"There is one thing I need to know, Fancy," he said gently. "I didn't want to ask until I knew you'd marry me. Aurora, sugar... is she mine? Hart says she looks like Mama."
Hart says! Why don't you say?... Fancy forced herself to answer calmly. "I always thought you'd know her as soon as you laid eyes on her, Chance. My heart nearly stopped beating when you met her and didn't realize she was yours."
Chance tried to digest the knowledge—it was one thing to speculate, another to know for certain.
"How you must have hated me, Fancy. To keep that secret for so many years must have tormented you."
"Sometimes I wanted to make you suffer, too," she answered honestly, pulling away from his embrace.
"Why the hell didn't you tell me when you came back?"
"I'd learned to live without you by then. I wasn't sure I wanted to be vulnerable again. And... I didn't know how."
"But if I'd known, Fancy... you must believe I would have done the right thing."
"Married me to make an honest woman out of me?" she said derisively. "Don't you know I'd never settle for that, Chance? I'll marry you because I love you, and because I want to spend my life with you, but don't delude yourself for one single minute that I'd ever marry you because of Aurora. I'm worth more than that, damn you! If you don't know that by now, then you can just take your ring back and forget the whole thing."
She pulled away from his grasp and reached for the door handle, the suppressed anger of years making her suddenly want to run. Chance's hand shot out to stop her, but she pushed past and jumped from the carriage to the ground, agile as a doe.
Chance was on his feet beside her in a stride; his hands were on her shoulders, turning her to him. She struggled angrily to break free, but his hands were in her hair and around her waist; strong impatient hands that made struggle pointless.
"You ran away from me once, Fancy, but by God, I won't let you do it a second time!"
He swung her up into his arms and crushed her to his chest so tightly, she could hear the thunderous beat of his heart. He kissed her, until she no longer wanted to protest but let her mouth accept the invasion of this man she'd always wanted. What did it matter about the past when the future spread before them? She let him lay her down on the new grass and cover her body with his own. She ceased to think, or wonder or worry as anger transmuted into passion; there was no room in her for anything but lust. Time was theirs to do with as they wanted, he was her phantom lover, real at last, and there was no history at all.
"I've got something big to tell you, bro," Chance said, standing in the doorway of Hart's room, barely able to contain his elation.
Puzzled, Hart motioned his brother in; Chance looked handsome as a matinee idol in his dove-gray coat and trousers, carefully stitched by the finest tailor in Leadville. Hart smiled a little —clothes like the ones Chance was wearing would have made him look like a trained bear in a circus.
"I did it, bro. I got her to say she'd marry me."
"Fancy?" Hart managed over the lump in his throat.
"Just like you to play dumb," Chance said with all the goodwill in the world. Hart thought it an understatement, but tragically accurate.
"Of course, Fancy, you big jerk. Who else am I in love with?"
How can I be so glad for him and so damned sad for me? Hart thought. Oh, Fancy, my Fancy, how can you let this happen? Don't you know you'll be like two moths flying into the flame and no one there to save either one of you?
"Are you happy for me, bro?" Chance asked, needing his brother's approval more than he could admit. "We'll be good for each other, you'll see. I'll take the best care of her. I give you my word on that."
Hart heard the love in his brother's voice and could have wept for the pain of it. Blood is thicker than water and brother's blood the thickest of them all....
Hart answered his brother's need the only way he could. "Are you crazy? Fancy's the greatest gal ever lived and no man could make her happier than you. How could I not be happy for you?" The relief on Chance's face was eloquent. Hart felt a rage at himself building up inside. What a prize fool he'd been for never lifting a finger to make things turn out differently. He wouldn't let his brother feel the brunt of it, for he didn't deserve to... if any man was at fault in this stupid mess, it was he himself.
"I'm real glad you two finally made the big decision, because otherwise I might've missed the festivities," he said on impulse.
Chance face clouded over. "What do you mean, bro?"
"I'm heading east, Chance. Now there's money enough, and I've put in the time I promised, I'm going to Yale just like I always planned. I'm going to the best art college in the country."
