She glanced up at the old miner. His face was as wrinkled as a dried apple, his hair as white as the snowcaps that had appeared on the mountaintops in the last month. "Tell me, Pete. Is Mr. MacPhearson dead?"
He looked sideways at her. "N . . . no, miss. He ain't dead, he . . . " He ended his sentence by letting the words dangle in the air.
"If he's not dead, then what?" She didn't mean to shout; just came out that way.
Pete cringed. "He . . . he's buried, Miss."
The numbness was creeping up on her again, from her feet this time. "Buried?"
"He went in to pull out the miner with the bad arm. Mousey Mike, we call him. Mr. MacPhearson, he pulled his shirt off and tied it around Mike's arm so's the blood would stop spurtin'."
Celeste could feel the blood draining from her face, not because she was squeamish, but because Fox has risked his own life, perhaps lost it, for a stranger. The sad thing was, she expected no less of him. "And?" she asked. "What happened then?"
He shrugged. They were pulling up to the equipment shed that covered the main shaft. "Rocks just started tumblin'. Mr. MacPhearson threw old Mike out of the way, and the rocks come tumblin' down. They was diggin' him out when Titus sent me to get you."
Before the wagon rolled to a halt, Celeste stood, raised her petticoats high, and jumped onto the ground.
"Whoa, there, Miss!" Petey hollered.
Celeste ignored him. She raced for the entrance to the mine snart. A bucket was just coming up and dirty miners scattered to get out of her way. "Take me down, Joe."
This time the engineer seemed to sense he'd better not argue. Pete barely made his way into the cage before it lurched and began to sink into the shaft.
Celeste tried to stay calm as the iron cage hurled downward. "What level?" she demanded.
"It was the section we'd closed off, Miss. We was tryin' to put up supports."
"The injured men, where are they?"
"We took 'em to the ice room. I 'spect the doc is working on them there. Then the men'll bring 'em up."
"Did the dead man have a family?" she questioned softly.
"Wife. A kid in the Dakotas somewhere."
"We have to contact them. Send the widow condolences and money."
"Aw, you don't have to do that, Miss. Miners knows the risks. No one expects you to help nobody's family."
"Just do what I say, Pete."
"Yes, Miss."
She stared at her button shoes. For money, was all she could think. We're doing this for money. Men dying, in accidents and of the coughing lung. Men losing limbs, their youth. Just for money. The idea made her sick to her stomach. Hell, maybe whoring wasn't such a bad profession after all. People didn't get killed. She laughed bitterly to herself. At least they didn't used to.
The moment the iron cage hit the bottom, Celeste darted out. She didn't need anyone to lead her. She knew the way. Titus grabbed a lamp from one of the miners standing around and hurried after her.
It was so hot in the mine that sweat immediately covered her face and trickled in rivulets down her back. Her heart pounded. Don't let him be dead. Don't let him be dead, she prayed silently. Please God, spare this man.
Celeste spotted Titus standing knee-deep in chunks of rock and clay and splinters of silver ore.
"Found him yet?" she demanded.
"Almost got to him." A black-faced Titus pointed to a large pile of rubble against the north wall that appeared to have broken off from the low ceiling and fallen, despite the presence of the square-sets.
With her sleeve, Celeste wiped the sweat that stung her eyes. "Fox?" she called. "Fox, can you hear me?"
Miners were carefully hoisting fallen rocks and setting them down to make a new pile. It would have been faster to throw them, but she knew they didn't for fear the vibrations would cause another cave-in.
"Why don't you wait in the next section, Celeste?" Titus said quietly so that the other men wouldn't hear him. "No need for you to wait here. I'll call you the minute we find him . . . dead or alive."
She grabbed the closest rock, one the size of her head, and heaved it onto her shoulder.
"You don't have to do that." Titus tried to take the rock from her. "We got men—"
She yanked the rock from him and carefully set it on the pile the men were forming. "I can lift the same as these men," she said, surprised by how calm she sounded. "Let's get reinforcements in here and get these men to the ice room." She nodded to the three men working diligently. "They all look as if they're going to collapse."
