Forbidden (4 page)

As he approached the bed, she offered a hesitant nod. She wanted to ask about the blouse but was still leery.

“Feeling better?”

“Somewhat. What time is it?”

He pointed at the clock hanging on the wall. “Nine in the evening.”

She felt like a ninny for not having noticed the clock earlier. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Since about midnight.”

“Last night?”

“Yes.”

She'd slept away almost an entire day!

“Do you need my help?”

He was referencing the facilities, and she was embarrassed all over again. “Yes.”

Without a word, he gently scooped her up, blanket and all. He glanced down into her face. Holding her eyes, he asked, “You don't like this, do you?”

“No.” The faint scent of his cologne and the heat of his body whispered to her softly.

“You'll be on your feet again soon. I promise.”

She dearly hoped so. As for the whispers, she attributed them to being unwell and shook them off.

When she was back in bed, she asked, “Did I really hear music just now or is it in my head?”

“No, it's the piano player.”

She cocked her head. “Piano player?”

“Yes. I own a saloon. We're on the floor above it.”

“A saloon!” She didn't think her situation could get any worse.

A slight smile curved his lips. “I'm afraid so. It's called the Union Saloon. Jim and I own the place.”

She fell back against the wealth of pillows. “I shouldn't be here.”

“I've made arrangements for you to move into Sylvia Stewart's boardinghouse, but she won't have room for another few days.”

“Is she a Colored woman?”

“Yes.”

That relieved her somewhat.
I'm in the bedroom of a saloon owner!

“We run a respectable place here, Eddy. There are no prostitutes on the premises, and no one knows you're here but Sylvia, Jim, and myself. We plan to keep it that way.”

Lord. A saloon!
“Thank you.”

“Hungry?”

“A little.”

“I'll have Jim fix you something. Sylvia's a nurse and wants you to eat lightly. She also sent over some aloe to help your skin heal. It's in that small jar on the table there.”

Eddy eyed the brown jar.

“She says you're to rub into your face, arms, and hands.”

“What's aloe?”

“Cactus. Out here we use it for burns. Where are you from?”

“Denver. I was on my way to California when I was robbed.”

“By whom?”

“Man named Nash. He told me he was a Catholic priest and offered to let me ride with him in exchange for my cooking, but he wanted more than that.” She didn't elaborate. From the way Fontaine's jaw tightened, she was fairly certain he knew what she meant. “When I said no, he took my money, set me down, and drove away.” Thinking about it made her enraged all over again. She wondered if the little boy Benjy was really an orphan or a part of the scam.

“You could've died.”

“I don't think he cared.”

“When you get on your feet, we'll have a talk with Sheriff Howard. This Nash needs to be found.”

“I agree.” And when he was, she wanted to be the one wielding the bull whip.

“Enough questions. I don't want to tire you out. I need to get back downstairs. I'll bring your food up directly.”

“Thank you.” She watched him depart.
A saloon! Good Lord.

R
hine entered the kitchen. Jim Dade was not only his business partner but the Union's cook as well. He'd learned his trade at a fancy hotel in Saugatuck, New York. Like many men in Virginia City, he'd come west hoping to make his fortune in the mines, but on his first day underground he was so overcome by the terror of being in a confined space, he never returned. It was Rhine's gain because the man cooked like a god.

“She was robbed.”

Jim looked up. “The little lady upstairs?”

“Yes.” Rhine related the story.

“And he was posing as a priest? This Nash sounds like someone I'd like to meet.”

“Agreed. I'd like to teach him the error of his ways. What a bastard.” Like Eddy, he doubted that was the man's true name. “She says she's hungry. Can you make her some eggs?”

“Sure. Just give me a few minutes.”

