Only My Love (18 page)

"Because no one cared," Kitty said matter of factly. "You'd appreciate that if you'd known Mr. Kelly."

"But-"

"Enough. I wouldn't have told you if I knew you were goin' to ask so many questions. And don't let it get back to Dee that I told you. I don't want her mad at me."

"She wouldn't poison you."

Kitty looked at Michael as if she had grown another head. "Of course she wouldn't poison me. You take the oddest notions to heart. Dee might send me packin' and that would be worse. Everyone 'round here knows this is the best place to work. Someday I might go to Denver and run a place of my own, but until then this is just where I want to be." Kitty began unfastening her gown. "C'mon. You've got to take that dress off. You can't dance in it."

It was Michael's turn to look appalled. "I've been dancing in gowns all my life."

"Not like this you haven't." She stepped out of her dress, leaving her in a chemise, drawers, calf-length petticoat, and corset. Kitty tapped her foot impatiently. "Do you want me to teach you or not? The other girls will be coming soon and you should know a little of the routine before they get here. They're not very patient."

"Oh, very well," Michael said, exasperated. There was only Lottie and Dee in the saloon. When she thought about it rationally her undergarments were less revealing than the gown Kitty had given her to wear for the actual performance. She hung her dress on the hook beside Kitty's and fought the urge to fold her arms protectively across her chest. "Let's get this over."

Kitty's head tilted to one side as she considered Michael thoughtfully. "What possessed you to answer Dee's advertisement in the first place?"

"Desperation." Michael was relieved to see that Kitty seemed to understand that answer. "I
want
to do this, Kitty," she said. "I'm just nervous." I
don't
want to do it, she thought, and I'm scared to death.

"All right. Let's go." Kitty's plump fingers clamped around Michael's wrist as she led her onto the middle of the stage. "Lottie, just give us the chorus to
When the Sun Shines.
I'll teach that part to Michael first."

Lottie nodded, turned on her stool, and began playing. A light, festive tune filled the saloon. Kitty dropped Michael's wrist and took her through the steps slowly, showing her the saucy sashay around the borders of the stage while pretending to twirl her parasol. Kitty's expression was at once demur and sly, shyness used as an open invitation.

The steps were not difficult for Michael to follow. The routine consisted primarily of several turns about the stage with the parasol in different positions, a few waltz-like twirls with the parasol as a partner, and some toe-heel steps that made a pleasant clicking sound on the floor while the parasol was used as a cane.

"She's got the steps nicely," Lottie said, watching Michael while she played. "But her smile's just awful."

"Don't I know it," Kitty said, glancing sideways at Michael as they went through the shuffle steps. "Two-and-three-and-four-and... quickly, Michael. And-light-on-your-feet-and-smile-like-you-mean-it."

Michael laughed.

"That's better," Kitty said encouragingly as Michael's smile grew more fulsome. "Much better. Just forget there'll be fifty miners, give or take a half dozen, in here tonight, and that most of them will be watchin' you 'cause you're the new girl."

Michael's feet tangled almost immediately. Her smiled was forced down by rising panic. "Oh, Lord," she said softly looking out at the sea of empty tables and chairs. Tonight it would be swimming with men looking to her for entertainment. Handsome faces, plain faces, leering, respectful, or hopeful, every aspect of expression would be there in their eyes. "I don't think I can do this, Kitty."

"Sure you can," Kitty said, aware that Dee had stopped polishing the bar counter and was watching them. "Dee's looking this way," she said under her breath. "Remember 'desperation.' It'll help."

It did. Michael thought of all the things she was desperate to do: escape Ethan, escape the saloon, escape the mountain town. She had a story to write, testimony to give, and friends' deaths to revenge. Surely she could stand humiliating herself in order to achieve those ends. How was she to accomplish any of it without first gaining the trust of people like Kitty and Lottie, who didn't understand her circumstances, or like Houston and Happy who thought they did, or finally, of Ethan, who knew more about her than she would have wished?

Michael managed a small smile as Lottie started up the chorus again and demonstrated the routine to Kitty without faltering. She felt Dee's watchful eyes on her, felt the other woman's animosity though her expression remained unchanged. Even when Dee's concentration returned to polishing the long mahogany bar, Michael sensed her activity was merely a pretense and that her interest was still on the stage.

After nearly an hour of rehearsal they were joined by the other dancers. Practice continued for another hour while they taught Michael the main body of the routine, including the line kicks that Michael realized would expose a considerable length of her legs when done in the short gown and thigh-high tights. Joined arm in arm, the dancers raised their knees high and kicked out and up, alternating legs as they gradually made their line form a small circle, going round and round, faster and faster, until one of them lost balance and the group seemed to implode, falling in a heap of arms and elbows and a flurry of petticoats and ruffled drawers.

Laughing as they untangled themselves, they didn't hear the light, appreciative applause that was offered in their direction. When they saw Houston standing at the end of the bar nearest the stage they laughed all the harder. Everyone except Michael. Feeling her face flame under the steady regard of Houston's black eyes, Michael disengaged herself quickly from the others and practically dove into the wings to retrieve her gown.

"She's still a trifle modest," Kitty said to no one in particular. Laughter rolled through the group again. Houston merely smiled.

"It's rather refreshing," he said.

Carmen got to her feet and dusted off her behind, turning and twisting, making a display of it for Houston's benefit. "Too obvious?" she asked, tossing him a sassy smile over her shoulder.

"Much too obvious," he said. "But very nice."

"Thank you."

Detra came out from her office in time to hear the last exchange. "Let's go, girls. There's plenty of work for you to do. Carmen, you can start with the floor in here. Kitty, the spittoons. The brass rail needs polishing and the mirror needs wiping." She held up one hand when they started to protest that they needed more rehearsal time. "You've been doing those songs for two weeks now. You know them as well as you need to."

