“And that you were a boy. And your name was Andrew Fairfield—”
“Stop,” she burst out. “Don’t focus on my record of dishonesty. Just tell me if you forgive me or not.”
She heard Clay make a small, resigned sound. “I guess I could forgive you almost anything,” he said roughly. “Except betraying me with another man. That I could never forgive or forget.”
The mattress dipped again, but this time Clay’s arms closed around her, hauling her tight against his chest. Annabel could feel the tautness in his body and understood how much his cool indifference was a front. Behind it, he must be just as frightened as she was about the pressures of the external world that had finally caught up with them. For those pressures might turn out to have greater power than they had assumed—enough to break their partnership apart.
* * *
Clay thanked the doctor for showing him in and nodded at Gareth Fairfax, who sat propped up against pillows in the bed. On the small table beside him, a stack of telegrams jostled for space with pen and ink and sheets of paper crammed with neat handwriting.
Last night, Clay had left Annabel alone in the hotel suite and slept in the hayloft above the livery stable. The only redeeming aspects of their situation were that Annabel’s cousin remained unaware of their liaison and she was not pregnant. Clay wanted to keep it that way.
In the morning, he’d woken to the prickle of straw on his skin and the tickle of dust in his throat. Likely as not, bits of hay still clung to his clothing, making him look like a saddle tramp. Which was not far from the truth.
Clay turned his hat in his hands and balanced on his feet, trying to figure out how to best open the conversation. Fairfax spared him the trouble. “I understand you wish to marry my cousin.”
Early thirties, with blue eyes, well-cut fair hair and patrician features, Fairfax cut an elegant figure, even with one arm in a sling, a bandage around his head and two-day beard stubble on his chin. The difference in their backgrounds was evident at a glance.
“We’ve talked about getting hitched,” Clay replied gruffly.
“Do you love her?”
Something within Clay seemed to lock up. He had not given those words to Annabel yet, not in such plain terms, and she should be the first to hear them. But he refused to lie. Even if Fairfax asked if he’d bedded her, he’d be honest, and take the consequences.
“Yeah. I love her.” His tone was grudging.
Fairfax smiled. It was an odd smile, wistful and harsh at the same time. For a moment, a faraway look came into his eyes. Then his gaze sharpened and settled on Clay. “I guess you expect I’ll withhold my consent.”
“Crossed my mind.”
“And yet you are here, asking.”
“I promised Annabel I would.”
Fairfax nodded, slow and measured. A shadow crossed his face. He knows, Clay thought. He couldn’t fight an injured man. He’d just have to take it, whatever came, bullet or angry words. But instead of challenging him for ruining his cousin, Fairfax spoke calmly. “How do you propose to support her?”
“I’m a gold miner.”
“Do you have a claim?”
“Not right now. We had one, a good one—” Clay flicked his hat in his hands to brush aside the comment. “Never mind,” he said. “I don’t have a claim.”
“I see.” Fairfax pursed his lips. “Well. Mr. Collier, I happen to believe that lack of funds should not stand between a man and the woman he loves. You have my consent.”
“But—” Clay caught himself, gritted his teeth.
Fairfax smiled again, a grim smile tinged with amusement. “You thought I’d make it all easy and neat for you, didn’t you? That I’d rant and rave and throw you out on your ear and you could walk away with your conscience clear and your anger directed at me. Well, I’m not going to do that. Mr. Collier—may I call you Clay?”
Clay nodded. Fairfax went on. “Well, Clay, you say you love her, and you’ve proved that you are a man of honor. That gives me no right to stand between you and Annabel. It is up to you to decide if the life you can offer her is what she deserves.”
“She deserves better.” The words burst out of Clay before he had time to think. He knew they were the truth. Perhaps he’d known from the beginning. Damn Fairfax for doing the unexpected, for not taking on the role of the enraged guardian.
Clay spoke through gritted teeth. “With me, she might starve and freeze, or come to some harm, but that’s not the worst of it. She might survive the hardships, but one day I’ll see her looking at me across the breakfast table with hate in her eyes. She deserves better.” He lifted his chin and looked at Fairfax, pride stiffening his posture. “I deserve better, too. I can’t marry her unless I’m sure we can make it stick.”
On the bed, Fairfax stilled. His eyes widened. For an instant, he seemed to consider Clay’s words with a strange intensity, and then a rueful smile spread on his face. “You may just have answered a question that has been bothering me for fourteen years.” Efficient now, he picked up the stack of telegrams on the bedside table. “The choice is yours, Clay,” he said. “But if you decide against it, take a moment to comfort her. I’m no good with a woman’s tears.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Clay saddled the buckskin and rode out into the desert, letting the horse run until it grew tired. Emotions seethed within him, seeking a way out. Earlier, when he held Annabel in his arms, the lifeless bodies of the bandits strewn about them, he’d managed to suppress those feelings, but now they demanded to be released, demanded to be recognized.
Annabel had done that to him. She had taught him to accept his grief for Mr. Hicks, and now it felt as if she was doing the same, forcing him to accept the emotions he might have preferred to deny.
