SACKCLOTH AND SILK
by
Beth Dunman Daigre

© copyright August 2001, Beth Dunman Daigre
Cover art by Jenny Dixon
ISBN 1-58608-273-6
Gemstar ISBN 1-58608-388-0
New Concepts Publishing
4729 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com

To my family who never gave up on me and encouraged me. To them I will always be grateful: Bill, my husband, who never complained about the long hours he spent alone while I wrote; to my mother, Billie Dunman, and my sisters and their husbands, Marcia Stewart, Tina Tate, and my brother, Wayne Dunman, who urged me on even during the down times.

And especially to my children and their families who listened patiently while I tried out new ideas on them; Cherryl Cordum, Preston Daigre, and Janna Burton.

To the members of North Louisiana Storytellers and Authors of Romance, Shreveport from whom I learned so much.

Last but not least, special hugs to Sally Hamer and K. Sue Morgan who critiqued my manuscripts and still remained my friends even when I didn't like what they had to say about my work. To them I will always be grateful.

PROLOGUE

Northwest Arkansas

1885

"Come on. Let's go."

Reilly Vann jammed the cap down on his crop of red, unruly hair and turned away from the coffin.

Cassandra swayed, her heart as numb as her body. The cold wind bit through her thin coat, rendering it useless. Oh, Mother! What will we do without you?

"Come on here!" Her father's voice boomed over his shoulder, across the rustling pines and wind as he high-stepped his way through the tall grass toward the wagon.

Pulling the coat closer to her body, she clutched her brother's cold hand and gazed for the last time at the coffin. It still smelled pungently of pine. She threw a glance, blurred with tears, toward the four workmen, hovered in their coats, waiting to lower her mother into the ground. Looks of compassion lined their wind-bitten faces.

"At least he gave her a decent burial," one said.

A sob escaped Cassandra. Fearing her father more than the devil himself, she squeezed Blaine’s hand and hurried through the high weeds, dragging her brother along with her. Wordlessly, Reilly looked down at them from cold piercing eyes. Then turning, he climbed into the wagon and hauled them in after him. He flipped the reins, and the wagon started down the rutted road. All around them, the wind moaned through the frozen trees, as if wailing for a good woman lost to death.

Cassandra twisted in her seat and looked back. The men were slinging shovelsful of dirt on her mother’s coffin. Struggling to contain another outburst of tears, she covered her face with her hands.

"Stop your sniffling, gal," her father ordered. "It's over. What's dead is dead."

Horrified at his insensitivity, she gaped at him and suddenly realized that they were headed toward the valley away from the mining camp they called home. Alarm pierced her sadness. "Where are we going, Pa?"

"To town."

To town? Why to town? Her heart beat a little faster. Shouldn't they be getting back to the camp? For what possible reason were they going into town so soon after Mother's burial? Pa bought supplies just last week. But fearing a harsh reprimand, she bit her lip against the question, hugged Blaine and the coat closer to her, and succumbed to the onset of new tears and the icy wind.

Reilly Vann drove with his huge shoulders hunched forward, twigs of red hair poking out from under his knitted cap as they made their way down the rutted street. Harness rattled. Wheels crunched against the hard-packed, sun-splotched road. Spirals of smoke curled upward from stone chimneys in the little town nestled in the Arkansas valley. Wooden buildings, some darkened by the weather, some painted bright colors, rose among the mountains. Cassandra knew that farther north, where she never ventured except in her imagination, grand homes in all their finery of gingerbread ornamentation stair-stepped the mountainsides. Sometimes when her mother told her about these fine homes, she thought she'd seen a flicker of wistful longing in her eyes that was quickly lost amid a bright smile that never quite reached her eyes. But here on Main Street, woolen-clad pedestrians stepped across frozen streets and mingled among carriages and loaded log and supply wagons. There was no finery here, only the drab busyness of a mining town.

Reilly drove the buckboard to a rumbling stop in front of Garrett's Hotel and Restaurant, its sign swinging on its hinges in the raw wind. He jumped out, circled the horses, and lifted a callused hand to help her down.

"You two wait fer me here," he said, pressing a silver dollar into her hand. "You kin wait inside outta the cold. Mr. Garrett will let ya in."

She stared with disbelief at the shiny coin in the palm of her tattered mitten. Never had she known her father to be so generous. Nor had they ever been left alone in this strange, bustling town. Fear clutched her. She looked up at his towering frame. "Where are you going?"

"Down th' street fer supplies. I'll be back directly." His wide hands, clutching each of their shoulders, pressed them toward the front porch. "Jes' go in an' set down fer a spell."

Taking a reluctant step forward, Cassandra cast her father a quick, uncertain glance as he climbed back into the wagon. With a sharp "Giddy-up!", he flipped the reins, and the wagon rumbled down the street. Hunched deeply into his coat, he sat on the seat without as much as a glance backward.

The wind spiraled around her. Leaves cartwheeled across the hard packed earth in front of her. A crow cawed. A chill raked through her. A dark premonition turned her heart as icy as the day itself.

DENVER 1892

CHAPTER ONE

The biscuit lay uneaten on her tongue, cold, hard, and tasteless. Yet her stomach rumbled loudly, bringing to mind the hunger she had experienced seven years ago. For as long as she lived, she would never forget those painful, terrifying days after Reilly had abandoned her and Blaine on the street of Bluff Hills; the day she ceased to call him Pa and he became Reilly Vann.

Cassandra choked the biscuit down and dropped the last bit into her handkerchief. She didn’t want to be unappreciative to Mrs. Harris back in Bluff Hills, but if she ate another biscuit within the next year, it would be too soon. Because her purse was indeed meager, there had been no money for other food for her and Blaine since leaving Arkansas.

The conductor made his way down the aisle. "Denver, folks!"

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, almost making her sick. Paralyzing pangs, much like the terror she had felt when Reilly abandoned them, assailed her. Suddenly reluctant to leave the security of the train, she remained in her seat and stared at the bustling platform just beyond the window.

Denver. Even seeing the sign on the depot as the train puffed and clanged to a halt, she still couldn’t believe they were at last here. She gasped with awe.

People swarmed everywhere. Trunks, wooden crates, and kegs sat among the many carts piled high with baggage. So many people. So much activity. So much noise.

"Come on, Cass, let’s go."

She blinked into Blaine’s dark eyes, bright and lively with anticipation. Forcing a weak smile, she retrieved her carpetbag and reticule, then followed her brother into the line of passengers unloading onto the platform. Her sense of awe deepened into threatening panic. Was it really that important that she find her mother’s family? To brave such a strange town? To tackle a culture she had never known?

People hurried past, occasionally bumping into her. She clutched her reticule, as if it offered some sort of protection. Her knuckles hurt. Her heart pounded with the hissing steam of the engine, the clanging of the bell, the rattle of passing traffic. Gulping down the bile in her throat, she lifted her gaze.

And encountered a pair of masculine, deeply intense, blue-black eyes.

Her first impulse was to look away. The man smiled winsomely, flashing white teeth. Uncomfortable warmth spread from her toes to her neckline. Yet for fear of appearing rude, she shyly returned his smile.

He was young and handsome - one of the most attractive men she’d ever seen - with a deeply chiseled face under a fine bowler. The carriage of his wide-shouldered body, just like his smile, suggested confidence and aplomb. As the crowd between them thinned, his gaze swept the length of her with the assuredness of a man used to his attention being reciprocated.

Suddenly feeling as if she’d been stripped of her clothing and wondering how she could be so brazen as to smile back at a total stranger, she tried to concentrate on her surroundings. She and Blaine had no time to dawdle. A place to sleep had to be found before nightfall.

The crowd shifted and parted. A young boy and two women, one elderly, the other no older than Cassandra herself, materialized from the crush. Elegant and refined in a blue silk dress, the younger woman swept up to the stranger and wound her arms up around his neck.

"Oh, Park! I’ve missed you so much!" She lifted her full, red lips toward his. Bending his dark head and without reservation, he kissed her in front of God and everybody.

Cassandra’s entire body scalded. Never before had she witnessed such a shameful display of affection between a man and woman in public. Or even in private. Not even between Mr. and Mrs. Harris. Didn’t these people have any decency at all?

Still blushing and hurrying Blaine along, she moved through the crowd toward the street where hacks waited. At the edge of the platform she halted. Wagons, carriages, and fine horses moved up and down the streets. Women, finely dressed, and men, clad in rich broadcloth suits and bowlers, strolled along the sidewalks. Stores - so many stores of brick and intricate trim work garnished both sides of the streets.

Uncertainty surged through her. The first thing she must do was to find a room. Taking a deep breath, and licking her upper lip, she lifted a fold of her skirt and stepped off the platform.

A horse neighed. A solid wall of muscle, sinew, and horseflesh slammed into her. The sudden, powerful jolt sent her reeling to the hard-packed street. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Then a cry of alarm escaped her.

"Lady, you’d better watch out!" the hack driver shouted, whipping the horses past her and on down the street.

Blaine dropped to his knees beside her, his forehead puckered with worry. "Cass, are you all right?"

"Miss, are you hurt?"

Cassandra looked up. The man she had smiled at bent over her, his dark brows lowered with concern. Sideburns as black as his eyes framed his face. A new surge of mortification coursed through her, manifesting itself in the rapid hammer of her heart. "I . . . I don’t know, but I think so."

A relieved grin lifted the corners of his wide mouth. Even white teeth glimmered. "Maybe nothing more than your dignity has been hurt." Grasping her arm, he helped her to her feet.

"I’m fine." She hoped she was fine. Brushing the dust off her skirt, she caught his gaze. Black and flecked with blue, his eyes glinted with disarming boldness and energy. An odd smooth warmth touched her stomach. Flustered, she glanced away.

"I’m Park--" her benefactor began.

"Park! We’re waiting on you!" The young woman’s impatient voice punctured the clopping horses’ hooves and the hissing train. The elderly woman jabbed the planked floor of the platform with her umbrella, her thin mouth tilting with impatience. The boy stared at Blaine, a scowl of contempt and curiosity lining his face.

Cassandra thought that none of them probably had to wait on anyone in their lives.

The young boy strode forward and stood beside them, his gaze fixed on Blaine. "Yeah, we sure are. I’m hungry and Ma says it’s getting late."

"All right, Julian," Park answered.

Forcing herself to look into Park’s smoldering eyes, Cassandra managed a weak smile. "Thank you." She lifted a fold of her skirt and prepared to move along.

"What’s your name, Miss?" The man’s fingers curled around her arm, halting her steps. As if realizing that his gesture was improper, he dropped his hand.

"Cassandra, Cassandra Vann." Now, why did she volunteer her name so quickly to a perfect stranger?

"I have a carriage waiting. May I take you to wherever you’re going?" His dark eyebrow arched.

Intrigued, she blinked, forcing her smile to grow a little warmer. "No, no thank you. It’s just that I’m not sure of where I’m going."

His forehead furrowed, a puzzled expression lining his clean-cut face.

Julian snickered. Cassandra’s attention moved to him, taking note of his fashionable frocks.

"Where are you from? The sticks someplace?" Julian flipped Blaine’s coat lapel with his thumb, emphasizing its frayed collar.

Blaine’s face puffed and reddened. "From Arkansas." His chest swelled.

"Ar-kan-saw!" The boy laughed, shaking off Park’s chastising hand on his shoulder. "You are from the sticks!"

"Where are you from?" Blaine snapped. "Someplace that don’t teach manners?"

Julian’s face turned scarlet.

"Julian!" Park’s sharp reprimand pierced the tension. His hand gripped the back of the boy’s neck.

"Park! We must be going!" the young woman again called, her tone high-pitched and bordering anger.

"I’ll be right there, Amalie." Impatience edged his voice.

"I won’t be talked to that a-way!" Julian yelled, jerking free of Park’s grip and swinging at Blaine.

Blaine dodged, missing the fist by inches.

Julian scowled, as if unable to believe his aim had missed its mark. His folded hand again shot out. Blaine, with the ease of one used to ducking fists, sidestepped, his own knuckles striking Julian’s nose with one short, staccato punch. With a howl, his hands covering his bleeding face, Julian whirled and fled into the safety of the older woman’s arms.

"I’m sorry. My brother deserved that," Park said, a note of admiration in his tone, a grin twitching around the corners of his mouth. He clutched Blaine’s shoulder.

With a polite, stiff nod and smiling to herself, Cassandra caught her brother’s arm and, together, they moved down the street. "Good punch," she muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

Blaine laughed.

"Hey, kid!" A tall, heavy-set man, a fat cigar planted between his teeth, wove through the crowd and halted beside them. "That was quite a show. Where’d you learn to fight like that?"

Caution swept through Cassandra. "It was a lucky hit, that’s all." She wrapped her arm around Blaine’s shoulders.

"Lady, I know a practiced punch when I see one," the stranger said not unkindly. His twinkling gaze met Blaine’s. "How about it? Where’d you learn to throw a punch like that?"

"Come on, Blaine. Let’s go."

"Hey, wait a minute." The man dug into his vest pocket, withdrew a card, and handed it to Blaine. "That’s my name and address. If ya ever decide to earn a little money--"

Giving her brother no time to respond, she propelled him farther into the crowd, away from the cigar-munching man and the handsome one in the bowler.

From the platform, Park Farrington watched Cassandra and her brother move down the street. He studied the proud set of her head on slim shoulders that narrowed into one of the smallest waists he had ever seen on a woman. The heart-shaped neckline of her dress, trimmed in yards of bright pink grosgrain silk ribbon and lace, revealed soft shoulders that flowed into long arms. The tight-fitting bodice rose over high, full breasts and molded into her waist. Mauve shoes flashed from under the hem as she walked. The cascade of golden hair swayed against her back. He imagined running his hand through it and feeling its silkiness. And those bright gray eyes reminded him of quicksilver.

She was definitely a homespun woman. Homespun but beautiful.

"Park!" Amalia shrilled above the din of the city. He stiffened. Other than her exceptionally good looks and body of an hourglass, how he managed to get involved with such a clinging, demanding woman as Amalia he’d never know.

Still, until she disappeared into the crowd, he couldn’t pull his gaze or mind off Cassandra Vann.

#

Now what do we do?

Not a room in any hotel and boarding house was to be found in all of Denver. Moisture popped out on Cassandra’s forehead. Her heart hammered. After hours of searching, she was no closer to finding a place to spend the night than she had been when she and Blaine first arrived. Painful memories of how they had wandered the streets, finally sleeping in an alley back in Bluff Hills after Reilly had abandoned them, made her stomach churn. Bile rose into her throat.

Oh, dear God, don't let that happen to us again!

Dismayed, she looked at her brother fidgeting beside her on the walk in front of the general store. Restless, he shuffled his weight from one foot to another and tugged at his stiff collar. Wistful longing bloomed up within her. The suit of clothes he wore was a hand-me-down, thanks to the generosity of Mrs. Harris, owner of the boarding house they had called home for the past few years. And thanks to Mrs. Harris, Cassandra, herself, had a new dress to wear for this trip. Usually frugal to the point of being stingy, she had finally convinced herself to buy the material and make the dress on her landlady’s sewing machine. Now she was glad that she had made such an investment.

Warm, unexpected tears burned her eyes. It had taken her seven years of hard, backbreaking dish washing to finally afford a new dress. Seven years since she had found herself and Blaine standing alone in the middle of the street, a silver dollar pressed into her hand.

Forcing back the tears and the memory, Cassandra studied the town surrounding her. Evening shadows etched long and deep across the streets. The breeze stirred up dust devils and batted signs back and forth on squeaky hinges.

Alone. She and Blaine were alone and lost in this big, strange city. A lump formed in her throat. She couldn’t come apart now. She had to remain strong for her brother.

"This man said I could earn some money." Blaine frowned over the card he held.

"Who is he?" She took the card. "Andy Burlson, Promoter," she read. "A promoter of what? Fighting?"

Blaine shrugged and took the card from her. "I guess so."

"Well, you can just throw that away. You’ll not fight for one dime. It’s illegal. Come on." Rising from the nail keg, she picked up the carpetbag, lifted her chin, and started down the littered boardwalk.

He fell into step with her and stuffed the card into his pocket. "Where we goin' now, Cass?"

"I don't know. We'll just have to keep looking, that's all." Her feet ached and the carpetbag was getting heavier with each step.

"What if we don’t ever find Mother’s family? What are we going to do then?"

Hearing her own fears voiced aloud, she forced down another wave of sickening bile and slipped her hand inside her pocket. Yes, the note her mother had given her on her deathbed was still there. Written twenty-some-odd years ago, it was signed by Nick, a man who loved her mother. The mysterious Nick and the fact that her mother had been a Wyngate of Denver were all she knew about her family.

Would she ever find them? Had she been a fool to think she might? She never dreamed Denver would be so large, busy, and so intimidating. And if she were so lucky to find them, would they believe that she and Blaine were relatives?

"I’m not worried about that now, Blaine. We have more immediate problems, such as finding a place to stay." She couldn’t contain the sharpness of her tone.

Shops were closing; lights were being snuffed out; traffic in the streets was lessening. Her skirt swished around her ankles. She welcomed the cooling breeze coming off the mountains to the west, bringing relief from the August heat. But it did little to lift her incredibly heavy heart. Darkness soon would be falling. Then what? Her heartbeat picked up its pace. Would they have to spend the night on the streets? Waves of near panic surged through her.

Fine horses and carriages moved to and fro against the backdrop of the elegant Windsor Hotel with its towers, intricately carved cornices and ornamental masonry. Five stories high, its elegance and stature dwarfed the adjacent buildings. She wished they could afford to spend the night there, then chuckling at the absurdity of such a wish, she started farther down the street.

Farrington Drugs, Farrington Real Estate, Farrington Merchandise. She smiled wistfully. Farrington, whoever he was, appeared to own most of Denver.

A shiny black brougham clattered past. Fancy plumes on ladies’ hats waved in the breeze, and jewels glittered against the waning light. With a dart of envy, she bit her lower lip and wondered what it would feel like to be rich; to be so secure that she’d never have to scrape for anything in the world; to have a loving family. Perfect bliss.

She looked up. Ahead of her stood a magnificent building with arches, pediments, wide multi-paneled windows from which thick drapes glimmered. Written in elegant, flowing letters across each of the two porte-cocheres was the name, Farrington Hotel.

Panic fluttered in her breast. She glanced around, and breathless with a new thought, took a long, deep breath. "Come on, Blaine. We're going to offer to work for a room tonight."

"Where?"

"At the Farrington." With new hope putting a spring into her steps, she propelled Blaine across the street toward the hotel.

"Here?" Disbelief edged her brother’s tone. "We can't stay here, Cass!"

"Why not?"

"It's too fancy."

"It's getting dark and we don't have a choice and we're not spending the night on the street like we did . . . ." Biting her lower lip, she halted in mid-sentence, recalling the depth of her hopelessness and devastation when Reilly had left them. Tears stung.

". . .like we did back in Bluff Hills," Blaine finished for her.

"Yes. Now, come on."

Just outside the glistening copper doors, she paused to muster her courage. With military precision, the red-suited doorman swung the door open for them. Throwing her shoulders back as if going into battle, she pulled Blaine into the cavernous lobby.

And halted.

She had read in books about such splendor, but never dreamed she would ever darken the door of such a place of marble, rosewood, and crystal. The whole interior gleamed with elegance, from its massive chandelier, to the wide, curving staircase, to the rich paneling. Awe-struck and wide-eyed, Blaine stood beside her.

"May I carry your bag, ma'am?"

A bellboy, with buttons of copper glittering against his red wool uniform, appeared at her side.

"Oh." She suddenly felt shabby and out of place amid such unfamiliar surroundings. Embarrassed by the foolishness of her idea, she glanced around, searching for a quick exit, a way out of this predicament. "Oh, we . . . we're . . . ." The terror of sleeping on the streets almost overwhelmed her. She lifted her chin with a new resolution. "I must speak with the person in charge."

The bellboy's bushy eyebrows shot up. His subtle gaze darted up and down her modest attire. "Of course, Miss. Come this way." He retrieved the bag from her hand and moved briskly across the polished marble floor toward the desk.

Her bravado faltered as she followed.

"These young people would like to see Mr. Piermont," the bellboy said to the desk clerk.

The clerk's little green eyes looked down at her over his wire spectacles perched atop a round pink nose. "May I ask who's asking to see him?" A forced little smile touched his lips.

Warmth rushed to her cheeks and, thinking he looked like a rabbit, she wished they had not come into the hotel at all. "If you'll just let me speak with him, I'd most appreciate it."

"Mr. Piermont is a busy man. What business do you have with him?"

She cleared her throat. "It's about a job."

"Well, ma'am, Mr. Piermont isn't on the premises right now." The man's tone bristled. His nose twitched, again reminding her of a rabbit. "The only job opening we have is in the dining room. We have need of a hostess." His gaze darted down the length of her, then came back to her eyes. "I don’t think you’re quite qualified for that position."

Suddenly angry at the clerk for speaking so condescendingly to her and at her own foolishness to have come in here at all, she took a deep gulp of air and clung to the last shreds of her courage. "Do you do the hiring?"

The man’s chest puffed. "No, Mr. Piermont does."

"Fine. Then we’ll leave that decision for Mr. Piermont, won’t we? Will he be in tomorrow?" How in God’s green earth did she get such boldness to talk with such authority?

He snorted, his nose turning redder. "I believe so."

"At what time?"

He gave another snort. "About eight o'clock."

"Tell him Cassandra Vann will be in to see him." She picked up the carpetbag and moved toward the door.

"Are you really coming back tomorrow to talk to Mr. Piermont?" Blaine asked, disbelief in his tone, as they stepped back onto the street.

Leaning against the marbled wall, she laughed bitterly and studied the people surging past them. For a moment she hated all of them, without a worry, so elegantly dressed, whose faces were so full of merry life. They passed by without as much as a glance toward her. She regretted ever coming to this town. "You're right. We don't belong there. We may not even belong in Denver. Everything’s so different."

"Cass, we look like hicks, don't we?" Blaine said, as if the full impact of how displaced they were just hit him.

"Oh, Blaine . . . ." She laid a soft hand on his shoulder, already widening and developing into the shoulder of a man.

"It's just that man back there in the Farrington, he could see it, too. We're different. We're poor and shabby. They know it and we know it, too. We don't fit in anywhere."

"Don't say that. It's just that we're different, that's all. That doesn't make them better." Oh, how she wanted to believe her own words!

"In the eyes of people, money makes people better, doesn't it?"

Cassandra bit her lower lip. "Yes, I guess it does. But remember what Mother always said about everyone being equal in God's eyes?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't make it any easier to live in this world. One day we may be rich, too. Then we'll never be looked down on again." He kicked the toe of his boot against the marble stair leading into the Farrington.

Cassandra couldn't help but notice that despite the shining he’d given his boots before leaving Bluff Hills, they still looked scuffed. Her heart hurting, she smiled and stroked his flaxen head. "Maybe, Blaine."

"What are we gonna do, Cass?"

"I don't know." Choking back the sigh of despair that rose into her throat, she glanced around. Tears pressed close. "I had no idea it would be so difficult to find a place to stay. Denver is such a busy place." She heard the awe in her own tone.

"Are we gonna stay on the streets again, Cass?"

"No." Picking up the carpetbag at her feet, she started down the street. "We'll go back to the train depot and sleep on a bench and hope we don't get run off."

CHAPTER TWO

The screeching brakes of the locomotive yanked Cassandra into sudden, panicked wakefulness. Bolting upright, she blinked against the bright lights. People swarmed like ants in the bustling depot. She had never seen so many people in one place. The echo of voices and shoes tapping against the hard floor meshed with a train whistle. A wave of panic, of fear and uneasy expectation engulfed her.

Blaine still slept, curled up beside her on the oak bench. His young face lay slack against the carpetbag that served as his pillow, a twig of straw-colored hair dangling across his forehead. She brushed the hair off his face and wished she could have done better for him than having him spend the night in the train depot. But at least, a hard bench was better than sleeping on the streets.

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her of how empty she was. A partially eaten biscuit was all she had left of those they had brought from Arkansas. And with the prices being what they were, she barely had enough money for a room somewhere - if they were fortunate enough to find one. Doubt as poignant as her hunger fluttered through her.

Impervious to her and Blaine, the crowd surged past. She studied the faces among the throng, not sure of what or whom she hoped to find. She had never seen her mother’s family, knew nothing about them, and certainly didn’t know what they looked like.

A deep sense of loneliness assailed her. She and Blaine stood alone against the world. Ever since Reilly left them standing in the street, they had been alone, belonging nowhere, to no one. Sometimes the reality of that fact sent waves of despair through her; other times, she was determined to rise from the ashes of her shattered life and make something of herself. To one day have a family. To have security. To show Reilly Vann that regardless of what he did to her and Blaine, they wouldn’t be beaten.

A close soft, feminine giggle pulled Cassandra’s attention to a beautiful lady, clad in fashionable traveling costume and surrounded in the redolence of expensive perfume. Laughing, the woman looked up at her handsome escort and dropped a partially eaten sweet roll in the trash bin at the end of the bench where Cassandra sat.

She eyed the discarded roll covetously. Her stomach again rumbled. How could she retrieve it and not be noticed?

Beside her, Blaine stirred, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. She sent him a fleeting smile and smoothed his hair against the crown of his head. "Well, good morning. Sleep well?"

"Ah, guess it was better than sleeping on the streets." He looked around with wide-eyed wonder. "Where are all these people going?"

"Who knows, Blaine." She glanced at the half eaten roll in the trash bin. "Are you hungry?"

"Not really." He brushed his hand across his eyes.

Cassandra smiled. Blaine, always the unselfish one, would never admit that he was as hungry as she. "I still have a biscuit. Would you like to have it?"

"What about you? What would you eat?"

She nodded toward the discarded roll. "A nice, fancy lady just threw that roll in the trash. I'll eat that."

Blaine's nose wrinkled. "Would you really do that, Cass?"

She shrugged. "It won't be as if I haven't done it before." Her voice thickened with emotion.

"I remember." Dropping his head, he kicked at an imaginary rock.

"If you'd rather eat the roll in the trash, I'll eat this one. The roll is much fresher than the biscuit, I’m sure." She opened her reticule and brought out the biscuit wrapped in her handkerchief.

"No, I'll eat the hard one. You deserve something better. You've been through so much."

Her heart glowing toward her brother, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and hugged him close. He squirmed a bit, embarrassed by the candid display of emotion in front of all the people. Releasing him, she rose and moved to the trash bin.

Suddenly self-conscious, she glanced around. Why should she care if anyone saw her? She would never see any of them again.

"Do you really want to eat that?"

Startled, Cassandra turned, meeting a pair of dark warm eyes under thick lashes. A thin, middle-aged woman with hair the color of ebony stood nearby. The plumes of her smart hat waved in the stirring air. A wide, rose-painted mouth smiled as the muted light reflected against the lace and embroidery of her fine traveling suit.

"I . . . I . . . ." Tears pressed close.

"I'm sorry." The woman’s smile twitched. Her eyes, though bright, hinted of sadness. "I don't want to embarrass you. It's just that you remind me of myself when I first came to Denver a number of years ago. You're hungry and lost."

Cassandra cast Blaine a quick, unsettled glance, then looked back at the stranger. Elegant and regal in the carriage of her body and dressed in such expensive clothing, the woman looked to have never been in need of anything. "Yes, we are a bit hungry."

"Don't worry. Your predicament is only obvious to someone who has been there. See . . . ." The woman swung a gloved hand toward the crowd around them, ". . . everyone else is hurrying around, only concerned for himself, oblivious to the cares and needs of others. I'm sure that not only do you need breakfast but a place to stay, too. Am I right?"

"Yes." Hope, mixed with a sense of caution, welled up within Cassandra.

The woman smiled at Blaine, her full lips pulling across pearly-white teeth. "I have a couple of spare bedrooms at my place. You may stay with me until you find something else."

"But I . . . we don’t have much money . . . ."

The woman laughed softly, the musical sound of it light and comforting, belying the hint of sadness in her eyes. "Of course not. I didn't either."

"I really don't know . . . ." Cassandra began, her stomach rolling with an embarrassing rumble.

The woman waved a dismissal. "My place may not be to your liking. but it's a roof over your head with clean sheets and nice, hot food. And it’ll be only temporary until you can find something else."

"Oh, any place would be appreciated right now." Cassandra heard the relief in her own voice. She lifted the carpetbag off the floor. "I really didn't know what we were going to do."

"Frankly, I don't know what you have done, either. There's been another silver strike and Denver is bulging at the seams."

Cassandra gave a disdainful laugh. "So we found out."

"Come. I have a carriage waiting. My place is on the edge of town and we can get acquainted on the way." Slipping an arm through Cassandra's and Blaine's on each side of her, she propelled them through the maze of people. "By the way, I'm Anna Hampton."

"I'm Cassandra Vann."

"And?" She smiled down into Blaine's face.

"Blaine . . . Blaine Vann."

"Well, hello, Cassandra and Blaine Vann. Welcome to Denver."

#

A tall, cast-iron fence surrounded Anna’s sprawling two-story, Georgian Revival-styled house. A mass of roses, camellias, and petunias nodded their bright blooms as the three of them walked through the gate, up the flagstone walk through the garden, to the wide steps leading to the verandah.

Cassandra followed her benefactor into the foyer and halted. Awed, she gaped at the expensive wallcovering, crystal chandeliers, and intricately carved cornices and moldings. A wide, red-carpeted staircase led to the second floor mezzanine.

"Wow!" Blaine’s wide-eyed gaze darted over the room, which opened into two well-appointed drawing rooms.

Cassandra, too, thought she had never seen such a beautiful home as this. In fact, she had only read about such places. The fragrance of fresh roses filled her nostrils. Golden light spilled from the drawing room and reflected against the grand piano, diamond-dust backed mirrors, and cherry wood furniture.

Anna laughed gently and pulled off her gloves. "Your rooms are upstairs. I'll show you where they are." She turned to the black man who had appeared from somewhere deep within the house. "How are things here, George?"

"As usual for this time of morning, ma'am," the black-suited butler answered, retrieving the carpetbag. "Quiet." "Good. Cassandra and Blaine will be our guests for awhile." Picking up a fold of her skirt, she gestured that Cassandra and Blaine follow her.

"Thief!"

The cry echoed down the stairwell. A nattily dressed man appeared at the top of the stairs and clamped his hat on his head. A dark-headed woman, clad in silk and lace robe, lengthy legs flashing, her eyes bright with anger, followed him.

"Thief!" she cried. "I'll get the sheriff after you!"

Stopping abruptly, his hand resting on the banister, the man turned and calmly looked up at her. "I really don't believe you would, Miss," he said, then darted down the stairs, past them and out the door.

"What's that all about, Molly?" Anna asked. "Did he steal something?"

"Well, not exactly. He paid me all right, but not near enough for the entire night."

"Did you agree on a price at the start?"

"Well, no." Molly shifted uneasily and tossed her dark head. "But I assumed--"

Light anger flickered across Anna’s face. "How many times have I told you not to assume anything, Molly? This is a place of business and business is conducted at the start, not afterwards. We'll talk later."

"Yes, ma'am." Molly disappeared back into the room, followed by the sharp slam of the door.

Shock vibrated through Cassandra. Unable to move, she stood midway up the stairs and gaped at Anna's retreating back. A whorehouse! This is a whorehouse! At least, that's what such places were called in whispers back in Bluff Hills. Heat as hot as boiling water burned from her hair roots to her toes.

At the head of the stairs, Anna turned and smiled down at them. "I'm sorry for the outburst. Come on up. You can spend the night here and tomorrow you can look for someplace else, if you prefer."

Suddenly unsure and wary, Cassandra caught Blaine's shoulder and followed Anna to the second floor. She had to admit that in no way did this place of ill repute look anything like what she imagined. Outwardly the house resembled a home in its finest, where a nice little family could be residing. There were no vulgar little porcelain statues, indecent pictures of unclad women that she thought adorned such places. There looked to be nothing amoral or debauched about it. Yet, it would be indecent to spend one night under such a roof.

Anna and George led them down the red-carpeted hall into a well-furnished bedroom of Queen Anne furniture, porcelain and crystal lamps, and a wide marble fireplace. Blaine whistled long and low through his teeth.

"I'm sure you'll be comfortable here," Anna said with a smile, throwing up the shade at the window. Bright sunlight flooded the room. "There's food in the kitchen. Pearl will gladly whip something up for you."

Cassandra's stomach rumbled loudly.

"George, take Blaine to the room across the hall, would you?" Anna asked.

"Sure. Come along, Mr. Blaine."

With a quick glance toward Cassandra, as if asking for permission, Blaine followed the manservant out the door.

Nervously twisting her reticule, Cassandra ran her fingertips across the marble-topped dressing table. "I don't mean to be ungrateful, Miss Hampton, but I . . . I know what kind of place this is and it’s so . . . so . . . er, no place for Blaine." She took a deep breath. "What would people back in Bluff Hills say if they knew we stayed here?" Her voice rose to a higher note.

"But they don't know, do they?" Anna's gaze met Cassandra's in the mirror.

"Well, no. But . . . but I just don't feel right about it." She wrinkled her nose.

Anna laughed softly. "Don't worry, Cassandra. You're my guest tonight, not my employee. Now, there's nothing wrong with that, is there?" Her gaze dropped the length of her. "Although you’d make a prized hire . . . ." She waved a dismissal. "Enough about that for now. You need a place to stay, don't you?"

Cassandra’s knees weakened. Did the woman expect her to pay for the room by becoming her hired lady? She swallowed. "I can’t . . . I won’t be a . . . a . . . ."

Anna laughed, a gentle musical sound. "I don’t expect you to be my employee, Cassandra. If you were, you’d be a prized one, that’s all I meant."

Relief surged through her. "I just can’t let Blaine spend a night here. I hope you understand."

"Where would you go? Back out on the street?" An eyebrow arched. The sadness in her eyes deepened.

"I don't know. I'm sure we'll find a place. And I'm sorry." She bit her lip. Another dart of shame warmed her body. "It's not that I don't appreciate what you're doing for us . . . ." Embarrassed by her clumsy apology, she moved out the door and peered into the room across the hall.

Blaine stood at the foot of a huge, canopied bed, his eyes wide and shining. "Boy! This is almost like a castle, Cass!"

"Blaine." Striding into the room and shaking his shoulders, she turned him toward her. "We can't stay here. We'll have to find another place to stay."

His expression fell. "Why? Miss Hampton said we could."

"I know. And I appreciate that, but, Blaine, this. . . this place is a . . . a bad place, not for children or. . .or proper ladies." Her tongue darted over her dry lips.

Blaine’s face brightened, his eyes widened. "Oh, I know what kind of place it is! I've heard of places like this!" Grinning from ear to ear, he stared through the opened doorway. His face turned scarlet.

Cassandra looked over her shoulder. A scantly-clad woman with a mane of disarrayed hair, long shapely legs flashing, stood in the hall, blowing kisses at Blaine. She giggled and moved on down the hall. Waves of humiliation surged through Cassandra with such force she thought she was going to faint. "You have?" Her voice squeaked.

Anna laughed gently behind them.

"Yeah, me and the other camp kids talked about places like this all the time. Even Bluff Hills had 'em!"

"But, Blaine! You're only fourteen!" She wanted to die of mortification.

"Almost fifteen and a man." His chest puffed.

"But still a child!" Her fingers gripped his shoulder. "We just can't stay here. I will not allow you to spend a night under this roof, and that settles it!"

"But, Cass, Miss Hampton's offered us nice warm beds. We don't have a place to go, do we? We'd probably be spending the night on the street. I know you don't want that. We can stay here until tomorrow when we can find another place. Just one night won't hurt! Besides, by then we may know where to find the Wyngates."

"He's right, Cassandra," Anna said. "Seems to me that he's making more sense than you are."

Cassandra managed a weak smile. The idea of spending the night on the streets did terrify her more than staying here at Anna’s, even against her better judgment. "All right." She gave a resigned sigh. At least she would have a day free of worry about finding a place to stay and she could focus on finding work. "We'll stay one night. One night only. Is that clear?"

"Thanks, Cass!" His face breaking into a wide grin, he jumped and sat down on the bed and patted the crocheted counterpane.

Cassandra turned to Anna and tried to send her a warm smile.

"Call me Anna. Just remember we girls usually sleep late in the mornings, but please feel free to make yourself at home. Now, we'll see if we can find something for you to eat."

#

Cassandra was famished. Sitting at the long table in the kitchen, with Blaine next to her, she could hardly keep from digging into the eggs, sausage, gravy, and biscuits with both hands. Twice she had had to place her hand on Blaine's hand to slow him down.

Anna had disappeared, leaving them with Pearl, the cook, now busy at the cast iron stove in the corner of the room. Somewhere from the depths of the house came the sound of someone snapping a duster and a faint swishing sound as if someone was sweeping a floor. The rich fragrances of flowers, of damp earth, and cut grass whisked through the opened doors and windows. Even though this was a house of ill repute, an aura of coziness, of homeliness permeated it.

"Have you worked for Miss Hampton . . . er, Anna very long, Pearl?" Cassandra asked, sipping the hot, aromatic coffee.

"Several years." The black woman continued to stir the stew in the pot, its smells mingling with the aromas of the breakfast foods.

"She's a very generous person." Now that her hunger pangs were subsiding, Cassandra felt talkative and curious.

"That, she is." Pearl poured another glass of milk for Blaine. "She helped me out once. I've been grateful to her ever since." The big woman's pudgy face broke into a wide grin. White teeth glistened between full, wide lips. "You know she was out and down on her luck when she first came to Denver and by a lot of hard work, she managed to save and buy this place." Her voice emanated pride.

"Does she have family anywhere?"

The smile faded from the woman’s face. "Not that I know of. She's not too talkative about her past, although I know she had a husband and baby once. Don’t rightly know what happened to them ‘cause she won't talk much about them." Pausing, she wiped her hands on her apron. "I wish she had someone, though. You know Miss Hampton isn't well."

Cassandra looked up from her plate. "No, I didn't know."

"The doctors here can't do anything for her. That's why she went out to San Francisco. She thought the doctors out there might be able to cure her. I haven't talked to her yet to see what she found out. Whatever it is, I hope it's good news."

Suddenly uncomfortably full, Cassandra pushed away from the table. "So do I, Pearl."

"Well, how is breakfast?" With a rustle of silk amid a fragrance of perfume, Anna strode into the kitchen. She had changed into a long robe. Her rich mane of black, satiny hair was piled on top of her head, and her well-sculptured face was wiped clean of all paint. She looked fresh despite the tinge of paleness beneath the porcelain-like skin and the thinly veiled sorrow in her eyes.

"Excellent. We can’t thank you enough." Cassandra forced a smile, her heart heavy with Pearl's news, the sadness in Anna’s eyes taking on new significance. "I'm afraid I made a pig of myself."

"And so did I!" Blaine chimed in, his tongue streaking across his upper lip, wiping off all traces of milk.

"I'm glad. There's plenty of food here. Any time you feel like it, come down and help yourself." Smiling, Anna stroked Blaine's head. "I'll just have a cup of coffee, Pearl," she added, gliding into a chair at the end of the table.

Pearl's gaze briefly swung to Cassandra's, held for an instant, then went back to Anna. "Is that all you want, Miss Hampton? There's plenty of eggs left."

"No, Pearl. That's all." Impatience edged Anna's voice.

Shaking her head, Pearl retreated to the stove.

"So you've got the rest of the day ahead of you," Anna said. "What do you plan to do?"

"Look for a permanent place to stay and find a job." Cassandra touched the napkin to her mouth in the precise way her mother taught her, then laid it beside her plate.

Anna's gaze, full of curiosity, followed her motions. "You've never been to Denver?"

"No. This is the first time."

She picked up a spoon and began stirring the coffee Pearl set before her. "I can't help but notice some of your mannerisms, Cass. They're refined, not like . . . pardon my expression . . . ragamuffins."

Cassandra shifted uneasily. "My mother taught me. Our father was a miner in Arkansas and didn’t take too much to learning the niceties of life."

"Blaine mentioned the Wyngates earlier. From where do you know them?" The light in her dark eyes deepened with speculation.

Cassandra shrugged. "We don't. My mother was a Wyngate of Denver. Before she died seven years ago, she hadn't heard from her family in years, not since she married Reilly. She rarely spoke of them. For some reason I always had the impression Reilly ordered Mother not to talk about them."

"Reilly?" Her eyebrow lifted. "Your father?"

She wrinkled her nose with distaste and nodded.

"Where is he?"

Suddenly uncomfortable with painful memories, Cassandra again shifted and looked out the window into the bright sunlight. "We don't know. He abandoned us the day we buried Mother. That’s why I decided to take our chances and come out here to see if we could locate her family."

"I'm sorry." Reaching out, her face contrite, Anna caught Cassandra's hand and squeezed it. "What did you do after Reilly left? How did you live?"

Cassandra squirmed with the harsh memory of living hand to mouth for all those years. "After sleeping on the streets, scrounging for food, a doctor and his family took us in. I kept house for them for a couple of years until he died, then we moved into the Harris’ boarding house. I washed dishes at a hotel for a living until the boarding house was sold and the price on our room went so high I couldn’t afford to live there any more. That’s what gave me the courage to come here." Despite her efforts, bitterness crept into her voice.

"And Nick. There's someone called Nick that we're looking for," Blaine announced, struggling to contain his energy by banging the heel of his shoe against his chair leg.

"Nick Wyngate?" Her eyebrows again lifted.

"I don't know what his last name was. I have a letter to my mother from him, signed just Nick." As she talked, the more comfortable Cassandra became in confiding to her new friend. Besides she might find out something about the Wyngates. "He was something special to Mother because he said he loved her in the letter. He was asking Mother to meet him at the usual place, so I'm assuming their romance was . . . was secret."

"I've never known anyone by the name of Nick." Anna looked up at her cook. "How about you, Pearl?"

"No. Never heard of a Nick and I’ve been in Denver most of my life. If he had been associated with the Wyngates, everyone in Denver would have known him. The Wyngates own Denver, don't they?"

Anna chuckled. "Well, they and the Farringtons. And if you're related to a Wyngate, Cass, you're into one of the most prominent families of Denver."

Cassandra's heart raced. "No, it can’t be. At least, I don't think so. You see, we've lived in mining camps all our lives. We've never had money." As she spoke, she remembered with lightning speed how her mother loved the theater and music. Even though she never knew Elizabeth to attend the theater, her mother had many books by Shakespeare, Alford Lord Tennyson and other great writers. She read biographies of Bach and Mozart. Cassandra’s own love of education came from her mother’s early teachings. Elizabeth Vann loved fine clothing and jewelry although she owned none. Could she possibly have been a relative of this Wyngate?

"I've watched you and Blaine, Cass. You certainly don't have . . . shall I say, the rough edges of a miner's children. Your mother taught you well." A smile tugged around the corners of her mouth.

Cassandra nodded, her heart still racing. "She educated us. She loved dancing, music, and books. Whenever Reilly wasn't around, she taught us table manners, what dinner utensil to use with what course. He scoffed at such things, but Mother always told us we might need to know them one day."

"How did she meet your father?" Anna lifted the coffee cup to her lips.

"All I know is that when he came through Denver on his way to Arkansas, they met."

Taking a deep breath, Anna set her cup down, pressed her lips together as if calculating her next words carefully. "I heard a story once about the Wyngates, which at the time I didn’t pay much attention to. With the Wyngates being a prominent family, rumors about them are always flying around. I really can't recall many of the details. Do you remember anything, Pearl?"

Cassandra's heart almost stopped. She leaned forward eagerly.

"Seems to me they had a daughter that some how got involved with a miner." Pearl turned from the stove and tapped the side of her cheek, as if in contemplating her answer. "Don’t know the full story but it was the scandal of the year. The entire town buzzed with it. Then all of a sudden no one heard about the miner or the daughter. Seems they both disappeared. That’s all I know." She gave a wave of dismissal.

"Could the miner have been Reilly Vann?" Cassandra’s mouth turned dry with excitement.

"Can’t say what his name was." Pearl chuckled. "All I know is that his name wasn’t Tabor or Farrington, or any of the other prominent names around here, that’s for sure."

"Farrington. Isn't that the name we've been seeing all over the place?" Blaine asked, his brown eyes round and curious.

Pearl snorted contemptuously.

Anna chuckled. "The one and only. You’ll learn about them quickly enough. They’re heavy into real estate and gold mines and are a big competitor of Gage Wyngate’s as far as real estate goes. The Wyngates own most of the silver mines around here." With a long sigh, she leaned back into her chair, briefly closed her eyes, and ran her hand across her forehead.

"Are you all right, Miss Hampton?" Pearl bent over Anna, her face pinched with concern.

"I'm just tired. It was a long train trip." Pushing back her chair on the stone floor, she rose and met Cassandra's gaze. "I have a regular customer who's been working these mines around here for years. He may remember something about the scandal. The next time he comes in, I'll let you know and you can talk to him." She flashed a weak smile. "I'm going up to my room to rest now. If you need me, I'll be there."

Watching Anna move across the floor with a slow walk, Cassandra felt an overwhelming concern for her new friend. She sent Pearl a quick, questioning glance.

Pearl shrugged her round shoulders. "She won't talk much about her sickness. Even if you ask her."

#

The next morning Cassandra awoke with a start and a sense of urgency and panic. A shaft of muted sunlight filtered through the lace curtains, across the rich rug and parquet floor. She blinked against the brightness and sat up. Outside, sparrows chattered.

Her panic subsided. She hoped Blaine fell asleep early last night and didn’t hear the soft giggles, voices, and the tinkle of a piano below that played on far into the night. The thought of what went on behind the closed doors made her face burn with shame. It shocked her to think that her brother knew about such disreputable places. But he was no longer a child.

But he's not a man either! Almost a man. She remembered how his shoulders had filled out, becoming more muscular the past year. His voice had deepened, too. His face no longer looked like the face of a child, but now had the burgeoning features of a man. He would be handsome one day. And he certainly knew all about houses of ill repute.

What else did he know? Was he as innocent as she believed her brother to be?

Besides, what would the people back in proper Bluff Hills say if only they knew where they spent the night? Above all, what would her mother say if she could know? Her face flamed hot. Well, she would have to find another place to stay today. She had spent all day yesterday looking for a job to no avail. Jobs seemed to be non-existent in Denver. Today, she would have to look for both, work and lodging. She and Blaine just couldn’t spend another night under this roof. It was just too improper and indecent. She had to do something.

Her stomach rumbled with hunger. Would she ever get enough to eat again? Rising, she slipped into her robe and opened the door leading into the hall. Sunlight glittered through the opened window at the end of the corridor and the soft breeze waved the leaves of a huge, verdant fern on its stand. The house was as silent as a tomb.

With thudding heart, she stepped out of the room. Staying close to the wall as if it somehow protected her from possibly being seen, she started toward the stairs. A door no more than two steps ahead of her suddenly popped open. She flattened herself against the wall, her breath coming in hard, jerky gasps. A man stepped out and she stared, stunned, and horrified, up into his face.

White teeth flashed between parted lips, his expression lighting with surprise. "Miss Vann," he drawled, his voice full, rich, and melodious. His burning gaze flickered with bold appraisal down her figure.

She opened and shut her mouth, too stunned and embarrassed to say anything.

Park. His name is Park. The man at the depot.

In the pale light, his piercingly black eyes glittered with amusement. As if by a will of its own, her gaze moved with keen observation over the tight, square jaw, down his thick, corded neck, to the wide muscular chest exposed by his gaping chambray shirt. "Oh . . !" A new rush of heat ran from her hairline to her toes.

None of his debonair demeanor surrounded him now as it had at the train station; just an unbridled recklessness, danger, and an overwhelming masculinity. The faint scent of whiskey, mingled with spice and cheap perfume, whiffed off him. From the disheveled hair, the color of coal, to his eyes, as black as bright marbles, all the way down to his shiny boots, he possessed an aura of absurd confidence such as she had never seen in any man.

Another wide, lazy grin slid across his full mouth. "You’re the one at the depot who didn’t know where she was going yesterday." His eyes glittered hotter with renewed interest – no, not interest - with lust, pure and simple. The grin on his lips spread. "I didn’t think anyone would be up and around this early."

"Neither did I," she blurted, hoping he understood that she was not one of Anna’s girls, yet realizing that’s exactly what he took her to be. She clutched her linen robe closer to her body.

His bold gaze again moved down the length of her, his lazy grin reflecting his appreciation. "What a quaint difference. How much for your services, Miss Vann?"

She opened her mouth to defend herself for being here at this place, to make him understand that she was not for hire. Still, her throat closed around the words, silencing her voice.

His grin widened. "A hundred? Two? Name your price." His gaze again moved down her in slow, methodical appraisal, lingering on her breasts.

Suddenly feeling naked and vulnerable, she pivoted. Dashing into her room, she slammed the door hard against his surprised chuckle and those smoldering, piercing eyes.

CHAPTER THREE

Thank God, he hadn’t followed her to her room. Maybe because she had acted like a greenhorn and he wanted his women experienced.

Humiliation seared to her core. Cassandra paced, too mortified to leave her room for fear of running into him again. Most of the morning was gone and all she had accomplished was to make a path in the nap of the carpet instead of looking for a job and another place to live. But her near collision with Park in the hall was beyond mortification. And to think he took her to be one of Anna’s girls--!

But why would such an eye-catching man need the services of Anna’s girls? As attractive as he was, surely many girls would take him to their bed without being paid for it. And the woman with him at the depot? How did she fit into his life?

With a thrust of impatience at her preoccupation with the man, she banished the thoughts, pivoted, and chewed on her lower lip. She had other things to do besides cowering in her room and thinking about him. She must find a job and a place to live. She had to get Blaine out of this place!

After forcing herself to dress and fearfully venture out of her room, she peeked into Blaine’s bedroom. Not to her surprise, his bed was empty and, with her apprehension growing, she went down the stairs, through the silent house. George directed her to Anna sitting in a high-backed wicker rocker on the shaded verandah, sipping coffee. Bacon, eggs, and thick buttermilk biscuits were spread on the wicker table beside her. So agitated was she that even their succulent aromas didn’t stir her appetite. The rich fragrances of flowers, of earth, and grass filled the golden air.

"Cassandra, how did you rest?" Anna greeted over the bone china cup she held against her full red mouth. Wisps of black hair floated around her well-sculpted face, looking rather pale against the morning light.

"Have you seen Blaine this morning?" She slipped into the nearest chair and glanced around. The fear of again seeing Park overcame her urgency to find her brother.

"He's in the kitchen with Pearl." She nodded toward the breakfast food on the table. "Don't be bashful, Cass. Help yourself."

Her stomach churned with apprehension. "No, thanks, I'm not very hungry."

"Have some coffee anyway." She reached for the silver pot, poured the beverage into a cup, and handed it to Cassandra. She leaned back against the cushions of her chair, her green eyes, the color of emeralds, deep and speculative. "Didn’t you sleep well, Cass? You seem tense."

Licking her lower lip, Cassandra studied the tiny, intricate roses adorning the gold-rimmed saucer. "It's not that Blaine and I don't appreciate what you've done for us, Anna, but we just have to move out today."

"Was it that uncomfortable for you? Did all the noise and comings and goings keep you awake?" Anna’s gaze didn’t waver.

Cassandra squirmed in her chair. "Yes . . .no

. . . ." She looked out across the garden.

"And?" Anna lifted a trimmed eyebrow.

A new surge of heat swept over her. "I ran into someone in the hall this morning. It was horrible! He took me to be one of your girls and propositioned me."

"This morning?" A little speculative smile played around the corners of her mouth. "Only a select few men spend the entire night. There’s no carriage in the yard, unless it’s parked in the stables out back."

"His name is Park." She couldn’t bring herself to add that he was also very attractive.

Anna’s chuckle rang clear and full of glee. "Park Farrington. The one we mentioned yesterday morning at the breakfast table."

Cassandra couldn't contain her surprise. "Farrington? He’s one of those Farringtons? The Farringtons whose name I see everywhere? Who's associated with the Farrington Hotel?"

She leaned forward, her eyes no longer hinting of sadness but glittering with delight. "He comes here occasionally. You certainly made an impression on one of the most eligible bachelors in all of Denver, not to mention one of the wealthiest. He came to see me after he saw you."

Heat as hot as fire ran from Cassandra’s toes and prickled her scalp.

Anna’s laughter lilted through the morning air. "Not for what you think, Cass. He was insistent to know about you. You enchanted him, and he definitely wanted to buy your services." She gave a little shake of her head.

Cassandra pushed a strand of hair off her face and, so embarrassed she couldn’t look at Anna, glanced out across the garden bathed in golden sunlight. "I hope you told him I don’t work for you." Her voice sounded high and squeaky.

"I did, but Park Farrington doesn’t give up easily. When he decides he wants something, he’s relentless until he gets it." She leaned forward. "But I’d advise you to steer clear of him. He’s worldly, street-wise. Second to becoming the wealthiest man in Denver, his only game is playing women for what he can get out of them. He sees a woman by the name of Amalie a little more often than anyone else, but she by no means has any strings on him. No woman has the power to corral Park Farrington into a serious relationship and any woman who thinks she can is in for a rude awakening."

Cassandra forced herself to meet Anna’s gaze. "Why would someone such as Park visit a place such as this? I'm sure he has his pick of women. He wouldn't have to buy . . . ." She swallowed, trying to swallow her embarrassment. ". . .to buy services."

"Of course not." With a nonchalant wave, Anna sipped her coffee. "You have to understand Park, if that's possible. He's considered a black sheep by anyone’s standards. A rebel. A don't-give-a-damn about anything type. Visiting my place is a form of rebellion against his family, against society, especially proper society. True, he has his choice of any woman in Denver, but this seems to be his way of telling the world to go to hell; that he's not going to conform, not playing by their rules, totally unlike Reid, his older brother."

Anna set her coffee cup down. "Reid’s just the opposite of Park. He’s heavy into the family businesses, is always seen at the right places with the right people. He dresses in cutaway coats, silk shirts, and shoes made of kid while Park dresses in open-collar shirts, denim, and boots. Park doesn't really give a damn about money, prestige, or social position; just when it suits his purpose. He’s out to prove a point. In fact, he has his own room over at one of the boarding houses where he spends much of his time out and away from the influence of his mother and father."

Enthralled, her uneasiness passing, Cassandra leaned forward in her chair. "Why doesn’t he live at his hotel if he doesn’t want to live at home? Why a boarding house?"

Anna pushed a strand of hair away from her face. "At the boarding house, he’s not under the watchful eye of family or employee. He comes and goes as he damned well pleases and answers to no one. Park is his own man."

A scalawag. A rogue. A scoundrel - among other things. That’s what people back in Bluff Hills would call him. Back there, a good name was more precious than having money. In fact, people of wealth were often considered to be crooks who gained their fortune on the backs of the poor. Is that what the Farringtons did - amass their wealth on the backs of the less fortunate? Uncomfortable with her thoughts and her enchantment with Park, she twisted in her chair. "How does his family handle him? I mean, why do they let him get by with being so different?"

"Park handles himself. To try to control him would be like backing an angry tiger into a corner. He's a renegade. Nothing is too highbrow or too low for Park Farrington. He's tried everything, from patronizing my business to the cribs on the Row; from attending the Tabor Opera House to getting caught swimming in the nude with young ladies in a nearby lake."

Shocked, Cassandra gasped. Never having known such men personally and having only read and heard about them, she doubted they even existed. No one could possibly be so brash!

Anna’s lips twitched with a suppressed smile, as if she were enjoying her rendition about the city’s most eligible bachelor. "Park is a strange mixture of humanity. Tomorrow you might find him serving soup to the homeless down at the Denver House, which he’s known to do. At Christmas time, he plays Santa to the orphans, lavishing them with gifts he bought out of his own pocket. He's not completely ostracized by his family. They simply tolerate him and he tolerates them, although his mother will probably die of the vapors because of his antics and scrapes."

Anna began fumbling in the pocket of her gown. "Why not look for work at the Farrington Hotel? I hear they’re needing some sort of help in the dining room."

Remembering her uncomfortable encounter at the hotel when she first arrived in Denver, Cassandra shifted in her chair and picked up her cup. "I doubt that I could get through the door."

"You’re going to have to learn, Cass, that in order to get anywhere in this world you have use every trick, every opportunity to your benefit, even dropping names." Anna pulled a tobacco pouch and a small white paper out of her pocket. "Why not use Park’s name?"

Cassandra gaped, having never seen a woman smoke before. Anna poured a little tobacco onto the paper, licked one side of it, then rolled the paper over the tobacco, forming a long, white cylinder. Placing it between her lips, she struck a lucifer and touched the flame against the end of the cigarette.

Cassandra's shock turned to uneasiness. The long cylinder with its tendrils of smoke curling upward seemed incongruous with Anna's femininity. She bit back the urge to make a comment. "I could never look Park in the face again. What if ran into him at the hotel?"

With a little laugh, Anna lifted her gaze to Cassandra, a bit of sadness again shadowing her eyes. "I doubt that, honey. He has employees who run his businesses and keep a close watch on things. He seldom shows up there unless there’s a problem."

"Surely, as big as Denver is, there’s something else out there." She heard the wistful tone in her own voice.

"With hundreds, perhaps thousands, of men and women looking for work, just as you are? Since you know there’s an opening, you’d better go for it." Anna studied her. "Or you can work for me."

Stunned, Cassandra bristled. "I’d die first!"

Anna’s clear musical laughter lifted above the songs of the birds. "You’re a beautiful woman, Cass. And an innocent one. Men would pay big money for you. You are a virgin, aren’t you?"

She wanted to bolt and run. In Denver only a couple of days and here she sat on the porch of a whorehouse discussing her virginity. She swung her searing gaze across the shady garden. Bright flowers nodded in the breeze, their fragrances filling her nostrils.

Suddenly defiant, she stiffened in her chair and met Anna’s gaze. "I’m not that kind, Anna! All I want is to make a comfortable life for Blaine and myself. Family is what’s important to me. I came to Denver to find my mother’s family because I’d like to have an extended one of my own. I want a good life for us. God willing I’ll have both one day!"

A thin, wistful smile pulled across Anna’s face. She chuckled, shrugged, and inhaled on the cigarette. "I hope you succeed with your dreams, Cass," she said, blowing smoke through her nose. "However, if you change your mind about my offer, let me know."

#

The Farrington it was. After learning from painful experience that Anna was right about jobs being as scarce as rooms to let, Cassandra found herself in the plush lobby of the popular hotel that afternoon.

Several women sat in the chairs in the small waiting area where the bellboy sent her. Though work may have been as scarce as hen’s teeth, she thought it interesting that no men waited to be interviewed for the dining room job. Rich, dark rosewood paneling gleamed against the light. Pausing in the doorway, she swallowed hard and studied the large, paneled door with the gold plate reading 'Private' across its middle, then looked back over the waiting people.

What was it Anna had said? Something about using every trick, every opportunity she had. Could or should she bluff her way into this? Could she lie? She took a deep breath and decided the repercussions for what she had in mind would be well worth the effort. "Ladies."

Every face turned toward her. She tried to calm her runaway heart. "The position has been taken. You all may leave."

Movement rustled among the women. "The clerk told us to wait here for Mr. Piermont--" one began.

