Paint the Wind

by Cathy Cash Spellman

  Thank God Chance made certain he was away from home today. The only thing worse than doing this alone would be doing it together. The memory of the first day he'd brought her to this incredible house forced itself to the surface, and Fancy battled it down. She winced as the men set down her delicate escritoire with a thud, scraping the fragile satinwood finish on the granite walk.

  "Be careful, there!" she called out to them fiercely, but they couldn't hear or else they paid no heed.

  I won't let it matter to me that this house won't be mine any longer, she told herself sternly. It will be positively refreshing to be free of the burden of all those servants, all that obligatory entertaining, all that... all that... Fancy stifled a sob, reached inside the sleeve of her dress and extracted a lace handkerchief; she blew her nose to distract herself from the pain of loss.

  It's my fault as much as Chance's, she said, too self-honest for obfuscation. I never needed all those Paris gowns and Russian sables... never needed the Aubusson carpets and the satin negligees. Well, maybe I did need the satin negligees, she corrected herself—Chance was crazy about me in those. . Resolutely, Fancy dried her tears and took one last look at the cutting garden. Oh, I'm going to miss you, she told the roses, and the peonies, the lilacs and the dogwoods. Maybe nothing I ever possessed since childhood put me as much in mind of Beau Rivage as you did. Fancy walked to the wall of exquisite roses... a dozen varieties graced one whole section of the garden. She bent to pick a red rose, stopped, and changed her mind. Red roses were for love. She picked a yellow rose, sniffed its heady scent and pressed the velvet moistness of its petals to her lips in a lingering kiss.

  Yellow roses were for good-bye.

  PART X: CALL UP THE WIND

  Leadville

  "A man who was born to drown will drown in a desert."

  Bandana McBain

  Chapter 102

  Fancy, Chance, and their children trundled back to Leadville, bag and baggage, with Fate revving up her chariot, ready to take them for a ride. People speculated later on about what it was that started Chance back on his old ways. Did the debts force him to gamble, or did the gambling run up insurmountable debts? Had Fancy proved too much woman for, him, or too little? The busy-bodies of Leadville were glad to see the Golden Couple trimmed down to size.

  But Fancy was glad to be back, despite the gossip. The life they'd lived in Denver had distorted all perspective; now that they were home, Chance would be again as he'd been in the best of times. She'd behaved in an exemplary wifely manner, had taken her husband's fall from grace with courage and forgiveness—now she would go about the business of helping him regroup. The children were old enough so she could go back to work with Jewel and Wu. Surely under the circumstances, Chance would acquiesce. Life would begin again, if she had to give birth to it herself.

  "Darling, I've decided the best defense is a good offense," Fancy said as she and Chance sat over breakfast coffee in the Leadville house that felt so pleasantly like home. Forty rooms had really been more than anyone needed.

  He looked up inquiringly; there were slight creases about his eyes now, she could see, and the hint of frown lines in his forehead —they only added character and enhanced his good looks.

  "I think we should throw a wingding of a party, Chance. The kind Leadville probably hasn't seen since we left. I'll wear that fabulous ecru gown and we'll invite everybody who counts for anything. Just in case there's any gossip about our returning home being some kind of comedown, let's show them we're still on top of the world and planning to stay there."

  There's only one Fancy, Chance thought, a fact which had always both seduced him and annoyed him, about his wife.

  "I'll get all the bigwigs lined up, the politicians and the mine owners. If we turn it into a charitable event of some sort, no one of consequence can possibly turn down our invitation." Fancy was already ticking off in her head the things they'd need for the party.

  It was a pity there wasn't a ballroom here like the one in the Denver house, but no matter, there was more than enough room to show Leadville what McAllister style was all about.

  "I'll need a month to pull it off," she told him. "The fourteenth of next month is a Saturday. Let's do it then, Chance. I'll have those catty old bats and their sourpuss husbands falling all over themselves to get an invitation."