Rhine left Jim to do his magic and stepped into the loud, raucous confines of the saloon. The place was filled with the usual evening crowd. Miners were at the bar unwinding after their shifts belowground, day laborers were drinking and playing dominos at a table to his left, and throughout the room various card games were in progress. He moved among the men, sharing greetings and laughter, listening to the latest rumors about everything from new mine strikes to who might run for mayor in the next election, and buying drinks for those who'd had a particularly bad day. Rhine genuinely liked his clientele and they liked him. The Union, a typical western saloon, was atypical, too, in that it led the competition when it came to the quality of the food served. No other place offered better cuts of meat or stocked a wider or finer variety of spirits. He and Jim recently installed a new gaslighting system that didn't fill the air with the noxious fumes usually associated with the old system, and the Union was the only saloon to have it. The Union was also the only saloon in the city that welcomed Colored people. Although he'd made it known that his doors were open to everyone, the Whites refused to patronize the Union because he didn't discriminate. It stuck in their craws like fish bones that such modern elegance would be offered to a race of people they deemed beneath them, but he didn't care because bigotry was the only reason that kept them from partaking of the elegance as well.

Kenton Randolph, Doc Randolph's eighteen-­year-­old son, was the Union bartender. “Things seem to be going well tonight,” Rhine said.

“Yep. Everyone's behaving themselves, so far, even Ethan Miller.”

Rhine turned his attention to the only white face in the room. The blond-­haired Miller, twenty-­two-­year-­old son of wealthy mine owner Crane Miller, was playing poker at a table by the window on the far side of the room. Because of his rowdy reputation, only a few saloons in the city allowed him entrance. He also had a penchant for cheating at cards, which accounted for his slightly crooked nose, broken in a fight with an old miner a few years back. He tended to behave at the Union. “Keep an eye on him.”

“Will do.”

Rhine returned to the kitchen. Her food was ready.

C
arrying the tray, Rhine entered the room. Eddy sat up slowly, giving him the impression that he'd awakened her, and he was instantly contrite. “I didn't know you were sleeping. My apology. I can take this back.”

She dragged herself up to a sitting position. “No. Please. I didn't know I'd fallen asleep.”

“Are you sure?”

She gave him a nod.

He walked over. “Where do you want this?”

She eyed the tray with its covered dishes. “Here on my lap, I suppose.”

He handed it to her and she gingerly set it atop her blanket-­covered thighs.

“I'm sorry for taking over your bed, and your clothing.”

“Don't worry about it. Getting you better is the only concern.”

“You've been very kind. Once I get back on my feet, I'd like to repay you in some way. I can scrub your floors or launder the shirts you've let me borrow. I'm also a very good cook. Maybe I can make your favorite sweet. Do you have one?”

Rhine wondered what was wrong with him. When he first entered the room, the sight of her looking all newly awakened and soft in his shirt played havoc with his insides. He was supposed to be taking care of her, not wanting to slip beneath the blanket and explore her sleep-­warmed ebony skin. “Uhm, no. Not really.” She was a beauty, and not even the near fatal trek through the desert that left her wan and weak and her hair an unruly mess could hide it. He reminded himself again that he already had a beautiful woman in his life.

“I've never met anyone who didn't have a sweet tooth, Mr. Fontaine.”

“Then I suppose I'm your first.” There was more drawing him than just her beauty. He found the brief flashes he'd seen of her determination so intriguing, he wondered what it might be like to know her better, learn her hopes, dreams, likes, dislikes, and where she'd gotten the courage to set off for California alone. He shook himself free and found her staring up curiously.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No.”

Eddy had no experience with men, but there was something in his gaze that gave her pause. He was without a doubt the handsomest man she'd ever met, but she knew a man of his race and wealth wouldn't be interested in a near destitute Colored woman, at least not legitimately, and yet . . . “I—­should probably eat this before it goes cold.”

In a voice as quiet as the room, he replied, “Yes, you probably should.”

For a moment she was unable to look away, and he seemed equally held. Whatever was happening lengthened until she finally forced herself to break the contact. “Tell Jim thank you,” Eddy said, needing to say something. Focusing her attention on her plate, she fought to concentrate on picking up her silverware and not on the rising draw of Fontaine's nearness beside the bed. She dipped the tines of her fork into the steaming scrambled eggs.

