by Angel Smits
“I’m not sure.” Opal clasped and unclasped her hands, all the while staring at them. “This all sounds a little strange.”
“Opal.” Faith leaned toward the woman. “I know it sounds crazy. I can’t explain it. We need to find out what’s going on.”
After a long silence, Opal nodded, though the wariness didn’t leave her face. “I can tell you about the girls who lived here and about the history. I don’t know much else. And I don’t know anything about the observation room.”
“Why not?” Faith struggled to stand, holding the headboard for support.
“The owner has always been adamant about that room remaining sealed. He’s going to be upset about it being opened—if he ever finds out.” Opal glanced away.
“Who is the owner?” Cord walked back to stand beside the bed.
“He’s a very old gentleman, must be a hundred years old. He lives in Denver someplace. His name is Tim Gibson.”
Cord met Faith’s surprised gaze. A current of recognition slammed through the air. Was the name a coincidence or was he the little boy in the picture?
“Can you give us his phone number?” Cord asked.
“The only phone number I have is his daughter’s. I do have his address where I send the monthly bookkeeping.”
“It’s a start.” Faith stepped away from the bed. Cord reached out a hand to steady her. Their eyes met, and reality faded away. She quickly moved back, and disappointment shot through him.
“We’ll figure this out.” He offered to ease the fear he saw in her face.
“Will we?” Doubt tinged her voice. “How?”
“First we talk to Gibson. Then we start putting pieces together.”
“I’ll get that address for you.” Opal left them alone.
“Why do I get the feeling I don’t want to know the answers?” Faith paced away from him.
“I don’t think they’ll be very happy ones.” Cord stood silent. He reached down to the quilt, brushing its softness as he scooped the picture into his hand. “I have a feeling this little guy has a lot to do with it all. How about you?” He extended the picture out to her.
“J . . . just before I fainted, did you hear anything?” Faith took the picture, feathering her finger over the little face.
“No. Like what?”
“A child’s voice. I thought I heard a child cry ‘Mama’.” She looked up at Cord. Tears formed in her eyes. “It sounded so sad.”
The pain in her eyes tore a hole in Cord’s soul. He reached out to comfort her, but she moved away.
“I don’t want to face this. I don’t want to hurt. Those people hurt.”
“What if those people were us?” He watched her shake her head in denial, but the lack of surprise on her face told him the thought had crossed her mind. “When I mentioned another life downstairs, I was joking. Now I’m not so sure.”
“Yes, you are. That’s a mythical belief made up by people who can’t face reality, or who don’t have a belief in God.”
“If God can send you here once, why can’t he do it again?”
“I’m not going to stand here and discuss religion, or the lack thereof, Mr. Burke.” Faith backed away from him. “I have work to do.” She grabbed her camera and hugged it to her as she left the room without a backward glance.
Cord felt the pounding of each of her footsteps on the stairs. He thought about following her, but to do what? Images of the dream woman in his arms forced their way into his mind. He closed his eyes, not sure which face he saw, which body he wanted to hold.
What was happening was too odd, too unreal to actually allow into his life. But did he really have a choice? The woman he’d met only a short while ago had become a part of him. This stranger was as familiar to him as any lover had ever been.
“Here’s that address.” Opal’s return interrupted his thoughts. “Is there anything else I can do? Where’s Faith?”
“She’s working. She went downstairs, I think.” Cord fit his most winning smile on his face. “I know your boss doesn’t want anyone to see that room, but could I, please?”
“There’s really no sense in denying you. You’ll probably do like Faith did and break in,” Opal grumbled good-naturedly.
“Probably.” Cord chuckled. “Shall we save us both some trouble?”
Opal smiled in defeat and gestured for him to follow her. “I couldn’t re-lock it anyway.”
Cord pushed the wooden door open and felt an icy chill slip out and caress his skin. The air smelled dank and musty. It reeked of mothballs and dust. His heart pounded in his chest. Down to every minute detail, including the mirror in the corner, it was the room from his dreams.
Footprints marred the smooth surface of the dust-covered floor. Two sets to and from an old, battered trunk. One Faith’s. The other Opal’s. His boots thudded loudly as he followed their path.
Kneeling on one knee, Cord reached out to open the lid. The scarred wood and metal felt cold against his fingers. Suddenly, blinding heat shot through his skull. Cradling his head in his hands, he struggled against the pain.
What the . . . ?
As quickly as it came, the pain vanished. His sight cleared, and he found himself staring at the contents inside the open trunk. He didn’t remember opening it.
Tough Cordell Burke had to admit he was shaken. He gulped back his apprehension.
The blue dress was there. Gently reaching out, he touched the beadwork. Beautiful. Sensual to his touch. He could almost remember . . .
Forcing his mind back to the present, he slid the dress aside. It was a futile attempt to banish the memory of it hugging Faith’s body—a body that was more than dream material.
“That’s where I found that lovely quilt.” He’d nearly forgotten Opal’s presence. “The picture must have been wrapped in it.” She hovered in the doorway uncertainly, twisting her fingers.