  Chance left for his appointment with Caz at the mine, feeling -better than he had in weeks. Fancy rose from the table, dressed in something meant to keep her spirits up, and went to tell Jewel and Wu she was coming back into the businesses.

  Jason gave Aurora his hand as courteously as if she'd been full grown.

  "You are quite the most beautiful young lady in Leadville," he said with great authority. "I'm very flattered that you've decided to give me the pleasure of your company. You know, a lot has changed while you've been so busy growing up in Denver." *

  Aurora suppressed an unseemly giggle and blushed, as only a young lady of good breeding and tutoring could. She absolutely adored Uncle Jason. "When I'm grown up, I mean absolutely grown up," she corrected herself, for after all, if one could marry at fourteen, she was not far off the mark of full adulthood, "will you escort me to my first real ball?"

  Jason raised his eyebrows, surprised and flattered; the child didn't miss much, he'd noticed. "I should be delighted to do so, Aurora. But in another year you'll be surrounded by so many young lotharios that I'll have to make an appointment even to see you, my dear." Aurora didn't know what lotharios were; she wasn't a very apt student—but she assumed the word had something to do with beaux and she knew he was quite right about that. There would be lines of boys at the door, just as soon as she was eligible, if only because of her wealth.

  "You're my special friend, Uncle Jason. You always were the only man I ever wanted for a father. I'm going to hold you to your promise, so don't you forget."

  Jason patted her hand proprietarily, touched by her admission. "I won't forget, Aurora. In fact, I'll be counting on it." He'd worked at gaining favor with both McAllister children over the years, for one day they would be his. Aurora hadn't been difficult, but currying favor with Blackjack was damned near impossible. The child was the image of his father and adored the man.

  Jason tightened his grip on Aurora's arm; everything was proceeding according to plan, if slower than he'd hoped. Give a fool like McAllister enough rope and he'd oblige you by hanging himself with it, but who the hell would have thought he'd take so long in doing it? If it hadn't been important to keep Fancy in the dark about his plotting, he could have gotten rid of Chance expeditiously, long ago. Once he put the screws to the man's finances, just as he had to his political ambitions, there'd be no leg to stand on when the divorce was asked for. It had taken a considerable amount of money to sway the party; Chance was well liked and a good vote-getter, but in the end money won, as it always did. And whatever he'd spent would be repaid eventually; when he married Fancy everything she owned would come back into the kitty, not that it mattered in the least.

  Samantha Southern's Parlour House was elegant even by New York standards, never mind Leadville's. The girls were soft-spoken and dressed like showgirls, not whores. There were mirrors on the bedroom ceilings and the furnishings in each room suggested a different fantasy. The crap tables tended toward hushed concentration rather than noisy exuberance, and only heavy hitters sat beneath the hanging gilt lamps that illumined them.

  Sam was a lanky blond, near enough to six feet tall to intimidate some men. She had an intelligent face, calculating gray eyes, and a stubborn jaw, but the ready smile and randy sense of humor softened her formidable exterior. She'd been born in Georgia, thirty-some years before, hence the surname she'd chosen for the stage, and later for the profession that was more lucrative than acting and seemed to her to require the very same skills.

  She'd learned early on that men will pay a hundred dollars or even a thousand, for the same thing they could get for ten, provided the set design was right and the men were r
ich enough. She'd turned that knowledge into a splendid business in New York, one she was loath to leave to go to the ass-end of the world at Jason Madigan's behest. But he'd offered her damned near enough money for retirement, a nest egg of the proportion it would take her another ten years on her back to amass, so reluctantly Sam had agreed. The terms were simple enough, seduce one rich and handsome man while letting him think he was the seducer, and keep him away from his wife's bed long enough to cause a little mischief. Hell, she'd been doing that daily for years, and without the financial resources of Jason Madigan to back her up.

  Sam watched Chance McAllister from the distance, assessing him. He was a magnificent specimen, that was for damned sure. Arresting eyes under manly brows, a mouth made for exploration... he laughed easily and well, a generous sound. She wondered, why Jason wanted to bring him to heel... because he was handsome and successful, or merely to show he could? There was no point in speculation, there was just a job to do. Chance McAllister was all that stood between Samantha Southern and escape from the rat race.

