He shook his head helplessly. "I never meant for it to happen. You've got to believe that. I'm sorry. So sorry."
"You're sorry, all right. You're the sorriest excuse for a friend,"—Seth's fist smashed into Creed's shoulder, once, twice, driving him backward—"I've ever known." Creed took the bruising punches like a man who believed he deserved the punishment. Horrified, Mariah watched, unable to stop it.
"C'mon, c'mon, you bastard," Seth baited with teeth bared. "What happened on the way from Benton anyway? Did you only kiss her, you son of a bitch, or did you screw her, too?"
Mariah gasped. "Seth!"
Anger worked its way up Creed's throat. "Stop it, Seth," he warned between gritted teeth. "Don't say another word you'll regret. I'm leaving tonight. It's over between her and me. It's been over since before we got here. I'm not going to fight you."
"Oh, yes, you are." His fist connected again with Creed's stomach and despite his readiness for it, the punch knocked the wind out of him and sent a sickening pain radiating through his torso. He doubled over, grabbing his gut.
"Seth, stop, for God's sake—" Mariah pleaded, grabbing his arm.
He whirled, throwing her off and she stumbled backward. "For God's sake? What about my sake? What about me, Mariah? Did you think about me when he was—Jesus, did you think about me at all?"
She shrank back from his wrath, hardly able to believe it was the same man she'd known all her life, unable to bear the pain of betrayal in his eyes.
"Dammit, Seth—" Creed warned in a half-groan as he straightened. "Leave her alone. It wasn't her fault. It was... mine. I seduced her."
"Creed, no," Mariah cried.
Seth advanced on him again, ignoring Mariah. "I'll just bet you did, you rutting bastard. What's the matter, wasn't Desiree Lupone enough for you? Did you have to go and make a whore out of my woman, too?" He started to throw another punch but this time Creed deflected it with his steely arm.
Rage shadowed his eyes. "Shut up, Seth. Or I swear to God, I'll—"
"What? You'll hit me? C'mon. I want you to try, Creed, because, frankly, I feel like killing you." He launched himself at Creed and sent them both crashing into Buck. The gelding snorted in fright, tossing its head, and sidestepped the two bodies that had fallen under its belly.
Seth's fist found Creed's cheek with a dull smack, grinding his head back against the straw-littered ground. Creed groaned, grabbing two handfuls of Seth's white collar in his fists. Creed threw him off balance with a well placed knee and Seth rolled off him, giving Creed time to stagger to his feet.
There was dirt and straw in his hair, and Creed's face bled from two nasty cuts. Swaying on his feet, a hot green flame of fury burned in his eyes. He released the leather holster thong around his thigh and unbuckled his gunbelt, dropping it to the ground. "Damn you—"
"That's a good one..." Seth swung again, but this time Creed ducked and landed a telling punch of his own in Seth's unprotected belly. He doubled over, clutching his stomach with one bloody hand, coughing and gasping for air.
"Enough!" Creed rasped, standing spraddle-legged before Seth. "Enough. Don't make me hit you again."
Seth's head came up and he glared at him through the hank of blond hair that had fallen across his eyes. "You already hit me below the... belt... you bastard, when you took my woman. I know you fight dirty. Let's see you try without that... that jezebel standing behind you."
Mariah staggered back a step, as if he'd hit her physically. "Oh God, please... please..."
"Even God can't help him now," Seth slurred, and she watched in impotent horror as he lowered his head and tackled Creed, sending him crashing against the lodge-pole rails of the fence. The wood splintered under their combined weight and the rail crashed down. The horses penned there herded toward the far side, eyes white with terror as the two men landed in the dirt.
Seth and Creed pummeled each other bare-knuckled about the head, shoulders, and stomach in sickening, meaty thuds. Back and forth it went, the two men rolling from one side of the paddock to the other trying to knock each other senseless. They banged against the livery wall, collapsed against a spare carriage wheel, and came dangerously close to the hooves of the frantic horses prancing in the pen.
Finally, they rolled back under the fence. Creed snapped Seth's head back with a well-aimed blow, sending him sprawling sideways in the dirt. In the next second, Seth dragged himself to a standing position, but Creed was slower to get up, groaning as he rolled to his feet.
