Sands caressed her neck. She allowed her eyelids to close halfway. The music and his touch washed away the tightness in her stomach, the burning in her eyes, the sadness in her soul. A sweet ache stirred deep inside.

His fingers curled into her hair, taking hold, pulling her head gently back.

He bent over to kiss her throat. Her mouth.

The chords beneath her hands died, the last note drifting into the night.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.

"I hope they keep him locked up through the Fourth and beyond." Inez stood at the saloon's Harrison Avenue doors, cup of coffee in hand, and looked north up the street toward the jail.

All manner of four-wheeled conveyances filled the street, carrying families, church and social groups, and every proper young woman in Leadville to day trip destinations like Twin Lakes, Soda Springs, and the Mount Ma.s.sive Hotel. Parasol fringe fluttered, whips cracked, babies cried, and picnic baskets and blankets jostled on the laps of pa.s.sengers as wheels b.u.mped over the street's hardened ridges of baked mud. Men on horseback wove through the wagons and buggies, the younger fellows shouting and showing off for the women, who clung to the seats, lace handkerchiefs held to noses to block out the dust.

"My G.o.d," she said to herself. "Isn't anyone staying in town?"

"Sure." Abe came and stood beside her, drying his hands on his ap.r.o.n. "When the Fairplays come this afternoon, we'll be jumpin'. None of the theaters are open today, so we'll be the only game in town." He followed Inez's gaze. "Who's in jail?"

"Weston Croy." She went back inside and liberated a bottle of whiskey from the backbar. "Let's go to the office for a moment. I need to talk with you before I start balancing the books."

Upstairs, Inez unlocked the office door. The saloon's cat, a calico that preferred soaking up the sun to hunting rodents, squeezed past her skirts to claim a warm spot on the braided rug.

Inez sat at the desk and brushed the orange and black cat hairs from her dark blue skirts. "The cat is shedding dreadfully. A clear sign that winter's finally over. For a month or two."

Abe lowered himself to the sofa, knees creaking. "That Weston fellow's bothering you some, sounds like."

"More than some."

Abe listened gravely as she related her previous encounters with Weston.

"He thinks, at least sometimes, that he's still in the war," Inez finished.

"Man sounds outta control."

"Reverend Sands tried to help Weston for a while. But it seems now as if he's washed his hands of him."

"That's right. Your reverend was a Union man." Abe leaned back on the settee.

"Like you."

Abe hmmphed. "Partly. At the start of the war, I was wearin' the gray."

Inez stared. "You fought for both sides? But...why? What were you doing on the side of the Confederacy?"

Abe shrugged. "I was a free man, like my pappy. When the call came, I joined the Louisiana Native Guards. Mostly, I was protectin' my home, the home of my family. And protectin' our property too, there was that. There was thinkin' among the colored that everything we had might just get taken away if we didn't step forward. I was defendin' Louisiana, didn't give a hang for the Confederacy. When New Orleans was occupied by Federal troops, they called for free colored to join the Union Army, and-" Abe spread his hands- "plenty of familiar faces from the original Guards started wearin' blue. It was a long time ago, Inez. My point is, lots of men saw hard times. Your reverend, I'm guessin' he prob'ly was in the thick of things. Most, like him, just put it behind them as best they could. Some, like this Weston, just didn't have the spine to see it through."

Inez set her coffee on the ledger. The ledger made her think of the columns of numbers-income one side, charges on the other, and how the charges could deplete, bleed a business dry, until there was nothing left. If a man saw too much, was too much in the red, maybe there just was no way for him to come back into balance.

"I wonder what happened that he ended up like this," Inez said to herself.

Abe rested his forearms on his thighs and cracked his knuckles. "He was talkin' 'bout the cold, right? Well, hard marchin' drove some men crazy. The waitin' did too. Almost worse than battle itself."

"Worse." Inez made an irritated gesture. "Everyone mentions the horrors of war, but no one will say. So what was it, Abe? The killing? Seeing others die?"

