She'd not become a
whore to hurt him. She'd not lured him into her house and into her
arms. He'd entered her home and her arms of his own free will. He was
the jackass who had asked her to many him without realizing she was
just another woman out to get what she could from a man, like every
other blessed whore he'd ever known. Fox knew he'd acted irrationally.
It was just that he had been so disappointed to discover what she was…
what she had been to his father. He was hurt and disappointed that
again his hopes had been shattered by a woman who would never have the
capacity to love him.
He didn't know why he was so surprised. His father had spent his
whole life moving from one whore to another. Like father… like son, he
mused grimly.
Fox paced the floor. Silently, he cursed James Monroe, his business
partner. The man had been brother to his mistress, Amber. He and James
had gotten along well; they drank together, played cards together,
whored together in the early days. Eventually they had made a great
deal of money in the commodities together. Then the cheating bastard
had stolen every penny from him and fled to Europe.
Fox had had to sell his town houses in San Francisco and New York
City and empty his own personal bank account to pay off Jamie's debts.
Because their company had borne the name Monroe & MacPhearson,
Jamie's debts had become Fox's. Fox knew now that this had been Jamie's
plan all along. Most likely Amber had been in on it as well.
He thought of Amber, but pushed her image from his mind. He didn't
want to remember the thick dark hair falling over her face, or the
chill of her skin in death. If he thought about the regrets, the
could-haves, the should-haves, he'd drive himself mad.
Fox stared at the closed bedroom door. He didn't want to be alone
right now. As angry as he was with Celeste for deceiving him, he wanted
to be with her. To see her green eyes dance with amusement, to hear her
laugh and speak his name. The thought that his father had slept with
the same woman he was so attracted to felt very strange. For the first
time he wondered which disturbed him more—that she was a whore, or that
she had been his father's private whore. Or was it the fact that John
had obviously cared more for her than for his own son. John had been
old enough to be her father. Fox told himself he shouldn't care. She
was just a whore. And his father was dead.
Now he had more to worry about than a woman who had lied to him by
omission. He shouldn't have expected anything from his father. He
shouldn't have counted on an easy way out. He'd been on his own for a
long time. No one could solve his problems but him.
He walked toward the door, needing to see Celeste again, to talk to
her and either confirm or refute his initial impressions of her. He
needed to know that desperation hadn't made him into a blind fool. The
truth was he just needed human comfort.
Fox found Celeste still in the kitchen. She was making something in a bowl, stirring furiously with a wooden spoon.
She didn't turn to face him as he entered the room.
The dog woke and lifted his head. When he saw that it was Fox, he relaxed again.
"You leaving?" Celeste asked. Her tone was neutral, neither warm nor
cold. Fox walked to the coal stove that had been stoked and radiated a
comforting heat. He put the teakettle on to boil. "I'll buy the house
from you, the worthless land." He didn't know why he'd said that. He
had no money. He doubted anyone would loan him any either. And what was
he going to do with a house in godforsaken Carrington, Colorado? Maybe
he wanted it because it was his father's. Maybe he just wanted it
because John had given it to Celeste.
"If the land your father staked is worthless, why do you want it?"
"It might not be completely worthless." He gave a noncommittal
shrug. "Might be able to get some type of ore that's salvageable."
She dumped the bowl upside down on the wooden worktable. Bread
dough. She pushed up her sleeves with
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