Silver Lining (8 page)

There he went, deciding things his way. Already she recognized the set jaw and closed expression that stated he had made up his mind and no argument from her would change his decision.

Fuming, she shifted in her saddle and searched for a way to deal with the situation since she had to accept it. "All right," she said finally. "You go inside and get us a room, then let me know the number and I'll come along later." Maybe there was a back entrance without an inflated swell in a uniform passing judgment on all who walked beneath his awning.

For a moment she believed Max would accept her suggestion and a rush of relief made her feel light-headed. Nothing but embarrassment lay under that awning. Max would hate being seen in a place like this with such a sorry specimen as her, and she would feel ashamed because she knew she looked like the devil. Hell, she looked so disreputable and wrung out that sixty-three men had refused to share her bed. And the sixty-fourth wasn't chomping at the bit for his opportunity, she thought, sliding a look up at Max.

"We're honorably married," he said slowly, his gaze fixed on the man in the green uniform. "I'm not going to have my wife slipping in after registration like some dollar-a-night doxie." His shoulders pulled back and squared, and his eyes went as hard as blue stones. He was going to insist that the two of them walk past the man in the green uniform and stroll on inside as if they had as much right to be there as anyone else.

Maybe he had that kind of backbone, but she didn't.

Low Down swung off of Rebecca and thrust the reins up at him. "I'm going to buy me some dresses,"

she announced, anxious to escape. "I'll find you later." She'd already taken a few steps toward California Street before he called to her in an exasperated voice.

"Have the bills and your parcels sent to the Belle Mark."

Low Down nodded and hurried toward the noisy rush and bustle of traffic. A few years ago, no one would have given her a second glance. Now, with Colorado a state and Denver the capital, with the new air of cosmopolitan growth, Low Down found herself the object of disapproving stares from the windows of carriages and from ladies passing on the street. Well, that didn't bother her. Since when did she care what anyone thought of her?

But she paced up and down in front of the Colorado Merchant's Bank for twenty minutes before she could make herself raise her chin, square her shoulders, and push open the doors. Almost immediately a frosty-eyed gentleman strode toward her wearing an expression that said his bank wasn't for the likes of her. She bit her lips and thrust out her chin. "I got some money I want to invest. Or ain't my money as good as everyone else's?"

In the end he was a banker. The word "money" rearranged his opinion regarding how a respectable woman ought to look. She could have smelled of worse things than mule and perspiration and he would still have smiled when she untied the thong around her neck and showed him the chipping-in money, Frank's nuggets, and her heavy pouch of gold dust. The banker led her to an office off the lobby, and before they finished doing business, he'd even called her "ma'am" once or twice.

With her valuables safely seen to, Low Down was free to attend to the distasteful chore of acquiring dresses. To her surprise, there were ready-made shops along Fifteenth Street displaying dresses in their windows. She walked along the storefronts, peering at gowns targeted to high society right down the scale to dresses fit for ordinary women. By angling her head at an awkward tilt, she caught a glimpse of a few price tags and gasped. The prices matched the high-faluting array of ruffles and bows and braids and ribbons.

She could only think that Max hadn't known the cost of female fashion when he'd insisted on paying.

Certainly she hadn't. And she was no more inclined to waste his money than to waste hers. Waste not, want not.

The secondhand shop was where she remembered it, thank heaven, on a side street mired in horse droppings, where the sanitation arrangements still consisted of hogs wandering free between the buildings. The pungent odor of boiling malt wafted from the brewery, and the saloon on the corner still offered nickel beer. The city fathers probably wouldn't agree, but it was comforting to discover that some things hadn't changed.

She didn't have to wind up her courage to walk into the secondhand shop, and it didn't bother her when the woman behind the counter looked her up and down then rolled her eyes in disbelief.

Low Down grinned. "I need the works, starting from the skin out. Undies, stockings, shoes, a couple of dresses, a coat, a hat, gloves, a bag."

"Honey, you need a scrub bath, a hair wash, and a bonfire for them duds you got hanging on yourself."

