Denver (12 page)

As she glanced in the mirror at him, he laughed and shook his head. “Haven’t you ever given even a little piece of your heart to a man, Dulcie? If you weren’t so good and kindhearted, I’d think it was impossible for you to love.”

“Love is for the princess in the fairy tale,” she said haughtily, hoping her tone hid the hurt she felt. She wanted to cry out that she had a heart and it belonged to him. She loved him as she had never loved anyone
else, but that was exactly why she couldn’t tell him the truth. She loved Dan and she wouldn’t ruin his life or stand in his way.

“She should help you move into Denver society.”

He laughed. “I have to move into Denver society to get her to give me the time of day!”

“Oh, Lord, I hope she isn’t one of those prissy women!”

Dan shifted impatiently, yanking up his coat. Dulcie was beginning to bother him with her questions about Louisa Shumacher. “I’m going to work.”

“Sure, hon,” she said, lifting her face for a slight brush of his lips on her cheek. He looked down at her and patted her fanny.

“You’re fun, Dulcie.” He winked at her and left, his footsteps fading as he went down the hall.

She closed her door and moved to the window. In minutes she watched him stride away, walking briskly, bareheaded. Most people were hunched over from the cold, but Dan was swinging his arms as if it were a May morning while snow sprinkled his shoulders. Tears stung her eyes. “Oh, Dan, my love. I hope she’s a good woman. I hope she deserves you and can make you happy. And I hate her.” She wiped at her tears. “Louisa Shumacher,” she said aloud, determined to get Lyle Workman, who ran a general store, to point out Miss Shumacher to her.

Three mornings later Dulcie entered Lyle’s store. She shivered, smiling and nodding at the group of men clustered around the glowing potbellied stove.

“Howdy, Miss Dulcie,” two of them said in unison.

“How’re things at the house?” another asked.

“How’s Silver Lady?” a regular customer of her house asked.

“Silver’s fine, Thomas. Everything’s fine, except this cold spell has me freezing when I have to go out.”

“Come over here, Miss Dulcie, and we’ll warm you up,” Jake Clozen said, and guffawed, while the others grinned at her good-naturedly. She laughed and passed them. There seemed to be only a few other females in the store. Three young ladies dressed in finery stood
at the counter talking with Lyle, and another was shopping, gathering potatoes out of the barrel. She looked up as Dulcie approached, and smiled.

“ ’Morning,” she said softly, and Dulcie gazed into wide green eyes.

“ ’Morning,” she answered in return. The woman surprised Dulcie, because few of the town’s women would speak to her. But one sweeping glance told her this young woman wasn’t in Denver society. She was far too plain. Dulcie moved on to the counter, where the three young women turned to stare at her.

“ ’Morning, Miss Dulcie,” Lyle said. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

One of the ladies drew herself up. They were dressed in the latest fashion, and Dulcie knew they would never speak to her or even so much as nod.

“Now, ladies,” Lyle said, “I can order—”

“Mr. Workman,” one of the women said in frosty tones, “we’ll come back another time.”

“Miss Shumacher, I’ll be happy to take the order. It won’t take more than a few weeks.”

“We’ll be back another time,” she said emphatically, looking at Dulcie, who stared back defiantly, her gaze sweeping over Louisa Shumacher’s blue velvet coat trimmed in ermine, her fancy bonnet, her eyes flashing with annoyance.

The ladies turned and swept out as Dulcie watched them. The hurt she had felt earlier was growing stronger, because she didn’t want Dan to love a cold, snobbish woman. Louisa was beautiful, but not any prettier than beautiful women Dulcie had known. Louisa didn’t deserve someone like Dan, but men were foolish where beautiful women were concerned. Dulcie turned her attention to Lyle, who shrugged.

She leaned on the counter and lowered her voice, “Sorry, Lyle. I ran them away.”

“Oh, hell, Miss Dulcie, that’s all right. These uppity ladies are a pain in the ass if you ask me, which you didn’t. Your gals and you do enough business here, I don’t want you going to my competition. Those three will come back.”

“I’ll hurry so I don’t run off your other customer.”

“You won’t run her off. What can I do for you?”

Dulcie got out her list, and a half-hour later she had gathered all the supplies she needed. Lyle helped her load them into her carriage, and she went down the boardwalk, heading toward the shoe shop. Planks had been put down across the wide, frozen street of hardpacked snow, glistening now because the weather was finally beginning to warm.