“I'll look in on you later.”

“Thank you.” Eddy watched him leave. Only after he exited and the door closed behind him did she realize she'd been holding her breath.

Outside in the hallway, Rhine exhaled, too, and told himself that the best way to handle whatever this was would be to ignore it.

Chapter Four

W
hen Eddy awakened next the room was shadowy but faint lines of sunlight played along the edges of the drapes. A look over at the clock showed its spindly hands set at twelve and six and she hoped it meant six in the morning. She didn't want to know she'd slept away the balance of yet another day. She paused and listened for sounds from the saloon below but heard nothing. Back home in Denver saloons were usually closed during the early hours and she assumed the same to be true here. The chair Fontaine had been sleeping in during her stay was empty, and although she wondered about his whereabouts, she was glad to be alone. She felt better than she had in days and was determined to make it to the facilities on her own this time. Moving the blanket aside, she drew in a deep breath, swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and eased her bare feet to the floor. Her legs shook a bit but held her weight. Pleased, she took a few steps. To her disappointment she was still weak, but decided if she went slowly she could make it to the washroom and back without collapsing.

The plan went well, sort of. By the time she made it back to the bedroom, she was sweating profusely, her breathing was labored and Rhine Fontaine was standing in the room looking like a parent ready to scold his child.

“You have to be one of the most hardheaded women I've ever met.”

Using the edges of the furniture in the room to guide her back to the bed, she said, “I'm sure that isn't true, but thank you for the compliment.” Because wrapping herself in the blanket would have impeded her movements, she'd left it behind. The hem of his long-­sleeved white shirt fell past her knees but the bottoms of her legs and her feet were bare. “And no looking at my legs.”

“They are quite lovely.”

She turned to glare at him but the ghost of a smile playing across his lips made hers peep out of its own accord. “You are no gentleman.” She slowly climbed back onto the bed and fell back. “Mercy.” She felt like something newly born.

“Learned your lesson?”

“Probably not.” After catching her breath, she angled her head his way. “I've worked six days a week since I was twelve years old, and I've never been bedridden in my life. This lying around is hard for me.”

“Your recovery will take longer if you don't let your body rebuild its strength.”

Frustrated, she turned her eyes to the ceiling and blew out a breath. “I suppose.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Famished.”

“That's probably a good sign. Jim's in the kitchen. I'll be bringing you breakfast shortly.”

“Thank you.”

“In the meantime, let's get you a fresh shirt.”

She watched him open the large wooden wardrobe. The number of shirts hanging inside was impressive and spoke to his wealth. He took down one and a dressing gown and walked them over to her.

Sitting up, she took the garments from his hand. “May I have a basin and some soap so I can wash up a bit before I put these on?”

“Would you like me to run you a bath?”

“I'd love a bath, but as weak as I am, I'm likely to slip beneath the water and drown.” The dream she'd had of being in a tub swam up from her memory, but she refused to share it. He didn't need to know he'd been in the dream and she didn't need any whispering this morning.

“I'll get you the basin.”

He returned promptly with a pitcher of warm water, a clean porcelain basin, soap and towels. He set everything on the bedside table.

“Thank you. This shouldn't take long.”

“I'll be back with your breakfast in about thirty minutes. Enough time?”

She nodded.

Once she was as clean as washing in a basin would allow, she donned his shirt and then the dressing gown. It was made of black silk and the most expensive article of clothing she'd ever worn. She rolled back the too long sleeves then ran her hand over her hair. It was such a mess. She wished she could do something about it but doubted he'd have anything she could use to dress it, so she'd have to let it be until she moved into the boardinghouse. Waiting for him to return, she picked up the small jar of aloe, undid the lid, and sniffed the contents. Finding it pleasant enough, she rubbed some on her face and pushed up the sleeves to do the same with the skin on her arms and hands. Her blistered hands ached, and if this would help dull the pain, she was all for it. She was recapping the jar when he entered. The Colored man with him made her pause.