"That's terrific news, Hart. Wait 'til we tell Fancy. My brother's going to be the greatest artist in America, and with a college degree to prove it. God Almighty, bro, wouldn't Mama and Daddy be proud of you?"
Hart could see the pride and love in his brother's eyes and it defeated him. The spark of rage went out, leaving only loneliness. Hart put his arms around his brother and hugged him, so he wouldn't see the tears that filled his eyes.
For the weeks before the wedding, Hart tried his damnedest to be happy for them. They took such joy from each other... and he loved them both.
"By God, Fance," Bandana said, looking at her appraisingly in the dim light of the Crown's front room. "When them boys found you, there wasn't enough on you to pad a crutch and look at you now."
Fancy put her arms around Bandana, laughing. He always made her feel like a beloved little girl.
He stood back to get as good a look as possible. "I swear a woman can go further out here with a rouge pot than a man with a horse and a side of bacon."
"What are you doing in town anyway, Bandana? It seems to me you've shown this place a clean pair of heels since you struck it "rich. Still out there trailing Esmeralda for us?"
Bandana winked conspiratorially. "I've arrived in Leadville to loiter and to dissipate, Fance, old girl. And to share boughten dalliance of fallen women."
Fancy laughed outright and Bandana saw the saucy dimples in her cheeks and remembered how much he loved her. He hoped life would treat her gently for a while, although he didn't think it likely.
"May I see you to a whiskey, my friend? Just to get the dalliance off to a good start?"
Rufus poured the brown liquid into the glass and smiled at Bandana; he liked the little man.
Bandana tipped the shot glass toward Fancy and downed the liquor with a practiced toss. He set the glass back down on the bar resoundingly, and shook his head.
"If a man had enough of this whiskey, you couldn't drown him. You could shoot him through the brain or heart and he wouldn't die until he sobered up." His humor always made Fancy feel merry; she took his hand and led him through the thicket of revelers.
"What exactly are you doing with all your money, Bandana? Truth is, you haven't changed a single thing in your life to make it easier. Doesn't it make any difference to you at all that you've struck it rich?" She noticed he wore the same clothes as before the strike, except for a new pair of boots.
"Well, now, darlin', that's the question, ain't it? You know I struck pay dirt twicet before, but I never kept none of it, so I didn't have the problem of disposal, you might say. Then I went seriously broke and that didn't appeal to me none. Now I've got money to throw at the birds and I find I'm plumb depressed by it 'cause my pals are gone."
He looked up at her soberly and she could see his wistfulness.
"I had friends when I had nothin' else, Fance. Good friends. Now you're a woman of substance, Hart is chompin' at the bit to head east to that artsy place, and Chance is all dandied up and talkin' to the hoity-toity... I ain't got but me and my money. Tell you the truth, darlin', the money don't mean a damn thing to Bessie and me."
Fancy reached over and laid her hand on top of Bandana's gnarled and callused one.
"I used to say I wasn't afraid of nothin' but a decent woman and bein' on foot; but by God, F
ance, I think I'm afraid of stayin' in town and bein' rich, and livin' a closed-in life like what I see around here. Got to be pertected from the glares of the saintly, I expect. Too old a dog for new tricks. Don't feel at home in store-boughten clothes. Even these new boots pinch my big toe so bad I wisht I'd of kept my old ones."
"So what are you going to do, Bandana?" Fancy asked softly. How sad it was that his dream had come true but hadn't made him happy.
He let out a long breath. "Soooo, after your weddin', old Bessie and me are headin' out."
"You will wait for the wedding?" she asked anxiously. "I couldn't get married if you didn't give me away."
"Yes, ma'am, that much I'll do." He squinted up his eyes at Fancy and squeezed her hand.
"You almighty sure you're marryin' the right McAllister?" he asked, his voice no longer teasing.
"What an awful question, Bandana. Exactly what do you mean by that?"
