Читать книгу Cimarron Rose - Nicole Foster - Страница 11

One hour. The clock on the writing desk ticking off the seconds sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet room. Every tick grated at Katlyn’s nerves until finally she snatched up the clock and jammed it under the bed pillows.

She hardly needed another reminder of what she had to do tonight.

Turning back to the full-length mirror, she fidgeted with the shoulder of her dress, wondering how her mother ever felt comfortable wearing so much flounced satin and lace. The emerald satin did compliment her coloring. But Penelope had painted her face and arranged her hair so elaborately, Katlyn felt like a stranger to herself.

A stranger she didn’t particularly like.

Very soon, though, that stranger would have to stand onstage and pretend to enjoy singing to an audience. Katlyn, countless times over the last two days, had come close to confessing all to Case Durham and offering to wash dishes, or scrub floors, anything but pretend to be the St. Louis Songbird.

Then she would look at her mother, pale and fragile, and see the hope in Penelope’s eyes, or the satisfaction when Katlyn successfully copied one of Penelope’s mannerisms, or echoed her singing style.

So she stayed. In this blasted hotel, where the guests shot holes in the walls, the staff teased her about the ghosts of dead gunfighters haunting the halls, and Case Durham watched her as if he had known all along she was a fraud.

“Miss McLain?” the voice foremost in her mind called through the door.

Katlyn jumped. The man must be a devil, reading her thoughts.

“Miss McLain?” Case said again. “I’d like to speak with you a moment.”

Wonderful, Katlyn thought, just what I need now. She could hardly refuse him, though.

Tweaking the shoulder of her dress one final time, she breathed deep and flung open the door. “Yes, Mr. Durham?”

Case, confronted with an image of emerald ruffles and a defiant blue glare, could only stare at her for a moment, struck by the picture she presented. Although the dress and the rouge and the piled-up curls fit the image he’d had of Penelope Rose, it all looked wrong on her.

Except for the defiance. Somehow, he had the feeling he wasn’t the first man to see that fire flash in her eyes.

“I see you’re ready,” he said finally.

“Of course,” Katlyn said. Her nervousness receded in a tide of indignation. He had assumed his polite mask, but not before she saw his obvious disapproval. “Now that you’ve satisfied yourself I’m not still in my petticoats, is there anything else?”

Case smiled a little at her flushed face and the mutinous cant of her chin. No meek little sparrow, his songbird. “I came to wish you luck.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you. I can sing.”

“Yes, I’ve heard you.” He had, many times over the past few days. She had spent numerous hours closeted in the saloon or her rooms, practicing song after song. Case appreciated her willingness to work, and he couldn’t fault the quality of her voice. But her lack of polish puzzled him.

He didn’t like it. Something about Penelope Rose rang false, and it was more than just the wrong clothes and the overdone curls.

“You can sing,” he added, almost to himself. “I’m still waiting to see you perform.”

“Oh, please, don’t overwhelm me with your compliments,” a combination of nerves and annoyance caused Katlyn to snap. She resisted the urge to fidget with her dress or her hair once again. “If you’re done with your inspection, it’s nearly time for me to go downstairs and perform.”

Case didn’t seem inclined to move. “Not quite yet. Are you satisfied with the piano player I hired?”

To Case’s surprise, Katlyn burst out laughing, the unrestrained, joyous sound filling the room. Suddenly she seemed to come alive, not his singer in fancy flounces, but the woman behind the carefully painted facade.

“Jack Dakota is no piano player,” Katlyn said finally, breathless with laughter. “He’s a gambler who happens to know how to play piano. If he hadn’t bet his last dollar on a queen-high flush, he’d be sitting at one of your tables trying to fleece your customers instead of behind your piano trying to entertain them. But yes, I like him. And considering your clientele right now, he’s perfect.”

Her teasing words drew no answering smile from Case. “I’m expecting you to change the clientele.”

“You make it sound so desperate, Mr. Durham,” Katlyn said, forcing a lightness she didn’t feel. “I’m not a miracle worker. All I can do is sing.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Case said slowly. He looked her up and down, slowly appraising. “If you’ll just be yourself.”

They locked gazes. Katlyn felt the force of his aura of command in his steady, faintly sardonic focus on her. She wanted to shift away from it but held her ground, determined to not let him unnerve her any more than he already had.

“You hired the St. Louis Songbird. And that’s who those people downstairs have come to see.”

Something hard struck his expression and for a moment Katlyn had the wild notion he intended to expose her then and there. She didn’t consider how he knew, only that he did.

