Heaven in My Arms

by Colleen French

  With a button hook, he unhooked the long row of buttons and eased the black and brown leather boot off her tired foot. He rolled off her stocking and tossed it over his head.

  She sighed with pleasure as he massaged the arch of her foot. "Oh, that feels wonderful." She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes.

  He removed the other boot and stocking, and rubbed the top of her bare foot and then the bottom, moving upward to her calf. As he kneaded her tired muscles, she began to relax.

  "You shouldn't spoil me like this," she teased. "I'll expect it every night."

  He took her hands and pulled her to her feet. As he undid the buttons on the bodice of her gray and blue work gown, he kissed the bare skin above her muslin camisole. She rested her hand on his broad shoulders and stepped out of the gown.

  Next came the camisole and French-buckled corset. She sighed as the restraint was removed and her breasts fell free in his warm hands, not caring that his hands were dirty. His attentions were exquisite.

  Fox removed her underskirt and crinoline and tossed them on the floor with her soiled clothing. He turned the faucet that ran from the hot water tank to the porcelain claw tub, then the knob that brought cool water from a holding tank hand-pumped from the well.

  Fox helped Celeste to step out of her pantaloons and into the tub. The warm and cold water swirled at her feet. She started to sit down, but he stopped her.

  "Not yet," he said quietly, a hint of mystery in his voice. "Stand and I'll pour the water over you."

  When she looked at him doubtfully, he added, "Just wait, you'll like it."

  He filled a small china washbowl with water from the tub and drizzled it over her breasts. She sighed as the heated water streamed over her nipples and down her belly. Her nipples puckered in response to the warm water and cooler air. It felt strange to stand here in front of him and let him bathe her as she had bathed Adam when he was a baby. But it was a good strange. It made her feel pampered. Almost loved.

  There was that elusive word again. That word that floated in her mind. The word she'd sworn she would never associate with a man again.

  Fox poured water down her back. He took a cotton washrag and soaped it with a perfumed bar of soap. With the wet, frothy rag he scrubbed first her arms, then her neck and breasts, her legs. He asked her to turn around and he scrubbed her back and buttocks. The rough, wet rag and slick soap sent shivers of sensation through her body. Every inch of skin he stroked tingled with warmth.

  Covered in a soft film of perfumed soap, she turned at his urging to face him again. "Now the most important part," he murmured.

  The small room smelled of perfumed soap, damp clothing, and of him. She reached out to caress his bare chest with one soapy hand, but he pushed it down. "Keep your hands to yourself, lady. I'm busy." He seemed to sense how erotic it was to stand and be touched without being permitted to touch.

  He spread her legs gently with one hand, dipped the rag into the warm tub water, and bathed the bed of red curls at the apex of her thighs.

  Celeste closed her eyes and moaned softly. The water, the washrag . . . his hands felt so good. She was so relaxed, and yet a spark of warmth glowed in her belly. A spark of desire.

  Fox filled the washbowl with clean water and slowly rinsed her off.

  "Can I sit down now?" she asked, her eyes closed. Her knees felt pleasantly weak.

  He plugged the drain so that fresh water began to fill the tub. "You want to?"

  "If I don't, I'm going to fall over."

  "Can't have that, can we?"

  He took her in his arms and helped her ease into the tub. The water that ran off her breasts splattered his bare, dirty chest. She laughed as she sat down, wiping suds off one of his nipples. "Want to join me?" she asked, feeling sultry.

  "In a minute. Now your hair."

  Before she could say anything, he poured a washbowl of water over her head.

  She laughed and sputtered as the warm water ran in her eyes and ears and mouth.

  He dumped another bowl of water over her head.

  She pushed back a thick hank of wet hair. "Trying to drown me?"

  "Never." Fox dropped to his knees, leaned over the tub, rubbed the bar of soap between his hands, and began to wash her hair.

  Celeste closed her eyes again. His fingers felt so good on her scalp. As he moved his fingers in small circles moving outward, she sank further in the tub.

