Memory Whispers

by Angel Smits

“I’ll be fine, if you need to go.” Faith wiped her cheeks with her fingers, and stepped away from Cord’s arms, missing their warmth immediately.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.” She forced a smile onto her lips, and Cord smiled in return. He leaned down to give her a parting kiss, and a bolt of white lightning struck outside. Thunder reverberated through the building, ringing in their ears. The bitter taste of ozone tingled on her tongue.

  “I’ll check on you later. We’ll look through the trunk then,” Cord assured her. He left, his footsteps loud on the stairs. She heard the back door close behind him.

  She leaned against the window frame and watched as he hurried up the street. Wind stirred up wild dervishes in the dirt and fingered through his hair. She wanted to go with him. Shaking her head, she turned back to the room.

  The past seemed to have taken over. So much for her plans to leave town quickly.

  The silence of the brothel unnerved her. Outside, the storm raged, beating on the window as if trying to get in. Faith shivered and rubbed her arms in search of warmth.

  Earlier she’d tried to find a way to look through the trunk, but now here it sat like a gift ready to be torn open. So, why didn’t it feel like Christmas?

  Curiosity mounted inside her. Cord had found the box and the ring. What else did the trunk hold?

  She took a step and then stopped. Then she took another step. The seconds ticked by filled with the erratic beating of the rain on the window and her heart against her ribs.

  She didn’t have time for this. She had a book to finish. Work to do. This is ridiculous. It’s just a bunch of antiques and she loved antiques. Damned trunk . . . the trunk! Her thoughts tumbled over each other, almost too fast to catch.

  Inspiration sparked, and a smile broke out on her lips. She could shoot some of the items for the book. Yes. What a wonderful addition. She hurried back to the observation room.

  The dress seemed to wink at her in the dim light from the hall. She ran her fingers over the delicate beading. She’d never owned anything so lovely in this life, and she wasn’t sure if she had in another.

  She lifted the dress, unable to resist holding it against her. The waist was impossibly tiny, but otherwise it looked the right size. As she took a couple steps, the light caught on something in the trunk, and she bent to see what it was.

  The jeweled comb. It lay nestled beneath the shoes. Reaching out, she pushed the shoes aside and lifted the comb, examining it more closely.

  Precious stones were imbedded in the heavy metal, and from the weight of it, Faith could only surmise it must be real gold. Turning it over, she was surprised to find the rough feel of engraving beneath her fingers. She tilted it better in the light to read. Our wedding Dec. 25, 1888. You fill all my dreams. Rafe.

  The metal comb fell from her fingers and landed on the floor with a thud.

  Faith McCoy had never known what it was like to really fall in love, and yet in an instant, love wrapped itself around her and pulled her into its warmth. Closing her eyes, she saw Cord as she had seen him over the last couple days. His image fused with the man she had dreamed of and been mentally intimate with for years. The kiss they had shared only moments ago merged with the dream lovemaking.

  Shaking her head, Faith banished the thoughts. Daydreaming was a foolish waste of time and in this case could be dangerous. She set to work instead. She made several trips back and forth between the observation room and the bedroom down the hall. Laying the dress out across the bed, she lovingly caressed the soft velvet.

  From the trunk she lifted a pair of buttonhook shoes and grimaced. There were some modern conveniences she deeply appreciated, like the worn pumps in her suitcase. Her fingers encountered the softness of silk, and she lifted black stockings until they dangled in her fingers. She swallowed the heat rising in her throat. Beneath the stockings lay a lacy black garter belt. Maria had obviously known her business.

  A shiver shot through her. Simply looking at the sheer stockings was enough to make her wonder. How would a man’s hand feel through them? How would Cord’s fingers feel . . . ?

  Stop it. With the comb, the shoes and the stockings in hand, she returned to the bed. The picture formed in her mind exactly as she wanted it laid out.

