Fireblossom by Cynthia Wright Read Free Book Online Page B

him. "Was it worth it?"
    Before he could answer, someone shouted for quiet and an odd-looking trio appeared on the Gem's small stage, which was located at the far end of the barroom. There was a woman wearing a fancy gown of crimson velvet that looked too hot for the season, a man with a fiddle, and a youth carrying what appeared to be a trumpet. The man who'd been shouting stood in front of the stage. He waved his hands in the air.
    "Now, folks," he cried, "give us your attention. You all are in for a rare feast for the senses, a performance by the one and only Queen of Song. Yes, pilgrims, I am referring to the world-famous Miss Viola de Montmorency, who is here in Deadwood on the eve of her departure for the great capitals of Europe!"
    As Miss de Montmorency began her first ballad, accompanied by the two game musicians, it occurred to Fox that she looked a bit worn around the edges for this songbird role. Victoria seemed to read his mind.
    "You look like you're in the mood for a little repose. Want to come upstairs where it's quiet? I can take off your boots and rub your neck...."
    It was a funny thing, the instincts a man had for a woman. Fox didn't care for her scent, yet it worked on him; and he didn't find her particularly attractive, but his body responded anyway to her warm curves pushing at him and the suggestive invitation in her voice. Annie Sunday used to say that a true man rose above his primitive impulses and would never sleep with a woman he didn't love, let alone barely knew. Too bad the world couldn't live up to those standards. It kept tempting Fox, and sometimes he felt reckless.
    "That sounds like an invitation I'd be a fool to refuse, Victoria. I'll bring the bottle, just in case we get thirsty." He gathered his other possessions and followed Victoria up the stairway, which was already beginning to warp. It smelled like freshly cut pine and cheap perfume and men who needed baths. Fox watched the way Victoria's bustle twitched as she mounted the steps above him.
    Upstairs, there were more curtained doorways with girls' names written above them in chalk. Fox was relieved to discover that Victoria's room had a real door; it seemed a favorable portent. When she turned the knob and stood aside, she glanced at him under her lashes with coy shyness and he almost believed that it was genuine. Inside the narrow bedroom, with one window overlooking Main Street, Fox set down his belongings, doffed his hat, and let out a harsh sigh.
    "Sit right down there on the bed and make yourself comfortable," she instructed, while lighting an oil lamp on the bureau. "Here, lie back. I'll take off your boots."
    Sheer exhaustion, coupled with the wallop of the whiskey, struck Fox with astonishing force as soon as he put his head back on the pillow with its perfumed-lace covering. Victoria was a blur above him, tugging at his boots.
    "I don't know," he managed to mutter, "if that's a good idea. I should've had a bath...."
    Victoria poured him another whiskey and held it to his lips, cooing, "Now, now, don't you fret. You think I'm used to a clean man in this town?" She laughed, hugely amused by that notion. "I know you're tired, and I know what you need for a good night's sleep. Just lie still. I'll undress you."
    God, tired was a weak description for the way he felt. The bed, with its lumps and broken springs, was like a gift from the angels, and Fox seemed to sink into it. He let his mind drift. He saw Custer, with his curls shorn, sitting astride Vic in the dawn light. And then he dreamed about a rattlesnake stalking him as he slept under the Wyoming moonlight. Madeleine Avery was making tea and serving it in her best china cups, but she said that Fox couldn't come into her house and drink his portion until he'd had a bath and donned proper clothes. "You must wear a paper collar," she said, backing away from him as if repulsed, "and a Prince Albert frock coat, and I will not permit cursing...."
    Victoria found that it was