Heaven in My Arms

by Colleen French

  "I don't know." Sally painted a broad streak of blue eye paint under one brow. "Maybe you ought to watch your back just the same."

  "Fox is not a murderer."

  "'Course not."

  "He's not." She said it to convince herself as much as Sally. Of course Fox wasn't a murderer. There was a lot about him she didn't know or didn't understand, but surely she was a good enough judge of character to know the man didn't murder women.

  Sally looked into her hand mirror at Celeste. "I'm agreein' with you, for heaven's sake! Now help me do something with this hair of mine. Big Nose Kate expects me to be on stage in two hours to do the opening number, and I'm a mess."

  Pushing her uneasiness aside, Celeste picked up a hairbrush. "I've only got a few minutes and then I have to go. Fox and I are going to supper at the place that opened in the old Crystal Hotel. The chef is supposed to be French." She pulled the brush through Sally's pretty blond hair. "So what shall it be? Up and sophisticated, or down and girlish?" Celeste looked into the mirror over Sally's shoulder, and both women broke into laughter.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Celeste stepped onto the dark street. After visiting with Sally, she was anxious to return home and dress for the evening. She and Fox were going out to dine, to be seen in public together socially for the very first time. She didn't mind that people would point her out as his mistress, or that she'd once been his father's woman. She was too happy to be with Fox and to celebrate their silver strike.

  An assayer had come from Denver to determine the authenticity and quality of the silver on MacPhearson's Fortune, the name she and Fox had given the land claims. In the assayers expert opinion, the silver ore from the mine they called The Celeste would yield twenty-three thousand dollars to the ton. Even with the cost of equipment and labor to mine the ore, even splitting the profits with Fox, the strike meant Celeste was a rich woman. It meant she would never have sex with another man again, except by choice.

  For weeks, Celeste had carried that joyous excitement in her heart. Only in the last two days had her feet finally touched the dusty Colorado ground enough for her to begin to make plans for her future. Right now her future involved getting the ore out of the ground, and protecting hers and Fox's rights to that ore. When she and Fox had made the discovery, she had immediately known what good changes the fortune would mean to her, but what she was just discovering, were the bad changes.

  Within days of their initial discovery, she and Fox were hounded by miners seeking work, businessmen wanting to buy them out, and an assortment of men wanting to steal from them in one manner or another. And not only had Celeste's life changed, but the life of the town had changed.

  She was astounded by the number of folks on Carrington's streets. Since the discovery of silver on MacPhearson's Fortune three weeks before, the population had increased nearly two-fold and more miners were pouring in every day. They came by train, by stagecoach, by wagon, and under the power of their own worn boots, each man hoping to make his fortune.

  Along with the miners who staked their own claims, came other men eager to make a dollar or two off any silver that might filter through the town. There were laborers to construct the mine shafts and haul the ore from the depths of the steamy tunnels, and freighters with mules and wagons to carry the ore to be pulverized and shipped. Investors dressed in fancy suits with ready money appeared on every doorstep, willing to finance the entire operation at an exorbitant profit.

  Both of Carrington's hotels had reopened this week, as well as a bank. Three mercantile stores opened their doors and several entrepreneurs on the outskirts of town had raised tents and were selling everything from mining supplies to prepared food. Miners filled the hotels, but most men threw crude shelters on the land where they had staked their precious one-hundred-square-foot claims.

  On a Saturday night like tonight, the new arrivals were all in town, looking for a little companionship, a drink, a hot meal, and maybe a roll with one of Kate's or Sal's girls. And it wasn't only men who had flocked to Carrington. There was a laundress, several cooks, and a seamstress who was said to be staking a claim on the next miner who struck gold along the river. One enterprising hurdy-gurdy girl had apparently put up a tent near the train station, and hung a sign to advertise her wares. Celeste hadn't been down near the tracks, but she heard that on a Saturday night, there was a line of men eager to make her acquaintance.

  Celeste walked quickly down the street, passing miners without making eye contact. There were so many strangers that it made her uncomfortable. Unfortunately, along with those seeking an honest living, came the riffraff from other towns. Two days ago there had been a knifing in a new saloon and gambling house on the far end of Peach Street, and a miner had been shot and killed north of MacPhearson's Fortune, when he'd evidently attempted to jump another man's claim.