“It’s all old. When was this put in here?”
“From the style of the dress? I’d guess around 1900. But it could be later. It took longer for dresses to go out of fashion then.”
Cord rummaged through the contents of the trunk looking at each item for a clue, any clue. There were several boxes of jewelry, a couple of corsets and a pair of beaded shoes. In a lower corner a red box sat beckoning him with its brightness.
He reached for it. As his fingers connected with the smooth, painted surface, the image of a similar box resting in his hands flashed through his mind.
He hesitated before lifting the box. Setting it on the edge of the trunk, he opened the lid. His heart stopped. A yellowed newspaper article sat on the top of the box’s contents. Big bold letters proclaimed, “Murder In Poverty Gulch” and in smaller letters, “Local Couple Sought For Questioning.”
Cord unfolded the worn pages and stared at his own picture.
Five
FAITH ADMITTED SHE was shaken. Downstairs, she returned to the parlor where Cord had first interrupted her. It couldn’t have been more than an hour ago, and yet she felt as if years had passed. A dull ache formed behind her eyes, and she rubbed the bridge of her nose to ease some of the tension.
Focus. She had to finish her work so she could get out of here and go home. This book was too important to her self-esteem and her bank account.
She took several deep breaths before turning to her camera. The fall didn’t appear to have caused any damage.
Overhead, she heard footsteps, heavy footsteps. What were Cord and Opal up to? What he’d suggested wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t. All her life she’d been taught about right and wrong, about heaven and hell, about life and death. There was no such thing as second chances. God didn’t send you back—did he?
No, he didn’t. She was sure of it.
So, why did she remember bits and pieces of what seemed like someo
ne else’s life? The throbbing in her head increased. And why did Cord have the same thoughts?
Crouching, she focused on the Victrolla that sat in the corner. She brought it into focus, snapping off several pictures from different angles. One item at a time. The mantlepiece around the fireplace was next. The intricate carvings shadowed well—
“The dreams aren’t going to go away.” Cord’s voice came from the doorway.
Faith closed her eyes, hoping he’d be gone when she opened them again. He wasn’t and neither was the fear that he was right. He stepped into the room, blocking any escape. The room suddenly felt small and cramped.
Faith stared at Cord and then hid behind her camera again. “I don’t want any more to do with this.”
Reaching out, Cord grabbed her wrist and hauled her close. “You can’t run away from this,” he said.
“Why not?”
“Come with me.” He didn’t release her wrist but pulled her toward the stairs.
“No.”
He stopped, and she saw his shoulders lift as he took a breath. The eyes that turned to bore into hers were determined. “Yes.”
He didn’t wait for her answer. The fingers circling her wrist were strong and warm. Heat shot up her arm—warm, sensual heat. She wasn’t sure what bothered her most, his touch or the fear of where they were going.
“Let go of me and I’ll follow. You’ll probably knock me down the stairs.”
“Don’t tempt me.” He released her and she followed him upstairs.
Cord stopped outside the observation room. His big hand dwarfed the small doorknob as he pushed the door open. The musty scent reached out to her.
“I’m not going in there with you.” What would happen? She’d seen too many horror movies and had too many dreams. What if she heard the voice again? Would he? If the dream came back, would he be angry? Would he pull her close and kiss her? She shivered—afraid of both options.
“I’m not carrying that two ton trunk out here.” He stepped into the room, but she remained in the doorway.
Cord knelt beside the trunk. The contents had been jostled. Carefully, Cord pulled out a red box. He didn’t say a word just moved past her and into the light, cradling the box between his palms.
“What . . . what is that?” She leaned against the doorframe, hoping to appear nonchalant, but knowing she needed the support.
“I found this.”
He didn’t say anything more, but simply flipped the lid of the box open. Her gasp filled the hall.
The faded and worn newspaper looked ready to crumble to dust any second, yet the headline blared loudly in her mind. She watched as he carefully opened the ancient folds. The walls spun as she saw her own image reproduced on the page.
She wore an ornate dress with a hat nearly three times the size of her head. Long plumes added height to the outlandish hat.
Cord continued to unfold the page, and she saw an accurate photo of him beside hers. He wore an old fashioned dark business suit. A bowler hat sat rakishly across his brow.
“How . . . ? No, I don’t want to know.” She moved away from him and walked to a small window at the end of the hall but didn’t leave. She stared out the window to the street below. It looked so normal. So peaceful.
“There’s a story here. Want me to read it?” At her silence, he read aloud. “Mr. and Mrs. Rafe Cumberland are being sought in last evening’s suspicious death of Miss Delta DeLange of Poverty Gulch. This reporter has information indicating Mrs. Maria Cumberland works at the same Parlor House in which Miss DeLange worked and was killed. Listen to this.” Cord paused. “The Cumberland’s son, Timothy disappeared several months ago, and that incident has never been explained. There is much supposition by all as to what this inquisition will reveal about both crimes.
“Do you think you can walk away now?” Cord’s voice was soft, yet it filled the entire room.
“I don’t understand.” Faith turned to face him, leaning back against the cool glass. “This is all crazy.”
