by Angel Smits
“No. None.”
“Humph. I never forget a face, which is good, because I’ve dealt with a lot of people.”
“How long have you been here?”
“I was born over in Victor. My Daddy was a hard-rock miner, one of the last. He died in one of the district’s last cave-ins.”
“How awful.” She knew that many of the area’s mines had closed decades ago, which would have made him very young when his father died. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. He died doing what he loved. He always said he’d go under the ground and save Mama the trouble of buryin’ him.” The doctor chuckled at his father’s morbid joke. “Why, he’s practically a legend around these parts.”
“You must know a great deal about the people who’ve lived here.”
“Yes, I do.” He set aside the needle, and bandaged the stitched areas. “I know just about every tale ever told in the district.”
“Do you know much about the old brothel?”
“Well . . . ” A crimson blush crept over his wrinkled cheeks. “Can’t say I know any more, or any less than any other man.”
She felt a smile pull at her lips. “I’m working on a photo book of the old buildings, including the brothel. We found a trunk with an old dress and some items in it.” She watched the old man’s brow pucker in concentration. “There was a picture of a little boy. I got the impression some tragedy was involved.”
“Hmm. Let me think a minute.” He stood and walked to the sink to rinse his utensils before putting them aside to be sterilized. The sound of water rushing into the metal sink seemed loud in the small room.
Suddenly, he spun around. The startled look in his eyes surprised her. “Timmy. Timmy Cumberland.” He turned back and shut off the water. He was silent for several moments, leaning his hands on the sink’s edge. His arms straight and stiff, he gazed down into the swirling water.
“What do you remember?” She gently prodded. “I’d really like to know.”
“It’s a very sad story.”
“Please, tell me.” A shudder of fear raced through her, but she controlled it.
“My mother used to tell me about Timmy. Lots of the mothers told their kids about it, as a warning.” His eyes were distant and his voice softened. “Back in the boom days, Timmy’s mother came to town shopping. The boy got into trouble and disappeared.” He halted, his brow gathered as if he wished he didn’t remember.
“A few weeks later they found his body at the bottom of a mineshaft. His parents never were the same.”
Strobe like flashes went off in Faith’s mind. A child’s face, animated in laughter. The heart-rending scream of “Mama” through the darkness. Pain and grief tore a hole in her heart. She was afraid to ask, but knew she had to. “What happened?”
“Tore ‘em up pretty good. He was their only child. It was pretty hard on them.”
“Weren’t people back then more prepared to lose a child?”
The doctor pinned her with a dark stare. “You ever had a child?” When she shook her head, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’ve seen plenty of folks lose kids, and I’m sure it hasn’t changed. Even then they had the ‘it doesn’t happen to me attitude.’ You’re never prepared for it.”
Somehow she thought she understood.
“The mother was a beautiful woman. I remember seeing an old picture of her. That’s who you remind me of.”
“And the father?”
“He fell apart. Drank pretty heavily. About six months later he died, too. No one knows for sure if it was murder or suicide. Died in the brothel. She was the last one to see him alive. Gunshot wound clean through his left temple. Some say she killed him. Some say he killed himself.”
Bile rose in Faith’s throat. Gruesome images flashed through her mind too faint to catch, yet strong enough to stab her with pain. “I don’t feel so good.”
“There’s a bathroom through that door.” He pointed across the room.
“Excuse me,” she mumbled and hopped down from the examination table and rushed into the bathroom. Slamming the door, she retched in solitude, longing for the illness to pass and the almost memories to fade away. The man in her dream merged with Cord, who had touched her so tenderly only a short while ago. It was suddenly all too clear. All too real.
How could anyone survive so much painful loss in one lifetime? It hurt Faith’s heart just thinking about it.
She slumped against the wall and let the tremors take her. Hot, scalding tears ran down her cheeks.
A soft tap came at the door “Faith, you okay?” Cord’s voice sounded distant, muffled.
She didn’t—couldn’t—answer. He wrenched the door open. The hall light silhouetted his tall figure in the doorway, disguising his features. Faith started in fear, and a small cry escaped her throat as he hunkered down beside her. Gently, he touched her forehead, carefully avoiding the tiny cuts. Reaching out, he pulled her to him. His fingers slid over her hair, comforting and kind. “You okay?” he repeated.
She pulled away, looking up at him. “I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
“The doctor. He told me about Timmy . . . about you, I mean him . . . Rafe Cumberland.” She stared at his left temple, recalling the doctor’s description of Rafe’s fatal wound.
Confusion filled his eyes, and Cord stood. He pulled her to her feet and helped her bathe her face with cool water and rinse her mouth. Turning into his arms, she clung to his strength and reality, not caring that the cuts stung as she snuggled against his shirt. “Don’t let go. Please.”
Carefully, Cord guided her down the hall. The doctor closed the examination room door as they passed.
“Send the bill to the Double Barrel. I’ll take care of it,” Cord said.
