Microsoft Word - FortunesFool.rtf (17 page)

club chairs scattered about with cast iron scrolled reading lamps and side tables. Off in the back the card tables were filled, smoke coming up from them like chimneys.

He scanned the small crowd and found Charles Fernald and

Robinson Fletcher playing poker with a few others.

He wove through the tables and pulled a chair out next to Fletch

who glanced up at him and threw out a card.

"Slumming?" Fletcher asked, the cigar clenched between his teeth, his face shrouded in a blue-grey haze.

"Not hardly. Dinner at the Prestons, but I slipped out."

Charles ribbed Fletch in the ribs. "I thought you would be looking to replace Beatrice. Trolling the market district looking for a wayward

milkmaid?"

"No, he's aiming for a palm reader." Michael walked up behind him.

All three men stared at him until Fletcher and Charles began to

laugh so hard tears started to roll down Fletcher's face.

Caden nodded at Michael. "Ditch your party?"

Michael shrugged.

Charles took a deep breath and calmed for a moment. "Did she see it in her future that she would be fucking the Vice President of Boston

Trust?"

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Fletch started howling again and slapping Charles's shoulder.

Michael stood watching them and then turned to Caden, "See. I told

you so."

"Which one, eh? Camille?" Fletch got back into the game and

pushed out five chips.

"No, Abigail." Michael pulled out a chair and sat down.

"The old one? Man, the least thing you could do is take the younger one. The older one must not be a very good fortune teller if she hasn't

found herself a benefactor by now." Charles counted his chips, "I see you and raise you two."

"Cheap tonight, Charles? Maybe I can loan you a few." Caden was as angry as the tip of his cigar.

Fletch chuckled. "Put on the banker now, why don't you."

Caden decided he hated the three of them.

Michael snorted. "You didn't think she hasn't pulled this before have you? Why do you think her mother whores out her daughters to every

party?"

Fletch shot back the last of his scotch and plunked the glass on the

table. "Haven't you heard anything about their family?"

"No." He should have left already, but it was as if his feet were cemented in the floor. Dreading to hear what he would be told, but

needing to hear it all the same.

Michael waved at the table with a flourish, "Sit while we tell you a few stories."

His hand rested on the back of the captain's chair as he looked at the

three of them deciding if he would even entertain what they had to say,

and how much he would allow himself to believe. Knowing that tales

would be told whether he were there or not, he yanked the chair out and

sat. "So, we were saying that the mother whores out her daughters."

Michael leaned back in the chair, his arms across his chest.

Not Abby, he wouldn't believe it for a minute.

"Not only does she whore them out, but she taught them all that

psychic crap so they could rub around high as they could. Women love to

spend their husband's money on that shit." Fletch threw down three cards and beckoned Charles, who was dealing, for more. "S'all lies, if you ask me."So Caden had thought, too, until Abby had told him truths about himself that no one but him could have known.

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"Sluts, all of 'em. Even the mother," Fletch continued. "'Specially now that the husband is dead. I've seen her at almost every party. She's always looking for those girls to match up with someone in our set." He nodded, pursing his lips over his cards.

It seemed as if Fletch was tossing them back faster than usual

tonight.

"Better watch yourself, Cade," Michael said. "Women like that are good for one thing only, and that's not being a wife." Michael poked Charles, "Anyway, those gypsy tricks are supposed to make you shoot your load faster than a scared skunk."

He could feel the sweat gathering and the anger running through his

body just like when he was about to get in a scrap in the old days. Maybe he should have stopped them before, but he knew anything he said would

be wasted on them, and he didn't want them knowing what he was up to

anyway. Pearls before swine and all that.

When he was young he had to prove himself with his fists. That was

all he had. No longer, but even now he wanted to take Michael out back.

But, he worked long and hard to groom himself to be better than that.

Still and all, looking at it logically, he knew nothing about her life.

Nothing other than she shook when she climaxed and that she tried to

give him his money back. Which in itself was admirable, but she could

have done that so she could see him again, sacrificing the five dollars in hopes for making more.

He stood up and pushed the chair back. He didn't want to think that

way about her, and he needed to clear his head. He planned on having

her over to the house, and he still would, but maybe this time he wouldn't assume her honesty.

But when had she proved herself to be anything but truthful, even in

sex? He knew the first time they were together she was embarrassed to

do the things he asked, but even still she met him fully in his passion, even overwhelming him with her response. Beatrice on the other hand,

with her it was always an act to get him to give her more, to make sure

he kept up the house arrangement.

Caden regarded himself as a pretty good judge of character and

although this time he allowed for being wrong on a few counts, he

honestly didn't see that depth of guile in Abby.

"Are you going to stand there all night, Caden, or are you in?"

Fletch shuffled the cards.

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Michael sat forward, slipped out his cufflinks, and rolled up his

sleeves.

"No, not this time. I have an early morning." He turned and walked off with his cigar still between his teeth. He took a paper off the bar, scribbled a note, addressed it, and gave it to the waiter.

* * * *

from the mercantile with one dollar in her pocket from selling the quilt she'd made. The store never took any on order, so this would be the only money she got for a few months. It was never enough, but it was more

than she had before she walked in.

Evening had arrived while inside she haggled for every nickel. It

was the time of winter that lasted the longest. The sun went down around five in the evening and it seemed as if spring would never come.

Everything seemed gray, even though she knew spring would eventually

come. She yanked her hat down around her ears and when she looked

back up Mr. Preston was approaching with a beautiful blonde woman.