"Mean to say, sometimes the thing that glitters don't have the value of the thing that don't. I love them boys, Fance. Don't get me wrong—but I love you more. It'd grieve me real bad for you to git hurt."
Fancy sat straighter in her chair and bit back the quick reply that had sprung to her lips. She'd never known him to give her any advice that wasn't sound and it upset her to think he disapproved of Chance.
"I love them both, too, Bandana. But it's different for me with Chance; it always has been, you know that... he's wild, like me. He wants the same things I do, and he's going all the places I want to go. You act like I could have them both." She stopped a minute, deciding if she should say more, then spoke again. "You know I couldn't say this to anybody in the world but you, but crazy as it sounds, sometimes I wish I could. I know Chance could use a little of Hart's common sense."
Bandana laughed out loud and shook his head emphatically. "One good man's plenty, Fance—one bad one's more'n enough.
No, darlin', I think you got to pick one or t'other, that's fer damned sure."
"Don't you see, Bandana, Hart's following a different drummer. Can you really see me wandering around Indian camps while he paints his pictures? I've had enough of living like a Gypsy to last me two lifetimes.
"Oh, Bandana, I want to be rich! I want a big house and servants and... and..."
"To be took care of?"
"Exactly. Is that such a bad ambition?"
"No, darlin'. It ain't bad at all. Seems to me a woman should be took care of. It's just that men with Chance's particular bent ain't the take-carin'-est kind, generally speakin'."
"But Chance loves me, Bandana. You know he does. And he's not as frivolous as everybody makes out—every single investment he's made has been a good one. Besides, I'll still have Wu and Jewel and you. And you know there's more money than God has, in that mine up there."
"Just as long as you're sure you know your own mind, darlin'. That way I'll be able to go off with a clear conscience."
"Bandana, I've loved Chance since I was a girl. You know how he's haunted my heart damned near forever. I'm finally going to get what I've wanted so long, and it seems almost too good to be true. I'm really scared it will all just disappear out from under me, so please don't frighten me any more than I already am."
Bandana's expression softened. "Don't mistake my meanin', darlin'. Chance is a dandy feller. Got a heart as big as Montana. Got the purtiest dreams I ever heard tell of, too. Mebbe he's got the sand to make 'em all come true for you, little lady. I'd be the last man alive to throw a monkey wrench into the machinery."
He pushed back his chair and planted a scratchy kiss on Fancy's cheek; there didn't seem much left to say that would be valuable. "Got to be about a little raucous ballyhoo now, Fance. I'm headed over to Mary Jane Conroy's. Her parlour house is famous for its iniquity."
Fancy reached out impulsively, wrapped her arms around Bandana's waist, and clung there for a long moment.
"I love you, Bandana."
"Course you do, darlin'," he replied, more touched by the gesture than he could let on. "If you had only one friend left in this sorry world, you'd want it to be me... I ain't never forgot what you said in that letter."
Jason Madigan sat at his ornate desk and brooded. He'd been doing quite a lot of that since Fancy'd gone.
It bothered him that he missed her so continuously; he'd never given a second thought to any of the other women who'd populated his bed over the years. No woman was irreplaceable... but it was hard to be convinced of that when no replacement for Fancy ever made him happy.
He'd been so angry at first that the fury had overpowered the hurt, but the pain was real and palpable and damnably enduring. It galled his spirit that he'd lost what he wanted to another man. Jason wasn't used to losing.
He stared out over the desktop to the lavish room beyond. He had everything a man could dream of... except a confidante, except a lover who truly understood him. Christ! Why had he ever shared his vulnerabilities, his fears, his weakness with her? Why had he let her wander deep inside his soul. Why did he miss her so goddamned much it hurt—in the ego, in the mind, in the heart. Jason swiped at his eyes, which had misted over for some stupid reason.
The report on his desk said she had plans to marry Chance McAllister. Of course, he was the one man she still craved— women like Fancy never get over rejection.
