HT02 - Sing: A Novel of Colorado (18 page)

“There’s one thing I said I’d never do,” Moira said, tucking her hand in the crook of Gavin’s arm as they walked down the street.

“Ah. And what was that, darling?”

“Let a man master me. I fought too long, Gavin, too hard to get where I am.” She pulled him to a stop and he faced her, in front of the dress shop. They had less than twenty-four hours left together, thirty-six, if one counted the night. Would it bother her, Moira mused, to leave him behind? She was unsure, confused. But she tried not to show it.

Gavin laughed. “I am not your master, darling,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips. He raised one brow. “You are certainly mine. Never before have I been so captivated by a woman.”

“By an opportunity,” she corrected lightly, moving through the door.

“By both,” Gavin said simply. They paused by a gown on a mannequin, then approached the counter. He smiled at the dressmaker. “We seek a showgirl costume. But not just any showgirl’s gown. Something tasteful. Something suitable for an opera singer trying her hand on the common stage. Something that sets her apart, but not too far apart, if you know what I mean.”

“But of course,” the dressmaker said, as if this request was common. He looked from Gavin to Moira and back again. “Right this way. We might be able to modify one of two dresses I have in back for the lovely young miss.”

They emerged three hours later with both dresses across Gavin’s arm. “Come, darling, there’s a restaurant around the corner that I think you would very much enjoy.”

“So now we have the costumes. You are confident of my decision, aren’t you?” she laughed. “Are you intent on me rehearsing this potential new role tonight?”

“Why not? You saw how people responded to you last night. Can you imagine what will happen if you return in one of these fabulous new dresses?”

Moira smiled. The crowd had been drawn to her last night, just as he said they would be. But she still felt separate, like an interloper. Gavin was right. She had to find the way to let the role settle on her shoulders, become the saloon singer if these people were to adopt her. If she wanted them to …

She wondered about her own hesitation. Why not take this new path? If it was more profitable than the life of an opera singer, why not try it? “I’d need a new name,” she finally said.

Gavin grinned at her.

“I’d need a new name if I was to try this path for a time. Then I could return to my own name if I wanted to return to the world of opera.”

“I’ve thought of that,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. “What do you think of Moira Colorado? It’s worked well for Emma Oregon to take the name of her home state.”

“My home state is Pennsylvania.”

“Yes, yes, I know. But there is little romance, little intrigue with anywhere along the East Coast. People are intrigued with the West.”

“Even if we—I—end up in Colorado itself?”

“Even if we end up there,” he said with a smile spreading across his face. They reached the restaurant, and the maître d’ led them to a table for two in the corner. The man pulled Moira’s chair back and then swept a large cloth napkin across her lap with a flourish.

Gavin seated himself and accepted his own napkin. “So …” he said, “You are seriously considering this, then? I could be your manager and see to all your bookings and business.”

Moira paused for a moment. It was right, this, she was sure of it, but she had learned her lesson. “I’d be happy for you to take care of all such arrangements, Gavin,” she said. “But I’ve been taken once. It will not happen again. I’d have to be privy to all pertinent conversations, and you can’t get your feathers in a ruffle if I ask to see the books.”

“Done.”

“And what of …” She leaned closer and lowered her voice, glancing to a nearby table full of gentlemen. “What of our living arrangements? I told you aboard ship, Gavin, that I am not seeking a husband.”

“And I am not seeking a wife,” he returned, delight in the glimmer of his eyes.

“So this would be entirely a business arrangement?”

He cocked his head and nestled his chin in hand. “Now, Moira, surely you know that once a man samples a woman’s wares, he feels the urge to sample again and again.”

Moira’s eyes widened in alarm. She looked to the other tables and was relieved to find them absorbed in their own conversation. She returned her gaze to the handsome man across from her, his eyes smoldering with desire. “Gavin, now really—”

“Really. It is the truth of it. You might as well admit to it, Moira. This is a fantastic new journey for both of us. Think of yourself as enlightened. Emboldened. Enhanced. The perfect specimen of modern womanhood.” He leaned forward. “You may take me as your lover when you want me. You make the decisions, you choose. I only offer you the opportunity to be worshipped as you ought.”

Moira paused and smiled. “And the spoils of war?” she asked, licking her lips. How did he manage to draw her with every word? “How would we split the profits of this venture?”

“Out of your earnings, we would cover two hotel rooms—we must maintain some semblance of propriety—food, travel expenses, costumes. Although, these first two are my gift to you. After that, the profits would be split fifteen to eighty-five, to your favor, of course.” He reached out and took her hand. “I would need to see to my ongoing business every morning and possibly explore new opportunities as we travel. But the afternoons and evenings?” He picked up her hand and kissed it lightly. “They’d belong to you, darling.”

She slowly pulled her hand from his, as a waiter came to take their order. Gavin glanced at her, and swiftly ordered something he knew she’d love. This man couldn’t wait to see her on the stage. Relished the opportunity, along with her. “What is in it for you?”

“A portion of your proceeds, as your manager. And the ability to spend every minute possible with you, of course.” He reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips to kiss again.

“What of your other business dealings?”

“What of them?” he asked, casually setting down her hand and covering it lightly with his own.

“I’m well aware that you would need to tend to them as well, Gavin.”

