“Glory?”
It was the man’s urgent voice again, calling to her.
Her lips were swollen, her mouth dry. “Water.” She breathed out, and the weak muted sound of her voice surprised her.
A cool wet cloth was pressed to her lips. “Drink up the moisture for now,” the man said. Gloria obeyed, allowing the liquid to seep through her lips. It soothed her parched mouth and slid down a throat that was sore and hoarse. She tried opening her mouth just a little wider to take in more water, but she couldn’t do it, the pain nearly cracking her face in two.
She begged her mind for answers. What had happened to her? Who was this man tending to her? A doctor? Was she in a hospital? The last thing she remembered was standing over the cookstove making Boone his evening meal. He’d been unusually unsettled, discouraged with the progress of his staked claim. He’d gone outside to have a smoke, as he often did when he’d had an unproductive day. He’d all but given up on his claim.
Things hadn’t gone as planned in their marriage. Boone had been unhappy with the little money he’d made on his claim. He’d been so sure, so very certain he would hit a rich strike. Ore had been plentiful in Virginia City, the Comstock Lode making many men wealthy. Boone had wanted a part of that wealth for himself.
Gloria searched her mind, hoping to recall what
had happened after that, but it was as though her mind refused to remember. Her head ached terribly. Maybe later, once the throbbing stopped, maybe then, she’d remember.
“Do you want more water?”
The man spoke softly, but she heard the rich deep tone of his voice. Again, she wondered about him. Who was he? And where had he taken her? What had occurred that had wiped all memory from her mind? Slowly, for it was the only way she could answer, she shook her head.
She felt his presence on the bed, could hear him breathing, then pausing to inhale deeply. She heard a whoosh when he let his breath rush out. “I have salve for your wounds,” he said. “It will help you heal. Don’t be afraid. I have to touch you.”
Glory nodded slightly, the best she could do. She couldn’t fight him if he had ill intentions, but somehow she didn’t believe that to be the case. She only wished that he had answered her question, one that took all of her effort to ask.
Where was she?
A strong but ever-so-gentle hand came to her face as he worked foul-smelling liniment into her cheek, her lips and her chin with light fingers. Gloria’s father had once used an Indian remedy on her as a child when she’d taken a terrible fall, hurting her knee. When she’d protested, he told her, the worse it smelled the faster she would heal.
Gloria decided if that were true, she’d be good as new very soon. And as the salve soaked into her skin, she did feel a bit better, its healing effects already taking hold.
“You have bruises on your chest that need tending,”
the man stated with quiet regard. “It has to be done.”
And then, after a long pause, he added, “I won’t hurt you.”
Why she placed her faith in him, she couldn’t fathom. Except that she’d been with only one man in her lifetime. And this man, this stranger had already displayed more tenderness toward her than Boone had, the husband who’d pledged his life to her.
Gloria wondered about Boone. Where was he? Was he hurt as well? And if not, why wasn’t he here, tending to her? Fitful imaginings stirred in her brain, too many disturbing questions to deal with now. She closed off her mind, emptying it of worrisome images.
The man brought her covers down and as the air hit her chemise she realized she had been bathed. Moisture still clung to her, plastering the garment fully up against her body. The sour odor of the salve drifted up, flavoring the surrounding air.
“Try to relax,” he said. “I’ll be quick.” And he rubbed the ointment into the skin just above her breasts.
She pressed her eyes open.
At best she saw him through swollen slits. He sat so close, his gaze focused on his task. She didn’t know him. Or did she? She couldn’t tell, her eyes blurred from sharp light and clouded vision.
But the tingling sensation created from his light caresses traveled clear down to her toes. His fingertips, the slight pressure on her bruised skin caused uncanny goose bumps to erupt on her arms as he continued the massage.
Gloria had never exposed herself to a man this way.
She’d never felt so vulnerable, so at a loss. She was at his mercy. Outwardly, she remained calm, for it hurt to move too much, but inwardly, Gloria panicked. His large hands worked on her tender skin, in the valley between her breasts and farther down, nearly grazing her nipples from under her chemise, bringing shame and desire, even through the pain. Surely this was sinful.
Surely, she shouldn’t feel pleasure from a man other than her husband. She squeezed her eyes shut, unsure and not ready to meet his gaze.