"But Michael needs—" Josie's objection was met with one of Dee's most frosty stares. "Well, I hope she doesn't embarrass the rest of us," she mumbled, getting to her feet.

"I don't see how she could," Houston said as Michael returned to the stage. "She wasn't the one who caused that fall. It seemed to me that Susan couldn't keep the pace."

Susan huffed a little while Dee glared at Houston. After a moment Detra turned on her heel and marched into her office.

Houston grinned, completely unrepentant. He took off his hat, dropped it on the counter, and ran his fingers through his light hair. "Go on, girls. You heard, Dee. She has work for you to do."

Michael spied the broom leaning against the upright piano. "I'll sweep," she said. She gave Carmen a wary glance. "Unless you want to."

"Be my guest. I want to talk to Houston anyway."

Houston pushed away from the bar and shook his head. "No, Michael. I want to talk to you. Carmen can sweep." His brows came up as the door to Dee's office was slammed. He looked once in that direction but his thoughts were masked. When he returned his attention to the stage Carmen was already getting the broom and Michael was alone. "Down here, Michael. We can sit at one of the tables."

Michael ignored the hand he offered to help her down from the stage and took the short ramp instead. It was more difficult to pretend she hadn't seen that Houston was amused by her gesture. To spare herself more of his smug ridicule, Michael accepted the chair he pulled out for her.

"Do you want a drink?" he asked.

"No, thank you. I don't drink."

"I was thinking of coffee. Lottie will bring it from the kitchen."

"No, nothing," she said hurriedly. The last thing she wanted was one of the girls waiting on her. She needed to join them, not be set apart. "If you want something, I'll get it."

Houston placed a hand over Michael's forearm, stopping her from rising. He sat down and removed his hand only when he was certain she wasn't going to bolt. "That's better. I don't want anything either."

Michael's eyes strayed to the star on Houston's shirt. She tried not to show her disdain. "Is this official business, Sheriff?"

He chuckled. "There's not much in the way of official business in this town. Nothing ever happens here." He stared at her hard for a moment. "At least not officially."

"I'm beginning to realize that."

"Good."

"Then what is it you want?"

Houston shrugged. "Just some conversation."

"You didn't have to single me out for that."

"Yes, I did."

She heard sincerity in his tone and saw something earnest and warm in his coal black eyes. He had strong, even bold features. His dark eyes and brows were a startling, even arresting contrast to the light, pale ash color of his hair. He was not nearly as handsome as he was compelling, and Nathaniel Houston, Michael admitted reluctantly, was very, very handsome.

And like everyone who worked for him, he was also a murderer.

Michael had the oddest sensation that he knew precisely what she was thinking. She recalled Ethan's warning to stay away from Houston and Detra's animosity. She met Houston's direct gaze and saw the warmth had been replaced by a cold, fathomless, and implacable stare that communicated both a warning and a threat. Here, then, was the killer. Here was the man she meant to see hang.

"Ethan's not in favor of you dancing," he said.

"That's not what Kitty told me this morning."

Houston thought that over. "You're still Ethan's wife."

"That was a long time ago."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning it was a long time ago. Nothing more, nothing less." She lowered her voice so none of the girls engaged in tasks around them would hear. "I think for myself, Mr. Houston."

"Houston. Just Houston. Or Nate. I don't fancy being a mister anybody." He leaned forward in his chair and placed his forearms on the tabletop. "Tell me something, when Ethan walked out on you, were you in love with him?"

Michael's eyes dropped away. She stared at her hands for a moment trying to formulate the best answer. "That's very personal," she said.

"Were you?"

"Yes." She hoped she sounded as if she had given the answer reluctantly.

"Are you still?"

It came quite naturally to look at Houston as if he were mad.

He laughed at her. "Guess not. You forgiven him yet?"

"For walking out on me? I forgave him for that years ago. For bringing me to this forsaken place? Never."

"But you intend to stay with him."

"Do I have any choice?"

Houston didn't say anything for a moment. His look was considering as his eyes drifted over Michael's face. He made a slight nod of approval as he saw her flush under his thoughtful scrutiny. "You may have another choice," he said, pushing away from the table and standing up. "I
do
find your modesty refreshing." And more than a little intriguing, he thought. "If you'll excuse me, I have to see Dee."

Michael watched his retreating back, frowning. Had he meant she may have a choice to leave or a choice to change partners? The former was appealing and unlikely. The latter was something she didn't want to think about.

She came out of her reverie as she was tapped on the shoulder. Carmen thrust a broom in her hands. "As long as you're done jawin'," Carmen said, "there's your share of the work to be done. Customers start driftin' in just before noon."

Michael was glad to take the broom, relieved for something to do. It gave her the opportunity to become familiar with the saloon and later, when she swept the dust onto the wooden sidewalk and then onto the street, it gave her her first breath of real freedom.

She counted sixteen tables in the saloon, each with three, four, or five chairs. The mahogany bar with its brass footrail and cuspidors went nearly the length of the room. A large mirror had been mounted on the wall behind it and there were shelves of liquor on either side. Glasses, towels, and aprons were kept below the bar. A roulette wheel took up one corner of the saloon and a pool table took up another. The cues were hanging in a rack beside the largest elk's head Michael had ever seen. The wallpaper was a sumptuous red and gold in a richly detailed print. Milk-white glass globes hid the burning gaslights and the clock above the entrance to the dining room ticked off the minutes quietly.

Sweeping off the sidewalk, Michael observed the location of the livery and the mercantile. Horses and guns. Knowing where to find each was absolutely essential.