Charlene Sands (13 page)

Emma had too much to do.

“You are a genius, Carlotta,” she breathed out, as she continued to stare at her reflection. “I can hardly believe this is…me.”

“It is you, Emma. What we wear is more than a covering for our body—it is our confidence, our style and our heart.”

She finished fastening the gown from the back and then squeezed Emma’s hand. “You are confident now, no? You have style, no? So sing what is in your heart, Emma. No one will be able to look away.”

Emma felt all those things now. With confidence and style, she would sing from her heart. She knew no other way. The lyrics had always poured from her. She couldn’t hold back the emotion behind her songs any more than she could willingly cease breathing. She needed only one last thing to make this night perfect. “You’ll be there, won’t you, Carlotta? I’ll look out and see you in the crowd?”

“I shall be in front.”

Emma breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you…for everything. The gown is more than I had hoped.”

Carlotta nodded. “It is what I do, Emma. It is my
passion.
”

“I thank you for your friendship, as well.”

“That I give freely. But the gown, it is not free,” Carlotta said with a wink.

Emma paid her with Hurley’s cash.

It was money well spent.

Bodine stood outside the Golden Dollar Saloon, his back to the wall, watching cowboys and just about every other damn man in the environs enter the place. Emma’s rich voice reached out like a well-thrown lariat, lassoing them in one by one until the place was packed full.

Only then did Bodine step inside and move into the darkest corner of the crowded saloon. He relied on the throng of men standing behind jammed tables and the smoke in the room to conceal him.

No one noticed him. All eyes and ears were on Emmy. Bodine had never been in a saloon that stood as dead quiet as this one. Not even a whisper was heard as she performed.

He took a step aside to catch a glimpse of Emmy. He blinked when he spotted her. He’d only seen her from behind as she’d exited the dressmaker’s shop a short time ago. He had dogged her from a long distance, and she’d been wearing her long coat.

But now, she wore a gown fit for the heiress he knew her to be. The silken garment suited her body and highlighted her best features, swooping across her pretty shoulders, forming around her perfect breasts and cinching in at her slight waist. Dark lace and cord sewn into the gown matched the russet hue of large brown eyes that looked deeply into the crowd. He’d swear her eyes had grown in size since he’d last seen her.

She looked beautiful.

No, she
was
beautiful. No one who could sing with honesty in their heart and fire in their soul could be anything but beautiful.

She touched people with her songs.

It was his job to see that no one
touched
her.

Applause broke out as she finished a song, the quieted crowd now clamoring for more.

Emma smiled first at the dressmaker, the only other woman in the saloon aside from the two serving drinks, then she looked out at her audience. “You want more?”

Shouts of encouragement went up, whistles rang out and men tossed coins her way. Emma stood on a small stool right beside the bar and many in the audience bobbed their heads up and down, to and fro, to see her.

“You’re too kind,” she said. “Here’s one of my favorites.” She began to sing a ballad and a young gangly man approached her.

“Tarnation, Miss Marie, us in the back cain’t see ya a’tol.”

The man reached for her waist, his hands slipping around her, his fingers stretched wide on her body.

“Oh!” Emmy gasped, clearly startled, and pushed at the cowpoke’s hands.

Gut clenching, anger rising, Bodine pushed aside the men in front of him to get to her.

The cowboy picked her up gently and settled her atop the bar. “There. Now we can all see ya.”

Emmy’s expression changed from stunned surprise to gratitude.

Gratitude?
Hell, if that didn’t beat all. Bodine cursed silently.

“Thank you, sir,” she said sweetly, straightening out her gown and smiling at the cowboy.

The audience showed their approval with more shouts and applause.

Bodine retreated to the corner but kept his gaze trained on the bold cowboy, making a note of him. The man had eyes for Emmy. Hell, she probably had half the men in the saloon hankering for her now.

He clamped his jaw and drew air into his lungs, tightening his hands into fists. He’d hated seeing Emmy perform her songs for a crowd, sharing her voice with strangers. He hated it and he had no rational reason for the feeling. Except that she’d shared her voice with him—and only him—while they’d spent time in that cabin. The mesmerizing sound had soothed and healed and saved him. She’d treated him to a gift he’d never had before and he’d fooled himself into thinking the gift was only meant for him.