  Wantonly the dress reclined on the bed, falling suggestively over the edge. The stockings peeked from beneath the velvet, hinting at intimacy. A single garter hooked the top. The comb nestled on the pillow, and the shoes she cast aside on the floor, almost carelessly.

  Everything covered the bed artfully, and she stepped back. Grabbing her camera, she lifted it and looked through the viewfinder. Flat. She tried several angles. From above, crouching on the floor. As she continued to snap off shots, she knew she was wasting film. Her frustration grew.

  Finally, she tossed the camera onto the bed and plopped down onto the chair. “What am I missing?” She often talked to herself when she worked as it helped her focus.

  She also paced. Standing, she moved back and forth. She wanted depth and layers and life in the picture. She needed the essence of the woman it represented.

  The article still lay open where Cord had left it on the table. She stared at her picture—at Maria Cumberland’s picture. If only she could find a photo of Maria. The old newspaper photo wouldn’t reproduce well, and the odds of finding the original were astronomical. She didn’t have time to do that kind of research.

  If only she could take a picture of her dream.

  She stopped pacing. Her palms itched like they always did when an image struck. She barely resisted the urge to pick up her Nikon and hug it.

  Perfect. She’d take a picture of her dream.

  Did she dare? It was one thing to add the buildings to the book, but to add a photo of a person? The words she’d spoke to Cord earlier about how people had lived here came to mind. She’d meant them then and realized their importance now. Those people deserved to be acknowledged, no matter who they were. She’d always been taught to accept people.

  Her father’s shock at her idea was easy to predict. The image challenged and intrigued her. She couldn’t resist.

  Grabbing the dress, she held it up to her again. Almost a perfect fit. She’d never get into a corset, but she checked the seams at the waist in particular and was glad when she found extra fabric. Historically women hadn’t had the luxury of malls, and extra fabric was often left in to allow for size changes. At least she’d learned something in the last few months as she’d traipsed through these old buildings.

  She hurried downstairs and retrieved her purse. She ran upstairs, pulling her travel sewing kit out. She paused, the enormity of what she intended to do hitting her. She didn’t want to damage the dress, but would it rip if she didn’t remove the stitches? Uncertainty and excitement drove her. Carefully, finding the garment solidly sewn, she snipped a couple stitches. It was enough to loosen the waist without hurting the integrity of the dress. Now she was sure it would fit.

  For the first time in what seemed like forever, Faith laughed. She had been looking for a special twist for this book. Having found it, her enthusiasm nearly bubbled over.

  With a modern hand, she reapplied her day-worn makeup. The dress seemed to beckon to her. Carefully, in case she had misjudged the size, she slipped it on.

  The velvet against her skin brought warm images and a blush. Instead of the stranger behind the glass, she envisioned Cord staring at her. The taste of his lips returned, and an ache formed low in her belly. Would his eyes flame with the same heat the dream man’s had?

  It didn’t really matter. He’d never see her in the dress. She dismissed the stab of disappointment with a shake of her head.

  In the dream she had no trouble with the myriad of buttons running the length of the back of the dress. Reality was a different matter entirely. She struggled, unsure if she was going
to be able to accomplish the task of buttoning them all. Finally she had them done, and stood before the small mirror on the wall.

  She had expected a resemblance, but this was unreal. She was Maria Cumberland. No. This was temporary. Pretend.

  Picking up the comb, she studied her reflection. She closed her eyes and conjured up the style of her hair in the dream. As in the case with the buttons, it took her several attempts to get all her bright copper curls to stay up on her head. The comb held them in place.

  Would the curls really waft down if she pulled the comb out? She stared at her reflection for only a minute, afraid the dream would return.

  She wished for her tripod. The small table in the bedroom would have to do, so she pulled it down the hall and set it up just outside the door of the observation room. She fumbled with filters and lenses until she found the one she wanted. Everything arranged, she stopped in the doorway.

  It would be much easier with an assistant, but there was no way she was letting anyone see her in this dress. She might look like Maria Cumberland, but she definitely was not her.