  Celeste could have laid in the tub with Fox touching her like this forever. Here she felt insulated from the world. Here there were no worries about the silver mine or the wealth it would bring or what she would do with the money. Here she didn't have to worry about where she would go or if she would take Adam with her. Here there was no murderer stalking her friends. Here there was just Fox and her and the warmth of their companionship.

  "Ready for a rinse?" he asked too soon.

  "Mm hm." She was too comfortable to speak.

  Fox poured several bowls of water over her head and then moved away from her.

  She opened her eyes to see him disrobing.

  "Going to join me?" she asked, catching bubbles of soap that floated by.

  "If you can make room."

  She smiled at him over the rim of the tub. He had just slipped his dirty denims down his long, muscular legs. He wanted her . . .

  "There will always be room for you here." She leaned back in the tub. She hadn't meant to say it that way . . . to make him think she was looking for anything permanent between them. That she wanted him to stay forever.

  But she did.

  As Celeste watched Fox cross the bathroom, she realized she did want him here in her tub for the rest of their days. Here in her life.

  "Slide forward."

  She did as he said and he slipped into the tub behind her. She was glad that John had insisted they order the largest tub he could find in Denver. How ironic that she would share it with his son.

  Celeste sat up for a moment as Fox dipped the washrag in the water and scrubbed his chest and arms. Then she took the rag from him and leaned back against his chest. He raised one knee out of the water and she scrubbed his leg.

  As Celeste washed his legs leisurely, she could feel his engorged member pressed against the bare skin of her lower back. The feel of him made her warm and tingly there below the water.

  "This is the life, Celeste." He leaned back and she rested against him. "Lazing in a tub of perfumed water with a beautiful woman on my lap."

  "Beautiful, smart woman," she corrected.

  "Beautiful and smart." He slipped his hands around her waist and held her against him, his chin resting on her shoulder. "Far more than any man could ask for." He kissed her earlobe and closed his eyes again. "Makes a man think he could stay forever."

  Celeste's heart gave a little flutter. She didn't know what to say. Did he mean he wanted to stay? Here with her? She'd tried not to consider the possibility, because she knew it would never happen. There was no sense getting her hopes up for what would never be. Yet, suddenly, there was a spark of hope. These were words straight out of Fox's mouth, not just her own wishful thoughts.

  How wonderful it would be to have a man like Fox for her own. To care for her, pamper her as he did.

  Of course the idea brought up a problem Celeste had never considered until this moment.

  What about Adam?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Fox walked along the dark street, disoriented. He didn't know where he was or why he was here. He could smell the stench of the harbor. It was close. The stinging salt smell of the sea mixed with an assault of familiar scents; rotting fish, open sewage, vermin. Somewhere a boat whistle wailed, a long and lonely sound . . .

  He was searching for something . . . someone. He didn't know who or why. He didn't know how he'd gotten here.

  Fox was wearing his good coat, the black wool one with the ermine collar. He felt the weight of his gold pocket watch hanging on a fob from his shirtwaist. Why did he still have them? Had
n't he sold them, along with his silk shirts, the Italian shoes, and German boots? Hadn't he sold them with the French watercolors and the Egyptian statues? All sold to pay James's debts.

  Fox rubbed his eyes and kept walking. It was foggy tonight. The darkness was illuminated only by thin light from the moon and its reflection off the dirty water. A cat snarled and darted in front of him, startling him. He nearly tripped over an abandoned wooden crate with broken slats.

  He gave the crate a kick. Damn . . . Where . . . where was she?

  What was he looking for? Who?

  Fox could feel his heart pounding in his chest. His hands were cold yet sweaty inside his thin leather gloves. He could feel the dampness of his brow beneath his wool felt bowler hat, the one Amber had bought him on their last trip to Chicago. He had told her he didn't need another hat. He had at least two dozen, but she didn't care. She insisted and he let her buy it.

  Amber? Where was Amber? His mind churned as he struggled to remember.

  Missing. Gone two days. He had to find her . . .

