Angel in My Arms (34 page)

Celeste stepped off the train in Carrington, disappointed that Fox
wasn't there to greet her. Of course she hadn't really expected him to
be here. It was midday; he was working at the mine. She'd not asked him
to come. She didn't need his assistance to get home. She had only sent
him her arrival time by telegraph as a courtesy—so he wouldn't be
worried, not because she wanted him to be here.

She walked down the platform steps in her new black velvet redingote
with its matching scotch cap and hair net trimmed in white aigrette.
Adam had picked the gown out for her, and she had bought him a matching
velvet coat. She'd been tempted to purchase the same coat for Fox, but
she'd resisted—just another tie that bound.

Celeste held her leather valise tightly in her gloved hand.

"Take your bag, Miss Kennedy?" a miner on the street asked.

She shook her head. "No thank you," she said and kept walking. She
didn't like the idea that everyone in this booming town knew who she
was. Her visit with Adam and his plea made her long for anonymity. How
was he ever going to live with her if everyone knew who she was, and
what she had been before she struck silver? Even the manner in which
she had acquired the land would be unacceptable in any decent circle of
society.

Celeste knew she would have to move from Carrington, of course, but
how far? Word of the MacPhearson lode was passing through the states
and territories like a brushfire. Only two weeks ago another large vein
had been hit half a mile south of the MacPhearson Fortune. The town was
only going to grow larger, and her name become better known.

Celeste walked briskly down Peach Street, passing people she knew,
nodding and smiling. She was thankful for the new black and gray wool
cloak she'd purchased in Denver. The wind was cold and a few snowflakes
drifted in the air. In the distance she saw the graveyard which had
once been outside of town, but was now almost in the center of the
growing town. She thought of the woman named Emma and felt a pang of
sorrow.

The morning Celeste left for Denver, Fox had only given her a few
details about the murder. The whore had been killed with a knife, tied
and butchered like the others. She'd also been mutilated in some way.
Fox refused outright to tell her the details. He said it made him sick
to his stomach just thinking about it.

She smiled at the grim thought. Fox was as masculine a man as she
had ever known, and yet there was a tenderness in him. He hadn't been
hardened by his past as most men were. He seemed to feel deeper than
other men and was less awkward in expressing those emotions.

She'd missed him while she was gone. She'd had a wonderful time with Adam, but damn Fox, she'd missed him. So much that it hurt.

As Celeste walked up the front steps to her porch, she sighed with
frustration. What was she going to do? Adam wanted to live with her.
She certainly couldn't bring him here. She couldn't bring him into a
home where she was living in sin with a man.

But could she give up Fox for Adam? If she had to, she knew she
could. The problem was, she didn't know what was the right thing to do.
And she needed more money. She knew she could easily sell her half of
the mine to Fox, or one of half a dozen other wealthy miners in town.
But she had to bide her time. She needed to make sure that she had
enough cash so that, with good investments, she'd never have to worry
about money again. She didn't want to ever again be forced to sell her
body to keep her child.

Celeste unlocked the front door and walked into the front foyer. The house was quiet. No one came to greet her, not even Silver.

She dropped her valise in the hallway and wandered to the kitchen,
removing her bonnet as she walked. On the table she spotted a note;
even from across the room, she recognized the handwriting. It was from
Fox. He'd left her a note!

Anxiously, she picked it up.

C,

Gone to the mine. Back late. No need for you to come.

F

Celeste frowned. She had hoped for something more personal. Was he still angry that she'd gone to Denver? Of course he was.
No need for you to come.
Was he saying he didn't want her?

She let go of the note, written on the back of one of her lists, and
watched it flutter to the table. Fox couldn't tell her not to come to
the mine. It was hers as much as his. This was exactly why she didn't
need a husband. All they did was tell women where to go and how to
think.

Husband?

She laughed aloud as she climbed the staircase. Her voice echoed off the tin ceiling overhead.
Husband?
Where on earth had that ridiculous thought come from?

"You're sure he struck a vein and not a little pay dirt?" Celeste
questioned. She'd changed from her traveling clothes to a simple brown
gown and men's boots and come directly to the mine. She couldn't tell
if Fox was glad to see her, or angry with her. She guessed it was a
little of both.

"Petey swears he heard one of Trevor's miners at Kate's say Trevor hit a vein."

"When was this?"

"The night you
left."
There was a certain accusatory edge to his voice. "I didn't hear about it until the following day."

The two sat perched side by side on a wooden crate that had been
used to ship a piece of machinery overland. Celeste's serge skirt
brushed Fox's dusty pants. Their elbows touched. Fox had made no
attempt to kiss her when she'd arrived. He'd said nothing of a personal
nature in an entire hour. He'd been all business, and though she wanted
to hear what was happening at the mine, she wished he'd say something
about her, about them. Even if it was only to admit that he was mad
that she'd gone to Denver. Something. Anything was better that this
coolness that she couldn't shake despite the heat of the cast-iron
stove in the middle of the room.