Titus followed her orders and replaced the miners with a fresh crew. For five minutes they moved rock without saying anything.
Celeste's underclothing was soaked with sweat. She was dizzy from the heat, and her mouth and nostrils were filling with the fine film of dirt that clouded the air. But she kept moving rock. All she could think of was that Fox might still be alive and that she had to get to him. Somewhere in the back of her head she could hear the pounding footsteps of the killer in her dream. Only he wasn't coming for her, it was Fox he wanted.
Celeste heaved a rock over her shoulder, dropped it, and went back for another. "Fox?" she called. "You there?"
Nothing.
She leaned to grab another rock and heard something. "Shhhh!" she ordered. "Stand still. Fox?" she called again. "Fox, can you hear me?"
There was a long pause of silence, and then a sound that had to be human.
"Fox?"
"Some . . . someone going to get me out of here today?" came the weak voice from the pile of rocks.
She grinned, exhaling in relief. "Well, if you weren't laying around on the job, Mr. MacPhearson," she dropped her hands to her hips, using her best "boss" voice, "perhaps you wouldn't be in this mess."
The miners broke into laughter, easing the tension in the tiny alcove.
"Let's move faster," she told the miners. "Just be careful. We're this close. We don't want to injure him rescuing him."
It took another half an hour to reach Fox, but now that he was conscious and talking, the time moved quickly. When part of the ceiling caved in, he'd dove under a ledge that had been cut to expose the silver vein. That vein had saved his life.
When Fox's legs and bare torso were exposed, Celeste dropped on her hands and knees and crawled to him. "You're going to be late for dinner," she whispered, as she brushed his hair off his forehead.
He was laying flat on his back under the ledge, the silver vein touching his nose.
He chuckled. "Sorry. I hope it wasn't pork roast. You know I love the way you make it with apples and that sauce."
She smiled. He had a nasty gash on his forehead, but the blood had already congealed. "You hurt anywhere?"
"Nah." Slowly he began to scoot out from under the ledge. "Just scared half out of my wits. I couldn't breathe."
"No, I don't guess you could." She lifted the hem of one of her petticoats and rubbed some of the dirt and sweat from his mouth and nose. She was so relieved that he was all right, yet suddenly she couldn't breathe. She felt as if she were the one trapped under the rock, suffocating.
He sat up and pushed his hair back over his forehead. "Let's get everyone out of here, Titus, before we have another cave-in." He stood up, wobbly, but obviously unharmed.
The miners crowded around Fox, clapping him on his bare back and laughing with relief. Celeste knew that each man understood that it could just have as easily been one of them.
She watched the men pass into the safer section of the tunnel and pressed her hand to her chest. She was breathing so hard she was light-headed. Fox was all right. He was safe. Why did she feel like this? It was even worse than when she'd feared he was dead.
Celeste had a sudden, overwhelming need to see the sky, to feel the last rays of sun and the cold wind on her face. Unnoticed in the confusion, she pushed past the men and Fox. She climbed into one of the iron buckets, rang the bell, and rode up alone.
"Miss Kennedy?" Joe called as she rose from the shaft. "Yo
u all right?"
Celeste ran out through the covered building. She grabbed the side of the wagon, leaned over, and sucked in great gulps of fresh air. She was shaking from head to toe. I can't do this, she thought as she tried to calm her pounding heart. I just can't live like this.
Chapter Twenty-two
Celeste heard the front door open downstairs and Silver race through the hallway. His nails scraped as he slid on the polished wood floor, and she thought absently that she needed to clip them.
"Celeste?" Fox called. "You here, hon?"
The door banged shut and he turned the lock.
Celeste sat on the edge of her bed in the dark. She'd managed to bathe and get into her flannel nightdress. She'd mechanically brushed her hair, but had not made it beneath the covers.
She wanted to call out to Fox, but she couldn't find her voice. Her heart was still pounding, her hands shaking.
After she'd left Fox down in the mine, she'd taken the wagon and come home alone. She didn't know what was wrong, except that she had to get away.
