Angel in My Arms (5 page)

Their gazes met, and once again Celeste felt warm all over. Fox
wasn't angry with her over her mild admonition. John had been right.
His son was special. Fox was the first man in the last eight years to
make her forget her shame, to make her feel pretty. This feeling inside
that he created, allowed her to see hope for her own future where no
hope had been. She didn't know what it was about Fox that made her feel
this way. Maybe it was just the idea that she could spend time with a
man, enjoy his company, and have him enjoy hers without the inevitable
looming over them—sex on a squeaky bed. "Shall we go?" He bowed his arm
out to her, and Celeste accepted.

As they passed the church and the rectory, Joash Tuttle walked out on the porch. "Evening to you, Celeste."

"Evening, Joash." She halted, knowing she'd not escape before she
introduced Fox. "I'd like you to meet Mr. MacPhearson, John's son."

The reverend strode off the porch to greet Fox. In his mid-forties,
Joash was tall and wiry, with a bulging Adam's apple. His head seemed
too large for his body, emphasized by his receding hairline. Behind his
silver wire-frame glasses, his gray eyes were kind.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. MacPhearson." Joash did not shake
Fox's hand, but folded his pale, beefy hands together as if he intended
to pray.

"Thank you."

"I'm sorry you couldn't make it before he passed on. Your father was a good man. A friend to us all here in Carrington.
Appreciated
by us all."

Fox nodded.

Celeste sensed that Fox was trying to be polite, but that he wanted
nothing more than to escape the graveyard and the reverend's
incriminating gaze. Celeste never paid any mind to Joash. He'd been
trying to save her soul for years, but she could understand how Fox
could find that innocuous, yet accusing gaze unsettling.

"Mr. MacPhearson hasn't had his supper yet, and I'm sure he's tired from traveling," Celeste said. "We really should be going."

The screen door shut and Mrs. Tuttle descended the porch steps. She
was a tall woman, as tall as her husband, with broad, sturdy shoulders
and a plain, round, German face. Her graying hair was curled tightly in
corkscrews at her cheeks, often singed from overindulgence with the
metal rod of a curling iron.

"Miss Kennedy, did you enjoy the cake Mr. Tuttle brought you?"
Despite Mrs. Tuttle's plainness she had a pretty smile. Celeste guessed
that it was that smile that had first attracted Joash to her.

Celeste smiled back. She knew Mrs. Tuttle disapproved of her, but
the woman always made it a point to be kind. Once when Celeste had been
ill, Mrs. Tuttle had actually come to Kate's Dance Hall and nursed
Celeste through the fever. "It was delicious. Thank you. No one makes
angel food cake like you, Mrs. Tuttle."

"Mrs. Tuttle," the reverend said. "Let me introduce you to John MacPhearson's son."

Mrs. Tuttle fluttered her eyelashes as she always did with handsome, younger men, and she and Fox exchanged pleasantries.

Celeste glanced up at the sky as thunder rumbled across the sky.
"We'd best be going, Mr. MacPhearson. I fear the storm is moving in
quickly."

Celeste and Fox said their goodbyes and headed back through town,
taking the same route they'd come. Dusk settled over the empty streets.
A few stray dogs scuttled in the shadows. Piano music could be heard
faintly, though from where, one couldn't quite tell.

"Creepy," Fox said.

"What?" Celeste strode beside him, her petticoat swishing, her arm brushing his.

"Mr. and Mrs. Reverend." He twitched his shoulders in a shudder.
"They're creepy the way they look at you with that holier-than-thou
air."

Celeste laughed. "They're really very nice, both of them. It's a
minister's job to keep his sheep in the flock. They're harmless.
Besides, Mrs. Tuttle is the best cook in Carrington. If you think her
angel food cake is good, you should try her cherry cobbler."

"Speaking of food, I'm hungry." He glanced at her. "Is there a hotel where we can dine?"

She frowned. "The Green Glass burned to the ground last fall. It was
a beautiful place, three stories high with a muralled ballroom and
enough rooms to put up a hundred people, but Mr. Marvel didn't rebuild
after the fire. No one came to stay any more, anyway. I hear he moved
to Colorado Springs and opened a new hotel."

"Surely there must be some place to eat." They circumnavigated a
battered rain barrel. The clouds overhead moved faster, and the rumble
of thunder grew louder and closer as if pursuing them.

Kate's was the best place to dine, but obviously Celeste wasn't
going to suggest they go where customers would constantly be attempting
to buy her services. Celeste hadn't returned to Kate's Dance Hall since
John died, and many of her regulars had been asking for her. Celeste
knew she would have to return to Kate's soon, but she was trying to
stretch what little money John had left her to delay the inevitable. "I
have an idea," Celeste said brightly. "Come back to the house, and I'll
cook you a meal better than any you can find in Carrington."

"I thought you said Mrs. Tuttle was the best cook in town," he teased. "Perhaps I should go there."

She laughed and looped her arm through his and stepped off the end
of the plank sidewalk, crossed the rutted street, and stepped back onto
the walk. "Rack of lamb with fresh mint— the last of Mrs. Turtle's
spring lambs—new potatoes, and buttermilk biscuits. Will that suit your
palate, Mr. MacPhearson?"

He placed his hand over hers where it looped through his arm. "Fox."

She looked at him from beneath the rim of her straw bonnet. "Pardon?"

"Call me Fox."

She smiled. "Only if you'll call me Celeste."

"You took such excellent care of John. I feel like I know you well. Like you immensely."

