“Damp.”

  “Get out of those clothes and Clay can draw you a hot bath.”

  “Dinner’s happening in the kitchen. The bath will have to wait.” He stopped her when she started to argue. “But I will get out of these clothes.” He kissed her on the cheek before he left. “Are you still thinking about what I said to you this morning?” Then he laughed as she drove him out of the room with the skill of a wrangler.

  * * *

  • • •

  Roen was the third person to get the benefit of a hot bath, but since Lizzie and Hannah were the first two, the water was soapy but still relatively clean. Lily added hot water from the kettle moments before he folded himself into the large galvanized tub, so it was warm enough to suit him. She was already refilling the kettle while he was still trying to find the soap.

  “I thought it floated,” he said.

  “It does.” Lily looked down at him, shook her head, and directed him to lean forward. She plucked the bar from where it was hiding behind his back and put it in his hand then she sat at the table. “Warm enough?”

  “Just.” The tub was close to the stove, and Clay had stuffed the firebox so heat emanated toward him in waves.

  “You were quiet at dinner,” she said.

  “Thinking.” He saw her blush in a way that could not be explained by the heat from the stove, and she shifted in her chair. “I wasn’t thinking about that,” he said, “although I like it that you are.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her in a parody of wickedness.

  “Stop that. You’re horrible.” When he offered her a contrite expression that she knew he didn’t mean, she gave up. “So what were you thinking about?”

  Roen rubbed soap into the washcloth that Lily had set out for him and began to scrub. “I saw Ben this morning when I stopped by the hotel. He told me he’d seen an odd duck around town this past week and wondered if I’d seen him or maybe knew him. I told him I wasn’t expecting anyone from Northeast. Ben described the man as having no remarkable features, so it was entirely possible that I’d seen but hadn’t noticed him.”

  “Why is Ben interested in him? Has he done something?”

  “No. Ben says not. That’s what troubles him. He has no discernable occupation, and he isn’t looking for work. He’s not a salesman or a gambler or a reporter. He hasn’t inquired about property at the land office or shown an inclination to put out a shingle that would announce his business. He’s been a regular diner at the Butterworth, but he’s rooming at Mrs. Brady’s. Ben says he’s been to the bank several times that he knows of, but the manager and tellers weren’t particularly helpful because they don’t really remember him. He doesn’t have an account so there’s no record of transactions.”

  “So our sheriff thinks this person is visiting the bank with the intention to rob it?”

  “It’s a thought.” Roen bent his head and washed the back of his neck.

  “It’s natural that Ben’s mind would veer in that direction. There was a robbery a few years back. He was in the bank when it happened and fortunate to walk out of it. Has he asked if the man has kin nearby?” Lily left the chair and knelt beside the tub. “Duck your head in the water. I’ll wash your hair.”

  Roen complied. It was a tight fit, and when he came up, he shook his head like a puppy, spraying water droplets. The ones that hit the stove sizzled.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” she said. “I expect it from Ham.” Lily pushed his head down and began applying the soap. “So what about kin?”

  “None that he knows of. The man doesn’t leave town.”

  “Maybe he’s waiting for someone.”

  “Ben thought of that, but he thinks that person is already here.”

  “Oh?”

  “Victorine Headley. It seems that he’s had occasion to converse with her.”

  Lily stopped soaping his hair. “Did you tell Ben who she is to you?”

  Roen corrected her. “Who she was to me.” He took the soap from her and told her he would finish. Lily stayed where she was, her hands resting on the rim of the tub. “I told him all of it. The whole sordid melodrama. I think that’s what you called it, and you were right to name it that. Ben shook his head so often, it began to rattle.” He looked sideways at Lily. She wasn’t smiling. “I’m sorry, Lily. I realize you didn’t want him to know.”

  She shook her head. “No. You had to tell him. He’ll question whether he and Ridley should have stood up for us, but he’ll eventually conclude that it was the right thing to do.” She stood. “The water in the kettle is warm, not hot. Let me rinse your hair.” When he agreed, she retrieved the kettle, tested it on her wrist to be certain she was right about the temperature, and then poured it over his head. He finger-combed his hair to remove the soap as she poured. She stepped away from the tub before he shook off the water and tossed him a towel.

  Roen rubbed the towel over his head then stood and wrapped it around his waist. “Martin Cabot,” he said, stepping out of the tub. He used a damp towel left by the girls to finish drying himself.

  “Pardon?” Lily held out his nightshirt.

  “The man’s name. Martin Cabot.”

  “Not an alias.”

  “No. Ben doesn’t think so.” Roen poked his head out from under his shirt and let it fall into place before he removed the towel. He handed it back to Lily and sat down to put on his socks. “Cabot doesn’t appear in any of the wanted notices. Ben couldn’t find anything in the Denver papers, and he spent hours in the library reading the arrest records in the Rocky going back as far as Miss Fletcher kept them.”

  “Ben is thorough.”

  “He is, and he wished he’d asked me sooner because after we’d concluded discussing Victorine, I told him who I thought Mr. Cabot was.”

  “And? Don’t leave it there.”

  “Her private investigator.”