Cupping her hands around her mouth, the woman shouted toward a door at the back of the store.

"Mazie? Get on out here. We got us a real challenge to deal with."

A deep sigh started high in Low Down's chest and emerged as a breath of relief. She'd come to the right place.

*

The sun was sinking toward the mountains west of town before she returned to the Belle Mark, her feet dragging with reluctance as she approached the dreaded man in the green uniform.

She was so intent on planning how she might sneak past him that she didn't immediately notice a well-dressed gent sitting on a bench beneath the awning smoking a cigar. When she realized it was Max, she stopped in her tracks and her mouth dropped.

He wore a low crowned hat over freshly barbered hair, and a dark suit set off by a snowy boiled shirt, maroon vest, and neat dark tie. His boot tops were polished to such a high shine that he could undoubtedly see the underside of the awning when he looked down.

"Well, my gawd," she said softly, walking up to him. "Maybe you have the makings of a banker after all."

A whiff of bay rum caught her attention and the rich scent reminded her that maybe she should have purchased a small bottle of lady's fragrance. Such a thought made her smile. She had never owned perfume or ever imagined that she might want to.

Max stood and removed his hat as polite as you please, and that was another first. Men didn't usually doff their hats to Low Down. She didn't look, but she hoped the snooty man in the green uniform was watching.

Max extended his arm. "I'll escort you to our suite."

"A suite? Well la-ti-da," she said lightly, trying to sound like the idea of a suite didn't make her nervous.

And she accepted Max's arm as if they were sharing a joke. She could tell he felt as ridiculous offering his arm as she felt about taking it. "Are all ranchers as rich as you?"

"This is a one-night extravagance."

Everyone in the vicinity watched them enter the Belle Mark, or so it seemed. Inside, Low Down cringed and shrank from waves of silent condemnation. And suddenly she was glad for Max's rock-solid arm because she needed something to cling to during the endless walk through the lobby and then up the grand staircase.

For years she had operated under the theory that if she kept her eyes downcast and didn't glance up, then no one would notice her. Therefore, she didn't see much of the lobby except the marble floor followed by a crimson-and-gold carpet that flowed up the staircase. But she managed a sidelong impression of shining brass and mirrors and frothy arrangements of ferns and elegantly dressed people perched on expensive furniture. Piano music shimmered from a nearby room, the rune so soft and sweet that it made Low Down's chest tighten.

Once Max led her around a curve and out of sight of the lobby, she released a breath of relief as if she had slipped safely through a gauntlet. Now she could look around.

"Oh look! There are brass numbers on each door! And crystal globes on the lamps!" The carpet runner displayed a riot of dark-colored flowers and was lovely enough to frame, and there were towering arrangements of fresh lilies on every stair landing. "I ain't never been in a place like this," she whispered to Max, too excited and awed to remember not to say "ain't." "And I never will be again. Ain't it just amazing?"

"Your parcels are inside the room," he informed her, bending to insert the key in the lock. He pushed the door open, then consulted his pocket watch. "It's five o'clock now. I made dinner reservations at the hotel dining room for eight. I'll return around seven-thirty. Will that give you enough time to—" he touched his tie and fumbled for words "—freshen up?"

Her impulse was to ask where he was going, but that was none of her business. And she was disappointed that he wouldn't be present when she examined her purchases. She didn't trust her judgment and would have liked his opinion about her new dresses. Oh hell, what was she thinking of? Men knew even less about fashion than she did.

"I'll be ready," she promised, watching him close the door behind him. The air where he'd stood smelled of bay rum and cigar smoke, and she inhaled deeply, wondering if he would keep his promise about doing some poking tonight.

Heat rushed into her cheeks, and she shoved the thought aside. Besides, he hadn't really promised it would happen tonight. He'd only said maybe.

The first thing she noticed when she stepped out of the foyer and into the suite was the pile of packages she'd purchased. Boxes and bags completely covered a blue-striped sofa and spilled onto the floor. No wonder Max had seemed so terse. He must be angry about how much money she'd spent. She'd been upset herself when she saw the final bill. The only thing that helped was guessing what her duds would have cost if she'd bought them new from the ready-made shops.

