Love and Adventure Collection - Part 2

by Jennifer Blake

  Serena compressed her lips together, closing her eyes, then forced herself to composure. She was tranquil at times; at others she was far from it. Her body had adjusted with placid resignation to the physical changes necessary for the child growing inside her; it was her mind that was in turmoil.

  She had not told Ward. First she had waited to be sure, then she had put it off because of the death of one of the parlor-house girl’s from a bungled abortion performed upon herself with the nib of a pen. To announce her own condition so soon after the tragedy seemed the wrong thing to do. She wanted no one suggesting that ridding herself of the baby was the best course. Now, in her third month, she thought it was nearly too late for such measures. Rather than tell Ward at this late date, she had a perverse desire for him to see it for himself.

  How could he not have noticed the changes in her body? True, her morning sickness had taken the form of no more than a general malaise accompanied by a slight nauseous reaction to odors at all hours of the day. Her waist was still slim and her stomach fiat, but the changes were there for anyone who cared enough to see them.

  That was the question. Did he care enough? Did he think of her so little that such a thing could pass unrecognized? It was difficult to believe that he could live with her for months, lie with her at night, hold her in his arms, and never guess.

  Sometimes she caught him watching her, a somber light in his green eyes. Often at such times he would smile and pull her down onto his lap. Others, he would get up and stride from the room, descending to the barroom or stalking out into the street to come back hours later, chilled and windblown. She learned not to question him. It was not that he became angry or abusive; it was the look of blank anguish in his eyes as he turned to her, and his grim silence, that persuaded her it was useless.

  The sound of a man whistling caught her attention. From around the side of the building came a stooped and bearded Negro man. He nodded at the sight of her, and broke off in mid-tune to give a chuckling sound to the pair of gray burros that followed behind him on lead ropes.

  “Morning, ma’am,” he said. “I was told to deliver these misbegotten beasties back here. Whereabouts do you want me to tie ‘em up?”

  “Who told you to deliver them?” Her question was mildly curious, nothing more.

  “Why, Mr. Dunbar, ma’am. He always takes a pair of burros with him when he goes up in the mountains. There’s places they can go no horse can, or maybe will.”

  “Did — did Mr. Dunbar say when he meant to take them out?”

  “Seems like it was in the morning bright and early, best I remember. Said he had his pack saddles all loaded, strapped up and ready.”

  Mechanically, Serena pointed out the rings set into the back wall of the storeroom for tying horses, then watched as the man fastened the burros and went whistling on his way once more. It seemed she was not the only one with a secret. Ward was going back into the mountains prospecting this summer, just as he had the year before, and the year before that. She shouldn’t be surprised, she supposed, but she was. He had spoken not a word of it to her, had made no plans, said nothing of what she was to do in his absence, where she was to go. She had seen nothing of his packsaddles, loaded or otherwise. If he had packed food, it had not been from the supplies in her makeshift kitchen, nor had she noticed any of his clothing gone from his wardrobe.

  Ward had gone out that morning after breakfast. He had not said where he was going, and though there was nothing particularly unusual in that, the more Serena thought of it, the more significant it became. He did not return for the noon meal, nor did he put in an appearance as darkness fell. Serena, making her supper on cheese and bacon wrapped in a biscuit, pictured him at the Continental Hotel, dining on steak and liver, with vegetables swimming in butter, and rich custard pies. No doubt he was with Nathan or some of his other wealthy acquaintances. More than likely their wives were present, glittering with diamonds, dripping with lace. There would be pompous speeches and champagne. The air would be thick with perfume, the smoke of Havana cigars, and the languidly ridiculous voices of the new rich trying to talk in what they imagined to be cultured tones.

  Lightning flickered behind the curtains. Serena put away the remains of her meal, then, wiping her hands on a linen towel, wandered into the bedroom. She pushed back the drapes at the windows and stood staring out at the pulsing, white-gold light that played across the sky in the direction of the Sangre de Cristos. They needed a rain to lay the dust now that the snow-melt was gone. Dropping the drape, she turned toward the bathroom. She might as well get ready for bed. Whether Ward returned or not, she did not feel like making the effort to go down to the barroom.

  (The bath water was hot and relaxing. Serena lathered herself with slow preoccupation, using the Pears soap that had been a Christmas present from Consuelo. It wasn’t the end of the world that Ward was leaving. She didn’t know why the idea affected her so, unless it was his secrecy about it. Had he kept it from her because he thought she would make a scene, crying and asking him not to go? Was it simply that he had been so long a bachelor, accountable to no one, that he saw no need to inform anyone of his plans? Or was the omission more sinister? Did he intend to release her before he left? Maybe he meant to stave off any unpleasantness by waiting until the last minute to let her go, trusting that she would have found a new niche for herself by the time he returned.

  If she told him she was going to have his child, would it make a difference? Despite the length of time she had lived with Ward, she could not be sure. He was a self-sufficient man, self-contained. The life he was living did not satisfy him; that much was obvious. If he were happy he would not need these yearly treks into the wilderness. He went to look for gold, or so he said, but if that was truly his aim he could have investigated some of the mining claims right here in the Cripple Creek district that he had won at the gaming tables. No, Ward was not content as a gambler, and yet he sought to justify his choice of occupation. Why? Was it the money? Did it serve as a recompense for what he had lost? Or was the making of it the only challenge left to him, the only way he could hope to regain, in some sense, the prestige that had once been his by birthright?

