by Angel Smits
She headed back toward the hotel, having to cross the street to avoid the crowds. On the next corner the front page of the local paper hung in a storefront window. She looked up and read the old fashioned lettering on the glass. The Crusher, Cripple Creek’s oldest newspaper, lived inside. The blazing headline of “Fire” caught her eye, as did the photo of the Double Barrel as it glowed orange against the dark night sky.
The camera suddenly weighed heavy in her hand, and she remembered that some of her film had been used. That newspaper photo . . . Did it mean they had a darkroom? Was there even anything on the film in her camera? Curiosity pushed her through the door.
CORD STARED AT the casino from all the way down the street. The beautiful, historic building—what was left of it—stood silent and dark in the afternoon sun. Grief and loss stabbed at his heart. All his plans and dreams gone up in smoke. Each day the casino was closed he lost revenue. While insurance covered the building it didn’t pay his workers wages or his other bills.
At least the casino hadn’t been condemned. He and Johnny would have a place to live while repairs were made, albeit a grimy one. His earlier attempts to find a hotel room had proven fruitless. A large convention filled every room in town. And there was no way he’d spend another night in the museum. He controlled a shudder.
“Tough break, bud.” Johnny said behind him, and Cord turned to see his friend’s welcome face.
“Yeah. What a mess.” Together the two men walked down the street, side by side, partners against the disaster. Their boot heels rang in unison against the pavement.
A thick, metal chain held the front doors shut. The heat of the fire had melted the handle. Johnny pulled a key from his pocket, and after releasing the padlock, handed Cord the key.
Johnny’s broad shoulder pushed against the water and heat warped door. After several futile attempts, Cord lent his shoulder to Johnny’s efforts. The scrape of the door across the once polished flooring grated on Cord’s nerves. They managed to open the damaged door wide enough to pass through.
Cord tried to prepare himself for the devastation, but there was no preparation for this. He sucked in his breath as frustration enshrouded him.
Stale smoke and the scent of wet wood permeated the air. Damaged slot machines filled the room. The once shiny metal frames were warped and blackened. One machine’s metal arm bent awkwardly toward the ground, melted by the heat. The money sat safely in the bank, thanks to Johnny’s efforts.
Cord’s throat tightened as he walked around the room. The beautiful hand-carved bar, Cord’s pride and joy, now formed a black, charred lump in the center of the room.
He stopped dead in his tracks. A fresh rose lay on the once polished surface. The thorns had been removed. He reached out and touched it, afraid it was an apparition, and almost as afraid it was real. Black ashes clung to the velvet petals as he lifted the flower to sniff the sweet scent. He’d smelled it before. Upstairs in the brothel the day Faith had fainted. How had the rose gotten here? Cord hesitated, afraid he already knew the answer.
“Has anyone been in here since the fire?” He turned to Johnny. The other man didn’t speak until he’d finished pushing two charred tables toward the back door, in preparation to throw them out, Cord realized.
“Not that I know of, I locked ‘er up pretty tight.”
Cord stood for several seconds, gazing around at the devastation. The fire investigator had concluded that faulty wiring in one of the slot banks had caused the fire. That same junction had been inspected less than a month ago.
Absently, he picked up the rose and rubbed it along his cheek. “I will win, Delta.”
“You say somethin’?” Johnny asked.
“No.” Cord crushed the delicate flower between his fingers and threw it out the open door. The afternoon breeze carried the petals down the curb, and murky water running in the gutter pulled them down into the sewer grate at the corner.
“I’D NEVER SURVIVE without developing my own pictures,” The Crusher’s editor said. Faith smiled and thanked him for the use of the dark room.
The room was nothing more than a converted closet. She didn’t like being alone, but there was barely room to turn, much less have company.
With a deep breath, she opened the camera and went to work.
She developed the photos as quickly as possible. She wasn’t looking for quality at the moment, she just wanted to see them. The first prints formed in the trays, and she gasped.