  To add to Celeste's discomfort over the town's new arrivals was the ever-present threat of the murderer who had killed Pearl and Margaret. It seemed as if everyone had forgotten their deaths in the commotion of the silver strike, even Sally and Kate. How sad that their lives could be dismissed so quickly. But Celeste hadn't forgotten. It seemed as if the happier she was, the more the murders haunted her. Maybe it was because for the first time in a long time, she truly valued her own life.

  A wildly bearded man in a dusty overcoat passed her; his arm brushed hers. What if one of these men was the murderer? She met the miner's gaze as she passed and, spooked by the idea, she looked quickly away.

  The more Celeste thought about the murderer, the more concerned she became. Apparently Sheriff Tate still had no suspects. Well, other than Fox, which was, of course, a ridiculous, unfounded notion.

  Another miner passed her on the sidewalk and she averted her gaze.

  The idea that Fox was the killer was preposterous. So what if he'd arrived the night the killings began? So what if he wandered the town at night? Did being an insomniac automatically make Fox a cold-blooded killer? These supposed bits of evidence were all coincidence, she told herself. Sheer coincidence.

  Celeste turned the corner off Peach Street and found herself suddenly alone. There had been lanterns hung outside saloons and hotels on Peach Street, but Cherry was dark and vacant.

  Celeste walked faster, gripping her cape. She wished she'd brought Silver along for protection. Her heels clip-clapped on the board sidewalk.

  "Howdy there, Celeste."

  A man stepped out of the shadows of a dilapidated livery stable, and Celeste took a step back in surprise. It was so dark that she squinted to recognize who had called her by name.

  "What's a matter, girl? Don't know old Reb?" The man caught her around her waist with one large, dirty hand. He reeked of sweat and whiskey.

  "Let go of me," Celeste intoned. She shoved his hand down. Just the thought of a man—other than Fox—touching her, made her skin crawl.

  "Celeste, baby, it's Reb. Old Reb Cattleton." He reached for her again. "I know I ain't been through in two years, but I know you remember me. 'Member my big reb for certain." He grasped his groin.

  Celeste swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. It had been months since she'd slept with a customer, but it seemed like another lifetime.

  "I'm not in the business anymore, Reb," she said. She tried to push by him, but he grabbed her arm.

  "What do you mean, not in the business?" His fingers pinched her arm tighter. "I walked my ass four miles in off that claim to get a taste of Celeste, the heavenly body, and I aim to have me that taste."

  Celeste gritted her teeth as she tried to struggle free from his grasp. "Did you hear me, Reb?" She spoke loudly and firmly, trying not to let him hear any panic in her voice. "I'm no longer available. See Kate. She'll set you up with a pretty girl to your liking."

  He grabbed her other arm and pulled her against him. "I want you."

  She thrust her face into his. "Don't you understand, Reb? I don't want you." She jerked both of her arms from his grasp. She was so angry that she bare
ly felt the pain. Free of his grasp, she spun on her heels and strode off.

  He didn't follow her, but she could feel his eyes on her as she made her escape. Apparently he had the decency to know when his attentions weren't wanted after all. She lifted her skirts and walked faster, but she didn't run. Damn men and their crude, rough ways.

  Abruptly, she heard footsteps pound behind her. "Get back here, bitch. I was willing to pay you good money, but now—"

  Celeste broke into a run, but a moment too late. Reb's hand clamped her right shoulder and pulled her backward, hard against his solid, stinking body.

  "Now I guess I'll have that piece of tail for free."

  Celeste screamed, twisted around, and elbowed him hard in the soft pouch of his stomach. "Get your hands off me!"

  Reb grunted with pain. "Bitch!"

  He slapped her.

  She swung her arm up and managed to hit him in the jaw with her balled fist. "Help!" she screamed to anyone who might hear her. "Help me!"

  He wrapped his arm around her throat, and Celeste panicked as he cut off her breath.

  "Who do you think you are, denyin' me? Filthy whore! You're goin' straight to hell for this, you know. Straight to hell for spreadin' your legs, tempting honest men like myself."

