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Looking up into his pleased and oh so wickedly handsome face, she fumbled for a reply, “I needed to get your attention.”

“You have it.”

The whispering began again, but this time it was plainer and far more distinct. What in heaven's name was she supposed to do with an attraction to a man who was not only forbidden to her by law but engaged to be married as well?

His blazing gaze fixed on hers, he added softly, “If I deliver you all tuckered out and breathing hard, Sylvia will take a buggy whip to me.”

“And we can't have that,” she somehow managed to say.

“No. As Jim pointed out this morning, I am far more afraid of her than of you—­or at least I was until now . . .”

Eddy's heart began a now familiar pounding. “We should go.”

But for a moment he stood rooted, drinking her in, and she did the same to him.

“Eddy—­”

She shook her head. “Let's just go, please.” Whatever he intended to say would not negate the reality of who they were, nor their destinies.

There was now a hint of sadness in the eyes holding hers but he nodded understandingly. “Okay, but I owe you for telling me my tie was crooked.”

That made her laugh.

Smiling, he carried her out of the room.

A
s they got under way, Rhine glanced over. “Are you comfortable?”

“I am.”

It was a nice night and his mind played with the idea of driving out into the desert so they could sit, talk, and enjoy a few more hours of each other's company, but he knew that was impossible. “I'm traveling to San Francisco tomorrow. I'll be gone for a few days, so if you need assistance with anything have Sylvie send word to Jim.”

“I will. What is that noise?” It sounded like a giant slowly beating a mountain-­sized drum.

He explained the mining operations.

“And this goes on all day?” she asked.

“And all night, every day of the year.”

“How do people sleep?” She wondered why she hadn't heard it earlier.

“You'll get accustomed to it.” He could just make out her features in the dark but got the impression that she didn't believe him.

When they arrived at Sylvie's back door, he tied the horse to the post and came around to her side of the carriage.

She asked, “I suppose you're going to insist on carrying me again?”

“I am.”

“I'm taking back my offer of sweets.”

“I think I'll survive.” After handing her the carpetbag and brazier, he eased her slight weight into the cradle of his arm and set out in the darkness towards the door. Because it would be the last time, he allowed himself to enjoy holding her near.

Sylvie appeared under the light above the door. “Good evening. Come on in. Glad you didn't make her walk, Rhine.”

“She's been a perfect patient,” he lied, and saw the smile on Eddy's face just before she turned away.

Sylvie ushered them through the large kitchen built onto the back of her place. “Her room is upstairs.”

Once there, he set her down on a large upholstered chair.

“Thanks, Rhine,” Sylvie said to him. “I know you have to get back. We don't want to hold you.”

He only had eyes for Eddy while replying to Sylvia, “I told Miss Carmichael I'll be in San Francisco for a few days. When I return I'll stop by and see how she's faring.”

Sylvie nodded. “That's very kind of you.”

“Take care of yourself, Miss Carmichael.”

“I will, Mr. Fontaine, and thank you again for your kindness.”

Rhine wanted to linger, but having no legitimate reason to do so, he instead inclined his head in good-­bye. “Have a good evening, ladies.” And he departed.

Chapter Six

W
hen Eddy awakened the next morning the unfamiliarity of her surroundings threw her for a moment, but it only took a few seconds to remember where she was. Sylvia Stewart's boardinghouse. Her first thoughts were of Rhine, and she wondered if he was thinking of her. She chastised herself for that. She was now back in the real world where he was a wealthy White man and she was as poor as a church mouse Colored woman once again relying on the goodwill of strangers. When he returned from San Francisco he'd resume his life with his saloon and fiancée. It made no sense to dwell on anything else.

Mrs. Stewart entered the room carrying a tray. “Here's your breakfast, Miss Carmichael, and I'm apologizing in advance.”

Eddy had no idea what that meant until she pulled back the napkin covering the food. The plate held three strips of crisp black bacon, burned scrambled eggs, and on the edge, a pool of runny grits. Apparently Eddy didn't hide her reaction well enough.