"Did he say where the vein was hit?" Celeste asked, trying to concentrate on the mine's problems rather than her own.

"His south wall."

She clasped her hands in her lap and stared at the light wool
fingerless mitts she wore. "Right where our claim butts against his."

"You're on the mark," Fox said grimly.

He hadn't shaved in a day or two and he looked tired. Celeste
wondered if he was roaming the streets at night again. She hoped he had
better sense. There was no need to make Sheriff Tate any more
suspicious than he already was.

"So do you think he honestly struck silver on his own property, or is he encroaching on ours?"

Fox ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know. My first
impulse was just to ask him, but I didn't know if that was smart or
not. Maybe we should wait and see what happens. Keep an eye on him." He
lifted one shoulder. "I didn't want to do anything until I talked to
you."

Celeste brushed her knuckles against the back of his hand. "Thanks. I appreciate your waiting for me to get back."

"The silver's as much yours as mine," he grumbled.

"I know. I'm just saying I appreciate the fact that you recognize that. Most men wouldn't."

He left his hand where it lay beside him, neither moving it away nor
touching her. The tension between them was so thick in the air that
Celeste thought she could hear it crackle.

"Fox, I'm sorry I had to go to Denver. I didn't mean to hurt you. But I had to go," she finished firmly.

"Whatever. As you said weeks ago, we don't owe each other anything."

The words sounded so cold coming out of his mouth. She wondered if they had sounded that way when
she'd
said them. What kind of coldhearted woman would say such a thing? Only a whore…

Celeste hung her head, suddenly feeling tired. She could feel a wall
building between them, brick by brick, she just wasn't sure who was
placing them there—her or him. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe this
was part of the answer to her dilemma. If Fox left her, Adam would
never know about him.

"So what do you want to do about Trevor? There's no way for us to
know for sure if he's on his own land, and that north wall is the
section of the tunnel we had to close off."

"Had to close off," Fox echoed, pacing.

"You don't think he could have had anything to do with
that,
do you?"

"I don't know. Seems like I don't know a hell of a lot these days. I
suppose we should start repairing that tunnel and wait and watch."

Fox's pacing made her nervous. He made her want to pace as well. "Should we call Sheriff Tate?"

"Let's hold off." He hooked one thumb in the pocket of his denims.
"He and I are not exactly the best of friends, and I understand that he
and Trevor are."

She rose. "Agreed."

Fox shoved his hand into his pocket. "Guess I'll take a bucket down
and see what needs to be done to the north tunnel to get it up and
running. I'll get a crew on it as soon as possible." He walked away.

Celeste felt a tightening in her chest. Was this it? Were they
drifting apart? Was this what Fox wanted? Was it what she wanted?
"Hey," she called after him."Want some company?"

"Nah."

He didn't turn back to see the tear she brushed away.

Petey appeared at her side as Celeste pulled the door shut at the
assayer's office on Pear Street. "Miss Kennedy?" He yanked off his
battered felt hat.

"Pete." The look on his face frightened her. There was something wrong at the mine. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Titus said for you to come quick. I'm to take ye in the wagon." He pointed to the horse and wagon tied to a hitching post.

She hurried toward the wagon, and Petey had to run to catch up with her. "What happened?" she demanded. "Not another accident?"

He grasped her arm and helped her climb onto the front wagon seat. "
'Fraid so." He ran to the other side, unhitched the horse, and hoisted
himself up beside her.

Celeste grasped the side of the wagon as it lurched backwards and
then turned and lurched forward. "Where? Anyone killed? Injured?"

"It was a bad 'un. One man dead, Miss. Some broken legs. One poor hound gonna lose his arm."

"They'll need a physician. We have to find Doc Morris."

"Found 'im first. He went ahead in his own wagon whilst I came lookin' for you."

Celeste hung on tightly as they bumped over the rutted road, out of
town and north toward MacPhearson's Fortune. She gripped the side of
the wagon so tightly that she could feel her knuckles go numb. Petey
hadn't said anything about Fox. Was he all right? Or was he the dead
man, and Petey just didn't want to be the one who had to tell her?

The thought of Fox being killed was inconceivable. In the few short
months that he'd lived with her in his father's house, he had become as
much a part of her life as Adam, as vital to her as her own beating
heart. It made her numb to think about him returning to California, but
the idea that he might be dead turned her blood to ice.

"Pete?"

"Miss?" He stared straight ahead, the leather reins clasped in his hands.

"Mr. MacPhearson. You didn't mention him. Is he all right?"

When Petey didn't answer right away, she feared the worst. "No," she
whispered, tears springing to her eyes. She wiped at them. She didn't
want Petey to think she was a weak female. She'd worked hard for the
respect of the miners who worked for her, and she couldn't afford to
let them think her soft. Especially if Fox was gone…

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 shaft. 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