She’d like nothing more, but to think so.
“The water’s hot. Be careful.” He reached for her hand. Without pause, Gloria placed her hand in his. He helped her toward the tub. She found herself stronger, more balanced. The thought brought forth a measure of joy. She’d been incapacitated long enough.
Once they reached the tub, she glanced at him. “Thank you.”
“You’ll be all right on your own?”
Rapid heat flamed her face. “I guess I have to be, don’t I?”
“I could—”
“No.” She shook her head. “No, you couldn’t possibly.”
Steven nodded. “There’s rose soap for you by the tub. And I’ll hang a gown for you on the back of the door.”
Again, another puzzle. Was this man a widower? Was he sharing his wife’s belongings with her? How was he privy to so many female things? “Where do you get—”
“Later, Glory. I’ll tell you later. Enjoy your bath. I’ll be just outside the door. Call if you need me.”
“That’s not necessary. I’ll be fine.”
“Still, I’ll wait outside.”
Once he was gone, Glory removed her robe and the chemise that had clung to her body for the past five days, glad to peel it off.
She tested the water with her toe. “Oh, so nice,” she said with a sigh, then climbed in with both feet and lowered her body down. Immediately tension oozed from her body and she relished the distinct soothing effect hot water and rose soap had on her.
She scrubbed her body for a long while, the sweet scent of roses wafting up in such a way that ought to be deemed sinful from the delight and pleasure it created.
Gloria hummed a tune, a gospel hymn that she’d sung many times while in church, silently, in her head, not wanting to cause any disrespect toward her dead husband.
But, oh, she felt marvelous.
She washed her hair, scouring it until it squeaked clean. And then, as the water grew tepid, she knew her bathtime was over. She lingered another minute, until goose bumps rose up on her arms.
“Time to get out,” she thought to herself. She sighed with contentment.
And proceeded to get out of the tub.
Steven stood behind the bedroom door, waiting, listening. He’d be forever grateful he hadn’t had to help Glory with her bath, but as he leaned heavily against the door frame, he heard her sighs of pleasure, the sound of her sweet voice torturing him with images he should not entertain.
He heard the water lapping and swishing and imagined her washing her body, the soap caressing her skin, making it glow. He envisioned her scrubbing her honey-blond hair, fingering the long tresses, dipping her head back…
And thankfully, after more than half an hour behind that door, he no longer heard any splashing sounds.
She’d gotten out of the tub.
He wouldn’t think of her drying off with the large fluffy towel he’d brought in earlier. But he still had to listen, in case she called for him. In case, she needed him.
“Ohhhhh!” She screamed, the panicked shriek ripping into his gut. He shoved open her door and found her standing before the mirror with a horrified expression.
“What…” And he couldn’t get the words out. He swallowed, taking all of her in. He’d given her one of Emmie’s gowns, thinking they were the closest in size. But Glory surely filled this dress out more fully, the bodice tight about her torso, the low cut of the blue silk gown lifting her small breasts up, pushing them out in a way that made his heart nearly stop. The gown accentuated her lovely form to perfection, and brought out the sky-blue in her eyes, completely overshadowing the light bruises left on her face. He’d never known temptation like this, the strong desire to reach out and touch her cheek, to trail a hand along the bodice of that dress and to run his fingers through honey-gold hair that flowed freely in long waves past her shoulders.
He sucked in a breath. “What’s wrong?” he managed to ask.
She turned to him with a plea in her voice. “I can’t wear this.”
She could and did, beautifully.
“It’s not proper. Why, it’s…it’s…” she began then lowered her voice. “It’s sinful.”
Steven scratched his head and rubbed his nose.
Then blinked.
“Steven?”
“Sorry, it was the best I could do.”
“Whose dress is this?” she asked, lifting the silk up as though it were diseased.
“It’s Emmie’s. I thought you and she…well, you looked like the same size, but maybe one of the other girls’ gowns would do you better. I mean to say, I like it. You look beautiful.”
