Quicksilver Passion (23 page)

Same thing, damn it! Same thing!” The girl began to shake uncontrollably and a tear made a hot, crooked trail down her cheek. Fear like that couldn’t be faked. Deep shame swept over him.

He felt a deep urge to reassure her, to protect her from whatever ghosts were mirrored in those hard eyes. Cherokee looked down at her.
I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

He reached up and she shied away, but he wiped the tear from her cheek with one big finger. For a moment, he thought she would scream. Instead, she took a deep, shuddering breath and turned away from him.
Don’t touch me. Don’t even think about it!”

He would never get the beauty on her back beneath him—at least, not on this trip.
I’m going back up Mosquito Gulch in the morning as soon as I get my burro shod. You won’t be bothered by the likes of me anymore.”

Good!” Silver glared at him. She brushed her hand across her mouth slowly. He couldn’t be sure if she was regretting her decision or making sure he hadn’t kissed her.
What had crossed her mind just then?

There was so much more he wanted to say. But when he started to speak, she made a contemptuous gesture of dismissal.
Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it. All you men only want one thing from a woman!”

She grabbed her cash box and stalked from the cubicle, leaving him to gather up the money off the table with a sigh. Cherokee suddenly wanted to possess more than her body; he wanted her heart and soul. Whatever it was in her past that haunted her made her unable—or unwilling—to ever let a man caress her, or make love to her.

He left the Nugget and trudged back to his hotel. To break down that frigid reserve, he’d need time and an opportunity to get her away from her ugly bartender watchdog. He couldn’t see how he could do either one . . . not unless he kidnapped Silver and held her prisoner up at his lonely, isolated mountain cabin.

Silver lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. It must be sometime in the wee hours of the morning, but she couldn’t sleep, even though the town had finally quieted down.

She was afraid of the dark. Had been ever since . . . no, she would not think of that tonight. She would think good thoughts. After all, she was still pretty and her face was her fortune. Wasn’t that what Ma had said? But she wouldn’t always be pretty.

Silver got out of bed and went over to study herself in one of the many mirrors in her room. Even in the dim moonlight, she could see well enough to reassure herself that her face still reflected her flawless beauty. Without that, Ma had said she was worthless. In fact, the plain, dumpy Norwegian had seemed to resent her only child’s looks.

You’re just like your father, Sylvia,
Ma would whine resentfully,
good-looking and worthless. Lars
Hanssen drank hisself to death, he did, and left me with his brat and nothing else but a few poor acres and a couple of cows.

They both labored from sunup to sunset to sell enough milk and eggs in the nearby town to survive. But as the years passed, Ma begin to think of Sylvia’s blond beauty as an asset when men started to comment favorably on her child.

You may be worth something yet,
Ma opined.
Use that beauty to marry some rich man who’ll take care of your old Ma in style.

Sylvia didn’t say anything. Secretly she wanted to be a teacher and help those who were even worse off than she was. Then Ma had married one of their customers, Elmer Neeley.
She would not think of her stepfather tonight.

Silver returned to her bed, pulled the covers up to her neck, and shivered a little in the chill air. She had only been sixteen when Ma married Neeley and they moved into his big house in town.

The young girl was uncomfortable with the way the man looked at her all the time he was courting her widowed mother. And when he kissed Sylvia after the wedding, he forced his tongue between her lips.

Afterward, he never missed an opportunity to kiss or hug Sylvia, or brush against her in a hallway. The girl didn’t know what to do or whom to tell. She was too innocent to know whether all stepfathers acted this way or not.

Ma seemed to be blind to it all. She prattled on and on about how Sylvia would now have a chance to meet rich, eligible young men because of Neeley’s social connections. Elmer Neeley himself said Sylvia was too young to be courted yet and wouldn’t allow boys to call on her. After all, he said, she was a mere schoolgirl.

He began to spy on her when she changed clothes or took a bath. In spite of everything she could do, she never knew when she would look up suddenly and find her stepfather staring at her half-dressed or even naked state.

Finally one night, she awakened to find him in her bed, his hand tightly clasped over her mouth.
I’ve waited a long time for this, you sweet blond bitch! I only married your mother to get you!

Elmer Neeley was a big man and she was small. She fought him in vain. If he hadn’t had his hand over her mouth, she would have screamed from the pain and terror of his brutal assault, of his wet mouth all over her breasts and body.

She told no one. Who would believe her anyway? Probably not even Ma, who was deliriously happy with her new role as a respected member of small town society. Sylvia ran through all the possible people who might help her. There were none. As a shy, country-raised girl, she had no friends to confide in.

Elmer Neeley was a wealthy, respected pillar of virtue in the small Illinois community. She thought about the schoolmaster, the preacher, the police. She had a sinking feeling that no one would believe her and she would be ostracized, and hated, even by her own mother. Sylvia locked her door after that night. Elmer Neeley had a key made. She pulled furniture against the door before she went to bed. He was big enough to push it open anyway.

She hated and feared the darkness because she knew that often, while her mother snored loudly down the hall, her stepfather would come to her room. He told her again and again that it was her fault for luring him with her ripe young body. He laughed that if she told, no one would believe her and that he would see that she was sent to one of those terrible places for wayward girls or an insane asylum. He was a rich, respected businessman and no one would believe a stupid little schoolgirl.

Weeks turned into months while she tried to think of what to do. In desperation, she decided there was no alternative but to run away. She had no money and no destination in mind—she only wanted to escape from her stepfather’s lust. There were no friends or family anywhere she could turn to.

