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  Sighing, Fox leaned back in his chair and nibbled at more of his breakfast. Images flashed in his mind of the morning of June twenty-fifth, when he'd ridden away, of the animated men who now lay baking on the Montana hillside, of Custer whooping, "I could whip all the Indians on the continent with the Seventh Cavalry!"

  What was it Bloody Knife, the scout, had warned earlier? "There are more Sioux ahead than we have bullets..."

  A chill ran down Fox's spine at the memories. Bloody Knife was dead, too, the Pioneer said. He'd been with Reno, in relative safety, yet was hit in the forehead by a stray Sioux bullet. He began to wish he were back in Victoria's room, where he could escape in solitude. He wished he could put out his thoughts like candle flames. Questions of ethics and the fact that Custer had ordered him to depart seemed irrelevant. He just couldn't shake the shadow of guilt.

  Rising, Fox paid, then turned to exit. In the doorway he nearly collided with a young fellow who looked like an eastern banker in his brown frock coat, double-breasted vest, spotless white shirt, and slim fawn trousers. When Fox murmured a word of apology, the man's face lit up.

  "No, no, pardon me! I haven't the least notion where I'm going. I've just arrived and, to be honest, you are the first person who's said a civil word to me." He removed his bowler to reveal a fine head of curly blond hair and put out a smooth hand. "Permit me to introduce myself, sir. I am Graham Horatio Winslow the Third, of the New Haven Winslows."

  "Ah." Nodding, Fox bit his lip in an effort not to grin. "Good to meet you, pard. I'm Fox." When he saw that the newcomer was waiting for more information, he added, "Welcome to Deadwood. Here, take my newspaper. It should answer a few of your questions."

  "That's very kind of you. Are the rooms decent in this hotel?"

  Fox cocked his head. "If you're in search of decency, I'm afraid you may have stumbled into the wrong town, friend. The Grand Central's food is first-rate, though, and if you ask around you may get some better advice about hotel rooms. There are a few new ones I haven't tried."

  "Thank you!" Winslow shook his hand with enthusiasm. "It's very kind of you to help me. I appreciate it more than you know."

  Fox felt a little tug of sympathy for the young man as he watched him wander into the chaos of the hotel's dining room. He'd rarely seen anyone who looked more like a fish out of water. However, he had problems enough of his own. And with that in mind Fox turned away and started walking home.

  * * *

  "When's Fox coming back?" Benjamin asked Titus Pym for the hundredth time in five days. The two of them were sitting in the cabin doorway, staring at the cloud formations above the opposite side of the gulch. Sometimes Titus would whittle for a few moments, then stop.

  "I've told you, lad, I can't say for certain, but I believe it will be soon. Quite soon."

  "Are you sure he's all right? What if the Injins got him like they did General Custer and all those soldiers? What if-"

  "Ben, you remember, don't you? Wild Bill's friend Charley Utter saw Fox and spoke to him. He's just been... ill these past few days, and staying with friends until he feels better."

  Benjamin sighed heavily. "I sure miss him."

  "As do I." Titus looked around, taking in the nearly completed cabin. He'd done all he dared without Fox's instructions. The roof was finished, and the windows and stairs, but he had a feeling that Fox wanted something special for the front door, so he'd left that. For the past five days he'd slept on the rough pine floor, missing the view of the stars, cared for Watson, and waited. Now, his stomach grumbled loudly. "Ben, me lad, why don't we pop into your house and see if your dear grandmum has any crumbs of food she'd like to give us...."

  "Yes!" The boy jumped up, glad for a diversion. "I think I saw her baking something with brandied pears in it this morning. I bet you'd like it a lot, Mr. Pym!"

  "I don't doubt that for a moment." Titus clambered to his feet with a groan, and they started toward the Avery house. Watson was, as usual, tethered to one of the pine trees, and as Titus and Benjamin approached they saw that Madeleine was there, stroking the roan and feeding him a handful of oats.

  The face she turned up to the sunlight was pale, and Titus noticed that her green eyes looked tired and dull with pain. Still, she was dressed neatly, in a buttercup-yellow gown with her white gardening apron and gloves, and her hair was the hue of a blushing peach. On the ground was a trowel and a pan lined with seedlings, their roots protected by clumps of dark earth.