  "Amber?" he called in a shaky voice. Now that he knew who he was looking for, panic seized him. He cut into an alley between two wooden structures that appeared to be stores. A shutter creaked. A rat darted in front of him, but instead of racing for cover, it scurried directly in front of him, leading him . . .

  "Amber?" Fox called. He could hear the desperation in his hollow voice. He remembered now. He had looked everywhere for her, the saloons, the hotels, even an opium den.

  "Amber, are you here?" he called again. He didn't know why he was so afraid. She'd disappeared before. She'd always turned up. But this was different. He could feel it in his heart.

  He followed the rat. It knew. Fox knew that it knew he was looking for Amber. Beautiful, pitiful Amber.

  The rat turned the. corner and crept over a twisted gutter pipe. It perched on a shattered half barrel and twitched its long whiskers. There was debris everywhere. Surely Amber wasn't here.

  Then Fox spotted an elongated shadow. Something was lying on the ground, shrouded in blackness.

  Fox hesitated. But he had to look. "Amber," he said, only this time no sound escaped his lips. He could hear his heavy breathing and the pounding of his heart in his ears.

  As he drew closer the shroud took shape. A woman . . . a woman with long dark hair. Asleep? In a dockside alley? No. Dead.

  Fox wanted to turn away. He wanted to run. But he couldn't. His footsteps led him to the dead woman, and he crouched so that he could lean over her and see her face.

  Fox rested one hand on her slender arm. She was cold. "Amber?" he managed. He rolled her over.

  There was blood everywhere.

  A slit throat. Blood ran in rivers from the pulse of her slender, pale neck.

  No. No.

  He tried to scream, but no sound came out. He wanted to let go of the body. Release it. Run. But he was paralyzed by terror. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak.

  Not Amber. It wasn't Amber. Amber was already dead.

  It was Celeste.

  "No!" Fox screamed, and bolted upright. He covered his ears, shaking his head madly. "No, no, no, not you, too."

  "Fox . . . Fox . . . " Celeste said. She reached through the darkness to where he sat upright in her bed, stiff with the fright of a nightmare. "Fox, wake up. It's just a dream."

  He was cold and shivering, yet bathed in clammy perspiration. His heart was pounding as if it would explode from his chest. His eyes were wide open, and yet he didn't seem to see her.

  She shook him, first gently, then, when he didn't respond, she shook him harder. "Fox!"

  "Celeste?" he croaked as if he had crawled a thousand miles through the desert without water. "Celeste?"

  "Yes. Yes, it's me. It's all right." She crawled behind him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She hugged him tightly, her bare breasts pressing against his back. "Shhh," she soothed. "It's all right. Just a dream."

  He ceased shaking. She could feel his body relaxing, enveloped by hers.

  "It's all right," she whispered. "I'm here with you. It was just a bad dream."

  "Oh, God," he murmured. It was his own voice now, weak, but definitely Fox. "Oh, God."

  Celeste smoothed his hair with her palm and kissed his shoulder. "Shhh, you're safe now," she soothed as she had once soothed Adam. "You're safe in my room. You're awake and safe."

  "Oh, Celeste."

  "Tell me," she whispered.

  He shook his head wildly and swallowed. "No."

  "It might help."

  He hung his head. He was still panting, but not as hard. "I . . . I was dreaming I was in San Francisco . . . not now, then, but now, too."

  "Mm hm."

  "I was looking tor Amber. She hadn't come home. She just disappeared."

  Celeste brushed his hair over his forehead with her fingertips. They hadn't been asleep long. It was still damp from their bath . . . or the arduous lovemaking afterwards. "Yes?" she encouraged. "You were looking for her."

  "Down at the docks. I don't know why."

  "Did you really look for her there?"

  "No." He shook his head. "Someone else found her there. In an alley. Dead."

  "I'm so sorry," she whispered, genuinely so.

  "In the dream I was looking for her. There was this rat." He paused.

  Celeste waited in the darkness, letting him catch his breath. She heard Silver move from one spot in the room to another and lay his head down again.

  "I followed the rat," Fox finally continued. "It knew where she was."

  "You found her?" Celeste whispered. "In the dream."