Stiffening and mustering up the last shreds of her courage in order to sound authoritative, she lifted her chin a tad higher, her glare unblinking. "The position has been filled."

Throwing skeptical glances toward her, the women reluctantly rose. "Who are you?" another asked a bit defiantly.

Cassandra cleared her throat, her cheeks warming. "The new hire." Seeing the woman’s skeptical look, she shrugged and added, "If you don’t believe me, ask Mr. Piermont yourself." God help her if the woman was brash enough to take her advice!

Muttering and still frowning with doubt, the woman followed the others out into the lobby. Cassandra let out a long expulsion of air. Well, that was over. Did she really do what she just did? Did she really want to go through with this? Was Anna right? Was the possibility of again meeting Park Farrington here at his hotel so remote? Was she desperate enough to take the chance that she might?

Yes, she decided. She was that desperate. For Blaine and herself she had no choice.

Twisting her hands together, summoning all her courage, she started toward the closed door. The appearance of a bellboy carrying a tray of china coffee cups and a silver coffeepot brought her steps to a halt. "Is that for Mr. Piermont?" she asked, an idea popping into her head.

"Yes, ma’am."

"I’ll see that he gets it." She reached for the tray.

The bellboy squinted skeptically at her.

She flashed a bright, winsome smile. "I’m going in to see him and I'll see that he gets his coffee. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?" She could hardly control the tremble in her voice.

"Why, I guess not." With a shrug the bellboy passed the tray to her.

"Thanks." She sent him another bright smile.

Shrugging, the bellboy disappeared out the door.

She sucked in a long, deep breath, gathered her courage and, running her tongue over her lips, reached for the gilded doorknob and turned.

The sun streamed so brightly through the tall, wide windows in the room that Cassandra blinked, her gaze resting on the black silhouette sitting behind the massive desk. Sensing another presence in the room behind her, she again blinked, adjusting her eyes to the light. Her bravado wavered. Her step faltered. What was she doing?

The man behind the desk rose, yanked the front of his vest down over his pouch, and asked sternly, "Who the hell are you?"

Throwing back her shoulders, she lifted her chin and met the man's small, beady eyes. "I have your coffee, Mr. Piermont." She set the tray on the corner of his desk.

"See here, young lady, I'm in a meeting! You have the worst of manners by barging in here!"

She planted a sweet smile on her face and looked up at him, her mind groping for something to say, hardly aware of a rustle of movement behind her. "I'll be glad to wait until you’ve finished your meeting to speak with you. Enjoy your coffee." She started toward the door.

"I’d like to hear what the lady has to say." The voice came from the leather sofa, shrouded in faint shadows.

Startled, she turned. Her heart almost stopped, then rebounded with violent hammers against her ribs.

Park Farrington rose from the sofa and looked at her from unblinking, black eyes. Bareheaded, tall and stately, he made a commanding figure in his gaping, chambray shirt and hip-hugging denim trousers. A little crooked smile played across his mouth, his square jaw flexed, and his eyes glittered with amusement.

The desire to run, to stay, to die on the spot flooded her.

"Now, Mr. Farrington, I can see her anytime. We don't--"

"Never mind, Mr. Piermont. This is Cassandra Vann." Park’s gaze didn’t waver, his razor-sharp scrutiny boring right into Cassandra’s soul. His grin widened, as if taking pleasure in remembering their brief encounter at Anna’s.

Unable to move, she stood rooted to the spot. Her pulse leaped, then thudded in her ears with such force she thought she might go deaf. She couldn't breathe and wondered if she wasn’t about to faint. Scalding warmth swept from her hairline to her toes. Groping, she found the edge of the desk and grasped it for support.

"And who do we have here?" Another man rose from the sofa, his dark eyes glinting with appreciation.

Her gaze shifted to him. She hadn’t noticed him and immediately guessed that he was Reid, Park’s brother. The resemblance was unmistakable. He, too, was tall, dark-headed and eyed. However, Park was a little taller and muscular, clearly the most attractive of the two. Reid was clad in a fashionable vested suit and starched snow-white shirt, a stark contrast to Park.

"Reid, this is Cassandra Vann." Park grinned, a subtle smile of insinuation. "Miss Vann and I have met."

Her face burned. She tucked a twig of hair behind her ear and glanced toward the floor.

"Reid is my brother," Park continued, his scrutiny still holding her.

Reid flashed a quick smile, his expression reflecting the same appreciation as Park’s. "My pleasure, Miss Vann." He glanced down the length of her, his examination finally coming to back to rest on her face.

Feeling obligated to return his smile, she flashed a quick, unsure one of her own.

With a snort of protest, Mr. Piermont moved from behind the desk, again yanked down the front of his vest, and stood beside her. "What do you have to say, Miss Vann?".

Cassandra looked into Mr. Piermont’s puffed, red face and remembered the reason she had come into his office. She squarely met his eyes. "I need a job, Mr. Piermont. I’ve come to apply for the opening in the dining room."

The man’s subtle look swept down the length of her, making her painfully aware of her plain, simple frock, the best dress she owned, the one she had worn on the trip from Arkansas to Colorado. "I think we have an opening in housekeeping, Miss Vann, which I think would be more suitable for you." He moved to the chair behind the desk and glanced toward Park and Reid as if looking for confirmation of his offer.

Relief swept through her.

Park stirred. His eyes glittered and danced. "Miss Vann asked for the dining room job. I believe she’ll do just fine in that position, Mr. Piermont."

Piermont’s face turned beet-red. His chest expanded so far that Cassandra thought he would pop a button off his vest.

"We have other people waiting," he protested.

"No, you don’t." Cassandra paused, wondering if she’d actually spoken so boldly. "I sent them away."

Mr. Piermont glowered. Reid gave a loud, delighted guffaw.

A little smile tugged at the corners of Park’s mouth. He shifted, his face curious, his eyes dancing with merriment. "How did you do that, Miss Vann?"

She sucked in a deep breath. His eyes gleamed with something subtle and amused, holding hers with such absorption she thought she would melt. "I told them the position had been filled since I plan to fill it myself."

Park gave a sudden, loud laugh and glanced at his brother. Looks of what she prayed were silent messages of approval passed between them.

Giving a snort of protest and sending Park a subtle frown of disapproval, Mr. Piermont sat down in the chair and pulled out a file. "Ah, yes, of course, the dining room job then."

Cassandra's heart leaped with joy. "I appreciate this very much, Mr. Piermont. And to you, too, Mr. Farrington."

"Call me Park."

Her heart fluttered.

"And call me Reid." Stepping around his brother, Reid offered his hand.

With butterflies fluttering all through her and hoping her palms weren’t too sweaty, she took his hand. His grasp was too loose, his scrutiny a little too warm, a little too intimate.

"Can you start tomorrow morning?" Mr. Piermont's curt tone pierced the tension.

She took a quick breath of air. "This evening if needed. What time shall I come in?"

"Morning will be fine. Six o’clock sharp. Go to the kitchen and report to Matilda and she'll outfit you with the proper attire. All our employees wear the same attire."

"I'll be here." Turning, she met Park's grinning face. His gaze made her feel as if he’d kissed her.

"Aren't you interested in what kind of pay you'll be getting?" Reid interjected, his own face lit with interest.

"I don't care. I just appreciate the job." She smiled and strode to the doorway, then turning, stepped across the threshold.

Still stinging with embarrassment and marveling at her own guts, she nevertheless felt like dancing with joy. She rushed across the lobby, out the copper doors, and leaned against the granite wall on the street. Sucking in a deep breath, she tried to calm her thudding heart. She had pulled off the slickest charade of her entire life and she didn't know whether to laugh aloud or hang her head in shame. She had a job!

The doors swung open and Reid Farrington stepped through them. He glanced first up the street, then spotting her, came to her. "Miss Vann." Pompous and all smiles, he stood before her, his subtle scrutiny of her making her blush. "Just wanted to welcome you as a member of the work team here at the Farrington."

Uneasiness moved through her. Wondering if Park was somewhere close by, she straightened and sent him a wavering smile. "Thank you. You don’t know how much I appreciate the job."

Without further ado, he clasped her elbow and led her back into the hotel lobby. "I’m ready for some lunch. I’d be appreciative if you’d join me."

"Oh." The invitation surprised her; his brazenness startled her. Thoughts of Blaine waiting at Anna's, the chore of having to find a place to live, any excuse to avoid having lunch with this man rushed through her mind. Why was he so interested in her? Did Park tell him about their meeting at Anna’s? Perhaps he thought her to be easy and free with her favors. She halted and pulled her elbow free of his grasp. "I don't think so. There's so much I've got to do."

"Such as?" He arched a dark brow.

"My brother is waiting for me." Oh, Lord, how was she going to tactfully refuse her employer’s invitation? "He’s with a friend and I promised I wouldn’t be gone long."

"I'm sure whoever it is wouldn’t mind if you took a few minutes for lunch." Again cupping her elbow in his hand and not giving her time to protest, he propelled her across the marbled floor toward the dining room, their heels clicking in the vastness of the lobby. "They're serving a good beefsteak today. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it."

The hostess, with a pert little cap on her head and clad in a bright, festive gown of red, trimmed in yards and yards of lace, escorted them to a linen-covered table in a far corner of the dining room. Heavy, velvet drapes over a wide, multi-paned window and several huge, leafy ferns served as a backdrop. Painfully uneasy with the thought that he may think of her as being a prostitute, she gulped and waited as he ordered for them. Aware of her simple dress in contrast to the silks and satins of the other lady patrons, she tried to relax as she studied him across the table. The resemblance to Park was distinctive. They had the same tilt of their wide mouths and the certain lift of an eyebrow. The similarities ended there. Park seemed to have the blacker crop of hair. Reid’s eyes were dark, though lighter than his brother’s.

Suddenly realizing that the waitress had walked away and that Reid was studying her with as much absorption as she did him, she glanced away. Uncomfortable and beginning to wonder how wise she had been to come to the Remington at all, she squirmed in her chair and brushed a stray twig of hair away from her heated cheek. What did he want?

"You’re a gutsy lady, you know that?" His voice was low, throaty, intimate with a tinge of admiration.

She blinked at him. His eyes had taken on a deeper hue in the flickering candlelight. "Gutsy?"

His grin spread. "Courageous. Bold. It took a lot of courage to do just what you did for a job. Most women wouldn’t have thought of such a ploy, let alone act on it. No one has ever done that to us Farringtons before." She adjusted the napkin in her lap, her sense of being bereft of place deepening. "I do what is necessary in order to survive."

"Have you had to learn to survive, Cassandra? Who are you?" His tone was low, throaty.

Her uneasiness deepened. Why was he plying her with questions? "I'm Cassandra Vann from Denver."

"No, no, you're not. I suspect that you’re not from around here."

"I'm sure you're not interested--"

"But I am." He clasped her hand atop the table.

Her heart thumped as she gazed at their entwined hands. Why was he being so forward? She ran her tongue across her upper lip and pulled away from him. "Blaine and I have no parents. Mother's family lived in Denver and I decided to come out here from Arkansas where I was born and raised."

"Have you seen them?"

She blinked at him. "Who?"

"Your mother’s family."

"I’ve never even met them. I'm not sure they're still here. That's all there is to tell."

His face lit with interest. "What's their name? I might know them."

Hope rose within her, then fell. It was unlikely that this man of wealth would know a poor family, such as her mother’s certainly had to be. "Wyngate."

Emitting a soft whistle, he leaned back into the chair. "The Gage Wyngates?"

The waitress set their wine in front of them, then left.

"No, I don't think so. I mean, my family was very poor and I understand the Wyngates are well-to-do." She shrugged.

"That's interesting. The Gage Wyngates are the only Wyngates I know and I've lived here all my life. I didn’t know they had family out in Arkansas."

"That's why I don't think they're my family."

"So where are you staying? Sleeping quarters is as scarce as claws on a duck with that new silver strike." He sipped his wine.

Heat rose to her face. She glanced about the dining room and was relieved to see the waiter bringing their food to them. "My brother and I have a room."

"Where’s that?"

She gave a nervous little laugh. There was no way she could admit she was staying at Anna’s. He might fire her before she even started her new job. "At a boarding house. Can you believe I can’t remember its name? I was so excited about finding a place that I didn’t pay attention to its name."

A curious frown flickered across his face, then a little smile lifted his mouth as if he found her amusing - or lying. She looked away. Lying didn’t come easily for her.

"I have an idea." He paused as the waiter set their meal before them, then moved away. A new boldness lit his face. "What say you stay here at the Farrington? It’d be convenient for you, and you could keep an eye on your brother."

His suggestion stunned her. She blinked. "What?"

"You're welcome to stay here at the Farrington. You can rent a room and pay for it out of your first paycheck."

Butterflies churned in her stomach. Such an odd proposition from someone she had just met. Yet she suspected such an offer probably wasn’t out of the ordinary for Reid Farrington. Such offers were more than likely common here in Denver, especially from well-heeled people such as he. Intrigued, she gave a little laugh. "That's silly. It'd take two of my paychecks to pay for one day's rent on a room here."

"A housing allowance is provided for our employees." Leaning forward, he clasped his hands together and rested his elbows on the table. "We Farringtons pay our employees well. Besides I’ll let you have it at a reduced rate."

She froze. What kind of favors would he ask for in return for the room at a reduced rate? "Your offer is generous, but I . . . I'm sure it doesn't cover the cost of a room here. I can't, Reid."

"Why not?"

"It's so . . . so . . ." Her heart thumped so hard she felt sure he could see it beating right through her clothes. " . . . so fancy. I don't belong here."

"Again, why not?" He shrugged his wide shoulders under the broadcloth.

Her gaze swung across the elegance of the dining room. "This is not me."

"It could be you, Cass." His voice held an odd tender note; his expression soft and wistful. "If you'll let it."

She met his gaze, forward, unwavering, and all consuming. "Until two days ago I'd never seen a place such as this in all my life, let alone live in something like it. Mining camps are all I've ever known."

"That doesn't mean you have to stay in mining camps."

"No, it doesn’t, but I can't stay here." She gave another short, nervous laugh. "Besides, it wouldn’t look right, and I'm famished. Let's eat." She prayed he would drop the subject.

His face registering disappointment, he leaned back into his chair. His eyes glittered at her over the rim of his glass. "When you change your mind, let me know."

CHAPTER FOUR

When she changed her mind. Wasn’t that how Reid put it? When she changed her mind about taking a room at The Farrington - as if he was confident she would accept his offer sooner or later?

Never! Never in a million years! She may not be wise to the world, but she wasn’t so naive to think he wouldn’t want something in exchange, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out just what.

Dismissing thoughts of Reid, Cassandra pivoted before the full-length rococo mirror in her room at Anna’s and scrutinized her reflection. She looked and felt beautiful, desirable, and so-o-o-o-o feminine. Never before had she thought of herself in such a way. Never before had she lived in such plush surroundings or treated so much like she was a somebody. Not since her mother died.

What would Park think if he could see me now?

Why should she care what such a rat, who enjoyed the company of ladies of the evening, thought? Even though he had given her the job at the Farrington, she must remember that he possessed an overabundance of lusty, insatiable appetites for women and other vices as well. Before she had even walked out of the hotel, he had probably forgotten she existed.

Well, maybe Park had forgotten her, but Reid hadn’t. The meal they had shared ended up being most enjoyable, albeit a little uncomfortable for her. She wasn’t used to being in the company of such a high-caliber man; certainly not one taking such an interest in her and entertaining her among such posh surroundings - something way beyond her wildest dreams.

Yet, it was Park, not his brother, who kept coming to mind. Why did he have such a hold on her? On her thoughts? He obviously had no sense of responsibility, morality, or respectability. No matter his wealth and standing in the community. Obviously, reputation didn’t mean one iota to him, such as it did Reid, obviously the more stable one of the family.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed thoughts of the Farringtons aside. Holding her chin high, she studied

her reflection in the mirror and vowed that she wouldn't let the Wyngates intimidate her. She was just as much a human being as they. She had her dignity. The only difference between them was their immense wealth.

"Where are you going, Cass?"

The sound of Blaine's voice made her turn. Her brother, a strand of blonde hair dangling over one eye, gaped at her from the doorway.

"I'm going to see the Wyngates," she answered. "How do I look?"

He gave a low whistle. "Good!"

Cassandra blushed and brushed a wisp of hair back. "Well, it's about time I made their acquaintance, don’t you think? I’m not going to let them intimidate me. The only difference is that they have money and I don’t." Even though she heard her own words, she didn’t quite believe them. In reality, she was only fooling herself. She was a sow's ear trying to become a silk purse; a pauper pretending to be a princess.

"You're really going to do it, huh? You're really going to go out to that big, fancy house and invite yourself in?"

"If I'm ever going to find out for certain if they're our relatives or not, I have to make the first move, wouldn't you think?"

With the redolence of perfume and a swish of skirts, Anna came into the room. "Cassandra, the carriage is ready. Ah, you look marvelous, like a million dollars."

Faint warmth crept to Cassandra's cheeks. "I feel like a million dollars," she said, studying her own reflection, the way the luxurious, peacock blue satin dress molded over high breasts and a small waist, amply revealing the curves of her figure. Borrowed black kid shoes peeped out from under the hem of the narrow skirt, and the black lisle-threaded stockings felt soft against her legs. "I truly appreciate your lending me such a beautiful clothes."

"Well, one day you may be able to afford your own." Anna swept to her and slipped an arm around her waist. Together they stood side by side looking at their reflections. "Anyone would be proud to say that you're one of their relatives. Don't you agree, Blaine?"

"Yeah, I never knew Cass could look so good."

Cassandra laughed nervously, noting that her silver eyes glittered as brightly as the earbobs on her ears. "It's the dress that looks good."

"No, he's right, Cass. You're a very beautiful woman. I'm surprised that being as attractive as you are that at your age you've never married. There's never been anyone serious?"

"No."

"Ah, come on, Cass. Tell her about Bancroft," Blaine interjected.

"Blaine, you know he meant nothing! He was just a friend." Bitter memories came to mind.

"Yeah, as Mr. Harris said, we couldn't throw dishwater out for throwing it on him."

Anna laughed softly. "Really? Sounds serious to me. But who is Mr. Harris?"

"Our landlord." Blaine brushed the twig of hair away from his eye. "He always teased Cass about Bancroft."

Blushing, Cassandra fiddled with the cameo broach at the modestly high neckline of her gown. "I considered him just a friend."

"Yeah, Cass refused to get engaged to him," Blaine chortled.

"Hush, Blaine!" Cassandra adjusted the pointed waist over her flat stomach.

"Ah. I saw them kissing once. Down by the creek."

Cassandra’s face flamed. "Only once, Blaine! And if you don't get out of here, I'll throw you out!"

"Just once, Cass?" Anna asked with a glint in her eye. "Shame on you."

"I'll have to admit, it would have been nicer if I felt more for him. But I didn't. He was just a friend." An ache for the past cut into her heart. The ache of remembering how Bancroft hurt her.

"Yeah, Cass could've had her pick of any man in Bluff Hills, but she wouldn't have much to with any of them."

"Why not, Cass?" Anna asked.

"Ah, I'll see you later," Blaine interjected, heading toward the door. "This is girl talk."

"Where are you going?" Cass called over the thud of his retreating footsteps.

"Walking! I wanna see some more of Denver!" came the hurried reply.

"I wish you wouldn't!"

"I might find me a job!" His voice faded into the distance with his footfalls.

"Well, it certainly will have to be a job that pays very well before we can afford any place around here," Cassandra muttered with a sigh, turning back toward the mirror.

"Now tell me, what happened to your Bancroft fellow?" Anna sank into the nearest chair.

"Oh, after I refused his hand in marriage, he found someone else. I found out later he’d found her before we ended our relationship." Shrugging and fighting off the pain of remembering, she picked up the blue satin parasol off the bed and flipped it open.

"Would any man be the one for you, Cass?" Anna's eyes turned dark, inquisitive.

Frowning, Cassandra looked down at her friend. "What do you mean?"

"I get the impression that you're afraid of men; not physically afraid of them, but emotionally. Are you afraid of being hurt?"

Cheeks stinging, she turned away and busily surveyed herself in the mirror. "No . . . I mean I haven't thought about it. It's just that the right man hasn't come along."

"Don't let your father and Bancroft color your perception of men." Anna rose and moved to Cassandra. "Believe it or not, there are decent, gentle men out there. Now, you must get going. The carriage is waiting."

Suddenly very nervous, Cassandra smiled, her stiff lips trembling. "Oh, I do hope I can do this!"

"You can." Anna hugged her. "Just keep that chin up and those shoulders straight. Convince them of your confidence whether you feel confident inside or not. Make them know you're every inch a dignified lady worthy of the Wyngate name."

"Oh, but Anna, I'm so afraid! What if they don't like me? What if I'm turned away? What if I don't find out if the Wyngates are my mother's people at all?"

"Don't fret so, Cassandra! And if they aren't, it'll certainly be their loss . . . not yours." She gave her another quick hug. "Now off with you. You'll do just fine."

"Oh, Anna." She clasped Anna's hand. "You're a dear, dear friend, and I don't know how I'll ever repay you for what you've done for me." With a threat of tears pressing behind her eyelids, she embraced her, then moved quickly from the room and down the stairs to her waiting carriage.

The ride to Silver Valley, the Wyngate estate, was warm and breezy. The hired driver, as wordless and cold as a granite statue, rode low, his shoulders hunched forward. Low, gauzy clouds hung low in the west over the snow-capped mountain tops. It was only late August and already the mountains were blanketed in beautiful white. Cassandra was enthralled. She’d never seen snow in August. Nor had she ever seen such majestic scenery. Oh, the Ozarks were beautiful mountains, but they lacked the breathless grandeur of the Rockies. She couldn't wait to take her first trip up into them.

The white columns of the Wyngate house rose from the valley like a gilded mirage as the carriage moved between the high, arched gates and wound its way up the curving flagstone driveway. Flanked with cone-shaped blue spruce and canopied by spreading branches of pine trees, the house of Silver Valley loomed stately and imposing, like a grand lady reigning over her kingdom. Suddenly confronted with such pomposity, Cassandra's courage almost bolted. She wondered if the Wyngates were as ostentatious as their home. Her breath came in short heavy spurts, her mouth turned dry.

By the time the surrey pulled up to the wide, imposing porch, she clasped her hands together so tightly that she thought her knuckles would crack and her heart would beat right out of her chest. She felt sick. Panicked, she thought she might retch everywhere - right here at the front steps. But taking a deep gulp of air, she stepped from the carriage and with weak, trembling knees, mounted the wide stairs to the verandah, past the jardinieres holding lush, green ferns, to the huge front door.

Her knock resounded into the depths of the house. A black manservant, clad in black suit and tie, peered at her from the threshold.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Are the Wyngates home?" she asked, marveling at the steadiness of her voice. It revealed none of her nervousness, none of her pounding heart.

"Yes, ma'am. They are. Whom shall I tell them is asking?"

"Cassandra Vann."

"Come in and wait." Stepping aside, he allowed her to pass into the dim hall, warm and inviting with its cherry, oak, and walnut woodwork. "Please. This way." He led her into the drawing room, then with a polite, little bow he retreated, his footsteps echoing hollowly into the depths of the house.

Completely overwhelmed by her sumptuous surroundings, Cassandra moved toward the gigantic, marble fireplace with its polished grate. The sudden, urgent sensation of stepping into a hostile, unfamiliar territory seized her and the impulse to flee back to the carriage surged through her. But somehow, she remained where she stood, intrigued and frightened, in the middle of the vast room.

Appointed in the finest, the room was adorned with mahogany paneling and woodwork. Plush velvet furniture with its pleasing curved lines sat on a thick woolen rug the color of red clay. Heavy damask drapes graced the wide, tall windows.

The slightest of sounds, much like the quick intake of breath, startled her. Turning, she saw a heavy-set man leaning on a gold-headed cane in the doorway. His face went slack, his jowls dropped, his mouth gaped. Beside him stood an elegantly clad woman, thin and aloof. Her eyes widened, her mouth popped open. Cassandra wondered if she were about to burst into tears.

For a long, suspended moment, they wordlessly regarded her, then the man at last shifted his weight and waddled into the room. "Miss Vann?"

"Yes." She moved across the floor with surprising serenity and offered her gloved hand. "Mr. Wyngate?"

His beady eyes darted to her outstretched hand. "Yes. What can I do for you?" Ignoring her gesture, he moved past her to the sofa and dropped into its cushions. The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed the two o’clock hour.

Her feigned confidence almost fled. Chagrined, she glanced toward Mrs. Wyngate. "I appreciate your seeing me."

"Please, Miss, just state your business. Why are you here?" Mr. Wyngate’s curious gaze darted to her then away. Mrs. Wyngate moved with a rustle of silk to the sofa and sat down beside him, her expression curious and a bit puzzling. Her lower lip curled under her upper teeth as if she were fighting tears.

Cassandra noted that neither of them offered her a chair. "I'm Cassandra Vann. My mother was Elizabeth Wyngate who came from Denver. I'm trying to locate her family, and I thought perhaps you could be her relatives or at least, direct me to someone who possibly might be a relative of hers."

A flicker of something Cassandra couldn't identify lit Mr. Wyngate's eyes, then a slow, contemptible smile crept across his fleshy face. "Miss Vann. You obviously are aware of our affluence, and your approach is not new to us. Over the years, we've had numerous people who have claimed to be our long, lost relatives. Let me assure you, we know no Elizabeth Wyngate, nor have we ever known an Elizabeth Wyngate."

Mrs. Wyngate shifted, the rustling sound loud and jarring in the tense stillness.

Cassandra's nervousness turned to embarrassment. "Please believe me, Mr. Wyngate. I am not here to take advantage of you. I am here only to try to locate my mother's relatives. I've never known them. That's the only reason I'm here at all."

Mr. Wyngate's cold gaze flickered down the length of her, and in that gesture, Cassandra understood that despite his words he knew she wasn't riffraff, a tramp looking for a handout.

"Tell us about this Elizabeth Wyngate, Miss Vann," he said in a thin, raspy voice.

Beside him, Mrs. Wyngate gave an audible gasp.

At least he was interested enough to ask a question. "Please, may I sit down?" Cassandra feared her legs might give way beneath her.

Mr. Wyngate nodded and Cassandra sat down in a plush wing chair opposite him and his wife. "My mother left Denver over twenty years ago, before I was born. She was married to my father, Reilly Vann, and lived in the Arkansas Ozarks. He was a miner. I was born there. Mother hardly spoke about her family, and all I know about them is that they were from Denver. She met Reilly when he was passing through here after leaving California on his way to the Arkansas mines."

"Where is this Elizabeth now? Why isn't she here?" Mrs. Wyngate leaned forward, her thin face expectant and almost hopeful. Her thin lower lip quivered.

"Lenora, I don't see why we should listen to this! We know nothing about this Elizabeth Vann. We're wasting our time." Leaning heavily on his gold-headed cane, Mr. Wyngate hoisted his heavy frame to a standing position.

"But surely, you know of other Wyngates here in Denver!" With a feeling of panic, Cassandra glanced from Mrs. Wyngate to her husband. "Just tell me where they are so I can talk with them!"

Gage Wyngate turned toward the door. "If your mother's family lived in Denver, they were not related to us and they've moved on. I'm sorry we can't be of more help."

"But you must know something!" She sprang to her feet, her heart pounding, disappointment welling up within her, strangling her. "The name Wyngate is not common. Surely there's a link somewhere between you and my mother!"

Mr. Wyngate's face puffed and reddened. "We cannot help you." He hobbled toward the door with his wife at his side.

"Wait! Do you know anyone by the name of Nick?"

Mrs. Wyngate flung her husband a contrite look, her soft, wrinkled cheeks turning pink, her lips compressed.

"Look, I have a letter from him to my mother

. . . ." Cassandra began rummaging through her reticule. Tears of frustration burned. They couldn't shut her out! They couldn't just turn their backs and walk away when she had learned so little!

"We do not know anyone by the name of Nick. Nor have we ever known anyone by that name," Mr. Wyngate uttered between clenched teeth. "Now leave this house at once. Jefferson will see you out. Good day, Miss Vann."

Stunned, disbelieving, all her hopes dashed, Cassandra stood listening to their fading footfalls out in the hall. She felt as if she had been slapped. Hot tears gathered in her eyes. Her ears roared. The ache deep within her mushroomed into wrenching pain until she thought she would burst. Then as Jefferson appeared at the door, she sniffed, lifted her head high, and glided past him with the vow that she would not allow their boorish manners to undermine her dignity or intimidate her. She would find her mother's family.

But as the surrey turned toward Denver, the ache deep inside her churned and brought fresh tears to her eyes. Despite her efforts, they spilled onto her cheeks and doing her best to keep from sniffling aloud, she buried her face in her handkerchief and hoped the driver couldn't hear her sobs.

#

Behind him the drone of voices went on and on in heated debate. Standing at the window, hands clasped behind his back, Park looked from the sixth story window down onto the busy street below. To his consternation, his mind wasn’t on the board meeting but on the woman with hair the color of burnished gold and eyes the color of silver, flecked with sapphire. Since he’d seen her in the hall at Anna’s, and especially since their encounter at the hotel, she invaded most of his thoughts. Instead of concentrating on the business at hand, he was thinking of her, wondering where she was and relishing the memory of her beauty. Simple, quietly innocent, she roused his libido quicker in a minute than most women did in a year. He had to have her.

"Did you hear what I said, Farrington?"

The question yanked him from his thoughts. Turning away from the window, he met the inquisitive faces of the men sitting around the table. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat. "Sorry, gentlemen, I didn’t."

"What in thunder is wrong with you, Farrington?" one bellowed. "You’ve been after us to come up with a figure and now that we have one, you aren’t even listening."

"What’s the figure?" He took a couple steps toward the table, impatient with his own lapse of interest.

"Seventeen thousand."

"Is that the market value of the land?" Pulling out his watch, he checked the time. Two forty-five. He wished he hadn’t made the offer to pick Julian up at school in an hour.

"A little below."

Snapping the timepiece shut, he dropped it back into his vest pocket. "Offer it."

"And if he rejects our offer?"

"He won’t. I believe those rumors that silver won’t be worth much this time next year. He’s smart enough to see that he’ll lose his mines, everything, if it bottoms out, too."

"What makes you think Wyngate will sell to you?"

Park smiled with more confidence than he felt. "Because I think he’s already feeling the pinch and is needing capital." Turning back toward the window he looked down upon the street. The approach of an open carriage below captured his attention. Inside sat Cassandra Vann, decked in all her finery, nothing like the simple, innocent-looking woman who had tricked her way into the job at the hotel. She looked as regal as any of the women of high social standing he knew.

"What about the house, Farrington?" Another board member’s voice intruded.

The carriage moved farther down the street just below his window.

"What?" he muttered.

Tall and stately, she sat with the grace and ease of a magnificent swan. From the lift of her finely tapered chin and long smooth column of her neck to the clean curved lines of her body clad in the deepest blue he’d ever seen, she moved with serene confidence. She revealed none of the fearfulness, the timidity he’d seen in her before, and certainly none of the fluster he'd noticed the morning he met her in the hall at Anna’s. Nor did she bestow any of the fire he suspected she held in tight control just beneath the surface. The courage and determination she displayed when she had barged into Piermont’s office told him a lot about her.

"Do you want to make an offer on the house, too?"

"Ah, yeah. Yeah." He mustn’t let her get away. Spinning around, he started toward the door. "Make him an offer."

"Where in hell are you going?" the president bellowed.

"Out. I just remembered something I have to attend to."

By the time he reached the street, Cassandra had disappeared into the crowd. He’d lost her.

#

Through blurry eyes, Cassandra gazed unseeingly at the pedestrians along each side of the street. The Wyngates’ reception of her still stung. Hardly aware of the clop, clop of hooves and the grating of wheels against the paved street, she heard the call of her name from afar. Alerted, she glanced along the street.

Reid Farrington came into view as he stepped out from among the throng of people. Decked in a crisp, vested suit and all smiles, he walked toward her, his face reflecting his pleasure. Mixed emotion spilled through her. She was glad to see a friendly person among so many strange, hostile ones, especially after the Wyngates’ stinging, mean-spirited greeting; yet, how could let him see her in such an over-wrought state? Hardly realizing what she was doing and wiping at her tears, she leaned forward and called to the driver to stop.

Reid halted beside the carriage and smiled up at her. "Cass, I saw you coming down the street . . . ." His smile faded. "What’s wrong?"

"Oh, nothing." She forced herself to smile and wondered what he wanted. As co-owner of the hotel, had he changed his mind about giving her the hostess job? Fear, like an icy hand, gripped her. "What can I do for you, Mr. Farrington?"

"Reid, remember? Call me Reid. You’ve been crying."

"No, everything’s fine." She dabbed at her eyes and shook her head, abashment flooding her.

"Seems to me everything’s not all right. Come on. You’re coming with me." Clasping her hand, he pulled her out of the seat, and in one easy motion, with his hands circling her waist, lifted her out of the carriage. He slipped a bill to the driver and told him to wait. Taking her arm, he propelled her to the walk.

Wordless and a little awed by his take-charge attitude, she let him lead her toward The Farrington.

"Have you had dinner?" he asked.

"I’m not hungry." The thought of food made her stomach churn.

He smiled. "Well, you’re much too dressed up to go wherever you’re going. Besides I don’t like to see a woman cry." His gaze darted down her figure, lingering a bit too long on her breasts. "And regardless of what you say, you look hungry."

"Haven’t you eaten? It’s the middle of the afternoon?"

"Didn’t have time. Now I’m famished."

"I really need to get back." She knew her words fell on deaf ears.

His grip on her elbow tightened as they went into the hotel. "Back where? To an empty room somewhere?"

#

From the dining room entrance, Park studied Cassandra sitting with Reid at the remote table. Jealousy, a feeling totally unfamiliar to him, hit him in the gut. It amazed him how fast Reid acted, wasting no time in making her acquaintance. Obviously his engagement to Hillary Landover wasn’t too important. Of course, being promised to another woman didn’t blind his brother to a beautiful woman when he saw one.

Park wondered if Reid loved Hillary. He suspected that it was from family pressure, both his and Hillary’s, and the expectation of high society that he had asked Hillary to marry him at all. Of course, Reid had no problem with the fact that she came from one of Denver’s oldest families, who had enough money to support every city citizen for years to come.

Reid obviously had no idea that he was dining with a woman who lived with Anna Hampton, owner of the plushest whorehouse in all of Denver, maybe in all of Colorado. If he did, he wouldn’t be seen dead with her. No, Reid was far above such a person. His sense of ethics wouldn’t let him associate with her - at least openly, no matter how beautiful, although his ethics certainly didn’t keep him out of beds when it came to getting what he wanted.

As the strange sense of jealousy pricked deeper, Park wound his way among the guests toward the two.

Cassandra looked up. Her cheeks paled. He locked his gaze with hers, expecting her to turn away. She didn’t. She looked as if she wanted to run; yet she remained in her chair, defiant, elegant, and so beautiful. Reid scowled.

Cassandra suddenly pushed back her chair and rose.

Park smiled to himself. He knew he made her uncomfortable; that she feared he would gleefully recant to Reid their impromptu meeting in the hall at Anna’s. What did Reid mean to her? What was Reid up to? "Don't leave on my account, Miss Vann."

She blinked, her face turning red. He let a wide grin split his mouth and boldly studied her full, pink lips. Her cheeks glowed scarlet, as if she read his ungentlemanly thoughts.

"Park. Why aren’t you at the office?" Reid asked, rising, irritation edging his tone.

"I just came over to speak to Miss Vann here." Park didn’t let his attention move off her.

"We're about to have coffee." His none-too-friendly voice became more gruff.

Cassandra sank back into her chair.

"Believe I’ll join you." Park yanked a chair from the next table, swung it around, and, with great aplomb, sat down. For some reason he was getting a perverted delight at making them both uneasy. Was it because Reid was moving in on his territory? A territory he had yet to claim?

Reid gave a disgusted snort and sat back down. "You’re sure you don’t have anything better to do?"

Park grinned. "Not at all."

Reid’s gaze flicked to Cassandra. "What's wrong, Cass?" He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. "You don’t look well."

"Oh . . .oh . . . ." She slipped her hand out from under his and pushed aside a stray twig of hair. "It's a little warm in here, that's all."

"Then I'll get someone to open the windows a little more." He made an attempt to rise.

"Oh, no, that's all right." She flashed a faint smile. "It's all the excitement of this afternoon."

"Well, who do we have here?"

Cassandra looked up. A thin woman, with a soft, porcelain-like face and meticulously coiffure styled hair, stood beside the table. Tall and erect, she held her shoulders back, her hands neatly folded in front of her, her nostrils flared wide. Her green eyes glittered.

"Hillary. This is Cassandra Vann." Unruffled, Reid rose to his feet. Park slowly stood, as if it took great effort to do so, a thinly veiled scowl on his face.

Hillary looked down from under long lashes, her full, pink mouth tilted into what Cassandra decided was between a smile and a smirk. Her eyes darkened with cold appraisal. "How do you do, Miss Vann?"

Cassandra wanted to melt into the woodwork. This was no place for her. She gave a polite nod.

"So, do you dine here often, Miss Vann?" Hillary asked.

"No, not often. I work here." She forced her lips to curve upward into a smile.

Hillary’s eyebrows lifted as she sent Reid a quick, quizzical glance. "Oh, do you? Odd I haven’t seen you before."

"She was hired only recently," Reid interjected.

"Oh." Interest abating, Hillary turned toward Reid, a bright smile on her face. "Since when do you socialize with the hired help, Reid?" Her gaze moved to Park, his lack of deference for her evident in his demeanor. "You, too, Park? Have you lowered yourself to having dinner with the hired help now?"

With a sudden jab of anger, Cassandra pushed back her chair and rose. "I should be going." She spoke in a calm, controlled voice that even surprised herself. With a lift of her chin, and completely dismissing Hillary, she looked at Reid. "I'll be here tomorrow morning."

"We haven't had dinner yet." Park’s hand curled around her arm, his black eyes gleaming into hers.

"It’s getting stuffy in here." She stared into Park’s face, realizing that the ambiguity of her statement was not lost to him. His mouth twitched with a suppressed grin.

Deliberately stepping in front of Cassandra, Hillary forced Park to drop his hand, and, wedging herself between the two of them, sat down in the chair. The thought that Hillary moved like a cat - or was it snake? - on the prowl popped into Cassandra's mind.

"I'll walk you back to your carriage," Reid said.

"I’ll walk Miss Vann to her carriage." Park grasped her elbow. "You and Hillary enjoy your dinner."

Turning and feeling Hillary's eyes bore into her back, Cassandra let Park take her arm and start through the maze of tables toward the door. As she moved away, she heard Hillary comment, "She's as homely as sackcloth."

The remark made her face heat as she and Park moved out into the street. "I can make it from here." She pulled her arm free of his clasp.

"I’m sorry for what Hillary said." His expression softened with the sincerity of his statement. His eyes gleamed down at her. "You’re far from being as homely as sackcloth."

Startled, Cassandra saw no amusement lighting his face. His eyes smoldered, deep and probing, as if he read into her innermost soul. She shivered. Gone was the cocky man she’d met in Anna’s hallway. Instead, his sincerity and gentleness touched her. Stiffening, she lifted her chin and sucked in a deep breath. If only she could break his powerful attraction, expel these warm, unfamiliar feelings he produced within her! She must remember their lives were worlds apart.

"Good-bye, Mr. Farrington." She turned and moved toward the carriage, the weight of his gaze heavy against her back.

#

Shuffling along the street, almost as if he were kicking at imaginary rocks, his hands stuffed into his pockets, Blaine gazed in awe at the tall, looming buildings surrounding him. Denver was beyond anything he ever imagined or saw before. False store fronts and wooden sidewalks in Bluff Hills were all he knew. And he never knew such wealth existed, especially in one city. It seemed as if everything was made of silver or gold.

Halting, his stomach rumbling loudly, he looked between posters advertising sandwiches through the window into a delicatessen. He pulled three pennies, along with a card, out of his pocket and frowned. No silver or gold here. He’d have to wait until he got back to Anna’s to eat. And how long would that be, for he’d wandered farther than he’d intended.

With a sigh and thinking he had known hunger before and this time probably wouldn’t be his last, he studied the card in his hand. It belonged to Andy Burlson, the fight promoter, who had approached him and Cassandra at the depot. A quick way to earn some money, huh? Stuffing the money and card back into his pocket, he started on down the street.

"What’s the matter, Vann? Don’t have any money?" came the surly voice behind him.

Blaine turned and met a familiar, belligerent face. Julian. He remembered the kid’s name to be Julian. The kid at the train depot. "I’ve got money," he answered.

"Sure ya do, but not enough for a sandwich, huh?"

"What’s it to you? You gonna buy me one?" Turning, he started on his way.

"Ragamuffins like you don’t need to eat in a place like that anyway," Julian called from behind him. "You need to eat in the alleys with the other dogs."

Blaine stiffened and fought the instinct to slug the guy. He took another step down the walk.

"Whatsa matter, Vann? Don’t have the guts to face me without your sister here to protect you?"

He kept walking. He heard Julian’s firm thread of footsteps behind him.

"That was a lucky punch you threw at me at the train station. Bet ya can’t do that again."

Fed up, Blaine pivoted. Julian pulled up short.

"Lucky or not, it sent you running to hide behind your mama’s skirts. You’re a sniffling coward, Julian whoever-you-are."

Julian’s face reddened.

"Besides, if I were you, I wouldn’t want to get those fancy duds of your messed up in a fight." Blaine flipped the lapel of the three-piece suit Julian wore. "I’ve already shown you what I can do. It’s up to you to show me you’re as good as me."

Julian’s eyes shifted. He shuffled his feet. "I’m no coward, Vann!" Folding his fist, he threw a punch toward Blaine. Blaine dodged. His eyes widening with surprise that his blow didn’t hit its mark, Julian stepped backward. Blaine’s fist plowed into his chin. Reeling backward, Julian thudded to the walk.

Straddling the howling, prostrate figure, Blaine glared down at him. "I’m getting sick and tired of you trying to hit me every time we meet. Try it again and I’ll break your damned neck!"

"You’re good, you know, that? Good balance, rhythm."

Blaine looked up. A man he recognized as the one named Park, the man who helped Cassandra to her feet after her fall at the railroad depot, appeared out of the delicatessen. He didn’t know whether to be glad or cautious.

"You could probably earn some money boxing."

Still wary, Blaine backed up a step, his gaze never leaving the man’s face. "Yeah, so I’ve been told."

"Get up, Julian." Park grasped the boy’s arm and hauled him to his feet. "I saw everything through the window. You deserved what he gave you."

Sniffing, Julian smeared the sleeve of his jacket across his face.

Park’s gaze came back to Blaine. "Have you thought about fighting?"

Hope bloomed inside Blaine, then dimmed. "Ah, I dunno. Cass, she wouldn’t like it much." He pulled the card out of his pocket. "This guy said the same thing." He handed it to Park.

"Andy Burlson. I’ve heard of him. He’s worked with John Sullivan. Ever hear of him?"

Interested, Blaine grinned. "Good money, huh?"

"I think so, and Burlson’s always looking for new talent."

Blaine shifted and glanced toward Julian still holding his bleeding chin. He looked back up at Park. "Don’t guess it’ll hurt none to try."

Park smiled and gave his shoulder a warm grip. "Come on. Maybe you two can become friends over a sandwich before we go see Mr. Burlson."

#

The sun, almost hidden behind the jagged horizon of the Rocky Mountains, bathed the sky in deep gold, russets, and yellows. Cassandra stood at the balustrade on the balcony and gazed out across the garden, buried in the deep shadows of the evening. A cool, gentle breeze stirred across the treetops and swayed the shrubs and flowers, chilling her. The distant, melodious notes of a piano lilted across the air, although she paid no mind to them or to the serene setting before her.

Hugging her arms, she shivered. Locating a room in Denver this afternoon had again proved impossible - at least for the price she could afford. Reid's offer of a room at the Farrington was becoming more and more appealing as time went by. The arrival of Anna's patrons, feminine giggles, male guffaws, the slamming of doors, the footsteps out in the hall, and the occasional squeak of a bed made her increasingly uncomfortable.

And Blaine still hadn’t returned from his excursion on the town this afternoon. She hadn’t seen Anna all evening, and having seen Park at the Farrington today and the awful encounter with Hillary kept her in such a turmoil that any kind of relaxation was impossible. The excitement of starting a new job at the Farrington in the morning now seemed faraway and pale.

Through the distant tinkling of the piano and a muffled giggle, she suddenly heard the thuds of footfalls in the hall outside, followed by a knock on her door. Weak with relief that Blaine was back, she flew to the door and swung it wide.

Park grinned down at her. His head bowed, Blaine stood at his side. Time hung suspended for a moment as she gaped into Park’s face, ice and heat racing through her at once. Then as if coming alive, she looked down at her brother. Shock vibrated through her.

"My stars, Blaine, whatever happened to you?" Catching his shoulders, she held him in front of her.

"Maybe I should explain," Park said.

"Maybe you both should explain!" Holding Blaine's chin between her fingers, she examined the bruised, puffed cheeks, an eye with a blue half-moon under it, and the split lip. Blaine's wide gaze rolled toward Park as if pleading for help.

"Well, you see, Blaine got into a . . . ." He sent an uneasy glance toward Blaine. ". . .a fight with another kid." He flashed a lopsided grin. "You should see the other kid."

Cassandra brought her shoulders erect and defiantly met his eyes. Had she not been so angry, she would have been amused by Park's sudden discomfort, as if he were explaining why he was caught with his hands in the cookie jar. Such a quality seemed to be bereft of place in a man such as Park. "I don't think it's one bit amusing, Mr. Farrington." Swinging about and bringing Blaine with her, she propelled him into the room to the washstand and dipped a washcloth into the basin.

"Uh, I've already cleaned him up." Park walked up behind her.

"How did you happen to bring him home?" she asked, ice in her tone.

"I, uh . . . I happened to see the fight." His gaze shifted to Blaine, as if asking for permission to tell the story.

"Is this true, Blaine?"

Ducking his head, Blaine kicked at the imaginary rock on the floor. "Yeah, it's true."

"Oh, Blaine. What's gotten into you?" Clutching his shoulders, she turned him toward her, forcing him to look at her. "You used to avoid fighting! We've been in Denver just a few days and look at you!"

"I'm sorry, Cass. Really I am."

"Why in the world did you fight?"

"Well, the other kid . . . he . . . he started pestering me and calling me all sorts of names and I let him have it." He cut his eyes toward Park, as if pleading for confirmation.

"Just be thankful I got to him when I did," Park interjected. "He would've killed him. Blaine's a good fighter."

Cassandra turned a stony face toward Park. His smile vanished. Shifting her weight, she choked down her chagrin. "May I speak with you, Mr. Farrington?"

Park's eyes lit with anticipation, his lips tilting into another lopsided grin.

"Blaine, go to your room. Mr. Farrington and I will be out on the balcony."

With his gaze darting to Park, hands dug into his pants pockets, Blaine sauntered across the room and out the door.

"Call me Park," he said as they moved through the opened French doors and onto the balcony. "After all, I think our little encounter at here at Anna’s place made us a little more than mere acquaintances. Don’t you agree?"

Scalding heat moved from her throat to her hairline. Sucking in a long, deep breath, she clasped her hands together and looked up into his face. For a moment she couldn’t decide if her feelings ran amuck because of those deep, black, passionate eyes that held hers with such boldness or from the shame of remembering. Somewhere in the recesses of her consciousness, she became aware of his gaping shirt and the expanse of hairy, muscular flesh underneath. Tight denim hugged his narrow hips and long legs to his black boots. A tendril of black hair hung rakishly over one eye. The dark shadow of a day's growth of beard covered his lower face. He looked to be not quite polished around the edges, although in a captivating, seductive way.

Blushing at her thoughts, she turned away from him, moved to the balustrade, and looked unseeingly out across the garden. She took a deep, shaky breath. "As I tried to tell you, my being here at Anna's is not what you think."

"What do I think, Miss Vann?" He moved up beside her.

The scent of bay rum cologne, mixed with a musky, male scent, filled her nostrils. Another wave of heat slid across her cheeks. "By my staying here, I hope you don’t assume I . . . I'm . . ." She gulped. ". . . I'm Anna's employee."

He chuckled, making a soft, deep sound pleasant to her ears. "I assume that most women who live here are Anna's employees." Laughter lay beneath his words.

"Well, I’m not!" She forced herself to look up at him. That lopsided, irritating grin still lifted his mouth. "When Blaine and I got here, we had no place to stay, no place that I could afford." She looked out across the garden and took a deep breath, glad for a reprieve from those piecing eyes. "If it not been for her, we would've been sleeping on the streets."

"I’ve known Anna a long time and I agree she is a compassionate person." Lifting a leg, he set one hip upon the balustrade, rested his arms across his muscular thigh, and faced her. Even before she looked at him, she felt the warmth of his gaze upon her face.

"I ask that you not tell anyone I’m staying here. Especially Reid."

Park's smile flickered and died. "Why is it so important to you that Reid not find it out?"

Her cheeks warmed. "He may fire me. I just prefer that he not know. In fact I’d rather not anyone know that I’m staying here."

His full, sensuous mouth lifted into crooked grin, then straightened. The expression fascinated her. It seemed to be such a boyish, yet manly look.

"If you have your fancy set on Reid, he's engaged to be married." His voice turned cold, harsh. "You’ve already had the pleasure of meeting his bride-to-be."

Flustered, Cassandra turned away from him, afraid that he would see the color across her cheeks. "I'm not interested in Reid. He’s a friend. A kind, gentle man and my employer, just as you are."

A long silence lapsed. Birds chirped. The breeze rustled against the trees. The balcony where they stood now lay in shadows. Daring to peer back at him, she noted how his eyes glittered with dark speculation and thinly veiled desire. His square jaw twitched as his gaze flicked down her, absorbing every detail, then moved back to her mouth where it lingered. For a panicky minute, Cassandra thought he was going to kiss her. Her heart almost stopped with the hope that he would and with the hope that he would not.

"Reid’s not the choir boy you think he is," he said glumly. "Guess I'd better be going." He rose and started across the balcony toward the door.

"Wait!" she heard herself call, disappointment welling up within her.

With deliberate casualness, he faced her, his tall, muscular body a gray shadow before her.

"You aren't going to tell anyone where I live, are you?"

The faint lines of his face broke into a wide, cool grin. White teeth glimmered. "It's our secret. Besides, you’re not of the caliber of women who work here. Most ladies of the evening don’t hire out as a dining room hostess." Pausing, he again allowed his gaze to sweep down her figure and linger on her breasts.

Heated, she forced down the impulse to throw her arms over her body. There was no doubt what this wolf had on his mind. Jutting her chin, she looked defiantly up at him through lowered lashes. A shadow of a smile, hinting of reluctant desire, traced his lips. Turning on his heel, he stepped into the dimness of her bedroom.

Confused by her conflicting emotions, she hurried after him. "Park!" She halted. He stood at the opened bedroom door, his hand on the doorknob, facing her. Suddenly shy, she ran her tongue across her lower lip and clutched her hands together. "Thank you for bringing Blaine home."

"My pleasure, Miss Vann," he drawled. Then without warning, he bent his head and planted his lips against hers. The electrifying contact was quick, hard, and passionate.

He pulled away just as suddenly, shocking her stone-still, yet with the want of more. Her mouth tingled and her entire body burned as if he’d branded her with a hot iron. Even Bancroft’s most passionate kisses didn’t set her on fire like this.

With a little chuckle, his black eyes smoldering, he stepped across the threshold.

Shaking herself out of her stupor, she watched him stride down the hall toward the stairs. He looked so tall, his muscular shoulders so wide, she wondered how he found shirts to fit him, then decided he had his shirts custom-made. After all, he wasn’t a common working man.

A door popped open. One of Anna’s girls whom Cassandra knew as Molly stepped out of a room. "Park," she purred and grasped his arm. A wide, pleased grin spread across his face. Her smile was bright and glittering with an invitation that any man could read. "Are you here for a little pleasure?" she asked, leading him back into the room and closing the door with a thud.

Hot, stinging jealousy tore through Cassandra. Stepping back into her room, she slammed the door so hard the walls vibrated. Her heart pumped hard, her breath came in short, jerky gasps. She clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palm. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the door.

And vowed she would have nothing else to do with that rat, Park Farrington! Nothing at all!

CHAPTER FIVE

With skirts lifted above her ankles, Cassandra hurried down the bricked walkway around the side of the house, past the garden now sinking into deep, purple shadows, toward the back verandah. Her entire body ached and she wanted nothing more than to get into her room, away from the commotion of Anna's customers just arriving at the front of the house. Slipping across the porch in shadows, she prayed that she would meet no one, especially a man who would mistake her for one of Anna's girls. She moved into the kitchen and saw Pearl, too busy to notice her, commandeering a host of servants. She headed for the back stairs leading to the second floor.

It had been a long, exhausting first day on her job as hostess in the Farrington Hotel dining room. And it was a disappointing one. Reid hadn't shown up at the hotel. Her rehearsed acceptance of his offer of a room had been for naught.

Except for a couple of obnoxious ladies and several men who had flirted shamelessly with her, the day passed quickly and uneventfully. It certainly beat bending over boiling dishwater with dishes piled sky-high on each side of her, swatting flies, and enduring an insufferable boss.

And she lived the day in nerve-wrenching fear that Park would appear, making her miserable. Despite her efforts to the contrary, she could not expel the memory of his mouth against hers for that brief minute - or of the way he unhesitatingly walked out of her bedroom into Molly’s.

Her face still scalded at the thought.

A womanizing no-good-for-nothing! That described him to a T. A rat who flitted from woman to woman like a butterfly from flower to flower.

Halting at the top of the stairs, Cassandra peered up and down the hall, and seeing no one, started toward her room. To her dismay, one of the doors popped open and one of Anna's girls, Lucinda, stepped out. Her bright painted face and full, rounded breasts, half exposed and stretching the neckline of the gaudy red dress to the limit, brought another surge of embarrassment to Cassandra.

"Boy, you've got connections no one else does and you're brand new to Denver," Lucinda chortled, her curious gaze darting up and down her. "No one, and I mean no one, gets mixed up with the Farringtons as quick as you did. Very elite, they are. How did you manage to get Park into your bedroom so fast?"

Her face hot, Cassandra glanced up and down the dim hall, hoping no one was overhearing their conversation. "He . . . he didn't . . . I--"

Lucinda gave a quick, delighted laugh. "Come on. I saw him leavin' your room yesterday evenin’, honey. Molly saw him, too."

"He brought my brother home. That's all." Clenching her teeth, she jutted her chin and looked Lucinda in the eye.

"Yeah. I bet." Looking down at her from beneath lowered eyelashes, Lucinda tossed her dark ringlets of hair. "Seems one Farrington isn't enough for you. You should see the paper."

"What paper?" Her mouth suddenly went bone dry.

"The Rocky Mountain News. The society page."

"I . . . I haven't seen it."

"Well, most of Denver has, I'm sure," Anna inserted as she stepped from her room. "Lucinda, don't you have a customer waiting?"

"Yes, ma'am." Picking up the skirt of her dress, Lucinda moved past Cassandra and down the hall toward the front stairs.

"What was she talking about, Anna?" A tingle of dread moved up Cassandra’s spine.

Anna smiled, her eyes twinkling. "As she said, you're one of a kind. Brand new to Denver and already rubbing elbows with the elite and making the papers, no less." Nodding in the direction of the opened door, she turned and moved back into the bedroom. Cassandra followed.

"Agatha Garlock is the gossip columnist for the paper. Next to the Tabor family, the Farringtons are her favorite subjects." Anna moved to the bureau and picked up the folded newspaper. "Apparently Reid wasn't too discreet when he had dinner with you yesterday at the Farrington. You'll certainly raise eyebrows with that headline." She handed the paper to Cassandra.

"Reid Farrington Seen Dining With Beautiful Unknown." The subheading read: "Is His Engagement to Miss Landover Off?"

"Don't look so stunned, Cass." Anna chuckled and sank to the bureau stool. "You've done yourself well to have been taken in by Reid Farrington."

"I wouldn't say I've been taken in by him. He's just being nice to someone who's down on her luck. Besides we didn’t have dinner together. Hillary Landover . . . and Park saw to that."

A little smile played around the corners of her mouth. "Reid Farrington isn't nice to everyone and he knows a beautiful woman when he sees one."

"Why should he be interested in me?"

She shrugged. "Speculation has it that he doesn't love Miss Landover. He's being pressured by both their families and society itself into marrying her, and she’s the right breed. Whatever Reid Farrington does is for appearances or personal gain only." She paused, studying Cassandra, then added, "Cassandra, you're quite fetching. If you'd go to work for me, you'd make lots of money. Customers would be lined up so long they'd have to make reservations. You'd never have to be on the streets again."

Cassandra stiffened, her entire body stinging with heat.

Anna laughed and picked up a hairbrush. "It's just a thought, Cass. I know how you feel about my kind of work." She paused. "You’d have men such as Park Farrington coming for your services quite regularly and they pay handsomely. You’re virginal, innocent, and beautiful."

Beautiful. Anna described her as being beautiful. Looking up at her own wide, silver eyes in the mirror, Cassandra scrutinized her reflection closely. Mr. and Mrs. Harris back in Bluff Hills had told her she was beautiful, too. Bancroft said she was pretty. Funny, she never thought herself to be beautiful. How could someone whose own father abandoned her on the street be beautiful? Her own father couldn't love her. How could someone who struggled all her life to make ends meet, who once slaved over hot pots of dirty dishes be beautiful? How could men see her as being beautiful when in fact she was not?

"You're very kind, Anna," she said, "but I could never, never go into your line of work."

"Stop thinking of yourself as a loser, Cassandra." Anna’s tone was sharp as she shook the brush toward her. "You have a lot going for you. You'll never make it in this world thinking of yourself as a loser. You'll end up spending your entire life scrubbing floors or waiting tables and with a man who is as much a loser as you think you are. Aim for the stars. Regardless of how you feel inside, project confidence. Make other people think you're a winner. You'll be surprised at how many doors will open for you."

"I can't help how I feel."

"Yes, you can! First of all, your worth can't be measured by how your father treated you. You were an innocent child when he left you. You did nothing to make him leave you. It was he who is at fault, not you. He'll have to pay for abandoning his family. Second, study people around you." She gestured outward. "Study the people who project self-confidence and assurance. Watch their mannerisms, the way they react and interact with people and situations. Mimic them. If you tell yourself often enough that you are just as confident, as worthy as they are, you'll soon believe it yourself and before you know it, you will be self-confident and a winner. So if Reid shows an interest in you, go for him. Hillary doesn't have him yet. As the old saying goes, all is fair in love and war." Pausing, she peered at Cassandra from lowered eyes. "And there’s always Park. When a man such as he falls, he’ll fall hard and you may be the woman who trips him."

Running her tongue across her upper lip, Cassandra again met her own brilliant eyes in the mirror. Her cheeks tinged pink. "You told me yourself that there’s no woman alive who has the power to corral Park Farrington. Besides, I can't just throw myself at any man, especially him. I can't be so forward as that."