The house in the woods took shape first. It looked new, freshly painted and clean. Figures wavered in the doorway. Closing her eyes, Faith braced herself. Slowly, she took a deep breath before opening her eyes.
Warmth filled her chest, warmth that she now recognized and understood as love. She smiled.
Rafe carried a young Maria over the threshold. His strong arms held her close. He stood at the door, their lips pressed together in a sweet, heart-melting kiss.
The next developed quickly. A tiny swaddled bundle rested in Maria’s arms. She gazed down at her son with obvious love.
Faith especially liked the one of Rafe bouncing a three-year-old Timmy on his knee. Laughter shone in their eyes, and for a minute Faith thought she heard it. The thick darkness of Rafe’s hair was mussed and hung in his eyes. His shirtsleeves rolled up, he looked every inch the gentleman farmer.
Other images formed. The family sat at the dinner table. Rafe twirled Maria around the room to the Victrola on the table. Timmy chased a tabby cat across the parlor floor.
Tears gathered in Faith’s eyes. She did hear the laughter. Felt the warmth from the old wood stove. Knew the love Maria had for these two men. Her men.
She brushed the dampness off her cheeks. “Please,” Faith whispered. “Don’t let these fade.” She hung the pictures to dry. She reviewed them again and again, thrilled and frightened by what she saw.
When they’d dried, she carefully stacked the pictures then slipped them into a large manila envelope. She resisted the urge to hug them. Such sweet precious images.
For a minute, fear struck at her. Why had Delta sent these images? To taunt her? To show her what she’d lost? If that was her plan, it did little to ease or increase the pain already settled in Faith’s heart. The dreams had dug them deep. Gathering the photos, she left the darkroom.
In the newspaper office daylight poured in the windows, and she blinked several times. The editor sat at his computer, engrossed in an article. She thanked him then made her way out to the street. Hustle and bustle surrounded her. The word “home” whispered on the sweet mountain breeze.
Faith headed toward the casino. Hugging the picture envelope close, she smiled. She and Cord had a past. A wonderful past cut short by terrible circumstances. Cord would probably throw her out again, but she had to share these with him. Show him that Maria and Rafe and Timmy were real people.
In the shadow of the tall building she looked up at the workmen on ladders over her head. They scraped at the blackened paint in preparation for the future.
Standing there, holding the pictures, she realized she’d do anything to help Cord make his dreams real again. In the large window she smiled encouragingly at her own reflection. Cord appeared on the other side of the glass. He glared and turned away. Her heart skipped a beat.
Anything.
Eighteen
“NOW WHAT?” CORD stood hands on hips glaring down at her. For some odd reason his anger couldn’t dampen her mood. Maybe it was the realization that she loved him. Maybe it was the pictures.
She smiled at him, ignoring the frown he threw her way. “Come see these.” She walked to his desk, now neatly cleared of papers. She saw the sooty documents had been packed into boxes. She opened the envelope and pulled out the photos. Laughing at herself, she turned them over. Her smile faded. They were blank on both sides. Empty glossy paper stared up at her.
Not a hint of the shadows remained.
“Damn her.” Faith threw the stack of used-to-be photos on the desktop.
“What?” Cord picked up the blank pages. “What are these?”
Faith closed her eyes. In her mind she saw the images. The sweetness of Timmy’s smile. The passion of Rafe’s kisses. “I didn’t imagine them,” she whispered, swallowing the sudden tightness in her throat. “They were us . . . I mean, Maria and Rafe and Timmy. Happy. At a house I saw yesterday in the woods, before I fell.”
Opening her eyes, she banished the thoughts and the pain. She picked up the papers, rifling through them, hoping to find something—anything—left. It hurt to lose the images. Hurt deeply. As if she’d lost a memory.
“Nice try.”
