by Angel Smits
“T . . . Timmy?” He clutched the bear tight in his strong fingers.
“It’s all right, Papa. I know you hurt.” His hand reached out and touched Rafe’s arm, though Rafe couldn’t feel the contact.
“I miss you and your Ma so much,” Rafe whispered, setting the bear on the couch and reaching to pick up the bottle. He took a deep swig of the whiskey that had been his constant companion for two days.
“I see Mama cry lots of times. I think she misses us, too. Papa?”
“Yes?”
“What happened to that lady?”
Revulsion shot through him, and he took another deep drink. So, even his son now knew the truth. “She died.”
“Oh.” Timmy pondered his father for a minute. “Like me?”
“No. Oh, no. Not like you did.” A sob shook Rafe’s big body.
“Mama always said to wait and see. Things will get better.”
“Mama doesn’t say that anymore.” Maria didn’t say anything to him anymore.
“Does my bear make you feel better? He used to help me lots when you and Mama would go away from me.”
“I . . . don’t think so.” Rafe picked up the bear and looked lovingly at it before extending it out to Timmy. “I wanted this to be buried with you, but your Ma wanted to keep it with her.”
Timmy reached out and a sudden, blinding flash of light filled the room. When Rafe saw Timmy again, he hugged the bear. A joyous smile lit his tiny face.
“Thanks, Papa.” His childish giggle filled the air. “I’ll wait for you and Mama, okay?” Timmy waved at his father and Rafe smiled, waving back as the little boy faded away.
“Okay.” Rafe stared, sure he was insane and just as sure that Timmy would wait forever. They wouldn’t end up in the same place. Failures didn’t make it where Timmy had gone. Suddenly, Rafe heard voices in the hallway. Through the fog of his mind he recognized the soft tone of Maria’s voice. She was scared and angry. She’d soon reach her boiling point. He chuckled to himself. Whoever was on the receiving end of her temper would be sorry.
“He’s not here,” she cried. Ah, she must still care. A comfort.
The door of the observation room slammed open. The crack of the wood against the wall startled Rafe for only an instant. “Evenin’, sheriff,” he drawled. Rafe smiled, tilting the bottle up to his lips again.
The gun Rafe had carried for two days was nestled in his hand. Timmy was waiting. He had to get going. He looked at the cold darkness of the gun. Raising the gun, he saw its power as the sheriff and his deputies scooted back behind the wall. Only Maria remained. The woman he’d loved so desperately, who was now a stranger.
“Please, Rafe. Put the gun down,” she pleaded. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“I can’t, honey. It’s the only way out.” He stood, his legs unsteady as he walked toward her. Only a few inches separated them when he stopped. “I told you I’d take care of everything, but you didn’t believe me. I love you, Maria. Really love you.” He kissed her then, sweet and slow.
He took a step back and faced the sheriff. “What’s done is done.” The muzzle felt cold against his brow. “Good-bye, sweetheart.” Her scream preceded the roar, and then the pain sliced through his mind. As quickly as it began, the pain halted, giving way to blessed cool darkness.
CORD SAT UP IN bed. His heart pounded against the wall of his chest. No, it couldn’t be true. He shoved his hand through his already tangled hair and then down over his sweat slick face. Dear God, don’t let Faith share this dream. Even though he was angry with her, he couldn’t wish this on her.
He had to see that room again. There were more answers there; he was sure of it. He pulled on his clothes then walked to the door. He opened it slowly, so as not to startle Opal. She wasn’t used to someone roaming around here at night.
He followed the moonlight’s path through the rooms and up the stairs. He flicked on the hall light to dispel the shadows.
It illuminated the room clearly. He walked to the spot where he’d stood with Maria in the dream. That same sharp pain stabbed at his head as when he’d first come in here.
Cord struggled against the discomfort. He moved to the couch and pushed against it. It moved several inches, and he found what he was looking for. Wiping the years of dust away, he saw the dim outline of a dark stain. Rafe Cumberland’s blood.
Cord swallowed the lump in his throat and backed out into the hall. Sweat drenched him. He hurried back downstairs to his room. The sooner he got out of this place, the sooner he’d feel sane again. He left Opal a note and headed back to his casino. He’d check out the progress of the fire investigation and put the dream out of his mind.
The streets were empty. None of Cripple Creek’s casinos were open after two a.m. and a glance at his watch told Cord their doors had been closed for well over two hours.
Heartsick all over again, he walked toward the Double Barrel. The beautiful building sat silent and black against the moonlit sky. The burned out section of the roof provided a ghastly reminder of how easily everything could be taken away.
His headache lingered, and he rubbed his temples. He didn’t need this. He really didn’t need this. He had enough to contend with in his life without taking on troubles left over from some other life, a life he was only partially convinced was his.
So, what was he going to do?
Fight. The word leaped into his mind as if lurking in some corner, just waiting for a chance at the limelight. Even as he thought it, he knew he could—and would—do whatever it took.
Cord had relived Rafe’s desire to have his wife and son, but Rafe had given up. Cord wasn’t a quitter. Never had been. Never would be. He didn’t have a wife and son to ache for, but he had his own life. The Double Barrel was the first thing he’d done in his life that was his. His staff and friends were closer than his own family had ever been to him.