"Honey, there's other ways to catch a man besides being forward." With a rustle of silk, Anna rose and moved beside her. Clutching her shoulders, she turned Cassandra to her. "A forward woman usually turns a man off. Self-confidence in itself is sexy and attractive. As much as men deny it, they do like self-confident women." With a smile and a fond pat on Cassandra's cheek, Anna started toward out of the room. "We’ll work on your confidence. Right now I must get downstairs." At the door, she turned and added, "Blaine is out tonight. He told me to tell you not to worry. He'll be in later."

#

Even as she escorted the man and woman toward a table in the Farrington dining room, Cassandra felt the weight of a pair of eyes upon her. Suddenly self-conscious, she wanted to disappear into the walls until Anna's words spoken just last evening came sharp and clear to her. "Regardless of how you feel inside, project confidence. Make other people think you're a winner."

Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, she moved across the room with what she hoped was the grace and ease of a polished hostess. She swung her gaze across the dining room. And caught Reid's piercing black eyes across the distance. The amused little smile that lifted the corners of his mouth momentarily unnerved her. Was he analyzing her performance? Judging her as an employee? Her knees weakened, then chiding herself, she flashed a bright smile at him. Suave and debonair in his black, broadcloth suit, he stood with his arms crossed over his chest, legs slightly parted. He reminded her of a king overseeing his kingdom.

Hardly aware of her own actions, she lifted the hem of her skirt and wove through the tables to him. A little nervous shiver moved up her spine. "Good evening, Mr. Farrington."

"Reid," he countered, his eyes glinting deep and bright.

"Reid." Pausing, she took a deep breath. "May I show you to a table?"

"No." His gaze darted down her figure, reflecting his appreciation. Her face warmed. "I see that my brother is true to form. He likes to put beautiful women where they can be seen, not in a starched uniform hidden away scrubbing floors somewhere. I think he did the Farrington a favor by insisting you work the dining room."

Wondering if the tinge of sarcasm in his tone was real or imagined, she flinched.

Taking her elbow, he led her into a corner a large palm, away from the patrons. "I need a favor of you, Cassandra. Would you go to the theater with me tonight? I have two tickets and I can't let them go to waste."

Her breath caught. Her heart stopped. "What about Hillary? Why aren't you taking her?"

"She's not feeling well and since this is the last night for this performance, I can't go alone." He shrugged his wide shoulders.

"I can't imagine you hesitating to go anywhere just because you have to go alone." She forced a smile.

A sheepish grin slid across his face. "It's just an excuse to ask you to go with me. Besides I don’t want to waste the extra ticket."

"It'll be late when I get off here."

"You've got the rest of the evening off. Mr. Piermont has already been apprised of the situation. Now, may I take you home?" A dark eyebrow arched.

Panic choked her. He take her home? Oh, dear God, no. He mustn't find out where she lived! "I'm really tired tonight, Reid."

"No excuses. I'll pick you up at seven."

Panic seized again her. Wild thoughts, groping for a plausible excuse, flashed through her mind. "I have a couple of errands to run when I get off here--"

"No excuses, remember?"

"Suppose I take care of my errands and meet you here at the Farrington at seven?" Her mind raced ahead, wondering how she would find something suitable to wear on such short notice, wondering if she would know how to act, how to speak. "That really would work out best for me."

A puzzled frown touched his face, then disappeared. A smile lifted the corners of his wide mouth. "Seven sharp here at the hotel."

#

"Play it to the hilt tonight, Cass." From the doorway, Anna watched Cassandra flounce in front of the mirror. With a shake of her head, she again marveled at Cassandra's beauty and berated herself for having such a maternal instinct toward her; otherwise, she would press her into becoming one of her girls or to move on. The two bedrooms she and her brother were occupying could be bringing in profits - if she could find two women who could meet her tough criteria.

"Oh, Anna, it's exquisite!" The silk and lace dress swished as she pivoted and stretched while looking at her reflection over her shoulder. Of a deep burgundy, the gown molded to the curves of her body in fine, sleek lines, its scooped neckline revealing a significant swell of her breasts and cleavage. The waistline dipped low and delineated her narrow waist that flowed into drapes and scallops to the hem where the tips of her kid shoes peeped. Diamond earrings glittered on her ears and combs sparkled against the convoluted curls of her golden hair.

"I appreciate your lending me the dress. But don't you think it shows a little too much?" Clutching the neckline, she yanked upward in a futile effort to bring it higher.

Chuckling, Anna moved farther into the room. "All that pulling won't do a bit of good with those orbs . . . er, that bosom. Besides, you're a lovely woman, Cassandra. Show it off."

"But, Anna, this isn't me!" Swinging her gloved arms outward, she turned, suddenly somber, worry surging up in her. "I feel like a harlot and I know nothing about the theater, how to act around such people, how to be one of them!"

"Just remember what I told you. Act confident. Be alert to how others act. You'll do just fine, believe me." The epitome of elegance and aplomb in brocade and lace, Anna moved farther into the room.

Cassandra thought that despite her rouged cheeks she looked tired. "But the theater isn't for me, a woman who once washed dishes for a living. One who is a hostess in a hotel. A woman who never knew anything besides coal-mining camps."

"Forget that." Anna's tone was sharp. "Concentrate on having a good time; after all, you'll be with one of the most sought-after bachelors in all of Denver. You’ll be the envy of all of Colorado. You've got opportunity here. Go for it. Besides, the carriage is waiting."

Wishing with all her heart that Park waited for her at the hotel instead of his brother, Cassandra moved out of the room.

When Cassandra stepped inside the vestibule of The Farrington quarter of an hour later, as usual, elegantly dressed men and women strolled past. The fragrance of perfume, cigar smoke, and candle wax filled her nostrils. Halting just inside the door, she took a deep shaky breath and glanced about in search for Reid and not seeing him, moved farther into the cavernous room.

"Miss Vann."

Turning, she met the smiling face of a young man with a jaunty little cap perched atop his head that read, "Farrington’s Flowers." He thrust a bouquet of bright red roses toward her. "These are for you."

Surprised speechless, she accepted them. With a brief nod, the delivery boy hurried away, swallowed up among the crowd. Chuckling to herself and thinking how thoughtful of Reid to send her flowers, she retrieved the card and opened it.

"Thanking you in advance for a memorable evening. Park."

Park? Puzzled, she glanced up and, to her surprise, saw him moving through the maze of people. Everything within her stilled. He wore a suit as black as his eyes and hair, with a white shirt as bright as new-fallen snow. Tall and dashing, he took her breath away as he approached her, his gaze fixed on her, a little, impish grin playing along his wide mouth.

Relishing the sight of Cassandra as he moved nearer, Park knew that indeed his hunch had been right. Reid, in his hurry to accommodate Hillary and his business associates, failed to inform Cassandra of his change of plans. The shocked look on her face confirmed that. She expected Reid; instead it was he, Park, who was taking her to the theater. Was she disappointed?

The change of plans certainly was to his advantage, Park thought, studying the regal tilt of her head and the smooth, flowing lines of her profile, delineated in the rich, burgundy gown she wore. Under the flickering lights of the chandelier, her skin seemed to glow creamy white, her lips sparkle with a misty rose hue. The silver of her eyes glinted with surprise that quickly succumbed to annoyance.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her chin jutting.

"I’m taking you to the theater." He offered his elbow, his gaze drifting to the gentle roundness of her breasts revealed above the scooped neckline.

Ignoring his arm, she glared at him. "I’m going with Reid."

That devilish grin of his spread. White teeth gleamed. "Not tonight. An unexpected business deal came up and he sent me in his place. He sends his apologies."

"Oh." Somehow she couldn’t force herself to feel any disappointment. Instead, a glow bloomed inside her, making her feel alive and a little wanton to be with such a rogue. Wouldn’t everyone assume he bedded her down, just as he was reputed to bed every female? Shouldn’t she feel ashamed to be seen with him, one who indulged in lusty, uncontrolled appetites? Shouldn’t she be insulted with his arrogance, his confidence that she would go with him to the theater, no questions asked?

"Shall we?" he asked.

A tingle raced along her spine. Taking her arm, he tucked it under his and led her out of the vestibule onto the street to the lavish brougham parked at the door.

The evening air chilled Cassandra. Nestled in the seat beside Park as the carriage started down the street, she shivered and pulled the silk shawl closer around her. His nearness was almost overwhelming; his masculine fragrance teased her nostrils. All memory of Reid vanished.

Dipping his head close to hers, Park smiled. The light caught his eyes, reflecting the passion, the energy in them. "Cold?" He brazenly studied her mouth.

For a moment Cassandra held her breath. Desire softened his face. She had seen that same ardor in Bancroft back in Arkansas, but somehow this was different. Whereas she had been blasé’ about Bancroft’s advances, not particularly desiring them, almost amused by them, she wanted Park’s.

Suddenly appalled at her thoughts, she stared at Park’s mouth and wondered how she could want those lips that had tasted countless others; how she could want such a man’s affection - a man who patronized the likes of Anna’s girls, and lived a wild, woolly life with no thought to reputation or responsibilities. "Yes, I am a little cold," she managed to reply, hardly above a whisper.

Shifting against her, he laid his arm across her shoulders, wrapped his hand around her upper arm, and pulled her close. His hard chest pressed against her, the warmth of his body seeping into hers, although she wondered if the heat she felt came from the emotion of being with him. Everything about him produced a myriad of unfamiliar, marvelous sensations in her. She was magically drawn to him, unlike anything she ever felt toward a man - as if he had cast some spell upon her.

How would it feel to have Park make love to her? Would he be gentle? No doubt he would be passionate. Probably he could bring her to heights of ecstasy she couldn’t imagine. She wondered how he looked unclothed? As muscular, lean, and trim as he did in his clothes?

Suddenly ashamed at her thoughts, she turned and stared at the passing city. How could she be so debauched to allow such indecent thoughts about a womanizing scoundrel fill her mind? A scoundrel who used then discarded women as he would worn socks? One who left her bedroom and casually walked into another woman’s?

The weight of Park’s arm across her shoulders, the heat of his hand on her arm pulled her attention back to him. She noted his hair, the color of ebony, the strong, bronzed, masculine hands that contrasted so perfectly with her own slender, tapered ones, his long legs encased in the black pants that did little to conceal the hard, rigid muscles underneath.

"I’m sure you’ll enjoy the play," he said, his tone low and husky, his smile warm and insinuating, as if he were reading her thoughts.

Disarmed, she looked out the carriage window. "Yes, I’m sure I will." She hoped they would reach the theater soon and wondered why she agreed to come with him at all.

#

Cassandra thought the Broadway Theater was beyond imagination. Sitting in a red plush seat beside Park, she surveyed its gold filigreed walls and ceiling and the plush red and gold drapes. Its patrons, a lavish show of wealth and gentility, awed her. She felt so much like Cinderella with her handsome prince. She occasionally glanced at Park to be sure that the evening was real and not a dream.

During the play, Park often caught her hand, and she, painfully aware of the curious stares cast their way, blushed. Heads bent together in hushed whispers. What must they think? That they were lovers? But mostly, this warm, tingly feeling sliding through her distracted her so that she could hardly concentrate on the performance. His nearness, his occasional glances, little grins, and the heat of him stoked a blazing fire in her.

Amid a lively round of applause, the curtain at last lowered, and she and Park rose from their seats. Splashes of elegantly dressed people gathered in the aisles, and Cassandra looked over them, envying their wealth, their finesse. A figure in the next box seat caught her attention. At the instant of recognition, color warmed her face. Reid came to his feet and turned toward her. A little, sheepish smile touched his mouth, revealing a flash of white teeth, then with a nod, he planted an arm around Hillary next to him and together they became lost among the crowd.

Fool! Reid had played her for a fool! What was she? A pawn to be moved at either Reid’s or Park’s will? Was she a part of a game they were playing? Did they see her as a naïve woman from the backwoods of Arkansas who was flattered by their attention? Ice filled her.

With his hand resting at the small of her back, Park propelled her out into the vestibule. They halted, waiting for the crowd to thin as it made its way slowly toward the doors. Voices buzzed. The fragrances of perfumes and smoke tingled her nose.

She lifted her gaze. Her step faltered as stared into Reid’s eyes. A small, apologetic smile slid across his broad mouth. Chagrin cut her to the quick. She looked away.

"I’m sorry you saw him," Park said as they moved with the flow of the crowd outside onto the walk.

"I thought he had business." Bitterness edged her tone.

"For Reid this is business. The man with them is a land speculator working for him. Hillary is decoration."

She forced a smile and tried to recover her dignity.

A sudden intake of breath pulled her attention to the woman standing close by. Harsh eyes amid a thin, wrinkled face met hers as she stared into Lenora Wyngate's eyes. Beside her, Gage Wyngate shifted, his pudgy jowls flaming scarlet, his beady eyes flashing. His diamond-studded fingers gripped the head of his cane so tightly his knuckles whitened.

The air gushed from Cassandra as she allowed Park to lead her to the carriage. Why did she produce such strong emotion in these people who claimed they didn't know her?

CHAPTER SIX

The evening air chilled Cassandra. The soft night closed in, shutting out the world as the carriage made its way down the dark street. No one other than she and the man next to her existed. Only the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves broke the stillness. The masculine scent of Park, mixed with spicy rum, surrounded her, fading the humiliating memory of her encounter with the Wyngates and Reid at the Broadway. She breathed deeply, desperately clinging to shreds of her composure.

Park smiled, a slow, seductive smile, his desire glowing candidly in his face. He made no pretense to conceal his passion. His gaze again shifted to her mouth and lingered.

Desiring his kiss, yet fearful of where it may lead, she turned away and looked out into the soft, velvety darkness, speckled with gaslights.

"I’m truly sorry for this rotten evening," Park said quietly.

She forced a smile. "It wasn’t all bad. I enjoyed the play."

"Reid told me he offered you a room at the Farrington." Embarrassed by his statement, that he made it sound indecent, she looked at him and pushed a twig of hair away from her face. "I didn’t accept it."

He lifted a dark eyebrow. "Are you going to?"

"I don’t like living at Anna’s with all the comings and goings."

"What strings are attached to his offer?"

Anger leapt up within her. "There’s no strings! He offered it to me out of the goodness of his heart."

"Reid doesn’t put women up in the hotel free gratis. Believe me, there’s strings."

Doubt stirred. "How can you be so sure?"

A little, wily grin lifted the corners of his mouth. "I know my brother."

"He knows I’m decent." Embarrassed and doubtful, she looked away. "I would do nothing improper. Besides he’s promised to Hillary."

Placing his knuckles under her chin, he lifted her face, forcing her to meet his eyes. "That didn’t stop him from asking you to the theater tonight, did it?"

Suddenly very aware of his touch, of his body against hers, she couldn’t make her tongue work. His scrutiny seemed to absorb her, reaching into the depths of her soul, making soft, tender love to her. His arm tightened around her, bringing her closer until she could hardly breathe. His thumb arced across her cheek, leaving a trail of fire then his hand cupped her chin bringing her lips against his.

His mouth claimed hers in soft, tender possession. Hot, spiraling liquid moved through her as his tongue caressed her lip. Her heart hammered. Breathless, she leaned into him and responded with equal urgency. Her fingers stroked the hard muscles of his neck, felt the softness of his thick hair.

His lips roamed over hers, tasting, lingering, taking. Electrified, alive, and hurting for more, she let his tongue probe, finally coaxing her lips apart, seeking entry.

Surprised, yet not surprised, Park relished the unbridled desire in Cassandra’s kiss. Her body was soft and pliable within his arms, confirming his suspicion that under that innocent veneer was a woman of tightly reined passion. It needed only to be awakened. His body ached for want of her. Had she been any other woman, he would have lain her back in the seat and taken liberties, but somehow he couldn’t do that. She was too innocent, too decent, too trusting. Fearful of losing control, he broke the kiss. A flicker of something - disappointment? - darkened her eyes.

Swallowing hard, her cheeks blushing pink, she turned from him and looked out into the street. He wondered if he had been too forward. Then with a jolt, he recalled he had never asked such a question of himself before.

#

Cassandra folded the letter and moved from the Farrington suite onto the balcony. Cold air chilled her. Only October and snow already covered Denver in a thick blanket. Snowflakes fluttered down like lacy doilies and the wind whistled around corners of granite and brick buildings. Lights twinkled and glittered amid the backdrop of blackness. Below her, the street bustled with vehicles of all kinds and glistened amid its cloak of snow and slush. Six weeks ago she and Blaine moved to the Farrington, among the richest surroundings she ever imagined. If this suite wasn’t the best the Farrington Hotel had to offer, she couldn’t imagine how luxurious the other rooms must be.

Reid saw that her every wish and whim were met and she suspected he discounted the cost of the room by a wide margin. Her salary here at the Farrington was more than adequate, and for the first time in her life, she could buy a new dress for herself and a suit of clothes for Blaine. There would be no more hand-me-downs for them. Too, she managed to save a little of each paycheck. Life was good to her. To both Anna and Reid - and Park - she would forever be grateful.

She often went to see Anna and grew increasingly concerned for her with each visit. Several times she found her friend not feeling well. Although Anna was reluctant to talk about her health, Pearl confided that Anna's strength was failing, although she had good days as well as bad ones.

Reid occasionally came into the hotel and insisted she dine with him. He offered no apologies for having left her waiting in the hotel lobby the evening he was supposed to take her to the theater and off-handedly remarked how he appreciated that Park filled in for him in a pinch. Still, her dining with Reid and her appearance at the theater with Park stirred up a hornet's nest among the Farrington family and their friends. The newspapers had such a heyday with "the mysterious woman who has enthralled the Farrington brothers" that Cassandra sometimes wanted nothing more to do with either of them.

One day she would have enough savings to move out of the Farrington; albeit, to accommodations not near as elegant, but she would be out from under Reid's influence. He would be her employer only.

Besides, she didn't come to Denver looking for a man. She came looking for her family, although, much to her chagrin, Park seemed to divert her from her goal. He intruded more and more into her thoughts. The memory of the hot, sensual taste of his kiss still sent shivers through her and, at the same time, she was hard pressed to forget his frequent shameful entanglements with women. Denver ran rampant with wild stories of his escapades. She was nothing more to him than just another woman.

Unfolding the paper, she tilted it toward the light that flowed through the opened doorway behind her. She again read the letter written to her mother by Nick long ago. Oh, if she only knew! If only she could find out something!

The suspicion that the Wyngates knew much more than they admitted still gave her faint hope that she might find the answers to some of her questions. Their obvious consternation whenever they saw her indicated that they did know something. But how was she to find out? Surely, there was some way

. . . ! Maybe if she went to the newspaper and looked at old editions . . . .

A horse neighed, pulling her attention to the street below. Blaine alighted from a carriage and made his way among the vehicles toward the house. She pivoted and hurried back into the suite to wait for him.

When he stepped into the room, he halted, his defiant face meeting hers in the soft light.

"Blaine, I've been so worried! Where have you been?" she snapped. "Who have you been with?"

"This is not the time to chew me out." He flung his bedroom door open.

She followed him into the room. "This is the time! Where are you going on these mysterious errands? Why do you always look like you've been through a corn shucker? What is going on?"

"I'm a man, Cass, and I don't have to answer any of your dumb questions." He began unbuttoning his shirt.

"You listen to me, Blaine Vann!" Snatching his arm, she yanked him around to her. His bruised and swollen face glistened against the light. "You're still my responsibility! Who were you with! You'd better tell me what you're doing!"

"Making money!" He jerked free of her arm and stepped away.

"I haven't seen you with any money!"

His gaze darted away from her. "I'm trying to earn some money, that's all. Just don't push me, Cass."

"Oh, Blaine!" Exasperated, she sat down on the bed and clasped her hands together. "You've never been so secretive as you are now and I don't understand why! We've always shared secrets. Why can't you tell me what you're doing? Besides, I'm making a pretty good salary."

"Yeah. Mother would turn in her grave if she knew we used to live in a whorehouse and now you’re being kept by Reid Farrington." He shrugged out of his shirt.

Hardly realizing her actions, she leaped off the bed and lashed out at him, her hand striking him across the face. The red imprints of her fingers glared against his cheek. "I am not being kept! I'm not doing anything wrong! I'm a hostess in the Farrington dining room! That's an honorable thing to do!"

"Honorable but you're making nothing! One day, you'll wake up and decide to . . . to become Reid Farrington's woman so you can have silks and pearls instead of sackcloth and rhinestones. He has asked you, hasn't he? He's asked you to be his woman, hasn't he?"

"No, he has not!" Gripping her hands together, she moved away from her brother. "I could never do anything like that!"

"Park says it's only a matter of time--"

Her face burning, she threw a hard, flashing look at him. "Park! When do you ever talk to Park?"

Blaine's chest swelled with indignation. "I see him once in a while. He's worried about you, too. He thinks Reid's going to hurt you."

She folded her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. "What I do is not any of Park Farrington's business! He has no right to discuss anything about me with you!"

"He says Reid will never leave Hillary for you or for anybody else."

"He knows nothing!" Pivoting, she sat down hard on the bed.

"Besides, Park thinks you're Reid's kept woman, too."

Disbelieving, she stared up at her brother. Tears of anger welled up into her eyes. "So he's the one who's putting all these stupid thoughts into your head!"

"What else can people think, Cass? Look at us! We still look like ragamuffins. That's why I'm trying to earn some money."

"But you and I know differently. I'm not being kept by Reid."

"I still want to get out of here."

"Then tell me what you're doing!"

"I won't! I can't!"

Fear choked her. "Are you doing something illegal, like fighting?"

Striding to the window, hands buried in his pockets, he answered over his shoulder, "I’m just having a little fun and making a little money."

"Then why can't you tell me?" She heard the fear in her own voice.

Turning, he sent her a stiff smile. "Because one day I want to come to you and spread all that money out and tell you we're getting out of here; that we can go any place and do anything we want to do."

She let a thin, weary smile crease her face. "Oh, Blaine, we don't need lots of money. God knows how we've struggled for the past seven years. Besides I'm saving a little out of my check."

"For now," he answered, moving back toward her. "But one day you may decide you want more, no matter how you get it. You're a nobody, Cass, and why would a man like Reid Farrington be interested in someone like you? You're dirt poor with nothing going for you, except that you're a good-looking girl, and Reid knows a good-looking girl when he sees one. He’d use you if you’ll let him."

His words stung. Hot tears rushed to her eyes. "You're right, Blaine. Why would he be interested in someone like me except for one thing?" Pulling him to her, she clung to him. "But don't worry about me. Just take care of yourself. You go off on these mysterious excursions and I don't know where you are or what you're doing. It worries me to death."

A little grin spread across Blaine's face. "Don't worry, Cass. I'm careful and one day you'll appreciate what I'm doing. Now, I want to take a bath and get into bed."

Again, she hugged him tightly. "You've all I've got, Blaine."

"I know. You're all I've got, too, Cass."

Tears welled up within her. She couldn't understand why such despondency, such worry consumed her. Perhaps Blaine was right. Perhaps she didn’t know herself as well as she thought; that she would learn to like this highbrow living so well that she would become Reid's - or someone else's mistress for it. Maybe Park’s. Or one of Anna's girls.

No! She could never do anything shameful. Hadn't she had the courage to resist Reid's attention?

And Park’s?

Yes, but would it last? Her powerful attraction to Park couldn’t be denied and it frightened her. Would she always have the strength to resist him?

Suddenly agitated by her thoughts, she wanted to flee the room, to get into the outdoors. Growing up, whenever she was upset, she used to sit by a creek outside the mining camp until her problems set straight in her mind, at least for a little while. Moving briskly, she went to the closet and pulled out the hooded cape Mrs. Harris back in Arkansas had given her a couple of years ago, the only coat she owned. Throwing it over her shoulders, she hurried from the room.

Cassandra fled down the wide, curving staircase, across the vast lobby, and out the French doors leading onto the verandah and into the courtyard. The cold, night air, like tiny drops of crystal, swirled around her as she moved off the verandah into the dark, swaying silhouettes of trees and shrubs toward the flowing water fountain. A thick blanket of snow sparkled in all its splendor against the soft golden light of the gaslights that surrounded the courtyard.

Pulling her cloak closer around her, she moved out into the garden and halted beside the fountain and stared into its icy depths. Then turning, and brushing snow off a bench, she sat down and pulled the hood of her cape up over her snow-flecked hair. She blinked, trying to blink away tears.

Suddenly sensing a presence, she looked up. Reid stood on the snow-covered path not far away, his heavy coat, scarf, and hat speckled with snow.

"I'm sorry. I hope I'm not intruding." He came nearer, leaving footprints in the snow.

Disappointment, mingled with a tinge of irritation, moved through her. "Reid." She swept away the tears on her cheek.

"I saw you come out here. May I?" He gestured to the seat beside her.

She nodded.

Brushing aside the snow, he sat down and rested his arm along the backrest of the bench behind her. "What's the matter, Cass?"

Even though his voice was soft with concern, she didn’t miss the ring of impatience in his tone. Apparently he had no patience with weepy women. Deep down inside, he was probably as cold and distant as Reilly had been.

"Oh." She shrugged. "I'm worried about Blaine, that's all."

"I admire you, Cass." Placing his fingers under her chin, he lifted her face toward him. "The way you packed up and came out here to a strange city in search of family, the way you got Mr. Piermont's attention at the Farrington, your determination, your grit and spunk are admirable." The ice around them crackled. The gurgle of the water fountain and the gentle rustle of wind against snow whispered against the stillness. Desire brightened his dark eyes. She looked away.

"Cass," he said huskily. "I want you. I'm going to break it off with Hillary."

Shock vibrated to her core. Her mouth opened as if to speak, but no words came. A chill moved through her as Blaine's words raced through her mind: "You're a good-looking girl and Reid Farrington knows a good-looking girl when he sees one. He's not above using you."

More sobering, Park’s words hit her like a thunderbolt: "Reid doesn’t put women up in the hotel free gratis. Believe me, there’s strings."

A sound between a sob and a chuckle came from her. "You can't do that. Your family, the whole of Denver, and especially Hillary, wouldn't allow it."

Fire flickered in his eyes. His tight jaw twitched. The vein alongside his neck protruded. "I don't care about anything or anyone else but you, Cass!" "You hardly know me!" She wondered if her heart would beat right out of her chest.

"I know enough. You're everything Hillary's not. You're everything I like in a woman. Besides, you're very beautiful."

She stiffened. A chill from something other than the cold ran through her. "There's too many differences, Reid. You can't fight your family, Hillary, and all of Denver. They would never accept me. You know that."

"I don't give a damn! I have my own life!"

She rose and moved toward the fountain, staring at the sculptured angel pouring water out of an urn into a large pool. Ice laced its edges. Reid came up behind her, his footsteps crunching against the snow.

"My family is hosting their annual Fall Festival Ball in a couple of weeks, Cass. Go with me." His hands curled over her shoulders. His breath warmed her cheek.

Uneasiness swept through her. She didn't belong in such a place, among such prominent people, just as she didn't belong here at the Farrington. She had no place among them. She had nothing to wear and she certainly couldn't afford a lavish gown. "I'm sorry, Reid. I can't."

Reid sucked in a quick intake of air. "I want you to go with me, Cass." He turned her to him and stared down at her, his black eyes sizzling with anger and pain. "Why can’t you go?"

"Be . . . Because I'd be very uncomfortable."

His broad chest rose and fell. His grip on her shoulders tightened. "I’d make you comfortable. You'll be with me." He gave a nonchalant shrug. "You could do it as a favor to me in return for the room."

Her chill turned to ice. "Is that what you expect of me, Reid? To pay you back in favors for the room?"

His eyes widened as if he was repelled by the thought. "Of course not, Cass. I just want you with me."

Shaking free of his hold, she stepped past him.

His hand shot out, catching her arm and spinning her back around to him. "Who is it, Cass? Park?" His lips drew back against his teeth in a sneer. "Is he why you won’t go with me?"

A start rippled through her. "I just can't go. Accept it."

"If you think Park loves you, you’re crazy. He loves every skirt in Denver."

Old hurts and Reilly’s cutting words rushed back with a vengeance. "No man will see fit t’ love ya’, Cass. Face it. Yore jest too plain. No man wants a carrot-topped gal." Stinging tears welled up in her eyes.

Reid expelled a long gush of air. His face softened. He dropped his hand off her shoulder. "I'm sorry. Sorry about a helluva lot of things." He paused, their labored breaths rising in white vapor between them. Snowflakes floated around them. "I want you, Cass. I'll break it off with Hillary with the hope and prayer that you'll let our relationship become something more than mere friends, employer-employee. I mean that. I won't give up hope, and if you knew any Farrington, you'd know our words stick like glue."

Cassandra's heart pounded against her ribs. Her knees weakened. Swaying against him, she became aware of his arm winding around her waist, bending her closer to him. Desire smoldered in his deep eyes as he threw the hood off her head and leaned toward her.

She strained away from him. Her stays bit into her ribs. Coldness as icy as the winter wonderland around them swept through her. Park suddenly leapt into her mind. She leaned farther away, her balled fists pushing against his chest. "Don’t, Reid."

He drew back, his eyes smoldering, fiery with passion. A dark eyebrow lifted. "Go with me to the ball, Cass," he muttered fiercely between tight jaws. "Please."

Despite herself, his invitation was tempting. "I'm sorry, I can’t. Blaine doesn't know where I am. I have to get back up stairs."

Bitter disappointment darkened his eyes. His face hardened. "I'll not give up."

She stepped out of his grip, and lifting the hem of her skirt, moved across the crunchy snow toward the hotel. The weight of his gaze felt heavy against her back. She shivered.

Was Blaine right? Did he know her better than she knew herself? Would she always be able to resist Reid's charm? Would she prostitute herself for his affections, for the lifestyle he could give her?

More disturbing, should Park offer her the same invitation, would she have the willpower to decline? His kiss produced such raging stirrings in her that she wondered if she could resist him, even if he didn’t love her. Even if he loved every skirt in Denver.

#

Cassandra threw back the hood of her cape and looked up and down the wide hall. Still too early for Anna’s girls to be up and about on this Monday afternoon, the great house rested in quiet repose. Downstairs, the rosewood grandfather clock chimed the two o'clock hour, its melodious notes fading into the silence. A door shut somewhere downstairs. Lifting her hand, she knocked on the carved, wooden door leading into Anna’s room. Hearing her bid to enter, she turned the gilded knob and stepped across the threshold.

Clad in a frilly satin robe with a quilt spread over her lap, Anna sat in a wing chair by the fireplace. She looked up from the book she held and smiled. Her dark hair cascaded in long waves over her shoulders and glistened in the soft light of the lantern. "Cass, do come in."

Her cheeks seemed too prominent in the golden glow, and Cassandra fleetingly wondered if she had lost weight. "I haven't long, Anna. I hope I'm not intruding." Unfastening the button at her throat, she pulled the cape off her shoulders and draped it over the back of the nearest chair.

"Never! What brings you here in weather such as this?" She gestured toward the chair opposite her. "It must be important, especially if the Farringtons let you have the afternoon off. How about a cup of tea to warm you up?"

Nodding, Cassandra slipped into the chair and watched Anna pour the steaming beverage from the bone china teapot into a delicate cup. "In fact, the Farringtons are the reason why I'm here. Rather, Reid is the reason."

A trimmed eyebrow lifted as Anna handed Cassandra the cup of tea. "Sounds interesting. What about Reid? From what I hear, you and he are about to become the next Denver scandal. Of course, I’m disappointed that it’s not you and Park who’s creating all the fuss."

Cassandra’s heart almost stopped. "What are you hearing?"

Anna smiled mischievously over her teacup. "Well, I've heard that there was a big row between Reid and Hillary Landover at the Tabor Theater Saturday evening. Seems you're the reason for their little spat."

"Oh, Anna . . . ." Setting aside her cup, Cassandra rose and moved toward the windows. "Reid asked me to go with him to his family's Fall Festival Ball. He said he was going to break off his engagement to Hillary. And I'm in a panic."

Anna's clear, gentle chuckle broke the stillness. "In a panic? Because Reid Farrington asked you to the ball, the ball of the year? Of course, Park is much more attractive and interesting, but, honey, I'd give my right arm to go with any one of the Farrington men." Her eyes sparkling with anticipation, she leaned forward in her chair. "You did tell him you would go, didn't you?"

Swinging about, she threw her hands up in a gesture of exasperation. "Reid’s nice and all that, but . . . ."

"It’s Park you really want, right?" Leaning back into her chair, she rolled a cigarette.

Cassandra nodded. "He’s such a scalawag and will probably have two or three women on his arm. Besides that, I wouldn't fit in! What would I wear? How will I act? Will I be accepted? And as far as the Farringtons, I'd be regarded as a little less than a snake for breaking up Reid and Hillary!"

"But you didn't break them up, Cass. Reid did. That was his choice. His decision. Not yours." She struck a match and put the flame to the cigarette between her lips.

"But I'd be blamed! What if did go with him and Hillary shows up? How am I supposed to act? What am I supposed to do?"

"If Hillary shows up, so what? You just be the charming woman you are." Setting aside the cigarette and rising, Anna waved a dismissal and walked to the armoire. "You will go to that ball and you will enjoy yourself to the hilt and you will be the grandest lady there." She flung open the doors and started rummaging through the colorful gowns. "Let's see . . . . You'll need something elegant though simple. Something that makes a statement, yet something that won't catch attention before you do; after all, we want you to be seen, not your gown."

Gratitude welled up within Cassandra as she moved to her friend. "Anna, you're so kind, but I didn't come here to borrow another gown. I came here to seek your advice. To find out that if I decided to go with him I'd be doing the right thing."

Anna's eyes grew round. "Doing the right thing?" she asked in mock horror. "You'd most certainly be doing the wrong thing if you didn't go."

"But what about a gown? I can afford only an inexpensive gown, unless you know of a seamstress who would make a gown for me at a reasonable cost."

With a gentle laugh, Anna faced Cassandra. "I've got a closet full of clothes. You're welcome to any of them. And no thinking about it at all. You are going. We’ll talk about a gown later. "

"Whatever would I do without you, Anna? Now, if you'll just tell me how to act."

"Be yourself, Cass." With a tired sigh, she sat back down in the chair. "That's rule number one. Be gracious and charming. Going to a Fall Festival Ball is really no different than going to the Jones' barn dance. And speaking of dancing, do you know how to dance?"

"Yes." With a lump filling her throat, Cassandra began turning the cup on its saucer. "My mother taught me whenever Reilly was down in the mines. She always said I may never know when I might have the opportunity to dance." Remembering, she chuckled softly, wistfully. "At the time I never believed I ever would need to know all those fancy dance steps, but I learned just to please Mother. Although we never had music, we rehearsed for hours. That was another curious thing about my mother. I often wondered how she came to know such niceties by living in mining camps most of her adult life. I hope to find out here in Denver more about her, how she learned to dance and why."

"I hope so, too." Reaching out, Anna touched Cassandra's hand. A comfortable, contemplative silence fell between the two women as they sipped their tea. The fire crackled and popped. The snow and sleet made soft tapping sounds against the windows.

"Tell me, Cass," Anna said at last. "If you suddenly became rich, what would you do with all your money?"

"I've never really thought about it." She laughed. "I’d probably have to marry a rich, old codger with one foot in the grave." Pausing, she looked toward the ceiling as if in serious contemplation. "Oh, I’d probably invest in real estate, probably something like the Farrington and Brown hotels. Maybe in gold mines, but not silver. I keep hearing at the Farrington that the price of silver is dropping and some people are getting rid of their silver investments. I'd probably seek financial advice. Oh, I really don't know, Anna, for I've never had money and I don't expect any."

"There you go, Cass, thinking like a loser. What did I say about thinking like a winner?"

The heat of the room enveloped Cassandra as she looked across the flickering light at her friend. She wondered if the warmth she was feeling came from the fire or from the profound kinship she felt with Anna. It was uncanny the way Anna seemed to understand her, to have befriended her and Blaine when they had first come to Denver. Anna seemed to understand her better than she understood herself. She wondered how Anna had come to such depths of understanding.

"Anna, how did you wind up here in Denver?" she asked, remembering Pearl's admonition that Anna was reluctant to talk about her former life and hoping she wasn't being too officious.

The faintest of shadows darkened Anna's face, then disappeared. Her eyes, flickering with a hint of sadness, lifted toward the windows. Her lips twisted into a wistful, dolorous smile. "I had a husband and baby and lost them both." Her voice quivered. She swallowed. "Ben came from a well-to-do family in Boston. Twelve years ago we sailed to London and was returning home when the ship sank. He and my baby drowned." She quickly rose and moved toward the window where she stood looking out. "For some reason known only to God, I was spared." Turning, she met Cassandra's gaze. Tears clung to her eyelashes. "Both my parents had died some years earlier and my only sister died of pneumonia as a child, so I had no one. Ben's family always thought I married Ben for his money, his prestige. Not once did they ever believe I loved him. I did love him. Deeply. As much as any person could love another." Pausing and blinking hard, she bit her lower lip, then continued, "After the accident, his parents took the house, which they owned. They took everything except the clothes in my closet. I was left with nothing. In fact, I suspected they were relieved that our baby died with Ben. That way, I had nothing to tie me to them." Returning to her chair, her gaze swung toward the windows again. She blinked.

A knot rose into Cassandra’s throat. She choked it down and lifted a hand to grasp Anna's, then dropped it. For some reason she knew Anna wanted no displays of comfort now. She wanted to tell her story, get it over with, and get on with something else. It was a part of her life she didn't like to think about. A part almost too sad to be borne.

"I left Boston. Picked up odd jobs here and there across the country until I came to Denver." She gave a soft, disdainful laugh. "Denver. It was wild and woolly, bursting at the seams with excitement. The mountains were oozing silver and gold. Money flowed. Broke and alone, I ended up down on "The Row", working for Jennie Rogers." She shrugged as the little wistful smile tilted her lips. "I saved and hoarded all the money I could. Then one day I entertained a visitor from the East. He was so enthralled with me that he hired me for himself. I was his exclusively. He paid me handsomely. Five years later I opened this place."

She gestured around them. "Of course, it wasn't as fancy then. I bought it for a widow's mite from a little old woman who was moving back to Pennsylvania to be closer to her children. I redecorated and advertised to the hilt. It paid off. Before long I was the madam of Denver. And I’m still the madam." She chuckled, a tinge of delight ringing in the sound. "I've entertained everyone from poor miners to the most prominent of senators and congressmen, most of whom would rather remain anonymous. Denver would be shocked to know who's been entertained here."

She rose and again moved toward the windows and stared out into the cold, gray day. "Enough about me," she said over her shoulder, then pivoting about, added with a long sigh as if she was glad her recitation was over, "Now, let’s think about the gown you’re going to wear."

CHAPTER SEVEN

Inside the grand Farrington house, Park stood part-way up the wide, curving staircase and studied the guests gathered in the foyer below him. Amused by their smug pretensions, he lifted the champagne glass to his lips. They resembled a circus of colors, shallow conversation, and feigned decorum. The scent of their rich perfume mingled with the fragrances of wax, cigar smoke, and brandy, reminding him of some cheap saloon, minus the expensive jewelry. Their laughter rose above the orchestra music that lilted through the opened drawing room.

Another blast of cold air made the crystal chandeliers tinkle as the door again opened. Disinterested, Park lifted his gaze to the couple just stepping across the threshold. He gave a start. Holding his brother's arm, Cassandra Vann moved out of the shadows beyond the door into the dazzling light of the vestibule.

Mesmerized, Park watched as Reid helped her out of the fur-trimmed coat. The blaze of the chandelier gleamed against her bare, creamy shoulders and threw highlights against her chestnut hair. Earrings sparkled against her earlobes. Her gown of deep rich scarlet dipped low, molding to her high, full breasts and revealing a hint of cleavage. The skirt fell away from her small waist into a long, flowing gathers that was caught up into a modest, cascading bustle at the rear. Her face glowed, her eyes shone a brilliant blue-silver, her mouth glistened moist and red. Gloves encased her long, slender arms to just above her elbows. Then he saw the appreciative flicker of his brother's gaze moving over her.

My God, Park thought through the hum in his ears and the sudden pound of his heart. Reid did it. He got rid of Hillary and brought Cassandra, a woman too beautiful to be real, to the ball.

The mutter of voices near him stilled, making him suddenly aware of the hushed guests and their gaping faces. Thick silence permeated the foyer. No one stirred as Reid, with his hand planted firmly at the small of her back, propelled Cassandra farther into the vestibule.

Her gaze suddenly lifted, catching and holding Park's. He sucked in a long, deep breath. His heart hammered. An ache curdled in the middle of his belly. He sensed her quick intake of breath, the falter of her step. Still, she didn't look away.

Cassandra couldn't look away. Clad in a black cutaway jacket and trousers the color of his hair, Park seemed to have some magical pull on her. Or, despite her denials, did he still suspect her to be one of Anna's prized ladies-of-the-evening? And in that little, amused smile of his, was he reminding her of the secret he shared with her? Or did he truly think she was Reid's mistress, just as Blaine claimed? Or was his look threatening because he reminded her of a black, sleek cat, cunning, ready to spring and take any prey he so desired? Or was he remembering the shameless way she responded to his fiery kiss in the carriage? No, he didn’t think of her as being innocent. A shiver raked through her.

"Cold?" Reid asked softly beside her.

"No, no . . . ." Forcing her gaze off Park, she sent Reid a fleeting, nervous smile, then turned her attention to the crowd around them. Her step faltered; her poise cracked. Ahead of them the guests parted, stilted and quiet, as Reid led her into the drawing room. Mutters and whispers buzzed. Stares bore into her. A flush crept over her body.

"My God, who is that with Reid?"

The voice, high with tension, pulled Park's attention off Cassandra to those gathered at the foot of the stairs below him. Mrs. Meyer, the wife of a state congressman, had spoken, her eyes wide, her jowls dropping as she stared after the impressive couple.

"No matter. She’s a gorgeous creature, whoever she is," her husband chimed in, his cigar angled to the side of his mouth, his face revealing his awe.

Deciding he didn't want to lose sight of Cassandra, Park bounded down the stairs, past the gawking twosome, and into the drawing room. Just inside the door, he halted, slid his hand into his trouser pocket, and leaned against the wall, trying to exude disinterest.

Reid was introducing Cassandra to his mother and father. Nancy Farrington's face turned as red as the garnet earrings on her earlobes as she tried to acknowledge Cassandra's polite greeting. And his father's face beneath his crop of thick, silver hair was stoic, as impassive and hard as marble.

And every eye in the room turned expectantly upon the slender woman on Reid's arm. Riveted to her, they watched as she made a brief curtsy in deference to the older couple, flashed a confident smile, then moved out among the guests.

#

Cassandra couldn't take her eyes off the guests and wondered if Park was somewhere out there among them. She wondered if a beautiful woman graced his side.

With sudden guilt of being with Reid while thinking about his brother, she turned and looked up at Reid beside her. He flashed her a quick smile and lifted his champagne glass to his lips. Trying hard to concentrate on the party, she marveled at the array of color, of opulence, of grandeur that adorned the grand Farrington house. Firelight mingled with the sparkle and glitter of the chandeliers and reflected against polished parquet floors. Silver trays of glasses, filled with bubbling champagne, winked back the light and glittered like gold. It all seemed surreal, a scene straight off the pages of one of the books she once read. Her world of uncouth mining camps, coal-dusted miners, tarpaper mining shacks didn't exist in this one.

Cold fear moved through her. She sent Reid a quick look. He stood so close to her that the sleeve of his jacket brushed her arm. Clad in a black, long-tailed coat, white silk shirt and tie, he looked serene and comfortable. She wished she felt as calm and confident as he, for he looked oblivious to the gaping faces, the whispers, the unkind remarks meant to reach her ears.

". . . Hillary . . . ." ". . . wedding off . . . ."

". . . hussy over there . . . ." Her face burned with embarrassment, yet she boldly met their faces, held her head high, determined to enjoy the party.

Reid turned, catching her studying him, and flashed a wide grin. "What are you thinking?" He bent his head close to her, his breath warm and moist against her ear.

"The party, the house. Everything is so gorgeous." She wished she could tell him what she really felt, that he would reassure her everything was going to be all right, that she indeed belonged here.

His face only inches from her own, he grinned, his white teeth glimmering between parted lips. "Your presence makes it more so."

His voice, low, husky and intimate, took her breath away. She sucked in a deep gulp of air. "It's just that I've committed the unpardonable sin by my being here with you. I saw it in your mother's and father's faces. They'll never forgive you. It's just not proper that I’m with you so soon after your breakup with Hillary. Everyone's talking . . . ."

His eyes shadowed, then lightened. "No one has the say whether it's proper or not. I asked you and that makes it proper." As he spoke, his gaze moved to her mouth and lingered. She glanced away.

"Reid!"

Reid straightened and turned. Hardly breathing, Cassandra looked beyond him to see Mrs. Farrington approaching from the maze of guests. With her salt-and-pepper head held high, her thin body erect, a fold of her long, elegant skirt clutched in her gloved hand, she moved with long strides. Her lips compressed into such a tight, straight line that the corners of her mouth turned white and her dark eyes glittered, her cheeks flushed scarlet.

"I think you'd better come with me," she announced, deliberately turning her back toward Cassandra, dismissing her. "There's someone here to see you."

Reid's face reddened. "Whoever he is, he'll have to wait."

"It's Hillary and I think you'd better come right now!" Mrs. Farrington hissed between tight jaws.

Anger, tinged with humiliation, swept through Cassandra. She wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole. Lifting her gaze, she caught Reid's behind his mother. His face turned soft and contrite.

"Don't go away," he said. "I'll be right back."

She nodded and watched him follow his mother out among the guests. Then with a start, she realized that others were gaping at her, their faces revealing their contempt, their indignation. Heat scorched her from head to toe. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She was alone. Alone among hostiles. As if searching for a friendly face, almost wishing she would see Park, she glanced across the crowd. There was not a soul she knew. No one to offer her a friendly smile. At least Park would be a friend. Panic rose within her.

As if to calm her thoughts, she lifted her hand to smooth the front of her gown and halted as one of Anna's last-minute admonitions came to mind: "Don't twiddle with your hair, your gown . . . anything. Keep your hands demurely clasped when not holding a glass, and your chin lifted. Think and act as if you own the world."

"Miss Vann, I believe?" A blonde woman, clad in bright red velvet and with the redolence of lavender, bounced up out of the crowd.

Startled, Cassandra turned and met cold, hostile eyes. "Yes?"

"You are the Miss Vann who is the waitress at the Farrington, aren't you?" The woman’s voice rose with the deliberate intention of being overheard.

New warmth rushed to Cassandra's cheeks. Anger seared her. Lifting her chin high and straightening her shoulders, she unblinkingly met the woman's face. "I don't believe we've been introduced. You're Miss

. . . ." She paused, waiting for the woman to supply her name.

"Tarsley," came the clipped response. "I'm a close, dear friend of the Farringtons'. Especially Reid's and Park's. You are their employee, aren't you?"

"Now, why does my job concern you?"

Miss Tarsley's gaze flicked down Cassandra's figure in minute scrutiny. "It's just that the Farringtons never invited a common waitress to the ball before. I was just curious." She shrugged her bare shoulders.

Another wave of warmth swept through Cassandra. "Yes, Miss Tarsley. We take off our bloomers one leg at a time, just as you do."

Miss Tarsley gasped. She clamped her gloved hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened. Those nearest them muttered, then fell into shocked silence.

"Very good, Miss Vann."

Park shoved his way through the crowd toward her, his black eyes glittering, his tall body moving with the ease of a confident man. Extending his elbow, he stood beside her, his gaze lighting with expectation, a little, sagacious smile tugging at the corners of his arrogant mouth. "The music has started. Shall we dance?"

Cassandra's first impulse was to decline, but deciding that he was the lesser of two evils, she clasped his arm, turned to Miss Tarsley, flashed a wide smile, and said, "It was so nice meeting you."

Taking the glass of champagne from her hand, Park set it on the mantel, then led her out among the crowd toward the dance floor.

"You're just her kind, Park Farrington!" Miss Tarsley called from behind them. "You always did prefer the company of dogs!"

Cassandra's face flamed hot. Oh, God, why did she come tonight?

"Pay her no mind, Cass," Park muttered between tight jaws, his breath warm against her ear. "Money can’t by class. Besides, she was invited only because her mother knows Mom." He sent her a quick, encouraging smile.

Biting her lower lip until it hurt, Cassandra wondered how she could rid herself of Park and inconspicuously take her leave. True, she was grateful that he had rescued her from Miss Tarsley's clutches, yet she wondered if Park's company to be any better. He held her in mocking derision, just as Miss Tarsley, but he, instead of taunting her openly, taunted her covertly so that only she knew the underlying cause for his attention. He enjoyed letting her know often that he thought none too highly of her.

"I . . . I don't know how to dance," she blurted, turning her face away from Park for fear that he would read the lie on her face.

Halting, Park peered down at her. She tingled with the pierce of his black eyes. Then he gave a soft, derisive chuckle. "I don't believe you."

Stunned that he could see right through her, she stared up at him.

"You're not a good liar, Cass." His tone softened. "I don't know how or when you learned to dance, but I'd bet a month's salary you do."

Her defenses rose. Flustered by that boyish, yet manly look, her defense suddenly fled. The light played against his strong, square face and lit his eyes. His gaze seemed to caress her, wooing her into submission. "How could I possibly know how to dance? I've known nothing but mining camps all my life."

"I wonder . . . ." His voice trailed away, then taking her hand, he led her through the crowd out into the vestibule, across the parquet floor into the dim library.

The large room rested in quiet repose, bathed in the soft, flickering light of the fire in the hearth. The sweet scent of perfume and tangy tobacco filled the air. Shadows darkened corners and crevices. In a flash of panic, Cassandra wondered if Park, thinking her to be no more than a common harlot, planned to make advances upon her. Pulling her hand free of his, she turned with the intent to return to the vestibule.

His hand, warm and firm on her arm, pulled her back toward him. Fear choked her. A quick, seductive smile lit his face. "Don't worry, Miss Vann. I wouldn't ravish my brother's mistress."

Anger stung her from head to foot. Hardly realizing her actions, she lifted her hand to strike him. He dodged, catching her arm with one hand while his other arm snaked around her waist, pulling her hard against him. She gasped for breath. He felt like solid granite against her. His clenched jaws twitched, his black eyes glittered.

"You're despicable!" she hissed. "I am not Reid's mistress and I never have been!" Pausing, she choked down the lump in her throat. "And I have never been one of Anna's girls!"

He expelled a soft chuckle. "My mistake then, Miss Vann. Since Reid usually doesn't put women up in the Farrington . . . ." He stopped speaking, making sure the impact of his words registered on her.

Startled and understanding that any excuse she may give for accepting Reid's offer of a room at the hotel would sound frivolous and lame, she opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. "Is that what Reid has told you

. . . that I'm his mistress?"

A lazy, insolent grin spread across his face. "No. I just know Reid. I know the hold Hillary Landover has on him. He wouldn't be so unfaithful. Not now anyway. That's why he dropped Hillary. He wants you for his mistress and as long as she’s on his arm, you - the decent person you are - won’t have anything to do with him."

Anger anew scorched her face. She strained away from him. "I'd never be anyone's mistress!"

His eyes, dark with passion, reflected the orange, flickering firelight. "Regardless, that's exactly what everyone else thinks. Why do you think everyone's gaping at you, whispering? Because you're not a descendent of the right people? That’s not the only reason they're scandalized."

"You're hateful, Park Farrington."

"Reid's off limits, Cass," he muttered, his voice husky, his dark eyes glinting with desire. "His split with Hillary is only temporary. She won't let him get away."

She tensed. "Are you saying I'm not good enough for him?"

"Not at all. It's just that I know Hillary. I know my family and hers. They've got their minds made up that they are to be married and it'd take someone a lot stronger than Reid to fight those odds."

The heated retort on Cassandra's tongue died into her throat. Park was right. She had no place in Reid's life. She would never fit in. His family would never accept her. Tears pressed against her eyelids. She blinked. "I guess I'm a fool." Her voice was low and quiet in the stillness.

"Not at all."

Her heart skipped a beat, then rebounded as his gaze drifted to her mouth and lingered there. She understood he wanted to kiss her. She'd seen that look on Bancroft's face and, more recently, on Reid's. She tried to force away her yearning to be kissed by him, to want no part of him; instead burning desire flowed through her. His sleek muscles seemed to ripple and roll visibly under the thick cloth of his coat. "The orchestra is playing my favorite waltz. Will you join me?"

Chagrined and wary of these strange feelings he aroused in her, Cassandra wanted nothing more than to go off alone somewhere and cry. Tears misted her eyes. "I'd like to go back to the Farrington."

Folding his hand, he put his fingers under her chin and lifted her gaze to his. Everything within her stilled. His eyes sparkled with passion. He bent his dark head, and she, with thudding heart, lifted her mouth toward his.

His lips brushed hers, whisper-soft, yet with a passion that sent surge after surge of desire through her. Suddenly she became aware of how closely their bodies meshed, of how her breasts fit against his chest, her hips cradled into his, and how poignantly she felt the strength of his legs against hers even through the layers of petticoats and skirt. She wound her arms up around his neck.

His mouth massaged, his tongue probed, sparking fire throughout her body. She relaxed as the masculine scent of him filled her nostrils; the heat of him seeped into her.

"Don't you use that tone of voice to me!"

The feminine, hissing voice yanked them apart. Startled, Cassandra jerked out of Park’s arms, humiliation surging through her. Park, his expression dark and remote, looked up as Reid and Hillary, followed by Mrs. Farrington, strode into the room and shut the tall, paneled doors behind them.

"This is between Hillary and me!" Reid snapped, cracking the stilted silence.

"You still haven't told me why you brought that

. . . that whore here!" Hillary cried, her balled fists hammering at the air. "You've humiliated me! It wasn't enough that you broke our engagement! I had no idea you would bring her here, flaunt her under my nose, making me the laughing stock of the entire world!"

"For shame, Reid! I can't believe you'd be so callous!" Mrs. Farrington hissed. "I demand that you get rid of that girl at once! She's done nothing but disrupt this entire party!"

Hot tears burned Cassandra's eyes. She sent Park a wild, helpless look. His eyes and face turned black with anger. His grip on her arm tightened, then to her horror, he propelled her out of the shadows into the pale light of the fireplace.

"I'll take her home," Park announced.

The three pivoted. Gasping, eyes wide, Hillary and Mrs. Farrington stared. Reid paled, then reddened.

"What on earth . . . !" Mrs. Farrington exclaimed.

"What are you doing here?" Reid barked, as if coming out of shock.

"Isn't it obvious what they’re doing?" Hillary cried, her own delicate, sharply-featured face turning as scarlet as Reid's. "Whores aren’t discriminate about the kinds of people they consort with!"

His face as menacing as the poker standing on the hearth, Park glared at her, his eyes piercing her. A deathly stillness filled the air. Cassandra expected him to strike Hillary, and by the flicker of her eyes, Hillary thought so, too. Still she stood her ground, her small nostrils flaring, her eyes boring into his, challenging him to do just that. Instead, Park balled his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The vein alongside his neck protruded. "Shut your damned mouth, Hillary!"

"Don't you talk to her that way!" Mrs. Farrington snapped, sliding her arm around Hillary's waist in a conciliatory gesture.

Suddenly catching Cassandra's hand, Reid pulled her next to him. "I’ll take her home since she came with me." His gaze, hot and flashing, met Park's. "I'll speak to you later."

"What about me?" Hillary wailed.

"And our guests! What will they think?" cried Mrs. Farrington.

Before giving Cassandra time to protest, he swung open the door and led her out into the vestibule. Wordlessly, he retrieved their coats from the servant, helped Cassandra into hers, then together they moved out onto the porch where he signaled to the valet that his carriage be brought around.

As they settled inside the brougham, snow began falling thick and heavy. Trembling uncontrollably and pulling the hood of her borrowed fur-trimmed coat closer around her face, Cassandra looked unseeingly out at the fuzzy, golden arcs the street lights made against the icy air. Her face felt as frozen as her heart, yet she could think only of Park left standing back in the drawing room. She could feel the tension in Reid’s arm pressing against her shoulders as it lay across the back of the seat. His hand rested lightly on her shoulder. Annoyed, she shifted so that his hand no longer touched her and looked up into his scowling face. She knew he wanted to speak but didn't quite know what to say. Neither did she. It was obvious Hillary and Mrs. Farrington said it all.

"I'm sorry," he said at last, his voice low and husky. "I know that's an inadequate apology for the way my family acted tonight."

Trying hard not to succumb to the threat of tears, she sent him a weak smile. "I shouldn’t have come."

"It’s just like Hillary to show up and make a scene."

"Reid." She glanced down at her lap and saw that she was wringing her gloved hands. With Anna's stern admonishment again coming to mind, she loosened them and laced her fingers together lightly. "I'm moving out of the Farrington."

Reid's brows lowered. "Where are you going?" His hand came back to rest on her shoulder. She felt his tension.

"I don't know." She looked out at the dark buildings. "I've got to leave the Farrington. Everyone, including your brother, thinks I'm your . . ." She met his eyes in the pale light and took a deep breath.

". . .your mistress."

A dark brow lifted with pleasure. A lopsided grin touched one corner of his mouth. "Not a bad idea. I wish I'd thought of it."

"You haven't?" she asked, not quite sure whether to believe him or not.

"Cass, you're a beautiful woman. Any man who denies they haven't thought about bedding you down is a liar." Turning, he looked out the window beside him. "Even my own brother," he added contemptuously, almost to himself.

Warmth spread from her throat to her hairline. "That's not true! Park and I are . . . are hardly on speaking terms. He and I don't get along. That's another reason I can no longer live at the Farrington. He doesn't approve. I should have never accepted your offer in the first place. It was a foolish, foolish thing to do."

"To hell what Park thinks. Where would you go? There's not a room to be had in Denver."

"Surely there's one somewhere--"

The carriage door popped open, startling Cassandra. She hadn't realized that they had halted under the portico of the Farrington and the valet stood holding the door for them. Reid climbed out, then taking her hand, helped her to the bricked driveway. Together they hurried into the warmth of the lobby, a beehive of activity as people moved in and out of the dining room, the bar, and the grand ballrooms.

"Let's have some coffee," Reid said, gesturing toward the dining room.

"No, not tonight." She only wanted to be alone. Tears pressed close and her heart still felt heavy within her. "Besides, I need to go up and check on Blaine."

Disappointment darkened his face. "I'm sure he's all right."

"You should be getting back to the ball; after all, Hillary is waiting on you." She couldn't contain the sarcasm that edged into her tone.

His grip on her arm tightened. He stepped closer to her. Her heart skipped a beat. "Don't let what happened tonight come between us. I want to see you again." His eyes glimmered ebony fire as they held hers and as he bent his head toward her.

His lips touched hers. She turned her face away. "Please, Reid, I have to go."

Seeing his face darken with disappointment, she stepped out of his arms and hurried across the floor to the staircase. She moved up the stairs, her head lowered, her heart thudding against her ribs, still feeling his gaze upon her.

"Was it good?"

Halting, Cassandra looked up. Blaine stood on the landing, his flaxen hair tousled, his face gleaming against the light, his dark eyes glaring with accusations down at her.

"What?"

