“Seriously, Mr. Chase, I have no stake in this. And while Aggie is a partner, most of the day-to-day decisions are made by Mrs. Anderson.”
“The Goddess?”
“So they say.”
“Is she as beautiful as they claim?”
“Honestly, I’ve never met the woman.”
Big Ed’s cold gaze fixed on his. “I’ve heard that George Nichols shelled out a thousand a night for the privilege of bedding her. Makes me wonder what sort of a woman could command such a price. Our Mr. Nichols—bag of shit that he may be—is nevertheless no one’s fool.”
At the foot of the stairs, Agatha called in a theatrical voice, “Gentlemen! If you will raise your glasses in toast, I present to you the most beautiful woman in Denver, Sarah Anderson!”
Doc and Big Ed turned.
She descended the stairs with an almost magical grace, her hips swaying, each step languid. Her dress created the most incredible image, one of shimmering gold and black. The silk conformed to her waist, but instead of the fashionable oval hoops, Sarah Anderson’s dress slimmed around her hips and narrowed at the thighs before expanding to a ruffled wealth at the hem. The fabric accented her flat abdomen and outlined each forward movement of her legs, while the train flowed down the stairs behind her. Rising from the waist, the fitted bodice was cut and trimmed in black braid and cut low over each swelling breast. The sleeves were hemmed eccentrically, ending in black lace cuffs. The effect was provocative, lean, and reeked of exotic female sexual allure.
“Dear God in heaven!” O’Reilly sounded awestruck. “Sarah? Is that you?”
She turned her head regally, her blond hair in a ringlet style Doc recalled was à l’impératrice. He wondered if Sarah had copied it from the same worn copy of Godey’s that he’d seen Bridget reading.
Sarah’s face was classic, the nose delicate, straight, and thin in the patrician manner, her brow high, cheeks exquisitely modeled over a full mouth and perfectly proportioned jaw. Every feature was magically sculpted atop her swanlike neck. She smiled, lips parting to expose straight white teeth behind rouged lips. One by one she met the men’s eyes, inclining her head slightly.
When she fixed on Big Ed, Doc heard him take a breath, as if he’d been holding it.
Then she was looking at him, and despite the powder and rouge, her mascara-darkened eyes seemed to burn right through to his soul. Something in his gut squirmed uncomfortably, as if she had singled him out for some special scrutiny. Her smile went from practiced, to reflect wry amusement, and then perhaps … disappointment? As if she’d expected something from him. But what?
O’Reilly broke the spell when he stepped forward, taking her hand. Only then did Doc realize how tall she was, and how perfectly proportioned.
“There,” Big Ed whispered under his breath, “is indeed a goddess.”
“I have got to make that woman’s acquaintance,” Francis Heatley said from behind Doc’s elbow. Doc wondered when he’d arrived.
“Take your turn, old pard. But after me,” Big Ed told him before stepping forward.
“She does make an entry, doesn’t she?” Aggie said as she moved up and took Doc’s elbow.
“Where did she learn that skill? One of the better houses in San Francisco? Europe?”
Aggie laughed as the men swarmed Sarah. “Hardly. She was just a gambler’s wife until Parmelee killed her husband. Since that day she’s reached down inside herself and pulled all of this out. As if she’s inventing the goddess as she goes along. I mean, damn! She’s got the brains and the beauty, as well as a natural sense for what men want. Hard to see that coming out of backwoods Arkansas, but there you have it.”
In the parlor the musicians had tackled Bach.
Doc watched Sarah shaking Big Ed’s hand, her face lighting as she traded smiles and glances. “Hope she’s as good as you think she is, Bridget. Big Ed is one of the most dangerous men I’ve ever met. Not the sort to trifle with. By day he has a seat on the city council and acts the politician, but at night most of his ‘enforcement’ is done by hired men who aren’t chosen for their manners.”
“Shh! Don’t call me Bridget. Not here. And damn it, Doc, yes. I hope she is as smart as she thinks she is. She’s gambling everything with this house. We’ve got a plan, and if by some miracle we can make it work, we’ll be rich.”
“And if not?”
“Worst case? You and I stand over Sarah’s grave to ensure that John Walley actually buries her in the coffin we buy for her. Word is that he buries a lot of corpses out there on the hill, but doesn’t waste a coffin if he can help it.”
Doc felt a shiver as he watched the beautiful young woman. What was she? Twenty-five at most? But as Denver’s lords of the demimonde swarmed around her, she seemed every bit as confident and poised as they were.
“Come on.” Doc took Aggie’s arm. “I’m starved. Take me to the dining room. I know you couldn’t get salmon, oysters, and caviar with the trails closed. So you and I are going to listen to music, eat roasted buffalo tongue and stuffed prairie chicken, while I look into your eyes.”
Aggie laughed, and let him lead her through the arch beneath the stairs and into the dining room. The food was exquisite and spiced with New Mexican red peppers and wild sage. The cook, Mam, had also managed a surprise: pickled elk’s heart. As with the dresses and furnishings, Doc wondered where they’d found the cook.
“Mam? She used to cook for a planter in Mississippi,” Aggie told him when he asked. “Just before the end of the war she poisoned the old man as payback for selling off her
