The Rainbow's Foot

by Denise Dietz

  “Are you insane? After the night of my party, I couldn’t speak. Madam Robin had lost all her money. I tried to be a parlor girl, but I couldn’t because a man’s touch made me sick. So I rode to Jack’s cabin, and he sheltered me, and I lived there, and he treated me like a daughter.”

  “The clothes. The hotel.”

  “I told you we had separate rooms.”

  “Hush. Don’t cry. I’m sorry. I didn’t understand.”

  Flo allowed him to press her face against his chest again then felt his shoulders stiffen.

  “What a smooth actress you are,” he said. “I suppose your marriage to Edward Lytton is a sham.”

  “Edward is my grandfather.”

  “What did you say?” Cat’s voice betrayed his shock.

  “You heard me. It makes no difference if I speak the truth when we’re about to die. I’ve never shared my bed with Edward. I’ve never even shared one intimate caress.”

  “Does he know?”

  “That he’s my grandfather? Of course not. Do you think he’d have wed me if he knew?”

  “Why did you wed him? His money?”

  “In a way.” Flo swiped at her tears with the back of her hand. “It’s a long story.”

  “Tell me.”

  “My mother was a crib girl named Blueberry Smith. She fell in love with Ned Lytton. He abandoned her . . . and me, his bastard child. All my life I hated Ned, but I believed Edward had threatened him to make him obey. When I finally met Ned, I realized he rode away from Poverty Gulch without a second thought for Blueberry. If Edward had known about my mother, he would have provided her with a measure of financial security, and there’s a good chance she wouldn’t have died in childbirth.”

  “That’s the truth, Fools Gold?”

  “I swear. Edward proposed after a dinner party. That’s where I met Ned. There’s not enough air left in this death chamber to explain how I felt at that dinner. Edward has a weak heart. His doctor told him that sexual commerce would be suicide, so he offered marriage without consummation and he promised to make me his sole benefactor. Even so, I would have refused his proposal except he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  Cat nodded. “I didn’t want to costar with you in Heaven’s Thunder. Somehow, before I knew what hit me, the deal was made and the contract signed. So, Ned Lytton is your father.”

  “Ned Lytton is not my father. I have no father. Why are you laughing?”

  “Because I have no father, either, at least none I can brag about.”

  “But . . . but . . . John McDonald . . .”

  “My father’s name was Cherokee Bill. He was an outlaw, a murderer. He robbed banks, and he was hanged.”

  “That’s impossible. Your mother . . .”

  “I realize the girls at Little Heaven thought Dimity . . . priggish . . . but she did have an affair with an outlaw named Cherokee Bill and I’m the result. Don’t you find that amusing?”

  “No. Why do you?”

  “Because we’re both bastards. But an outlaw’s blood taints my body, so if you want to faint—”

  “I never faint. Anyway, a child can’t inherit bad blood.”

  “You don’t believe in bad blood, Fools Gold?”

  “No. Do you have a tendency to pray a lot because you have Dimity’s blood?”

  “I inherited her temper and her spite.”

  “That’s because she brought you up. If you had been raised by your father, you might have robbed banks. But you weren’t, so you have no desire to rob banks. Do you?”

  “In my movies I steal from the rich, like Robin Hood. And now that we’ve shared our most intimate secrets, it’s time we escaped from this tomb.”

  She shook her head. “Why waste our last precious moments?”

  “It’s not a waste.”

  “No, Cat. I accept my fate.”

  “Fools Gold, please listen. We must—”

  “I don’t want to spend my last moments on earth searching for an impossible escape. If I’m to die, I want to learn passion from someone I love.”

  Precious minutes ticked away before he said, “Do you love me, Fools Gold?”

  “I think I’ve always loved you. It started at the bullfight when you said I could puke into your bandanna.”

  “I loved you before that, when you said you’d make me puke up my teeth.”

  “During my birthday party, when I blew out my cake candles, I wished you’d suck my mouth the same way you were sucking a Coca-Cola bottle. Please, Cat, kiss me.”

  “I’ll kiss you, but that’s all.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s your first time and it will hurt.”