“Some people have difficulty with anesthetics. If your stomach hasn’t settled by mornin’, give me a call. If you want to know more about the Cumberland’s, there was plenty of coverage in the papers, though you’ll probably have to go to Denver to the archives to find ‘em.”
“Thanks.” Cord guided Faith out into the night, his fingers tight around hers.
The solid, constant click of his boot heels on the pavement snapped through the quiet night all the way to the jeep. The storm had passed, leaving the air sweet and clean. Soft sounds of trickling water came from the distance. Cord slipped his arm around Faith. His warmth seeped into her.
“Want to talk? What did he say about the Cumberlands?”
Faith shook her head, and her drying curls bounced around her shoulders. She didn’t want to talk about the tragedy echoing through nearly a hundred years to hurt her.
The doctor’s words rattled around her head like an accusation. She was the last one to see him alive. Some say she killed him . . . Had the images she’d seen really been part of the past? Some odd memory left over from an unfinished life?
If what Cord had spoken of earlier was true, then the images she had seen of Rafe Cumberland may have been his last moments alive.
THE QUIET AND warmth of her hotel room was a welcome contrast to the cool night. Only Cord’s presence disturbed her peace.
She grabbed and tossed whatever object came in contact with her hand into her suitcase. There was no rhyme or reason to her hasty actions, just a means to getting packed and out of here.
“You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question. Cord simply stated the obvious to break the tension in the room.
“I’m not prepared for this . . . ” She waved her hand vaguely. She couldn’t meet his eyes—they’d been her downfall from the beginning. Instead she concentrated on packing.
“And I am?” He reached out and stopped her with a warm, strong hand. Still, she wouldn’t look at him. “Running won’t help. The dreams will still be there.”
“You don’t know t
hat.” She pulled from his grasp and headed for the bathroom. She gathered up her toiletries in one sweeping action.
She was surprised to find tears lurking in her eyes as she unceremoniously dumped it all into her suitcase. Wiping a tear off her cheek, she flinched as she encountered a tender spot where the glass had cut her skin.
“Will you give the dress back to Opal tomorrow?” She finally looked up at him. He stood only a few feet away, and yet a gulf yawned between them.
“Sure. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Thanks.” She stood, intent on finishing as quickly as possible. “I just want to get back to my own life. Look, I got what I came for. All my shots are done, including the brothel.” That reminded her, she had to pick up her camera on the way out of town. Would the back door still be open? She didn’t remember locking it.
“Where does that leave us?” he whispered, moving closer to her.
“Us? What us?” His body heat reached out to her. He stood close. Too close. It took all her strength not to reach out to him. Closing her eyes, she fought her own desires, but her mind betrayed her. Images of him played behind her closed eyelids, reminders of the passion they’d shared only a short while ago.
She opened her eyes and met his stare. The blue light in his eyes had fanned to a brilliant flame of passion.
“There can’t be any us.” She backed away, afraid she’d be unable to resist him much longer.
“Whether we like it or not, we’re in this together. No one else has the dreams.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
He shook his head. “Yeah, I do. There’s got to be a reason why this is happening.”
What he said made sense, but it also scared her. What could the reason be? She didn’t have a clue, and the beliefs she’d clung to all her life were little help now. “I came too close tonight—”
“Too close to what?”
“To dying.” And to giving into desires I didn’t know I had, she added to herself. She wasn’t sure what bothered her more.
“We’ll be more careful. I’ll protect you—”
“From what?” She almost laughed at the blank stare he gave her. “You don’t even know the answer to that. You can’t take care of everything.” She grabbed her suitcase and headed for the door.
“When I dream, I won’t be able to forget that you’re real.” His frustration showed in the depth of his voice. She stopped in her tracks yet reached for the doorknob, curling her fingers around it.
Cord’s words hit her heart like tiny missiles, leaving destruction and pain in their wake. Before she could move, he was beside her, threading his fingers through her hair. His lips gently found each of the tiny cuts on her cheeks and neck, soothing away the hurt.
“Will you be able to dream about me and believe this is only a figment of your imagination?”
His lips captured hers before she could speak, but her answer was clear enough as she dropped the suitcase and wound her arms around his neck. She’d never forget he was anything but a real, hot-blooded man.
She tried to break the embrace. She needed to leave, but her resistance vanished. He pulled her tight, wrapping his arms around her and encasing her in a velvet cocoon of caring.
A flash of lightning lit the room. A loud clap of thunder followed on its tail. Faith knew she should have expected it. Cord lifted his head, and she buried her face against the strong wall of his chest.
“Damn you,” Cord yelled into the room. “Who the hell are you? What do you want from us?”
There was no answer except the howl of the wind. Cord and Faith instinctively moved away from each other as another peal of thunder rumbled through the sky.
Faith grabbed the suitcase again, and she had the door open and was halfway down the hall before he caught up with her. He grasped her arm and pulled her abruptly to a halt.
“We’re not finished yet.”