  "Yes." He rubbed his face with his hand. "Only . . . no. No, Celeste, I didn't find her." He took a deep breath as if afraid to say what came next. "I found you."

  She smoothed Fox's silky hair over one ear. "It's just a dream. I'm not dead. I'm alive." She rose on her knees behind him and wrapped her arms tighter around his neck. "I'm alive and as happy as I've been in my life . . . because of you," she dared.

  "You don't understand," he whispered. "I killed her."

  Involuntarily she stiffened. A chill ran up her spine. "You killed Amber?"

  He exhaled. "No. She . . . she smoked opium. She bought some in a den. Someone followed her out. Slit . . . slit her throat."

  "Oh, Fox." She relaxed against him again. "I'm so sorry."

  "It was her own fault. She knew better than to go to a place like that. My fault . . ." he finished softly.

  "Your fault?" She crawled around him so that she could see his face in the moonlight that poured through the paned glass. It was cool in the room. Gooseflesh rose on her arms and across her chest. "It was your fault she bought opium and was murdered?"

  "My fault she smoked it, maybe?" he said harshly. "My fault because I made her unhappy."

  "Nonsense," she declared firmly. "You didn't hold the pipe to her lips. You weren't responsible. Women make choices. We all have our own heads about us. We make our own choices and then we must live by them . . . or die."

  For the first time since he'd awakened her, he met her gaze. "Not my fault?" he asked. "But her brother James said it was. My fault. I made her unhappy. I drove her to it."

  He looked so lost, so forlorn, that her heart ached. "The same James, your partner, who stole from you and left you with debts? That James?"

  Finally she seemed to be reaching him. There was a light in his eyes that indicated he was listening, that he heard what she said and that he was absorbing her words.

  "Yeah, that James," Fox said.

  She rose on her knees and kissed him on the mouth. "You dreamed it was me lying in that alley because you still feel guilty about Amber's death. But you didn't kill her, and you're certainly not going to kill me."

  He lifted a hand to stroke her cheek. "I would never hurt you," he whispered.

  His voice was so passionate that it brought tears to her eyes. She hugged him so that he wouldn't see her tears and think her foolish. "I know you wouldn'
t."

  "But there's something else."

  "Yes?"

  He pushed her back to face her squarely. "The sheriff. He took me in."

  She grimaced. "For Amber's death?"

  "Questioning. I think . . . I think James put him up to it and that was when he cleared out of town."

  "It's only logical that the authorities would question the man she lived with, Fox. She did live with you, right?"

  He hung his head. "It was stupid. I knew she was trouble. I knew it from the start. Then the opium. I should have put her out the day I found out."

  "The past," she told him. "You can't change it. Give it up. You have too much to live for to bathe in the tragedy of days gone by."

  He clasped her hands and gazed into her eyes meaningfully. "I do have a lot to live for. I have you."

  He hugged her and tears threatened to spill from her eyes onto his shoulder.

  "There," he said finally. "Now you know my sordid past. Now you know what kind of man I really am."

  She kissed his cheek. Fox had revealed so much of himself recently that she wondered if she should tell him about Adam. Just blurt it out. But she wasn't ready to do that. She wasn't ready to complicate their relationship. And she was still ashamed of the circumstances.

  "I've always known what kind of man you were. Even before you arrived."

  "And how's that?"

  She sat back on her heels on the mattress. "Your father."

  He scowled.

  "Everything he said was true," she insisted. "He said I would like you. That you were a fine, honest, handsome man."

  Fox was still for a moment. "He said that to you?" He acted surprised, but pleasantly so.

  "He did. He bragged about you all the time. He was so proud, not just of your accomplishments, but of you."

  He laid back on his pillow and stretched out his arms to her. "Well, what's say you come a little closer to this honest, handsome man, and I'll show you a trick or two I bet my father never knew."

  She laughed, her voice light and airy in the dark room. The words I love you were on the tip of her tongue. But she didn't say them because if she did, she knew what would happen. She knew what had happened before. This wonderful spell would be broken forever.