“I agree.” Cord stepped closer, setting the article on a side table. “Are you okay?”
“No . . . I don’t think so.” She glanced back at the picture in the newspaper article. “I’ll never be her.”
He paused only a moment. “What if you already are?”
“I’m not.”
“What makes you so sure?”
She hesitated, cringing at the possibilities of other lives. She closed her eyes, her father’s voice ringing in her ears. His beliefs were strong, beliefs he’d drilled into her.
She’d always tried to be a good girl, but she never quite made it. Even when others saw her as good, she knew in her mind that it was never quite enough. The thought of being a prostitute in some dim past made her stomach clench and churn.
“We’re going through everything in the trunk,” Cord’s words shattered her thoughts.
“You go right ahead. I’m finishing my work, and then I’m leaving.” She refused to look at him. Everything she’d ever believed in seemed threatened. What if she learned she was that woman? Could she handle it? Could she face her father? And if she ran away would she always wonder?
Cord walked into the bedroom and returned with Timmy Cumberland’s picture. “What about this?” Suddenly, all of her dream-visions came back. The sensual horror of removing her clothes before a man. The scent of a crushed wild rose. The sound of a little boy’s voice calling for his mother.
They were so real. Too real. Cord’s big, strong hands reached for her shoulders, and she finally looked up at him.
“Is that all there is? Dreams?” he whispered as he bent down to place his lips on hers.
Startled, Faith knew she should push him away, but she didn’t—she couldn’t. She needed him, needed his solid reality. For a long time his image had been kissing and loving her in the shadowy world of her mind. While it left her hot and wanting, those dreams were nothing compared to this.
His mouth demanded a response from hers, and the insistent tip of his tongue prodded her lips until they parted. She could deny him nothing and relished the warmth reaching to her soul. He slid his arms around her and pulled her against the length of his body. She clung to him. He was comfort. He was heat. He was a dream and more.
A steady beat echoed in her ears that she thought at first must be her heart. Slowly, she realized someone was coming up the stairs. Cord seemed to hear it at the same time. He pulled away, ending the contact and leaving her chilled at his absence.
Opal smiled from the landing. “I’m closing up now. Do you have more work to do?”
“Yes.” Faith swallowed, trying to calm her heart. “Could I stay just a little while? I think I can finish up tonight.”
“Sure. I need to run to the store. I’ll be back to lock up.”
“I’ll wait for you.”
Opal’s footsteps vanished as Faith stood there. She didn’t immediately turn around to face Cord. She took the time to catch her own breath, uncertain if she was glad for the interruption or not.
Acting as if nothing had happened—as if his lips hadn’t left their brand on hers—she finally turned back to face him.
“Well? Are you ready for this?” Cord moved into the doorway, his hand outstretched toward the observation room.
He was right. There was no escape. She had to know one way or the other who she really was. She sought his glance, needing to see the strength she knew he possessed. “No, but let’s do it anyway.”
He stepped into the room first. She tentatively stepped inside. The light was soft, and she didn’t have a flash, but . . . “Wait.” She waved him away and snapped off a couple shots. “Okay.”
He knelt again, and she knelt beside him. The room didn’t transform, nor did he grow angry. No voices came out of the air, and she breathed a sigh of reli
ef. He didn’t try to pull her close again, either, and she ignored her disappointment. They found a plaque attached to the trunk’s lid with Maria Cumberland engraved on it. In a jewelry box, Faith found a wedding band. She held the box out to Cord.
He reached out and gently fingered the simple gold band. “That’s the ring you . . . she . . . wears in my dream. I suppose she took it off when she started working the line.”
“I don’t understand. I can’t figure any of this out.” She stood, holding the ring box in her palm. She went back to the hall and picked up the picture of Timmy. Closing her eyes, she willed images to come to her, but there was nothing except darkness behind her eyelids.
Warm, strong arms slipped around her almost naturally, and Cord let her rest against him. Gently he rocked her back and forth, soothing the tension within her.
It felt right to be here in his embrace, to lean into his strength. He seemed to understand the emotions warring within her. “They weren’t very happy, were they?” she said.
Faith’s throat hurt from the tears she held back. She had never been one to share her tears. Years as an only child and the minister’s daughter, of being expected to be strong in the face of other’s pain, had built a strong shell around her heart.
“No.” Cord’s voice was soft and gravelly. “I don’t think they were.” He rested his chin on the top of her head.
She didn’t want to care, didn’t want to know their anguish. It was too real to her right now. A twinge of sorrow shot through her heart. She closed her eyes, but not before the tears slid past her lashes and down her cheeks.
She felt him shiver against her, and she tightened her grip. Something told her to never let him go.
From somewhere in the distance, the rumble of thunder echoed across the wide valley in which the town sat. The clouds moved across the sky at an alarming rate, full of dark, angry rain. Within minutes it was nearly as dark as night, and the streetlights flashed on. The overhead lights flickered.
“Damn.” Cord lifted his head and loosened his hold on her. “If there’s a power outage I’ll be needed at the casino.”