“Eddy Carmichael. This is my business partner James Dade.” Although she had expected the partner to be White, he was a tall muscular dark-­skinned man with a kind smile.

She nodded shyly. “Good morning. Pleased to meet you.” She did her best not to think about how appalled her late mother would be knowing she was entertaining two men while in bed.

“Same here,” Dade replied. “Thought I'd come up and see how you were faring. Rhine says you're feeling better?”

“I am. Thank you for the rescue and for feeding me. The food has been delicious.”

“I appreciate that. I don't get many compliments about my food around here. People usually eat and leave without so much as a howdy-­do.” And he threw his partner a meaningful glance.

Rhine countered, “I compliment you on your food all the time.”

“He's lying of course, but that's neither here nor there.”

She liked Jim Dade. “Maybe when I get back on my feet I can repay you by cooking for you.”

“You're a cook?”

“I am.”

“So that's why you had that brazier with you when we found you.”

“Yes.”

Fontaine asked, “Would you care to have company for breakfast? Jim and I would like to join you, but if you prefer to be alone . . . ?”

“I know it isn't considered proper, but your company would be welcomed.”

When Jim exited to go get the food, Rhine tore his eyes away from the sight of her swathed in his black dressing gown and concentrated on placing chairs around the small table. “Would you like to join us at the table or eat where you are?” He was glad Jim would be joining them for the meal because he needed the buffer.

“The table, please.”

He made a move to cross the room to carry her the short distance but she put up a hand to stay him. “No. I can make it by myself.”

Admiring her single-­minded determination, he nodded. “Whatever the lady wants.”

Draped in the too large dressing gown, she slowly made the short walk to the table and sat down. “See?” she said, showing him a small smile of triumph.

“You are moving better.”

“Still not as well as I'd like though.”

“Give yourself time.”

“Patience is not one of my virtues.”

“I sensed that.”

She cut him a look but there was a smile in it.

He sat and asked one of the questions foremost in his mind, “So why California? Do you have family there?”

“No. I was hoping for a fresh start. There was nothing for me in Denver. I'd like to own a restaurant, and from what I've been reading in the newspapers, California seems the place to try. I know I'll probably have to work for years doing something else like cooking or scrubbing floors until I can save enough money, but I'm not afraid of hard work.”

The more Rhine learned about her the more impressive he found her to be. An urge to offer her the funds she needed rose up so intensely inside it almost spilled from his lips, but he knew she wouldn't accept so he asked instead, “Did your family in Denver try to dissuade you?”

She shook her head. “My parents are dead. They died in a snowstorm when I was twelve. I have a younger sister, but she and I are estranged.”

“My condolences on both.”

“Thank you.”

“So you set out not knowing anyone?”

“Yes. Do you find that odd?”

“Frankly, yes. I don't know many women who'd strike out that way alone.” His sister Sable had set out towards her future alone, too. He thought she and Eddy might be cut from the same cloth and would probably get along. He just wished he knew where she was.

“I was doing fine on the journey until I ran into Nash—­which I doubt is his true name.”

“Whatever his name, the authorities will find him.”

“I hope so. He had a little boy with him. He said he was taking the boy to an orphanage but I don't know if that was the truth or not.”

“I'll let the sheriff know about the boy.”

“Thank you.”

Although they weren't talking about weighty matters, Eddy was enjoying their conversation. Her initial fears about whether she'd be safe with him were all but dissolved but the need to leave was still keen. Memories of last night's interaction returned, bringing with it the sensation of how time seemed to stand still while looking into his eyes, but it wasn't something she needed to be thinking about. A quick glance his way found him viewing her so intently she was caught yet again. Breaking the contact so she could breathe, she asked, “How long have you lived in Virginia City?”

“Since 'sixty-­six. Came west after the war.”

“Where's your home?”

“Georgia.”

