by Nan Ryan
Kane pushed away from the wall. He stepped past Natalie, but she didn't notice him. Quickly posting his letter, he hurried out of the Wells Fargo office. He had work to do.
Lord Blackmore's gleaming coach wound slowly up the icy escarpment toward Cloud West. It was night and the snow was so thick, the city of Cloudcastle, a thousand feet below, was almost hidden from view in the icy haze. A few bright lights twinkled through the snow ghosts of tall pine trees and naked aspens.
A cold, rising wind buffeted the enclosed carnage and Natalie, safe and warm inside the confines of the luxurious coach with her attentive fiancé beside her, felt more secure than she had in weeks. The evening had been a pleasant one. They'd enjoyed a tempting buffet at Dr. and Mrs. Ellroy's, which had been followed by games of cribbage. Four couples had been at the Ellroy home, all old friends, an good company, and Ashlin had been in an especially entertaining mood, charming her and the others with amusing stories of his youth in England.
Natalie was almost content on this cold, starry night, and mentally counted her blessings. In a matter of days her beloved uncle would arrive, and Ashlin seemed eager to meet him. She had not seen the worrisome Kane Covington since the day at the Wells Fargo office, but she felt confident the construction of his cabin was at a standstill. It had snowed every day for the past week.
Rumors abounded that the southerner had run desperately short of money before winning the lottery. Before that bit of luck, one of the miners who lived at the Baker boardinghouse, swore he had overheard Marge Baker telling Kane Covington that she would be glad to carry him for a time, that he could pay when he had the money.
Natalie frowned.
If only he hadn't won the snow lottery. Carol Thompson had told her there was more than a thousand dollars in the pot. Damn! He might last for months on that kind of money.
No, no he wouldn't. He was far too self-indulgent and undisciplined. He spent his nights—and his money—on gambling and women, so the gossips proclaimed. A thousand dollars would not last long; not with his appetites. And he would have a difficult time finding employment in Cloudcastle. A great majority of the mines had closed over the past five years and of the ones operating, she could think of no foreman who would offer him a job.
Natalie sighed and snuggled deeper beneath the soft, furry lap robe. Ashlin smiled in the darkness and drew her close. "You sound like a satisfied woman, my dear."
"I am," she said, and smiled up at him.
Ashlin bent down and found her mouth. He kissed her softly, gently, as a gentleman would. Natalie put her arms around his neck and kissed him back. And told herself it did not matter if his kisses did not stir her to raging passion, as the despicable Kane Covington's had. Ashlin loved her, respected her, was going to marry her.
He was not the land of man to use a woman for his own selfish pleasure.
Natalie's serenity was shaken the next day.
The snow had stopped for a time, but great drifts had piled up against the sides of buildings and Cloudcastle's unpaved streets were covered with heavily rutted ice. The sun was out and Natalie, standing in the upstairs salon of the talented French couturiere Madame Du Bois, was not cold even though she was clad in only a soft satin chemise, silk stockings, and high-heeled shoes.
Through gleaming skylights above her head, brilliant sunshine streamed in to bathe her nearly nude body with lustrous light and welcome warmth.
Natalie smiled at the short, dark-haired woman and dutifully stepped into the half-finished shimmering yellow taffeta frock. With an off-the-shoulder neckline and a long, tight basque, the gown, fashioned from a pattern Natalie had admired in Godey's Lady's Book, looked stunning even in this incomplete stage.
"Magnifique!" trilled Madame Du Bois as her nimble fingers tugged at the hidden hooks that ran down the gown's snug back. Before Natalie could agree, the bell downstairs tinkled and the tiny dressmaker shouted shrilly, "Ne quittez pas!" and scurried down the stairs, leaving Natalie alone to admire the lovely yellow creation.
She was still staring, transfixed, into the tall beveled mirror when Madame returned with Carol Thompson.
"Nat!" exclaimed her friend. "You are beautiful!"
"Oui oui," Madame Du Bois agreed, "she have the slender body, the regal bearing to do justice to Madame Du Boies's designs!"
Carol nodded, untying the streamers of her blue felt bon-net. "You look like a delicious bowl of lemon ice, Nat, and I'm pea green with jealousy."