“I’ve got to get to your stomach.” He removed his hand from her chest and as he lifted the chemise up high on her torso a rush of air cooled her stomach. He covered her with the sheet then slipped his hand under, rubbing salve to the bruises there. A mortifying minute passed, as she laid upon the bed, completely helpless, placing ill-advised trust in the stranger.
“All through,” he said with obvious relief. Perhaps the task had been as daunting to him as it had been to her. “Emmie says this will help you heal. You’ll feel better soon.”
One sole finger caressed her cheek, trailing down to her throat in a soft touch of encouragement. “I’ll be back later. Get some rest.”
Through closed eyes, Gloria gave a slow nod.
Her waking minutes had been exhausting.
And soon after he closed the door, she slept.
Steven stood at Grady’s Saloon at the juncture of C Street and Union, sipping a cold beer. He’d spent the better part of the day with Glory, watching her, checking on her, hoping she’d awaken so that he could speak with her and maybe give her some of
Mattie’s beef broth. But Glory hadn’t woken and he needed to get out of the house for a breath of fresh air. And a drink.
Thoughts of Glory Shaw had blistered his mind. He went from thinking her a murderer, a faultless one at that, to a saintly woman, Reverend Caldwell’s beloved daughter, to a lovely creature who’d sparked his mind and body with lusty images.
“Ready for another?” Grady asked, reaching for the beer pitcher.
Steven figured the whole dang pitcher wouldn’t help what ailed him. He refused. “Nope. One’ll do me fine.”
He had to keep his wits together. If there were talk about Glory, about the death of Boone Shaw, he’d want to know. So he stood by the bar, sipping beer and listening.
As luck would have it, Sheriff Brimley entered, curling a finger around his long mustache and greeting Steven with a nod. In a town where men outnumbered women more than one hundred to one, just about every man in town knew Rainbow House, the sheriff being a patron himself.
The sheriff took up space next to him at the bar. Steven immediately tensed, but sipped his beer as he leaned against the top of the bar. “I saw Lorene leave on the stage a few days ago. She still out of town?” Sheriff Brimley asked.
“Yep. She took a business trip. She’ll be back soon though. She’s bringing the girls some fancy duds from San Francisco.”
The sheriff ordered a whiskey. “That’s a good thing, then. I got some news she won’t be happy to hear, being as she feels responsible for that young gal
losing her father. It seems Boone Shaw, that placer miner who married Reverend Caldwell’s daughter, is dead. House burned down to the ground, but seems Boone didn’t die in the fire.”
Steven took another sip of beer, keeping a calm disinterested tone. “How do you suppose he died?”
The sheriff shrugged, a frown yanking at his mustache. “Knife wounds. He’d been cut up some. And worse yet, a neighbor found the knife that done it. Seems Gloria Shaw is missing. It don’t look good for her.”
“Why’s that?” Steven asked, looking straight ahead, trying not to appear to eager.
“Everybody in town knows that girl got a wagon-load of grief when she married Boone. He wasn’t the husband she thought she was getting. Now with Boone dead and her missing, well… I’d hate to think it of her, being Jonathan Caldwell’s daughter and all.”
“You said there was a fire. You sure she didn’t die inside the house?”
“Nah. I just got back from checking out there with my deputies. There ain’t no bodies in that house. I’m putting the word out to bring Gloria Mae Shaw in for questioning. She’s got a whole lot to answer to.” The sheriff finished off his whiskey then shook his head, sighing. “Sometimes, my job just ain’t easy.”
“I’ll be sure to let Lorene know, when she gets back in town.” Steven gulped down the last of his beer. “Good talking to you, Sheriff.”
Sheriff Brimley nodded. “Same here.” Then he turned his attention to the barkeep. “Hey, Grady. I’m asking all the saloon owners to put the word out. Gloria Mae Shaw is wanted for questioning and the possible
murder of her husband. Anybody who’s seen her should let me know immediately. I’d appreciate it if you asked around, and kept your eyes and ears open.”
Grady nodded, wiping dry a glass. “Will do, Roy. I’ll listen up good, but I only saw that girl once in a while coming out of church on Sunday and she don’t appear to be no killer.”
