“But Father was so…settled, in his mind. He taught me so much.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Glory closed her eyes. Her light-blond lashes rested on her cheek like a butterfly settling on a flower. “How can you be? My father’s death meant your mother’s life.”
“Glory, look at me.”
He waited patiently, watching her struggle to open her eyes, look at his face and hear what he had to say.
Finally, when she did, he began. “Yes, your father’s death meant my mother’s life, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not sorry for the events of that day. I wish your father hadn’t died. And my mother is sorry over it as well. She’s dealt with the guilt every day since.”
“But don’t you see, if she wasn’t who she was, if the brothel hadn’t existed, then that drifter wouldn’t have call to seek your mother out. He had quarrel with her, for heaven only knows what reason.”
“Mother refused him entry into Rainbow House. Marcus had tossed him out. He’d been falling-down drunk and abusive at the door. My mother protects her girls and didn’t want him causing trouble inside. The drifter probably wouldn’t have done anything about it, except he spotted my mother coming out of church the next day.”
“Church?” Glory’s eyes rounded with disbelief.
“Mother went whenever she could. She’d go in late, sit in the back pew and leave early. She never wanted to cause a ruckus.”
“I never saw her.”
“And I bet you never saw me, either?”
“No, no.” She studied his face, her eyes searching for something, perhaps the truth. “The church was always packed to overflowing. I never noticed you.”
But Steven had noticed her. He’d admired her from a distance and soon, attending church with Lorene held new meaning. He’d catch a glimpse of the beautiful young daughter of Reverend Caldwell, smiling to the members of the congregation, sitting up front, sometimes right next to her father, wearing a sweet smile, with pride in her eyes. Steven often hadn’t heard the words of the sermon being offered, being too smitten with the young girl with the blue eyes and honey-gold hair.
During those times, Steven had wished he’d been someone different—someone worthy of Miss Gloria Mae Caldwell.
Steven poked at the fire, causing a big blast of heat to swell up. “Maybe we should try to rest up a bit. Why don’t you lie down?”
Glory stared at the fire. “You think it’s sinful for us…to sleep together like this?”
Steven lowered down onto his back, bringing his arms up to pillow his head. “There’s nothing sinful in what we’re doing, Glory. We haven’t done one…sinful…thing.”
“Some might say because we’re alone, unchaperoned, well, it’s compromising.”
“Nah. Not a soul will know, so your reputation won’t get harmed. Besides, you hate me, remember.”
Glory turned her head from the fire to peer down at him. She nodded slowly, looking at him with remorse. She lowered her body down and snuggled into the blanket. “Yes, I hate you,” she whispered, her voice a light caress.
And Steven wondered if her admission was meant to convince him.
Or herself.
The earth was cold and hard. Aged timber and distressed walls were all around, giving off a musty scent that nearly swallowed her up. Yet, she was tucked safely away in the foyer of this mine, shielded from the billowing gusts that threatened to down trees. Gloria opened her eyes to find Steven asleep just inches away. Somehow during the night, they’d come together on the blanket, his arm protectively covering her shoulder.
She stared at him in the firelight, thinking him a handsome man, with a strong jaw, strong body and even stronger mind. They both had a stubborn streak, she admitted honestly and without pause. They both felt righteous in their beliefs. Steven didn’t find fault in how he’d been raised. He didn’t hold his mother accountable to the way she chose to live. He considered the prostitutes his friends and lived his life accordingly.
Her questionable faith aside, Gloria had been raised with morals. She’d been taught about duty and honor and charity. She believed in those things and held them close at hand, for to do so also meant to keep her father’s dear memory in her heart.
But the one thing she hadn’t the courage to do was to forgive. She’d listened to countless sermons on the power of forgiveness, the Lord asking that of his fellow man without qualm. But for Gloria, forgiveness didn’t come easy. And now, looking at Steven Harding, perhaps
not
hating him in the way she’d declared earlier when she’d been distraught, but she found no way to forgive him—or his mother. She found no way to pardon the crimes that had occurred
in the past or the crimes that are bound to happen in the future.
Steven stirred and Gloria pretended sleep, closing her eyes, keeping still but for her deep breathing.
