Caden shook his head. “I can’t leave the claim right now. I found a place where the collapse made a fresh tunnel. If I can get in there, I might be able to get to the gold.”
“And that matters.” Unlike me.
“Honey, that’s our future.”
No. Their future was him and her together.
“You never said you loved me...”
He didn’t say a word, and it suddenly became vitally important that when she’d told him she loved him, he hadn’t said the words back.
“Aw, hell, Caden,” Ace said.
Ace’s reprimand was like a nail in the coffin of her dreams. She just shook her head. He’d played her for a fool. And she’d let him.
Without a word, she put the pot on the fire and started packing up the bedroll. Everything in her waited for Caden to come to her, but he didn’t. It was worse that Ace was there to see it, but not by much. Not much could make what was horrible any worse.
When she had the bedrolls rolled up tight and tied closed, leaving enough rope to tie it to the saddle, she stood.
Caden took a step forward and reached out. “Maddie...”
It was too little too late. She shook her head and clutched the bedroll to her chest, meeting his gaze dead on, feeling that buzz in the outside of her mind, unable to touch it the way she used to be able to, unable to escape and to pretend. She just had to stand here and feel the humiliation and pain crash over her. She had to endure it, and it was all his fault.
With a shake of her head, she took another step back.
“You should never have kissed me.”
* * *
THE RIDE TO Simple was accomplished in silence, during which Caden shot her assessing looks and Ace concerned ones, but neither man spoke, not that she wanted them to. Her hold on her composure was so delicate she felt as if she was broken into a million pieces inside, her heart lost somewhere among the fragments. There was a reason whores didn’t kiss. She thought that rule didn’t apply to her because she had a husband, but it wasn’t the truth. Husbands were the most dangerous of all.
She let him lead her through town. She let him bring her to the hotel. She listened as he told the hotelier that he wanted a room for a month. She watched the money change hands, took the receipt when Caden gave it to her.
“You might need that.”
She nodded. A woman alone was vulnerable to a lot of things, including the dishonesty of a hotel clerk who might want to pocket the difference and kick her out. She let Caden lead her up to her room. It was clean and functional. A vase of flowers on the bed stand added a touch of color. They didn’t cheer her up.
Caden sighed. “Maddie, look at me.”
Instead of looking at him, she walked past him, opened the door and stood by it. If he wanted to leave, then he needed to be about it.
“There’s nothing to say.”
“I’m not abandoning you.”
He’d paid for a month in advance, and he was leaving. She knew how this worked. At the end of that month, he wouldn’t be back. At the end of that month, she’d either have a new protector or she’d be on the street. This was the way men said goodbye when they wanted to pretend they didn’t have anything to be guilty for. Temporary safety followed by nothing. How could she have been so wrong about him?
“Do you like the room?” he asked.
She nodded. “It’s fine.”
“I’ll be back for you, Maddie. I need to get that claim tied up, but I’ll be back.”
She shook her head, giving him the acceptance that he seemed to want, knowing in her heart he wouldn’t. They never came back.
“Goddamn it.” He crossed the room, his boots making hollow thumps with every step. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he pulled her up into his embrace. His mouth slammed down on hers with a passion that had so excited her last night but right now just left her cold. Fake. It was all fake. Love on her side, convenience on his.
He stepped back, giving her a shake. “I’m goddamn well coming back for you, Maddie, and your ass had better be here.”
She just stared at him and nodded, giving him again what he wanted to hear, knowing the truth behind his statements.
“I’ll be here.” Where else would she go? She didn’t have money or family. Simple was as good a place as any to start over. Right now it was the only place she had.
“Good. You’ve got the receipt. The clerk gives you any guff, you show it to the sheriff, but don’t you give it over. You hold on to it. It’s your proof.”
She nodded. He wouldn’t be so worried about that if he really planned on coming back. Caden took some more coin out of his bag and put it in her hand.
“That should give you plenty to eat. Just don’t let anybody scam you. A meal should be no more than two bits. And try to stay in the room as much as possible. I don’t want anyone to know you’re here.”
She nodded again. “Thank you.”
The money burned her palm. Payoff for a guilty conscience. She wanted to throw it in his face.
“I gotta go, Maddie. I gotta get back to the claim. Can’t leave it for too long in case jumpers find it.”
“Or the Comanche.”
His response was a bit too slow, but he nodded, “Yeah, or the Comanche.”
“If it’s that dangerous where you’re going, how will I know whether you’ve survived?”
“If I don’t come back in six weeks, notify Hell’s Eight.”
“And tell them what?”
“That I didn’t keep my promise.”
“You never keep your promises to me.”
“Like hell!”
“You told me you wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”
“Okay, once. One time, Maddie. It didn’t seem that important.”
No, probably it didn’t to him. To her it had been a promise that mattered.
“But that’s the only time.”
She shook her head. No. There were more. He’d promised not to hurt her, and right now she felt as if she was dying inside.
“Maddie.”
“What?”