"His kiss. Was it good?"

"Don't talk to me like that!" She brushed past him and strode down the hall toward their room.

"Well, was it?" Blaine's belligerent voice came from behind her, his footsteps keeping pace with hers.

"What are you doing out of the room?" she demanded, throwing the door open.

"Certainly not humping up to a man."

Stunned, she pivoted. Her open hand caught the side of his face, the crack of flesh hitting flesh vibrating into the silence that followed. Whirling about, she covered her mouth in an effort to stifle the sob that rose into her throat and fled into her room and slammed the door. She threw herself across the bed, and allowed the tears to flow, her sobs coming in retching gasps. How could she, Cassandra Vann, have come from being a prim and proper coal miner's daughter to one accused by the entire city as being the mistress of one of its most prominent citizens in such a short time? Even her own brother accused her of being a harlot.

And Park. Even he suspected that she was giving favors to Reid in return for the room. Oh, dear God, what had she gotten herself into?

"Cass."

Blaine's contrite voice penetrated her raging emotions.

"Cass, I'm sorry."

The bed sagged with his weight as he sat down beside her. He touched her shoulder. "I know you wouldn’t do anything like that . . . especially for a place to stay." He paused and took a deep breath. "It's just that everyone's talking about Reid Farrington's new mistress. It's all over town. Even that reporter, the one who writes for the Post, is saying that you and Reid have something going."

"Well, it's not true!" Sitting up, Cassandra brushed the tears off her cheeks. "I know what everyone's thinking, and I told Reid we’re moving out."

Relief, mixed with concern, lined Blaine's young face. "Where are we moving to?"

"I don't know." Her tone was sharp. "We have no choice. We'll just have to start looking, that's all."

"And if we don't find anything? Are we going to wind up back on the streets?"

"No!" Folding her hand so tightly her knuckles hurt, she pounded the bed. "I swear, we won’t do that. We'll find a place. We've got to!"

"Oh, Cass!" Wrapping his arms around her, Blaine hugged her so tightly she thought her ribs would crack.

Flinching, she fiercely hugged him back. "We'll find a place somewhere, I swear."

CHAPTER EIGHT

Sprawled in the huge overstuffed chair, Reid waited in Park’s cold room at the boarding house. A lone lamp threw shadows in the far corners and crevices and reflected against cherry wood and marble-topped furniture. In the hearth, charred wood lay on a bed of cold gray ash, and a faint scent of shaving soap and bay rum permeated the air. The clock on the mantel announced the eleven o'clock hour, its musical chimes piercing the silence.

Reid rose, shoved his hand into his trousers pocket and moved toward the window. Ice glittered against the pale glow of the streetlights below. He wondered how much longer he would have to wait for Park.

Turning from the window, he glanced about the huge, elegantly furnished room. Purely masculine in its decor, its furnishings massive and austere, it was a tastefully appointed room with no indication of a female ever having entered its doors.

Which was far from the truth. His brother was known for his philandering. Love-and-leave-‘em was his motto. He suspected that Park's rampant lust for women was the main reason for his living here at the boarding house instead of residing with the rest of the family back at Farrington Manor. He doubted that Park would ever settle down, ever find that right woman.

Yet . . . .

At the ball, there in the drawing room where he, Hillary, and his mother discovered Park with Cassandra, he sensed something different in his brother's demeanor. There had been something soft in his eyes, in his face whenever he looked at Cassandra. What had his philandering brother been doing with her there in the dim library? Jealousy shook him.

Again glancing around the room, he meandered toward the bedroom door and peered inside. The huge, four-poster bed stood prominently in the room. Woolen, patterned rugs made splashes of color on the parquet floor. Cold ashes lay in the hearth here, too. A few articles of clothing were strewn here and there, a shirt here, a pair of trousers there, and . . . .

Moving farther into the room, he lifted an article of clothing off the chair and held it up against the pale light. A stocking. A woman's black stocking.

The click of the lock on the outside door broke the silence. Still holding the stocking, Reid moved to the bedroom doorway, leaned his shoulder against the frame, crossed his arms over his chest, and waited as the thick, paneled door swung open and his brother stepped across the threshold.

Pushing the door shut with his heel, Park moved into the room and turned up the lamp. Just as he was about to take off his heavy coat, he lifted his gaze, started, and gaped at Reid. "What are you doing here?" he barked.

"To talk." With a little smile, Reid lifted the stocking, letting it swing, and approached his brother.

Annoyance lit Park's eyes. "How did you get in?" He snatched the stocking out of Reid’s hand, wadded it up, and tossed it to the sofa.

"Old Mrs. Wentworth let me in. All you have to do is give her a sweet smile and she'll do anything for you, as I'm sure you've already found out."

"What do you have to say? It's late and I'm tired." Park shrugged out of his coat, threw it across the nearest chair, then sat on his heels in front of the hearth and picked up the poker.

"Just what do you want out of Cassandra? Why the big rush?"

Surprised and unaccustomed to being questioned about his activities, Park lifted an eyebrow toward his brother. "That's none of your damned business." He shoved the log fragments around. "You're too wrapped up in Hillary to give the proper attention to Cass even when she’s supposed to be with you. I suspect your motivations for asking her to the ball weren’t too honorable."

Reid shifted his weight uneasily and gave a defensive snort. "I was forced into a situation I didn't want by Mother and Hillary."

"Oh, stop the damned rubbish, Reid!" Suddenly dropping the poker, Park came to his feet, rested his hands on his hips, and faced his brother. "You have to put up with those two women only as much as you want. No one forces you into anything. I noticed you sure didn't put any resistance to their interference."

Anger darkened Reid's face. "What would you have done?"

"I certainly wouldn't have left Cass stranded among a bunch of vultures just waiting for the opportunity to chew her up and spit her out!"

"I suppose you would have stayed with her and allowed Hillary and Mother to create a scene right in front of everyone!"

"I certainly wouldn't have left her alone, that's for damned sure!" Again sitting back on his heels, he picked up the poker and began gouging at the logs.

"And you rescued her from the vultures?"

"Someone had to!" He threw a couple of logs into the hearth, struck a lucifer, and held it against the wood.

"Did you find her amusing, Park? Is that why you went took care of her? Is she another toy you're going to try to conquer, to take to bed, then discard whenever you tire of her? Will she be another statistic for your little black book?"

Park shrugged, grudgingly acknowledging his brother had a point. He himself sometimes wondered why he had become so enthralled with the woman from Arkansas. Was it her innocence? Her modesty? Or her fresh beauty found lacking in most women he knew? Or did her life of living from hand to mouth sharply contrast his own gluttonous lifestyle, which made him a little shameful?

"Damn you!" Suddenly grabbing the front of Park's shirt, Reid yanked him to his feet and twisted the collar. "Don't you dare touch her!"

"You have no hold on her!" Grounding his teeth, he struck Reid's arm, knocking his hold off him. "You've got Hillary, remember?"

"I've called it quits with her!"

"You're only fooling yourself, big brother. Hillary nor Mother nor her family will ever let you rid yourself of her. That was proven tonight. It's a done deal, signed, sealed, and delivered. You'll marry her, mark my words."

"We'll see about that, won't we?" In several long strides, he moved to the door, flung it open, then turned. "And you stay away from Cass!" He jabbed his finger toward Park. "She's the reason I broke it off with Hillary!" He stepped out into the hall and slammed the door.

For a long while Park stared at the closed door. It was ironic that he and Reid fought over Cassandra. Never before had a woman been an issue between them.

Until now.

Until Cassandra Vann.

Why was she different? While making his blood hot, she also stirred paternal feelings within him. No, not paternal in the strictest sense, but as a husband would protect his wife. Yet, no other woman provoked such a desire within him. Desire was an emotion he usually could turn off and on at will, although he had no such control when it came to Cassandra. He suspected that should he ever bed her, he would want more and more of her.

No woman ever wielded such power over him.

That frightened him.

#

The sky looked threatening as if gathering strength for another snowy punch of winter. Sighing and wondering if this day would bring an answer to her ad for a room she'd placed in the Denver newspapers, Cassandra turned from the window. In spite of the weather, she still had work to do as people continued to fill the Farrington dining room.

With the sudden sensation of someone watching her, she looked up. The Wyngates stood just inside the door, staring, their faces white, their shoulders stiff. Turning abruptly, Mr. Wyngate snapped something to his wife. Together, they hurried past the host and back out into the vestibule.

Sudden, hot fury surged through Cassandra. Gathering up a fold of her skirt, she hurried through the dining room and into the vestibule. She flew through the front doors, almost knocking over the doorman, and came to an abrupt halt. The plush brougham was pulling into the street.

Disappointment and anger surged through her. Dejected and deciding she would pay the Wyngates a visit this evening, welcomed or not, she turned and went back into the hotel. She would find some answers.

#

Cassandra's hand shook as she reached for the polished brass knocker with the letter W etched in elaborate swirls and tendrils and lifted the hammer. Its bangs echoed behind the closed door. Pulling her coat closer around her, she glanced uneasily up and down the wide verandah. Light snow drifted down just beyond its roof, blanketing the steps and driveway in sparkling white.

She wished someone had come with her to visit the Wyngates. Blaine may have been a help, but by the time she had gotten off work, he had left on one of his mysterious errands. Anna was out of the question. Even Park, in all his arrogance, would have been of some support, but she couldn’t summon enough courage to ask him to accompany her.

Taking a deep gulp of air, she banged the knocker again and waited. At last, the sound of the door being unlocked came from the other side. It swung open and the black manservant peered out at her. She recalled his name to be Jefferson.

"I’ve come to see Mr. or Mrs. Wyngate," she said, desperation edging her voice.

Jefferson's eyes narrowed. "Madam, it's late."

"I know and I do apologize, but this is the only time I have free to talk with them. May I see them?"

"It's almost time for them to retire."

She took another deep breath and clung to her last shreds of bravado. "I must see them."

The manservant hesitated, stiffened his shoulders, then pulled the door open farther and stepped aside for her. "Miss Vann, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"I'll tell them you are here."

She flashed him a grateful smile. "Thank you."

The hall lay in deep shadows. A lone lamp flickered on the table and cast meager light up the wide stairs. To the right, a narrow strip of light glowed beneath the closed double doors.

"Wait here," Jefferson told her as he turned and disappeared behind the closed doors.

She waited. Low mutters of raised voices came from behind the walls. The doors to the room to her left stood open. A lamp threw a soft glow inside, and curious, she moved to the threshold and halted. Along one wall stood a massive fireplace with a mantel that reached far above her head, its width extending the length of the room. Above it hung the portrait of a woman in a heavy, gilded frame. With the portrait’s face hidden in shadows, only the paleness of the subject’s hair glimmered against the darkness.

Hearing the sound of the doors opening behind her, she turned. Jefferson stepped into the vestibule and closed the doors. "Mr. and Mrs. Wyngate refuse to see you, Miss Vann."

Taking a deep breath to calm her thudding heart, she lifted her chin and announced, "They will see me."

She brushed past him, across the vestibule and swung open the doors. She halted, her hands still clutching the doorknobs. Their surprised faces looked up at her in the golden glow of the lamps. Gage Wyngate, leaning on his cane, half rose from his chair. Mrs. Wyngate, her thin hands clasped in front of her, came to her feet and stood gaping at her.

"Mr., Mrs. Wyngate," she greeted, striding toward them, "I'm sorry it's so late, but I came here to get some answers and I will not leave until you give me those answers."

"See here, young lady . . . ." Mr. Wyngate's face puffed and reddened. "Jefferson, send Wade for the sheriff at once!"

The manservant hastily retreated.

Cassandra's heart thudded against her ribs. Her stays bore into her side. Her breath came short and quick. "It'll take a while for the sheriff to get here." She sank into the nearest chair. Lifting her face, she boldly met their eyes. "Now that I have your undivided attention--"

"You've got your gall, Miss Vann!" Mr. Wyngate almost shouted, his face turning a brighter shade of red. For a minute, Cassandra thought he was going to pop a button off his brocade vest.

"My presence upsets you both. If I have to, I'll tear this place apart finding out why." Cassandra forced calmness and control into her voice. "No one has ever reacted the way you do toward me, and I believe you're keeping something from me. I believe you know my mother, Elizabeth, and my father, Reilly Vann, and someone by the name of Nick. I came all the way from Arkansas with the intention of locating my mother's family, and I don't intend to leave Denver until I have some answers. Is that understood?"

Mrs. Wyngate gave a faint cry and, covering her mouth with her hand, sank into the nearest chair.

Staunchly lifting her chin, Cassandra met Mr. Wyngate's flashing eyes. "Would you like to start with Elizabeth, my mother?"

A long, deathly silence fell. The fire crackled and popped in the hearth and the wind moaned around the eaves beyond the walls of the great house. Out in the vestibule, the grandfather clock chimed the nine o'clock hour in long, melodious tones.

"Did you have a daughter who became involved with a miner?" Cassandra prompted impatiently. "Didn’t your daughter disappear with him? Wasn't your daughter my mother? Wasn't the miner Reilly Vann?"

"No!" Springing to her feet, Mrs. Wyngate began wringing her hands and moved toward the fireplace, her back toward Cassandra. "No! Reilly was not the miner!"

Mr. Wyngate suddenly emitted a gurgling sound. Mrs. Wyngate pivoted and gasped. Alarm surged through Cassandra at the sight of his face deathly white face. He clutched his chest. "My . . . my medicine!" he gasped.

"Jefferson!" Mrs. Wyngate screamed, grabbing a bottle off a lamp table, uncapping it, and pouring the medicine into a spoon. She shook so badly that Cassandra thought she surely would drop it before she could get it to her husband’s mouth.

He gulped the liquid down, sighed, and stretched out on the sofa as Jefferson walked into the room. "Go wake Poole and the others," Mrs. Wyngate ordered. "We have to get him up into bed. And send someone for the doctor! At once!"

The manservant made a quick retreat. Mrs. Wyngate swung toward Cassandra. "See what you've done! This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been here!"

"Beg your pardon, Mrs. Wyngate. It certainly may have. Or else the medicine wouldn't have been so conveniently nearby, would it?"

Mrs. Wyngate straightened her petite body, her face pinking, her eyes glittering. "Would you leave so that I can attend to my husband?"

Disappointed and skeptical of Mr. Wyngate’s sudden illness, Cassandra rose from her chair. "Mark my words, I will be back. I will give you no rest until I have some answers. Is that clear?"

#

Riding back into Denver in the hired carriage, Cassandra mused that the cost of the rented vehicle had been wasted on a futile excursion. She wanted to kick herself for having fallen for the Wyngate's ruse. Yet, the pallor of Mr. Wyngate's face gave credence to his sickness, whatever it was. Ironic that he became so sick during her visit.

Well, that wouldn't stop her from attempting to talk to them again. Next time she would succeed.

After dropping the carriage off at the livery, she made her way up the slushy streets toward the Farrington. Traffic passed her and snow came down harder. Wondering if Blaine waited for her, she entered the hotel and made her way up the stairs to her room. Unlocking the door to her suite, she heard footsteps coming toward her and looking up, she saw Reid striding down the carpeted corridor.

Her heart sank with disappointment. She wished it were Park coming her way instead of Reid.

Reid sent her a quick wink. She bristled, thinking the gesture a little too bold and presuming.

"Hi," he greeted, catching her arm and flashing those white teeth down at her. "I was told you left work early, so I waited for you."

Suddenly unsure and self-conscious, Cassandra hesitated. Should she invite him into her room? Back in Arkansas to invite a man into a hotel room would be considered most shameful. Unattached men and women did not entertain each other unchaperoned in hotel rooms.

But this wasn't Arkansas. This was Denver and things were so different out here. Although many considered the town to be no more than a conservative cow town with a pretense of sophistication, people still accepted things that in Bluff Hills would be frowned upon.

"It's late, Reid."

His smile broadened. "There's something waiting for you in there."

"Oh?" She lifted an eyebrow, her curiosity mounting. Her scruples waned. Turning, she pushed the door open and halted. Standing on the table in the center of the room was a crystal vase overflowing with the largest, brightest bouquet of red roses Cassandra had ever seen. Their poignant fragrance filled the air.

"Oh, Reid!" she exclaimed, moving to them. "Oh, they're gorgeous!" Tears filled her eyes. Blinking hard, she touched her nose to one of the blooms and sniffed, then pulled the card from its envelope and read: "I'm sorry. Love, Reid."

Puzzled, she looked up at him. "Sorry for what?"

He shrugged, shut the door, and came to her. "For the way things went at the ball the other night." He took hold of her shoulders.

Her breath caught. Uneasiness crept through her. His face softened with desire as he leaned toward her, his mouth coming down on hers.

His lips at first claimed hers in slow, lingering tenderness, then he pulled her into him and deepened the kiss. Resistance moved through her and she lifted her hands to his chest and pushed. She couldn’t respond. There was something not right about her being in his arms.

Besides Park . . . .

What about Park?

Then she knew. She wanted to be in Park’s arms, not his brother’s.

"I want you, Cass. I need you."

She pushed against his chest and tried to step back.

The sudden bang of the door sent shock waves reeling through Cassandra.

Blaine!

She froze within Reid's arms.

"Damn!" Reid muttered between clenched jaws. He reluctantly released her.

She turned and, in the dimness, met Blaine's wide, dark eyes.

A long, suspended moment fell. Blaine's stare shifted to Reid, then back to Cassandra. He pivoted and ran into his room.

"Blaine!" she called.

The door slammed shut.

Alarmed, Cassandra started after him. Reid's hand curled around her arm, bringing her back toward him. "Let him go, Cass."

"I must talk to him!" Her breath came in short, quick gasps.

"About what? He got the idea of what was going on."

"But you don't understand! I must talk to him!"

Reid released his grip. She hurried to his door and knocked. "Blaine!"

No answer.

"Blaine, may I come in?"

"Go 'way!"

"I want to talk to you."

Silence.

Pushing open the door, she stepped into the dim room. Whirling around and throwing his hands behind his back, Blaine faced her, his eyes wide, his face red. Her gaze went to the bed. A tattered cigar box sat there, its lid wide open revealing a stash of gold coins inside.

His gaze followed hers and widened. He slammed the box shut. Snatching his arm, she brought his hand from behind his back and stared at his closed fist.

"Open it," she ordered.

He slowly, reluctantly unfolded his hand, revealing a several coins.

"What's this?" she demanded, her alarm rising.

"What does it look like?" His tone was heavy with sarcasm.

"Where did you get this money?" She grasped his shoulder. With a shrug, he stepped beyond her reach. "I'm working for it."

"By fighting?" Fear almost made her gag.

Blaine jutted his chin, his dark eyes flashing, his gaze darting to Reid standing in the bedroom door. "I don't have to tell you. Besides, we have to get out of here somehow!"

Anger shot through her. She folded her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms. "Where did you get that money?"

Blaine's gaze swung back to Reid. "At least, I'm not selling myself for it!" He snatched up the cigar box and, tucking it under his arm, darted past her and Reid and out the door.

"Blaine!"

The outer door banged shut. She gave a sigh of despair, her heart aching, tears burning her eyelids.

"Let him go, Cass," Reid said, his big hand curling around her shoulder. "He'll be back."

"Where's he going? How did he get that money?" Panic edged her tone.

"I'm sure he'll tell you in his own time."

"But I'm so worried." Wringing her hands together, she moved farther into the room, turned, and met his eyes. "Reid, I'm moving out."

His mouth twitched with a lopsided, reconciliatory smile. "Where would you go?"

"I don't know. Blaine thinks I'm . . . I'm your woman - mistress, that's why you've been so generous with us by letting us have this room for much less that what it's worth. I can't go on living like this."

Moving closer to her, he slipped an arm around her waist and lifted her chin so that her eyes met his. "Don't move out of the Farrington. There's no room to be had in all of Denver."

Numb with worry, she suddenly realized how closely he held her. She stepped away, breaking his hold on her, and moved to the front door. "Please, I'd like to be alone, Reid." She pulled the door open.

Scowling, he hesitated.

"Thank you for the roses." Her heart thudded against her ribs.

"Promise me you won't move out, Cass."

"I can't do that, Reid. I will find another place."

CHAPTER NINE

"Well, this is it."

Cassandra set the lighted lantern on the nearest table and glanced about the small room. She wrinkled her nose against the musty smell. Two dusty cots, a bureau, and piled trunks and other cast-offs belonging to their new landlady filled the dim room. The muted glow of twilight shot a shaft of light through the narrow window at one end of the dark, dingy attic.

"Boy, this isn't much, is it?" Blaine dropped the carpetbag to the rough, splintered floor. "Looks like no one's been up here for years."

"Probably not. We're just fortunate Mrs. Phillips happened to see my ad in the newspaper and decided to rent to us. Otherwise, we'd be back out on the street."

"Anna would've let us move back in with her." Blaine's voice was sullen.

"That'd be no better than living at the Farrington, would it?" She moved to one of the cots. Dust covered the ticking mattress. "I wasn't comfortable living there, and you weren't comfortable living at the Farrington, even though you had no reason to suspect anything between Reid and me."

"I didn't, huh?" He sent her an accusing glance. "What about me walking in on you and him kissing? That said plenty."

Warmth crept up her face. "It wasn't what you think, Blaine."

"I don't trust him. He's using you, Cass. He's too slick. Park and I get along better than I would with Reid any day." Shrugging, Blaine moved to the window and peered through its dirty panes.

"How would you know? You hardly know either of them."

"I can tell, that's all." Resting his knee on a trunk, he leaned closer to the window and looked outside. Though bright in the golden twilight, the city spread below glittered with ice. "Besides I saw Reid and a girl coming out of the Broadway Theater the other night. And they sure looked cozy."

Hillary? Cassandra's heart leaped, then turned as icy as the day outside.

"I guess at Christmas, we can put our tree here in front of the window," Blaine continued, oblivious to Cassandra’s sudden silence. He meandered to the bureau and looked into the dusty, cracked mirror. "Well, this sure isn't the Farrington or our rooms at Anna's. Too bad this attic doesn't look like the rest of the house."

"Well, it's all we can afford!" Defensive, she picked up the carpetbag and lifted it onto the cot. "We'll just have to live with it."

"Are you still going to work at the Farrington?"

"Of course. We still have to pay rent on this room. Mrs. Phillips certainly won't let us have it for free." She lifted the latch on the carpetbag and opened it. "She said she'd bring up some linens after awhile. We must get this place cleaned up."

"Well, I'm kinda hungry." Running his finger along the bureau top, he regarded the track he left in the dust.

"Mrs. Phillips said dinner will be served at six-thirty. We'll eat then." Sharpness laced her voice.

"What's wrong with you, Cass? You've been like a bear for the past two days."

Sighing, she sank onto the cot, folded her hands in her lap, and looked up at her brother in the dim lighting. His face looked almost free of bruises and cuts, something he never explained despite her pleadings. Since that evening several days ago when he'd left the hotel room with his money clutched to his chest, he stayed close, his mysterious excursions coming to an abrupt end. He still offered no explanation as to how he came by the money, and she knew it was futile to press him further. Reid was right. Blaine would tell her in his own time.

"I'm sorry, Blaine." She sent him a wavering smile. "I have a lot on my mind, that's all." Reaching out, she wrapped her arm around his waist and hugged him to her. "Forgive me?"

#

Pulling her coat closer around her and the hood upon her head, Cassandra hurried across the lobby toward the polished copper doors at the Farrington. Behind her, the dining room was closed, although music and the mutter of voices and laughter spilled from the gentlemen's bar and a steady stream of people passed through the lobby. She halted, pulled the gloves onto her hands, and stared out into the wall of falling snow beyond the porte-cochere. She dreaded going out for she had a long walk home.

Several blocks away from the Farrington, she realized she was headed toward Anna's place. She wasn't sure when she decided to go see Anna. She knew Anna would hear her out and offer suggestions and advice. She was the one she could trust.

So intent was she on her own problems that she didn't think about tonight being busy for Anna until she approached the yard. The grand house blazed on its heights. Horses and vehicles of all kinds crowded the driveway. Laughter and music lilted across the still, cold air to her as she went through the gate and walked around the side of the house, across the back verandah and through the back door. The warm kitchen bustled as Pearl and her crew prepared aromatic foods. She stood inside the door and pondered whether to try to see Anna or not. She knew that, except for an exclusive few, Anna no longer entertained customers. Deciding to take the chance of seeing her and hoping tonight she would be free, she made her way up the shadowy stairs to the second floor and halted on the landing.

The muted, tinkling music of the piano floated up from below; a door slammed somewhere; a soft, high-pitched giggle, followed by a low, masculine chuckle, came from behind one of the closed doors. Cassandra's face flamed. She would never get used to such goings-on here at Anna's.

Oh, Mother, she thought. What if you knew that I’d darkened the door of such a place?

Taking a deep breath, she moved down the hall toward Anna's room and lifted her hand to knock.

Downstairs, a woman suddenly cried out, followed by raised voices and the thud of heavy footfalls on the stairs. Startled and wondering what was going on, Cassandra pivoted. The voices below rose in pitch and intensity. A door slammed. Someone screamed. Two lawmen with guns drawn, the badges on their coats gleaming against the light, appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Don't move, gal!" one of them ordered.

Horrified and paralyzed, she waited as the two men moved from door to door, threw them open, and, amid screeches and bellows of surprise, hustled all occupants out. The hall became a blur of movement, shouts, and color as men and women, in various stages of undress, were ushered down the hall toward the stairs.

One of the lawmen grabbed her arm, his fingers biting through the sleeve of her coat. "Come along, gal." He hustled her down the corridor.

"B . . . but I'm not one of them!" she cried, panic-stricken.

"Yup, and I'm Santa Claus, too."

The retort on the tip of her tongue died as she stubbed her toe on the carpet. The man held her up and propelled her toward the stairs.

"Why, Mr. Farrington! We had no idea you'd be here!" The sheriff holding her arm spoke, bringing her thudding heart almost to a stop. She met Park's sparkling eyes as he stood on the stairs, clad in trousers only, his coat dangling from one hand, his bare, muscular chest gleaming against the light. Even under the dreadful circumstances, she didn't miss his delight at seeing her in his face. His mouth lifted into a sheepish, though half-cocky, grin.

Her entire body flamed as if it were on fire. She looked away, no longer able to meet his eyes.

"Come along, Mr. Farrington," another lawman ordered. "You'll have to come with us, too."

Cassandra's heart leaped into her throat. She wanted to faint, maybe die. "Where are we going? Where are you taking us?"

"To jail, Miss."

Lights dimmed. She swayed. With the sheriff's grip on her arm tightening, she had no choice but let him propel her down the stairs toward the front door. Knowing Park was now somewhere behind her, she threw a wild look over her shoulder. Maybe he could get her out of this; after all, he was a member of a prominent family and surely had some influence.

Downstairs, she was caught up in the jostling rush through the front door to the waiting police wagons, one of which the women were hustled into and the men into the other. She stumbled into the midst of angry cursing women in the back of the wagon. A knee or an elbow jabbed her in the back. The stench of strong perfume and powder rose with sickening potency from the warm, closely packed bodies. Tears pressed against her eyelids and spilled onto her cheeks. Darkness crowded in on her. Arrested in a raid in a bawdy house! Her face felt like fire.

The doors at the back of the wagon slammed shut, enveloping them into darkness. The women's mutters and curses grew louder. With a jolt, the wagon started down the street.

"Don't worry, girls," called a voice from the front of the wagon over the din.

Cassandra recognized Anna's voice. Somewhere in the mad rush and scramble, they had missed each other. Hope leaped up within her.

"We won't be in jail for long. We'll be out in a couple of hours, as usual," Anna continued.

"What is this anyhow?" cried another woman. "Another council member tryin' to make voter points for himself again?"

"Are we being harassed again, Anna?" another asked. "Seems like this is getting to be regular."

"Well, this time the law really made a haul," someone else chimed in. "None other than Park Farrington was hauled away, too."

"It's ‘bout time someone with some say-so got caught. Maybe this kind of thing will stop!"

"Well, it'll certainly be shut up. The Farringtons sure don't want their son's name in the paper."

"Park Farrington?" another hooted. "Park couldn't care less where his name shows up. And I'm sure his family doesn't have an idea in the least of where he was tonight and won't know until they read it in the papers."

The newspapers! Dear God, would her name show up in print, too? What would Blaine say? What would Reid think? How in the world would she ever get out of this? With a sob, Cassandra buried her face in her hands.

#

The wait was long. Women were packed into a tiny jail cell while the men were crowded into another. Small gaslights threw meager yellow light into the gloomy darkness. A lethargic pall descended upon the lot with only a few shuffles of movement breaking the stillness.

Cassandra sat on the hard floor, her chin resting on her bent knees, the uneven bricks of the wall poking into her back. In spite of the cold night, the cell was hot and sticky. The odor of sweat mixed with perfume made her want to retch everywhere. She wished God would reach down and pluck her out of this hellhole.

"Cass, what are you doing here?"

Anna moved beside her and sat down. The pale light glistened against her face, and Cassandra, glad to see her friend, couldn't help but notice how gaunt her face seemed to be. She wondered if Anna wasn't losing weight.

"Oh, Anna, I came to see you. I wanted to talk, but obviously I showed up at the wrong time."

Anna flashed a weak smile. "This happens in spurts. Someone in city hall wants to make himself look good, and the raids start." She shrugged. "We'll stay here for a couple of hours, then go back to what we were doing. It's a show. Nothing more."

"But how?"

"George will bail us out. That's part of his duties, just as the city thinks it's our duty to support it with our fines."

"The papers. Won't it be in the papers?" Despair tinged her voice.

Anna chuckled. "Of course. The one responsible for the raid will see to that, except for those who can buy their name out of the papers, which happens often."

The heavy wooden door leading to the anteroom squeaked open, pulling all attention toward a deputy as he stepped across the threshold. Halting in front of the women's cell, he swung his gaze over their faces. "Cassandra Vann!"

Startled, Cassandra felt her entire body leap. "What does he want?" she muttered hoarsely.

Anna gave another laugh. "Probably someone bailed you."

Unsure and scared witless, Cassandra came to her feet, and looked down at Anna. "What about you?"

"I won't be in here much longer. I'll see you later." She flashed a quick smile.

Nodding and feeling numb, Cassandra wove through the girls to the front of the cell. The deputy, with a rattle of keys, unlocked the door and let her pass through.

The anteroom was relatively quiet. With one sweep of her eyes, she noted a few journalists and several people whom she thought to be family who came to bail out their relatives. And she discovered Park leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest, his ankles crossed. He wore trousers, a coat thrown over his shoulders, his bare chest glimmering. He flashed her an easy, bright smile.

"You're free to go," the deputy beside her said.

Puzzled, she frowned. "How?"

"I bailed you, Miss Vann." Park came toward her, his black hair tousled, his face shadowed with a day's growth of beard, his black eyes brilliant and intense.

Had she not been so relieved to be out of that cramped cell, she would have been greatly annoyed with his arrogance. He walked with a swagger and self-assuredness that only a man of Park's mien could get away with while half-dressed. On any other man, his careless attire would have looked ludicrous, demeaning. On him, it somehow added to his dimension.

Very aware of his exposed chest through the gaping coat, she stiffened. "I appreciate it, Mr. Farrington." Her voice sounded harsh and cold to her own ears.

"Park, remember?" A dark brow arched, and his mouth tilted into that part smirk, part grin that fascinated her. She no longer doubted that he had seduced many women by that look.

The sudden, glaring flash of light and loud puffing sound of a triggered camera startled her. With a small cry, she looked up into the face of a grinning cameraman, now dragging his tripod back, out of the way of traffic. Panic rose within her.

"Why did you do that?" she snapped, before she realized she had spoken.

The cameraman grinned. "This should fetch a goodly sum. A Farrington caught on camera. What’s your name, Miss?"

Straightening his shoulders, Park approached the journalist. "How much for that print?"

"It's not for sale, at least to you."

"Oh, I think it can be." Digging into his trousers pocket, he withdrew a clip of bills. "A hundred? Two?"

The cameraman’s brows lifted, then fell as he grinned. "Make it five and it's yours."

Park pulled out several bills and handed them to the cameraman. He quickly counted them, then pulled the print out of the camera and handed it to Park. Grinning with satisfaction, Park tucked the print under his arm. "Now, how much would it take to get you not to mention my name or the lady’s in the newspaper write-up?"

The journalist's eyebrows shot up with surprise. "I've got to print this story," he said, rubbing his whiskered chin. "And I got to make it look good."

Park's brows lowered, his eyes taking on a new, hard glint. "Write your story. Just don't mention my name. Now how much?"

"Ah, let's say . . . ." The man rubbed his chin, glanced toward Cassandra. ". . . another five hundred?"

Without a word, Park pulled several other bills from the clip and handed them to the eager man. "I have the means of retaliating should you break your word," Park muttered between clenched jaws, his black eyes glinting menacingly. "I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth if I have to."

The journalist's eyes lit with delight as he shoved the money into his pocket. "Sure, Mr. Farrington. Sure. You can bet on my word."

"I'd better." Park turned to Cassandra. "Do you have a way back to the hotel?"

Astonished at how free Park was with such large amounts of money, she gaped at him. She had never seen so much money in her life, and she certainly had no idea anyone carried that amount in his pockets. "I no longer live at the Farrington."

"Oh?" He slipped his arms into his coat then offered her his elbow.

Hesitant at first, she took his arm and together they moved out the door.

"Do you always buy your way out of uncomfortable spots?" she asked as they stepped out onto the vacant walk. Snow lay in heaps against buildings and along the sides of the streets. Signs batted back and forth in the wind. Street lamps made fuzzy, golden orbs against the falling snow. She pulled her coat closer around her.

"Are you complaining?"

"No. It's just that it seems to come so easily for you."

He laughed, a deep, throaty sound. "It got you out of that stinking cell, didn't it?"

"Why did you do it?"

"I hate to see a beautiful woman locked up. She needs to be out and free."

Sensing a taunt beneath his words, she stiffened. "Many women back in that cell are beautiful."

No response came from him, and expecting one, she looked up at him. He was studying her with quiet intensity, his face wiped clean of all expression. Only his eyes glimmered hotly, lit with something illegible, something that made her uncomfortable, yet made her blood run hot and cold. She looked away.

"None fascinate me as you do," he said huskily.

Startled, she turned back to him, very aware of his nearness, of the warmth he emitted, of the bay rum fragrance surrounding him. Warmth seeped into her body. Despite his cavalier facade, she sensed a depth, a solemn undertone in his words. She looked away. "How did you get out of jail?"

"I was bailed. A friend of mine with the police notified my lawyer." His gaze fixed on her. "Why are you out of the Farrington? Did you and Reid have a lovers’ spat?" He led her down the street, their feet crunching in the fresh snow.

She inhaled sharply, her defenses rushing back. "He’s not my lover. I didn’t feel right living there, and I want people to stop talking."

"He's still seeing Hillary."

"I really couldn’t care less."

He looked down at her, his skepticism reflected on his face. "Where do you live? I'll walk you there."

"The Hank Phillips residence."

"Hank Phillips, huh? You're still living in a classy neighborhood. How'd you come by that?"

"The attic where Blaine and I live in could hardly be called classy." She shivered against the cold and pulled her coat closer around her.

"Hot in the summer and cold in the winter." Slipping his arm around her waist as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do, he pulled her nearer to him.

She liked the security his arm represented, yet she resented his presumptuousness and stepped out of his reach. Besides, he had just been caught with his pants down - literally, in the bed of a prostitute. She stepped farther away from him. She again shivered, and she didn’t know whether the chill was from the cold or from the ache that touched her heart.

"I won't bite, Cass," he said, impatience in his tone. "Besides I'm cold with nothing on underneath this coat."

"That's your fault. You shouldn't have been where you were to be caught without your shirt and pants."

"You’re a fine one to talk. Why you were at Anna's?"

"I'd gone there to talk to her. That's the truth." She flicked a snowflake off her nose.

"Twice I've caught you there. I even tried to buy your services, remember?" He chuckled.

She dared a quick look at his shadowy profile beside her. A flash of heat ran up from her throat to her hairline. "You may be able to buy your way out and into a lot of things," she answered curtly, "but you'll never be able to afford my services."

He laughed deeply, the tone of the sound suggesting that he doubted her words. "I don't always use money to buy my way through life."

"I'm sure you don't."

She meant her tone to be ambiguous, and when he threw her a puzzled look, she knew she succeeded. Men such as he knew nothing else but money - unless it was seduction. Money or seduction would not work on her as far as Park Farrington was concerned. She was dead sure of that.

CHAPTER TEN

Several days later Cassandra made her way up the dimly lit street toward the Phillips’ house. It looked cozy and homelike with golden light glowing from every window and reflecting against the new snow. She could almost smell the fragrance of burning wood in the fireplace, the evergreen garland that graced the wide staircase, and the spicy scent of cinnamon candles. Christmas was nearing and it would be a matter of time before its rooms would be filled with various aromas of baking goodies. Mrs. Phillips told her that she and her husband were expecting all of their six children and fifteen grandchildren for the exciting holiday. The anticipation of the happy time reminded her of the Harrises house back in Arkansas. They always celebrated with a house full of relatives, abundant, delicious food, Christmas carols, and reading about Jesus' birth.

Longing bloomed inside her. The Harrises always had treated her and Blaine as family and included them in all their gatherings. Suddenly homesick, she wondered how she and Blaine would celebrate Christmas this year. Probably alone.

Park most likely would spend the holiday with family - if he didn’t spend it wrapped in some woman’s arms. Warmth covered her face. Lucky woman to be curled up in front of a flickering fire with him.

Chiding herself for having such thoughts about a philanderer, she looked down the snow-packed street cast in the silvery circles of street lamps. A lone horseman turned from the Phillips' drive and rode toward her. Hunkered down in his coat collar and bundled in scarf and cap, he looked like a bulky, black shape astride the horse. The clop-clop of his mount's hooves rang hollowly in the silence. As he came abreast of her, she sent him a quick, disinterested glance. His face came under the light of the street lamp overhead. The tip of his cigar glowed bright. Where had she seen that face before? Or had she?

The warmth of the great front hall wrapped around her like a coat when she closed the door behind her and started up the stairs to her room in the attic. The drawing room doors to her right stood open through which the warm glow of a lamp mingled with the flickering light of the fire. With her knitting needles clacking, Mrs. Phillips sat in a wing chair pulled close to the hearth. Mr. Phillips sat to her left, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose, his head bent over a book.

She mounted the stairs, and so engrossed in her thoughts, she hardly realized when the first whiff of cigar smoke irritated her nostrils. The odor lingered, a faint, almost imperceptible, but unmistakable, odor. Wrinkling her nose, she continued to mount the narrow steps to the attic.

The dim light of the lantern bathed the small room and the cast-iron Ben Franklin stove standing in the shadowed corner bestowed meager warmth. Mr. Phillips had installed the heater for them after she and Blaine complained about the coldness of the attic, then he raised their rent fifty cents a month to help defray its expense.

In the middle of the room and unaware of her presence, Blaine danced about, legs spread, fists folded, and punched the air with precise, staccato jabs. He grunted with each blow to his imaginary opponent.

Irked, Cassandra stepped into the room. Blaine halted and stared at her. Uneasiness crept through her. "Who's been here?" she demanded.

"No one," he answered quickly, a little too quickly. He turned and flopped down on his cot.

"I know better." She moved farther into the room and began unbuttoning her coat. "I smell cigar smoke."

Locking his hands beneath his head, Blaine shrugged and glanced toward the window. "You’re imagining things."

Cassandra stared down at her brother. "Are you lying to me, Blaine?"

"Why should I do that?" His gaze remained fixed on the window. "I don't keep any secrets from you."

"Say that again. I don't think I heard you right."

"I said I don't keep secrets from you."

"How can you say that when you have a box full of money and I have no earthly idea where you got it and you won't tell me?"

"Well, no one's been here!" He suddenly sprang off the cot and, jerking his coat off the ladder-backed chair, started toward the stairs. "I'm going to get some more firewood. We'll need it before morning."

Angry, she shrugged out of her coat and hooked it on the peg on the wall. With hands on her hips, she glanced about the room. She hadn’t seen anything of the cigar box holding all that money since the day Blaine walked out with it tucked under his arm. He offered no further explanation, and whenever she asked him about it, he told her it was none of her business. Worried sick, she suspected he was boxing - an illegal sport; yet, she couldn't fathom Blaine doing anything dishonest. He hadn't been raised that way. Elizabeth had instilled high ethics in her children. Even when Blaine once saw a man drop a dime on the street of Bluff Hills back in Arkansas, he returned it, even at Reilly's insistence that the dime was Blaine's to keep.

Still, she worried, although it had been quite awhile since he had come home all black and blue. His face looked normal now. One day, she might follow him on one of his excursions.

#

Stepping out of the Denver Post office, Cassandra pulled the hood over her head and hugged the coat closely about her. She glanced up and down the street. It was going to be a long walk to the Phillips in the icy wind and snow. She was thankful that Blaine was safe and sound in their room. It got cold back in Arkansas, but never quite this cold - so cold that her breath froze into ice right before her eyes. Heaps of snow piled high against the sides of buildings and covered the streets so thickly that one couldn't tell where the walks met the streets. The air was white with blowing snow and ice.

Deciding she was foolish to have come out on her day off to place an ad in the Post, she bent her head against the wind, stepped into the snow, and started in the direction of home. She hoped her ad would produce results.

She made slow progress up the street, fighting the snow that sucked at her boots and the wind that pounded against her. Her face stung from the cold and the walk to the Phillips just as well have been a hundred miles away. She really wished she had postponed placing the ad. There would be other days off from work. But the weather hadn't been this bad when she left the house. While she was inside the Post office, the wind whipped up suddenly, bringing a heavy shower of snow that soon abated, although the wind still raged.

A closed carriage, one of few, made its way slowly down the snow-blown street toward her. She regarded its approach with envy, then bent her head against the wind. As it came abreast of her, she threw a curious glance toward it. A man's head, covered with a bowler and bundled up to its ears with a woolen scarf, appeared at the window. Cassandra's hope leaped. She tried to smile but her frozen lips wouldn't budge.

"Cass," Reid called over the howling wind. "Come on." He flung the door open.

Lifting her skirts, wet with snow, she stepped into the carriage and sat down beside him. She flashed him a grateful smile.

"What are you doing out on a day such as this?" he asked, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and taking her hand in his.

"I placed an ad in the newspaper." She could hardly speak between her stiff lips.

"You're frozen solid. What kind of ad would make you come out in this weather?"

A shiver raked through her. "I placed an ad asking anyone who knew a miner by the first name of Nick back in the late sixties or early seventies to contact me at the Farrington. I really hope it produces results."

"Who’s Nick?"

"Someone my mother knew when she lived here. I have a letter written to her from him, signed with just the name Nick. That's all I know."

"Miners are sometimes a transit lot." He grinned, white teeth flashing in the gray light. "I hope you find him."

"So do I."

He bent his head close to her. His eyes smoldered with desire, the same hot desire she’d seen in Park’s face, except Reid didn’t produce the same deep, burning need within her that Park did. She felt detached, somehow apart from Reid.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, parted and coming nearer. With blood pounding in her ears, she looked away.

"Cass, I want to love you," he muttered, his voice low and husky. "Let's go to the Farrington. I have a suite there. We’ll have all the privacy we need."

She stared into his eyes, bright hot with the need of her. One of the wealthiest, most sought-after men in Denver was asking her to become his lover. Her face burned at the thought. She didn’t even feel shock at his proposition. Had she become so desensitized to such goings-on that she could no longer be shocked? Is this what Denver and its sophistication did to her? Or perhaps she had suspected all along that this is where their relationship was leading; that Blaine and Park were right.

"No, I won't, Reid." Her reply was hardly above a whisper.

The fire in his eyes dimmed. "Why not? I need you, Cass. I want you to love me."

"Your offer is indecent. Please take me home." Moving away from him, she settled back against the cushion of the black, tufted seat. A lump rose into her throat as thoughts of Park surged through her mind. If Park made her the same proposition could she as easily reject him as she did his brother?

Reid sighed, the sound full of disappointment. He cupped the side of her neck with his hand. She retreated a bit. "Indecent for whom? Arkansas?"

"For Denver, too, I would hope." Her voice lifted a bit, a tinge of defensiveness in it.

He chuckled. "That's what Denver would like everyone to believe, and I suspect your Arkansas is the same way. They don't practice what they claim to believe. Everyone’s bedding everyone else."

"Is that what you and Hillary do? Bed together?" Her cheeks scalded anew.

His laughter deepened.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry." Unable to meet his gaze, she looked out the window into the blowing snow. It was coming down harder, the wind whipping it up into white, misty clouds.

"Hillary is a tease. She wants me on her terms, not on mine or anyone else's."

"She's of your kind, Reid."

"My kind?" A dark brow lifted.

"Of your world. She belongs with you. I don't."

"That's your idea." His hands curled around her arms, yanking her against him. "I want you. Not her. I want to love you."

His mouth suddenly came down on hers with such force that she couldn't breathe. His lips massaged, taking hers in wild reckless abandonment. His tongue probed. She felt the passion, the tremor that raked through him. With hot anger shooting through her, she stiffened and strained away.

The carriage jolted to a halt. A blast of cold, icy air chilled her as the door flew open and Reid released her. His smoldering, dark eyes held hers.

"Coming in, brother?"

Gasping with a start, her heart hammering, Cassandra turned.

And met Park's grinning face. His black eyes danced and leaped with amusement as he stood, holding the carriage door open. Her entire body flamed hot. Her numbed mind grasped that they were parked under the porte-cochere at the Farrington Hotel. Mortified, she threw a glance at Reid. His brows lowered in a dark scowl.

"We'll be there in a minute," Reid barked.

"No . . . no, I'm not going in, Reid," Cassandra heard herself say. Anger rose in her, choking her. "I've got to get back to see about Blaine."

"Isn't Blaine old enough to care for himself?" Impatience edged Reid's tone.

She glared at him. "The weather is getting worse."

"Sure." His voice was heavy with disappointment. "I'll drive you home." Opening the door on his side of the carriage, he called new instructions the driver.

"Is home still at the Phillips?" Park asked, still holding the door.

Her chagrin deepened. Park's irritating grin spread. "It’s none of your business!" Flash after flash of fire raced through her.

"Have you got business here at the hotel?" Reid snapped at his brother. "If not, I suggest you head home. The storm's getting worse."

"That's exactly where I'm headed." Unruffled Park grinned. "I assume you're headed home, too."

"Drive on!" Ignoring his brother, Reid reached across Cassandra, grabbed the door and slammed it shut. With a jolt the carriage took off into the curtain of blowing snow.

"Damn his hide!" Reid muttered between clenched jaws.

Hot tears stung her eyes. "He is rather . . ." She groped for the proper adjective with which to describe his obnoxious brother. ". . . disagreeable, isn't he?" Dear Lord, what must Park think of her? Did he really believe that she and Reid were lovers?

What did it matter? She lifted her chin and stared out at the blowing snow. He didn’t care one whit about her. She was a laughing stock for him. Nothing more.

"I'd like to wring his damned neck!" Reid snapped.

She blinked away threatening tears. "Have you and he always been so argumentative?"

"Not usually. Not until . . ." Reid broke his words off sharply. ". . . not until lately."

"Seems he always shows up when you least expect him." Her voice was edged with disdain. The blaze of Park's black eyes seemed to be burned into her mind. She couldn't get those eyes, that smirk out of her thoughts. "That's for damned sure." Catching her shoulders, he turned her toward him. "Are you sure you want to go home? I'm sure Blaine is safe."

"Yes. Just take me there."

He expelled a long, resigned sigh. "I'll wait, Cass. One day you'll come to me and tell me you want me just as much as I want you."

#

"What do you want?" Park snapped, irritated to see Reid standing at his door in the boarding house.

"To see you." Not waiting to be invited inside, Reid brushed past him and strode into the room.

"You're going to have to drive like hell to get back home before this storm gets any worse," Park said, shutting the door behind him. He was in no mood for his brother’s company. Lately, their dispositions turned surly toward each other whenever they were together, ever since Cassandra came into their lives.

"The storm is the least of my worries. I want you to know you acted like a damned jackass awhile ago."

"You mean back at the Farrington?" Shrugging, Park moved into the dressing room and picked up the brush and smeared shaving soap over his face. Yes, he had acted like a jackass but he felt damned good about it. "I saw your carriage come in and decided to open the door for you."

"Like hell you did." Angry, Reid moved farther into the bedroom.

His irritation mounting, Park pulled the straight razor across his cheek. "What did I do? Intrude into a passionate moment?"

Park met his brother's eyes in the mirror. They gleamed dark with anger. "Seems you have an uncanny knack for popping up at the most inopportune times. Especially when it comes to Cassandra."

"Just by chance, Reid. None other." He swished the straight razor around in the basin of steaming water.

"Coming from any other guy, I'd go along with that excuse. But since it's coming from you, I can't swallow it."

"Don't you trust your own brother?"

"Not with the philandering reputation you've got."

"She's a beautiful woman."

"Dammit, I'm telling you to stay away from her!"

"You’re not telling me whom I can see," he said with controlled anger. "Besides you have no hold on her." Turning, he began undoing his pants. "By the way, which one are you taking to the Phillips' ball, Cassandra or Hillary?" Sarcasm tinged his voice.

"I asked Cassandra. She can’t go."

"Oh?" Trying to feign nonchalance, Park lifted a brow as he stripped off his pants and underwear and stepped, naked, into the tub of steaming water. "I can’t believe you’ve really broken free of Hillary Landover."

"Believe it."

Park regarded his brother through the golden light. He doubted that Reid would ever be free of Hillary. "Why can’t Cass go to the ball?"

Reid face flushed. "She's been hired by the Phillips to work the ball."

"Oh." Park's brow lifted higher. "As a servant, cook, what?"

"I don't know. All I know is that they approached me about letting her off work so that she could help them out. I agreed."

"How gallant of you. I'm sure you're very aware of how badly she needs the money. After all, she's not of our class, of our social standing. Which incidentally, she has none of the smug pretensions or shallow lifestyles of our class, either."

"Damn you, Park! I want you to leave her alone! Leave me alone! What I do is my business!" Turning on his heel, he moved farther into the bedroom. A fire roared in the hearth. A couple of candles burned on the mantel and a ragged-looking cigar box sat between the two candlesticks. An ornate banquet lamp glowed on the table beside the bed, its muted light reflecting against something imperceptible beside it. Curious, he moved to the table and looked down into the gilt-framed picture. Startled, not quite believing what he was seeing, he picked it up and turned it toward the light for a better view.

In the picture, Park and Cassandra stood looking into each other's eyes. If he was seeing right, it looked as if Park wore no shirt under his gaping coat. Only a stone wall stood in the background. His curiosity mounted. Pivoting, he strode back into the dressing room where Park still lounged in his bath.

"What's this?" Reid demanded, shoving the picture under his brother's nose.

Caution, followed by amusement, leapt into Park’s eyes. "A picture."

"I know that! When and where was it made?"

"Several days ago." Park began washing his shoulder with the soap.

"Where was it taken?"

"What's it to you?" Irritation edged into Park's tone. "You're not married to her. You're not even engaged to her. You have no right to question me about what's going on in her life."

"Have you been seeing her?"

"That’s my business."

"Damn you!" Throwing the picture on the carpet, Reid turned and strode out the room.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The entire populace of Denver seemed to pack the Farrington Hotel dining room. For the first time in several days the sun shone, and although the temperature hadn’t climbed much, the streets were cleared of snow, and the people celebrated by converging on the city in droves. Cassandra was tired, thankful that closing time was just half an hour away. She hardly had time to catch her breath or take a sip of water. Even between proper meal times, the pace never slowed. Faces became a blur, conversation became mutters so that when the woman appeared in the doorway, Cassandra didn’t pay any particular attention to her. She was just another woman waiting to be seated, although she thought it odd that a woman would come in alone to dine at such a late hour.

Starting toward her, Cassandra suddenly recognized the woman and her steps faltered. Nancy Farrington, dressed in the finest fashion of velvet and lace and matching hat, stood waiting. Her heart leaped and thumped. Then planting a bright smile onto her face, she moved forward.

"Mrs. Farrington," she greeted. "May I show you to your table?"

The host, standing nearby, shifted his weight uneasily.

"You certainly may," Mrs. Farrington responded, with protruding chin. "And I insist that you join me."

Stunned, Cassandra glanced toward the host. "But. . . but we're so busy at the moment . . . ."

"Mr. Starr can handle it, I'm sure, Miss Vann. Come with me, please."

Throwing a quick, helpless glance toward the host, she turned and followed the older woman toward the back of the dining room to a secluded table surrounded with a profusion of greenery.

"Miss Vann, I do hope you will have an open mind during our conversation," Mrs. Farrington said as the waiter hurried away with their orders for coffee. She began removing her gloves.

"Regardless of how you feel inside, project confidence." Anna's words came back loud and clear. Straightening her shoulders, Cassandra settled back into her chair, clasped her hands in her lap, and lifting her chin, met Mrs. Farrington's face over the bouquet of flowers sitting in the center the table. "I'll do my best, Mrs. Farrington," she answered in a calm, controlled voice. "What is it you want to discuss with me?"

"I understand you're still seeing my son, Reid." The elder woman's cold eyes leveled with Cassandra's.

"Occasionally. After all, he is my employer."

She gave a short, indignant sniff. "No, I don't mean on the business, employer-employee aspect of your relationship. I mean socially."

"We have seen each other occasionally outside the business." She hoped her voice sounded as firm and confident as it did to her own ears.

"And I'm sure you're aware that he's supposed to marry Hillary Landover, the daughter of one of Denver's most prominent bankers."

"Yes, although I understand he broke off his relationship with her."

"Well, of course that's not permanent. The wedding is still planned for the spring."

Cassandra forced her expression to remain implacable. "Yes, and I understand he's having some difficulty getting it across to some people that he has no desire to be married."

Mrs. Farrington's face paled slightly. With an impatient sigh, she leaned back into the chair, her expression condescending. "Reid doesn't know what he wants at this point. Until you came into his life, there was no difficulty at all, no indecision, no turmoil in his life . . . . ."

"And no independence, I might add."

The elder woman's face reddened. "Miss Vann." Almost hissing the name, she leaned forward and rested her forearms on the table, her chin jutting, her eyes turning darker with anger. "I do not care for your impertinence--"

"Nor I your arrogance and pretensions." Oh, Lord, how did she ever manage to get that out?

Mrs. Farrington's face turned cherry-red. "I'll not spend another minute longer than necessary with you," she said between clenched jaws. "I came here to offer you a thousand dollars to leave Denver for good."

Anger and humiliation stung Cassandra. Unblinking, she leaned forward, her chin jutting, her shoulders stiff. "Mrs. Farrington, I came to Denver for one purpose and I do not intend to leave Denver until I achieve what I've set out to do. Furthermore, you do not have enough money to persuade me to leave."

"Five thousand, Miss Vann."

"I'll not take one dime from you."

Taken aback, Mrs. Farrington sat back in her chair and gaped with disbelief. "Surely, you need the money, Miss Vann!"

"Of course. But I have my standards and I will not stoop to your level by accepting your money. It was Reid's choice to break up with Hillary, not mine. What he does with his life is his business, not mine nor yours." Pushing back her chair, she rose and stared down into the woman's upturned face. "Good day, Mrs. Farrington."

With knees trembling so badly she could hardly walk and feeling the stab of Mrs. Farrington's glare against her back, Cassandra walked away. So be it if she were fired. She prayed that either Park or Reid would prove to be a strong ally and come to her defense.

Across the dining room, Park watched Cassandra wind her way through the tables and make her way toward the host. Even though she carried herself regally and smiled at the customers, he sensed her inner turmoil. Her compressed mouth, flashing eyes, and flushed cheeks said it all. He wondered what his mother said to her. He intended to find out.

#

Oh, dear God, what had she done? Was she a fool? She in all probability had thrown her good job out the window with her hastily spoken words to Mrs. Farrington. What was the verse Mother sometimes quoted from the Bible? Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.

The words raced through Cassandra's mind and seemed to echo against the vastness of the lobby as she pulled the hood of her coat up over her head and hurried toward the front doors. The dining room was closing behind her and she was eager to get home and into a tub of warm bath water to soothe her frayed nerves.

What would Reid say about her confrontation with his mother? Where did she get the courage to say such things? She had been impertinent. And rude and insolent to one of Denver's most prominent ladies.

When she stepped out into the street, the darkness of the night closed around her. The balmy day had given way to a cold, dark evening, full of wind and snow. The street lamps cast muted circles of light in the silvery blackness. Pulling her coat closer around her, she now wished she had taken Reid up on his offer of having a taxi drive her home in the evenings at the hotel's expense. But her fear of creating more trouble with Blaine kept her from accepting. She wanted nothing else with which he could accuse her of being Reid's mistress.

"Cass."

The call of her name from behind halted her steps. Turning, she saw Park, bundled in a heavy coat, a scarf pulled up around his ears, coming up the walk toward her. A bowler sat atop his crop of black hair at a rakish angle.

He looked so dashingly handsome that her breath caught. Remembering her last encounter with him, how he caught her in Reid's arms in the carriage, she blushed and wanted to run. Oh, what he must think of her! But for some unexplained reason, she was glad to see him, and the feeling both puzzled and tantalized her.

"How about a ride home?" he asked, coming to a halt beside her. His dark eyes smoldered down at her, their intensity, the depth of them taking her aback for a minute. As always, that half-smirk, half-smile curling his lips, that boyish, yet manly look still intrigued her. Uneasy, she glanced past him down the street.

"Do you have a carriage nearby?" she asked.

"Over this way." He offered her his elbow.

Taking his arm, she allowed him to lead her to the sleigh parked near the front of the Farrington. "Oh, how quaint!" she said as he handed her up into the seat. "I've never ridden in a sleigh before."

"They don't have sleighs back in Arkansas?" He pulled the woolen blanket over her lap.

"No, it never snows enough there."

"Well, you may get to see all the snow you care to here." He climbed into the seat beside her. With his "Giddy-up", the horse started down the street.

For a moment, they rode in silence, the clip-clop of the horse' hooves echoing against the buildings on each side of them. Traffic was light. Snowflakes floated down in lazy spirals. The street lamps made fuzzy, golden orbs against the misty night as the cold nipped at Cassandra's nose and cheeks. Her gloved hands twisted in her lap. Her awareness of his nearness deepened. The scent of bay rum filled her nostrils.

"I'm sorry for my mother's insensitive offer," he said at last.

Surprised, she turned and looked at him. "How did you know?"

"I saw you leave her table, and I knew your conversation with her couldn't be friendly. So I asked her."

"Did she also tell you I refused to accept her money?"

A little smile played around the corners of his mouth. She couldn't decide whether it was a grin of pleasure that she had stood up to his mother or if he thought she a complete fool to have turned down a sizable amount of money. "She did."

"Did she tell you how much she offered me?"

"No, but I got the impression it was substantial."

Cassandra blinked hard. She didn't know whether her eyes stung because of the cold or the sudden empty feeling that filled her. "Five thousand dollars. Wouldn't you say that would be enough to give Blaine and me a good start in another life somewhere else?"

"That it would. Why didn't you accept it?"