  Oh my God, Celeste thought. Is it him? Is Reb the killer?

  "So how's about we find ourselves a little private place?" Reb hauled her backward, off the sidewalk, and into the alley.

  Celeste struggled and dragged her feet. She tried to twist in his arms, but he had her pinned against his body. The smell of his sour sweat and the bad whiskey made her want to vomit. She was dizzy from lack of air. Her head spun in black circles and her limbs felt weak. Please don't let me faint, she thought. Don't let me faint and this man butcher me.

  In answer to her prayers, Celeste heard running footsteps. Reb turned to see who was approaching, just as Celeste spotted a man leap through the air.

  Reb gave a grunt of surprise. He let go of Celeste and she fell to the ground, gasping for breath.

  The dark figure hit Reb in the center of his chest and sent him hurling backward into the livery stable wall. Rotten boards creaked and splintered.

  "What the hell?" Reb shouted. "Get off! Get off!"

  Panting to catch her breath, Celeste looked up.

  Fox MacPhearson shoved Reb to the ground, face first on the hard dirt between the stable and the sidewalk.

  It was Fox! Fox had come for her. He'd saved her from rape at the very least, perhaps death.

  "Looking for trouble?" Fox demanded, his voice so harsh and threatening that it frightened even Celeste.

  "No. No trouble," Reb answered. Fox held him down, chest to the ground, his arms twisted unnaturally behind his back, his cheek pressed into a pile of dry horse dung.

  "Celeste, you all right?" Fox called over his shoulder.

  She pushed herself off the ground and brushed the grass and dirt from her lavender gown and matching petticoat. Her throat hurt and she still felt dizzy, but she was all right. "Fine. Fine," she managed. "This . . . this is Reb."

  Fox grabbed Reb by a handful of his matted hair and sat on his back, his knees pressed into Reb's back. "You bothering my woman?"

  "N . . . no. Did . . . didn't know she was taken. U . . . used to know her—in the biblical sense."

  "Did she tell you to get lost?"

  When Reb didn't answer immediately, Fox jerked up the miner's head and looked into Reb's bloodshot eyes. "I said, did she tell you she wasn't interested?"

  "Y . . . yeah. Yeah."

  Celeste was shocked by the intensity of Fox's rage, by his brutal behavior. It wasn't that she wasn't glad to see him, she'd just never seen this side of him.

  The unwanted thought drifted through her mind that perhaps a man this full of rage really could be capable of murder.

  "Then I'd suggest you take your sorry ass elsewhere!" Fox slammed his face into the dirt and climbed off him.

  Celeste stood there and stared at Fox as he straightened his black jacket. She wasn't afraid of him, but she wondered for the first time if she should be. She was certain in her heart he wasn't a killer, but at the time she wondered if she could trust her instincts.

  "You sure you're all right?" Fox asked. They stepped out onto the sidewalk where there was a little more light from the street beyond them.

  Reb scrambled up and disappeared down the alley, running in the opposite direction.

  "Yes. Yes, I'm all right." She patted her hair that had come down from its chignon in the struggle. "He didn't hurt me. Just scared me."

  He took her arm possessively. "You shouldn't be out here alone." He escorted her back up the sidewalk toward Peach Street.

  There was something in his tone that set Celeste off. "You mean I was asking for it?" She halted to face him.

  His dark eyes were stormy, his hair ruffled. "I mean you shouldn't be outside after dark, alone. It's not safe. I don't want you doing it again. You want to go somewhere, I'll take you."

  She gave a little laugh, but there was no amusement in her voice. "Fox MacPhearson, I'll come and go any damned time and any damned where I please."

  He looked at her as if she'd just grown horns. "What?"

  "You heard me! You can't tell me where I can and can't go."

  "That's ridiculous. It's not safe for you to be on the streets at night. Not with all the strangers in town and a murderer on the loose. You belong at home."

  She looked him straight in the eye. "And just how do I know I'm safe there?" she asked softly.

  Before Fox could reply, she strode away, headed for Plum Street.