Abe's mouth tightened. "All right, Inez. Here's a story t' give you a taste, if'n that's what you're askin'. A soldier offered a friend sittin' next to him a drink from his canteen. Was real hot that day. The heat never bothered me too much, but some got sunsick, just plain lost their minds and motivation. Anyhow, this fella'd just reached out to hand him the canteen when a sh.e.l.l hit. Blew his friend's head off, leavin' him sittin' there, canteen held out, and him all covered with blood and brains."

Inez raised a hand to her throat.

"Yep." Abe cracked his knuckles again, then wiped his palms on his black worsted pants. "And that soldier didn't end up p.i.s.sin' hisself every time a gun went off, like that Weston fella."

"Abe."

He looked up, tension etching his face.

"Did that happen to you?"

"Nope. Happened to Mark Stannert, Inez. Your husband."

Her throat closed. It took a minute to work out the words. "He never told me."

"Reckon not. It's not the kind of story men share with their womenfolk."

She turned and stared out the window, at the hulk that was Mount Ma.s.sive. "Do you think....Could that have something to do with Mark's disappearance? Maybe some memory set him off. Like what happened to Weston."

Abe shook his head. "I never saw Mark havin' that kind of trouble. But if old Unconditional Surrender Grant comes to town, I'm wonderin' if there won't be a whole lot more men havin' nightmares."

Two hours and a quarter of a bottle later, Inez ran an ink-stained fingertip down the last column of figures, double-checking her addition, then slammed the ledger closed. She leaned back in her chair, staring out the window at the rooftops along State Street and the mountains beyond. A cool breeze slipped in through the half-opened window and shifted a few papers on her desk. She set the ounce of pure silver that served as a paperweight on top, then flexed her fingers absently to work the kinks out of her cramped hand.

The street was nearly deserted.

I surely hope the Fairplays will bring them in. If they're out there.

Discouraged, Inez rested her hand on the recent photo of William her sister had sent, propped open where she could see him while she worked. She traced the contours of his round face, touched the nose in the image. And what are you doing today for the holiday, little William? Perhaps playing by the ocean. Giving your Grandmere fits with sticky hands, having eaten your fill of ice-creams. And I am so far away.

Inez grasped the bottle of whiskey and added more to the cup, which by now had lost even the tinge of coffee.

A knock on the door startled her. A splash mottled the leather cover of the ledger. "Yes?" She grabbed a piece of blotting paper to wipe the cover.

Sol opened the door. "Mrs. Stannert, the Fairplays are here. Turns out, the missus needs a place to gussy up. Mr. Jackson said...." He hesitated here, looking over his shoulder as if to determine whether he really needed to continue, then looked back. "Well, he thought she could use your room. In back."

Her grip on the bottle tightened as she stared at the hapless bartender. "Oh. He did, did he?"

"I guess it's the only place with a mirror, and a pitcher and washstand and stuff. Plus it's the only place she could, hmm, change." Sol seemed uncomfortable plowing into these areas of the feminine sphere.

"And I guess Mr. Jackson is too much of a coward to discuss this with me himself."

"Well, he's talking with Mr. Fairplay and-"

"Never mind!" she barked. She shot out of her chair and in a dozen steps was across the office to the door that led to her private room. Once inside, she scanned the area. Her wardrobe stood open, her and Mark's clothes, hanging side by side. She strode to the wardrobe, grabbed a wide-brimmed straw hat from the top shelf, and slammed the twin doors shut, twisting the handles closed with a vicious yank. She picked up the pitcher, saw there was still water in it, and slammed it down.

Grabbing her cloak off the peg, she stormed out of the back room. "Sol, please inform Mr. Jackson that this was not part of our bargain. Mrs. Fairplay may use my room. I suppose I have no choice. But she'd better not rifle through my things. I'm off to the church picnic. I believe I'd rather listen to the church women prattle than hear Mrs. Fairplay pontificate about life on the stage and warble her lines." She paused to drain her cup.