"I came to Denver in search of my relatives and I won't leave until I find out something. Besides I have my pride." She decided that he indeed thought her to be a fool.

"Reid has nothing to do with it?"

She let her gaze travel to his face. He was studying her, intently, speculatively. Something flickered in his eyes, something unreadable. She swallowed hard and looked away. "Not at all."

"But he is a part of the reason you're staying?"

"No!" She sent him a hard glare. "I will not be bought."

"I'm not surprised."

As if by will of its own, her gaze moved across his strong face, dimly lit against the streetlights. His eyes seemed to glint hotter and blacker than usual tonight. He again reminded her of a sleek cat, ready to spring upon his prey. "Just what would surprise you, Park Farrington?"

"Nothing. And nothing about you would surprise me. You're one of the elite few who has confronted my mother and walked away victorious." He flashed her a quick, delighted smile, its warmth touching his eyes.

Time stood still. The gentle rustle of the wind against ice and snow, the falling snowflakes, the velvet of the night enclosed them, setting them apart from the rest of the world.

"That remains to be seen," she heard herself say, finding it difficult to talk, her breath catching on every word. "She can have me fired, make sure that I no longer work at the Farrington or anywhere else in Denver."

The light in his eyes suddenly burned brighter, then dimmed to a hot smolder that seemed to caress her, absorb her. He drew on the reins, pulling the carriage to a halt. In a flash, she understood all too well the charm he wielded over women. She was helplessly drawn toward him, burning with the sear of his look. His smile disappeared. He leaned toward her. She couldn’t breathe. She wanted his kiss. Her heart thudded hard and heavy with anticipation.

His fingers slid along the curve of her jaw, and spreading his hand, he cupped the side of her neck. The warmth, the rough texture of his flesh seeped into her, and with a start, she realized that he somehow had slipped off his glove without her knowing it.

Sleek. Dangerous. Cunning.

The words raced through her mind. She suspected that this man could charm a woman out of her clothes with the same ease and prowess as he had in removing his glove before she realized what was happening.

His mouth lowered, touching hers with tenderness. Although gentle, the kiss also conveyed a need in him that puzzled her. A need she wanted to appease. Helpless and vulnerable under his spell, she leaned into him, letting her lips respond to his.

Hot and moist, his mouth took hers, his tongue delving, exploring. Surprised at her own wantonness, she opened her lips, allowing his entry. Hot and cold, she shivered, her insides quivering, an unsettling ache lowering to her belly.

His tongue was practiced in its slow caresses, his hands sure and confident against her neck and waist. The thump of his heart matched hers, his labored breathing harmonizing with hers, his desire as hot as hers in the pressure of his mouth. His hand began roaming across her back, restless, yearning, and insistent.

Sudden cold penetrated her coat. She tensed and pulled away from him. The wind lashed against her face, yet, the warmth that his nearness produced within her burned hotter. She slid to the edge of the seat and sent him a sidelong glance.

He looked at her, a little, crooked smile tilting the corners of his mouth. His eyes still smoldered. He found her amusing - or did he know how she had wanted him? Or was he laughing at her naiveté?

"She won't do that," he said, breaking the silence, his gaze moving away from her and down the street.

She blinked, her heart racing, her body feeling as if it had no bone in it, her emotions running amok. "Who do what?"

His grin broadened. "My mother wouldn't fire you. She knows Reid is in control of all the hotel business."

"Oh." A sense of disappointment nudged her. She didn't know why she felt disappointed, unless it was by his abrupt change of moods; from making her feel desired, as if she were the only woman in the world, to the impersonal talk of his mother. She bit her lower lip in frustration and suddenly wanted nothing more than to get to her room in the attic, in the sanctuary of her home, away from this man, this womanizer whom she didn't understand, whom produced such a myriad of conflicting emotions in her that she didn't know what to think.

"A penny for your thoughts," Park said, wondering how he could keep this woman from slipping through his fingers. Somehow, she unnerved him. Beneath that veneer of sophistication and confidence laid a naiveté that left him unsure and wary, yet he wanted no woman as he wanted her. The way her eyes, so gray they reminded him of quicksilver flecked with blue, the high color of her cheeks, and the fullness of her lips enticed him as none other.

He chuckled to himself. She was the one woman who could turn away from him, his kisses, and not look back. She could flick him out of her life as easily as she could a bothersome fly, yet she lit a fire so hot and deep within him that even the passion of other women failed to extinguish it. Other women, no matter how attractive, paled beside her.

She looked up at him. "I'm really tired. Just take me home, please."

#

The poignant fragrance of evergreen, mingled with cinnamon and spice, filled the air. The ballroom at the Farrington glittered with tinsel, garland, poinsettias, diamonds and rubies. Cassandra never dreamed of such a dazzling affair. Laughter resounded against the plastered walls and the molded ceiling and crystal chandeliers. Champagne flowed. Candlelight

bathed the elegant, palate-watering dishes that graced long, lace-covered table.

From her position behind the table of hors d'oeuvres, she decided all of Denver's elite was in attendance. She’d heard that the governor himself was somewhere out there in the midst of that gaiety. Apparently the Phillips were more into the upper echelon of Denver's society than she thought. She had already seen a couple of Congressmen, the mayor, and a number of other city leaders. She wondered if the Wyngates would show.

And Park . . . . .

A shift of movement, a mutter of raised voices pulled her attention to the ballroom entrance across the vast hall. Heads bobbed and colorful gowns rustled as the guests parted to allow Park through. Amalie clung to his arm.

Warm tears pressed against her eyes. The sudden memory of his mouth on hers as they sat in the sleigh flashed through her mind. She blinked, trying to banish the thought. How could she be so enthralled with the blackguard? Still, she let her gaze follow them as they moved farther into the room.

Debonair and dashing, Park wore a black suit with a long-tailed coat. Beside him, Amalie glittered in a vivid gown of yellow velvet that bared white neck and shoulders. They seemed to glow as they moved farther into the room. She had to admit they made a striking couple.

She blinked hard, trying to suppress the tears and calm her racing heart. How could she be so foolish to think Park would be interested in her with the likes of Amalie holding his arm, and likely his heart, too, when she, Cassandra, looked so dowdy?

The black and white costume she’d been regulated to, with its huge balloon sleeves and high collar did nothing to enhance her appeal. She wanted to yank off the ridiculous white cap perched atop her severely chignoned hair and the proper white apron that covered the length of her skirt, and pinch her cheeks until they glowed pink. She wanted to be attractive and irresistible, to obliterate Amalie from Park’s mind—from his life forever.

But that would never be.

She forced a smile. Guests were coming her way, expecting to be greeted by a friendly face.

#

The kitchen was a beehive of activity. Servants hurried in and out; the chefs barked orders; trays of food were shuffled back and forth. Standing inside the door, Cassandra glanced about the room, familiarizing herself with it, yet reluctant to ask where the extra napkins were stored. Hot steam and the delicious aromas of various foods filled the air. The kitchen was insufferably hot, and someone had propped the back door open to allow the cold, night air inside.

"What ya need?" the chef nearest her barked, his attention focused on the pates he was arranging on a silver tray.

"Napkins."

"In the linen closet." He gave a nod toward a short dim hall at the rear of the kitchen. "First door on your right."

She wound her way through the hustle-bustle into the hall. The heavy, dark door leading into the linen closet gaped. Pushing it open farther, she stepped inside.

And pulled up short.

Two figures were locked in such a tight embrace that they appeared to be as one in the dimness of the small room.

A gasp must have escaped her for the figures suddenly parted and gaped at her. Her knees trembled, the weakness spreading throughout her body. For a moment she thought her legs might give way beneath her, but she mustered enough strength to stand.

"Cass." A delighted grin spread across Park's face.

Awash with the heat of embarrassment, she sucked in a long, deep breath, lifted her chin, and clasped her hands together in front of her. Her tearing eyes darted to Amalie standing at his side, his arm planted firmly around her wasp-like waist. Jealousy pricked her deep and hard. "I came in for some napkins," she snapped, moving farther into the duskiness.

Park's grin spread. Reaching out, his hand curled around her arm, bringing her to a halt. She looked up at him from beneath lowered lashes. "I want to speak to you," he said with a self-conscious tilt of his head.

His sudden abashment and awkwardness would have amused Cassandra had it not been for the ache in her heart.

"Excuse us, Amalie. I need to speak with Cass . . . huh, about her job at the dining room. I'll catch up to you later."

Amalie glanced skeptically toward Cassandra, her gaze flicking down the length of her, then back up to Park. She lifted her mouth and kissed him on the lips. "See you later. Don’t be long. I’ll be waiting," she whispered, her mouth puckered into a pout, then with a swish of silk petticoats and gown, reluctantly left the room.

Another pang of jealousy pierced Cassandra. Pulling her arm out of Park's grip, she moved to the shelves of linen and picked up several napkins. An heaviness settled into the pit of her stomach. A lump formed in her throat.

"I'm sorry, Cass." Park lifted his hands in an uncharacteristic display of chagrin.

"For what?" She continued to remove napkins, her head held high. Her heart thudded.

"For everything."

She cocked an eyebrow. "You have nothing to apologize for." She couldn't contain the tremble in her voice.

"Then for Reid." Taking her shoulders in his hands, he turned her toward him. "I know you've seen him with Hillary."

She blinked and swallowed hard. "Yes, I've seen them."

"Don't waste tears on him, Cass." His voice was oddly tender.

Suddenly angry, she pulled free of his grip. "What makes you think I’m crying for him? Besides, you’re no better than he is! And I'm not crying!"

"But you feel like it."

Her anger soaring, she brushed past him toward the door. He could read her so well!

"Wait!" Catching her arm, he pulled her back toward him. The strains of a lively waltz, muted and distant, floated through the opened door. Their gazes met and locked in the paleness of the room. That boyish smile touched his lips. "Let's dance."

Taken aback, she stared, wide eyed up at him. "I can't dance. I'm hired help."

"I don't give a damn."

"But I'll be fired! I . . . I can't afford to be fired! What would your folks say? What would they do?"

His grin broadened. "Okay. We'll dance here." He suddenly took the napkins out of her hands and set them on a table nearby. Sweeping her into his arms, he reeled her about the stone floor, the hem of her skirt flying behind her, his arm tight and secure around her waist.

The music lilted, dipped and rose, enveloping them in a cocoon where nothing else, no one else existed. Time stood still. Rapturous, and suddenly not caring that he held her so close her ribs hurt, Cassandra threw her head back and gave a short, delighted laugh. His taut shoulder under her hand rolled and rippled with hard muscle. She could feel the power, the controlled strength in him. Her body glided in perfect rhythm against his as the familiar steps her mother taught her years ago came back to her.

For the first time since arriving in Denver, Cassandra felt free. Her inhibitions, her insecurities took flight, and she delighted in the feel of Park's arm around her, of her hand resting snugly within his. She felt secure and protected.

Sensing the tension leave Cassandra's body, Park swung her vigorously about the floor. Her face, lifted toward his, reflected the pale light, her full lips glistened moistly. Wisps of golden hair fluttered around her face, glowing as brightly as the fire in her silver eyes. Her ivory complexion, the long, arched column of her neck glimmered. His pulse hammered. His blood ran hot and fast. Every nerve in him seemed to awaken, sensitive to the touch and feel of her against him. She was light and graceful in his arms, her body moving in perfect synchronization with his.

The music lilted to a crashing end. For Park, it was as if he had dropped off a cliff, bringing reality back with a jolt. He halted, but didn't release her. She stood within his arms, her face turned up toward his. Her lips parted slightly, moist and inviting.

He swallowed hard. With any other woman he would have taken that mouth with his own. No questions asked.

"You told me once you didn't know how to dance," he said, his voice low and husky.

A little smile moved across her lips. Her eyes flickered. Slow, hot liquid moved through him. She made no move to release his hold on her. His gaze moved to her mouth and lingered. "Who are you, Cass? What are you?"

Her lips parted as if she was about to speak, then closed. Her fingers resting on his arm tightened as she prepared to step out of his arms.

He couldn't let her get away. His hold on her tightened. Her body melded to his. She smelled of lilac water and fresh soap. Her eyes, bright and liquid, met his. His fingertips moved in a light caress up the side of her neck, then spreading, cupped the back of her head.

Bending his head, he covered her mouth with his. Her mouth was at first hesitant and unsure, then as his lips tasted, then lifted, then claimed hers again, she met his kiss with equal abandon. Her arms slipped up around his neck as she leaned into him and opened her mouth to his.

A wildfire, like no other woman had produced in him, licked and burned deep within him. He groaned, and she emitted a soft whimper from deep within her throat. Every nerve in his body burned with the touch of hers; the feel of her breasts crushed against his hard chest, of her hips molded against his. The intense need of her seared him to the core, and he realized the need wasn't the same as it had been with the women of his past. This was a need of belonging to her, the need to protect her against the Reids of the world, of caring for her. This passion was not born of raw lust, but of something deeper, something unfamiliar, something just beyond definition.

She suddenly tensed within his arms and, pushing against his chest, she pulled her mouth from his. Her eyes, wide and liquid, held his in the dusky light. Her lips, moist and full from his kiss, opened then closed. She pivoted, retrieved the napkins, and hurried out of the room.

For a long moment, his heart pounding, Park stared at the gaping door. A sense of loss filled him. A sense of foreboding.

There had been nothing virginal about her kiss, mocking his idea that she was naive and innocent. With a surge of jealousy, he wondered if Reid taught her more than what even he, Park, imagined.

#

Why did you let him kiss you, you idiot? Cassandra berated herself. He just stepped out of one woman's arms into yours. He's probably laughing and thinking you a complete fool.

As hard as she tried, Cassandra couldn't forget Park's kiss while wave after wave of chagrin washed through her. No man ever kissed her as Park had. His mouth produced such tingling, marvelous sensations in her that she hadn’t wanted him to stop. She wanted more and more of him. In his arms she felt alive, with every nerve in her body heightened, aching for his touch. Waves of shivers moved through her, down her body into her buttocks as an unfamiliar ache settled into her belly. Her lips still tingled and felt puffy from his marauding mouth.

Forcing the memory from her mind and pasting warm smiles on her face and uttering friendly greetings, she went through the motions of serving the hors d'oeuvres. Conflicting emotions raged through her. She had kissed Park with a passion she thought she incapable of having; in fact, the feelings she had for Reid - or Bancroft of so long ago - held no candle to the passion that ignited in Park's arms. She wondered what was wrong with her. Why did she allow Park to unleash such raw, unbridled lust in her? Had she become a complete - she gulped - harlot?

But why did she feel such warmth, such security and protection in Park's arms, while she felt none of that in any other man’s arms?

She shuddered. Horror of horrors, it couldn't be. Park was a philanderer, a womanizer who used, then discarded women on a whim. He knew no bounds. He patronized Anna's place and the cribs and parlor houses on "The Row". He cared not one whit for propriety or society's rules of etiquette. He lived recklessly, satisfying his lusty appetites. No way could she love such a man.

"Cass."

The voice snapped her from her thoughts. She looked up into Reid’s contrite face. His dark eyes glittered down at her.

"I must speak to you tonight," he said, his voice low and husky.

Anger nipped her. "Where's Hillary?" She pretended interest in her task of arranging goblets around the punch bowl. "Powdering her nose?"

"Something like that." Impatience edged his tone. "Please, Cass. Meet me after the ball." His fingers curled around her arm.

Heat warmed her cheeks. She jerked her arm free of his grasp. "As far as I'm concerned, you've made your choice, Reid."

"You don't understand, Cass. I was forced to bring her tonight."

"Forced?" She disdainfully arched an eyebrow up at him and tried to keep her voice from trembling. "How in God's green earth were you forced to bring her? Don't you have a will - a mind of your own?"

"Reid." With a swish of satin and the redolence of gardenias, Mrs. Farrington swept up out of the maze of guests, her little dark eyes fixed upon Cassandra. "Hillary's waiting and her father wants to see you at once."

"I'll be right there," he answered, his voice clipped.

"Now." Forcing her gaze off Cassandra, she looked up at her son.

His face turning pink, he glanced toward Cassandra. "I'll talk to you later." He pivoted and disappeared among the guests.

"Miss Vann." Mrs. Farrington's words were short.

Her nostrils flaring, Cassandra made no attempt to hide her annoyance as she met the woman's stoic face.

"My offer still holds," the woman said.

"Hold it as long as you like, Mrs. Farrington, because I'll never take it."

"Surely, Miss Vann, you can see that you and Reid have nothing in common. He has a prominent name, money, and prestige, which requires that he maintain high . . . shall I say? . . . standards. Surely, you're bright enough to see that you don't fit in with his kind. You would be wise to take the money I've offered you, leave Denver and find another life for yourself."

"In other words, your so-called friends are whispering and back-biting and you can't save face with them as long as he's interested in me. Isn't that it?"

Nancy Farrington's face pinked. Her bosom swelled. "As I said, Miss Vann. You just don't fit in with his kind."

Hot tears pressed against her eyelids. She blinked hard. "I have work to do, Mrs. Farrington. If you'll excuse me . . . . ."

"Come to see me if you change your mind." With a snort, the older woman pivoted and moved out among the crowd.

#

Cassandra tried to concentrate on her task of filling the punch glasses. Her hands trembled. Her head pounded. And her heart felt as if a band was wrapped around it and was gradually tightening. She never dreamed love could hurt so much.

Or was it love she felt for Park?

She'd gotten several glimpses of Park out across the room and each time, his mouth lifted in a mocking smile, his black eyes glinting with merriment as if he were taunting her, reminding her of the kiss they shared back in the linen closet. Each time, her face flamed hot.

And each time, he’d been alone. No woman clung to his arm. She wondered what happened to Amalie.

And she wondered if this incredibly long evening would ever end. Not only had she had to put up with guests who complained about the food, the drinks, and anything else that caught their fancy, she listened to syrupy sweet accolades about Reid and Hillary and Park and Amalie, as well. She couldn’t wait until midnight when she could take her leave, for Mrs. Phillips had assured her that the refreshment tables would close then.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Please, may I have your attention?"

The gathering quieted as all eyes turned toward the silver-headed man standing on the platform in front of the orchestra. Cassandra didn't recognize him, and disinterested and impatient to take her leave so she could nurse her misery in private, she filled another glass with punch.

"I have an announcement tonight," the man boomed, grinning broadly. "Hillary, you and Reid come here!" He gestured out toward the guests.

A stir and mutter of voices ran among the crowd. With heavy heart, Cassandra watched as Reid and Hillary moved toward the platform. Tears blurred her eyes. She wondered why she felt so weepy.

"Tonight, I'm formally announcing the engagement of my daughter, Hillary, to Reid Farrington." The man's grin widened as he slipped an arm around Hillary's waist. She blushed and looked up at Reid. Reid's face was stiff with a feigned smile as he returned her gaze. Hand clapping, whistles, and catcalls filled the ballroom. Hillary slipped her hand inside Reid's.

Suddenly very tired and feeling like the other woman in an illicit affair, she glanced toward Dorothy standing at the opposite end of the table, then moved to her. "I'm not feeling well, Dorothy," she said. "I must leave."

"Sure. You do look a little peaked. Besides we're almost through here anyway. Mrs. Phillips said the refreshments would be put away at midnight, didn't she?"

Cassandra nodded, and squeezing Dorothy's arm, turned and hurried into the kitchen.

Across the ballroom, Park watched Cassandra stride toward the kitchen. His gut instinct told him she was leaving. He couldn't let her get away. He pivoted and began shoving his way through the cheering crowd into the front hall when he suddenly caught Reid’s dark eyes across the room. His brother’s mouth twitched, his eyes flickered with a touch of wistful longing just as Park turned away and asked the manservant to retrieve his coat, then followed Cassandra into the kitchen.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Outside the Farrington, Park saw Cassandra moving, like a misty, shadowed vision, through the gently falling snow. Her hooded head was held high, her shoulders stiff and straight, her feet propelling her swiftly down the street. Petticoats flashed around her ankles and the tie ribbons of her hood whipped over her shoulders in the wind.

His heart pounding, he hastened his steps. She disappeared into the shadow of a building and for a moment, he could not see her. Then she reappeared under the glow of a lantern. He increased his pace.

As if sensing him behind her, she suddenly halted, paused, then turned toward him. Shadows covered her eyes, although he could see the gentle uplift of her chin against the light. His step faltered.

Pivoting, she moved on down the street, her pace increasing with each step.

"Cass!" His own strides quickened, rapidly closing the distance between them.

She halted and turned toward him. "What do you want?" Her voice rose hardly above a whisper, her tone defensive and cautious.

He was suddenly without words. Damn! What was wrong with him? Words never eluded him before. "I thought I'd walk you home." His offer sounded a little desperate to his own ears. Without thinking, he reached for her arm.

Turning away from him, she stepped beyond his reach. The light of the street lamp fell upon her face. Her cheeks bloomed high with color and the sparkle of tears clung to her lashes. "I know my way." Her words became lost on the wind.

"I thought you might need some company."

"Where’s Amalie?" She looked past him as if expecting to see her.

"I took her home."

Her large, doe-shaped eyes came back to his. Her nostrils flared. "So early?"

A pause fell between them. Snowflakes drifted around her, peppering her hood and shoulders with white. He wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms.

"Are you really here to remind me of the fool I am?" she asked, her tone sharp. "For being so easy?" She started on down the street.

He fell into step with her. "Not at all, Cass."

She looked up at him, and he knew she wanted to believe him. A tear fell onto her cheek. He wanted to wipe it away, but for fear of offending her, he watched it slide to the corner of her mouth to her chin. Smearing her gloved hand across her face, she blinked, and looked away.

"I'm a fool," she said softly.

He flashed a soft smile down at her. She was shivering. "You're freezing. I know of a quaint little pub that welcomes ladies. We can go there to warm up. Besides, you don't want Blaine to see you so distraught, do you?"

Her eyes flickered. The pink tip of her tongue slid across her upper lip. "No, I guess not."

With his hand on her elbow, they walked down the cold, dim street several blocks to the Silver Vein, no more than a hole-in-the-wall in the basement of a multi-story building. Small and packed with patrons, it burst with the lively tinkling of a piano, the clink of glasses, the buzz of voices while layers of cigar and pipe smoke filled the air. Pushing his way through the maze of tables and calling several patrons by name, Park escorted her to a dim, faraway corner. As he pulled the coat off her shoulders, she realized, to her chagrin, that she still wore the frumpy black gown of a servant, although Park didn't seem to notice. He removed his own coat, sat down, and smiled at her across the flickering candle.

"What would you like to drink?"

"Oh . . . ." Suddenly unsure of herself, she glanced across the dim pub. Beer had been the only drink with which she was familiar. Reilly used to drink plenty of that, and she tasted it only once when she sneaked a sip. She hated the stuff. She frowned. "I'll have whatever you're having."

His smile broadened. That intriguing boyish look lifted one of his brows. "I'm having a whiskey. Sure you can handle that?"

She shrugged. "Something milder, then?"

He chuckled. "Maybe brandy?"

She nodded and he signaled for the waitress.

Watching Park give their orders, Cassandra was suddenly glad to be with him and began to feel at ease. Even the memory of the torturous ball and thoughts of Park and Amelia, and Reid with Hillary were fading under his warm gaze and the enchanting lift of his mouth. Yet, she only knew she couldn’t let Park think she wanted him, the one who could and probably would break her heart.

Suddenly shy and very aware of his savoir-faire and her own contrasting naiveté, she let her gaze move from him to the noisy patrons. A few women were scattered among the crowd, laughing and talking and handling their drinks of beer and wine with as much sophistication as the men. She’d never seen such goings-on in her life, and with a start, realized just how sheltered her life had been. She felt very much out of place in the world.

Her gaze wandered back to Park. He was studying her with such intensity, such intimacy that it startled her. His black eyes seemed to absorb her, to caress her with such scorching warmth that her entire body flamed. She wondered if he was probing into her very soul, reading her innermost thoughts and feelings.

"What's wrong, Cass?" he asked, his voice deep and rich, yet gentle.

"I have no business being here. I should be home with Blaine. I don't even drink."

"It's cold outside and you need to warm up a bit. Besides, I want to hear about Arkansas."

"What about it?" she asked as the waitress set their drinks in front of them.

"Tell me about your life there. Where did you learn to dance?"

She let a little, disdainful smile lift the corners of her mouth. "Certainly not at the governor’s inaugural ball. My father was a coal miner in the Ozark Mountains."

"Who taught you?" Leaning back into his chair, he sipped his whiskey, his eyes resting boldly upon her.

"My mother." She lifted the glass of brandy to her lips and drank. It burned like pure fire. A spasm of gasping and choking seized her.

"Hey, don't drink so fast." Reaching across the table, he caught her hand, his long fingers curling around hers on the glass.

Through tear-blurred eyes, she gaped at him, gulped, and prayed the burning in her throat would disappear quickly.

"Are you all right?" His hand still entwined with hers.

Nodding, she wiped the tears off her cheeks and managed a little laugh. "That should tell you what kind of life I had back in Arkansas . . . a sheltered one." Her voice sounded raw and hoarse.

A lazy smile slid across his mouth. "Brandy is supposed to be sipped, not swallowed like water."

Feeling heat rush to her face, she looked away from him. "I didn't know."

"Now, tell me about Arkansas."

"There's nothing to tell. Blaine and I came out here to find my mother's relatives."

"And you believe they're the Wyngates?"

"She was a Wyngate before she married. That's all I know."

"Are your parents back in Arkansas?"

"No." She sucked in a long breath. "They're dead

. . . at least my mother is. She died several years ago."

"And your father?"

Cassandra blinked hard, glanced away, and lifted the brandy to her lips. Intrigued by the way her lip curled over the rim of the glass, he sensed a sudden tension in her.

"As far as I’m concerned, he’s dead, too. He abandoned Blaine and me the day Mother died." Her long lashes fluttering, she avoided looking at him.

Her mouth quivered, and he wondered if she were fighting tears of heartache or the stinging effect of the brandy. His heart softened and ached for her. The pain of having been abandoned by one’s own parent must have been indescribable. Wanting to comfort her, he leaned forward and reached for her hand resting on the table. She pulled it away.

"He was a . . . a bastard."

Startled, Park lifted his brows. A woman as homespun as Cassandra would hardly know the meaning of the word, let alone use it in public. Her father certainly aroused strong emotions in her. "Those are harsh words, Cass."

Her face, hard and full of anger, lifted toward him. "That's the way I feel. He left Blaine and me standing in the street back in Bluff Hills without as much as a backward glance."

Park cringed at the bitterness in her voice. The desire to hold and protect her flowed anew through him. Her eyes glittered with new tears as she lifted the glass of brandy and took a long sip.

"Easy, Cass," he cautioned. "You're not used to drinking."

"Sometimes I think he hated Blaine and me. He never showed us any love, or Mother for that matter. All he loved was his guitar and beer. His leaving us to scrounge for food, to become beggars on the street proved that he didn't love us." As she talked, the bitterness in her voice turned to venom. "I hate him, and I wouldn't throw water on him if he were on fire." Turning up the glass, she finished the brandy.

"Hate is a powerful emotion, Cass."

Her liquid eyes suddenly darkened with anger. "You've never had to dig in people's rubbish for food, Park. You've never felt the cold penetrate so deeply into your body that your bones felt frozen, have you? You've never known the agonizing pain of hunger. How can you tell me I have no right to hate?"

He flinched and realized he had no such right. He had never walked in her shoes. Reaching across the table, he covered her hand with his. This time she didn't pull away. "One day he'll pay for what he did."

"And I hope I'm there to see it. Please, may I have another?" She lifted her empty glass toward him.

"Do you think you should, Cass? The brandy will hit you before you know it."

"Please."

With a sigh of resignation, he signaled the waitress and ordered another brandy. He wondered if the wine was diluting her pain of remembering.

"Reilly never had time for us. It was Mother who made sure we got an education. Reilly thought going to school was foolishness. Mother took us for long walks and taught us to appreciate nature. She taught us to appreciate all the great authors and great composers." A little smile touched the corners of her mouth. "She taught me how to dance."

"She taught you well." His voice turned low and husky. "What else did she teach you?"

She lifted the new glass of brandy to her lips. He noticed the long slender column of her neck and the movement of her throat as the liquid went down. She still was drinking too fast.

"To beware of forward men." Her wide, liquid eyes came back to his.

The orange glow of the candlelight danced across her creamy skin. He wanted to touch it, to feel the softness of her face. He chuckled. "Are you saying I'm forward?"

"Brazen, insolent, arrogant . . . . A scoundrel, just like your brother." Lifting the glass, she drank.

His smile widened. He suspected the brandy was taking affect.

"Anyway, when Blaine and I got here in Denver, Anna picked us up at the train depot and took us home with her." She suddenly smiled, a little coquettish smile that flashed white teeth. "And you thought I was one of her ladies."

No doubt the liquor was taking hold now. "I did."

"Tell me, Park. Were you disappointed when you found out I couldn't be bought?" Propping her elbow upon the table, she took another sip of the brandy.

"I think I'd better take you home." He swallowed the last of his whiskey.

"No, let's dance." Rising, she looked down at him in the dim light. Her face looked flushed, her eyes bright.

"I think not, Cass." He rose. "You've had enough."

"But we haven't danced at all!" Her lower lip protruded sullenly. Stepping closer to him, she took his hand and pulled him out onto the dance floor. Sliding her arms over his shoulders, she moved against him. "Oh, Miss!" She motioned at the waitress. "Another brandy please."

"Cass . . . ."

She turned her wide, silver eyes up at him and fluttered her eyelashes. Her full, moist lips parted. The sudden impulse to kiss, to ravage that mouth surged through him. Grinding his teeth, he caught her shoulders and held her from him. "Let's go."

"Uh-uh." She shook her head. "Not until you dance with me."

"Only once. Then I'm taking you home."

Grinning a triumphant grin, she wound her arms up around his neck and melded her body against his. Instant warmth shot through him. From the touch of her fingers on the back of his neck, down to the press of her thighs against his, a hot flame burned through him. His body hardened. He sucked in a long breath and slid his arm around her small waist.

Her hair smelled of scented lilacs. She was light and fluid within his arms. Hot, molten lava surged through him. He felt no tension, no restraint in her as they pivoted across the dance floor. Her body moving against his conveyed that she would be his for the taking. He'd seen such signals in women hundreds of times before.

Bending his head, he lowered his mouth to hers. At first hesitant, she leaned into him, her lips opening to his, her tongue probing. Aware of her fingers tunneling up into his hair, he pulled her into him, letting his mouth ravage hers in slow, easy warmth. His body began to throb.

But this wasn't the Cassandra he knew. This was the brandy she'd consumed. Pulling away from her and staring into her bright eyes, he silently cursed the sudden revival of his ethics. He couldn't take her. Not now. Not until she was sober.

But sober, she wouldn't want him. She'd just told him what she thought of him.

What the hell? His jaws began to ache, bringing the realization that he had them tightly clenched. Besides, he hadn't had a woman in weeks. With a jolt, he wondered why it had been so long.

Then he knew. No other woman interested him. He wanted Cassandra. No other woman burned him to the core with the want of her as she did. Now she was his for the taking.

The piano music lilted to an end. Park reluctantly released Cassandra and led her back to their table. The fresh glass of brandy was waiting for her, and when she lifted it and sipped, he didn't protest. She turned toward him and he noticed her eyes had turned glassy. "Aren't you havin' 'nother drink, Park?" she muttered.

"No, I've had my limit."

"Oh?" Cocking an eyebrow up at him, she flashed a lopsided grin. "Since when does Park Farrington have limits?"

"Believe it or not, I do." He grinned, reached for her coat, and held it as she slipped into it. While he put his own coat on, she finished off the glass of brandy. Taking her elbow, he propelled her through the maze of tables toward the exit. She stumbled. He caught her.

"Are ya' takin' me home now?" she asked, her words slurring as they went up the steps to the dark, cold street.

Conscience pricked him. She was so vulnerable. He cursed to himself. "Yes, I'll take you home."

"Wait!" Spreading her hand against his chest, she halted his steps. "I can't let . . ." She hiccuped.

". . .can't let Blaine see me this way."

Park arched an eyebrow. "You mean drunk?"

"J . . . just tipsy." She hiccuped again. "I just can't let him see me like this."

Feeling like a little boy with an angel sitting on one shoulder and the devil sitting on the other, Park looked down at her. She clung to him, her eyes wide, her full lips parted. "Come on." Wrapping his arm around her waist to steady her, he led her down the street.

"Where ya' takin' me, Park?" Another hiccup.

"To my room until you sober up."

"Would that be proper?"

"Under the circumstances, what would be more proper," he asked, impatience edging his tone, "letting Blaine see you so tipsy you can't walk straight or you sobering up in my room?"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Huge snowflakes drifted down like soft white petals falling from a crystal flower. With his arm wrapped around her waist, Park held Cassandra close, steadying her walk and trying to ward off the icy wind. She laughed and commented on the glistening, curious shapes the snow created as it blanketed the shrubs and trees along the streets. She giggled at their footprints left in their wake, his large and firm alongside her smaller, lighter ones.

With each step, Park grew more aware of her nearness, of her warm body under the bulky coat, of the lilac scent of her. He alternately cursed and congratulated himself for getting her to his room.

She hiccuped, then went into a peal of laughter. He laughed with her, intrigued, mesmerized with her, yet needled by his stirring conscience that reminded him of how he was taking advantage of an innocent woman. The other women in his life were wide-open sophisticates who understood how he operated and knew what was going on. This one didn’t.

"How much farther is this . . ." She expelled a loud hiccup, and staggered a bit. ". . . house of yours?"

"Not far. A couple of blocks."

The streets lay in long, deep shadows, and when the huge, three-storied Eastlake style house came into view, the warm glow spilling from its windows seemed like a beacon in the wintry night. The musical notes of a piano lilted across the air as they neared the house, and Cassandra's voice lifted in melody, off-key.

Hushing her as they went, he propelled her through the gate, around the house, and across the back verandah. Cautioning her to be quiet since his landlady forbade the entertaining of female guests in his room, he led her, stumbling, up the back stairs to the second floor.

His room lay in cold, purple shadows. Only a shaft of pale light spilled through the windows from the outside street lamps. Partially burned logs laid among scattered gray ashes in the hearth.

While Park lit a lantern and built the fire in the fireplace, Cassandra meandered into the bedroom. In another few minutes, he had a fire going in the hearth in the bedroom as well as in the Ben Franklin stoves in each room. Warmth and golden light began filling the suite.

Returning to the bedroom, he found Cassandra asleep on the rosewood, canopied bed. She lay on her side, her head resting on the pillow, her legs and feet dangling over the edge.

Something warm and soft slid through him. Smiling to himself, he sat down beside her and, lifting her shoulders, began removing her bulky coat. She stirred, raised herself up and looked at him from narrowed eyes.

"What are you doin', Park?" she muttered sleepily.

"Taking off your coat. If you're going to sleep, you just as well do it right."

A little, lazy grin slid across her lips. Her eyes glinted mischievously. "Are you gonna sleep, too?"

"Yeah, as soon as I get you comfortable."

She giggled, and the lilting sound of it sent a smooth thrill through his veins. He pulled the coat completely off her shoulders and tossed it to the nearest chair. As he did so, she touched his jaw, her fingertips feeling like spits of fire against his skin. Grasping her wrist, he held her hand away from him and focused on those deep, silver eyes under lowered lashes.

His heart thumped. His ears roared. He swallowed. Why did this girl - no, she wasn't a girl - this woman make his blood run so hot? Why did she produce such desire in him from just a look from lowered eyes?

He ground his jaws. Dammit, she was his. All he had to do was take.

Releasing his hold on her wrist, he began pulling the combs and pins from her bound hair. It tumbled over her shoulders like a silken cascade of gold. Leaning forward, he touched his mouth against the soft corner of her lips. She responded by turning her mouth into his. Their warmth, their moistness covered his as she leaned into him. Her lips opened under his. Her tongue probed. He bent over her, his own kiss turning hard and demanding, his own tongue urging her lips apart.

His fingers probed and found the small mother-o'-pearl buttons on the front of her dress. He eased each one through its hole, and with each release, his breath came a little harder and quicker. He relished the swell of her breasts as the bodice gaped open, exposing the lace trim of her camisole and corset.

He planted light, fiery kisses along her curves of her cheek, to her neck just below her ear. A soft moan rumbled up from her arched throat. Impatient with desire, he spread his hands across her waist, tugged at the bodice until it pulled free of the skirt. With light strokes, he moved his hand up her arms and pulled the dress off her shoulders. Her skin gleamed white and creamy against the flickering light.

He peeled the bodice off her shoulders, down her arms until it fell free, then he tossed it aside. With a slight smile tilting her mouth, she fell back against the pillows, her hair fanning out against the white linen like a peacock’s tail. His gaze lingered on the dark peaks of her breasts pushed high by her stays above the edge of the camisole. She lay vulnerable, his for the taking before him. No questions asked. And how he wanted her!

But this wasn't the Cassandra he knew, the Cassandra he loved. Her inhibitions had fled. Had he been Reid, she would have been just as willing.

At the thought, ice ran through his veins. Stiffening and cursing himself, he grabbed her shoulders. "You need to get some sleep," he growled. None too gently, he eased the buttons of her skirt open and yanked the garment down over her hips and tossed it aside. Frustrated and cursing himself for the sudden prod of his conscience, he began unlacing her high-topped boots.

Unaffected by his sudden reversal of moods, she watched him from beneath lowered eyes. He untied each shoe and flung it to the floor, then hastily removed her thick petticoats. Still, she made no move to protest as he pushed the legs of her pantalets up her thighs, past the garters and rolled the stockings down each shapely leg and tossed them aside. His jaws began to ache from his clenching them so tightly. His body burned hot. He trembled with the Herculean effort to keep his hands off her.

Dammit, he couldn’t last much longer. He wanted her. He needed her and she was his for the taking.

Still, he rolled her to her stomach, unlaced her corset until it sprang free, threw it away, then reaching across her, yanked back the covers. "Get in bed and sleep it off, Cass." His voice came across harsher than he intended.

Her eyes flickered briefly. With disappointment? He wasn't sure.

Curling her body, she slipped under the covers and peered up at him in the dusky light. "Are you comin' to bed, too?"

Park's body hardened. He folded his fists against the sudden ache and cursed himself for having brought her here to his room. He was a damned glutton for punishment, for torture. Yeah, she was easy for the taking, but he couldn't - wouldn't touch her. If only she was sober!

He suddenly pivoted and strode out of the room.

"Where are you goin'?" she called from behind him.

"Out!" he shouted. "I need some cold air!"

#

The excruciating throb that spread from her eyes to the back of her head penetrated Cassandra's consciousness first. Then she became aware of the scent of bay rum, followed by the warmth and softness of sheets against her body. Blinking awake, she lay unmoving, wondering where she was and wishing the light wasn’t so bright. Her heart began to pound with alarm. Why couldn't she remember?

The gathered silk canopy above her glittered against the sunlight. Slowly, almost dreading what she would find, she turned her head against the pillow. The bed in which she lay was large and high, laden with pillows and thick covers. The room was huge, decorated in massive, dark furniture and a gaping hearth where a bright, orange fire roared.

Pushing the covers to her waist, she sat up against the pillows and stared. Her mouth popped open.

Stunned, she stared into the gilt-framed mirror on the opposite wall of her bed. In its reflection, she saw Park. With only a towel draped around his middle, his face lathered with soap, he slid a straight razor across his jaw. Fascinated, yet horrified to catch him in an unguarded moment, she watched as he continued his task.

His broad arms and shoulders rolled and rippled with muscles that flowed into his broad chest, dusted with hair the color of ebony, and a rock-hard flat stomach. The towel did little to conceal his narrow hips and long, muscular legs. He moved with the grace and ease of a boxer as each lift of his arm seemed to be a calculated move.

Shocked by her own absorption of him, she continued to stare. Heat crept up to her hairline. This was so - so indecent, so improper to watch an unclothed man attend to his toiletries. Yet, she couldn't tear her eyes off him.

The water gurgled as he rinsed the razor.

Images suddenly flashed through her numbed mind. Of the fiery sting of the brandy as it slid down her throat. Of Park's laughter. Of her laughter. Of being held in his arms, of his body pressing against hers as they moved with the melody of the piano music. Of his mouth, hot and demanding, possessing hers, his tongue probing, exploring, stirring deeply pleasant sensations in her.

He suddenly lifted his gaze, catching hers in the mirror. Mortified beyond speech, she couldn’t move. A slow, insolent grin spread across his lips, then he reached for a towel, wiped his face, and turned toward her.

Suddenly realizing with alarm that she wore only her camisole, she yanked the covers up to her chin and leaned back into the pillows. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it would surely beat right out of her chest.

With a mocking smile, he approached the bed. She cowered, clutching the covers up to her chin. His black eyes smoldered down at her. Still fascinated by the fluidity of his movements, of his insolence, of his magnificent body, she stared at him, unable to look away.

"How do you feel this morning?" he drawled.

"W . . . Where . . ." She gulped. ". . . are we?" Her voice squeaked.

His grin spread as he stood as indifferent to his nakedness as a babe before her. He seemed to be so at ease that she thought he must have been in hundreds of similar circumstances before.

"In my room."

She had to look away from those probing, hypnotic eyes. Licking her upper lip, she glanced toward the window where bright sunlight spilled. "W . . . What time is it?"

"Close to nine."

"Oh my stars! I'm supposed to be at work!" Throwing the covers back, she started to jump out of bed, then remembered she wore only her camisole and pantalets. With a cry of embarrassment, she flung the covers back over herself.

Park chuckled. "Don't worry about work. I'll take care of that."

"B . . . But what can I tell Reid for not showing up? What excuse can I give Mr. Piermont?" Scorching heat surged in waves throughout her entire body. This unclothed man in front of her set her heart to hammering, and a strange, sweet sensation coursed through her.

"I'll tell them you spent the night with me." With a shrug, he turned and moved back into the dressing room.

A new wave of heat washed over her. "You wouldn’t dare!"

"You did, didn't you?"

"Yes, but . . . . I . . . I don't know what we did!" Her voice trembled with threatening hysterics. "How did I get undressed?"

"I undressed you."

Her horror of his answer was matched only by the new mortification that jolted her. She gaped as he dropped the towel and reached for his clothing. Mesmerized, she watched the fluid, easy movements of his tall, lean, naked body. In perfect symmetry, the muscled planes of his shoulders and back flowed into the clean lines of his slim waist and hips to the long, bulging legs. Even unclothed, he looked as sleek and as dangerous as a crouching panther. Still, she couldn't pull her gaze off him as he stepped into his linen drawers, pulled them up and fastened them. Then his trousers went on.

He turned and grinned. Blazing heat engulfed her. He laughed, a deep, rich, throaty rumble. Fastening his trousers, he approached her.

She stared at his bare chest and cowered further into the pillows. The impulse to throw the covers up over her head darted through her, but somehow, a thread of sense still clung to her numbed mind. How silly that would be! He thought her silly enough as it was.

"W . . . Where's my clothes?" she blurted.

"In the armoire."

His grin was lazy, insolent as her gaze came back to his, dancing and sparkling, as he waited with patience for her next question. She realized that he knew what tormented her. And she hated him for forcing her to ask.

"Where did you sleep?" She lifted her chin and hoped her voice sounded steady.

"Where I usually do."

The blood drained from her face. "Here? In . . . in this bed?"

His grin turned to a throaty laugh. "I told you to go easy with the brandy, remember?"

Anger seared her. He was laughing at her. Then another wave of mortification surged through her. "But I've never been with a man before!"

Something illegible moved across Park's face. "Your kisses didn't tell me that. Someone taught you well."

The implication of his words hit her hard. He was suggesting Reid and she had been intimate. Anger impelled her. "No one has taught me anything!"

"Not even my brother?"

Cassandra didn't miss the sarcasm in Park's tone. "No! Not even him!" She ran her tongue over her lower lip. "I didn't. . .we didn't. . . ." Blushing with anger as much as embarrassment, she glanced toward the windows. "Did any . . . anything happen last night?"

"Like what?" Sitting down on the bed, he leaned over her and rested a hand on the each side of her.

She cowered away from him, his fresh scent, the heat of him, the nearness of him overwhelming her. Her heart thudded so hard she thought it would beat right out of her chest.

Oh, how she hated him! Wasn't he smart enough to understand what she was trying to say? Why did he get such intense pleasure of tormenting her?

"Anything . . ." She again gulped hard and tried to scoot away from him to no avail. ". . . anything we shouldn't have?"

His face suddenly lit with feigned understanding. "Oh, you mean . . . ?" A wide grin split his mouth. White teeth flashed. His gaze moved over her face as if memorizing every line. "Don't you remember anything at all?"

She squirmed. "Only bits and pieces."

"I certainly didn't make an impression on you, did I? Guess I'll have to remedy that."

Oh, dear God, why did she feel like piece of burning meat? How could she have gotten so entangled with such a - a rascal? Tears burned her eyelids. She blinked. Still, she couldn’t look away from that barrel chest, thick neck and strong, square face.

"Please, would you mind getting my dress for me?" Her head began to pound harder. Sanity was returning and thoughts of Blaine popped into her mind. How on earth was she going to explain her being out all night to him? What possible excuse would be good enough?

With a lopsided, amused grin, Park rose and moved to the giant armoire. Even through the concern for Blaine and her job, Cassandra felt stirrings of something sensuous and exciting flutter through her.

He turned, holding her dress. Embarrassed, she looked away from his eyes, bright and lively with passion.

"Don't worry about what excuses to make to Blaine," he said. "I've already made excuses for you."

Unexpected anger nipped her. Anger at his insolence, at his uncanny ability to read her mind, and mainly at herself for getting herself in such a predicament. Last night would be the last time she'd touch brandy. "When did you see him and what did you tell him?"

Park couldn't contain the grin that lifted the corners of his mouth. The sudden glint of her silver eyes under those long, curved lashes and the tightening of her lips told him she was no longer embarrassed but angry. Her mane of mussed hair flowed in long, lustrous strands over her shoulders and partially concealed her hands still clutching the quilt to her chin. The desire to tunnel his hand into that fall of golden satin, to caress that skin of purest porcelain, and kiss those full, pink lips surged through him.

Damn! He'd lost count the number of women who had graced his bed, but none looked as if she belonged there, cozy and warm among the linens and pillows, as this one did.

"After you were safely tucked in, I went to see him," he answered at last, dropping her clothing on the bed. "I told him that since it was so late, you were staying at the Farrington."

The anger in her eyes flashed hotter. "He knows that's a lie! I can't afford a room there!"

Park's grin wavered. "Not if my brother put you up for the night."

Her anger gave way to horror. Her eyes widened. Her mouth popped open. "You didn't tell him that, did you?"

He moved from the bedside and, retrieving the poker from its rack, began gouging the burning logs in the hearth. "I told him the cost of the room would be taken out of your pay."

He heard her loud sniff.

"Well, at least you have a little decency about you. Now, would you leave the room so I can get dressed?"

With deliberate, calculated ease, he turned toward her. "Why should you object to my seeing you put your dress on; after all, I took it off."

Her entire body burned as if touched with hot irons. Looking away from him, she stared out the window into the cold, snowy day. "You're despicable, Park Farrington!"

"Maybe to some." He pivoted and moved across the floor and retrieved her petticoats from the dressing screen, and tossed them to her. "We'll go have some breakfast as soon as you get dressed." He eased his long, lean frame into a wing chair sitting near the hearth.

"Well?" Ice laced her voice.

"Well what?"

"Aren't you leaving the room?"

"No."

Long and steady, she glared at him, her mind churning with thoughts of how she was going to get out of this bed and get dressed. She'd never dressed - or undressed - in front of a man before. She felt awkward and shy and hated him for his brashness, his blasé' attitude, and his amusement with her, with the entire situation.

Above all, she hated these burgeoning, unfamiliar feelings surging through her with agonizing sweetness. The sight of him standing so near, looking and acting like some Greek god, made her blood run as hot a molten lava, yet, the painful awareness of her own homeliness, of her inexperience told her she was a fool to think that any man of Park's caliber could be attracted to her. She was a novelty, something to dally with until he tired of her. He was laughing at her naiveté, at her clumsiness, at her inexperience. She should have never told him she'd never been with a man before. At least, she should have pretended to be a little more worldly so that he wouldn't think her to be a complete fool.

Suddenly angry and grasping for some shreds of bravado, she flung back the covers, sprang off the bed and snatched up the petticoats. She wished she could read his mind as he sat there watching her with that amused, arrogant lift of his mouth. Throwing the petticoat over her head, she let it slide down to her waist. The smile, reflecting his appreciation for her little demonstration, spread. The glint in his black eyes deepened, smoldered.

Her fingers felt icy as she tied the ribbons of the petticoats at her waist. Reaching for her bodice and feeling the pierce of his scrutiny, she struggled into it. Putting on her clothes was taking an incredibly long time.

Buttons. So many buttons. Her stiff fingers worked feverishly to close the bodice against his probing eyes. At last positioning the final button into place, she flung back her head and swept the cascade of hair over her shoulders. She tossed the skirt over her head and struggled to fasten the button with stiff fingers.

"Need some help?" he drawled.

She flung him a hot look of anger. "Not at all!"

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

Puzzled, she stared at him. "No, what?"

"Your stays . . . corset. . .whatever it's called."

The blood left her face. She'd forgotten the stays!

"W . . .Where are they?"

With a short nod of his head, he indicated the corset draped over the top of the dressing screen. She stared at the offending garment, then looked back at him. Something illegible crossed his face.

A new surge of embarrassment burned into her innermost core. This was the arrogant cad that was making fun of her, who may have stolen her innocence, shamed her, made her a soiled dove, yet who still elicited hot desire in her. Tears burned her eyelids.

But wasn't she supposed to feel somehow different? Wasn't she supposed to somehow know that she'd become a woman last night? She swallowed hard and blinked. "My shoes?" Her voice cracked.

His face suddenly softened. "There, beside you." He gave a short nod toward the shoes and stockings scattered on the rug at her feet.

Blinking back tears, she retrieved the clothing. Overcome with shame, she knew she couldn't put her stockings on in front of him, no matter that he'd taken them off her. She was sober this morning. She couldn't show her legs to him. He'd seen enough. Stiffening her shoulders, she disappeared behind the screen and, sitting down on the little stool, hiked her dress to her thighs and slipped a stocking over one foot.

A few minutes later when she emerged from behind the screen, Park was sitting on his heels in front of the hearth and stoking the fire. Orange flames leaped, snapped and crackled. His movements were intense, jerky, and impatient. Throwing aside the tool, he rose and stood before her. He still wore that strange, obscure look on his face. The light of the dancing fire played against his bare chest as his black eyes, razor-sharp, darted down the length of her, then came back to rest on hers.

Why didn’t he put on a shirt? "I don't want breakfast. I need to go home to see about Blaine."

"Then I'll walk you home."

Hearing an unfamiliar softness in his voice, she looked up at him. Suddenly her anger, her shame fled. The penitence on his face seemed genuine. Her gaze was riveted on him, from the tousle of his coal-black hair to his legs, bulging with muscle and power even under the denim of his trousers. Was he wrestling with desire for her just as she wrestled with desire for him? "That's all right. I'll find my way." Her voice sounded choked, soft, and forgiving even to her own ears.

"It's cold outside."

"What difference does that make? It'll be cold either with or without you."

"My carriage is in the carriage house. It'll at least be shelter."

"But it's so beautiful outside . . . ." Her voice trailed away, her throat feeling suddenly dry. Their conversation seemed inconsequential; words to take up time, words to serve as a sort of reparation between them. Her eyelids fluttered. "You won't . . . won't tell anyone about last night, will you?" She lifted her face toward his, her heart almost stopping.

That impish, boyish little grin slid across his mouth as a renegade twig of hair fell onto his forehead. "No, I won't tell, but I'm not sure about Mrs. Wentworth."

Cassandra blinked. "Mrs. Wentworth?"

"My landlady. I sneaked you up the back stairs last night, but there's a big possibility you'll run into her this morning. She's rather nosy."

"Oh!" Warmth covered her face. "Then I'll just sneak down the same back stairs."

"Well, there's the chance you'll encounter her maid or cook." He shrugged his broad shoulders. "But that's the chance you'll have to take."

"Then what do you suggest I do?" Sharpness edged her voice.

His grin broadened. White teeth glimmered between his parted lips. Suddenly intrigued by the way his mouth tilted at the corners, at the strong, square chin and jaws, she stared.

He stepped nearer. She didn't move. Their eyes held.

His hands moved to her shoulders, and where his fingers touched her, heat tingled. He stepped nearer. She could feel the warmth, the closeness of him, smell the spicy scent of bay rum. When one hand slid in a long caressing stroke, leaving a trail of fire along her arm, to her waist, she didn't move. Instead, her mouth, as if under volition of its own, parted and lifted. Breathless, she waited.

His arm circled her waist, cradling her body against his. She had no will to pull away. Something wild and erotic filled her. She wanted his kiss. His mouth came down on hers in a gentle, though urgent, caress. The warm moistness of his lips suddenly enveloped her. Such an onslaught of sensations filled her that she hardly realized it as her arms moved up around his neck, her fingers tunneling up into his hair. She felt the strength, the hard texture of his flesh beneath her fingertips, felt the probe of his tongue against her mouth. She arched against him, opening her mouth to his. His arms tightened around her.

His hand moved up into her cascade of hair and cupped the back of her head as the kiss deepened. Her heart thudded, her breath came hard and fast, matching his.

He moaned. He planted soft, moist kisses across her cheek to her neck below her ear. There, he tasted, nipped, and massaged. Spirals of exquisite, yet agonizing desire bore into her core. She leaned farther into him. Her own fingers explored the solid flesh of his neck and shoulders, moving across the muscle, through the curling hair, to a nipple. She slid her fingertip across it. Another moan, deep and low, rumbled up from him.

His mouth moved down the long column of her neck. His fingers worked with the top of button of her bodice, then brushed across the tip of a breast. Drowning, reeling, and swirling into a vortex of white hot heat that settled into her lower body, she didn't want him to stop.

She heard a low moan, at first not realizing it came from her own throat. All he had to do was lift her up and carry her back to the bed and she would be his for the taking. All reason was gone, all sanity was fleeing.

His hand glided down her back, slowly, stroking as if feeling the substance of her, until it found the soft roundness of her hips under the gathers of the skirt. Spreading his fingers, he pressed her into him. His burgeoning desire pressed through their clothes, and for some reason, it didn’t shock her. She relished the thought that he wanted her and, oh, how she wanted him! Her hand slid across his stomach and inched lower.

From somewhere deep, somewhere amid the raging desire and loss of reasoning, something intruded, bringing reality back to her with a harsh jolt. She strained against him, her palms pushing against his shoulders. This was wrong. So wrong. This evening another woman would be here in this room, in his arms, in his bed.

"Please." she muttered.

His arms loosened. She stepped away, and pushing her hair away from her face, she looked up at him. His eyes still smoldered with desire and disappointment.

"Please, I must go home." With shaking legs, she took a step to move away from him when her gaze lifted to the mantel.

At first, the tattered cigar box sitting there didn't register on her numbed mind. Then instant recognition hit her. Shocked still, she stared at the box, then as if coming to, she moved to it and pulled the lid open. Money - Blaine's money - laid inside.

Snatching the box up, she pivoted. "Whose is this?"

Brushing aside the stray twig of hair from his forehead, Park shook his head and expelled a long sigh. "You know whose it is."

"How did you get it?"

She stood before him, her face flushed to a crimson, her silver eyes glinting as hard as diamonds, her mouth still swollen and rosy from his kisses. Mentally kicking himself for his carelessness, he ran his fingers through his hair. "Maybe you'd better let Blaine explain."

"How can I ask him about it? I can't let him know I was here in your room!"

"As I said, you'd better ask him."

"Do you know how he's coming by this money? If you do, you'd better tell me!"

"I can’t betray his trust, Cass."

Whirling about, she snatched her coat off the chair and strode into the front room. Hesitating just inside the door, she glanced about, getting her bearings in the unfamiliar room, then started toward the door.

"Cass, wait," Park called behind her. "I'll go with you."

"For what? I know my way home!"

His grip on her shoulder halted her steps. He pulled her around to him. Her face radiated anger. He had to make her understand, to make amends. "I'll go with you." A lopsided little grin touched his lips. "Blaine might need my support."

With a snort of disgust, she pivoted, shaking herself free of his grip, and grabbed the doorknob. She yanked the door open.

And halted.

And gasped.

In the hall, his fist lifted ready to knock on the door, his face registering as much shock as hers, stood Reid.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Somewhere through her myriad of raging emotions, Cassandra sensed Park's nearness as he stepped up behind her. Reid took a sharp intake of breath.

"What the hell do you want?" Park's voice, heavy with impatience and consternation, pierced her roiling emotions.

The tension thickened. Reid's probing, dark gaze moved to her hair, his nostrils flaring wide. Horrified that he recognized her hair as being mussed from sleeping, Cassandra opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Excuses flashed through her mind. In dismay, she realized how lame the explanations would be.

"What's going on here?" Reid demanded, his stare going to Park behind her.

"It’s none of your business." Park’s tone was menacing, clipped.

Reid's gaze moved back to Cassandra. Oh, Lord, why didn't the floor open up and swallow her whole?

"Blaine told me you spent the night at the Farrington." His voice reeked of accusation.

"Then I repeat, what the hell are you doing here?" Park's voice turned angry.

His chest puffing, Reid stepped into the room, his shoulder brushing Park's. Unbuttoning his coat, he turned, his rigid jaws flexing. "Why are you here, Cass?"

Anger as hot as the roaring fire in the hearth seared Cassandra. "It's none of your business!" She choked down the temptation to curse. "You have no right to come here demanding to know anything!"

"You’re engaged to be married, remember?" Park interjected.

Reid's face turned scarlet. The vein alongside his neck throbbed. "You damned son-of-a-bitch! You know damned well why I announced my engagement!" With a sudden bellow of rage, he plunged his fist into Park's face. The crack of flesh hitting flesh resounded into the silence. Horrified, Cassandra clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the rising scream and stumbled against the wall.

Park reeled, banging his shoulder against the wall so hard the pictures vibrated. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he wiped the back of his hand against his bleeding mouth. Black, fiery eyes lifted to his brother's.

Terrified beyond words, Cassandra watched, expecting Park to retaliate with a blow to Reid's face. Instead, he stiffened his body and glared.

"Feel better?" he snapped. "You'd better get out of here before I decide to pay back in kind."

Reid's gaze swung to Cassandra. "I went to your room to explain to you why I was with Hillary at the ball last night, why I had to go through with announcing our engagement. After Blaine told me you had spent the night at the Farrington, I went there and discovered you weren't registered. Then I remember seeing you leave the ball last night with him. My suspicions are on target."

A new flood of anger seared her. Stiffening, she jutted her chin and glared at him. "You've made your choice."

"And I certainly see you've made yours. He’s gotten to you just as he has with most of the female population of Denver."

A new wave of anger and humiliation surged through her. A roar began in her head. Glancing from Reid to Park, she suddenly pivoted and darted out the door.

"Cassandra!"

Park's call followed her down the stairs. Still she paid no heed. She wished she never laid eyes on either of the Farringtons. She wished she never came to Denver.

