Читать книгу Cimarron Rose - Nicole Foster - Страница 10

Case broke the awkward silence between them, summoning Becky with a sharp gesture.

“Show Miss McLain to her rooms, please.” He turned back to Katlyn. “I’m sure you’re exhausted from your ordeal. Becky can bring dinner to your suite tonight, if you’d like.”

“M-my suite?”

“Of course.” Case narrowed his probing gaze. “It was one of your requirements for taking the job.”

Katlyn avoided his eyes and busied herself pulling off her white kid gloves. She waved them in a little flirtatious gesture she’d seen her mother use hundreds of times to avoid awkward situations. “Yes. Indeed it was. I must be comfortable if I’m to survive this wild country any length of time at all, mustn’t I?” she said, managing an uncomfortable laugh.

“By all means. We want you to feel at home here.”

The edge of sarcasm in his voice told her he didn’t appreciate her weak attempt at levity.

Glad to escape his unnerving presence, Katlyn eagerly fell in behind Becky as the girl motioned toward the stairs. Katlyn lifted her heavy skirts and petticoats and began the ascent, but halfway up the staircase she stopped cold.

What was she doing! She couldn’t possibly stay here and leave her mother at the boardinghouse. Couldn’t and wouldn’t. That’s where she’d draw the line in this farce.

She turned back around to find Case standing at the foot of the stairs like a centurion looking up after her, back straight, feet shoulder-width apart, arms crossed over his broad chest. He stood watching her, staring actually, his expression offering nothing but a handsome mask of cool politeness.

Only his eyes, deep and searching, held any hint of emotion. Annoyance, Katlyn thought.

Case waited impatiently, wondering how a woman who seemed so lacking in poise had managed to become so successful before an audience. He supposed she must be a better actress than she seemed. Perhaps the trip here had unnerved her more than she admitted.

“Is there something else, Miss McLain?” he prompted when she stayed frozen on the staircase, looking down at him as if she expected him to pounce at any moment.

“Actually…there is.”

“Do you intend to tell me, or should I guess?”

Katlyn ran the tip of her tongue over dry lips. “It’s my—traveling companion. She helps me dress and do my hair and makeup. But the robbery and the walk to town had a terribly ill effect on her. Her health has been fragile since the start of our journey and now…well, I’ve secured a room for her elsewhere, but I can’t leave her at the boardinghouse alone.”

Case said nothing, taking his time pondering the situation, much to Katlyn’s irritation.

“She can stay with me,” she said finally, more sharply than she intended. “I wouldn’t ask for another room.” Still he held back, the silence of waiting growing like thunder in her head. “Mr. Durham—”

“Bring the woman here at once,” he answered, his tone an abrupt contrast to his words. “Becky, I’ll have Sally see to the laundry for a time so you’ll be free to help Miss McLain and her companion.”

Becky practically burst with joy. “Yes, Mr. Durham!” The girl leaned close to Katlyn and said, “I’d be right proud to help you and your friend, ma’am.”

Smiling back at Becky in thanks, Katlyn breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She could watch over her mother day and night now. Having Penelope close would make the whole ruse livable.

The doctor would be discreet, she thought. He called her mother Mrs. McLain and neither Katlyn nor Penelope had corrected him. But Penelope had insisted no one else learn of her and Katlyn’s relationship. Lending Katlyn her title was one thing, playing the role of the St. Louis Songbird’s ailing mother was quite another. Katlyn was certain, once the doctor understood her mother’s delicate and volatile temperament, he would agree it was in Penelope’s best interest to keep their secret.

“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Durham,” she told Case. “I’ll see to having her moved here this evening.”

“I’ll send Bucky along to help.”

“Thank you,” Katlyn nodded, then turned back to climb the stairs to the landing.

“Miss McLain—”

Case didn’t know what impulse prompted him to call her back. Maybe it was the way she kept surprising him. He didn’t like surprises. Or mysteries. And Penelope Rose, Katlyn McLain, or whatever she chose to call herself, was both.