  She smiled to herself as she moved in his direction. Very few men, married as long as he, weren't vulnerable to a little flattery.

  Chapter 103

  It had been a day of disappointments. Come to think of it, Chance realized, it had been close to a year of disappointments.

  He'd put a lot of his own money into his political campaign, and all he had to show for it now was the party's half-assed thank-you; and even that didn't seem too sincere. They'd taken his loss with curious calm and he'd begun to wonder if perhaps he'd been offered up like a sacrificial lamb, for some complex political machination that his ego had kept him from seeing beforehand.

  The mine production had fallen off, despite Caz's best efforts to keep the big payers active and the Last Chance and the Fancy Penny weren't alone in their decreased production; several of the mines on Fryer's Hill seemed to be petering out, too. If only his debts would do the same, Chance thought wryly.

  It was hard for him to fathom how his winning streak had started to fade, but every gambler knew luck could sour on you when you least expected it, so he tried to be philosophical, and ride the losing streak through. The trouble was he didn't know how to operate except on instinct, and on his heretofore unshakable confidence in his own ability to win. The loss at the polls had somehow damaged that natural aptitude, and Lady Luck seemed reluctant to be lured back into his corner.

  Chance had wanted to tell Fancy of his worries, if only to curtail her extravagances, but to do so he would have had to level with her about how overextended he was.

  Chance put a custom boot up on the gold rail under the bar and downed another whiskey—at least he was having a splendid evening, considering what a lousy day it had been. He'd accepted Jason's invitation for a night of cards, hoping the evening's luck would be better than the day's.

  Just the feel of the familiar pasteboards in his hand restored him; any run of luck could change in a minute, gamblers were born knowing that. How many men had given up just before the moment when the Lady started smiling again? The winning started with the first hand and showed no sign of abating, far past midnight; the relief of it made Chance feel more expansive than he had in months. He tried to focus on what Jason was talking about; he seldom drank when he gambled, but tonight he'd needed some liquid courage.

  Jason folded his hand and stood up, stretching the kinks of sitting out of his back. "I'm heading over to Sam's place, care to join me?"

  Chance shook his head. "Fancy'll have my hide if I get home late again."

  Jason's lips formed a knowing smile. "As you wish," he said, picking up his hat.

  "On the other hand, maybe a nightcap wouldn't hurt," Chance said with a short laugh as he fell into step. It would be good to see Sam again. Maybe it was only pride talking, but she'd made him feel better about himself the other night than he had in a long time.

  Sam sat up in bed and stretched. She'd been surprised by Chance's lovemaking—it was tender and expressive, careful of her pleasure and immensely intuitive. She could always tell a man's character by his lovemaking and this one was a decent guy and a hell of a lot of fun.

  She wondered briefly what had driven him to a prostitute's bed, when he had a wife at home like Fancy. She'd find out eventually —she always did.

  Chance feigned sleep and wrestled with his conscience. He didn't really want to two-time Fancy, didn't want to have to lie. But his confidence needed bolstering of the kind a woman like Sam was expert at. It felt like a long, long while since anyone had told him he was wonderful and meant it.

  ***

  Dear Bro,

  Are you still out there, somewhere? I could really use an hour of your time, just about now.

  I've hit some bad times—not disastrous, just big disappointments. I lost the election and suspect they never wanted me to win. I guess I let my ego get in the way of my common sense or I sure as hell would have seen the writing on the wall. Politics is an ugly little game when you get right down to bedrock—a far cry from the idealistic notions we had about it in the old days. There's damned little statesmanship and a hell of a lot of expediency. You get caught up in the adulation and the power, but the truth is, you're just a pawn in the game. " Then Lady Luck crapped out on me and the money sort of dried up—not forever, I'm convinced—but it's tightened the belt for now. So we're back home in Leadville and I can't decide if it's a comeuppance or a big relief.

