Jo Goodman (15 page)

"She's one and the same," Berkeley told him. "And don't ask me to explain. I can't." It wasn't even what the lines of his life told her. It was what she
felt.
"In any event, your life will be rather complicated by her. Interesting, I think, but complicated."

"It became that this morning," he said under his breath. He surprised himself by thrusting out his hand again. "What can you tell me about wealth, Miss Shaw? If you're going to read palms to miners, then you have to be very clear about money."

Berkeley hesitated. She really had no desire to hold his hand again. There was a certain amount of discomfort in touching him that owed nothing to reading his palm. He made her aware of herself, of her breathing, of her rapid pulse, of the tremor in her own fingers.

Attempting to hide her reluctance, Berkeley accepted his palm. She could feel him start to withdraw even as she took it. She raised her eyes curiously.

"I don't expect you to do something you find distasteful," Grey said. "It's clear you're having second thoughts."

"No," she said. "You don't understand. It has nothing to do with you, not the way you obviously think."

"Suppose you explain."

"No, I don't think I will." She would not make herself the object of his amusement by admitting he made her heart beat a little unsteadily. Berkeley drew Grey's attention back to his palm. "Wealth is the one constant in your life, Mr. Janeway. You've always been a rich man."

Grey almost laughed aloud. It hadn't been very many years ago that he had been fighting for food scraps. If the hardtack had only one wormhole, it was fit for eating. He could have been moved to kill for a mouthful of biscuit that wasn't mealy, if there had been such a thing. "You may want to look at that again," he said.

She did. "No, I'm not mistaken. You have quite a lot of money. You always have." She put down his hand again. "I find it odd that you came to San Francisco at all."

"Oh? Why odd?"

"I imagine that most men come here for the same reasons as my... my father. Because they entertain some hope of a rich strike and wealth beyond what they can spend in their own lifetime. You have that already. I would say you were born into it."

"You're wrong there," Grey said. "But I've made my fortune, so I won't quibble with your interpretation. Can I expect not to lose it?"

"I believe it's safe to say that."

Now Grey did laugh. "You don't want to give away the game, do you? Too many particulars might spoil it for some people, is that the way it works?"

Berkeley didn't deny it.
What would have been the point?
, she thought. "Something like that," she offered.

"Another enigmatic reply," he said approvingly. "I rather think you
do
have a talent, though what can be made of it remains to be seen." Grey stood. Without explaining himself, he left the bedroom, then the suite.

Berkeley heard the door of the sitting room open, and his footsteps receded in the hall. She looked at the cat in bewilderment but the tabby accepted her notice as an invitation and launched herself onto Berkeley's lap. Her claws dug painfully into the satin dressing gown, causing Berkeley to give a little yelp. She pulled the cat away, held her at eye level, and spoke to her sternly. She was developing the finer points of her lecture when Grey returned.

"Oh," she said softly, lowering the much chastised cat onto her lap. "I didn't hear you come in."

"So I gathered." He remained just inside the doorway. "I've asked Shawn to come up here. And we're also going to get some food. I assume you're hungry."

She was almost sick with hunger, but it was of little consequence to her. Berkeley looked down at herself, then at Grey. "I'm not dressed to receive a visitor."

Grey watched her yank the robe's sash more tightly around her. It caused the lapels to part again and presented a glimpse of the high curves of her breasts. No, she was not dressed to receive a visitor. "See what you can find in my trunk," he said. Grey checked his pocket watch. "I would have thought Sam would have been back by now."

Berkeley barely heard him. Cat in tow, she hurried into the dressing room and shut the door. Knowing that Grey would probably consult his watch as she performed her change, Berkeley flung open the trunk and rooted through it quickly. She appeared in the bedroom a few minutes later wearing a blue-chambray shirt, denim trousers, and a pair of thick socks. The long tails of the shirt were bunched inside the trousers, while the trouser legs were bunched inside the socks. Her hair was once again tucked inside a hat, this time one of his.

Grey stared at her. "You look..." He paused, searching for an adequate description. "Thick."

Berkeley flashed him an uncertain smile. "Yes, I do rather. I can't help it though. You really have nothing suitable."

"Yes, well, Sam can't get here soon enough to my way of thinking." He turned as he heard Shawn's approach behind him. "This way, Shawn."

Berkeley had hoped to see a tray of food in the worker's hands, but they were empty. Her stomach rolled again, this time with dread.

Grey directed them both to sit down on the window seat then motioned Berkeley to take the bewildered worker's callused hand. "Miss Shaw has a bit of a trick, Shawn. I'd like to hear your opinion of it."

Berkeley lifted Shawn's palm, supporting the back of his hand in the same manner she had Grey's. "You've had a hard life," she said quietly, "but no harder than you expected. There was an important loss early on. One of your parents." She shook her head. "No, that's not quite right. It was your grandmother who was raising you; she's the one you miss." Berkeley didn't look up to see Shawn's astounded expression. "You can expect to live a long life and marry again but you won't have any children. Any
more
children, I should say. You'll prosper here in San Francisco though not in the goldfields." She raised her face and smiled at him. "Watch Mr. Janeway," she said. "And learn from him. He can make you a rich man."

Shawn Kelly snatched his hand back and cradled it against his chest as if he had suffered an injury. "She's bewitched, Mr. Janeway, and that's a fact."

"Yes." Grey sighed. "I suspect she is."

The thickly muscled laborer stood up, clearly stunned by what he'd heard. "Not a soul here knows about my grandmother," he said. "I never said a word."

"Are you married?" asked Grey.

Shawn shook his head. "I was though. My Meg died. And we have two children, just like she said. A boy and a girl. Meg's mother's bringin' them up, and I'm to send for them when I'm settled myself." He looked down at Berkeley. "And you think if I take my cue from Mr. Janeway, I'll make my fortune?"

