But there had been no indication of what Celeste was. No war paint of red rouge, no revealing clothing. More importantly, she didn't carry herself like a whore. Celeste walked with her head held high, a self-confidence in her stride. He had never known a whore who was so educated and well mannered. Amber made a good appearance, but inside her fancy clothes, beneath the jewels, she had been just another San Francisco dockside strumpet.
Fox pulled back the curtain and stared outside. The sky was gray; the horizon was gray. Though he knew there were mountains just beyond the town, they were invisible in the gray sheet of rain. The water ran in rivers on each side of the muddy street below. Only the crown of the dirt road stood above the water.
A black hearse with frosted glass sides rolled by, the horses struggling in the mud as a sheet of dirty water sprayed the frosted glass of the vehicle. No doubt, it was bound for Sal's place to pick up the dead girl.
"So what now?" Fox said aloud. He tapped on the window with his knuckles. The glass was cold and damp with condensation. He let the curtain fall.
The first thing he needed to do was to apologize to Celeste. He shouldn't have spoken to her that way, treated her that way. He shouldn't have taken her declaration so personally. She'd not become a whore to hurt him. She'd not lured him into her house and into her arms. He'd entered her home and her arms of his own free will. He was the jackass who had asked her to marry him without realizing she was just another woman out to get what she could from a man, like every other blessed whore he'd ever known. Fox knew he'd acted irrationally. It was just that he had been so disappointed to discover what she was . . . what she had been to his father. He was hurt and disappointed that again his hopes had been shattered by a woman who would never have the capacity to love him.
He didn't know why he was so surprised. His father had spent his whole life moving from one whore to another. Like father . . . like son, he mused grimly.
Fox paced the floor. Silently, he cursed James Monroe, his business partner. The man had been brother to his mistress, Amber. He and James had gotten along well; they drank together, played cards together, whored together in the early days. Eventually they had made a great deal of money in the commodities together. Then the cheating bastard had stolen every penny from him and fled to Europe.
Fox had had to sell his town houses in San Francisco and New York City and empty his own personal bank account to pay off Jamie's debts. Because their company had borne the name Monroe & MacPhearson, Jamie's debts had become Fox's. Fox knew now that this had been Jamie's plan all along. Most likely Amber had been in on it as well.
He thought of Amber, but pushed her image from his mind. He didn't want to remember the thick dark hair falling over her face, or the chill of her skin in death. If he thought about the regrets, the could-haves, the should-haves, he'd drive himself mad.
Fox stared at the closed bedroom door. He didn't want to be alone right now. As angry as he was with Celeste for deceiving him, he wanted to be with her. To see her green eyes dance with amusement, to hear her laugh and speak his name. The thought that his father had slept with the same woman he was so attracted to felt very strange. For the first time he wondered which disturbed him more—that she was a whore, or that she had been his father's private whore. Or was it the fact that John had obviously cared more for her than for his own son. John had been old enough to be her father. Fox told himself he shouldn't care. She was just a whore. And his father was dead.
Now he had more to worry about than a woman who had lied to him by omission. He shouldn't have expected anything from his father. He shouldn't have counted on an easy way out. He'd been on his own for a long time. No one could solve his problems but him.
He walked toward the door, needing to see Celeste again, to talk to her and either confirm or refute his initial impressions of her. He needed to know that desperation hadn't made him into a blind fool. The truth was he just needed human comfort.
Fox found Celeste still in the kitchen. She was making something in a bowl, stirring furiously with a wooden spoon.
She didn't turn to face him as he entered the room.
The dog woke and lifted his head. When he saw that it was Fox, he relaxed again.
"You leaving?" Celeste asked. Her tone was neutral, neither warm nor cold. Fox walked to the coal stove that had been stoked and radiated a comforting heat. He put the teakettle on to boil. "I'll buy the house from you, the worthless land." He didn't know why he'd said that. He had no money. He doubted anyone would loan him any either. And what was he going to do with a house in godforsaken Carrington, Colorado? Maybe he wanted it because it was his father's. Maybe he just wanted it because John had given it to Celeste.