  "We got tired of waiting for Fox and so we thought we would go eat something," Benjamin explained, strutting beside Titus like a little man.

  Quickly Maddie's eyes met Titus's. "There's still no sign of him? No further word?"

  "Sorry, Miss Avery, but no." The Cornish miner put on a cheery smile. "He'll be along, though. Meanwhile, what're you doing on this fine day? Don't say you mean to feed all those pretty plants to Watson!"

  Warm color suffused her cheeks. "Actually... I thought I might plant a few flowers around... the cabin. It looks so nice now that it's all done, and it occurred to me that a bit of color might be nice."

  "Won't Fox be pleased!"

  Her blush deepened, and she bent to pick up the pan and trowel. "Well, I was just searching for something to occupy myself..."

  "C'mon, Mr. Pym!" Benjamin called, fidgeting. "I'm starved!"

  Maddie watched them go, then gave Watson a last caress and continued on toward the cabin. Her heart ached. The log house looked handsome and new, a rare example of care and craftsmanship in a town where dwellings went up in hours and came down just as suddenly if the wind blew hard or objects like fists, wagons, or bullets struck them. Fox's cabin symbolized the man who had created it, Maddie now realized.

  Bending down next to the opening where the front door would fit, she began to dig with her trowel. The sound of Fox's voice, the sudden magic of his grin, the uncompromising blue of his eyes, everything about him haunted her dreams and tormented her days. Gramma Susan was right. As much as it hurt to feel as she did about Fox, she would not wish to go back now. She felt gloriously, excruciatingly alive for the first time.

  Where was he? The question echoed in her mind and soul for the thousandth time. Restlessly she began to nestle the seedlings into the ground. Mr. Hickok had assured Titus Pym that Fox was safe.

  Had he used the word indisposed or ill? It didn't really matter, for Pym's manner gave him away. He was a poor liar, staring at his feet and clearing his throat and flushing redder with each question put to her. A little voice in the back of Maddie's mind began to suggest that Fox had gone off for a few days of wanton revelry with one of the soiled doves in the badlands. Rather than have such fears confirmed, Maddie had stopped quizzing Titus. Deadwood's half world, north of Wall Street, catered to every vice known to man and no one batted an eye. A different set of values prevailed in the West, and Fox was certainly human. Beyond that point Madeleine dared not think.

  She patted dirt around the last plant, which would yield daisies, and wiped a bead of perspiration from her brow with a gloved hand. In the distance Watson made a low nickering sound, and Maddie's heart leaped. When she rose to her feet and turned, there was Fox.

  "Miss Avery, what are you up to now?" he inquired with a touch of irony.

  Tears tightened her throat. She walked toward him haltingly, tingling with joy and yet aghast to see how he had changed. He was thinner and paler than he had been just five days ago, and there were dark smudges under his eyes. Then, drawing closer, she saw that he had been through some sort of ordeal. He was changed in other ways; he looked haunted.

  "I—I was planting a few flowers by your front door. Do you mind?"

  "They'll probably die," he replied.

  Her chest hurt. Where was the handsome, irresistible man who had teased and taunted her with his words and his touch? "Fox," she whispered, "I'm glad you're home. I mean—everyone has been worried about you."

  He drew a harsh breath. Maddie stood so close to him that her breasts nearly grazed
his calico shirt. Old feelings stirred, like the embers of a stubborn fire. When she turned her face up to him, Fox saw the truth in her eyes. He didn't move as she leaned gently against him for a moment, her clean scent wafting upward tantalizingly.

  It was too bad, he thought, that he would have to break her heart.

  Chapter 10

  July 27-July 30, 1876

  Like everything else in Deadwood, the phases and colors of the days were dramatic. Because the town was set low in a gulch, soft, creeping dawns and sunsets were out of the question. Instead the sun would appear abruptly, round and golden, like a jewel atop the twisting canyon's crown of white rocks. Then, at around ten o'clock, the sky would deepen to a clear blue.

