Wicked Wyoming Nights (7 page)

Cautiosly fingering the spot on her cheek where a bruise showed quite plainly now, Eliza remembered the feel of Cord’s hand on her cheek and a dreamy look settled over her face; it didn’t seem to hurt so much anymore. Her uncle’s sullen features slowly faded as she withdrew into a world where a man would rather suffer torture than hurt a female.

Chapter 5

“What ails you, child?” Eliza shook so badly Lucy could hardly button up her dress. “There ain’t nobody out there but cowhands, and you’re so pretty they won’t care if you sing like a crow.”

In the flickering lamplight, Eliza’s deep-red gown shone like velvet. The arms, neckline, and hem were trimmed in a red-black net that made the ruby color of the dress look even richer, but the most striking contrast was created by the milk white of Eliza’s flawless complexion.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Lucy marveled, “and I’ve been dressing gals for more than thirty years.”

“Nobody’s supposed to have skin like that,” Lavinia said enviously. “If it was my hide, I’d be queen of St. Louis, not this squalid little cow town.”

But Eliza’s appeal didn’t rest solely on her dress or her skin. Her raven-black hair, piled high upon her head to expose the nape of her neck, ignited the fire in her eyes; thick brows, long lashes of the same color, and vermilion lips were drawn with bold strokes, while deep mortification lived as a perpetual blush in her downy cheeks. Earrings and bracelets dangled from her person, their imitation stones flashing in the light, and a single red stone hung from a narrow black band around her throat. The ensemble was completed by a large feather fan which Lucy had tried, without success, to teach Eliza to use provocatively. Eliza was about to sing for the first time, and she was petrified.

“Now you listen to me, child,” Lucy said. “You’re prettier than a litter of kittens. All you have to do is sing your best and their tongues will be hanging out. Now what’s there to be scared of in that?”

“I don’t know, but I’m petrified. And to have to wear a dress like
this!
” Eliza didn’t quite know what to think of the woman she saw in the mirror. It shocked and horrified her, but she was also thrilled; the woman in the mirror was beautiful, and Eliza desperately wanted to be beautiful.

“They’ll be so stunned they won’t be able to move. And when they hear you sing, oh, glory, they’ll be quiet as lambs.”

Lucy’s assurances made Eliza feel a little better, but her fears returned as Ira accompanied her on the short walk to the saloon.

“Wait here,” he said, taking her in the back door to a small office. When she was alone in the cold, dingy room, Eliza’s courage fled. How could she have ever have believed she could go through with it?

“They’re ready? Ira announced with suppressed excitement when he returned.

“Please, Uncle Ira, I can’t …” she began.

“I’ve had enough of your complaining,” he declared angrily. “Anybody ought to be able to go out there and sing. Now take that thing off and let me see what you look like.”

Ira’s whole future was riding on the next few minutes and he was almost as nervous as Eliza, but when she had reluctantly removed her cloak, a wide grin of satisfaction spread over his whole face until his dark, sullen eyes shone bright with triumph.

“There isn’t a place this side of the Mississippi that wouldn’t pay a fortune to get you,” he crowed, almost dancing with joy. “I’m going to be rich. Now stay outside the door until I announce you. Then give them your friendliest smile and walk straight to the piano. You can be a little standoffish if you like, but not enough to make them think you’re too good for them. Remember, it’s just ordinary cowpokes out mere, not fancy ranchers.”

What if Cord Stedman was out front?

The question hit Eliza with dizzying impact, and she felt a small dollop of reckless pride stiffen her flagging spirits. Would Cord like her singing? She
could
sing. Uncle Ira often said it was her only accomplishment, but Eliza knew she sang well and that knowledge gave her something to stiffen her courage. Suddenly it mattered very much how she did tonight. It wasn’t enough that she just survive; she had to do her best.

Her new sense of purpose wasn’t sufficient to banish all her fears, but it was enough to keep her from casting her pride into the dust and running out into the night; it was enough to enable her to marshal her wits and follow her uncle down the narrow hall even though her heart was pounding so hard she felt dizzy.