Several men tumbled out of the barn doors, drawn by the sound of the fight. More followed, filtering into the yard beyond the circle of lantern light.
"Here, now," Hasty called in disbelief, "what's going on, you two?"
"Stay out of it," Seth ordered, waving the old man away with one arm as if drunk. "This... is between me... and him."
Hasty shot a look at Mariah and his expression descended into a scowl. Helplessly, Mariah turned back to the two men she loved.
"Get up," Seth demanded, his chest heaving. "I'm not finished... with you... yet, you low-down, stinking polecat."
Creed's breath, too, came in puffing gasps. "You're gonna... have to do better than that to... to keep me down."
Tears streamed down Mariah's face. She could see no end to it until they killed one another and it seemed that was just what they intended.
The two men circled each other like wary alley cats, waiting for an opening. Their faces and knuckles were raw and bloody, their clothes torn and filthy. Seth swiped the blood from his mouth and sent Creed a killing look. "I should have let you... hang, you bastard."
Creed's eye was half-shut and he blinked to clear his vision. Sweat streamed down his face and dampened his shirt. "Oui?" he rasped, chest heaving like a blown racehorse. "Why the h-hell... didn't you? Nobody... asked you."
Seth shook his head. "Damned if... I c-can remember." He flailed at him, too weak anymore to do much harm, but it didn't take much at that point to hurt Creed. He grunted with the blow to his chest, back-pedaling to keep his balance. He came back swinging, his fist connecting with little strength against Seth's stomach. It was enough to send Seth to his knees holding his ribs.
Creed shook his aching hand, cradling it to his battered chest. His wobbly legs refused to cooperate with his brain, and he fell against the trunk of the cotton-wood, clutching it for support. Sliding down the rough bark, he sprawled with his back against the base, too tired to move, too damned sore to even attempt it.
By now, the crowd they'd drawn had grown. Several men went immediately to Seth, who had lowered himself to the ground and rolled onto his back.
Torn between the two of them, Mariah went to Creed, who sat alone in the dark, his head tipped back against the tree. His eyes were closed. Cuts ravaged his cheek and mouth, sending rivulets of blood down his face and under the choker. His knuckles were crimsoned and split and a walnut-sized swelling had already started on his right hand.
"Oh, Creed..." she moaned, "dear God, look at you."
Holding up his left hand, he stopped her just short of touching him and shook his head, his breath still coming in raspy bursts. "Don't... if you ever mean to... hold your head up in this town again... don't come near me. Go to Seth. He needs you."
"You need me. You're hurt."
He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. "No, I'll be... all right." He motioned to Seth with a slight lift of his chin. "His heart's b-bleeding all over the ground."
What about yours? she wanted to say. What about mine? His final rejection stung like salt on a festering wound. There was no undoing what had been done. She could see that in the accusatory looks the men sent her when it became apparent what, or rather whom, Creed and Seth had been brawling over.
She looked back at Creed, the man who still thought first of her and Seth after all that had happened, and her heart swelled with love.
Impossible, unwanted love.
Slowly, she got to her feet, pressing a hand to her churning stomach.
"I'm so sorry, Creed. I wish I..." She didn't finish. What could she say to make up for the terrible damage?
Nothing.
He winced, shifting his back against the cottonwood bark and turned his face away. "Go, dammit."
Her feet felt weighted with lead as she walked over to Seth. He lay on his back in the middle of the yard, being ministered to by Hasty and two others. They sent her a hard look, but she gave it right back, daring them to lash out at her. It was all a well played ruse. If they'd spoken to her, she would have crumbled. Instead, they removed themselves a few feet away to give her and Seth a moment to talk.
He held straw in his hair and blood in his mustache from a split lip that was already swelling. She dropped down beside him and tentatively reached out to touch the one spot on his jaw that wasn't bruised.
Sensing her, he opened his eyes and stopped her from touching him by clamping a hand around her trembling wrist. "Why? Why, Mariah? I loved you. I thought—"
She shook her head, helpless to answer that simplest of questions. "I don't know. I'm so sorry. So, so sorry. I never meant to hurt you this way. I tried to tell you. It just..."