Then the moment passed and Case stepped back with a wry smile, gesturing toward the stairs.

“Well, then, my songbird,” he said. “Your audience awaits.”

Katlyn swept past him, her flush of bravado carrying her down the long staircase and to the doors of the saloon.

Then, as Case opened the doors for her, a tremor of fear spiraled through her heart, settling as a lump in her stomach. She refused, though, to let Case know how terrified she really was, so she put her chin up and walked into the room as if she had done it a thousand times before.

Case touched a hand to her waist to escort her to the stage and felt her tremble. It surprised him, even as he admired her proud walk through the room, looking as if she expected nothing less than adoration from her audience.

As she stepped up onto the stage, Jack Dakota turned on his piano stool and grinned at her, then blew her a kiss. Katlyn’s smile flashed out and Case felt a stab of irritation. He forced it back to introduce her, but it scratched at him as she barely seemed to acknowledge his announcement or the audience awaiting her.

Her eyes instead kept flitting to Jack until Case stopped talking and a few seconds of awkward silence filled the room.

“Well, is she gonna sing or ain’t she?” a harsh voice called from the back of the room.

It jolted Katlyn and for the first time she looked fully at her audience.

She doubted these were the kinds of people Case expected her to entice to the St. Martin. Most of the men looked like the gamblers and roughriders she’d seen around the hotel, and the few women couldn’t even charitably be called ladies. None of them looked particularly impressed.

Case stepped down from the stage and left Katlyn standing there, staring back at the audience. She might have stood there until Case pulled her offstage if Jack hadn’t started playing a lively tune they’d practiced just that morning.

Almost automatically, Katlyn responded and took up the words, her mind racing to remember not only the lyrics, but all the little mannerisms her mother had insisted she use. Jack started up another song as soon as she’d finished, giving her no time to gather her wits.

After finishing the fourth tune, Katlyn sensed disaster looming.

Only half the audience paid her any attention and a few of the men jeered and snickered, not bothering to hide their contempt.

Jack tried to encourage her with a smile, but Katlyn stumbled through the next song, wishing all the while she could simply vanish into the woodwork.

She glanced toward the back of the room as she finished and saw Case. His gaze fixed on her and she caught her breath. The blackness of his expression should have stopped her cold.

Instead, inexplicably, it gave Katlyn a rush of courage. He expected her to fail. All at once she determined to prove him wrong.

With a quick word to Jack, she moved back to center stage and forced herself to ignore the restless audience, the smoky, close air, and to focus on the sweet, soulful music. It wasn’t a song her mother would have chosen, but she decided at that moment, Penelope’s choices weren’t doing her much good.

Katlyn forgot all her carefully memorized lessons and gave herself to the music, all the while keeping her gaze on Case.

“‘I wander lonely, lost,

searching for what’s true

afraid I’ll never know it,

and then I look, and there is you

beckoning me home.

But when I reach out,

there’s only longing,

and truth I cannot doubt,

for I am left alone again

with only the dream of my heart.”’

Case found himself unable to look away.

With a song she had transformed herself. Minutes ago, watching her awkwardly stumble through her repertoire, he’d been certain he’d made one of the biggest mistakes of his life in gambling his future on the St. Louis Songbird.

Now, listening to her, he could almost believe Katlyn McLain was a miracle.

He had never been fanciful, but the magic she worked made him imagine she had opened her heart and let the feelings there pour out through her voice. It softened her, lent her a grace not even green satin and rouge could overshadow.

Katlyn scarcely noticed anyone but Case until she let go the last lingering notes of the ballad. Then she breathed deeply, breaking their locked gazes—and became suddenly aware of the almost awed silence.

Everyone stared at her. Katlyn had the feeling she wouldn’t have shocked them more if she’d stripped to her petticoats and danced a jig.

Her eyes went almost involuntarily back to Case.

He looked back, his face expressionless.

Before Katlyn could try to decipher what that meant, a loud, raucous applause started, interspersed with whistling and demands she sing again.

Katlyn hesitated, then caught up in the warm flood of approval, complied with two more songs, not any of her mother’s, but songs she loved and felt comfortable sharing. By the time she finished, she felt almost giddy with the appreciative response from the audience.

Moving off the stage she went over to Jack to thank him and he caught her hands, bringing them to his lips. “I’d say a celebration is in order. You were wonderful.”