She looked back at him, clearly startled.

“If you’re not too tired, perhaps you’ll join me this evening in the saloon for a brandy,” Case said. “I’m sure you’d like to see the stage.”

Choking back the lump that rose in her throat at the mention of the word stage, Katlyn nodded down to him and hurried after Becky.

They turned the corner out of Case’s view at the top of the stairs and, away from his disturbing scrutiny, Katlyn’s tension ebbed a little.

A dimly lit landing separated one door from the rest of the rooms that lined the other hallway. As Becky motioned her to the landing, Katlyn caught sight of a little flash of white moving behind the railing.

She squinted and looked harder, making out the image of a child’s face pressed through the spindles of railing. The apparition looked like a little dark-haired girl, crouching down, who appeared for an instant then vanished behind a velvet curtain.

“Hello?” Katlyn ventured. When no one answered, she turned to Becky. “Who was that?”

“Oh, just Mr. Durham’s little girl.”

So he was married. Her mother hadn’t told her that. In a way, it was a relief to know he had a wife and child. There must be some trace of warmth in him after all.

“Could you ask her to come out so I can meet her?”

“I can try. But she don’t like strangers. She’s real shy. Don’t say much to no one.” Becky turned toward the curtain. “Emily, this pretty lady wants to meet you. She’s the new singer your daddy told you about.”

After several minutes of coaxing from Becky, at last the heavy drapes swayed and a pair of beautiful, wide-set eyes and pink cheeks peeked out from between the crimson folds.

In that quick glimpse, Katlyn saw the biggest evergreen eyes and the sweetest little peaches and cream face she had ever laid eyes on. She was struck at once by the child’s remarkable beauty—and by the joyless expression that marred it.

“Hello, Emily,” she said, speaking softly and bending to eye level with the little girl.

But in the next instant, the precious face vanished once more behind the curtain.

Bewildered, Katlyn looked to Becky. “Where did she go?”

“She ain’t supposed to talk to guests. Mr. Durham has a playroom fixed up for her in that nook behind the curtain. Only the real fancy guests stay in the suite here. Her room is away from the others, so it’s safer over here for Emily when her daddy’s busy.

“Doesn’t his wife watch over her?”

“Wife?” Becky shook her head. “Mr. Durham ain’t got a wife. Don’t know if he ever did. Never said a word about her if he did and I ain’t gonna be the one to ask. He don’t cotton to no questions about himself or his little girl. Guards her like gold. No one dares so much as talks to her without his sayin’ so. ’Cept me and Bucky, that is. We’re twins,” she added proudly. “Did you know that?”

“Why no, you with your blond curls and he with that brownish mop of hair, you two don’t look much alike. But—” Katlyn appraised Becky more closely “—there is something in your mouth that is similar to his.”

Becky nodded and smiled. “Mr. Durham hired us right away after our ma died and our pa sent us out to find work.”

Judging the girl to be only about thirteen, Katlyn frowned. “You seem a little young to be working in a hotel.”

Becky shrugged. “I’ll be fifteen next spring. And Pa needs the money fer his whiskey. Besides, me and Bucky, we’d sure rather be here with Mr. Durham than at home with Pa when he’s had a bottle or two. Mr. Durham might not be real friendly sometimes, but he’d never lay a hand to us. He treats us mighty fine.”

Katlyn thought of herself at fourteen. Although Penelope had hardly been an attentive mother, Katlyn never feared a beating or wanted for anything. Her image of Case Durham shifted slightly as she considered his willingness to take on Becky and her brother.

“So, Mr. Durham only lets you two talk to his daughter?”

“Mostly. ’Cause we’re like kids, too, I guess. He knows us real good. Knows we’d never lie to him or cheat him or hurt Emily.”

“I’m sure he can count on you both.” Katlyn looked away from Becky, her heart suddenly racing with guilt she feared would show in her eyes.

