Celeste pushed Fox away and jumped up from the swing, almost tripping as she made her escape.
"I'm sorry," he called after her. He made a move to rise from the swing, then settled back as if realizing how brittle her emotions were at this moment. "I shouldn't have said that." He sounded perfectly sincere as he brushed back the hair off his forehead.
Now that he was no longer so close, Celeste could think more clearly. She patted back the loose strands of hair that had fallen from her neat chignon. She had always hated her hair. Red as sin, her father had called it.
She laughed, feeling foolish at her reaction to Fox. Treat him like a customer, her survival instincts told her.
"Do you always propose to a woman the first time you kiss her?" she asked, hoping that he didn't hear the tremor in her voice. A woman could protect herself from a man as long as he thought she didn't care . . . didn't feel anything for him.
"No. No, I don't." His voice held a serious tone, as if this had not been a boyish attempt to woo her into bed or at least to gain a peek beneath her petticoat. "I . . . I've never."
"Never what?" She felt better now. More confident. She could breathe once more. Celeste, The Heavenly Body of Kate's Dance Hall could handle far more than little Celeste Kennedy, the Denver socialite. "Never kissed a woman?" She couldn't resist brushing her fingertips across her lips. "I find that hard to believe."
"Never asked a woman to marry me." He rose from the swing.
She took a step back. "I find that equally hard to believe, Mr. MacPhearson."
"So now it's Mr. MacPhearson again?" He extended his hand. "Look, I said I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. It's just that I'm very . . . taken with you. My father was right when he said you were very special. I've never met a woman so beautiful, inside and out."
Celeste watched him in the darkness. Now was the time to tell him what she was. What would he have to say of her inner beauty, then?
She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't form the words. Suddenly she was afraid, more afraid than she'd ever been in her life. For some reason she wanted Fox to accept her; she needed him to accept her. It was almost as if her soul depended on it.
"Celeste . . . it wasn't a seduction line," he continued. "Perhaps a little premature, but . . . I'm very attracted to you, and I know you share the same attraction. I see it in your eyes."
Celeste tried to speak, to blurt it out, but again her voice failed her. Somehow his eyes that seemed to reflect equal measures of hope and desperation tangled the words on her tongue.
"I've made so many mistakes in my life," Fox said. "Lost so many chances at happiness. I just think that if there's a possibility for something between us, we should pursue it."
"It's late," Celeste said shakily as she walked to the front door. "It's been a long day. I think I'll retire." Somehow the thought that Fox might turn away in disgust seemed unacceptable tonight. For tonight she needed to savor the illusion that she was a respectable woman. She needed to relish the hope that flamed from his attraction to her.
"I really am sorry. I don't know what came over me. I'll get my bag and go, but tomorrow I'd like—"
"Get your bag and go where?" She was feeling more steady, her old, practical self again.
"A hotel, of course."
She paused, wondering if she should just let him stay. It would be easier that way. Safer. "This was your father's house. There are spare bedrooms. I expected you to stay here."
He shook his head. "I couldn't. I wouldn't want to give the town gossips reason to question your virtue."
Celeste nearly laughed aloud, her nerves were so raw. Her virtue? Her virtue had been gone eight years, gone since that beautiful summer evening in Denver. But she didn't laugh because she was touched. How considerate of him to think of her, rather than his own comfort.
She pushed open the door that led into the front foyer. She felt weary to the bone. "Fox, there's not a hotel in town. They've all burned or been boarded up. I told you most everything has closed." She held open the door for him. "So unless you intend to spend the night in a bordello, I suggest you come inside before I lock the door for the night."
He hesitated.
"It's all right," she said with tired exasperation. "No one will think badly of either of us."
He passed her in the doorway. "I don't want to be a bother."
She walked away, headed for the sanctuary of her bedroom. "Then lock up." She tapped her thigh. "Come, Silver. Come, boy."
The yellow mutt bounded from the shadows of the parlor and followed her up the steps.