Seeing her up there on the bar performing in front of a saloon full of men rankled him no end. From the moment she’d sung her first tune, Bodine had been peeved. In truth, the emotion that struck him the hardest was jealousy. Damn, but he realized it now. He didn’t want Emmy sharing her voice with a saloon full of men. He wanted that pleasure for himself.

It was a futile notion.

Yet, he couldn’t get the thought out of his head.

Bodine leaned against the wall, listening to the remainder of Emmy’s performance. After her last ballad, loud whooping and calls for more songs filled the saloon.

“Thank you so much. If you all stick around, I’ll be doing another performance in one hour,” she said, gesturing to where she sat. She chuckled. “From right here, on top of this bar.”

That same cowpoke came up, wrapped his arms around her middle and helped her down. Bodine flinched but kept hidden. When the crowd began to disperse, some heading outside, some walking up directly to buy a drink and speak with Emmy, Bodine had no choice but to leave.

He figured Emmy would question the men about her father. At least she had that Dubois woman by her side now. The lady seemed to know everyone in town. He felt some small relief that his charge had a chaperone.

He’d come back later for the second performance. He wouldn’t go far. There were two more saloons close by that were probably emptier than a beggar’s pockets. He figured they could use the business.

He needed another drink.

And to get the haunting sound of Emmy’s voice out of his head.

E
mma sang her last tune for the evening, a fun, uplifting song with five verses, leaving her saloon-filled audience with a memorable tune. Applause broke out and Emma clasped her hands to her chest, grateful and thrilled to have had the opportunity. She glanced around the crowded room, seeing the delight and pleasure she’d put on the faces of work-weary cowboys, shopkeepers and the like, and her heart soared. She was meant to perform. This was her calling in life. She’d never experienced such utter joy. And as she looked out to the swarm of men rising from their seats, fleetingly she thought she’d seen Bodine turning from the crowd.

But though the man was tall and broad, wearing a slicker much like the one Bodine had worn, one flash of his profile proved her wrong. This man didn’t have Bodine’s strong jaw or high cheekbones or eyes the color of a raging storm.

Bodine wasn’t here.

She ignored her regret and smiled pleasantly to the men approaching her. She would ask the same questions she’d asked after her first performance about Jake Trundy and hope that someone in the group had some information.

Fifteen minutes later, Mr. Dickson approached, smiling wide, holding her coat. “Are you ready, Miss Marie? I’ll walk you back to the hotel now.”

Though Emma had had more than eight offers from the cowboys in attendance tonight, Donald Dickson had been first to offer her his protection to escort her safely home and she’d accepted graciously. After all, he had an investment in her now. If his brilliant smile meant anything, she would guess his cashbox overflowed tonight. Though she was thankful for her successful performance, she knew a moment of disappointment. No one in attendance had ever heard of her father.

“Yes, I’m ready to leave now,” Emma said. “Thank you.”

Donald Dickson helped her on with her coat and Emma picked up her reticule. “I don’t think I’ve had anyone draw such a crowd since Ella Badger came through here about seven years ago.”

“Ella Badger? Really?” Emma knew of Ella, of course. She was the one of the highest paid actresses of the time, her performances famous in San Francisco and the entire Northern California area. “Did she perform?”

“That she did,” he said, leading her out of the saloon where just a few men sat at tables now, finishing their drinks and playing poker. “Cost me a pretty penny, but we set up a stage and opened up the saloon in the afternoon as a theater. We charged for tickets and she acted a few scenes from
The Hunchback.
We had lines out the door waiting to see her.”

“I would’ve loved to have seen her act.”

“She was excellent,” he said, as they strolled down the street, “but she nearly caused a riot on the streets. She claimed she could stay but for the one day. We had a mob of angry people who didn’t get a ticket. I packed about one hundred fifty people into the saloon. Standing room only, much like tonight,” he said.

Emma smiled.

“I’d be willing to set up a stage for you, Miss Marie. You could stay on a while. I’d pay you very handsomely. Two nights a week, four performances.”

“Oh,” Emma said in stunned surprise. “I…this is so…unexpected.”

“Is it? Surely, you know of your talent.”

“Yes, but I never thought to stay on, Mr. Dickson.”