“Honey.” His fingers stroked from her temple to her cheek down to her chin. “I’m coming back. I promise.”
“All right.”
His gaze dropped to her breasts; she folded her arms over them. If he wanted anything sexual from her again, he was going to have to take it. He’d raped her heart—what did it matter if he raped her body?
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
“You didn’t want me to whine at you. You didn’t want my distress to get in the way of your fun. You got what you wanted. Now just leave me alone.”
“I can see there’s no talking to you right now.”
“No.” No amount of talk would change reality.
He pointed his finger at her. “You be here when I get back.”
She resisted the urge to bite it. “I already said I would be.”
She was done running. If this was where she had to make her stand, this was where she was making it.
“Do you need anything else?”
A man I can believe in. It hurt her to look at him, to see what could have been, what she thought was, but what hurt worse was knowing that if she were a respectable woman this never would have happened. But she was a whore. They didn’t command the same kind of decency. It was okay to trick a whore. It was okay to lie to a whore. Many men even considered it sport. But play those games with a decent woman? A man could expect her kin would come calling. Men didn’t play those games with a respectable woman for the simple reason the price was too high.
A knock interrupted them. Ace stood in the open doorway.
“We’re all set.” Ace smiled at Maddie. “We gave you an account at the mercantile, paid them in advance.” He handed her a receipt. She looked at the amount. It’d be enough for a few nice dresses. More guilt money.
“We’ll be back in about a month,” Ace said.
What did she expect? That he wouldn’t back Caden’s lie? Or
maybe he actually believed it. It was hard to tell. More than once a friend had fooled a friend, but she knew even if he did, in the end it wouldn’t matter. Ace would always be Caden’s friend, and she would always be the whore that turned up at Hell’s Eight and tried to make something out of nothing.
She looked out the window. The afternoon was passing. “Don’t you need to go?”
Ace looked at Caden and frowned. She looked at both of them and felt nothing. She was so numb inside, so blessedly numb, and she hadn’t even had to escape to her pretend world to achieve it.
“Yeah. We do.” Still, Caden lingered. Finally, he put his hat on his head in that way that said he’d reached his limit. “Remember, Maddie, if you need help, send a telegram to Caine Allen care of Padre Bernard in San Antonio.”
She nodded.
“Write that down.”
She didn’t bother. She was never going to send a telegram to the padre.
He ended up writing it down for her. There wasn’t anything else to say, and after a long, awkward pause, Ace left. Caden paused a little bit longer, then with the brush of his fingers over her cheek he said, “You take care of yourself, and remember, I am coming back.”
She nodded, closed the door behind him. A turn of the key and the door locked, the soft click signaling the end. After all the work of the past year, she was right back where she’d started. Alone.
* * *
FOR THREE DAYS, Maddie didn’t come out of that room. For three days she drank the tea the owner’s wife sent up and nibbled on some jerky from the saddlebags. She wasn’t hungry. She wasn’t sad. She wasn’t mad. She wasn’t anything. She was alone in a strange town the way whores always ended up.
On the fourth day, she started to get mad. It began with a dream, the one she’d often had as a child in which her mother wasn’t her mother but someone else, someone soft and caring, someone who protected her from the world, who cooked her meals, who smiled at her achievements. That dream always angered her because when she opened her eyes, the contrast between what she wanted and what she had was so vivid it was like a smack in the face.
She sat by the window that day, watching everybody outside going about their lives, women and men moving from building to building with purpose, children gathering in the street to play hoop and stick, tag or hide-and-seek. Everybody, it seemed—except her—had a purpose. If she listened to Caden, her purpose was to sit and wait. But she knew what that would get her. If she listened to her mother, her purpose was to serve men. She knew what that wouldn’t get her. If she listened to Tia, it was to be a good wife. If she listened to Desi and Bella, it was to be whoever she wanted to be. She continued to stare out the window and watch people with lives go about living them.
That day she ordered up dinner, eating alone in her room, chewing food that had no taste, wishing for bread that wasn’t there, her mind going around and around.
On the fifth day, when she woke up she took her seat by the window and studied the scene again. Carriages bustled up and down the streets, families gathered at the restaurant.
The next day she did the same. Doing nothing but watch as the hours ground by.
By the seventh day, she couldn’t stand it anymore. She had to leave her room, and the excuse sat on the table. They hadn’t sent bread again with her lunch.
Taking her remaining coins and putting them into the pocket on the inside of her skirt, she marched down the stairs, stopping at the front desk to ask where the restaurant was. The clerk pointed two doors down on the right. She thanked him and headed that way.
When she entered, it was obvious the proprietors were gearing up for lunch. She could hear the sounds of chopping, and the smell of oil heating and onions cooking filled the restaurant. She went to the back. A harried woman in her forties looked up.
“I’m sorry. If you’re looking for work, I don’t have anything.”
“I’m not looking for work, I’m staying at the hotel. I’m Maddie Miller.” It felt strange to introduce herself as that.
