Angel in My Arms (35 page)

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
lightheaded. 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. "You 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.

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."