"If the land your father staked is worthless, why do you want it?"
"It might not be completely worthless." He gave a noncommittal shrug. "Might be able to get some type of ore that's salvageable."
She dumped the bowl upside down on the wooden worktable. Bread dough. She pushed up her sleeves with floured hands and began to knead the dough, releasing a yeasty scent into the air. The woman was domestic for a whore.
"I don't want to sell the house." She paused. "Or the land."
He reached into the cupboard for a teacup. He pulled down two, wondering if his father was the one with the good taste in fine china, or if Celeste or one of his other whores had helped him pick out the pattern. "You'd be foolish not to take money offered." What money? he thought. "What are you going to do with the worthless claims?"
Her response came in a split second that seemed to surprise her as much as it surprised him. "Mine them."
Fox chuckled. "Mine them?" He set the teacups on the table and went back for the teapot and loose tea. "You? How?"
It was her turn to shrug. "How does everyone else mine? Pick a good spot and dig. John was certain there was gold in that area; he said he just hadn't found the placer yet."
"From what I heard on the train, this area has been mined out. I seriously doubt there's any gold here."
She flipped the dough on the table with capable hands and punched it down. "We'll just see about that, won't we?" She looked at him over her shoulder for the first time since he'd entered the kitchen. "Of course, I could buy you out." She lifted an eyebrow. Her green eyes were more hazel now. Stormy.
"Buy me out?" He gave a little laugh. Take the money and run, a small voice inside his head encouraged. "Why would I want to do that?"
"If it's worthless, Mr. MacPhearson, it would be an excellent deal for a wise, wealthy businessman like yourself."
"Look, Celeste, you slept with my father. We're sharing an inheritance and presently a house. I think we're on a first-name basis here."
She nodded. "All right, Fox. If the land is worthless, why not sell it to me?"
Why not? he thought. He filled the teapot with hot water from the kettle, taking his time to respond. "I'd like to have a look at the land first." She looked out the window. "Once the rain stops. It'll be a day or two, I suspect."
Fox didn't know why he was stalling. If she'd give him money for his half of the claims, he could take it and return to California. He could be done with reminders of John and visions of a red-haired beauty who had been his father's mistress. But, of course, she couldn't pay him enough to get his vineyard started. And somehow the idea of getting on a train and returning to California was not very appealing. The ride here had been lonely. He'd had enough of loneliness to last a lifetime.
"All right. I can wait a day or two." He pulled back her chair. "Tea is served."
She glanced at him over her shoulder again. "I suppose you'll want to stay here in my house?"
He was hoping she'd offer, so that he wouldn't have to ask. "If you'd be so kind."
"You're John's son," she said simply. "I'd not turn you out."
Fox felt shame for the tone of voice he'd used with her. She was more a lady than he would ever be a gentleman.
"Celeste, let's call a truce," he said quietly. "Come hav
e tea and let me apologize for my earlier behavior."
She dropped a clean linen towel over the mound of bread dough, and turned toward him. She had covered her dress in a white ruffle kitchen apron. It was feminine and very becoming. He smiled as she crossed the room toward him, her dog at her heels.
"All right, Fox." She took the seat he offered. "I'm ready for those apologies." She looked up at him and smiled sweetly. "And will you please pass the cream?"
"You told him you were going to what?" Sally's pretty eyes widened.
"Shhh," Celeste hushed through a mouthful of straight pins. "Turn around and keep your voice down. He's upstairs."
Sally turned on the small wooden stool she stood on in the middle of Celeste's cozy kitchen, as Celeste pinned up a new gown Sally would wear on Big Nose Kate's stage.
"You told him what?" Sally repeated.
"I told him I intended"—she pulled a pin from her mouth and slipped it through the jersey fabric—"to mine the land John left me."
Silky Sally burst into a fit of girlish giggles. "Why, that's the silliest thing I done ever heard, Celeste. You can't dig for gold!"
"Why can't she?" Rosy, in her mid-forties and Kate's oldest girl, took a bite of fresh bread covered with blackberry jam.