Dulcie had started to cross the street when she slipped. She yelped as she went down, striking her hip sharply on the ice. One man laughed, and another whooped as her skirts flew high. She sat up and started to rise as a hand reached down. The girl who had been in the store helped her up. She looked no older than sixteen.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. I don’t have any dignity left to ruin, and the rest of me is all right. Thanks for your help, miss.”

“O’Malley.”

“You’re Mary O’Malley! I knew Silas. I’m Dulcie Hazelwood.”

“How do you do,” Mary said, smiling.

“Miss O’Malley, you shouldn’t stand here and talk to me. Some of the ladies won’t approve of you if you associate with me.”

To Dulcie’s surprise, Mary O’Malley laughed and her eyes twinkled. “I’m not worried about town ladies disapproving of me!”

Dulcie liked her instantly, and remembered Dan fuming about her, talking about her throwing skillets at him. Dulcie smiled. “Maybe we have some things in common.”

“I’d like to hear about Silas. You should stop at my boardinghouse sometime. It’s on Larimer Street.”

“I might do that. Thank you, Miss O’Malley.”

Mary nodded and strode on. Dulcie glanced at the men calling out to her to give them another good show. She grinned, hiked up her skirts, and crossed the street carefully, walking on the planks and avoiding the ice.

Dan strode through the snow up the steps to the boardinghouse. He had taken time from his job and had made an appointment to see Mary O’Malley at three in the afternoon. It would take only minutes to tell her about the money, and his conscience bothered him that he hadn’t done so sooner. He let the knocker fall with a thud against the door as he noticed a crack in a front window and the worn, weathered boards.

The door opened, and Mary faced him. Her cheeks were flushed, and wisps of unruly tendrils escaped from the tight braids wrapped around her head. “Come inside, Mr. Castle.”

“Thanks. It’s freezing today.” Stomping the snow off his boots, he followed her into a warm front parlor. The furniture was well-worn, but there was a coziness to the braided rugs and a simplicity that was refreshing in a time when styles dictated fancy frills and crowded rooms.

Mary motioned to a chair as he shed his thick coat. His golden hair was tousled and in disarray, and once again she thought how handsome he was. While she sat down on a chair, Dan Castle sat facing her on the settee. He withdrew papers from his coat pocket and leaned forward, his hands on his knees.

“You never have told me how you met Silas.”

“He saved my life.” Thickly lashed blue eyes gazed at her steadily while he related how renegades had captured him and intended to rob and kill him, when Silas rode into sight.

“Silas is an unusual man,” Dan added.

“Yes, indeed, he is,” she said, her features softening and a yearning coming to her voice.

“We rode away from the bandits and later split up. Silas headed north to the gold fields while I turned south,” he said, noticing how intently she listened to him. She leaned forward slightly, sitting as still as a tiny bird on a branch as she gave him her full attention. “I hadn’t ridden long when a band of Comanche made me reverse my path. I had to go back the way I came, and this time I saved Silas from an ambush.”

Fright flared in her features, and Dan hastened to reassure her. “Don’t worry, he’s all right. We traveled together, and he talked me into prospecting with him. We struck a vein in Montana.”

“You did!” Her eyes seemed to widen endlessly, and Dan saw hope flare in her expressive features. “He’ll be coming home?”

Silently Dan cursed Silas for not writing to Mary and for not returning to the Colorado Territory. He knew his next words would hurt her. “Sorry, Miss O’Malley. He wants to come back to you a millionaire, and we didn’t do that well.”

Mary felt a pang that hurt more than she would have guessed. After all this time without word from Silas, she thought she had grown accustomed to his absence, and had prepared herself for the fact that he might not come back, but for a moment her hopes had soared. Now they plummeted back to reality, and it hurt badly to know that money was of more value to Silas than her love.

Dan suspected she was trying to hide her hurt, but it was pitifully transparent. The money should help a little.

He leaned closer and detected a sweet scent of roses, and he noticed that except for the smattering of freckles across her nose, she had creamy, flawless pale skin. “Silas rode back to California to see if he could make another strike. He said he wasn’t one to write letters.”

“I know he’s not,” she stated quietly, winding her
fingers together in her lap and still keeping her face averted as she stared out a window.

