Naughty Marietta

by Nan Ryan

  Marietta’s eyes widened. “You’re teasing me!”

  “I would never do that,” Cole said.

  “Good heavens, I had no idea it was getting so late,” she said. “I must go.”

  Cole shook his head. “Why? The afternoon is young. Let’s order another bottle of wine and some rich, decadent dessert.”

  “No. No I can’t,” she said, and started to slide across the leather seat.

  “Wait.” Cole stopped her. “Listen to me, Marietta, and let me finish before you speak. Will you do that?”

  She smiled and said, “Why, of course, Cole.”

  Cole drew a breath, reached across the table and placed his hand gently atop hers. He said simply, “My dear, I’ve come to take you home to your grandfather in Galveston.”

  For a moment Marietta stared at him in stunned disbelief. Then her face flushed with anger. She yanked her hand free of his, slid out of the banquette and shot to her feet.

  She shouted loudly, not caring who heard her, “Wild horses couldn’t drag me anywhere near that cruel old bastard down in Galveston!”

  “Marietta, your grandfather is dying and he—”

  “Let him die!” she screeched. “Everybody dies!”

  “That’s mighty cold talk coming from the old gentleman’s only granddaughter,” Cole accused. “Let me take you home before it’s too late.”

  Her eyes flashing green fire, Marietta snarled, “You are taking me nowhere, Heflin, and you’d better stay away from me! If you don’t, I’ll sic my bodyguards on you and they’ll rearrange that arrogant face of yours! Get out of Central City, you don’t belong here, Texan!”

  “I will,” Cole said calmly, remaining seated, “but when I go, you’re going with me.”

  Furious, Marietta put both hands on the table, leaned down so that her face was only inches from his and hotly declared, “Not a chance, Heflin. For your information, a very rich and powerful man is madly in love with me and—”

  “Maltese,” Cole cut in. “I know. The little silver-haired fellow I’ve seen you with.”

  “Yes! I’ll tell Maltese about you!”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “Yes, I will! I’ll go straight to him and—”

  Interrupting, Cole said, “You will do no such thing. You’re not about to admit to your aging protector that you secretly met with another man behind his back.”

  Marietta had no retort. He was right. She couldn’t dare tell the overly possessive Maltese about this meeting. Fuming, bested, she snapped, “You deceitful bastard, pretending to be a fan!”

  Cole grinned. “Sweetheart, I could take lessons in deceit from you.”

  “Oh! You can go to blazes, Texan!”

  “I probably will, but not before I get you safely home to your grandfather.”

  Eight

  “Madam Sophia, you of all people know very well that opera is all about the soprano!” stated a disdainful Andreas. “After an evening in the theater, a patron barely recalls the preening tenor, the mezzo or even the forceful baritone. When the curtain comes down, it is the effect of the soprano that lingers!”

  “I know, Andreas,” said Madam Sophia calmly. “I’ve done all I can with Marietta. She tries so hard. And she is a wonderful actress. She has a riveting, instinctive stage presence. You have to give her that much.”

  “It’s not enough. Marietta cannot sing!” said the artistic director.

  Sophia smiled indulgently and waved away his concern. “Well, do not despair. We are not in New York or Paris. This is Central City, Colorado, and in case you’ve failed to notice, the theater is filled every evening.”

  The two were having afternoon coffee in Sophia’s comfortable little cottage. Andreas and Sophia had become good friends since arriving in Central City. Veterans of European opera houses, they had a lot in common. Both were alone, both loved the opera and both were very fond of the mercurial Marietta.

  Andreas replied, “Yes, the seats are filled, but we know the reason. If Marietta were appearing anywhere but here in this remote alpine village, she’d be playing to an empty house. Marietta cannot meet the vocal demands of grand opera, she hasn’t the God-given talent. She definitely does not possess the voix d’or—the golden voice.”

  The rotund Sophia carefully set her coffee cup aside. She sighed and said, “I’m well aware, even if Marietta is not, that she has no bright future in opera. But I am not too worried about her. She is young and full of life and very beautiful. Men are drawn to her like moths to the flame. My hope is that she soon meets and marries someone more suitable than Maltese.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” commented Andreas. “Maltese is one of the richest men in America. She could do worse.”