Rosy was large, with melon breasts and a sagging stomach, but she was one of the most popular women at Kate's. Rosy always said it was because some men didn't really want sex, they just wanted to rest their cheek on a mother's breast.
"Celeste's a smart girl," Rosy continued. "She could mine that land just as well as John MacPhearson could, probably better, because she don't nip at the bottle."
Sally giggled in retort and covered her mouth with a delicate hand. "Really, Rosy. Can you see our Celeste dressed in a man's breeches with a pick ax over her shoulder, traipsin' about the mountains?"
Rosy eyed Celeste. "Reckon I could."
"You're not serious, are you?" Sally turned her attention back to Celeste. "You're not really going to become a miner?"
Celeste slipped another pin into the hem of the dress. "Entirely serious. I didn't realize that's what I was thinking until Fox asked me."
"Fox is it, already?" Rosy gave a wink. Her eyes were made up heavily with arcs of blue face paint.
Celeste ignored Rosy's insinuation. "John and I talked about that land. He said he thought there was gold there, riches beyond his dreams; he just hadn't gotten lucky enough to strike the vein."
"Johnny was a miner his whole life, Celeste." Sally turned back. "What makes you think you can find gold when he couldn't?"
Celeste plucked the last few pins from her mouth and stabbed them into a pin cushion on the table. "I don't know," she said softly. "Desperation?"
"Desperate? You ain't desperate, woman." Sally gave her a playful push. "When you set your mind to it, you can make more money in one night than me and Rosy put together, and you know it."
Celeste offered her hand to help Sally off the stool. "I can't do this forever, Sally. I can't dance and bed men."
"Sure you can't do it forever. Once you get to be a woman of Rosy's age," she glanced at Rosy, laughing so Rosy knew she was teasing, "you got to start thinkin' about savin' for your own place, but you, Celeste, hell you got another twenty years left in that pretty tail of yours."
Celeste spun Sally around and began to undo the long row of buttons down her friend's back. "You know why I can't stay here," she said meaningfully. "You always knew I didn't intend to do this for the rest of my life."
"I hate to tell you this, sweet pie, but that's what we all say." Rosy bit into a second piece of bread and jam. "You think we was all little girls who used to think that we wanted to be tarts when we grew up?"
Celeste tugged the gown over Sally's slender shoulders. "I didn't mean to insult you, Rosy. You know how much you all mean to me." She sighed. "It's not you. It's me. I just can't do it anymore." She shook her head, feeling as if she were on the verge of tears.
"That's what happens when a decent man passes through your life," Rosy soothed. "Don't worry about it. Young Mr. MacPhearson will take what's his and move on soon enough." She reached across the table and brushed Celeste's cheek. "Just don't let 'im take your heart with 'im when he goes. Promise me that?"
"I have no intention of dancing with Mr. MacPhearson."
"No?" Sally strutted across the kitchen naked but for high heels, stockings, and garters. "Well, if you say you ain't interested." She reached for the gown she'd worn to Celeste's. "Then I might just invite him over to Kate's. One look at me in my gown and he'll be emptyin' his pockets on the end of my spring bed."
Celeste had to smile at Sally's innocent confidence. Although Sally was only five years younger, sometimes it seemed to Celeste that it was fifty. For a whore, Sally had led a very sheltered life. She didn't yet understand how having sex with men could eventually take its toll on a woman's body and her heart.
"Cover yourself, sweet pie," Rosy chastised Sally. "You want Celeste's man to come down those stairs and see you bare-assed?"
"He's not my man," Celeste hissed through clenched teeth. "Please don't spread that all over town."
"Wouldn't mind a bit if he saw my bare tail," Sally said flirtatiously.
Rosy heaved herself out of the chair. "Get your silly, shameless bare butt over here and cover yourself." She took Sally's silver and gold gown and held it over the younger woman's head. Sally slithered into it.
Silver lifted his head off the kitchen floor and whined.
"Here he comes," Celeste warned with a wave of her hand. "Get her buttoned up."
"Oh good," Rosy said. "I can meet this man I've heard so much about."
"Heard what? From whom?" Celeste asked, annoyed. "He just—"
"Good evening, ladies." Fox appeared in the kitchen doorway.