The noise and the smell of smoke and whiskey hit her full in the face, but she didn’t have time to worry about how she was going to breathe or find her way through the blue-gray cloud that filled the room. Ira was already introducing her.

“… young lady kind Fortune had brought to Buffalo. Her face is the equal of Europe’s famed beauties, her voice that of an angel.”

“If she’s so damned good-looking, how did you get her past Lavinia?” one drunk asked to raucous laughter.

“In a tow sack,” someone replied.

“She’s a
lady
,” Ira declared loftily. Unfazed by Ira’s buildup, the audience joked among themselves and shouted for Ira to “sit down and let the little lady talk for herself.”

“Sing,” corrected his companion.

“… welcome the lovely
Belle Sage
.” Behind the door, a puzzled Eliza looked around for a second performer; in the throes of inspiration, Ira had neglected to tell Eliza he’d given her a stage name.

“I don’t see nobody,” said one cowboy, beginning to feel like maybe he was being made fun of. Others showed signs of becoming rowdy, and Ira quickly backed through the door.

“Are you trying to get us killed?” he whispered fiercely.

“Who is
Belle Sage?
’ asked Eliza.

“
You’re
Belle Sage, you little fool. It’s a stage name. Now get out there before they tear the place apart,” Ira hissed, and shoved Eliza through the doorway.

No one had paid much attention to Ira’s introduction, and consequently they were struck dumb when they found Eliza exceeded his extravagant praise. Even Croley could hardly believe this gorgeous creature was the stammering, fearful girl he’d seen just a few nights earlier. The transformation was nothing short of magical, and a hush fell over the room.

“Sing!” Ira whispered imperatively, and somehow Eliza was able to reach the piano. From years of habit the be-dazzled piano player’s fingers began to move over the keys, and out of Eliza’s mouth came the loveliest silver thread of a soprano voice he ever heard. After the initial shock of seeing her, some of the men had started to whisper among themselves, but hers was a restful, easy sound, the kind a man could listen to for hours, and they listened with rapt attention.

The quiet bolstered Eliza’s confidence, and when silence greeted the end of her song she felt even better. She gave the pianist the name of a second song and a lilting tune filled the room.

“Sing something lively,” Ira prompted, and Eliza launched into a spirited polka her aunt had taught her. This time the room erupted with shouts of approval, and bewildered by the sudden burst of noise and activity, Eliza fled. The loud cheers followed her down the hall, and she didn’t stop until she reached the sanctuary of the small office. Ira was close on her heels.

They’re crazy about you!” he shouted, elation overriding irritation. “Get back out there.”

“I can’t” she hiccupped, on the verge of tears. Ira’s dreams of riches threatened to turn into fear of being chased out of town, and his anger mushroomed. Only Croley’s arrival, his face wreathed in smiles, forestalled an explosion of wrath.

The boys are wild. Every one of them is stamping his feet wanting to know when shell be back.”

“She’s coming back right now,” Ira said fiercely, preparing to drag Eliza through the door if he had to.

“Let her alone. I told them she’d be back in an hour.”

“Why?” Ira demanded.

“Because they’ll have to wait for the second performance, and most of them will spend the time drinking. Some have already left.”

“I
knew
she shouldn’t have stopped.”

They’ve gone to tell their buddies about her. Before the hour’s up, we’ll be turning them away. Little lady, I never thought to see anything like it, but when you opened your mouth that was a stunner. How did you learn to sing like that?”

“I’ve always been able to sing,” Eliza told him.

“Well, you can sit back and relax. Have something to eat, a little champagne maybe, anything you want as long as you do it all over again in an hour.”

The last rays of sunlight were fast sinking behind the green hills, enveloping the horizon with a blanket of purple twilight, as nature streaked the sky with one final slash of orange and blue before putting away her pallet. Cord rode leisurely across this living canvas, oblivious to the familiar beauty of the sunset or the vastness of the quiet that settled around him; he was headed for town, and he wasn’t sure why.