  “Will it stop hurting?” The candle’s glow made Cat’s grin appear wavy. “I know I sound naive but—”

  “Your naiveté is sweet and I love you for it. Yes, it will stop hurting, if we have time.”

  “When time runs out, I’d rather die in your arms. I don’t care if there’s hurt as long as there’s love.”

  Cat gently grasped her shoulders. “First we must unbutton your blouse and take it off. Now your boots, skirt and drawers. God, you’re beautiful. Now my clothes. Do you like what you see? Was that a nod or a shiver?”

  “Both.”

  “You can’t possibly know how ironic it would be if DuBois dug through the entrance and found us like this.”

  “I don’t hear picks and shovels. Please hurry.”

  “I won’t perform this act of love in a hurry.” He pulled her on top so that his own body sheltered her from the pebbly ground, then felt her unyielding lips bestow an eager kiss. “No, love, real men and women don’t kiss like they do in the movies. Remember the Coca-Cola bottle? Open your mouth.”

  She obeyed, and gasped as he thrust his tongue beyond her teeth. Timidly, she returned the gesture with her own tongue, until, grinding his mouth hard against hers, he sucked all the breath from her body. At the same time, his hand stroked the inside of her legs.

  “No, Cat! I thought I could but I can’t.”

  “Am I hurting you?”

  “No. But he did.”

  “Poor baby. The hurt was Minta’s death. Don’t you see how it’s all mixed together? Peiffer’s attack and Minta’s murder? The hurt is Minta’s death, not my hand caressing.”

  “I know, but I can’t.”

  “All right, we’ll stop.”

  “I can’t die without knowing love,” she said, her words the same but different.

  “We don’t have to do this to prove love.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  “Stay still.” He extended his arms then moved them back and forth as if making angel wings in the snow.

  “Why are you flapping your arms, Cat?”

  “I’m not flapping. I’m trying to find our clothes. My trousers and your shirt will have to do.” Cradling her back, he maneuvered her body so that she was on the bottom, somewhat protected by cotton and corduroy. “Stay still,” he repeated, and kissed her eyes shut.

  Flo waited but nothing happened. Had Cat run out of air?

  No. His hands remained motionless but his lips moved as he kissed her nose, her chin, the hollow in her neck.

  “I’m going to kiss your breasts now,” he said. “Stop me if it hurts.”

  She felt his tongue lave her nipples, and, on their own volition, they hardened.

  “Now I’m going to suck each lovely breast, one at a time. It won’t hurt, I promise.”

  “You sound like a movie director,” she murmured, then held her breath as she felt new, strange sensations spread throughout her body. Scared, she opened her eyes, planning to push him away. Instead, she pressed him closer.

  “Ah, you like that,” he said, raising his face. “Shall we try another take?”

  “Yes.”

  She was nearly sobbing with desire when he relinquished her breasts.

  “I’m going to kiss your belly, Fools Gold. It might tickle. Then I won’t give directions because my mouth will be between your
legs. It shouldn’t hurt, especially if you relax and let me perform the scene. I won’t use my hands. You fear my hands, not my mouth. When my tongue leaves your belly, you won’t feel ticklish anymore. You might want to moan or scream. That’s perfectly normal. Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” The candle’s dim light was too nebulous to reveal shadows, but Flo imagined their forms silhouetted on the dirt wall’s screen. Every portion of her body throbbed. Unflawed veins of melted ore were buried in the mine’s concavity, buried beneath her skin.

  “Don’t squirm so, Fools Gold. Remain still until you can’t any longer.”

  Trustingly, she followed his directions, and did feel ticklish when his tongue caressed her navel. His lips moved lower and she moaned, as he had warned. Twisting her fingers in his hair, she tensed then spread her thighs, pressing his face closer to the throb.

  “Let go of my hair. Use your fingers to spread . . . that’s right. Good girl. Pretend you’re a flower unfolding its petals. Inside is the sweetest bud.” His tongue found her bud.

  Consumed with spasm after spasm, she moaned a litany.

  He changed their position so she lay on top again then caressed the debris from her back in soothing, circular motions.

