Heaven in My Arms

by Colleen French

  Celeste stared Fox down. "Where have I been?" she repeated. "I've been in Denver."

  "I know that," he snapped. "I want to know why you went to Denver, who you went to see. A man, I assume?"

  "That's none of your business," she flared. The good feelings she had carried home from Denver ebbed. Of course she had expected a confrontation with Fox on her return, but the man just sounded so . . . so possessive.

  He glanced away and then back at her. "I was worried about you. I didn't know where you'd gone. What happened to you. I kept thinking you were tied to some bedpost with your throat cut."

  She crossed her arms over her chest. She supposed she should be flattered that he was concerned for her well-being, but her anger prevented it. "That's certainly a pleasant thought."

  He scowled. "It's the truth. The only reason I knew you went to Denver was because Sal saw you chase down the stagecoach to Odenburg. He said you were in an awful hurry. Was that to get away from me, or to get to someone else?"

  She ignored his question. That was none of his damned business either. "I've a right to come and go as I please. I don't have to tell you what I'm doing or whom I'm seeing. You made it clear when you found out who I was that you had no intention of pursuing any kind of permanent relationship with me. You reneged on that charming marriage proposal rather quickly, remember?" Celeste didn't know what made her say that. To push him away, she guessed. To hurt him so he would go. Leave. Leave Carrington, leave her and her pathetic trollop's life.

  He flinched.

  If her intention had been to hurt Fox, it worked. She could see it in his stormy eyes.

  "I . . ." He paused. "No," he said quietly. "I don't guess you owe me an explanation. I just thought that after the other morning . . ." His sentence drifted into silence.

  Celeste knew what he was referring to. Her bedroom. And he didn't just mean the kissing, the touching, the incredible way he had made her feel. He meant the emotional connection they made in each other's arms. It wasn't her imagination. He had felt it, too. Now she was really confused by her emotions, by what she wanted and didn't want.

  Celeste didn't know what to say. She had planned this entire conversation. On the train from Denver, she'd gone over and over in her head what she would say to Fox. She'd intended to tell him he would have to move out of the house. Their partnership could be conducted at a distance; the further he was from her, the better. She'd intended to tell him that the morning in her bed had been a mistake. She'd been overwrought about Pearl and hadn't realized what she was doing.

  She had intended to lie through her teeth.

  Now that he stood before her in the flesh, it seemed somehow harder to follow her well-thought-out script. "Fox . . ."

  He waited.

  She felt as if a glass window separated them, and anything she might say or do would shatter the glass. She didn't know if she wanted to break it or not. She sighed, lowered her gaze, then glanced back at him. Silver sat beside him.

  Fox patted the dog's head, but his full attention was on her.

  "I . . ." She exhaled again. "The other day. It was a mistake."

  He glanced down at her button shoes that peeked beneath her green and black taffeta petticoat and overskirt.

  The dress was new. She'd splurged and bought it in Denver. The sales clerk had said the green matched her eyes. In the back of her mind, she knew she had bought the dress because she wanted to look good for Fox.

  "A mistake?" he asked coolly.

  "A mistake," she repeated. "You have no intention—I have no intention of getting involved with you, Fox. It was wrong for me to—"

  "It was wrong for me to take advantage of you." He rose and turned, to lean against the back of his chair and face her. "I shouldn't have—"

  "You didn't take advantage of me," she corrected, wanting to get it straight between them. She had been forced once. She'd let no man make that claim ever again. "I'm an adult woman. I know what I said to you." It seemed so strange for her to be dancing around the subject of sex, when sex was what she did for a living. But somehow it was different with Fox. It meant something now. "And I know and you know what I meant." She folded her arms, refusing to look away.

  She'd gotten herself into this; she could at least have the decency to look him in the eye while she got herself out of it. "And I have to admit," she continued, "that it was sweet of you not to—" she lifted her hand lamely "—you know."