He loved her. Truly loved her, without hesitation, without reservation, with a depth of feeling that would last for as long as he lived. In those few terrible hours when he didn’t know if Annabel was safe, if he could rescue her, it had become clear to Clay that his happiness was tied to her. Without Annabel, his world would be empty and lacking. Without Annabel, his future would be grim and bleak. Without Annabel, his nights would be lonely and cold, his days too long and without meaning.
And that was why it hurt so much to know that he had to give her up. A bitter groan at the irony of the situation caught in Clay’s throat. Before, he’d hesitated to marry Annabel because he hadn’t been certain he loved her with a devotion that would last a lifetime. Now that he knew he did, a union between them had become impossible.
He had nothing to offer her. No home, no money, no secure future. Nothing but the bitter past of an orphan and a few mining skills. How could he take her away from her safe, comfortable life to the precarious existence at the mining camps? He had no right to do it. No right at all. Either she would get hurt or she would lack the stamina to endure the hardships, and her love might turn into bitter resentment, a prospect almost as unbearable as losing her to an illness or some accident.
On his return to the livery stable, Clay rubbed down the buckskin. Then he went to the bathhouse, where he had a wash and shave and a haircut. In the mercantile, he spent five dollars on a silk shirt as soft as a woman’s touch. He wanted Annabel’s last memory of him to be the best he could be, someone closer to the world she knew.
He waited until darkness fell. Like the night before, he did not knock on the door of the hotel suite but forced the lock open with the blade of his knife. Again, he found Annabel in bed, sitting up against the pillows, but this time a lamp burned on the bedside table.
She flung the covers aside, swung her feet down and hurried out to him. Again, she was wearing the white cotton nightgown that came high at the neck and down to her toes. Did she realize how much more tempting it was to let a man imagine what the garment covered, instead of seeing it all on display?
Clay steeled himself against the temptation.
He had a job to do. The hardest job he’d ever faced.
“Did you see Cousin Gareth?” Annabel asked. “What did he say?”
Clay did not reply. Curling his hands around Annabel’s arms, he halted her before she had a chance to throw herself against him, the way she liked to do. He held her a step away from him and looked down into her expectant face.
“He gave his consent, but despite his permission I can’t marry you,” he told her. “There are too many dangers in a mining camp. Just yesterday you were abducted, taken hostage, almost raped and sold into slavery.”
“But you stopped them.”
“What about next time? When we locate a claim, I’ll be working in the mine pit. Underground. Out of sight. Out of hearing. You’ll be left alone.”
“I’ll have a gun.”
“Annabel.” Clay heaved out a sigh. “You might be in possession of a gun, but you’ll be inexperienced in the use of it, and it is hard to kill a man. If a stranger rides up to the claim, you won’t pull the trigger unless you can be absolutely certain he intends to do you harm, but by the time you know for sure it might be too late.”
She took a step toward him. “I could work in the pit with you.”
Clay reached out and bundled her into his embrace. He tucked her head in the crook of his neck and breathed in the scent of lavender soap in her hair, felt her slender shape that fitted so well against him.
“There are other dangers,” he said, talking to the top of her head. “Cold. Starvation. Landslides. Rockfalls. You saw what happened to Mr. Hicks. Mining is hard work, a hard life. Too hard for you.”
He could feel the tension in her. How could he explain why he could not marry her? Clay knew only one way. He had to open up the vault of old pain inside him and let her peek inside.
“Let’s sit down.” He steered her to the bed, scooped her up in his arms and settled her against the pillows, then removed his muddy boots and climbed in beside her. Leaning against the headboard, he wrapped one arm around her and hauled her against his side. It seemed easier if they were not looking at each other.
“You remember how I told you that when I left the orphanage I took two other boys with me.”
“Yes.”
“They were called Lee and Billy. They were both twelve. Lee was small, fair-haired. He laughed a lot and liked to tell jokes. Billy had red hair and very pale skin. He was a sickly boy. He struggled to do heavy physical work.
“We traveled north from San Francisco, into the hills, thinking we’d get rich with gold. We got jobs. I was digging. Billy was helping a cook, and Lee was crawling into narrow spaces to set gunpowder charges, just the way you did.”
“You said the danger of blasting can be controlled by being careful.”
“That’s right. But something else happened. One evening two men got hold of Lee. They—” Clay inhaled a sharp breath. “They did to Lee what I thought men could only do to women. They nearly tore him apart. Afterward...afterward his body healed, but I never heard him laugh again. A few weeks later, he was lighting the fuses in a narrow passage. We were waiting down the slope, expecting to see him running out, yelling fire in the hole as he hurtled toward us and threw himself down on the ground beside us. But he never came.”
“Did he die of his injuries?”
“There was nothing left of him to bury. He trimmed the fuses too short, the mine boss said. Or he might have stumbled on his way out through the mine tunnel and bashed his head. But we knew. He chose to stay inside. He chose to die.”
Clay stroked Annabel’s hair, leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. “I can’t bear the thought of something similar happening to you. That some act of violence might rob you of all that joy, all that enthusiasm I hold dear.”
“And the other boy?”
“Billy had always been sickly. He started coughing all the time. When he held a handkerchief to his mouth, spots of blood appeared on it. He grew weaker and weaker, until he could no longer stay on his feet. He just withered away.”