  “You’re very wet now,” he said. “My tongue has helped make you wet. But it’s also your body reacting to my tongue’s pleasure. Move your hand down and feel how wet you are. The wetness will make the hurt less. Now you must make me wet.”

  “Am I to take you into my mouth, Cat?”

  “No, love, that’s too hard . . .” He laughed. “Too much for the first lesson. You must spit on your palm and slide your hand over my . . . that’s right. Don’t be shy. Again. Good girl. Now shift your body quickly so your wetness meets mine. I’m already inside because we’re both ready. I want you to ride me like you’d ride a horse. The hurt will come soon. If it’s unbearable, lean back and I’ll pull out. Now, spread your legs and move forward. My hands are holding you upright, but they will go no lower. You need not fear my hands. Now ride, my love, ride!”

  Flo waited for the pain, but merely felt an exultation she had never imagined. She rocked back and forth, faster and faster, heard Cat groan.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Can’t pull out now.”

  “No, don’t.” She felt his grip on her waist tighten. He moved slowly then increased his tempo until she matched her rhythm to his. His hands released her waist and she felt his fingers fondle the cleft in her buttocks. She caught her breath at this new, intimate invasion then forgot his fingers, overcome by her own sensations.

  Bending forward again, she caressed his chin with her breasts. “All my life I’ve waited for this,” she whispered, thrusting first one breast, then the other into his open mouth. As he sucked, she honestly believed she might faint from ecstasy.

  I never faint, she thought incoherently, as her wet nipples touched his nipples. She traced the outline of his lips with her tongue. The prod of his sex penetrated so deeply, she was sure it would meet up with his fingers, still stroking her buttocks. She felt a series of renewed contractions and swallowed his deep kiss, along with her joyful whimpers.

  He thrust again and again, spreading, stretching, possessing her. At long last, he released his own proof of desire. Incredibly, Cat’s new wetness yielded a feeling of both power and submission, then a series of pulsating bursts, then a glittering rainbow that consumed her vision.

  As he maneuvered them sideways, she said, “It didn’t hurt.”

  “Is that a complaint?”

  “No. Oh, my gosh! You said the first time would hurt and it didn’t. I’ve never done this before, I swear. Do you believe me?”

  “I believe you.”

  “When I was fourteen, after I moved into Jack’s cabin, I was riding Dumas bareback and I sat her wrong when she jumped a fence. The pain was so intense I almost fell off. And I bled.”

  “That’s what kept me from hurting you.” Cat withdrew, grinning at her involuntary yelp of displeasure. “You did fine for a first lesson, but next time should be even better.”

  “There won’t be a next time. The candle’s nearly gone. Surely our air is used up.”

  “Get dressed, Fools Gold. We’ve tarried long enough and I want to leave before that idiot DuBois thinks to send a search party around to the back of the mine.”

  “What’s the difference if I die naked as the day I was born? What do you mean, send a search party to the back of the mine?”

  Cat clothed himself and cleansed away the moisture between her thighs with his handkerchief. “Where are your drawers? Never mind. Your skirt’s sewn together like trousers. Slip your feet into your boots while I button your blouse.” He finished buttoning and led her toward the cut in the wall. “Scurry like a good little mouse.” He gave her rump a shove. “I’m right behind you.”

  She wriggled through the narrow slice and blinked at the dim light, shining from an exit farther down the tunnel. Turning her head, she stared into Cat’s eyes. “You knew all the time we were safe! Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you lie?”

  “I didn’t lie. I said DuBois and the crew were digging, and I’m sure they are. I even suggested we leave when you first begged me to make love to you.”

  “Begged? Oh! You should have been gelded at birth, Cat McDonald!”

  “Would you have discovered rapture if you hadn’t believed death imminent?”

  “I hate you!”

  “You said you loved me.”

  “I thought I was dying. I would have said I love you to any man. I would have spread my legs for any man. I fibbed to inflate your ego and make you strong.”

  “You inflated more than my ego. I didn’t lie when I said I loved you, and if you let me direct you again, I’ll cancel our wager.”