"Take the room at the end of the hall." She ran her hand along the smooth, rosewood banister as she made her ascent. "There are clean linens in the armoire. You can make a bed, can't you?"
"Tightest corners in San Francisco."
She turned away, headed up the stairs. His face was too handsome. He was too kind. Her lips still tingled from his kiss. Fox MacPhearson was trouble.
Fox paced the bedroom in the darkness, listening to the boom of thunder and the patter of rain on the tin roof. Occasionally a bolt of lightning lit the room in eerie brilliance before enfolding him in darkness once again.
Fox removed his coat, but made no further attempt to undress. He was tired, but knew he couldn't sleep. He wished desperately that he had a cigar, but he'd given up that vice with the drink.
"I can't believe I asked her to marry me," he said aloud and thumped himself on the forehead with the heel of his hand. "Idiot. I find the perfect woman, and then I make an imbecile out of myself in front of her."
He sighed as he walked to the window and drew back the lace curtain to peer into the darkness. Lightning lit up the sky, and Fox caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the glass. He didn't like what he saw.
"A place to begin again," he whispered. "A new beginning. A second chance." He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to the cold glass windowpane. He couldn't sleep because he couldn't close his eyes. He couldn't close his eyes because when he did, he saw her. Dead. Wide-eyed, yet unseeing.
Guilt washed over Fox as he clenched a fist at his side. "A new beginning," he whispered. He turned away from the window and pushed the droughts of the dead woman out of his head, forcing himself to think of something more pleasant. Or someone.
Celeste.
He walked to the bed and sat on the edge. He studied the bedroom, sensing it had been his father's. When he sat still like this and closed his eyes, he could smell the scent of John's dusty miner's clothes. He could hear his voice as smooth as whiskey. "Hell, John," he murmured, "I've made a mess of things, haven't I? I never lived up to what you expected . . . what you thought I was." He shook his head. "I should take the money and go. I know you brought me here to Celeste for a reason, but you don't really know me or the things I've done. I should just get out of her life before . . . before . . . "He couldn't bring himself to say it aloud. But he thought it.
Before I kill her, too.
Sometime in the night Celeste stirred. She heard a sound. A door, but not her door.
Silver lifted his head off the end of the bed where he slept and stared at the closed, locked door.
"Just John getting up," she said sleepily as she rolled over and pulled the quilt over her shoulder. "Go back to sleep, mutt."
The footsteps sounded down the hall, past her room, down the stairs.
She drifted off to sleep again to the steady patter of rain.
"Rice flapjacks with molasses?" Celeste asked Fox as he entered the kitchen.
"Coffee," he said sleepily. His dark hair was damp and combed straight back over his head, his chin freshly shaved. His face had a boyish look, fresh, innocent.
She noticed that he had dressed in the same sharp, pinstriped pants and waistcoat he'd worn yesterday, though he wore a clean, starched shirt and a fresh cravat.
He hadn't brought much in the way of luggage. Obviously he didn't plan on staying long. A part of her was saddened by the thought. She'd been lonel
y since John died, and Fox's company had been good for her. But it was just as well that he was going. She had to return to her job at Kate's, and he had to return to his rich life in California.
"Coffee's on the stove." She walked around him and set a platter of steaming flapjacks on the table between the two place settings.
"Can I get you some?" He poured himself a cup of coffee.
"No, thank you." She waited until he joined her at the table, and then she closed her eyes and bent her head to silently say grace. Opening her eyes, she glanced up to find him watching her.
"I want to apologize again for last night."
She unfolded her napkin and placed it on her lap. She'd dressed carefully this morning in one of her Denver dresses. It was a very elegant sapphire blue with a rounded collar and vertical rows of velvet trim. She wore her grandmother's pearl earrings in her ears. It had been a long time since she'd worn them, since she'd felt worthy. Clean.
"You sorry you kissed me?" she asked pointedly.
He met her gaze and held it. "No, I'm not sorry I kissed you last night. I'm only sorry I made a buffoon out of myself afterward."
