Forbidden Page 4

  “As I said, my name’s Rhine. And yours?”

  “Eddy. Eddy Carmichael.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Miss Carmichael. You gave my partner Jim and I quite a scare out there in the desert, but I’m pleased to see you are recovering.”

  Then her muddled brain remembered Nash’s perfidy and her walk across the desert, but nothing else. “How long have I been here?”

  “Four or five hours.”

  Lord, she was thirsty. “May I have some water please?” she croaked. She felt so weak. It was not a state she was accustomed to.

  He poured her a glass from a pitcher on the nightstand and handed it to her. “Slowly,” he advised softly. “Just a little for now.”

  She nodded and took a few short swallows. The water tasted so good and she was so thirsty she wanted to down the entire offering, but heeding his advice, she took only a few more slow pulls. Done, she handed the glass back and her parched throat savored the relief. “Why am I so weak?”

  “Walking the Forty Mile Desert under a full sun takes its toll. So, Miss Eddy—­facilities or back to bed?”

  She hated to admit it but she really needed choice number one. Thoroughly scandalized, she confessed softly, “The facilities, but I can walk. Just point me in the right direction.” Looking around, she didn’t see a screen of any kind.

  “It’s at the end of the hallway.”

  “Oh,” she said disappointedly. Still bent on getting there under her own power, though, she wrestled with the blanket in an attempt to fashion it around her waist. Trying to get it out from under her hips and secured without treating him to another show of her legs was a struggle, however. He’d seen more of them than any man ever before.

  “Do you want to go today?” he asked in a tone of muted amusement.

  She shot him a glare. Reasonably certain the blanket was secured, she said, “Yes.” Now she just had to get up. No small task. The fullness of the blanket made it difficult to get her feet planted so she could stand. She decided she’d use the side of the bed to give her the leverage she needed. She scooted closer.

  “You always this stubborn, Miss Carmichael?”

  “It’s called determination, Mr. Fontaine.”

  “I stand corrected.”

  Giving him another withering glare, she grabbed hold of the bed’s wooden side panel and began working herself to her knees. She made a bit of progress, but her weakened state conspired against her efforts. Refusing to surrender and breathing harshly, she slowly inched herself to a standing position, careful not to get her feet fouled by the swath of blanket, and promptly keeled face forward onto the mattress.

  Chuckling softly, he picked her up from behind and placed her gently into the cradle of his strong arms. He smiled softly. “It’s called stubbornness.”

  Rolling her eyes, she allowed herself to be carried from the room.

  Rhine came from a long line of determined women, and the little lady presently in his washroom could have been one of them. While he stood waiting in the hallway a short distance away from the closed door to give her the privacy she needed, he had nothing but admiration for Miss Eddy Carmichael. He wondered again what she’d be like at full strength. Those withering looks she kept shooting him had probably brought more than one man to his knees, but he was finding them amusing.

  The door opened and there she stood, upright but panting from the exertion. She appeared to be wobbly on her pins and on the verge of toppling, so he went to her and picked her up. She didn’t protest but he could tell by her tight face that she wasn’t enjoying being carried as much as he seemed to be enjoying offering the assistance.

  He set her gently back in the center of his bed. “Would you like more water?”

  She nodded.

  He poured again from the pitcher.

  When she’d had her fill she handed the glass back with a shaking hand. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “And thank you and your friend for rescuing me.”

  “You’re welcome for that, too.”

  “I had a carpetbag with me. Did you find it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you bring it to me.” No matter her condition, she wasn’t going to go without underwear.

  “Yes, I will. Now, lie back.”

  Again a nod. He waited while she undid her cocoon. From the slow pace of her movements, she obviously had very little strength, but rather than offer to help and draw her ire, he let her handle it alone. Finally free of the blanket confines, she slowly spread it out, seemingly careful to keep her lovely legs hidden from his sight. Content, she snuggled in. If she had any lingering worries or misgivings about being in the room with him, she didn’t voice them. “Rest now,” he told her quietly. A blink of an eye later she was asleep. Shaking his head at her determination, he went back to his chair for some rest of his own.

  The next time Eddy awakened she was alone. The drapes on the windows were drawn, giving her the sense that it was night and making her wonder how long she’d slept. Finding herself alone was a relief. Seeing her carpetbag on the nightstand was a relief as well. Her rescuer had been caring and attentive, but a woman like her had no business in the home of a White man, let alone his bedroom. So far, he’d lived up to his pledge of not harming her, but would it last? She would have to trust him at least for now. For her own peace of mind though, she needed somewhere else to recover, but her still weak state made that a problem. She knew no one in Virginia City. Was there a Colored community? If so, did he know someone who’d be willing to put her up until she got back on her feet? For a woman who’d always depended upon herself, being bedridden was maddening. That she had no idea how long it would last only made it worse. Struggling up, she retrieved the carpetbag and after puzzling over the torn blouse she found inside, she took out a clean pair of drawers. It seemed to take a lifetime to get them on but she managed. She didn’t have the strength to add a shift so she left it off.

  Hearing the doorknob turn, she raised the blanket to her chin. Fontaine walked in.

  “Good evening, Miss Carmichael.”

  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 w
on’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.

  Rhine 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.

  Carrying 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

  When 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.”