Celeste's heart fluttered at his good looks, and then she was irritated with herself for her reaction.
Fox smiled, all charm and good teeth. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"Not at all," Sally cooed, sliding closer to him.
"We was just leavin'," Rosy said as she linked her arm through Sally's. "Wasn't we?"
"I guess we'd best get to work." Sally pouted prettily. "But if you'd like to come by the dance hall later, Mr. MacPhearson, we'd love to see you."
Rosy scooped up Sally's new silky gown and ushered the girl toward the door. "Thanks a bunch, sweet pie." She blew Celeste a kiss. "I knew if I pinned up Sally's gown it'd be crookeder than the Snake River."
"I wish you wouldn't work tonight." Celeste rose from the chair feeling tired to the bone. "It's not safe. You said yourself Sheriff Tate doesn't have any idea who might have killed Margaret."
Rosy lifted a meaty shoulder. "We'll be careful. 'Sides, chances are he's long gone by now. Moved on to a more prosperous town." She turned to go, then turned back. "Oh, I forgot. The girls over at Sal's is taking up a collection so's they can bury Margaret in a decent coffin. Fred already come and got her, but he says someone has to pay for the box." She adjusted the feathered purple hat on her head. "Over at Kate's, we thought we'd toss a few dollars in. Margaret would 'ave done the same if it had been one of us."
"Could have been one of us," Sally said softly.
Celeste gave Sally's arm a squeeze. "It's all right. You're all right." She looked at Rosy. "Of course I'll contribute. Let me run upstairs and get my pursestring. I'll meet you in the front hall."
"Wait," Fox called.
All three women turned back to him. He had his hand inside his well-cut waistcoat. He hesitated a heartbeat before he spoke. "Let me . . . I want to contribute, too."
"You didn't know Margaret, did you?" Sally asked.
Fox unfolded an expensive French wallet and peeled off ten one-dollar greenbacks. "No," he said as he held out the cash. "But I knew too many like her."
Rosy took the cash, turned away, and headed down the hallway with Sally in tow. Celeste just stood there and stared at Fox. "That was a very nice thing to do," she said
softly, truly touched.
He smiled a distant smile as he tucked his lighter wallet back into his coat. "It's the least a man can do."
Chapter Six
"Thank you for helping with the dishes," Celeste said, acutely aware of her proximity to Fox.
With rain still falling, they'd spent a strangely domestic afternoon reading several Denver papers that Celeste received weekly through the U.S. mail. Then, while Celeste prepared an evening meal of pea soup and biscuits, Fox had read a book he'd brought with him.
It was not unlike many evenings Celeste had shared with John after he became ill and she'd moved in with him. But there was one distinct difference. John's presence had been comforting, like the feel of a worn pair of bed slippers on a chilly night. With Fox, there was a tension in the air, an electricity as undeniable as the bolts of lightning that lit the shadows of the parlor. Each time a casual comment passed between them, she sensed the tension with every fabric of her being. She knew he felt it, too.
Celeste understood that Fox was angry with her for not telling him who she was the first evening he'd set foot on her doorstep. But she also realized that a part of him was disappointed in her. It was that disappointment that hurt. She was no different now as Celeste the whore than she'd been when he thought she was the attractive Miss Kennedy, his father's nurse. Only now he saw her differently.
That first night in Carrington, Fox had liked Celeste for the person she was inside. He'd been physically and emotionally attracted to her, so attracted that he'd actually asked her to marry him. Now he saw her as nothing more than another commodity, like his gold investments. Celeste knew men well enough to know that he was still sexually attracted to her, but his attitude toward her had clearly changed. Like any other man, he thought she was merely a warm body, for a price, and it angered her.
"I never knew a man who could make tea, hang his own coat, and dry dishes." Celeste glanced up to find Fox watching her.
He passed her a dry plate to return to the yellow painted cupboard. Their fingers touched through the cotton dish towel. "I've lived alone since I was fourteen." He lifted one shoulder. "I learned to take care of myself, dishes included."
Heaven in My Arms Page 6