  They both stared at each other for a moment, at an impasse. What now? Celeste thought. She knew he was thinking the same thing, because even as they mutually admitted their lovemaking had been a mistake, the attraction between them still existed against all logic. No matter what either of them said, the desire was still there, a hot flame burning between them.

  "So what now?" He said it first. He scuffed his boot on the floor, which she noticed had been washed while she was gone. "You want me to leave?"

  He didn't say if he meant the house, or Carrington.

  No. The protest leaped into her mind. She didn't want him to leave. She knew it was crazy, but she didn't want him to leave her. She didn't want to feel alone anymore.

  She studied his face. He appeared haggard, as if he'd been up all night. He hadn't shaved since she left and was beginning to look like a genuine miner. "Do you want to leave?" She wondered what had happened to her speech about him getting out of the house by morning.

  He thought for a moment. "I think Titus may be on to something. He found an underground rock formation while you were gone. It's not a placer, but it looks promising."

  Her eyes widened. "Gold?" In the back of her mind, she knew the idea of finding gold on the property was just a pipe dream, but the longer she stayed away from Kate's, the more desperate she became to keep it that way. Her visit to Adam had solidified that desire. Since she'd met Fox, the idea of returning to her old life seemed out of the question. Somehow he had given her the confidence to believe she could find a way out of the life she'd begun to hate. She almost believed that she deserved something better. "He thinks he found gold?"

  "Well, no. He didn't find anything, but there's a certain pattern to the rock formation around a strike."

  The talk of gold cooled the heat between them, both the anger and the desire.

  He pointed to the stove. "You want some tea? Mrs. Tuttle sent some kind of berry pie. You look tired."

  "Tea would be good." She sat on the edge of his chair. Suddenly the fatigue of traveling to and from Denver in three days caught up to her. She was tired and she was hungry. All she wanted to do was climb into her bed and sleep.

  Fox put the kettle on the stove. "He wants to start drilling at first light."

  "All right. I can be ready."

  He leaned on the work table. "So I guess I'll stay a few more days. Just to . . . to see it anything comes out of the rock formation."

  This was Celeste's chance. She could just tell him no. It was her house. She had a right to refuse him. He could go elsewhere. Sal might rent him a room. He could bunk up at Titus's, or he could just go back to San Francisco. "All right," she said. "You might as well stay here. We'll see what happens in a few days."

  Celeste felt weak-spined, but she couldn't help herself. She didn't want him to leave. Well, she did, because she knew nothing could come of their relationship. Her head told her to kick him out the door, now, while she could still muster the strength. But her heart wanted nothing more than for her to be in Fox's arms once more.

  Celeste stood on the back step, an old leather vest of John's in her hand. Fox was in the backyard, shoveling coal for the kitchen stove. Because it was already dark, he worked by the light of an oil lantern. They'd stayed out on the claim until sunset, and both of them were exhausted. After a quick meal, she knew they'd each go into their respective bedrooms for the blessed sleep they needed.

  Since Celeste had returned from Denver last week, they'd followed the same routine every day. They were up at dawn, ate cold egg sandwiches for breakfast on the wa
gon ride to the claim, worked till noon, ate again, and worked until the sun set. It was hard on both Celeste and Fox, but there was something comforting about their routine. The animosity between them had faded somewhere between the egg sandwiches and the tons of useless dirt they'd moved. It seemed that they had both accepted themselves, each other, and the relationship that would never be. And yet . . . something was changing very subtly between them.

  Now that they had admitted to each other and accepted that there was no permanent relationship, the tension between them had eased. Fox was warm to her, even flirtatious and charming. In her domestic style, Celeste cared for him in the small ways that she had once dreamed she would care for a husband. It seemed that they had parted a week ago, but were now slowly coming full circle to meet again.

  Celeste watched Fox as he shoveled coal bare-chested. The yellow lamplight illuminated the perspiration that beaded on his broad chest and rippling muscles. As he swung the shovel and flexed his biceps, she couldn't help recalling what his skin had felt like beneath her fingertips. She shivered despite the heat of the summer evening as she recalled the feel of his hands on her body. Sweet God in heaven, he was a handsome man. Another time, another place, and perhaps things could have been different between them.