  Lily considered that, her expression troubled and curious at the same time. “Why do you suppose he’s here?”

  “I have no idea, but it’s a certainty that she asked him to come. She didn’t arrive with a companion. Perhaps he’s performing that role.”

  She nodded, thoughtful but unconvinced. “Perhaps. Did you notice the gown I was working on earlier?”

  “I did. Very nice ice blue silk.”

  “Satin. But you’re right about the color. I collected the material from Mrs. Fish this morning. She had the pattern cut and some of it basted. Wrote down all the measurements for me so I would be sure to get the correct fitting. Mrs. Fish has a machine, you know, that could have been used to put the gown together, but the person who ordered it wanted every part of it hand stitched. Mrs. Fish gave it to me to finish because I’m better at handwork and this customer is particular about what she wants.”

  Roen was in the process of moving his chair closer to the stove. He stopped. “Did Mrs. Fish tell you name of this customer?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And?” he asked, mimicking her. “Don’t leave it there.”

  “Victorine Headley.”

  “Jesus,” he said under his breath.

  Lily frowned at him. “There are children who might hear you.”

  “Jumpin’ Jesus on a griddle.”

  In spite of herself, Lily laughed. “Ham is a terrible influence.”

  Roen set the chair down and put himself in it. “You only got the dress today?”

  “Yes, but according to Mrs. Fish, Miss Headley has been in the shop several times to look over the fashion magazines. She decided on this yesterday. Mrs. Fish didn’t tell her that she wasn’t going to make the gown herself, so there was no intent on Victorine’s part that her dress would end up in my hands.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “Then we’ll see, won’t we? I’m not going to sabotage my work. What would I do? Fashion the dress so a single pulled thread unravels all of it?”

  Roen’s expression brightened. “Could you do that?”

  She threw a towel at him. “No. I couldn’t. And I wouldn’t if I could.”

  “It was only a thought.”

  “Yes, and you’ve had your wicked share of them today.”

  “I know.” He draped the towel around his neck. “Here’s one I believe you will approve. I spoke to Ellie about a housekeeper and cook for us. She thought it was a splendid idea, by the way. Splendid. That was her word for it. She also used it to describe my idea about you working alongside me.”

  “Mm-hmm. So she has a recommendation?”

  “She does. What do you think of Fedora for the position?”

  “Fedora? She’d never agree.”

  “Because of me, you mean.”

  Lily nodded. “I only think that because of what you and Ben have told me.”

  “What if she did agree? Would you accept her?”

  “She has Ellie’s recommendation; naturally I would accept her.”

  “Then it’s done.”

  Lily’s eyes widened. “Done?”

  “Uh-huh. Out of concern for Fedora’s comfort, Ellie sat with me when I proposed the position. I thought that leaving Ellie and the familiarity of the hotel would be a sticking point, but after briefly consulting with Ellie in private, she came back to me with her answer. That left the final decision with you, and you’ve agreed. Done.”

  “You engineer everything, don’t you?”

  Roen shrugged modestly. “It’s a gift.”

  “It is,” she said, serious. “It truly is.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Lily lay naked under the blankets. Roen had told her to take off her nightgown but had neglected to say specifically how she should do it. When he refused to turn back the lamp, she slipped into bed and wriggled out of the garment while he stood beside the bed and chuckled at her modest performance.

  “Not what I had in mind,” he said, grinning, “but the end result is still the same.” He reached for the lamp, but instead of extinguishing the flame, he turned the wick up so the light was marginally brighter.

  “Roen!”

  “Well, if I’m going to do things to you, you should be able to see them.”

  “You are a dreadful man.” She paused, looked at him askance, and asked, “What sort of things?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I haven’t been thinking it about all day. I left that up to you. Suggestions?”

  “Oooh! I think I might actually loathe you.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “I don’t,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t.”

  “Noted.” He stripped off his nightshirt and joined her naked in bed. He rolled toward her, placed the flat of one hand on her abdomen, and cradled his head with the other. Her flesh was smooth and warm, and there was a gentle rise and fall as she breathed. “Anything coming to you?” he whispered.

  She huffed softly. “I suppose you could begin by kissing me.”

  “Always a good start.” Roen flipped back the blankets and uncovered Lily’s breasts. Before she could do anything save inhale sharply, his mouth was at the hollow of her throat and blazing a trail south.

  Lily looked down at herself the moment she could and saw that her nipples were already standing at attention. Honesty prevented her from blaming the chill because there wasn’t any. She wanted him to put his mouth there. It was nothing other than anticipation and excitement that made her breasts swell and her nipples harden.

  He had kissed her there before, laved her aureole through her nightshift, but this was different. This was her naked breast and the damp, rough pad of his tongue, gently abrasive, and because this was Roen, gently persuasive. Her fingers threaded in his hair when he began to suck. The pleasure was exquisite. She hummed.

  Roen lifted his head. “Like that, do you?”