Cord understood odds, knew about winning and losing. He willingly took risks, aware of the payoffs. There was no changing now.
For several moments he stared at his casino. Instead of seeing the skeletal remains of his dreams, he saw the foundations and structure of new ambitions. This was his chance to build it over. To build it better. To raise it to a higher level.
A calm that he hadn’t known in a long, long time settled over his heart. He would succeed . . . or die trying.
Seventeen
DESPITE THE LATENESS of the morning, the restaurant overflowed with diners. As Faith scooted through the crowd, she heard snippets of conversations. Last night’s fire was the main topic of conversation. There was speculation everywhere. How had it started? How long would the casino be closed? Would it ever reopen?
Faith had her theories about who had started that fire, but she kept them to herself. They’d all think she was crazy if she started telling ghost stories.
Way in the back, just outside the kitchen, Faith found an empty table. Everyone else wanted conversation. She didn’t, not about the fire, or about anything else. The banging of the kitchen door, and the pots and pans beyond didn’t matter that much to her. All she wanted was food.
A young girl rushed up to the table, a notepad in hand. “Can I get you anything to drink?” She smiled, but her exhaustion showed in her eyes.
“Busy day?”
“It’s been nuts all morning. Everyone’s still hyped up about the fire. Add that to the fact that everyone seems to be winning and spending their money.”
“On food?”
“On anything.” The girl looked harried, but also as if she appreciated the couple of minutes to stand in one place and rest.
“Bring me a cup of tea and a ham and cheese omelet,” Faith said. The girl nodded, scribbling on her pad as she turned away.
“Ah, wonderful choice. My mother used to say anyone who orders a good breakfast is a s
mart one.” The man’s voice easily carried over the din of the room.
Faith looked up. Ned smiled at her from a nearby booth. She smiled back.
“Hello. I didn’t get the chance to thank you for rescuing me.”
“I heard ya.” He nodded and took a sip of his coffee. She watched him close his eyes and savor the taste of it, as if it were brandy or some other special drink.
He suddenly opened his eyes and, for a long minute, stared at her. “Such sweetness,” he said.
“Y . . . yes.” The depth of emotion in his eyes left her to wonder if he referred to the coffee or something else. Just as the thought crossed her mind, he smiled and reached to the seat beside him.
“I was plannin’ to drop this off at your hotel.” He set her camera on the table.
“You found it!”
“I tried to clean it off. It wasn’t easy. A lot of that hill went with you when you fell.”
“I . . . yes.” She reached for it, tentatively touching the case. Relief washed through her, and she blinked away the dampness. Like an old friend it settled into her palm. Out of habit, she checked it over. It looked fine. Maybe she’d imagined hearing it break. She’d have it checked out, anyway.
She smiled, emotions clogging her throat. “Thank you.” Looking down, she noticed the film had been used. She hadn’t taken any shots on this roll. She shivered, remembering the pictures she’d almost taken of the house. “Did you take any pictures with it?” Part of her wanted to hear him say yes. Another part hoped he said no. Why would he have any reason to use her film?
“Nope. I wouldn’t know how to work one of them new fangeled things.”
She believed him, but the twinkle in his eye made her wonder.
Just then the waitress set a plate of steaming biscuits and gravy in front of the man. His grin could have lit the whole room. Just like with the coffee, he took a bite and closed his eyes to savor it. Faith couldn’t remember anyone enjoying a meal as much. She hoped her own was as good.
“You think I’m nuts, don’t ya?” He suddenly pinned her with another of his intense stares.
“Well, not nuts, exactly.” She tried to cover her discomfort with a friendly smile. “You seem very intense in your enjoyment of things.”
“It ain’t often I get a real home-cooked meal like Laverne makes here. I appreciate things right here in front of me.” He stirred the gravy and enjoyed another bite.
Why did she get the feeling he was speaking about something else? She didn’t have time to ponder it any longer as her own meal arrived. She had to admit it was good, but obviously nothing compared to his.
They each ate in silence for a while. Faith sat listening to all the conversations around her—conversations that made her think of Cord, of his pain and anger. One blessing in disguise became apparent about Cord not being open this weekend. If she believed what she was hearing, the other casinos were giving away record-breaking jackpots.
The old man stood slowly, as if even that were something to be experienced. He smiled as he dropped coins on the table. He seemed to have a pocket full.
“I see you’re a winner, too,” Faith commented.
“What?” He looked at her, then as if understanding dawned, he laughed. “Yes, but not just in a casino. You might say I’ve hit the big jackpot.”
He had a way of talking in riddles. She was almost afraid to ask. He saved her the trouble.
“There’s no greater treasure than love, my dear. Nothing better, but I can see you know that already.”
“What do you mean?” She looked down, wondering what he saw on her face. She blushed, though she didn’t know why. He couldn’t know about her and Cord’s lovemaking last night.
The old man shuffled across the short space between them. He reached out, placing his old, gnarled fingers over hers. “Treasures come in different packages. Some big. Some small. None more important than from other people.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old-fashioned cloth bag. Small and white, she recalled her grandfather using something similar when he bought tobacco to roll his cigarettes.