She narrowed her eyes, casting him a look of suspicion. “What other girls?”
“How do you feel, Glory? Tired? Want to sit down?” He gestured toward the chair.
Glory shook her head, a fierce and fearful look crossing her features. “What other girls? Where am I? And who in heaven’s name are you?”
“My name is Steven.”
“I know that.”
Steven couldn’t put it off any longer. It was time to tell her the truth. She needed to know. Steven had never been ashamed of his name or who he was, but to tell her could spell disaster. Yet, she had a right to know what had happened that night. She had a right to know where he’d taken her. “Harding. Steven Harding.” He shot her a long look, waiting for his name to register.
She repeated his name silently, mouthing it until her eyes went wide and round as an owl. “You’re Steven Harding? You’re…you’re Lorene Harding’s son. And your mother is that madam who caused my father’s death. The madam of…of that whorehouse?” She spoke the word quietly, almost inaudibly as though she couldn’t believe any of this.
“That’s right. I’m Steven Harding. And I brought you here because—”
“Here? Where?” She had a hand to her chest now, as if warding off the worst possible evil. Then she glanced at the drawn curtain and walked to the window, parting the thick fabric. She peered down at the street and gasped, taking a step back in shock. “I’m on C Street, the Barbary Coast of Virginia City. I’ve heard talk about it, but I’ve never come here. Father would never allow it.”
And then she turned to him with sharp glaring eyes, marking him as a traitor, the betrayal she felt written all over her face. “You brought me to Rainbow House.”
She spoke quietly and calmly, her voice distant as if she just now realized the truth. “You took care of me, nursed me back to health. Is this some sort of a cruel joke? A way to get back at me? I trusted you to help me, but now I see what you’ve done.”
“You think you know the truth, Glory. But you don’t. Let me explain.”
“No. I won’t hear your lies.” She shook her head and brushed past him, grabbing the knob at the door.
“You’re wanted for the murder of your husband,” Steven stated so dispassionately that she turned to him in disbelief.
“W-What?”
“When I found you, you had a bloody knife in your hand. Your husband was inches away, stabbed to death. The fire was raging, ready to crumble the house, so I took you away quickly. You were hurt and it was plain to see that you had suffered your injuries at the hands of a man. I don’t blame you, Glory. He had no right hurting you that way.”
Her lips quivered when she spoke. “You think I killed Boone?”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you did, but Sheriff Brimley believes he was murdered. And now Ned Shaw’s got people out looking for you. He wants to avenge his brother’s death.”
“Why did you bring me here? Why, Steven? Why didn’t you just take me to the sheriff if you thought I killed my husband?”
Steven moved toward her slowly, keeping his gaze locked to hers. “You know why. Your father saved my mother’s life. It’s something I’ll never forget. I know you hate my mother and me for it, but the fact is, I owe him something. And I’m gonna protect you for as long as I have to.”
Glory’s lips twitched. Anger lit her face,
bringing color and pain, her disgust obvious. “I don’t need your protection. You owe me nothing.”
She yanked the door open and lifted her gown as she raced down the stairs.
Steven cursed up to high heaven. He’d known she wouldn’t take this well. What had he expected, for her to fall into his arms? Had he expected her to thank him graciously for bringing her to the one place she abhorred? The one establishment no decent woman should enter?
And then common sense knocked him in the head.
He couldn’t let her leave.
She wouldn’t last five minutes before she’d be arrested.
“Dammit, Glory,” he called after her.
He raced down the stairs, chasing after a woman he had no call knowing, much less wanting. But right now, all that mattered was getting her back before she landed herself in even more trouble.
She wasn’t ten feet out the door before Steven caught up to her, pulling her aside, plastering her to the wall of the building. He spread out across her, covering her with the breadth of his own body. “Don’t fight me, Glory,” he whispered through tight lips. “Here comes Ed Hurley. He’s sure to recognize you.”