Then her eyes widened as the impact of the suite overwhelmed her. A longing came over her to bounce around the room and sit in every elegant chair, examine every bibelot on every elaborately dressed table.

But she wouldn't have touched a single item on a dare, not even if someone had offered to pay her. She was terrified that she'd break something or get something dirty. This was a look-at-only room, not intended for actual use.

And look she did, but from the center of the carpet, a safe distance from any items she felt tempted to touch. Once she'd seen and marveled at everything, she explored further and discovered an indoor water closet. Sure enough, when she pulled the handle, the water in the bowl swirled and gurgled away. She tried it several times, laughing and shaking her head in amazement.

Next to the water closet was a larger room containing a tub and a sink. After testing the tub spigots, she discovered the hot water was only tepid, but that didn't lessen the miracle of having running water right at her fingertips to turn on or off anytime she liked. No one had to haul it inside or heat the buckets at the stove. She'd heard about luxury like this, but she'd sure never expected to experience it for herself.

Leaving the water running and the tub filling, she examined the bedroom next. Someone, probably Max, had put their saddlebags in the closet. The clothing he'd worn earlier today hung on a rod, freshly washed and ironed, ready for tomorrow. None of her clothing hung there, but that didn't surprise her. Max expected her to wear her new lady things to meet his family.

Worried about the water running in the tub, she returned to the bathroom where she curiously studied Max's shaving items with her hands clasped behind her back so she wouldn't accidentally disturb his things.

Finally, she stiffened her backbone, drew a deep breath, and forced her gaze to the mirror above the basin. The dreaded moment of revelation had arrived.

"Oh my gawd!"

Shock darkened her eyes, and she cursed for a full minute. Even for her, she looked bad. There was a relatively clean oval that started at her forehead, curved in front of her ears and ended at her chin.

Beyond the oval lay a summer's worth of grime.

Her skin was golden-brown from the sun and wind-chapped. Her eyelashes were stuck together in clumps.

And, oh Lord, her hair. Her hair was so gray with dust and dried mud that she looked like an old woman. And her clothing. She'd been living in these duds for a while, and they looked it. Probably smelled like it, too.

"Well, damn!"

What she needed was a jug of brew to steady her nerves, and a miracle.

Thank heavens she'd refused to look into the mirror at the secondhand shop. Instinct had warmed her to save the shock of seeing herself until she was alone, and she was glad she'd waited. Because now she had a chance to do something about it immediately.

No wonder none of the men in Piney Creek had wanted to sleep with her.

"Stop that," she said in a low voice, turning her eyes away from the mirror. She needed to stop stewing over that bottom moment in her life when the hat was passed and the men had reached inside, their mouths turning down in dread. All remembering did was make her feel bad.

And she didn't want to feel bad tonight. She wanted to enjoy a real tub bath and the squeak of clean hair. She wanted to wring every tiny drop of pleasure out of staying in a suite—asuite, if you please. The queen of England didn't have it any better than this.

After her bath, she had to figure out how her new clothes went together, a chore she was determined to make pleasurable and not frustrating and annoying. Then she had supper to look forward to, a meal she didn't have to cook, and maybe more music, something lively, she hoped. The best tunes were the ones you could tap your toes to.

And finally, to top off this unbelievable experience, maybe tonight would be the night for a poke. And maybe a baby would result. Wouldn't it be grand to conceive a baby during her one and only night in a real hotel suite? Now that would be a fairy-tale story to remember all of her days.

Laughing softly, she slid under the water and lay on the bottom of the deep tub, blowing bubbles up to the surface.

«^»

M
ax let himself in the door, absorbed with thoughts of the letter he had posted to Philadelphia and her father, turned toward the living room, and stopped short.

Low Down waited near the window, wringing her hands together and peering at him with an anxious expression. He knew it was Low Down because he expected to find her in the suite, but if this woman had walked past him in the lobby, he would not have recognized her.