  Sophia shook her head knowingly. “He could never make her happy. Marietta needs a man with fire and passion to match her own. Someone who will not put her on a pedestal and worship her. A devilishly handsome rascal who is consistently and stubbornly all male who will not allow her to dominate him.”

  “The way she dominates poor old Maltese?”

  “Exactly.”

  Andreas mused aloud, “You’re probably right.” He smiled when he added, “I only wish she’d meet such a man tomorrow and leave the opera.”

  Andreas chuckled then and so did Sophia.

  Cole remained seated after Marietta had rushed angrily out of the Far Canyon Café. He poured himself another glass of wine and lit an expensive Cuban cigar. He calmly considered his next move.

  He had no idea what Marietta had against her grandfather, but he knew that she was not going to go peacefully. The prospect of whisking her out of Central City and delivering her a thousand miles south to Galveston was not a pleasant one. Long days and longer nights with an irate woman whom he couldn’t let out of his sight. No stroll in the park, to be sure.

  Still, her grandfather had stayed the hangman’s hand and paid him handsomely and he had promised the old gentleman that he’d bring his granddaughter home. Had given his word. He would do just that.

  Cole finished his wine and cigar and left the empty café. His chore, for the next several days, was to stay away from Marietta. He intended to let her get lulled into a false sense of security.

  The tall, spare man with the long, nasty-looking scar on his right cheek slowly withdrew the knife from its leather scabbard. The razor-sharp blade gleamed in the sunlight streaming in through the store’s front windows.

  He smiled satanically.

  He gripped the knife’s smooth handle, liking the feel of it in his palm. His beady, narrowed eyes gleaming, he slid his thumb and forefinger the length of the blade several times, caressing it as if deriving sexual pleasure from the act.

  “You might like this one better,” said Jake Stone, standing behind the counter of Stone’s Weaponry Store. He placed a black-handled, short-bladed knife before his customer. “This one might be easier to handle.”

  The man stroking the long shiny blade never glanced at the other knife.

  “I’ll take this one,” he said and slipped it back into the leather scabbard.

  He was strapping the sheathed knife onto the back of his low-riding gun belt, when the proprietor said, “A good choice, Lightnin’. Perfect for skinning trout or what have you.”

  Lightnin’ finally looked up, nodded, paid for the knife and left. He stepped out onto the wooden sidewalk just as Cole happened past Stone’s Weaponry. Cole was lost in thought, head down. The two men collided.

  “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” snarled Lightnin’.

  “Sorry,” Cole apologized and hurriedly walked on, silently cursing his timing.

  Maltese’s scar-faced bodyguard was the last person on earth whose attention he wanted to attract.

  Lightnin’ stared after Cole. He knew everyone in town, so he recognized Cole as a stranger. He wondered what the man was doing in Central City. He meant to find out.

  He trailed Cole back to the hotel. After Cole had gone up to his suite, Lightnin’
went directly to the front desk. The clerk looked up and smiled nervously.

  “May I help you?” he asked politely, recognizing Taylor Maltese’s evil-looking bodyguard.

  Unsmiling, Lightnin’ said, “That tall, dark fellow who just went upstairs. Who is he?”

  The desk clerk cleared his throat needlessly. “I’m sorry, sir, but the manager of the Teller House, Mr. Darren Ludlow, has made it a strict policy of this hotel that we not divulge the identity of our guests.”

  Lightnin’ looked around. The high-ceilinged lobby was almost empty. Only an elderly couple sat on one of the many sofas. Both were reading. Lightnin’ whipped out the shiny new knife he had just purchased at Stone’s. The blade flashed as he held the sharp point an inch from the frightened desk clerk’s chest.

  “I’m making a new policy,” he said. “You have exactly one minute to tell me who that stranger is.”

  “Yes, of course,” said the jittery clerk who quickly turned the registration book around so that Lightnin’ could look at it. “The guest to whom you’re referring is Mr. Cole Heflin from Texas.”

  “Heflin, Heflin,” Lightnin’ repeated the name, re-sheathing his knife. “When did Heflin get into town?”