  She stepped inside the observation room. Realizing she’d been holding her breath, she let it out with a shudder. The dust on the mirror only enhanced the image. For a long minute she stared at her reflection. It was eerie. She almost changed her mind.

  But she couldn’t pass up this chance. Trying several poses, she finally set the camera’s timer. She stood before the mirror. The shutter clicked off the first shot. Suddenly, she remembered the cameo brooch.

  Turning carefully so she wouldn’t trip over the dress’s train, she went back to the trunk. Kneeling, she searched through the jewelry box. It wasn’t there, and she sat back as a sharp stab of disappointment shot through her.

  “It’s mine,” a voice whispered behind her. Faith spun around to find only the empty room.

  “Who’s there?” Faith heard the break in her own voice.

  “Mine.”

  “Who’s there?”

  Laughter echoed through the room and through Faith’s brain with ringing familiarity. It was the same laughter she had heard the first day she’d come here. A laugh filled with wicked joy.

  Six

  WHAT A STUPID idea it had been to put on the dress, and even stupider to come here. As soon as Faith slipped through the doors of the Double Barrel Saloon, she realized her mistake, but she was too frightened by the prospect of hearing that voice again to be alone. She shivered just thinking about it. Only one person would understand.

  She surveyed the crowd, trying to find Cord. From the doorway she could see across the room. Heads swiveled as she stepped further into the large, noisy casino. Voices lowered, and for a long moment, she held their attention. Ignoring the looks, she headed for the bar.

  The young man behind the carved wood served cheer with a smile that lit his entire face. Odds were he’d know where Cord was.

  As if feeling her gaze, he looked up. His gaze swept up and down the length of her body and she blushed. She’d never worn anything like this before. She swallowed her discomfort.

  Something akin to mischief sparked in his eyes and he grinned. Lifting his arm, he beckoned for her to sit at the bar. Sitting on the tall barstool, she sat at eye level with him.

  “What can I get for the lady?” He leaned across the polished wood surface, bringing his face close.

  “A . . . a Vodka Collins?” She hadn’t had hard liquor since college. The bartender stared at her, an eyebrow arched in surprise. She knew the dress suggested she sip Dom Perignon, but she didn’t feel much like celebrating. Normally, she’d order a glass of wine. Not tonight. Tonight she needed something stronger to bolster her shaky nerves.

  With no reaction other than that raised eyebrow, he fixed her drink, sliding it across the bar on the crisp, custom-printed napkin.

  Faith took a deep swallow. She coughed, and her eyes watered. She finished the rest of the drink more slowly. Its warmth barely touched the chill inside her.

  “Another?”

  She looked at him and shook her head. Her eyes were damp with liquor-induced tears. Before she could ask where Cord was, he looked as if something behind her startled him, and he backed away.

  “What the hell . . . ?”

  She turned around at the booming sound of Cord’s voice. He’d just stepped out of the cashier’s cage. In only a few steps he was beside her, their eyes level from her perch on the high stool.

  Where the bartender’s gaze had been appreciative, Cord’s was a visual caress. He looked down. “Barefoot again?”

  She swallowed hard as his hands circled her waist and set her on her feet. Grasping her wrist, he pulled her behind him. When she stumbled on the hem of the long dress, he barely slowed his pace. He held tight to her hand as he carved a path through the crowd.

  Faith saw a door partially hidden behind a set of potted plants. A brass plaque had the single word Private emblazoned across it. Cord headed toward it. After he unlocked it, he pulled her inside. Then he slammed the door and turned the key behind them.

  She stopped and stared. A huge window covered nearly one entire wall of his office. Outside the window, the night-darkened silhouette of the surrounding mountains dominated the view. A few stars shone beyond the shadows of the growing Cripple Creek skyline. The effect was stunning.

  “You want to explain what’s going on?” he said, interrupting her thoughts.

