was trembling.

  What was it she longed to say, but couldn't? It wasn't lack of passion that deterred her, he was sure of that... and of the fact that he loved her. The haunted expression on her face confounded him.

  "Oh, Fancy, love... I must have hurt you more than I knew," he whispered as he unhooked her cloak and let it fall to the floor at her feet. The tension in Fancy was so great, he thought the wrong move might shatter her like crystal.

  "Do you want me to do this, sweetheart?" he asked softly. "Tell me." She nodded yes.

  Wonderingly, he unfastened the buttons of her gown and let it puddle around her feet. The corset beneath was of soft cream eyelet; her nipples above it were hard from cold, or passion. Fancy let him untie the laces without a single word; he touched the flesh above the eyelet reverently and saw a shudder run through her, but still she didn't make a sound.

  "Don't torment me, Fancy," he said, wondering what strange game she played with her silence.

  "What do you know of torment?" she whispered harshly, reaching for him... the sound she made as he lifted her into his arms was somewhere between a sigh and a sob. He carried her to his bed as confused as he'd ever been, wanting her beyond anything on earth.

  He knew he must be gentle... must seek out her secrets carefully.... He traced her lips with his fingers, loving the fragile skin, wanting to protect it from hurt. His lips sought hers and found her mouth as questing as his own.

  "I love you, Fancy... don't be frightened. I'll never let anyone hurt you again." Didn't he know he was the one who'd hurt her most of all?

  His knowing hands caressed each part of Fancy, as if she were the first woman he'd ever explored. He held himself in check to intuit her pleasure, trailing his fingers down her body to the places he remembered. He caressed her with tongue and lips, heard her moan softly, touched and sucked and licked each private place that had dreamed of him through years of loneliness.

  Fancy stirred in his arms, as if brought to life by his kisses; her body became pliant in its quest for him.

  "Lie still, Fancy," he whispered. "Let me do it all."

  He wanted more than anything to give her exquisite, endless, aching pleasure, the kind that would bind her to him. "I've wanted you for such a long time...."

  He rubbed his flattened hand across the dark curls between her legs, and she quivered. "I'm going to tell you a story..." he said softly, his voice husky with intimacy, and memories tumbled around her with his whispering words. He wanted to do something that would remind her of the past... something that wouldn't frighten her.

  "There was once a beautiful Chinese princess, who was to be the concubine of the Sultan of Persia..." he began, his voice as intimate as his wandering hands. He ran his fingertips along the inside of Fancy's thighs and felt her quiver in response. "She was renowned for her beauty, but she was so innocent that the Sultan knew he must initiate her carefully into the arts of love."

  Fancy nestled in closer and Chance knew she was listening as well as feeling; as his hands caressed her so did the sensual rhythm of his voice.

  "The Sultan came to her bedchamber on the first night and lay beside her, wondering how to win her heart, not merely her body. The princess trembled as the Sultan drew his hand down the silken length of her..." Chance's hand brushed Fancy's skin with such delicacy that shudders of desire followed his fingers' touch.

  "On the second night, he kissed her breasts... he took the tender nipples in his mouth and sucked them softly, insistently, until she was faint with longing..." His mouth caught Fancy's nipple and lingered there until she arched against the feelings flooding her; she whimpered a little and he insinuated his hand between her legs, parting them with exquisite care.

  "On the third night, he touched the place between her thighs so tenderly, so lovingly, that she opened herself to his caress... he kissed her inner lips as gently as if they were the petals of a flower. His tongue touched places so tender, she moaned and called his name..."

  Fancy heard the sensual words and remembered every story he had ever told her... and then his tongue was teasing, circling softly as a butterfly's wings, the rhythm driving her mad, and there was nothing in the world but his insistent mouth and her aching need. Making love was an art form for Chance, his special virtuosity of pleasure.

  "I want you," she begged, uncaring about anything but release. "Oh, Christ, I need you, Chance... I've always needed you."

  He complied, almost lazily, moving within her to a rhythm that made her weak. He wasn't the only man who'd ever made love to her, but he meant to be the only one she'd never forget.

  Gently, inexorably, Chance sought out every nerve ending of desire, as he wove an erotic tale only he would ever think to tell. Seduced by the story, and the memories and the man, she tried to pull away, the pleasure too intense, too close to pain, but he held her in his arms and pinned her to the bed with control so passionate and knowledgeable, there could be no escape.

  He knew her now, had trailed her through each tremulous expansion; he could tease or torment, thrust or withdraw, give or withhold, as he was doing now, until her desperation and his own would explode them both into one blazing moment of fulfillment. The slick wet intensity of Fancy forced Chance to relent and, calling out her name, he plunged her into ecstasy.

  The mine office had long since closed for the day and Hart had stayed late to catch up on the paperwork that seemed to be reproducing at an alarming rate. Chance's visit surprised him, gladdened him; they talked awhile of unimportant matters, but it was apparent Chance had something major on his mind. It took awhile for him to get around to it.