“You’ve more than tripled my sales in one evening. This is a business venture. I can afford to pay you fifty dollars a week. That’s for four performances.”

Emma drew in her bottom lip, contemplating. She’d never been paid for her talent and the sum he offered was tempting. If nothing else, she could take pride in the generous proposal. Yet, if she couldn’t uncover any information about Jake Trundy after tomorrow night’s performance, what reason would she have to stay on? Her desire and main purpose was to find her father. Then and only then would she consider her future as a performer. But if she did find out something worthwhile, she’d have the means to stay on here.

She’d already made a friend in Carlotta Dubois. She’d been wonderful and the thought of never seeing the eccentric, exuberant Frenchwoman again saddened her. Why, she’d stayed for both performances tonight and had given Emma so much more than the lovely gown she wore tonight. She’d given her the assurance she’d needed to get up in front of such a large gathering to perform, encouraging her at every turn.

“May I give you my answer after tomorrow’s performance, Mr. Dickson?”

He nodded, then furrowed his forehead in speculation. “You wouldn’t go to my competitor’s, would you? I can assure you, they wouldn’t be inclined to offer you the same kind of compensation as I am.”

“Oh, no. The thought never crossed my mind,” she declared honestly, “but I told you when we first met, that I would only be here a short while.”

“Because you’re searching for your father?”

“Yes. I have to find him. Until I do, I can’t possibly stay on for any real length of time.”

“Okay, I’ll wait for your answer then, tomorrow night.”

They stopped when they reached the hotel. “Shall I see you inside?”

“That won’t be necessary. Thank you for escorting me and for the generous offer.”

He nodded. “Good night, Miss Marie.”

Donald Dickson waited until she was safely inside the hotel lobby. Funny, how money seemed to talk. Yesterday, he’d been impatient with her when she’d asked for this position. Tonight, he’d wanted to build her a stage. Emma shook her head. She’d come from money. The Rourke name was solid in the lumber business. After the war, her grandfather had continued on the family tradition, his father before him making a fortune during the gold rush, selling lumber to miners for the underground silver and gold mines.

Emma had lived in luxury, but it had never mattered to her. She didn’t need all the necessities that made life easy for a woman. She didn’t thrive on fancy socials and afternoon tea with the Ladies’ Auxiliary of Fresno. Instead, she wanted more in life. Her heart raced thinking of all she’d accomplished so far.

She was close to attaining her goals.

She could feel it.

And Mr. Dickson’s offer tonight only proved that Emma could make a life for herself as a songstress. She’d be doing what she loved to do, what her mother never had the courage to do.

Emma entered her hotel room and tossed her coat and reticule down onto the dressing table. She should be exhausted. It was past midnight. But instead of getting ready for bed, she stared out the window onto the darkened street below, her mind buzzing with the events of the day.

Through the shadows she thought she saw Bodine crossing the street. Her heart sped for a moment until she realized her foolish mind was playing tricks on her again. It was merely the same man she’d seen in the saloon, tall and broad like Bodine, wearing a slicker with his collar pulled up to his ears.

“Emma, it’s time you went to sleep,” she whispered, turning away from the window, blocking out images of the Bodine that continued to plague her.

She pulled the pins from her hair, readying for bed, vowing to forget about him during her waking hours and hoping he wouldn’t haunt her nighttime dreams.

Bodine lay on the bed in the hotel room, silently reading the wire he’d managed to retrieve today from Emma’s grandmother.

Bodine folded the wire and tucked it into his slicker for safekeeping. He closed his eyes, ready for sleep, but Emmy’s shuffling sounds from the other side of the wall kept him from rest. “Past your bedtime, Emmy,” he murmured grudgingly. “Go to sleep.”

He heard her muffled sounds and thrashing from inside the room. The sounds grew louder. Emma grunted.

Those weren’t sounds of slumber.

She groaned.

“Please…don’t,” he thought he heard her say.

Alert now, Bodine rose. He drew his gun from its holster.

“No, don’t do this to me.” This time he heard her whispered pleas clearly. She continued to struggle.

Images of that cowpoke putting his hands on Emmy flashed in his mind.

Bodine wasted no time. He dashed from his room and threw his shoulder against her door.

The lock broke. Bodine rushed inside, gun drawn and ready to shoot the man abusing Emmy.