  After so long, she should have been more sure of his feelings toward her. She did know that he liked to be near her, that he enjoyed the use of her body and considered her beautiful, but that was all. Sometimes it seemed that should be enough. Was it a fault within herself, or in Ward, that it wasn’t?

  What would she do if she was no longer wanted? Where would she go? There was no place in Cripple Creek, or elsewhere, for women in her condition who had no husband, no home. She would be able to work for a short time, but that only if she could find a job. She supposed Elder Greer, and his kind, would say whatever happened to her was just punishment. Strange, but she did not feel guilty. She only felt a vast weariness aligned to a smoldering anger at her own helplessness.

  With sudden energy that sent water slopping over the sides of the tub, Serena came to her feet and stepped out onto the rug. She dried herself with careless efficiency, then pushed her arms into her wrapper. Flushed and overheated from the hot water, she left the cambric robe hanging open for coolness as she moved from the bathroom.

  Lightning still flickered, sending its glow into the darkness of the bedroom. Releasing her hair that had been piled on top of her head to keep it out of the water, letting it cascade down her back, she stepped to the window. The fiery bolts crackled down the sky, dancing over the mountain tops. Thunder rumbled, shuddering between the high walls that surrounded the town, its echoes rolling off into the distance. Looping the draperies to one side, Serena stood staring out. There was something appealing in the wild, elemental forces abroad in the night. It made her pulse beat faster, gave her a sense of excitement, of portent, that was edged also with dread.

  At a sound behind her, like a soft, indrawn breath, she turned. The dark shape of a man stood in the doorway. She went still, scarcely breathing. A brilliant flash of lightning ill
uminated her there, outlining the dark mass of her hair with silver, shining with blue fire in her eyes, sculpting the slender lines of her arms and the proud globes of her perfectly formed breasts in translucent marble. Its flare also lit the room enough to identify the intruder who had entered under the cover of the storm.

  “Ward,” Serena breathed.

  “I hope you weren’t expecting anyone else, not dressed like that.” He lounged toward her, the sound of lazy humor in his voice, though she could have sworn that an instant earlier his face had been a hard mask of pain.

  “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “My good fortune.”

  As he neared, one hand outstretched in the darkness, Serena dropped the curtain she held with an abrupt movement, and snatched the edges of her wrapper together. Reaching for her belt, tying it with quick jerks, she stepped away from him. The white glare of lightning filled the room once more, with the bass roar of thunder that vibrated in the walls around them. Ward’s words were nearly lost in the rumbling sound.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “You didn’t, at least not more than a moment.”

  He was silent for the time it took for her to cross to the bathroom and return with the low-burning lamp. “I never saw you upset by a storm before.”

  “It isn’t the storm,” she said without looking in his direction.

  “I take it there is something else bothering you, then. What is it?”

  Serena hesitated. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

  He shrugged out of his coat, his green gaze steady upon her. When he began to unbutton his shirt, Serena swung to the dresser, taking up his silver-backed brush. With fingers that shook a little, she dragged it through the tangled skein of her hair, tugging at it as she drew the long length forward over her shoulder. A knot of apprehension in her stomach, she watched as he flung his shirt to one side and approached to stand close behind her. He lifted his hand, closing the strong brown fingers around the brush she held, taking it from her grasp. His touch gentle, oddly soothing, he began to draw it through her hair, smoothing the silken black strands, gathering them in his hands before letting them ripple down her back. His face was absorbed, pensive. Serena hardly dared breathe. In the quiet she could hear the soft sputter of the coal oil lamp as the flame shivered on its wick.

  “I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

  The words hovered in the air, emphasized by the boom of thunder. Serena swallowed. “I know.”

  “I thought you might.” Ward leaned to place the brush on the dresser.

  “I saw your pack animals.”

  He gave a slow nod. “I suppose I should have told you, only I wasn’t sure until yesterday that I was going this summer.”

  “Why not?” Serena asked, her gaze going quickly to his face reflected in the shaving mirror.

  “A number of reasons. You, for one. Pearlie, for another. I’m worried about her. She drinks too much, and I’m told she can’t sleep without her nightly dose of morphine. That stuff should be outlawed, instead of available on any drugstore shelf.”

  “She’s a grown woman. There’s nothing you can do.”

  A wan smile crossed his face. “There is, if I could just bring myself to do it.”

  “You mean — live with her?” Serena swung slowly to face him.

  “That, or make a clean break. I sometimes wonder if making myself responsible for her wasn’t a greater cruelty than leaving her to make her own way would have been.”

  “She saved your life.”

  “For what it’s worth,” he agreed. Sighing, he rubbed the back of his neck, as if his head ached.

  It was foolish of her to make his excuses for him, especially where Pearlie was concerned. Moving to the bed, Serena began to turn back the covers. “Will you be gone long?”

