by Angel Smits
“Why, you silly fool.” A soft, feminine voice echoed in the room.
“Hello?” Faith hadn’t heard footsteps, and she didn’t see anyone.
A giggle slid through the cloying air. Wrenching the door open, she rushed out into the hall, nearly toppling a hat rack sitting outside the door. The hair at the back of her neck stood on end. Chills ran through her.
Get out, her mind screamed. Leave this place and never come back. She wanted to. Really wanted to. But she knew she couldn’t really leave it all behind. The room and the man would follow in her dreams. Turning, she ran down the stairs, uncaring that her steps might be heard. As she flew toward the front door, she noticed the tour guide standing in the hall talking with a tall black man.
“Upstairs,” a woman’s voice—a voice that wasn’t the tour guide’s—said.
“No,” Faith cried.
“What, dear?” The woman looked at her.
“N . . . nothing. I’m sorry.”
“Come on up and see me.”
Faith tore open the entry door and ran from the house. The giggle she had heard upstairs rang in her head. Her breath ripped through her lungs, and her heart slammed against her ribs. At the corner, she stopped and looked back at the house.
It stood as stately and elegant as when she’d entered. The soaring turret, wide verandah and carved gingerbread spoke of a time long past. Dove gray paint added a haughty air, which the peach trim only slightly muted.
Leaning back against a worn brick wall, she closed her eyes and tried to catch her breath. Madness. The dream had sent her near the edge many times. Night after night she awakened, sweating and aching from the potency of the images. Now, the images threatened her waking sanity. She had to fight, but fight what?
The rough brick of the old building bit into her back. She whispered a brief thanks for the slight discomfort. It meant she was awake. Still sane.
She concentrated on her breathing. In. Out. Slowly. The air’s sweet scents reminded her she was high in the Rocky Mountains. Her equilibrium returned, and Faith gave in to it.
Opening her eyes, she grasped for the reality around her. The familiar sights of Cripple Creek settled into focus.
Maybe she was just tired. Disrupted sleep and sixteen-hour days could do that. That’s why she’d hallucinated back there. Relieved that she’d found a reasonable explanation, she took several more calming breaths. With her confidence firmly back in place, she stepped away from the wall and out onto the sidewalk. As the sun slipped behind the surrounding tall peaks, lights came on in the tiny mountain town.
She turned to look back at the museum again. Suddenly, in one of the house’s upper turret windows, a young girl pulled the curtains away from the glass. But there hadn’t been anyone upstairs, Faith was sure of it.
Even from this distance, she felt the intensity of the girl’s stare, sensed her animosity. Through the old distorted glass she saw the girl’s long, black hair hanging in ringlets past her bare shoulders.
A shiver of foreboding snaked up Faith’s spine as the girl tipped her head back and laughed.
THE DREAM FADED. This time the man slipped away without speaking.
“Come back,” Faith whispered, but he didn’t hear her. The blackness engulfed him and startled her awake.
Abruptly, she sat up in bed. The springs of the hotel’s antique brass bed squeaked.
Her heart pounded in her chest and echoed in her brain. The dream. Damn the dream. She tried to calm her heart’s racing beat by focusing on the ordinary room, on the here and now. She closed her eyes only to see him behind her eyelids. She snapped them open again, anything to chase him away.
Why had the man faded before he spoke? The words he’d said in the observation room only a few short hours ago echoed in her mind. They seemed more real to her than the rest of the dream ever had.
Voices startled her, and she nearly laughed out loud with relief when she realized they weren’t disembodied. These were real and coming from outside.
She climbed out of bed to close the wood-framed window. Cool mountain air, heavy with the scent of pine, slipped inside the room. She breathed deeply and fought to slow her thoughts and cool her body.
Frustrated with the dream and her reactions, she stared at the alley below. In the moonlight she made out the silhouettes of two men walking through the night.