Natalie's slender hands smoothed the stiff, shiny fabric hugging her midriff "Thanks, Carol, but doesn't it seem a bit daring to you?" Her eyes lowered to the expanse of bare white flesh showing atop the gown's rounded décolletage.
"Heavens, no!" assured Carol, then added teasingly, "Looks like the lady judge has decided to offer new evidence that she is decidedly all woman." Her gaze rested on Natalie's nearly bare bosom.
Madame Du Bois, nodding her dark head vigorously, proclaimed happily, "Ah, this yellow taffeta is sedate!" Her eyebrows lifted impishly. "Wait until she put on the sumptuous turquoise velvet! Is cut to here!" With short fingers she drew imaginary lines from Natalie's bare shoulders to a point at her narrow waist "You will be as tempting as that shameless beauty, the exotic Katrina." The little dressmaker laughed and darted behind Natalie to fuss with the scalloped taffeta overskirt hitched up into a small bustle.
"Katrina?" questioned Natalie, "I don't—"
"I do." Carol sat on the tufted-velvet love seat. "Katrina is the long-legged beauty at Mollie Madison's." She frowned suddenly. "Rumor has it she is simply wild for Kane Covington."
"Ah, this is true, this is true," offered Madame Du Bois in low, confidential tones. "That Katrina, she and some of the other girls come to me for new gowns. Katrina speaks of the handsome Mississippian in glowing terms."
"What does she say?" Carol leaned forward eagerly. "Carol, I'm sure Madame Du Bois does not wish to—"
"Ah, but I love to gossip; I am French, no?" said the dressmaker. Her voice lowered almost to a whisper. "Katrina tell her friends Mr. Covington is the expert at amour and that she 'trembles with passion' when he—"
"Madame, isn't it a bit too warm in here?" Natalie felt her face flushing hotly. The little couturiere sighed, but crossed the sunny room to open a window.
Carol said dreamily, "Isn't it a shame that—"
"I think perhaps pearls would go well with this gown, don't your?" Natalie interrupted, desperate to change the subject.
"I mean, I made it clear to Kane," Carol continued, "that I find him very attractive. Yet he refuses to give me a tumble and I have to believe it is because he stays away from decent females."
"But why?" asked Madame Du Bois. "He is well-bred gentleman no?"
Carol shrugged. "I thought so, but Jake—ah, an acquaintance who deals faro at Gaiety's—says that Kane comes there often and never brings a respectable lady with him, but almost never leaves alone." She lowered her eyelashes suggestively. "Jake says it's downright lewd the way those loose, fancy women drape themselves all over Kane while he's gambling."
Natalie felt the breath inside her body growing short.
"Ah, oui," beamed the openmouthed couturiere, "and then he go home with them, no?"
"Of course he does," nodded Carol. "Let's face it, the man likes bold, beautiful whores."
"He never courts fine, eligible ladies of Cloudcastle?" wondered Madame Du Bois.
"Never," stated Carol emphatically. "The man is obviously decadent and base. He prefers his affairs to be cheap and vulgar and meaningless." She sighed sadly. "The southern gentleman is actually no gentleman."
"Ah, is tragique," lamented Madame Du Bois. "He is so handsome!"
"He sure is," agreed Carol, wistfully, "but he's… he's always so quiet and distant. I've tried to draw him out, but he… he—" Abruptly Carol looked questioningly at Natalie. "Come to think of it, the only time I have ever seen Kane animated is when he was talking to you, Nat. What is the explanation?"
Natalie, dying a
little inside, smiled and calmly replied, "Perhaps he does not consider me a lady."
Both Carol and Madame Du Bois laughed merrily, and when the dressmaker helped Natalie step out of the rustling yellow taffeta, she was puzzled to see Natalie hastily donning her street clothes. "But, mon amie," she reminded, "we are to fit the turquoise velvet, no?"
"Tomorrow," said Natalie, "well do it tomorrow."
The cold air felt good on her hot face when Natalie exited the downstairs door of Madame Du Bois's little shop. She drew a deep breath and hurried away, giving silent thanks that Carol had remained behind for a fitting. She had heard more than she ever wanted to know of Kane Covington. Shaking her head to clear the unpleasant pictures painted by Carol's enlightening gossip, Natalie turned the corner onto Denver Street.
