Angel in My Arms (19 page)

Now that they had admitted to each other and accepted that there was
no permanent relationship, the tension between them had eased. Fox was
warm to her, even flirtatious and charming. In her domestic style,
Celeste cared for him in the small ways that she had once dreamed she
would care for a husband. It seemed that they had parted a week ago,
but were now slowly coming full circle to meet again.

Celeste watched Fox as he shoveled coal bare-chested. The yellow
lamplight illuminated the perspiration that beaded on his broad chest
and rippling muscles. As he swung the shovel and flexed his biceps, she
couldn't help recalling what his skin had felt like beneath her
fingertips. She shivered despite the heat of the summer evening as she
recalled the feel of his hands on her body. Sweet God in heaven, he was
a handsome man. Another time, another place, and perhaps things could
have been different between them.

"Need something?"

Celeste blinked, startled. She'd been caught staring at him, and this wasn't the first time this week.

Fox leaned on the shovel, taking a breather. He smiled lazily at her, that smile that made her knees shaky.

She held up the vest lamely. "I… uh. I found this in my mending
basket." She picked at one of the tin buttons. "It was John's. I
wondered if you want it. I could find a new button."

Fox's gaze shifted reluctantly from her tired, pretty face to the vest. He felt his smile harden on his face.

The old leather vest brought an unexpected rush of memories, and the
emotions that weighed them down. The gingerbread house, the coal
bucket, the dog at his side, the beautiful redhead, all faded into the
mists of the past.

He saw a little boy standing on a stone step. Where had it been?
Boston, or St. Louis? The dark structure of the boarding school loomed
over the boy, but the building wasn't distinctive. In his mind, they
were all the same.

The boy cried silently, his hands pressed woodenly to his side.

John MacPhearson stood on the far side of the empty street, his
hands thrust into his breeches. He was wearing the new leather vest.

"Don't go yet," the child murmured.

"Gotta go, the boys is waitin'," John answered. "Now you go on back into school. I'll be seein' you soon enough."

"Not 'til spring," the little boy said, trying to be brave. "You
said not 'til the rivers thaw, and you can paddle your way back."

"With a ton of gold ore on my back," John promised with a grin.

The little boy's face brightened. "Then we could live together, sir? You and I?"

John plucked at one of the tin buttons of the leather vest.
"We'll see. We'll see." His eyes downcast, he tapped the brim of his
hat. "Well, you take care and do your studies. You get smart so's when
you grow up you can be a rich man in a black suit."

Then John ambled away and Fox was left alone on the step. Alone again. Alone with his tears.

"Fox?"

Fox focused on Celeste's face again. She had moved closer, though he
didn't recall her walking toward him. The vest was still in her hand.

"Where the hell did you get that old thing?" He picked up the
shovel. His heart pounded in his chest and his eyeballs were scratchy.
After all these years, he still felt the pain of his abandonment.

"I told you. My mending basket." She touched his sleeve. "Fox, are you all right?"

"I don't want the vest. Give it to Petey. Burn it. I don't care." He
leaned on the shovel, knowing she couldn't have missed the tremble in
his voice.

"Fox, if you would tell me—"

"I don't want to talk about it." He thrust the shovel into the pile
of coal and picked up the filled bin by the handle. He headed for the
kitchen.

She followed. "If you could tell me about your past, about you and John, you would feel better."

Damned perceptive, green-eyed woman,
he thought. "Don't want to talk about it. No point."

She squeezed through the door with him, preventing him from passing her and continuing on into the kitchen. "Fox."

His gaze met hers. "Celeste, what's done is done. It can't be changed."

"You need to forgive your father for whatever he did."

He felt a chill deep in his chest, a chill that threatened to climb
up his throat and strangle him. "And what if he doesn't deserve
forgiveness?"

She reached up with one hand and caressed his cheek. Her touch made
him want to close his eyes and bask in the nearness of her. The warmth
of her.

"Maybe he doesn't deserve it, but you do."

"I don't know what you mean." He studied her green eyes, full of
caring, sincerity. God in heaven, why did she have to be a whore? Why
couldn't he feel as if he could trust her… love her. It would be so
easy to love her.

"I think it's this bitter grudge that's tearing you up inside. It's
why you pace the floorboards at night. It's what's keeping you here
when you could have gone home to San Francisco."

You're who's keeping me here,
he thought. He glanced away, the heavy coal bin still in his hands. "You don't understand."

"Make me understand."

He shook his head. "I can't talk about it." It came out as a whisper.

She studied him for a moment and then smiled gently. "All right. How about some supper?"

Their gazes met again, and for a moment he felt cared for, almost
loved. He was grateful for Celeste's concern, but also grateful for her
acceptance. What woman had he ever known who knew when to push and when
not to?

"Thank you," he murmured.