  “A week…no, eight days ago, I believe.”

  “What’s he doing here and how long is he staying?”

  “That I couldn’t tell you,” said the clerk, then quickly amended, “I mean, I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

  Lightnin’ turned away and walked out of the hotel. His curiosity aroused, he headed for the opera house. The Burnetts were standing guard in the alley. Maltese was upstairs with Marietta.

  Lightnin’ went into the downstairs gaming hall. He stepped up to the bar and questioned Harry, the barkeep. Harry told him a Texan had come in for a drink the night of the opera’s debut, but didn’t give his name or say why he was in Central City.

  “He ask you anything about Marietta?”

  Harry’s mouth fell open. “Ah, he might have mentioned seeing her perform, I don’t recall.”

  Lightnin’ scratched the long scar going down his right cheek. “You tell him anything about her?”

  “No. I mean, what’s to tell?” The fat man shrugged and shook his head. “I know nothing about her, other than that she stars in the opera.”

  Lightnin’ left without responding. He went around into the alley to talk to the Burnett brothers. “Did Marietta go out this afternoon?” he asked.

  Con Burnett answered. “She did, but we were with her every step of the way, Lightnin’.”

  “Where did she go?”

  Jim said, “She went into that ladies shop up on the corner of Eureka and Glory. You know that place where they have all them dainty things for women.”

  “Anywhere else?”

  “The Far Canyon Café,” stated Con.

  Lightnin’s eyes narrowed. “How long did she stay?”

  “Quite a while,” admitted Jim, never noticing his brother’s silencing frown. “We just got back here not ten minutes before you and Maltese arrived.”

  “Did you go in the café with her?”

  The big brothers looked guilty. Con told Lightnin’, “Miss Marietta ordered us to stay outside. Said she wanted to enjoy her lunch in peace.”

  Lightnin’ frowned. “Either one of you big, dumb bastards bother to have a look through the front windows to see who else was having lunch?”

  The Burnetts exchanged worried looks. Con spoke up. “I’m telling you nobody else went in that café. We’d have seen ’em if they had. Marietta was alone the whole time.”

  Lightnin’ looked from one to the other. “All right. But you boys better start keeping a closer eye on that red-haired singer. I don’t trust her. She’s far too young and high-spirited for Maltese.” He paused, kicked at a clump of grass with the toe of his boot and reminded them, “Our only loyalty is to Maltese. If Marietta ever steps out of line, I’d better hear about it before he does. You understand me?”

  “Yes sir,” the brothers said in unison.

  “I don’t think Miss Marietta would do anything behind Maltese’s back, Lightnin’,” Jim offered.

  “That’s your trouble, Jim, you don’t think.” He reached out and thumped the side of Jim’s head. “Start using your noggin or you’ll be out of a job.”

  “We will,” said Con. “You’ll see.”

  “When I say, ‘Don’t let her out of your sight,’ I mean it.”

  “You can count on us,” promised Jim.

  Cole wished that when he grabbed Marietta, they could hop on the Colorado Central at Blackhawk and ride the narrow-gauge train down to Denver. But he knew that was out of the question. She would undoubtedly scream and carry on and have him arrested for kidnapping.

  So the day after their lunch at the Far Canyon, Cole visited Pollock’s Livery Stable where he purchased a fine-looking black stallion, assuring the stable owner he’d be back for the black within a day or two. He considered buying a pack burro, but decided against it. Once he had Marietta, he would need to make a quick getaway. A mule or burro would slow him down.

  From the stable, Cole went directly to Central City’s largest general store. Parker’s Emporium carried just about everything anyone could ever need. Cole picked out a comfortable saddle and a bridle with long leather reins. He shopped around, tossed a couple of blankets on the counter.

  He lifted a pair of soft chamois trousers, held them up to his lean frame and saw that they were way too small. He figured they would fit Marietta just fine. He tossed the trousers on the counter and looked for the smallest shirt he could find. He chose a white cotton one with a long tail and sleeves. He snagged two pairs of leather moccasins, one pair for him, one for Marietta. He lifted the moccasins, examined them and placed them on the growing stack of supplies.