  When Celeste heard the front lock click and the door open, she wiped her wet hands on her apron and crossed the kitchen to stir her stew. She and Fox had intended to go out tonight to celebrate their silver strike. After what had happened earlier, she'd assumed there would be no celebratory meal. He had been gone over an hour.

  Fox entered the kitchen with Silver at his heels and Celeste felt a pang of jealousy. Lately it seemed as if the dog was more his than hers.

  She heard him halt in the doorway. She could feel him watching her.

  The stew no longer needed to be stirred, but she stirred it anyway, just so she wouldn't have to turn and face him. The kitchen was quiet save for the sound of the bubbling supper and the sound the light breeze made when it tickled the frilly curtains at the open window.

  "Celeste, what just happened back there on the street?"

  She took a deep breath. "Someone got rough with me. You came along, broke it up." She held the wooden spoon tightly in her hand.

  "That's not what I meant and you know it."

  She turned to him. "You can't tell me what to do. You have no right. No ties that bind, remember?"

  "I have a right to be concerned for your safety." He strode into the kitchen.

  "You can be concerned," she granted. "But you can't tell me what to do." She shook the spoon at him. "I vowed a long time ago not to ever let a man run my life again."

  He raised one eyebrow. "So you didn't want me to pull that jackass off you?"

  She knew he must think she was being irrational. Hell, she felt irrational. The point was that he couldn't have it both ways. He couldn't tell her that because she had been a whore he could never love her, and at the same time want to play the part of husband and protector. It wouldn't be fair. Celeste had to remain independent of him. It was the only way she could accept their relationship of sex without commitment.

  She sighed. "I'm sorry. I should have thanked you for saving me. He could have raped me." She stared at her button shoes. "I just didn't like the attitude you took afterwards. It's as if you want me, but you don't want me." She lifted her gaze.

  He was quiet for a moment as he mulled over her words. "You're right. I don't make any sense to you because I don't make any sense to myself." He took a step toward her, his hand outstretched. "Celeste, I care for you very much. I'm damned attracted to you. I love holding you in
my arms, touching you, having you touch me. But—"

  There was that knife in her heart again, twisting, wrenching. He loved her body, but not her. Never her. She struck out with the only weapon she had, her calm logic. "Look, we've agreed on the ground rules. I expect nothing from you, but in return, you can't make demands on me. You can't tell me what to do. You can't control me."

  "I just want you to be safe."

  He spoke so kindly, so honestly, that Celeste put her arms around him and kissed his cheek. Even without love, this was the most fulfilling relationship with a man she'd ever experienced. It wasn't what she wanted, what she'd dreamed of, but she was a fool not to take what he offered. Any woman in Kate's would have given a limb to have a man say that he just wanted her to be safe. "I know," she whispered. "I'm sorry I'm acting so crazy."

  He encircled her waist and brushed his lips against her temple and the hair that curled in tendrils there. "So what was that about wondering if you were safe here . . . with me, you meant." He pushed her back so that he could look into her eyes. "You don't think I could be the murderer, do you?" There was a flash of desperation in his concerned voice.

  She remembered the rage Fox had expressed only an hour ago on Cherry Street . . . but when she looked into his Indian eyes, she didn't see a murderer. She just didn't. "No," she said softly. "I don't believe it; I just said it because I was angry. But," she traced the line of his jawbone with her index finger, "there are others in town who are talking. Wondering."

  He kissed the tip of her nose, released her, and walked away. "That damned Tate. He's had it in for me since I arrived in town."

  "There was some gossip about your past. Something Tate mentioned to someone."

  Fox whipped around. "About my past?" He strode toward her. "What about my past?"

  Unnerved, she took a step back, the spoon smelling of stew still in her hand. "I . . . I don't know. Sally didn't say. She didn't know anything either. Only that Tate had mentioned you had a past."

  "There's nothing in my past that is anyone's business but my own," he flared.

  Celeste thought of her own past and nodded. "I'm certainly in agreement with that." She dropped the spoon back into the stew. "I think you should just ignore Tate. Maybe he's passing the gossip around town in the hopes of drawing out the killer. Maybe if the killer thinks the sheriff thinks it's someone else, he'll make a mistake."