“Sorry honey, I'm a really poor cook.”

“No, this is fine. I'm grateful for the meal.”

“You lie so beautifully.”

Eddy dropped her head to hide her smile.

“My cook went back East. Until I can replace him, I'm afraid you'll have to put up with whatever I don't burn completely.”

“Once I get on my feet, I'll help. I'm a cook, remember?”

“I do, and my boarders and diners are going to worship at your feet. Every time I lose a cook they swear my cooking's going to send them to their graves.”

Eddy didn't wish to begin eating and appear rude but she was starving, so she dug in. Although the food tasted as bad as it appeared, her hungry stomach didn't care.

What sounded like a far off explosion filled the air. Startled, she asked, “What is that?”

“Black powder going off. It comes from the mines.”

She remembered Rhine's explanation from the night before but had no idea there were explosions, too. “I thought I heard whistles last night. Does a train run through the city?”

“Yes, but the whistles mostly signal shift changes for the miners. It takes newcomers a little while to get used to all the noise, but in a week or so you won't even hear it.”

Eddy still doubted that.

“So, how's our patient?”

The question was asked by a tall, statuesque red-­haired White woman standing in the doorway. She was wearing a beautiful white blouse and a fine-­looking gray skirt.

“Morning, Vera,” a smiling Mrs. Stewart replied. She made the introductions. “Miss Eddy Carmichael. Miss Vera Ford.”

Eddy had had her fill of the charred breakfast and so set the tray on the nightstand. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Ford.”

“I'm pleased as well. How are you feeling? Oh never mind, you've been eating, Sylvie's cooking.”

Sylvia drew herself up as if offended, then laughed. “Don't start, Vera Ford. You're not the best cook either.”

“No, I'm not, which is why I run a dress shop.”

By the fondness on their faces it was evident the two women were friends.

“In spite of Sylvie's awful food, are you feeling better?”

“I'm still a bit weak,” Eddy replied. “But hoping it will pass soon.”

“If anyone can get you back on your feet, it's Sylvie.”

Sylvie asked, “I'm not meaning to be rude but how in the world did you wind up out in the desert by yourself?”

Eddy told them the story.

When she finished, both women appeared shocked and Vera asked, “He set you down in the middle of the desert?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“What a complete cad. Sylvie, we need to make sure the sheriff hears about this. We don't want this varmint preying on anyone else.”

“Mr. Fontaine said the same thing,” Eddy pointed out. She wondered if he'd already caught the train to San Francisco.

Mrs. Stewart's voice brought her back. “How awful that must have been for you, Eddy.”

“It was.” The only saving grace was that Nash hadn't forced himself on her, or killed her outright.

“Thank the Lord for Rhine and Jim,” Mrs. Steward stated.

Vera agreed. “I wouldn't mind being lost in the desert if I knew the best looking man in the territory would find me. You couldn't have been rescued by a better man, Eddy.”

Eddy agreed. Having no idea if Vera knew she'd been staying at the saloon, she didn't offer anything more.

Sylvia told her friend, “The handsome Rhine aside, Eddy's a cook, Vera. She's going to help me out here once she gets on her feet.”

Vera nodded approvingly. “Good. Otherwise, your dining room will be closed inside of a week if the place has to rely on your cooking.”

Sylvia tossed out, “And she calls herself a friend.”

“Good morning, ladies,” a cheery male voiced called out.

Eddy looked up to see yet another visitor. The brown-­skinned man in the doorway was older, mustached, and carrying what appeared to be a black doctor's bag.

Sylvia's entire demeanor changed. “Good morning, Oliver.”

Eddy noted the frost in the greeting.

Sylvia did the introductions. “Eddy Carmichael. Doc Randolph.”

Eddy wondered what the story was between the two. She glanced at Vera and received a shake of her head loaded with exasperation.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Carmichael. Rhine Fontaine told me about you. Thought I'd come by to see how you're faring.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Dr. Randolph. Other than feeling weak, I'm mending.”

“Good to hear. Mind if I make sure?”

“No, sir. I don't have money to pay you though.”