Steven crushed his mouth to hers, one hand firmly holding both of hers behind her back, not allowing her struggle to show. He took claim to her lips, hating that he might be hurting her, but having no choice. He felt her movements, her will fighting his, but he was too strong for her, too powerful. He knew the exact moment when she’d given up, her body relaxing against his, her muted cries no longer pleas, but moans of pleasure. Steven cursed silently at this turn of events, even as her sweet taste made an indelible mark on his soul.
Gloria could barely breathe. Her heart raced furiously, the kiss making her head spin. Steven had no right. He had taken her so quickly, catching her unaware. She’d never dreamed of being kissed so passionately before. As indecent as it was, Gloria had to admit, once she’d given up the fight, the kiss had been wonderful.
But then the reality of her situation had struck her. She came to realize the trouble she might be in. Everything Steven had told her upstairs had finally registered. She might be arrested for murder. She might be tried and convicted. She had no defense. She couldn’t recall anything about that night. And now someone she knew might recognize her and tell the sheriff. Breathless, she asked, “Are you sure it’s Mr. Hurley, the banker?”
“Shh.” He dipped his head and kissed her again, sending her mind in a tizzy. This time, she didn’t fight him. Trembling, Gloria understood Steven was once again protecting her. She felt his tension, the rigid set of his jaw, the tender tough way he held her, almost desperately. “He’s going into the house.”
Steven turned his body to hide her completely from view, the press of his clothes rustling against hers, his breath hot on her skin, his lips surprisingly gentle for a man Gloria knew to be furious.
“Evening, Steven,” Mr. Hurley said with a chuckle.
Steven waved a hand in his direction. She figured it was enough of a greeting for a man wrapped up in a kiss, busy concentrating on seducing a woman on the street.
Once they heard the door to Rainbow House close, Steven looked her dead in the eyes, his tone far from kind. “You try my patience, woman. Don’t you know staying at Rainbow House is the safest place for you right now? How many beautiful young women do you think live in this town? Hardly enough to count. And with the sheriff and your brother-in-law putting the word out, you wouldn’t get halfway down the street without being recognized. You’d get arrested for sure. What kind of a hearing do you think you’d have, when all the odds are stacked against you?”
Gloria swallowed hard. She knew Steven was right. She had no place to hide. She didn’t know whom she could trust. She didn’t even know if she was innocent, having no recollection of that night. Maybe she had killed Boone.
Yet, how could she possibly stay here? She had ill feelings toward Lorene Harding. She hated how senselessly her father had died because of her. She had come to loathe anything about the woman, the brothel she ran and her son, the man she now knew to be Steven. Gloria’s heart raged with dread and fear. She had no choice in the matter. Bravely, she held back tears, staring down at her bare feet. In her haste to run out, she’d failed to put on her shoes.
Steven glanced down, too. “Ah, hell, Glory.”
He hoisted her up, settling her in his arms, and carried her toward the back of the house. She didn’t fight him. She couldn’t, but the irony was almost too much to bear. She couldn’t believe she was agreeing to this. She would hide out in the very whorehouse that she meant to close down.
At least she still had her pride. And there was one thing left she could control in her life. One thing she could correct, at the moment. “My name is Gloria. That’s what I’d like to be called.”
Steven didn’t miss a step. He pinned her with a thunderous gaze. “Glory suits you better.”
“But—”
“Or maybe I’ll just call you Trouble.”
Chapter Four
“So I’m to be a prisoner here, in this room?” Gloria asked, gesturing about the room with a wide sweep of her arms.
With fury in his eyes and a frown on his lips, Steven had deposited her in this room and was ready to take his leave. Surely this was not the same man who had carefully tended her for the past five days.
“Better here than in Sheriff Brimley’s jailhouse, wouldn’t you say?”
