brawl, but not so long that he'd forgotten how to
swing. He knew what Celeste was, but he didn't like hearing it come out
of this jackass's mouth.
"Miss Kennedy has offered the hospitality of her home to me while my father's estate is settled," Fox said icily.
Tate looked away, backing down a notch. "So you didn't know Mealy Margaret?"
"No, sir."
"But you came in on the 4:30 the night she was murdered?"
"Coincidence."
Tate didn't say anything. Fox took that as his opportunity to
depart. He slid off the bar stool that wobbled and picked up the glass
Silver had used. "Thanks, Sal. What do I owe you?"
"For water?"
Fox hooked his thumb toward the bar stool. "You ought to get that thing fixed before someone falls off it."
Sal frowned and leaned his elbows on the bar. "John MacPhearson used
to do the repairin' 'round town. Never charged nothin' but a rye or
two."
Fox nodded and glanced at the stool again. "Well, I may be around a
few days. Might come by and take a look. Once upon a time I was good
with my hands."
For the first time Sal met his gaze and something twinkled in his eye. "That'd be nice of you, Mr. MacPhearson."
"Fox." He tipped his bowler hat and walked out of the saloon with Silver on his heels. "Have a nice day, gentlemen."
Back at the house, Fox and the dog ate what was left of the angel
food cake, bread and jam, and some peas he found in the icebox from the
night before. Silver wouldn't eat the peas, so Fox gave the mutt the
last slice of his bread. Their meal finished, they went into the parlor
as twilight settled. It was too early to go to bed, but Fox didn't know
what to do with himself.
He missed Celeste's light footsteps, the delicious smells that came from the kitchen, her voice.
He sat in a chair with a newspaper on his lap and scratched Silver
behind the ears. Fox had never had a dog, not even as a child. He had
never thought himself the kind of man who would like a pet, but
honestly, he enjoyed the dog's company.
"So who do you think is in Denver?" Fox contemplated as he stared at
the gas lamp that flickered and cast shaky shadows on the floor and far
wall. "A man? A client?"
The dog licked Fox's fingers.
"She doesn't seem the type to be in a place like Kate's. Maybe she's
working on her own, trying to build business in Denver. Or maybe…" He
stared without seeing. "Maybe she has a wealthy, married man. He
beckons; she runs to him."
The dog stared with big, limpid brown eyes.
Fox sighed. He couldn't believe it. He was jealous. He was jealous
that Celeste might be lying in bed with some fat, balding businessman
at this very moment, while Fox sat talking to a dog. The truth, though
hard to admit, was that Fox wanted to be in Celeste's bed.
He wondered what it would be like to stroke her hair, to nuzzle her
breasts, to make her sigh with pleasure. Of course Amber had always
faked her pleasure with Fox. All whores did. Would Celeste be the same,
or could he crack her veneer? He liked to think he could arouse her.
But more importantly, he liked the idea that maybe he could make her
feel—really feel. She had certainly unsettled
him
emotionally.
Fox groaned and lunged out of the chair, letting the newspaper fall.
The dog started.
"Want to go for a walk, boy? I can't stay here. I can't just sit
here and think about her." He walked into the foyer and grabbed a
sturdy coat made of denim that he'd found in his father's armoire. In
the same dresser he'd discovered denim pants and a durable brown shirt.
From under the iron bed he'd retrieved a pair of work boots. They had
all been his father's, and though Fox had never worn such common men's
attire, he liked the feel of it against his skin. He liked the smell of
the washed clothing. Probably because it smelled like
her.
Silver bounded toward the door. "We'll go for a walk and then hit the bed early."
Silver followed him out the door.
"I figure she's got to be back in a few days, but we might as well keep busy while she's gone. Let me go
swing. He knew what Celeste was, but he didn't like hearing it come out
of this jackass's mouth.
"Miss Kennedy has offered the hospitality of her home to me while my father's estate is settled," Fox said icily.
Tate looked away, backing down a notch. "So you didn't know Mealy Margaret?"
"No, sir."
"But you came in on the 4:30 the night she was murdered?"
"Coincidence."
Tate didn't say anything. Fox took that as his opportunity to
depart. He slid off the bar stool that wobbled and picked up the glass
Silver had used. "Thanks, Sal. What do I owe you?"
"For water?"
Fox hooked his thumb toward the bar stool. "You ought to get that thing fixed before someone falls off it."
Sal frowned and leaned his elbows on the bar. "John MacPhearson used
to do the repairin' 'round town. Never charged nothin' but a rye or
two."
Fox nodded and glanced at the stool again. "Well, I may be around a
few days. Might come by and take a look. Once upon a time I was good
with my hands."
For the first time Sal met his gaze and something twinkled in his eye. "That'd be nice of you, Mr. MacPhearson."
"Fox." He tipped his bowler hat and walked out of the saloon with Silver on his heels. "Have a nice day, gentlemen."
Back at the house, Fox and the dog ate what was left of the angel
food cake, bread and jam, and some peas he found in the icebox from the
night before. Silver wouldn't eat the peas, so Fox gave the mutt the
last slice of his bread. Their meal finished, they went into the parlor
as twilight settled. It was too early to go to bed, but Fox didn't know
what to do with himself.
He missed Celeste's light footsteps, the delicious smells that came from the kitchen, her voice.
He sat in a chair with a newspaper on his lap and scratched Silver
behind the ears. Fox had never had a dog, not even as a child. He had
never thought himself the kind of man who would like a pet, but
honestly, he enjoyed the dog's company.
"So who do you think is in Denver?" Fox contemplated as he stared at
the gas lamp that flickered and cast shaky shadows on the floor and far
wall. "A man? A client?"
The dog licked Fox's fingers.
"She doesn't seem the type to be in a place like Kate's. Maybe she's
working on her own, trying to build business in Denver. Or maybe…" He
stared without seeing. "Maybe she has a wealthy, married man. He
beckons; she runs to him."
The dog stared with big, limpid brown eyes.
Fox sighed. He couldn't believe it. He was jealous. He was jealous
that Celeste might be lying in bed with some fat, balding businessman
at this very moment, while Fox sat talking to a dog. The truth, though
hard to admit, was that Fox wanted to be in Celeste's bed.
He wondered what it would be like to stroke her hair, to nuzzle her
breasts, to make her sigh with pleasure. Of course Amber had always
faked her pleasure with Fox. All whores did. Would Celeste be the same,
or could he crack her veneer? He liked to think he could arouse her.
But more importantly, he liked the idea that maybe he could make her
feel—really feel. She had certainly unsettled
him
emotionally.
Fox groaned and lunged out of the chair, letting the newspaper fall.
The dog started.
"Want to go for a walk, boy? I can't stay here. I can't just sit
here and think about her." He walked into the foyer and grabbed a
sturdy coat made of denim that he'd found in his father's armoire. In
the same dresser he'd discovered denim pants and a durable brown shirt.
From under the iron bed he'd retrieved a pair of work boots. They had
all been his father's, and though Fox had never worn such common men's
attire, he liked the feel of it against his skin. He liked the smell of
the washed clothing. Probably because it smelled like
her.
Silver bounded toward the door. "We'll go for a walk and then hit the bed early."
Silver followed him out the door.
"I figure she's got to be back in a few days, but we might as well keep busy while she's gone. Let me go
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