Angel in My Arms (11 page)

The yellow dog looked up from a hole he was digging in the wet soil of one of her flower beds, and cocked his head.

"You know, the truth about males and their worthlessness," she said.

The dog whined.

"Present company excluded."

He returned to his task in the muddy hole.

Celeste sighed as she glanced up at the dark house. Only one window
was lit, the large wallpapered bathroom that had been John's pride. It
had a flush commode, running water, and even a hot-water tank for
bathwater.

A shadow passed on the back wall and Celeste thought she heard the sound of pipes banging as water rushed through them.
Fox. He must be taking a bath.
She looked away, wondering if he realized he needed to close the frilly
white drapes. Not that it mattered. The back of the house faced the
mountainside. There was no one but the coyotes to see his bare bottom
if he was about to undress.

She couldn't resist. She glanced in the window. Sure enough, he was
disrobing. From her vantage point on the bench, she could see him
perfectly through the large, uncurtained window to the left of the back
door.

He slipped out of his pinstriped waistcoat and leaned to hang it on
one of the wooden pegs that ran half the length of one wall. His shadow
danced on the papered wall behind him.

Slowly he untied his cravat, staring straight out the window, his
gaze unfocused. Though she knew he couldn't see her in the dark, she
felt guilty for watching him, but not guilty enough to look away.

He slipped the white cravat from his neck and reached down to
unfasten the tiny buttons of his starched shirt. A V of skin and curly
chest hair appeared.

Celeste moistened her lips. She'd never seen a man disrobe so
slowly. The men she knew rarely took off their clothes. Mostly they
just dropped their dirty trousers, which was fine with her. John had
slept in a red union suit; it wasn't until he was in the last stages of
his illness that she ever saw his bare chest, and then he had been
embarrassed.

Silver barked and Celeste glanced up. She knew she probably
shouldn't be alone outside in the dark like this. What if Margaret's
killer was lurking about?

Silver barked again as he chased a mole or some other creature that had come out of the hole he was digging.

"Shhhh!" she warned. "Silver, hush."

The yellow dog ran around the side of the house, his nose pressed to the ground.

She glanced back at the window. Either Fox hadn't heard the dog
bark, or he paid no mind to the sound. His shirt fell open to bare his
broad, planed chest sprinkled with dark hair.

Celeste exhaled softly, mesmerized as he peeled the shirt off
muscular shoulders, slipping it over strong forearms. He undressed so
slowly that it seemed like a dance. She knew by the expression on his
face that his thoughts were faraway. Where? With the woman he had
mentioned? Was he remembering the feel of her skin against his? Her
burning kisses?

Surprised by the wave of jealousy that washed over her, Celeste
reminded herself that the woman was dead, for heaven's sake. And it
wasn't as if Celeste could have ever competed with her. The woman,
whoever she had been, had surely been a lady. Men like Fox and Gerald
only become involved with ladies.

Pushing thoughts of Gerald from her mind, Celeste glanced at the
window again. Fox had discarded the white shirt. He lowered his hands
to the waist of his pinstriped trousers.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," she said softly to herself. But she couldn't look away. She just couldn't.

Fox's fingers found the button of the waistband and unfastened it.

Celeste held her breath, though why, she couldn't imagine. She'd
certainly never been interested before in what lay beyond that button.

Fox turned away just as he slid the trousers down and Celeste caught
a full view of muscular male buttocks. Her breath caught in her throat.
His back was broad and planed with muscle, his buttocks firm and
powerful. As he walked away from the window toward the porcelain tub,
she caught a glimpse of long, lean legs.

Celeste raised her hands to her lips as he disappeared from view. "Oh," she murmured.

Something touched her knee and startled her.

"Silver!" she breathed as the dog pushed his dirty muzzle into the
folds of her gown. "You scared me." The dog panted as she patted his
head. "Are you ready to go inside, boy? Had enough?" She rose, feeling
a little out of breath, and headed for the back door."Good, because I
think I've had quite enough night air as well."

Sometime in the middle of the night, Celeste stirred and rolled over
in her bed. She heard the sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway.
Silver lifted his head from her feet and whined. Celeste opened her
eyes, unsettled by the sound in the hallway.

John's dead. It isn't John.

Then she remembered Fox.

The footsteps halted directly outside her door. Celeste lay still,
now fully awake. What was he doing? Would he dare come into her room?

Then she heard his footfall again. He walked to the end of the hallway and down the stairs.

Silver whined again, and Celeste sat up to stroke his smooth head,
"It's all right, boy. I guess he's not much of a sleeper, just like
Johnny."

By the light of the moon that spilled through her window she saw the
dog stare at her with big, liquid brown eyes. He licked her hand and
laid his head down, as if the mention of his old master soothed him.

Then Celeste heard the sound of the front door opening.

The dog lifted his head off the bed again.

"I hear it, too," she said softly. "Strange he would go outside. It
must be two or three in the morning." Curious, she climbed out of bed
and padded barefoot across the cool floor to the window. The flannel of
her high-necked, white sleeping gown brushed her toes as she walked.