Faith fought to control her anger. At Delta as well as Cord’s stubbornness. She needed to show him these pictures were real. Why that mattered so much to her, she didn’t know, but it did. She could redevelop them, but would they develop at all? A dull ache formed in her chest at the thought of him never seeing the images. She looked up at Cord and realized it hurt nearly as much as the possibility of never seeing the smile in his eyes again.
Standing, she moved to the window. The afternoon sun beat down warm on her shoulders. Amazingly, the beautiful window had been spared in the fire. She looked up at it, remembering how it had shattered so easily before. He’d loved her that night. At least something had survived the fire. “I supposed this will vanish, too.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the bag the old man had given her. She tossed it to Cord. He almost caught it. Instead, it flew past his fingers and landed on the pile of pictures.
Like a blossoming flower, the images spread over the photo paper. Timmy, Rafe, Maria, the house, they all returned to full vibrant color.
“What the . . . ” Cord stepped back, startled. He stared mutely at the pictures.
“Oh, my God.” Faith rushed to the desk. She picked up the bag that held Rafe’s ring. The images faded instantly. She opened the bag, looking at the ring again. The inscription remained.
“The old man who helped me when I fell on the mountain was in the diner this morning. He gave me my camera and this.” Faith lifted the ring, presenting it to Cord.
He reached out and took it, fingering the worn metal with his thumb. She watched the muscles of his throat work as he swallowed and closed his eyes. “Who did you say gave this to you?”
“He said his father worked for Maria. She gave him that when she didn’t have the money to pay him.”
Cord stood so close she felt his breath against her skin. His anger was gone now, but what was he thinking? He opened his eyes then, pinning her with a stare filled with wonder and pain.
She took the ring again and laid it on the pictures. Amazed, she watched the colors blossom once more. They seemed even clearer, brighter now.
He picked up the pictures, careful not to dislodge the ring, and looked closely at them, not saying a word. “They seemed happy,” Cord whispered. He looked up and their eyes met. Emotions flickered across his face, and Faith struggled to read them. They vanished quickly, a distant stare taking their place.
“Maria.” The name whispered through her mind and the room. She looked around. No one but the two of them were here. Had Cord said it? Or someone else?
Doubt fluttered around her, tapping gently on her heart. She refused to let it in, but she knew it was out there . . . waiting. She moved closer to him, looking over his shoulder at the pictures.
“Look, here’s one of you and Timmy playing in the front room.” She smiled, the warmth chasing away her doubts.
“You still think that’s us, don’t you?”
She hesitated, daring finally to look up at him. What did she have to lose? “Yes.”
“Well, it isn’t.” He tossed the ring and the pictures onto the desk, the metal clinking as it landed. It bounced and slipped off the desk and rolled underneath. He didn’t try to retrieve it. “These fit right in with your dreams.”
“What do you mean?”
“I told you before, and I’m telling you again. I’m not Rafe.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“I am. You want the perfect little family.” He grabbed a fading picture, nearly crushing it in his grasp. “This is the man you want?”
“I don’t know if that’s true.” And at the moment she didn’t. The emotions staring back at her were frightening and confusing.
“Rafe Cumberland was a fool. He lost his cool when his family needed him most. He took another life, and then he killed himself when he couldn’t face the consequences.”
Cord turned his back on her, staring out the window, the picture still mangled in his fingers. The silence reeked of anger and pain.
“How . . . how do you know . . . ?”
“Another dream,” he whispered. “Pray you don’t relive it. Just leave Faith. What you’re looking for isn’t here.”
She stood there for several long, excruciating moments. “You’re right,” she said. “You aren’t what I’m looking for. Maybe Rafe was . . . maybe he wasn’t, but at least I know he tried.” She turned away from him and stomped out the door. The fact that she didn’t slam it told him she was way beyond mere anger.
Cord closed his eyes and let his head drop back. Over the past few hours he’d had a lot of time to think. Even when he was giving orders to the cleanup crews, nagging thoughts of Faith hung out in the back of his mind. They’d sneak up on him and surprise him when he least expected it.