They were trying to walk anyway. From the zigzag pattern of their path, she realized it was more like one held up the other. The sound of booted feet against the crumbling cobblestones resounded off the surrounding high walls.
Like many of the other old buildings, the hotel’s original owner had put much effort into the front and neglected the other three sides. Black lattice fire escapes wove back and forth up the brick walls on each side of the dimly lit alley.
“When are you going to learn?” One man’s deep voice broke the night and throbbed in her chest like the bass drum of a passing parade band.
“Hell, learn what? How to punch an idiot harder?”
Faith recognized the voice despite the fact that it was muffled. A security guard at one of the casinos, the Double Barrel Saloon, Johnny Harper was a big bear of a man who’d given her directions the first time she’d visited Cripple Creek. He never hesitated to greet her when they met on the street. His gap-toothed grin and size reminded her of a bedraggled teddy bear.
“Come on, man. I may not always be around to bail your butt out of trouble. What are you going to do then?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Find a new friend?” Howling laughter climbed up into the night air, and Johnny doubled over as glee overtook him.
“You know damned well no one else would put up with your behavior.” The man with the sober, sexy voice chastised Johnny. Could this be the boss and friend Johnny’d mentioned? Curious, she leaned a little closer to the window.
Together, the two men stumbled toward the bright halo of the old-fashioned street lamp. She caught a glimpse of the man whose voice seemed to echo the beat of her heart. Johnny stopped and sank to the curb as the other man leaned against the lamppost.
He reached into the pocket of his T-shirt and extracted a slim cigar, which he slipped between his lips. The scraping sound of a struck match broke the silence of the alley.
For an instant, flickering flame illuminated his features. Faith gasped. She swallowed the scream bubbling in her throat and ducked back behind the curtains. His head snapped up as the muffled sound seemed to reach his ears. Shadowed eyes stared up into the darkness, and the dream suddenly seemed too real. He seemed too real.
Faith covered her heated cheeks with her hands as if he could see her and tell what she was thinking. The dream returned to taunt her, and the questions she’d asked herself a million times ran through her mind. Where had the dream come from? Why did she know what it felt like to slowly peel away her clothes? She’d never stripped for a man. Sure, she’d had several relationships. A couple had been serious enough to make her think of wedding bells, but never had they progressed to the dream’s level of sensual intimacy.
Yet, she knew it all. Knew how it felt to have a man’s gaze roam over her body. Knew the heat that crept into her bloodstream and tingled under her skin.
And knew this man’s face.
But that couldn’t be. The emotions she could blame on reading too many romance novels . . . but his face? It was a coincidence. Or maybe it was simply that she had seen him before and superimposed his features on the man in her dream. He was handsome enough to catch any woman’s eye. And she wasn’t immune.
Relief washed over her at the realization. That was it. This man looked similar, yes, but there were differences, like the fact that he didn’t wear a thick, dark mustache.
She slipped further into the shadows. Her eyes drank in every inch of him, her imagination filling in the details
the shadows hid from her eyes. He was tall, well over Johnny’s six feet. The breadth of his shoulders pulled his T-shirt tight over the muscles of his upper arms.
Moonlight and the distorting glow of the streetlight didn’t allow her to see the true color of his hair, but she knew the thick dark curls were brown and soft to the touch. She almost felt the smooth, high cheekbones and even planes of his face. The rough texture of his whiskers would tickle the sensitive tips of her fingers.
She tore her mind from that dangerous path. Stop. She wasn’t here for personal reasons, she reminded herself. She was here to work, that was all.
She’d finished photographing all the buildings on the original subject list. Tomorrow she’d head home. But what about the brothel? It wasn’t on the original list—a fact she was sure her father had engineered. The historical association might want the pictures, but Reverend McCoy would never allow his daughter to visit a house of ill repute, even a defunct one. She figured she’d never tell him about today’s visit.
Still, the building’s clean architectural lines and Victorian air seemed to call to her. It was familiar. Like this man? Like the voice upstairs?