“And I shall, from wherever we are,” he said. He gave her a small smile but lifted his right hand to massage his temple.

“Headache?”

He shook his head and seemed to force a smile. “Just need my supper, I think.”

“Would you wish for me to accompany you on your business dealings, Gavin?”

“A beautiful woman’s company always enhances any table, business or pleasure,” he returned easily. “If you would care to accompany me, I’d be delighted.”

“But would you expect me to be there?” she asked carefully.

“Moira Colorado, there’s only one expectation you’d face in working with me.”

“And what is that?”

“That you sing, sing with everything in you. That you meet the gaze of every man and woman in every hall that you sing in, so they remember your gorgeous green eyes for weeks to come. You are magic on stage, Moira. Do you know that?” He paused, waiting for her to nod. “That is all I expect of you. To make the most of the gift that has been given you.” He smiled.

He winced suddenly, his hand going to his head, his eyes squinting shut.

“Gavin?” Moira asked in alarm. “Are you all right?”

“Fine, fine,” he said, another quick smile on his lips. “Just this headache. I need to eat, I think.” Just then, the waiter arrived with their soup, and Moira sighed in relief. Hopefully it would alleviate Gavin’s pain. Moira dipped her broad soupspoon into the crab bisque, and her mind shifted from her concern for him to wondering at the turn her life was taking. She thought of her parents and imagined how they would have taken to the idea of her taking a stage name. Moira Colorado, she mused. It sounded wrong—and yet right at the same time. Her eyes flitted up to Gavin, so handsome, so confident. He so clearly understood her and her needs. Her desire to be free, to explore. With him as her manager, she could let go of her fears, this instant, of running out of cash. He’d see to her welfare, make certain she had what she needed.

A man had stopped at their table to talk to Gavin, shaking hands. He rose and slid a smile in her direction.
Mama
, Moira thought, talking to her mother as she used to.
How can I refuse him? Look at him. He’s liquid; he’s so smooth. Surrounding me. Lifting me. Drenching me. Refreshing me. Is this how you felt about Papa
?

She took a quick sip of water, and then a gulp of wine. Why on earth was she correlating what she felt toward Gavin with the love her mother and father once shared?

Nic left William on shore in the meager shade of a boulder. He figured he had several hours before the cold of night replaced the heat of day, potentially stealing whatever breath his friend had left. William was unconscious and shivering, a terrible shade of gray that spoke of death approaching.

Nic moved away, wincing as a thousand coiled shells, some odd species that obviously favored this God-forsaken coast, cut and poked at his bare feet in the sand. In another time, another place, he might have considered them beautiful, with their swirls of amber and coal and coral and ash. Finally he cleared them, but hopped from one foot to another as the hot beach burned his bare soles. He set off southward, as William had directed, running from one shady or damp spot to another, heading toward a hill that marked a turn in the coastline.

He tried to ignore the pain of his lower lip, cracking for want of moisture. Tried to forget the now enticing brackish taste from the ship’s water barrel. He only had to reach a town, a person, and beg someone to help him return for William. That was all he had to focus on now. After that, water, food, sleep would come.

In an hour he reached the hill and struggled up the loose dry sand to the top. What he saw made him close his eyes in defeat, but the image was burned in his mind. The coast went on for miles. There was no boat. No house. No gathering of shipwrecked mates around a fire. Not even a goatherd with his flock.

He turned back, gasping for breath, and saw the sun was low on the horizon, the sky already holding the first vestiges of pink. What was over the mountain? A verdant valley? Farms? Villages? It was impossibly high, and looked to be largely made of crumbly dry sand that might collapse with each step. Would he perish simply trying the ascent?

He closed his eyes again and covered them with his palms, wishing he had tears to shed. Never had he not been able to see another human being on his horizon or at least known there was one around the corner. His eyes scanned the beach, toward the boulder where William lay. Was he already dead?

“A minute spent doing is a minute not fretting,” Nic muttered under his breath, repeating a favorite saying of his mother’s. He stood and haphazardly made his way down the hillside, sliding partway. What would his mother and father think of his being here? Now? Would they be proud of him, venturing off to explore the world? Or, more likely, horrified that he’d gotten himself into this situation? He grimaced, imagining his father learning that he had spent his inheritance. Frivolous investments with high promises and low returns. A good portion on high-society travel. He’d gotten as far as Italy and Greece before he turned back and spent time among the islands. There, the rum and dark-skinned women had sucked many a money pouch dry. Soon after that, he’d moved on to South America, intent on regaining a portion of his funds before returning to the United States.

He hadn’t even sent Odessa a letter in six months, wishing to be on his feet again before he told her where he was. Shame, he admitted to himself, forced him to hide from her.
Coward
, he berated himself.
Able to face any man in the ring, but not a girl who has her mother’s eyes, a bit of her father’s concern about the mouth. Coward!

How was she? How was Moira? Would he ever see them again?

The sun reached the horizon, sending warm peach hues across the skies. He neared William, so still, so deadly still. He knelt and felt for a pulse. Faint, but there. The man was shivering, freezing although the air was quite warm. Nic settled in beside him, wrapping a leg and arm across his body to try to lend some heat. He grimaced as William trembled so hard it sent tremors through his own body. “Hold on, William. Hold on,” he whispered. “Don’t die. Not here. Not now.”