A finger touched her cheek, and a whisper touched her ear. “You smell like roses.” Then his lips were on her, a tender brushing and the gentle slide of his mouth greeted hers. Gloria kissed him back timidly, with hesitation because she knew it to be wrong, yet she’d been overwhelmed with the tenderness he displayed almost as if she were a delicate flower and he feared injuring even one velvety petal.
Hazy with sleep, Steven peered at her through heavy lids. “I dreamt of you. And when I woke, you were here.”
“You dreamt of me?”
“You were in a garden. And you picked a pretty rose.”
“And what did I do with my rose?” she asked, breathless from the image, the thought of being free to enjoy a garden of flowers once again.
“You gave it to me.”
He bent his head and kissed her again. Her heart did a small flip, the exquisite emotion far too overwhelming to deny.
When he pulled away slightly, she shook her head. “We shouldn’t.”
“Because I’m your enemy?” he asked.
“Because we’re not married.” And we never will be. Of that, Gloria was certain. To entertain romantic notions of Steven Harding would simply be foolish. “It’s sinful.”
Steven splayed his hand through her hair, his fingers weaving through to stroke her head softly. She
nearly purred aloud from his ministrations. “Tell me, what could be more sinful than a man’s cruelty to his wife, to hurt her in unimaginable ways? No sin is greater than that.”
The argument she was ready to voice died on her lips. Steven was right and Gloria wouldn’t deny him that. “Yes, that’s true.”
Steven slid the palm of his hand along her throat, coaxing a little whimper from her. Then he moved his hands along her shoulders, touching her skin, and the movement released the fabric. Cool air assailed her as the material fell off her shoulders, baring her skin. “You’re beautiful and young, Glory. You deserve to know tenderness from a man.”
His words warmed her and made her wish for impossible things. His eyes warmed her as well, with an admiring look, as if she were more precious than a gold strike. It was a look she’d never once received from her husband.
His hand came up to graze her chest, his fingertips spreading out, caressing her skin, sliding down until his fingers slipped under the barrier of lace Steven insisted she wear.
Hot tingles of delight swarmed her senses as he found the slope of her breasts. And then one finger traveled over the tip of her breast. She inhaled sharply as he flicked the crest gently. Stirring heat shot up and down her body. “Steven.”
He kissed her. “You’re perfect, Glory.”
He rubbed her again and again, his finger working magic, the heat and intense pleasure causing her great anguish. She’d never known these sensations before. She’d never had these powerful urges. Surely this was sinful.
“Don’t think, honey,” he whispered, as if he could read her thoughts. He brushed his mouth over hers again “Just feel. For once, enjoy the pleasure.”
Pleasure? She had never known anything but harshness and impatience from her husband. And whether sinful or not, Gloria wanted to know what tenderness could bring. She’d been curious before, but now it was more. Her body responded to Steven in newfound ways. She couldn’t deny him and the incredible desire he created within her. She was at his mercy, too wrapped up with passion to think clearly.
He parted the lace with his hand and brought his head down, planting tiny kisses along her breasts, causing the ache inside to grow hot and heavy. Her female parts throbbed. And when he thrust his tongue over one hardened peak, laving, moistening, licking, she jolted, her body lifting and falling again in rhythm with his movements. His lips and tongue did mysteriously wonderful things to her. Again and again, until she could barely breathe. She responded to him in ways that thrilled and confused her. She had little room for rational thought, the lusty stroking making her head swim deliciously. “Oh, Steven,” she pleaded, her breathing labored, “if you were to take me now, I’d not have the will to stop you.”
Steven stopped as if cold water had been dumped on his head. He stared into her eyes, then took her hand and placed it below his waist. She felt the rigid length of his desire through his trousers. Her heartbeats sped up and she believed the quick thumping pounded inside her head as well.
“I have willpower, Glory. I’m not like Boone. I would never hurt you. I would never take what is not offered freely. But you and I both know that will
never happen. We will never be together in that way. You have nothing to fear from me.”
Gloria bit down on her lip, nodding her head and removing her hand. Emotions raged and she tried to sort them out. She knew what she felt could not be shame. There was no shame in something so wonderful. Surely there couldn’t be. But she had remorse and it ran deep to her very core. What Steven said was true. They could never be together in that way. Sadly, she had to agree.