Celeste parted the curtains to look down on Plum Street. The window
was locked. She had checked it twice before she went to bed, fearful of
the killer.

A shadow moved from her porch onto the street, cloaked in black. It
had to be Fox. She watched until he disappeared into the darkness,
headed toward town.

Celeste let the curtain fall. "What do you think he's doing?" she asked Silver as she climbed back into bed.

The dog didn't answer.

Celeste laid her head on the embroidery-edged pillow and stared up
at the punched-tin ceilings. "Strange," she said sleepily. She closed
her eyes and snuggled under the flannel blanket. "But then, aren't all
men?"

"Good morning." Fox walked into the kitchen.

"Good morning." Celeste turned from the stove, hoping her
embarrassment didn't show in her cheeks. The moment she saw Fox's
handsome face, she thought of the sight of his bare chest and buttocks.
One seemed to be as aesthetically pleasing to her as the other. Of
course he had no way to know she'd been watching him, but she felt
guilty and embarrassed just the same. "Coffee?"

"Please." He was carrying the same book he'd been reading yesterday.

"I see you're reading about wine." She cracked an egg in a spider skillet.

"An interest." He set the book on the table and reached past her to pour himself a cup of coffee.

She smiled dreamily. "Mmmmm. I always thought I'd like to live in a
vineyard, walk the rows of grapevines, watch them grow and produce."

He halted in mid-stride between her and the table, the cup of coffee poised in his hand. "What did you say?"

She felt self-conscious around him this morning.
Sweet heaven,
she thought,
maybe Sally Is right. Maybe I do need to get back to work. This life of domestication is making me lamebrained.
"I just said I used to think I'd like to live in a vineyard. Own one,"
she confessed. The minute the words were out of her mouth, she
regretted them. Women didn't own vineyards.

He continued to the table and sat down. "I once thought the same thing," he responded with a wishful tone.

"Well, why don't you?" She carried the hot pan of eggs to the table
and scooped a portion onto each plate. "A wealthy man like yourself, it
could be an investment." She added several strips of fried pork to his
plate.

"You sound like a business woman, yourself." He picked up his fork.

She returned the skillet to the stove and came back to the table
with a cup of coffee for herself. "You have to be in my line of work."
She reached for a slice of toasted bread on a serving platter between
them.

He looked at her as if he failed to see the humor of her statement.

She laughed. "I'm sorry if I make you uncomfortable referring to my
occupation, but I live with it every day, and I won't be ashamed of
myself or pretend I'm something I'm not." She took a bite of the toast.
"Try the eggs. Mrs. Tuttle sent them. She has a whole henhouse full of
eggs. I keep trying to pay her for what she sends me, but she refuses.
She's a nice woman."

"Maybe she thinks that if she stays on your good side, you won't service her husband." This time he laughed.

And Celeste had the good humor to laugh with him. "Joash Tuttle?
That's funny. I doubt he even has relations with his own wife." She
chuckled again at the mental picture of Joash in his red union suit
climbing into bed with Mrs. Tuttle, nightgowned to her ears.

Fox laughed with her and it made Celeste smile. She'd always
preferred female company to male, but Fox was so easy to talk to. To
get along with. When he wasn't angry with her, at least.

"So, shall I borrow Kate's wagon this morning?" Celeste asked. "I
think the road should be dry enough to make it to the claim. We can
walk around a bit. You can tell me what you see with your educated eye."

"I'm not saying that I'll be able to come up with any better idea
than John had," Fox confessed, "But if you and I are going to be
partners, we should work together."

Partners, is it, now?
Celeste thought. But she didn't say anything. Fox was a complicated man.

There was a knock at the front door and Celeste rose. "Who could that be? Sally and the girls are never up this early."

It was Ace with a note for her. A telegram. She thanked him with a
warm smile and closed the door with a shaky hand. The telegram had to
be from Denver.

She unfolded the sheet of paper from the telegraph office.

I need you

stop

Adam

She refolded the paper on the crease with a shaky hand. Her stomach was doing flip-flops.
Oh, heavens what's wrong?
she thought.
Is he sick? Hurt?

"Is everything all right?" Fox appeared in the hall doorway. "Celeste?"

She looked up from the telegram. "I have to go to Denver."

"Denver?"

"Now." She made a dash for the staircase. If she ran, she could
catch the nine o'clock train. Otherwise she'd have to wait for the
four-thirty the day after tomorrow, or get a stagecoach to Odenburg and
catch the train there.

"Wait a minute," Fox called after her. "We were going out to look at the claim. We should discuss this. Can't it wait?"

"It can't wait," she called over her shoulder as she took the stair steps two at a time.

"Celeste! Celeste!" Fox called after her. "Hold on!"

But Celeste didn't hear another word. All she could think of was
Adam, as she turned at the top of the stairs and ran for her bedroom to
pack her carpetbag.