  "Do you think Fancy really was ever married to that little girl's father?" he asked finally, and Hart fumbled the key in the drawer he was locking, to give himself time to formulate a reply before turning to face his brother.

  "What the hell made you ask that question?" he responded irritably.

  "I think I'm in love with her, bro. The child bears Fancy's maiden name and the stories she tells about the daddy just don't have the ring of truth in them. I don't give a damn if she had an affair with some guy or not, it's just that I don't know if I should push for the real story. God alone knows what happened to her after that stinking auction."

  "Ever think you might be the daddy?" Hart's voice was too serious for Chance to imagine he was joking.

  He was shocked that his brother knew he and Fancy had made love; he hadn't thought anyone knew. "No. I never did," he answered.

  Hart lifted his honest eyes to Chance's; he'd obviously given this considerable thought. "The timing's about right... and her eyes are the same queer blue yours are. Like Mama's eyes."

  Chance let out an eloquent breath. "You don't miss much, little brother, do you?"

  Hart smiled, but there was no joy whatsoever in the expression.

  "I would've been real willing to miss this conversation, Chance. But you did ask me."

  "Why wouldn
't she tell me if Aurora's mine, for Christ's sake? Especially now?"

  "I don't know. Maybe pride. Maybe she's lied to the little girl and can't figure her way out of it. Maybe she thinks it's best to let history be history. Fancy doesn't think like the rest of the world of womenfolk, in case you haven't noticed."

  Chance heard the bitterness in his brother's voice.

  "You know, I never meant to hurt you, bro, by loving Fancy. It wasn't anything I planned at all, it just seemed to happen. We're so much alike, Hart, she and me. Mavericks, both of us. Wild cards. Still, I'm sorrier than I can say if I hurt you by loving her." He cleared his throat, embarrassed, uncertain what to add, hoping Hart would understand.

  "If what we're thinking's true, Chance, I'd say Fancy's the one who's been hurt, wouldn't you?"

  Chance nodded, seemed about to speak, then changed his mind. He stood up abruptly and walked from the room, leaving Hart to wonder at the curious fact that Chance had never seen Halle Hart McAllister in Aurora Deverell's eyes.

  Chapter 62

  "You could be governor of this state, McAllister, if you learn to play your cards right and keep your pecker in your pants." The man who spoke was Elmore Trask and he carried more than enough weight in the Republican party to open or close the doors to the Colorado statehouse.

  Chance had been cultivating acquaintanceship with party kingpins in a variety of ways: being seen in the right meetings, spending money on the right party-backed causes, contributing ideas that were innovative and noticeable. Trask was a formidable but necessary rung on the ladder he intended to ascend.

  Chance held his temper in check.

  "That's mighty interesting, Elmore. But as it happens, I have more interest in seeing silver get a fair shake in Washington than in my own political aspirations."

  Elmore Trask snorted; it was a sound of extreme world-weariness. "Cut the bull crap, McAllister. It's no secret you're ambitious. It's also no secret we've decided to make Haw Tabor senator instead of governor, so that leaves a clearer track for you. I've been watching you awhile now and I like a lot of what I see. But you got two flaws that could mean trouble—gambling and tom-catting. And while they're fine manly pursuits, either one can make you real vulnerable in an election. You hear what I'm saying, boy?"

  The man moved his ponderous belly backward in the armchair, seeking to ease some unspecified discomfort.

  Chance hunched forward in his own chair and fixed Trask's porcine eyes with his own.

  "I hear you. And the fact that I'm willing to believe you have the good of the party in mind makes me inclined to overlook your singularly offensive way with words. As it happens, I intend to propose marriage to someone before the week is out, so my tom-catting days are about to end. But I'm not a boy, Elmore, and I'll take it real personal if you ever call me one again."

  Trask smiled. It put Chance in mind of something Bandana once said about a rattlesnake. "Just 'cause he don't rattle at you don't mean his fangs fell out."

  "Make no mistake, McAllister. The party can make you and it can break you just as quick."

  "And you make no mistake, Elmore. I'm willing to work for the party because its interests and my interests are one and the same. I'm a rich man and I intend to get richer. Now, I don't mind sharing some of those riches with a party that means to keep silver healthy, and if running for office is in the cards, I'm game for that, too. What I'm not game for is cringing in the corner every time you rattle your chains."

  Elmore pursed his fat lips contentedly. So far McAllister seemed to have passed all the tests with flying colors.

  "Oh, Jewel. I'm so happy!" Fancy said, exuberant as a child. She was sitting at the enameled table in the parlour house kitchen with a mug of steaming coffee in her hand.

  "I can't tell you what a gorgeous time Chance and I had together last night. And what plans we made! I don't think I've ever been this happy in my whole life."

  Jewel bent down to pick up a dropped hairpin and Fancy almost giggled at the sight. Frowzy hair all this way and that, loose dressing gown flapping open as she bent, the movement exposed an enormity of bosom beneath.

  "God's nightgown, Jewel. I don't see how you stand upright carrying those things around with you."