If she had been mildly upset in the upstairs fitting room of Madame Du Bois's, she was now almost overwhelmed.
There stood Kane Covington with a gorgeous, stately beauty clinging possessively to his arm. The door the handsome pair had just exited? The town's assay office!
Her heart pounding, Natalie sailed back around the corner to avoid a confrontation. Fear gripped her. What was he doing in the assay office? Dear Lord, had he already discovered the gold?
Feeling shocked and alarmed, Natalie walked dazedly in the opposite direction, hardly realizing where she was headed until, short of breath, she climbed the steep steps of the Blackmore mansion.
Upstairs, bright sunlight streamed through the big bay windows of the spacious drawing room. Across the marbled corridor, however, in the vast dining hall, the cut-velvet drapes were tightly pulled; double doors securely closed.
On the heavy sideboard, a single white candle burned in a tall crystal candlestick. The matching candlestick was empty. The long dining table, draped with snowy-white damask, was elaborately laid for lunch. Fine china, sparkling crystal, and heavy sterling had been meticulously placed for two.
But it was not yet noontime.
And atop that massive, regal table, at its far edge, away from the dazzling place settings, a beautiful young dark-haired girl sat upon the table. Naked.
Before her stood a handsome blond man, also naked, a long white candle held loosely in his right hand. The blond man was kissing the dark-haired girl, his hot mouth devouring her hungrily.
He raised his golden head at last and smiled down at her, lifting the candle to her chin. Stroking teasingly, he trailed the tallow taper over the curve of her white throat, around each full, jutting breasts, down her bare white belly and lower.
Belinda Baker's pale thighs fell apart. Ashlin Blackmore filled them. Natalie Vallance lifted the downstairs door knocker.
Chapter Eighteen
Dear Captain Covington,
In reply to your inquiry regarding the titled Blackmore: the gentleman, although he is acquainted with Moffat, Tabor, Evans, and Bedford, and frequently dines with the entrepreneurs when in the city, is in no way connected with their railroad interests. I am told that Lord Blackmore's visits are purely pleasurable ones and that when he is not being entertained at the homes of Denver's socially elite, he spends his hours in drunken debauchery at Mattie Silk's establishment.
From all I can gather, the pleasure-seeking nobleman is quite wealthy and has no profession, other than that of being the charming, sought-after European gracing Denver's drawing rooms.
Next time you are over the Divide, stop in and spend a few nights with us.
Regards,
James Dunn
Kane folded the letter and put it inside his breast pocket, his dark face devoid of expression. Exiting the Wells Fargo office, he unlooped Satan's reins from the hitchrad, swung up into the saddle, and cantered down the street, his thoughts on the contents of Dunn's letter.
Pondering Blackmore's reason for dissembling, Kane kicked his steed into a trot on the outskirts of town, blue eyes squinting against the glaring reflection of the bright winter sun on the snow-covered ground.
Past the old shut-down Shining Mountain mine rode Kane, climbing rapidly now, Satan laboring through the deep drifts of snow. Kane did not put Blackmore from his mind until he saw, at last, the sturdy shell of his mountain cabin nestled amid the ice-glazed pines.
Kane smiled.
Amazingly enough, the structure was near completion, though hardly a day had gone by without snow falling. Kane unsaddled the big stallion, anxious to begin work. With any luck he could occupy the cabin in a couple of weeks.
Satan whinnied and tossed his great head. Kane turned to see a grinning Joe South, mounted atop a skinny dun mare, loping toward him. Joe lifted a hand and waved. He looked sober. Together they might get the roof on.
Shortly before ten o'clock on that same morning, the Overland stage rolled to a stop on Cloudcastle's Main Street.
Colonel Shelby Sutton pushed the coach door open and stepped down to the icy street. He reached for the passenger within. The petite, well-dressed lady placed her gloved hands on top of his broad shoulders and laughed prettily when his hands went to her tiny waist.
Effortlessly, the tall, slim man swept the enchanting woman out of the coach and into his arms. While people stared and whispered, Colonel Sutton, gray-haired and gray-eyed, posture still that of erect military bearing, gallantly carried the small, curvaceous female to the sidewalk.
