“Thank you, dear.” Virgil smiled again, kissing her cheek.
“I take it you’ll be occupied tonight?” she asked archly.
“Most definitely. But there’s always tomorrow, dear.” He turned and pulled Candice up the stairs.
“This is a bawdy house,” Candice protested.
“Quite right, my dear. We’ll be staying here for a while, until I finish some business in the area.” He strode down the hallway, Candice hurrying to keep up with him. She heard the pounding of a bed against a wall and went scarlet. A woman’s high-pitched moan sounded, and then a man was saying hoarsely “That’s it, baby, that’s it.” His cry followed. Candice wanted to turn around and run. Or at least clap her hands over her ears. And hearing the couple made her think of being in Jack’s arms, writhing with her own passion.
“Virgil, do we have to stay here?”
“Yes.” He grinned. “Relax, darling, you’ll get used to it.” He opened a door to a bedroom.
Candice glanced around. The room was ordinary, except for a large bed. The floors were pine planks, there was a small throw rug, an oak table with two chairs, and a crude pine wardrobe.
“I’m going downstairs to have a drink. Get undressed. The serving girl will be up with your bath. Relax. I’ll join you for dinner in a bit.”
She stared as the door closed behind him and fought a feeling of despair that was rising rapidly. Don’t bother hurrying back, she thought, needing belligerence as a refuge. If she didn’t keep her spirits up, he’d defeat her. If she caved in to the desperation she was feeling … No. Keep calm, she told herself. Don’t think about what’s going to happen later.
She sat on the bed, grateful for the feel of the soft mattress, and pulled off her shoes. It was then she noticed that the one window in the room was boarded up.
With a start, she went to the door and tried to open it. It was locked. He’s going to keep me a prisoner here, she thought angrily. She went to the window and tested the boarding. Tight as a drum. She would never get the boards off without a crowbar. Had someone else been kept there before her as a prisoner? She paced and worried.
The sound of a key in the lock drew her attention, and she quickly sat down, waiting. A burly man entered with a big brass tub, followed by a slovenly young girl carrying two sloshing buckets of hot water. The man glanced at her lasciviously as he set the tub down, and he left. The girl poured the water in the tub and told Candice she’d be back with more. She left, closing the door behind her. The lock clicked.
The maid returned with two more buckets of water. Candice began to undress. “What’s your name?” she asked, thinking the girl could be an ally.
“Carla,” the maid said, studying Candice with open curiosity. “You came with Kincaid.”
Candice stepped out of her skirt and petticoat. “Yes, that’s right. Do you know him?”
Carla smiled, moving toward Candice’s clothes. “He’s so handsome,” she said.
Candice had shed her chemise and stood naked. Kincaid no longer seemed the slightest bit attractive to her, just menacing and evil. “Are you going to launder those?” she asked as she stepped into the tub and sighed.
“They told me to take them,” Carla said. “And to tell you anything you need is in the wardrobe.” She left, and again Candice heard the lock turning.
The water was heaven. She closed her eyes, sank in deeper, and tried not to let her thoughts go in their inevitable direction. What was Jack doing this very minute? she wondered. Other than hating her? She tried to move her thoughts away from him, but couldn’t. She had spent most of her time in the stage dreaming of him, of how he looked, how he walked—with the grace of a treacherous mountain lion—how he sounded when he laughed, or when he was whispering heated love words to her. How his eyes gleamed silver with passion, how his hands felt, roaming her body. Vivid visions of their lovemaking danced before her mind’s eye, teasing and thrilling her. God, she missed him—and she might as well face it.
And then, inevitably too, she remembered their last encounter at the depot in Tucson. She fought a feeling of hysteria. He had been drunk, red-eyed, reeking of whiskey, but he was still magnificent. And full of hate for her. She would never forget those words spoken in hatred. Had he been with a whore just then? He’d had nothing on except his pants—not even boots. A sad kind of jealousy swept her. He was so quick to find solace elsewhere.
She knew she was only torturing herself. There was no point. Even if she admitted her attraction to him was deep—what then?But it is deep, she thought in anguish, and I have to admit it. I think I love him, and I miss him terribly. Despair brought hot tears to her eyes.
She should have stayed with him as his wife.
She tested out the notion. She couldn’t imagine living in an Apache camp for the rest of her life. But that brought another thought to mind, one she hadn’t wanted to face either. She hadn’t had her monthly flow since before she’d met Jack, and she was overdue. It was possible that she was pregnant with his child.
Her mind was evil. It spoke the thoughts she didn’t want to hear. The child was conceived of a half breed, out of wedlock. A bastard and part Indian.
Candice slammed upright in the tub, her heart speeding. Never would she allow anyone, if she was pregnant, to cast slurs on her child. Not even her family.
Would Pop accept his grandchild, or disown it—and her?
What alternatives did she have? To marry Jack and live like an Indian, turn her back on society as she knew it, raise her child in Jack’s heritage, not hers. She rejected that instantly. Even if Jack would marry her for the child, he hated her—and that was too much to bear.
Another solution presented itself. She could marry a white man—it was early yet—and pass the child off as his.
No one would know the child had Apache blood, and he would be spared the horrible prejudice that had followed Jack through his life.