His outfit had come in from spring roundup a few days before, and his was the only ranch to come through the winter with virtually no losses. Cord knew the ever-increasing thievery was due to rustlers, but to say so only stirred up bitter feelings. He also knew the big owners who lived in Cheyenne and farther east were fed up with rustlers operating without hindrance or fear of reprisal. The winter’s losses had them talking about taking the law into their own hands, and why not? The ranchers in Montana had done it, and now they enjoyed complete freedom from the predators who were threatening to drive cattlemen out of northern Wyoming.

Cord didn’t hold with their idea of range justice, but they hadn’t asked for his opinion. He was an ex-cowhand himself, and they looked on him with suspicion; some even said his rise had been too rapid to be honest.

Cord didn’t bother to defend himself. There were those who knew how he bought steers in the spring, fattened them and shipped them out in the fall, men re-invested every penny in his own breeding stock. But not everyone cared to learn the facts, and he would be branded suspect if he raised his voice against them. If he didn’t, he would still be suspect, so he held his peace. He never attended the Association’s meetings because he had nothing to say to men who looked upon Wyoming and cattle as nothing more than a source of income. To him it was a way of life, and one he wouldn’t trade for the finest mansion on Cheyenne’s Walnut Avenue.

Yet however much these thoughts disturbed his peace, they wouldn’t have caused him to head into Buffalo when he had a week’s work to do and the town was full of cowboys working off the excesses of roundup. He had heard talk of a new singer at the Sweetwater Saloon, a beauty who was drawing the men for miles around, but it was a chance conversation between Sturgis and Royce that had fully engaged his attention.

“It’s that gal we ran off Bear Creek during the winter.”

“You’re crazy. That female is scared of her own shadow.”

“I swear it’s the same one. The boys at the Crazy Z can’t stop talking about her. Seems they’ve been sneaking off to town every night.”

“Doesn’t the foreman catch them?”

“He’s there ahead of them.” They had laughed, and after making plans to go into Buffalo when it came their turn for a night off, they had talked of other things.

Cord had tried to put it out of his mind too, but his figures wouldn’t add up and he kept forgetting his sums in the middle of the column. He couldn’t forget Eliza and her huge black eyes, and the only way he was going to get any work done was to see for himself. Then maybe he could figure out why he couldn’t get this girl out of his mind. After Eugenia, that shouldn’t have been hard.

Cord had arrived at the Matador one blazing hot summer in the spring of his maturity, handsome, virile, and anxious to prove his manhood. One glance at Cord’s powerful chest and forearms, bare and glistening from a brisk wash under the bunkhouse pump, and Eugenia Orr was only too willing to help. That hooded gaze and firmly set mouth were an irresistible challenge and she set about his conquest; Cord fell without a struggle.

He first tasted the heady delights of her warm and yielding flesh in a quiet, dusty glade, and fell hopelessly in love. Certain Eugenia cared as passionately for him, he had asked her to marry him. A single peal of laughter, cruel and taunting, shattered his dream and destroyed his innocence.

For the next six months, through the worst winter to ravage the West in a hundred years, Cord had worked to drive Eugenia out of his mind. Unending blizzards decimated the Matador herds, and Pierce Orr, already deeply in debt from building the enormous house, was forced to sell his ranch. No one would pay Orr for lands he didn’t own, herds that no longer existed, or a huge house in the middle of a desolate plain, and the only buyer who offered the cash he needed was Cord Stedman. Even then Cord’s inheritance hadn’t covered the whole purchase price, and he’d had to borrow the rest.

Eugenia had come to him in the bunkhouse, now empty of the roistering cowboys whose jobs had disappeared, and offered him what he had so ardently desired just a few short months before, but the moment his lips met hers, he knew he never wanted to touch her again and he stalked from the bunkhouse. She was gone when he returned.

Eliza had brought back the memory of that summer, and Cord wondered if he might not be making the same mistake all over again. But then he would remember her wide-eyed gaze and the trembling innocence that were so unlike Eugenia’s sultry self-confidence. This was no pampered, over-indulged siren toying with his heart for a summer’s amusement, but a young girl too afraid of life to have yet discovered the power of her attraction.