  “What wager?”

  “I don’t want to take your horse,” he mimicked.

  “Dumas! Oh, no!”

  “Don’t fret, Fools Gold. Since you believe your rapture the result of my duplicity, you may keep your mare.”

  Thirty

  “It will be better next time,” Cat had said.

  There will be no next time, Flo thought, saddling Dumas for a ride through the mountains.

  No next time, she vowed, dismounting and racing toward Cat’s waiting arms.

  “No,” she said, sinking onto a carpet of burnished leaves.

  “Yes,” he said. “I love you, Fools Gold.”

  “Love quickens all the senses,” she said between kisses, “except common sense.”

  Every instinct screamed she must stay away, but she couldn’t. Flower Smith, ice maiden, craved a man’s touch.

  Cat was both lover and friend. Flo told him about Jack and Sally and Marylander. She told him about Kate’s illness; how she’d met Kate and immediately felt a connection, greater by far than she’d felt with Ned’s other children. She told Cat about Steven, who’d shyly confessed that he liked Auntie Flower better than Walter Johnson, a pitcher for the Washington Senators.

  In turn, Cat told her about Jane and Ruthie and Bridgida. He talked about Percy and Tonna and his childhood. But he wouldn’t discuss Cherokee Bill. That wound festered, and Flo couldn’t hug the hurt away.

  In Cat’s arms, she reached the rapturous heights of passion. She fell from her tightrope and sang her pleasure in a voice far sweeter than the one she had used to sing “The Bird on Nellie’s Hat.” There was no glass to shatter, but her cries of delight shattered the fragile cocoon she had wrapped around her emotions since the age of fourteen.

  Colorado’s capricious weather turned chilly, so Claude delayed filming the flood episode. Instead, he constructed an outdoor stage for the interior segments. A frost-nipped breeze ruffled the curtains on the window of their roofless cabin. Goosebumps pocked beneath her white heroine’s dress, but Flo’s heart was always warm.

  She and Cat rehearsed their off-camera love scenes in their favorite mountain glen.

  “You’ve taught me everything,” she murmured, as
his finger traced lazy figure-eights across her back and shoulders, “but I’ve never made love on a real bed.”

  “Repeat what you just said in my other ear. I couldn’t hear you.”

  “Oh, I forgot,” she said, then forgot anew when he caressed her into blissful oblivion.

  It became difficult to remember the cameras, and only Claude’s presence kept her from melting against “William” during a tender tableau. Cognizant of Cat’s morality clause, they pretended to hate each other.

  Flo postponed interviewing new servants for Aguila del Oro, dividing her free time between Edward, the Scott family and Cat.

  Six weeks passed quickly. At long last, Chinook winds swept down from the mountains and the temperature hovered around seventy degrees. All interior reels had been completed, and Edward was pleased that the movie’s premiere would coincide with the opening of Aguila del Oro. They hadn’t discussed her retirement, but before Flo could bring it up, Edward said he planned to visit Denver. “I’ll be gone three days. Claude has been told to wait for my return to film the flood. It’s the last scene, and after that unnecessary cave-in, I want to be there.”

  Filming was tedious and taxed one’s strength, so Flo said, “Why can’t Ned observe?”

  “Ned’s scouting locations for the third Foibles episode. He’s found a ranch in Divide, but the owner’s son Rufus wants so much money—”

  “Lucas, not Rufus. The JMD ranch.”

  “That’s right. How’d you know?”

  “I’ve never met Lucas, but I’ve met his father and brother . . . I mean, his sister.”

  “Take care of yourself, darling girl. Enjoy your brief holiday.”

  “Thank you, Edward.”

  As she packed his suitcase, she wondered if she’d get an opportunity to make love on a real bed.

  The next day she and Cat consummated their mutual passions on their favorite leaf-strewn, pine-scented mattress.

  Sitting up, she said, “I think I’m pregnant.”

  “You think?”

  “I’ve never been late before.”

  “Are there any other signs?”

  “What do I know about pregnancy? My cats looked like footballs. Then they’d expel tiny kittens that looked more like mice.”