She shivered at the memory. No, not like that. Different, as if something from inside her reached out to it.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she continued to stare down at the men. There were no answers in the darkness, just the dregs of her doubts and dreams.
Time and reality faded away, and like a double exposure, she saw him in a great black cape. He blew two perfect smoke rings into the air as he stared up at her window. She blinked and the vision vanished, but the man remained, as did a deep soul-scarring pain that vibrated across the cool night and shivered through her heart.
Two
CORDELL BURKE saw her through the play of dark and light. Perched on the windowsill, her face partially hidden in the midnight shadows, she seemed familiar.
She turned then, facing him. Their eyes met, and Cord felt as if a fist slammed into his gut.
It was her, the woman who haunted his dreams. There was no mistake. Those long, luscious copper-colored curls. The soft curves of her body. She’d visited his dreams on too many nights. Usually she waited to visit until he was sound asleep, but not tonight. He didn’t mind. He enjoyed her visits. The things he dreamed of doing to her . . . with her . . .
He blinked several times before rubbing his tired eyes, but she didn’t go away. She continued to stare at him. The full moon climbed higher in the sky, and an errant ray slid across her. Heat rushed through his body as he recalled the smooth skin beneath the simple gown. He groaned, the sound echoing through the alley.
Cord wanted her, as he always wanted her. Since that first dream in which she’d seduced him, he’d craved her and only her. He never reacted like this to any other woman—to any real woman. She touched something inside him. Warmed him. His arms ached to hold her and protect her. From what, he didn’t know, but the need pulsed through him just the same.
She wasn’t real. She couldn’t be. She was a concoction of the night and his travel-weary mind.
“Cord? Cord!”
Johnny’s voice broke into the images that had taken possession of Cord’s mind. He looked down at his friend sitting on the curb.
“I don’t think I can get up,” Johnny said.
Cord sighed. Keeping Johnny out of trouble was turning into a full-time job, a job he didn’t want. He’d had enough of that growing up, taking care of his father. Acid memories came back of chasing his father from bar to bar and dragging him home in time to rush off to school. But he forced those thoughts away. Johnny wasn’t his father, and Cord was no longer a boy trying to be a man and receiving nothing but pain as payment.
He extended his hand, and Johnny took hold. Cord hauled him to his feet, and the two of them stumbled for an instant before they stood steady.
Cord looked back up at the window. Empty. “Did you see a woman?” He pointed to the darkened opening. “Up in that window?”
“You’re hallucinatin’, bud. Ain’t no woman hanging out a window to look at a couple old drunks.” Johnny snickered.
“Speak for yourself. I’m only thirty-four, and I haven’t been drinking. You have. Again.” He must have imagined her after all. An unwelcome sensation—disappointment?—settled into the pit of his stomach. Slowly, he walked Johnny around the corner and toward The Double Barrel Saloon. Home.
FAITH HAD TO prove to herself that he wasn’t the man from her dreams. She grabbed her jeans and tugged them on, then shoved her nightgown into the waistband. Halfway down the hall she was still pulling on her jacket.
Antique wall lamps dimly lit the hall, and she slowed to keep from tripping. The exit door smacked against the wall as she stepped out into the alley.
Cool night air wrapped around her, and she shivered. Jagged rocks poked the soles of her feet, but she didn’t have time to go back and get her shoes.
Noise from the nearby casinos echoed through the deserted air. The streetlight where the men had stood moments earlier cast its glow only a few feet. Patches of light fell through a few windows above, leaving the alley shrouded in a heavy darkness.
They were gone. The alley was empty. Disappointment shot through her.
Crossing to where the men had been, she glanced up to her own window. Had he seen her? What had he thought as he looked at her? Had she imagined the recognition in his eyes?
Don’t be ridiculous, she scolded herself. He hasn’t the foggiest idea who I am. A cool breeze slid between the buildings, and she shivered again.