  "Need something?"

  Celeste blinked, startled. She'd been caught staring at him, and this wasn't the first time this week.

  Fox leaned on the shovel, taking a breather. He smiled lazily at her, that smile that made her knees shaky.

  She held up the vest lamely. "I . . . uh. I found this in my mending basket." She picked at one of the tin buttons. "It was John's. I wondered if you want it. I could find a new button."

  Fox's gaze shifted reluctantly from her tired, pretty face to the vest. He felt his smile harden on his face.

  The old leather vest brought an unexpected rush of memories, and the emotions that weighed them down. The gingerbread house, the coal bucket, the dog at his side, the beautiful redhead, all faded into the mists of the past.

  He saw a little boy standing on a stone step. Where had it been? Boston, or St. Louis? The dark structure of the boarding school loomed over the boy, but the building wasn't distinctive. In his mind, they were all the same.

  The boy cried silently, his hands pressed woodenly to his side.

  John MacPhearson stood on the far side of the empty street, his hands thrust into his breeches. He was wearing the new leather vest.

  "Don't go yet" the child murmured.

  "Gotta go, the boys is waitin'," John answered. "Now you go on back into school. I'll be seein' you soon enough."

  "Not 'til spring," the little boy said, trying to be brave. "You said not 'til the rivers thaw, and you can paddle your way back."

  "With a ton of gold ore on my back," John promised with a grin.

  The little boy's face brightened. "Then we could live together, sir? You and I?"

  John plucked at one of the tin buttons of the leather vest. "We'll see. We'll see." His eyes downcast, he tapped the brim of his hat. "Well, you take care and do your studies. You get smart so's when you grow up you can be a rich man in a black suit."

  Then John ambled away and Fox was left alone on the step. Alone again. Alone with his tears.

  "Fox?"

  Fox focused on Celeste's face again. She had moved closer, though he didn't recall her walking toward him. The vest was still in her hand.

  "Where the hell did you get that old thing?" He picked up the shovel. His heart pounded in his chest and his eyeballs were scratchy. After all these years, he still felt the pain of his abandonment.

  "I told you. My mending basket." She touched his sleeve. "Fox, are you all right?"

  "I don't want the vest. Give it to Petey. Burn it. I don't care." He leaned on the shovel, knowing she couldn't have missed the tremble in his voice.

  "Fox, if you would tell me—"

  "I don't want to talk about it." He thrust the shovel into the pile of coal and picked up the filled bin by the handle. He headed for the kitchen.

  She followed. "If you could tell me about your past, about you and John, you would feel better."

  Damned perceptive, green-eyed woman, he thought. "Don't want to talk about it. No point."

  She squeezed through the door with him, preventing him from passing her and continuing on into the kitchen. "Fox."

  His gaze met hers. "Celeste, what's done is done. It can't be changed."

  "You need to forgive your father for whatever he did."

  He felt a chill deep in his chest, a chill that threatened to climb up his throat and strangle him. "And what if he doesn't deserve forgiveness?"

  She reached up with one hand and caressed his cheek. Her touch made him want to close his eyes and bask in the nearness of her. The warmth of her.

  "Maybe he doesn't deserve it, but you do."

  "I don't know what you mean." He studied her green eyes, full of caring, sincerity. God in heaven, why did she have to be a whore? Why couldn't he feel as if he could trust her . . . love her. It would be so easy to love her.

  "I think it's this bitter grudge that's tearing you up inside. It's why you pace the floorboards at night. It's what's keeping you here when you could have gone home to San Francisco."

  You're who's keeping me here, he thought. He glanced away, the heavy coal bin still in his hands. "You don't understand."

  "Make me understand."

  He shook his head. "I can't talk about it." It came out as a whisper.