“Do you have family there?”

“Not anymore. I have a brother in San Francisco, and I lost track of my sister during the war. My parents are dead.”

“My condolences.”

He nodded.

She knew that many families had been torn apart during the war. Back in Denver she'd worked at the hotel with a man who'd spent two years walking across the South looking for his sold-­away children and wife but never found them. “Is your sister younger or older?”

“Two years younger.” The smile in his eyes made her think he cared for her very much. Eddy wondered if he'd fought on the side of the Confederacy and if his family owned slaves. She didn't ask. Such questioning was rude and he'd been incredibly kind to her. She didn't want his reply to the slave owning question to be yes because it would undoubtedly change how she viewed him, kindness or not.

Silence rose, and as it lengthened, Eddy searched for something else to talk about, only to have him ask, “Do you have a hobby or a favorite pastime?”

“Yes. Sleeping,” she said with amusement.

“Sleeping?”

“I worked fourteen-­hour days. I'd go home, grab a bite to eat, and go straight to bed because I had to get up before sunrise and do it all over again. There wasn't time for pastimes or amusements.”

“I see.”

She tried not to be moved by the gentle understanding he exuded and failed. “When my parents died, my sister and I had no other family. People from the church took up a small collection and they brought us food and wood, but they had children of their own and couldn't afford such generosity for very long, so I hired myself out.” She thought back on how achingly weary she'd been day after day during that first year and how scary life had been. Her hands had cracked and bled from all the lye, and her knees had fared no better from being on them constantly, but her skin had toughened up and so had she.

“It must have been hard.”

“It was. In many ways it still is, but if I don't work, I don't eat. It's pretty simple if you think about it.”

He studied her silently for so long the air in the room seemed to still.

“If you could have one wish, what would it be?” he asked.

“To have two wishes.”

He smiled at that. “Okay. What would they be?”

“One, to have my own restaurant, and two, to have my nieces come and live with me. They're my sister's girls. Ages ten and twelve. Life's very hard for them, too.” She wondered how they were doing. On the few occasions that she prayed, they were who she prayed for. “I love them very much.”

“They're back in Denver?”

“Yes.”

“I could loan you the funds to bring them out for a visit.”

Eddy shook her head solemnly. “No. I appreciate the offer but you've done more than enough.”

“If you change your mind—­”

“I won't, but thank you.”

“Okay.”

She was glad that he hadn't pressed her. He'd gone above and beyond in his generosity. She already owed him a debt she'd never be able to repay. The situation with her nieces would be worked out once she got back on her feet. Her situation with him was another matter, however, and in spite of trying to keep her attraction to him at bay, she was as curious about him as he seemed to be about her. Jim returned then carrying a tray filled with covered dishes, and in a way she was grateful for something to concentrate on besides Rhine Fontaine.

Once the food and tableware were distributed they dug in. Her plate held scrambled eggs, a piece of toast, two strips of bacon, and applesauce. Theirs had eggs, too, but they were accompanied by fragrant, steamed potatoes seasoned with peppers and onions, large fluffy biscuits running with butter and honey, and thick slices of ham. Eddy looked between her scant serving and their huge helpings and the men must have seen the question on her face because Fontaine explained, “Sylvie said to feed you lightly.”

And before she could protest, Jim added, “And we are far more afraid of her than of you, little lady, so eat up.”

Pouting and chuckling, she did as told.

Which was a good thing because as they were finishing up a woman knocked on the opened door and walked in. “Good morning everyone. Eddy, I'm Sylvia Stewart. You must be feeling better.” She had caramel skin and was of medium height. Eddy guessed her to be middle-­aged, but like most women of color she wore her age well.

“Good morning,” Eddy replied, smiling. “I'm pleased to meet you, and yes, I'm feeling much better. Mr. Fontaine and Dade were nice enough to eat with me and keep me company—­even though I know it isn't proper.”

She waved it off. “You'll get no lecture from me. Have you been using the aloe?”