  Worst thing is there's something cold grown up between Fancy and me and I'm not sure how to fix it. I've played around a bit, bro, you know me—and it's damned hard to know how to face her, when I feel like such a flop in so many ways. How do we manage to complicate what should be simple? I keep asking myself. Why is life so much harder to do right than in our dreams? I guess I shouldn't bellyache, I've had more dreams come true than most men... the mine, the politics and Fancy all were pretty heady things to happen to a man. Yet here I sit melancholy as hell, missing my wife, my old friends, and the uncomplicated good times which seem like one hell of a long time ago.

  Miss you, too, you big lug. I just hope to God you're safe somewhere, bro.

  Your depressed-but-not-beaten brother,

  Chance

  Chapter 104

  "Why are you here, Chance?" Samantha asked the question as she dressed.

  "What do you mean? Why does any man go to a parlour house?"

  She turned to him as she rolled up her stockings and gartered them. She'd had fun with Chance during the past couple of weeks and it was beginning to trouble her that she was playing him a dirty trick.

  "Every man goes to a whore for a different reason, take my word for it. I just wondered what yours is." She looked up at him and waited.

  Chance sat back and thought about his reply before responding; when he did the words were less flippant than she'd expected. "I'm here to keep away the dark, I guess. To find some comfort in a world grown cold and bare... maybe even to show my wife she doesn't pull my strings. Maybe for a lot of reasons I don't quite understand." He smiled a little; she thought it made him look young and honest.

  "Why are you here, Sam? Anybody ever ask you that?"

  "Me? I'm here because I hit a crossroads a long time ago and took the wrong turn. I ran off with a traveling man, who kept on traveling. Never could find my way back home. My daddy never forgave me and it broke my mama's heart. She died before I ever got to tell her it wasn't her fault I turned out bad. My little sister's the only one who keeps in touch—my brothers are ashamed of me. I got nieces and nephews I'll never lay eyes on. My real name's Peggy Sue Mabley from just outside of Macon, Georgia."

  "Peggy Sue? You're far too elegant for a little-girl name like that. Samantha's more your style."

  She shook her head. "I never could have stayed in Macon anyway, I guess. You know what they say, cain't be a midnight girl in a sundown town."

  "You'd be a good person wherever you chose to hang your hat, Sam. You're wrong to think of yourself as somebo
dy who turned out bad. I was in need of just what you had to give when you came along... and not just the sex, either. You've been good for me."

  "My pleasure, Chance," she said, feeling more than a twinge of guilt. "But don't be too sure about me being good... there's a lot about me you don't know." He was too sweet a guy to lie to, and much too decent to be set up for a fall. The more she knew of Chance, the less she liked the deal she'd made with Jason—just because she was a whore didn't mean she didn't have a heart. She really hated to slip the mickey into his drink, but there just didn't seem to be any other way to make sure he'd stay the night, as Jason said he must.

  Fancy hummed as she bathed. The lady's maid she'd hired watched interestedly as her mistress poured nearly half a bottle of rosewater into the marble tub she soaked in. She wondered if Mr. McAllister might be expected home tonight; he seemed to have been "working late" a lot in recent weeks. The maid smirked a little. Every servant in town knew where Mr. McAllister spent his evenings and who could blame him?

  Maybe he just didn't care to come home to a wife who pored over account books and ledgers all day like a common clerk. What a strange household this was, she thought with a sniff, but then, all the rich were odd. And selfish. That bottle of scent probably cost half a week's wages—didn't it have one of them foreign labels on it?

  Enjoying her own nakedness, Fancy rose from the water and examined her reflection in the glass; she felt a small surge of confidence in what she saw. She would not fail to seduce her husband tonight, to make him remember how incredible they could be in bed together. She'd even try a few of the special tricks she'd gleaned from Jewel... things "nice" women didn't know about. If their marriage didn't get back on track, it wouldn't be because she hadn't tried.