"I know you'll prosper," she said.

"Oh my," he said, awed.

Grey's tone was dry. "Indeed." He blocked Shawn's path as the worker would have made a quick exit. "What I'm interested in, Mr. Kelly, is if you would have paid Miss Shaw for the information she just gave you."

Shawn's black brows came together in a single line above his eyes. "Hope's a precious thing," he said. "I'd pay for a piece of it, Mr. Janeway. Sure, and I would."

Grey nodded. "You can go."

Shawn backed out of the room, thanking Berkeley as he went. He excused himself when he bumped into Grey, then he hurried out.

Grey was grimacing as his attention turned to Berkeley. "Thank you very much."

His tone made no sense to her. He didn't sound pleased at all, and she had only done as he asked. "I don't understand. You asked me to—"

"I didn't think you were going to tell him to watch me. I won't be able to turn around without seeing him. The idea that I can make him a fortune is absurd."

"He didn't think so."

Grey had to agree with her. Shawn took the information in stride. "Let us establish right now that whatever else you choose to tell these men about their futures and fortunes, my name will not come up in it."

"But—"

"Miss Shaw, I can't very well have a band of miners in step behind me."

"But you can't dictate that sort of thing. I shall have to find some other way to say it if it comes up again."

Grey decided he could be satisfied with that for now. "What about his family?" he said. "How did you know he was married?"

"There were two marriages indicated in his palm. It was safe to assume that at his age one had already taken place."

"No, Miss Shaw, I mean
truly,
how did you know?"

Berkeley remained silent.

"So I'm not the only one with secrets," Grey said.

"Believe as you like, but don't ask me again how it's done when you don't want to hear the answer."

Grey was considering how to reply to that when his thoughts were interrupted by a shout from the hallway. He heard Berkeley following him as he went to the sitting room to get the door. "Luncheon," he said, taking the tray from Mike Winston. "Where'd you get this?"

"The El Dorado."

Grey knew it would be better than edible. It would be delicious. He thanked Mike but saw that the worker was hesitating, shuffling slightly and trying to glimpse past him into the interior of the sitting room. "Is there something else?" asked Grey. He had a fairly good idea of what it might be.

"Well, sir," Mike began somewhat uneasily. "Shawn stopped me as I was coming in the front and told me the oddest thing. I was... well, I was wondering, Mr. Janeway, if the lady would have a go at my hand. Sort of set me on the right path, so to speak."

Grey turned to Berkeley. She was staring hard at the tray of food in his hands. "Perhaps later, Mike. The lady's hungry—"

"No," Berkeley said. "I'll do it."

Shrugging, Grey let Mike pass and set the tray on the desk. He sat on the pine crate behind it and began uncovering dishes. The El Dorado's cook had prepared the seafood gumbo that was her particular specialty. The stew was so spicy the aroma alone burned the back of Grey's throat. Somewhere in the French Quarter of New Orleans there was a brothel sadly missing Annie Jack's fine cooking. It was San Francisco's gain.

Grey scooped rice into a large bowl and added a substantial helping of the gumbo. He tore the crust off the slab of warm bread then began eating while he watched Berkeley draw Mike Winston in with a few words and a shy, sideways look.

"Right here," she said, tracing his lifeline. "See how it branches? This is a picture of the confusion you sometimes experience. You've had choices in your life, not too few, but too many, and you wonder about some of them. You wonder how different your life might be if you had stayed on the farm." She paused. "Ohio? Is your family's farm in Ohio?"

"Yes, miss," he said eagerly. "It is."

Grey almost choked on his second mouthful of gumbo. "Mike, I thought you were from Kentucky."

"I am. Directly south of Cincinnati. Part of the farm borders the Ohio River. Easy enough for her to get confused about a little thing like that."

"Yes, isn't it," Grey said.

Berkeley ignored him. "Do you have a question for me?" she asked Mike.

"What?" Grey said, feigning surprise. "You don't know what he wants to know?"

This time Berkeley's mouth pursed to one side, and she had to draw on a well of patience to keep silent.

It was Mike who defended her. "Please, Mr. Janeway, she can't think if you keep interrupting."

"I apologize." He noticed that the cat was circling his legs, and he dropped her a bit of shrimp. "You'd think she would know," he whispered to the tabby.

"Your question?" Berkeley asked again.

Mike thought he was going to ask if he would strike gold. Instead, he heard himself say, "Will I see my family again?"

Berkeley Shaw felt the full measure of yearning that prompted that question. She looked down at his palm and answered the only way that she could. "Yes, you'll see them again. Sooner, rather than later. You should write to them. Let them know that you miss them." Her voice was hushed. "That you love them."

Mike Winston drew back his hand and offered heartfelt thanks. "You don't know... this means... thank you..." He couldn't manage to quell his youthful grin and walked out of the suite looking even younger than his twenty-four years.

Berkeley closed the door after him, but she didn't move away from it. It took a moment to collect herself. In spite of the heat of the day and the warmth of clothes she was wearing, she was cold. It was a deep, abiding cold, the kind that made her bones ache and drew her muscles taut. She also knew she was its source and there was no escaping it.

Carefully, feeling brittle and unsteady, Berkeley crossed the room. She put a hand on the back of the chair, held her place, and then sat down slowly. Taking off the hat, she placed it on one corner of the desk.

"Are you all right?" Grey asked. His eyes had narrowed as he watched her at the door. He continued to scrutinize her.

"I'm fine." She had been showing off, she thought. She had no one to blame but herself. In order to prove her talent, she had to allow herself to be vulnerable, and this was the price of pride. "It takes a while sometimes to recover."

"Very affecting."

Berkeley didn't respond. She gathered her damp hair in a fist and drew it around her shoulder. Silently, she began plaiting it.