  Unsure what to say now, she looked around the room with growing trepidation. This was obviously his domain. Books and ledgers lay scattered across the desktop. Shipping boxes stood stacked in the corner. But what caught her attention most was the decor. The dark, somber colors echoed his strength. The filled bookshelves reflected his intelligence. The emerald green carpet made her think of a forest, lush and deep.

  Lightheaded from the unaccustomed alcohol, Faith reached out and fingered the filigreed wallpaper. It reminded her of the brothel. Images filled her mind. Images she’d fought these past few days. Of men and women. Together.

  Heat infused her cheeks and drifted to other parts of her body. She turned to look at the incredibly beautiful man glowering at her in confusion. “This room fits you. Except I’m not sure which you it fits.”

  “I could say the same about you and that damned dress. What possessed you to put it on?” He motioned her toward a leather chair, which she didn’t take.

  Pulling out the desk chair, he sat down and propped his feet on the desktop, ankles crossed. He didn’t seem to notice the mess of scattered papers.

  “I know it was probably stupid, but I had a great idea for a shot . . . ” She’d go back for her camera when Opal was there to keep her company. Slowly, she walked around the room, surveying and studying each item, seeking more information about the man who had created it. “I had to get out of there.”

  “I told you I’d come back as soon as I could.”

  “I couldn’t stay there. N . . . not alone.” She shivered at the remembrance of that cold, sinister laughter.

  “Why not?”

  “I . . . ” She couldn’t tell him yet. He’d think she was crazy, probably already did. She stood beside the floor-to-ceiling bookcase and found herself looking at a brass statue of a stallion on one shelf. His hind legs were firmly planted in a mound of brass while his mane flew in an imaginary breeze. The tiny front hooves pawed at the air. Wild. Just like the fire she saw in Cord’s soul.

  Her fingers ran down the smooth back of the horse, feeling its sensual pull. Being here, in this dress, alone with him, reminded her of that first dream. Maria had known the ancient art of seduction, had learned how to please a man.

  For the first time, Faith tasted the power of a woman over a man. Even from here she felt the vibrations emanating from him—his interest and desire reaching out across the air. Turning, she leaned back against the bo
okshelves, feeling the solid wood behind her and the wildness of the horse prancing through her blood.

  She met his gaze with one of her own—a gaze she knew told him she was captured by Maria’s spirit. “Tell me more about your dream.”

  Cord stared at her, shock obvious in his eyes. “Is that why you wore the dress? To relive the dream?” His feet slipped off the desk, and he strolled around to stand before her. “Or maybe to find out what happens next?”

  He stood so close. The longing she’d experienced earlier intensified with the memory of his warm lips. He’d locked the door when they’d come in. No one would interrupt.

  “I have to know.” She was lost in his eyes, drowning in his pull. “Do you see the same images I do?” Was that whispery voice really hers?

  Stepping back, Cord put space between them and sat on the corner of his desk. “Okay.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m in that upstairs hallway of the museum. I’m standing on the outside of that window. It’s not a museum then, and I can hear the music downstairs.” His eyes met and captured hers. “You’re wearing that dress, with your hair just as it is now.”

  He stood and took a step forward. “But you know that, don’t you? That’s why you know exactly what happens between us . . . them.”

  “No . . . No I don’t. I know I . . . she takes off her clothes.” The rising desire in Cord’s eyes told her his dream matched hers. “But that’s where it stops.”

  “Mine has a bit more.” He took another step. “A woman appears beside me. She has the key and opens the door.”

  “Who is she?” Faith reached out, urgently touching his arm. “What does she look like? Does she laugh?”

  “What’s going on?” His gaze burned through her.

  “You’ll think I’m crazy.” She paced in front of him.

  “I seriously doubt anything you could say at this point will shock me. Did you find something else in the trunk after I left?” He grabbed her arm to stop her pacing.

  “Well, this for one.” She reached up and pulled the comb from her hair. The curls she had struggled with came tumbling down around her face and shoulders. She wanted to show him the inscription, and she didn’t think about what her actions might cause. Their eyes met, and the heated longing of the dream played itself out in her mind.