She smiled and reached for the flapjacks. "It's all right. I reacted childishly." She placed the three largest cakes on his plate, then two smaller ones on her own. It was so nice to speak civilly with a man. To actually hold a pleasant conversation. "It's forgotten. We weren't ourselves last night. Grief does that."
"Listen to me," he said passionately. "I know we've only known each other less than a day, but I don't want to lose you. I feel as if my soul depends upon it." He set down his fork with a groan. "Now, I've made a fool of myself again."
Tell him, she thought. Tell him the truth. Don't lead him on like this. But once again, the words wouldn't form on the tip of her tongue.
"You haven't made a fool of yourself." She smiled hesitantly. "I'm flattered It's . . . it's been a long time since someone showed me this kind of attention." And look where that got you, she warned herself.
"I find that hard to believe. "He took a bite of the flapjacks and nodded approvingly. "Apparently John knew what a special woman you were. He told me so in the letter."
"He did?" She wanted to ask what else John had said in the letter, but she didn't. "John was a good man. He saw promise in everyone, even when it wasn't there."
"He certainly saw promise in you, and he was right." Fox took another bite. "So tell me about yourself, Celeste. What brought you to this town?"
Celeste nearly choked on her flapjack. She hadn't been prepared for his question.
"Nursing?" he probed.
She froze. What did she say now? Did she just blurt out the truth or did she—
Silver leaped up from the kitchen floor and raced down the hall. A moment later a knock sounded at the door.
"Excuse me." Celeste wiped her mouth with her napkin as she rose from her chair. She'd never been so thankful for an interruption in her life.
The knock came again, faster, more urgent.
"Coming!" Celeste called.
"Celeste! Celeste!" Big Nose Kate called from the other side of the door as she pounded with a heavy fist. "Celeste, we need you."
Celeste fumbled with the lock. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. She'd never heard Kate so upset. "Just a minute," she called.
The brass lock finally relinquished its hold and Celeste threw open the door. "What is it? What's wrong?"
Kate wore a three-tiered, red velvet cape thrown over her sleeping gown. Her hair was twisted in rag rollers, her face, splotchy red and devoid of any makeup. Without her cream and paint she appeared far older than her thirty-five years—a fact that frightened Celeste. Was this to be her fate, too?
"What's wrong, Kate?" Celeste repeated.
"There's been a murder." Kate panted, trying to catch her breath, as she steeled herself in the doorway. Her cloak fell open and her large breasts heaved up and down above the neckline of her red and black satin nightgown.
"A murder?" Celeste took Kate by the arm. "Come in, sit down. You're winded." Kate was breathing so hard that Celeste feared her heart would give.
"No." Kate shook her head furiously. "You have to come. The girls are in such a fit, I don't know what to do."
"Who was murdered, Kate?"
"Mealy Margaret," Kate puffed.
"Margaret? Little Margaret?" The picture of a petite face and wispy, blond hair immediately came to Celeste's mind. Mealy Margaret was a working girl who plied her trade down the street from Kate's at Sal's Saloon. Celeste didn't know her well, except for the few times she had met her at Kate's on Sunday afternoons when they played poker.
"Oh." Celeste lifted her hand to her cheek, feeling oddly numb. "Not little Margaret. She'd nearly saved up enough money for her train ticket. She was going to Oregon to her aunt's farm."
"You have to come to the dance hall, Celeste." Kate wrung her swollen hands. "The girls are in such a way. I can't get them to stop wailing."
All the girls at Kate's had known Margaret, but none of them had been close with her. Unfortunately, like many of the young women who came to Carrington, she was just another lost soul passing through. It was a tragedy when any human lost his or her life, but Celeste knew that women like herself quickly hardened themselves to life's tragedies. It was the way they survived.
Celeste frowned as Kate's initial words caught up to her. "I can't believe Margaret was murdered. By a customer?" That would be reason for Kate's girls to be fearful. Carrington was a small town of less than two hundred. Working girls didn't get murdered by rough customers here, as they did in the bigger cities.
"We don't know yet. Sheriff Tate's at Sal's now. I only got a quick look at Margaret before Tate and his deputy shooed us out, but I'll tell you, I saw enough that I won't be sleeping any time soon."