#

Except for the cigarette between her fingers, Anna sat with all the dignity and graciousness of a queen in a chair near the fire when Park entered her room. The skirts of her long dressing gown fanned about her feet as thick and luxurious as a peacock's tail. Her gaze turned and met his across the distance, her ebony hair glittering with highlights against the sunlight that streaked through the high, multi-paned windows. Her dark eyes lit with appreciation as he came nearer.

"Park," she smiled up at him. "Where in the world did you get that shiner?"

Grinning with abashment, he leaned down, kissed her upturned cheek, and sat down in the chair opposite her. "Reid and I had a little disagreement."

"Oh. Sounds interesting. Do you and Reid have such disagreements often?" She reached for the decanter sitting on the low table in front of her.

"They're becoming more frequent."

"Well, I won't ask why. It's a nice surprise and a pleasure seeing you here this time of afternoon. It's been awhile since you've paid us a visit, although none of my girls are ready for customers yet." She handed him a glass of brandy.

"I'm not here as a customer, Anna." The fragrance of her rich perfume filled the room.

"None of my girls interest you any more?"

He chuckled, feeling a little awkward. He'd never needed or sought advice before, especially when it came to women. He knew all the answers - or so he thought. Until he met Cassandra Vann. "It's not that."

Her face lit with understanding. "Oh, I see. Don't tell me the elusive Park Farrington has fallen in love! Usually that's one of the reasons my customers stop coming." Her voice was full of glee.

With warmth spreading across his face, he grinned and sipped the brandy. "I don't know, Anna. That's why I'm here to talk."

Anna frowned. "Do I know her?" She looked at him through half-lowered lashes, lifting her face toward the light. Her cheekbones and thin, spindly neck came into prominence and he wondered if she wasn't well. Even the lightly rouged face didn't hide the pasty color of her skin.

"Very well. In fact, you're the best friend she's ever had."

"Surely, she's not one of my girls!"

Park shook his head. "Cassandra Vann."

Anna's expression dropped with surprise. "Cassandra?" Then with understanding, she smiled broadly. "Ah, the reason for the shiner?"

Chuckling and leaning back into the cushions of the chair, Park stroked his chin. "You're not making this easy for me, Anna. I need advice."

She chuckled with delight. "The finest connoisseur of women in all of Denver, perhaps Colorado, and he's asking me for advice?" She arched a thin, shaped eyebrow at him.

He squirmed. He knew she saw his hand gestures for what they were - those of a man ill at ease with his circumstances, the subject under discussion. Such an out-of-character trait for him. "I never said I knew everything about women."

"You've never been in love before and it's scaring the hell out of you."

Park’s cheeks warmed. He couldn't contain the little, sheepish grin that lifted his lips. "Scaring the hell out of me is right." He rolled the glass between the palms of his hands. "And for the life of my I can't tell you why I love her. Dammit, other than being a beautiful woman, she's nothing I’ve ever looked for in a woman."

"And family and friends won't approve?"

"Their opinions don't concern me in the least. If I love a woman, I couldn't give a damn about what other people, even family, think." Suddenly rising, he shoved a hand into his trousers pocket, sipped the brandy, moved toward the windows, and stared out into the cold, gray day. "Never before have I wondered about a woman's response to me. Never before have I wondered if I'd measure up. I've never worried about my affections being returned. Now whenever I'm with a woman, I compare her to Cassandra." He chuckled. "I can't even make it to bed with another woman because she's not Cassandra."

Anna laughed softly. "You've got all the symptoms, Park."

He sucked in a long deep breath and turned back toward Anna. "Do you think she loves Reid? I mean . . . has she ever mentioned to you what her feelings are for him?"

"Cass doesn't love Reid." She waved a dismissal.

Sucking in a deep breath and fearing what he may hear, he asked, "Are they lovers?"

Anna shook her head and inhaled on the cigarette. "I doubt that Cass could love any man easily . . . physically at least. Her self-esteem was crushed by her father's emotional neglect and abandonment, and she needs a lot of understanding and patience. She’s distrustful of all men. Physical love may be hard for her. Reid's not good for her. She needs to know she's loved. She doesn’t need to be in competition with another woman and being strung along as he's doing to her."

"Yeah, I know. He's too damned soft to tell Hillary and everyone else to go to hell so he can marry Cass." Giving a disdainful chuckle, he turned toward Anna. "I had the chance to make love to her and I couldn't do it, Anna. That's when I realized I love her. After the Christmas Ball, I took her to a little pub where we had a few drinks. Part of me wanted and tried to get her drunk and in bed; another part of me wanted to protect her, to take her straight home. But she got tipsy--"

"Drunk?" Anna's voice pitched high, revealing her surprise. "Prim, proper Cassandra got drunk?"

A new rush of heat covered his face. "She's not used to drinking. A couple of brandies did it." He moved away from the window. "I took her back to my room. Usually when a woman makes advances, I take, no questions asked. This time I couldn't. She was mine for the taking, but I couldn't. It just didn't seem right."

He ran his fingers through his hair, plunged his hand into his pocket and began pacing. "I don't know why I love her, Anna. She's innocent, proper, unsophisticated. All I know is that she makes my lifestyle, my wealth seem somehow obscene. I’m almost ashamed of what I am. Am I a fool or what?" Sitting back down in the chair, he rested his elbows on his knees and intertwined his fingers.

"Only a fool in love." Leaning forward, she caught his hand and squeezed. "Go for her, Park, but treat her gently. She's fragile. She needs a good man's love."

#

"Better bundle up good, Blaine," Cassandra said, slipping into her own coat. "It's snowing out there."

"Yeah, isn't it great that we might have a white Christmas?" Blaine pulled his coat off the peg on the wall and slipped it on. "I've never seen a white Christmas before."

"Neither have I . . . not that I can remember anyway." She began buttoning her coat.

"What will we decorate the tree with, if we can find one?"

"Oh, we'll pop some popcorn down in the kitchen. Mrs. Phillips said we could do that, and I've bought some ribbon for bows to go it. And we'll just have to wait and see what else we can find."

"It's going to be a lonely Christmas without the Harrises."

A surge of incredible sadness welled up within her, squeezing her heart. "Yes, it will, but we can't think about that. We have to enjoy this Christmas, too."

A sudden knock on the door broke the quietness. Puzzled as to who would be coming to see them at this hour, Cassandra went to the door and pulled it open.

Park stood on the narrow stairs just beyond the threshold, bowler in one gloved hand and a pot of bright red poinsettias in the other. A lopsided little grin played across his mouth. His black eyes gleamed bright and fiery. She gripped the doorknob until her knuckles hurt and clenched her jaws until she thought they would crack.

Park's grin spread. "Good morning, Cass," he greeted in a jovial manner. "Are you going to ask me in?"

"Yeah, Cass. Just don't stand there like a dummy," Blaine admonished from behind her.

Rolling her eyes upward and expelling a snort of contempt, she stepped aside. Park flashed another big grin and a quick, disarming wink at her as he moved into the room. " 'morning, Blaine."

"Good morning, Park!" Blaine said, his eyes bright with glee.

"I hate to seem rude, Mr. Farrington, but Blaine and I were just on our way out," Cassandra interjected.

Park lifted a dark eyebrow at her, his eyes full of laughter, his mouth tilting in that same intriguing, yet maddening little smile that seemed to be both boyish and manly. "Ah, Mr. Farrington, is it now?"

"We're going off into the foothills to find a Christmas tree," Blaine said. "You'll go with us, won't you, Park?"

"No, he won't." Cassandra crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm sure Mr. Farrington has better things to do." With jutting chin, she lifted her face toward him. "I'm sure he has a guest waiting for him back in his room." She boldly met his gaze. "As he usually does."

Park's smile brightened. "I'd be glad to go with you."

His unblinking eyes held Cassandra's. She flinched at the subtle, though unmistakable, warning she read in them. He was blackmailing her, threatening to tell Blaine about their night together.

"It's not wise to go trudging off in weather like this alone and inexperienced," he continued. "Fact is, I have the sleigh in the driveway. With the new snow, we'll make good time. In fact, I know where we could find the perfect tree. Besides that . . . . " He faced Blaine. "I brought your sister these poinsettias. They’re sometimes known as the Christmas flowers, a holiday tradition."

"They're pretty, Park." Blaine looked up at Cassandra. "Aren't they, Cass?"

"Yes." She gave a nonchalant shrug. "I think I'll let you and Mr. Farrington go find a tree while I stay in." She began unbuttoning her coat.

"Ah, Cass--" Blaine began.

"We won't stand for that." Reaching out, Park caught Cassandra's hand on the button of her coat, stilling it. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked up at him, the protest on her tongue dying. The warmth of his hand on hers seemed to penetrate his glove into hers. "You'll go with us, won't you?"

She stiffened at the undeniable threat beneath his words.

"Yeah, she'll go," Blaine chimed in, throwing his knitted hat atop his head and striding toward the door. "Now all we need are presents."

The laughter deepened in Park’s eyes. Cassandra tried to withdraw her hand from under his. His grip tightened. His spicy fragrance whiffed around her. She wanted to hate him. But couldn't. And when he set the pot of poinsettias down, then took her elbow and led her toward the door, the protest stuck in her throat.

Bundled in the thick, woolen lap robe, her own coat and hood, Cassandra found herself sandwiched between Park and Blaine and enjoying the sleigh ride westward toward the foothills. The snowflakes tumbled down in slow, languid symmetry, creating a world of white, icy wonder. Laden with heaps of snow, the trees looked like sculpted works of art against a backdrop of icy, misty beauty. She knew the Rocky Mountains lay ahead somewhere, but their beauty was lost in the wondrous winter of white.

However, she sat so closely to Park that she was having a hard time concentrating on the beautiful landscape or on the purpose of their excursion. Her awareness of him blotted everything else out of her mind. His arm brushed hers as he pulled on the reins, his brows furrowed under the bowler, the profile of his face was strong, and once or twice she thought she smelled the rich fragrance of bay rum. The memory of seeing the long, sleek lines of his naked back, buttocks, and thick, muscular legs still brought a quick pound of her heart, a catch to her breath, and an unfamiliar yearning, a stirring somewhere deep within her. Hard as she tried, she couldn’t expel the memory. She wanted to forget, to will it away, but it kept popping back, bringing a hot flush to her entire body.

Park at last pulled the horse to a halt amid a thick grove of pines, spruces, and cedars. The treetops made an eerie rustling sound against the wind and waved against the slate-gray sky. Hopping out of the sleigh, he reached for her and eased her into the thick snow on the ground. So intimately, so boldly did his eyes hold hers that she had no trouble recognizing the blatant overture in his expression. A thrill swept through her, quickly followed by a surge of shame. Why did this man - this shameless man - arouse such agonizingly sweet stirrings within her? Why did she let him affect her this way?

With a squeal of delight, Blaine jumped, tumbled, and rolled over and over in the snow, pulling her attention off Park.

"Blaine!" she called. "You'll catch your death of cold!"

"Ah, let him enjoy it," Park said beside her, his hand resting on her elbow. "It's that time of year to be enjoyed as none other."

Looking up at him, she saw the warmth, the gentleness in his face. She sent him a wavering smile, and together, with Blaine following, high-stepped the snow to the nearest sapling.

Cassandra found it hard to maintain her stoic, aloof facade. Laughing and rough-housing in the snow, Blaine and Park led her from one tree to another, deciding it was the one, then deciding not. Snowballs began to fly between them and although, she tried to keep safe behind a tree, both Blaine and Park came at her with fists full of snow and gave her a good pounding. Caught up in the play, she scooped up two handful and hurled one at Blaine and the other at Park. Blaine dodged and missed. Park didn't move quite as fast. The snowball caught him on the shoulder and showered icy particles all over his face and head, now bare of its hat.

With a growl of feigned rage, he grabbed a fistful of snow and high-stepped toward her. With a cry, she turned and tried to run. The snow sucked at her shoes, making her get-away difficult. Park, having more experience at moving through the drifts, gained on her. Between shrieks of laughter, she lifted one leg then another in painful slow motion. His fingers curved around her arm, bringing her to an abrupt halt. She crouched with her arms folded over her head, waiting for his assault. Her foot unexpectedly gave way beneath her. With a cry of surprise, she fell and landed in the soft coldness of the snow.

Park's deep, delighted laughter resounded. Then the sudden, unexpected warmth of his body plopped down next to her, missing her by only inches. His laughter bounded against the wind. Giggles welled up within her.

He raised himself up on his elbow and held the snowball threateningly over her face. Snow peppered his black hair. "It's pay back time," he laughed.

"Oh, no! Please!" Clutching his wrist, she held it above her head. "You wouldn't, would you?"

"All's fair in love and war." His breath felt warm against her cheek, his eyes deep, smoldering with passion.

"I know. But I surrender."

Desire suddenly surged through Park’s loins. He had never before been so aware of a woman’s curves under him as he was now. The hood of her coat had come off her head, spilling her hair around her head like a satin pillow. Her lips glistened thick and red against the muted light, and her eyes sparkled with something soft and yielding. The slight hollow at the base of her throat throbbed with each beat of her heart.

Clamping his jaws together, he tried to force the sensual feelings away, only to conjure up the memory of her lying half-clothed in his bed. "Do you?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

Cassandra’s giggles died as the ambiguity of his question sank in. Her hand dropped from his wrist. Oh, yes, Park, I surrender, she wanted to say, feeling as if she were being absorbed by the wild, burning passion of his black eyes. Heat, desire, and power radiated from him.

Suddenly she could not breathe. Desire plunged through her, reeling her senses. Her gaze flicked to his strong mouth and as if under volition of their own, her own lips parted, inviting his kiss.

"Ah, come on, Park! You're not being fair!" Blaine's voice ripped between them like a knife. The spell shattered.

He reluctantly pulled away from her. "Ah, I guess you're right," he said, moving to his feet. Reaching down, he caught her hand and pulled her up.

"Besides, I've found the perfect tree!" Blaine added. "Come on!"

Together, they trudged after Blaine to his tree. They all agreed it was perfect, copious and not too large or too small. Following a few whacks of the axe, the tree tumbled. Retrieving its trunk, Blaine dragged it back to the sleigh with Park and Cassandra following its brush marks in the snow. After handing Cassandra up into the seat, Park moved to the back of the sleigh where he and Blaine tied the tree for its haul back into town.

The snowfall subsided, and the sun occasionally cast its golden rays through scudding clouds overhead. The icy mist lifted, bringing into the view the splendor of the mountains and the high rolling plain on which Denver sat. Once, far into the distance, Cassandra caught a glimpse of Silver Valley, the magnificent house jutting like a crown jewel out of the backdrop of snow and ice. She stared at it, longing growing within her. She sensed a kinship, unusual warmth for the estate, regardless of the Wyngates' animosity toward her. Was there the remotest chance that they indeed were her relatives?

"I'll go with you to visit them one day." Park leaned close to her, the fragrance of bay rum filling her nostrils, his breath warm against her cheek.

Startled that he had sensed her thoughts and appreciating his offer, she smiled up at him.

As hard as she tried, Cassandra could not make herself hate him nor could she deny that she enjoyed the day. She found herself laughing and singing Christmas carols with him and her brother as they made their way back toward the Phillips' and giggling like a child with them as they struggled to get the tree up the narrow steps to the attic.

As they set up the tree, popped popcorn, then strung and draped it on the tree, Cass caught herself watching Park. The way he tilted his head whenever he laughed; the way his lips parted across his even, white teeth; and the way his long, lithe body stretched and bent as he went about his tasks intrigued her. Above all, she relished his easy laughter, the compassion and vitality lighting his black eyes. Hardly before she realized that the thought had taken shape in her mind, she marveled at how at ease the three of them had become - as if it were meant for the three of them to be together.

Occasionally, she caught his gaze on her, deep and intense, studying her with an intimacy that brought warmth to her face. She wondered if he was remembering the night he took her to his room drunk and how forward she had been with him. Her face flamed hotter whenever she thought of how he undressed her and put her to bed. Yet, she couldn't remember his being in that bed with her. Had she been so drunk?

Yet, the incident seemed inconsequential to him. Loving just one woman was impossible for him. That night had been just another night of many similar nights - except with different women - for him. She was just another woman he bedded down.

The thought made her heart turn cold.

Biting her lower lip, she jabbed the needle through the popcorn kernel and pushed it down the thread until it came to rest against the last one on the string. Park's shadow passed over her as he moved between her and the lantern and folded his long, lean frame down on the rug beside her. Bending his leg, he rested his forearm on his knee, leaned close to her, his breath warm on her neck.

A nervous thrill raced along her spine, making her hands tremble. The sudden sting of the needle in her finger brought an involuntary "Ouch!" out of her. Taking her hand, he lifted it to his mouth and covered the prick with his warm, moist lips. For a long, suspended moment, she couldn’t breathe.

He stirred, lifting his dark gaze to hers, a seductive little grin lining his face. "You haven’t told Blaine that you have his money box? He’s asked me for it. Seems he wants to buy you a Christmas gift." His voice was low and sultry.

Horrified, she gaped at him and hastily withdrew her hand from his. "Of course not! How could I explain to him how I got it? You didn’t tell him I have it, did you?"

Grinning as if amused by her, he shook his head. "No, I didn't. I've stalled him for now, but he's expecting to pick it up tomorrow at my place."

She gave a long sigh. "Please, Park. Tell me, how is he coming by this money?"

"I told him I wouldn't tell you. I can't break that promise."

Her heart quickened, and she didn't know whether it was from fear for Blaine’s safety or from Park's bay rum scent.

"He’s boxing. I know it."

For a minute, Park didn't answer. His black eyes, intense and sparkling, held hers so long that at first she thought he wasn't going to answer. Then his mouth tilted into a half-smile. "He's a good fighter, Cass. A natural."

Terror leaped into her breast.

"Hasn't it been obvious with the bruised, cut face, the skinned knuckles?"

"Oh, of course!" Suddenly angry, and she didn't know why, she turned away from him. "But it's illegal and I just didn't want to find out the truth, I guess." She again met his face.

"Illegal, but tolerated."

"How long have you known about this?" She glanced toward Blaine still stringing popcorn on the tree in front of the small square window, so engrossed in his task he paid her and Park’s conversation no mind.

"Since he first started. He's earned a great deal of money, by the way."

Her anger burned deeper. "Money's not everything! We've never had any and we can certainly live without it now!"

"You might change your mind if you ever saw him fight. He takes relatively few licks compared to his opponents."

"I don't care! It's dangerous!"

"Then confront him with it."

"I have and he won't admit anything! He doesn't deny it nor does he admit he's doing it either."

"Then catch him doing it."

"How?" Wide-eyed, she blinked at him.

"Follow him out on one of his excursions."

"He sneaks out or leaves while I'm at work."

"He has a match coming up Thursday evening at Rudgers barn on the eastern edge of town. Be there."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"Mr. Farrington wants to see you in Mr. Piermont's office right away."

The dining room host's voice halted Cassandra's steps as she started past him into the lobby of the Farrington Hotel.

"Which Mr. Farrington?"

"Reid, I believe."

Irritated, she inhaled sharply and strode across the lobby toward the manager's office. Her heart thumped against her ribs. He had no right to come here demanding to see her after work hours! It was late. Besides she wanted to get out to Rudger's barn to see Blaine fight. And Park

. . . .

Pressing her lips together, clenching her jaws, and tapping her foot against the carpet with impatience, she knocked on the heavy dark panels of the door.

"Come in." Reid's muffled voice came from the other side.

She opened the door and stepped inside. The elegantly appointed room lay in quiet, dusky repose. A small fire palpitated in the hearth and a lone lamp on the massive cherry wood desk gleamed. Behind it, Reid rose from the huge, leather-tufted chair and met her gaze in the paleness. Even from across the room, she could see the flex of his tight jaws and the sparkle of his dark eyes. Her irritation heightened at the sight of him.

"Close the door," he said, his voice edged with an odd note, part command, part request.

Wordless, she did as he bade, then straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin, she clutched her hands, yet made no move to advance any farther.

"Have a seat, Cass." His voice was low and husky as he stepped around the desk and stood before her.

She remained standing. "I really don't have time. I have an appointment."

A dark eyebrow shot up. The corners of his mouth lifted in a half-smile, half smirk. "At this hour? It's after nine o'clock."

She drew in a deep breath. "That's my business. Not yours."

"Touché'." With a slight nod of his head, he leaned against the desk, his arms stiff beside him, his hands flat against the top.

Another long silence fell. He shifted. "Cass, I don't know how to say this . . . ." His voice trailed away.

"We have nothing to say."

"I do." He took a step nearer her. Holding her head high, she made no move. "I think you should give me a chance to explain why my engagement to Hillary was announced."

"It's very plain as to why it was announced." A crack edged into her firm voice.

"No, it isn't!" Stepping to her, he took her shoulders into his hands. "If you'd give me a chance to explain."

"I'm here. What are you waiting for?"

"My mother told me that if I didn't make that announcement, she would fire you. I didn't want that to happen. I couldn't let you lose your job."

Fury surged through her. "Oh, how gallant of you, Reid! I’m naive but not so naive to think you'd rather marry a woman against your will than let me be fired!"

His grip on her shoulders tightened. "It's true! I know how hard it is to find a job around here. I love you, Cass, and I want to take care of you." His voice revealed his frustration.

"If you loved me, you could walk away from Hillary."

"I have. I told her tonight. I left her screeching, yelling, and screaming, and punching the pillows on the sofa and her family ready to tack my hide to the wall. Come tomorrow morning, I'll have my mother's wrath down on me, as well, as all of Denver's populace. I need you."

Everything in her went still. Silence enveloped them. She felt the power of his hands on her shoulders and read the urgency in his face. His black eyes smoldered into hers.

Her heart hardened. "Did you know your mother offered me a large amount of money to leave Denver?"

The light in his eyes dimmed. "She told me."

"I assume she also told you I didn't accept it."

He nodded. His grip on her shoulders tightened. He stepped closer, bringing her closer to him. "Yes."

"And you're willing to sacrifice everything, your family and possibly your wealth for me?"

His forehead furrowed. "I need you, Cass. I want you for my wife."

She began to shake her head slowly, startled at his marriage proposal. "You couldn't live like that, Reid. Wealth and prestige are all you've known. What else can you do? Could you work in the mines for a living? I doubt it."

Fire suddenly brightened his eyes. "I've worked the mines before. Before either of us, Park or I, learned to manage any of the Farrington holdings, my father made us go into the mines and work, made us start in the housekeeping departments of the hotels and work our way up. In every investment my father made, he made us start at the bottom and learn it to the top. Yes, I know how to work!"

A little chuckle escaped her. "But such menial labor wasn't for a life time, and you knew it. If you marry me and lose your inheritance, it might mean a life of hard work. And they are capable of disowning you, aren't they?"

"I don't think my father would. That's not his nature."

"But your mother could, couldn't she? I won't be responsible for tearing you from your family, Reid."

"That would be their choice, not yours." His voice turned husky, low, seductive.

"But it would still mean a broken family, regardless of whose choice it is. I'm sorry, Reid. I won't."

"Marry me, Cass!" His mouth suddenly came down on hers, hard and swift, demanding and hot. Bound within his powerful arms, she couldn't twist or turn away. His body seemed to envelope hers, trying to force hers into compliance. Her fists folded against his chest as she strained away. Her anger mounted. He moved against her. His lips left her mouth and made a trail of urgent kisses along her jawbone, to her earlobe. He tasted and nibbled, then moved down the column of her neck to the collar of her dress. She couldn't breathe. His hands began to move in slow, long strokes over her shoulders, down the curve of her spine, to the fullness of her hips under the gathers of her skirt.

Stiffening, she twisted her mouth away from his. "Reid, stop it!"

Tensing, he pulled away. His dark eyes smoldered with desire and subtle anger. "I want you, Cass!"

"I don’t love you!"

All desire suddenly vanished from his eyes. His face hardened. His rigid jaws twitched as his hands closed around her upper arms. "It’s Park."

His cold, harsh tone startled her. She blinked up at him.

"When Park holds you, do you wrench away?" "Park has nothing to do with this!"

Suddenly releasing her, he stepped back, his rigid jaw twitching. "Then why were you at his room the other morning? It was damned evident what was going on."

Her breath came in short, heavy gasps. "I don't owe you an explanation and you have no right to ask." Her voice trembled.

The fire in the hearth crackled and popped. Outside the wind howled around the corners of the great building.

"No, I don't guess I do," he conceded, his tone sarcastic, his nostrils flaring.

She moved toward the door. With her hand on the doorknob, she turned and looked at him standing in the shadows. Something inside her turned cold. Then she stepped out and closed the door behind her.

Outside on the street, she halted a taxi and asked to be taken to the Rudger's barn. The ride was cold and seemed to go on forever as the carriage wound through the streets toward the eastern edge of town. Chagrined with the memory of Reid's kiss, of Park and her conflicting, bittersweet sensations for him, she anxiously waited out the trek.

She hoped she had interpreted Park’s directions correctly and when the brougham finally pulled to a halt in front of a nondescript, unpainted barn, she breathed a sigh of relief.

She climbed from the carriage and made her way through the horses and vehicles clustered around its weather-worn walls. Shafts of meager light glinted through the cracked double doors and shouts from within broke the silence of the night. The nearer she got to the barn, the louder the shouts came and the angrier she became. How could Blaine stoop so low to participate in something so dangerous and illegal?

Life in the mining camps had been rough and hard, and she was proud that Blaine had learned to defend himself well, but she never dreamed that he would resort to fighting for money. She recalled Reilly mentioning John Sullivan, a famous boxer, and there were times while growing up that she suspected Reilly of attending boxing matches in nearby towns. He occasionally, though not often, took Blaine with him. Until now, Blaine had shown no unusual interest in the sport.

Coming to the closed doors, she halted, clenched her gloved fists, ran her tongue across her upper lip, and took a deep breath. Before she lost her nerve, she pushed open the doors and stepped inside.

Smoke hung like a thick fog among the rafters and lofts of the cavernous interior. She wrinkled her nose at the stench of stale smoke, sweat, hay, and dung. Hundreds of shouting, rowdy men were gathered in the center of the barn. Several of them nearest the door halted their rambunctious shouting long enough to send her curious, open stares. Hesitant and unsure, she inched forward. Standing on tiptoe, she stretched to peer among the throng, trying to spot either Park or Blaine, but the men were crowded so tightly together she couldn't see either of them.

Taking a long deep breath, she plunged into the crowd, pushing her way toward the front. Ignoring the curses and mutters and the stir she created and, marching with her head held high, she parted the crowd until she came to a square marked off by ropes. In its center, two figures cuffed each other with folded fists as another acted as a judge.

At first, Cassandra's mind didn't register that she was looking at Blaine. Then as full recognition came to her, her heart leaped into her throat and she gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. Although she suspected that this was what he was doing, she still didn't believe it until now and it came as a shock.

His mouth and a cut near one eye were bleeding. A huge bruise shone against one jaw. His opponent, a taller youth who appeared to be a couple of years older than Blaine, looked as beaten up as he. At least her brother was holding his own.

Her first instinct was to climb through the ropes and yank Blaine out of there, but realizing she couldn't humiliate him that way, she remained where she was and flinched with each blow. Her gaze swung across the crowd in search of Park. The faces were hardly more than blurs through the blue fog of smoke.

The crowd nearest her shifted as Park pushed his way through the people toward her. Her heart leaped. Glad to see him among this madness, she sent him a quick smile. As his usual manner, he grinned, flashing white teeth, the arrogance of his carriage, his demeanor out of character with his surroundings.

"I'd begun to wonder if you were going to make it," he said, standing so closely to her that she caught a whiff of his fragrance and felt the energy he radiated. "The fight should be over soon. They both are worn out."

Her gaze swept the spacious interior of the barn. "I hate this. I hate this atmosphere, this . . . this thing called boxing, the kind of people who enjoy such violence." She studied Blaine as he danced about the square with his opponent, clad in boxer shorts, his long, spindly legs beginning to look more like those of a man, his shoulders more rounded with muscles than she remembered.

Her brother’s eyes suddenly encountered hers across the smoky distance. His rhythm faltered. His opponent's fist cracked against his face. Blood and sweat splattered. Blaine reeled to the floor.

"Oh, my stars!" Cassandra's screech of terror was lost among the shouts and roars of the crowd. Jostled about in its frenzy, she held her hand over her mouth, stifling another cry that rose into her throat, and stared with horror at his prostrate figure. Arms flung outward, his legs spread, he lay flat on his back, lifeless.

Suddenly jolted into action by her fear, Cassandra shook Park’s hand off her arm, lifted the ropes and stepped through them onto the square.

"Hey, lady, you cain't come in here!" the large, beefy judge shouted, catching her shoulders and holding her at bay.

The crowd went wild, its roar deafening.

"That's my brother!" Fear strangled her as she squatted beside Blaine.

"So he is, lady. If you'll just move along . . . ."

"Cass." Park came up beside her and took her arm.

Angry, she shook him off. Blood seemed to be everywhere. With a cry, and blinking hard against the tears, she lifted Blaine’s head. "Blaine!"

"Lady, if you don't get outta here . . . ." the judge boomed, then turned to Park. "Does she belong to you, buddy?"

"Come on, Cass." Park's strong, gentle hands grasped her shoulders. "He's just knocked out. They'll bring him around."

"He looks dead!" Tears warmed her cheeks.

"Get that dame outta here!" the judge roared with an impatient swing of his arm toward the ropes.

Park pulled her to her feet, away from Blaine's still body. Terror squeezed her heart. She gasped for breath as several men hovered over him.

"He's all right," Park whispered close to her ear, still holding her shoulders, keeping her knees from buckling beneath her.

She at last saw Blaine stir, shake his head, and make an effort to come to his feet. A sigh of relief escaped her. She wanted to run to him, but Park's steady hands on her kept her from doing so. Hardly aware that the barn was emptying of its crowd, of the mass of people that swarmed Blaine's opponent, she watched as her brother was helped to his feet, the blood on his face haphazardly wiped at, and several bills pressed into his hand. Someone threw a coat over his sweaty shoulders, and as if in a daze, he started toward her.

Park's embrace kept her from running to him and throwing her arms around him. As he came nearer, the daze seemed to leave his face and his cheeks reddened.

"Blaine!" she cried, throwing her arms around his shoulders. "Are you all right?"

His eyes flickered and darted away from hers. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"You're bleeding." Digging into the pocket of her coat, she pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at the cut near his eye.

He pulled away from her ministrations. "I'm okay." Anger tightened his voice. His dark eyes, cold and accusing, lifted to Park's. "You told her, didn't you?"

Park shifted uneasily. "Yeah, I told her. She was suspicious. You know that. She plied me with questions. I told for your own good--"

"Don't give me that!" Blaine shouted, his face reddening all the more.

"It's true!" Cassandra grabbed his arm, slick with sweat. "My stars, what did you expect me to do? See you come in with bleeding, bruised face and say nothing? I'm not a fool! And as of tonight, you will no longer fight!"

Blaine lifted a square, defiant chin at her, his dark eyes blazing. "I will, too! I'm making good money!"

"You will not!" She grabbed his arm.

Park's hands closed over her shoulders, pulling her away from her brother. "Are you coming with us, Blaine?" "No, I have a way home!" He pivoted and climbed through the ropes. Cassandra looked after him until he disappeared among the thinning crowd, her heart heavy, tears pressing close.

"Come on, Cass. He’ll be all right. I’ll drive you home." Park's voice was gentle as he turned and lifted the ropes. Holding her skirts close to her, she stepped through them, then allowed Park to propel her out the barn into the cold, snowy night.

They rode in the carriage in silence. As if understanding that she wanted to be left alone with her thoughts, Park said only once, "I'm listening if you want to talk."

Ahead of them, the streets stretched like pale corridors of light against the dark night. The wind howled and crackled the tree branches around them. Cassandra shivered. She didn't know whether it was from the cold or from emotion and focused her eyes on the misty breath of the horse blowing back over his haunches.

Except for the glow of light from one lone window on the lower floor, the Phillips house was dark and silent as they pulled into the driveway and drove around to the back. Pines loomed tall and black against the night and made eerie rustling sounds against the wind.

"I'll walk up with you," Park offered, pulling the buggy to a halt.

"No, I believe not." She gathered her skirts to step out of the carriage.

His gloved hand on her arm pulled her toward him. His face was in shadows under his bowler. "Don't worry about him, Cass." His breath rose in a misty vapor between them. "He'll be all right."

His words brought warm tears to her eyes. She blinked. "He looked so beaten tonight." Her voice cracked. "I'm afraid for him, Park. Fighting seems so dangerous and senseless. I'm really scared."

His hand tightened on her arm. "Blaine's a good fighter. He can take care of himself."

"I fear that it was my fault that he was knocked out tonight. He saw me just before he was hit. That seemed to distract him."

"He's lost before. He'll win again." His hand slid up her arm to shoulder and neck. The gesture somehow reassured Cassandra. She heard the sincerity, the concern in his voice and was perplexed at the vast difference between him and Reilly. She didn't know such gentleness, such compassion could be found in men, and her heart warmed toward him. Perhaps she misjudged him all along. Perhaps he was a victim of vicious gossips, of innuendo and outright lies.

No, hadn't she seen how the women ogle him at parties? Seen how he returned their advances? Hadn't she, herself, caught him in compromising situations with women, such as the time she had walked in on him and Amalie embracing in the linen closet? And her own first experience with him at the train depot set off warning signals to be wary of this man. His appraisal of her had been overtly sensual and bold, beyond that which was proper.

And the night she spent in his boarding room . . . . The night still troubled her, made her chew her lip, and wonder what happened between them. Hadn't she always heard that once a woman was deflowered, she somehow felt differently - somehow more like a woman? Had he indeed acted as a gentleman and kept his distance with her?

If not, if he in fact had deflowered her, it was obvious he thought the intimate act between them to be of no consequence, for he certainly seemed too casual, too indifferent about it. However, a man such as Park Farrington who entertained women in his bed as often as the wind changed would become desensitized to such a momentous event.

Still, she understood why women were attracted to him not only for his looks alone but for his sensitivity as well. He made a woman feel as if she were the only woman in his world. He made her feel loved and desired - just as he made her feel now.

Suddenly realizing that she was staring, she looked away from him, her cheeks hot, her heart thudding. "I'm not concerned about his winning or losing," she said breathlessly, her voice low and throaty. "I'm concerned for his life."

"Maybe after the next fight, he'll give it up."

"Why do you think that might happen?" Her gaze moved back to his.

"It's a sort of championship fight with a big purse."

"He's come that far?"

"I told you he was pretty good."

"He has no choice. He has to quit." Again gathering her skirts, she prepared to step out of the carriage.

His hand on her shoulder tightened. "Cass." His voice was low, throaty.

Breathless, she turned back to him. His black eyes smoldered, his face soft with desire. His hand moved to her chin, and lifting it, he bent his head and molded his mouth over hers. The fire of his kiss took hold of her, prompting her to abandon all reservations. She slipped her arms around his thick shoulders and leaned into him. His scent surrounded her. His warm, moist mouth upon hers, his tongue flicking and probing, sent spirals of hot liquid through her, demanding more than a kiss. She couldn't breathe. Her heart hammered against her stays; yet, her breath wouldn't come.

Still, she met his lips wantonly, surrendering to the ecstasy of his mouth against hers. She was sinking . . . sinking into an abyss of desire that reached into her core, making her weak and vulnerable. She wanted him. No matter what or who he was, she wanted him.

Their coats and the layers of clothing between them suddenly became a monumental hindrance. She knew he thought the same thing for he pulled away, his breath coming hard and heavy, his eyes dark with desire. "Cass." Husky and low, his voice caressed her. "Let's go to my room."

The acceptance lay on the tip of her tongue. She opened her mouth to speak, but the horrified thought of what she'd become stunned her wordless. A wanton woman. An easy woman who could step out of Reid's arms into Park's. Oh, God, why had she allowed herself to become so entangled with two brothers and allowed herself to fall in love with the rogue of the two?

Sensing the sudden tension in her, Park loosened his arms from around her. "You're the first woman I can't make it to the next corner with," he said huskily, lowly. His hand curved around the side of her neck while his thumb caressed her cheek. It felt like a touch of fire.

She stiffened, her heart turning cold toward him. Was he bragging? Sudden tears sprang into her eyes. She didn't know whether they were of frustration or anger. Looking away, into their dark surroundings, she blinked hard. "I must go in."

Catching her chin between his thumb and index finger, he pulled her face back toward his. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then clamped it shut. His tight jaw twitched. A heavy, tensed moment fell. With a deep intake of air, he announced, "I love you, Cass." Before giving her a chance to reply, he bent his head and kissed her.

Shocked, she stared into those dark, speculative eyes. Had she heard right? She could easily lose her courage and accept his invitation. He said he loved her. Her heart felt like singing, but the question whether he really meant it or not kept running through her mind.

Her throat closing up, she turned and moved out of the carriage. Feeling his gaze on her, she entered the house. A deep sense of longing filled her. Yet, she couldn't turn back.

#

The next morning, with a heavy heart, Cassandra entered the lobby of the Farrington Hotel. She and Blaine had a heated exchange of words after he came home last night. He still insisted he would box for as long as he wanted. All her begging and pleadings were of no use. She had cried herself to sleep.

Slipping the hood of her coat off her head, she moved across the carpet toward the dining room. Already, the hotel was a beehive of activity. Rumors of another gold strike in Cripple Creek had brought another influx of immigrants into town. She knew today would be another long, hard day.

"Miss Vann." The hotel clerk called and gestured to her.

She stepped to the desk. "Yes, what is it?"

"Mr. Piermont wants to see you in his office at once."

Curious, her heart beginning a rapid beat, she moved across the lobby to his office. She knocked, then entered at his invitation.

Sitting behind the desk, Mr. Piermont leaned back into his chair and hooked his thumbs into his vest pockets as she approached his desk. His little beady eyes looked up at her from hooded lids.

Uneasiness crept through her. "You wanted to see me, Mr. Piermont?"

"Yes." With a thump, he leaned forward in his chair, picked up a check from his desk and held it toward her. "Here's your check."

"Check?" Stunned, she gaped at him. "Check for what? Payday isn't for several more days."

A slow, satisfied grin spread across Mr. Piermont's pudgy face. "For you, payday is today. This is your last one."

Her heart flew into her throat. She couldn’t breathe. "I’m fired?"

"Yes, you’re fired." Rising, he handed the check to her.

Numb, she looked at the piece of paper in her hand. The words and figures on it didn't register. She blinked. Tears stung. A knot formed in her chest, cutting off her air. Then sudden, hot anger shook her, thrusting her from her shock. She glared up at the hotel manager. "Who fired me? Reid?"

Mr. Piermont's irritating grin spread. "No. Someone with more authority than him." Hooking his thumbs back into his vest pockets, he sucked in a long breath, expanding his wide chest. "Mrs. Farrington herself."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Cassandra walked with no conscious direction on her part. She didn't hear the musical bells of Christmas pealing up and down the streets or the calls and shouts of merry shoppers or see the colorful decorations gracing the avenues. Anguished thoughts tumbled through her mind with lightning speed. Scalding tears blurred her. The city lay in the duskiness of the twilight. Night was fast approaching and Blaine would be worried if she didn't show up at home soon. Still, after a full day of looking, she had no job - or any chance of getting one. She discovered just how far Mrs. Farrington's influence reached when several businesses told her outright they did not hire anyone fired by the Farringtons. Mrs. Farrington's strategy was that if Cassandra couldn't be bribed, she would run her out of Denver.

A sardonic laugh escaped her lips as she paused and pushed a stray twig of hair off her face. The wind blew cold and harsh against her cheeks. Street lamps flickered on up and down the streets. She shivered, feeling as cold on the inside as she did on the outside.

"Merry Christmas," she muttered, unable to contain the bitterness that strangled her.

Plunging her hands into her coat pockets, she started farther down the street. She walked until she found herself standing in front of Anna's place, lit up like a castle on a hilltop. The thought of what went on behind those walls no longer brought raging fire to her cheeks. Right now, it looked like a haven, a haven where Anna would be, the only friend she had in the whole world.

Cassandra hastened her steps as she moved through the cast-iron gate and hurried down the bricked walkway around the side of the house to the back. The garden, a wonderland of sculptured shapes of snow, lay in deep shadows as she went up the steps and across the verandah, into the kitchen. Pearl looked up from her task of wiping down the counter as she swept into the kitchen and shut the door.

"Lordy, Miss Vann," Pearl exclaimed. "You scared a year's growth outta me."

"I'm sorry, Pearl." Pausing, she heard the pound of her heart in her ears. "I must see Anna."

Resting her hands on her broad hips, the cook nodded toward the front of the house. "She’s in the parlor."

"Thanks, Pearl."

Coming to the parlor door, Cassandra, suddenly self-conscious and unsure of what to say, halted, letting her gaze sweep across the richly appointed room. One of Anna's girls, Lucinda, sat at the grand piano with a meticulously dressed man, their voices lifted in a merry tune. Several other couples sitting about the room lifted curious eyes toward her. Anna rose out of her chair with a gentle rustle, surprise registering across her face, and approached her, her satin gown brushing the carpet.

"Cass, what are you doing here?" she asked.

"I'm sorry to intrude, Anna," she began, very aware of listening ears. "I'd like to speak to you for a minute."

Anna's face lightened with a smile. "Of course." Resting her hand on Cassandra's shoulder, she guided her out of the room into the drawing room across the foyer. "What is wrong, Cass?" She closed the doors behind them.

Suddenly shy and uncomfortable with what she wanted to say, Cassandra clasped her hands together, bit her lip, and looked up at her friend in the low, flickering light. "You once told me I could go to work for you. Is that offer still open?"

Anna's dark eyes widened for just an instant under the long, curving lashes. "Aren't you still working at the Farrington?"

"No." Glancing down at her hands, she became aware of how she intertwined her fingers and quickly straightened them. "No. I was fired this morning."

Anna's face paled slightly under the already too pale skin. "For what?"

Cassandra gave a disdainful chuckle. "Mrs. Farrington fired me. I’ve found out that her influence in this town has no bounds." Blinking hard, she looked toward the hearth where a low fire popped and crackled. "I think it was because Reid broke off his engagement to Hillary."

"Why do you think that, Cass?" Anna sank into the nearest chair and Cassandra noticed that she seemed weak as she lowered herself into the cushion.

"Reid told me that his mother threatened to fire me if he ever broke his engagement to Hillary. According to Reid, the only reason he publicly announced his engagement to her at the Christmas Ball was to save me from being fired. Then last night he told me he'd broken his engagement to her; that he loves me and wants to marry me." She gave another sardonic chuckle. "Mrs. Farrington wasted no time getting the word out. Seems I’m not welcome anywhere in this town."

"Do you love Reid?"

"No."

"Are you afraid to love a man?"

Park flashed into her mind. She opened her mouth to speak, then suddenly unsure of what she felt, closed it. Her heart grew heavier. "When the right one comes along I won't be afraid to love." A defensive note entered her voice as she turned and moved toward the giant, brocade-draped window.

"Maybe the right one has come along and you don’t recognize what you feel for him as love."

Her heart suddenly seemed to stop. She swallowed. No, not Park. Yes, he stirred unfamiliar desire within her, but he had his pick of women. And he was sensitive – more so than any man she had never known. But he was beyond her reach, especially when thinking of marriage. In fact, the word marriage and Park hardly could be used in the same sentence. They just didn't fit. "No, there’s no one," she answered firmly.

Hearing the hesitancy in Cassandra's voice, Anna smiled. She wondered if Park had yet told Cassandra he loved her. For the first time in his life, the reach-out-and-take Park Farrington was afraid. "There is someone waiting for you out there, Cass."

"I suspect my mother married for reasons other than love and her life was hell." Cassandra’s tone turned hard. "Not in the sense that she was physically abused, but she was starved for some of the niceties of life, for some love, for emotional support and companionship. I can see that now." Lifting her chin, she met Anna's eyes. "It's funny that I had to come all the way to Denver to understand my mother and Reilly's relationship. I'm beginning to understand that all men are not like him. He was a bastard and I'll not ever forgive him for what he did to her and to Blaine and me. I'll not ever marry for anything less than love."

Anna smiled, surprised at Cassandra's harsh words. "But be careful. Don't let the right man pass through your fingers because of your being overly cautious." Sighing, she rose from the chair, stood still for a moment trying to get her balance, then took a step toward Cassandra. "I must get back to my customers. I regret to tell you that I have nothing in housekeeping or the kitchen right now. If an opening comes up, I'll certainly let you know."

Cassandra's silver eyes blinked. Her chin lifted as she took a long, deep breath as if gathering courage. Her hands went together in front of the gathers of her long coat. Her high cheeks colored slightly. "You . . . you once said I could work as . . . " She swallowed. ". . . as one of your girls. Does your offer still hold?"

Anna couldn't contain the start that ran through her. Virginal, innocent Cassandra asking to be a lady of the evening? Damn! Why did her maternal instincts kick in now? Months ago when she'd first met Cassandra, she would have taken her up on her offer so fast her head would have spun. Now, with her conscience rising like an unwelcome monster, she knew she didn’t want any part of ruining Cassandra. "Cass, are you sure that's what you want to do? Being one of my girls is hard, grueling, and not glamorous. It wears you down and you become old long before your time."

Another flash of anger lit her eyes. "I don't have a choice. It seems that as long as I live in Denver, that's the only kind of work I can find. You yourself once said that I'd have customers lined up so long they'd have to make reservations. You still believe that, don't you?"

"Of course, Cass." Anna took Cassandra's shoulders in her hands. "Right now, you're in a state of shock at being fired, you're discouraged because nothing else has opened up for you. Everything looks very dark right now. So why don't you go home, think about it for a couple of days, then let me know?"

"I've got to have an income!"

Anna heard the tinge of panic in her voice and realized the alarm was brought on by memories of her past, of being hungry, of being cold, of living on the streets with no place to go. Sliding her arm around her shoulders, she hugged her. "You got the money the Farringtons owed you, didn't you? You have that, and in the meantime, you can be looking for something."

"But the money won't last long."

"As I said, if after you've thought about it and decided that's the only way out, I'll hire you."

#

Throwing open the front door to the Farrington Manor, Park strode into the front hall, halted, and listened. The lilting music of a piano came from the library on his right. In four long strides, he flung open the cherry wood doors, banging them back on their hinges. The music came to an abrupt end as his mother turned from the piano, her eyelashes fluttering with annoyance. His father glanced up from his position in the wing chair, took the pipe out of his mouth, and dropped the newspaper into his lap. Reid looked up from the book he held. The fire popped and crackled, flamed high, then dropped with a hiss.

"You fired her, didn’t you?" Park growled, glaring at his mother.

Nancy Farrington’s nostrils flared wide. She stiffened and, with a rustle of silk, rose from the piano stool and came toward him. Holding her head high, her face expressing confusion, she answered, "Who? Who are you talking about?"

His mother always reminded him of someone on display; every hair in place, her gown fit to perfection, the right jewelry with the right dress, her figure as slender as a woman’s half her age. "Cassandra Vann, the hostess in the dining room!"

Reid gave a start.

Her puzzled expression deepened. "Of course. But why are you concerned with her?"

The heat rose across his face. "I hired her. You had no right to fire her without consulting me! She needed that job!"

"Tsk, tsk." She turned and moved away from him. "I’m sure she’ll find something else. If not, she can always leave Denver. Besides, I had no idea you cared for the girl. It’s absurd that Reid is so infatuated with her. Don’t tell me you are, too."

"I love her!"

His mother turned white. With a yelp of surprise, Reid sprang from his chair, his face dark with anger.

His father took the pipe out of his mouth and looked at him with disbelief. "Which is it, Park?" he asked, the question knifing through the tension. "Love or lust? Or do you know the difference?"

"Ha!" Nancy cried. "It can’t be love! He doesn’t know what love is!"

Reid strode forward, his body ramrod straight, his dark eyes glinting with anger. "You can’t love her! Lust is all you know. Everyone knows you bed them all down and Cass is no exception! That’s all you feel for Cass!"

Fury shook Park. He tightened his fists. "Isn’t that what you want, Reid? To bed her? Isn’t that why you’ve been buzzing around her? You’re to marry Hillary. Don’t forget that."

Pivoting, his mother faced Reid, her face scarlet and puzzled, her eyes liquid with tears. "Why should you care what Park feels for that tart? You have an obligation to marry Hillary!" Her eyes narrowed with sudden realization. "You can’t possibly be in love with such trash, too! My God, Reid! What would people say and think? Such irrational, irresponsible behavior is what I’d expect out of your brother, but you--"

The pressure built in Park’s chest, choking him. He folded and unfolded his fists.

"I have no obligation to anyone!" Reid barked, his gaze swinging to Park, challenging him. "I intend to marry Cass if she’ll have me!"

"Marry her? If she’ll have you?" his mother screeched, swinging her arms out. "If she’ll have you? There’s no question that she would! My God, you’ve got everything to offer her! Everything!" Her lips pulled back against her teeth. "And she has nothing . . . absolutely nothing! Nothing to offer either of you!"

Unfazed, Carl turned and moved to the mantel, rested his arm against it, and regarded the scene as if amused by it all.

Nancy snorted and turned to Reid. "Do you know that Cassandra Vann once worked for Anna Hampton?"

Reid expelled a long gush of air. His face whitened; his eyes widened. "The madam?" Disbelief filled his voice.

"There’s only one Anna Hampton. She’s a whore, Reid! Furthermore, my investigator found out that she was arrested in a raid at Anna’s and your own brother bailed her out." Her gaze turned on Park, hard and accusing. "There’s no way we could keep her in our employ. You’ll have to agree with that."

Reid’s dark eyes bore into Park. "If she’s one of Anna’s girls and you knew it, why did you hire her at the Farrington?"

"Dammit, she doesn’t work for Anna! She’s never worked for her! Anna let her live there until she could find a room."

Reid’s face scowled, as if he was trying to absorb this last bit of information. Then jabbing a finger at Park, he pivoted and took a step toward the door. "I’m telling you to stay away from her! Do you understand me?"

"Hillary and her family are coming for dinner this evening, and I expect you to be here!" Nancy cried after him, panic bordering her voice.

"I won’t!" Reid strode out the door, his back stiff.

"Where are you going?" Her piercing scream shattered the tensed silence.

"I’m moving out!" His voice echoed down the stairwell.

"You can’t do that!"

"Watch me!"

Nancy clamped a handkerchief over her mouth, stifling a sob, her gaze lifting to Park’s. She glared at him. "That . . . that woman has done nothing but tear this family apart!"

#

The large room was warm and shrouded in deep flickering shadows. A fire roared in the hearth. The odor of stale whiskey and tobacco permeated the air. Standing at the opened door, Park at first didn't see his brother sprawled on the sofa, his white shirt gaping open all the way to the waist of his trousers, his feet stretched toward the fireplace, a glass of whiskey in one hand. From eyes dull with too much drink, Reid looked up, a half-grin, half-smirk pulling across his face, darkened by a couple days' growth of beard.

"Ah, it's you, brother," he said, lifting his glass toward in him in a mock toast. "It's about time you showed up. Ya been with Cass?"

"I'm not asking how you got in here." Park closed the door with a bang and moved farther into the room. "Looks like I need to talk to my landlady about letting you in my room when I’m not here."

"I wanna talk to you," he slurred, lifting the glass to his lips and drinking, then staring sullenly into its amber depths. "Funny, I broke my engagement with Hillary because I'm in love with . . . with a whore, the whore you’re in love with." He looked up from under hooded eyes.

Park grabbed the front of Reid’s shirt, yanking him to his feet. "Don’t you dare talk about Cassandra that way or I’ll beat the hell outta you!"

Reid blinked and chuckled sarcastically. "Is that where you met Cass, Park, ol' boy? At Anna's?"

Shoving his brother back onto the sofa, Park turned and began unbuttoning his coat.

"Are you sayin’ that Mama’s investigatin' is wrong? That she’s not a . . ." Reid hiccuped. ". . . a whore? That she didn’t live at Anna’s?" His chuckle lifted into drunken laughter.

Park threw his coat over a chair, moved to the hearth, and stared into the orange, palpitating flames. He wanted to hit something, preferably his obnoxious brother.

Reid took another gulp of whiskey, emptying his glass, then reached for the bottle sitting on the table in front of the sofa. He snickered. "Who woulda thought it . . . little, miss prim, proper Cassandra Vann a whore?"

Park trembled with anger. "Shut your damned mouth!"

"You lied ‘bout her." Reid sat upright and glared up at his brother. "Fact is, you bailed her out of jail when she was arrested in a raid. Fact is, you were arrested at the same time as her." He sprang to his feet.

Turning, his entire body pulsating with anger, his fists folding and unfolding, Park met his brother's scowling face.

"What is she to you, Park?" Reid’s face turned florid. "Do you really love her or is she just another female you've slept with?"

Blood pounded in his ears, the energy surged through his entire body. "Damn you . . . !" His fist shot out, smashing against Reid’s jaw.

With a yelp of pain, Reid reeled into the mantel. Bellowing, he shook his head and lunged for Park, throwing his fist against Park’s jaw. Park fell backward onto the sofa. A thick fog engulfed him. Anger as hot as the fire crackling fire in the hearth shot through him. Shaking his head to clear his blurred vision, he sprang off the sofa, his fist making contact with his brother's face. The sharp crack of flesh hitting flesh resounded into the room. Pain traveled from his fist to his arm.

Through his clouded vision, he saw Reid tumble backward against the mantel, blood trickling from his nose. Gaining a foothold, he shot back to his feet. Park dodged, missing the swinging fist, then landed a blow into Reid's midsection. With a cry, his brother sprawled back onto the hearth, then with a yelp of anger, he jumped to his feet, his blow catching Park's chin. Park again fell against a lamp table, sending it flying to the floor. His vision blurred. Pain vibrated throughout his face. Coming to his feet and wiping his mouth, he spit blood into the fire.

"Damn your hide to hell!" Reid roared, his voice cracking with anguish. "I love her! Damn you!"

"Yeah, you love her, but not enough to get Hillary out of your life!" Shaking his head, Park straightened and faced his brother. "You’re playing with her, Reid."

"She’s just another pretty body to you. Just another pretty face. Another woman you coveted and took."

Running the back of his hand across his mouth, Park blinked and regarded Reid in the flickering light. "I love her."

With a moan, Reid sank onto the sofa and buried his face in his hands. "Does she love you?"

"You'll have to ask her." Stiffening his shoulders, he moved into the bedroom and into the dressing room. He wet a towel with water at the basin, wiped his own bloody face, then returned to the front room and handed the towel to Reid.

"If you love her, why haven't you found out what she has to say? Why haven't you given her a chance to speak for herself?" Park asked.

" 'cause she's not what I thought she was." Reid buried his face in the towel.

"And you can't stand that, can you?" Park glared. "You can't live with the thought that she may be less than what you and society want her to be. Isn't that why you've strung her along - why you can't completely let go of Hillary? And now that you think she's a whore, you can't bring yourself to go to her, talk to her, and see what she has to say. She's been tried, convicted and found guilty on an investigator's say-so; Mother’s investigator who was paid big money to dig up dirt on her." Suddenly aware of his balled fists, he loosened them, spreading his fingers. "You don't deserve her, Reid! She's too good for you." He took a deep gulp of air. "For either of us."

He lifted his glinting eyes to him. "Even a damned respectable miner wouldn't have a whore for a wife!"

New anger pulsated throughout Park’s body. The urge to punch his brother senseless again surged through him. He bit back his anger. "She was destitute when Anna asked her stay with her. She had nothing when she first came to Denver. Anna offered her a warm, dry room to sleep until she found something else. That's all."

"I don't believe that for a minute. My own investigation revealed that she was arrested after she was livin' at the Phillips’. So you tell me what was she doin' at Anna's that night?"

Park moved back to the mantel, leaned his arm against it, and stared into the popping, crackling flames. "To talk to Anna."

"And you believed her?"

"Yes." Stiffening his shoulders, Park looked at his brother. "Yes, dammit, I believed her."

"Then you're a damned fool."

#

"There's a man in the drawing room to see you, Miss Vann, and I dare say, he certainly isn't of the caliber we're used to inviting into our home." Mrs. Phillips stood on the narrow stairs outside the attic door, her nostrils pinched, her little mouth compressed. "Please have him state his business so that he'll leave as soon as possible."

Consternation coursed through Cassandra. "Thank you, Miss Phillips." She gave a stiff smile.

"Good." Turning, with straight back, the landlady moved down the steps, disappearing into the shadows below.

Curious about her visitor, Cassandra went down the two flights of stairs to the drawing room. Pausing at the threshold, she looked inside.

The room lay in quiet, dim repose. A lamp glowed here and there against the grayness of the day that filtered through the tall, wide windows. A shabbily dressed man of gray hair and bushy mustache sat on the edge of the sofa, his elbows resting on his thighs, turning his hat in his hands, obviously very ill at ease. He looked around the room with slow, methodical scrutiny. Upon hearing her entrance, he sprang to his feet and faced her, his mouth twitching among the thick whiskers.

Curious, she studied him. She had never seen him before. "I’m Cassandra Vann."

"Leonard is the name, ma'am."

"What can I do for you?"

"Huh, Miss Hampton sent me over. She says you need to know somethin' about a Nick I used to know who worked the mines 'round here."

Excitement leaped up within her breast, catching her breath. "Yes, I do." Instinctively grabbing his hands, she sat down, pulling him down beside her. The overwhelming fragrances of shaving soap and tobacco filled her nostrils. "What about this Nick? What can you tell me about him?" Her voice pitched high with eagerness.

"Well, we was pretty good friends. We worked together at the Easter Lily mine. But as I recall, he was in love with a high society woman. Her family didn't approve, you know. They kicked up such a fuss that Nick met her in secret."

"Her name? Do you remember her name?"

"Wyngate. Her name was Wyngate. I remember that plain 'cause she was the mine owner's daughter."

Everything within her stilled. "Which Wyngate was that, Mr. Leonard?"

Mr. Leonard chuckled. "The one and only Wyngate around these here parts, Gage Wyngate."

Stunned, Cassandra at first couldn't find her voice. Her mouth opened, but no words came. Her body shook. Taking a deep breath, she tried speaking again.

Mr. Leonard squinted at her, his dark eyes under the bushy brows filled with concern. "Are ya all right, Miss?" Cassandra nodded. "What was her given name?" Her words almost tumbled over each other in her eagerness to learn more.

"Ah, let me see . . . ." The man rubbed his beard. "Seems to me it was somethin' like Liz, Liza, Beth . . . Elizabeth. That's it . . . Elizabeth!"

Sudden tears sprang into her eyes. "You're sure, Mr. Leonard?"

"Well, as good as I can remember. It's been twenty some-odd years ago. My memory ain't what it used to be."

"What else? Can you tell me Nick's last name?" Suddenly aware of how tightly she squeezed the man's hand, she loosened her grip.

"Barnes. Nick Barnes. This woman came out to the mine one day with Mr. Wyngate. That was when Nick first saw her. It was love at first sight ‘tween 'em. Nick wasn’t like most of us miners. He was somehow different, kinda like he had breeding, ya know what I mean? Anyhow Nick got hisself killed in a mine explosion."

Cassandra blinked hard, the man's words again stunning her, grieving her. "And the woman, Elizabeth? What happened to her?"