“Mr. Durham’s a real fine man. But he don’t abide no liars or cheats. And Lord help anyone who gets too close to his little girl! He loves Emily more than anythin’. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

Imagining the child’s angelic face behind the curtain, Katlyn’s eyes turned there, wondering if Emily were listening. Betting she was, she said clearly and with surety, “Well, I think Emily and I might become better acquainted.”

Katlyn anticipated Becky’s protest and waved it aside. “Don’t worry. I just think maybe Emily could use another friend.

“And I know what it is to be lonely,” she added softly, thinking of Emily’s sad eyes and another little girl who’d also grown up in hotels and on riverboats, a lonely little girl who’d also hidden in the shadows, waiting and listening, hoping for a place to belong.

“I won’t discuss it any further.” Penelope clenched her thin fingers together atop the quilt. “My mind is made up.”

“But, Mama, the suite is beautiful, wait until you see it! Much of the hotel still needs work, but Mr. Durham had the suite redone completely for you, and it’s lovely. I don’t know how he knew, but it’s all in pinks and greens. And roses. The colors and the flowers you love most. Bucky is waiting outside with the buggy to help move you there.”

“It sounds perfect,” Penelope said, a trace of regret in her voice. “Perfect for you.”

Sick or not, Katlyn decided it was time to be firm with her mother. “Mama, I will not live there without you.”

Penelope straightened in her bed. “Oh, yes, you will.”

Exasperated, Katlyn started to insist when a light tap sounded at the door and Mrs. Donaldson pushed into the room, her thin arms laden with a tray. “I was thinkin’ you ladies might like some tea and cookies.”

Penelope flashed one of her brilliant smiles. “Do come in, Elspeth, and tell my daughter what a nice arrangement we’ve come to.”

Katlyn bristled. What had her mother done now?

“Why, your ma told me all about your troubles,” Mrs. Donaldson said. “And pleased I’ll be to have rent from a regular boarder. Besides, it’ll do me old soul good to have another woman ’round the house to talk with now and again. And you’ll be just a wee walk away, so you won’t have to be worryin’ about her.”

Bestowing a beaming smile on Katlyn, Mrs. Donaldson bustled out of the room, leaving Katlyn to confront her mother.

“Don’t say it. It’s settled.”

“Mama, I need you with me. It’ll be so much easier, don’t you see?”

“No, I do not. And I won’t hear any more about it. I’ve told you, I won’t have anyone pitying your poor, ailing companion, and you certainly won’t tell anyone I am your mother. You promised me, Katlyn. Remember that.”

Penelope’s voice betrayed her exhaustion, fading to a near whisper. Katlyn decided it best not to argue further with her. “Whatever you want, Mama,” she said, patting Penelope’s hand to calm her, “for the time being.”

“There won’t be a time when I agree to go to that hotel. Now—” Penelope stubbornly forced her weakened body up a little farther against her pillow and leveled a sharp glance at Katlyn. “We’ve got work to do, Katie, my dear.”

Katlyn stood in the middle of the saloon and stared at the stage. Small but elegant with its dark gold velvet hangings, mahogany-cased piano, and polished pinewood floor, it was the most terrifying thing she had ever seen. On Monday, she would have to stand there, pretend to know everything about pleasing an audience with her voice and her smile, and pray that no one saw Katlyn McLain behind the borrowed glitter.

Sitting at one of the round tables pushed close to the stage, Katlyn drew a long shaky breath and let it slowly go. She had made her decision, there was no going back.

If she broke her promise, it could cost her mother her life. She had to earn enough to take Penelope to the hospital in Las Vegas as soon as she was well enough to travel. Her mother depended on her and Katlyn vowed to not let her down.

She distracted herself wondering where Mr. Durham was and if he remembered his invitation to meet her here this evening. He didn’t seem the kind of man to forget—or forgive—anything. The thought jerked Katlyn to her feet and set her pacing the room.