"Celeste?" Fox's rich-timbered voice echoed up the stairwell as he passed down the hallway into the dark kitchen. A moment later she heard him come slowly up the stairs. "Celeste? Are you here?"
Her door was open. He halted in the doorway. Someone had loaned him a red plaid shirt.
"Celeste? Celeste, what's wrong, sweetheart?" He walked toward her. "You just disappeared. I didn't know where you were. Joe told me he saw you run outside, and then the wagon was gone. Why didn't you wait for me? I'd have come home sooner, but the doc insisted I come to his house, bathe and let him stitch my head."
She didn't answer. She couldn't.
"Celeste?" He stood in front of her for a moment, studying her. Then he sat on the bed beside her.
She felt his warm hand take hers.
"Ah, sweetheart, you're ice cold. Are we out of coal? You should have started a fire." He went to the stove, added a shovel of coal, and stoked it. "I told you, you need a maid. You can't work all day at the mine and take care of the house." He came back to the bed. "I'll have Petey look into hiring someone this week. Surely one of the miners has a wife who needs a job."
Celeste heard what he was saying, but it didn't sink in. Fox was all right. He wasn't dead. He wasn't injured. Why was she so paralyzed with fear?
She knew why. Somewhere deep inside she knew why. Because she'd crossed that line today. Maybe she'd crossed it months ago and hadn't realized it. She'd made a terrible mistake. She'd done what she swore she would never do again. She had fallen in love . . .
Fox crouched in front of her and took both her hands in his. "You're shaking," he said softly. He raised her hands to his lips and kissed them.
Close like this, she could smell that he was clean. He'd bathed and put on fresh clothes. Had he said something about the doc stitching him up?
"Celeste, I'm all right," Fox said softly. "You don't have to be afraid. I wasn't hurt."
"A man died," she whispered. Her lower lip trembled. "It . . . it could .. : could have been you." A sob rose in her throat and she choked it down, ashamed of her tears, ashamed that an experienced whore like herself could have allowed herself to care this much.
"Celeste." He rose and pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. "It's all right," he soothed. "It's all right. I'm safe. Wasn't my time to go."
Celeste fought to control her emotions as she melted into his arms. He made her feel so warm, so cared for, so loved.
Hell, there was that word again!
She knew now that she'd been fighting it for months. She should never have let Fox stay. Not even that first night. She was a fool. A fool.
Fox smoothed her damp hair and kissed her temples. He stroked her back with a soothing circular movement. He just held her until she relaxed a little.
"I . . . I don't know what came over me . . . " she said when she found her voice. "I shouldn't have run like that. What will the men think?"
"It's all right. You were strong when you needed to be. Titus told me you took over rescuing me." He rubbed her upper arms. "I hear you heaved a few rocks yourself."
"I was afraid you were dead." She looked up into his eyes. "I was afraid I would never see you again, and I couldn't bear it."
He pulled her hard against him. "Ah, sweetheart, I'm sorry."
"I hate this business," she told him. "I was never meant to run a mine. It's filthy and it's dangerous. I don't want men to die to line my purse."
Keeping his arms wrapped around her, he led her to the upholstered chair beside the coal stove that was beginning to heat up. He eased into the chair and pulled her onto his lap. "Me either," he said quietly.
She laid her head on his shoulder and traced the outline of the stitched gash on his forehead. "What?"
"I'm not cut of the cloth to be a miner. Call me weak if you like. I don't care for the business. I don't like the danger or the searing heat—or the enclosure. I feel like I'm climbing into a coffin every time I ride down in one of those buckets."
She smoothed his beard-stubbled cheek with her palm.
"I don't like the injustices," he continued. "Even paying the miners an exorbitant hourly wage, it's still a foul business."
"So what do we do?"
He traced the neckline of her sleeping gown. "Do? Sell it, I suppose. Hell, if Trevor is trying to steal our silver, why not sell it to him and make him an honest man? If not him, some other money-hungry wolf."
"Sell the mine?" He had taken her completely by surprise. "Sell it all?"