  “A few weeks. I’ll be back long before the snow flies.”

  “And what,” she said deliberately, her voice as calm as she could make it, “am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

  “What do you mean? Did you want to come with me?”

  He had thrown himself down on a chair to pull off his boots. Serena glanced at him then looked away again. “No, certainly not.”

  “Too bad. I might have enjoyed the company,” he said.

  “I’m sure.”

  He sent her a measuring glance. “If you won’t come, then I suppose you will have to stay here until I get back. I’ll lay in another supply of penny dreadfuls and leave you plenty of money for food. You’ll have nothing to do except lie around and read, get fat and lazy.”

  Serena sent him a sharp glance, but his expression held nothing more than quizzical humor. “It sounds enticing.”

  “So it does. If I think about it too much, I may decide not to go.”

  “I doubt that,” Serena said, smiling before she sobered. “Is there — would it be possible for me to have a key?”

  “To these rooms? It depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether or not you mean to lock me out,” he answered, drawing off his last boot and setting the pair to one side.

  She tilted her head to one side. “It’s an idea.”

  Getting to his feet, Ward moved toward her. “I didn’t think much of it.” He took the pillow she was fluffing from her hands and drew her into his arms. “But tell me the truth, are you afraid to stay here alone?”

  Otto was gone. Pearlie had been relegated to the parlor house. She would have food and safety. “No, not really, not if you don’t stay away too long.”

  “I think,” he said, a serious light in the green of his eyes, “that I can promise that.”

  His lips were warm and firm, his arms a haven. He pushed the fingers of one hand through the soft mass of her hair, cradling her head, while with the other he loosened the tie beneath her breasts. His questing fingers slid under her wrapper, smoothing upward to cup the swelling fullness of her breast. With ravishing gentleness he caressed the thrusting rose nipples so they contracted under his hand.

  Releasing her with slow reluctance, he reached to douse the light, then in the lightning’s fitful glow, brushed the wrapper from her shoulders and let fall his trousers. Flesh to flesh, they sought the bed, he lowering her beside him with iron muscles. His mouth moved on hers. He invaded her senses with relentless sweetness, stirring her to the slow rise of abandon, urging her toward a distant delight. She turned toward him in a response of her own will, a fatalistic and secretive farewell.

  There was about him the ozone freshness of the night and also its dark excitement. Entranced, she touched the crisp vitality of his hair as his kiss seared the delicate hollow of her throat, dropping lower to the warm valley between her breasts. She felt the tantalizing flick of his tongue as he shifted to one soft mound, scaling the peak. His hand glided over the sensitive skin of her abdomen to the flatness of her belly, lingering, or so it seemed, on that silken surface. Her stomach muscles tightened in anticipation and alarm, a defense against the dissolving rapture that threatened.

  It could not be denied. No tender curve, no exquisite hollow was left unexplored, no barricade of modesty unbreached. The night pulsed with molten fire, and that same burning essence flowed in her veins. There was a fullness in her loins. She felt the hardness of Ward’s thigh against her and the rigid strength of his desire. She wanted to encompass and hold, to take him deep inside her. With pent breath she clung, suspended in the paralyzing ecstasy of her need.

  Sensing her distress, he raised himself above her, entering her quickly, pressing deep. Snared by his own extremity, his arms clenched upon her and his breathing grew ragged. Serena moved against him and was caught in a spreading, splintering conflagration.

  It was a consuming caldron, fury and flame, a blood-red heat. It was a suffocating, demanding thing, a devouring inferno that swept over them and left them spent and panting

  In the still, exhausted aftermath, Serena lay, her body intertwined with Ward’s. The night was dark and quiet. The lig
htning was done, the thunder had rolled away. The promise of the storm had been false. There had been no relieving rain.

  13

  The summer in the high mountains was such a fleeting season that little of it was allowed to go to waste. There were baseball games at the new park on the outskirts of Cripple Creek, horse racing at the rough track at the small town of Gillett, and rodeos at the ranching properties on the edge of the district. Tent meetings, Chautauqua assemblies, prize fights, political rallies, all with food spread on groaning tables, occupied those with social natures, and for the younger crowd there was square dancing, and in some cases there were parties of a formality to be classed as balls. There were wild-flower-gathering expeditions, junkets on the hundred-thousand-dollar carriage toll road up Pikes Peak, and drives to gawk at the summer visitors staying at the magnificent hotels and rooming houses in the small, Alpine-flavored towns that lined Ute Pass.

  The Fourth of July was a grand day with a wonderful parade that included the firefighting hose companies, and the bands from every club and lodge in the district, marching down streets decked with red, white, and blue bunting and streamers. But one of the most favored events was the flower parade, not the least reason being that it featured the prettiest and most vivacious young women in the town.

  Held in August, the parade consisted of carriages, wagons, and two-wheeled bicycles with the bodies and wheels covered with flowers and greenery. The young ladies wore their lightest and most fragile pastel organdies and voiles, and flower-bedecked hats of white straw. Veils of organza and airy parasols were also much in evidence, as were gentlemen in white suits, or white trousers with dark jackets and white ties, as escorts for the frail drivers.