Inez turned to go, then stopped, retreated back to the desk, seized the near empty bottle, and slammed down the rolltop to hide the bills and ledger from prying eyes.

"Can't arrive empty-handed," she said tersely.

Sol stared at the bottle in her hand, clearly horrified.

"Oh, stop staring, Sol. I'm not going to bring a bottle of liquor to the church picnic. I'm taking this downstairs so that Maude Fairplay is not tempted to take a little liquid courage on the house before emoting. Please go ask Bridgette to wrap up a cherry pie for the church."

Sol took the stairs down two at a time, whether anxious to fulfill her request or escape her ire, she didn't know.

Inez stepped carefully from tread to tread, the distance seeming to grow and collapse with each step. C.A. stood by the bar, snapping his pocket.w.a.tch open and shut, open and shut. Maude was holding forth to a rapt knot of drinkers, who gazed upon her as if she were visiting royalty. Behind Maude, glancing around nervously, a tiny woman with the Orient in her features balanced an enormous valise and two hatboxes, while gripping the handle to a small, wheeled trunk.

Deciding that the missus was otherwise engaged, Inez focused on the mister first. "Mr. Fairplay." She drew out his name in a drawl and held out a hand in greeting. "Soooo sorry I won't be in attendance at your first performance here at the Silver Queen. Alas and alack. I have, however, a church social to attend."

He swept off his pearl-gray derby, and bowed over her hand extravagantly. Inez glared at Abe over the top of Mr. Fairplay's head and continued, "Mr. Jackson and Mr. Isaacs will take excellent care of you and help monitor the crowd that will no doubt be beating down the doors any minute to attend your performance. And here comes Michael O'Malley as well. It appears we have plenty of extra hands this afternoon to handle the adoring throngs."

Bridgette's eldest son was heading toward Inez, a brown-paper-wrapped pie-shaped bundle in his hands, gaze riveted on Maude.

"Thank you, Michael." Inez relieved him of the pie and turned to Maude, who was waving her fan in a dramatic fashion. "Ah, Mrs. Fairplay. The room upstairs is ready for you. I look forward to hearing a review of your performance on my return this evening."

She turned to Abe, adjusting her hat. "You won't miss me at all, I'm sure." Her eyes swept around the half-full room. "Probably no one else will either."

Inez turned and swept through the door, pie held high before her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE.

She'd barely rounded the corner to Chestnut when she spied a buckboard rattling her way, holding Susan, Terry O'Loughlin, Mrs. Flynn, a couple of other young women she didn't recognize, and Mr. Braun at the reins.

"What good timing!" Susan's brown eyes were shining under a broad-brimmed hat that was a cousin to Inez's, except for a green ribbon surrounding the crown. "We were just going to drive past your...." Susan looked around at the other women in the wagon. "Well. And here you are! Mr. Braun had offered to see if you could come."

"As you see, I can indeed."

Braun pulled the horses to a stop and set the brake, before stepping from the wagon. "Mrs. Stannert," he said gruffly. "An honor." He took the pie from her, pa.s.sed it to Miss O'Loughlin, and gave her a hand up into the wagon.

Inez settled next to Susan and said in a low voice, "Your landlady is coming?"

Susan grabbed the wooden seat as the buckboard jerked forward. "I mentioned this picnic to her and she expressed an interest," Susan whispered back. "She said it sounded like a proper event, and even convinced some of the other boarders to come along."

Inez twisted in her perch to see the women seated behind her. Mrs. Flynn sat, parasol upraised, its fringe fluttering. Her pale striped summer dress was hemmed with layers of knife pleats and ruches, looking, Inez thought, more appropriate for a tea in the parlor than a picnic by the springs. Mrs. Flynn was observing the street scene with interest, the ribbons of her bonnet streaming down the back of her neck. She acknowledged Inez with a nod and smile. "Mrs. Stannert, good to see you again. It's been so long since I've been out to a social. It was very kind of Miss Carothers to invite me and the other ladies." She leaned forward and said in a confidential tone to Inez, "I recently completed two years of mourning for my departed husband. Otherwise, I would have declined."