Meanwhile she came to fear the darkness—the endless nights of terror and pain. Sylvia often prayed that her mother would awaken suddenly, come in, and discover her husband in her daughter’s bed. Not that it would do any good. She had a feeling Neeley would say the beautiful Jezebel of a daughter had seduced him in spite of his noble, fatherly intentions. Rather than face the terrible truth, Ma would turn on her child in a jealous rage and drive her out of the house.

And that’s exactly how it finally happened. Sylvia fled into the night with nothing more than the clothes she grabbed off a chair. She hitched a ride on a hay wagon into Chicago and found herself out of the frying pan and into the fire. Little Sylvia Hanssen soon discovered that Chicago was no place for a pretty blond girl with no money and no friends. It was Sodom and Gomorrah all over again. If it hadn’t been for Al . . .

She would not think about those horrible Chicago years now. Silver pulled the blankets up and curled into a ball. She would think about something that made her happy. She searched her memory. There wasn’t much. But at least she was financially secure. Her violated beauty had bought this prosperous saloon and a bureau drawer full of expensive jewelry. Her beauty kept the men coming in just to look at her. When she danced and sang, she didn’t feel worthless anymore—not with all those adoring faces staring at her. Let them look in vain. Never again would she have to submit to the lust of a man. And when her looks were gone, she would still have the security of the money the Nugget earned.

Cherokee Evans. She thought about the rugged half-breed who had come in two nights now. She knew what he wanted from her. She could see it in his eyes. And he was big—bigger than Neeley or Bart Brett at the Velvet Kitten. It would be sheer agony and humiliation if he forced her.

He wouldn’t even offer her the security of marriage. She knew men didn’t really want girls like herself. They all wanted innocent virgins. Oh, a man might marry her to get her body for his private use. But someday when she was no longer pretty or he tired of her, she’d be at the world’s mercy again.

It was almost dawn. The first gray light touched the elegant bedroom. Cherokee. She saw his face before her suddenly, remembered the heat of his hard muscles as he lifted her and carried her to the sidewalk. And last night . . . She had struggled between terror and an unfamiliar emotion when he had stepped toward her and she had stumbled backward, knowing he wanted to cover her mouth with his hot kisses. She wished she could believe that he might really feel something besides lust. How often in the night, when the nightmares came, did she awaken shaking and covered with perspiration, aching for the warm strength of someone who would hold her and reassure her that everything would be all right?

Silver got up, blew out the lamp, and reached for a peignoir. She heard the slow beginnings of the hustle bustle of the boomtown activities on the muddy street out front. As she went to the window, she stopped at the nearest mirror to assure herself that, yes, she was as beautiful as the day before.
Or was that a new, tiny wrinkle?

At the window, she stared out. The half-breed came down the street, leading his burro. Possibly he felt her gaze, because he stopped in the middle of the street and looked up into her eyes. Very slowly, his hand went to his lips as if he was wishing.
Or was he taunting her?

With an arrogant sneer and jerk of her head, she turned and moved away. It seemed an eternity that she fought with herself to keep from returning to look out. When she finally did, all she saw was the outline of his broad back in the distance as he and the burro headed toward Mosquito Gulch. Somehow she was a little disappointed. She didn’t know what she had expected—maybe to find him still standing in the middle of the road staring up at her.

Drat him! She didn’t need the kind of trouble the big bruiser would bring her. Silver watched him until he disappeared in the distance. Then she went over and picked up the silver-heeled shoes. Like it or not, the half-breed had given her a new nickname. Silver Heels.
What difference would it make a hundred years from now?

She’d be dead and forgotten a hundred years from now. If she could have done something worthwhile with her life, someone might have remembered her. Thinking of passing time made her think of aging. Silver turned and stared at her reflection.

Your face is your fortune, but otherwise, you’re as worthless as your drunken father.
Her mother had said it so many times. It must be true.

Cherokee resisted an urge to turn around and look back over his shoulder at the settlement. If he saw her one more time, he might not be able to resist this overpowering urge to run up the stairs and carry her off kicking and screaming. If he could just have her in his power for a few hours until he got his fill of her beauty and her body, surely he could forget about her. Unsatisfied male lust—that’s all it was.

As far as kidnapping her—no doubt the sheriff and a lynch mob of prospectors would come to the rescue. Best he put her out of his mind and get on with his life. Next time it was his turn to come in for supplies, he’d go to another saloon and avoid the Nugget. He’d find some blond whore and take her to bed for a week. With his body satisfied, he could forget the frigid beauty who haunted him now. To hell with Miss Silver Heels!

But despite himself, he couldn’t get her off his mind as he led the animal back toward the claim in Mosquito Gulch. Hours passed before he came to the little gully that lay below their crude camp.

Cherokee paused, drinking in the beauty around him. The air felt crisp and cold, the mountains shone with snow. The scent of blue spruce trees drifted on the clean air. He glanced off in the distance. Always a chance for one last blizzard in the early spring. He didn’t like the looks of the horizon. Clouds hanging over the silhouetted peaks loomed a threatening gray. What did it matter? He was safely back from his trip. He hoped everything was all right here.

Bill?” He put his hand to his mouth and shouted again,
Bill?”

Cherokee’s elderly partners must be up on the claim. He hoped nothing had happened to the two old men. Bill was deaf as a rock and limped on a bad leg. W illie had a twisted left hand from an old mining accident. The three of them should put their small store of nuggets in a bank instead of piling it under the woodpile. Even a stupid thief would think to check that favorite hiding spot. But Bill and Willie didn’t trust banks.

He saw the reflection of the rifle barrel in the rocks even as he threw up his hand to protest. The bullet took his hat off. Cherokee hit the dirt.
Not only deaf, but half blind,
too!
Bill? For God’s sake, don’t shoot! Don’t you know your own partner?” He lay there in the bottom of the gully, his face pressed into the gravel.
Bill?”