“Oh, yes we are.” She glared at him, hoping to banish her feelings for him from her heart. “Every time you touch me, my life nearly gets wiped off the slate. I don’t know if we were reincarnated, or if this is some cruel joke, but I want to live my life to its natural end.” Her voice broke and she turned, running down the stairs before she lost her resolve.
CORD STOOD IN the rain, letting the water wash over him as he watched Faith go. He fisted his hands to relieve the urge to reach out and haul her back. She pulled her car away from the curb, and the red taillights created an eerie glow in the gloom as she disappeared around the corner and out of town.
In his experience women didn’t stick around. Why had he thought Faith would be different? His mother had never had time for him when he was a kid, and that hadn’t changed now that he was an adult. The legion of “girlfriends” and “aunts” who had invariably left had taught both he and his father all too well about the staying power of women.
Only this time Cord found himself wishing Faith would stay. Hell. He didn’t need this. He stalked back to the casino, his casino, the one place he knew he mattered.
OUTSIDE THE NIGHT was cold, the skies vacant of stars. The moon seemed to have vanished. The streets were empty, the cool night having chased most of the gamblers indoors. Faith didn’t have any trouble reaching the museum.
The parking lot was empty. No lights shone in the front windows. Everything looked empty and deserted.
She couldn’t go back in there alone. She couldn’t even remember if she’d closed, much less locked, the back door as she’d promised Opal. The very thought of going inside made her heart race and her stomach clench.
She didn’t know how long she sat there staring at the empty house. A knock on her window startled her and she nearly jumped out of her skin. A squeal escaped her. She turned to find a tall man standing outside. His dark skin blended into the night, but his smile, bright and warm, belied any threat he presented.
She rolled the window down a few inches. The puff cloud of his breath carried his words inside. “Do you need something?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I left my camera in the museum earlier. I thought someone might be here.”
His smile widened—if that were possible. “I’m Ned Sullivan, the maintenance man here.”
Vaguely, she recalled seeing Opal talking with a man when she’d first toured the museum.
“I’ll get your camera. Do you know where you left it?”
“Upstairs. In the room with the brass bed.” She realized a few of her other things were there, too. “I’ll go with you, if it’s okay.”
She dreaded going inside the house again. Afraid of the voices, of the images, of her own feelings of confusion and inadequacy in regards to the brothel and its history. Oddly enough the old man’s presence comforted her and she followed him up the walk.
Together they stepped into the empty museum. The old man flipped a light switch and several lamps came on. It seemed almost homey with the muted glow.
The upstairs still looked dark, and then he flipped another switch and its shadows vanished as well.
“I told Opal I’d check that back door,” he told her. “Go ahead and grab your stuff. We’ll go back out the front.” He disappeared down the hall, and Faith hastily went upstairs. She grabbed her camera and clothes, barely giving a thought to the pictures she’d taken. She put the furniture back and hurried downstairs.
He was waiting for her.
“Thanks.” She stepped off the last step. “I need to get back down the mountain. I hated to wait to get these,” she explained, realizing she was babbling. Again. She walked toward him. “I’m Faith McCoy. Thanks for your help.”
He clasped her hand and held it. A frown creased his brow. “You look familiar. Have we met?”
She started to shake her head then stopped. “I was here yesterday. I think I saw you then.”
“Oh, yes. Maybe.” He released her fingers, and she realized she’d enjoyed the human warmth of his grip. She liked him.
A cold breeze hurried them down the walk, and she hastily climbed into her car. At the edge of the lot, he raised a hand and waved, and then he disappeared into the darkened night.
She sat there for several long minutes after he’d gone, the purr of the engine and the white shafts of her headlight beams the only respite from the night.
Putting the car into gear, she took a deep breath. She felt as if she stood on a precipice, ready to fall off into something frightening and unknown. Something she wanted no part of.
Determined, she headed toward the highway and out of town. The winding mountain road was difficult enough by day. By night, and after several days of rainstorms, it was treacherous. Faith drove slowly around the hairpin turns, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. She should have waited for morning, but if she had, would she have been able to leave Cord?
“Mama.”
The cry came from out of the darkness. Startled, Faith slammed on the brakes. The small car went into a slide. Wet gravel ground beneath her tires.
The car finally came to a halt on the shoulder of the road. Faith’s fingers gripped the steering wheel. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her heart thumped hard in her chest. The headlight beams reached out over the edge of a ravine and disappeared into the night.
Leaning back, she closed her eyes and fought the delayed panic mounting in her mind.
“Mama, don’t go.”
The soft, pleading voice surrounded her, seeping through the car and into her brain. She clasped her hands over her ears, but the childish voice penetrated to her heart.
“No, you can’t follow me,” she whispered to the night. Frantically, she shoved the car door open, drinking in deep gulps of the cold, pine-scented air.
Could this unearthly thing follow her? She’d understood the truth in Cord’s words when he’d said the dreams wouldn’t go away. She was sure she’d manage to live through that. But what if the voices—and the laughter—followed her? Was she up to that?