There he gently lowered her, puffed her small hand around his arm, and escorted her to the Eureka Hotel while every eye followed them.
Inside the ornate hotel, the colonel saw the lovely lady settled in a comfortable second-floor suite, and paid to have her many trunks and valises transported from the coach.
Squeezing her gloved hand, he said charmingly, "My dear, until this evening." The pale blond woman lowered her lashes demurely and smiled up at the tall, attractive man. "Colonel, I shall count the hours."
Back outside, Shelby Sutton's gaze went immediately to the Castleton County Courthouse and he smiled broadly. Stopping a youth, he clamped a hand down on the boy's bony shoulder and said, "Want to make a dollar, son?"
"You bet, mister."
"Run down to the courthouse and see that Judge Natalie Vallance gets the message her uncle has arrived." He handed the boy the coin, and added. "I'll be at the Gilded Cap Saloon. Fetch me when she's free and there's another dollar in it for you."
Ashlin Blackmore sneezed.
A cold was coming on; he was certain. Of all the days to catch a cold! Natalie's uncle was due in town and she'd made big plans for the evening. He sneezed again. Ashlin dreaded the whole miserable affair. The old man would most likely question him, pry, probe, be the typical protective relative. That's all he needed.
"Are you catching a cold?" Belinda questioned, and Ashlin realized he had been so preoccupied, he had forgotten her presence.
They were in his opulent drawing room on this cold Thursday morning. He stood with his back to the fireplace, Belinda sat, cross-legged, on the floor at his feet.
The sight of her there below him brought an involuntary tremor of remembered terror. How close they'd come to being caught the last time the young girl had been at the mansion. Never would he forget the panic that had gripped his chest when he realized Natalie was at the front door! The frantically issued orders to Belinda, the frenzied dressing, the racing about, the pounding of his heart when at last held flown down the stairs. The anxious moments when Natalie swept into the dining room where Belinda stood lighting a tall white candle in its crystal holder. "Ashlin?" Belinda's voice interrupted his thoughts. He smiled down at her and reached for her hand. "Stand up, child." Belinda rose before him. "Undress."
Ashlin watched while she discarded her clothes. When she stood naked before him, he commanded, "Turn around, Belinda." Belinda turned. "Now get down on all fours," he said huskily.
He looked at the bare bottom turned up for his pleasure as his hand went to the buttons of his trousers. Slowly he sank to his knees behind her. Ashlin sneezed.
In the Castleton County courtroom, Natalie read the
look in the darting eyes of the bailiff, Theodore Burford. He was signaling that he had a message, something to tell her. Almost imperceptibly, she nodded to him, then immediately redirected her attention to the nervous young defense attorney who was bent on clearing his client of claim-jumping charges.
The bailiff silently stole to the front of the room, sidled over to the tall podium and laid his hand upon it. He quickly retreated, leaving behind a folded piece of paper. Natalie's fingers closed over the note and she slid it across, the polished wood.
Waiting for the opportune moment, she unfolded it in her lap.
Uncle Shelby Button is in the Gilded Cage Saloom Send young Frank Dallas to get him when you are free. Natalie's heart filled with joy. He was early. The stage was supposed to arrive at eleven that morning and it was not yet ten. Time dragged and Natalie fidgeted. Court dismissal came at last.
Feeling happy and carefree, Natalie eschewed young Frank Dallas's offer to fetch her uncle. Smiling down into the youth's narrow face, she gave him a coin and told him she wouldn't need his help. Judge Natalie Vallance hurried down the sidewalk, paused but a brief moment outside the swinging doors of the Gilded Cage, drew a deep breath, and strode inside.
Immediately she spied him, his back to her, at the brass-trimmed mahogany bar. The tall, lanky frame, the wide, erect shoulders, the gleaming silver hear it could only be Shelby Rabard Sutton.
Natalie went directly to where he stood drinking his whiskey. Lifting a foot to the brass rail, she forcefully slammed a small fist down upon the bar and said loudly, "Can't a girl get a drink around here?"
The entire room fell silent as miners, gamblers, and cowboys gaped, openmouthed. Shelby Sutton turned, looked down into the pretty, smiling face of his niece and his gray eyes widened. He threw back his silver head, laughed loudly, and reached for her.