He’d hear her laughter and turn to find she wasn’t there. He could close his eyes now and conjure up the taste and feel of her. For an instant he’d felt a flicker of hope—a hope that had lived in her eyes as she showed him the pictures. A hope that died when he realized she wanted some imaginary coward.
He’d never forget the stark pain he’d seen in her eyes last night when he’d yelled at her. That pain had quickly returned just now.
Why couldn’t she just leave well enough alone? Did she ever give up? She’d left here and kept searching for answers. She’d come back, even when she knew danger waited. Even after he’d pushed her away, she’d come back . . . not like anyone else he’d ever known.
Realization dawned slowly. She wouldn’t give up on him, either. Her idea of normal meant permanent. He admired her tenacity, even loved her for it. Loved? He couldn’t love her. He didn’t know how to love like she obviously needed to be loved, did he?
A rough wind howled outside, and tiny pebbles pinged against the window. How long had he been standing here? The image of her when she left a few moments ago filled his mind.
Her hair hung in soft ringlets around her face while her eyes sparkled with unshed tears. Even angry, she looked lovely.
He didn’t know how, but he had fallen in love. A smile spread across his face. When had it happened? How had it happened? He hadn’t let his feelings surface like this since his teens. His parent’s bitter divorce had taught him the pitfalls of caring. Faith had lit all his hiding places, freed his emotions.
Kneeling, Cord retrieved the ring and shoved it into his pocket as fat, wet raindrops fell, splattering loudly against the windowpanes. So, now what was he supposed to do?
He didn’t have a clue. He’d think of something as soon as he found Faith. The thought of hauling her into his arms warmed him.
The sound of a hammer echoed through the open doorway and brought Cord out of his thoughts. He walked into the casino to find Johnny high on the ladder. The chain holding the overhead chandelier slowly slid through the pulley.
“Careful up there,” Cord cautioned as he walked into the room.
“This needs to come down while they check the roof.”
Cord nodded, wondering if they’d ever get the soot off the crystals and brass. He was amazed it wa
s intact. Maybe clean it would show damage. He hoped not.
“I’ve got a box for it in the back room,” Johnny explained.
The storm’s intensity grew outside, and a bolt of lightning split the sky. Cord shivered, appreciating the relative warmth inside. Suddenly, the chandelier lit up. A loud pop filled the air, and Cord looked up just in time to see a jolt of electricity arc through Johnny. Johnny jerked and tumbled down the ladder, landing with a loud thud.
“Lay still,” Cord said as he ran to his friend, who moaned as he lay at the foot of the ladder. “You could be seriously hurt.”
“I’m okay.” Johnny’s voice sounded weak as he tried to sit up, rubbing his head.
“I thought the power was off. Damn, you scared the life out of me.”
“And what do you think it did to me?” Johnny growled. Cord offered to help Johnny to his feet, but Johnny shrugged away his assisting hand.
“Let’s get you to the doctor. I think I can handle it tomorrow. We’ve made a good start,” Cord said.
“Oh, and I’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Johnny turned angry eyes on Cord. “Tomorrow all I’d hear about was the way I slouched off today. You’d lord it over me all day, bragging to that woman how lazy I am.”
“What?” Cord stared at Johnny. He must have taken more of a jolt than it had seemed. Maybe he hit his head when he fell. “Let’s head to the clinic.” He reached for his jacket draped over a charred chair.
“I ain’t goin’ to no doctor. I’m fine,” Johnny yelled, kicking the ladder in frustration. The ladder slammed down the wall, gouging tracks in the heat-damaged wallpaper and landing with a crash only inches from Cord’s feet.
“What’s wrong with you? Are you trying to kill me or yourself?” Cord turned on his friend, his own frustration and exhaustion taking over. “Now let’s get out of here. Don’t make me pull rank.”
