Only the distant peaks, so frosted and still-timbered, provided a sense of beauty. As if a beacon that heaven existed, but that to find it, a person was required to travel as far from Central City and its mine-scarred slopes as the eye and imagination would take them.
Sarah inhaled the aroma of her coffee as the woodstove popped and crackled behind her—the little explosions from the burning juniper powerful enough to puff tiny wreaths of smoke past the stove lids.
She’d been saving the few lengths of juniper that came mixed among the pine, spruce, and fir. It added a special aroma to the house.
Also, this day had been special. She and Bret had arrived home early from Aggie’s. Bret’s game was now two nights a week. Aggie had bought the lot next to her parlor house, and was expanding. She had hired two new girls brought in from Chicago by a cadet, or procurer, named Philo Waltee. In spite of the fact that many of the locals were worried about the reduced production from the mines, Aggie’s continued to draw an ever larger and more prosperous clientele.
The gold was there, but in lode deposits, locked in sulfates, and impossible to separate from the ore. Miners, owners, and merchants alike waited, word having passed that a smelter was coming to Black Hawk. That a man named Hill had a process that offered the hope of as much as eighty to ninety percent gold recovery from the recalcitrant ore.
Those thoughts, however, barely nagged at her as she watched the intermittent clouds rolling off the high peaks.
By all accounts, she and Bret would be gone before the smelter was built. Together they had invested most of their stake—nearly six thousand dollars—to allow Aggie to buy the lot, raze the rickety laundry, and begin construction on an addition that would house a larger gaming room downstairs and additional girls on the second floor.
Construction was scheduled to be finished by the end of May. Sarah estimated that come September her twenty percent share of the additional income would have repaid her investment, and would put her and Bret above their ten-thousand-dollar goal.
By Christmas, she figured, they would be in San Francisco and living like the lordly rich.
Funny how the world worked. All those childhood visions of fine houses, status, an influential husband in high society, raising children, and ordering servants about had been centered on her man’s success alone. Not once had she anticipated happiness or love, or even considered them goals to be striven for, let alone achieved.
Bret opened the door, bursting in, and pressing it firmly closed. “Bloody hell, it’s cold out there!” he blurted as he slipped his thick buffalo coat off and hung it on the hook by the door.
She laughed at the sight of him, shivering, as he clumped over to the stove and extended his hands to the heat. “Well, you fool, it has to be below zero. What kind of an idiot trots off to the outhouse in cold like this dressed only in long handles, a buffalo coat, and boots?”
He grinned at her, relishing the heat. Then he poured himself a cup of coffee, kicked the chair out, and seated himself opposite her.
His dark eyes were alight as he studied her through the steam rising from his enameled cup. That faint smile curled his lips. A couple of flakes of snow melted, gleaming like dew in his rich brown hair. Her stomach warmed at the animation in his eyes, the almost worship that seemed to radiate from his very soul.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“About happiness. I never thought I’d have it. And I thought love was some sort of mutual admiration and respect. A species of fond duty. Had you asked me, the notion of a lover as a best friend, a confidant and partner, would have entirely eluded me.”
“We do rather suit each other, don’t we? And this morning was … ethereal.” The little dimples were forming in his cheeks.
“Proud of yourself?” she asked.
His grin burst into a satisfied smile. “What do you think? A couple of times I thought my body was going to burst. Nor did I know you could move like that.”
Even the thought of their long morning beneath the blankets brought a tingle to her loins. Dear God, was she insatiable?
She said, “We just seem to get better and better with each other. If I didn’t keep the inventory, I’d think you’d been into Aggie’s oysters. Where do you get the stamina?”
“You have the nerve to sit there with your hair spilling over your shoulders like flowing gold and piercing my soul with those sparkling blue eyes, your long, lithe body stretched out like the goddess you are, and ask me a question like that? I need only look at you, let alone run my hand over your skin, and somehow my cock can raise itself from the dead.”
“Isn’t it peculiar, Bret? As women we’re raised with the notion that the connubial act is an unfortunate but necessary duty.” She inclined her head. “The very idea that it is enjoyable, let alone that such sensations … Well, let’s just say I feel like I’ve been catapulted out of a dark and benighted pit into a brilliant revelation.” She paused. “Is this some secret married people keep among themselves?”
“No. For most it’s considered a mere necessity to produce children. They’ve turned it into a moral battlefield filled with flying shot and shell. One that has to be negotiated so very carefully.”
“And it’s not like this for the line girls, either, is it?”
“To them it is a job. Get him on, get him in, trip