She felt heat in her cheeks in response to his compliment. No one before had ever come right out and said they liked her.

"There's no need for formalities between us."

She said nothing. He was charming, this son of John's. She'd give
him that. Charming enough to have coaxed the pantaloons off many a
young lady, she guessed.

"Fox?"

"Celeste?"

"Have you a wife?" John said his son had never married, but she
doubted he'd remained celibate. She wondered if he had a woman, perhaps
even a fiancee.

He glanced at her sideways with sparkling dark eyes. "I do not. I'm quite available."

She felt a curl of pleasure in the pit of her stomach and she cut
her eyes at him. His flirtation didn't pass unnoticed, and she felt a
strange surge of anticipation.

"No fiancee, no woman you lavish with attention?" He glanced down at
the plank walk caked with dried mud. "There was, but… she's gone. Dead."

"Oh." She knitted her brow. "I'm sorry."

He waved his free hand as if he could skim over emotions that she
sensed weighed heavy on his heart. "Oh, I miss her, but it wouldn't
have come to anything. We wanted different things. We had different
values, shall I say."

"I see." She wondered what he meant by
values.
"How long
has she been gone?" Celeste didn't know why she was being so nosy. She
never asked her customers anything, not even their names. Many, though,
were anxious to spill their life stories into her lap before lifting
her petticoats, as if that could somehow justify their deed.

"A year," Fox answered.

"And there's been no one since then?"

"I suppose I was waiting for you."

Celeste felt a warmth rise across her cheeks. She was amazed to
discover that she could still blush. "You're as charming as your father
was, Fox."

"Hopefully more sincere."

There it was again, that dry sarcasm of Fox's. They walked the rest of the way home in silence.

Supper was all that Celeste had promised it would be. One of her
best efforts. She had not learned to cook in her mother's home. There
had been cooks and kitchen maids for that. It wasn't until Kate Mullen
had taken Celeste in that Celeste had found the need to learn how to
prepare meals. She had found it less laborious than scrubbing wood
floors with lye soap, and far more rewarding.

After supper, Fox suggested that they take their sherry out onto the porch.

A light rain began to patter on the tin roof. Bright lightning
cracked the skin of the dark sky. It should have been a full moon, but
the black clouds obscured it from view.

Protected and dry in the shelter of the porch, Celeste sat beside
Fox on the swing, safely at the far side. He pushed with his long legs,
and she tucked her feet beneath her, enjoying the smooth motion. She
sipped her sherry, wishing the evening would never end.

"Thank you for the supper and your company, Celeste. I can't say when I last had such an enjoyable evening."

She smiled at him. "Funny how people take to each other, isn't it?"
She didn't know what made her speak so boldly of her own feelings, or
to suggest she understood his.

The swing glided back and forth.

"Funny," he echoed. "I've been with women from all over the world,
Paris, China, New York City, and I've never felt so comfortable with
anyone as I do with you."

She could feel his gaze on her. "You're quite the popular man, Mr. MacPhearson."

She heard him slide his hand toward her and then felt its warmth on
her arm. "I didn't say that to impress you with my manhood. I meant it
as a compliment to you."

Over the years Celeste had become wary of men and their words, but for some reason she believed Fox spoke sincerely.

He took her hand in his and she squeezed it. "I know. I'm just not used to such lavish attention."

"John said you were unattached." He slid along the swing until he
was beside her. "Is that still true? No rich miner has come to sweep
you off your feet and out of this dying town?"

Celeste held her breath. She didn't know what to do. She'd spent so
many years playing the game of seduction that she didn't know how to
allow herself to be seduced. She was afraid of Fox and his advances,
but at the same time she yearned for the attention. She longed to feel
special.

"No," she answered in a small voice. If only he knew the truth of
how desperately she had once wanted to be rescued. Before the
resolution. Before the dull, throbbing acceptance of her lot in life.
"No one has rescued me."

"I'm sorry. I've offended you."

"No."

"Frightened you, then, by my forwardness."

She felt so strange inside, like a young girl with her first
flirtation. It was so odd to couple those feelings with her obvious
experience with men. "A little."

He caught a lock of hair that had fallen over her cheek and gently
tucked it behind her ear. "I want you to know I'd never take advantage
of you or your virtue."

She almost giggled out of nervousness at his mention of her virtue.

He tentatively slid his arm around her shoulders. In a way, he seemed as shy as she felt.

"It's just that… I don't know how to explain it," Fox said. "I suppose I feel like I've waited my whole life for you, Celeste."

She knew she should jump up from the swing and retreat to her room,
or just burst out with the truth. It was wrong not to tell Fox what she
was, or what she had been to his father. But she couldn't help herself.
John had lavished attention on her. He had made her feel secure. But
John had never made her heart pound like this. He had never made her
feel so alive.

Fox touched her chin with two fingers and gently turned her face toward him.

In the darkness she could only make out the outline of his face, but she knew he was going to kiss her.
A real kiss.
Something she'd not experienced in many years. Celeste never allowed her customers to kiss her; it was too personal.

Just one kiss,
she told herself. Another moment of fantasy, and then she would go back to the harsh reality of life.

Though she was prepared for his kiss, Fox took her completely by
surprise. His lips brushed hers in a warm, light caress. It was a
chaste kiss, but one of promise if she dared part her lips. Did she
dare?

She touched her finger to the corner of his mouth, and he kissed her fingertip.

"Marry me," Fox whispered.