“I’m not sickly.”
“I can’t take the risk. It was different when I thought you had nowhere else to go. The dangers for a young woman alone are even greater, and you might have been better off with my protection. But now that I know the truth about your background, my conscience will not allow me to take you away from the comfort and protection your cousin can provide.”
He bent over Annabel and gave her another gentle kiss. He’d expected her to argue, but instead she wriggled around to kneel in front of him on the bed and looked at him with a new maturity in her expression.
“I understand,” she said. “You believe it would be too dangerous for me to join you on a mining claim. And you fear I might not endure the life as a miner’s wife. But you are wrong, and one day you’ll see it. I shall go to Gold Crossing and join my sisters. I shall wait there until you realize it is better to take risks and be together than to be safe and be alone. One day, you’ll come for me, and I’ll be waiting.”
Clay sighed. “Annabel, don’t be foolish.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I am not dreaming foolish dreams. I am simply stating what I believe, and what I plan to do. I could be wrong, and you’ll never come. But I will wait. I will wait forever.”
“Forever is a long time, Annabel.”
“I know.” She leaned forward, lifted her hands to the buttons on his shirt. “And I need something to take with me, another memory to keep me going. If I can’t have a wedding night, I shall have tonight.”
Clay leaned back against the headboard while Annabel’s nimble fingers slipped the buttons free on his new shirt. The rich silk fabric rustled as she pushed the edges apart. He’d bought one in creamy white, like a gentleman would wear, and it made a sharp contrast against his bronzed skin.
Would one more night make it easier or more difficult to leave her? Would it ease the pain of the parting or deepen it? Then Annabel raked her fingers into the sprinkling of dark hairs on his chest, and Clay found the choice was taken away from him.
“Annabel.” His voice was hoarse as he said her name. “Annabel.”
It might not be a wedding night, but there was something solemn in the way they sat facing each other on the bed, the soft lamplight falling upon Annabel’s skin as Clay slowly lifted the nightgown over her head, baring her before his eyes.
For a moment, he merely looked. The room was quiet, except for their rapid breathing and the rustle of bedding. Down the hall, a door banged and someone strode away. Then the footsteps faded and silence ruled again.
Clay lifted his hands and began sliding his palms along Annabel’s soft, warm skin. Was it wrong to want someone so much? It felt as if his heart might burst with love and loss and longing.
Annabel fumbled with the buckle of his gun belt. Clay took over the task of unclasping it, then quickly stripped naked. They did not speak at all. Clay let his lips roam over Annabel, seeking to kiss her in places he’d never kissed her before, marking every inch of her as his, tasting the flavor of her skin. He breathed in her smell, lavender soap and woman, and tried to store it in his mind.
When they could no longer wait, he curled his hands around Annabel’s waist and guided her to straddle him. Slowly, she sank over him, taking him inside her.
Rising and falling, rising and falling, she moved over him, her eyes holding his. Clay watched her face, memorizing every expression. It seemed to go on forever, that slow rising and falling, as steady and inevitable as the ocean waves.
When the tension inside them crested and broke, neither of them closed their eyes, but their gazes remained locked. Once the ripples of completion had faded away, Annabel slumped against Clay. He wrapped his arms around her and cradled her close. A few moments longer, he wanted to hold on to her. A few
moments longer, he wanted to feel that intimate contact, the closest bond a man and woman could share.
He’d never given her a proper declaration of love, and it had bothered him they would part with those words unsaid. He was a private man who found it hard to frame his thoughts, and even harder to open up and let his feelings show, but now he wanted that final step of closeness between them.
He turned his head and spoke into her ear. “I love you.”
For an instant, Annabel did not move. Then she lifted her head and gave him a wistful smile. “I know you do,” she told him. And it meant more to him than hearing her repeat the words back to him, for knowing something in your heart was more important than having it put into words.
Afterward, they lay in the big brass bed, propped up against the pillows, Clay cradling Annabel in his arms. Her eyelids fluttered down and she drifted off to sleep. In the dull glow of the lamp by the bedside, Clay watched her, storing her features in his memory.
When the first hint of gray eased the darkness outside, Clay gently untangled himself from the sleeping girl. Standing by the bedside, he paused to look at her one more time. Her face looked soft in sleep, and very young. Her dark hair fanned across the pillow, and the long lashes formed a dark sweep against the pale skin.
I’m doing the right thing, Clay told himself. She’s too delicate.
He dug in his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. Two hundred and eighteen dollars remained of the money they had received for their gold. He left a hundred and ten on the table, added the note he’d prepared in advance.
Partnership earnings.
With Mr. Hicks gone, half is yours.
Clay Collier.
He had signed the note with his full name, wanting Annabel to have that little piece of him. The message was too impersonal, he knew, but he could not bring himself to put his emotions down on a piece of paper.
Slowly, he eased across the room to the door. Outside, a rooster crowed, announcing the start of a new day. The start of his life without Annabel. Clay turned the knob, opened the door. He slipped through and closed the door after him, and walked away, as silent and insubstantial as a ghost.
From Runaway to Pregnant Bride Page 21