Whom, she knew was not Mrs. Preston. Mr. Preston leaned down and

whispered something in her ear and the woman leaned into him with a

seductive smile. Abby kept walking, trying to pass, pretending she had

no idea who he was, or that she ate his food the other night at his

daughter's birthday party. And it looked as if he hadn't noticed her at all, which was a small miracle, because Abby was not good at urbane banter.

She snuggled into her coat and recoiled when the woman stopped

right in front of her with a snide smile, Mr. Preston hanging back and

going off to a storefront.

"So, I hear you're Caden's new slut."

"Excuse me?" Abby stepped back at the vicious tone, and her

cheeks felt as if they'd both been slapped. She couldn't believe such nasty words were coming out a woman who looked as she did. Her hair was

upswept in the latest style, her skin was perfect bisque and her eyes were riveting. She wore a dress Abby would have to save years to buy. Abby

must have shown her thoughts on her face because the woman's smile

became superior.

"All this is what Caden bought me. He still loves me, and I know

he'll come back. And you'd never fit in his circle anyway. So, why don't you scamper off like a good girl?"

Her vision swam a moment as she understood what the woman said,

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so it didn't matter. At least not to her. But the woman was obviously hurt by his actions, and Abby felt bad for her. She was enthralled with him

and she'd barely known him.

And then she wondered if this was the relationship that she saw in

Caden's hand. His lines showed that it was a long one, but it was also a shallow line, meaning it didn't mean much to Caden. Apparently the

woman saw things differently. Abby wasn't surprised. After all, she was

having a hard time defending her feelings for Caden, and she'd only

known him a few days. But she saw his character, and his heart that lay

in the lines of his hands.

Abby raised her eyebrow. "And you are?"

"Beatrice. Caden will know."

Even if the woman spent years with Caden, she obviously didn't

know him. Once Caden made a decision it was final. And there would be

no way that he would have the woman after she bedded his friend. Abby

didn't know what to say to Caden about Michael, but she bet he already

knew what kind of man Mr. Preston was.

"Not if I don't tell him. And anyway, I don't think he'd like Mr.

Preston's leftovers." Abby gave Beatrice the once over. "Excuse me."

Abby heard Beatrice gasp and call her another name, but she kept

on walking.

Thankfully her coat was long because Abby was sure anyone on the

street could see her legs shaking. Her stomach trembled as she made her

way around Beatrice to continue on her way home.

Would she tell Caden? Probably not. She didn't want to hear any

explanations as to who Beatrice was, she already knew. And if she

expected those answers from him, he might ask questions, too. Not that

she was a light skirt, but he knew she was no virgin. Nothing good ever

came of those conversations. Some things were better left unsaid.

But Beatrice was beautiful. She could see why Caden was attracted,

and why Michael Preston didn't care if she was Caden's cast off. And

Beatrice was right; she did fit in with Caden's friends better. Beatrice probably knew which forks to eat from, too. And if Caden had left her,

how long did Abby think he'd want to be with her, when she knew none

of those things, and could never be that person?

The inevitable would happen. Abby knew that, and she would be

smart to not get anymore involved. But why was it that even to think of

him made her anxious to see him again?

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Abby walked up the stairs into her house and was greeted by the

smell of her mother's chicken soup cooking and the warmth of the

kitchen. She hung her coat on the tree and spied a note on the side table addressed to her and ripped it open.

Her mother poked her head into the foyer. "Oh good, you saw it.

Dinner is in a few minutes. You have just enough time to wash up. Tell

me what the note said over dinner?"

Abby nodded and climbed the stairs to her room, her heart as loud

in her ears as her footsteps on the stairs. Caden asked her to come by the bank.

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Frist had a bit of the sniffles when he brought her to Caden's door

three days after the Prestons' party. So far, as he escorted her down the office hallway he sneezed three times and never took his kerchief from

under his red nose.

Her mother thankfully hadn't insisted on seeing the note, Abby just

told her, and Caden didn't incriminate. All it asked was that she meet him at the bank, Friday afternoon at five PM. It was a peculiar time to make an appointment, and it was all she could do to keep her anticipation from her mother and sister. She told them he might have a job for her.

A fine sheen broke out of her face as Frist rapped on the door, and

she wished for a fan to cool her even though it was winter.

"Come in." Caden's baritone boomed through the door.

Frist opened the door and there he sat, behind that massive block of

oak with his feet crossed at its corner. He eased up, his movements lithe and slow, as if he knew who would be behind the door. She had the

distinct feeling of being stalked by an animal much higher on the food

chain.

A soft click told her Frist had removed himself to sniffle and

wheeze back to his front desk, and now Caden stood before her, taking

up all of her air.

A tiny gasp slipped from between her lips as he lowered his head to

kiss her, the tension sizzling her skin like water on a hot pan.

He pressed his lips to hers and broke off as quickly leaving her

bereft. "Hello."

"Hello?"

His bemused smile teased a smile from her as well.

"I missed you," he said as he cupped her chin and traced the corner of her mouth with his thumb. The familiarity of him touching her calmed

her anxiety but heightened her ceaseless wanting of him.

She leaned her head into his palm. "I missed you, too. I'm so glad

you sent the note. If you had made me wait I would have been mad with

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despair wondering if I would ever see you again." She couldn't help the overdramatic teasing.

He smiled. "You could have always come here."

She shook her head. "No, if you sent no word, I would never have

come."

"Then let me assure you, you are always welcome. I would hate to