If he ever discovered her charade…

She was on the verge of leaving Case Durham to drink alone when a sudden commotion of raised voices sounded just outside the saloon doors. Before she could react, the crack of a gunshot resounded off the walls, followed by a grunt of pain and a string of cursing.

Instinct sent Katlyn bolting for the doors. She flung them open—just as a second shot whizzed over her head, hitting the wall behind her.

“Get down!” Case shouted at her.

Katlyn dropped to her knees, more in surprise than in response to his command.

A few feet in front of her, Case confronted a hulk of a man waving a six-shooter in one hand and a whiskey bottle in the other. The man swung the Colt in Case’s direction. But before he could fire another shot, Case knocked his arm up and at the same time slammed a fist into the man’s jaw.

Case’s motion was so quick and supple, Katlyn scarcely believed she’d seen it until the man crumpled and fell face-first to the floor.

Case kicked the Colt across the foyer. Then he grabbed the man by the collar, hauling him up.

“I told you, you’re not welcome here, Charlie. I’m tired of you shooting up the place after you’ve had a few too many.” Yanking the befuddled man to the front door, Case shoved him outside. “Next time, I call in the sheriff. Now get home before you hurt someone.”

He jerked the doors closed behind the unfortunate Charlie and swung his glare to Katlyn.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed or do you make a habit of running toward bullets?” He didn’t give her time to answer but strode over and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Are you hurt?”

A strange breathlessness attacked Katlyn, though from anger at Case’s rough tone or his sudden nearness, she didn’t know. He had shed his jacket and, in his shirtsleeves, his smoothness ruffled by the scuffle with Charlie, he looked a different man.

At first, he had unnerved her because she feared he would see through her pretense. Now, he disturbed her with this new image of a man as adept at protecting his property as he was at operating it. Her initial impression had been of a polished and intimidating businessman.

Her impression of him now was something very different. He unsettled her on another level, somewhere deep and private. The aggressive anger in his eyes, his mussed hair, disheveled clothes, the power written in the taut muscles straining against his rolled-up sleeves revealed a strong, rugged and terribly masculine side she found herself completely unprepared to face.

“Well?”

“Well what?” she asked, baffled.

“I asked you if you are all right.”

“Oh. Of course. Yes, I’m fine,” she said, realizing he still held her hand and looked at her as if he worried the close encounter with the bullet might make her turn and run. Instead, she banished the flash of fear at the idea she might have been shot, pulled her hand and her eyes away, and stepped back. “Interesting customers, you have. Does this happen often?”

Case shrugged. “Fourth one this week,” he said, taking a closer scowling look at the bullet hole. “There are so many holes in this place it’s a wonder it didn’t start leaking long ago.” He laughed shortly at Katlyn’s dubious expression. “This isn’t St. Louis, Miss McLain. Did you think it would be?”

“I didn’t think I would be dodging bullets,” Katlyn snapped back. “Are these the kind of people you expect me to entertain?”

“Charlie is relatively harmless. He dips a little too far into the bottle and decides to come here and fire a few shots at the woodwork. That’s all.”

“He nearly took a shot at you.”

“He would have missed. And to answer your question, the kind of people I want you to entertain won’t set foot in here because they’re afraid of the guests that have been here in the past. I need you to change that.”

Katlyn looked away and Case frowned a little. For a woman who earned her way and her reputation catering to audiences, she seemed oddly inhibited when he made any reference to her singing. From her letters he’d expected a pretty, vivacious woman, decidedly vain, experienced at flattery and expecting her share of honeyed praise in return.

Katlyn McLain seemed someone else entirely.

“Sing for me,” he said abruptly.

The color drained from her face, leaving two spots of rouge staining her pale cheeks. “Now?”

“Why not?” Case shoved open the door of the saloon. “I’d like to hear what I’m paying for.” Holding out a hand, he invited her inside.

Or ordered her, Katlyn thought, tempted to refuse him. But if she did, she would only give him another reason to suspect her.