Steven Harding had no place in her life.
And she had no place in his.
“The wind’s died down some,” he said. “I think we can make it back now. We’d best get going.”
Gloria mounted on Fancy behind Steven, her disguise intact. And as they traveled through the backwoods to town, regrets filled her head. Steven had dreamed of her in a garden. He’d dreamed of her picking a flower.
But tonight he’d made her remember something that she’d almost forgotten—that the rose she picked from that garden could never be given to him.
As Gloria headed down the stairs for the noon meal, Emmie leaned over the railing on the second floor when she spotted her. “Glory, come quick. You have to see Merry’s gift this time.”
Gloria hesitated. She’d never been on the second floor. That’s where the women, uh, entertained the clientele. Those were their bedrooms. The Rainbow Rooms. Curiosity won out as well as fear of being rude to Emmie, the woman who’d clothed her and helped save her life.
Gloria came to stand just outside the painted yellow
door and noted many of the women all huddled around Merry. She couldn’t see anything of the girl from her standpoint, but the room itself held her interest. The entire room was done in yellow—cheery bright yellow from flowery curtains and bright wallpaper to pitchers and vases filled with tall sunflowers. The room hardly looked like what she’d expected from a brothel, but Glory had come to realize that Rainbow House was the exception, not the rule when it came down to comparisons. Small wonder Lorene Harding had done so well in this business. She kept her girls and the clients happy and wound up making a prosperous living selling all of their souls.
Gloria prayed for guidance. She prayed to be free of her predicament. She had no place here among the prostitutes.
“Come in,” Emmie said, gesturing for Glory to enter the room. “Isn’t he precious?”
“He?”
The women parted, allowing Glory full view of what Merry held in her arms. “Oh, my. I’ve never seen a puppy so, so unique.”
“Bud says he comes all the way from France. Isn’t he the sweetest thing?”
Glory had to agree. With a coat of curly apricot fur and the most adorable face, the animal’s dark round eyes stared up at her. “Yes. He’s sweet.”
“I’m naming him Buddy. After my Bud.”
Ruby, who’d been quiet up until this time, spoke up. “Where are you planning to keep him?”
“In here, of course,” Merry answered. And it was fitting, Gloria thought, the animal would blend in perfectly in this room of soft golden hues.
“And what if he gets in your way when you’ve got a man in here?”
“Oh, I’m not worried about that. Bud says he won’t grow much bigger than he is right now.” She hugged the dog close, kissing the top of his little head. “Besides, I don’t plan on being here much longer.” Merry looked at each one of her friends with glowing hopeful eyes. “I think Bud’s going to ask me to marry him.”
Ruby sighed heavily.
The other girls chattered noisily, asking questions, all of them with equal amounts of promise and cheerfulness in their expressions.
But it was Carmen who spoke up this time. “Merry, do not be fooled by gifts. Has this man, this Bud spoken to you of marriage?”
Merry stroked the puppy’s head, already spoiling the animal with lavish attention. “Well, no. But he’s forever talking about how he plans on building a place of his own. He’s doing real good in the mines.”
Carmen’s expression hardened. “He will not want a whore for his wife, Merry. You must not get your hopes up.”
“You don’t know my Bud. He’s different. Besides, it ain’t all that unusual. Lorene once said she’s let a girl or two go to get married to their customers.”
“That’s right, I remember one of the gals. She’d only been here three months when a miner struck it rich and asked her to marry him,” Emmie offered. “They moved up to Oregon to start a new life.”
“You see,” Merry said with determination, “it does happen.”
Carmen looked at Ruby and both twisted their mouths in disapproval, but their eyes held certain
hopeful warmth, as though they too wished it so for Merry.
“Well, if we all don’t get downstairs, Mattie’s gonna toss our supper out. You know how she gets when she’s cooked up something special and we don’t go down,” Ruby said. “You coming, Merry?”
“Oh, uh, no.” She stroked the puppy’s head again, then laid down on her bed, smiling. “I think I’ll just keep Buddy company for now. I hate the thought of leaving him alone.”