Mr. Leonard shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno. No one heard nothin' 'bout her after that. Kinda seems like she dropped off the end of the earth."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The cold air fluttered around the hood of Cassandra's coat. It lifted its edge, then plastered it against the side of her face. Impatiently brushing it aside, she flipped the reins and urged the horse to a faster pace. The day was cold with the sun occasionally peering out among the scudding clouds. Ahead of her the Rocky Mountains bathed in the crystal, icy air, their cloak of white shimmering and glittering against the sun. It was one of those days where the weather could turn suddenly sunny and warm or wintry. She learned quickly that within one hour one could go from wearing light mantles to heavy woolen coats and boots. She hoped this would be a day that the weather remained constant, at least until she could return home.

She shivered and wondered if her chill came from the cold or from the idea of having another hostile confrontation with the Wyngates. But this time, she would be better armed.

Despite the warmth of her woolen gloves, the palms of her hands turned hot and sweaty. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might beat right out of her chest. She doubted that Anna's admonishment that she always show confidence would work now. She wished she had allowed Blaine to come with her. At least, he would’ve given her moral support. As it was, she would have to endure their stinging tirades alone.

As she rounded the curve in the narrow road, Silver Valley appeared as a misty illusion among the rolling foothills. Pulling the horse to a halt, she braked the carriage and studied the estate snuggled in its little valley of white. It looked secure and isolated from the rest of the world, having borne none of the harsh cares and realities of society. Something like contempt mixed with yearning filled her.

She didn't know exactly when she became aware of someone following her. Fearful of being caught out alone in this winter wonderland of vastness, she turned and looked behind her.

At first, she didn't recognize the figure mounted upon the magnificent bay, his body clad in a thick coat, his bowler pulled low upon his ears, the woolen scarf pulled up around his neck. Straight and regal he sat in the saddle, his breath making a white, misty vapor in the air, until he reined in and looked down at her from those intense, black eyes. A dart of relief, mixed with a surge of caution, coursed through her. Drawing in a deep breath, she lifted the reins in preparation to move along.

"Cass." Park's rich, melodious voice halted her movements.

She blinked at him and wondered how he got the bruised jaw. "What do you want, Park?"

"Blaine told me you were coming out this way. How about some company?"

"I have business to attend to."

"I'm coming with you." He swung out of the saddle and tethered his horse to the carriage. In one fluid movement, he climbed into the seat beside her.

Gazing into those blue-black eyes, lit with unbridled passion, Cassandra tried to smother the myriad of emotions he stirred in her. Although peeved at his audacity, she was glad for his presence and support. "This is not going to be an amicable meeting."

His right brow arched. "I didn't expect it to be, did you?"

Enthralled with that lopsided smile, she turned away and looked down at Silver Valley. "Not at all." She took a deep breath. "They're not going to like what I have to say."

"Good." With a wide smile, he lifted the reins from her hands. "I like a good, heated debate."

With a jolt, the carriage started down the narrow, sloping road toward the grand Wyngate home.

"I'm sorry for your firing," he said after awhile. "I want you to understand I had nothing to do with it."

Her chest tightened. "I can't take too much more of you Farringtons."

"Has Reid been to see you?"

Warmth crept up into her cheeks. "I wouldn't see him. I have nothing to say to him. Nothing at all."

"He'll be back."

"I hope not."

A little smile tugged at Park's lips as he studied her face, stiff and unyielding against the gray light. He wondered if she meant it. "Do you love him?"

Her eyes suddenly turned moist. He wished he hadn't asked.

Blinking hard, she looked across the vast land, twinkling and pulsating against the day. "Absolutely not. I don’t know why you would think I might." Her voice lowered into a whisper. She was suddenly glad Park was with here with her.

That little impish grin, hinting of relief, crossed his face and for a moment she thought he was going to take her into his arms, and when he didn’t, disappointment stung. She realized he was moving slowly, cautiously for now.

The branches of the pine trees above them rustled mournfully against the wind as the carriage wound its way up the driveway.

Park braked the carriage in front of the column lined verandah and leaped out. Fear choked Cassandra as she stared at the solid oak, paneled door of the house. Her courage wavered. For her, the magnificent house, despite its fortitude and stateliness, represented emotional upheaval. But Park was offering her his hand, and before she lost her courage, she gathered her skirts and allowed him to hand her out of the surrey.

His hand at the small of her back felt secure and comforting as they mounted the steps to the front door. Park lifted the knocker, looked down at her, flashed an encouraging grin and quick wink. She tried to smile back but her lips, numb from nervousness, refused to move.

The door at last opened, revealing Jefferson's black face. His practiced, beaming smile vanished, his chest puffed. He glanced curiously at Park.

"Is Mr. or Mrs. Wyngate in?" Cassandra heard herself ask between the thumps of her beating heart.

"Not for you, I fear they aren't."

"I believe they are." Park pushed the door open, brushed past the butler and led Cassandra into the front hall.

Jefferson gave a quick indignant snort. "See here

. . . ." he began.

Pivoting, Cassandra faced the butler. "Never mind, Jefferson - it is Jefferson, isn't it? I'll find them myself."

Turning about, she suddenly halted, coming face to face with Mr. Wyngate standing in the drawing room door. He leaned on his cane, his round face turning crimson and glistening with perspiration. "Jefferson, send for the sheriff at once! I'll not have this . . . this woman in this house!"

"Oh, I believe you will, Mr. Wyngate," Park muttered between tight jaws. "Miss Vann came all this way to talk to you and by damned you will hear what she has to say whether you want to or not."

"And I have nothing to say to you, either." His harsh gaze swept to Park.

"I talked with a Mr. Leonard of your Easter Lily mine and he gave me some very interesting information," Cassandra said, noting Jefferson’s hasty retreat and how Mr. Wyngate's already scarlet face seemed to turn a shade of purple. She wondered if he wasn't about to have another sick spell, as he did during her last visit.

Mrs. Wyngate appeared from somewhere in the duskiness of the drawing room, her own face as florid as her husband's, her dark eyes wide, her thin, bony hand covering her mouth.

Reaching into her coat pocket, Cassandra withdrew Nick's letter written over twenty years earlier and unfolded it. "Mr. Leonard worked at the Easter Lily mine with a Nick Barnes, the same Nick Barnes who wrote this letter to Elizabeth Wyngate, my mother. Mr. Leonard told me that Nick was in love with your daughter and they met in secret. Your daughter was Elizabeth, my mother." Pausing as if to allow enough time for her words to sink in, she sucked in a long, gulp of air.

Mrs. Wyngate emitted a cry, then sank into the nearest tête-à-tête and buried her face in her hands. Mr. Wyngate held his ground, his chest still puffed, his face scarlet, his nostrils flaring wide. "Your Elizabeth was not our daughter!"

"I am your granddaughter, aren’t I?" Cassandra's voice shook. Heat rushed to her cheeks, her heart hammered against her ribs. Park's hands on her shoulders, solid and comforting, gave her new courage and strength.

"No! You are not!"

"Mr. Leonard told me you came out to the mine with Elizabeth and that's where Nick met her. They met in secret and fell in love. After Nick was killed in an explosion, Elizabeth was never heard from again. What happened? What happened to my mother after Nick's death?"

"Jefferson!" The older man turned, and leaning on his cane, hobbled past the staircase toward the back of the house. He halted and labored for air. "Jefferson!"

"How did my mother meet my father, Reilly Vann?" Tears scalded her eyes; hot emotion ran amuck within her. She was hardly aware of Park's stoic presence or of Mrs. Wyngate's sudden audible burst of tears.

The butler appeared out of the shadows toward the back of the house. "I sent Poole after the sheriff," he announced, "and Claude will be here in a minute, Mr. Wyngate."

"Don't wait. Throw them out!" Mr. Wyngate’s small beady eyes, almost lost among the fleshy rolls of his face, glared at Cassandra, then darted to Park beside her. "And you, Farrington! What the hell are you doing here with trash like her?"

Park's face pinked. His black eyes leaped with anger. "To keep her from being abused by you, Wyngate," he answered in deadly control. "You owe her an apology."

"I owe her nothing. She came into my home, tearing it apart, accusing us of being her grandparents. I've had trash to make such claims before, but none have been as persistent as this. . . this . . . ." He swung his arm outward.

"Maybe she has damned good reason to be persistent, Wyngate. Seems to me you're getting damned upset about an empty accusation, if it is empty."

Wyngate's face turned redder. "Claude! Where's Claude?"

"Right here, Mr. Wyngate." A tall, muscular black man emerged from the back of the house, his heavy footfalls echoing into the seething silence. "What would ya have me t' do?"

"Throw these two out at once!"

Cassandra’s tears spilled onto her cheeks. Her aching heart felt as if it was about to burst. Stiffening her shoulders, she inhaled sharply. "Never mind. I’ve found out what I came here for. We'll see ourselves out."

With a snort, Wyngate pivoted and hobbled into the drawing room, pulling the doors shut, silencing Mrs. Wyngate's sniffles.

As if dazed by the raging emotions surging through her, Cassandra allowed Park to lead her out the door to the carriage. Hard as she tried, she couldn't stop the tears.

At the end of the long driveway, Park pulled the Brougham to a halt, withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket, and took her into his arms. His strength, his power, the feel of his solid body against hers was comforting. She brushed aside her inhibitions, buried her head against his shoulder, and allowed the sobs to come. Gritting her teeth, she clutched the lapels of his coat so hard her knuckles hurt. But she didn't care. She just wanted this incredible pain, this disappointment, this sense of hopelessness to disappear. She'd lost what pride she'd had back in the Wyngate's house.

His hand brushed her with warmth and gentleness as it tunneled up under the hood of her coat into her hair. His arm strengthened her as it wrapped around her racking body, then his mouth, warm and moist, caressed and lingered against the top of her head.

No words passed between them. He held her quietly, letting her sobs fill the silence around them. The cold hardly penetrated her coat or the heat of emotion.

"I know they're my grandparents," she sobbed, her words muffled against his chest. "I know it!"

"One day you'll find out, Cass." His own throat constricted, his turned voice husky. "One day you'll know."

"Mr. Leonard . . . why would he lie if it wasn't the truth? Why did he come to me and tell me that he knew Nick and that he loved Elizabeth, who was Gage Wyngate's daughter?" She sniffed loudly. "Why would he do that if it wasn't true?"

"I'm sure it was, Cass. There must be a reason they won't admit it."

"For what reason? Why would someone deny their own flesh and blood?" Pulling away from him, she looked up at him.

Park gently brushed a stray twig of hair away from her face. Her eyes and cheeks glistened with tears against the pale light. "I don't know, Cass. I don't know." Damn the Wyngates! Damn them for hurting her!

She whimpered, the sound cutting into his heart. It sounded like a pitiful kitten, lost and hungry. She blinked. Heavy tears clung to her lashes. Her mouth parted.

Desire, physical as well as emotional, surged through him. He wanted her physically, but he wanted to protect, to shelter her from life's hardships, as well. He needed her as he needed none other. He wanted to make her laugh, to make her happy, to erase all the pain she'd suffered since her father had abandoned her in the middle of the street back in Bluff Hills.

Her eyes flickered and darkened.

Bending his head, he touched her lips with his own. Soft and gentle, the touch bonded them into sweet bliss. Her sobs subsided as she leaned into the kiss, then pulled away, touching, in light caresses.

I'm glad you came with me today, Park. I almost love you for it.

The words rose into Cassandra's throat and stuck. She couldn't bring herself to be so vulnerable to him.

Instead, she muttered, "Please, Park, take me home."

#

Cassandra lifted her hand and knocked on the thick, paneled door leading to Anna's bedroom. Her heart pounded with the thought that she had no choice. She was only doing what she had to do in order to survive. No one wanted her. She'd been rejected by all whom she knew since arriving in Denver. Only Anna proved to be her lasting friend.

"Come in." Anna called.

Pushing the door open, Cassandra entered the warm, dim bedroom. Anna turned from the mirror, dropped the hairbrush, and smiled up at her, her dark eyes gleaming. "Hello, Cass."

"Anna." Closing the door behind her, Cassandra leaned against its hard wood for a moment, took a deep breath, and announced, "I'm ready to go to work for you, Anna. I've thought long and hard about it. I have no choice. I need the job."

Compassion softened Anna's face. Rising with a swish of silk, she stood for a moment, clasped her hands in front of her, and regarded her. "Are you sure?"

"I need the money, Anna. I'm broke. Rent is coming due." She couldn't contain the tremble in her voice.

Anna let out an audible sigh. "I assume you don't want to live here with the rest of the girls."

"No." Cassandra shook her head. "I have to think of Blaine."

"Speaking of Blaine, what will you tell him? How are you going to tell him what you're doing for a living?"

"I won't." She sucked in a long gulp of air and moved farther into the room. "If you'll go along with me, I'll tell him I'm doing something else for you, such as serving as a hostess, working in the kitchen, whatever."

Anna's eyes narrowed. "Do you think Blaine will believe you? You'll be working late."

"I'll make him believe it. I have to!"

"When do you want to start?"

"Tonight." Her breath came short and heavy. She laced her fingers together in front of her and ran her tongue over her upper lip.

"All right." Moving to her, Anna gently stroked her hair. "We'll start with a wardrobe. You'll have your old room. Wait for me there and I'll be down directly to coach you and to bring you something to wear."

Cassandra's eyes flickered. A nervous, little smile tilted around the corners of her mouth. "I'll need a lot of coaching." She heard the nervous trill in her tone.

"I'll talk to you in a few minutes." Anna went to the door and pulled it open.

"Thanks, Anna." Heavy-hearted, she moved out into the hall.

Anna watched Cassandra until she disappeared inside the room, then moving swiftly down the stairs, she encountered George in the lower hall.

"George, send for Park Farrington at the Wentworth's boarding house at once. Tell him I'll meet him in the parlor."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Her face flamed hot.

Oh, dear God, how am I going to go through with this?

The reflection staring back at her from the mirror wasn't Cassandra Vann. It was a stranger with a rouged face, whose long golden tresses convoluted into a mass of curls at the back of her head and adorned with a colorful plume. The gown of the sheerest material imaginable clung to her body, revealing the skimpy camisole underneath. Her arms, shoulders, and much of the swell of her breasts were bare, their turgid, dark peaks protruding under the black, lacy fabric. Her naval was a shadowy, misty hollow on her flat stomach. The thick gathers of the gown shadowed her hips and legs.

Her entire body shook with nervousness. Her head pounded. She felt sick to her stomach and with a surge of panic, thought she was about to retch everywhere. With a moan, she wrapped an arm around her stomach.

I can't go through with this. No matter how badly I need the money, I can't go through with this.

She hurried to the basin of water sitting on its stand, dampened a cloth, and held it against her flaming face, careful not to wipe off the rouge.

She already felt dirty, soiled, sinful.

Why did Anna arrange the meeting with her first customer here in her room? Although recognizing her ignorance of brothel protocol, she had gotten the impression from having lived here that the ladies met their clients downstairs in the parlor. Perhaps Anna was being considerate of her; after all, Anna seemed to know her better than she knew herself.

In a way, she was glad to be meeting her customer in privacy of the room without anyone else being around to see her inexperience, yet meeting a stranger in such intimate surroundings unnerved her. She couldn't decide which situation would have been the better of the two.

Stiffly moving back to the mirror, she bit her lip and tried to control her runaway heart. Her gaze moved across the room, taking in the large, canopied bed, its covers pulled back ready and waiting. The lone lamp burned low, bathing the room in soft incandescence. The fragrance of heavy perfume filled the air.

She wondered what physical intimacy would be like. She never dreamed that her first time would be with a stranger, an unknown, someone who cared not one whit about her. Or at least the first time she could remember. She couldn't recall much of anything of the night she spent with Park in his room. Tonight, just as it had been with Park, there would be no emotional ties, no commitment between her and her client.

At the thought, her blood ran cold. Sickness again curdled in the middle of her stomach.

Footfalls outside in the hall penetrated her thoughts. Her heart seemed to stop with dread. Breathless she waited as they halted outside her door. She couldn't move. Petrified, she stared at the door, its gilded knob turning. Thinking her knees were about to give way beneath her, she stumbled backward into the frame of the mirror.

The door swung open.

Everything inside her stilled.

Deadly black eyes bored into hers, then dropped their gaze, methodically scrutinizing the length of her. She heard the quick intake of a heavy breath, then the sudden slam of the door as it banged shut with the kick of a booted heel.

Darkness crowded in.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Park's roar penetrated her numbed mind. Her heart leaped, catching in her throat. Her knees shook. "W--what are you doing here?" Her voice trembled, weak with relief.

With a quick snap of his wrist, he tossed his bowler to the bed and yanked the woolen scarf from around his neck. "What does any man come here for? I plan to get my money’s worth."

He began advancing toward her, unbuttoning his coat, throwing it off, and throwing it to the bed.

Stunned, she opened her mouth to speak but couldn't find her voice. He kept coming, his body tall and looming before her. His look was razor-sharp. She cowered against the mirror.

Then he stood before her, the fragrance of his cologne engulfing her, his tight jaw twitching. His gaze seared her as his fingers unfastened his vest, then started on the buttons of his shirt. Shivers moved up her spine.

This wasn't the Park she knew. This wasn't the Park who rode out to Silver Valley with her, stood beside her, giving her strength and courage, then holding her in his arms, comforting her and soothing away her tears. He had made her feel protected, secure, and something akin to love. There had been no passion between them, just a sense of oneness. This man now standing in front of her was a stranger. One whose eyes burned with uncontrolled lust, who was capable of taking what he wanted, no considerations given.

"What are you going to do?" The question sounded silly even to her own ears.

Wordless, his gaze still piercing through her as if he had already stripped her of her gown, he yanked off his vest and threw it aside. Pulling open his shirt, exposing a wide expanse of hairy chest, he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. His free hand cupped her chin, lifting her face toward his. She felt small and fragile; he possessed the power to ravage her, to do with her what he willed.

"I came here for this." His mouth fell upon hers, angry, hard, and demanding, forcing her lips apart, his tongue probing and tasting. She inhaled, taking in the smell of him. As he bent over her, his arms tightened around her, his hand spread over her bottom, and cradled her hips into his. She burned and trembled. Moving across her ribcage, her hand went to her breast in sure broad strokes. She inhaled sharply as his thumb found a nipple and massaged it through the thin lace of her gown. Raw hunger, heated emotions new to her, burst through her. His other hand caressed her back in slow, agonizing strokes that sent spirals of hot shivers tingling up her spine.

A low purr rolled up into her throat.

His mouth dropped to her neck. A moan escaped him. Flames enveloped her. She whimpered; her hand spread across the back of his head, her fingers tangled in his hair.

Park, is this the way it's supposed to be between us? The words were held back with the pressure of his demanding mouth and the swirl of emotion.

Suddenly releasing her, he stepped away, his breath coming hard and fast, his eyes smoldering with desire and something else she couldn't read. "You have no business being here!" His voice and labored breathing rose harsh and raspy, blending with hers, in the tensed silence.

Grabbing her hand, he pulled her across the room to the armoire. He yanked out her coat and threw it over her shoulders. Then he snatched up his own coat and hauled her after him toward the door.

"What are you doing?" she cried.

"Taking you out of here!" He flung open the door and led her down the hall toward the back stairs.

They rode the carriage through the dim streets of Denver in silence. Even wrapped in her coat, Cassandra was freezing. She hadn't been as cold since she and Blaine lived on the streets of Bluff Hills, yet she knew Park must be colder than she, for he wore only his coat over his shoulders. His shirt still gaped open, its tail flapping against the wind. He drove with his body leaned forward, as if the sins of Hades were after them, each snap of the whip above the horse’s haunches demonstrative of his anger. If she meant nothing to him, why he was so angry?

When the glowing lights of Wentworth boarding house finally came into view, they seemed like a beacon light on a storm-tossed sea to Cassandra. Park drove the carriage into the carriage house, leaped out, giving instructions to the groom as he did so, then reached for Cassandra and handed her out of the carriage. Bending their heads against the wind, they ran, hand in hand, across the yard into the house and up the back stairs.

The warmth of the room embraced them like a blanket. A low fire burned in the hearth and the Ben Franklin stoves glowed with low heat. While Cassandra sat on the sofa, clutching the coat about her, her teeth chattering, and trying to get her chilled body under control, Park disappeared into the bedroom and soon returned with a glass of sherry.

"Drink this," he said gruffly, offering it to her. "It'll warm you up."

Recalling her past experience with brandy, she wrinkled her nose with disgust. "I don't want it."

"A sip or two won't hurt you. I don't have any coffee."

His authoritative tone and look challenged her to defy him. Hesitant, she took the glass from him. Is he trying to get me drunk again?

A little, lopsided grin tilted his mouth. "No, Cass, I'm not trying to get you drunk," he said, a taunt beneath is words.

Startled, she stared up at him. "I didn't say that."

His sardonic grin spread, flashing white teeth against the soft light. "I pretty well know what you’re thinking." Turning on his heel, he squatted down in front of the fireplace and began stoking the fire.

Sensing that he was still angry, she cautiously sipped the sherry. It went down smooth and warm.

The heat of the fire began to penetrate her body. Park went about stoking up the fires in the stoves and the bedroom fireplace until he returned with a glass of whiskey in one hand and a blanket in the other. He threw the blanket on the rug in front of the hearth, then tossed several pillows from the sofa on it.

"Get closer to the fire so you can warm up faster," he ordered.

Recognizing his gruffness as thinly disguised defense, Cassandra moved to the blanket and sat down cross-legged toward the fire. Its warmth at last penetrated her bones and she felt a little sleepy. She wondered if the sherry wasn't working on her.

Park folded his long, lean frame down beside her, bent his leg and rested his forearm on his knee as he sipped the whiskey. The firelight danced across his face, sometimes throwing his eyes into shadows. His rigid jaw twitched as he stared into the fire, almost as if he were unaware of her presence; as if he were in deep thought.

His silence made her uncomfortable. She sensed that he was a caged panther, pacing back and forth, his anger building. "I guess I should thank you for taking me out of that place," she said at last.

"You're not made for that kind of work, Cass." He continued to stare into the fire.

She pushed a stray twig of hair off her face. "I guess I ruined your evening. You can go back."

"Nothing there interests me." He still stared into the flames. Their crackle and pop filled the silence.

"I'm sorry . . . ."

"Don't be." For the first time, he turned and looked at her. His eyes were soft and glittered passion. "Anna sent for me."

Cassandra frowned. She didn't understand. "What for?"

"Because she knew I didn't want you there. She knows how I feel about you." His voice caught.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth. Strong and sensual, his lips twitched. Warm liquid flowed through her. "How do you feel, Park?" she asked, her voice low and throaty.

"I love you, Cass."

Startled, she stared at him and opened her mouth, but not knowing what to say, closed it. Silence permeated the room. Heat crept up to her hairline. Park still looked at her with that unreadable expression on his face, with those deep, piercing eyes that danced and smoldered. With a start, she realized that he was uncomfortable, unsure of himself. It seemed ludicrous that Park Farrington lacked confidence in any situation, with anyone.

"How can you say that?" she asked at last, looking away from him.

"It's true."

Still feeling his gaze on her, she turned toward him. "I'm nobody, Park. I don't fit into your world."

"To hell with my world!" he said fiercely, clutching her arms. "I don't fit into my world. Why do you think I live here at this boarding house instead of at Farrington Manor? It's because I can't tolerate their smug pretensions, their haughty airs and lifestyles any more than you can. I want you, Cass. No one else."

"How can you say you love me after what we've done?"

His eyes glinted brighter. His rigid jaws twitched harder. "What have we done, Cass?"

Her face burned hot. "That . . . that night we spent together here. When I got drunk and let . . .let

. . . ." She looked into the flames in the hearth.

". . . let you have your way with me."

An unexpected little chuckle rumbled up from him. "Little innocent Cass." His hands on her arms tightened. "We did nothing. Nothing at all."

Relief swept through her. "I thought--"

"I know what you thought, but it didn't happen, Cass. I couldn't take advantage of you. You're too innocent." His tone lowered, turned husky. "Too vulnerable. I took a long walk to cool off and when I returned, I slept on the sofa. Had we done something, believe me, you would have known."

"Oh." For some unexpected, puzzling reason, she felt disappointment. Turning away from him, she hoped he couldn't read the feeling on her face. No, he didn’t ravish her. His proper Farrington decorum wouldn't allow him to do such a thing, especially to one such as she, a hick girl from the sticks.

He suddenly chuckled, a deep, throaty rumble. Catching her chin between his thumb and index finger, he turned her face back toward his. "Tonight you're sober, Cass."

His mouth came nearer. She swallowed hard. For some reason, this was not going as she had expected. Although he regarded at her with that intimate look of seduction, she sensed an unfamiliar tension in him, almost as if he were unaccustomed to seducing women.

Still, when his mouth covered hers with its moist warmth, spirals of heat flickered and ignited deep within her. His lips massaged, his tongue explored and caressed until her arms moved up around his shoulders, her mouth opening to his. She inhaled deeply, relishing the fragrance of him. The texture of his flesh at the back of his neck, the threads of silk against her fingers tunneling up into his hair flamed another wild fire somewhere deep within her. Her awareness of their bodies melded together, of his arm beneath her coat, binding her against him, flamed high. His hand left a hot tingling sensation against her flesh through the flimsy lace of her gown. Suddenly impatient with the clothes separating them, she leaned farther into him and, sliding her hands in slow, easy caresses across his chest, slipped her arms under his gaping shirt and clung to him.

His heart thudded in rapid succession under her hand, his body was tense against hers, his breathing labored. And when his fingers began working with the fasteners on the bodice of the gown, she didn't protest. He flamed these foreign feelings into a raging inferno, making her respond in wanton, outrageous ways to his caresses and kisses.

Pulling away from her, he pulled the coat off her shoulders, then moving his mouth into the pulsating warmth of her neck, he kissed and tasted as he lowered her to the pillows spread behind her.

The air cooled her skin as his fingers unclasped the last hook. He pushed the gown aside, exposing her nakedness to him. His fingers stroked her breasts and she gasped with the sudden burst of pleasure his touch ignited. With a throaty moan, he suddenly pulled away, threw off his own coat and shirt, tossed them aside, letting his gaze move down the length of her, his pleasure and appreciation mirrored in his eyes, black and glittering with new delight.

The impulse to throw her arms across her body, shielding herself from his hot, demanding looks rose within her. No man had ever looked at her unclothed and certainly not with such fiery intimacy. But somehow, she didn’t - couldn’t. She wanted his touch, his kisses, his love, the feel of him against her.

He bent over her, his mouth leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses from her neck to her breasts. There, he teased, tasted, and nibbled. She moaned and arched against him, her fingers digging into his muscled shoulders. He groaned. His hand spread and moved with agonizing slowness across her ribs down over her stomach, as if memorizing every curve and crevice.

Above her, his barrel, rolling shoulders and arms gleamed against the flickering light of the fire. She tingled with new desire. Instinctively, she reached out, her fingertips sweeping through the mat of hair on his chest, across the taut muscles. A tremor moved through him.

"You’re so beautiful, Cass," he muttered in a ragged voice.

Unable to breath, she gasped with pleasure. His caresses made her feel bold and wanton. A knock suddenly banged on the outside of the door.

The silence, the euphoria shattered like a blow to fragile crystal. Cassandra's desire plunged headlong into cold harsh reality. Mortified, she stiffened beneath him as he, sucking in a long breath, tensed above her. Oh, dear God, what had they almost done?

Anger darkened his eyes, then, with his tight jaws twitching, he rolled away from her. With the warmth of his body gone, cold air chilled her. Bolting upright and with a small cry, she snatched up Park's shirt, the first thing her fingers contacted, and held it over her breasts. Scowling and straightening his trousers, he stepped past her to the door and yanked it open.

For what seemed an eternity, he stood unmoving at the threshold, saying nothing. Unable to see the visitor because of the opened door and unsure of what to do, Cassandra froze, her breath suspended. She waited.

"Hello, Park," came the feminine voice from the hall. Then with some hesitancy, "Did I catch you at a bad time? I really didn’t expect to find you home."

Mortification anew surged through Cassandra. Hot tears welled up behind her eyes.

Park shifted uneasily and glanced toward Cassandra. "I can't see you tonight, Amalia."

"Well, why not? It's not late--"

The voice came to a sudden halt as the woman brushed past Park and stepped into the room. Hard, green eyes met Cassandra's across the room.

"What's this?" Amalia demanded, her full mouth twisting into a smirk.

A low roar started in Cassandra's head. Fire scorched her from head to toe. She suddenly sprang to her feet, still clutching Park's shirt up around her. Park's contrite face turned scarlet, his black eyes glinted blacker with anger.

"It's none of your damned business, Amalia!"

"You haven't been seeing me because of this . . . this hired help at the Christmas Ball?" Amalia screeched, waving her arm toward Cassandra. "There's absolutely no one you won't bed, is there, Park - hired help and all?"

With a cry, Cassandra pivoted and ran into the bedroom. Slamming the door behind herself, she leaned against its cold paneling. Tears scalded her eyes and ran down her cheeks. Her chest ached with each hammer of her heart. She wondered if she was about to faint as Park's and Amalia's voices ranted from the other side of the door. Wave after wave of humiliation gushed through her.

She glanced wildly about the room, looking for a means of escape. Fool! He's played you for a fool! He doesn't know what love is if it hit him in the face! Amalia's right! He'd bed down anyone!

Hurrying to the window, she looked out into the icy night through blurry eyes. Covered with snow, the roof of the verandah stretched beneath her. Wind whined around the eaves. Going out into the cold with no more clothing on that what she had would be suicide.

She bit her lip until she tasted blood. Swinging about, she surveyed the elegant room. The large armoire stood across the room, one door gaping, revealing the clothes hanging inside.

Unsure of what else to do, she ran to it and threw it open. Park’s expensive clothes, neatly arranged, hung inside. She grabbed a long, woolen coat and pulled it on. It swallowed her and practically brushed the floor. Its sleeves hung well over her hands. Turning to look at herself in the mirror, she thought she looked like a clown. But she didn't care. At least it would be protection against the weather. She had to get away from here, back to Anna's. Thank God, she still had her shoes, although they would offer little protection against the cold, for they were low-cut and fastened with one strap. A lady-of-the-evening shoe. She gave a low, sardonic laugh, tinged with panic.

The angry voices still raged from the next room. Biting her lip, she took a deep breath, and jerked the door open. Their flushed faces turned toward her. Lifting her chin and stiffening her shoulders, she marched into the room.

Park's hand caught her arm as she moved past him. "Where are you going, Cass?"

She glared at him, and even through her anger and chagrin, she saw the softness, the warmth in them. She chose to ignore the look. "I hope you don't mind if I borrow a coat. It's all I could find. You can pick it up at Anna’s!" She jerked free of his grip and all but ran to the door.

"Cass!" Park called from behind her. "You'll freeze out there!"

Fighting the sob that rose into her throat, she slammed the door behind herself.

"Cass!" Park's voice echoed down the hall after her.

She ignored it.

Oh, how she hated him! The tears came in torrents, blurring her way down the cold, dark stairs.

#

She hoped she could slip unobserved up the back stairs at Anna’s, change into her own clothes and quietly leave. But Anna had seen her, and while she flung off Park’s coat and yanked her own clothes on, Anna tried to soothe her, to no avail. Even now as she mounted the back stairs toward her own room in the attic, Cassandra’s emotions still ran rampant. She wondered if she could ever face Park again. She not only would have given her body to him, she had opened her desire, all her emotions to him. What a fool she was! She choked back the burning sob that rose into her throat.

Biting her lower lip so hard she tasted blood, she opened the door to the attic room. From his chair, Blaine looked up at her over the book he held. Sniffing, she buried her hands in her face and sank to the cot.

"Cass, what's wrong?"

Blaine's strong hand touched her arm. Concern filled his voice as he sat down beside her on the cot.

"Oh, Blaine, I don't know. I hate it here. The Farringtons . . . the Wyngates . . . my firing . . . ." She halted in mid-sentence, a new idea coming to mind. Lifting her head, she stared at her brother through her tears. "Blaine, how much money do you have from your boxing?"

Curiosity flashed across his young face. "Quite a lot. Why?"

"Would you be terribly put out if we used some of it to go back to Arkansas to visit the Harrises for Christmas?"

Blaine's dark eyes lit, a wide grin spread across his face. "Heck, no! When will we leave?"

"First thing in the morning, first train out." Suddenly thrilled with her idea, her anger and hurt dimming, she sprang to her feet and yanked the worn carpetbag out from under the cot. "We may not have next month's rent, but I couldn't care less right now. We'll go to the depot tonight. We're going to Arkansas!"

CHAPTER NINETEEN

February 1893

The Christmas tree still stood by the attic window and looked as dead as her spirit felt.

Cassandra dropped the carpetbag, and gave a sound that was part sob, part chuckle. She moved across the cold attic and tenderly lifted one of its branches. Its fragile needles fell to her feet. Unexpected tears dimmed her eyes. Still adorned with strings of popcorn and bright little bows, it looked pitiful, forlorn, as if desperately crying out for help, just as she wanted to do.

The last six weeks had gone so fast that it already seemed like a dream. The Harrises welcomed her and Blaine with open arms and, in a way, the holiday was the best Christmas she could remember. Singing carols, popping corn over the fire in the hearth, baking delicious goodies, and decorating the house and tree were delightful. Colorado and its bittersweet memories, and, especially, Park, seemed far in the past. But as the train brought her closer to Denver, her stomach churned with anxieties. She had no job waiting, rent was past due, and a goodly sum of Blaine's money had been spent on their impulsive, impromptu flight and extended visit. Blaine's savings were all they now had.

Above all, there was Park. Conflicting emotions about him churned within her.

Behind her, the door banged open and Blaine grunted. Hastily brushing the back of her gloved hand across her misty eyes, she turned just as he, with an armload of firewood, kicked the door shut and moved to the pot-bellied stove in the corner.

"Man, it's cold out there," he said, dropping the firewood to the floor.

"And almost as cold in here," she muttered, noting how her breath rose in a wispy vapor and that the water in the porcelain basin had frozen. Shivering and clutching her coat closer about her, she picked up the carpetbag and tossed it onto a cot.

Behind her, a knock rapped on the door. Wondering who would be coming to see them, then immediately thinking it was probably the landlady wanting the rent, she moved to the door and opened it.

Park stood on the dusky, narrow stairs, his face under the bowler hat turned toward her. Her hand tightened on the doorknob. "Visitors are to wait downstairs," she snapped. Memories of their last meeting burned through her. She wanted no part of this . . . this philanderer, this womanizer.

His forehead drew with worry, his eyes darkened. No passion lit them now. "I have to talk to you, Cass." Urgency edged his tone.

His face lighting with delight, Blaine looked up from his task of stoking up the fire. "Park!"

"We have nothing to discuss!" Cassandra tried to swing the door shut.

Park’s hand, swift as a striking snake, caught it and shoved it back, banging it hard against the wall. "Yes, we do, Cassandra."

Shivering, she moved back into the room. She suspected her chill came not from the coldness of the room but the ice that penetrated her heart. "Say what you have to say and be done with it." Clutching her upper arms, she sank to the cot, refusing to look at him.

He moved inside and came to stand before her. She reluctantly looked up at him. The gravity of his expression, the sorrow mirrored in his black eyes alarmed her.

"It's Anna, Cass," he said, his voice husky. "She's asking to see you."

She rose, her heart thumping with an unnamed dread. "What's wrong? What does she want?"

Park's strong mouth twitched. "She's dying, Cass."

#

Intense sorrow settled upon her like a cloak when Cassandra entered the foyer of the grand house with Blaine and Park. George's black face glistened with tears as he closed the door behind them and took their coats. In one of the drawing rooms, Anna's girls clustered together, their faces hidden behind handkerchiefs, their sniffles and sobs breaking the somberness. The scalding tears Cassandra had been holding back now flooded her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. Her heart stuck in her throat. Weak-kneed, she staggered and grabbed for the doorjamb. Park's strong arms caught her. She swayed against him, sobbed, and buried her head in her hands.

"The preacher and doctor are with her now, Miss Vann," George said. "She's asking for you."

"Why?" Cassandra sobbed. "How?"

"You know she's been sick for a long time. She just took a turn for the worst, that's what the doctor said," he answered, his voice thick and heavy with tears. "We were afraid you wouldn't get here in time."

Another sob rose from Cassandra. Park's arms tightened around her.

Upstairs, a door opened in the shadows, then the doctor, medicine bag in hand, appeared on the landing. With the weariness of one feeling utter helplessness, he came down the steps toward them. His tired gaze came to rest upon Cassandra. "Miss Vann?"

She nodded, wiping her eyes.

"You can go up now."

With Park's hand on her arm giving her strength, Cassandra picked up a fold of her skirt and mounted the stairs with slow, heavy steps.

The door to Anna’s room stood ajar several inches. A dim shaft of light spilled across the carpet as she halted at the threshold, then knocked lightly on the wooden panels. It opened revealing the Reverend, with the Bible tucked under his arm. He greeted her with a short nod, then wordlessly allowed her to step inside.

A scent filled the room. The smell of death. The same scent that permeated the mining shack when her mother lay dying.

Cassandra’s heart almost stopped. A cry of anguish rose into her throat. Choking it down, she stared into the dim room, at the small, shrunken figure lying under the quilts on the massive bed. Anna's face looked pasty white, her eyes sunken into dark cavities, her cheekbones startlingly prominent. Her lips were no longer full and glistened with color, but looked thin and white. Gone was the colorful, vital woman that had rescued her and Blaine at the depot eons ago.

So still did she lie that Cassandra wondered if she wasn't already dead. She flung a questioning look at the preacher. With dark, sorrowful eyes, he shook his head, turned, and stepped out of the room.

With wooden steps, she moved to Anna's bed. Tears blurred her vision and she wondered if her heart wasn't about to burst. Death was taking away her only true friend.

Anna stirred, opened her eyes and peered up at her from narrowed slits. A feeble smile touched her lips, then faded. "Cass, you did come," she muttered, breathless and faint.

Suddenly overcome with emotion, Cassandra clutched the thin, cold hand resting on the outside of the counterpane and kneeled beside the bed. She stroked the dark head. "Oh, yes, Anna, I'm here!"

Another faint smile touched her lips. "Where did you disappear to, Cass?"

Cassandra blinked hard, trying to blink away the flood of tears. She continued to stroke her head. "Blaine and I went to Arkansas." Her voice cracked.

The smile seemed to brighten. "You didn't tell anyone. Park was so worried . . . ." Her voice broke into a spasm of coughing.

"Park and I had a disagreement." She forced a chuckle, realizing her words were empty and of no consequence now. All she wanted was for Anna to get well.

Anna nodded slightly. With a sigh, she closed her eyes. "He told me." Her voice was getting weaker. "He loves you, Cassandra."

Park! Why was she talking so much about Park on her deathbed? Her heart turned cold at the mention of his name. "S-hhh, don't talk, Anna. You need your rest."

"No!" Anna's weak fingers curled around Cassandra's on the counterpane.

The vehemence in her tone startled Cassandra.

"I . . . I want you to know." Her voice came out in raspy, shallow gasps. "I'm leaving a few thousand dollars to Pearl and my other household help and to each of my girls. Everything else I'm leaving to you."

"Me?" Stunned, Cassandra sat back on her heels.

A little smile tilted Anna's lips. She took a deep, uneven breath. "It's already drawn up in my will, all legal with my attorney."

"But, Anna, you're going to live--"

"No." Her dull eyes seemed to brighten. "No, I'm not. You see, I've had this sickness for a long time. The day I met you at the depot, I had been to San Francisco to see doctors there. They could do nothing for me . . . ." Her voice trailed away, and with a long sigh, she closed her eyes.

Panic seized Cassandra. Her grip on Anna’s hand tightened. "Anna!"

The eyelids fluttered and opened slowly. "Remember, I asked you once what you would do if you came into a lot of money?" Her lips twitched with a smile.

Numb, Cassandra nodded. Her eyes stung as if they were on fire. A lump strangled her. She gulped.

"Your answer pleased me. You're a wise woman." Closing her eyes, she again sighed. "I hope you're as wise about the men you love."

A sob escaped Cassandra. Biting hard on her knuckles, she let the tears overflow and splash onto the white bed sheets.

"I'm ready to go, Cass," she whispered, her voice thin and weak. "And I can rest knowing that you nor Blaine will ever have to live on the streets again."

"Oh, Anna!" All she wanted to do was throw herself against Anna and hold her to never let her go. She couldn't be dying! The only friend she ever had couldn't be dying! She was the only person who had made life in Denver tolerable. Guilt at not being here with her during her last days, at not seeing the signs of how her illness had progressed surged through her. "Anna, don't die!" Her voice broke into a sob.

Silence.

Another sob escaped her. "Anna!"

The eyes fluttered. When they at last opened, light no longer shone in them. Death was overcoming her. "The angels have come for me, Cass. It’s time to say good-bye."

Cassandra's teeth sank into her lower lip so hard she tasted blood. She gasped for breath. Swallowing hard, she bent over Anna's still body. "Anna, you've been so good to me and Blaine. So good . . . ." Body-wracking sobs overcame her, choking her, numbing her. The pain couldn't be borne.

Gentle hands on her shoulders brought the realization that others had entered the room. Then she was being pulled gently away, with Park's soft, masculine voice muttering something low to her. Sobs and sniffles filled the room.

Anna's still, white face blurred before her. Anna uttered no sound, no breath. Cassandra bent her head and buried her face against Park’s shoulder and sobbed aloud.

#

"They're waiting downstairs, Cass."

Turning from the window, Cassandra looked up at Park standing in the bedroom doorway. Still clad in his funeral clothes of dark suit and polished shoes, he seemed to be the epitome of strength, security, and comfort. Something warm filled her. He never left her side the past three days, always there to talk to, always there to share her grief, always there to help make the funeral arrangements. The incredible anger and hurt she felt toward him since that horrific night when Amalia had walked in on them in his room were forgotten. At least for a little while.

Suddenly feeling very old and tired, she reached to remove the pin holding her flat, wide-brimmed hat on her head. "What am I to say to them, Park? I haven't even thought about what I'm going to do with this place."

He grinned, flashing white teeth, as he stepped into the room. "You could still keep it open as a house of entertainment for men."

She laughed softly, with no joy. "I think not." Tossing her hat to the bed, she turned to him. "Do I look like a madam of a house of ill repute?" Forcing herself to join him in lighting up the somber situation, she flung her arms out, gesturing around them. "Do I look worldly, sophisticated, and sexy enough to be a madam?"

He chuckled and stepped nearer. God, how he wanted to take her into his arms and hold her. To taste those full, pink lips. Instead, he held himself in check, his gaze sweeping across her upturned face. "Hardly," he said, his voice low and husky. "But you could learn."

The smile vanished from her face. "From whom?" Her tone was low and breathless, her gaze rested on his face.

From me, he wanted to say, but held it back. Their relationship was fragile and he didn't want to shatter it. She still thought him to be a wolf whose lustful desires ran indiscriminately rampant. He chuckled to himself. Little did she know that other women no longer interested him, no longer sparked desire in him. No other woman but her. He had to bide his time, wanted her to learn to trust him unequivocally, to know that he loved her as no other woman. He had to make her understand that that night back in his room, when they almost made love, he hadn't been driven to make advances upon her by lust exclusively. It had been love. Now, he didn't want to move too fast.

Nor too slow. There was Reid. Always Reid. He silently cursed. "I think you'd better get down stairs and talk to the girls," he said.

Something he couldn't read flickered across her face. Then as if remembering the business at hand, she stepped away from him. "I don't understand why they want this conducted so quickly after Anna's burial."

"So they can get on with their lives. I hear a couple of them have already found work down on the Row." Placing his hand at the small of her back, he propelled her out of the room into the hall.

All eight of Anna's girls turned their unpainted, tear-stained faces toward and her and Park as they entered the drawing room. Solemn and quiet, they waited expectantly. The crew of three servants, the piano player, bookkeeper, Pearl, the cook, and, Edna, the housekeeper stood to one side near the windows. Halting and feeling the reassuring squeeze of Park's hand on her arm, she took a deep breath, tried to slow her pounding heart, ran her tongue across her lower lip, and locked her hands together in front of her.

"Project confidence whether you feel like it or not." Anna's words came back to her loud and clear.

"Ladies, gentlemen," she began haltingly. "we're all saddened by Anna's death, and my heart bleeds for each of you for having lost a friend and employer. I, too, lost the best friend I've ever known." Halting, she swallowed. "I share my deep loss with you." She took a shaky breath. "I'm sure you suspect that this place of business will close, and you're right. I cannot run a . . .a house of entertainment for men." She cast Park a quick look. He flashed an encouraging smile. She directed her attention back to the women. "Ladies, as of today, you're no longer employed here." Low mutters moved among them. "What ya gonna do with this place?" Lucinda asked, her eyes bright with tears. "Just you and your brother live here alone?"

"Although I haven't given it much thought, I suppose we will," Cassandra answered, her gaze moving to the household help. "But I still need kitchen help, so Pearl, you're welcome to stay on. So are George and Edna. I'm sorry, the rest of you are terminated, although you are welcome to stay here until you can find suitable employment."

Unsure of what else to say, she swung her gaze over the group, her heart heavy. Nothing would be the same for some of them. Several had worked for no one else but Anna. Warm tears pressed against her eyelids. "That's all I have to say."

With Park's hand on her back, she moved from the room, and closed her ears to the soft sounds of weeping behind her.

#

Dropping her pen, Cassandra looked up from the letter she was writing to the Harrises back in Arkansas, gazed toward the opened French doors for a moment, then rose and moved out onto the verandah. It was one of those unusually mild late February afternoons with a chilly bite to it. The snow from the previous week was gone, although the mountain peaks still glittered with it.

Sighing and clutching her upper arms, she looked over the balustrade down into the garden. It was quiet. Leaves swirled around the dry fountain. The gentle wind whined among the bare branches so forlornly that Cassandra shivered. It seemed to be mourning the loss of Anna. Warm tears misted her eyes.

She still had trouble believing that Anna was dead, that Anna's estate of over two hundred fifty thousand dollars, including this magnificent house and all its furnishings, now belonged to her. In fact, she still felt overwhelmed. She didn't know how to handle money, especially such a vast amount and, upon Park's recommendation, hired the Farringtons' accountant to handle her finances.

The habit of being stingy with money plagued her, for she still wasn't comfortable spending. She wondered if she ever would learn to enjoy having it. And to spend Anna's money somehow seemed so disloyal to Anna. She had worked so hard for it, albeit, in a shady occupation, and never had the chance to enjoy it.

"Miss Vann?"

Moving back into the bedroom, she saw George standing at the bedroom threshold, peering around the partially opened door. "Yes, George?"

"Mr. Farrington is here to see you."

Her heart leaped. Park? Or Reid? She had not seen Reid since her return from Arkansas. The memory of their last meeting still shamed her. She had no desire to ever lay eyes on him again. He was seen in the company of Hillary on several occasions recently and, according to the newspapers, was flitting from real estate deal to real estate deal. With the plummeting silver prices, many people were going broke while others, such as the Farringtons who had invested primarily in gold, were making fortunes.

"Which Mr. Farrington, George?" She prayed it was Park waiting downstairs.

"Reid, ma'am."

Her heart slowed with disappointment. "Tell him I'll be right down." She hurried to the dressing table, picked up the hairbrush and swept a few stray twigs of hair back into place, pressed her lips together in order to make them pinker, and straightened the silk gown across her shoulders. She hoped she portrayed the businesswoman she now was and not a woman dressed to please a man, especially Reid Farrington. Satisfied with her looks, she moved out of the room toward the stairs.

Reid stood in front of the fireplace, where a roaring fire crackled and popped, in the drawing room and thought that Anna’s place hadn't changed much - except the owner. Cassandra Vann now owned what at one time was the most popular house of entertainment for men in all of Denver, even beating out Jennie Rogers, the grand madam of all. Odd that a prim, proper woman from Arkansas now owned it.

Silk rustled at the door behind him. Turning away from the hearth, he met Cassandra's gaze across the room. His breath caught as she moved toward him. She seemed to glide like a swan across smooth waters, the hem of her peacock blue gown brushing the carpet. None of the society women he knew were as regal as this woman from the mining camps of Arkansas. This woman who had gotten into his blood and made it boil with the want of her.

Lifting her tapered chin, she looked up at him from those deep, silver eyes under long, feathery lashes, her nostrils pinched, her full, red lips glistening against the light. The earbobs on her ears sparkled like diamonds. He wondered if they indeed were diamonds, for she was now a wealthy woman.

"Hello, Reid," she said, her voice soft and cool.

"Cass." He reached for her hand.

She deftly turned just out of his reach and sank to the brocade sofa. Folding her hands in her lap, she looked up at him. "What can I do for you?"

Damn! She was treating him as if he were a stranger. Her reception wasn't what he had expected, yet he wasn't sure of what he expected. His aplomb evaporated. "I'd like to take you to dinner."

"I think not, Reid." Her tone was firm, authoritative, and decisive.

He sensed a new fortitude in her. "I'd like to talk with you, Cass." Sitting down beside her, he caught her hand.

"What about?" She discreetly withdrew.

Disappointment, tinged with irritation, nudged him but decided now wasn’t the time to let his emotions sabotage his goal. "Us. I still need you, Cass."

Her bright eyes flickered, then she rose and moved toward the fireplace and stared into the licking, orange flames.

"Cass . . . ." He moved up behind her. Aching to touch her, he grasped her shoulders.

Turning and shaking free of his hold, Cassandra looked up into the strong, clean lines of Reid’s face. His black eyes glittered with passion. A wistful longing deep inside her stirred. It was just a whisper-soft flutter that lit no fire. What she felt was more of a longing for something gone; something that could have been, something just beyond reach that held no regret. "Is that why you came, Reid?"

"Let's go for a ride, Cass." His fingertips grazed her cheek.

She stepped beyond his reach. Her heart grew colder. He moved forward, his brow lowered, his eyes dimming.

Caution nudged her. She sensed something desperate, something latent beneath his demeanor. Turning her face away, she again stepped backward. "No, I don’t think so, Reid. I have things to do."

Disappointment, tinged with anger, darkened his eyes. His face hardened. He stiffened. "I've missed you, Cass. I heard you'd gone back to Arkansas for Christmas. I wanted to see you right after you returned but with the price of silver dropping like a rock, we've lost some businesses, selling others, buying up others. I haven't had much time." "So I've heard." She moved to the sideboard and poured a glass of whiskey from the crystal decanter, then offered it to him. "The newspapers keep me informed of your goings-on."

Accepting the drink, he lifted it to his lips and sipped.

"If you're thinking of what they're saying about Hillary and me--"

"I really couldn’t care less."

He shrugged impatiently. "The newspapers report what they want to report, not necessarily the truth. I've had to have her beside me to make some of the deals I wanted since her father is the biggest, most influential banker in Denver. You've got to understand."

"I think I do." Amid a gentle swish of her gown, she stepped past him and moved toward the fireplace.

Grinding his teeth, he followed her. "No, I don't think you do. How could someone who's never been in the business possibly know what one has to do to make a deal?"

Pivoting, she glared at him. "You're right. Up until now I didn't know the inner workings of business. But I'm beginning to understand that soiled doves aren't the only people who prostitute themselves."

Reid paled. He gripped her arm, his tight jaw working. "That's not what I meant. It's just that sometimes you have to do what you don't want to."

She pulled her arm free. "I think I do understand." She made no attempt to contain the contempt in her voice.

"You're a business woman now, Cass. You're going to learn it's a dirty business."

"Yes, as I said, I'm beginning to understand. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've things to do." She started toward the door.

"Cass, I've come to make a proposition for you."

She halted. The truth was about to come out. He hadn't come to see her. He’d come on business. She should have known. Reid, the businessman. Sucking in a deep gulp of air, she faced him, wanting to rid herself of him. "What kind of proposition?"

"I suppose you've heard that I . . . my family are negotiating to buy up most of the real estate for several blocks around you."

"I've heard rumors."

"I want to buy this house."

She gaped at him. "Why? What are you going to do with all this property?" She looked up at him standing before her, sipping his whiskey, an aura of arrogance surrounding him.

"We're planning to build a hotel and a theater on this site."

He looked smug in his proclamation. A tinge of irritation nipped her. "And if I don't sell?"

His smile vanished. "You've got to, Cass. We can't build around you. You're sitting in the middle of the site. Everyone else is talking favorably."

"Perhaps you should have consulted me before you started talking with others."

His dark eyes dimmed. "I started negotiating with Anna just before she died. She talked favorably because she was sick. Of course, she was going to take my scalp along with the sale, but I almost had her persuaded."

Defiance welled up within her. "Then build around me, Reid."

His rigid jaw twitched. "Why won't you sell? It means nothing to you. For God's sake, it’s a whorehouse! Are you going to live in a whorehouse?" Anger and frustration filled his tone. "I'd give you thirteen thousand for it, although it's probably not worth over eleven."

"Is that what you offered Anna?" She arched an eyebrow at him. "Or is your offer considerably less since I’m a novice in the business world?"

His face flushed red.

With a rustle of silk, Cassandra turned and started toward the door. She halted some distance from him and met his gaze. "You could offer me twenty-five, Reid, and I'd not sell. You see, I'm thinking about establishing this house as a home for the homeless. With the value of silver sliding, many people are out of work and losing everything they have, including mortgaged houses."

Reid's face blanched. "There's the Denver House for the homeless."

"With too few beds. Granted, this house is smaller, but it does have three stories, twelve bedrooms, and if need be, a couple of parlors can be made into bedrooms."

God, she’d changed. There was no evidence of the timid, naive woman he'd hired at the Farrington just last year. He wondered who instilled such confidence, such maturity in her. Park? What else had she learned from Park? He ground his teeth. "You're dreaming big, Cass. You have no experience in management, especially anything of that proportion."

She lifted her chin high. "I can learn."

"And with someone who has experience in management helping her, she won't have any trouble."

At the sound of Park’s gruff voice, they both turned to see Park standing with Blaine in the doorway.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Stony silence permeated the room.

Cassandra's gaze moved from Park's stoic face to Reid's angry one. The two men glared at each other across the distance until Reid at last stirred and snapped, "You're supposed to be with me on this! If I make this deal, you've made it, too."

"Not on this one." Park stepped into the room, his gaze swinging to Cassandra.

"We've never had any major business disagreements before. Why aren't you with me on this one?" Reid's voice rose a notch.

"Seems we're having disagreements of all sorts nowadays." Park paused, giving emphasis to the significance of his statement. "Cass doesn't want to sell. This time we'll not play rough."

Reid's face darkened with anger. His tight jaw flexed. "This is prime property worth thousands and one day will be worth a helluva lot more!"

Park's jaws tightened. "I'm well aware of the value of this property. I'm sure Cass is, too."

Reid's fists curled and uncurled. The corners of his mouth whitened. For a moment, Cassandra wondered if he was about to strike Park. "How could you possibly know? You're too damned busy counting the number of women you’ve bedded down!"

Park's face darkened. "That’s uncalled for, Reid. Especially in front of Blaine."

Turning to Cassandra, Reid flashed a feeble, apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Cass. But just think about what I've said and we'll talk about this some more."

Lifting her stiff chin, she looked up at him. "I've said all I want to say, Reid. I think I've made myself clear."

He scowled. "Surely, you can't let this opportunity pass. With the proceeds you get from the place, you could buy another, a bigger place for your homeless."

She shook her head. "I'm not interested."

"I think Cass has said all she wants to say." Park made another step toward his brother.

They glared at each other, then Reid turned toward Cassandra. "We need to discuss this further."

She lifted her chin. "If you’ll excuse us."

Anger darkened his face as his gaze shifted from her to his brother, then catching her hand, he lifted it to his lips and muttered, "I'll be back to see you." Then stepping past Park he muttered between clenched jaws, "And I'll see you later." He strode out the room.

Cassandra's gaze moved to Park's face. He sent her a quick, encouraging smile, then for the first time, she noticed Blaine's puffed, bruised cheek. Anger spiraled through her. "Blaine, you've been fighting again!"

Blaine's face beamed with delight. "Yeah, but wait until you hear what I won!"

"I couldn't care less what you've won! You know what I think about your fighting. Just look at you! I certainly hope you feel better than you look." She brushed a stray twig of hair off her face and moved toward the mantel.

"Just a headache is all. I'm all right." He shrugged his shoulders.

"I think you'd better hear him out, Cass," Park said quietly.

"Yeah!" Blaine, his adolescent voice cracking, moved up beside her. "Ever hear of the Victor Gold Mine?"

"No, no, I haven't." Impatience tinged her voice.

"Well, it's mine . . . ours!" He thrust a piece of paper crushed in his over-sized hands at her. "Read it!"

Retrieving the paper, she sent Park a quizzical glance. Her eyes grew round with disbelief. "My stars, Blaine! This is a note relinquishing ownership of the mine to you - us!"

"Yep, that's right!" His dark eyes glittering with delight and smug self-satisfaction, he jutted his chin and bowed his mouth up at her. "All we have to do is take it to a lawyer and have the right papers signed. Now whatta ya got to say?"

She met Park's eyes across the dim room. "Is this real?"

"Right down to the signature." Grinning, Park moved beside her. "Recognize it?"

She looked down at the paper in her hands. She frowned. "It's hard to read. Wyngate? Gage Wyngate?" Stunned, she stared with disbelief at Blaine.

"That's right," Blaine chortled, pivoting and sinking into the nearest chair. "He was at the match and not knowing who I am, he bet me I couldn't knock old Casey Maine out. He said I wasn't good enough. Of course, Mr. Wyngate was pretty well lit and I kept goading him to up that ante, and when I did knock Casey out, he had to sign it. Park held him to his word. He sure didn't want to, though!" With a triumphant giggle, he fell back into the chair, arms outspread, his long legs sprawled out in front of him.

Cassandra couldn't contain the impish smile that crept across her face as she looked up at Park.

He grinned down at her. "First thing in the morning, we can go see Matt Byington, our lawyer, to make everything legal."

#

The moment she entered the front hall, Cassandra sensed something amiss. Despite the warmth of the fires that blazed in every hearth, the scent of baking bread, and the recent occupancy of ten homeless residents, the Elizabeth House lay in chilly, quiet repose. Her merry mood dissipated. She shivered. An unexplained sense of alarm chilled her, as if she had been doused with ice water. It was too silent, too cold, too dismal.

"George!" she called, dropping her parcels on the brocade settee. She slipped out of her coat and laid it beside the packages. "George!" Panic edged her tone.

She started briskly toward the back of the house, glanced into the nearest drawing room and halted. Park, clad in his heavy coat with its collar pulled up around his ears, stood against the flickering firelight, hat in hand, as if waiting for her. With no conscious effort on her part, her heart leaped with delight.

"Park." She swept into the room, her velvet gown swishing in the stillness.

Her smile vanished. Alarm choked her. His brows knitted over his black, clouded eyes, the corners of his mouth pale and drawn. Something like sorrow shrouded his expression. "Park, what is it?"

"Cass, sit down." Grasping her arm, he led her to the sofa. Together they sat.

Panic curdled in the pit of her stomach. Unspeakable dread strangled her. "Park . . . ?"