  On this particular morning Fox had been up for hours by the time the full sun popped into sight. He'd just hung his beautifully crafted front door and sent Titus down to Main Street to purchase another latch since the first choice was too short.

  As the sun signaled the beginning of warmer temperatures, Fox pushed up the sleeves of his white undershirt and unbuttoned it to the middle of his chest. He had just turned in the doorway to search inside for some bread and fruit when he spied Madeleine Avery approaching with a basket.

  He wished he could disappear. He wasn't much for conversation these days, and he didn't have the patience to be polite—especially to Maddie, who had taken to gazing at him with her heart in her eyes. As if that weren't bad enough, his lust for her burned hotter each time she came near. It had all been a lot easier when he'd been a decent, lighthearted man and she the cool, prim maiden. Those days seemed long ago.

  "I see you have a door!" she said brightly, stopping a short distance away as if to gauge his mood.

  Fox leaned against the ragged frame, nearly filling the space, and nodded. "What can I do for you?"

  "Gramma... asked me to bring you these muffins." She took a step forward and gestured toward the basket.

  "You both shouldn't have bothered."

  Twin spots of color stained Maddie's cheeks. She couldn't fathom what had come over Fox since his disappearance. "There's no reason for you to be rude! Gramma Susan happens to be a very nice woman, and she's grateful to you for allowing Benjamin to spend so much time here. Is it a crime for her to do you a kindness?"

  "No, it's not a crime," he replied harshly, "but I'd rather be left alone."

  She stared in outrage as he turned and went inside the cabin. Tears threatened, but she forbade them. Instead she followed Fox, holding fast to the basket. When she entered the cabin, she had to wait a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the shadows. Then, slowly, she took in the table constructed of wooden crates and planks, the assorted barrels and stools, and Fox's bedroll, spread out in a corner. Fox himself was sorting through some tools piled on the open stairway, so Maddie went over to the table and set the basket on it.

  "You may as well have these," she said.

  He glanced over his shoulder as if he'd forgotten who was speaking, then nodded again. "If you say so, Miss Avery."

  Biting her lip, Maddie picked up a book from the table. She had planned this visit for too long to be chased away by his discourteous treatment, especially when she suspected that that was his intent. For some mysterious reason Fox could no longer bear to be close to her—just at the time when she wanted it more than anything else.

  "Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman," she read aloud from the title page. Poetry! Now here was yet another incongruity: a rough-edged western man who read poetry? "I've heard so much about Whitman's work, but my mother wouldn't permit me to buy Leaves of Grass. She said it was shocking." Maddie smiled slightly at the memory.

  Fox took the book out of her slim hands. "Your mother was right. Some of it probably would seem shocking to you, and that's exactly why I like it." His eyes met hers in a momentary flash of blue ice. "Beware, Miss Avery."

  "Don't you take that attitude with me!" she heard herself exclaim. To her further indignation, Fox simply walked away. "Wait just one minute!"

  She was right behind him, reaching for his arm, which felt as though it were made of iron. It came to Maddie that he could flick her away effortlessly, yet he did not. "What's wrong with you? Why won't you tell me? Why have you changed so? If there is anything to be done, you need only ask for help. You have friends who—"

  His face stormy and forbidding, he turned back and grasped her delicate arms, lifting her up and away. "There's nothing to be done! There; are you satisfied? There's nothing to be done and nothing to say, to you or anyone else. Just go away and leave me alone!"

  Her eyes swam with tears. "Oh, Fox..."

  The sight of her evoked feelings that were so painful they made him angry. "What the devil do you want from me?" he demanded, his voice raw. "This?" He pulled her against him and abruptly covered her lips with his own, kissing her until she was compelled to respond. "Is this what you want?"

  How many hours had she lain awake dreaming of his kisses and the touch of his hands? Maddie was unschooled in the details of lovemaking, but she didn't need to know what came next. Tentatively she lifted her hands to his shoulders and parted her lips, just as he'd taught her in simpler times.

  Yet everything was different now. Fox lifted her off the floor, and moments later they were facing each other, kneeling on the padded surface of his bedroll. It seemed that every inch of Maddie's body ached with needs she couldn't fathom, and the sound of her beating heart filled her head. Fox's hands nearly spanned her waist as he drew her hard against his body. She had never felt more fragile, more thrilled by the contrast between male and female.