"I brought some lemons." Susan nudged a net bag at her feet. "We can make lemonade at the springs."

"I've not been to Soda Springs before, Mr. Braun." Mrs. Flynn c.o.c.ked her head and twirled her parasol in a manner that Inez thought positively coquettish. "How far do we have to go?"

"Just five miles. We go on the Boulevard. It is a very smooth ride. Just one steep hill, not so bad." He turned the horses at Third and headed west.

Inez clamped a gloved hand to her flapping straw hat so it wouldn't take flight. As the buckboard left West Third Street proper and approached the toll gate, she marveled at the road-sixty feet wide, smooth, solid, and amazingly free of dust-no longer the crooked "Lunatics Lane" from a year ago. The sun, the gentle breeze, the chattering and laughing of the women around her all conspired to improve her disposition.

Once they arrived, Inez and Mr. Braun positioned several blankets in the shade of some pines. Susan, still relying on her cane, settled on a picnic blanket with Mrs. Flynn nearby. The boarders oohed and aahed over the scenery. Several decided to wander the trails and explore the soda and iron springs.

After shaking out the last blanket, Inez looked up at the forested slopes of Mount Ma.s.sive. She took a deep breath. The sharp, dusty scent of pine cleared her lungs and her mind.

"Inez, would you take these over to the tables?" Susan indicated the bag of lemons and the cherry pie on the blanket. As Inez retrieved them, Susan added in a low voice, "And maybe you could find Reverend Sands? I'd like to introduce him to Mrs. Flynn and the teachers from the boardinghouse. I'm hoping they'll eventually join our church."

Inez smiled at Susan. "I've no doubt that, once they meet him, they'll be singing in the choir by next Sunday."

She strolled over to the long tables where Mrs. Warner, presiding over the desserts, was guarding pies, sweets, and melting ice cream from a gaggle of small boys. Inez caught the tail end of what sounded like a lecture in nutrition. "When those plates are clean as a whistle and your mothers say so, then you can have some. And that goes for you too, Bradley." She took an ineffectual swat at a red-headed youngster who made a successful grab-and-run with a handful of candies. The boys scattered.

Inez handed the fl.u.s.tered woman the pie and lemons, inquiring, "Have you seen the reverend?"

Mrs. Warner looked around distractedly, adjusting her bonnet, which was sliding dangerously over one ear. "He was here just a while ago. Oh yes. Miss Snow wanted to talk with him. I think they headed off in that direction." She pointed toward one of the paths leading toward the springs.

Inez nodded her thanks, observing that Bradley and the rest were approaching from the rear, in what looked like an attempt to take the dessert table with a flanking maneuver.

She made her way down the path, enjoying the mountain air and sunshine. Children's voices trilled above the lower pitched notes of the grown-ups. All receded behind her, and the song of birds took up the volume.

Granite slabs-some no bigger than a stepping stone, others the size of a small shed-were scattered among the trees. Inez stopped a moment, listening, trying to determine if what she heard was the murmuring of voices or perhaps a spring nearby or maybe both.

"Oh please say yes!"

There was no mistaking Birdie's voice. Inez frowned and looked to the left. About twenty feet away was a large granite boulder.

Inez took a few silent steps, keeping the trees between her and the stone.

The sigh of boughs in the breeze mingled with the susurration of running water beyond the granite.

Birdie's beseeching face came into view, along with the back of the reverend's shoulder and frock coat.

What is he saying? Inez paused behind one of the larger pines and strained to hear, but his voice was too low. From Birdie's face, however, it appeared that his answer was not to her liking.