"Happened," he finished, dropping her wrist with a flick of self-disgust that edged near tears. His swollen eyes slid shut. "I guess I'm not as forgiving as I thought. I should have known. My best friend. God, what a perfect fool you must think me. What a perfect fool I am."
"Oh, no. Not you, Seth. It's me. Any woman would be lucky to have you."
"I didn't want any woman. I loved you. My whole life. It's been you." His chest hitched with an emotionally charged breath and he threw an arm over his eyes. The murmur of low voices nearby told her the crowd was growing. Tears rolled unchecked down her cheeks. She didn't care what they thought. God, if she could only take away the pain in his eyes.
Groaning, he rolled to a sitting position and drew one knee up. Cradling his forehead in the palm of his hand, he said, "I think you'd better go now... before I say something else I'll regret."
She choked back a sob. "Oh, Seth..."
From beneath a sweep of brown lashes, his gray-blue eyes had turned to ice. "I mean it. Get out of here, Mari."
The wounded rage in his voice sent her scuttling backward. She got to her feet, ignoring the pointed looks from the gathering crowd. She turned to Creed and found him being tended to by one of the Hurdies. He answered the woman's questions in soft tones Mariah couldn't make out, but pointedly avoided meeting Mariah's eyes.
She felt panic creeping up her neck. She wanted to run and hide. Oh, what a horrible mess she'd made. Creed and Seth enemies, beating each other bloody—all because of her. God, how could she ever live with herself after this? How could she ever face either one of them again? Or anyone in this town, for that matter. If only she hadn't gone to Creed. If only she hadn't kissed him. If only...
Mariah started walking, stumbling really, without thought to her destination. She pushed her way through the crowds huddled near the door, not meeting anyone's eye. The music was still playing farcically and some were still unaware of the fight. She started running blindly through the wide barn hallway, past the gaping stares and confused looks of Seth's friends.
Reaching the other doors she ran out into the night, without stopping for her shawl. Where should she go? Home? To her hotel room? Her first muddled instincts said: Go and crawl under the covers. The darkness seemed the only way to hide from what she'd done.
She headed down the wide, rutted street—Van Buren—past the Wells Fargo office and the darkened Lecture Hall that shared a wall with a Chinese Laundry. For a half-block, the street was unlit and virtually clear of the strolling pedestrians that peopled the roadway a mere thirty feet farther on.
Three men walked twenty feet ahead of her, laughing and singing a silly drunken song. She hung back, hoping they wouldn't notice her. The last thing she wanted was to attract attention to herself, alone on a dark street.
The crunch of footsteps close behind her made her glance back sharply. From the corner of her eye she thought she saw a figure melt into the dark shadows. Her eyes widened. Fear pulsed through her like a sharp pain and she quickened her pace, trying to convince herself she had imagined the movement. A cool breeze ruffled her hair, but she hardly noticed the chill. A sort of numbness had settled in, muting everything but the lonely ache inside her.
For the first time, she wondered where she was. Virginia City seemed different in the dark—seedy and dangerous. As she hurried toward the business district ahead, she welcomed the sight of the gaming houses, saloons, and brothels that lined the block, spilling their light across the rutted thoroughfare.
Men by the dozens wandered in and out of these oases of companionable noise, ever in search of the perfect game or drink or warm body.
Two grizzled miners, a year's worth of Montana dirt on their clothes, leered as she passed them.
"Hey, sugar," one of them called. "Lookin' fer someone?"
She pressed her lips together, hoping they would leave her alone. A woman unescorted on the streets of a mining camp at night? She knew what they were thinking. Her teeth chattered involuntarily. Clutching her arms, she hurried by the men, but not before the taller of the two snaked a hand out to grab her and jerked her to a stop. Hearing the fabric of her dress tear, she screamed.
The man who held her laughed raucously with his partner, displaying a mouthful of rotted teeth as he pulled her closer. His breath reeked of alcohol and tobacco chaw. "Whoa-haw, what a set o' lungs. Where you goin' in sech a hurry, girlie? You look mighty gussied up to be out on yer lonesome. We kin fix that, cain't we, Joe?"