“I’m Lucia Salinger, and the man at the stove is my husband, Antonio.” She was attractive in a homey sort of way. She made Maddie think of hugs and kisses and the comforts of home. She had big brown eyes, an olive complexion to her skin, a red mouth and dark hair that was just showing streaks of gray. “What can I do for you? Lunch service isn’t for another hour.”
Maddie shook her head. “I don’t want lunch. I want bread.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve ordered meals from here for three days, and every single time you’ve forgotten to send the bread.”
Lucia straightened and slid her hands down her stained apron.
“I’m sorry the meal wasn’t to your liking.”
Maddie shook her head again. “The meal was fine, but my bread was missing.”
“I haven’t had time to bake it, and there’s no bakery in town, so it’s not that we’ve forgotten. There just hasn’t been any. We gave you an extra helping to make up the difference.”
“Don’t usually serve bread?”
“Heck,” Antonio said. “We’ve been so busy, what with a new crop of miners coming through every day, just putting food on the table has been a challenge.”
She hadn’t considered that, but as she did, a possibility occurred. “Would you sell it if you could?”
“Hell, yeah. Nothing a man likes better than fresh baked bread. Could probably sell all we had and make a fortune off it, too. Nothing like baked goods to make a man start thinking of home.” He turned the meat he was cooking. “Problem is, we don’t have a baker.”
She nodded and looked around, a wild idea taking hold. “I can bake.”
The claim came out so faintly she wasn’t surprised when Antonio said, “Excuse me?”
She swallowed and tried again. She’d never shot for a respectable job, never been among respectable people, but in a month her money ran out and so would her options. If there was ever a time for bold moves, this was it. “I can bake.”
“Why would you want to be baking? You’re staying at the hotel.”
She swallowed and cleared her throat. “That situation is temporary.”
Lucia’s eyebrows went up; Antonio took the skillet off the fire and put it to the side. He was a heavyset man with fleshy features, but he had kind eyes.
“Did you lose your husband?”
“Yes.” It wasn’t a lie. She’d never really had him and now he was gone. “And I’ve only got enough money to last until the end of the month.”
Lucia set her hands on her hips. With doubt clearly in her voice, she said, “But you can bake.”
If the subject had been anything other than her baking abilities, Maddie would have been cowed, but this she knew. “Yes, I can bake.”
The woman frowned and said something to her husband in a language Maddie didn’t understand. Antonio answered her in the same language. Lucia turned back to her. “You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you?”
Maddie walked over to the wall where the supplies were stacked behind a well-used wooden table. The supplies in the kitchen were stored the same way they were at Tia’s. It wasn’t hard to find the flour.
“Do you have starter?”
A little of the tension left Lucia’s stance. Pulling a crock from the side, she slid it across the wooden table. “Yes, I kept that alive at least.”
That was good. Maddie grabbed an apron off the hook.
“Rather than telling you, why don’t I just show you?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A WEEK LATER Maddie was exhausted. What Antonio had said was true—whatever bread she baked was gone before half the evening was over. She couldn’t keep up with the demand. If she had more oven time, she might have been able to, or even if she’d had more space to work in, but in the Salingers’ cramped kitchen, there was only so much she could do. If she had a place of her own, though, her baked goods would be the real gold.
She fingered the money in her pocket. Part of her deal wi
th the Salingers was she got free meals. She hadn’t spent much of the money Caden had left her for food, so on top of that she had the percentage of receipts from her baked goods. She didn’t know if it was enough to open her own business, but it might be a start.
Once she had the thought about starting her own business it wouldn’t let go. A home of her own. A future of her own. She remembered the phrase I was going to that had haunted her life for so long. Her own “going to” list sat completely neglected: start a business, buy a house, travel the world. All that took money. Money she didn’t have. Money she’d never have if she stayed as she was. Money she might have if she took a chance.
Maddie clutched the new money in her hand and looked out the window of her hotel room at all those people going to all those places with all that purpose, leading lives of which she had always been envious. She came to a decision. She was tired of being on the outside. It was time she did something about it. She left her room and went downstairs, stopping at the front desk as she always did to see if there was a telegram from Caden, some recognition that she existed. There was none. She thanked the clerk, straightened her skirts and stepped out into the sunlight. The first piece of business was to find a place in which she could work.
She wandered down the street, going from house to house, and learned the truth of a boomtown. Housing was scarce. At the edge of the alley beside the mercantile was a for-rent sign with an arrow pointing down the alley. She thought it might be a room, but when she went down the narrow passage, she discovered a little house at the end. No one was about, so she let herself in and looked around. It was small, just two rooms—a living room with a couch, an end table and kerosene light, with a kitchen beyond. Through the kitchen window she could make out an outhouse in the back. It was a tiny place, but the stove was big and there was enough room for two worktables. Her heart started pounding faster in her chest. The sign outside said to inquire at the mercantile. She headed over, walked up to the front counter and waited, her breath catching in her throat, butterflies tumbling about in her belly. A balding gentleman with spectacles perched on the end of his nose came over.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
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