"Sell it," he repeated, firmer this time. He was toying with the long row of bone buttons that ran down the front of her gown. Then, hesitantly, "We : . . could sell it and go to California."
Celeste's breath caught in her throat. He had said we, hadn't he? We, as in both of them? "California?" was all she could manage.
"Sure. We buy land and we start that vineyard. I think I'm far better suited to planting grapevines than sending men into heated coffins, don't you?"
"And . . . and you want me to go?"
He was quiet for a moment, and then he turned his head to meet her gaze. White moonlight shone off his handsome, haggard face. "Once I became conscious, lying there beneath the rubble, waiting, all I thought of was you, Celeste. All I wanted was you. You're all I think about day and night. I'd be a fool to think I could walk out of this town without you."
Celeste was too shocked to say anything. He didn't want to leave her! He didn't want to go to California without her. He wanted to be with her as much as she wanted to be with him. She was suddenly so filled with excitement that she thought her heart would burst.
"Oh, Fox," was all she could say. She raised her mouth to his and kissed him.
"Celeste."
He pressed his warm mouth against hers and she parted her lips. He tasted clean and fresh; he tasted of promise.
She slipped her arms around Fox's neck and drew one leg up to curl herself in his lap.
He unhooked the buttons of her white flannel and lace nightdress. She sighed with pleasure as his hand found and cupped her breast. The thought that she could have this forever was beyond conception. It was what she secretly dreamed of, but never expected to have.
Fox brushed the rough pad of his thumb against her nipple and it hardened in response. With his other arm, he held her tightly against him, cradling her in his lap.
Over and over again, he brushed his tongue over her lower lips, teasing her, nipping at her tongue with his teeth. She threaded her fingers through his thick, glossy hair and arched her back, encouraging him to press his mouth to the pulse of her throat.
"Celeste, Celeste," he whispered. "What made me ever think I could leave you? I was doomed. Doomed from that first night in the swing."
She laughed, her voice husky in her ears. Everything really was going to be all right.
Fox kissed a burning path from her throat to the valley between her breasts. She slipped her hands around his head and gently guided his mou
th to her aching nipple.
Fox tongued the pink bud and then suckled. She exhaled with pleasure. The room had been cold a moment ago, but now it seemed warm. Her flannel nightdress was hot and rough against her skin. Every inch of her flesh prickled with heat and sensation.
Fox sucked one nipple and gently squeezed her other breast with his hand. She covered his hand with hers, encouraging him, guiding him.
"I want to make love to you, Celeste," Fox whispered in the darkness. "I want to hold you in my arms and make love to you, tonight, tomorrow night, and all the nights to come." He raised his head from her breast, and the moisture in his eyes convinced her that he meant it.
"Will you let me do that?" he murmured. He kissed her cheek, the tip of her nose, the faint cleft of her chin. "Will you let me make love to you?"
"Yes," she whispered, her heart bursting with joy. "Yes. It's what I want." Always wanted. She thought it, but she didn't say it.
Fox rose from the chair and carried her to the bed, never breaking from her gaze. He laid her gently on the bed, kicked off his boots, peeled off his stockings and breeches. He threw off his shirt and then climbed into the feather tick beside her.
"Brr . . . it's cold." Celeste scrambled under the bedcovers and he followed her.
"Too much clothing," he teased as he pushed the gown over her shoulders. "You've got far too much clothing on for my bed, woman."
She laughed with him as he pushed the gown over her shoulders and she wiggled out of it, leaving it rumpled somewhere at the bottom of the bed.
Fox pulled her against him so that they lay side by side, naked flesh against naked flesh. She could feel the prickly hair of his chest against her. She could feel his heart pounding as fast as her own.
"Much better," he whispered as he nuzzled her ear. "Just the way I like my business partners. Tough on the job, soft and"—he slipped his hand to the apex of her thighs—"and wet for me in bed."
A moan escaped Celeste's lips. He knew so well how to please her. He knew what she liked. He knew how to caress her. He knew how to tease her to the brink of fulfillment, only to draw her back again at the last moment.
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