The bright casinos beckoned. He’d gone that way, and Faith followed. Old-fashioned storefronts splashed light on the uneven sidewalks. It was late, but the town was alive with people and sound.
He’d been with Johnny. The Double Barrel Saloon sat at the end of the block. Like a tempting jewel in a priceless necklace, it dared her to touch. Faith hurried in that direction. Maybe someone there knew where they had gone.
Shivering, Faith rubbed her hands up and down her arms. She stopped and stared through the storefront at the crowd of gamblers. She heard her father’s sermons on “dens of sin” repeat in her mind. He definitely wouldn’t approve of this place.
She gritted her teeth as she remembered their latest conversation. She’d practically pleaded with him to help her get this job. In a way she felt she owed him some loyalty, but she chafed against that debt.
She’d worked hard to make it on her own. She’d wanted to do this job, but her father’s involvement was grating. If only there’d been another way. She stared through the window at a world she’d never experienced before. One that fascinated and scared her at the same time. A world of wealth and risk, of fortunes made and lost, of addictions and failures.
It was drastically different from the safe existence of taking wedding photos and family portraits, a life her father thought she should live.
Just as the brothel hadn’t been on the project list, neither were any of the casinos, even those in historic buildings. Her father’s hand reaching out to protect her—again? She understood his concern, but wondered if he’d ever let her grow up. She hesitated only an instant longer before stepping inside the casino.
Players pulled the handles of slot machines, the wheels spinning in a myriad of colors and calliope-like music. Music played as coins clanked into the metal tray. A few feet away men sat at half-circle tables. Smoke wafted up from forgotten cigarettes as they stared at their cards.
These weren’t carefully contrived photographer poses but reality. There were no smiling brides who turned into weeping barracudas, or babies who smiled except when the camera aimed in their direction. Faith wished for her camera, longing to put to film the expressions of the winners—and the losers. Here she’d control the shot—not brides or mothers.
Clickity-clack. Clickity-clack. A roulette w
heel spun and drew her attention. Several people leaned over the edge of the wooden table, and cheers rose in the air as it stopped. “Red eighteen,” a man’s deep voice boomed over the crowd. A tall, blonde woman screamed in excitement.
A heavy-set man waved a handful of money in the air. “This round’s on me.” The woman next to him grinned and reminded him that the drinks were free. With a sheepish grin, he ordered the drinks anyway, and everyone laughed. It was all too perfect. Why hadn’t she brought her camera?
A waitress in a short dress balanced a tray on one hand as she stopped beside Faith. “Can I get you anything?”
“No. Thanks.” The girl sashayed away, and Faith watched her fade into the crowd. All around her people were packed in close. She didn’t recognize a soul.
Johnny was nowhere to be seen, nor was the other man. This was ridiculous. She’d never find them. What am I doing here? She needed to get up early tomorrow. She should be in bed.
She took a couple of steps backward and bumped into something . . . someone . . . hard and warm. Two strong hands on her arms steadied her. She turned and stopped, paralyzed.
Him.
“May I help you?” His words were common, welcoming, but there was nothing common about him. The question in his tone told her he was surprised to see her.
What had she been thinking? Now that she’d found him, what could she say? How did she ask a stranger about the sensual images of her dreams? Heat flushed her cheeks at those memories. “I . . . uh . . . I was just leaving.”
“But I just saw you walk in.” His eyes were full of questions. She didn’t have any answers.
“I was, uh, just curious, I guess. It’s late.”
“The night is young.” That deep baritone filled her mind and soul. “Why don’t you try your hand?”
“I . . . I’ve never gambled before.” If she turned and ran would he follow her? Or let her go? She swallowed the longing to find out. Up close he was even handsomer than in the dream. The deep blue of his eyes pulled her in, and she stared, aware of the angles of his cheeks and the soft curve of his lips. He smiled suddenly, and she prayed he couldn’t read her thoughts.