“Hardly that,” Katlyn said, laughing. “It was very nearly the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

“I’d gamble on your success, sweetheart. If I had anything left to bet.” Jack winked at her, flashing that rogue’s grin.

His smile was infectious and Katlyn found herself grinning back. “Maybe you’ll get lucky tonight.”

“Only if you agree to join me later for champagne.”

“Oh, Jack, I—”

“Already have an engagement. With me,” Case finished for her smoothly.

Katlyn jerked around to find Case standing beside them. He didn’t look any more pleased than he had when she’d started singing and Katlyn’s high spirits took a plunge. His stance seemed easy but she saw him fingering the cheroot he held as if he needed some outlet for his tension.

What if he asked her to leave? Her heart clenched. She couldn’t lose this job, not now. It meant everything to her, and to Penelope.

But she wouldn’t grovel for him, nor would she allow him to bully her.

“I don’t recall us having any plans together,” she said, facing Case squarely.

Case nearly smiled at her show of defiance. For a woman experienced in pleasing men with her voice, she didn’t hesitate to challenge him, given the chance. “I want to talk to you,” he said. “We can have a late supper in the dining room.”

Jack made a move as if to object, but Katlyn touched his sleeve in warning. Neither of them could afford to be out of work now. She turned to him with a smile, saying lightly, “I know you’re anxious to find a game. I’ll collect my champagne tomorrow, if your luck is good.”

“Count on it,” Jack said. He gave Case a sharp nod before moving off toward one of the crowded gaming tables.

Case watched him for a moment, frowning, and Katlyn couldn’t help contrasting the two men. Jack, with his sun-gilded hair and carefree smile, was all lightness, while Case, dark and imposing, seemed to command her attention just by his presence.

Looking at him, she had a sick feeling he’d arranged this little supper to tell her nicely to leave his hotel. When he turned back to her, Katlyn decided to fling caution aside and confront him. “If you intend to tell me to go, I’d rather you do it now.”

Case raised a brow. “I intend to have supper.” Grinding out the cheroot on the tray at Jack’s piano, he told her shortly, “In two hours, in the dining room. I’ll be expecting you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to have a word with one or two of my guests.”

He left her before she could refuse and as Katlyn watched him go, she wondered if her short career as Penelope Rose was over before it had really ever begun.

Katlyn retreated to her rooms to strip off the emerald satin, yank the pins from her hair, and wash away her heavy makeup. After a short rest, she hesitated, then put on the simple dark blue dress she’d worn on the trip to Cimarron. It wasn’t exactly elegant, but it was hers, only one of two that had survived the stage robbery. If she had to wear her mother’s frills to perform, at least she would be comfortable when she stepped offstage.

Downstairs, she glanced into the saloon on her way to meet Case in the dining room. A few stragglers stood at the bar, tossing back the last dregs from a whiskey bottle. Seeing her, Case snuffed out his cheroot then moved to ease the men out of the saloon. He draped his arms over their shoulders and led them toward the door. Amiably, they swayed out of the saloon, leaving Case and Katlyn alone to face each other in the hallway.

Case looked at her, momentarily caught off guard by her transformation. Dressed plainly, with her hair loose and her face scrubbed clean she looked so completely different he wondered if she were the same woman.

The change in her reminded him of her performance, affected and awkward at first, natural and engaging at the end. Except which image was the true Katlyn McLain?

“Are you hungry?” Case said suddenly, breaking the awkward silence between them.

Katlyn chose to ignore his scrutiny of her. It was obvious her change in appearance confused him, and she didn’t want to encourage unwanted questions. “Starving. I was too nervous to eat all day.”

“You? Nervous?” He cast her a doubtful glance. “I find that hard to believe. Though I suppose that would explain your testiness before your performance.”

“If I was testy, it was only because this was an important night,” Katlyn retorted. “I wanted to do well.”

“But this can’t be new to you, you must have sung in places like this countless times.”

“No, Mr. Durham, I can honestly say I’ve never sung in a place like this. And besides, believe it or not, some things just don’t get any easier.”

Case gave her a wry smile. “That much is true.” He offered her his arm. “Dinner is ready. Let’s go celebrate your first performance at my hotel.”

“I’m not sure a celebration is in order,” Katlyn muttered under her breath. But she laid her hand on his arm and let him lead her toward the dining room.

Katlyn tried to appear cool and poised as she walked alongside Case. Inside, she quaked. The flex of hard muscle under her fingers reminded her too forcibly of Case Durham’s strength, both in body and will.