Sheriff Brimley sighed again. “Her husband’s been murdered and so far, she hasn’t come forth. I got neighbors who tell me they heard a ruckus earlier that night. Thought they heard the two fighting. If she killed her husband, I’ve got to bring her in.”
“Married people fight,” Grady said with a shrug.
“Like I said, I’ve got to check it out. I’ll be back in a day or two. If you hear something before that, you come get me.”
Steven waited until Roy Brimley exited the bar, then he strode out like a man who had time on his hands. But in truth, he was anxious to get back to Rainbow House to see Glory again.
He’d been right in taking her into hiding. She wouldn’t stand a chance otherwise. If Sheriff Brimley thought her suspect already without having seen her bruises, then surely he would have jailed her immediately once he laid eyes on her. Not that a woman didn’t have call to defend herself from an abusive husband, but the law stopped short of murder. And Roy Brimley was a hard man, trying to keep peace and justice in a town that refused both. If Brimley thought Glory guilty, he wouldn’t hesitate to arrest her.
Steven ambled down the busy street.
He only half hoped Glory was awake.
Because then he’d have to question her.
And he might not like what she had to say.
Glory pushed herself up on the bed and opened her eyes, squinting against the dim light. She couldn’t tell where she was. She couldn’t guess the time of day. Having been shut tight from the swelling, her eyes struggled to focus. And dragging her body upright had cost her dearly.
She didn’t know who had brought her here or why. She was beholden to the man who had taken care of her. He’d had a gentle touch, but it was time for Glory to put her pain aside. It was time she tried to figure out what had happened to her. It was time to get some answers.
Surprise registered as she darted quick glances around the room. The furniture was stately, made of the richest walnut and mahogany, with marble-topped dressers and gilded washstands. And the bed itself was enormous. Dark emerald curtains covered windows with ornate brass rods. A lovely oak-carved screen partially hid a porcelain bathtub. She’d never stayed anywhere nearly so elegant. Certainly, she wasn’t in a hospital, which probably meant the stranger tending to her wasn’t a doctor.
Even more mysterious was the fact that she’d heard female voices from time to time, but they’d never entered her room. At least, not while she’d been awake.
Only the man cared for her.
And just as she’d envisioned what the man had looked like from the tiny bit of him she’d viewed earlier, he stood at the doorway, appearing somewhat startled.
“You’re awake.” He closed the door behind him,
but didn’t approach, his gaze taking her in, assessing her. And she was instantly reminded of earlier, when he’d had his hands on her, rubbing the salve on her skin. She pushed that mortifying picture from her mind to take a better look at him.
He was tall and broad of shoulder. He wore a hat, black in color, a shade or two darker than his hair. His eyes were brown—earth-brown her father would say, like rich soil begging to be planted. He had a strong rugged face with a jaw that right now appeared hard as granite.
“Can you speak?” he asked.
Glory closed her eyes. She didn’t know if she could speak out of a mouth still swollen and bruised. She had the feeling she wouldn’t want to peer into the cheval mirror on the other side of the room, for fear of how she might appear. If she looked anything like she felt, seeing her image might just set her healing back for days.
She tested her lips, opening them slightly and wincing at the pain. “I…think…so.”
Her voice drifted, sounding ever so faint.
The man approached slowly, never taking his eyes from her. He removed his hat and hung it on a peg. “Good. But don’t tire yourself out.”
He pulled up a chair and sat down. “You’ve been hurt bad and it’s going to take time to heal proper-like.”
Gloria nodded. “Where…am…I?” she managed to ask.
“In a safe place.”
His ominous answer didn’t quell her curiosity, but she knew she only had minutes before she’d fall into
a deep sleep again, the effort to sit up, to try to talk, draining her energy.
“I found you,” he said. “There was a fire at your house.”
“Fire?” She got that one word out, but it didn’t mean anything to her. She couldn’t remember anything of that night. Last she’d seen of Boone, he’d gone outside to have a smoke. She’d stayed in the kitchen, cooking his evening meal.
“Your husband is dead.”
“Boone.” Gloria’s mind flashed an image of her husband, his sharp temper and sour moods. She’d tried to be a good wife to him, but early on she’d discovered she’d made a terrible mistake in marrying him. She didn’t want to see him dead. But the love she’d had for him had died long ago. Yet, a single tear trickled down her cheek. He must have died in the fire.