"Nothing?" Celeste asked despondently as she stared down into the dark mine shaft.

Fox pulled a red handkerchief from his pocket and wiped some of the dust from his face. "Nothing."

She watched his hand as he wiped his neck and the V of chest hair
that protruded from his red flannel work shirt, and wondered what it
would be like to touch him like that.

For over two weeks they had worked side by side from dawn until
dusk. While Fox drilled and dug, Celeste ran for tools, hauled buckets
of dirt, and kept the men fed. There had been nothing but business
between her and Fox, just as they'd agreed. They spoke only of the land
and the gold they hoped to find. But as the days passed, the nervous
tension between them mounted, their attraction to each other stringing
tighter and tighter, like a band of rubber, bound to snap.

"There's no gold here," Fox continued. "Hell, there's no gold on any
of this land." He stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket,
sounding as disappointed as Celeste felt. "I sent Titus and Pete home.
They've been digging for ten days straight, without even a Sunday off."
His gaze met hers. "I thought they could use the rest."

Celeste stared at the pile of earthen rubble at her feet. The warm
wind that blew through the aspens along the creek bed teased locks of
red hair that had tumbled from her battered hat. "Guess they could."
She pushed back her hair impatiently. "Guess we all could. You look
worn out."

Then, for the first time in almost two weeks, Fox touched her. He
reached out and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. "So do you,"
he said tenderly.

She was wearing one of John's old brimmed felt hats, a pair of denim
breeches, and a man's white shirt, yet he made her feel feminine.

Without considering the consequences of her actions, she caught his
hand before he pulled it away, and held it to her cheek. "I suppose
it's time to let the dream die. You were right from the very beginning.
There's no gold here. John just hoped there was. You should go home to
your nice house in San Francisco, and I should stop putting off the
inevitable." She tried not to think about what their failure really
meant to her or how hard it would be to go back to Kate's. She didn't
want Fox feeling sorry for her. This was her life, and though she
didn't like the hand she'd been dealt, at least she'd managed to remain
free of a man's control. At least her bad choices were her own.

Still standing an arm's length from her, Fox smoothed her cheek with
his palm. "Ah, Celeste," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "I
wish I could—"

"What? Take me away from here?" She sighed. "Don't say it. Please don't say it, because we both know it's not going to happen."

Guilt seemed to fill his eyes.

She looked down so as not to make it any harder for him… for herself. "We should just say our goodbyes and you should go home."

"Home," he mused. "Hell, I don't—"

Something at her feet caught one of the last rays of the setting sun and reflected the light. "What's that?" she interrupted.

"What?"

She kicked the small chunk of rock near the toe of her men's work
boot, afraid to touch it. "That. See the way the sunlight glimmers off
it. It's black. It shouldn't shine," she said carefully.

"Odd." He leaned over and picked up a rock the size of a small
pullet egg. He rubbed one of the craggy edges with his thumb, an
excitement in his voice. "Celeste. Tell me something. "

"Yes?" She stared at the rock and held her breath.

"Have you ever seen silver?"

"Silver?" she exhaled.

"Silver. White metal, not the dog. Not as precious as gold," he
said, the excitement in his voice building, "but damned precious if
you're a man, or a woman, in need."

She took the chunk of rock with its blackish matrix from Fox's hand
and rubbed it vigorously with the corner of her white shirttail.

Fox stared at the metal. "What does the creek run off?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's a branch of some river, right?"

"A creek," she answered. "Clear Creek, I'd guess."

He kicked at a pile of dirt and rubble they'd brought up from their
last hole, and picked up another rock. He rubbed it. "I've heard rumors
about some old miner finding silver off Clear Creek."

Celeste's eyes widened. "Is it?" she asked softly, as though if she spoke too loudly, it wouldn't be so. "Is it silver?"

"I'll be damned," Fox whispered, a light passing over his face that
she'd not seen since he arrived in Carrington. "I'll be damned, old
man. You were right." He gave a laugh of amazement as he picked up
another chunk of rock, and another. "Riches beyond your dreams, just
not in gold." He thrust a handful of dirty silver ore at her. "Silver,
Celeste. Silver."

Celeste squealed in delight and, without thinking, threw her arms
around Fox. "Silver? Silver?" She kissed him on the lips, laughing with
excitement. "It can't be!"

Fox let the silver nuggets fall from his hands to take her in his
arms. "Silver!" He threw his head back and his laughter came from deep
in his belly, his soul. "It's silver, all right. My father really did
leave me something." He picked her up in his arms and swung her around.
"Silver, silver," he whispered against her lips. "Enough for us both.
The answer to our hopes, our dreams, Celeste!"

As he set her back on the grassy ground, he lowered his lips to
hers. This time their kiss was not one of congratulations or
excitement, but of passion.