Beside him, she felt an unsettling combination of vulnerability and reassurance. With a word, he could leave her desperate. Without saying anything, he made her feel strangely secure, as if she could trust his strength to protect her.

It made no sense and Katlyn didn’t try to figure it out. All she wanted now was to get through dinner with her job and her secret intact.

As they walked into the formal dining room, she saw only one table was still draped in crisp white linen, set with fine china and crystal champagne goblets. Three silvery roses blossomed out of a cut-glass vase that picked up glints of light from the lamps and chandeliers, completing the elegant setting.

Katlyn glanced from the table to Case. “This is lovely. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Case said as he pulled her chair out and seated her, then took his place across the small round table. “Except I’m afraid I’d be less than truthful if I said this was especially for you.”

“I see…After my performance, I suppose I should consider myself lucky to be sitting here at all.” As soon as the words left her lips, Katlyn inwardly groaned. She had to find some way of harnessing her tongue instead of impulsively blurting out the first thing that came into her head, or she’d soon find herself giving up all her secrets to Case Durham.

She looked at Case, half expecting to see his intimidating scowl directed fully at her. Instead a corner of his mouth twitched up in a half smile, and Katlyn had the distinct impression he was laughing at her.

“It’s clear I’ll never have to guess at what you’re thinking,” he said.

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why not? You’re direct, I like that. It’s honest.”

Honest…Katlyn felt hot color burn her face. She tried to laugh in return, acutely aware of how strained it sounded. But before she could think of any reply, Case, for the first time since she’d set foot in the St. Martin, smiled fully at her.

The gesture drove any thought from Katlyn’s mind. Warm, for once lacking that faint sardonic edge, his smile made her suddenly aware of how many facets there were to his attractiveness. It betrayed a certain kindness and understanding he hid well behind the impression he usually projected as a commanding employer and ambitious businessman.

“I should explain, about dinner,” Case said. He leaned back in his chair. “This is something of a ritual with me, my peace after the saloon closes. After Emily is in bed and the hotel is quiet, I come here to relax.” He laughed wryly. “Call it my one indulgence.” He pulled a chilled bottle of champagne from a silver cooler. “But this is in honor of you. To congratulate you on your first performance at the St. Martin.”

“It’s very generous of you. But I hope you don’t feel you’re wasting it. I know tonight was less than impressive.”

Case took his time filling their glasses, appraising Katlyn as he handed her one. She obviously expected his criticism, or worse. Sitting stiffly in her chair, her color bright and her chin high, she kindled a reluctant admiration in him.

She might be afraid of whatever he had to say, but she wouldn’t cower or plead. If he knew anything for certain about her it was that Katlyn McLain was a fighter.

“At times, you were very impressive,” Case said, remembering how she had sung that sweet, haunting ballad to him alone. He lifted his glass. “To the St. Louis Songbird.”

“To the success of the St. Martin,” Katlyn amended as she touched her glass to his.

She tried to feel relief at his words. Yet she hated accepting any praise as Penelope Rose or the St. Louis Songbird, no matter how slight. She wasn’t Penelope.

And she wondered if she could ever successfully pretend to be. How she wished her mother had been here this evening. Penelope could have accurately judged the audience’s reaction. Katlyn could have trusted her critique.

Instead, she had to trust her debut hadn’t been a complete disaster by Case’s reaction. At least he hadn’t fired her.

Katlyn took a small sip of her champagne, just kept herself from wrinkling her nose at the taste, then put the glass back. As she did, a flash of white caught her eye.

Through the partly open door Katlyn guessed led to the kitchen, she glimpsed a small barefoot figure in a ruffled nightgown. Emily peeked inside, darting back when she saw Katlyn look her way.

“So, your daughter is tucked in for the night?” she said, turning innocent eyes to Case.

“She’s been asleep for hours. With all the chaos around her, I insist she stick to a strict schedule.”

Before Katlyn could respond the cook shoved into the dining room holding fast to Emily, who all but refused to put one foot in front of the other.

“I don’t want to go, Tuck,” Emily whispered fiercely to the burly man.

“Well, I think your daddy wants his supper before midnight. I had less trouble gettin’ a meal done when I was feedin’ twenty hungry cowhands,” Tuck muttered, depositing Emily at Case’s side. “Found her in my kitchen again, spyin’ on you, Mr. Durham.” Muttering about supper being late again, Tuck lumbered back to his domain.

Emily stared hard at the floor. Katlyn bit her lip to keep from smiling.