“That's quite all right. Think of it as a welcome gift from the community.”

He walked to the bed and removed his stethoscope from his bag. He listened to her breathing then looked into her eyes and checked the blistered skin on her hands. He turned them over to view her palms. “You're putting aloe on her, Sylvie?”

“No, Oliver, I'm using lard,” she replied sarcastically. “Of course I'm using aloe.”

Eddy said, “And it seems to be working well.”

“Good. Keep applying it.” He placed his instruments back in his bag. “I want you to stay in bed another day or so.”

“I don't like lying around.”

“Young lady, from what Rhine told me, you're lucky you're not lying in a grave. Take my advice, okay? The more you rest, the faster you'll be back on your feet.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And I must warn you, don't let these hellions influence you. They cause enough trouble for two towns.”

Vera laughed.

Sylvia didn't.

Dr. Randolph held Sylvia's gaze. Eddy saw a softness in the contact overlaid with something she couldn't define—­regret? She wondered how long she'd have to be in residence before she could ask Vera about them. Not that she planned on staying in Virginia City. California was still her final goal.

“You take care of yourself, now,” he said to her. “If you need me, Sylvie and Vera know where to find me. Good day, Miss Eddy, and welcome to Virginia City.”

“Thanks.”

He gave her a nod and departed.

Vera broke the thick silence following his departure. “You know, Sylvia, you two aren't getting any younger.”

“Don't meddle, Vera.”

“You're just being stubborn.”

“Did I ask for your opinion?”

“No. Just thought I'd give it anyway.” Vera turned to Eddy. “Keep healing. I'll see you soon.” And with that, she left.

“I'll take that tray now, Eddy.” There was a sadness in Sylvia's eyes.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Rest up. I'll come back and check on you later.”

W
hen Carson Fontaine married Sally Ann, the newlywed couple celebrated the occasion with a grand tour of Europe. Rhine's enslaved mother Azelia was brought along to attend to Sally's needs, and apparently Carson's, too, because nine months after the return to Georgia, both Azelia and Sally gave birth to sons less than two weeks apart. Both grew tall, lean, and devilishly handsome, and favored each other enough to have been mistaken as twins more than a few times. The only physical feature that set them apart were their eyes. Rhine's were green like their father's. Andrew had Sally Ann's brown. It was their stations in life that set them apart the most though. When they turned eight years old they were no longer allowed to share carefree days hunting frogs and turtles, climbing trees and splashing in nearby creeks. Drew began training with Carson to run the plantation he stood to inherit upon Carson's death, and Rhine began life as his brother's personal slave and valet. There were shirts to iron, beds to make, boots to polish, and baths to draw. After Drew deserted during their first battle of the war, he went west, and Rhine joined the Union army. They lost track of each other, only to be reunited in Kansas City after the South's surrender, and now the half brothers sat in a fancy San Francisco restaurant, eating and sipping champagne while reminiscing over old times.

Pouring more champagne into his flute, Andrew asked, “I wonder whatever happened to Melissa Drummond?”

Rhine smiled. “No idea, but that was quite a night she treated us to.”

Andrew raised his goblet in mock salute. “To the many bawdy nights gifted us by Georgia's randy southern belles.”

And he was so right. The brothers spent the years leading up to the war bedding belles and in some cases their mothers, too. “Do you think Carson knew about our wayward ways?”

Andrew shrugged. “He was so busy cuckolding his friends I don't think he cared what we were up to. Poor mother.”

“Have you gone back to see her?”

“Why? She hated me as much as she hated you and Sable. It infuriated her that I refused to treat you like a slave.”

And Drew hadn't, whenever he could manage it. From insisting that Rhine be allowed to sleep in a proper bed instead of on the floor of his room, to refusing to take his lessons unless Rhine was allowed to join him, to never laying a whip on Rhine's back.

“But she hated my mother most of all,” Rhine pointed out. Fueled by jealousy, Sally Ann would've had Azelia whipped from sunup to sundown had she not been afraid of Carson's wrath.