  She longed to hear him speak tenderly; but he did not. She yearned to have him caress her slowly, so that she might savor each new sensation; but he would not. Instead, he was rough. His mouth was so hot; the pressure of his lips and hands would not be denied. When he bent her back, kissing her neck, Maddie panted involuntarily as waves of innocent arousal came washing over her. He smelled of sweat, but on Fox even that scent was intoxicating. She wished he would slow down so that she could touch his chest, kiss his face and learn its contours, taste him. Maddie tried to move in his embrace, but it was unyielding. The first sparks of confusion and panic flared at the edges of her ardor.

  "Fox—" she managed to gasp.

  Deftly he worked at the fastenings that marched down the back of her ivory crepe bodice. The high neckline opened without resistance. Moving like a lean, hungry panther, he pulled the gown away from her body, then drew back to stare at her breasts, thinly covered by a fragile chemise. God, but they were beautiful: full and taut, with pink nipples visible through the lawn. Quickly he lowered the straps of her chemise and freed her breasts. Maddie made a primitive sound when he cupped them in his big hands then reached around to clasp her buttocks and bring her against him, hip to hip. His kisses were ravenous. It seemed that he could devour her as he tasted the pale, soft sweetness of her throat, shoulder, the curve of her breast, a tender, puckered bud.

  Maddie's face flamed. At last he lifted his head to kiss her again and his knee nudged her thighs apart. He pulled her closer so that the most intimate part of her was flush against the hardness that strained inside his trousers. Tears spilled onto her cheeks and she began to struggle in earnest.

  Fox tasted salt on his tongue. Dimly it came to him through a haze of raging passion that she was resisting him, crying out. Her delicate fists struck at him blindly, and he drew back.

  "What the hell—?" Shame spread through him like a dark stain, but he could not let her know.

  Hair spilling down and cheeks tear-streaked, she clambered to her feet, tripping once over the hem of her skirt.

  "You forced yourself on me!" she sobbed. "How dare you? I thought you were a man of honor!"

  "Don't go blaming me for what just happened. You all but asked for it with a signed document." Fox rose, too, and had to restrain himself from reaching out to help when he saw her fumbling with her chemise in an effort to cover herself. This accomplished, Maddie straigh
tened her shoulders, lifted her delicate chin, and presented her back to him.

  "You'll have to repair your damage," she said stiffly. "I cannot reach the fastenings."

  They were silent as he worked, his fingertips grazing her skin occasionally. Fox wished it didn't have to be like this, but there didn't seem to be any other way to scare her off. This unequivocal rupture would be best in the long run, for both of them.

  Her clothing restored, Maddie smoothed back her hair with shaking fingers and pinned it into a loose chignon. Then, without looking back, she walked to the door and opened it.

  "The basket—" Fox said hoarsely.

  She turned at length, haloed in the radiant sunlight that filled the doorway. "The muffins are for you and Titus," she said quietly. "I should tell you that in spite of what has transpired between us, I know what sort of man you truly are. I cannot guess what has happened to wound you so deeply, but I do know that I am too strong to be scared off so easily."

  His eyebrows flew up in astonishment at this speech, and an instant later Madeleine disappeared from the doorway. Fox stood as if paralyzed, then strode across the cabin. Reaching the door, he shouted after her slim departing figure," Miss Avery, I don't give a damn about you!"

  Maddie continued walking as if she hadn't heard.

  * * *

  The next day Stephen Avery returned home. He didn't say much about where he'd been and in fact seemed much more interested in sleeping than talking, but his homecoming kept Maddie busy and distracted—or so Fox hoped. For his own part, he avoided the house next door. When the last muffin had been devoured by Titus, he ordered the older man to return the basket. Happy to comply, Pym feasted on chicken stew at the Avery house and returned with a whole, aromatic plum cobbler.

  "Stop bringing food from the Averys into this house!" Fox burst out, pacing as if Titus had committed a capital offense.

  The Cornish miner was taken aback. "Eh? What's amiss, sir?"