  Jewel stretched herself lazily, hands on hips, back arched so her chest thrust forward. "Gotta make the best of what God give you to work with, kid. Many's the man has volunteered to help me hold 'em up." She pulled a mug from the cabinet with an exaggerated yawn and motioned for Tillie, the cook, to pour her a cup of coffee. Then she sat down with the thud of one to whom morning was an unnecessary distraction.

  "Best-lookin' man in Leadville, all right," she pronounced. "And a hell of a lot of fun, I'll grant you that." Fancy cocked her head to one side questioningly; she'd heard the unspoken disapproval in the reply.

  "But?"

  "Gambling men are great for business and lousy for life. So... much as I'm happy to see you in love, I just hope you know what you're gettin' into."

  "But he's not only a gambler, Jewel. He's got a high-grade mine and everybody knows he has political prospects..."

  "Don't ever trust a dreamer, Fancy. Dreamin' men'll sell you heaven on a plate, but they ain't got substance. When I started monkeyin' around tryin' to get you two together again, I was hopin' you'd see Chance for what he is and stop carryin' that torch that was burning a hole in your gut. I thought he was more dangerous to you as a phantom than as a real man, with real live faults. Now I see I might've made a big mistake buttin' in. Take my advice, kid. Have some fun with Chance, maybe even let him scratch that itch of yours, provided you take precautions, but don't start seein' moonbeams and marriage licenses. Dreamers can break your heart real easy."

  "Jewel! I thought you liked Chance McAllister."

  "Do like him, honey. I hear he's hung like a bull, too, and knows what to do with it. And I've heard it from enough sources to know he don't like keepin' it in his trousers too long." She took a sip of coffee and waited to swallow it. "I just wouldn't want to give him houseroom is all."

  "You're wrong Jewel. Chance's going places, you'll see. He's going all the places I want to go."

  "Yeah? Well, my experience is that gamblin' men make you pay real dear for the ticket to ride." With that Jewel hoisted herself out of the chair and flounced from the kitchen. Fancy felt her elation dampened by her friend's words, for there was part of her that knew they were true.

  Then the memory of their times together surfaced. She'd made love to other men; in truth, she knew a good deal more of sex than any nice woman should. Yet, never with anyone else had she felt one iota of the ecstasy she felt with Chance, and that kind of fulfillment wasn't something a woman would walk away from a second time.

  Not that everything was perfect, exactly. Chance was hard to fathom sometimes; his moods were mercurial and he acted always on whim or instinct. But he always did seem to win, so perhaps he knew best. It would have been easier to figure him out if he ever let her take control of anything, but just when she thought she had him in the palm of her hand, he was off on some tangent that had nothing to do with what she'd had in mind.

  And how he did love to have fun—he was a spectacular dancer and he never seemed to let work interfere with pleasure. Other men always wanted to talk about how brilliant they were in business, but Chance had other, more interesting stories on the tip of his tongue. And it didn't seem to hamper his ability to succeed; everything he touched turned to money.

  Why, then, did she seem to see Atticus' old face frowning disapproval in her dreams? Flashy man, he would have said. Steer clear o' de flashy ones, child, dey ketch yo' eye but dey don' take good care a' what belongs to 'em.

  But you don't get the flamboyance, the excitement, and the dreams from the slow and steady ones, she wanted to argue back. The ones who husband their possessions with care and probity don't make a girl's heart beat faster and her loins yearn for something exquisite and reachable.

  Fancy put the troublesome arguments away�
��she could do that with things. Tuck them away, far down inside a drawer within her, close it up, and turn the key... sometimes for good. Occasionally the thoughts crept out again in the fearsome time of night to haunt her, but mostly she could push them back where they belonged.

  She would get Chance to ask her to marry him and that would solve everything once and for all. Then, finally, maybe she and Aurora would find a home.

  Chapter 63

  The day was perfect, crisp and sunlit, breezes carried the scent of pine and wildflowers over the top of the mountain. Chance had taken Fancy for an outing in his new phaeton carriage. They'd driven to Silver Plume to see the newly built railroad that circled the peaks there.

  Fancy's spirits were high, the eleven-thousand-foot altitude was heady, and she was in love. Chance watched her with a proprietary eye—she was everything he wanted in a woman, and everything he needed to complete the dream. Wife, lover, mother for the dynasty he intended would come after them.

  "Sugar," he said, taking her hand in his own and pressing it to his lips. "I have a present for you." He pulled the velvet ring box from his pocket and she took it, questioningly.

  "I'm hoping you'll marry me, Fancy. You'll make me the happiest man on earth if you say yes."

  She searched his eyes and found nothing there but love, then opened the box and gasped at the size of the emerald ring glowing regally on its velvet cushion.

  "Good God, Chance, that's the most spectacular ring I've ever seen." Jason had bought her jewels, but nothing like this one.

  He chuckled. "I asked you a question, Fancy. You're supposed to give me an answer."

  She pulled her gaze from the astonishing gem.

  "Of course I'll marry you. I'm mad about you. I thought you knew."

  Chance took her in his arms and kissed her. Fancy nestled contentedly there and thought nothing in the world could touch them now. It had been so easy to repair the past....