Ever since her departure, he'd tried to replicate her in someone new. Beauties were a dime a dozen in his world, but even among them there were superior and inferior gifts. He'd analyzed Fancy's fatal attraction endlessly. She was smart and quick-witted, with an uncanny knack for getting to the core of matters. He'd taken keen pleasure in her business acumen that saw with special clarity... even her avarice was enticing, and she was so eminently teachable. But she was more than just the sum of her parts... there was that damnable waiflike quality that made a man want to save her from some unknown peril... the lost-child terror staring out for a heartbeat from the courageous facade. Some women were good and men loved them because of it, others were bad and were loved for that alone. But Fancy was both, and that made her utterly unique. Maybe he was just getting old and softheaded.
Christ! I'm obsessed with her, he thought, as a savage anger swept through him yet again, at her stupidity in choosing McAllister. Damn her, that he couldn't forget what she felt like in his arms, craving so wantonly what he knew how to give. Jason thundered for his secretary. The young man threw open the door and scurried nervously in, notepad in hand.
"Get the railroad car ready, Horton, I'm going to Leadville. Tomorrow morning, for an indefinite stay. Have Carter pack enough for a month, cold-weather gear, business suits, dinner jacket, the works."
"Leadville, sir? Colorado?"
"Of course Leadville, Colorado, Horton. Haven't you heard it's the new silver capital of the world? Or haven't you been reading all the mining reports that have crossed your desk in the past months."
"Oh, yes, sir, I've read them, sir. I just didn't know you had a special interest in Leadville. It represents such a small part of your holdings, sir."
"Well, now you know, Horton, so make the arrangements. And quickly."
The tall, gangly young man closed his notebook and retreated fast. Of course he'd read every word that came into his periphery, just to protect himself from his employer's wrath. There'd been too many occasions, over the three years he'd worked for the man, when he'd witnessed the power Mr. Madigan wielded to let Edgar Horton ever feel either safe or secure in his employ.
It was a good job, better than any he'd ever had, but he knew of two instances, at least, in which Jason Madigan had had men killed, a dozen in which he'd smashed reputations, and a handful in which he'd forced men into bankruptcy, so Horton had no illusions whatsoever about the kind of man he worked for.
The boy wiped the sweat from behind his round rimless eyeglasses, slicked back his lank dark hair, and made a list of all the chores necessary to get Mr. Madigan to Leadville expeditiously. The private railroad car was always ready for travel, but he'd have to a
lert the staff.
He allowed himself a tiny smirk, for he'd read the confidential report from the Pinkerton Agency, too. Silver wasn't the reason Mr. Madigan was going to Leadville, Miss Deverell was. The only wonder was that it had taken him so long to get moving. He'd never known Mr. Madigan to let go of anything he truly wanted.
Chapter 64
Fancy tried to calm herself enough to greet the unwelcome visitor who'd arrived out of nowhere. Jason looked surprisingly at home in the Crown of Jewel's, against the tawdry backdrop of miners and whores, she thought; he'd been a miner, long ago, of course, but that was in another life.
Jason reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips in a proprietary way. "You're looking more beautiful than ever, Fancy. I've missed you."
His presence scared her to the bone; the fear made her rude. "Why are you here, Jason?"
"Now, now, Fancy. That's an entirely inappropriate way to greet an old and intimate friend." He lingered on the word intimate and she bristled despite the fact that he seemed more injured than snide.
"Why are you here, Jason?" she repeated.
"To do business, Fancy. And to see old friends. You needn't be concerned that I've followed you out of malice. If that had been my intention I wouldn't have let so much time elapse. You are entirely safe from me... if you wish to be."
Fancy exhaled the breath she'd been holding. "Forgive me, Jason. You're right to chide me for my manners. But you must know it's a shock to see you here... my life is very different now." Her heart beat against the stays of her corset like a caged bird in the presence of a condor.
Madigan smiled. "I understand you're quite the entrepreneur now, Fancy, and damned good at it. I always maintained you had the best business brain I ever encountered in a woman."
Fancy tried to relax. Jason didn't seem predatory, merely friendly.
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