Joe nodded, displaying the same lack of dental hygiene as his friend. His gaze drifted down to her breasts and his watery blue eyes widened.
Heart pounding, she clawed at the first man's hand, drawing blood.
"Yeo-ow!" He wrenched her hand away from his, repositioning his grip.
"Stop it!" she shouted. "Let me... go!"
"Oooh-hooo!" he hollered, enjoying the fight. "She's a feisty li'l kitten, eh, Joe?" He gestured obscenely with his hips. "Hey, I got th' money, if you got th' honey." He and his partner guffawed drunkenly at his little rhyme. The other fellow grabbed her other arm and together they hustled her past an open doorway.
Mariah kicked at them, trying to pull free. It was useless. Even dead drunk, they outmatched her puny ability to fight.
"Let 'er go, mes amis," a woman's voice demanded from a few feet behind them.
The men swerved to a halt and turned around to see Desiree Lupone standing on the stoop of The Nightingale, a cocked derringer in her hand.
Mariah's breath came fast and hard as she stared at the woman, garbed in elegant scarlet. It was too incredible. Desiree Lupone helping her after the awful things Mariah had said about her.
"Let ze girl go and we won't make a fuss, eh?" she repeated. "Thees one ees not for sale." The two buffoons looked from the gun to each other and dropped Mariah's arms.
"Aw, hell, Miss Desiree," said the first. "You ain't gonna hoi' this agin us, are ya? We was jes' havin' some fun with this li'l she-cat. She one of yorn?"
"Eet ees enough to know zat she's not yours. Go 'ome and sleep it off, mes amis."The men stumbled off, leaving Mariah standing alone in the crescent of light cast from the brothel's open door. "Come 'ere, Mariah," Desiree said quietly, reaching a hand out. "Come inside wis me."
Shaking, Mariah did as Desiree asked, not caring that it was a brothel. Gratitude knotted in her throat and stung her eyes as she reached for Desiree's hand and walked through the red-painted doors.
She didn't notice the silk-tasseled scarf slip off her neck and float behind her to the ground. Nor did she see the man emerge from the shadows to claim it. His long ebony hair fell like a crow's wing over his scarred cheek as he bent to retrieve the fallen bit of cloth.
Pierre LaRousse fingered the fine fabric between his fingers and cursed. Nothing had gone right tonight. He'd planned on taking her from Travers at the end of the pa
rty, when most of the guests had already made their way home.
But the fight had changed all that. Le Diable! Though it had given him immense pleasure to watch Creed Devereaux take a beating at the hands of the shopkeeper, he'd thought for a moment she would play right into his waiting hands. But his shoulder made him slow. He'd missed his chance.
Sweat beaded his upper lip and he pulled a hand across his hot, aching shoulder. The infection had grown worse and it hurt like hell.
In the shadows across the street, he watched the nervous tip of Downing's cigarette glow in the dark. The cowardly lapin meant to run. But if he did, he wouldn't get far. No rabbit could outrun him and he wasn't foolish enough to count on one man for his plan. He had help.
His eyes narrowed as another thought came to him. Fingering the silk in his hands, he started across the street as a new, even better plan fermented in his mind.
Chapter 24
Desiree poured steaming coffee into a translucent china cup, laced it generously with whiskey, and handed it to Mariah. The saucer clattered in Mariah's hand as she took it. The madam poured herself a whiskey, neat, and sat down beside her on the green velvet settee.
"There, there, cherie," she soothed. "You 'ad a leetle scare ees all. You'll be all right."
Mariah's red-rimmed eyes met Desiree's. "No, I won't. Nothing will ever be all right again."
"'ere, drink up, mon petit chou. Thees will make you feel better."
Mariah took a sip and nearly choked on the fiery taste of whiskey, but as it burned a path down her throat, she felt it seep comfortingly through her veins. She sighed, exhausted, drained of everything, it seemed, but the ability to breathe.
"Ze streets of Virginia City are not ze place for you alone at night, cherie," Desiree scolded gently. "Thees you know, yes?"
Mariah sniffed and nodded, taking another long sip.
"So! Why you are alone? I sought you 'ad a party tonight. To celebrate your fiangailles... eh... your engagement to ze shopkeeper."
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