“Here’s a little treasure for you.” He turned her hand over, placing the bag in her palm. Gently, he pushed her fingers around it. “Hold on tight, don’t let it go.”
Faith looked down at the bag. Gently, in order not to harm it, she pulled the drawstrings open. Tilting the bag, she let the contents fall into the palm of her other hand.
A simple golden band fell out. She caught it, afraid it would bounce onto the floor and be lost among all the busy feet. “It’s beautiful, but I can’t . . . ”
“It ain’t mine,” he explained. “Opal told me you were at the brothel askin’ about Rafe Cumberland.”
“Yes . . . I have.”
“My Daddy worked in that house until Ms. Maria closed it. He was the bouncer and took care of . . . business for her.”
“Business? Like what?” Faith didn’t think she wanted to know the answer.
“Like getting rid of problems. He helped take care of Mr. Cumberland after the accident.” The old man looked around and leaned in closer. “When she closed the house she had no money to pay him, so she gave him this. Told him to sell it for whatever he could get.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“He knew she’d want it back someday.” With a wink and a smile the old man turned and shuffled through the crowd.
Faith stared at the ring, then looked up and found he’d vanished again. She stood, trying to see over the crowd, but he was nowhere in sight. She sat back down, unsure what to do next. She couldn’t keep this. Why had he given it to her?
The metal felt warm and smooth in her hand. Faith slid her finger in and out of it. Even her thumb fit inside with extra room to spare.
It sparkled in the light as if it had been kept well polished. The nicks and scratches indicated someone had worked hard while wearing it. It wasn’t totally round either. She held it up to the light, noticing the oblong shape of it.
Something was engraved inside. Faith tilted it, hoping to read it more clearly. The words were nearly worn off. She couldn’t make them out in this light.
Hastily, she headed for the cashier. She paid her bill and stepped out into the sunshine. It winked off the metal, but she could see the curls of the fancy lettering inside.
She’d know that name anywhere.
Rafe.
Tears formed in her eyes and she closed them, holding the pain inside. This can’t be happening. Inwardly she laughed at herself. After everything else, it was a little late now to think that.
Faith opened her eyes again, looking down the street at Cord’s casino. The burned out shell held a macabre beauty to her photographer’s eye—its blackened frame against the bright blue sky. His home. His dream.
She looked down at the ring in the palm of her hand. Rafe had lost his home, his dreams, his life . . . everything.
I can’t let him lose it again.
Where had that thought come from? Shoving the ring back into the bag, she stuffed it into her pocket. There were answers somewhere. She didn’t know exactly where to look, but she knew she had to try.
Faith headed toward the brothel. Delta had some explaining to do.
At the museum, Opal sat in the kitchen having an early lunch. She waved Faith in with a smile. Upstairs the observation room remained unlocked, though no efforts had been made to clean it or make it a part of the tour. Even though the mystery of what was here had been solved, there was still the promise Tim Gibson had given Maria to keep the room closed. A promise he would keep. Faith admired him for that.
Bringing her mind back from its wandering path, Faith pushed the door open. The room felt different. Empty and dusty.
Sudden flashes of memory came and went in her mind. She tried to bring them into focus, but they
refused to adjust. As quickly as they appeared, something snatched them away.
Sadness settled over her. Heavy sadness that threatened to fall from her eyes in great big tears. Staring at the painted-over window, Faith remembered her dreams of Rafe standing on the other side of the window watching her. He’d been so full of life. So full of desire. So driven by pain.
Turning away from the memories, Faith knelt beside the trunk and lifted the lid. Opal had put the blue dress back inside. Faint water stains marred the delicate fabric. The reality of what she’d done hit her. Feeling guilty, she wondered what Opal thought and how she could repay her for the damage. Making a mental note to talk with Opal, Faith glanced at the trunk’s contents again and saw the red box. She looked through the jewelry.
The brooch must still be with Delta. All Faith found here were more questions.
Shaking her head, Faith dug deeper into the trunk, but she found nothing that gave her more answers. “Damn.” She closed the lid and sat on the trunk. The mirror in the corner reflected her as she sat there. No other images filtered in. It all looked the same.
It didn’t feel the same.
Delta was gone.
How did she know that? And yet, she did. Delta wasn’t anywhere in the house. Leaving the observation room, Faith walked down the hall to the room where the familiar quilt lay across the brass bed. The pictures she’d seen before flashed through her mind in a horrific kaleidoscope, but there were no new images.
She wandered in and out of each room. Nothing.
Delta had definitely left this place.
So where had she gone? The casino? The hotel? Someplace else?
After talking to Opal and making arrangements to reshoot her pictures, Faith left. She needed to get the camera checked before she started work. As she walked down the street, modern day gamblers meandered up and down the sidewalks, enjoying the warm sunshine and the fresh mountain air. Even the small shops were filled.
The blackened exterior of the Double Barrel hovered at the end of the street. Was that where Delta had gone? Had she started the fire? Or had it been something simple like lightning or some electrical problem? Faith shook her head, knowing she wouldn’t find any answers just standing here.