  In answer, she nudged his head toward the neglected breast and sighed contentedly when he found it. He lifted his head again, this time to stretch over her and cover her mouth with his. The kiss was tender at first, but that was only meant to tease. His lips darted to the corner of her mouth. He nibbled at her lower lip. His tongue swept the ridge of her teeth. It was when she moved restlessly under him that he deepened the kiss. He pressed his advantage by tilting his head and giving her the hard slant of his mouth.

  His tongue darted and swirled around hers. There was hunger here and need and it touched her at her core, firing her senses, making them snap smartly. The kiss was humid; it tasted faintly of peppermint tea. He smelled of soap and, in her mind at least, improbably of snow. The scent of him lingered in her nostrils even after he moved away. It was the same with his touch; she felt it as warmth flickering on her skin after his fingertips had moved on.

  His fingers circled her wrists and lifted her hands so they rested on either side of her head. His grip was firm, not tight. She didn’t fight him overtly, but he felt resistance and he released her. His thumbs brushed the delicate undersides of her wrists, and after a few moments she opened her eyes and looked into his.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered. “It’s you.”

  “It’s me,” he said. Dipping his head, he kissed her again, sweet and soft and straightforward, and then he started a second trail with his lips that began at her chin and ended when his mouth was between her thighs. He glanced up to make certain she was all right. Far from resisting, she had propped herself up on her elbows and was watching. The centers of her eyes were dark and wide and more than a little curious. His roguish grin answered the question she hadn’t asked. “Bend your knees,” he told her, and when she did, he lifted them so they rested against his shoulders. He lowered his head and parted her lips. His tongue darted across her clitoris, lightly at first, like his kiss, and then more firmly, also like his kiss.

  Lily didn’t hum her pleasure this time; she gave a little cry that she tried to choke off. If he had asked for more suggestions, she wouldn’t have told him this. She didn’t know what it was except that the heat was intense and the pleasure was so fine, it was almost painful.

  She rose on that swell of need and wanting until she was riding the crest again. Her fingers curled in the blankets under her as she pressed her shoulders back. She was almost there, wherever there was, and she could feel herself being urged toward the very edge of the plunge she wanted, needed, to take. Lily held her breath and dove. Her body shuddered in release, and for those few moments, she was rocked by sensations powerful enough to shatter her every thought, so when it was over, she knew nothing as much as her own contentment.

  She stretched, smiled, when Roen moved from between her thighs to hover over her. Then he was inside her, and she welcomed that. He moved slowly at first, deeply, and when she contracted around him in a snug fist, he closed his eyes and held himself still. “Breathe,” she whispered, setting her hands on his shoulders. He did and began moving again. She waited for him to open his eyes, and when he did, she didn’t avert her gaze. “Beautiful man,” she whispered.

  He shook his head. That made her smile again, this time indulgently because he just didn’t know. She touched his cheek, brushed it with her fingertips. She traced the hard line of his jaw. Something, perhaps it was the sudden, purposeful lift of her hips, or the way she softly spoke his name, drove his next hard thrust. His rhythm changed. His movements were urgent now, as if they not merely needed, but also necessary. She went with him, glad that she could, glad once again that she was free to choose this, and when he climaxed and spilled his seed, it was joyous.

  Roen made to roll on his side, but Lily stopped him, wrapping her arms and legs so he was temporarily her captive. “Not just yet,” she said, and then more softly, “Not just yet.” So he stayed. She felt his breathing calm and his heartbeat slow and was comforted by both. She slowly unfolded and he moved away but didn’t go far. They lay naked on their backs on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling and smiling stupidly with satisfaction. They traded glances once, and the timbre of their shared laughter was in excellent harmony.

  “God,” Roen said feelingly.

  “Mm,” Lily murmured. “Me first.” She rolled out of bed and went to the basin to wash. Her nightgown lay on the floor at her feet, and she left it there until she was ready to return to bed.

  “Reckless, brazen woman,” Roen said, trading places with her at the nightstand.

  Lily gave him a cheeky, over-the-shoulder grin and shimmied into her shift before she dove under the covers. She was already nesting, huddled on her side with her knees drawn up by the time he extinguished the lamp and slipped in beside her.

  Roen bumped her knees with his when he also drew them up. He found her hand in the dark, but he didn’t thread his fingers through hers. Instead, he took her wrist, and as he had done earlier, his thumb brushed back and forth across the underside. His hand moved higher and did the same over her forearm.

  “Tell me about these scars,” Roen said. He felt Lily grow very still. “I can hardly feel them, they’re so faint, but I saw them.” When she remained silent, he asked, “Did he do this to you?” This time he waited her out.

  “No,” she said at last. “I did.”

  The scars were horizontal and spaced closely together. They rose like the rungs on a ladder from the base of her wrist halfway to her elbow. There was a similar pattern of scars on her other arm. “You wanted to kill yourself?”

  “No!” She drew in a breath. “No,” she said more quietly. “I did it because it made me feel better. I have no other explanation.”

  He thought about that, tried to imagine how it could possibly be true and couldn’t. “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I, but it’s what I did and how I felt.” Her voice rose slightly. “You shouldn’t have left the lamp burning. You shouldn’t have wanted to see me naked. I have scars on my belly, too. Do you want to know about them?”