Slowly she walked in, acutely aware of Case behind her, watching. Katlyn sat at the piano. She flexed her fingers a little, trying to keep them from shaking, and blessed her mother’s insistence that she learn to play. At least this way she wouldn’t have to look at Case while she tried to convince him performing came as naturally to her as breathing.

She chose the first song that came to her, a sweet, sad Irish ballad she’d learned as a girl. At first the notes and words came tentatively. Then, gradually, without her being aware of it, the music flowed into her and out in her voice. For a few moments she closed her eyes and she was Katie again, sitting alone in her mother’s hotel room, singing romantic ballads to herself and dreaming of true love.

Case stood at the bar, his hand arrested in the motion of reaching for glasses, and stared at her.

She sang like an angel, the sweet clarity of her voice weaving magic into the air like pure gold threads in a tapestry. There was nothing contrived or practiced about her singing. Nothing he ever expected to hear from a woman who had earned a reputation from entertaining on riverboats.

Instead, her song touched him, warm and true, and caught him in a moment of enchantment.

When she finished, Katlyn sat with her hands on the piano keys for a moment before she came out of her dream and slowly turned to face Case.

He looked almost stunned and her heart plunged. “I—I haven’t practiced,” she stammered. “I’m sure once I’m able to—”

“Practice, yes, I know,” he said, his voice low and rough. “It doesn’t matter. I’m sure your reputation alone will make you a success.”

Katlyn opened her mouth, closed it, and finally managed to find her voice. “I don’t want to be a disappointment.” To anyone, she added silently.

“Why should you be?” Case shifted as if throwing off some troublesome feeling, the edge back in his voice and demeanor. Moving behind the bar, he poured out two glasses, offering one to Katlyn.

“A toast,” he said, raising his glass to hers when she stepped up to the bar to take the drink. “To Penelope Rose, my new songbird.”

Katlyn acknowledged the toast with a forced smile. She took a sip of the brandy and tried not to cough. She had always hated spirits.

Case laughed at the slight grimace she couldn’t quite curb. “I have no idea why you’re here, and I can’t picture you on a riverboat stage. What a puzzle you are, Miss McLain.”

“Do you think so?” Katlyn walked away from the bar. She went around the room, idly touching a table here, a curtain there. “You’re more the puzzle. You don’t seem the kind to invest so much here, in Cimarron of all places. Why not Denver or Las Vegas or even Santa Fe? And why a hotel where bullets in the walls are as common as nails?”

Case walked around the bar and went through the ritual of cutting and lighting a cheroot and taking a long draw before answering her. He leaned back against the ornately carved oak bar, appraising her with that calculating glint in his eyes Katlyn found so disturbing. “Why not?”

“Your daughter. It’s not exactly the place for a child.”

“Touché, Miss McLain. Except my daughter is not your business. I’m here because of her and that’s more than you need to know.”

“And I’m here because I choose to be and that’s more than you need to know,” Katlyn snapped, stung by the brusqueness in his voice. “Now that we have that settled, I’m going to bed. I have a lot of practicing to do before Monday.”

She stalked toward the doors, intending to leave with the last word. But before she could push her way out into the foyer, a long, low moaning sounded through the room. It might have been the wind, though it had a peculiarly human quality to it.

Katlyn’s determined stride faltered.

“Is something wrong?” Case asked.

Katlyn whirled on him. “No, only I should have expected this place to be drafty considering you admit the walls are used for target practice on a regular basis.”

“Oh, that’s not the wind.” Case saw the flash of uncertainty cross her face. He knew he shouldn’t risk unnerving her any more tonight. But her bravado seemed forced, a part of the persona of the St. Louis Songbird, not the real Katlyn McLain.

That made it irresistibly tempting to tease her into revealing more of the woman hiding behind all of the theatrical trappings. The warm, passionate woman he had heard when she sang.

He gave her a wicked smile. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s harmless. It’s only one of my resident ghosts.”