Gloria took in a deep breath, still fighting her loss of control, still rebelling against her situation. For the entire time she’d been married to Boone, she’d been a dutiful wife. It was the Lord’s way and what was expected. And she’d tried her best to make a good marriage, although Boone hadn’t made it easy. Now, she no longer had a husband. She no longer had to submit to a man. Especially not to Steven Harding. She knew she was on her own—with no choice but to hide away here for the time being. “No, I wouldn’t say. I’m in a whorehouse, a bordello, living among prostitutes.” She squeezed her eyes shut momentarily. Saying those words aloud made her cringe with disbelief.
“Rainbow House serves a purpose. This is a business establishment. Don’t make it sound like a living hell.”
“Hah.” An unfeminine snort escaped. “That’s exactly what it is. It’s the devil’s doing, so don’t defend it. Or your mother.”
“My mother is who she is, Glory. I make no apologies for her.”
Suddenly, Gloria’s legs wobbled. The stress of the day had fatigued her. She sat down on the bed, too prideful to lie down and rest her head against the pillow while Steven was watching her.
“You need to rest. Running out in the street like that was a fool thing to do. And now you’re tuckered out.”
“I’m not tuckered out,” she said as a yawn pulled open her mouth. She lifted her arms to stretch, noting Steven hadn’t taken his eyes off her. She remembered his kiss, that one single moment of passion that Gloria would never forget.
Even if it had come from the last man in town she should ever allow to kiss her. Was he remembering, too? Was that dark gleam in his eyes anger or was it something more forbidden, something more daunting?
Steven shrugged then and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“You need to rest. You don’t need me anymore.”
Oh, but she did. She hated to admit that she had come to rely on Steven. He’d been caring, seeing to her needs and comfort. But that’s not what she needed from him now. He’d been her only link to the outside world. And now that Gloria knew what awaited her beyond the confines of Steven’s room, fear entered her heart. “What will I do now? Do I stay here all night and day?”
Steven stared into her eyes. “No. You can come downstairs in the mornings. You’ll have the house to yourself. Mattie, the cook, will make you a meal. The girls don’t wake until after noon. They start taking gentleman callers at four o’clock, so you’d best be upstairs well before that.”
Gloria bit her lip. Then nodded. Wha
t could she say? She was privy to the prostitutes’ living arrangements. She now knew their schedule, when they entertained men. She slid her palm across the comfortable smooth sheets and wondered whose bed she’d taken since she’d been here. “Is this one of their rooms?”
“No.”
She lifted her face to meet his eyes. “No? Whose room is this, then?”
“Mine.”
Gloria blinked back her surprise. “Y-yours?”
She’d never considered that notion. She’d slept in Steven’s room, in his bed, for five entire days. She made a sweep of the size of the bed, its breadth and length. There was room enough for more than one person. “Where did you… I mean, did we—?”
He pointed out a single cane-backed chair that didn’t appear comfortable in the least. “I slept there, for the most part.”
“Oh.” Gloria didn’t want to owe him her gratitude, but the fact remained, he had saved her life. He’d hidden her away and brought her to safety. He’d tended to her through the nights, she presumed. And he’d given her his bed. “Thank you.”
She owed him her thanks, but she didn’t have to like it. Not one bit. Yet, he’d been the one to find her. He’d been the one to hide her here. He’d been the one who chose to nurse her back to health. And heaven only knew why it had to be Steven Harding to do all those things. Now she found herself in an impossible situation that only seemed to intensify with each new truth that she learned. Lately, Gloria’s faith in the Lord had been truly and sorely tested.
A quick nod was his only response to her offer of thanks. “I won’t be back until tomorrow evening. I’m gonna trust you not to run out again. And make darn sure you’re up in this room before the four o’clock hour. You can’t be seen.”
She nodded, understanding her plight. This room, elegant as it as, wasn’t much better than a prison and her jailer, a handsome man who was her savior and her enemy, all at the same time. “Where, uh, where will you sleep?”
A crooked smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Don’t you worry about me, I have a few options.”
The Courting of Widow Shaw Page 4