“Yes, she did.” As if needing to move the conversation away from those painful times, Drew changed the subject. “So are you still planning on marrying that little bauble you introduced me to the last time I visited?”

Rhine cut into his steak, and although his misgivings about Natalie rose, he said, “Yes, but as I said at the time, it's not a love match. Her parents are fairly influential Republicans and their support will be needed if I decide to pursue a career in politics when I'm done on the city council.” Rhine had one year remaining in his three year term.

“Why you'd want to poke around in the cesspool known as politics is beyond me. Find you someone to love and live out your old age in contentment as I plan to do.”

“I need to help, Drew.”

Andrew paused and said seriously, “There are other men helping in their own way. Leave it to them. I don't want you lynched or beaten to death. Even White men are being killed by the supremacists now.”

“I know, and I appreciate your concern, but a stand has to be made to protect the gains made since the war. If I can put myself in a position of power to do so, why shouldn't I?”

“Because not even you can stop the backsliding Republicans. Every day they're moving farther away from what they once stood for. Your people have taken to calling them Lily White Republicans.”

“I know, and it's very apt.”

After using the Black vote to swing political power their way and elect Grant to the presidency, more and more Republicans were now focused on gaining White voters in order to hold onto that power. Many were turning a blind eye to the rampaging supremacist groups like the Klan and the Order of the White Camellias even as their members were killing Colored men on their way to cast votes for candidates running on the Republican slate. It was maddening, but Rhine felt uniquely qualified to be a voice for those who did care, because of his passion, education, and ability to pass for White. He may have turned his back on being Black, but not on his race. Politics aside, he asked something that had been plaguing him. “Have you heard from Mavis?” Mavis was Drew's sister and Rhine's half sister.

“No. I hired the Pinkertons. If anyone can find her, they can. Hopefully she's still among the living.” Just as Drew and Rhine were connected by their close birth dates, so were their sisters. Mavis and the enslaved Sable had been born six minutes apart.

“Any word on Sable?” Drew asked.

“No, I'm still placing yearly notices in all the big papers, hoping she'll see it, but so far nothing. If we are fortunate enough to be reunited, I'm not sure how Natalie will react, but I miss her dearly. I may have to go the Pinkerton route as well.”

“Rhine, I know you're rowing your own boat, but is Natalie really the woman you want to bind your life to?”

Drew had been married for three years to the daughter of one of his clients. Her name was Freda, and they had a two-­year-­old son named for Drew. The way she and Drew lit up a room in each other's presence testified to their strong loving bond. A part of Rhine envied that closeness, but having never known love, he was certain he could live his life very well without it. He cared for Natalie, but as he'd stated, the marriage would be one of convenience, nothing more. Eddy's face played across his mind but he instantly pushed the image away. “I'll be fine.” He looked past the doubt in his brother's eyes and his own inner doubts and steered the conversation to a subject they both enjoyed: money, stocks, and profit.

Later that night, while lying in the bed in Drew and Freda's guest room, Rhine thought about Drew's advice on both politics and life. Rhine was certain he could make a difference, but did he really need to do it on such a grand stage? He'd thought about running for Congress but in truth wasn't sure whether to actually pursue a political career. He was already on the city council, where he and a few other like-­minded Republicans were doing their best to keep the Colored community's rights from being trampled. He was also helping in small, quieter ways by making loans and investing in businesses the White bankers refused to service. Knowing he had the ability to pass for White was one of the reasons he'd crossed over, that and that he hated being treated like less than a man simply because of the circumstances of his birth. By walking among those who deemed themselves better because of the circumstances of their birth, he could secretly laugh at their blind ignorance of who he really was and use his presence as a way of fighting back. It came at a price though: hearing the cruel and tasteless jokes told by bigots at gatherings, and being looked at oddly for pointing out how tasteless they were; knowing that even though his Union Saloon opened its doors to the weddings and celebrations thrown by the Colored community, he couldn't participate fully because he was no longer a member of the race. By passing, he'd gained a lot in terms of wealth and prestige, but he'd lost a lot as well.