“But he saved what he made in Montana. That’s why I’m here. He wanted me to give half to you.” Dan waited to see the surprise and joy in her eyes as he watched her turn to stare at him. He smiled at her. “It’s a lot of money.”

Her face flushed and her high small breasts strained against her bodice as she drew a deep breath. “Silas sent me a lot of money?”

“Yes, he did,” Dan said. He wondered if money were so important to Mary O’Malley, just as it was to Silas, but then remembered that she probably needed it badly to keep the boardinghouse going. His gaze went around the room swiftly, taking in the slightly threadbare furniture, and he was pleased to think Silas had made this provision for her even if he hadn’t returned to her.

“I’ve put the money in the bank for you. I made all the arrangements, and it’s in your name. You can draw it out as you please.” Dan rustled the papers in his hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t get it to you sooner,” he said with another twinge of guilt. “If you remember our first meeting, you didn’t give me much of a chance. Nonetheless, it’s yours and in the bank. Silas was firm—”

“You can take that money to Old Harry and build a fire with it!”

Startled, Dan looked up as she stood and pointed to the door. “And you may leave, Mr. Castle. The next time you see Silas, you tell him it isn’t money that’s important to me. How could he send money and not write or come home?”

“Hey! Wait a minute, Irish! The man’s in love with you!”

“Love? What kind of love is this?” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I haven’t seen Silas for years!”

“He loves you so much he doesn’t want to come home until he’s made a million and can treat you royally.
He sent you a fortune. Now, here are the papers.”

Grasping the proffered papers, she ripped them apart. “That’s what I think of the money!”

“You don’t even know how much it is.”

“I don’t care how much,” she snapped, torn between anger and sorrow. Tears began to well up in her eyes, and she was mortified at the thought of crying in front of this stranger.

“You have to care,” Dan said, his patience slipping. “It’s fifteen thousand dollars.”

Mary’s jaw dropped, and she stared at him.
Fifteen thousand dollars
. Even when Silas had made thousands, he still wouldn’t return home to her! Hurt and anger engulfed her. “Get out of my house!”

“Look, you need those papers. We can glue them back together or I can go back to the bank and talk—”

“I don’t want a penny of it! I won’t take it!”

“It’s in your name and it’s yours.”

“I won’t touch it.”

“I know you can use it. That’s obvious. And Silas wants you to have it,” Dan argued. Her reaction astounded him because he couldn’t imagine anyone who would turn down money, particularly someone as badly in need of it as Mary O’Malley. “That’s your damned stubborn Irish pride talking.”

“It isn’t pride! If he had that much and he…”

Dan realized what she had been about to say. If Silas had really loved her, he would have come home to her. “Look, Silas is a man with a mission, but he loves you. You were all he talked about. He told me about your favorite foods, your favorite song, and your favorite time of the year. I have heard him sing your praises by the hour!”

She shook visibly as Dan Castle’s words made it more difficult for her to stop the tears from falling from her eyes. “I won’t take a cent!”

“You don’t have to. It’s yours already.”

“It’ll rot in the bank!” she exclaimed, mortified that she might cry.

“Now, that is just bullheaded cussedness!” Dan snapped.

She drew herself up and glared at him. “We’re through with this discussion. Get off my property, or I’ll send for the sheriff!”

“How he fell in love with a woman who is as fiery and stubborn as you, I’ll never know!” Dan wanted to shake her. She was too tiny and too young to cause so much confounded trouble.

“There are some things about women you don’t understand.” Scooping up the papers, she stepped to Dan’s side, took his arm firmly, and propelled him toward the door.

“I’m sure when you think about it, you’ll be reasonable and take the money. Silas loves you. He did it for you.”

She opened the front door and handed Dan his coat. “Good day, Mr. Castle.” She flung the bank papers at him and slammed the door in his face. Dan stood there staring at the door.

“Irish, you are stubborn as an old bandy-legged mule,” he said, his fists on his hips. He was torn between kicking open the door and arguing further, and ignoring the papers and leaving Miss O’Malley to her poverty-stricken life. Suddenly he laughed and shook his head.

“Silas, you didn’t warn me that the woman you love is a little firecracker!” he said softly, picking up the torn bits of paper. He smoothed them out and glanced at the total: fifteen thousand two hundred dollars, actually. His gaze went over the cracked pane and the worn boards, and he remembered Mary O’Malley’s patched dress. He sighed and jammed the papers in his pocket.