  Pete Parker came up to Cole, smiled and asked, “Can I help you find anything, my friend?”

  “I believe that’ll do it,” Cole replied. “If you’ll add all this up I’ll be back to get it in a day or two.”

  “Sure thing,” said Pete, then asked, “You aiming to take yourself a little trip, are you?”

  Cole smiled and gave no reply.

  The sun was already beginning to wester by the time Cole finished shopping and stepped outside. He squinted in the dying sunlight, reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a cigar. He bit off the end, spit it out and placed the cigar in his mouth. He scratched his thumbnail against a Lucifer and lighted the smoke, cupping his hands against the slight mountain wind.

  He was shaking out the lighted match, when he looked up and saw Marietta. That bright coppery hair instantly caught his attention. She was with Maltese and the pair were coming down the sidewalk toward him. Behind them was the man called Lightnin’.

  Cole’s first impulse was to turn and rush away. But that would make him appear to be guilty of something. He stayed where he was. Didn’t budge. Nor did he look at them when they passed. And he hoped that Marietta was clever enough not to look his way.

  She was not.

  Marietta tried very hard but couldn’t keep from glancing at Cole. He never knew it. Neither did Maltese.

  But Lightnin’ did.

  The hired bodyguard caught Marietta subtly stealing a look at the dark stranger.

  He immediately wondered, Was something going on or had something already gone on between this Texan and Marietta? Lightnin’ sensed trouble ahead. His hand automatically touched the pearl butt of the revolver on his hip.

  He would, as soon as he got back to the opera house, threaten the Burnetts with their very lives if they didn’t keep a closer eye on Marietta.

  Nine

  Cole stayed right where he was until the trio had passed him. Then he snapped into action. He went back inside Parker’s Emporium and told Pete Parker he had changed his mind, that he needed the supplies right away.

  “Toss in some beef jerky, a tin of crackers and a couple of cans of beans,” Cole said to Pete. “I’ll take the saddle and b
ridle with me now and be back for the rest of the things in the next half hour.”

  Pete nodded, then asked, “You want some help carrying that saddle?”

  “I can manage,” Cole said as he hoisted it up onto a shoulder.

  He stepped outside, looked both ways and walked directly down to Pollock’s Livery Stable. At the stables he dropped the saddle and went into the stall where his newly purchased black was penned.

  Cole carefully examined the stallion and the big black neighed a greeting and playfully bit at Cole’s shoulder. Cole stroked the stallion’s sleek neck and murmured soothingly into a pricked ear.

  Turning to the stable boy, he said, “I’ll be taking the black tonight. Have him saddled and ready to go by nine o’clock. I’ll be back to get him.”

  “He’ll be ready, sir,” said the lad with a toothy grin.

  Cole ruffled the boy’s hair, then peeled off a bill and handed it to him. He was heading back to Parker’s Emporium, when he passed Lilly’s Ladies Apparel. Cole stopped abruptly, snapped his fingers and turned back. He had, until this minute, forgotten about the lacy blue satin nightgown he had purchased yesterday afternoon.

  Cole glanced about, then went inside.

  Lilly looked up and smiled warmly at him. “You have come for the beautiful blue nightgown?”

  “I have,” Cole said decisively.

  Lilly hurried into the back room and returned shortly with a neatly wrapped package. Cole left the shop carrying the package under his arm, feeling foolish, wondering what on earth had possessed him to buy the nightgown in the first place. And why he had bothered to go back and pick it up.

  Cole returned to Parker’s, gathered his supplies and headed back to the hotel. As twilight blanketed Central City, Cole began preparing for the difficult journey ahead. After a long relaxing bath, he had dinner in his room, then dressed in riding clothes—dark trousers, gray chambray shirt, gray and black bandanna. And finally he put on the soft moccasins that would afford him not only comfort but the quiet step of an Indian as well.

  Everything was ready. The hotel bill had been paid. His belongings—the fine clothes he’d bought while in Colorado—were carefully packed. Beside them on the bed was a nice gratuity and note to the hotel manager, Darren Ludlow, asking that the clothes be held until he sent for them.