“Oh!” Emmy froze. Her eyes rounded in stunned surprise. Her dress pulled down around her shoulders, she held her arms behind her.

Quickly, he scanned the dimly lit room.

She was alone.

“Damn it, Emmy! What the—”

“Bodine?” She cast him a true look of confusion.

“What the hell are you doing, Emmy?”

“What am
I
doing? What are you doing…barging in here? I thought you were long gone.”

Oh yeah. Bodine forgot about that. He thought real fast. “Got a tip about Metcalf. Had to stay on a few days.”

“Well, he’s not in here. Put the gun down, Bodine.”

Bodine took one more glance around and, when completely satisfied that the room was safe, he holstered his weapon.

“I didn’t think he was,” Bodine said, more annoyed than amused.

Emmy’s hair was down, the dark tresses falling softly against shoulders that were bared but for the material clinging on. In the faint light, her pretty skin shimmered against her gown.

“I heard you struggling,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

Emma looked away as if embarrassed. Then she turned back as realization dawned. “How did you hear me struggling?”

“Got a room in the hotel. Turns out to be right next door.”

Emma’s dark eyes went black. “You mean you’ve been next door all this time?”

He nodded.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“What for? We said our farewells.”

Emmy’s expression changed, her anger fading to something worse. He’d hurt her. “I know, but…I thought, never mind. So you came by to see me? Why?”

“I saw your lamp on,” he fibbed. “Thought I’d tell you I caught part of your show. You did real good.” He shrugged. “That’s all. Then I heard you struggling in here, thought maybe—”

“You thought I had a man in here!” Accusation and disbelief filled her big brown eyes.

“Hell, yeah. I did. I heard you, Emmy. ‘Please don’t do this to me’ was what you said.”

Emmy’s face flamed. She whispered, “You heard that?”

He nodded. “Are you going loco or something, Emmy? Talking to nobody.”

“I wasn’t talking to nobody. I was…talking to myself.”

Bodine blew out a breath. Emmy wasn’t making this easy. He was dog tired and ready for bed. He wasn’t amused by her puzzles or happy that he’d been relieved seeing her alone in this room. The thought of her with another man vexed him.

His only consolation tonight was that she appeared safe, unless she’d taken up talking to ghosts. Then she was in another kind of danger, one he couldn’t help her with.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, her chin jutting up. “I’m not crazy. I couldn’t get my gown undone. I’ve been trying to wiggle out of it for five minutes. Carlotta made it so tight around my middle that I can’t take it off without undoing the buttons. And I can’t reach them, darn it!”

Emmy turned sideways, pointing to the back of the gown. He noted two dozen tiny pearl buttons going all the way down to the top of her derriere. She’d only managed undoing the top two, which explained why the dress hung tight against her shoulders. She couldn’t pull it any further down.

Emmy was trapped in her gown.

Bodine’s lips twitched.

“Don’t you laugh at me!”

He ran his hand through his hair and grinned. “Hard not to, Emmy.”

“Oh be quiet, Bodine!”

“Okay, maybe I’ll just say good-night now.” He yawned. “I’m getting kinda tired.”

“I wish you had found me in here with a man.” She tried reaching behind her to get to her buttons, then moaned miserably when she failed.

“Yeah well. Better luck next time.” Bodine headed toward the door and, just as he grabbed the knob, she stopped him.

“Get over here, Bodine. You know darn well I need you to undo my gown. I can’t sleep in it tonight and wrinkle it to high heaven. I have two more performances before I head on.”

Bodine turned to face her, half wishing he didn’t have to unbutton her gown, while the other half looked forward to it. “So you’re giving me permission to take your clothes off?”

She inhaled, trying to conceal her frustration. “You have my permission to undo my buttons, Bodine,” she said sweetly. “Then you have my permission, to jump into Bass Lake.”

Bodine chuckled, approaching her. “Temper, temper, Emmy.”

“Just get this dress off me.” She gave him her back.

Bodine grabbed her waist and brought her up against him, her thick petticoats keeping him from feeling any part of her body. “Relax, Emmy. You’ll be undressed soon enough,” he whispered near her ear.

“Bodine,” she said softly, “don’t do…” She didn’t finish her thought.

He undid a button. “You sang real pretty tonight.”