  She studied him for a moment and then smiled gently. "All right. How about some supper?"

  Their gazes met again, and for a moment he felt cared for, almost loved. He was grateful for Celeste's concern, but also grateful for her acceptance. What woman had he ever known who knew when to push and when not to?

  "Thank you," he murmured.

  Chapter Twelve

  "Nothing?" Celeste asked despondently as she stared down into the dark mine shaft.

  Fox pulled a red handkerchief from his pocket and wiped some of the dust from his face. "Nothing."

  She watched his hand as he wiped his neck and the V of chest hair that protruded from his red flannel work shirt, and wondered what it would be like to touch him like that.

  For over two weeks they had worked side by side from dawn until dusk. While Fox drilled and dug, Celeste ran for tools, hauled buckets of dirt, and kept the men fed. There had been nothing but business between her and Fox, just as they'd agreed. They spoke only of the land and the gold they hoped to find. But as the days passed, the nervous tension between them mounted, their attraction to each other stringing tighter and tighter, like a band of rubber, bound to snap.

  "There's no gold here," Fox continued. "Hell, there's no gold on any of this land." He stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket, sounding as disappointed as Celeste felt. "I sent Titus and Pete home. They've been digging for ten days straight, without even a Sunday off." His gaze met hers. "I thought they could use the rest."

  Celeste stared at the pile of earthen rubble at her feet. The warm wind that blew through the aspens along the creek bed teased locks of red hair that had tumbled from her battered hat. "Guess they could." She pushed back her hair impatiently. "Guess we all could. You look worn out."

  Then, for the first time in almost two weeks, Fox touched her. He reached out and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. "So do you," he said tenderly.

  She was wearing one of John's old brimmed felt hats, a pair of denim breeches, and a man's white shirt, yet he made her feel feminine.

  Without considering the consequences of her actions, she caught his hand before he pulled it away, and held it to her cheek. "I suppose it's time to let the dream die. You were right from the very beginning. There's no gold here. John just hoped there was. You should go home to your nice house in San Francisco, and I should stop putting off the inevitable." She tried not to think about what their failure really meant to her or how hard it would be to go back to Kate's. She didn'
t want Fox feeling sorry for her. This was her life, and though she didn't like the hand she'd been dealt, at least she'd managed to remain free of a man's control. At least her bad choices were her own.

  Still standing an arm's length from her, Fox smoothed her cheek with his palm. "Ah, Celeste," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "I wish I could—"

  "What? Take me away from here?" She sighed. "Don't say it. Please don't say it, because we both know it's not going to happen."

  Guilt seemed to fill his eyes.

  She looked down so as not to make it any harder for him . . . for herself. "We should just say our goodbyes and you should go home."

  "Home," he mused. "Hell, I don't—"

  Something at her feet caught one of the last rays of the setting sun and reflected the light. "What's that?" she interrupted.

  "What?"

  She kicked the small chunk of rock near the toe of her men's work boot, afraid to touch it. "That. See the way the sunlight glimmers off it. It's black. It shouldn't shine," she said carefully.

  "Odd." He leaned over and picked up a rock the size of a small pullet egg. He rubbed one of the craggy edges with his thumb, an excitement in his voice. "Celeste. Tell me something."

  "Yes?" She stared at the rock and held her breath.

  "Have you ever seen silver?"

  "Silver?" she exhaled.

  "Silver. White metal, not the dog. Not as precious as gold," he said, the excitement in his voice building, "but damned precious if you're a man, or a woman, in need."

  She took the chunk of rock with its blackish matrix from Fox's hand and rubbed it vigorously with the corner of her white shirttail.

  Fox stared at the metal. "What does the creek run off?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "It's a branch of some river, right?"

  "A creek," she answered. "Clear Creek, I'd guess."

  He kicked at a pile of dirt and rubble they'd brought up from their last hole, and picked up another rock. He rubbed it. "I've heard rumors about some old miner finding silver off Clear Creek."