To his relief he got the last room, left his coat and war bag, and wearily made his way to the restaurant for the obligatory meal of elk, beans, and biscuits. He couldn’t have cared less as long as it was piping hot!
It was a measure of his fatigue that he was halfway through the meal before he noticed the blond man across the room. The gent was staring at him through eyes as cold and blue as the blizzard blowing outside. That same man he’d sat across the table from in Fort Benton.
Win Parmelee. The fellow looking for the Meadowlark.
102
March 7, 1868
Sarah—dressed in a robe—allowed George Nichols to take her arm and escort her down the stairs to the Angel’s Lair dining room. He was dressed in the finery he’d been wearing when he arrived the night before: a tailored black sack suit, starched white shirt, with a silk scarf at the neck. His long wool coat was hanging in the foyer along with his silk hat.
“That really was exquisite, I’m all abuzz,” he told her as he held the chair for her. After she seated herself, he pulled his chair next to hers and sat, elbows propped on the table as he clasped both of her hands. The look in his dark and dangerous eyes was almost worshipful.
Mam burst out the door, a silver coffee service on a tray with two cups.
“Morning, Mam!” Nichols greeted.
“Mr. Nichols, suh,” she told him with a slight nod of acknowledgment. “Y’all ready fo’ breakfast?”
“At your convenience,” Sarah told her with a smile, knowing full well it would be delivered within minutes.
After Mam left, Nichols took a deep breath, then, as if embarking on a perilous path, said, “I would like to think that if there was a limit to what the human body could sense and experience, I had already discovered it in your bed. But each time…” He shook his head. “Dear God, Sarah, my entire body tingles just thinking about it.”
She gave him a satisfied smile. “It was rather pleasant. I imagine I shall have to nap half the day just to recover. Last night was … well, let us call it special.”
Something powerful lay behind his black eyes, an intensity to the set of his face. “I find myself drawn to Denver with ever greater urgency. No sooner do I return to my work in Central City than I find my mind obsessed with you. It’s enough to drive me mad.”
“We make a study of obsession at Angel’s Lair. Did you enjoy the play last night? I thought Agatha gave a wonderful performance of Helen being seduced by Paris. That was the beginning of the Trojan War, you know? I think it fed your appetites more than a little.”
“I thought you were crazy when you mentioned this theater nonsense.” He paused. “I never liked theater.”
“Until it consisted of torn clothes, and overcoming the resistance of reluctant women? Agatha was marvelous, don’t you think?”
“And that actor? David? Is he one of yours, too?”
“He was one of Langrishe’s theater troupe. We hired him for the week. Generally it takes that long to train them how to act at the same time they’re, um, doing the deed. Some men just can’t keep their rods stiff, remember their lines, and still give a credible performance. It takes a special sort.”
“I don’t think I could.” Nichols sighed. “Sarah, let’s get back to the subject.”
“And that is?” She freed her hand to pour coffee for both of them.
“You and me.”
“What about us?” she asked as Mam pushed the kitchen door open, two steaming plates in her hands. These she set first before George, and then Sarah. With a slight bow, she left.
Nichols had picked up his fork, glanced to be sure that they were alone, and said, “I want you.”
“You had me all night, George.”
“I mean I want you all the time.”
Sarah laughed, giving him her conspiratorial half wink. “Then I’m still worth the price.”
“I want you to be my wife.”
The way he said it, she knew he wasn’t joking. A coldness slipped down her spine.
“I’ve thought about it all night. I am in love with you. The knowledge that you entertain other men … that callous and beastly Chase, Pat O’Reilly, others … it almost makes me insane.”
“That’s my business, George. And it is strictly business. I am an entertainer, but in addition to spinning a story, or playing a part, I use my body and a man’s to explore delight. I think there’s an entire science to be made from the study of sexual union. Given what I’ve learned so far, any man who spends the night with me never views his sex, or a woman, in the same way.”
“But I want more than the short hours we get here. Come with me. Move back to Central City. Marry me.”
Dear God, how do I handle this?
She patted his hand and began eating. Between bites, she said, “George, you don’t want me. You, Pat, you both honor me with proposals, but I’ll never love again. You don’t even know the kind of woman I am. How I came to be here.”
“I don’t care.”
She studied him as she chewed the venison in gravy. “As a girl I dreamed of a family and society. Funny, isn’t it? On the day Paw left for war, I had no idea that my hopes had just died. It didn’t set in when men were bleeding to death on our floors, or even when the armies took our food. Nevertheless, I clung to that misguided hope right up until Dewley and his raiders killed Maw and packed me off.”
She saw his face go slack, saying, “See. You don’t know me at all. That revolver hanging behind my bed? I took that from Dewley. You should have heard him scream when I cut him apart. Even after that I still had to be betrayed, humiliated, and hounded to the lowest