Case looked at Emily a full minute before pulling her into his lap. He lifted her chin with one finger to turn the little girl’s eyes to his. “What are you doing down here this time of night? You know the rules.”

“I wanted to hear her sing,” Emily said so softly Katlyn barely heard the words. “Becky said she sounded like an angel. I’ve never heard an angel before.”

“Well, this is not the time or the place,” Case said firmly. “You should be in bed.”

Emily sniffled loudly and scrubbed at her nose with the back of her sleeve. She ducked her head, her face hidden by a tangle of dark curls.

A rush of empathy flooded Katlyn. She remembered all the times she’d been scolded for sneaking out to hear her mother sing, all the times she’d been escorted back to bed by a convenient chambermaid or her mother’s dresser.

Penelope made it clear work supported them and so work came first. Her mother scoffed at the idea of wasting time playing games or simply sitting and talking with her young daughter when there was always practicing and more practicing to be done.

Growing up, Katlyn recalled having everything she needed—except the one thing she wanted most, a sense she belonged in her mother’s life.

“I would be happy to sing for her,” Katlyn said softly, her eyes on the little girl. She felt Case’s scowl turn on her but she refused to back down. “It’s a special night. I’m sure Emily would like to share it with you.”

For the first time Emily lifted her head and pushed the hair away from her big green eyes. She looked up to Case, blinking away tears. “Please, Daddy?”

The rigid lines softened in Case’s face as he gently brushed a strand of hair from Emily’s forehead. “It’s hours past your bedtime, sweetheart.”

“And?” Katlyn risked provoking him further. “She can sleep a little later tomorrow.”

“Don’t make this your business, Miss McLain,” Case said sharply. “I understand my daughter’s needs far better than you do.”

“That may be true, but couldn’t you make an exception just this once?”

They stared at each other in a silent standoff, Emily, eyes wide as saucers, glancing from one to the other.

Case’s first instinct was to flatly refuse Emily’s request and to make it clear to Katlyn McLain just how unwelcome her interference was in his decisions.

Except when he honestly looked at his reaction, he knew it was also because he didn’t want to give the woman across from him any foothold in his daughter’s affections.

“All right, Emily, one time,” he said finally. “This one night you may stay up late. But if you ask again, I’m warning you now the answer will be no.”

Katlyn looked at Emily, making no attempt to hide her smile. Emily stared back at her, unsmiling, but with a distinct sparkle in her beautiful eyes.

“Would you like to sit on my lap while I sing to you?” Katlyn asked her.

Emily responded by shoving closer to Case, laying her head against his chest so she could just peer at Katlyn from the corner of her eye.

Suppressing a smile, Katlyn began to sing a lullaby her mother’s old dresser had taught her, a gentle, soothing melody about a brave princess’s journey through a magical forest to find her prince.

With her attention focused on Emily, Case could watch Katlyn freely. His irritation with her ebbed as her voice spun out the lilting notes, bringing to vivid life knights in shining armor, fire-breathing dragons and tall castles. Case wasn’t given to flights of imagination. But when she sang like this, it seemed to him she changed the very texture of the air with her song, making it warmer and softer.

He realized suddenly how beautiful she was. The lamplight favored her ivory skin and wove fire into the dark auburn mass mantling her shoulders. Even Emily seemed entranced by the picture his songbird made, and his daughter was rarely captivated by anything.

Emily obviously missed having a mother. Case had known from the beginning he could never fill that place in his daughter’s life.

But he knew also he didn’t want Katlyn McLain filling it, either.

Katlyn or Penelope or whatever she called herself had secrets, of that he was certain. Just like Emily’s mother.

He’d been a fool then. But never again. He would never be so gullible as to allow either Emily or himself to be hurt by lies. Women were deceptive. That lesson he had only to learn once.

As Katlyn finished the last of her song, Case gathered Emily close and stood up.

“Thank you, Miss McLain,” he said, steeling himself against responding to Katlyn’s look of hurt confusion. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to put Emily back to bed. Go ahead with your supper, I may be awhile.”

Katlyn barely had time to nod before Case whisked his daughter out of the dining room. As they rounded the doorway out of the room, Emily peered at her once over Case’s shoulder, her hand lifting in a small wave.

Returning the gesture, Katlyn forced a smile. Inside, though, a cold emptiness settled around her heart, quelling the warmth the three of them had shared when she sang. A familiar voice reminded her why.

You’re an outsider, Katie, you don’t belong here any more than anywhere else, and you never will.