Celeste still couldn't quite believe it was true. "What happened? A fight with a customer? Was she knifed?"
"She was knifed, all right." Kate's pale face turned a shade whiter. "She was tied up. Cut up." Tears welled in Kate's eyes. "Disfigured the way a woman shouldn't be."
Celeste's stomach gave a lurch. "Do they know who did it?"
"That's the strange thing. Margaret didn't see anyone last night. She . . . she was on her off week. She made gingerbread with one of the other girls at Sal's and then went to bed early 'cause she was cramping." Kate fished a handkerchief from between her breasts and wiped her nose. "No one saw or heard anything. They found her this morning." She wiped her nose. "I need you, Celeste. I'm tellin' you, the girls are in a way. They won't stop crying."
Celeste brushed Kate's arm with her fingertips. "Let me get my cape. I'll come now."
"What's wrong?" Fox appeared behind Celeste.
"There's been a murder. A woman friend." Celeste grabbed her cape off the oak rack on the wall. She tried not to think about the fact that Margaret was one of their own. Celeste could have been Margaret. "This is my friend Kate. I have to go with her."
"We've met." He nodded gentlemanly, giving no indication that he noticed she was standing on the front porch in her nightgown and rag rollers. "I'll go, too."
"No. Really." Celeste tossed her cape over her shoulders. "It's not necessary." She didn't want Fox at Kate's. She didn't want him to find out who she was that way.
But Fox already had his hat in his hand and reached for his coat. "If there's a murderer about town, I don't want you ladies walking the streets alone."
Celeste made no further protest. What was the point? Perhaps it was better if he saw for himself what she truly was. If Kate and the other women needed her now, she had to go. She couldn't be concerned for herself.
Celeste put her arm around Kate and led her friend across the porch and down the steps, leaving Fox to trail behind them. The storm had passed and the rain had ceased, but there was still a light mist in the morning air. Celeste looked up to see that the sky was as gray and dreary as her heart.
Chapter Four
Funny how easily a sinner's
blood washes from my hands. Somehow I knew it would. I am protected. I am unsoiled.
Watching my hands rinse clean and the water in the chipped porcelain washbowl turn a dirty red, I have to remind myself that I must remain humble. This is not my work, this slaying of sinners, but His work. It's through Him that I pass invisibly down the street, through doors, down hallways where I hear the whores laughing.
I can't resist a smile as I reach for a clean, dry towel and rub my thick fingers with the rough cloth. It was so easy . . . Easier than I had thought it would be. The little slut was so meek that she mewed when I gagged her and tied her to that filthy bed. She never cried out, not even when the knife sank into her pale, white breast. Not even when the blood splattered her dolly.
An omen. I know now that this is what I have been called to do. It is for this that I was born, have lived out this dull existence. It's for this work.
Celeste hurried up Peach Street, her arm linked through Kate's. "Everything's going to be all right," she soothed as they walked. The misty fog was cold and enveloping. "I'm sure Sheriff Tate will catch the bastard," she whispered in Kate's ear.
Fox walked behind the two women, remaining silent. Celeste felt comforted by his presence. She wasn't afraid of anyone in Carrington, but the idea that a mad killer was in town petrified her. She thought of Denver and a chill shivered up her spine. She hadn't gotten to know Mealy Margaret well, and now she regretted it. Had Margaret had her own Denver somewhere? Would someone weep for the loss of her life? Would someone's heart break when he or she received word of the tragedy. That was what frightened Celeste. Not fear of her own mortality, but tear tor the one who waited tor her in Denver.
The three passed Sal's Saloon on Peach Street where a crowd had gathered. Celeste resisted the temptation to stop. Keep walking. Pretend not to see the stone-faced townsfolk. Pretend not to feel the tearing in your heart. Just the thought that a woman she had played cards with last week had been murdered so brutally, so senselessly, made her want to scream in rage. It made her want to hit something . . . someone. It made her want to hug someone.
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