His eyes suddenly misted. His hand moved to hers folded in her lap, and squeezed it. "It’s Blaine," he began, his voice cracking. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

Icy fingers clutched her heart, tightening around it until she could hardly breathe. "What about him?" The question rose from her dry throat as soft as a whisper.

"You’d better come with me. He’s over at Dr. Taylor’s." Still clutching her hand, he rose, pulling her to her feet.

"What’s wrong?" Her voice lifted, bordering a scream. Hot, heavy tears filled her eyes.

Park blinked hard. "He was fighting and was knocked unconscious."

#

The doctor pushed open the door leading to the room where Blaine lay. Even before she saw her brother Cassandra knew that he was dead. A numbness began in her arms and legs and spread throughout her body. Darkness closed in on the light. She swayed against Park and choked back the scream that rose into her throat.

"Are you all right, Cass?"

Park’s voice came from far away, muffled, and faint. Blinking hard and holding to Park’s arm, she stepped into the room.

No! He’s not dead! He’s just sleeping!

Forcing her body to obey, she moved to his bed and looked down at her brother.

He lay very still on the pillow, his face the color of paste, shadowed with blue. No sound of breathing came from him. Only a face stilled by death. His skinned hands, relaxed and partially curled, lay beside him.

"Blaine." She softly called his name through unyielding lips. Lifting his hand, she pressed it against her mouth. Icy cold. So cold. So cold . . . . "Blaine!" The scream came from somewhere deep in her being.

"Cass." Again, Park’s voice came from some far-away fog. She fought for air.

Blaine’s eyelashes fit so perfectly against his cheeks, as if he only slept. That twig of unruly hair, the color of flaxen, clung to his forehead. And his mouth was closed, never to laugh or cry or talk or shout again. Blaine had been stilled.

Sudden fiery anger shook her. Grabbing her brother’s hand and with a cry of rage and grief, she bent over him and laid her ear against his chest. She sobbed. She heard no sound nor felt the soft touch of Park’s hand on her shoulder nor the gentle stroke of his fingers as he brushed threads of her hair away from her face.

"Why?" she sobbed, "Why? He was all I had!"

Park kneeled beside her on the floor. "No one knows, Cass," he whispered, his voice thick. "It just happened."

Through blurry eyes, Cassandra looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "What happened, Park? How did he die?"

"The doctor said he went into a coma. Brain damage. He really doesn’t know."

A violent shiver raked her. "Just when he had something in life, life was taken from him--" Her voice broke. Grief surged through her, erupting into a wail. With tight fists, she clutched a fold of Blaine’s shirt. Burying her face against his chest, she cried aloud.

#

Cassandra stood on the balcony and stared down at the cold, bleak garden below her. Her heart felt as icy as the wind whipping mercilessly around her. The trees rustled as if moaning for her loss. Blaine was gone. Gone forever.

She shivered and blinked against another threat of hot tears. Sinking her teeth into her lower lip, she forced back the onslaught. How was it possible she could produce more tears? For three days she had lain curled up on her bed and cried, begging God to take her, too. But she still lived, bearing this indescribable hurt, hardly aware that the everyday activities of the Elizabeth House, under Park’s and Pearl’s direction, continued without her.

Park had been there, too. As if from afar, in a heavy mist, she remembered his comfort, his holding her, bringing her food, which she would not touch no matter how much he pleaded.

Most of all she remembered his tears. Tears that gathered in his eyes unashamedly. She recalled seeing him sitting beside her, his head buried in his hands, his body shaking with sobs and how she’d reached out, stroked his head, and offered her own inadequate condolences to him. She remembered being held in his arms as they both cried.

Reid occasionally showed up, too. Although he offered her his condolences, he seemed distant, out of touch, his emotions far apart from hers. She remembered how he promised that after Blaine’s funeral he would take her to San Francisco to help her forget.

Forget? How could she ever forget her brother?

Another stunning wave of grief overtook her, bringing an onslaught of tears. Bending her head, she buried her face into her hands and wept aloud. Would this terrible emptiness, this terrible, mind and soul-shattering sense of loss ever go away?

Yes, yes, it would. It had softened with the years following her mother’s death. Besides, didn’t the Bible promise that she would see her loved ones again one day? That she would see Mother, Blaine, and even Anna one day? She had to believe that because that was all she had, for she’d lost everyone she loved. She had no family. No one.

No one but the Harrises back in Arkansas.

She suddenly lifted her head and blinked. Overwhelming homesickness surged through her. The Harrises. Maybe if she went back home, saw old friends and familiar places, the hurt wouldn’t go so deep.

She pivoted and darted back into her bedroom. Energized with her idea, she pulled the bell-pull to summon George, hurried to the armoire and flung open the doors. She began yanking out clothing.

The manservant appeared in the doorway. "You wanted to see me, Miss Vann?"

"Yes, George. Have the carriage brought around. Locate Park for me right away. I’m going to Arkansas for a few days."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Three Weeks Later

The man standing on Mrs. Harris’ front porch was tall, wide-shouldered, and possessed a head of thick hair as black as the expensive wool suit he wore. From the clean, strong lines of his face down to the tips of his polished shoes, he exuded a racy, provocative aura. His eyes, like marbles of ebony, glittered with depth and intensity. The smile that tilted his wide mouth only enhanced his tantalizing manner, his charisma.

"Mrs. Harris?" he asked, doffing his bowler.

"Yes?"

"I’m Park Farrington of Denver. Is Miss Vann here?"

His low, rich tone further suggested his danger to women. Mrs. Harris’ defenses rose. Although Cassandra often spoke kindly of this man, he seemed too dangerous for the likes of Cassandra - a woman sheltered and unskillful in the art of handling the wolves of the world. "Yes, she is." She paused, her gaze sweeping the length of him once more. A little, amused smile tilted his mouth. Inhaling sharply, she stepped aside, allowing him to move inside. "She’s out back. I’ll get her."

Park’s dark, smoldering eyes glittered down at her, as if he sensed her opinion of him. "If you don’t mind, I’ll go to her."

Mrs. Harris hesitated, noting that he still smiled that little, intriguing smile. "Is she expecting you?"

"No. I’d like to surprise her."

She puffed. "Here in Bluff Hills, visitors are announced."

His smile widened. "They are in Denver, too. I’d still like to see her. I don’t think she’d mind."

She heaved with a deep breath. "Very well."

She led him down the wide central hall of the house toward the back. Every window and door was opened to the warm March day, letting the spacious rooms glitter with sunlight. The fragrance of baking bread and cinnamon rolls saturated the air. Immaculate and clean, the house bestowed a cozy atmosphere, an atmosphere of family warmth. The kind of home Park hoped to have one day with Cassandra.

Mrs. Harris led him to the back porch, then quietly disappeared.

Cassandra sat in the gazebo, her mane of golden hair tumbling over her shoulders and waving against the gentle breeze, her face turned toward the sunlight. Even across the distance separating them, he sensed the deep sadness surrounding her. His heart filled with love. He loped down the porch steps and strode toward her.

With a start, she looked up. Those silver eyes blinked once, then widened with surprise. A slow, delighted smile crept across her full, pink lips. "Park! What are you doing here?"

"To see you." He stepped into the gazebo and sat down beside her on the bench. Catching her hands folded among the gathers of her velvet skirt, he pressed his lips against her forehead and lingered there, relishing the taste and scent of her.

"How did you know where to find me?" Her voice was filled with delight.

He grinned. "Everyone in Bluff Hills knows the Harrises."

Her eyes misted. "I had to get away, Park. To be alone for a little while. The pain of losing Blaine cut too deep."

"I understand." He cupped the side of her face in his large, warm hand. "I hope I’m not intruding."

She covered his hand with hers and looked up at him from beneath long, curved lashes, her eyes soft and kitten-like. "You’re not. I’m glad you came."

"I wanted to come earlier, but I wanted to give you time to yourself. I have some idea of how you feel. I loved Blaine, too. He was a great kid." His voice cracked.

With tears sparkling in her eyes, she sent him a little, wavering smile. "I miss him so, Park. He’s all I had. I sometimes think I can’t live without him."

A knot formed in his chest. He loved this woman. He couldn’t lose her. He wanted to kiss away her tears, her pain. He wanted to protect her, to love her, to cherish her. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips lightly against hers, tasting and caressing. Her mouth, though hesitant, responded under his.

"I came to ask you to marry me, Cass. I love you. I need you."

Something flickered in her eyes as she looked across the garden, away from him. "I . . . I can’t, Park. Not now."

He inhaled sharply. "Is it because of Reid? Do you love him?"

With a rustle, she stood and moved away from him. "No, not at all. I just have conflicting feelings about you."

"I love you, Cass. I want you to be my wife. My past is behind me. I’m not the same man now as I was when you met me." He rose and stood beside her.

Tears slid down her pink cheeks. "Could you be faithful to me, Park? Or would I always have Amalias cropping up unexpectedly?"

"I haven’t seen another woman for months, Cass. Not even her. Believe me, no other woman has interested me since I’ve met you. I can’t eat or sleep for thinking of you. You torment me day and night."

For a long moment, she studied him. Oh, how she wanted to believe him! Yet all his wild escapades, the many women he discarded as easily as a change of clothes turned her heart hard. Had he really changed? Could he really love only her for the rest of their lives?

"What are you afraid of, Cass?" he muttered, his tight jaw flexing. "Are you afraid of love? Of loving me? Are you afraid of me because I’m available? I could be yours completely and unequivocally. Reid could not. He could never be yours because society, his business, his lifestyle, and Hillary would keep him safely at arm’s length. Reid’s safe. I’m not. Is that the real reason you won’t . . . can’t love me?"

"I can’t love you because of what you are . . . a man who loves women. I’ll always wonder. Always doubt."

His face darkened. "What do I have to do to prove to you I love you? I’m willing to give up everything, everyone for you!" He clutched her arms and turned her toward him.

A long, intense moment fell between them. The cool air stirred around them, rustling the trees and swirling leaves around their feet.

"I understand your father hurt you deeply," he said gently. "I understand why it’s hard for you to trust men, especially someone such as me who loved and left women easily. That’s over, Cassandra. I love you."

Oh, how she wanted to believe him! She trusted her father, too, and he left her and Blaine standing in the middle of a street. Bancroft left her for another woman. And Reid. He had Hillary.

Even Blaine. He’d left her, too. Every man she’d ever trusted betrayed her. Would Park do the same?

Old fears rushed back. The memory of watching Reilly drive away, the same incredible hurt and knifing pain again swamped her. Did she dare trust again? Did she dare love Park?

Shrugging free of him, she turned and strode across the lawn into the house. With heavy heart and blurry eyes, Park watched her go.

#

The street ahead of her lay in deep night shadows. Yellow orbs of gaslights stood like soldiers in rigid formation along the walks. This wasn’t the Bluff Hills she had known growing up. The part she knew had no bricked streets or paved walks or fancy bricked storefronts. This was the part of town her mother had spoken of occasionally, firing Cassandra’s vivid imagination. Now, she was riding down its street, smug in the knowledge that she was as well off as any of the rich families living in their gingerbread-decorated homes that stair-stepped the mountains. She was as well off as any of the mine owners who lived in those fancy homes, patronized the fancy stores here in this part of town, and sent their children to private schools. Except her wealth was in Denver where gold was king.

She pulled the carriage to a halt in front of the Canterberry Hotel, one of the finest in Arkansas. Dropping the reins and biting her lip, she regarded the brick and marble facade. Light glowed from its huge, draped windows.

Everything Park had accused her of back there in the gazebo was true. She was afraid to love, especially him. He was free. He would give her his love completely, unconditionally. Although a man of lusty appetites, he was also a man who could love just as lustily. She suspected that Park would not have traveled hundreds of miles by train for a woman unless he loved her; after all, he knew many women and could have his pick of them all in Denver.

She didn’t want to lose Park. She loved him. After leaving him at the gazebo and after hours of struggling with questions and answers, she could admit that now. She wanted to take a chance to love again. To love Park.

Taking a deep breath, she alighted from the carriage, and hurried into the hotel lobby. She quivered like jelly, for she certainly wasn’t used to seeking men out. But this wasn’t just any man; this was the man she loved.

The clerk behind the desk looked up at her and smiled. Trembling, she took a deep breath, clung to her shreds of courage, and asked for Park’s room number. Then with her heart hammering in her throat, she hurried up the stairs.

Lit by sconces along the walls, covered in rich wallcovering and diamond-dusted mirrors, the wide, long corridor stretched before her. Shaking so badly she thought she might fall, she hurried past closed walnut doors toward the end of the hall. Standing before Room 28, she sucked in another gulp of air, and tried to calm her quaking body. Glancing into a mirror above a credenza, she thought her cheeks resembled red apples and her eyes the brightest of stars. Smoothing a stray wisp of hair back into place and straightening the scooped neckline of the dress, she stepped in front of the door and, before she could lose her courage, knocked.

The silence behind the wood panels stretched so long that she began to wonder if Park was in the room. Her heart slowed. Perhaps it best that she not see him tonight after all. Tomorrow in daylight at the Harrises would be much more decent.

Just as she was about to turn and walk away, the door swung open.

Park stood holding a towel, his body delineated against the flickering, golden light of the room. Clad only in trousers, he was bare from the waist up, the hard, rippling muscles of his chest and shoulders glistening with water droplets. His disarrayed hair sparkled with wetness. His black eyes gazed brightly at her. A little smile played around the corners of his mouth, giving him that boyish-manly look that enchanted her so.

"I was hoping you’d come," he said.

Suddenly shy, she wanted to run back down the hall, but, fascinated, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. "I came to apologize." Her voice sounded high and squeaky to her own ears.

The mutter of voices and the tread of footfalls coming up the stairs suddenly panicked her. She couldn’t be caught here in the hall in front of a man’s room!

As if seeing the panic on her face, Park caught her arm, pulled her into the room, and shut the door. He swung her into his arms. Held against his hard, wet body, she sucked in a long breath and inhaled the clean fragrance of soap. His shoulder felt hard and slick with water against her face, his arm tight and strong around her. She melted against him.

Holding her chin with his finger and thumb, he lifted her face toward his. His eyes smoldered with desire, caressed, and seduced her.

This wasn’t what was supposed to happen, she thought crazily, her breath coming in short, rapid gasps. They should talk. She needed to explain her feelings. Instead, she was only aware of the fierceness, the heat of his hard body against hers, this incredible magnificence of him, her desire for him.

His mouth came down on hers, possessive, demanding, yet gentle and soft. She moved her hands over his water-slick shoulder muscles and down his back, relishing his reaction to her touch, the feel of his mouth caressing hers, and the security of being in his arms.

"Cass . . . ." His voice dropped to a husky groan.

"I need you, Park." She spoke almost in a whisper, knowing her breath felt warm and moist against his cheek. Her fingertips stroked his strong jaw and played around his ear. "Love me, Park."

He drew back ever so slightly and locked his passion-glazed eyes with hers. "Are you sure, Cass? There will be no turning back."

Arching into him, letting her body convey her need to him, she tunneled her fingertips into his hair and touched his lips with hers. "I’ve not been so sure of anything in my life, Park." Letting her eyes drift shut, she again lifted her mouth to his, coaxing his lips open, and let her hand glide in a silken caress across his heaving chest.

He responded in kind, drawing her into him, letting their hearts pound as one. Then he dipped, swinging her into his arms and, with their mouths still together, carried her to the bed.

#

Hours later the coals in the hearth glowed, flickered, palpitated, and popped, bathing the room in a soft reddish hue. A bar of faint silvery moonlight glimmered through the window and angled across the counterpane. Curled up against Park in the huge, canopied bed, Cassandra was very aware of the heat of his strong arm under her head, his hand resting on her shoulder, and of the rock-hard feel of his body against her back. Feelings of comfort, security, and wondrous love that she never dreamed possible filled her. The soapy scent of him enveloped her. She couldn’t get enough of him, to see, touch, taste, and smell him. Yet, the thought of their lovemaking, no holds barred, how they seemed to instinctively know what the other wanted, made her blush. How could she have opened herself so wantonly to him?

Truly, he had been gentle, kind, and patient with her, his ministrations vaulting her to such heights of ecstasy she wanted to scream, laugh, and cry at once. And when the pain came at the moment he entered her, he had been patient and gentle, probing little by little until the tenderness subsided and he filled her completely. It’d been breath-taking, past anything she had imagined. Her mother had told her love between the right man and woman was beyond anything else experienced. Until now, she did not believe it.

She gave a little giggle of contentment. Park stirred and kissed the top of her head. "What’s funny? Surely, my loving you wasn’t that comical."

Still chuckling, she turned toward him, stroked his leg with her foot, and ran her fingertips across the hairy dusting of his chest. "No, not at all. Remember the time you bailed me out of jail?"

He laughed gently. "How could I forget? I was arrested, too, remember?"

"I remember thinking then that you couldn’t pay me enough or be seductive enough to get me into your bed. I was so sure of that." Her fingertips stroked his lips. "I guess I was wrong, wasn’t I?"

"I’m glad." He kissed her fingertips and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer against him. Again, the feel of his body, pulsating with desire, spread a new fire within her.

"I pleased you, didn’t I?" she asked, heat rushing to her face. "I was afraid my inexperience would . . . ." She paused, searching for the proper word.

". . . would offend me?"

"Yes." Her answer was no more than a whisper, her voice full of emotion and passion.

Chuckling softly, he planted several soft, moist kisses along her cheek, and rolling her to her back, he buried his face into the curve of her neck and shoulder. He tasted and kissed. Her hands roamed over the rolling, bulging muscles of his back, her fingers sensitive to every ripple and hollow. "You didn’t offend, love," he said, his voice muffled against her shoulder. "You were beautiful. In fact, I think we were made for each other."

"It was good." Her voice was still throaty with the want of him. Her hands slid lower, over the curve of the small of his back, over the roundness of his narrow, hard hips. She liked the feel of him. She never knew that a man could feel so good.

He touched her lips with his. "I had the chance to look Bluff Hills over this afternoon, and I like what I see. It’s a quaint little town in the mountains. If this is where your heart is, we can live here. Put Denver behind us."

"But Bluff Hills can’t compare to Denver. Would it be so easy to walk away from your family, your comfortable little niche there? Could you do that for me?"

His dark eyes turned blacker with desire. "I love you, Cass. I’d do anything for you."

"It would be nice if Bluff Hills had an Elizabeth House for the homeless." She slid her hands up over his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck. "One day I’d like to come back here and open one."

A slow, lazy grin spread across his face, the same grin she suspected melted most women to clay, just as it did her. "We’ll do that." His lips came down on hers, hard and demanding, soft and gentle, as he lifted himself over her and pulled her into him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

"Lordy, Miss Vann!" Pearl met Cassandra and Park on the back verandah of the Elizabeth House. "It’s ‘bout time you got back here. Things have been poppin’!"

"Well, hello to you, too, Pearl," Cassandra laughed, giving the old woman’s hand a squeeze and starting into the house.

Pearl’s gaping gaze swung from Cassandra’s glowing face to Park’s grinning one. She had never seen Miss Vann as perky and radiant as she was now. Come to think of it, she couldn’t remember Park Farrington ever grinning from ear to ear as he did now. She wondered, then knew, what went on between these two back in Arkansas.

"Dammit, I wanna beer!" The angry masculine voice carried down the back stairwell from the upper floor.

"Who’s that?" Cassandra asked, frowning, and halting in the back hall.

Pearl nodded toward the stairs, the irate voice now raised in incoherent yelling. "He’s one of the things that’s been poppin’. He’s an old man we picked up this morning near dead right here at the back door." She crinkled her face. "Stunk to high heaven and sick as a dog and wheezin’ like a teakettle."

"I assume a doctor’s looked at him?" Cassandra asked, eager to freshen up, impatience edging her tone.

"Yes, ma’am, he has. But George found a newspaper clipping in his pocket about the opening of the Elizabeth House. We kinda thought you might know him since he had that clipping."

"Well, I doubt it, Pearl." She slipped off her gloves. "Since he needed a place to stay, he probably tore the article out of the paper." "Well, maybe you’re right. He wouldn’t tell us his name. Seems he was delirious or something."

"So, what else is popping?" Cassandra asked.

"Well, uh . . . ."

At the cook’s hesitancy, Cassandra turned back to her. Pearl’s gaze swung toward Park, then came back to her.

"Uh, the other Mr. Farrington has been makin’ a fuss to see you. He’s been coming in every day to see if you’re back. He’s a real persistent fella. He wants to see you real bad and I’m supposed to let him know the minute you get back."

Cassandra let her smile disappear. She wasn’t interested. "And what else is happening?"

"Well, Mr. Wyngate shot himself last week."

Stunned, Cassandra gasped. Park’s arm slid around her waist, holding her, supporting her against the shock.

"Deader than a door nail," Pearl continued. "Seems he’s losing everything with the price of silver dropping like a rock. Miz Wyngate, she’s been asking to see you as soon as you get back in town."

Cassandra’s heart leaped. She sent Park a questioning look. "Did she say why?"

"No. Just that she wants to see you." Shrugging, Pearl turned to retreat to the kitchen, then turning, she said, "Dinner will be ready in about half an hour."

"Where’s that damned beer?" The man’s voice, full of fury, again echoed down the stairwell.

Cassandra turned to Park and ran her fingers up under his lapel. "Guess I’ll have to go calm our newest guest down."

"Need any help?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her.

She brushed her fingertips across his cheek. He caught her hand under his and held it against his face. A tender moment passed between them.

"I can handle it. George’s here if I need him. Besides, I thought you had an urgent business meeting." Her tone was low, throaty.

"It’s only a meeting. Nothing important." Moving her hand to his mouth, he pressed his warm, moist lips against her palm, then sliding his hands down over her back, he drew her against him and kissed her hard on the mouth. He at last pulled away. "See you tomorrow?"

She nodded.

With a little smile, he moved out the door, leaving the warmth of his kiss on her lips.

"I wanna beer, dammit!"

The harsh, masculine voice again roared down the stairwell from the second floor, breaking into her thoughts. Muted mutters followed.

"That man’s been makin’ a ruckus ever since he woke up." Pearl complained from the kitchen.

"I’ll see what I can do." In no mood to put up with a cantankerous guest, Cassandra compressed her lips, picked up a fold of her skirt and started up the stairs.

"Now, Mister, we’ve told you several times that we don’t allow drinking here," came the voice of one of the aides through the opened door. "Furthermore, you’re disturbing the entire house."

"I don’t give a damn!" came the belligerent voice. "I wanna beer! Who makes up these damned rules anyhow?"

Sweeping to the threshold, Cass snapped, "I do."

Sitting on the bed, the man, with a heavy thatch of red hair streaked with threads of gray, turned full-face toward her. The light of the lantern fell across his ruddy complexion. His heavy brows, the deep lines of his bearded face, hardened by too much drink, came into sharp focus. His blue eyes widened for an instant, then narrowed as the broad mouth split into a snaggled-tooth grin.

"Well, I’ll be damned!" Reilly exclaimed. "If it ain’t you!"

No more shocked than if it were her own mother who sat on the bed, Cassandra gasped. She took a step backward. Her breath came hard and heavy. A wave of darkness closed in on her. The room began spinning. Stumbling, she grabbed for the door.

"Miss Vann! Miss Vann, are you all right?"

The disembodied voice came from a distance, echoing and muffled. Cassandra tried to nod. Darkness closed in. Mustering what strength she could, she shook her head and heaved for air. Gentle hands grasped her shoulders. The darkness cleared.

"Miss Vann, are you all right?"

Looking up, Cassandra blinked into the aide’s wide, fearful eyes and nodded.

"Ah, let her be. She’s like her ma. Strong as a’ ox," the man said with a snicker.

Sudden, violent hatred for him vaulted up inside Cassandra. How she wanted to spit into that smirking face! Her hands curled into fists. Her body shook. "Out!" she screamed. "Out! I want you out of here!"

Unfazed, Reilly grinned. "Now, you wouldn’t throw your own pa out, would ya? I don’t have a place t’ go."

"Blaine and I didn’t have a place to go to when you left us standing in the street in Pine Bluff either! George! George!" Her cries seemed to vibrate throughout the house.

Reilly came to his feet, and bending over, coughed harshly. When his gaze came back to her, it was full of venom and contempt. "Anyhow, I ain’t your pa."

As if thunderstruck, Cassandra stared speechless at him.

He laughed, a cold, diabolical sound. "Your ma was nothin’ but a whore. She was expectin’ you when I married her. You ain’t no kid of mine. I jest raised you, that’s all."

"Miss Vann?" George appeared beside her.

Cassandra’s body shook. "Get this man out of this house at once!"

"What?" George’s stunned, questioning gaze swung from Cassandra to Reilly.

"I said I want him out! Now!" She pivoted and strode down to her room, went in, and slammed the door. Unmindful of her silk gown, she threw herself across the bed, gasping, her heart pounding so that her chest hurt. She was suffocating, dying.

The man who abandoned her and Blaine eight years ago, whom she thought was her father all these years, was here under her own roof. The man who showed no love to her mother, Blaine, or herself. Who destroyed instead of loved. Who personified self-centeredness at its utmost. How dare he expect compassion and a handout from her!

Folding her fist and sobbing with each punch, she pounded the bed. She pounded again. Again. And again.

"You ain’t purty enough to turn a man’s head, gal," Reilly once told her. "No man likes gals with the color of your hair. Burnt brass is what I call it."

"You’re dumb. You ain’t got the brains God gave a jackass, gal."

"What ya tryin’ to be - uppity like your ma?"

"Ya cain’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, I always say, an’ that’s what ya tryin’ to do, gal."

Reilly’s words, spoken over her lifetime, rang in her ears. Fresh tears welled up and spilled. Was he right? The thought came so suddenly that it caught her breath. Gasping, she sat up. Does Park love me? Can Park love me? Do I deserve his love?

Near panic, she moved off the bed, fled across the room, and jerked open the door. She had to know. She had to know if Park really loved her.

Quivering so hard her teeth chattered, unmindful of the rivers of tears that flowed unchecked down her cheeks, Cassandra hurried down the street. Caring not at all that she might be seen going into the Wentworth Boarding house, Cassandra moved across the wide verandah to the door. Not taking the time to knock, she pushed the door open and went inside.

The wide front hall was cool, dim, and vacant. With the runaway thud of her heart matching her footsteps, she ran up the stairs, down the shadowy corridor to Park’s room, and banged on the panels.

Park, clad in a robe, swung the door open and stood before her, delineated against the soft light of the room behind him. She cried with relief as a new flood of tears filled her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks.

Park let his grin give way to a look of alarm. Reaching out, he caught her arm and pulled her against him. "Cassandra, what’s wrong?" His fingertips swept against her flushed face as he brushed aside a strand of hair.

"Do you love me?" Desperation filled her voice. Wide and searching, her eyes glittered like wet stars.

Puzzled, he frowned. "Very much, Cass."

"Tell me, am I good enough to love? Am I worthy of your love, Park?"

"Of course. What’s wrong, Cassandra?" He tightened his hand on her arm, wondering what had happened since he’d seen her less than an hour ago.

"You really love me?"

"Yes!"

"Then love me, Park! Love me and never, never let me go!"

Throwing herself into his arms, she clung to him, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her body thrust against his. Her parted lips trembled, her eyes sparkled with fresh tears that spilled onto her cheeks, flushed with color. Before he could respond, she pulled his head down and covered his mouth with hers, open and demanding, her tongue probing and searching his.

He sensed no hesitancy, no holding back in her. And he felt a deep desperation in her. He wanted to find out why she was so distraught, but spirals of white heat slid through him, banishing everything but the want of her from his mind. Her hand tunneled up into his hair while the other slipped inside his robe, across his chest and down his tight stomach, her fingertips burning his flesh.

Had he taught her so well? he wondered, for there was none of the hesitant, inexperienced woman he’d made love to back in Arkansas.

"Love me, Park. Love me."

#

An hour later, the moonlight bathed the room in bright, silvery incandescence and glinted against bare skin as Cassandra and Park lay wrapped together in the huge bed. The sound of their soft breathing filled the stillness.

An unfamiliar, pleasant sensation of incredible contentment and fulfillment engulfed Cassandra. Oh, what ecstasy he could bring! Just the smell of him, hearing his even breathing, his warm body against hers, the taste of his mouth against hers, and above all, his deep concern and love for her produced such an incredible feeling of love. Overwhelming, deeply satisfying love.

Park knew Cassandra was awake, although she had been quiet for a long time. The warmth of her cheek, the tickle of her spread hair across his chest made him tingle with heightened awareness of her. She breathed softly, her moist breath warming his chest where her head lay.

"When you’re ready to talk about it, I’m ready to listen," he said at last, kissing the top of her head and stroking the curve of her back under the covers.

She stirred against him. "How did you know I want to talk?" She traced lazy circles with her finger amid the mat of hair on his chest.

"I know you, Cass." His voice was husky.

"That’s what scares me. You seem to know my mind before I speak." Lifting her face, she gazed into his eyes.

He chuckled and kissed the top of her head. "Maybe that’s why you were meant for me. Meant to be my wife."

"Oh, Park, would you love me no matter what?"

"Of course." Fitting her chin between his thumb and finger, he brought her face closer to his. Her eyes sparkled against the moonlight.

"Even no matter who or where I came from?"

Puzzled and wondering where their conversation was leading, he nodded. "No matter what."

"I saw Reilly Vann this evening." Her voice cracked.

His eyebrows lifted with surprise. "Here in Denver?"

"At the Elizabeth House."

He suddenly understood why she came to him. "And all your old insecurities, self-doubts, all the lies he’s told you over the years rushed back."

"He told me he isn’t my father. I hate him, Park. I hate him!"

He cringed at the venom in her voice. "Hate destroys, Cass. It doesn’t affect the person who is hated."

"But he left us, Blaine and me! Left us to starve and die on the streets, for all he cared! Now, he’s wanting me to take care of him!"

"Do it."

Her face turning scarlet with anger, she swung away from him, covered herself with the counterpane and sat up. "I won’t! How can I forgive him? He’s despicable! Hateful! Only a monster could abandon two children on a street, even if he wasn’t their father!"

Lifting himself up on his elbow, he leaned toward her and stroked her bare back. "I don’t want to see you destroyed with hate, Cass. Regardless of what he told you, you’re a beautiful woman and I don’t want hate to destroy such a perfect specimen of beauty."

"He’s not my father!"

His arm slid around her waist as he rested his chin on her shoulder and kissed her neck. "He was Blaine’s."

With his words sobering her, she met his eyes. "Yes, he was Blaine’s," she whispered.

#

The next day, Cassandra followed Jefferson across the vestibule into the drawing room of the magnificent Silver Valley house. Her silk gown swished, her heels tapped against the polished parquet floor in the stillness.

"May I get you something to drink, Miss Vann?" Jefferson asked. "Tea? A brandy perhaps?"

"No, thank you." She couldn’t help but notice that Jefferson’s demeanor toward her certainly had improved since her last visit to Silver Valley.

"Very well. Mrs. Wyngate will be with you momentarily." With a polite bow, he turned and stepped out of the door.

Curious and shivering against the chilliness, Cassandra moved farther into the room. Ornate globe lamps glowed against the duskiness and a low fire palpitated in the fireplace. The scent of lemon oil filled her nostrils. Odd that she was escorted into this room and not the one she had been shown in her previous visits.

Her gaze moved to the huge portrait above the mantel.

She gasped and clamped her hand over her mouth. She stared up at the woman whose hair was the color of taffy, whose eyes were as silver as her own. Except for a fuller chin and a broader nose, this woman could have been her own mother.

"That’s me when I was a young woman."

At the sound of Mrs. Wyngate’s voice at the doorway, Cassandra pivoted.

A shadow of a smile touched Mrs. Wyngate’s thin lips as she moved farther into the room, her thin, frail hands clasped before her. Her silver eyes sparkled brightly and Cassandra wondered if tears were pressing close. "Elizabeth and I did look a lot alike when I was younger, didn’t we?" She stood beside Cassandra and gazed wistfully up at the picture. "I asked Jefferson to bring you into this room," she continued. "I wanted you to see the portrait."

Everything within Cassandra stilled. "Then there’s no doubt my mother was your daughter." She gaped at the older woman.

Mrs. Wyngate took a long, deep breath. "Yes." Her reply was low, husky.

Quick, hot unexpected tears rushed to Cassandra’s eyes. Too stunned at the admission to be angry, she stared at the woman through blurred eyes. "Why? Why? Why?"

Mrs. Wyngate sank into the nearest wing chair and, clasping her hands together, looked up at Cassandra in the pale light. Her face looked pinched and contrite, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "You must understand the kind of society we live in. We are - were a wealthy, influential family. When Elizabeth met and fell in love with Nick Barnes, a coal miner, we were devastated. Absolutely devastated. We became the subject of gossip and ridicule for miles around." Pausing, she bit her lower lip, then continued, "The ridicule was the hardest. We did all we could do to discourage the relationship to no avail. Then when your mother came to us and told us she planned to marry this Nick Barnes, Gage absolutely went berserk and forbade it." Taking a deep breath, she blinked hard and looked toward the windows. "That’s when she told us she was . . . was with child. That child is you." The old woman’s gaze came back to Cassandra’s. "She was determined to marry Nick and have his baby. Under the circumstances, we had no choice. Having a daughter who was to be an unwed mother was unspeakable." With a swish of satin, she suddenly rose and moved toward the fireplace. She stared down into the flames. "This is very hard for me," she added quietly.

Sudden anger shook Cassandra. Clenching her fists so tightly her nails dug into the palms of her hands, she stood rigid like a stone. "It is for me, too!"

"Before your mother and Nick could be married, he was killed in a mine cave-in. Elizabeth became hysterical. Uncontrollable. At the time, Reilly Vann was working at one of our mines and . . . ." Pausing, she sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. ". . . and Gage paid him a handsome sum to marry Elizabeth and take her out of Colorado with the promise to never return. As far as we were concerned, Elizabeth no longer existed."

Cassandra’s anger turned white hot. Her nails cut deeper into her folded hands. "Damn you!" Tears spilled onto her cheeks, into her mouth until she could taste the salt of them. "Damn you!" She took a couple of steps toward the older woman. "Do you know what kind of life you forced my mother into? Do you know she lived from hand to mouth? That Reilly Vann treated her worse than you treat your servants? That she lived in dirty, squalid mining camps without so much as a change of clothes?" She took another step forward. Mrs. Wyngate stepped backward, looking as if she thought she might be struck. "Do you know that your daughter died because she couldn’t afford a doctor? That I watched her die a slow death?"

"Stop it! Stop it!" Covering her ears, the older woman pivoted and sobbed aloud. Her shoulders shook.

Cassandra’s heart turned colder. "Did you know that Reilly Vann abandoned me and his own son the day your daughter died? We almost starved to death living on the streets of Bluff Hills, Arkansas!"

"I couldn’t help it! I couldn’t help it . . . !"

"Damn! You could have!" Cassandra’s fists folded and unfolded with the urge to slap the woman.

"No! I couldn’t! Gage was so . . . so determined to rid ourselves of her! She brought disgrace, shame upon this family, the Wyngate name, and we couldn’t tolerate that! Don’t you see that?"

"What kind of mother are you?"

"A mother who cared!" Pivoting, she lifted her tear-streaked face toward her. "I only wanted the best for Elizabeth! She had the world at her beck and call! Carl Farrington even loved her and wanted to marry her at one time! Even after he gave up and married Nancy and had children, he still loved her! But no, she wouldn’t have him! She fell for a miner, for God’s sake!"

Thunderstruck at this new revelation, Cassandra stared wide-eyed at the woman before her. Her anger suddenly exhausted, she sucked in a long, deep breath, unclenched her fists. Sinking onto the sofa, she blinked back a new flood of tears and stared up at the older woman. "Why are you telling me this now?"

Touching the handkerchief to her eyes, Mrs. Wyngate sat down in the chair opposite her. "I’ve lost almost everything." Her voice was thick. "We’ve lost a bank, all our real estate, and except for a few worthless silver mines, we have nothing. That’s . . . that’s why Gage killed himself. He couldn’t bear the disgrace, the pain of seeing everything disappear. Now, I have to sell Silver Valley." She paused, sniffed, and twisting her handkerchief, continued, "I want you to buy my estate."

Startled, Cassandra came to her feet. "Me? Why should I want Silver Valley?"

"I have no other relatives. Elizabeth was our only child. Now, you’re my only relative, and I want to keep Silver Valley in the family, and I hear you’re quite wealthy." Her breast rose and fell with a deep breath. "And I need the money."

Suddenly Cassandra’s anger returned. "Mrs. Wyngate," she said, staring down into the woman’s face. "Do you have any idea how I came by my fortune? I’m sure you don’t, because if you did, you wouldn’t have me here in your house now or even claim kinship to me. For you see, I’m just as disgraceful as my mother. I lived in a whorehouse when I first got to Denver. A whorehouse, Mrs. Wyngate!"

Pausing, she smiled at the sudden whiteness of the woman’s face. "Anna Hampton, the madam of one of Denver’s most elite whorehouses, died in February and left me her fortune. A soiled dove left me her estate. That’s how I came by my fortune." In long strides, she moved toward the door, then whirling about, faced the older woman across the duskiness of the room. "No, Mrs. Wyngate, I’m not interested in buying Silver Valley. For all I care, it can rot in hell first!"

She turned on her heel and started toward the door. With a new thought, she suddenly turned back. "By the way, Mrs. Wyngate. Your grandson was buried just three weeks ago."

She swept out of the room, ignoring the woman’s anguished cry.

As Cassandra made her way home, her entire body still shook with emotion and her hands throbbed with the pain of the half-moon cuts made by her nails in her palms. She didn’t notice the evening shadows stretching deep and long across the road ahead of her or the sun blazing red, gold, and russet along the ragged peaks of the Rockies. She noticed only the wind whining among the trees, which sounded as lonely, as mournful as her mood. Warm tears pressed against her eyelids.

Silver Valley could be hers. Silver Valley. One of the most prestigious, admired homes in Denver and she turned her back on it.

No, not on Silver Valley. On the Wyngates. On Lenora Wyngate. They had hurt her mother, deeply and sentenced her to a life of hell. That was unforgivable. Now, it was her turn to take revenge for her mother’s hellish life.

#

Moonlight bathed the gardens behind the Elizabeth House in a silvery glow. A gaslight flickered near the bench where Cassandra and Park sat. The fountain splashed and gurgled. The hint of spring saturated the air with the fragrance of flowers.

"I went to see Mrs. Wyngate this afternoon," Cassandra said softly. "She’s confessed everything, Park. She is my grandmother, my mother’s mother. My mother fell in love with Nick Barnes, a miner. The Wyngates were devastated and forbade her to see him. That’s when she told them she was with child . . . me." Her eyes glittered with threatening tears. Her hand tightened within his. "Nick is my real father. He was killed in a mine cave-in, and according to Mrs. Wyngate, Gage paid Reilly Vann a lot of money to marry my mother and take her out of Colorado for good." She wiped at the tears on her cheeks. "They doomed my mother to a hellish life in squalid mining camps, married to a man who treated her as if she was the dirt under his feet. And he treated Blaine and me the same way." She sniffed and wiped at her nose.

The sound cut into Park’s heart. He pulled her head against his shoulder and stroked her hair.

"I hate the way he makes me feel about myself," she sobbed against him. "I cry for the kind of life he gave Mother, Blaine, and me. I hate the Wyngates for forcing her into that kind of life with a man who hated her. I hate him! Hate him! And I hate the Wyngates! I hate them all!"

With her voice breaking, she cried aloud.

Choking back the lump that rose into his own throat, Park held her, stroked her, and let her cry until her sobs at last became sniffles.

"Why did Mrs. Wyngate decide to tell you all this now?" he asked.

"She wants me to buy Silver Valley. She’s broke and is about to lose the estate." With a disdainful laugh, she pulled away from him and looked up into his face. Her pink cheeks glistened with tears. "She wants me to buy it since I’m her only living relative. She wants to keep the estate in the family."

"What did you tell her?" He wiped a tear off her cheek.

"I told her it’d rot in hell first!"

"Buy it, Cass. It’s worth a lot of money and it’s a coveted estate. A beautiful estate. In fact, I wouldn’t mind having it myself."

Suddenly angry, she jerked free of him. "Why are you always taking their side? You’re telling me to take care of the man who wouldn’t take care of me and to buy an estate neither my mother or I were welcomed into!"

"I’m not taking their side." With a little mysterious smile playing around the corners of his mouth, he cupped the side of her face with his wide hand and began pulling her toward him. "Forgiving them will make you an even more beautiful person than what you already are."

She resisted his embrace. "I can’t, Park. I can’t forgive them. How can I forgive them?"

"By trying." His mouth claimed hers in a soft, tender kiss.

To her dismay, Cassandra’s anger melted completely. He kissed away all her hurt, her anger as his mouth left light touches of moisture across face and along her neck and throat.

"Take care of Reilly." He planted another kiss on her cheek. "You don’t have to socialize with him. Just make sure he’s taken care of." Another kiss landed on her ear. "Forgive Mrs. Wyngate." His lips touched her neck. He felt her quiver. "You may find another friend in her, not to mention a grandmother." Another kiss caught the tip of her nose. "You’ve finally found family." His mouth pressed against her other ear. "Life is too short."

Another shiver raced through her. Her hands stole around his neck. A kiss landed on her forehead. She couldn’t suppress the delighted little laugh that escaped her. "Did you mean it when you told me you wouldn’t mind living back in Arkansas, in Bluff Hills?"

He pulled away and gazed into her face, his eyes glittering with passion. "Every word."

"Then let’s go back there and open a home for the homeless. Would you mind doing that?"

"I’ll think about it only on one condition." His black eyes twinkled with mischief.

She giggled. "What?"

The laughter died on his lips. His eyes turned dark with desire. "If you’ll accept this." He pulled away from her, dug in his pocket, and pulled out a small, velvet box. Her heart raced and moved to her throat. He flipped open the top. A diamond ring glistened and glittered against the pale light. Her eyes widened and moved to his face.

"Marry me first," he said, his voice thick. "I love you so much I want you to grow old with me, have my children, and spoil our grandchildren together."

She couldn’t speak.

Park removed the ring, lifted her finger, and slipped it on the third finger of her left hand. "Tell me you’ll marry me."

Stunned, she stared at the cluster of diamonds. She opened her mouth but no words would come.

"Yes," she answered at last, her voice low, throaty, and so filled with emotion she could hardly get the words out. "Yes! Yes!"

With a quick giggle of delight, she claimed his mouth with hers.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Except for the rustle of paper and the swish of slight movement, the drawing room at the Elizabeth House was silent. Cassandra dipped the pen into the inkwell and, with a flourish, signed her name. Unmoving, she studied her signature: Cassandra Barnes. In a few weeks it would be Cassandra Barnes Farrington, but for now it was simply Cassandra Barnes. Now that Blaine was gone, she had no need for the name Vann. Simply a figure in her past, Reilly Vann was of no blood-tie, of nothing but unpleasant memories. She would now claim her real father’s name as her own.

She studied her name scrawled at the bottom of the legal document that made the vast estate known as Silver Valley hers. A little, wistful smile touched her lips as she dropped the pen and, clasping her hands together in front of her, lifted her face to those gathered around her.

"Is that all, Mr. Byington?" she asked the lawyer standing across the desk from her.

"That’s it." He picked up the papers and began folding them as he flashed a grin from amid his smoke-colored whiskers. "You are now the proud owner of Silver Valley." Picking up his valise, he moved around the desk, gave a polite nod toward Lenora Wyngate sitting on the sofa, and started toward the door. Park and George, who had acted as witnesses to the signing, followed.

Lenora rose from the sofa, her silk gown rustling in the stilted silence. Lifting her chin, Cassandra met her face across the room. Neither of them spoke for a long moment.

A little smile tilted the corners of Cassandra’s mouth. She remembered how Lenora had balked about coming here to the Elizabeth House to sign the papers on Silver Valley. That is, she balked until Cassandra told her that the deal was off. She now wanted to ask Lenora how it felt to be under the roof of what once was a whorehouse. But she didn’t. She couldn’t be that vindictive.

"I appreciate that you’ve done this," Lenora said, her voice breaking and filled with emotion. "Silver Valley has been in the family since Denver’s earliest days, since your great-grandfather came out here."

"It’s done and over with." Cassandra started toward the door. "I’ll see you out."

"I’ll be out of Silver Valley as soon as I get my things together."

Halting, Cassandra looked at the older woman. There seemed to be something else on her mind. "Is there anything else?" she asked.

"Yes." Mrs. Wyngate moved with hesitant steps toward her. She pressed her thin lips together in a fine line, and when she lifted her eyes toward Cassandra, they glistened unusually bright. Cassandra wondered if tears weren’t pressing close.

"I . . . I’d like to be your friend," Lenora Wyngate said in a low voice.

Cassandra let her gaze slide to Park now standing in the doorway. He sent her a quick smile of encouragement.

"You may find a friend in her." His admonishment flashed through her mind. At a loss for words, she gaped down at Lenora’s face. The defeat, the acquiescence she saw in the old woman’s face softened her heart. All desire to hurt her as much as she had hurt Elizabeth evaporated. Park was right. It was all in the past. She must start building good memories now.

"I am your friend," she answered, voice soft.

"I missed having a daughter, you know." Tears filled the woman’s eyes and spilled onto the soft, wrinkled cheeks. "I didn’t want to be as hard on Elizabeth as Gage. I didn’t want to disown her. I felt that we could have handled the matter in a delicate manner, but Gage would have nothing to do with it." Her mouth twisted into a grimace as she choked back a sob. "They . . . Elizabeth and Reilly . . . left in the middle of the night while I was sleeping. Unbeknownst to me, Gage planned it that way. When I got up the next morning, Elizabeth was gone - forever." The heartbreaking sob broke. Lenora buried her face in her hands. "I never saw her again."

Cassandra choked back the lump that rose into her own throat. The woman’s shoulders shook, her sobs breaking the silence. Still, the hardness that edged Cassandra’s heart could not be broken. She remained as she was, her hands clasped before her, and blinked back the burning sensation pressing against her eyes. "You could have made amends the first time I came to see you," she said.

"I wanted to." Lenora sniffed and lifted her red, tear-streaked face. "I wanted to, but Gage wouldn’t allow it. He forbade me to have anything to do with you. His heart never softened toward Elizabeth. He died hating her for what she did to him." Her face suddenly hardened. "Gage was a hard-driven, self-willed, unforgiving man. Not only was he like that in his business affairs, but in his personal relationships as well, and when he started losing everything with the devaluation of silver, he couldn’t face that."

"Where will you go? What will you do?" Cassandra asked, surprised at the compassion her voice revealed.

"I’ll find a place. I’ll make it." A whisper of a smile flitted across the old woman’s face, then faded.

Your grandmother. This is your grandmother, the only living relative you’ve got. The thought flashed across Cassandra’s mind, softening her heart. "You can stay at Silver Valley," she said. "I have the Elizabeth House."

Lenora’s eyes widened with surprise beneath the thin eyebrows. "Do you mean that?"

"Yes, I mean it." Suddenly choked up and not wanting Mrs. Wyngate to see her tears, she glanced toward Park, then strode toward the door. "George will see you out."

"Cassandra."

Cassandra halted, then turned slowly.

Lenora smiled. "May I call you Cassandra?"

Wordless, her heart softening, Cassandra nodded.

"I understand why you wouldn’t want to call me grandmother, but if you ever find it in your heart to do so, I’d like that."

Feeling the press of new tears, Cassandra nodded and, with Park at her side, his arm wrapped around her waist, stepped from the room.

"I’m proud of you, Cass, and I love you," he whispered as they halted out in the foyer. Grasping her shoulders in his powerful hands, he bent and brushed her lips with his own. The touch was soft and comforting. All her love for this man filled her. Fresh tears rushed to her eyes, and reaching up, she tenderly stroked his cheek with her fingertips.

"I love you, too, Park." Her voice broke. Lifting herself up on the tips of her toes, she kissed him. "Would you mind seeing Mrs. Wyngate out?"

He nodded, stepped around her, and moved into the drawing room.

Brushing at her eyes, she strode toward the back of the house and into the kitchen. She abruptly halted. At the table, his shoulders hunched forward, his big hand curled around the spoon as he shoveled soup out of the bowl, sat Reilly. Anger welled up within her.

"What are you doing in here?" she demanded. "Dinner is served at six."

Reilly slowly turned his gaze to her, his shaggy hair brushing his frayed collar. "I was hungry," he answered, his eyes steady upon her, studying her.

"Does Pearl know you’re here?" Clasping her hands before her, she took a deep gulp of air. She felt nothing but anger, distrust, and loathing for this man. She regretted letting Park talk her into letting him remain here at the Elizabeth House as long as he stayed out of her way.

"Still hoity-toity, ain’t ya, gal?"

"I asked you a question." Her hands tightened in their clasp.

Dropping his spoon, Reilly came to his feet, slow and deliberate like an overgrown bear. She backed up a step. "You wanted me out of here," he said. "What changed yore mind?"

Lifting her chin, she stared up at him. "It wouldn’t take much to change my mind again. Don’t forget that."

"Ya got too much o’ your ma in ya. Always carin’ for the down an’ outers. Always takin’ care of someone."

"That’s right! But it certainly wouldn’t take much for me to throw you out! I don’t have any love for you and I don’t have to keep you here!"

"I raised you, gal! I raised you and that brother of yours! Don’t forget that!"

Her body shook with sudden fury. She glared up at him. "I can throw you out as easily as you left Blaine and me standing on the street of Bluff Hills! Don’t you forget that!"

Unfazed, he snickered and scratched his head. "Yeah, where is the boy?"

Her heart tightened. She didn’t blink as she stared up at him. "Dead."

For an instant, Reilly’s eyes flickered with surprise, then dimmed.

Her fury mounted. "You killed him, Reilly! You left us to die! Your son died by trying to earn some money by fighting! You forced us to wander the streets, half starved, freezing, and dying! You’re one of Satan’s right hand men, Reilly!"

Reilly’s face reddened. "Don’t ya talk to me thatta way!"

"Don’t you talk to me that way, either!" Her hands balled into fists, digging her nails into her palms.

"Still got yore smart mouth, I see."

As if under no volition of her own, she swung, smacking Reilly hard across the face. The crack resounded into the seething silence. Stunned, he lifted an arm as if to strike her, then suddenly halted, his hand in mid-air. His gaze moved past her.

"I’ll kill you where you stand if you so much as lay a finger on her, you bastard." Park’s cold, steely voice came from behind her.

With a growl, Reilly looked down at her and dropped his arm.

She turned and, with Park’s arm wrapped around her waist, moved from the room, away from Reilly Vann. Tears of frustration and anger overflowed. She suddenly was thankful that she and Park were going back to Arkansas, away from Reilly. She never would see him again; she wouldn’t see him die of a lung disease caused by breathing coal dust.

The thought that Reilly was dying didn’t move her.

#

The pale light of the lanterns bathed the vestibule below her in golden incandescence, and the sweet fragrance of lemon oil, mingled with a touch of baking cinnamon bread, filled the air. With her fingertips barely gliding down the banister, Cassandra moved down the stairs, her satin skirt rustling in the dusky stillness. Her body was warm, flushed, and nervous. Halting on the landing, she took a deep breath and walked through the drawing room doorway immediately to her left.

The room lay in soft shadows, touched here and there with the yellow glow of the lamp and sconces above the mantel. A figure rose from one of the wing chairs.

"Cassandra."

Lifting her chin high, she looked up at Reid. As usual, he was clad in impeccable pinstripe suit and polished shoes. And she was in no mood to contend with him.

"What did you want to see me about, Reid? I’m expecting company," she said, her tone clipped.

"I hear you went to Arkansas. Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?"

"Why should I?"

"I was worried."

"Worried that I wouldn’t return so we could haggle over my selling the Elizabeth House to you?" She arched an eyebrow at him and moved farther into the warm room.

"No." His jaws tightened so that she could see the muscles jerk in them. "I told you I’d take you to San Francisco--"

A dart of anger stung her. "Do you really think I’d be interested, Reid?" Her tone reeked sarcasm and venom.

"For God’s sake, Cass!" He suddenly stepped up to her, his hands curling over her shoulders, his fingers boring into her flesh. "I need you!"

Her anger flamed high. "Need me for what? You’re marrying Hillary. Remember?"

His face dropped, his grip on her shoulders loosened, though he still held her. "I can’t help it, Cass. It’s expected--"

"I have things to do. George will see you out." She jerked free of his clasp, turned and started toward the door.

"I hear Park went with you to Arkansas," he said, his tone suddenly hard and full of accusation.

She turned toward him. Her heart thumped against her ribs. "Then you heard wrong."

"Isn’t it true he came back on the train with you?"

Her breath came in short, deep gasps. "I don’t think that’s any of your business."

A long, seething silence fell between them. The warmth of the room closed in. The heat engulfed Cassandra, suffocating her. She had to rid herself of this man. She no longer felt anything for him - if indeed she ever felt anything for him.

"Is Park your lover?"

"I love him." She spoke lowly, forcefully, steadily meeting his gaze.

Reid looked as if she had struck him. For an instant, his eyes widened, his mouth dropped with shock, then he emitted a disdainful chuckle. "And you’re one of dozens whom he professes to love."

"That’s not true. We’re going to be married and move to Arkansas."

Reid again looked as if he had been struck. "Arkansas? Married? Is that what he promised you to get you into his bed? My God, do you honestly believe he’ll marry you?"

Lifting her chin, she stared at him.

A glimmer of hope lit Reid’s face. "Don’t, Cass. He couldn’t be true to you . . . to any woman. He’s incapable of being true to one woman. My God, Cass, look at him . . . at what he is. He’s a womanizer--"

"Just what are you offering me, Reid? Are you offering me anything better?"

Reid’s mouth twitched. Desire darkened his eyes. Reaching out, he touched her cheek with his fingertips. She yanked away. He dropped his hand.

"Cass, I can’t lose you." His tone was tight, husky. "I need you. You keep me awake at night. I can’t eat, sleep." Pausing, he reached for her again, then dropped his hand. "I’d see that you have everything, anything you desire. You’d never be for want ever again. You’d have seats on bank boards. You’d be one of Denver’s leading ladies. The finest house in all of Colorado . . . ."

Her suspicions grew. She peered up at him in the shadows. "What are you proposing, Reid?"

The corners of his mouth twitched. "Let me love you, Cass."

"I’m marrying Park, remember?"

His gaze never flickered. "Still, let me love you. Only God knows how many wives he’s made love to."

Stunned at the implication of his words, she stared at him. Her breath caught. "Are you asking me to be your mistress even after I’m Park’s wife? Even after you’re married to Hillary?"

His chest expanded under his fine, silk shirt. "If that’s the only way I can have you, yes."

Hot fury raged through her. "You’re despicable! I used to feel sorry for you for being involved with Hillary. Now I see how wrong I was! I pity her!" She let her gaze drop the length of him, conveying her contempt. "You’re worse than what you’ve accused Park of being!"

"Get out of this house and don’t show your damned face around here again!" Park roared behind her.

Cassandra turned. Park’s heaving body filled the entire doorway, his face black with anger. In a flash, she realized that he had over heard their conversation.

He suddenly bolted into the room, past Cassandra, his fist shooting out. The crack of flesh hitting flesh resounded as his knuckles contacted Reid’s face. With a yelp, Reid spun backward and sprawled into a chair, his nose and mouth spurting blood. From glazed eyes, he looked up at Park heaving above him.

"You damned son-of-a-bitch!" Park yelped. "Get out of here, and don’t come back!"

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and shaking his head to clear it, Reid slowly lifted himself up. His black eyes, full of anger, swung from his brother to Cassandra. A thin smirk pulled at the corners of his lips.

As if Reid was moving too slowly, Park suddenly grabbed his collar, yanking him completely out of the chair, and shoved him toward the door.

Stumbling past Cassandra, Reid sent her a quick, cowered look. "You’ll be sorry!" he snapped, then strode from the room, his footfalls heavy against the carpet. The front door slammed behind him.

Cassandra lifted her gaze to Park’s. Sliding his arms around her waist, he pulled her against him. "You’re still going to Arkansas with me, aren’t you?" he asked, his voice husky and low.

"Of course." Her fingertip traced the outline of his full mouth. "When did you say we were getting married, Mr. Farrington?"

"As soon as possible," he muttered lowering his mouth to hers. "As soon as possible."

#

With a blow of the whistle and a rush of steam, the train started with a jerk. With arms wrapped around each other’s waist, Park and Cassandra stood on the deck of the parlor car and waved at Pearl, George, and Mrs. Wyngate among the crowd on the platform. It seemed that half of Denver had come out to see them off. The ring on Cassandra’s finger glittered with fiery prisms against the sun, its flash of colors as diverse as her feelings about leaving Denver. Although she had been in Denver for a year, it seemed odd to be leaving everything behind and returning to Arkansas as Mrs. Park Farrington.

She was leaving Silver Valley in the care of Mrs. Wyngate - rather Grandmother. The appellation still had a strange, unnatural ring to it whenever Cassandra used it. It had taken her weeks to muster the courage to address her grandmother by such an affectionate term; however, at Park’s prodding, she finally agreed to do so. Now, she was glad, for Mrs. Wyngate glowed and blossomed with her use of it. Although their relationship still had its rough edges, Cassandra knew it to be a matter of time when it would smooth out and they would have a loving relationship. Grandmother already had a trip to Arkansas planned for Christmas.

The Elizabeth House had been left under Pearl’s authority. Cassandra felt confident in her capabilities, with the financial aspect of it being taken care of by the Farringtons’ accountant. Ahead of her and Park lay their plans for opening another Elizabeth House for the homeless in Bluff Hills, with Park’s interest also turning to buying a coal mine or two and perhaps some timber land.

A month ago she and Park married in a quiet, simple ceremony conducted by the pastor of Grandmother’s church. Besides the gossip columnists whom they couldn’t keep out, only those closest to Park and Cassandra attended.

Reid nor any of Park’s family came. Nancy Farrington fainted when Park made the announcement to his family. Carl thought it amusing. Reid became sullenly silent. The newspapers had had a heyday, especially the gossip columnists who made a great ado about Park’s past reputation, her former relationship with Reid, and now her marriage to Park. Rumors and speculations ran wild.

Park, accustomed to the ranting of his wild exploits, took it all in stride and advised that she do the same. Hard as she tried, she sometimes found it difficult to stand up to the wild imaginations.

Another blast of the train whistle broke into her thoughts. Lifting her face, she looked up into Park’s passionate, sparkling eyes. White teeth glimmered against the light.

"Feeling a little sad about leaving Denver, Mrs. Farrington?" he asked.

She nodded. "A little. I’m looking ahead to Arkansas though. I think we have a glorious future there, don’t you?"

"Of course." Bending his dark head, he kissed her lightly. Then he pulled away, his eyes beginning to smolder with desire. "It’s a very long way to Arkansas, and we have our own private car. What say we make good use of it, Mrs. Farrington?" His tone was low, throaty, and seductive.

Sliding her arms up around his neck, she kissed him. "Sounds like a very good idea."

Sending a last wave of farewell to those on the platform, they, arm in arm, moved into the car and closed the door.

THE END